‘Living under someone’s shadow kills your identity, but in darkness do we see any shadow...’
Ayangti Longkumer
I am told, reality is stranger than fiction, reality inspires fiction. My optimism is, I hope you all know how to read a text.
In the land where there was water but the salinity of the water brought no fancy to the people. The stale food, parched ground and the smell of the rodents did not shake the gratitude they had to their lives, was the time when the demons were humans, yet, Moloch was not their god. Time does not change anything, it is the circumstances which time brings that change things. The demons got a glimpse of what the Heaven was, they started comparing and the comparison brought about jealousy, hatred and an instinct of insecurity in them. Opinions took a great turn from the fortress of what was known as the alibi of the fools, failure was accompanied by excuse which could never be solved. The day to day problems were under the façade of philosophical thinking and the jargons of unfruitful nature were formed as the theory erratic for ages.
A man fell into the truth of loneliness to measure the depth of lust.
Then there was this man who knew he was a demon in disguise, lived all his life-dying and lying. Weak, no hairs, thin and dark-the oxygen pipe and all those wires were hanging like the webs waiting for the Spiderman to apologize for leaving them behind. Average, not that great looking, underdog type, he was those kind of men who never got the heroine in the movie. Anyway, with the wisdom he gained by spending time in the cages of solitude, he wrote in the slate visible to the ones who search the onerous models in the lazy mundane world. The ideas he had were uncanny for his peers, nevertheless, he hold it till the end. With the greenest of juice in his glass, he could say,
‘An idealist is one who hopes for the day when there will be 99% discount on a designer bag. A naive is someone who believes that politicians are elected by people, that the nexus of politicians and businessmen holding meetings in soundproof doors is a myth. An idiot is someone you see politicians and business men holidaying in a secluded island discussing about money and politics. He envies and cruses them but when a random bullet is about to hit one of the men, he dies saving the lucky one.’
He closed his eyes, but sleep did not embrace him. He waited for his friend who was suffering from Spondylitis and hand cramps (due to immense bowing down and handshakes, election was pretty near) to give him company.
