Life as we know it, sometimes becomes too lifeless or rather over-bearing in a way that it feels more like death. Death brings peace, the end of all woes. Then maybe, it doesn’t feel like death, its more of the path leading to death. And that’s what life really is.

So, in a way, life decides to “act” like itself at certain points in time. It decides to drop the façade of being something extra-ordinary, of being something which is very beautiful. Which in fact it is not. It is the path leading to death. Nothing more.

This makes me reach a point in thought where I’m forced to believe that like all humans, life too suffers from “identity-crisis”. It is simply being human by behaving as if it were kind, just to be a more acceptable facet. Even though, the truth is much deeper than the skin of it all.

On a day when questions overcome emotions, when emotions overcome fact and when fact deceives dreams ; my recluse is the couch that sits in the lobby of the house which belongs to our family.

I surf through TV channels in a seemingly vain attempt to distract myself from life, loss, dreams, death and et all. I make the attempt with as much energy and enthusiasm as would rest with an Indian football team facing the Brazilians in world soccer finals. But thankfully, the outcome isn’t as horrendous as that.

In fact, I’m forced to wonder and wonder endlessly as to why is the “television” regarded as the idiot box? What’s wrong with being the idiot anyways? Why should people who spend time paying heed to the boons of the tube be regarded as couched potatoes?

I submit myself to the tube, watching back-to-back comedy on star world. While watching it, I wonder whether it is recommended as therapy anywhere in the world.

It’s a nice way to escape the escapades of a life less extra-ordinary, a life that is nothing more than a mere path, a life which undergoes identity crisis of its own. Even though its not like wonderland or an equally pathetic place, but it feels just the same-for the time that the viewing lasts.

Life, once more, adorns the garb of a less gruesome enemy-a friend of sorts; until the crisis is shattered, the identity revealed, the path rediscovered as just a path. Nothing more.