It’s all getting colder by the day. Not the kind of cold that easily goes away by donning an extra sweater, or roasting your toes in front of the heater.
It’s getting so very cold.
Hearts are freezing. Icicles are now inhibiting a once warm and cozy arterial system.
Cold stares, chilled smiles, frosty faces, shivering minds. It’s a storm like never before.
Ours is a world where winters never go away. It’s not hard for a child to lose his warmth before he touches his twentieth year. He smiles affectionately at people and world at large, but is scolded for being too friendly or too compassionate(if that is even possible). He feeds a stray dog but gets rebuked for being filthy. He speaks kindly to the helpers at home but is lectured on the dangers of mingling with the lesser crowd. He is given lessons on obsessive competition and showing off from the early days. They tell him to shed his naivety and become street smart. He hates the term. He becomes permanently confused.
At school, he comes across little replicas of the big people he sees outside school. The same hypocricy, leg pulling, badmouthing and jealousy. The same habit of lying; in this case to get out of cheating in exams. The same disrespect towards elders; in this case, teachers.
He is now an adult. He may still have some warmth left in him, but even he can’t be sure anymore. They are relentlessly working to take it all away.
At home he has lost trust in relationships. No one has time for anyone. No one forgives. Everyone seeks revenge. You can’t do good to someone who didn’t do good to you. It’s a simple, unsaid rule. He can’t wrap his head around this one either. The daily money-making routine surpasses all.
At work, he feels happy for another’s success or at least does not resent it; but every other person around him does the opposite. He can’t do anything legal at work without paying off someone illegally. He hates himself for being weak. But everyone else around him seems so happy. He must be the wrong one , he thinks to himself. He struggles with everything around him. They mock and slander him. ‘A self-righteous drama’, they say.
Last flicker of warmth. He can feel his arteries shrivel. The cracks are beginning to show. A gust of vengeful wind furiously sweeps in.
Did the cold win?
I don’t have an answer to that just yet. The world is still standing so there is hope. But I know for a fact is that this is one storm, we can’t escape. It’s in us all. It’s around us all.
Let this be the year we open our eyes and admit to the cold that has inhabited our core.
Let this be the year we open our eyes and fight it out before the storm casts its final shot.