Cyclewala (The Cyclist)- V

“There’s a river that keeps on flowing. There’s a sun that keeps on staring and there’s a life that keeps on going.”

The Cyclist kept on cycling his life for days to come.

Shutting himself away from the world, and dancing on the flute of his own. The world seemed a mere unknown journey because he was much fortunate that destiny had become his ultimate teacher. He had all he needed for a story to run successfully; the character, a reliable mate, a conflict, and a solution. He never realised what else he wanted. Never but his mind throttled to recognize the unknown, together as a whole world was yet unknown. He was paddling his own, scenting his own and targeting his own.

But was this feasible? What if it makes him secluded? What if it concludes him a disguised?

When everything seems successful, someone has to take steps to cut off the leisure.

The train has come, but someone has to choose and step up. The winds from the windows have to be answered. The course of life has to continue. He knew that well. He kept staring at the same shine that reflected back from the bell on his bicycle from the crisp clear sun. It smelled just the right when he looked around and sensed a fresh marigold garden towards his left. He could imagine his life at the zenith of beauty and perfection.

The moment gets old the next moment we look back, and the newer gets older too when touched and felt. He warned his eyes to be careful for they had seen enough of disgrace and misfortune that the other side of the story may be different and he has to calm down to the psalm of life could turn ugly one day. He never heard the words he taught to the people, his expression of his body seemed indispensable. To the other lives who glared in darkness, his thirst was never quenched neither with darkness or with enlightenment. But his dare to choose what no one else does bring him satisfaction.

Where I am supposed to go now, he thought. There’s nothing bad in shying away from opportunities but what’s next? What if I keep on silent for long that this world forgets if I ever exist? What if I fail to match my face with those of my need?

Days and months went by and he now kept on staring the darkest corner of the darkest room of his house.

He tried wondering the real sense of world existent in silent life. Where no one sets to call you, none bothers to disturb and those silent hours be numb for times to come. Passing the time when time is no brother of space, he watched the warm sun shifting place, from days to nights, morning to evenings, months, and the next big quarrel.

He remembers everything he once was, once in his own flute and everything seemed a quibble. Those no rhythm mornings, and cracky evenings and nights with no sweet dreams, he wondered if he once lived a life or a question. The answer which no one has to answer because the question is incorrect. He was never supposed to answer that question, we all don’t have to. But what was actually a question that had to be found, then had to be answered perfectly? Was he an eligible candidate? What if he isn’t, then who actually are? What if he shies away from this change? What if he doesn’t bother?

Life is always desperate to answer itself, the method of it seems unfair to those who regret the change.

Better regret yourself if you! But realizing this question left him dumbstruck. His eyes were no more pleasing to the beauties because he was now a commoner trying to find the meaning of life, the unsung song written on the pages of destiny by the almighty. Instead, he shelled the deeper out of himself and wondered if others do?

Life has no answer, he thought, but why is that a question then? It’s illogical to get into the queue where there’s no one. It’s impossible to perpetuate emotions through invisibility. But if illogical is what makes an illogical question answer the real question, why not make logic a no sense illogical question?

The drama has no end. He still keeps waiting to stare the darkest corner of the darkest room. And he waited until…

I’m the answer, he thought.

I don’t know where I came from, where I have to go and that doesn’t mean that I’m illogical. And neither is life. For it is a justified question put to me, to be answered by me. The bounds and adversities of life have no end, and that doesn’t mean that I’ve to keep me silent and let the morons take the charge. Yes, this world has answered me badly, at least I learned what’s good. Towards the better end if I lead, let’s celebrate the fun at its best! And till it ends, make sure you breathe and then leave ASAP!

What was his Cyclist journey was now the journey of his life. He didn’t want to come back but he had to. A new journey has to begin when one ends….



Previous in the series:

Cyclewala (The Cyclist) – I

Cyclewala (The Cyclist)-II

Cyclewala (The Cyclist)- III

Cyclewala (The Cyclist)- IV

Yetesh Sharma