Thursday, January 26, 2012

When tragedy meets indifference


The day the young boy put an end to his life, she was the only audience. It happened when she was busy collecting sea-shells. Not the typical romantic setting you have in mind though. Yes, it was a perfect day for a stroll on the sea-side. Friendly sun rays warmed the sea and sand, and kindly allowed a few cool breezes through. The water was that turquoise blue you only see in touristic posters. The few footprints that had disturbed the smoothness of the picture were wiped away with one gentle wave. Actually, given her reclusive inclining, it might just have been that nature, on her arrival, had tipped all the elements involved to be extra good to her that day. But she wasn't there to look at any of that. She needed sea-shells, and once she had what she needed, she'd be done and out of there. 

A feeble attempt at mechanizing an un-mechanizable life. And when she saw the warning signs, the boy's dysfunctional limbs, his determined plunge, his helpless screams, nothing in the mental manual she scanned told her how to deal with this unusual interruption. So she went on collecting sea-shells, giving each one a quick examination for any faults before deciding if it's a keeper. She did this while she watched his death from the corner of her eye. 

But two out-of-the-ordinary thoughts popped in her mind while she did, before she waved them away:
1. What was the last thing he told anybody, and
2. Who will be her audience? 

Tuesday, January 24, 2012

IF (What it takes to tackle this world)

by Rudyard Kipling 

IF you can keep your head when all about you 
Are losing theirs and blaming it on you, 
If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, 
But make allowance for their doubting too; 

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, 
Or being lied about, don't deal in lies, 
Or being hated, don't give way to hating, 
And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise: 

If you can dream - and not make dreams your master; 
If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim; 
If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster 
And treat those two impostors just the same; 

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken 
Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, 
Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, 
And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools: 

If you can make one heap of all your winnings 
And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, 
And lose, and start again at your beginnings 
And never breathe a word about your loss; 

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew 
To serve your turn long after they are gone, 
And so hold on when there is nothing in you 
Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!' 

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, 
' Or walk with Kings - nor lose the common touch, 
if neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, 
If all men count with you, but none too much; 

If you can fill the unforgiving minute 
With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, 
Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, 
And - which is more - you'll be a Man, my son!

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