Disorder

The screen of his laptop lay slanted, inclined at an acute angle to the horizontal surface of the table with sunrays fighting their way through the cluttered branches of the trees and through the grill fixed in front of the window to reach the top-right corner of the screen, producing a vague, yet intense yellow dot. The quiescence of the screen seemed unreal and eternal. The ‘ocean mist’ visualization of the ‘windows media player’ had unruly blue bars dancing all over the screen, synchronized with the repercussive music being played at the background, much to his engrossment.

Surroundings looked completely disorganised, bizarre. Nothing could get his thought ride, which was going totally astray, to a fruitful conclusion. He could hardly meet any new ideas in that hour characterized by abstraction. His frustration grew. The result of some futile attempts of covering up his disorderly mind was frustration; plain and simple frustration. There was absolutely no creativity involved in that session as if it were demonically blocked. In fact, nothing was involved at all except for a deafening silence that could be heard vividly. It was challenging him in all possible ways. He fought, but couldn’t win. “Is disorder the ultimate truth of life?” He forlornly asked himself as his desperate struggle to achieve stability had consistently gone in vain.

He started speaking to himself. When will my struggle end? When shall I find solace? Will I ever find the much desired and much sought-after emotion, contentment? Will I ever find stability, order?

“No, never,” answered a sharp voice, “Not until you rest in peace!”



- Mihir chitre
mihirmumbaikar@gmail.com