The sun has risen. The location is nothing serene, nothing exotic (did the picture above fool you?). It is just my room in kGp. The hour is something a self-respecting person doesn't mention. The harsh sun rays are beaming in hard though the window, whose grill has been removed. You can romanticize it as open doors of perception, but there isn't anything remotely Huxley about it. Well the vitamin-D rich sun rays, unfiltered through the absent curtains, fall on my face and I am awake.
There is nothing I accomplished yesterday, no skeletons clutter my closet. And there is nothing to look forward to, just the regular score. I realize the downside of what Somani means by "Only Regulars" but it ain't no revelation. Life is a blank sheet, time holds no meaning. No matter what I do, the bulldozers on the other side will keep on raising dust, which in turn will make me sneeze and weep tears.
There is nothing to read, at least nothing that hasn't been read before in some other form. My thoughts race for something new, some uncharted territory but are washed upon the same old familiar shores. And this stagnation scares me, it is an extremely boring morning with absolutely no promise, no hidden aces up the sleeve, nothing (visualize Russel Peters saying this).
But as Robert Plant said, "I have some good news."
I open the doors and exit. Somani is out there, smoking a cigarette with Vibhav, saying something with his usual animated expressions. Damn nicotine addicts, not a sight you want to see in the morning, gives a jolt to your faith in humanity. Abhay is there by the toilet with a frown on his face and a brush in his mouth. Kishan too is there by the toilets, but that is after all his favorite haunt, his turf. Kama of course is asleep after a night of intense YouTube viewing and multiple substance abuse. Someone is playing what I believe to be a Atif Aslam song. A curse escapes my lips, but the earth doesn't split open to engulf all the philistines into its fiery depths. I guess this just isn't my day. And what is bloody earth doing if not punishing sinners, its not bearing any fruits, its lying fallow and dusty.
Three men, apparently employed to grow some grass when I had higher plans, lie sleeping with the sun on their faces. They are smiling. A swarm of dragonflies are busy flying in circles. They know the absurdity of existence and have made up their minds to while away their existence trying to match the absurdity. A squirrel mimics them by climbing up and down a tree. An army of red ants is marching straight towards the LakshmanRekha.
I don't know what happens exactly, but a wave of tranquility washes over me. I shed the unnecessary weight off my shoulders, clear my nostrils and take a deep breath.
You can't be a hero, an Achilles, everyday. One positive way of looking is that there are not enough Hectors to slay. All my mornings won't be in Kasol, at least not for another year and a half. There will come mornings when there is no paper to roll with. One needs to embrace life in all its banality and address that one is alive. And that infinite possibilities are open, at least to those with grit. Carpe Diem and all. No eternal reward will forgive us for wasting the dawn. And that if I look hard enough, there just might be a paper under my bed. Its a beautiful glorious day and it will be a shame not to have some THC flowing through my veins.
