The blinfold

[FOREWORD: after a long, long void of a few months, I come back with a bang with my first love, story-writing. Yes guys, here's presenting you with my second short story, which is really more like an article, mainly due to its very short length. Its also a "spontaneous overflow of powerful emotions", as Mr. Woodsworth would put it for me, and rightly so. I smell some hard-boiled criticism guys! On to work now...]

 The city was engulfed in emotions, as the winds brew invitingly, and brought in the monsoon clouds. Even the Gods had been overcome by a strong feeling of excitement, as the giant water-drops of precipitation falling euphorically on the earth suggested. The once-sunny day had now took a turn for the wetter and the clouds were being ripped apart by lustrous streaks of lightning strikes. New Delhi was in for a hell of a day.

The semi-wet earth smelt delicious, almost edible, as the zany motorcycles zipped their way through heavy traffic, water-puddles, and hordes of on-footers. Horns honking, and people chatting away, were the most prominent sounds that morning. Every one seemed engrossed in their designated job, not waiting a jiffy to appreciate the seductive beauty that nature had to offer.

But the rains cared not if its seductions found few takers. Quite the contrary, the rain symbolized selfless submission in the service and entertainment of earthlings. Somewhere in the forest, a peacock was at least acknowledging the presence of the down-pour by using it as an assistance to woo her girl  its love. But the humans, they were unmoved by the music of the monsoon, inept and incapable of being able to feel any deep emotions other than envy, greed, and competition. The great human blindfold was doing its work flawlessly, suppressing any human desire for real love and compassion for fellow beings, let alone inanimate bodies.

An old, frail woman of 88 years, blinded partially by age and erosion, struggled to cross the road with only her walking stick to guide her, which almost looked as ancient as herself. The speeding vehicles dodged her and zipped away, but none stopped their machines and stepped out to ferry her across the road safely. In fact, they completely ignored her very presence, and continued on with their daily chores, blinded by the great blindfold. The blindfold was unavoidable, and only the fewest of the few had been successful in getting rid of it. One of those few was a young, energetic lass who stood on the street overlooking the road where the old woman tried in vain to cross the inferno of the road crossing.

The young woman looked at the woman out of pure concern, doing so because she was yet to be corrupted by the blidfold of indifference, she was yet to be qualified a human. Her eyes showed a genuine urge to help her out, but the indifferent gaze of everyone on the street wavered he reflexive actions. As the old, ailing woman struggled helplessly to get to the other side, fighting off cars, bikes, buses and what-nots, the young, unnamed woman took one small step and broke away momentarily from the blindfold. But the blindfold was not giving up. A radio lay by the street in a pan shop, which chucked out random garbage meant to tighten the knot of the blindfold around the listeners eyes, a blindfold not only of indifference, but that of idiocy and lethargy too.

Suddenly, the instant that the young woman protruded her toes to walk towards the old woman-in-distress, the national anthem of India started playing on the radio. Ah, the final blow! The woman stopped in her tracks, having been transfixed by the hypnotism of the beautiful chant. She took her step back, and all her attention diverted from the struggling woman to the melodious verses of the anthem. Even the rains seem to be momentarily taken in by the blindfold, even they seemed to slow down and salute the song. She stood in full attention position, eyes closed religiously (or maybe out of respect), and fingers tucked in tightly by the waist. The blindfold of indifference engulfed her too, this time in the disguise of patriotism. She lost her conscience, her indulgence, he concern, her every emotion. All that remained was indifference. She finally became human.

The conflicting woman wandered aimlessly on the road, waiting to be guided. A bus, driven by another blind man, tied down with the blindfold, raced down the street at an insanely high speed, not even honking the horn to warn the woman. As the song bellowed on the radio, and the woman, grew increasingly hypnotized by the fake patriotism, the bus hit the old piece of human tissue and organ squarely in the chest, and the frail old body was lunged across the road, with intestines sprawled all over the path. A sprinkle of blood landed on the woman's face, but it created no effect on her, and it seemed to her no different than falling water-drops. All patriotism drained out of her by now, she could very well be an epitome of indifference, but no, as per the code, she had dutifully respected the holy anthem of a great nation. So what if someone has lost their already-miserable life due to her inaction? She had obeyed the national guidelines, that's all. The blidfold was wound around her tightly, and when the song ended, she shrugged the blood droplets off her face, and joined the crowd, literally as well as figuratively.