Beep! Rubumbum rubumbum...dti dti dti dti dti dtak dtak..
And thus began the beat. The fugitive is running amidst sparse traffic at midnight of a day in 1993. Having stabbed a Muslim in a communal fight, a RSS (Rashtriya Swayamsevak Sangh) member fled.
As I looked at the slim pious looking man narrating the story of his life I was mortified. This man had rescued me from a wretch. Another reel forward. "Naataka naataka beedhi naataka, snehitare mathu hethaishigale..."(A play, a play, a street play, my friends and well-wishers...). In 1998 I walked with a man who called me his little sister. We talked about revolution and revolutionaries. I am not sure if he wanted to impress 'lil sis' but he confessed that he had considered joining ULFA (United Liberation Front of Asom) when they invited him. 'Creep' I told myself when I saw him drunk with members of his group on the terrace of our campsite. 'Intellectuals' walked in and out of my life. Men and women. I became touché when some branded ME intel..lectual.
The thing is...our idealism always rules over our better judgment. When you have a 'moral superiority complex' everything you do seems justified. There are two types of people devoid of guilt - the innocent and the criminal. The pseudo intellectual is a cross between the two. Muddled up inside and distrusting on the outside. The individual ceases to exist. Because you are hated if you fall down and loved when you stand up without help. Neither is enticing. Or it’s just that you stopped believing in yourself. Your eyes don’t look into the eyes of others. Your fingers tremble while holding a cigarette. You bow your head when you walk in front of the ‘practical’ person. You dislike the taste of McDonalds. You spit on Gucci shoes and smirk at Ralph Lauren shirts. And just about when someone starts respecting you, you go out and do something stupid. Like drinking from a bottle of vodka that your friend in Gucci bought you. Isn’t that so, brother?
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