Saturday, September 24, 2016

Days & lives of glory…misery… Woes of oppressed middle class working Indian

The day started yet again in similar way, the alarm rang and I tried to steal a couple of minutes of the morning bliss, after hitting snooze. Gone are those days of feeling the sunshine on our face, enjoying the early morning breeze ruffle through your hair. Now the most worrisome thought is, if the maid will show up late again, shall I prep for breakfast? Somehow the morning one hour escapes with the speed of light. Morning works with an automated schedule, brush your teeth, take shower, and put on cloths and the realization strikes when you are already on road, driving towards work hoping to reach on time. Few moments when your new favorite song is played on radio, you rejoice a few moments of solace before you stand on the war front, yet again.

The 8 hours at work, yes you have read it right, “eight bloody hours” of life everyday, you never get back, doing things of little, somewhat & slightly consequential work. In the day-to-day life, its never the efforts those which are counted, its always the results. In this Krishna’s land of Geeta Saar, we the mortals still worry about results more than what we put in for the results. And the people who achieve results without any diligence or rather work are the new superstars. This is the time you realize how misapprehended Duryodhana’s feelings were; he was an average competitive person, who’s rights were disregarded only because his father was blind and stood second in the race of birth. Anyways back to my wretchedness. The world is unjust, people judge you by appearance, they judge you by your demeanor and if nothing works then by how good things are for you; behind-the-curtain, sweat & blood is never acknowledged.

The world is prejudiced towards both genders, but dare you be a strong woman fighting to stand tall in this man’s world (yes I call it that, and yes I agree with what they show in Pink). People (men & women), the try their best to prehend every opportunity at resplendence you have. Embattling stereotypes is an everyday fight, fought against almost everyone you know. You work to earn money, to lead a comfortable life and earn an identity (not in preferential order for all). We work for & towards these, and in whatever quantity these are achieved are never enough (not for middle class people atleast). You earn enough to plan an international holiday every year but not enough to quit your disappointing job, till something good comes along. There is this set of queer values we are gifted along with the traditional cutlery, as we grow up. These are suggestive of how you should lead your life towards satisfying retirement. This involves everything to do with achieving and overachieving at academics, work, and marriage & beyond; but the sign of satisfaction hasn’t hit my cords yet.

The day with my rants comes to end (not because I am pleased at myself, rather tired of my screed monologue), and the struggle with traffic begins. There are other species of my kind, peering through the glass windows; those fatigued eyes behind driving wheels fight another war to reach the other end of the battleground. All I see by now is bed, the alluring sleep where I dream of satisfaction that comes without stagnation. There are no battles, no hypocrisy, and no forced niceties. You dream to laugh, that axenic, unadulterated laugh, I can’t remember when I laughed so much till it pained to laugh. This is the favorite time of the day, six hours of sheer bliss, where I am just me, till I hit the snooze button again.

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