Summing Up Akhil Sanil

SUMMING UP

Akhil Sanil St. Stephen’s College

You walk in unwelcomed to a city that boasts of a pinkishness, a lie blatant as any other. But then what isn’t a lie? Philosophy runs in circles and on inane whims, veers off on unexpected tangents because of which I focus my attention onto the present, the immediate, the contextual. I am consoled by the prospects and promises that await me, so I move on from the surroundings. I am not troubled because I have distractions, like the wall graffiti of flying carpets and majestic turbans, or the trotting camel with a sway in the hips like that of a belly dancer. But they don’t seem enough, I search for more escapes. The iridescent hues from the hawker’s trinkets or the shine of the pungiwala’s oiled moustache do not seem to help much, and so I take refuge in the banal night. They say that the night is always young and it is never too late to do anything, but remember what I said about lies before. That for one is a truth, a naked one too. Perhaps the only truth, but I’m forced not to linger here longer because I hear my friends approaching after their festivities of the day. I lean back in the chair and surprisingly, am enthused by the moon specked seas on a souvenir drape my friend got for her mother. She asks – Why aren’t you buying any? I smile and avert her attention to my story of the peacock that flew up a tree because I hate questions just as much as I hate answers. I’m reminded of a time of puerile pleasures when it was okay to not know answers as to why the history and politics of the city break people. A time when you didn’t understand the necessity of justice, and more importantly, the hurt of justice denied. Such lessons of adulthood give a sense of purpose that was long elusive, and I’m gratified for the time being. The roof creaks because loud music can be violent, so I move to the terrace in a trance. An estranged solitude beckons me, and in a lofty gamble, I lose my love and logic to the Mohinis of hilltop forts. I’m tired and I salvage one last puff from the dying night, knowing that I have to ash my dreams too soon. Love is strange indeed.