The parable of concrete jungles

Every morning when my eyes reach out for the first rays of the sun, the pair has to go beyond a humongous building, to seek the light of the day - the vast expanse of the sky, peeling itself out of a cantaloupe, spreading its dewiness aura over the universe. I sincerely imagine everyday that the gigantic edifice vanishes by some witchcraft. My heart gladdens at this very thought of drawing in the iciness and the sparkle of the day's break minus the median.

 

A childish thought indeed. Nontheless I am not playing foul here as the façade is on the verge of completion, so uninhabited. There is no cause of panic to set in the mind of the readers thinking that the building blocks might come tumbling down causing a severe damage to lives, property and neighbourhood courtesy an earthquake or a twister. I just pray for a fresh start, the morning ideal, before the city and its strait-laced life joggles in twitching my inner peace.

 

The life beyond imagination slips into reality. The tea making machine robs me of the second opportunity of my senses from settling on the tea-leaves brewing in the kitchen spilling around the aroma of the raw flavour. Setting the stop-watch the rush hour is followed by morning ablutions and breakfast. The school buses honk in rigour for the children who gradually open up from their foggy senses. The transportation league of the city's vista darts on the fitted well-planned roads and highways at the first siren of the day's crack. Moving on to expressways leaving behind the maze of sustainable skyscrapers to find its destination to aviation and port terminals in a bid to unfold its vision to new frontiers. 

 

The uniformed educated dyed-in-the-wool human race, managing to read newspapers and sipping cuppa on the way, barges in through the doors of their productive corridors trying to hit a sixer before an empty audience. The not-so-educated ones, entwined to a city's zing, too prods on to their mercantile hubs, digging into iPhones, tablets and a number of high-end gadgets and applications on their way.  The city folks' tight-lipped demeanor falls off as the day languors to weariness, feigned excitements and incitements to push harder. 

 

Do not be guided for once by the bird of good omen that the nutty city do not cross the doors of domesticity. Those who stay at the houses for a range of reasons smartly connect to the world through social media, the mélange of ideas, knowledge and thoughts, stories, images, art and culture teaching you the act of sharing, liking and disapproving. In a nutshell I do not have to know who my neighbour is, whether thy neighbour is alone and in pain and that is not important. The strategem of a city infested class is to run the extra mile. For example, when the world is hounded by what happens in Syria, albeit you might not be able to spot the country on the globe nor for a single day in your life have left the city haven, yet I should be abreast of the loss, sufferings and the misfortune befallen on the city of Damascus and participate with staunch comments on the social media. I am sure no-one heeds to my voice but my hits on the social networking circle takes me to the pinnacle of pomposity.

 

Pouring at the fashion, wellness and lifestyle magazines, gaming at playstations, music and tennis lessons, swimming sessions, cooking and dancing classes, tutorials (for additional income of the teacher and exclusive knowledge of the student), a beeline to grocery store at the fag end of a hard-laboured day, dinner and homework, after-dinner egghead work, minimal sleep hours - the city labyrinth devours the whole day and night (weekdays) sapping the physical energy and mental strength of humanity. A crafty stoical system working silently. Weekends are reserved for frantic city tours, shopping malls, cinematic multiplexes, attendance at parties punctuated by manicured expressions and discussions or a visit to the doctor or a vet if you are a proud owner of a pet.

 

I grew up in a world blanketed by Thakurmar Jhuli, Abol Tabol, Aesop's Fables, Wuthering Heights and popular classic English literature (books, of course) and not animated flicks or games uploaded on YouTube, and learned or listened to adda, the rachis of collective wisdom and intellect of one's fraternity. A herculean task for a heart whose soul lies in the  choruibhati lunch (the Bengali cookout) playing Rabindrasangeet or adhunik bangla gaan (courtesy Hemanta Mukherjee, Shymal Mitra, Dwijen Mukhopadhyay, Manna Dey) or Johann Sebastian Bach, Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, Ludwig van Beethoven, Richard Wagner  to name a few on gramophone or radio sets but mind makes a mental note to turn out for a colleague's kid's birthday party at Papa John's nearby outlet later this month to be feasted on processed and canned food and aerated drinks. Greeting people at swanky places and confabbing over coffee at froufrou cafe hubs, exhibiting trendy outfits and splurging on gifts is deemed to be dapper in a 21st century dolorous city.

 

It is already the end of the first week of September, the autumn is in the air. I need to ring in my jogging partner who takes her dog for a walk not to leave him astray on the pruned grassy tracts of the park. She has been notified by the municipal authorities twice erring the city landscape by virtue of a inoculated pet dog. A civilised city and community has no place for undesirable elements. Two peas in a pod - deleting my account of quondam days for fear of defiling the city's young, dynamic, innovative and tech-savvy minds and the welfare organisations expunging the stray dogs from the city map for fear of rabies. 

 

The cabalistic city is a perfect hideout of human civility. Welcome to the jungle!