An Untimely Person

If you don’t have resources (be it money or the power of connection or some super-human quality) to antidote it, it is a major harm in life not to time your life with the rest of the flow—sleeping when others sleep, eating when others eat, reading when others read, playing when others play, getting married when others get married, and so on. I have learnt this from the life I have lived—I am an untimely person: I did not do things when people did them; I had my own time; but I have no resources to counteract the hazards caused by what could have been a spring of originality.

Time is controlled by the powerful—how you think about time shows where you are on the scale of power. You cannot keep your doctor waiting—he keeps you waiting. You cannot be late for the meeting, but your boss can keep you waiting for an hour or days, and he can keep you on hold for days after it is due. It is the time of smartphones now, not of telegrams; time of WhatsApp, not of snail e-mails. Who makes it that you have to be so fast? Speed is not innocent. It is determined by some. Speed is measured in time. Time is controlled by some.

Most of the bones of my time are dislocated from the bone system of the world. This is a precarious state—an insecure step on a scraggy cliff-top, from where you can see the world from completely different perspectives (like seeing an aquarium from inside it as if through a fish’s eyes or yourself from inside your mouth or entrails) or you can fall to your death. An untimely person, I see what happens to a place when it is deserted after everybody has left, what it is for you to be refused entry for being too early or too late, what it is to be rejected for friendship for being too young or too old. You walk the streets others don’t walk, you are awake when others sleep, you sit where others don’t sit. Most importantly, you see things others don’t see, or you feel about things differently from how others see. You are from a different world, from a different time. Nobody understands you, and you understand nobody. You speak, but that is, to the ears of others, like the sound of the wind soughing through the leaves, or of a steel tool falling on a cog of a machine’s wheel.

Money can buy time, buy buyable people and buyable things are linked in a chain system to the whole world. Then you have everything until your biology allows you to operate. Worst of all, I am incapable (because I lack this sensibility) of following money, and my mind does not have the property to set itself to value most of what is obviously valued by people. The result—I am a fool. I know this. This is insanity. I know I will die insane like this.

Do I mean money is all the solution? No. It’s one of them, but being convertible, it can convert energies from one form to another, and it’s convenient. Money is controlled and guarded by some, and most are inaccessible to it. You think you know the path to it, you follow it, but the road just disappears or your forehead hits a cul de sac. Still, money is just one thing, and there are a lot where money is not the currency.

Am I singing a dirge to my death? No. Am I complaining? No. I am clearing a tiny space in the rubble heap—a tiny space for the possibility of a difference among the legions of sameness.

I will continue tonight…

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