There is a deep interest this observer has in the silence of this old town. He gazes down from the sky late at night in the hope of passing an edict for the lost perception of right and wrong.
He cherishes the sight of a droplet gently sliding down the traffic signal lamppost. The condensed water reflecting the warm light from a lamppost on the other side of the tarred road, looks almost as the reflection of the rising sun on a lake. The observer freezes time in his mind to cynosure the moment. A moment where he takes a deep breath to gather courage for what he might discover today.
The town has one main road that runs north to south. The road is as dark as a black hole. Light does fall on this cursed path but it never reflects back for the naked eye to see – ventablack. Looking at the road makes him feel astray from his goal: as if lost in nothingness. His experience is made even more uncanny by the murk that surrounds the town.
It does not rain here while the people are awake. They are extremely arrogant, self-centered and thoughtless creatures. People who care about their pride and image more than they care about the rainbow that a drizzle can create. The clouds retreats to the near by mountains in search of a safer haven to empty their bellies. They remove their protection over the town from the scorching heat of the sun.
He observes the absence of the hateful noise from the talkative people in the town. People who talk first, think later. People he would secretly like to bury alive. Which is when, he notices a periodic whistle from the lone police officer, policing the traffic of thoughts. The officer wears the medals given to him by his parents, teachers and friends. That is his empowerment of moral policing.
This is the perfect stage the observer wanted to glide through the sky of the quiet main street of this town. A town, lost in a maze of self awareness.
A man comes walking down the ventablack road. The observer stares him in the eyes with curiosity. Who is he? What is he doing here? What is he thinking? The man shies away in conscious of politeness and quickly turns away. The observer looks closely and the man now tries to hide. Pretending to have lost a vital possession he starts looking aggressively under the vintage pink car, parked under a pole, scratching his head and panting heavily. He looks at the observer, partially smiles, and walks back wards. He is very busy; or so he wants to show. He walks away from the observers set – he does not turn back. The observer thinks to himself: “This man has secrets”.
There comes another man down the ventablack road. This one is aggressive: ready for a war. The observer zooms out a little to keep safe distance. A manhole – hidden from the darkeness of the road; the man walks into it and falls half body inside. He pushes himself out of the fall. His faces lights up red. He declares war! He starts to stamp the flowing water: left foot, right foot, left foot, right foot, both feet! He gives it a stare and kicks it hard. Just to slip and fall back on his buttocks. The observer senses a strange feeling of distress within the man. Well he ought to, he just made a fool of himself. The man was not fighting the open man hole or the flowing water. He was fighting his emotions. And with that fall, he was thrown into defeat. Defeat, that came with a penalty. A penalty on his pride.
The man stands up, shuns away the dirt and accepts his prize of defeat and starts to walk south of the road. A few steps down the road and he now bumps into a pole. The observer zooms out further to keep safe distance from his expected reaction to the bump – eruption of anger. But this time, the man just nodes and continues to walk. Perhaps he realized something? The observer thinks to himself. Perhaps with this self realization, the man just won something. But he does not get his pride back. He can see that in the way the man now owns his body language. Perhaps he gained something a lot more precious. Perhaps, he just grew his first strand of white hair. He gained some wisdom. The man continues to walk away. The observer continues to watch until he disappears into the murk – without an incident.
To be continued…
-Anant Agnihotri
