Riders on the storm

'You can't recreate the past, can you? Something or the other always changes. Yes, permanence is an illusion, but must things change so drastically? And if change they must, must posterity be informed of it at all times?'

All this and more...such were the thoughts swarming across my mind while I was browbeaten into acknowledging the superiority of bygone times by an elderly male while indulging in the irritating habit of cleaning his glasses at every thud.

After twelve minutes of conversation, I had collected all the essentials of his rather tepid life.

I do not write collected with the glee of someone having a quaint fancy for collecting oddities, but due to the sparks of curiosity that fly in me and are badly served by my compliant manners.

The elderly male subjected the general populace to the usual rant that require nothing more than polite acquiescence; generally kick-started by a quick harangue over the increase in bus fares, a resigned sigh on the current state of law and order, and rounded off by either excessive aggrandization or absolute condemnation of current government.

Such outbursts are not considered outbursts - until voiced in editorials.

Specially when it does not involve me and I can continue sipping the calorie-infested cola. Until I felt a weight on my shoulder - a weight feathery in nature.

"Don't you agree, son?"

"Ah...Yes." I replied, trying to convey conviction through my eyes, for I knew it was too late for words. The skin around the cheeks stiffened, as I gazed concentratingly in the same direction as the elderly male and started nodding. An attempt to be as agreeable as possible - maybe.


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Now I read this. After such a long time. And I can't tell why was I writing this. A fictitious account altogether or merely a recreation of the banal peppered with detailed revelation(s).
And I just created spaces between sentences. It was two paragraphs. Too much labour going through it all without progressing too far....one shouldn't be too dense without being too intelligent.

But what does it matter....if this was going to be a mundane reality catapulted to fame by its simplicity of action and density of detail or the initial thoughts of a long narration which goes and on just like rocky movies and indian soaps.

Tch tch tch. I am ashamed.