As an editor of an obscure ezine, I sometimes take long fanciful walks in the alleys and by-lanes of the cruel goddess called Calcutta. City as an Novel or a Long C-code where we are like parameters or system calls. A self-conscious VAR that thinks.
On one such walk, I found a demolition going on – a two storeyed house being flattened by workers hired by the promoter. The house had a mysterious look – its walls having a look as if a bombing has happened.
Twenty years back, a middle aged men, after many legitimate and illegitimate and greyish zig-zagging made the bricks and mortar taking the pattern. Many nights of joy, worry, cough, phelgm, semen, urine, food,music, prayers and may be poetry or songs. How much thought and worries and concern.
On few ink-patterns in a piece of paper, witnessed and stamped and some transfer of few zeroes in some mathematical numnber called bank-account, the hammer of Time fell.
I was wondering, if in some way, a Roman emperor like Trajan [ I got a city of mud and leaving a city of marble - the city of Rome] could see the ‘barbarian’ hammer falling on Roman marbles.
Sic Transit Gloria Mundis. And a corollary
This world is a bridge. Dont make houses on it.