Day 502

Day 502,

Who would have thought we’d get here? A long time ago; I hadn’t. I was just a young, idealistic, foolish young thing. This number had aged me in years and not days. Every day’s struggle had started to show in every line and crevice of my skin. The gradual wearing out process of age had accelerated and here I stood; far older than my meek 35 years.

Struggle is an intrinsic part of life is what they say. Without struggle, nothing can be achieved in our billion-strong nation. Not just struggle but the daily act of putting on clothes, getting dressed and walking out to face an uninspiring, redundant existence. We were taught to be the ultimate sacrificial lamb. To do all we had to for our nation, our ‘cause’.

When I first entered my consciousness, I was fired up to do all I could. Everything to save the world, save my nation, save the forests, save the wild boar; save anything and everything. I wanted to validate my presence on this planet, do some good and leave happy. And then when we really did get down to business; I learnt all that my precious, expensive education had failed to teach me. In reality, honesty; perseverance and belief did nothing for you. It came down to bribery; falsification and abject disappointment. We tried. God knows we did. How long can you go on though, in the face of unflinching objection, every single day. For a while there, there was hope; we were convinced that we could in fact save the precious gift of nature. Nobody realizes the wrath of nature; the fury with which it can retaliate. This blind taking was to result in an explosion. It was coming for us and finally it did.

Funny thing is, when we all spoke of this second coming. When the very few who attempted to pass along a word of caution and were conveniently ignored- even they were wrong. Not the event itself; just its timing.

It came out of nowhere. The undiluted fury of God or Nature or whatever-you-call-it. It hit us like a torpedo; wiping out all of existence. It began that way anyhow. Today; after 502 days of living under a pile of dead bodies and rubble with nothing to my name except this notebook and an increasingly blunt pencil; all I can think of is the unbearable regret which will haunt me till I die. Despite all my efforts, the guilt of maybe not having done enough, said enough, protested enough. I could die now; tomorrow or be one of the unlucky few who make it till the end. The end is here already; it is just taking its own time getting ready; a butcher sharpening his knife; the dull glint of steel as the despairing sheep looks on. Ready for death; it would just like for it all to be over.

I would just like for it all to be over. I couldn’t save anything, not even myself.