She was sadly sad and alone on the table of two with her head resting on the wall. The only glimpse of a smile she bestowed to the restaurant was for a random kid.
The saddest face with fine mascara and dark red lipstick. She wasn’t even looking at her phone the whole time, which was lying on the table. There was no hope for her to be joined by anyone. Or the one.
Remember that Charlie Wilson War? A stiff drink. A little mascara. Red lipstick. And came down the whole Soviet Union. That was that.
The glances exchanged and sadness was transferred. She didn’t blick and I had to lose, as always. Nothing else. She remained alone.
The noise of utensils and the unknown English track didn’t help the loneliness of the restaurant. Nothing could change the aura created by a single soul. Single. Soul.
Then her food came. With that came delight and the charm in her eyes that she bestowed to that kid a while back. But this time it remained. Like the whole restautant was finally served. How wrong was the whole setup? She wasn’t looking at her phone because no one was coming. No one was awaited. No one was needed.
The sadness was for the steak to be wrapped in brown buns with onions and jalapeno or whatever. Can’t tell about food. Can’t tell about eyes either.
A deception. Beautiful. Stucked. Sadly!
Consent. The big argument.
Yet, we are thrown in this world without consent. To suffer without consent. Emotionally. Physically. Psychologically. Financially. Socially.
Suffer. Till last breath. Without consent.
And then there are threats after death. Threats of eternal suffering. But where is the consent?
Would you have consented to born in this world, if asked?
Have you seen a 3-year old crying with pain in a hospital? Have you seen severe pain on an innocent face?
Have you imagined a sexually abused 5-year old being stitched?
Have you seen kids born with major health issues? Heart surgery at the age of 2? Dialysis at 10?
Have you seen someone finding Operation Theatre in a public hospital with a bleeding girl in hands?
Have you seen a son taking his unconscious mother on his shoulders from ambulance to stretcher?
Have you seen people taking dead body out of the emergency room? Suffering emotionally and hurt financially and broken potentially.
Have you seen the ordeal of people praying outside the ICU or CCU?
Have you observed people lined outside emergency counter in public hospitals, while their loved ones bleeding on an stretcher in scorching heat?
Have you seen pain in the eys of your kid? Or your mother? Or your father? Or a stranger?
Have you stared into such eyes?
Have you seen a very familiar gaze – like of your mother – looking at you for one last time? Getting stranger by passing time? Dying with all the unfullfiled wishes?
And… have you seen request / plea for death? Verbally / non-verbally? People consenting to die? People trying to die? Wishing to die? Praying to die?
‘You don’t know Jack’ perhaps. I do. And I agree with him.
But not allowed.
Misery is allowed, freedom isn’t.
Painful beats are allowed, free absence isn’t.
Killing is allowed too in certain cases, suicide isn’t.
Suicide is also allowed in certain cases, if benefiting a king or a barren land or a gory war.
However, there is no concept of consent in nature. Not at all. Nowhere. A tiger kills any animal he wishes. One has the power to drill his teeth while the other is only born to be eaten alive.
Nothing is consented. Except pain and suffering.
We want the weak ones to give consent to the powerful ones. Isn’t diat / qisas consent? From the miserable to the powerful?
Questions and questions. Without solutions. Right? Read again. There is no solution. Because there is no consent.
Or you can denounce. Denounce everything. That exists and that doesn’t. Maybe then you will see a light at the end of this miserable tunnel of being. Or maybe that will lead to another tunnel. Who knows? Were neither asked nor told.
Schopenhauer believed that the only way to avoid suffering is not to be born at all. For him, death was the only way to peace. Nietzsche tilted from Schopenhauer’s philosophy and blamed suffering to religion. Like Marx. But Marx mentioned it as an ‘opium’ too to ease the pain for the masses. But this way or that way – you suffer without consent.
You are finally here to bury the old man. He was always proud of you two. You gave him pride. He always wanted the three of us to be best in our fields. You became an admirable doctor, and you became an immaculate broker. You two made the name in your fields and the pride for the old man.
He wasn’t proud of me because I wasn’t a genius in education or in career. I didn’t do well in studies and hence ended up as a cashier in the local convenient store. The good news is I got promoted and now I am a shift manager. Don’t sigh! I know it’s nothing as compared to your career hierarchies, but for me it is something.
When you two finished your studies, you moved out as there were not good opportunities in our town. You pursued your careers. While you were gradually ascending in your careers, the old man gradually went down in his health. He became lonely, though I appreciate you were used to come twice or thrice a year which was very kind of you in your extremely busy lives. I know it is tough to find time even for our own children today.
Anyways, old man was diagnosed with the kidney problem, which gradually increased his time span on bed. I looked after him as much as I could. All my time was for him after store hours. I gave him company and he was fondly used to talk about you. We were used to talk a lot about you. You realized his dreams and gave it veracity. You were pride of his life.
I don’t have much to say. I shared days and nights, sorrows and laughs, high times and low times with him. But I was not the pride of his life. I know why but I was unable to satisfy myself and became resentful slowly but surely, I’m repentant. I was with him, I lived with him. His hand was in my hand when he took his last breath; though his pride was associated with you.
But I got the answer today. As soon as I saw you I got my answer. There is no issue that you two were pride of his life, which I wasn’t. But I got the answer for who I was for him. I was peace of his life. He didn’t say it ever but I know now.
A question I am left with is either pride superior to peace or contrariwise? I don’t know the answer yet. But I’m sure I’ll get the answer someday. Let’s go now. It’s time for funeral.
Peace for the old man!