FOG-COVER

6:17 AM on a cold winter morning- the view from a distance is an illusion in itself. Dense fog-cover. Heavy fog- as though part of some perpetual haze. A few human figures have emerged out from the comfort of their rooms, the transition from warm darkness to cold obscurity as comprehensive as ever. It would be the day’s first routine task- the customary cup of tea.  All wrapped up in shawls, three layers of woolen wear, they shiver and spit vapour, decidedly indifferent to the fog that surrounds them. You can’t escape your own fog. So… indifference!

Who brought it along, the fog? Cold air got affected by civilization’s ugly smoke again you’d say. All external factors really, which has created the fog around you. That’s what you have made yourself believe. But something has turned colder than the air. Something inside of you, and ironically it’s the same coldness that prevents you from noticing it. You will never admit it, but history has been repeated here. The cold brought the fog around you. Now the fog makes you cold. This is not just a season. This is not just a phase. This is a syndrome. And all you’re doing is you’re waiting for the sun.

7:48 AM. The vehicles have just started dispatching men to their respective sites- another routine working day on the cards. Young men, who have made their choice it seems, and older men who were young once. Up in the Eastern sky, the sun is trying its best to dissipate the fog. The fog will subside eventually, and although it’s just for the day, it’s enough for them to go through the motions.

You don’t care to realize that the fog never gets solved. Or that it just gets interspersed for the time being. By the time the fog surrounds you again tomorrow, day after, or maybe next year, you would have made yourself forget about the last one. You have mastered the art of labeling distraction as necessity. And all you’re doing is you’re waiting for it.

As the cold days keep on mounting day after day, the sun keeps making its presence felt, negating fogs and aiding the blind eyes. Yes the same old sun, with its blinding effect. Just like the same old work you have reckoned for yourself for the rest of your life, with the salary that comes with it, the blinding effect.

Come to think of it though, is it the sun? You don’t expect the sun on cloudy days, leave alone waiting for it. What about the Indian summers when you’re dreading the sun? What about the Sundays? You don’t even open your eyes to look till about 9 or 10 in the morning. And when you do, the sun doesn’t matter to you even if it’s there. You don’t get paid on Sundays. A close enough look and it’s not really the sun. It is not what you do for your living. It is time that heals, time that clears the haze. And it is time that makes you cold enough to turn a blind eye to the puzzles surrounding you in an already cold, strange hour. The fog will subside eventually. But you didn’t do anything about it. You just waited for time to bring in the usual distractions. All you’re doing again is you’re waiting for the sun.

It’s just a phase, you believe. You keep getting better at overlooking your own haze. You keep getting better at finding new distractions to wait for. The phase never leaves you, but you keep getting better at believing that it’s just a phase. So you carry on with your self-identifying advises and revel in your superficial wisdom to make the waits smoother. Not for nothing though. You’re not trying to see through the haze which surrounds you- the most you manage is a feigned attempt. You’re aware of it but you don’t want to take troubles finding out what it hides. It is easier to be cold to yourself instead. It is easier to wait for an aid that would clear the fog for the moment. Not because you have no other choice, but because for a long time now, you haven’t wanted one. Even if the fog comes back next morning, or the one after that, or maybe next year, you will have made yourself colder than the coldness that formed it. So you’ll wrap yourself up again in shawls, three layers of woolen clothes and then shiver and spit vapour. You’ll wrap yourself up again in your superficial wisdom. And all you’ll do again is you’ll wait for the sun.