He walked and kept walking all night,
In search for the fabled divine light..
No light shone.. darkness everywhere..
He couldn’t track his path, was lost amidst nowhere..
Yet it was his hope, that made him move on his way…
The darkest night of his life was the first step to his brightest day….
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He walked and kept walking all night,
Johnny knew what he was about to do wasn’t right. His mom would have expected better of him. He knew that “one cant take law in own hands”. Watching many movies had given him a rough idea of that. Yet the thrill was too high. Of being the hero. Of fighting the oppressor. Of being saviour of his family.
For days, for months and probably for years he had suffered. He had seen his family been tortured. Slapped, beaten, insulted and let down. Enough was enough. Ronald’s gun was all that he needed. He had not stolen it from him, just “borrowed” without him knowing. He will return it ofcourse after his mission is completed.
He held the gun in his hand and slowly snuck out of bed. With hushed footsteps he went to the living room. There he sat, the big brawny drunk man. Unkempt hair, unshaved beard, untidy clothes. He was the tyrant of this household. Tonight the tyranny will end. With a racing adrenaline Johnny stepped forward in front of him, pointing the gun at him and pulled the trigger :
“BAM BAM BAM” “BAM BAM BAM” “BAM BAM BAM” !
As little Johnny kept shooting with the toy gun, his father just frowned in a whiskey driven anger. Tonight too little Johnny will be “punished”. And so will be his mom and younger brother and sister.
Vigilante Justice never pays…
Once upon a time in an Indian town
A storyteller wrote the story of a clown
"Vidushak" he named him, spun a tale new
Snippets of the guy’s life… From memories of a life he knew…
"Vidh" (let’s just call him that) was once a boy
Who loved puppets.. always had one as a toy
Played with them.. Enacted tales too
Some imaginary.. Some partially true
In tales he lived and dreamed as well
His tales were his world.. His heaven and his hell
Through tales he captured people’s attention
Made them feel every intense emotion
Soon though the crowd started ignoring him
For though a good puppeteer nobody liked tales grim
He changed his act, became a clown
Decided that his audience will never frown
And so his tales evoked a single emotion now
Laughter he gave to the world, hiding his other emotions somehow
For every tear, every fear, every negative emotion he ever faced
Was his forever.. never shared.. never surfaced
And thus went on a circus life…
Imbibed in which was a random clown’s strife..
He flipped through pages reading an old book again
A tragic tale, he knew, ending with the protagonist in pain
Why re-read the same till the end, he thought
Only the high he got half-way in the tale, that’s all he sought
And so now he left it there, a book half-read
For better leave a good tale incomplete, rather than eventual dread
A tale till the time when things seem in place
When an ending isn’t sought, no need to increase the pace
He stopped flipping pages thereafter, leaving the protagonist at peace
A half-story was successful, and so a tale ceased…
He had his share of lows & highs…
She had her share of highs & lows…
They met and fell in love
Lows got halved by each other’s highs
– Together, they had…some semi-highs…some semi-lows…!!
What if the roles were reversed ? RL Stevenson’s tale has two major protagonists,
1. The Hero – Dr. Jekyll – The good personality ,
2. The Villain – Mr. Hyde – The bad personality.
This classic tale portrays how Dr. Jekyll creates a potion through which his inner negative personality comes out, the Id takes over the Ego and Super-Ego.
Id is portrayed as negative, raw, villainous, angry – someone undesired in the society and tamed by society and culture by the overlaying layers of Ego and Super-Ego.
Id in its raw form is looked upon as an animal – Mr. Hyde.
What if this animal caged within the Ego and Super-Ego, had a different voice, a different story to tell. In the story , Dr. Jekyll writes a letter, discovered upon his death, telling his side of the tale.
In a different take on the same, Mr. Hyde writes his version:
“I was always there, more vocal in our youth, before I got subdued again and again. Who am I? I am Mr. Hyde. I am the Id present in Dr. Jekyll. I always was present in Dr. Jekyll. As a young school student, I was the most vocal I could be. Most expressive. I m the summation of all emotions, in all their extremities ever experienced by Jekyll. I am also the summation of all desires ever felt, all thoughts ever occurred, all happiness, all sadness, all anger, all pleasures, all pain. I was vocal in our childhood when I cried at the slightest pain, I laughed at the slightest humour, I got excited at the slightest pleasure, I got sad at the slightest sorrow. I was expressive and free, like a bird in an open sky. In years that followed, more and more interactions occurred. With family first, then with friends, then acquaintances, then strangers, the society at large. Strangers became acquaintances, acquaintances became friends, and friends became as close as family. Jekyll had a place now, in society, in this vast jungle, he felt he belonged to a herd now, a herd of humans, civilization they called it, a society of culture, a society of rules. In it he felt new emotions, new feelings, new desires… I tried expressing them all, for that was my identity.. but he subdued me. He stopped me from expressing. If i tried to cry when in pain, he held me by my neck and throttled my voice. If I tried to express anger at being wronged, he covered me with a sheet and let me suffocate in a blind room. Even laughter was not spared, I had to measure the sound, the smile, the expression.. everything. This change in behaviour.. this separation of me from myself.. of Hyde from Jekyll.. was something I had never fathomed. I realised that Jekyll feared something. Something from the society. He perhaps feared of being judged at every action of his and therefore suppressed my actions to avoid those judgements. He feared an ouster from the herd, the herd he now belonged to, of civilized adult humans, each having his own sense of society and culture, each wanting to hide his “Id”, his inner self from the other, each having their own fears – Fear of been exploited on one’s weakness, fear of been misjudged, fear of ridicule, fear of abandonment, fear of suppression from an external world. To protect himself, he throttled me. He caged me. In a two layer cage, I remained, able to voice myself at times, but not always. At all times I was judged, by not the society, but by Jekyll, who felt it better to kill his inner self, in order to protect an outer image. When he created that potion, when he dissolved that very cage he had built, I felt free again.. Free to express myself, free to let out all the repressed emotions, feelings and desires that were subdued over the years. But they were just too many. What came out therefore was a far more undiluted expression of self, uncontrollable, un-steered and direction-less. Had I not been subdued over the years, I would have perhaps not been so angry, so much in pain. I am but just a part of Jekyll. Good or Evil, I have no stance. All I know is that I am what the Jekyll felt, what he was, but what he never expressed. Normal / Abnormal – that depends on the definition. When I was caged I was “Normal” but perceived to be Abnormal by the society that Dr. Jekyll was scrutinized to. When I was uncaged, the new man that I was, Mr. Hyde was not Normal by any means in in the society, but I as an independent man, free from my cage, free from Jekyll, and I felt normal at last. Would things been different had Jekyll not made that potion ? Perhaps…
But wouldn’t things been better, had he never caged me in the first place… I just keep wondering that over and over again….
He pondered what to write…
In the middle of the night
A clumsy writer he was
Living a writer’s block – he preferred calling it a pause
Every now and then, he tried to break the same,
Write something new, he tried..but wrote usual rhymes lame
That night too… like all the rest…
He was thoughtless, wordless, still tried rhyming at his best !
Fool…realised too well that he missed that spark now,
Faced an emptiness within, sought something new somehow,
Yet acknowledging the same, meant defeat, and defeated he wont be
Remain caught in random old rhymes, to sense new thoughts…new ideas.. he was never free…
The writer went on a random walk,
Reminiscing past conversations, re-playing some random talk
He tried to settle a recurring thought,
A warm cup of coffee he now sought
To clear his mind and think straight now
Write some new tale… needed new ideas somehow
Writer’s block, this time, was not the same as always,
His old self had left him, seemed two personalities had parted ways
He was not the same, changed over the passing time,
Yet he kept re-writing similar words, penning almost a similar rhyme
He tried to settle unclear thoughts, clear his mind
Start afresh new, not get stuck up to tales left behind
He had changed, so had life, so must his writing now
He tried to reinvent the same, but his words… his thoughts still needed a change somehow.
He wanted to rhyme but had no clue…
The writer, my friend, had words none…thoughts random incoherent few…
Lost in confusion, he tried his best to express
His intentions… his actions.. but with his words he always further failed to impress…
Confusion was the flavour of the season…
Random thoughts in a crowded mind, for no apparent reason…
Like a crowded Mumbai local, all on-board – set for the journey, but fatally at discomfort,
Such were the writer’s thoughts, in his words they reflected, the rhymes that he finally wrote.