ERF FUNCTION

ERF FUNCTION
I would think I was now a known face not only for the permanent staff of the temple complex, but for the big eyed tall statue of god Hanuman too. I contemplated over and over again about this knowing me by big eyes of God ; knowing my real self, knowing all my years from childhood to this old age, and I tried my best to relate my life’s union with the eyes. The eyes, the knowing of which into my interior would make me fascinated. The tall body of God was enclosed by a front open three walled structure. There were glass windows at the height of Gods head in the side wall. I noted this feature of side view of God’s head observable from the side wall. I could only draw up a conclusion that the eyes of God Hanuman, viewable from a glass window were trying to reveal a clandestine message; a message from god not to confuse. As if it was an event of clarification by Him; a clarification that human features of god mislead one to assume Him a human whereas He is only a law. Men make laws with his head. So it was now clear. The complete view of God from open front and the view of only the head from high up glass windows appearing at the same time was a cryptic message of course. Yes, God was only a law.

My mornings here would start thus. The powerful prayers recited live by the priest would make me feel that from the previous night’s sleep, the kinks and bends of the previous day; the losses; despairs; atrophies, and all impediments were seeing a nascent hope as if all impairments would soon be corrected by tagging them into bodies of a league of morning joggers; there would be an army of joggers in my existence and the redoubtable recuperation from the joggers’ running feet would be directed to annul all impairments.

I am presently working in a place of education where there are frequent parleys over beautification and revisions to make a science fiction look more engrossing. Movie has been selling however. Sitting and participating in a such a meeting room occupied full with a ‘Steven Spielberg’ listening to an ‘Arnold’ about what the latter could do, other actors listening in their amusement hidden in underclothes of their mind ,I looked at them with the eyes one looks at an assortment of power cables with a three pin power plug at their tails; the moment the power pins were slipped into sockets on the real switchboard running on 220 volts, they would reveal helplessly that they were not wired on the head side to real lampposts of the street; for a chain of decorative small blinking bulbs of celebration nights or a birthday party would light up from the power in them- the cables of above description.

I was on my way to my college where I teach engineering classes. I happened to see not one or two but four small gathered knolls of motor vehicle windscreen shards lying on the side of the highway, and four such knolls in as small a length of highway as this I had never seen before. The highway was almost panting for a suspiration under the mad rush of vehicles rolling in a continuum over it in a hot day with no signs of even a procrastinated monsoon. The four knolls looked like four doses of some herbal medicine that the old tired highway had kept with in reach to recover if disintegration for it was in the works.

Where I live, just from the outside of the place, a rural town starts. There is a fast track railway and a fast track highway as well on back and front respectively of this place. Both lines, always 24 hours of the day are busy, and are with the associated noise of their mobility; whereas the town marred with rising inflation and drooping rupee has reinvented original methods of preservation of life. There are dilapidated vehicles of transport that carry passengers leaving trains at near by bus stand and railway station and then, boarding these reinvented vehicles with bared engine assemblies in the front of the vehicle; the vehicles manoeuvring in crowds and creeping to depart for their destination; as if they are not being used by end-user, they are, on the contrary, being tested in the laboratory in the gone by times of evolution of internal combustion engines.

I have woken again badly disturbed temporarily ; my whole life can be summed up as an erf(z) function of mathematics, wherein never solvable terms have kept becoming more and more error producing; but then here at this piece of land, with the aid of pin therapy of easing frequency of Sirens of trains in the railway station ,I stay half asleep after hauling myself from the indefinite flux of thoughts rendered by previous night’s sleep, and I work towards nucleation of an altogether nascent day of now recognisable unknowns. From the backyard, into the equanimity of this night hour, I hear the shrieking penetration of a Rail Siren of an approaching train. I love such hooting trains now amusing me at my awakenings from sleep.

The dream had burnt alive my sleep. But the flame that had torched my mind in sleep was merely a plastic pin jabbed into my mind; my mind consumed it instantly and smiled and threw it in the knoll of similar pins. Years before, a long bone in my body has turned a spear bleeding my mind white, and since then remained imbedded into me now not oozing even a drop of blood. What was the routine cleavage of a plastic pin inflicted to my mind then?

Who is this man telling you his story?
Long back a classically beautiful painting of nature was given to a badly mutilated maestro in making who in his skirmishes with the world kept considering his new possession as a foisted paragraph, fit to be kept in the margins in the work sheet of his quotidian struggle. The one and only one creation of nature, the painting, with a lot many distortions in her first remained oblivious of the maestro as he looked too much stricken by his kinks to look of any value; then amidst her recovery the maestro’s truths, his distinctions despite his mutilations with so many drive mechanisms under repair in him became evident to her. She however saw this and then again kept resenting on the mistake of her creator artist nature of not putting soul in her in true spirit. Then as is the nature never ever changing Her law of adherence to span of long years in taking minor feeds of correction, the painting gathered soul after many years, and the maestro too managed to stand erect amidst his achievements; he now looking with new eyes at his immaculate possession. But as the saying goes, a bit of creation leaves behind a big heap of costly raw material to remain of no or little use in the aftermath, it so happened with this pair also. The raw material was too costly and invaluable and they had never expected that mere playing play park games with this raw material for lessening their grief would do any harm to demineralise the raw material itself; the pair now stood spell bounded espying the devaluation of the raw material that was mined from their own interiors and was now not shaping up into even a devalued structure of any shape to remain afoot on its own. The raw material would never stand on his feet, easygoing as it had become. They, in their tearing grief, decided to swim against the wave together with raw material in their laps in hope of receding of the tide.