We will call him 'dying-man'. If you ask him he is never gonna tell you that, but the truth is, that he is dying. He is not sick or old, he is fairly-fit and young but he is dying. Everyone is dying too, you can say that, but everyone is living too. For him, he has lost that connection with life. There is nothing left in the gamut of human experiences, which can evoke his interest. He is just waiting now for the, 'THE-END'.
Dying-man picked up a packet of biscuit, a packet of cheese with holes and some tea. There was a long queue at the cash counter. It was a weekend after all. This civilization had created this unique travesty of relief, weekends. May be there is some deeper human fixation with ends. May Be. Dying-man was also waiting for his end, 'The End'. But his kind of 'end' was not a means towards some end. He just wanted himself to end. Period.
He decided not to stand in the queue, he was in no hurry. Causally he studied the merchandise stocked in racks. A super market is a sensual feast. 1000 kind of things, and then 1000 types of those 1000 kind of things. Aisle after aisle he moved on. Looking at everything, yet not quite noticing it. Suddenly, he heard a giggle, shrieky enough to pull him out of his reverie. Two bright eyes were looking at him. Shining ones, rare ones. He gave those eyes a glance back, but the eyes had disappeared. He thought, he did some thing uncharacteristic
to attract this. Could be. He was other-worldly, always. Cash counter still had a long queue.
He moved on. To another aisle, to another set of products. Products products and more products, super fertility of industrial economies. Increase production, increase consumption, deck up everything up in shiny packaging, to arrest your eyes and ears. He was a dying man. Unfazed, he moved on, no commodity could create arousal in his system. His shopping basket already had, all what he needed.
He heard the giggle again, the same shining eyes were now smiling. He made an eye contact, he noticed those eyes had mischief, playfulness, innocence. The dying man smiled. Rarely did the dying-man smile, this was one such occasion. Shining eyes clapped in glee.The little one had little hands, little legs, chubby cheeks, and the frivolity which can make a dying-man smile. Dying-man gazed continuously, enchanted. The little one laughed, ran and hid himself behind his mother's legs.
The Dying-man had just felt the stroke of aliveness in his skin. The little one, peeped again, standing behind his mother's legs and then hid himself up again. For the first time now, the dying-man REALLY looked at the merchandise. He grabbed a big bar of Mars, a big bar of Bounty and Twix.
He had just met Life. Our dying-man.