Vagrant Meander

The house is in shambles; the fire long gone. The deserted large rooms; the ghostly omnipresent mist. A ghastly pale figure; stirs in broken chair; removes the tattered curtains; cranes his neck outside; To become the void that envelops it. A tiny WHITE LIGHT; flickering beyond the haggard mess; calls out for it. Hands fumble for matchbox. No need for it!!! The chandeliers are burning; glasses clink. Hoots of joyous outburst, the house burns. To match the blinding WHITE LIGHT. Strangers pass by gaping at the The ache, the passion, the alluring images. The house is the white light pitched against the void and winning. The white light disappears; The house grows cold. The walls crumble; the furniture rots. Pray WHITE LIGHT!! come back.

Running through the desert, the vision blurs, the lips parch. But I run, towards the Pole Star, always distant in the infinite. I run for it, I hurt myself. But it remains faraway bruised, aloof, shining like the dark horse.

“A patriot must always be ready to defend his country against his government.” -Edward Abbey I have seen ‘Baba’ Ramdev only on televisions and newspapers flocked by numerous followers devouring on the mumbo-jumbo and trying weird ‘asans’. My eyes always catch a fleeting glance of him whenever I come across the channel which airs his yoga sessions while flicking through the whole paraphernalia of entertainment the cable TV provides. I have heard that he has amassed a lot of wealth; now he even owns an island!   I don’t practice yoga. I work for an MNC leading a quite sedentary lifestyle with a healthy appetite of alcohol every weekend and junk food almost every day. The problem is I am in habit of reading newspapers. With eye-popping scams hitting the headlines at such humongous pace; I shift uncomfortably in my chair while going through the numbers. F***, with people becoming billionaires at such speed; how can I be happy with my double figure salary. Where is my ...