Innocence in today’s mornings lies inexplicably squelched between the need to know and the tendency to ignore. These kind of people seem a welcome change to meet. All the others that you walk past everyday either know too much – condescending ********! – or absolutely nothing at all. The innocent kind are special in that regard: they only know what they think they need to know, and more often than not, it works out to be just enough. These are the people who know only to live, an they do it stupendously well. Too much knowlege is a burden and I think you’d know that. But some, like me, can’t help but keep asking “Why?!” to each and everything that happens around me. Even if I know it’s going to be a useless piece of information with a good chance that I might never need to recollect it again, some sort of a raging storm in my head settles only when its contents are snuggling cosily into my brain. There’s too much to think of at times, especially when I’ve been asked by someone to find the solution for a weird problem: my head spins out of control as though it’s horny or something. But the innocent, these are the people who have not chosen to ignore but have done it inadvertantly. There life’s journey seems straight an lined by tall trees on either side. In Tamil, there’s a famous proverb that can be translated as “you can know how a backache feels only if you experience it for yourself”.
And that’s why I dont really know if I want such a life for myself – impossible though now it is. Queer innocence. It imparts a fullness in character unmatched by any other quality in a person. “I know what I need to know, and I’m happy with it”! I know it has to do with the upbringing of the child, but I really can’t place a finger on it. I can never come to make myself to step into their shoes. I know so much that I’ve gone beyond being happy with myself: ‘being myself’ is only a fantasy because I don’t really know who I am. You get into such a state when you take to too much of philosophical nonsense while there’s no need to at all. But I can’t help myself. Hmmm… I guess that’s who I am. Helpless and squandering every useful object I find strewn in my path. You probably don’t know what I’m trying to say here. Imagine this: there is a running race between a group of blind men, and the winner is the first person to run past a pole in the distance. The shot is fired, and they pickup speed. But, being blind, they don’t know when they’ve run past the pole, and so, keep running. That’s who I am: I am one of the blind men in the running race. Someone else watching me knows where I really stand, someone who’s watching from close to the pole. If someone I really trust were to tell me that I could stop running, I would then. But not otherwise. I think I’ve figured what I want to do with my life, but I’m not sure because I am not really working towards it as I should have been. Or maybe I have. I don’t know.
Ahh, when I meet God on Judgment Day, and if I get the chance to have a word with him, I would ask him why he made me like this. And I would ask him if I could get a second chance. He would probably say no, to which I plan to reply with a bribe. If he’s a nice enough guy, he should accept it. If not, well, there doesn’t seem to be anything that I can do about that, does it? But if I do get the second chance, I’m going to want to be born deaf. People have too much to talk about these days. It all probably began as I was overhearing a conversation between two people discussing something really important. And then, every time after that, if I think two people are exchanging as much as even small talk, I wanted to be a part of it. Yes, that should be how it all began! If only I’d never heard that important conversation happen, the world would be a much different place – but I don’t know if so for the good or for the worse.
Queer innocence.
Clathration Therapy 