Hot Sun, Car & a Dog
I was in the car, waiting for my friend to come back after dropping off some letters. It was right after lunch, so I was stuffed on mini sausages, rice and suffocating in the glare of the winter sun. In my discomfort, I noticed a stray dog, trying to find a spot to nap in the afternoon sun. It went off to sleep on the pavement, its face blissful and content. Inside the car, I envied that moment of bliss of the dog’s face; with no care in the world besides its next meal and cranny to cozy up at night- at least, not before hunger or fatigue. In the wake of my present discomfort, I wished I had that peace and ‘coolness’.
Then of course, the glass shatters. A man walks by, accidentally kicking the dog, and jolts it back from where sleeping dogs lie. I wonder how violated it must have felt…. or are they so domesticated that they assume it’s just a dog’s life? The dog looked lost (maybe a little sad) and gazes after the chap and eventually goes back to lying in the hot sun.
Yet, my friend doesn’t come back. I am hot, I am dry and I am impatient. I call her a couple of times on her phone; to get her out of what she is doing and remind her I am waiting.
As I wait for her to shatter the discomfort I am in- I think of all the shatterings that happen to everybody, every moment and all the time. The dog’s bliss got shattered, somebody’s dreams got shattered, his life, her tuition…its never ending. But then, its all subjective. Right now, the intervention I have in mind is the good kind. And good interventions are not necessarily called shattering experiences. Its greeted with warm smiles, burst of elations, and gratefulness.
But, what is shattering as if nothing belongs? Nothing seems to belong anyway, when everything is so subjective to every individual. As a race and as people, we are crouching on each other, squeezing the space, tormenting energy and felling opinions as we go. Our worlds have begun to collide and rub against each other, confusing boundaries and creating chaos; there is no system in our movements or our lifestyle. Our wakefulness has been replaced; our dreams have been replaced, by what? What is instinct if it is cultivated?
Across my frown, I see my friend, apologetic and walking purposely towards the car, and I sigh in relief. Just there, our wishes had rubbed against each other- her job and my momentary anguish. Yet, we let on as if its perfectly fine to encroach.