Rant 275 : The fag end of the play

Dreams fade faster than they come up. Days, when you start realising that it’s time to pack up. The script is closing and your part in the play is coming to an end. There are mixed feelings-always. Firstly, a feeling of relaxation from the immense pressure you act under and secondly a feeling of remorse as the loved script comes to its fate. Probably we would have wanted the play to last a little longer, but at the same time being aware that someday this will end tomorrow, if not today.


Human heart is palpable. It wants a little more of the good things and demands s little cut on the undesirable things. Pack up is certainly not often desirable. It takes a huge effort to get introduced to an idea, nurture it, grow with it, see it taking over and then one day deciding to just quell it. Takes hearts, takes courage.
If you would ever plot a graph of difficulty vs time during the entire duration of attachment with the play, it would strictly look like a U shaped curve. Attachment with the act is highest at the beginning and at the end. It is nearly infinity. Somewhere in the central duration, the scripts don’t attract you a lot and you start losing the plot. You want the play to finish off early and right then the feeling of the terminal end begins.


But a few things are universally true and so is the beginning and end of the play. Such temporal activities and their control is beyond our lives. We have ways to adopt to it – live the script or play the script. Either ways – you will experience an end.
I am living the script and mine is temporally infinite, I hope. What is yours?


Always Ranting,
Rantzaada.

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