From Aysha’s Dairy – III
Published on March 05, 2017

From Aysha’s Dairy – III

From Aysha’s Dairy – III

She came a bit early for the sky had put gloomy attire. In the mean time Hassan too joined the family at tea. Clouds had already posted their flags to mark their boundaries. The vast blue appeared like a fragmented sheet with uncountable margins across. Aysha stationed herself next to a window watching the cloud line like a majestic army ready to invade the fort after a massacre down in the battle field. Wind was steady, so was Aysha. She had nothing in mind save her wall clock which had stopped in the middle of the night.

“Baba, you need to check my wall clock”, she demanded.

Hassan paid no attention. He was absorbed in that cloud line that was making uncountable patterns right over the hazy sky.

She repeated, this time her words were draped in high pitch, compelling him to pay attention.  Hassan turned his head and smiled.

“What do you want?”

“I need my wall clock in order, it has stopped”, she repeated.

“Bring that here”, Hassan asked.

There was silence in the room as Hassan was out to fetch a fresh dry battery for the wall clock.

 Her room appeared ravished without wall clock. Everything lost its pace, the tick tock of the clock had taken away grace of her bed chamber. Nothing seemed in order save her diary which she pulled out of the drawer.

Grim face, thoughtful eyes, hesitant hands and heavy heart all contributed generously to make a mention of her wall clock in her diary. Involuntarily ‘We the Subjects’ welcomed her thoughtful eyes and she profusely bleed on the sheet of this section.

Silence is killing, tick tock of the wall clock all of a sudden died, so did rest of the things on the shelf. The photo frame gifted to her too looked dull for every oscillation would mean validity.

Is watch so significant? What and why is the movement of its limbs so pulsing? Perhaps a human being is a complete watch with a diamond lid. It works on energy, it keeps pace with Fate. Fate is the Absolute watch; it brings all the wall clocks back to rest. Although, this space is vast, yet the time conquers it.

I am a watch myself. I have limbs devoid of bones. I move around my own axis, I am the earth and moon revolving round the sun. I keep my time, yet at times my limbs are exhausted, I lose a frame. I rewind the coil of my watch and equate my limbs with ‘The Movement’. I keep my time from birth to death, but in between I exchange my wall. Why my watch should be fixed to a wall when I am a living time. Don’t need a wall, don’t require a signal; I stand for my own sphere. I place my wall clock opposite to my bed when I am unmarried and next to bed when I am married. I have learnt the trade of time. I have adjusted my sleep cycle with my clock next to my bed to obey family rules.

Our watches have been broken by bullets, bruised by pellets and ravished by stones. Streets are flooded with broken glasses. Watch of our existence has long been dumped in the junk yard of unknown locality. Our pulsing glasses are out there in the mud, out there on the table of a surgeon, out there is that old shop of watchmaker to be stored for junk yards. These broken pieces have often been picked on mercy by merciless mentors.

Who has set this clock wise movement on our anti clock moments? Do we carry a calendar, a date?  Do we have any timepiece to remind us the time of dawn and dusk? When have we clocked in our existence in the map of such a big country with countless watchmakers? How much our tubeless tyres fixed on that rim of wrecked steel clocked up till date?

 Our timepieces are compromised, so are the watches and wall clocks. Our clock tower like our stagnant pulse looks like a heap of limbs devoid of life, a dull heap of ‘bad time’, a hazardous hill, a clock without arms, a scarecrow right in the middle of rush.

Who has stolen our ‘hour arm’? Who has broken our ‘minute arm’? Who has taken possession of our ‘second arm’? Why our clock tower right there in the middle of a city center looks dull? Wish to push the longest ladder to correct its watch. The stagnant limbs represent our aspiration that too like its ignored limbs have been sealed and the clock tower so called a center of attraction instead of keeping accurate time has in past often used to suppress our souls. Like its lifeless limbs, our physical, mental, biological watches too have suffered. Our representation is timeless so is our voice.

Watches are boring glass frames of agony. These limbs run on battery and with time, the timekeepers with due respect disrespect our ‘time’. Clocks are metallic brutes devoid of life and luster. These time machines have no hearts, no eyes, and no ears to fee, to observe and listen. The rough edges of these clocks have time and again bruised our eyes.

Well! These clocks deserve thrashing for they often ask ‘time’ right in the rooms of orphans. These watches must be broken into bits for they often remind us of ‘dates’ when death was imposed, when ‘might’ was moved to ravish our sisters and mothers. These wall clocks must be dumped at attics for the future kids to play indoor games when curfew and crackdowns would be in place. This ‘Clock Tower’ must be dashed to dust for it has preserved massacres.

Ah! What drama these time machine create. They hang their limbs on the walls of widows, these limbs fail to move a man from mundane bars, and these clocks must be oiled to keep a man spiritually active. Wall clocks for all practical purposes require battery and one must have courage to keep his clock in working condition, failure to it leads untimely death.

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