That one miserable crook
who seeks constant validation? That devoured books like a bookworm without even
an inkling of what the storyline was about? But this crook has something to say
towards the end (spoiler alert), want to hear it or not. He chose a world of
books and didn’t know what a world devoid of words would look like. He tried to
find meaning in everything, merging fiction and reality in his own twisted dandyish
way, in a pragmatic world which slowly consumed him. At some point, he totally
lost it, and after a break, again took refuge in his comfy world of books, all
the while not knowing anything better to do with his life, pathetic as it was
already within that one break. He didn’t find a sense of belonging anywhere
that he lived, now is that the dilemma that he doesn’t know the answer to, why
he doesn’t find that sense of belonging anywhere he went? Maybe because he
relied too much upon vague, high-sounding words, or that the words were larger
than could fit into his thick head. Or perhaps, as wiser people have rightly
deduced it from time to time, he was winging it all along like he had done the
most part of his life; that his ignorance was also a pretense that he had
conceived by following his twisted moral compass, as a coping mechanism to turn
his head away from the bitter realities that would otherwise be awaiting him
(basically a lazybones). Note that whenever the topic at hand was politics, he
maintained his ‘saintly’ mum posture. Ha!
Whatever people deduced,
whatever he conceived, these types always have a way of artfully playing the
crook’s role, or of assuming the ‘crook’s throne’ which needs an ‘heir’, in
their own parseltongue-ish way of putting it. These days, if you meet him on an
alley or by the sidetracks and ask what he’s been up to, he replies
nonchalantly, “Whatever I read vanishes from my head.. vellathil varacha vara pole” (like
a line drawn in water). Oh, really? After all this time? Well, you know what, confessions
aren’t bore wells for you to dry up, fool. Admit it, you profited even from
that one single melancholy-tainted ‘quote’ of yours, panditji. Pranaam!
PS: Title -
Just playing with a catchy Walt Whitman quote.
