Friday, January 09, 2009

Guilt Pleasure

Mercury was challenging the lowest limit of the year. I was shivering under the newly constructed flyover with some old memories and a gold flake in my hand. The flyover was my most significant and ambitious construction project till date. Completion of this flyover was had much to do this gold flake. Probably, this was my last fag.

Shadows and desires share at least one very common fact. They spread their wing of dominance in relation to their distance from light and reality. I started smoking, when I was in my second year of under graduation. Gold flake was least expensive and so the first choice of middle class bachelors. My existence without a gold flake was not imaginable those days. I shared my luck ,bad luck, job interviews, sad moments and happiness with that wrap. I associated smoking to my days of struggle and my days of graduating life.


After my graduation, I entered corporate battleground with waves of changes shaping my life style. Everything from my hair style to my shoe laces underwent a phenomenal change. I had separate wallets to carry my plastic money, currency notes and visiting cards. I attired in latest market brands and had my own car. Even, the gold flake found Marlboro as a new substitute.

Smoking and miracles always excited me. However, the idea to quit smoking was more fascinating and having some miraculous exit would have made it a masterstroke. I thought to jot down this script with some gaudy dialogues. However, I decided not to sweep off my old foot prints for showcasing my new pair of shoes and thus decided to tie off old poignant strings with a last puff of gold flake only.

The gold flake thought, like many of my other thoughts was very similar to few strange new relationships, which enter your routine accidentally, then follow you, haunt you, delight you and finally drive your steps. Although absurd, but I often design some reasoning to justify myself from these thoughts.


Memories and thoughts unfold their dimensions, when you are alone. I was sitting alone on a broken bench under the flyover with that probable last puff gold flake. Although, synchronization of events could not have witnessed better moment than that, but my mind was responding only to words of my college physics lecturer. His lessons denied existence of two objects at a same place at same time. For me, thoughts are also objects and today many of them were dwelling inside my mind. I could even sense all the needles of my wrist at the same place which was adding flavours to the mood of romanticism.

Tickers of my wrist watch and my trembling shoes were disturbing the grave silence of that ambience. I was waiting to meet the managing director of my construction company. He promised me to meet after his late-night show to discuss the latest most promising project of the company. Floods of thoughts were reverberating in my brain. I was looking at the ruins of that last gold flake. Suddenly, a car stopped in front of me. It was the managing director. When someone brings a ray of hope to you, your eyes start imagining halo around him. I could sense a similar halo around my managing director also.

He opened the door of car ,came near the bench and offered a cigarette to me. Every big discussion should start with spark and smoke. I hesitated for a moment, looked at the crushed butt of the probable last gold flake, smiled and accepted the new cigarette.


ये "हम लोग" वाले लोग जब inert या blind हो जाते हैं तो स्थिति बहुत डरावनी हो जाती है|

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