Rust & In Longing

No life is ever different once the dust of this world settles on us. This dust on some of us settles all too early, on some a little later, and those who are very very lucky even evade this dust. For them life is not about dust but washing it away. Either way, the crash of dust of this world in our lives is imperative.

When was the last we heard an old person recite a story to us from his days bygone? How did that story end? Any of us even remember what that story was about? Did that old fella even complete that story? What's gone is gone. The next time we are to hear a story from someone old, we shall try to notice and observe and listen to what is left unsaid. That will give us the real story. Story of a life aged and rusted and well spent in longing of future-that future maybe prosperity or for some, death.

The story-telling in old age is a reminiscence of this very dust. A life, on which whether fate played a dice or not, is an offshoot of heart. A heart, which may have been put to use or not, is an offshoot of the dust of this world. Look around all of us. What remains? Lives all around riddled with ambitions, yearning to be something out of extraordinaire. But what really remains?

The more we wander in this desert, the more we realise that breathing the dust is inevitable. Predestined. What really  are we supposed to find in this desert? Only mirage? Only dust? A very very lucky few might really be able to find an oasis but for how long can they sit still by the shore of that oasis. What else is there to this desert? What else is to be found? Only mirage. Only dust.

The circles of life, no doubt vicious, are maybe not about acquiring knowledge, intellect, wisdom(as old men say), respect, or perhaps even immortality in some way or another. Maybe, circles of life are all about reflection; reflection on a chance now lost and dissolved in our palms like wet sand. The remains of that wet sand hang on to us for eternity but we can't do anything about it. Can we? We are even afraid to wash away the wet sand as it being the only evidence of reflection upon what we could have been, what we are.

Truth, in all its form and glory has been all around us. We steal our eyes from witnessing it. Why? Sometimes the world says us to. Sometimes it's the most apt thing to do. Sometimes we are just plain cowards. But what is that truth? All we have uncovered is that there is some truth. But what is that truth? We are yet to manipulate it for our souls. Our senses tell us to pretend for a greater self. Aspire for a greater self. Is that really possible? We don't know. Since the day we breathe our first we are told anything is possible and then when once we are ready to walk in this desert alone and the dust starts to settle, we come back to the same grand question. To aspire for something truly truer than the truth itself. Is that really possible? Here the dust of the world is crucial. It opens us to see a brave new self which yearns for survival despite all odds. It moves something inside us. It makes us walk while everyone around us seems to be running. It makes us slow down to see the far greater picture. It makes us feel emotions which eluded our hearts before. It makes us inch closer to that truth. It might even take us all the distance and announce truth to our souls. But we have to be beware of the weight this dust can lay our hearts. This weight can kill us. However, like all pieces of art, it gradually kills. It takes away from us all that we think we ever stood for. All the hope, all the aspirations, all the earnest ambitions they begin to vanish under this weight. And then delirium sets in. And then we start to relinquish all that is in our hearts. And it all leads to - us being rusted and in longing to lift it all off our breasts. And only a very very few lucky ones can lift it off.  

Let us try to recall the last time when we all witnessed, what we love to call, 'Life Changing Moment.' It's also quite possible that a lot of us are yet to witness it. But my stakes are that majority of us have done so already, or at least believe that we have done so already. What was its impact then? How it altered the way of our lives? Was that a moment of benevolence or fear? Whatever it may be, one thing can be said certainly that we are not the same we anymore. Seeing the world with a new light, be that light dark or holy, is the I-ching of that 'Life Changing Moment.' And with change in approach comes the dreadful ally- 'Righteousness.' Who is to justify the way we see the things around us? Time also falls short in doing that.

It's more about the prediction of preconceived ways of future. "Ah! Live in present!", people shout often, but this very same present is actually a future of what we aspired when we were say, small. Isn't it? Every moment we live and breathe is a future of yesterday. And our expectations always precede our existence when we look back and remember how we thought yesterday about future which in turn, is present today.

This freckled movement of our conscious wandering in what we are to be, what we are, what we shall be, what we must be, what we now are, is inevitable. We are talking about truth tellers here. All of us who are true to ourselves can put our thumbs to agree that we all wander in our future. It's the simple human nature. No matter how hard we try, alone or together, we used to wander, will wander and rather must wander. It's another by-product of dust of the world. Inevitable. Predestined. Without this longing for a better tomorrow, what else have we got to live for? From all aspects of life and from every invention to discovery and from every story to novel written all things ever accomplished by humanity are result of this longing for future.

And again, to round the circle with all longing comes the rust. Because, beforehand as we all know, future will never be the one we longed for. It is is the future we longed for then it will cease to be future. Complex, riddled, dumbfounded we all are about what is going on. None can say what is going on. Sure one can describe what's happening around but that's that. None can say what is going on. Is life going on? None can really say.

Only thing one can say is that we all are scared. Why shouldn't we? What if we lose all the courage that we own today once we really see what tomorrow is like? There is no definitive answer to any of our ramblings of heart. If we ask people all around us how is their today, the answer of most will be coherent - Awesome! Couldn't have asked for more! Are they lying? Can only their lifestyle justify their answers? Obviously NO. What can then? Not even they know.

Lives are lost because of hopes. Lives are made because of hopes. Is it only us who decide what is to unravel for our lives? Yes and No. Hence our fear for the future. Inevitable. Predestined. A nude eye may get fooled but not us. We know people lie, not to us but themselves. We know people can linger on life in want of a better future yet do all of it with a smile. Shattered from within, those are who lie. Unfulfilled are their hopes. Shattered are their smiles. But smile, they always do. Where it leaves people like us then - those who know they are twisted, unearthed, unfazed, and tangled are from within? We can't lie. Our lives might be shattered but not our smiles, not our lies because we have lost both to the dust of this world.

Probably we as a generation are under-experienced to comprehend all this. After all, all this is just a tattletale of what we have witnessed in people around us, within us till now. We have age by our side and soon enough there will be things more to entice us to see the world in a new light and then this very same inhabited desert may not appear so yellow and full of dust. There could be more to this dust, more to this desert. Maybe we haven't walked long enough. We are to travel more into our own self. To see something as natural which is true at first light. Who we all are in the horizon of this desert which slays us. Just a piece of puzzle we are, a piece which isn't even missing. Which harbinger of change do we see in all of our conscious? Can this desert ever be a paradise? Even the dreams we want to dream aren't of paradise. Whose paradise after all? Yours, mine, theirs, ours? Whose? Are all of our dreams same? Is all of ours paradise the epitome of a big evasive life of fulfilment of our dreams? Does this desert has what it takes to encompass all our paradises? Is this desert big enough to hold all our paradises together till we all eventually die? But if this desert isn't big enough than well, the dust is bound to settle on all of us. Inevitable. Predestined. And we will then still be, as we now are - rusted and in longing.