ON THE THRESHOLD

I don’t know if my blog is been followed. It doesn’t even host a followers list. The only devoted follower is me and a sole me. When I recommend my blog to some one, it is read instantly. But that doesn’t mean that they would leave a comment. Some are honest, some pretend while some ignore it. Blogs over the world have been considered a reflection of what the blogger does in his every day life. In fact, a blog is a virtual diary made available online to be read by the world. I have been a less generous on that front. Honestly speaking I have been selfish, self centred and self engrossed. One question therefore has been bothering me for the past few days. How far is it justified? I am not a recluse. But have been forced to be one. The experience of nothingness has never been so intense. I have heard about boycotts that are categorised as personal, political and professional. Whatever the category is, boycotts hurt! They do hurt and the pain in intolerable. You are pushed to the limit of thinking otherwise. Suddenly the levels of communication hit an all time low. A pair of dark glasses replaces the natural vision we are blessed with. We try our best to see through it. The lack of transparency makes the situation even worse. I have been no stranger to hurt or discord. My actions have been always a matter of scrutiny and critical analysis. By the time the lamp of the scanner warms up, people are ready with their sharp comments about me. Misjudged from past couple of weeks, today for the first ever time on my blog, I wish to reveal my state of my mind and why am I feeling I am being misunderstood. I am not going to divide this post of mine into paragraphs. I would want the reader to read this piece without a break. When our rights were being challenged, I stood up with the baton in my hand. I could have easily chosen to put it in a violent way but circumstances made me act in a non violent way. Not that I remained unchallenged. Forces were at work and I realised they were stronger than me. I fought back and came out unscathed. I was in a similar position as that of Abhimanyu trying to break the vicious circle in the war of Mahabharata. I found my way out pretty sooner. Being a part of a team was never so rocking. The good times come back to me in sepia toned photographic instalments. Depression was a state of mind I was unaware about. In their company I swam out of it when I was depressed. Just one altercation and time stood still. I am back to square one still trying to figure out what, where, why, how it went wrong? They must have heard something very negative about me. I never had a hand in any conspiracy. If my religious beliefs and attitude is a major hindrance, I may try to tone down on those fronts. For God sake I haven’t killed some one. What is happening now is what I term as ‘blindfolded worship’ or ‘following a blind vendetta’. During tough times I had escaped situations. In my thirty first year of life, I cannot think of doing that. Backing off is like losing the war without even holding the sword against an unseen enemy. Their tones are hushed, their looks are fatal and their minds are poisoned. Had it been invisible, I would have never felt so exhausted. The premise that I stand upon is a known territory. The war declared is against me, my own self and my faith. They won’t give out the reason and neither am I interested in probing into it. I know I have challenged them. I maybe speechless presently but that doesn’t mean I am worthless. I don’t know how to operate a sword but I am well aware of launching an attack with my pen. Maybe some day they would realise that my anger is mostly pretentious and I am a different person from within. Only exception is, this time I am disinterested in dealing with people of less intellect. Barring a handful, most of them talk mindlessly and act insane. I am a kind of person who hasn’t lost his sanity. Life has challenged me again like it had challenged me six years back. Speaking to one of my friends we laughed out how our problems are multilayered and pose the threat of being endless. Losing hope at such a juncture makes me feel less like a man and more like a loser. But who said I am a loser? I am a fighter. The days of survival left maybe less but the days of glory are infinite. With so much of nothingness, I might appear to be on the threshold of going broke but I haven’t lost yet. On their faces I would fire not one but a battery of questions. If they can answer them satisfactorily I will kneel down and salute them and if they fail, I will make sure guilt overpowers them. Being a winner is not that easy and neither being a fighter is. Try being a mortal and you will realise what picture of you people around you paint in their minds.

- vociferous