Saturday, November 14, 2015


*A year or two ago, I was approached by an editorial broad of some students' union magazine to contribute an article. Well, I wrote and submitted this essay, only to hear from them that they have dropped the idea of publishing the magazine. It was a pain to keep see this piece of neglected work in my secret word folder, so here is it*
There is the sky above us and the ground beneath; there is the wind that orchestras the vacuum and there is the living that comforts us with the touch of love. Yet, there is always a fear in us, a fear of the unknown, the fear that can never be consoled for it comes from the thing heard and not seen, things that becomes a part of the rumour’s bag, words yet to be testified. The sci-fi fantasy has it, they are there; continuously watching us like the star on a bright summer’s night sky. Their existence is doubted, disbelieved, and questioned but above all debated, and it has continued right from the day a clue of their existence has been traced. And so was the journey of the woman who was one of the spies in the sky. She had known this planet more than the inhabitants themselves, she knew the people, the places, the time of their birth, she knew what their past were, she knew what their future has in stored for them, she knew everything and she knew much more, yet she was to disguise herself as one of them. She was on a mission, a mission that had been carried out for past thousand years. In the layman’s language she was immortal for the land where she belonged was the land of immortals. She was spying  on earth from her planet. Disease, destruction and other numerous ways to bring death was a conspiracy of her people to make the inhabitants of the earth different from them.
Though the inhabitants of the earth thought greatly of themselves, they were nothing but mere cage animals fit for experiments, the thing called souls were like igniters to regenerate their strength. Numerous abductions were held, there were instances where a person was experimented for forty years and all he knew was that he had a dream on Tuesday night. Why the experiments were carried out was simple, it was to understand the complexities of their mind and that has been carried out for centuries. The people of the earth, throughout their lives they were under surveillance, but were unaware and ignorant.  She saw them rebel and revolt against the system which they thought was unjust, they united, they fought, they won, they lost. Nevertheless, they never tried to revolt against the regime which was the greatest threat to them, a regime which had always done a massive surveillance on them.

Questions like, what makes mortal beings so special, what is in their hearts and minds, why are they different in their thoughts and actions? These unanswered queries made the aliens unsuccessful in their experiments…
Then she woke up, babies and elderly person sleeps a lot. She loved thinking, she loved dreaming. She was not young anymore, when she was young, she could daydream under a mango tree of saving this planet making a heroine out of her. But, when the night knocked the doors of her house, she found herself listening to the stories of the heroes venturing out to save the damsel in distress. For years she had served as a woman bounded by duties, she was appreciated for the dedication she bestowed, her children loved her and her husband respected her, nevertheless, it was not what she expected from her life, society might have applauded for the role she carried out, normalcy was a model where she had to framed herself but she was not ready to give in or give out.
What she needed was not sympathy but support, door for her dreams to open up and not only a window of hope, she had to make it come true, she had to fly from where she was and not merely jog. What she wanted was not to hear song of praises of her; she wanted to let people know that she was an individual, a life which was complete in itself. She had learned to appreciate enough to know that the world was such a lovely planet and all the notions of valuing one’s life for living was but a cliché, and that survival was the ultimate goal.
She was a protective mother, when her daughter went out to street, like a worried parent she constantly looked at the window till she returned safe. News of sexual harassment, abuses, abduction and rapes had been flashed in all the newspapers, as she flipped the pages of the newspaper she often wondered whether the world would ever come to its sense. Her husband could say, ‘We were taught to be individuals with moral conscience, but in the process not to forget that we need to earn and to earn we need to work till the sweat drips down from our brow,’ it hardly made sense to her. But to this she wanted to add, there were exceptions within the crowd who could manipulate and was ready to slaughter anyone to reach the top.
She is often mocked for getting stuck to the television set, making sense of the soaps and serials which never has an end, if she engages in a light gossip (which in a way might stimulate social awareness) then we take it as her favourite pass time.

If she meets her former classmate in the subway, and cares to stop for a warm ‘hello’, and if ever a conversation strikes and if she comes to know that her friend is earning in four squares then her expression would be of delight or could be of a sigh counting on all the opportunities that came in her way but sadly let it fly. She is not baffled at the present; she knew that one day she would be sitting on the favourite chair in her porch dreaming of the day when she would be able to rescue herself, and find herself basking in the eternal sunshine which her heroic deeds had brought. Then, she could be woken up by the honks of her husband’s old car, he would walk towards her, if she is lucky then he might throw a smile at her, if not then he would simply tell her to set the table for the dinner.
Often the work that we chose becomes burden for the soul when there is a constant realization that the sweat of our brow becomes the shining sliver in someone’s pocket.  When we begin to redefine what finer things means, when we begin to understand that living does not depend on someone’s approval, this is when we try to understand that our rights are to be asserted and things can shape better if only we restructure the present faulty lines of the institutions we serve. Coming to the basics, we take for granted the woman who makes breakfast, lunch or dinner for us, we show the appreciation once or twice a year; we neglect it by considering that she is just doing her duty of caring, nurturing, and maintenance. What is more surprising is the fact that she hardly or does not seem to carp about the ever monotonous work, which she performs year after year. But, each year she seems to do better, finding innovative ways to limit the energy wasted and the time spend. Why the housewife does not ever pledge for a salary for her work, might be a matter related with ethics, economics and some anthropological bearing. However, in here if ever the worker’s union goes for a massive strike to meet their demands than the power of running organisation finds itself shaken.