Hickory Dickory Dock
The clock on the wall isn’t working. It hasn’t for the last four years. What do I care. Time isn’t of any importance to me. In fact, now that I think about it, I feel good the damn thing isn’t working. And I am sure it knows that too. It knows the game’s up. That is why the broken-down liar has that look of shame-faced defeat written all over it. The conniving evil little thing!
You see, my good sir, there is a certain feeling, a sense of deja vu, if I may say, when one, standing for a while in the dark, gives in to his mind’s wanderings and starts seeing and hearing things which there are not, switches on the light only to find his fear disappear along with the dark around him. Such a man, rightly restored to his senses, might give out a loud sigh and say to himself, “Oh! What a fool I have been. The world is perfectly rational. I was just being duped by the darkness!” He might let out a full-throttled laugh to emphasize his new found knowledge. After all, a man who has been freed from his fear must be granted his moment of vanity. That is exactly what is happening here. I have found the truth, and my dear sir, it has set me free. Yes, I finally am free from the fear that had me in its tentacles, twisting and turning my spirit into an ugly monstrosity all my life. Please… allow me to explain it all.
I was possessed! Terror had taken over my spirit. It made me do things I didn’t want to. It controlled me. From inside. From outside. An invisible master, it sat perched smugly on a high rack, telling me what to do, watching me relentlessly wide-eyed and awake even when I slept. It had attached to me like a part of my being, refusing to let go even for a tiny while. I would close my eyes to escape it and it would still be there. Going tick-tock-tick-tock-tick-tock. The infernal thing had taken my very life and made it its own heartbeat. Yes, that was the truth.
Can you imagine your life being dictated by two tiny little needles going round and round in circles? I could, very well crush them between my thumb and forefinger if I could. Yet, I was powerless and they had me in their vice-like grip. Demanding attention, dictating terms, ordering me about here and there and everywhere, telling me in no mean terms, that I am a bum, lazy, unscrupulous and incapable of anything.
In spite of all this, I couldn’t let it go. I couldn’t lift a finger against it. Oh no, I could not do that. I believed, without it my life will go completely out of control. Chaos will reign. I would be like a paper boat caught in a violent sea storm, tossed around on the massive waves of uncertainty. Oh yes sir, I was terribly afraid of crushing it to pieces as I should have. But finally, four years after that damned thing stopped going round and round in circles, I am free! I sit here, smiling at myself, content with life and everything it has to offer me. You might say it is only natural. I say, providence has it that I had to see light at the end of the tunnel. You ask me, what light? Ah! Forgive me. In my excitement I must have jumped a thought or two there. So let me go back and gather my thoughts once again.
My charged outpourings, if I was my neanderthan ancestor, would be just violent beatings of the chest and loud cooing. Yes, sir, I am happy beyond words today. And rightly so. For I have discovered a life changing truth and it is this: Time is an illusion! It is like the monster that hides in the darkness. A figment of imagination that does not survive the illuminating rays of light. So you too may rejoice now. It is a moment of freedom. We should just hang the ‘tick-tock’ machine from a pole and burn it publicly for scaring us for so long.
I, being a man given to intellectual inquiry, should have seen through the deception long ago. But alas, sometimes light dawns late even upon the brightest among us. You see, there is no concrete evidence to suggest the existence of time. I mean, aphorisms that rhyme cannot be objective proof of anything. ‘Time and tide wait for none,’ does not mean time exists. I mean, have you ever seen a man of good breeding stand by the shore and count tides? Of course, if you did find one, you would rightly term him as insane or as someone lacking in serious occupation. If one isn’t to count tide, then why count time? What is the purpose of either? Except waste of good life.
Let us take another angle here. Looking at things from another perspective, as it is said. Broadens ones understanding, it does. What relevance does time have in anyone’s life anyway? I mean, why does time exist? Who invented these shitty things called clocks? I am sure back when there were no clocks and time couldn’t be measured by the meaningless motion of it’s needles, human beings were just as well and happy. They went about doing their business and maybe, even did not miss a damn meeting either. Well, that could be a bit of exaggeration. Back then there must have been no meetings as such. Wait. I get it. Meetings were invented so that clocks were put to some good use on earth. Yes, that’s it. It’s like booze and Dispirin. The latter fulfills its purpose only when you overindulge in the first. And meetings are like booze, I tell you. Everybody likes to go overboard with them, ending up with bad headaches and terribly sick.
Yes, clocks are like Dispirin, I can see it now. I can see it quite clearly that they both exist because humans are weak willed. They are silly and stupid. They just don’t know, as it is said, where to draw the line. Or how else can you explain the simple and extremely foolish act of someone trying to, I believe the popular usage is, drink himself under the table. Science has proved beyond doubt that alcohol depresses the central nervous system. No man in his right senses would want to depress himself even if the stuff is offered to him for free. Or just because it is free. But, no! We pay good money, I tell you, hard-earned money to drink and depress ourselves. How can you justify that! You cannot. Ok, if I agree with your argument for a moment that alcohol is put to good use as social grease, and as one, most essential in high-minded society, and it does offer its patrons a temporary feeling of elevated self-esteem, tell me how does a man react the exact same way with a meeting as it does with alcohol? I beg you not to pretend we do not understand each other here. How is it that people, who seem otherwise of sane disposition, jump with glee at the mention of the word, ‘meeting.’ How is it that their eyes light up like that of children upon seeing candy at the thought of such an infernally depressing thought? Haven’t you seen them rush to faraway places and at odd hours to huddle together in bare-walled rooms, drink coffee and talk incessantly for hours without listening to a word of what is being said? Oh, these meetings, I think are worse than alcohol. They leave a sane man disoriented and depressed together after the first five minutes. You can take my word for it.
But why am I talking about meetings or booze here. I have nothing to do with either. I have nothing to do with time too. Time does not exist. No sir, time is an illusion that I can do well without. Like love. I know you are a bit cynical about my argument now. You say time and love are two different things. I say, wait, dear sir. Let me explain. Have you seen love? No, I do not mean representation of love but love itself. Have you seen it? See, like time you have not seen love either. You see the clock go through its motion, its needles going round and round in a strangely monotonous (and if you notice, indifferent) way. That is what I mean. If I go through the appropriate gestures of holding a lady in my hand and running my hand through her hair and at befitting moments make certain sounds and coo into her ears, you will immediately assume it is love. At least, you will say, oh! this man likes that woman. But is that correct, my dear sir? Can you not be mistaken? Do you know for sure that I’m in love with that lady? Or even that I find her affable and a pleasing company? Can you be absolutely sure? No. See! That is what I mean. I may be going through those motions because I don’t know what else to do. I have been taught to do certain things in august company. I cannot do anything else. I’m programmed, you see. To go through the motions of nicety. Of love. Of happiness. Yet you need to understand, like the needle that represents time, only my gestures are real. Representations are in themselves not the reality, isn’t it? So isn’t it right for me to day that time and love is an illusion. Some, with romantic disposition, will take immediate offence to my meandering, and with great profundity, state that love makes the world go round! Well, if you lie down firmly on your back and drink half a bottle of good whiskey, the world will go round and round and round till you suffer from nausea. What does it prove? Does it mean that love and whiskey are the same. If you ever dare even to allude to such a notion, they will burn your effigies before your house and shout slogans against you, dragging your good name through muck. They too are programmed to believe in love. In illusions.
See, like love, one believes in the idea of time because that’s all one gets to hear about since delivered upon this good earth. They tell you, you were born at 2:30am or 4:13pm or some other such godforsaken time as if it mattered. I mean, how is it relevant anyway. Will you have been any different if you were born at 2:29am instead or 2:30am? Or instead of 2:30 you were born at 2:31am? No! Of course, not. But some will tell you, such is not the case. They will tell you, my good sir, that a minute can change your life. They will even say that if you were born at 2:29 instead of 2:30, you could have been a great man, maybe like Abraham Lincoln or Gandhi. Why, they would say, if nothing else at least you would not have had to go through the trials and tribulations of this life if you had decided to extricate yourself out of your mother’s womb a minute earlier. To a man of utmost vanity and genuine stupidity, these words can provide the much needed comfort of a beautiful fantasy while dragging himself through his wretched life. But, you, my good sir, being a man of intelligence will see it for what it really is – tosh of the highest order! Yes, that is what it is really. An illusion offered to appease the human weakness! Since we can safely say that you cannot go back to your mother’s womb and reenact your entry upon the stage of life, the life you have now is the only thing you have on this earth. The good, the bad and the ugly parts of it included. So there you are. Love it or hate it, time has nothing to do with your birth or death or whatever you wish to do in between. Neither has love. Love and time are illusions. Invented to befuddle the human mind. To create a rosy fantasy for the weak. I need neither.
Maybe I should give away this clock. But who would want a broken clock. Like the great bard said, a thing going round and round signifying nothing is not a thing of beauty or value. Or is that what the bard said? These bards have the habit of saying the most darned things. I mean, you would think they are wise and witty and all. But when it comes to saying something, they make a mess of everything. The simplest of things in life acquire a rare complexity in their hands that people who have anything to do in life will do best to avoid them completely. For example, there’s a story of a man who kills his king because he like the idea of ruling and all that. Now, a young bard couldn’t just make himself say it as it is and instead wrote a play that usually takes kids a whole year to study and more often than not, three attempts to clear. Why would he do something like that? The answer is, time. He had a clock on his table that was working! Yes, my dear sir, believe it or not, it was the clock that gave birth to that and many other ills upon the human race. When you have a clock before you and you see that you have time, you try to do everything to occupy it. You see, men fear time. They worry that every second takes them closer to their inevitable death. Hence they are in an infernal hurry – a sort of race with time to their death, to do everything and anything before the clock stops forever for them. Leading a productive life, that is what it is called. But the thing is, if you are anything like the bard I mentioned, you will end up cramming up your remaining time with such stuff that generations to come will suffer its brunt. So, take that clock away, my good sir. Keep it locked in a vault, that is my advice. Or better still, gift it to someone you hate and watch them engage in a deadly race against time. While you are finally free to live your life on your terms. Thats the POWER of Love!
