The humble crow. Black all over. Doomed to this achromatic existence, when every other creature on earth is resplendent in multiple colours. Did its early ancestor fall into a cauldron of ink or tar and pass on the darkened genes to its descendants in a Lamarckian manner? Does this shade of minimum light and maximum darkness infuse the species with a higher survival value? Or was it just a case of selective and black comedy perpetrated by the Maker?
The elevator in my building. All day long it goes up and down. Hundreds of people get in and get out and move on. But the elevator? Imprisoned in that lonely shaft for its entire lifetime. Condemned to its vertical movement. Horizontally challenged. Quietly serving. Up. Down. Up. Down. And yet uncomplaining.
The perfume bottle. 200 ml capacity. Each day I use it, the drop in level inside the bottle is hardly noticeable. Even after a month. Will the perfume last for ever? Is the bottle like the Kamadhenu, I wonder? Alas, no. In three months, the perfume is completely used up. Evaporated. Gone. Never to come back. For ever. Vanished into thin air while spreading its sweet fragrance. Like the candle which self-destructs while providing light.
This keyboard. Quickly converts finger strokes to bytes and words. Is this ability only unidirectional? Can it convert words and bytes from the monitor into finger strokes and push them intra-nervously from my hands into my brain? So, that I can instantly download volumes of data and imprint in my memory? Or can it, with the Backspace key remove memories of unsavory incidents of my life. No, it can’t.
What a cruel, nasty, brutal, uncaring world!
The elevator in my building. All day long it goes up and down. Hundreds of people get in and get out and move on. But the elevator? Imprisoned in that lonely shaft for its entire lifetime. Condemned to its vertical movement. Horizontally challenged. Quietly serving. Up. Down. Up. Down. And yet uncomplaining.
The perfume bottle. 200 ml capacity. Each day I use it, the drop in level inside the bottle is hardly noticeable. Even after a month. Will the perfume last for ever? Is the bottle like the Kamadhenu, I wonder? Alas, no. In three months, the perfume is completely used up. Evaporated. Gone. Never to come back. For ever. Vanished into thin air while spreading its sweet fragrance. Like the candle which self-destructs while providing light.
This keyboard. Quickly converts finger strokes to bytes and words. Is this ability only unidirectional? Can it convert words and bytes from the monitor into finger strokes and push them intra-nervously from my hands into my brain? So, that I can instantly download volumes of data and imprint in my memory? Or can it, with the Backspace key remove memories of unsavory incidents of my life. No, it can’t.
What a cruel, nasty, brutal, uncaring world!
What a lovely post! And how true!
ReplyDeleteOn a related note, aren't we like the perfume bottle? We spread our unique scent around, and when it gets over, and then disappear into eternity. Depending on the quality of the perfume we spread, we are remembered/forgotten/admired/detested.
Ah, I always felt sorry for the crows, and elevators, too. But I never consideredthe keyboard.
ReplyDeleteRead Raj and have philosophy infused into your brain via eyes.
Lovely post.
I read this somewhere : "DEAR GRAND-AUNT HENDRIETTA,
ReplyDeleteAlthough I never knew you in life, as a child I often cracked butternuts on your tombstone." This is what care is all about :)
Your blog is one of the few I've bookmarked. I usually never venture beyond the known world of friends and I usually smirk at "desi" stuff. But your blog is pretty cool.
ReplyDeleteCare for a link exchange with mine? Check it out and tell me whether it's ok with you.
Everything all right?
ReplyDelete-naveen.
Shruthi, I hope you didn't take my stuff seriously!Was just trying to mock at all those Russian-author types.
ReplyDeleteLalita, I just figured that one can wax philosophical about anything and sound sufficiently profound.
shpriya, I must use that story sometime.
hari, thanks. What's a link exchange? You mean, I read your blogs and you read mine. Sure
Naveen : Thanks for the concern. Was just trying a phiolosophical spoof!
Link exchange - I mean put your link in my sidebar and I'll put yours in my sidebar.
ReplyDeleteThanks. Nice stuff you write. Not too often, but always of good quality.
Angst time. You haven't changed either profile or the blog description awhile now. I am feeling cheated.
ReplyDeleteLalita, thy wish is my command. Profile changed pronto.
ReplyDeletehari, thanks again. I haven't displayed any of the blogs I have linked to, but I will get round to doing it one of these days.
ha, never known angst to sound so beautiful!
ReplyDeleteI want to feel angst, I want to feel angst!!
Just as there is poetic license, I demand to have a reader's license, which allows the reader to interpret a piece of writing in any way s/he wishes, depending on her/his frame of mind!
ReplyDelete:)
Shruthi, philosophy is in the eyes/mind of the reader, eh?
ReplyDelete