Grandpa always advised me, “My son, time’s waits for none, if you catch the time then moving faster to catch it.” Grandpa is my Godfather in the silver line of life. I tried to obedient on his advice and always moving faster than before. My movement gives me the confidence that I’m an ambitious racer of the time and could be a marathoner if desire.
I’m not joking man. It’s true that I could compete to the marathon racer so far he wanted to run. Suppose I was desirous to be a scholar, and one fine morning I explore myself on the great audience of gigantic scholars. I wanted to be a fault-finding intellectual after then, and it was not joke, one evening night I’m seeing myself on-air to talking about the impact of inflation on public pubic hair.
My grandpa bit angered to watch me on television, “My son, inflation and GDP growth and per-capita etc. is not your cup of tea I think. I’m telling you to running over the time but it doesn’t mean that you will fix your fortune for the talkative idiot box. You have to search your own soul my son. I think you should have ability to love somebody.
Time waits for none and you wasted a lot to chattering about the bloody market inflation in the chatterbox. I think time dodged over you. Beautiful women are waits for you to love, but you forget this. Let move faster my son to catch the darling you desired. Your time is incompetent if you fail to catch the feeling that what love does to stop your inflation phobia. Let move faster to the love.”
Grandpa’s advice heard absurd to me and I told to him, “Grandpa, do you know what you’re saying! A lavish life is await for me. I’m busy in research and so on. Facts are not end there. I will ride on the editor’s chair of the giant news-media soon. It’s peak time for me to supersede mine. I have the lot to do for public and the policy makers. Why I’m going to be wasted my energy by running behind the woman’s buttocks!
Following other person is not an assurance to walk on the golden line safely. I did wrong on that day when I provoked to choose the dual face to walking on the white line.
You can do it, since you have a lot time to run behind the buttocks. Dear grandpa, I have a lot to do for the state and lot to write about public sufferings under the state policies. I wanted to raise my voice against the power suckers. I hope it’s enough to clear my philosophy on running over the time.”
My poor grandpa was laughing to hear me, “I know you’re determined to win over the ambition, but dating with a woman be more emergent than the intellectual ambition my boy. Intellectual could never be running over time sans the experience of love and hatred from the women. Go and take over the experience. It will help you to running faster ever than before.”
My grandpa is my role model in the golden line of life. I like him and considerate his advice as precious for me. He was not wrong at all. One fine evening I strangely explore myself on a love-dabble restaurant by picking your Champak-bud fingers to my hand. You were beautiful on that evening with your fragrance of Champa flowers and sharp nailed clarity. I was in love to count the embodied statistics you are hiding underneath the stylish outfit. A woman’s statistics is certainly hypnotic in contrary to the embittered ups-and-down equation of inflation and supply chain relation in economics.
I was not in economics then but the heartbeat trembling by the unsteady inflation. Your deep eyeball was intelligent enough to understand the inflation. You press my hand and smile, “Look, grandpa told me that you’re very artful to explain the inflation market and so and so, but I’m not interested to the extras. If you wanted to marry me, you should learn the poetic gestures and does know how to talk with a woman when she stares her eyes to you. However, the night is beautiful today. I want to walk with you on the road such a moon-lightened night. Let move for walk.”
Our first dating was memorable and enlightened by the inflation and shrinkage of full moon under the indigo blue clouds. The night was crimson by the street light and fuming fogs of winter. I sink down in your nebulosity to forget that I have a lot to do in television and editor’s chamber. You then said to me,:-
“Please don’t think that I’m careless about inflation and so on. I respect your intellectual journey and earnestly wanted to see that you’re running faster than time to ride on the top; but in one condition, you never mixed up your intellectual pleasure to the pleasure of love I wanted to share with you. Ambition is ruthless to its destiny. Ambition of love is different to the ambition of intellectualism you are keeping on. My dear economist, now you have to think how you could separate these twos. Our fragrant love depends on the decision you have made.”
The night was strangely nebulous and enlightened by the obscured beauties of love and desire; and I felt the urgency of grandpa’s suggestion about the decision. Later I asked him, “What can I do now?” My role model was laughing to see me perplexed, :-
“Poor son, you have to take the decision by your own. Love is a remedy of our wounded soul and the soul is prison of the assorted ambitions. Time’s coming to pick one from the lot and kicked out the rest from your mind forever. Decision is up to you my son.
I’m getting old enough but yet even the odor of love makes me lunatic. I always run over the time to chase the pragmatic benefit of life but never slips on it. Instead of I slip on your granny’s pink lips and stumbled on lot of unnamed women. They were the hidden fragrant of my life, which your granny never surmise at all. Ha… Ha…, you have to know how to dodge the beauty of life by the beauty of your own intellect.”
My grandpa is my wise garden to running over the time. He is my think tank to walking on the white thin line of life. I was taking a decision that I will walk on the rope like a carefully careless lover, as my grandpa is. Alas, my decision was not deliberately imaginative. I forgot that every person has its own style of choice in the life. I’m not the grandpa and he is not me. Following other person is not an assurance to walk on the golden line safely. I did wrong on that day when I provoked to choose the dual face to walking on the white line.
My life is now haphazard by the dual devil, because I wanted to smell your fragrance like the carelessly careful lover. Love is a rotten bouquet but if you wished to smell it, you have to do this by sacrifice the self. On the contrary, sinking in the deep graph of inflation and so on also be deserves love and self-sacrifice. Love and intellectualism has its own self-gratification and never be tied up to any point of life.
My dear grandpa, I’m not a lover and not the televised expert on inflation and lot of the pragmatic graphs. My life is floating on an aimless river. Once I was ambitious to running over the time to go somewhere, and now I’m running behind the time to go nowhere. Everything is futile in the pragmatism that aim of love and wisdom could never be meeting each other in the estuary.