A Wannabe’s experience with the Jukeboxes....

He wandered alone in the party, with a drink in his hand. Smiling in return to anyone kidding around, sympathizing with the waiter, the sound of the churning and the water entering the glass, the order shrieks, the toilet’s flush, the sizzler’s sizzle, chuckle of a kid, the unintelligent circles of smoke of a cigar, the dim lights, the gloating music, the periodical laughter and his mind at the receiving end. Seems so awkward to be left alone in a group, where you have a constant fear of people noticing your masked expressions, and you noticing there’s. He mirrored the happy faces back to the people meeting him. Wolves under lamb skins, pretence filled under there eyes, so reclusive amongst friends, they were like walking photo frames, with smile painted on there faces, they looked like windows in a wall, but when he looked them closely, he realized that they were mere murals. There every move, every expression, was engaged by an ulterior motive, geared together with a psychological wheel that moved in the opposite direction. They were famous though, there faces today looked so similar to there photo-shoot yesterday, with layers of layers of faces carved on there actual face completely transforming there natural beauty to some shiny gloss, burdening themselves with ornaments, round there neck, there wrists, there ears, virtually everywhere, and with clothes, well they weren’t clothes according to the definition, but they looked like some shredded cabbage tied together with threads by a tailor who had to make haste. They were like walking jukeboxes, the more money people showed, the better the music they played towards them. He thought he knew the people standing in the party. But he was wrong. After watching the senile bodies and the decrepit minds, he wondered that its not there fault they have transformed, its there position that makes them lose there mind. Every single one of them has bent under the load of there achievements. Our brains are incapable of absorbing this much glory, this much praise, this much devotion, this much respect, it makes us insane, it makes us lose the difference between what’s real and what’s not, it spoils our logic and sensibility. And I am going to be them one day. ……….

His head swarmed with the momentum of his thoughts, he felt dizzy. He had drunk quite a lot until now, his thoughts took shapes and he started hallucinating. “Come, join us”, he heard from his back. He saw a woman offering a handshake with one hand and having a knife in the other. He ran from her, into a sea of crowd, all pointing there fingers at him and saying in unison,”Come, join us, that’s what you desire don’t you…. come, join us”.

He ran away and sat down on a chair with his head bent down, looking at his shoes below. The weather wasn’t cool that day, he still was shivering. He breathed strangely, as if gulping small traces of air from vacuum. “I am going to be them one day”, echoed in his mind. He could not bear the force of his thoughts, the glass slipped from his hands, his eyes dimmed, his neck turned and he passed out eventually.

1 comment:

Mohit Rodeja said...

god of small things indeed ;)