The Blurred and Vague Image of an Important Man

 

Adults like to shoot a question to children a lot and that is: What would you like to become when you grow up. And children too in their pure ignorance of the ways of the world conjure up an answer only to be forgotten the very next day, or perhaps because they have to give an answer to not appear dumb, blatantly lie: “A doctor! A scientist! (Some billionaire)! (Some insanely famous player)!”

But what they really have in their minds is an image, a blurred one of some important person, well suited up, who most likely has deep pockets, is well respected, deemed intelligent, who at his whim could purchase a car, or get his own place to live. It is only when an existential crisis hits us out of nowhere, as we cross a certain threshold in our age, do we begin to realize, that we indeed have become this person (whatever maybe the official business title) that we once vaguely defined as our goal in our childhood, and that howsoever much privileged a position it is, it doesn’t necessarily provide contentment or happiness.

© The Flowers of Art

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The Rotten Lotus

 

Downtown was bursting with festivities, alit with a multitude of brilliant colours. By the time I returned from my evening walk, the sky was a shade of purple I hadn’t seen before. I passed by restaurants and bars and people on the street, like a ghost invisible to all. I saw through the windows people having awkward conversations with their dates, youngsters drinking and teasing each other with bawdy jokes, old couples walking hand in hand silently, and what a sight it was! For a brief moment I thought I witnessed utopia.

But then around the corner, I saw a poor man, shivering, lying on the footpath, an old man playing the guitar in the freezing cold and a madman lifting finger toward the heavens cursing God. And all of a sudden, a desire to drink the poison of sadness of the entire world came over me; to take upon myself, the burden of strangers, friends and foes alike. But when has ever a single man saved the world from its misery? I felt Kafka tap on my shoulder and smile, it was enough for me to know that he understood me.

© The Flowers of Art