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Tag: Floyd

Home > Posts tagged "Floyd"
vs. The People

1 The town of N____ was a small and peculiar place. About seven miles from Kathmandu, the small town was nothing sort of lively or murky. It was peculiar place because nothing significant ever occurred there as the town lived in boredom, and as it was prone to happen, it lived very much in peace.  It was a small town with a bazar where people gathered every evening and like the town, basked in dull apparition of the descending fat old sun. The days trudged their way through the wrecked dreams of the people and the people were old, furrowed and grey. All their children had moved away in the pursuit of a modern life or to say, the western life, and only the middle aged and their old gaping fathers and grumpy mothers existed in this limbo. The bazar was the only place holding the people from insanity and the tediousness of life, as people amassed in the tea shops and taverns and gratified in each other’s company, amusing themselves, sallying their way through the lassitude of their daily life. The women were indulged in gossips, moping though time, and resenting for their blunt husbands while the men evinced their judgement through drunken brawls. The night usually ended in such a carousel that the boulevards were full of lamentation, remorse, rage, and vomit. But when the day commenced, it was all sluggish and lifeless. Like the town itself suffered from bipolar disorder. It was a small town, about two hundred brick houses, pitched and slated rooftops, two storied with a mezzanine and mostly hueless or withered. The east nook consisted of wild copses and groves through which a deep muddy road passed and into the city. It was so much covered with mud that people trudged their way and slogged their belongings though this narrow field of bureaucratic misdemeanour in which the town whole heartedly gratified. The culture of silence weighed upon the travellers more than the gratified townsmen as they cursed and resented this filthy predicament unlike the hundreds of pigs wallowing in this festivity of filth. It was nothing extraordinary that all the pigs would come up every noon when the sun would be over the head and the little children, amused and overwhelmed, would join in as their dutiful errand and ramble into the groves, spirited and lively, bonding with some and fuming with others over…

A Day In Life of Mr. Floyd

On a glorious afternoon of June when the sun shone in all its grandeur, Mr. Floyd was treading in short steps with his big brown boots, down the steep of Chabel contemplating his lack of passion for everything. He considered that all was over for him. The will to live, to be amused by the trivialities of human deeds, the splendor of nature which induced paroxysm of joys in ordinary of circumstances, the ingeniousness of human beings along with their foolishness which incited innocent laughter among others were all getting trivial to him. He felt like a man thrown into an abyss of hopelessness from where even light couldn't escape. The world didn't make any sense at all. With every step he took he began to ponder at the senselessness of the world. Not his world. The human world. The whole of human existence was getting in his nerve as he was unable to answer the question of our purpose in such an uncanny universe. Such constant flux of hopelessness was evident in his countenance and the passers-by could easily misjudge him for a neurotic patient. Such disturbed was his appearance. Floyd’s sense of senselessness increased along with the dusty and mundane road which stretched across the Bagmati River bridge and into a small park. He muttered involuntarily, “ I cannot be an accident”. He was wondering the origin of the universe and what ensued after the Big Bang while considering all those scientific hypothesis which explained our existence. He thought it to be pathetic. If such were the truths then he reflected contemptuously, “my life is nothing but a product of an accident! This cannot happen”. Mr. Floyd subconsciously felt that there was something divine in the origin of the universe and the creation of human life. He did not believe in God and refuted the very idea of such a bizarre creature, yet, he doubted science.  He didn't suppose this to be contradictory ideas but an integration of his experience with surreal elements of the world.  He was one of those people who would spit into the face of “God” if it appeared out of thin air and proved its existence. Upon reaching the park he made himself comfortable in a green wooden chair where he was suddenly taken with one of those desolate lassitude’s which are overwhelming in their attack upon soul and the body. He began to delve into the same abyss…

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