It was one of those days when I was in my periodically occurring silent philosophical mood... The question going through my mind was 'what is life'? Can I really define it within some lines?
Stage-set :
A few months back in my 'peaceful' Maison des Mines room at Paris... Those walls enclosing me, nudging me to think... While my Name-twin was preparing to bid me goodbye for the day, I thought...and thought...
The Outcome :
[This is what interests us by the way...]
"Consider that newly constructed, somber whitewashed wall, looking all peaceful and beautiful. It will continue to look so till it is untouched. But once those lines of graphite or ink get marked upon it by the relentless pencils and pens in the form of cruel times and people, the serene beauty – that peaceful presence – is maligned, tampered with. And once this happens, the damage has happened once and for all. For the whitewash can be done again…that superficial layer can be gotten again…but beneath that coat, the mark remains…the impression stays. The wall stands still. That wall, my friend, is life itself."
And the more I think about it now, the more I feel convinced that the analogy is apt...
Au Revoir!
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