17 Aug 2009
Br.o.k/en
"Br.o.k/en", Sid writes in the diary and closes it. Distraught, he stares at the guest who has been pretending to be, or indeed, unaware that he is feeling down. The guest enjoys another sip of wine and speaks for the first time. "Why you feeling low, son?"
Sid: "As if you don't know! Come on, you are God! You know how much I love her".
God has an easy smile. He tastes another sip before saying in a measured tone, "Love is not enough. You need luck. Too".
A pause. Sid stares intently at God. God acknowledges his awaiting stare. "Actually, you need loads of it. And you... YOU... you have none of it, son".
Sid is agitated and surprised. "Why!? Why me?"
"That's a wrong question, I'm afraid. I don't choose. I just throw dice. Whoever gets it, gets it. Whoever doesn't, does not. Random event".
"Ah! But you can control, undo and change anything. Randomness cannot be beyond your powers".
"Omnipotence is, I must remind, an attribute that YOU have ascribed to me".
"Have we been wrong, then?"
"Wrong/right, good/bad... Sorry, I am incapable of understanding duality. How does it matter, son? An ant believes you humans are omnipotent. But, are you?" God asks with a mocking smile.
"Don't trick me with dialectic. I want answers".
"Dialectic is your domain, son. I am a simple chap. Famous as God. Thanks to you".
Sid is in no mood to appreciate humour. "Fair enough. Later. Importantly, here I am. In love. But utterly shattered. Everything seems to be going against me. Despite my best efforts not to, I end up hurting her and inflicting more trouble. Worse, every word I speak and everything I do is implying the contrary. I feel helpless".
God is listening, with an air of indifference. He looks at the empty glass and it gets filled with wine in a moment. Sid is on the brink of a breakdown. "Life is unfair, son. Being at the right place matters. And you are not. Luck, as I said. That's how it is".
"That she is not beside me is already killing. Can I not have at least her trust and love?" Sid asks, his eyes wet in tears. "I am a wreck. I cannot recover from this".
"What do I care?" God says. Shaken, Sid feels. Pitiless. As life. A cold stare. Cold enough to freeze Sid's tears.
"Some delicious drink this is, indeed! Want some, son?"
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Such is the intrusion of the tragic, when one becomes aware of the turning wheels of life
- Self, Yann Martel
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