These days

I prefer nights, more than days, and thus I often end up stretching my waking hours beyond what I'd call sensible or sustainable. Lack of routine is the routine beyond ones imposed by breadly-butterly considerations. I often chastise myself and take a vow to make amends but for some things, I am incorrigible. Sometimes I recall the 'lord of flies' - the microcosm of the world woven on the island, all the instincts of the so-called innocents running riot. There is a religious subtext of the saner one watching us, there is re-assurance, there is a license to run riot. That is for people who want to see that subtext. However, people on the other side might ask why the almighty wait for does so long. Is he preparing us to learn to live without him? In a famous story by Tolstoy, it took a lifetime of a poor farmer in Siberia for god to see the truth-or rather reveal it, that the farmer was wronged. Why do I mention god? Maybe because it gives me for-or-against situation, be deviant and repent, say no sin is done and rebel. It gives me a second player for the game I am pining to play... I want to rage, I want to fall in love. I want to be passionate. It is the kid rooting for some fun-gay or macabre, the color matters little. There is one god I can believe in, there only one world I can live in, There is just one little piece of glass to be had. I need fire for cold, and I need fire for my rituals, my bonfire around which I could wrap up my little world. I want to save the piggy. I need to judge which on of 'them is right... and ofcourse i need to forgive the kids for their innocence. Innocence of a kid is endearing as much as it is scary. You do not know where you will be led. Which one of the bonfires you'd choose? Nights make me recollect my old I-Spy games, being woken up for a surprise gift I wanted badly. I sometimes remember standing waist deep in river Ganga and praying, saying words that didn't mean a thing a moment ago, words that won't mean anything like the supposed meaning ever after. Or some night in the sea when I felt I had done my days' work and I could rest until the dawn comes. Of course, the inevitable adult comes and shows you the stupidity of the exercise. What do you feel then? Anger? Disappointment? Guilt? Or relief that you've found and excuse to get down from the tiger (or horse, donkey etc) you were riding. Or sometimes the adult(s) doesn't come. I like nights and I like stories that end well... So dear friends, in all my stories, the adult always comes at the end...