The more I want to live authentic,
More I find myself tied up in ropes of old…
Old expectations, old promises, old beliefs, old masks, old relationships.
All of them painstakingly weaved by me
Or traded with others in the market of social expectations
“I will do 30% inauthentic in exchange of your 40% that you did for me at the wedding”!
Slowly I got myself deep into the economy of inauthenticity.
Trading parts of self for momentarily peace and security
Or letting extortion happen at the gunpoint of nuisance and guilt.
Till I was left with the last nickel…
The core of my being.
My creative self.
Who lives naked and guiltlessly admires the curves of goddess idols.
Who is so young and vulnerable.
Who just wants to walk free without cloths that classify him as rich or poor.
Who can laugh loud at a funeral and sulk in a wedding.
Who looks at the king and says “you are naked” and yet love him for who he is.
Who can cut across the egotistic crap and connect with the soul longing to belong.
I have hidden him for long
I have been ashamed, possessive, unsure about him.
While all he wanted was free expression of who I am and who he is.
Now, he is grown up and wants to break free,
From within me.
Tear off all the clothes of civilization and make ups of appropriateness;
Burn all facades of classes and flags of masses;
Ridicule and laugh at all significant noble purposes:
“How can you save the outer world when the one inside you is shrinking?”
As he beats in my heart and veins,
Threatening to explode,
I become aware of the web of ropes I am tied in.
In the market place of social expectations,
They called it perfect order.
When all of us are hooked with ropes in this web,
Unhooking is so painful.
Imagine when it’s nailed to your ribs…
Unhooking also disrupts the web,
Where we all want others to stay as they are.
Even if it’s 80% inauthentic!
This is how cultures are made and sustained.
This how rituals, rites and roles remained.
This how we become prisoners of our own psyche.
If I have to honour the creative self within me,
I must unhook!
I must bear the pain as one last price of my slavery.
Leave my clothes here
And walk naked…
In the economy of inauthenticity
I choose to loose…