‘The resinous mass trudges along forward; an undiscernibly bulbous, homogenous mesh of translucence drawing forth the other. Groove drawing groove, smoothly as if with reins unseen. Contained within a relatively impervious exoskeleton, like the see-through covering of a capsule, it is evidently in no hurry. Or perhaps time is only something we invented.
There are many such in transit, bobbing in another translucence, less dense and of questionable nutritive value. Our mass protagonist non-extraordinaire, is not tipped off (yet) on his sole purpose, something defined by design or intuition in the known human world. But our barely formless friend is submerged in formless translucence. His existence consists of endless movement, endless bobbing and the occasional bumping into, thereby changing course for more bobbing.
Once in a while, a speck previously un-encountered and unusually corrosive chews through this capsule, meeting no near resistance. Whether it means mischief or not we will never know; for our mass non-extraordinaire, is resinous and this speck is soon coated to abate friction, adding to its overall granularity. Sounds smart no? - For something so amoebic yet non cellular.
There are also occasions of diffused illumination when certain instances of brightness – sporadic or prolonged get directed onto our friend non-extraordinaire. There is no warmth coursing through him then, for what does he know of sensation beyond the accustomed bumping? Although a few subtle currents do ripple through his resinous containment, bouncing off his speck-poxed capsule.’ …
“Are you done dreaming Tumpa?” hollered Mother, storming her way onto the terrace, the clock striking moments past six in the evening, the house streaming with the aroma of maangsho-ghoogni, in anticipation of the many guests to be fed. Gazing at the setting sun, young Tumpa, just 14, momentarily blinded, gazed at Mother, a little stunned, eyes shining with hues of the ascending dusk.
“What are you doing? Who will get ready now? All your cousins will be dressed in their best for your birthday. Julie-di needs to plait up your hair as well,” Mother muttered, yanking Tumpa downstairs by the very bony right arm.
“Standing and gazing at the clouds all evening! Can you imagine that? At least when Father does it, he returns with a theorem or two to show for the time. All those books on the stars you keep reading won’t make them fall out of the sky for you. Go, go get ready now! The guests should be home any minute”
No comments:
Post a Comment