I am not the earth. I am just a tiny piece of it. Minuscule, all things considered. I reside in Borella. That’s prime land. Except that my address is ‘Plot &(#*@&’, Kanatte, Borella. Miniscule, yes, but morbid too, you would agree.
They say this place is infested with ghosts. I wouldn’t know. I’ve seen so many ghost-like people in my
time that if I saw a person-like ghost I wouldn’t know what’s what, if you know
what I mean. I’ve seen lonely
people-ghosts here. I remember, for
instance, a young man kneeling down near the grave of a girl whose mortal
remains had been interred not too long before. He had a beautiful although
forlorn voice. I still remember the
words, still.
‘I’ve seen fire and
I’ve seen rain, seen sunny days I thought would never end; I’ve seen lonely
times when I could not find a friend, but I always thought that I’d see you
again.’
I see people. A lot of them.
Some more than others. There are people who I would call compulsive
funeral-goers. It’s almost as if they
are scared that they might drop dead the next day and no one would grieve over
their passing, no one would attend the funeral.
I’ve seen this particular face before and it was not the face of a
compulsive funeral-goer. I can tell. He
didn’t seem too perturbed about the inevitable. Indeed he had the demeanor of
someone who is convinced of his immortality.
There are people like that. He
was one. I didn’t think I’d see him
again. Yes, that’s what made me remember
the song, the voice and related sorrows.
The last time, he just passed by. Now he’s here. Right here.
On top of me, inside me and even under me, if everything goes according
to his plan. I didn’t think I’d see
Mervin again, but here he is in full force, media and all, tears and all.
It’s a first alright.
People dig their own graves but that’s in Metaphor Land. The man has ingenuity, that much must be
conceded. Why me, though? It’s a big enough property after all. What have I done to deserve this? We have very little to look forward to, you
know? Not all of us get a Jothipala,
this we know; after all Jothi was one of a kind. There are lesser mortals and they die all the
time. There’s enough good people who die
all the time, so we can be pardoned for dreaming that their near and dear would
pick us as FRP (Final Resting Place) of the Dear Departed.
It’s a lottery of course.
The bad ones also die and their remains too need internment. Even the most decent families, they say,
have a black sheep. We know this. The most fertile properties have spots where
even a blade of grass will not grow. So
someone was going to get Mervin someday. There’s no way around it.
This is my karma I
suppose. But then again, if that’s my
lot, why on earth should anyone make a song and dance about it? Can’t we just have ‘dead and buried’ and be
done with it? It’s adding insult to
injury when one ‘gets’ Mervin and Mervin gets to drive the fact home, so to
say. Unfair, unfair, unfair!
Can’t I get a stay order considering the long, long, long
residence that I will have to put up with eventually? Can’t someone stop the
man haunting me day and night even before he’s pronounced dead?
This is a grave matter, folks. I know one thing. I will not rest in peace. Ever.
msenevira@gmail.com
1 comments:
The 'restless earth' has seen and absorbed much worse since the beginning of time. I dont think one more 'doubtful' grave will make much difference!
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