Tuesday, April 29, 2008

The Funny One

He was from a small town. Didn't have many dreams in his head. But there was something special about this boy. He made a lot of friends in the City. Everyone he met almost instantly liked him. He made friends like the sun makes its rays. Here and there, everywhere. Everyone was curious but none of them really knew what he was capable of. All his friends called him "The Funny One". His small one liners were famous at his college. He was very good with words. He was infact so creative with his talk that people seldom took him seriously. He crafted sentences so beautifully that people had a hard time grasping what he said. His words and the awe of witnessing something so spectacular always made his audience feel as if he was an artist of sorts. Anything he uttered became an instant hit. He became so famous for his words that, even the simplest of his words lost their meaning. As for him, this ability of crafting words came naturally and he couldnt control anything. Not that he didnt try. He tried hard to speak normally, but the beauty was so deeply rooted into his words that it almost became inherent. He eventually became "The Funny One". He couldnt understand why people called him funny. He knew he was good with words. He was very good. But not remotely funny. Maybe people around him labelled everything they didnt understand ... "Funny". He tried living with it for a long time. He moved on in life being what he was. Some years later he realised that the entire world was like that. Speeches, presentations, meetings ... wherever he spoke, he was greeted by cheer and applause and laughter. People absolutely loved him. Not because of his ideas, but because of the way he portrayed each one of them. Some people went as far as to label him as the Midas of words. Everyone who knew him treated him like a superstar. He soon realised that he was very very lonely at the top. His words were never appreciated for their depth, but for their glitter. One fine day he thought to himself, ... is this what I want to be? Is this as deep as I am? Am I happy being someone who is always misunderstoood? He moved on again. He tried. He got married after a few years. In time he noticed that his wife and kids were normal. He went on, hating, cursing the world for being what it was. For having such a shallow outlook. All his life he kept looking for the one person who could possibly ignore the word-craft and take his words as what they were. Years flew by and he turned 80. Nothing. Everything he said till date was so good/wonderful that no one really paid any attention. They all were busy admiring, applauding. He was too old to even hope now that someone would understand him. Slowly and steadily the age took toll on him. He was brought down to his knees. Everyone around him cared for him until his dying day. But no one really ever got to know what his thoughts were. No one knew much about him. No one knew how deep his thinking was. He was remembered as the incredible guy who could weave magic with words. And ten years after, he was forgotten alltogether. It was not funny at all.