The quest is wearing off
Shaadaab S. Bakht
Shaadaab S. Bakht, who worked for famous Indian dailies The Telegraph, The Pioneer, The Sentinel and wrote political commentaries for Tehelka.com, is Gulf Today’s Executive Editor.
- 13 Oct 2022
Life, for him, was like a green courtesan walking by and in the process leaving behind a waft — bordering on the amorous — which lingers on for weeks. And each day of those weeks she is expected to walk back.
But it isn’t like that anymore. Life has changed.
The cock used to crow at the glimmer of dawn. It was so lovely for him to hear it herald the day. More so because the day then held many promises, preceded by many dreams. Some dreams were realised, some weren’t. New dreams were woven each day to make up for the lost ones.
The wild wish to play the show stealer has gone dormant.
The rooster still crows, the dawn still breaks, but the days aren’t what they used to be. Because the quest is gradually sinking. His quest for wealth, quest for status and, of course, quest for love do not warrant the kind of attention or instinctive involvement they used to. Almost war-like situations were often created over the acquisition of wealth, relentless battles were unleashed to achieve one’s status and the search for love knew no limits.
Sometimes suicide was preferred to being dumped. It seems ridiculous now, but was a serious option then. It seems utterly unacceptable now, but was almost understandable then.
Indifference has set in too. Parties are welcome but the fever-pitch obsession to attend them is missing. The wild wish to play the show stealer has gone dormant. They turn out to be huge bores for him after a while.
Earlier a smile in those parties could inspire a poem, now even a hug is taken in stride or falls by the wayside of a reluctant journey.
In fact, now a beach walk could generate a poem, where the only company is memories. Strange.
Exhilarating nocturnal hours are cherished, but the pleasant and uneasy wait for them is almost absent. And warm embraces have become mere palliatives for a wounded within. He doesn’t know what aches him and where the cure for such aches lies. Strange again.
The aroma of a platter full of delicacies doesn’t anymore hold the type of interest it used to. Now the attitude matters, not the delicacies, he stressed with a certain amount of dignified disgust.
Well, relief from the aches doesn’t lie anymore in sweet nothings in chosen companies. It lies in those who are willing to play the confession box. It lies in being able to talk. It lies in being able to be heard. He said it was wonderful to be loved, but profound to be understood. Yes, understood, every living being’s ultimate desire.
He attributes his dramatic transformation to age, which is certainly not just a number as far as he is concerned. It’s much more.
