If you are trying to say that I am not dead that means I’m
alive for a second. That second I take to get out of bed, wear something nice
and get on tackling every dying second of my life. If I am not doing that, then
hell knows exactly how alive I really am and how much you are bullshiting.
Frankly, the three
steps I climb to get inside the office every day, are very important. It takes…
Yes just that much time. That’s my time. Entirely mine. I don’t look back. I
don’t look towards anything. Just pulling that door and hurriedly getting
inside is the most action I get out of my time. Otherwise, it’s just doing the
things others tell me to do. What’s the fun in that? You are not you when you
brush, when you read the newspaper religiously because otherwise it’s
‘blasphemy’ not to know who killed whom… who raped a three-year-old… the
highway truck rammed whom or what sweet gutter or filthy heaven your countrymen
are slowly marching into. You are definitely not you when you tell yourself –
“What am I doing with my life?” sitting on the can. No. You know very well what
you are doing. You are delaying your death by seconds. Every tick of your
wristwatch gets faster than your pulse. You smile at the mirror, which is not
cracked but fogged. You put on that foggy look- an honest lie. You say “One
day, it will all be okay. You will do whatever you want” and pull that heavy
office door.