Thursday, February 10, 2011

Innocence --> Education --> Wisdom --> Corporate

The blind story of the people who can see...
Two dark faces of the same coin....
The lost freedom in the democracy....
The subdued yet silent rebel...

The four phrases. I could only imagine these four when I think about my recent observation. The feeling nothing different from finding the volcano with the "worthy" flare.

Growing up, in the surrounding environment with an endless Bucket List. Each day passion dying for a few and rising in the moment for next few. Once in a while rolling over the pages that yeah! I had thought about doing this too. The days or the years go by and the reality hardly ever becomes the culprit of influencing your mind. The flare never got extinguished, even though the world might present to you the statistics of failure. Your wisdom was unsupported but yours original. Your words spoke to your dreams. Your eyes reflected the look of an exaggerated fool yet the feet had found their direction and were ready to stomp with you like the army of the ranked captain in the war. The spotless mind yearning to grow further in search of power. The power of fulfilling that Bucket List.
(Woo..I just obsession with language and the embellishments never ends)

Hmmm....just like that you painted the beautiful scenery and relentlessly wanted to walk all over the canvas to live it. The next step was all you could take. Holding on to your renegade imagination, the walk was made through the days of the college, the education. Days went by and years passed as the remnants of the good times. Time was limited. Comes the day of making a choice. The choice that lays down the definition. The definition of Future. The mind flickers, the sight flinches, the fantasies liven up, the sweat pours down with the thought of not making it. The new found wisdom (or more accurately) the hard pumping adrenaline wins over. Like any new gadget which has been widely publicized to be better than what you are holding right now, like any new pill for the women out there, like the new play girl for the old embrace the options. The ego speaks and the prize is taken. The prize of winning one of the options laid in front you and thus, dreaming about making it big, yet unknowingly you enter the race of life.

Your first painted scenery is now nothing more than a memory, a childish imprint. And the proof was given that indeed it was the exaggerated fool who did not know the reality and had painted the bizarre dream. But you are not that anymore. You rejected the old innocence in self. Now that canvas hangs in the corner of an art gallery with no visitors. Not even yourself.

The new job the new life the soulless garb of the corporate was thrilling.

Five years down the line, it wasn't the same. You were the parasite from one host to another, yet the host did not stop sucking. Each day to the office like an underdog tamed to do so by the master. Each day at home, torn by the thought that in next few hours you will be up again for the monotonous. The complaint of being underpaid yet a silent walk to the office. Each day became just another day in life. The script had been written but the actors were tired. The race of life had long back begun but today, the players were tired. Sitting in the corner, dealing with the voice that popped up after years inside you, asking "what's next?". There was no answer, just a silent walk back home. Each day to the office, only answer was the ignorance and each day at home, freedom had lost its insurance. Only hope was the appreciation for the small things in life...a random video post by the friend on Facebook...the gossip of the politics inside the office or the new furniture at home...the visit by parents or the invitation to the marriages....the shots of alcohol at the bar or the long drive somewhere far....and crowning yourself mature, you gave in. But the will to satisfaction became the reason for agitation. The rebel might come out every now and then, but the fear was too strong a weapon to face.

Once again, the thoughts try to renaissance. The canvas had been broken. The art gallery had been wiped out. All that remained were the few pieces, far too many were missing to complete your first scenery of dreams.

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