The restless earth laments…

[In a parallel universe of course...]

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