The French window makes the perspective more than obvious. A spread out concrete jungle and a clear blue sky on which white rudderless ships that float around. Some five hundred yards away there is a gulmohar tree in full bloom. And three roads meet. Somehow everything seems to be in motion. I can even sense the rotation of the earth. Strangely, for God knows what reason, I am not surprised for something within me whispers –“ The only permanent thing is change.”
Is a being a gypsy a physical journey? Definitely, any dictionary in the world would tell you it is. If that’s the case, I am done. But then , as I have throughout my life observed, words do not have a definite meaning at all. Some of the most profound lessons I have learned have been from sentences/words that at first encounter have sounded or looked banal.
The problem is we use too many words and talk too much to render all of it meaningless. Words create confusion. [Now! Where am I going?] Yes, so my gypsy days are not over though everyone around wants to believe so. I can understand their desire to shackle me. “ How is it possible that he can float like a cloud when we all are grounded.” Settling down is as much a herd mentality as anything else we adhere to since the advent of civilization. The world is ruled by slaves who fear freedom. The gaol is a safe place.
So finally, I am a prisoner too. I searched and bought my own cell to live in, finally. I even planned how it should look like! Everyone around is happy and in a celebratory mood. Why deny anyone a tinge of happiness in a world filled with misery? Probably, I have sacrificed the physical aspect of wandering but then I have been more of an emotional traveler than a physical one. Mentally too, I have been more inward than outward.
You can’t change the properties of a cloud. You can ,maybe, grasp him for a while but finally the cloud knows its destiny.
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