THE QUEST FOR TRUTH

Life is marked by events occasioned by people we dearly love. They are who they are by virtue of how they have made us believe in and what we’ve made them believe in us. In that aspect we tend to tell only what shall enhance our relationship and strengthen love. Truth never matters.

We carry ourselves daily, the daily bustle of life making us forget that secret. Sometimes in times of solitude we recall and cringe, hoping the significant person is not going through the same thing as we are. It shall truly hurt us same as it shall to them.

The daily activities go on unhindered. Motivation lies in going back to that haven every evening, to the laughter of the people who matter, no matter how hard the day has been. The smiles worn on their faces help to soothe a weary soul. Life must go on as it is.

A secret hidden shall give way to truth someday just as the day effortlessly gives in to the might of the dark after the end of its tenure−only the tenure of truth is unpredictable. The holder of the secret shall realize the futility of concealing it. Unaware cracks begin to reveal to truth in itself, tired of living in the dark.

The quest for truth begins in earnest. We look into their eyes as we do to theirs, imploring each other. The moment is marked by fury characterized by fights, wrangles and expletives are in abundance exceeding air. Truth is nasty. Something inside you inevitably succumbs to it. We realize when our thoughts huddle us in a corner as they flog us mercilessly us. Why us? Why? We ask again and again because we can’t answer on our own and the person who should cant and wont.

We silently contemplate many things: do we pack up our things and flee from reality forever? Do we stay behind and complete the journey? Where shall the strength come from id we choose the later? Do we seek an abrupt end to this, by simply hanging up our lungs and let our memory join the wind in its course?

Often we never realize how long we’ve lived peacefully when we never knew about. We were happy, happy in oblivion. Whoever hid it from us had a trace of goodness in their thinking. Only our minds ignore that. How it was kept digesting what it liked to hear, see and feel! And we lived for the cause which it dictated. How do we accept it? God knows.  Life must go on.

This is the predicament many face through life. They come in many ways but dealing with them has little difference. Be it raising a child only to realize it wasn’t a legitimate one, a cheating spouse……..the list is endless. My creativity shall only limit them. The challenge is always choosing go on. Life is ever in motion.

LOVE’S BRIEF REIGN

Its eleven o’clock. Davy stares as customers slowly trickle in. it’s a hotel and Davy works there as a waiter. The Blink hotel. He reads the menu, shaking his head as he thinks of how life would have been had been spending daily on the cheapest meal offered there. He sighs and mutters a thank you to no one in particular. He sometimes feels pain every time a friend or a relative stops by the hotel. His meager salary shall be heavily chopped on that day.

For the brief period he has been there The Blink has been constantly receiving a higher number of people each day. There are regular customers, some of whom he knows by name and many by their faces. Some pass pleasantries each time he attends to them, some have a forlorn look that seems to have been engraved onto their faces.

He is ever busy at this time straight up to two o’clock in the afternoon. Not today. Everything is dragging itself. He should even be busier than any other day owing the absence of Cherono, the chubby waitress. The manager has always delegated her duties to him. Cherono must be having a charm, he thought. How comes when she is not around activities grind to a slow motion? He ponders. He will ask her if she consulted a brave man, may be one of those who advertise themselves on electricity poles, walls of city council toilets or on litter bins dotting the burgeoning town. Or may be its one of those January Mondays.

 Davy rose and stretched himself. He had sat for long and risked numbing his butt. He walked towards the kitchen changed his mind almost abruptly. He made his way back to where he sat. At that instant his eyes caught a girl making an unceremonious entry. He recognized her. She walked in a manner hid the elegance, a trademark to her walk. She was part of a bunch of girls who he served; they were Joy, Lucy and Naomi. He knew the names but had never bothered to know who was who. Girls who ate at the hotel were way beyond his class. Worse still if they are students.

She must be Joy. Every girl he has met with the name joy happened to be as cute as she is. He never knew why. God worked in miraculous ways. And they sometimes acted alone as she, at some point in their lives. He thought as watched her make her way to their favorite table, the one they sat as they giggled merrily at each other. At times they coaxed him to buy them lunch. Each time he turned down their request.

She took out her phone. She swiftly moved her fingers through the keys. She was texting. She wasn’t that beautiful but she was nice to look at. Everything about her was proportionate−a kind of girl whom your friends could say, ‘she is not that bad; chocolate short neatly combed hair, fleshy lips a nose so proportionate to her face, well rounded hips and an awesome smile…………..

“Hey Davy, will you stare at her all day?” it was Cherono’s voice. He didn’t look at her as the smile of guilt took unprecedented reign on his face. He was ashamed. The shame suppressed the urge to know why Cherono was there. People were streaming in like bees. They must have been waiting for her.

For the first time Davy thought of taking her order. He was sure she wouldn’t take ‘their’ usual meal. She was alone. Something was amiss in her life judging from her blank stares that were long and unusual. A stare that spoke of uncertainty, a scary thought or hopelessness. It scared him seeing her in that state.  

“Hi Joy,” Davy found himself uttering a name she wasn’t sure it belonged to her. She beamed with a smile, a smile reminiscent of the many times he served their favourite meal, chapatti and fried beef. His imagination all of a sudden distorted reality as her lips parted and he felt gripped by something beyond his control. Her lips elegantly parted and replaced her haggard look with a bewitching smile. He smiled back. The glitter of her dentures surpassed those shown by toothpaste makers. Davy was submerged in a world of fantasy. He found himself thinking of things he daily warned himself of. It was a good world with her, perhaps even better than heaven. That could be love and nothing else. He was in it for a moment. Would she have a waiter for a lover? He taught a he adjusted the name tag on his soup stained shirt. Cherono had knocked him as he delivered a meal to customer. She paid for it.

“Hi……how did you know my name?” she asked and a cute dimple on her face.

“Pretty girls are always called Joy,” Davy replied without any intention. He was sure about it, not when someone dared him proof otherwise. She blushed absentmindedly, dislodging her earphones from her phone. As she fumbled for a key to stop the music, Enrique Iglesias don’t you forget me wafted through the air. It got swallowed by the clinging cutlery as people drove away their hunger. Only people going through heartbreak listened to such music. And that must have what was tormenting Joy.

“What will you have today? You don’t look you can have your favourite today…….”

“Sure, a glass of mango juice would,” she interrupted.

“On my bill,” Davy said as he disappeared behind the counter and into the serving area. The aroma of simmering food mingled with the feeling of being in love…..the kind that transcended everything worldly. The kind of feeling that a man can reach into his pockets and pay for anything for it to last. He was paying the bill. He couldn’t even believe. He fetched the juice and pranced as a prince ready to assume the throne after an untimely death of his father. Something inside had died and was paving way for another−the reign of love was beginning. He shoved his way through ravenous people rushing to wash their hands.

He looked briefly at her table. She wasn’t there. He looked again and sipped the juice to make sure he wasn’t hallucinating. Sure she wasn’t there. He was dismayed. How he to get to was terms with the fact that his was only a brief feeling of love, a brief reign, he muttered as he sipped the juice. It was on his bill anyway. A love never expressed. Another day.