Sunday, January 10, 2010

Freedom - It's free

Large wooden louvered doors would lead us out into the corridor and then down the stairs into the landing that has even been mentioned in history. You walk out of that college, grasping a piece of that history between your index finger and thumb - hoping to do something sensible with it.
And yet, we walk out doing exceptionally inconsequential things that alters the course of nothing. For years, we follow a routine of some haphazard kind - meaningless. And yes there is pressure, for at least 10 years of your life, and you can't do anything to curb that. Unless you are born with a silver spoon delicately placed between your teeth, you will be made to feel to guilty for your existence - unless you're using wads of cash to shut people up.
So anyway, like me, you'd have wandered around, hoping to find some people you like and some like-minded people to work with - do something that's driven with passion and sense. And you find the one thing that a hundred others would kill to have.
Once that ends, like me, you'll wander around a bit more - doing things that don't make sense, to anyone and especially, to you. So you choose something that's easier. Find a boyfriend. Romance can keep reality out of your head for a while. Once that romance doesn't work out, you wallow and move on. Everyone moves on. Some move on to better things and some, like me, choose nothing over nothing.
Eventually, about eight years later, you'll be doing something that will definitely make you money (not enough though) but you won't find that 'G" spot - the thing that makes you grin, glad and go.
You'd be told various things because at the end of the day you're earning a living for someone else. You're earning on behalf of a large conglomerate that, trust me, wants to talk about everything important but drives you to believe that only the 'fake' survive. Incidentally, the people who've been used to represented the 'fake' segment are real by themselves. Even with all their silly smiles, they are real people, with real dreams, broken hopes and a real story to tell.
From wanting to be a poet for a newspaper at the age of 10, I've perhaps evolved to a stage where I'd like to write something that makes more sense to you - and to me.
There will be no advertisers to be afraid of because I don't have to pay anyone for this. This is my story - for you. To you. In your name. This story will be different from many others I've written.
From spending time alone on one rain-driven evening to raising toast to a sibling who's tying the knot thousands of miles ago - I want to know it all. I want to know your story.

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