Thought Detonation #2 - Oxing We

It’s Sunday morning and I am up at 5. Nothing describes a Sunday morning at my place more explicit that the chaotic Sunday market. I tottered my way to the balcony, still half asleep, to see a few men landing wooden tables like every Sunday. These tables are used by the folks who set up their shops in the evening. Everything was as a usual Sunday morning. There was minimal traffic, just a few men, a couple of trailers and a bullock cart. This bullock cart was all rickety and in a just-about-to-fall-apart state. But this was about to Detonate a thought in my mind, which makes it special, utmost special in fact.

The ox pulling the cart was old and weak. With ribs embraced and negligible flesh. Seems recent inflation had an effect on its green diet. The bar of the cart went deep into back of its neck which had multiple wounds and bled. It tilted on one side as it pulled the cart to center its gravity, its legs slipped many-a-times on the uneven road, it had dry cud in its mouth and wet eyes. The owner of the cart stood on the loaded cart kicking tables down at regular intervals. He was fine with his job.

I have been seeing this very bullock cart every Sunday morning since last five years or so. But today it was different. I was still half asleep and hence in my most “thought-vulnerable” state. These are times when I start feeling pity on creatures like the Ox in front of me. It was ill. I had never seen it weaker than this before. Moreover it had water in the eyes. Was it nearing its end? Will I see it next Sunday morning? And if I do, then would it be at his better health? I was somehow feeling terribly bad for the animal.

His master, I feel, was too busy to see his pain. It is the way it is. When you yourself are in the filth, you don’t see any. Only an “outsider” can actually “see” you in filth. The ox was slowing down. Like it was just about to fall and break apart. And the whole loaded cart would just topple over him. I was provoked to shout; I was just about to wave my hand at its master when he took is whip and served the ox hard. He ruthlessly whipped the ox and poked it with the sharp rear of his whip. The ox was constrained to continue. It was in pain, but had to continue. Not because he was on “his” journey or because he liked roaming about the area every Sunday morning, but because his master whipped him to do so. It actually deserved better. Maybe in some grassland faraway. With its own territory. Where it would have been free, and not whipped. There would have been green fodder. And most importantly no ‘whipped-labour’. Why did it settle for less?

We all settle for less. We all undergo whipped labour. We do what we do, not because we want to, but because we are whipped to do so. We all are pulling that rickety cart which is in just-about-to-fall-apart state with wet eyes and multiple wounds. We don’t want to feel the burden anymore. We want to quit. Could we just be at some place, under the sun, at peace, in harmony with our inner self, where our thoughts assailed freely and we were not afraid of thinking, we do not grow pale when we think of a mutiny. We elevate our thoughts with all this and flush the disgust. Then suddenly a whip lands. And we continue to do what we what we do, not because we want to, but because we are whipped to do so.

We all are pulling that rickety cart which is in just-about-to-fall-apart state with wet eyes and multiple wounds.

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Thought Detonation #1 - The Red Cosco Ball

 It was a clean up day at my place today. Everything went upside down and inside out. Cleaning the store room was my responsibility. The store room was my favorite place when I was a kid. Thought it had been a couple of years since I had not been there. Not even to look for something. It seems like this portion of our house was just absent for me. Being hell of an observer, I was amazed to see a few 50 paise coins beneath the trunks. I wonder who put it there. Was it 8 year old me who accidently slipped them under while playing with them ? Or did I put them there then to smile 10 years later when I find them ? This was giving me a blur imagery of the days of my childhood. I am 18 now.The imagery was gradually drifting me into memories. Memories of an 8 year old kid. Who was bubbly. round, plump and talkative. Unlike the 18 year old me.

Moving around the trunks and after making room, I pulled an almirah from the wall. Something went down with a thud and made me check the almirah for damages. It was a dusty brown color ball. All in dust and toughened like the almirah wood. I picked up the ball and spun it hard with my right hand like I always use to. The view of catching it after its flight suddenly fitted in an another frame in mind. It was the 8 year old me spinning the ball with his right hand and collecting it in his left. The *Thought* *Detonated* at this moment.

It was my red cosco ball. It was worth 25 bucks and I had bought it from the Friend's Corner in the next street nearly 10 years ago. The blur image was vivid now. That day I had managed 10 bucks from my mother, and 15 from my savings, to buy a red cosco ball. It was a secret buy as I was allowed to play only with the softer wind balls. Seems like the kid had started his attempts to show the world that he was tough. He could play with the red cosco ball while you thought he deserved softer one.

It was my first day with my first red cosco ball ever. Accompanied with Rahul, Manish and Ashish I started our "World Cup" like everyday. But that day it was with a red cosco ball. Happiness, Devine Joy & Nirvana. The winner was to get an eclairs(of 50 paise - exactly the same amount I found beneath those trunks). Manish was on the bat while I took to bowl. It was my first throw, with my first ever red coso ball, and Manish smashed it hard. Ofcourse it was a by-luck shot. No one can hit me that hard. I am the best, The best 8 year old bowler. The ball flew straigt into my store room on the second floor after bombarding the glass window. All of us ran to our respective houses scared of our respective mothers and the next moment I was in the store room. I looked for my red cosco ball for hours and later declared it lost. It was sorrow, Hellish gloom and weezyness. I flung a few 50 paise coins in disgust and left the store room. There was no red colour cosco ball, no match, no winner & no echlairs.

I have found the red cosco ball now, after 10 years. I know why the 50 paise coins were beneath the trunks. Still there is no joy, no devine happiness, no nirvana. Just the 18 year old me standing still while holding the ball.
There is no Red Cosco Ball now and No Childhood. Its all a dusty store all around with wooden furniture - stiff and inanimate.

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