The Game of Self-perpetuation
Here stands a huge rock aged about a few million years. Flows down it a gurgling stream, reverberating the adjoining knoll and its sylvan environs. Stands upon the primordial rock a majestic peepal with its rootlets spreading into the stony pores, proclaiming its century-old association with the rocky habitat.
The rock is itself scribbled and disfigured with names written in red and yellow enamels. It reads “P + J” and then is expanded into “Peter + Jasmine” or “Prasant + Jahnavi” or “Pervaiz + Jamila” or something as inconspicuous as that. Who are they, the P+J? It matters a little so long as the passers by can read their names and their lurid insignificance, their ambition for eternity, and their ridiculous self-advertisement...
Sure, they are not the deathless rock, nor the majestic peepal. They are only the humans!
And their act is cold-blooded. The most self-revered P+J who came near the rock for their picnic must have brought with them a tin of enamel paint and a few brushes. They must have gone about their plan of ravaging its beauty compunctionless. So what do we call them? The cold-blooded promoters who can promote themselves at the cost of others or the misguided artists that force those visual breaks on the monotonous?
So, do they want to keep a record of their visit to the spot? Like the track of a snail on the branch of a Jatropha? As if nobody on the earth is taking a note of their good deeds? So smarting are they under a feeling of neglect!
Now to end this ramble, let me ask a question to myself: Is earth the only place where humans live? If the answer is no then the humans elsewhere in the universe should be quite unlike us with a different set of motivation, and a different set of goals!
A. N. Nanda