January 01, 2014. 02:34 AM

When I have had a chance to retreat from the swarming occupations around me, it is almost likely that my mind will perch atop the overarching hills of errant musings and soul searching – a little above the general pother and patter below. Always with delight, the spectacles spread before me from this vantage point are seen with a certain telescopic clarity, or with a fresh angle of contemplation. This I believe is more than a mind on active pedestrian duty could ever aspire to achieve. It is probably just as assumed that all great wisdom are found at the bottom of a well, or perhaps at mountain peaks and summits.

I cannot help but imagine now, in this reclusive engagement how time flies. It is yet another year, the first day of the year. Yesterday belongs to another time, another place. It has become a random page on a book just clasped shut. There is a possibility that you won’t happen on that page if you flick it open now, except if you lived enough on that page that it becomes unwittingly dog-eared, or by rote the volume margin becomes de-compacted. I have seen so many 31st of December to know that it’s just another page, with a little touch of color and human action in bawdy revelry.  It is good for the eye but it is not a page that stands out for me, but that’s as far as it goes; woe betide me if I make light of the pomp and gaiety that was available on display a while ago. For indeed, I may claim to be enraptured by the serenity bestowed by the Himalayans upon me, I am nowhere unaffected by the buzz down there.

Well, it’s that time of the year. It’s been buzzing like crazy for the past one month now with the jingling carols and the end-of-year soirees happening at every corner. Things seem to have spun out of control since December. It just appeared like the dam broke loose and it’s all rollercoaster ever since. The coup de grace was last night.  You’d think the world was coming to an end. Now the torrents have abated and all that is left is the afterglow of a time gone by and this queer feeling that we have left something, something significant behind!

So while the eddy currents still swim around my head, I’m compelled to look beyond the common shore for that ruddering hand that steered us here.

Yes indeed 2014 is here!

I suppose it is only fitting that this thought will take a center -stage now, seeing that it is the beginning of a new year.  I find it interesting to know that what must have been a curious subject would lose the slightest tickle of interest and be rolled off to the frosty Siberia of consciousness without as much as a nibble of thought spared on the subject. How is it that we would come to celebrate the turn of the year in an atmosphere of celebration and fun-fare but we won’t oil the vantage wheel of Time? It is something of an abstraction, like the stuff of hypotheses that never really made it to the general notion of a Law or a Theory.

I would bet a dime now, that you are wondering as of this moment what I am yapping about. Yes, I am talking about the complete revolution of the earth around the planetary bodies. Isn’t it what this is all about? The ecstatic coming of a new year!

It has always happened this way, all these hailstorms for a regular cosmological occurrence.

Yet in space, it is so ordinary that there is not that gentle calm before the big bang. There is not even a semblance of a bang and we are here banging the night away.

Do not get me wrong. I’m all for the flurry and the flutter. At what other time would I press it upon myself to put pen to paper and rain these thoughts in ink after so long a drought? Truth is, the season is inspiring and I could work with a cock-sure certainty that my muse will find me or at least meet me halfway. Maybe it’s just the maverick in me- the one that pulled out its Christmas CD collection in September – that now bask amidst the still night stars and wonder why all is silent on the planetary front.

So time as we know it is simply an electromagnetic propulsion. It is just the earth revolving round in a field of electromagnetic flux. It is so set in its way that it doesn’t stop in its track to mark this momentous milestone. It is so efficient that it does not suffer from friction. There is no checking of the fuel gauge, no wear, no tear, no jerky intrusion or stutter. Round and round the world goes, it is headed for nowhere but where it’s been.

It becomes therefore a curious matter to ponder, because the passage of time as profoundly as it affects us, is governed by a monotonous glide of an orb, just like the gentle rhythm of our hearts that we almost never listen to.

In the real sense of fleeting time and season, we are buffeted on every side by the changing scenes that thread on our minds and bodies by that winding hand. Lightning never strikes twice for us. We do not exactly walk the same path twice. The regular through-ways and familiar alleys aren’t exactly the same. Yesterday has slipped through the slit of time, forever lost to the hallowed tomb of memories and dreams. Although we know intuitively that one leg must be placed before the other to get us to our destinations, we know not whether the next turn is to the right or to the left. The road leads, we follow its course. The scene is forever changing, our lives anything but boring.

In our little way we dot our map with markings of our own invention, gush and fawn over these glorified accomplishments shamelessly. After all, we are the masters of our fates; the captains captain of our souls. Our lives we fragment into short segments, as if by that single act we could traverse mortality by the passage from one chamber to the other. We live by these annotations of our own design; creating an order of stages and hierarchies. So often the slates need to be wiped clean – another year, a fresh start, a new era, a new order and in similar vein days are marked off a row of numbers and moored dates to keep time from running lose on eternity’s long leash.

So when a new year comes, it springs forth with ushering resolutions and new-takes like fresh buds at the coming of spring.

And so as the crescent moon glides across the sky, I feel the waves tug hard at my feet. The temperature seems to have dropped since I last heard the hum of my heart. The night wind now howls like a raging sea. I must now descend to the pothering hub and play my part. There is a point to make. There is a life to live.

Time has no division to mark its passage; there is never a thunderstorm to announce the beginning of a new year. It is only we mortals who ring bells and fire off pistols ~ Thomas Mann



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