The Time Of The End Light

Note - This blog is a snippet from my daily journals.

Well, allow me to start from where I had ended last day – “Accept the Truth”; and the truth is that - I am terribly falling apart from my daily goals. Nothing new is happening, this is like - life has come to a halt. I am living in a world of imagination, completely unaware of my misery and the truth of my defeats, but as I switch to reality - a feeling of extreme guilt, sorrow and anger take over my head. This feeling is further intensifying my pathetic state making me feel even more miserable, eventually resulted in providing me a reason to switch back from reality to the world of imagination again. This is like the case with SCR: we can turn it ON with a gate voltage but to turn it off we have to apply a reverse blocking voltage otherwise it will continue to conduct no matter how much gate voltage you apply to it. Man, am I writing this here, Why. This is all because of this disgusting feeling of guilt. I am feeling the same again. Calm down, close your eyes, take a long deep breathe, sit back and relax your whole body, is what I am saying to me right now. As I opened my eyes after a while, what I saw first is a wrapper of toffee - red colored with yellowish boundaries. It is half-opened or say half-closed, and empty in fact. I guess someone has eaten the toffee from inside it very neatly just like I used to eat when I was a child. I still remember how I used to collect those toffee wrappers. Back then I was so innocent. In fact, childhood is an age of such innocence that most things you do was nothing but a mere coincidence of interest and attraction, not of some purpose.

In front of me, in the yard of my house is a Peepal tree – vast, all green, old and rigid. There are as many as 6 kites hanging all around it’s branches, all from neighborhood’s house. One of it’s branch shaped like J another like the web of a spider, but most of them are rigid and straight often bent downwards rather than upward, it is so old to bear the weight of his branches. I am watching this tree ever since I was born. I have so many memories associated with that tree: some sweet, some pretty while other not so memorable, I remember no bad memory, in fact. I remember all those summer vacations I had spent under it, killing ants, making bows and arrows, and doing all such works. For long, we are using the tree to tie animals. My Grandfather used to tell me this same story of how this tree had come to existence, although of all the miseries it faced in its path - it continued to grow large, rigid, and strong. It sprouted out from an old torn wall, my Grandfather tried to knock it out but it continued to thrive and so it is thriving now. This is a battle of survival that he won, my Grandfather said. I don’t know why, but ever since then I started to picturizing the tree as an immortal warrior. Once, I had asked my Grandfather about tree’s age; he answered that the tree is 5-6 years younger than me, this means that the present age of the tree is around 74-75 years. It is almost 7 and half decade of such fighting and survival. Sometimes, I think about the quantity of oxygen he has provided us or how many lives in these years he had supported by letting them utilize its branches, leaves, hollow spots and everything. I remember how insects, mostly ants, used to borrow deep holes in its roots, or bees used to place their hives on top of it. He never denied anyone. Right now, he is becoming an attractive habitat for parrots - they used to come here every winter for breeding. Their beaks red, rounded and sharp at edges; their eyes although small, but beautiful as hell. Their long tailed greenish feathers, their quick cautious moments, nothing in the world is like that. I remember a drawing I had drawn years back in my late childhood - two parrots sitting opposite to each other on two different branches; I think, I used to love these pretty creatures then, but not now. Now they are just like any other creature to me who born and die one day. I wonder - why I am so cold now, while that soft back then; which one is better, I guess the latter one.

Now, the time is 6:10 or 6:15, I don’t know exactly; I have no watch or phone, what I have is just a notebook and that old blue pen which I am holding right now, some old memories, and this sorrow feeling. There are some clouds in the sky - golden-red in color, one shaped like funnel spiraled like a tornado, two of them run parallel to each other like railroads although they have no sleepers. Way far in east I can see a long strip of cloud shaped like ‘J’. All the golden-red color is steadily settling around the horizon just where the sun sets in the west, it appears like the flame of dying candle. Flame of the candle is a source of great fascination to me so do the Sun. I remember those old childhood days - when I used to pass my fingers through the flame of candle. I used to did it again and again, slowing my finger with each pass, watching how my fingers used to cut the flame. I remember I had hurt one of my fingers in experimenting how slow I could pass my finger without burning. Of course, it is a dangerous work, but what is even more dangerous is the moment when you are doing so and your mother catches you right at the spot, I admit nothing could be as dangerous as that.

Now, it is almost dark and it’s very hard to write more, I could barely see what I am writing right now. I can see the C- shaped moon above the same Peepal tree, although part of it is been faded by the clouds which are no longer golden-red in color but foggy white. Right now, I am not feeling as such distressed as I was feeling in the starting, instead I am feeling rejoiced. Right now, I want a match and a candle - I want to pass my fingers through the flame. I even want to jump over the fire, they used to lit during winter to warm them. Is it weird? I guess….