C’est La Vie

There he is; wandering.

With him, there’s an invisible bag, which he always carries around. He was not born with it, nor anyone gifted it to him He knitted it on his own. A skill he inculcated over years, how to create...

A big invisible bag.

Only he can see it. Only he can carry it. Only he can open it; and most probably, only he can feel the weight of it, so as to speak. He often wonders; whether this is an imaginary child of his ever-evolving brain or it is just an extension of his very existence; a portion of his soul which is far away from the core - which can be manipulated, maligned and molded. Only thing he is certain of; this is where he can keep dumping everything he pleases and desires; instead of imbibing in and corrupting his core; without affecting molecules of what he’s made of.

He is made of two things; love and endurance. Or should they be called just the same?

And this is no ordinary bag. As if being invisible was not sufficient, this bag has its own trickery for him, like a dirty magic trick. Bag needs to be fed; regularly & constantly. It’s like a little ravenous creature, only dead. Why he would feed it? Many explanations, but one answer – to save himself from erosion. In his most conscious efforts, he would not want that to happen. Who would!

So what is the climax of the magic trick? There’s a reward. Whatever he throws inside, bag rewards him with a mask which he can wear, of course invisible! Things he see around; the bag flings open every time and puts a mask on his face, and so elegantly.

How this would ever work, one would think?

He is a living example of it, lives by this.

There he is; for everyone to see – wandering on the streets. He sees everything and says nothing.

A kid runs around a tree trying to catch a butterfly. Bag gives him a mask with a smile.

A beggar starves near a palace of a man of many means. His face ‘shows’ pity.

A group marches by him bearing flags and arms, and fear is plastered all over his face.

He sees a couple holding hands affectionately. His bag throws a ‘jealousy’ mask at him.

He goes to work every day where he earns to survive. He has ‘happy’ and ‘proud of myself’ face on.

A woman smiles at him with spark in her eyes. Bag fools her with ‘lured’ mask.

He sees an old abandoned friend on the other end of the street. His bag always keep ‘egoist’ mask ready for him to project.

Day ends. He survives.

He returns home victorious; only for the day. He is aware the corrosion is only delayed, never avoided.

He goes in front of mirror to see himself how much he has recovered. As he puts down his bag, all of his masks put themselves back to where they belong, and his real face is in front of him out of disguise, revealed by the mirror.

He sees in it with despair.

The big scar is still there, not healing and not yielding. Is her last gift to him ever going to heal? Would he start feeling every emotion ever again? He wonders; just like every day.

He knows the answer.

The mirror remains undefeated, yet another day.

The bag again has the last laugh. Yes; he would still need it tomorrow, to save what’s left.

Years pass by.

And there he is, wandering.

And with him, there it is; the invisible bag.

- Asthir