When
The Fog Lifts
24/7
x 365
I’m shelled
from every quarter
By spritz
of supercilious spittle
From
TV in front of me…
Podcasts
to the left of me
Facebook
to the right of me
Insta
over me
WhatsApp
beside me
Instructing
me
How
to think…what to think…
Or,
who I should become…and why,
Presuming
I’m a loser.
Then,
telling me what to do with my life
Defining
success for me
Influencing
my ‘transformation’
With
the pornography of their picture-perfect lifestyle.
Everyone
and their uncle know, before I know,
What
I ‘need’ to consume …and why!
I’m
compelled to exist every waking moment
In
this fog fumigating my mind
Sanitizing
it of scepticism;
Questions
to which ‘they’ don’t have answers
Are
formatted.
My swachh
mind is the future of a swachh Bharat
I
must not think …
I
must only consume.
So,
what if it kills me?
Alive...even
dead I’m good for GDP!
In a
quixotic reaction
I’m
slashing away at windmills of vitriolic vapour
Constructed
of asinine arguments,
Colonising
my mind.
The
more I slash and thrust, with protest and critique
The denser
the envelope of fog…frustrating me!
You
may be next door or, a million miles away
I
have no clue.
Do I
drown on dry land, or
Keep
my head above ‘water’?
Innate
instincts in sotto voce suggest
Surviving
the savage fog demands
Keeping
my head down and go off-grid
So,
I switch off the TV…
Unsubscribe
from news papers
Answer
phone calls from friends
Agree
to adda anytime, anywhere, anyhow
Stay
safe distance from social media...
Watch
and listen!
Lo
and behold…
Like
Atlas freed of the weight of the firmament.
The
fog dissipates…the noise abates
And
I see again!
I
hear the muezzin at break of dawn
The
sun stretches it warm arms
Tickling
the trees that blush.
Clouds
scurry across the blue
Seemingly
late for an appointment
The
morning breeze brings news of the world
To the
leaves rustling in animated conversation.
To
the accompaniment of birds and squirrels
Gathering
for their morning gossip.
The
neighbour nods a silent hello as he walks past briskly
Against
the soundscape of shrill calls of vendors
Peddling
soppu and thenginkai.
Pressure
cookers whistle the aroma
Of
my neighbours readying breakfast.
When
I realise, I no longer fear losing my mind
I am
seeing the real again.
Never
again do I want to be lost in the fog.
©2020 Ranjan Kamath
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