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Everyday Absences

The turgid zone of the city, fulfilled with absences. In totality, it is the hemispheric pressure which pulls the masses. They move on or drop by. Yet, the invincible absence. North stays far from south. One is absent from the others domain. North gives the dictum, south obeys with slyness. Every day is same for both. The reverse proves culturalist. However, the root of everyday is the same. People talk, walk and stay silent. The silences of their stories. Beyond the stories are the streets and the lethargy. Everyone embarks in the same path-nine to five. Beyond is the disillusionment of staying afar from one another. Absence infringes. In-between salami and ham. We rejoice. Geography proves the northerner. Beside the veneer of the winning mask, is the loser north, accomplished in the strange case of “cunning of reason”. The ruler is ruled by the slave. The omnipotence of the north is brought down by the strange company in the south. South prevails in-itself. It is agog with its populace and the infiltrating absences. Everyday story are the same. Laugh, love and death. How people die in west and east ? They follow the same pattern. Any difference becomes lonely and obsolete. Difference stinks through morphed west and east. Their stories are rigid, the notion of culturality prevails, yet the symposium of absences makes them deter the sameness. Every sly move makes north the follower of south. The Queen relieves from the knowledge burden. But south obeys none. North bombs the pyramid. Eight thousand years is brought down to absence. Her silence proves the wrong. On part of the north, the winter alienation. In south, the silence of sweat and rhythmic move of the bypassers, strangers. From Dar Es Salaam to Kolkata, the alienation and absence of  sweat brings the cold north in the same plane. Immanence proves the righthood of culturality. Yet, from above the plane of de-contextulity, it is same. On the otherhand, the root deep inside the human calamity shrouded with geo-planes, the resonances are the same. Life reckons past such sameness.  

Jeet Bhattacharya
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