Many years ago, at 6 AM in the morning, I was extremely sad. It was not something personal. I don't even know what was it. Its hard to explain. It was as if someone really young from a distant land had died for no reason. It was as if the earth forgot all its poems as spring turned up. It was as if someone in the neighbourhood tried and failed to commit suicide for one more time; and only I knew the whole thing. It was as if the sun had purposely hid its face, and the crowds of men were going to turn faceless for a day. It was as if I wanted the world to come crashing down.
I mean, it all sounds very stupid, but it was really that kind of a day. I decided to take a stroll down the road. On my way, I could see multitude of people with an inexplicable sadness evidently visible on their faces. I mean, may be, there are days when everyone is just supposed not to be happy or anything. May be such sadness is embedded in our collective consciousness and it only comes alive when sun decides to hide itself, giving us poor folk, a dystopian novel setting.
I was sitting in the park around 8 AM, waiting for something good to happen: a little ray of sunshine may be. Something that could change what was happening. As a kid, with all your wide-eyed naivety and dormant reason, you are really empathetic. I mean, you just want everyone to be happy and sans souci in the town. Such days would really disturb you as a kid. This is just what children are: compassionate, carefree, willing and wanting to be happy, sensitive.
The day was really bad, but next one, or the one after it, was eventually going to be shiny and lively. People were soon going to be filled with joie de vivre again, after a sporadic bout of unhappiness. As a kid, you are hopeful too. So, I got over the day very soon. I was happy the next day, when everything seemed to fall into a perfect place, with birds singing and no apparent sign of gloom.
Somedays ago, I woke up at 6 AM with no apparent sadness. It was same kind of a day. I looked at the sky with steady stoicism and said to myself: dystopian gloom has prevailed for one more day. I was virtually laughing. For one more day, poor folk in town were going to be sad. May be someone from a distant land had died for no reason again. With a cold sense of apathy, I went back to my room and slept in peace. I was happy and content while going to bed. Do I even miss the childhood vulnerability and that unconditional compassion? I am not really sure. Not after that day. Not anymore.
I remember reading John Betjeman, who wrote: Childhood is measured out by sounds and smells and sights, before the dark hour of reason grows.
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