September 8, 2014 – September 14, 2014
Walking is also my favourite hobby. I shouldn’t call it my hobby. Walking is my attempt to feel whole world under my feet. It is crucial part of my quest for happiness. Sometimes, it is happiness. Sometimes, it is solitude. Sometimes, it is painful. Sometimes, it is tiresome. Sometimes, it is refreshing. Sometimes, it has no clear pursuit. Sometimes, it’s journey is not known. Mostly, it is unplanned. Walk is, therefore, very much like life. I am made up of five elements – Reading, Writing, Walking, Talking and Feeling. Upon my death, when my pyre is lit, my body will dissolve into these elements and these elements alone.
I walk to almost everywhere from almost anywhere. I am sure that I will walk to my pyre. If there is a hell or heaven, then, from the pyre, I will walk to hell. If there is a Supreme Soul that my soul has to embrace upon salvation or for salvation of my soul, my soul too will walk to its salvation. If there is nothing after death, I will walk to nowhere. I do wish that after I die, I get to walk in a few people’s subconscious, at least those whose hearts I may have touched, in their memories, in their talks, in their thoughts, in their writings, in their tears and in their laughters. However, too early in my life, I have come to know that no footprints are strong enough, more so of a person like me, a light-footed, short-statured, easily forgettable man. My footprints are easily removable, capable of being quickly run over by tides of life and time. I have now come to admire this quality of mine. Well, if you can’t change something inherent, admire it and come to terms with it.
This week went into a few long walks across the city. I felt like a God who could walk from anywhere to anywhere as and when he willed. My walk while coming back from office was unusually long. While going to office takes barely a 5-minutes walk, but this week, coming back from office took 30-45 minutes. Then, the walk to gym, later in the night, at around 10 PM, is short, but walk back from gym was usually longer, through the secluded streets in darkness of night, under artificial lights, at times under the light of moon, all the calories that I burn in gym, again start to throb, like a phoenix throbs from its ashes. Though my walks to gym weren’t as frequent due to a muscle injury.
This week’s longest walk was made of thousands of feet. It started from my home via tallest twin towers to a place that has a name that sounds like the name of a bird, and sometimes a chirp of a bird. I saw spectacles. Many of them. I also saw the ordinary. Much of them. I was again a spectator, gliding through earth, looking at skies, staring at tall buildings, wanting to find a point, where my feet ask me to stop and walk back towards home. Finally, it arrived! About 15 Kms from my home [as I checked later on Google Maps]. From there, the feeling of walk changed. It wanted to take another route. Through lanes not seen, and through roads not taken – while reaching there. I followed its wish, and discovered a place where they serve history. A museum. The building was majestic and imposing. Its towering facade represented the towering effects of history and my reaction to the facade was characteristic of the impressions history draws from a thinking being of a society. Walk is not meant to be held captive to such trivia as history. It must go on. I abandoned the museum and escaped its intellectual charm. After an hour or two of walk from museum, I discovered a place where they serve food. Good food. Please refrain from taking my word on food or a restaurant. You will never find me criticising food or a restaurant. The long walk ended at about 12 in the night.
I am sure that the streets and the roads, on which I so passionately walk, have no memory of mine. Why should they? Have they any reason?
Thank you, Week 13!