The idiocy of installing a massive chunk of iron in the womb of the earth finally makes sense- Irony, thou art the all-encompassing life force of the very life on earth!
We take a kind of unexplained pleasure at perverting all Wordsworthian Pantheistic philosophies, and every form of Hermeutic doctrines by needlessly kicking stones out of our way, or tearing off a rose-bud for the sake of a sharp sadistic snap! For ofcourse! Inanimate objects are supposed to be just that- inanimate to all pain and shame! (look how didactic i sound..and im loving it!)
but tell you what, the story goes another way...the sharp jab of the iron dagger again!
I went to Mani Square a few days back (obviously lolling my tongue after the sudden anachronistic windfall- all food at 21 bucks! Utopia is here!)
anyway, having managed to bag a seat, (which, mind you, required more than simply staring hard and salivating equally hard at the table of some poor munching souls) i had more than a hefty 35 minutes to spend by myself, (on myself, if i may lavish such luxuries on so spoiled a being) coz my table-partner had gone in quest of the Holy Wittles.
so, there i am, studying my nails, palms, the hair follicles erupting on the back of my hand, when, there is a sudden "ouch!" right beside me, and there is a poor lady, all tripped and messy on the floor, her hair all matted with sweat and grime, her two-and-twenty teeth rolling out like gleeful marbles all over the place, her towering pink nails following suit, her nose a blasted bridge...(and since i couldn't have exaggerated more, let us proceed with the main story.)
the object instrumental for her fall, was a wooden (or was it brick? can't really tell with these modern architectural devices) tile that had come loose on the slightly elevated floor of the place, and this, dear friends, was what kept me engaged fro the rest of my time- thanks to Thee again!
what followed then, was quite a psychological study, being compounded no doubt, with doses of sociology...and trust me, it was a study conducted in 100%% consciousness (coz, hungry mice had not yet begun their march.)
so this what i recorded-
there were in all, roughly, three categories of human behaviour with respect to the abominable tile-
1> thoses who could be called the Humanitarians- these folks made it a point to fix the tile back in its place everytime the human being preceeding them upset the order. the cause- obviously, avoidance of accidents. however, deep within these souls, might be a repressed Freudian desire for fame and accolades, the moment of glory when people would rise on their feet and award these bravehearts for thier commendeble duty towards all mankind. Pats of "Bravo!" is what they live for, day in and day out. and, to stretch this psychological study further and enmesh it with with the tenets of social behaviour, one might point out, that the nature of the desired reward for this category of people might be largely, capitalistic- a free hotdog or a hamburger is my bet.
2> the second category would be the Passive Conscience-striken- these are the ones, who would trip, upset the order of the tile, do nothing about it, and yet keep looking back at their sin with abhorence and guilt of such hilarious magnitude, that not a single morsel of food would go down their food-pipe. in fact, this single act would be the death for them. their dreams would be riddled with cannine-barring tiles, and they would not bathe or flush out their bowels for fear of treading on further tiles- having injured one of their breathen, and left it to fend for itself, these guilty pricks won't venture even an inch nearer to thier toilets. Amen be to them. and their bowels.
3> the third and last category would be that of the Defiant Assassin- they are those who would watch the palpable tile from a distance, stealthily. They would watch it getting in the way of pencil-heels and polished boots. and then, the pervert in them would strike- with the subtle deftness of a professional football player, they would kick the poor tile out of its appointed place, and standing back, watch the sheer fun. Anarchy of the basest kind id what they crave for. yet, from a deeper psychological perspective, it might seem that these acts of force are nothing but the venting of bottled-up personal frustrations. poor souls, all!
Thus it had been, till my food arrived.
quite a study it was. it taught me a hell lot.
and the greatest irony of all- i owe it to a single wooden tile. (or was it brick?)