Saturday, September 18, 2010

Getting Lost

I've always thought of getting lost into some nice little countryside town of Enid Blyton or into Malgudi.

In vain.

Getting lost...maybe isn't so easy. I haven't tried it yet, but have thought of it...a n number of times. The first time- as I remember,was the evening that preceded my English quarterly examination in seventh standard. Having prepared unusually nothing for the two and a half hour battle I was supposed to face the next day and being unable to figure out a modus operandi out of that...I did want to get lost! Not anywhere. No destination. All I wanted was...to get lost somewhere..the right word is..to disappear!...somewhere into the thin air....

I was wondering why I thought so....Years later, now it seeems like only our powerlessness in front of time. Time...is life. ...if...You really really hate the way the play is going on...and you can't damn stop or change it.........
....there are two ways...either you keep mum and let the play take you on its stride...or...just run away from the theatre.....!

Myself....category two.

But all that stopped at the 'desire' level. I never was able to actually disappear from circumstances that I didn't want to face...But you see,..people, especially elder ones, ask you to face. "Face it man...one life!"-even I think so sometimes....but don't know why, naturlaly my brain really pleads to me to run away from the theatre. How's that possible? Death?! No. That's not the word...the word is disappear. It's like "get lost if you don't like it...you're not here from now" kinda thing.
After travelling thro' all these lines as I did over life, the fact still remains as stone as earlier : Getting lost the way I say, is not possible.

Yet,
I 've always thought of getting lost into some nice little countryside town of Enid Blyton or into Malgudi.
In vain.

This is when I remember the old man of Big Fish. I happened to see the movie weeks back..but the impact lingers in my mind. He always spun yarns about his life, to everybody..even his son comes under everybody. The son is fed up with dad because dad never lets him to know the real dad and his real life.


Whatever he says about his life aren't completely false...neither are they completely true. But the old man still loves to say things in his own dramatic way. There's this circus owner whom he makes a werewolf in his story.....To him these are no myth...to him the circus owner was a werewolf. Whatever he says about his childhood, youth, the way he married his love...everything....he never says them without his imagination playing around in the story. His whole life....the entire piece of it...is mixed with what others call falsehood...lies...

Let others call it whatever. To me, the old man was getting lost in his stories. They added spice to his life. They made his life more appealing and beautiful for himself to think over. This is the way i wanted to get lost into some nice little countryside town of Enid Blyton or into Malgudi. Maybe it looks like not feasible for anyone to get lost like that...but it is.. I have. Lies are imaginations that are more beautiful than any other commodity in the world, until they're misused. We talk of nuclear power...same case...

If you really really hate the way the play is going on...and you can't damn stop or change it.........
....there are three ways...either you keep mum and let the play take you on its stride...or...just run away from the theatre.....or....live your own play, no matter what the co-actors think of you.......

Myself.....category three....

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