Tumultuous Thespians

Genuineness as naïve as ours, at a time ensconced within the era of uncouth, immoralistic, uncreditable corruption can sometimes scathe scars deep. Trust none, my mother, she told me, at a time when young, impressionable as a child, was I. Years hence, realization slowly creeps in to show the veritable honesty of a simple but wise statement. To grow up in atmospheres that teach you utopian values, the nudge and urge to lend an ear, to listen and to bear faith and not severe a second chance, was but inherent nature.

To err is human, to forgive divine is what the idiomatic phrase enunciates in simplistic terms and so is also what I believed. Mankind however, has the supernatural trend of assaying wrong most, if not all, of everything. Nature brings to fore at periodical intervals, tests that manifest and substantiate to us, the naivete, and gives much of a real shake up shock treatment.

Character, values, morals, ethics are all words which have long lost their haloic sheen and are best left buried in the ancient chest of virtue; the sanctity of definition to leave undisturbed, unchallenged. The absence of these little bagatelles of virtue governs the intricate framework of democratic organization. Rationality of any degree has taken a beating while pseudo flimsy reasons take up centre stage in passing the so-called ‘value judgments’ and imputing such unreasonable irrationality to their consensual notions leaving the innocent marred black. It is good upbringing on the one hand balanced by the inability to step down levels as low that leave us plain appalled and immobile – lacking the mere strength to raise an arm in opposition for we are rooted to the ground, paralyzed.

It is in small institutions like ours where it doth blossom young, the spiteful, vile and conniving basis of differentiation that place the very elements of sense and sensibility far outside the doorstep. Ugly is the scene that unfurls and plays out so dramatically to the tune of ludicrous venomosity and into the hands of truant tabloid appearance seeking ersatz spineless invertebrates.

It isn’t in my position to make utterances that, on the dawn of tomorrow, in all invariability, will turn contortedly controversial. Passionate responsibility with dignity of labour, in pursuance of causes and issues at hand have taken the inconspicuous back seat while riding upfront, loose and aloof, is the vice of power.

What we are is as much an issue in conflict as what we would be if we were not. Being apolitical is impassionate ignorance, or so it seems. At such a point in time what really comes to my mind is the one line from the soliloquy in ‘Hamlet’ by Shakespeare, that has become much renowned among literary architects of the day, and is now much relevant – ‘To be or not to be – that is the question’.