Portrush Whiterocks beach was strangely silent. With the silence crept a strange uneasiness in him, maybe only because it made him aware of his own loneliness shrieking, crying and yearning for a prod, almost as if he was in an alien land. He sat in the company of the sea, the bright orange evening clouds and an irish coffee. It had almost become a routine. Routines... that he had so religiously followed all his life, and that now seemed so unimportant. Yet, routines were all that he was surrounded by again. The waves crashed with a thud on the golden sand of the beach, the water retreated and it all went on in an endless, untiring loop. The only difference- the higness or the lowness of the tide. He looked at the sea and felt its magnanimosity and power, and smiled as the thought came to him- how is it that the frickin moon can control the tides of the earth's powerful water bodies... how could it make such a mockery of water's kingdom, and play kingmaker from so far away! Such were the ways of nature. Wer'e measly earthlings... powerful and yet powerless, with our destinies chalked on a higher power's slate. With our voodoo dolls in control of megalomaniac demons who can twist and turn us any way they want to. And however hard we try and squirm to get free, there is no escape, for the world is a matrix running on a laptop with no "esc" key.
The limestone cliffs of the White Rocks stretched from Curran Strand to Dunluce Castle. The grassy knols with little, trembling blades of grass owed everything to the sun and the wind, before whom they bowed every sunrise and every sunset. A routine set quixotically and followed unreasonably. Just like his life. Just like everybodys' lives.
Twilight began to shroud not just his thoughts, but the horizon too. The horizon... where everything seems to meet. Only, it never does. He wondered how many horizons he had set for his life, and how naively he had run after them wishing to arrive there. But isn't it what makes horizons funny- you keep running after them and they'll run faster away from you. They'll elude you no matter how you plan to pursue them. And yet, that's what we mortals do the whole of our lives- run after dreams that never come true. All those times when he thought he did it, the satan laughed in the background on the insipid creature. There was a lot he'd achieved- the world's best degrees from the world's best colleges, a well paying job, and the praise of people around him. Everything tangibly possible to make him feel that the horizon's approaching, but nothing intangible to make everything meet. The best of the times had already gone by, all well spent in achieving, running, proving? Nah. He couldn't have been worse off. He wondered if he'd made the right choices, and yet felt as if he'd never had a choice. It may seem an esoteric notion, but it seemed to him that a new road had began at the end of every other road he'd ever taken. And now it felt as if he'd been cheated, brought back to the very place where he started from. All those times when he thought he was trying to change his destiny, he was just a train which couldn't make any turns unless the tracks turned themselves...
The ocean which had seemed blue-green only a few moments ago, was on fire with the descent of the twilight, with bright red-orange flames. He thought of how everything, and everyone changed colours, as if their insides were hollow and transparent, just a shiny reflective plate. He thought of all those moments when his friends had betrayed him, and those when he'd betrayed his friends. To mimic the ways of the world, to follow the golden rule of doing unto others what other do unto you...that's how everybody lived... that's how he'd decided to live. But it wasn't him. It was somebody else living his life, as he slept behind the veil only to be waken up now by the splashing waves off the rocks of Islay. But could he have lived without the veil? Or died a hundred deaths that could've disabled him forever? It didn't matter now. It'd have been the worth the risk. But he never tried. Bogged down by peoples' insanities and vanities. He'd thought what goes around comes around. But the love he'd given others had never come back, not even in dreams. Fair enough. What about those who were just like him? He'd brushed them aside unflinchingly, egged on by people who he thought loved him, but those who were only trying to change him as they pleased, never giving a thought about what he would want. And so those like him had faded away too, covered their hearts with stones, and shrouded their persons with the proverbial purdah. They'd forgiven him. Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe they should never have. He wondered why it was that he could never understand people. Why, even though he knew so many people, he really couldn't see through them. It was hard to locate the flaw. But he knew it wasn't a flaw. He was just born human than many others, but the others made sure he becomes one of them, and he did.
All around me are familiar faces
Worn out faces, worn out places...
Bright and early for their daily races
goin' nowhere, goin' nowhere...
If only he could 'paint a perfect picture' right now, it'd be complete with the golden sands, Shelagh’s Head, the Wishing Arch, Elephant Rock and the Lion’s Paw- headlands of distinguishable forms rising out of the ocean- a cozy bonfire, a couple of friends and her....
And then he thought of her... how much he'd loved her, and how much she'd loved her back... He'd always blamed destiny for taking them to the point of no return. Today he knew it wasn't destiny or the voodoo dolls. It was him. He came this far only to leave her behind. He didn;t find what he sought, and he lost what he had thought he had. He couldn't read what was so explicitly written in the stars. All those times when he'd been at Bunratty castle, he had hated what he wanted to love- those medieval banquets where immaculately dressed couples in ball gowns and tuxedos serenade each other like juliets and romeos. Hated them not for what they were, but because he could never be a part of them. He'd made a hundred pilgrimages to Whitefriar Street Church, asking St. Valentine- or whatever remained of him- to grant him his wishes, his love horizon... and so many times had even ended up cursing love. Everytime he left the place he smiled at what the Church was meant for- 'Seek.Celebrate.Curse.'
He was here, the place he'd always wanted to be... and yet it was just the place and nothing else... It was dark now... the fire in the sea had left a gory ash in its place...
Door hi se saagar jisse har koi maane...
paani hai woh ya ret hai ye kaun jaane...
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Pre P.S: Portrush Whiterocks is located in northern Ireland. Bunratty castle is one of the most popular romantic destinations in Ireland where a medieval style ball is organised every evening. Whitefriar Street Church is the place in Ireland where the remnants of St. Valentine are kept...
P.S: Its been a long tym coming... but i guess i didnt wanna write unless i really had time for it... and now seems like i never will have time !!!
P.S 2: Hope my old readers return...along with new ones ofcourse ;)
P.S 3: Sorry for breaking the dry run with an excruciatingly long post...But thats ma style!! :D
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