Old bamboo flutes nested cobwebs in them. The new entrants had no space. Dark alleys and a mind full of mist. Chinglenthoiba is in a honeycomb maze. A working bee in the world, around a structured hierarchy. Labelled non-indigenous, an estranged countryman. Many puzzles lay before. Many torments. Dreams of many rewards without a cosmic retribution. He just observed.
The grass thinks, but a bottle of wine sings the song of a tired and silent minstrel. Dried up tea leaves spread themselves in a pool of dirty water. Too cold to get the essence out. But they absorbed, to suffer a humid apocalypse in a world within. In the end it just took the changing hour and the ascent of the ever beaming sun to resettle things. Unreliable instincts led him into unending introspection. Brave souls slept nights in amazement. His was the soul of season, bereaving the times of the world. Every night he slept with despair, but mornings were different, they were full of hope.
He wasn't tired about anything. He only carried the burden of all insensitive men and women. The burden of people who were ignorant. Burden of people who never wanted to understand. Who never wanted to see things for themselves. For him, time ceased to exist. Only the seasons changed. He danced when it rained. Looked at the grass when it swayed in the spring and imagined it’s fate in the summer.
He liked turning into a temporary eternal observer of things, a judge of the world he saw. People come and go. Strong people and weak people. Good ones and the bad ones. A man doesn't live his life out, he only transforms. He only transforms insensitively. From the innocence of the childhood to an untimely perversion. From the first footsteps to rock solid calves. He only transforms into an empowered machine with the strength of insensitivity.
Out to take the world.
In all his senses, ancient echoes were subjected to recurrent subjugation. Unnecessary world of light. Unnecessary stars in the sky of the night. Unnecessary craters on the moon and a little too much heat from the sun. A world characterized by the intimate self! Behold! there might be enough sea shells in the beach, but not a single man to blow the conch!
How humans prophesied religions, defined life styles and traced paths to a journey that everyone must take? Transforming from the innocence of a toddler to the enlightenment of a non-materialistic capitalist. The answers to most of his questions never were. Glimpses of understanding could only exist for seconds in his delirious saga, but there was another morning always in store and a new season when the grass would grow by itself.
