A memory

(Caricature of a memory so old that it seems only yesterday. Was apprehensive of publishing this as it contains curse words but the encouraging sentiment of introduction to Capitalism and Schizophrenia impelled to let go.)

Sitting on the floor, a plate of samosas, chips and a tetra pack of juice is served. The chief guest gives a speech and the chief server follows him out after it. You have just barely finished eating or drinking when all of a sudden a shout comes from behind - ‘Madarchod’. You think you have heard something mistakenly like sometimes when you have seen the rainbow in the rain but its just a cloudy sky. And in a moment there are all these sounds from every mouth standing - ‘Madarchod, Behenchod, Madarchod’. It starts to rhyme. You think for a moment they are not talking to you but they are, they really are talking to you and to you only. Who else is there who is listening but you and only you. And you start wondering what have you done, you just silently ate what you have been served. What have you done? Perhaps you were not supposed to eat what you were served. Perhaps you are not supposed to eat at all. Perhaps this is what happens to everybody who eats.

I may never know whether the cat is dead or alive but I must answer these perhapses, to understand the full implications of what I have done.

To think that those sitting on the floor whom you think you know will become those dancing wildly around whom you do not know and you wonder what is this magic place, this temple of learning that transform children into wild men in a year. And you set out to find everything about it. Like a spy investigating a crime.

The ten year have gone behind and no one told you when to run and you miss the starting gun. And you run and you run to catch up with the Sun but its sinking.