Something of Myself
Thursday, February 21, 2008
I saw a dead man today, on the highway. The man who killed him was no more than 20, wearing a blue jeans and a stain-free white shirt. There was a woman too, accompanying him, wearing a crisp yellow salwar kurta.
The man was dead, on the road. Blood splattered all over. One of his limbs lay a couple of yards away from him.
The image has been flashing in my mind all day long. I have barely been able to do anything. He was a complete stranger, but his death left me sick.
* * *
I read something beautiful today. A testimonial written by a wife for her husband. They got married one year back. She wrote so well...about little things that hardly ever makes a tale. About dozing off while watching FRIENDS. About cooking stuff for him that has no name. About unlearning her concept of love to learn his ways...It was beautiful.
* * *
I kept wondering - on one hand the image of the dying man, and on the other these beautiful words, written only by a person who has felt them inside, at her deepest core.
And then I turned, at the computer...trying to say something...wanting to express a feeling...but I did not. What difference does it really make if death be the end of all life? We can live like we want to...we can be floaters and yet die like him, on the highway, with a severed limb and a pool of blood for company...Can we really do something to 'live' life?
Perhaps we can. If only we feel like the wife of a fortunate man who found her moments of deepest happiness in her every day life. No wonder then that he named a lake after her. :)
The man was dead, on the road. Blood splattered all over. One of his limbs lay a couple of yards away from him.
The image has been flashing in my mind all day long. I have barely been able to do anything. He was a complete stranger, but his death left me sick.
* * *
I read something beautiful today. A testimonial written by a wife for her husband. They got married one year back. She wrote so well...about little things that hardly ever makes a tale. About dozing off while watching FRIENDS. About cooking stuff for him that has no name. About unlearning her concept of love to learn his ways...It was beautiful.
* * *
I kept wondering - on one hand the image of the dying man, and on the other these beautiful words, written only by a person who has felt them inside, at her deepest core.
And then I turned, at the computer...trying to say something...wanting to express a feeling...but I did not. What difference does it really make if death be the end of all life? We can live like we want to...we can be floaters and yet die like him, on the highway, with a severed limb and a pool of blood for company...Can we really do something to 'live' life?
Perhaps we can. If only we feel like the wife of a fortunate man who found her moments of deepest happiness in her every day life. No wonder then that he named a lake after her. :)
