A Conversation

An Evening-tea Conversation with the Almighty.
Excerpts:

...and then the lord shot back with a quick rejoinder, "Move on, you prick!". [prick is technically a loose terminology referring to a 1:18 scale model of the usual sized thing most of us guys have, and you gals don't].

I questioned back... "Where to, O' Highness?".

"Have you not been sticking around in this puddle for a little too long? Don't you find the stench of drying dung an incentive enough to move forward?", said the Lord, licking dry the tiny drop of lemon-tea precariously hanging on a strand of his moustache. It was apparent he was relishing the tea as much as the conversation.

"But it is my fate, O' Highness, and I am mired in this cesspool that appeared from nowhere. I thought I was on the correct road -- even the signboards never said I was going the wrong way."

"There you go again! You know, our conversation is like the London-eye. Its the wheel Ferris invented, and it is faithfully going round and round in circles. Every attempt I make at turning you around gets thwarted by this melancholic rhetor of yours.", said the Almighty, "Listen to me! I never deny that you have been wronged. Okay, maybe you weren't really wronged. Lets keep that for later. But eitherways, you need to get going now! Look, you're standing at the mouth of a bi-forked road. And to add to it, you just said you're stuck in a stinking cesspool. There are two possibilities here on. Either you go left, and continue the way you were, following the colorful and commercial signboards, until ofcourse, you hit upon another lovely roadblock and keep wondering where it came from. Or, you can go right, stop by at the tour-operator's franchise outlet, and enquire if the tour is really as fun as it sounds. The former, as you can well imagine by now, may lead you to Vegas and its scantily clad blondes, but it might as well never lead you out of these hinterlands. The latter gives you the flexibility of opting out of the tour-plan (ofcourse without a full-refund), and trying another vacation trip somewhere else.". There was a shine in his eyes. I knew he had made sense, and I also knew he knew I didn't get most of it.

I shook my head in a sagely fashion pretending as though I understood most of it, and uselessly blabbered -- "You said, that maybe I wasn't really wronged. Are you trying to imply that I screwed up somewhere? What was the shortcoming on my part that necessitated the breakdown?"

There was a broad grin on his face by now. "Hey prick, listen up. There is something fundamentally wrong in your understanding. You see, I am not a stupid mathematician. I didn't not design a world of binaries and whites and blacks. The void created by a missing success need not necessarily be filled by admitting to a failure. Okay, a screw-up is always the most important thing that causes the absense of success. But then you cannot disregard entirely, the precence of an element of uncertainty! Look here, prick... I need to wind up now. You wish to stay in there, surrounded by that sickly stench, fine by me. Try eating a bit of that black greasy thing too. May be it'll help you feel worse. Or if something did get to your head, get out, take a bath, and get moving."

He got up to take leave, placing on my left hand a small rolled up piece of cloth, concealing something. "Its not really useful, but it will make sense". As he turned around, with his usual choir of angels and all, he smirked back... "And do drink up that lemon-tea. Its a nice heady liquor."

I later opened that rolled up piece of cloth he gave me, only to find in it a silver lining on a cloud shrouding the sun.