Going to my native used to be a wonderful sight, and with all due respects, it still is. There are few modifications to the picture. There are a few replacements to the serenity. The gentle straying cattle is replaced by tractors that tear through the roads like in a derby. The rustic folk, who greeted every passerby with a smile that sheepishly managed to shine out from their tobacco stained teeth, are replaced by people with mobile phones. Some of these people just sport a toy in the hopes of impressing the metro folks. Its disheartening to see people from my native fake a life unlike their own to keep at par with people from the cities. Its people from the metro’s, who are to blame, who project a fairy tale to them about the city, its grandeur and its pompous lifestyle.
Far from reality are those stories about dish washers and washing machines. Alright, I agree I sound like a clichéd writer, but the fact remains that life in general has lost its meaning in my city. The day ends before it even starts, and people live a lifetime before they realize, “we are back to square one”. The word ‘mundane’ was definitely coined by a person from my city. The ideal start to the day would be by cursing somebody. This could be either because of a noisy neighbor or the sound of a power transformer blowing up, cause of which chaos ensues in the morning in a bustling household. There is competition at every step, right from the time you catch the bus to work. You best friend mutates into a fiend over parting of a seat. At work there is malice lurking in every corner and all your ‘colleagues’ are trying to step on each other. On a holiday half the day is spent of deciding what to do and the other half is spent on getting there.
These facets are ever so forgotten when being described to an outsider. Or, probably we have become immune to these atrocities. I call it evolution.