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Solitude, rather a precious moment while often you are surrounded by army of lieutenants in this 21st century that purported to have crossed 9 billion people. Hence, I decided to write something melodramatic about being alone although not so legendary as ‘Solitary Reaper’ by William Wordsworth. The story goes; I sat down on the empty benches along the river that streams across the city. The wrangling of the mind delves into the problems of custodian life. Why would anybody like to be born into this overcrowded and over competitive society? The picture of a poor boy in one of the poorest parts of the world conjures up in front of me. I ask a question myself, how difficult is it being a poor? Then, the arsenal of questions keeps bothering me that I wouldn’t like to answer. My consciousness starts to switch off, I transform to the character of poor. As a poor boy, I curse my parents for not giving the privilege to enjoy my childhood.
I toil every day at the factory made to stand for 9 hours a day and 6 days in a week while other rich kids same age as me get to enjoy themselves thoroughly. I get scolding, yelling, and even sometimes beating from seniors although I do my work properly. I do not know why is this happening to me? Why do people treat me with scant respect? Why did not my government provide free education? What is this English language? Why didn’t I get the same opportunities like others? When do I ever travel in air conditioned bus? When do I ever get to drive a car? When do I own my house? When do I shop freely? When do I sit on this glittering café shop near the factory and sip a coffee? When do I dress neatly like others? When do I wear good shoes apart from safety shoes? Above all, when do I ever get married? My little happiness comes from my parents get a chance to eat because I send them money.
I live in a shanty house with some 10 people, located on the outskirts of city’s slum. Everybody who shares the house with me works from dawn to dusk has similar frustrations with life. To escape the daily vagaries of life, I spend my entire Sunday on entertainment. I play football with my colleagues from work. I adore romantic movies mainly because I don’t get a chance to romance in my real life. I wonder how the hero lives his life. I spend my Sunday sleep fantasizing about the escapist things of my life. Suddenly, I woke up from the slumber and realize I’m no poor boy in a poor country. I come to conclusion that solitude teaches many lessons and sometimes makes us, as a writer because we are no more bounded by constraints to imagine. We find answers to difficult questions of our life when we are alone. The debates start to ramble in our minds when we walk on the streets, listening to music mildly, lying on the beach and taking a nap. I did write this piece of blog when I was alone hence it is also reminiscent of my solitary mind.
