It’s a Sunday afternoon. It’s cloudy. Sitting here on my terrace peacefully, as I close my eyes, I get a vision…
I’m climbing a cliff. Cliff? Or mountain is it? I can’t see the top. The slope is pretty stiff.
I have the climbing rope tied around all around me. I’m wearing helmet and all other protective gear too. I’m sweating profusely, making industrious efforts to climb the cliff.
I stop for a while and see around myself. There are hundred, thousands, billions of similar cliffs around- Visible as far as I can see. Each cliff has a man trying to climb it- only one man. Each climber is wrapped with climbing ropes like I am. No man can see the top of his cliff. Some people do believe that they can see the top of their cliff but that’s an illusion. The top of any cliff is too high for its climber to notice.
Every person is at a different height on his cliff and everyone is climbing at a different pace.
Some are trying hard, too hard and climbing at a fervent pace.
There are a few people who are trying hard but are unable to climb at a desired pace.
Some people there, simply hanging with the support of rope. They are not trying to climb. They are battered and bruised. Clothes torn at places. Injury marks on body. Seems they too have tried too hard in past. But now they have had enough of it. They seem to opine this cliff does not have an end and hence have abandoned the attempts to climb.
“Does this climb really not have an end? Just because I can’t see it, it doesn’t mean this cliff doesn’t have an end. I will reach the top some day. Some day for sure…” I think.
I look at the people who are really high on their cliffs. The highest people I can look at. They seem super human to have reached there. I think of reaching at the top of the cliff. I start with a new zeal, new enthusiasm. I climb one rock.
Carefully, I firm my foot on another rock, ensure my grip and then as I leave my weight on it, it breaks. I hang from my rope. I look around. No one notices me hanging from my rope- they are all deeply occupied in climbing. “Oh hell, he is getting ahead of me… get up man, you don’t have the luxury of relaxing” I say to myself. Hurriedly, I reposition myself and climb two-three rocks. I feel sweat on my face. Why does the sweat feel thick? Why is it warm? I try to mop the sweat on my face with my finger and then look at my finger- “oh god!! This is red!!”
The vision blurs… the scene changes…
I am alone… this place is very quiet. Not even a single living being can be seen as far as the eyes can see. This is a desert. Only sand can be seen till far off.
I sit on a sand dome. My hips resting on the sand on the top of the dome and legs folded such that feet rest on sand in front and knees are in front of my face. I pick up some sand in my fist and bring the fist to the level of my eyes.
I try holding sand in my fist but it starts falling out. I try desperately to hold it back but with each grain of sand falling out, the speed of falling sand only increases. I want control the fall of the sand. But it seems to have a mind of its own. I’m desperate. I’m restless.
As my fist is about to get empty, wind blows- strong wind. There is sand everywhere and the vision blurs again…
Note: These visions are my metaphorical take on life, as I see it. The mad rush to get god knows what and our desperate and vain to govern the flow of our own lives.