Routine

Then it was all right. Fear crept into my bones as Friday evenings arrived, and as the prospect of being entirely alone was slowly triggering into my veins and bloodstream, all colours seemed to drain out from the upcoming two days. Then it was all right.

I lived through the two days. But the feeling hasn't subsided, it took a more menacing turn in the form of five days of rigorous routine - wake up, shit, bathe, eat, go to office, take the grind, the tired evenings, the same tea stall, 2 cigarettes for 14 rupees, come home, cook dinner, eat, wash up, make the bed and die, only to reborn into the hellhole some hours later. Monday is always the toughest. Then it is all right.

This routine keeps me alive.
This routine stalls my death by one day at a time.
But as it gives, it takes away much more.
This routine is the reason for my sense of non-being.
This routine has transformed an entire population of human beings into a "workforce".

For the sake of good economics, this routine sucks the very driving force out of individuals, and makes a collective out of them. Thinking, expressing freely and all other things that add the quality of being human to any individual, are severely compromised. Crossing out days in a calender for the weekend has become a norm for a generation, secretly fearing the two whole days of alienated nothingness it has under its sleeves. And it offers nothingness BECAUSE it is constrained within two days, constrained within the great routine. You start to believe that it is all right - while nothing really is.

The modern slave, like me and many others, has nothing in his armoury to fight it off. I started writing against this one day, knowing that it will never get better, and probably it will roll even further downhill from here. It has already started its effect, you see! My writings have started losing their therapeutic character as my mind is numbed and I cannot think, and I cannot express what turbulent waters my ocean of thoughts holds within. Everything within me is deeply fragmented, like a bomb had gone off under its very core, and there is a shell-shocked silence beneath it. I cannot find all the pieces of my being now, some are lost forever like the lost weekends and lost youth - the virility is dying, and Monday has arrived again.

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