Let me tell you a fact. Everybody is lonely.
I had two birds. One of them got sick and died, leaving the other one behind. The sadness dripped from its eyes. It was evident in the way it pecked at the food grains, how its talons held the bars of the cage. And it could be smelt in the air of the cage. With rows of tiny sharp, flesh-ripping, blood-dripping teeth, this sadness devoured the little creature.
In dire need of an engagement, I decided to bring home a potted plant instead of an animal as my next pet. That felt far less painful because plants don’t have faces.
The plant seemed happy, growing up in its personal space, receiving nurturance and care. That was all until I met my new neighbour. He told me he had a knack for gardening and one fine day he gifted me a weeping fig bonsai (yes, that was the name of the plant). I kept it next to the plant I had brought. The plants were getting along well, as were we. The sunlight falling on their leaves bounced off giving them that emerald gloss that would probably have made all chlorophyll-manufacturers envious. But they lived like they were the only two beings on this planet, having their time.
However, clocks tick, moments melt and big curly waves crash on the shore. And dreams, they crash too. And every fleeting minute is a reminder of how momentary everything is.
Ill-suited to the temperature conditions here, the bonsai withered away. There was only the pot, the dirt, that used to be organic garden soil and next to it the lonely plant, which used to be the weeping fig’s can’t-do-without-you. Just what gave all of that the sense of purpose was gone. As for myself, I just sat next to the void with the silhouette of my neighbour.