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I am a salmon


I am a salmon. It's been a decade away from my hometown, and yet my dreams refuse to relocate along with me. When sleep hasn't claimed me yet, but neither am I awake, you may find me in Nasik.
My senses fall back into their default states of Nasik when in-between. The space is of my home in Nasik, the sight is of the things around it. I might be hungry and thinking of eating a laddoo and my hands reach out for the steel dabba stacked on an elevated wooden cupboard stuck on the left wall of kitchen. In my mind's eye, I grope for the dabba momentarily as the search yields nothing - poof. the image disintegrates. I am snapped back to reality with a mild jolt. My mind reminds me of the layout in my own kitchen. There is no airborne shelf, there is no steel container, there is no laddoo. It says, go back to sleep. and I do.

_____

I shifted 3.5k km for a less polluted and less dangerous city a year ago.
And all was good. I get to walk and how I love to walk. I am truly happier.

But the cubicle remains the same. The mediocrity of work remains the same.
 
Perhaps in another reality, an alternate universe, we do what is good for each other, what brings joy to each other and yet we are all well fed, healthy and secure.
In that world, We don't remain imprisoned in the cubicles of global economic system.
Our work does not take us away from the hills, the rivers, the wide expanse of earth. The sky is not hidden behind grey-ness of modern compromises. The blue of sky is ours for soaking in, whenever we wish to. The green of grass is ours to lie in, wherever we may move. All earth is for everyone, and no one is refused of any of our fruits.
The only currency is that of our kindness and our industry and capability.

I would love to get a portal gun and go check out some of the alternate realities - may be there is an earth out there somewhere, that is saner, safer, kinder. 

Comments

Strider said…
Salmons are tragic
Nostalgia, a symptom
All realities brutal
If real
If free
Ajinkya said…
true that.
and hence i am nostalgic only in-between
not when awake, neither in dreams.

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Catch yourself slipping away.

Deep  breath. 

Close the browser. silence the mobile and turn it away.

Open an offline-real-paper diary. Stop your thighs from lolling impatiently. Stay still. 

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