Friday, September 12, 2014


The seasons change slowly, gradually. The flower blooms at leisure. The waves crash or relax, determined solely by the will of the wind. The clouds drift at their pace, relishing the view of the earth, going where the breeze takes them. The seed sprouts if the conditions are right and grows into a tree enjoying the process. A dog runs either for food or to sleep. A cat forages furiously and spends the rest of the time languidly, its belly full.

"It's 11.33!" exclaimed my husband.

"Oh ok..." should have been my response. It is information that hands are touching specific numbers in the clock. But I reply with equal urgency, "What! Oh my god!"

Why? I ask myself. Why do we live with an eye always on the clock. And force our children to too.

"It is 7.45, and you are still not in the bath!"

"It is 8, eat fast!!!"

"Oh my god! It is 8.22 and you are still eating?"

Is this how life was always, or have we fallen victims to some disease, disease called deadlines that then slowly percolates all aspects of our lives. What are these deadlines anyway? Who decides when something should happen and what will happen if it did not happen that day, that moment? Will the world come to an end?

What does happen when something happens as planned? Does the world become a better place?

 Am I in my dotage, or a slave protesting the iron grip time has on my life?

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