5. References of Ephemerence

Realization doesn't last long. One who gets one quits the whole game so quickly. There is no fun living once you know what worth it was. But he was alive, and he realized being alive is being in reference to something.
Reference of what? whose son or daughter or student or relative you are? Where do you have your home? What is your education? how much money do you get per month? What do you want to be in some absurd number of years down the line? What book do you read? What sort of clothes you wear? Who is your wife? What movie you watched recently? Contacts in phone book, people who will come to meet you if you are hospitalized, the college where you got your degree and what not... the list goes on until one goes off. Fuck! nothing absolute.... everything is damn relative... understood in reference to something else..
Even this sea has references of shores. He satirically smiled at his own addiction to analogies. Since long back he lived with reference to what he saw himself from some different place than he actually stood. And kept himself providing analogy of some or other story he provided to his life. One cannot lie, means should not, one should tell stories instead. What if one becomes a story, a mix of lie and imagination.
He walked back. Different sounds reached his ears. one of sea waves was loudest, then conversations of couples sitting near shore. He felt like a silent participant into so many dreams around him. He turned into one scantily lit lane and walked till he came before a restaurant. He couldn't enter. He was not somebody who carries thousand bucks and lots of cards and drives a car and has a perfect postured woman with him.
A car stopped near him, inches away. It was some latest model. It's rear shined in lights of restaurant. A handsome guy came out, and soon followed a girl. Her smooth legs went into borders of red dress above her knees. Near perfect buts mingled into flat roads of back. Her hair were meticulously made. In all darkness, her neck shone among black of her hairs. She locked her fingers into her man's. she leaned on him, giggled, her breast touching his body. He put his hand around her waist, and put his nose near to her. Her lips made an inviting movement for a while, for a second or none and her finger with colored sharp nail carved on his chest. His hands moved slowly on her back. They came closer till their lips touched, eyes half shut and hands pulling each other even more.
He walked away. The peace he had touched moments back was all shattered now. He just wanted to be that guy now. He wished to be touch on her lips. He wished to be a finger on her bare skin. He wished to be caress through her hairs. And knowing that he cannot be one hit him hard next moment. He lacked references for such.
He kept walking till he reached railway station. Now his ears are full with crowd of voices. Yellings, calls, bye's and hi's, names, sledgings, breaths, sighs, whistles. Flock of smells captured him. A strong smell of human sweat, perfumes, urine, dog shits, eatables, smokes and faint smell of distant sea. He kept walking through pool of human bodies touching him, shaking him, pulling and pushing him, avoiding him and surrounding him to provide him one eternal reference of crowd. It is metaphysics in action, he noted and erased. Fuck to philosophy!!
He got the ticket and took the train. He stood catching breeze near the door. Coach was full not croweded. What day is today? He just didn't remember. Whatever it is. Why does it matter, he thought. He felt nice being away from scale of time for a while. Whenever he feels time, he feels it escaping from his grip, something always getting late, timing of everything is always lagging behind some moment few slots of times back. This is better, no time. Train stopped stations. he felt sleepy being inside large amount of exhaled carbon dioxide. Now all he saw are heads and all he felt is different clothes and underneath human flesh. He leaned on rod behind him, straightned himself to avoid touches and felt his breathing at his nostrils. Crowd was expanding itself at every station. He sort of started listing touches he feelingh and meanwhile concentrating on edges of his nostrils. First one loose elderly skin looking to be hold on by crowd, then a tight working man hand having metal wrist watch, then hairs of small boy suffocating among butts of crowd, then contracting touch of a girl and then one arrogant shoulder almost hitting him in his abs. Meanwhile he dozed off in his attempts of concentration. He thought of getting down at next station and having something. He was feeling hungry.
He got down at station and swam through crowd towards exit. He stopped for while to see where he was. He knew these roads, these garland sellers, these book vendors, these smells of coffees , scent of incense sticks in the temples, a warm murmur of friends having tea, fast walking priests and old, tired couples walking slowly from the roadside. He thought of one cheap place to eat.
He ordered a meal. H ordered few items more than his meal. He looked at people eating around him and found them looking at him. He just concentrated on his meal. He kept eating, few crumbs failed on his wrist, he made noise while sipping curry, he ate with much part of his fingers inside his mouth and he almost licked his dish. He felt like some animal who is grabing all pray it had hunted. He paid the bill and walked away on some street entering a gloomy looking next lane. It is like web of lanes and addresses are told with reference to lanes next and behind. So when you are searching somebody here, you are like trapped into old magic of lanes. but he was searching no one. He walked some distance and lit the cigarette.
He felt better when nicotine pushed his spirit a bit. He had few continuous long puffs. He had almost forgotten why he started all his roaming. He watched street though shores of smokes. He suddenly found himself being pulled away from everything else. He tried thinking about his friends, his mother,. He tried feeling a connection with somebody. He tried calling on number of a girl he had flirted with long ago. But somehow he let every impulse pass and emptied his mind with that particular thought. Names of some books flashed before his eyes, he tried sticking plots and dialogues of those books to moment he is right now, but that too disappeared. He threw away the but of cigarette. He was all sweating, his heart beats are quicker than normal. He felt like hiding behind some warm and friendly darkness. Silence is pleasant when it has certain termination. He wanted to speak now, but all his word found a counter word and annihilated. To each of his feeling, there came and struck an opposing feeling. Cloud of pains burst inside his head and yet he couldn't call anybody. He see people around him withering. A web of lanes turned into web of his own imaginations and choked him. He sobbed, muttered something with fast drying lips and lost the last thread of consciousness.