There comes a time in everyone's lives when they have a single moment of clarity in which they see very clearly and in great detail every single moment of their life passing in front of their eyes. And then the next moment they are dead. There are also, in addition to these kinds of moments, others too that occur in everyman's lives, only they are not quite so dramatic and final in their manifestation. These are a little less spectacular and definitely a lot less life-threatening. These are those moments that drop by occasionally. This is when the individual upon whom they decide to descend will put aside whatever he may be doing, pull up his favourite rocking chair, fix his favourite drink and light up a cigarette. He will then sit back and with a vacant and forlorn gaze in his eyes stare off into the distance at nothing in particular. In his mind he would call it an extended moment of nostalgia. Others would call it an extended instant of temporary insanity. Whatever.
When we get older, we try and convince ourselves that we also get wiser. We tell ourselves that we need to mellow down, take things easy, be more tolerant and understanding. And then when we have these other "moments" descend on us we permit ourselves a short commercial break from our daily older wiser lives to indulge in nostalgic journeys into the past and bask in the warm feeling that it brings on. And having reveled in it we snap out of it and get back to our dumb dreary older wiser life existence. For that is what older wiser people are supposed to do. Right? BULL.
There is this huge hovering conspiracy occupying the environs surrounding me that is trying very hard to drive me down that lane. They have been trying now for the last decade or so ever since I crossed over into the accepted older-wiser-mellower mad-man phase of life. When they realized that this person (meaning me) was showing no signs of having realized that such a passage had taken place, they tried nudging with little hints at first, and then with less subtler means such as holding up placards, writing on walls, making announcements on TV and finally screaming at the tops of their voices - first individually then in large collective groups. And when they saw that this person (meaning me) was continuing to ignore them despite all their efforts, they went into conspiracy mode. Much strategy happened, much planning happened, much tandoori chicken happened, but to no avail. This person (meaning me) would not give in.
And so it goes on. The conspiracy hangs heavy in the air. This person (meaning me) hangs loose in and around various places on this planet. Its a standoff. And it will continue for sometime. Who will blink first? Who will back off first?
The conspirators, hanging heavy in the air, cannot afford to. For if they do, they fall flat on the ground and end up with egg (or mud if there are no hens around in the neighbourhood) on their face. Not too good for them. And if this person (yeah - meaning me) backs off, he becomes an old, wise, staring-off-into-the-distance-with-stupid-smile-on-face, nostalgia-afflicted nut.
So - standoff. And it will continue. Till the tandoori chicken lays an egg. Till then let floating conspirators stew in their collective strategic sauces while this person meaning me continues his research into investigating the basic interconnectedness of all things.
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