I, ME, MYSELF

"The mind is restless, turbulent, obstinate and very strong, and to subdue it is, it seems to me, more difficult than controlling the wind."

Among my most personal moments are the solitary walks across the bridge that connects Thane and Kalwa. Amidst the hustle bustle of people and the putrid fumes emanating from vehicles, I have cultivated the ability to close my eyes and let my mind take over. In a world of organised chaos, this has been my singular retreat where I can be just me. No diversions... no obstacles... being neither friend nor foe... just I, ME, MYSELF. The solitude has seldom spoken anything and yet opened the doors of possibility.

With work-life eating my weekdays and weekends generally spent in the company of friends it has been a long time since I have indulged in this joy of isolation. The sluggishness that has crept into my walk lately has been a clear indication of a confused existence. With a feeling of despondency slowly creeping into my everyday life, for long has my heart yearned for this indulgence. But just as we disregard beggars hoping they would walk away without pricking our conscience, the walk of contemplation had been put on the back burner with the hope that this glum phase would pass off without any effort... or, casualty.

Today evening when my singular melancholia is at fever pitch, I have trudged along to the bridge hoping to find solace and inspiration from nature. I am sitting here, smelling the brine in the air, that has in the past acted as a balm to my nerves. Today the air, reeking of worldly woes, is enervating the already dispirited ME.

I peer down to catch my reflection in the murky waters. What I see is an eerie nothingness staring back with invisible eyes, castigating my past follies, mocking the drudgery of my present, raising frightening visions of an uncertain tomorrow.

I am watching the golden orange streetlights reflected across the gentle ripples of creek water when my eyes fall on firecrackers bursting into a thousand hues in distant lands as if shooting stars are cutting their way across the pitch black sky.

The rumble of trains carrying harried passengers and my heart beating in perfect rhythm. The gust of wind that lashes against the bridge shuddering the very foundations of the concrete structure, can you not blow away my worries.

You, the temple by the banks who submerge every monsoon, you emphasise the futility of God when faced with bare elements. You, the hutments that have defaced the serene surroundings, you are a metaphor for those harrowing experiences that have defiled my pure, naked soul.

As I sit here, alone, frenziedly penning down these sights, I catch sight of people watching me, possibly speculating over the presence of a Madman in their midst. My thoughts race out to you and to these immortal lines,
"In a universe of ambiguity, this kind of certainty comes only once, and never again, no matter how many lifetimes you live."
A few moments ago, I cried out your name and listened to its echo over the din of traffic. To strangle my despair with the sweetness of its sound. To etch your name against an invisible eternity. The profundity of an indivisible truth reaffirmed, I gaze at the sky yearning for raindrops to wash my tear-filled eyes...

PS: This was written yesterday during my solemn sojourn on the bridge. Verbatim. It wasn't meant to be posted on this blog, had a friend not insisted.