The alienation that one faces while living in an urban setting that is increasingly accepting a neoliberal way of life as common sense is the tragedy of our lives. A society that is uncompromising in its pursuit of success, measured solely by the yardstick of wealth, and which reduces the worth of human life to a number, makes one wonder how sustainable the system really is. The efficiency of the market that is premised on conditions of full information and perfect competition, which does not take into consideration the scarcity, inequalities and power relations that make up society, is a utopia. But more on that, maybe on another day of ranting.
However, one such spell of depression, economic and otherwise, had me against the wall. I wanted to flee from the organized chaos of the most polluted city of the nation which, paradoxically, belongs to the richest state in the country. There are times when the celebrated children of modernity- these urban concrete jungles- choke you with its "invisible hand", leaving you gasping for some fresh air. Sadly, dragging the Late Mr. Smith to court for attempted murder wasn't an option. So I took a ten hour journey away from the madding monster, instead. I decided to head for the hills for some reflection and peace of mind. I believe that one can never rationally analyze a system by being part of it. While subjectivity is unavoidable, one can inject a dose of objectivity if she removes herself from the system and views it as a totality, from above. For me, the mountains is that vantage point. It helps me become a bipartisan observer, a third party, a neutral arbiter.
Allow me to take a dip in your waters, pure and eternal;
Cleanse, not my body, but my soul.
Allow me to breathe in your air- gentle, yet potent
Let me speak to the world through you, as you.
Young, but growing; fearless and imposing
For you are so sure, with the clouds beneath you,
and the Gods above, and within.
That was my prayer to this glorious work of nature- the pristine snow capped Himalayas. She was generous; giving me all that I'd asked for, with an altruism that was so natural, so warm.
The return journey was long, with its lack of longing. The city greeted me with its flashy neon lights, its fast cars, its faster people and its all embracing smoke- black, impartial, fair and non discriminating. My thoughts raced back to my weekend lover, only to fill me with gloom. I knew she was on her deathbed; that the modern miracle would wrap its tentacles around her in a vice like grip, sooner than later. Very soon, she'd be reduced to a number- a price tag that the bidders, in their perfectly competitive, fully informed, procedurally just auction, would arrive at. And then, they'd meet the necessities of their perfectly regulated market by brutally raping her, while her children watch the spectacle, nay, celebrate it like the Romans at the Colosseum.
I wished she understood the dynamics of our market. I wished she wasn't so unconditional with her love. I wished she'd quoted a price. Maybe she will. Someday.
