The script seems ready for a brand new arrival. Isn’t it? Is
it then not the time to look back at the almost yellowed pages of a year, some
of which were turned, bookmarked, folded on corners, ignored at times, re-read
on different occasions, shed tears upon, a secret message hidden in,
highlighted and sometimes forgotten, torn? Yes it is definitely the time to
witness the fading out of 2014.
Eventful, exciting, enigmatic, euphoric, euthanizing; 2014
was a mixed package of sorts. A common man was chosen to lead the country; we
braved the sun, we dared the storms to bring him to power. The moment he
pledged to serve the country, cynics instantly jumped in to strip him of the
goodness he deserved. All he wished and still continues to is to give this
nation a stable government. After a corruption prone decade of prejudice, these
greed driven cynics still want to eat into our nation.
When we are not shedding political sweat, we were taking
keen interest in social causes. We were running marathons to save the girl
child. At the same time and at the same speed that we were running, the girl
child was vanishing from the confines of her own home. They were either found
dead in the bush or slaughtered in a worse manner than beasts. We were shouting
slogans against atrocities committed against women. But from behind those pure
white banners, we were also training our impure, lust filled eyes on women. We
were performing the most important duty of shielding women against crimes. The
next moment we were locking the doors of a cab and taking turns to rape her.
Our generosity extended across various spheres of genders.
We chose to be free but were in no mood to allow others to be what they are. We
broke into their homes, we vandalised their underground parties, and we ignored
those three digits, which could have brought some hope to them. They seek
nothing more than their own share of rainbow colours. If at all granted they
might have their own families, own voice, own life.
Till yesterday we thought chits were an insignificant piece
of informational dope, we tried to smuggle in during our toughest exams. But
adulthood taught us to generate funds out of these chits and the fun that we imbibed
by getting embroiled in the greatest ever financial scandal of our times.
Someone chose to question the existence of God. Ramkrishna
Paramhans had once let go all his clothes to embrace the Almighty in its purest
form. What we did was, we came across this poster of an actor standing with an
audio system in his hand, trying to hide his private parts and we yelled of how
obscene the supposed art was. But we loved swaying to the obscene moves of item
songs, performed by porn stars of yesteryear.
But then we have to let go many things that we keep doing
every year. The old man has to be burnt. There is no country for old men.
Setting the hay-stacked, already dead dull doll will liberate us of all our
vices. We will be new again. All the time that this old man will continue to
burn, we will see the now bygone year fade out and once again allow the New
Year to come fading in, ready to rule the roost for the next 365 days.
So here we are sitting eagerly, for the next five minutes to
disappear and the new set of infinite hours to appear.
-vociferous
