The man who can't be caught (Short Story)

“The man who can’t make up his mind” my niece said startling me.

She had been standing quietly by the window for almost half an hour and I had forgotten that she was in the room. I looked up from the sketch I was drawing and smiled in her direction.

I adore my eleven year old niece and usually find her one-line labels amusing and disconcertingly accurate. Take for example, the case of our neighborhood butcher who had a thriving business till last week. At the market square, weeks before the incident, Temitade pointed a skinny finger in his direction and said in her usual dry tone ‘the sac under the table man’. The label proved true because the butcher was thrown out of the square last week when it was discovered that while chopping meat into smaller bits for his customers, he would furtively drop some pieces into a bag he kept under his table.

I was curious to see who the ‘man who can’t make up his mind’ was, so I got up and walked to stand beside Temitade. Temitade is unusually tall for her age and at five feet one inch, her head stands at my waist. She pointed at a white Toyota Camry driving up the road. It was circling an abandoned building on the other side of the street. From my flat which is situated on the topmost floor of a four storey-house, we have an unimpeded view of the driver’s activities.

"That’s the fifth time he’s gone around the building,” Temitade said. The building she referred to is empty, left in a terrible state of disrepair by its owners for two years. The fence around it is also broken in places, and parts of the house and its grounds have been overtaken by weeds. Recently, the property has been popular for one other thing -

“Isn’t that the property with that awful smell?” I asked, adding hopefully. “Maybe he is surveying it to buy.”

Temitade shook her head and said, “He slows down at the gate, looks inside and continues driving,” then she exclaimed, “Can you see what I mean? He’s doing it again.”

We watched as the driver slowed the car down at the gate “I wonder what he’s looking for.”

“Maybe the lady and the little boy who are in the building,” Temitade said.

I stopped looking at the car and frowned at Temitade. “What lady and little boy?” I asked sharply.

Temitade shrugged “I saw them in the building” she said unhelpfully

“Nobody in their right mind would go into that property,” I said outraged “that building can collapse at any time.”

Temitade didn’t say anything and we continued watching the car. I watched the building as well for any signs of movement.

Finally I asked “Have you seen the lady and the boy before today?”

Temitade looked pensive “Yes, some weeks ag,o” she said slowly “The day you forgot I was staying over.”

I smiled wryly; she would never let me forget that. On that fateful day, I returned home about 2am and found her asleep in my bed. I had forgotten that I invited her to sleep over. Instead of calling her father, my perfect and annoying brother to pick her up, my ingenious niece persuaded a carpenter to break down my door.

“Was that before or after your fight with me?” I teased her, knowing full well that the ‘fight’ started three days after the incident.

She gave me a superior look and said “I didn’t fight with you, I chose not to speak with you and that was three days after Uncle Timothy was buried”

A dark look appeared on Temitade’s face as she said the words. I thought I could understand why. Uncle Timothy’s death had being her first brush with the dark spectral being and even for older folks the experience isn’t easy at all. I can still see her pinched face at the funeral when they lifted the coffin lid. She looked thoroughly shocked and ran from the room. It took a lot of persuasion from her father before she would come out of her room. I was surprised that she didn’t speak to me for days. I still get uneasy when I think about it. Why did she choose not to speak to me? I didn’t force her to go for the funeral, matter of fact, her father and I disagreed strongly about her presence at the funeral. I felt that he should know better, being a medical doctor and all that.

“There he goes again” Temitade said, her interest returning to the car

“There’s something fishy going on” I said inadequately

“Maybe you should call the police” Temitade suggested

I nodded thoughtfully “Maybe I should” I said but made no move to do so.

Temitade walked to my desk and picked up my phone, she handed it to me and rattled off some numbers “those are the police emergency numbers that my dad gave me” she explained

I rolled my eyes and she giggled. It is common knowledge that apart from our mutual love for his daughter, my older brother and I have nothing else we agree on. For instance, if I had a daughter I would not leave her at my brother’s for the weekend and arm her with emergency numbers. I would show some trust.

I dialed one of the numbers and an officer picked on the first ring. I explained to the Police officer that we had a prowler in the neighborhood whose activities I felt required a closer look. The officer assured me that there were officers on patrol close by who could be at the location in question in two minutes. I gave a detailed description of the neighborhood and the prowler and hung up. My civic duty done, I looked out of the window and noted with satisfaction that the Toyota Camry had stopped opposite the gate of the house. The driver was sitting duck, and the hunters were on their way.

Asking Temitade to stay in the room and ignoring her pout, I ran downstairs and arrived at the house almost the same time the officers arrived in a black beat up van.

The van packed beside the car and four Police officers dismounted and surrounded it in the most intimidating manner.

The driver of the Toyota Camry got out of the car with a confused look on his face. He was a tall, thin man with a good looking face. He did not look like my idea of a dangerous criminal and I sighed with disappointment “Good afternoon officers” he said “Is there any problem?”

“What is your business here?” one of the officers demanded. I looked at his name tag, it read M.A Yinusa. Officer Yinusa was obviously the senior officer here and by his tone, he didn’t share my view about what criminals looked like. In his line of business everybody was probably a criminal until he could prove otherwise

“I was looking.........” the man’s voice faltered, he looked at the faces around him and suddenly realized that a crowd was gathering around him. “Why do you ask Sir?” he said cautiously.

“We had a call about your activities, they were reported as being suspicious” Officer Yinusa said

“Someone called you about me?” the man asked with disbelief

“I called” I said suddenly from among a growing crowd of curious people. Everyone looked at me and I added by way of explanation “You drove around this building almost fifteen times” I noticed that several people from the crowd nodded in assent.

“So, what is your business here?” Officer Yinusa asked again

“My name is Toye Odu” the man said “I got a call form an unknown person that my wife and son are in this place”

His words were so unexpected that we all stared at him. The officers looked at the abandoned building “Is this where the smell is coming from?” one of them asked looking at me and I nodded “Why would your wife and son go in there?”

“I don’t know” Toye Odu said and suddenly he broke into tears, his thin shoulders shaking “I have not seen them for over a month. They were attacked at gun point on the third mainland bridge and their attacker drove away with them. There are police records to support this at the Panti Police Station. We’ve been looking for them everywhere”

There was an uneasy silence as we all looked at Toye Odu and then at the building.

“Why are we still standing here? Let’s go inside and check!” Officer Yinusa barked suddenly “You!” he pointed to the man and then pointed at me “And you! Come with us”

They all dashed into the building, and I reluctantly followed. The awful smell hit us afresh as we stepped in through the gate and we all gagged. Yet we continued into the building. We had to run through walls of grasses and swarms of flies. It was not the way I would have chosen to spend my afternoon.

Suddenly, one of the officers shouted and we all rushed forward eagerly. We could tell that he had found something momentous.

Apparently, it was also something so terrible that it made the man called Toye Odu scream in agony.

I heaved my guts out when I saw the discovery. Temitade and her one-liners! I blamed her terribly for putting me through this experience.

The remains of a woman in what must have being a white gown and a young boy in black shirt and trouser lay on the floor of one of the rooms in the building. They must have been there for a while. Their bodies were barely recognisable due to decomposition and the ravages of animals. This then was the origin of the smell.

“Arrest this man!” Officer Yinusa shouted with anger pointing at Toye Odu who until that minute had been staring at the bodies with stark disbelief, his hands clutching his head

“But why?” Toye Odu cried “This is my family!”

“Nobody could have seen them here! These corpses must have been here for at least a month!” Officer Yinusa fumed

“But....But someone called me that they saw them” Toye Odu stammered “I don’t know how it happened and I don’t know who called me!”

I cannot understand even till now what emotions ran through me as I watched the man defend himself. It might have being sympathy, but whatever it was, I found myself saying “My niece told me earlier that she saw a woman and a boy in here”

The officers looked at me with suspicion, and Toye Odu looked at me as though he was seeing me for the first time. He probably was.

“Why didn’t you say this earlier?” Officer Yinusa asked suspiciously

“I didn’t think it was necessary till we saw this” I said defensively

“Where is your niece and when did she see this woman and boy in this place?” Officer Yinusa questioned

I replied reluctantly “I don’t know if it was this woman and this boy, but she saw them about thirty minutes ago from my place which is some houses away”

“Can we see your niece?” Toye Odu asked eagerly

I hesitated “She’s waiting for me in the house”

Officer Yinusa, Toye Odu and one of the officers followed me to my flat. The crowd on the street watched us with curiosity. I could hear them whispering, giving their own interpretations of events. I felt the sweat run down my back. I should have kept my mouth shut, I thought

When we entered my flat, Temitade was still standing by the window. I looked nervously at my desk and noted that the sketch I was drawing earlier was gone. The desktop was empty.

Temitade met my eye and said mysteriously “The man who can’t be caught”

I was not in the mood to ask her what she meant by that. It couldn’t be anything good anyway, and one label was enough for one day. She would explain this one another day.

“These gentlemen are here to ask you some questions” I said

“About the car or about the woman and the boy?” Temitade said in her dry way.

“Did you see a woman and a boy” Toye Odu asked excitedly

“Dont lead the witness on!” Officer Yinusa said sharply. He asked Temitade to sit down and sat opposite her.

“What is your name and how old are you?” he asked

“Temitade Ojo,” Temitade replied. “I am eleven.”

Officer Yinusa looked at Temitade’s tall but thin form and glanced at me “Is this man your father?” Officer Yinusa asked pointing at me

I expected Temitade to giggle but she didn’t, she looked at me with accusing eyes and looked away “I am his niece” She said

Officer Yinusa nodded. “Tell us what you saw earlier today.”

Temitade narrated how she saw a woman and a boy in the building and noticed a Toyota Camry circling the property.

“Can you describe what the woman and the boy wore?” Officer Yinusa asked

Temitade nodded “The woman wore a white gown and the boy wore black shirt and trouser with red socks. He wore no shoes.”

Officer Yinusa didn’t say anything for a while. He looked around my room as though for answers. Then he looked back at Temitade “Have you seen this woman and boy before today?”

Temitade surprised them by nodding, but surprised me even more with her words “I saw them some weeks ago late in the night,” she said. “Someone brought them to the house in a car. They seemed to be asleep.”

“Did you see the person who brought them?” Toye Odu asked agitated

Temitade hesitated, she looked at me and then at Officer Yinusa “I didn’t see his face,” she said.

The officers and Toye Odu had a lot of questions but they couldn’t get more than that out of Temitade. She had no further information to give. After almost half an hour, they took their leave. The mystery of the phone call to Toye Odu remained unsolved amongst other things.

Temitade and I watched through the window as more cars arrived at the abandoned property- more Police officers, a few reporters and a medical personnel or two. The bodies were taken away in an ambulance and Toye Odu’s Toyota Camry followed the ambulance. We continued watching till all the cars drove away. Then the crowd dispersed and eventually night fell and everywhere became as silent as the occupants in my room.

“How much do you know?” I asked finally

“About you being my real father? Or about the man who placed the bodies in the building? Or about the sketch of the bank that is situated two blocks from my parent’s home?” Temitade asked dryly

“I’m not your father,” I protested.

“Yes you are,” Temitade said with conviction. She really was a most unusual child, I thought with irritation. “I’m the only person in the world that you care about, and besides there must be a reason why my mum hates you so much.”

“Your mum isn’t the most loving person in the world,” I said. “She hates quite a number of people.”

Temitade didn’t look convinced. “She hates you especially,” she said and added “don’t try to deny it, I've known for a long time”

We were quiet for a few minutes. I tried to remember if there had been any hint from Temitade about this knowledge.

“The sketch” I hesitated “The sketch is just another drawing; you know how much I love to draw. I mean, I’m an artist after all.”

“You drew a sketch of Monique Jewellery store and two days later it was robbed,” Temitade said uncompromisingly. “And the Modas Antique store that lost that priceless vase? I saw the sketch on your desk; it had the vase showing on one side.”

I cracked my knuckles nervously.

“The man who placed the bodies in the building?” I asked nervously

“It was you,” Temitade said quietly

I took a deep breath and it hurt my insides

“I saw you in the moonlight,” Temitade continued in a quiet voice. “It was the day that you forgot that I was staying over. I looked out of the window and I saw you. I didn’t know then that they were dead, I thought they were asleep.”

“So why didn’t you tell the Police that I was the man who put the bodies there” I asked.

Temitade replied slowly. “I thought they were asleep when I saw them that night. But it was the same look on Uncle Timothy’s face when they opened his coffin. That was when I knew that the woman and the boy were dead.”

“That is why you didn’t talk to me,” I clarified

“Yes,” Temitade said nodding

“But why did you lie to the Police man,” I insisted

Temitade looked at me and her eyes seemed to glow in the dark. “It wouldn’t have being the truth because I know you didn’t kill them,” Temitade said. “You see, you are not that type of criminal. You wouldn’t hurt anyone that way.”

I should have being offended but instead relief flooded through me

“I stole the car as a get-away,” I confessed. “Imagine my shock to find dead people inside.”

Temitade nodded. “You called the man, didn’t you?” She asked

“I couldn’t help it,” I said. “A man has the right to know where his family is.” I tried to see Temitade’s face in the dark. “And you didn’t really see the woman and the boy earlier today, did you?”

“No,” Temitade said “I only said it to see what you would do.”

We sat in the dark for a couple of minutes without speaking “I’m not your father” I tried again

“Yes you are,” Temitade said happily “but dont worry, I won’t tell dad anything.”

I knew she wouldn’t tell my brother, but it didn’t make me feel better. It was much easier to think of Temitade as a niece.

After a few more minutes of silence, Temitade squeezed my hand and said “The man who can’t be caught”

The labels usually make me smile but this time it didn’t, it only brought relief.

Paddle your own Canoe

If my backyard reeks

of onion and cow dung manure,
And my coal pot remains black
days and days without end,
Who are you to point it out to me?
My critic, I say; paddle your own canoe

Why do you never stop looking?
Never stop having opinions?
Never stop being right?
Always eternally correct?
Just paddle your own canoe, please paddle on

When I was young
my nose was a good foot long
My mother chopped it with a meat knife,
Putting me in a long wooden canoe, out in the open sea
She handed me the cut nose
and said; “now go on……….paddle your own canoe”

A matter of perception (short story)

The commercial bus I boarded from Costain to Palm Grove stopped twice- the first time to pick up a passenger and the second time, to drop off the same passenger.

She sat next to me, and I observed with faint feminine malice that although she was young and prettily decked out in tight blue jeans and green T-shirt, she had overdone her make-up and looked slightly ridiculous.

The bus was hot and the afternoon air was stifling. Perhaps it would rain tonight, I thought hopefully, and glanced at the cloudless sky. I was envisaging this more comfortable state of affairs when a sensation began to register in my mind. It seemed that the young lady was very cold. I could feel her body’s coolness through the layers of the brown suit and the shirt that I wore. I was puzzled. Did she just exit an extremely cold room seconds before getting on the bus and was finding it difficult to acclimatize?

I waited patiently for the afternoon heat to warm her up, but with every minute that passed she seemed to get colder.

I turned my head and studied her face for some explanation. She didn’t look uncomfortable at all, staring straight ahead like she had no care in the world. I began to wonder if I was imagining things but really that couldn’t be- especially as I was starting to shiver slightly! Should I ask her why she was so cold? Did she really need to be told that her body was as cold as ice?

I was temporarily distracted by the bus conductor who asked for the fare. With that sorted out, I turned back to the lady, this time with the intent of asking her why she was so cold.

I drew in a sharp breath when I looked at her. The tight blue jeans and green T-shirt was the same, but the lady was different. She was no longer young! Something absolutely impossible had happened in less than a minute. Where there had being a young lady, there was now an older lady! How on earth did she go from being young and trendy to old and wrinkled?

The now old lady turned at my startled movement and looked at me steadily for a while. She studied my dropped jaw, shocked eyes and trembling form. I was so afraid that I could not say a word.

Even as I stared, gripped with fear, I wondered how this scenario was going unobserved by other passengers. But as a lot of desperate people have discovered, the sad truth about life is that people no longer really look at their neighbours unless they are doing something totally out of this world. I wished to God that I was one such normal and uninterested person!

The old lady suddenly looked away and announced her intention to get off the bus at the next stop. With the break in eye contact, I released my breath, which I did not realize I had been holding, and stared firmly at my hands. They were shaking uncontrollably.

When she got off the bus, I couldn’t resist looking at her. I continued to stare at her as the bus moved till she was out of my sight.

I met the eyes of the bus conductor as I turned away. He was smirking.

“All you girls sef” he said in Pidgin English “you no see the man get wedding ring?”

“What man?” I asked confused

“What man” he mimicked jeeringly. His eyes shone with pleasure at finding a good sport in me. I could tell that he had every intention of humiliating me before the other passengers “Wetin you dey look outside the window?” he continued “No be the man wey commot the bus?”

“A man got off this bus at the bus stop?” I cried incredulously

The conductor looked at me suspiciously. It was obvious that he doubted my sanity.

“Yes madam” he answered before he turned firmly away “It was a man that got off the bus!”

A poem for Bunmi who loved Philip

For Bunmi who loved Philip

And Philip who loved her back


For the times, he tried to bite her leg
And the times she teased him so


For the days she watched after him
And the nights he slept with the lights on


For the tears she cried when he died
And the days he could have enjoyed more of her care


For Philip who made us love birds
And for Bunmi who will never forget him.


Bunmi, - I hope you like the poem. You asked for a story, and I promise you a really beautiful Philip story another day.

Bumblebee Effect

Rusty Philip

I have a Parrot named Rusty who is missing half a wing. The hunter that caught him in the wilds must have decided this was the only way to prevent his escape.

Rusty doesn’t know that he is incapacitated in any way. You should see him spread out what is left of his wings, the pride on his face, the majesty of it –even with its missing part- and the powerful whoosh of air as he beats the wings against his body.

Should I open the cage at one such moment, Rusty would probably take off into the air- believing in his heart that this is the natural thing to do. And who knows, he just might make it.

Bumblebees on the other hand have practised the act of making the impossible possible since the beginning of time. Aerodynamically speaking, Bumblebees cannot fly-should not be able to fly-are grounded totally. The ratio of their body weight to their wings is disproportionate. Science says Bumblebees can’t fly. But hey, nobody told the Bumblebee that. When God made him, he looked up into the sky, looked at the work he had to do to survive and took off from the ground to get it done. He didn’t ask anyone if they thought he should be able to fly. He knew in his heart that he could.

Permission seeking has killed far too many dreams and potentials around us. Nobody has all the answers, and I seriously doubt that anybody is created to do so (except Google : )). We are all a part of a big puzzle with our own unique ways and visions. We have a part to play, a duty to perform to this world in order to complete our part of the puzzle but we’ll never get it done unless we take a leaf from the Bumblebee.

Like Joseph Campbell says- The priviledge of a lifetime is being what you are

Sometimes good guys deserve a break..... (Short Story)

There was a huge crowd on the street of Ponle that afternoon. I could see my house around the corner but I could not reach it. Its faded green walls and sagging roof had never looked so welcoming, yet every time I moved a few feet forward, the crowd seemed to move me back again.

“What is going on?” I asked, murmuring under my breath. I just wanted to get home and know that another horrible day was over. I didn’t really care about the crowd or the new sensation that brought them to Ponle. This was a dead end street where nothing of importance happens, but once in a while, some washed out musician would hold a road show and the crowd would gather.

“Ponle’s illustrious son has being brought home”

It took a second for me to realise that someone was actually responding to my rhetoric question.
I turned and saw an old man standing at the edge of the crowd just like I was. He smiled at me in a genial way but I didn’t respond. I was tired of being nice to strangers. Why couldn’t I just get away from everyone, sip from a cold bottle of water, put my feet up and pretend that the world made sense?

“Look over there” the old man pointed to a certain spot over the heads of the crowd “That’s his picture”
I am short sighted and can’t see very far. I pretended to look and nodded in a vague way. What did I care about some wannabe politician? I inched away from the old man.

“You know he wasn’t always this popular. He wasn’t always rich with properties all over the world” the old man said musingly “He grew up a pauper. There were the days he had nothing to eat and women did not want him”

I thought of my empty second-hand fridge with its cold water and no food, thought of the flat mattress whose springs would occasionally jut out and cause havoc to my body and I thought about my permanent single status.

“His life was miserable. No money, no family, and no friends” the old man shook his head “Life is so interesting” he said and kept quiet.

I looked at the old man. I wondered if he had known Ponle’s illustrious son when he was younger and if Ponle’s illustrious son would recognise or acknowledge the relationship now. The old man peered into a satchel he carried and brought out a half eaten kola. He smiled with pleasure as he bit into it.

I was tired of waiting for him to resume the story so I said “So what happened to change his life? How did he become rich?”

The old man looked at me and shook his head. “No no it’s not about the money” He said and continued chewing his kola. He swallowed audibly. I wondered if I had seen the old man in Ponle before. I would probably not have noticed him. He looked like the many other old men who live in Ponle. Only, there was something almost carefree about him. Like he didn’t have any worries. And Ponle has many worried people-both young and old.

“It’s the character that matters” the old man said

“Character” I said bitterly “There’s no gain in good character these days”

The old man gave me a knowing look. “Then why do you help that old woman down the road carry her goods to her shop every morning”

“How do you know that?” I asked shocked. It was a small thing I did under the cover of early morning darkness

“I know things and besides Ponle is a small place” he said, he turned back towards the crowd and pointed at the drummers. It was then that I observed that Ponle’s illustrious son was coming home in a coffin. The coffin bearers were dancing wildly and throwing their load in the air “but it is character that has made the man famous”

I was glad we had gone back to Ponle’s illustrious son and passed over my own activities. “In his poverty, he never stole, never cheated and he worked hard” he added impishly “He helped old women across the road”

I smiled with irony “a good man” I said

“You could say that” the old man said “It was who he was. Who he chose to be” He gave me another knowing look but I ignored him

“Then one day, he helped this old woman cross the road and she gave him a bag as a gift” he continued “It changed his fortunes”

I frowned at the old man “I was taking you seriously” I said annoyed “but your reference to old women is no longer amusing”

“The bag changed his fortunes” the old man continued as though I had not spoken, a very thoughtful look on his face “You see, sometimes good guys going nowhere deserve a break”

There was a sudden commotion. We both looked at the wild dancers and realised in horror that Ponle’s illustrious son’s coffin was soaring dangerously in the air. If it landed at the speed that had sent it up, there was likely to be a disaster

“Hold this!” the old man flung his satchel at me and darted with surprising agility into the crowd. I caught the satchel, but ran after him. What could this old man hope to achieve without getting hurt?

The crowd parted with surprising ease but I lost sight of the old man. A cry of excitement as I neared the dancers made me realise the coffin had landed safely. I breathed easily, foolish old man, now where was he?

He was nowhere near the dancers, coffin or drummers. I craned my neck in different directions but didn’t see him. I prepared to wait at the spot till all the crowd had dispersed because no doubt I would see the old man and return his satchel.

The processions continued with their antics but they held no interest to me. I thought of the old man – I had taken a liking to him- and I thought of his weird story. I looked with sudden curiosity at the portrait of Ponle’s illustrious son which was now a few feet from me, and suddenly the world slowed down.

Tremors began in my hands and my jaws hit the ground. Was this a joke? I moved closer to the portrait – it really couldn’t be.

But it was, because every other picture, calendar or obituary notice I have seen since then showed the picture of the old man. How could that old man be the same man who was in the coffin?

It was almost like a dream but for the satchel. I looked inside the satchel for some clue- and for the second time- my world slowed. Where I had expected to find more Kola nuts, I found tiny little gems, precious stones.

The old man’s words floated around me with sudden clarity

“The bag changed his fortunes”

‘Was it possible?’ I thought rooted to the spot ‘Was it possible?’

And then I understood why he had done it

At least I thought I understood, a man like him knew. He had to know.

“Sometimes good guys going nowhere deserve a break”

Bonne Santé

One places no value on good health - the ability to walk at any pace, sit down or stand when you want to, turn your neck and eat any food- until the ability is gone for any particular reason.

The French would say Bonne santé! With that flourish that comes with the language. And it brings an image to mind- having good health is almost synonymous to being alive! Not just existing! But with springs in your step, eyes bright and intelligent and an imaginary glass of wine in your hand as you waltz through life.

It’s infectious and most enviable. It says to anybody watching that life is worth living and yes, it can be lived indeed!

That tells me that being in good health is more than just my body being medically fit, but my mind and spirit being up to par as well. Many body-healthy intelligent people are dragging their spirits on the ground right behind them. They just can’t seem to have any spark. And look how many times you’ve crossed the road, or dodged just in time behind a door to avoid that guy with permanent high spirits but no substance (mentally lazy- perhaps you call him a bore?)

Anyway, let’s celebrate our health and appreciate it. There’s nothing like it at all.

Boredom

In case you doubt it, these pictures prove that boredom is almost a crime. It certainly shows that there are still so many things to see, and so many experiences to have- that the world is far too interesting for one to be bored in it.

But people continue to be bored. This is so surprising a phenomenon for this century. Everywhere we turn, we are besieged with advertisement for the next entertainment. Movies constantly change at the cinemas, there are new songs on the airwaves every day, the news changes every hour, and now we have more friends than ever through our online social networks.

I guess that truly there is such a thing as entertainment overload. Somewhere in our subconscious, we are asking, ‘another news again? Does it ever stop?’
We haven’t had time to sip our juice and reflect on the beautiful play or scenery before our mind is arrested again. So somewhere along the line, we shut down and detach our senses.
Nothing excites us anymore. If we do get excited, it doesn’t last that long before our inner voice asks-‘Is this it?’ It’s almost like a drug addiction and we keep looking for the next fix.

The next fix helps us to get rid of the empty feeling that boredom emphasize in our lives. That empty feeling that shows the true state of our existence. Boredom tells us how far we have come in embracing a fulfilled life.

The world is full of exciting little things that we can take our time to do, and that require nothing from us. It sounds like a cliche but take time to smell the roses. You can watch the sea for a few minutes while on your way to work or back-watch the sunlight reflect on the water, look at the moon and count the stars, go skinny dipping in your pool, catch a large unusual fish, take yoga lessons, run around in the rain and be stupid about it, organize a play in your neighbourhood. Whatever you do, make sure its the entertainment that you really enjoy and choose because your mind can tell the difference and also choose to stay open.

Lives of quiet desperation

Henry Thoreau (July 12, 1817 – May 6, 1862) made a statement many years ago about real-everyday people and it remains valid even now. He said that 'majority of men are living lives of quiet desperation'.

There are three things that fascinate me about this statement. One is how valid and true the statement is, the second is the active word 'living', and the third is the word 'quiet'.

This generation is dying, and yet some would say it is more alive than ever. There are better opportunities, improved health care and more innovative solutions; this is the age that no feat seems impossible when viewed with a true scientific mind.

But is it so farfetched to imagine that one day the earth would stand empty and the only sounds and movements would be that of the machines we have created? Not in my mind it isn't. But this would never be allowed to happen because in spite of how frustrated and desperate people are, they still love 'living'.

Living is something you do when you don't stop your life through suicidal means. It’s what I am doing at this laptop writing, putting thoughts on paper. It’s what you do when you wake up in the morning and rush around the house preparing to go to a job you hate or love. It’s what your neighbour across the road is doing taking that gorgeous woman on a date. Living is what you do every second, the choices you make and the execution of it no matter how insignificant the choice. You don't have to like any bit of being awake but hey that's 'living'.

Sometimes we fall into the habit of thinking the other guy has got it perfect. There is that something about the way he has chosen to paint his life; the bright orange and sky blue colours that hang around him – could be the way he laughs so loud and never seems to have a care in the world, seems to be doing alright; got a nice apartment on a really cool stretch, best SUV in the market and oh is that a Rolex?

Then someone says – two months later- did you hear about so and so? No? He drove off a bridge!

No, not that guy! You actually wonder if he drove off in that SUV or borrowed someone's beat up car. What could he possibly want to go jumping for? If only he knew what life is like for other people; someone like you for instance.

Here you are, struggling everyday with idiot bosses and a job you hate; taking the crowded stuffy bus to work on the same bridge he leapt off (how did he find the space in this traffic to manoeuvre and go over that bridge?) and for God's sake even he can’t survive this cramped space you call home, with neighbours who drive you crazy every day. What right did he have to go over that bridge?

But that's one guy who got tired of living a life of 'quiet' desperation.

So many people are tired. Mentally, physically, socially and spiritually tired. Their brains are dulled by the disillusion of life but they just go on living. Things haven't turned out like their parents and teachers told them it would. The good, honest and loyal aren't inheriting anything but dust and lower rungs of the ladder.

So many are desperate and wishing some magic would happen and change the course of events in their lives. Desperate in their unhappy marriages. Desperate in their jobs. Desperate with so little achievement in spite of the long grinding hours. Desperate because their minds won’t stop dreaming and imagining, and then their eyes start to see those same ingenious ideas that they discarded right at the door of their minds being brought to life by other (braver but less intelligent) souls.

And the social circles are unrelenting in their unsympathetic ways. Our friends and colleagues would not allow us to bring our woes to the surface lest we look worse than them and hence actually get some sympathy. So we press our starched shirts with just a little more heat, get a nice hair cut and look the part. Just one more day to get through, we say.

I was thinking the other day about how unhappy I was about life, and then I looked around the room and asked myself what I knew about the cheerful looking people in the room. Everyone was laughing about a joke. What I could tell about them said-scratch just a little under and you would be astounded at the depth of bleakness and the hopelessness beneath the façade.

People live such unhappy lives but majority of them would not change it. Either they don't believe it should be changed (some religious doctrine probably encourage this), they are afraid of changing it (our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure) or they can’t change it (some life altering trauma, disease etc.)

There is also the fear of changing the pattern of their lives.
They’ve being in this slump for so long. It's supposed to get better but it isn't. They want to add real value but they aren't. They should be earning more than when they started but they are not. Life should be interesting, a great adventure, but it’s not turning out that way. They want so badly that it should turn out right and that they should get it right.

Our destiny is really in our own hands - Taking our future and steering it right. Making tough but worthy decisions, and living it to the end, yes that is possible, and in our control too.

But it takes guts. It takes a steel will. It takes an uncompromising heart. It takes a lot of difficult to-do things.

Somewhere in our desperate hearts we know this. The question is, are we willing to address the desperation? To say I would rather die trying.............................

And what are we willing to do with the time given to us, keeping in mind that we have no idea how long or short it is