Paranormal
You awake to the incessant twittering of birds in the cool, crisp morning. A morning heralding the beginning of a day with new promises, despite you knowing otherwise. It starts of slowly of course, trudging towards the bathroom to perform the daily cleansing rituals accompanied by several add-ons, unnecessary in existence, yet a point of ethical obligation embedded into your head by the media. A quick shower, getting dressed, a meal which seems tasteless due to the induced sloth. The body feels as if it's being dragged towards the ground.
Things slowly start picking up, alertness reaching ideal levels. Opening the door of the car, the whiff of stale air accumulated overnight rushes towards you, perhaps telling you something. It's a long drive towards work, and it's but natural to watch what's going on around you. Shopkeepers in clean clothes opening up the shutters of their stores, greeting each other, a vegetable seller setting up his stall. Delivery boys rushing around on their bicycles with rolled up newspapers in their bags, carrying all the bad news of yesterday, political analyses, gossip, media propaganda and raunchy pictures to attract the reader's attention and retain loyalty, while the actual relevant content is merely a dollop. Yet it is read and debated over, because people with time on their hands will assemble for a morning cup of tea or coffee to do this.
There are also the hordes of ageing men and women out for their morning walks, accompanied by health buffs who appear to be more concerned with the cleanliness of their appearance and brandedness of their apparel than keeping up their health. Old men in shorts gathering around in parks, clapping spontaneously, or joining laughing clubs, merely because they read somewhere that laughing prolongs a person's life. Yes, the human obsession with immortality. The fear of death.
The sun is rising, but the heat is yet to arrive. But the sky has a certain glow to it, that gives you a sense of calm. The street urchins and hawkers seem to be reveling in it. You're in a shirt, probably a tie as well. Are you better off than them? The morning rush of cars all seem to be heading in the same direction as yours. Curses to them. They're probably doing it to you too. At a red light, a beggar approaches your car. Do you roll up your window, or do you continue staring forward as if ignoring their existence justifies your miserliness? Perhaps it wouldn't be so bad to acknowledge their plight, and hand out some of that extra change in your pockets, or apologize for the lack of it.
At work now, the same old people, the same old greetings. Pretentious office-mates, in the latest fashions, earrings, girls who instead of applying perfume, prefer to marinate themselves in it so that the stench of a thousand different designers attacks your sense of smell. Coworkers gathered around in a circle, talking about the latest project, a humorously abhorred coworker, or just themselves. Sounds trite, but it never seems to lose it's appeal. It's one of those issues which are an accepted and integral part of the office culture.
Work. Air conditioning, clean premises, and yet the feeling of slavery in a white-collar sweatshop. Deadlines to meet, goals to achieve. Then the periods of respite, those breaks in which the caffeine can once again flow like a raging river through the bloodstream, the fumes of nicotine entering the lungs revitalizing the body in energy, soul and spirit. Oblivion to the sun's heat beating down upon the scorched land outside. To even be there is a feeling of sickness, yet everywhere, in this unrelenting heat, the people go about their daily business. Fighting to earn food for their daily bread through the hubbub and chaos of the economy and the jostling for place in the rat race. Little realizing though, that even by winning the rat race, you're still a rat. But it's justified. Hunger moves us all.
Now that work is over, the evening is about to set in. Driving back, tired people wearily make their way through snarling traffic, the congestion caused by the perpetual construction on main roads, accomplishing nothing, yet accomplishing the unnoticed. The heat of the day hasn't left, it's still there. The heat and the dust at traffic jams induce impatience. However, it's the sun that's setting, and associating with the few clouds in the sky to paint a blazing mixture of red, orange, purple and pink. It's Mother Nature's canvas, and a beautiful one at that.
Before you know it, the darkness has descended upon the urban jungle. It's time for the night-dwellers to come to life. The genre of the materialistic. Couples out on dates, in the delusion of love, without ever realizing that they care more about their appearances and image than they do about the true nature of a person. Page Three celebrities going to clubs and bars to dance and revel in drunken pleasure, always pretending to be someone that they are not. The hordes of "fans" of these soon-to-be-forgotten celebrities are there as well, hopelessly following in their footsteps which lead nowhere. And of course the hunters on the prowl for someone to hook up with in this unending game of courtship. Most of these within nightly "hot spots," which in fact are the centers of nothingness: Loud, headache-inducing music popularized only due to sexuality-laced videos which convey no meaning, and the overpriced drinks which appeal to people because they wish to show that they can afford it. That's how socializing takes place. The thousands thronging the coolest of the hotspots, rigid rock-solid faces that seem incapable of ever registering a smile.
Of course there are so many others. There'll be that bunch of girls out on a daring night of fun. The druggie in the backstreets running out of places to inject on his arm, so he uses his feet. The guy in the corner drowning his sorrows in a glass of whisky, talking about the world like it's some place that he's been to a long time ago. Other couples out at elite restaurants, not for the food, but for prestige and status, because a person is elite only if they spend more on dinner than a construction worker earns in a month. And just down the street from there, will be a crowd of the simpler people, enjoying food better than can ever be conjured up in any restaurant. It's the trade-off made between taste and esteem. And how can we forget the cool "gangs," donning the shades and baggy pants and chains, with their windows down, system up and the latest rap music blaring out above the sound of traffic.
The families stay at home watching dramas on TV about liars, backstabbers and cheaters, in unending stories of all the vices of human nature because it appeals to everyone, a reflection of their own personalities. Or just some news, because there's no better information to absorb than propaganda.
From the couples to the celebrities, the clubbers to the sad guy, to the gangs and dopers, everyone seeking out that sense of purpose in life. To give it a meaning, because it just seems wrong to be nothing on a Friday or Saturday night. To give it value, because the modern generation has laid down the rules for what's cool and what's not: Living rich is, but enjoying the simpler pleasures of life, isn't.
It's amazing how the genetic make-up of an individual can compel them to do certain things.
Once the later parts of the night have settled in, the city is quieting down. The streets have become empty. And it's a wonderful feeling to take a walk on the sidewalks of a quiet avenue somewhere. The haze of night visible in the street lights gives a sense of silence and peace, as do the few stars visible in the sky hardly visible due to the excessive city lights. Out there, the parties go on till the wee hours of the morning, some are dreaming in their beds. And some are overcome with drowsiness, wishing for the comfort of their homes and a beautiful thing called sleep on the soft mattresses. Some cannot afford this luxury, and the dry earth is their bed, the stars are their blanket.
Once the first rays of sunlight break the darkness into dawn, people are awakening again. To another cool, crisp morning. To another new day in hopes of better things. And the cycle continues.
But the city never sleep. It just goes on, remains there. Watching over all of us, unnoticeably with us.
