Mélange

the scoop!

malevolence is seated in the mind

BY HEERA

June 1st, 2015

 

Lub-Dub – Lub-Dub – Lub-Dub—his heart beat with escalating excitement—he was carrying precious cargo to which no one dared to get close. He glided towards his friends, punctuating his movement with freestyle dancing (to the blasting music), his free hand punching the air victoriously. His find made him feel like a superstar, and he was. The children en route looked at him in awe; several wanted to be in his good books and were willing to go out of their way to humour him. Acknowledging the children with a smug nod, he ran faster towards his waiting friends, unbothered by the swelling beads of sweat trickling down his face.

 

His friends didn’t disappoint—they celebrated him as one would a true hero, receiving him with thunderous hurrahs, high-fives and tons of flattery!

 

Grabbing the shiny objects, “How did you manage to get so close?” asked the youngest, salivating.

 

“I want to be like you; you are my guru,” gushed another.

 

“How do you always get the best?” demanded the oldest of the group, transfixed with the assortment of shiny treasures.

 

He wasn’t hailed as king for nothing. Taking a swig of beer, stolen from the old man’s shop, he reminded his friends how he diligently rummaged through piles of garbage: “The deeper I go, the luckier I get. The shiny scraps of metal always sink low.” Nothing deterred him; his appetite to reach the shiny trash unfailingly fired him up. He had worked day in and day out, weathering the smog, ignoring the multiplying gashes and infestations on his bare feet, navigating narrow, filthy alleys, potholes and rowdy cyclists. He was even accustomed to the toxic fumes, which he inhaled as he dug through raw sewage.

 

“Cheers to you!” commended his friends, momentarily feeling superior too, as they sat close, celebrating their hero with fervour late into the night.

 

Trash-high is a familiar setting in disparate world’s—from unfortunate lives, existing on crumbs and dragging plastic bags to privileged lives, indulging in gourmet food and strutting designer bags. Under a perfect friendly veneer, the slumming of the mind takes place with speed—the gossip germ multiplies faster than the spreading of deadliest viruses.

 

“Do you know?” “Guess what I heard?” “Oh! You are not going to believe it!” The mouth moves fervently relishing the trash: “I just got the news. Serves her right.” You then have the privileged category: “No one scoops better than me. I have my people direct deliver trash to me, to be in my good books.” Being closer to the source intoxicates a person with a feeling of importance and superiority. And in situations where hierarchy in slumming of the mind is practised, people are rewarded for enabling and flattering the garbage guru’s gossip.  One can be seated comfortably in many positions in life; however, when malevolence sits in the mind, slummed souls can never traverse the marginalised land of their mind.

 

The temporary elevation of status while unloading the rubble of impoverished minds is extraordinary. The astounding part is each player’s commitment to maintaining this slum. In everyday life, families, so-called friends, neighbours, coworkers and strangers practice slumming with effortless sincerity, switching cloaks—from the guise of an afterthought to concern. With each trade of gossip and masterful reinterpretation, low culture traders reinforce their lack of character and further punish their disfigured souls.

 

Engaging with our inner world requires self-love and awareness and demands considerable effort. The fact is that introspection forces us to address the more significant issues—of abandonment, anger, fear, inadequacy and jealousy—that heap up in our lives. The easy way out is to soothe the wounds and sloth with gossip, to feed the mind’s disarray.

 

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