The Sense of Incompleteness

The legendary King of Kings?

It seems almost heroic. Students will marvel at pictures of vibrant Libyan rebels, hooting in trucks and waving flags of freedom, in their history books, for many years to come. They will look at the Revolution as a fairytale, something that can only happen in the past, something only the pages of a history book can contain. History can boast about few events as great as the Arab Spring, and the idea of being alive to witness the whole thing is an ecstatic feeling, in itself. When the Jasmine Revolution first broke out in Tunisia, few would have imagined that Libya would be next.

Satisfying. Not as satisfying as capturing Gaddafi.

The Libyan Revolution was prolonged and painful, with mass civilian casualties and ruthless manslaughter. It’s been almost eight months since the revolution started and today, the rebels stand victorious. The government has lost most of its firepower, Tripoli has been captured, Muammar Gaddafi has fled- that’s where you stop and think. So, the man behind it all, Gaddafi has not been captured, eh? As I said, eight months have passed and the rebels have triumphed, or have they?

When the Libyan Revolution first came to light, Muammar Gaddafi became a symbol of hatred- an atrocious man, murdering and tormenting his own people, all in the selfish desire to maintain his autocratic regime. Muammar Gaddafi was the face most commonly shown on BBC- the man with those suspiciously secretive Chinese eyes, the radical chin hair, the loose, musty clothes and the maliciously sadistic smile. The media taught us to loathe Gaddafi- we had to see him as a man who was supposed to be killed, a man who did not deserve mercy. The issuance of the international arrest warrant, the approval of NATO and the admirably heroic protest movements, added more substance to this ideology and further augmented our contempt for the ‘villain’, Gaddafi.

Today, the resolution of the movement has been achieved, the drama has ended, and we have reached our happily ever after, yet the villain has not been defeated. Fearing that the rebels threatened his dictatorial power, Gaddafi has fled, without anyone knowing when, what, how, and most importantly, where. Hence, even as the rebels click pictures with victory signs, sleep on Gaddafi’s beds, and chant slogans of success (with gusto and enthusiasm), there is a sense of incompleteness present in the whole thing. Gaddafi is set to have fled Tripoli through a series of covert underground tunnels below his compound. After all this time, Gaddafi can be virtually anywhere, from Sirte and Bani Walid to Algeria and perhaps, South Africa. Many of Gaddafi’s family members have found refuge in Algeria, but Gaddafi’s location is still as murky as his eyes. One finds it hard to believe that after all that struggle; the antagonist still roams free, hidden from the world’s eyes.

"I am an international leader, the dean of the Arab rulers, the king of kings of Africa and the imam of Muslims, and my international status does not allow me to descend to a lower level" Arab League summit, March 2009
Gaddafi is famous for making self-righteously boastful statements. Even though his regime has been dismantled and his leadership ousted, Gaddafi has not been as snubbed as it may seem. Even after all the persistent battles, Gaddafi remains camouflaged and unscathed. And we feel whether the man who thought so highly of himself, the legendary King of Kings, the sole survivor of the American 1969 bombings on Libya, the maverick political philosopher, was not so wrong after all?  

Unless Gaddafi is captured, how can the woman and children sleep peacefully, knowing that the criminal will never return? How can the government establish control, without fearing that Gaddafi may one day return, perhaps as a greater threat? How can the world, though millions of miles from Libya, feel content and happy that all is well, without the frustration of Gaddafi’s escape? The loose ends still remain untied.

Ah, the sweet, incomplete smell of success

Although the rebels, heroes forever, have set their mark on the tide of history, there will still be many, who will see Gaddafi as the figure who fought till the end, the person who resisted despite all odds, and the man who defied destiny itself.

Enjoy the Rain

Enjoy the water’s cooling might,

The falcons’ frantic flight,

The thunder’s blinding light,

The fog that blocks all sight,

And the school holiday’s delight.

Enjoy the splashing sounds on the floor,

The lightning’s lion roar,

The beach’s clamorous shore,

The sputter spatter at your door,

And the electricity no more.

Enjoy the smell of silt and sand,

The muddy water polishing the land,

The playful child’s adventurous demand,

The pipes vomiting like a fountain grand,

And the taste of jalaybee from your mother’s hand.

 

Enjoy the soothing touch of the dewy rain,

The confused spinning of the weathervane,

 The brimming buildings with the wet stain,

The growth of the clean, green cane,

And the joy, dance and play in every lane.

Enjoy the rainbow and the light of day,

The children hopping all the way,

The serenity of Nature’s May,

The drizzly, long line of spray,

And the dirty mosquitoes on their way.

Enjoy the wintry rain of the sky,

The ripe fields of the farmer’s rye,

The cool comfort that will never die,

The childish feeling that you could fly,

And go to the highest of high.

From Ritualism to Retreatism

Most of us live life like this cat.

The life of a common man is ordinary and meaningless. He stares at the moon in awe, but does not aspire to reach it. He admires his boss’s Armani suit, but does not strive to wear it. He notices the high achievers being applauded in school but does not desire it. Most people, therefore, tend to be ritualists- people who live, what I call, a drab existence. They accept their position in society, considering it to be pre-destined and unchangeable and live their lives as a monotonous, continuous routine.

Most of us do things just because we have to, rather than want to. Most of the school day is spent sulking around, waiting for the clock to strike one-thirty, and your vans to drift you home. And why do you go to school? Because your parents said so, because everyone else goes to school, because you have to. This ritualist lifestyle continues on to plain, empty-shell marriages, tasteless work and grouchy old age.

Some part of every one’s life is spent in a ritualist way. Obviously, not everyone has the same dynamic life as Rebecca Black now, right? However, there are points in life which mark a transformation or a temporary transition. This occurs when ritualists have had enough of ritualism but instead of becoming revolutionaries, they become retreatists. Retreatists are people who ostracize themselves from society, disenchanted by the way it has condemned them to a failure.

It starts when we start differentiating between ‘us’ and ‘they’. It occurs when everyone around us just seem to have a better, more dynamic life than our own. For me, it was the feeling that everyone around me had more vibrant social lives, the feeling that having a girlfriend was everything, the feeling that school truancy was the only way to ‘fit in’. It occurs at a point when the rosy, serene picture of everyone being equal in society is smashed and thrashed by the reality of rampant social inequalities- when you realize that your buddy toured all of Europe but you could not, when you realize that your friend bought the latest iPhone but you could not. Thus, you start by blaming God, your parents, and then your friends, society and finally, when the blame game bears no fruit, yourself.

Our own brand of alcohol

Retreatists normally turn to illegal drugs, alcohol or smoking in the hope of artificially reforming their lives. Some of them do gain better lives, and are readily accepted in society’s most prestigious groups, the gypsies, the drunkards and the stray dogs. Most others, however, kill themselves by jumping out of the window, during their drug-frenzy hallucinations.

We kids, on the other hand, turn to our own alcohol and drugs- we grab a bowl of chocolate ice-cream, push a few Fox candies into our pockets, grab a huge cup of Pepsi and set off for our rooms, never to return again, at least not until dinner is served an hour later.

We all become retreatists at some point
in life.

Ritualism and Retreatism aren’t essentially bad things. In some cases, Retreatism allows us to mature and accept society’s horrors with patience and resolve. I am just highlighting the fact that many people lead ritualist lives without realizing it, and often, denying it. And, ritualism will, at some point become retreatism. This is one of the harsh realities of life, regardless of how popular or ‘hip’ you are.

This cycle reaches its end when we realize that we have no choice but to conform to the way society is and become the slaves it wants us to be. Hence, we become ritualists once again, leading a life without animation and colour. And after a few years… ritualism becomes a pain, again.