THE TRAFFIC

Outrageous! You need only one word to describe the traffic of Jakarta. The collaboration of the roaring thunder of the traffic, the speed, and dust has encrusted the city with a layer of threatening neurotic syndrome. Yet, amongst all the horrific picture of the traffic, there is always a hilarious scene that pops up out of the blue.

It was 6 pm on a week end. I drove my car among the traffic of the center of Jakarta. The traffic was the craziest ever. Far in a distance I saw a shape of a lady at the backseat of a motorcycle. Amazing…her shirt was lifted up and the blubbery part of her waist was exposed to the naked evening wind. I was plagued by the typical female curiosity to know what was going on there. She was holding a shape that look like a bag of potatoes to me. My eyes could only catch the silhouette, so I wasn’t really sure of the vision that struck my eyes. I took my spectacles and scrutinized it closely and was horrified. It was a baby, and she was breastfeeding her baby!!!!!.

The natural instinct of a woman was boggling, Driven by my curiosity and a concern for the baby made me speed my car to catch up with the motorcycle. Once I got a better view of her and the baby … I was more than just flabbergasted…it was a scene that you could never imagine. Another tot was sitting between her and her husband. He was facing her with his lips on the other breast!!!!!!!!

The motorcycle moved ahead. It zigzagged through the traffic and left me with my amazement behind. At the back of it, the flabby waist was jolting up and down following the motion of the motorcycle.

BEEP…BEEP…BEEP

What??? I exclaimed in surprise, it cant be…that’s too much. I want to have the detail of every single call. Get me the list, I said furiously. The picture of my daughter talking on the phone incessantly crossed my mind. My husband, talking to his friends discussing soccer is again another scene. They have been abusing the phone for the sake of communication.

I called home. A voice answered at the other end: “ …. The kids are still at school. They wont be home until ….” I hang up the phone before she finished her statement. I dialed my husband’s number, and guess what I get…yes…”Veronica”. I got off the phone in that instant. I need to communicate with them.

I was driving leisurely, it’s my Sunday morning drive, and the streets were all empty. I was enjoying the fresh morning air. I rolled the window down and let the breeze enter my car. I tuned to my favorite station. Beep..beep…beep beep… I threw a glance to my cell phone and my boss’ name appeared on the screen. Uuggh….
I picked the phone and the rattling sound of his voice stroke my earlobes. I could hardly open my mouth to argue when he ended the phone call. A thousand of spiders were crawling on my skin, and they suddenly stung me and an earsplitting noise spurted out through my lips: Errrrghhhhhhhh...

Beep…beep…beep… the Road Runner crashed into the Coyote and…..the Coyote lies flat on the street. So is our privacy… Is this a ponopticon?

FIFTY-FIVE

Am I going to die when I reach the age of 55? That’s the recurring question that resides in me. There are some explanations why I am trapped in this psychosis. There have been so many incidents that occurred upon me, and they dealt with that number. On my way to work, I normally check the time to see if I’m going to be on time. Most of the time, I see 5:55 in my car’s clock. The same thing happens on my way home. Strange, but that’s the truth.

A couple of days ago, another strange incidents happened. I queued up for the election. I was right after my husband. And guess what? Yes… 55. That’s my number. I try to rationalize through all these incidents. However, I cannot escape myself from it. It has been incorporated into my mind. This number is following me everywhere I go. Has it got something to do with my destiny?

I try to make the best of it. Therefore I imagine all the good things will be showered upon me when Im 55. I envision seeing my children becoming their own persons. They probably will have their own lives with their husbands and kids and the rainbow in the sky will be shining over the roofs of their houses. As the sun rises and shines the glittering beams, I see myself playing with my grand children in the backyard of our house, in the golden meadow as we call it.

YESTERDAY

She ripped the front page of her desk calendar. “6 March”, that was yesterday. She stared into it before tearing them apart into tiny pieces and tossing them into the air. The bits and pieces flew into the cold air before they landed on the carpet, scattering all over, like the first snowflakes as they settle themselves on the soil to masquerade the arrival of winter.

As the color of the roses begins to fade away, blown by the wind and torn apart by the rain, the only lefts over visible parts were the dry stalks that have turned rumpled. The dried petals of the roses were scattering all over the ground and some traveled even further than the eyes can hold, before they infiltrate deep into the heart of the soil.

Droplets of sweat ran down on her blushing cheeks and chin, she was breathless standing in the corner of the Gym. The exercise had taken all the energy in her. She stood there rumpled, cold, and gray, like a piece of old meat, rotten and forlorn.

She stood there watching herself in the movie of the past. This gym had been the place where she spent her days and nights, nine hours a day through one whole year. Sweat, tears, pain, boredom, agony were all mixed up during all the painful exercises. Not to mention the nights that she had to go through while writing down her final paper. She used to ask herself, why she could end up in this part of life. But those questions remained a question untill the day the victory was awarded on her team's lap.

The Gym was full of spectators, cheering loudly. Flags, trumpets, and all kinds of yell filled up the air. Some even jumped over the iron bar just to join the celebration. The thrill that victory brought to the team was hard to describe. All the players were in tears, the tears of joy. They all hug each other, all the sweat, the smell and heat were associated with the ecstasy of winning. They smell so sweet. The pride was even more when the flag and the national anthem were echoing inside the gym. It was a glorious triumphant day, the day when she could conquer all the battles of life and beat all the obstacles that impeded her ways, the day when the ship sailed through the ocean of life without any shilly-shallying.

On the other side of the field, the other team, stood in silence, not believing that the game was over, and they lost it. Bemoan occupied this part of the crowd. Tears ran down on their cheek and they smell more like grief.

She stood there with the palm of her hand on her chest, as if she was holding the gold medal. Time has stolen everything away from her. Time has absorbed her speed, her youth and spirit, and replaced them with age, drowsiness and memories. Yesterday is not today, but today carried the traces of yesterday. Just like the pieces of the torn calendar and the petals of the roses, they were part of yesterday lay there frozen today, absorbed by gravity.

“….Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away”……………

THE SILO OF SILENCE

Does it hurt you, I asked her with so much pain in my heart. She turned her face away from me and answered me abruptly: “No!!!”.
"Can I touch them…?", I asked again carefully. She nodded her head apatheticly. I caressed gently the blue-black patch on her skin with my fingers. I tried to transmit the pain to myself, but I was moved by my emotion and unfortunately pressed it too strong. She jolted and shunted my fingers away. I moved backward controlling myself. “Sorry”, I said voicelessly.
My throat was chocked with pain and anger. Cry baby…cry…release all your pain, express all your bitterness. I will dry your tears with my lips. I will warm your heart with my love. I let you rest your weary mind on my shoulder. Don’t lock yourself in your own silo of silence.

A REFLECTION OF THE FUTURE

A: “Dad, can I ask more than what I normally get?”
B: “How much is that?”
A: “Today I need Rp. 50.000,-.“
B: “WHAT??? Do you think we print our own money? How much do you actually need?”
A: “I need Rp. 20.000 to buy a gift for my friend, Rp. 10.000,- for the book that I showed you yesterday.”
B: “So you need only Rp. 30.000,- and your regular pocket money.”
A: “But I want to save Rp. 10.000,- for my future”
B: “Well, what about my future then?”
A: “You don’t have any future anymore. Your future is the past.”

BACK TO CAMPUS

I hate to be a stranger in my own environment. The campus is gonna be part of my life during the next two years. I retrieved the icons of a campus from my memory: students, books, pens, library, papers, assignments, lecturers, jeans, sneakers, shirts, music, friendships, hang around, demonstration and... romance. Some of them are not “me”. It is essential for me to understand which is “me”, or else the rest of those two years will be torturing me to death.

On my first day, the campus was crowded with people and food stalls. Valentine and graduation were held at the same time. An ensemble of musical instruments was ready on the stage. “Born Romantic”, printed on the white banner at the background of the stage. I smiled silently, asking myself if the term romantic is really for “me”. This is almost the autumn of my life.

During lunch hour, I bought a bowl of noodles and went to sit on the stone bench provided in the middle of the square. There were so many students around me, yet, I was all alone, awkward, and left out. I finished my noodles as soon as I can and went back to my class room.
The class room was probably the most comfortable space for me. It was the place where I really get what I came for. The lecturer, the books, the assignments, the night curfews are probably “me”. I will be lucky enough should most of the icons of the campus could be part of “me” again. (pssstttt..... romance is not included in the package!!!)

Welcome back old feelings!!!

EN-GEH-A-DEH-I-EN-O

His bony cheeks take over most of the space in his thin long face. Two naive eyes rest awkwardly underneath the shade of his two thin eyebrows. A genuine childlike smile is permanently glued on his lips, revealing his teeth and pinkish gums. Exposure to the heat of the sun has turned his hair yellowish with twisted ends and his complexion was dark brown with spots all over.

He used to work at my office as a cleaning boy. I felt the passion to know him at the very first time I laid my eyes on him. I asked him his name. He spelled his name, instead, EN-GEH-A-DEH-I-EN-O. He spelled it the way my child did when she first entered Kinder Garten. I knew that we both would develop a good friendship.

As time goes by, he dropped by almost every morning to my room, just to make sure that he could be of any assistance. I began to rely on him for most of my errands. He had been in charge of almost everything, my phone bills, electricity, the kids’ school uniform, and even all my private documents. I told him that honesty should be his middle name; he looked at me with a puzzling gaze.

There had been so many times that I asked him to do a thing and he came back to me with a different thing in his hand. Though I almost exploded in anger, the baffled look in his eyes chocked me to silence and I was under his magic spell again.

One day he came to me, telling me that he’s out of his job. I was rather busy with my work and told him that I was really sorry for what had happened to him and dashed out of my room to catch up the next meeting that I had to attend. The meeting lasted for hours and finally ended around 7 o’clock. I walked back to my room feeling horribly tired. He was still sitting in my sofa, and staring straight to my desk. I felt so ashamed of myself for ignoring him. Everything turned to be so heavy. My heart was burdened with tons of guilt. I haven’t got a chance to express my apology when his eyes met mine. They were like pools of tears loaded with sorrows. His lips were trembling when he asked me: “What do I have to tell my wife and kids?”

THE IMPOSSIBLE DREAM

The alarms blared and arouse me of my bizarre dream. “Shut up”, I said lazily with my eyes half open. I reached for the clock and thumped the button forcefully with the palm of my hand. I closed my eyes and tried to get back to sleep. I pulled the blanket over my face, hoping that it could take me back to my world of dream.

The unpleasant odor of my blanket and breath filled the private breathing space underneath the blanket. The need to continue the dream was stronger than the smell. I could care less about the smell and carry on to chase for the dream.

I was close to it…I was almost there, when suddenly “the lady who ruled in this house” knocked at my door. She has taken the liberty to wake me up every time she thinks I need her services. “Eeerggghhhh…..get lost”, I mimed the words silently, and pretending that I didn’t hear her. She continued knocking at my door for a couple of seconds before finally the silence was the only thing that occupied the space.

The desire to possess the dream was yearning inside. I glued my eyelids together hoping that it would bring the lost dream back to life. All my wishes, desires, requests and hopes were there, served in a heart-shaped-box. All the things that Pandora forgets to deliver to my life were there.

The feeling that I was engaged to brought back the picture of my childhood once again in front of me. I was standing there in front of the window, watching the beautiful long dark haired doll behind the cold glass window. My eyes were glazing with desire to possess the doll, an imaginary friend that could fill my days and nights. It was so close and clear to me, yet the unfriendly glass kept us both in two different and separated worlds. I couldn’t touch it nor possess it. It had absorbed all my attention until Mommy patted me affectionately on my head. As her fingers ran through my hair I felt the stream of love rushed off into my heart.

“Mom, are u all right? I don’t want to be late for school”. She uncovered the blanket. A reflection of worries intertwined with love and affections were carved on her her face. The look in her eyes brought me back to the reality. “Give me fifteen minutes young lady and let’s beat the traffic of the city. Good bye, dream…”, I muttered the last statement voicelessly and noticed the puzzled look of my daughter as she watched me dash off into the bathroom.

THE MIRROR

She watched her own reflection closely, scrutinizing every single inch of it. A stranger was standing in front of her, an image she has known her entire life yet still a stranger. She touched the reflection with her fingers. The coldness of the glass was transmitted to her fingers and moved slowly to her heart before it was disbursed evenly. She shivered slightly.

"I don’t know this person", she said to herself. To her amazement, the reflection sneered at her. She curled up her eyebrows wanting to ascertain of what she had just witnessed. This time the reflection not only sneered at her, but she also burst out a roaring laughter that tore up the silence of the air. She jumped backward, trying to keep herself away from the mirror.
"Don’t escape from reality", the reflection said abruptly. "It's here and it's real", she added while moving herself forward as if to assure her that she's real.

"You can’t be real. There is only one of us, it's either you or me." She exclaimed in fright.
The reflection looked deep into the black centre of her eyes. "Don’t say things which you are not really sure of. I could be your reflection and it could also be the opposite. You could also be my reflection. It's just a matter of looking at it from a different perspective. In this world, you are my reflection, in your world I’m your reflection. The string of words flow out with such an assurance that made her doubts her own existence.

She stood there, one hand gripped the other, asking herself: "Am I real? Who is real?"

MIDNITE TRAIN

Travelling on the midnite train has been her passion. Somehow, she failed to find the schedule that fit her destination. The midnite train that brought her alive the living memory from the past.
It was a spacious house with a big yard, constructed sometimes during the Dutch Colony. The house has floor-to ceiling windows that look out over an empty deserted land. A couple hundred meters away on the uninhabited land run the sturdy train tracks. Two bars of the longest iron cutting across the land, like twin giant glossy snakes moving in parallel.
At night when the darkness had fallen onto the lap of the earth, she waited for the signal to come. Ting…tong….ting…tong….ting….tong, the midnite train was approaching to pass. She kept her eyes half open. As the train was passing by, she felt a sense of sublime and anxiety brewing in her heart, stimulating her mind to unravel the enigma of the destination of the midnite train. The minute the train had gone, she felt part of her went away with it to a place she would die to know. As she woke up the following morning, she would throw a glance to the railways as she hold the belief that they would bring her to the answer.
On one morning she decided to skip school and embarked on a journey to solve the haunting enigma. She decided to follow the train tracks that would lead her to the destination. In the beginning, the journey was so fascinating for the attraction of the mystery of the midnite train was too extensive. Along the way, she found many exotic objects, such as colorful pebbles, broken painted glass, a piece of magnet and put them all in her weather beaten bag pack. As the sun reached the peak of the day, the horrendous heat and sores that bit her feet drove the claw of despair to grip her tightly. She was suffocated for the end of the track ways was absurd.
She arrived home in the afternoon with a tattered mind. The destination of the midnite train remained a mystery. She was so tired on that particular night and failed to notice the midnite train for the first time.
As she woke up the following morning, she was clear in her mind that the day would be hers and the mystery would be solved. She went to the window to know what the invisible hand had to offer her. As the sun rose in the east, the glossy surface of the train tracks were glimmering and glittering before it petered out in the horizon, like a stairway to heaven. She ran to her mom and announced her discovery with a glowing triumphant smile: “Mom, now I know, the midnite train takes all the passengers to heaven.”

HOPE , ARE YOU THERE?

The early morning dew landed on the ground, penetrating the pores of the earth. The fragrance of the wet damp soaked earth stung her nostrils. She shuddered as the gust of the cold midnite breeze patted her skin. The night was wearing its darkest and gloomiest shadow.
In the middle of the flirtatious sound of the cricket, she felt the presence of a shadowy invisible being. She felt small and belittle by his aura of command and by the glow of authority that radiated from his presence. She stiffened and gathered all the courage in her. She expected a hasty aggression to appear in this enigmatic ambiance.
A loud roaring laughter broke out and tore apart her nerves into small tiny particles. She pulled the strength in her and gathered all the crumbles of her courage. She greeted him haughtily and posed a rhetoric question: “Have I in any ways broken any unwritten convention here?” I meant no harm to any being but to have a discussion with the fireflies?”
He coughed coarsely and sounded like there was a dense cobweb in his throat. Are you in search of the spirit of the death?, he exclaimed in a voice that infiltrated deep into the night.
“I’m in search of hope “she said in an abrupt manner, not wanting to let him peek into her apprehensive heart. I wish I could find her in these hours of darkness.
“All the hours of darkness have long been traded in to me. The entire nights are mine. Any existence that dwells in this time and space is under my jurisdiction. Hope does not live here.” He retorted snappishly, somehow she could feel a vague empathy in his response.
“I wish she would have showered her piety upon me. I have been haunted by a vision, in which I see myself as a living programmed mortal. I see my own pictures in some cubicles performing the flawlessly part of my roles. I wish I had a chance to add a small picture in it. I expect Hope to lend me a hand."
Strange enough, the invisible being was locked silence. She felt the air of nothingness occupying the space for a few seconds. “Disclose to me your dream…the picture that you long to insert,” he whispered softly as if he knew that she would have been wanting for an unattainable wish.
“A heart”, she impulsively replied. All of a sudden she poured it out to this being… a stranger that somehow brought alive the creep in her. The long buried feeling in her sub consciousness spurred out likes the stream of water that flow from the top of the hill down to the river. She had never shared this feeling to any living mortals. The feeling that had been buried for so long in the graveyard of the nameless.
Her Hope was dangling and drifting in the sky. The moon was strolling slowly and brushed her with the tender strokes. The stars were twinkling brightly to lighten up the hopes.

THE CAGE

The parade was moving stealthily along the boulevard like a giant dragon that crept along the street. Flocks of people were flinging on the curb of the streets. Some preferred to linger inside their cars and pulled their windows down. They swayed their hand with faces of enthusiasms.
She was standing there among the crowd, watching the world swaying by in the state of total innocence. Her body shuddered as the huge clock banged and filled the emptiness of the sky. There was an invisible presence of enigma in her mind, occupying every silent corners of her mind.
She abandoned her bodily being and locked behind the cage of solitude. In this cage she was dragged away by her imagination into a state of perpetual delirium. Floating, drifting, wandering like a crowd of gypsies searching for the meaning of existence. The cage has been so suffocating, especially in this mortal silence of the heat. The intriguing and fatiguing chore of life exposed her to the haughtiness of the spirit of life. The intense efforts to keep life free from lice and nits had reached the empty air. Moth has perforated her life.
The parade of life is still in motion. She is trapped in this space, locked in the cage of time and being, frozen…

A VIEW THROUGH THE WINDOW

She sat in her comfortable chair looking through the window that provides her with the view to the world. A blue robin landed on the windowsill.
“Good morning”, she greeted him cheerfully for she’s happy to see him again. The bird looked at her and flapped open his wings to give her a warm hug.
She moved closer to the window and pressed her fingers against the glass and murmured: “Thank you. So… what’s the news today”, she asked him.
He pointed his beak to her.
“Me ?", she exclaimed in surprise. “What has made me so special as to be covered by the news?"
The bird chirped while moving back and forth on the windowsill.
“Aha... you think I’m lucky to be on this side of the and occupy this room?”
The bird nodded gently and chirped again.
“I do have many things in this space. I have to admit that,” the lady exclaimed.
The bird flapped his wings and flew around the window, before he landed again on the sill and waited for her answer anxiously.
” You want to know if I’m happy? Hmmm… let me tell you this, I always envy you for having those two precious wings. I dream of having the freedom to fly, she said as she closed her eyes and daydreaming. “I move along with the wind to those places I have never been. I can be closer to the sun and feel the tender stroke of its beams against my skin. I don’t have to worry about my chair, my room, and my desk. That’s what I call ….”. The moment she was to finish her sentence a squeaking sound filled the air. She opened her eyes in dismay, and saw a bigger bird was chasing the blue robin. She felt so sad and sorry for the blue robin. She wondered if the blue robin would survive.
She went back to her comfortable chair and focus on her computer. A statement popped up on her screen:

How many joys are crushed underfoot
because people look up at the sky
and disregard what is at their feet.
(Attributed to mother of Johann Strauss)

A NIGHTMARE

Everyone thinks he's such a cute and adorable boy, so does the girl thinks of him. He's only four, fat with spiky hair and splitted eyes. He's a menace. He turns the house upside down. He sleeps late at night and cries out loud everytime he's uncomfortable. Sometimes life with him turns to be a real nightmare to her.

All was silent except for the soft breath of the climatiseur. With thumping heart she made her way into the living room, downstairs. As her eyes became used to the dark she could make out a little figure. All by himself. He was leaning forward to the window. He exposed his head to the night air. She could heard a soft babbling noise. The boy was talking. She called his name twice, he stopped talking but didn't turn his head around. Silence.... silence was the reply.

Suddenly the boy whistled his own message toward the tree. The night echoed a strong, clear squeaking sound. The sound of beating wings. Hundreds of bats surged out of the tree. They blocked and darkened the view through the window. She could see nothing but a swirling swarm of grey.

The boy turned his body around facing her. He was wearing a cloak. He looked at her with a horrifying expression. A sneer was curling up on the corner of his lips. He moved toward her direction and his white little sharp teeth shone in the dark as a blitz of light falls upon them. She felt so creepy that made her paralized from head to toe. She was grasping for help. Her voice got stuck on her throat. She was so petrified and ....

It was still very early in the morning. She felt something warm and wet creeping on her PJ. She was struck by it and opened her eyes. The little boy was looking into her face with his innocent eyes and smiled. His pants were all soaked. He landed a warm kiss on her cheek and said:" I love you and gave her a hug. Her eyes were locked in silent conversation with him.

.

THE BROWN ESPRIT TROUSERS

He's not the type that would make the traffic stop. In fact he's simple and plain. Despite this fact, she was madly in love with him. Amongst all of the available choices, she preferred him.

Her mom introduced her with him at the airport, upon her arrival from a trip overseas. She could hardly breath when she saw his smart look. She knew right away that she had fallen in love with him. She was close to giving him a hug, should the moral fiber allowed her to do so. Soon after, she made her confession to her friends and they claimed that they would have done the same should they had been in her position.

Poor him! After he's been with her, the entire universe evolved around her. She chose any time and any mood to be with him. He hardly got a chance to put his feet up. His days were scheduled just for her. There was a time when her mom grumbled and yelled: “ Give him a break!” She just laughed and pretended that she was hard at hearing.

A misfortune brought everything to an end. On one ill-fated evening, she went home with him riding in a taxi after spending a night at grandma’s place. She was really busted and turned to be a bit out of control. She left the taxi without saying a word to him. Ever since that time, he's no where to be found. He has vanished into the thin air. She could never forgive herself for behaving inappropriately. She has left him there, in the taxi, her brown pair esprit trousers.

THE TUNNEL

The cold air was biting her and made her quiver. She sat there all alone in her room on the top floor of the building. The window provided her with a breath taking work of art of the nature. As the sun was about to dive into the horizon, the beams brushed the sky with grey, orange and yellowish strokes. Flocks of birds were dashing home, flapping their wings elegantly among the drifting spongy clouds.

The picture of a young woman standing in a play ground was brought into her mind. Summer had almost ended at that time. The playground was empty as the sun had expressed his boredom to shine that day. She was holding a book in her right hand and a bag was hanging on her shoulder. The gust of cold wind blew her hair away, blocking her view. she held her jacket closer to her chest. It wasnt easy for her to be in control of all the stuff she had in her hand. She looked around and found only the falling dead leaves spinning on the grass. She called out a name a couple of times and was greeted by her own echo that twirled back to where she stood.

Faintly she heard a soft sigh coming from the tunnel. She bent her head down to peek into it. A little girl was sitting in the tunnel. She sat there all alone hugging both of her knees close to her chest. She was sucking her tiny dirty thumb while an empty gaze was carved on her face. As soon as she saw her mother's face the flame inside the kid's eyes blaze. She pulled out her thumb and murmured softly: "Mommy, I miss you. "

She wished that the blue robin would appear on the window sill just to greet her. Loneliness is undeniably suffocating.

IN THE END…

A famous piece of a pop musical group spread throughout the cosy place. A mixture of age and types of people were all over the place. Some were sitting comfortably on the floor reading a book, some other were walking between the bookshelves, whereas the end corner was occupied by the trio, making their best effort to entertain the visitors with their tunes.


The girl walked around the shops. Every now and then, she grabbed a book and put it in the small basket. She finally got a basket full of books and went to see her mom. She shoved the basket to her mom’s view. The girl believes that all those books will lead her to the land of knowledge.


As she slurped her coffee the bubbles of her thoughts were brewing in her mind. She went back far to the past, to the time when she was at the girl’s age. She kept some small black polished stones in a box. Every time she was hurt she opened the box. She felt like sitting on a piece of cloud and got drifted by the wind to the land of no worries. She danced luminously in the horizon and sat comfortably in the lap of the universe. She felt the mind-blowing happiness creeping inside her though for only a fleeting moments.


She let the girl enjoy the same journey and believe in the magical power of the books. In the end she will learn that the magical power lies in her being, her existence whereas a book is just a gizmo.

A FROZEN QUESTION

The sound of the brake clutching the road ripped apart the silence of the cold morning air. Crassssshhhhhhhh… his body flew into the air and hit the front part of the taxi. He rolled down from the car and laid flat on the road. The taxi driver dashed out of his car. Two men burst out of the crowd. They carried the man into the taxi, while the rest of people stood still observing with curiosity as if it watching their most wanted “wrestle mania” show. It all happened in seconds, one of ill-fated moments for the man and the taxi driver.

As the taxi driver was about to leave, a man who claimed himself as a journalist, arrived on the scene. He took the taxi driver out of the car and played the leading role of a hero. A lady shoved her head out of her window and shouted out reminding them about the injured man. Two policemen, as has always been plotted on any movies, arrived on the scene later and took over the case. It took sometimes before the taxi left with the injured man and the police.

She was there right behind the scene. She witnessed everything and felt uncomfortable. The girl sat quietly and nicely next to her. She knew that the silence was fake and she detests this frozen moments. The girl might have heard her unspoken wishes. She turned her head, hesitated for a moment and asked a question: “Why didn’t you help him?”

She didn’t know where to start. She definitely didn’t want to start with the torn apart social values and norms for it would have opposed with all the comforting and pleasing values and norms preached at school. An ugly picture that she herself had witnessed, and above all she saw her own face in that picture. A picture she had just drawn in the naïve canvas of the girl’s mind.

She pretended as if she was focusing to the traffic. Her mind was boggling with the question. The same very question which is valid for everyone. The same question, which has been laid there in the corner of her own mind, frozen, unanswered.