printed as Vicarious pleasures
- Deccan Herald. Sun, September 28, 2008.
The stole clung to me in a frantic embrace as the howling wind soared phoenix-like, as if to obscure me from a vision that unfolded numerously in an age of ravenous cats and human game.
Rising heat, the damp of perspiration, raucous jeering of a throng of fifty thousand, mounting rapidly to a crescendo … and a gasp! A deadening quiet ... The air hangs thick with anticipation. Every muscle tense, all eyes are on a distant figure, far, far below. Nothing moves except the wind, wailing its solitary song. An owl screeches past. A deafening clang of heavy iron echoes ominously, way below, somewhere in the incongruous maze of sand and structure.
Man and beast stand face to face – terror rife, in the space between them. Each one, the hunter and the hunted.
Thoughts freeze, fists clench, chests heave and jaws tauten as the audience sits on egde, aroused.
The lion shifts its steady gaze … the gladiator moves, eyes fixed in shrewd strategy. His ankles cross each other and the slightest clink of shackles sounds out in the amphitheatre, shattering the silence.
Meat-on-meat-blood-on-blood. A vile chant picks tempo. And one man stands alone - torn.
A worthy spectacle.
Hell heaves open as the multitude rises in mass hysteria. And the heavens, unable to behold this gory scene, break down on all of us.
Reeling from what I’d seen, I gratefully stand in the rain, drained of emotion. Dazed, I look around me - the bloody tale of a ghastly tradition, nearly 500 years long, resonates in every grain of every stone.
The inescapable shadow of a pursuit so horrific and gruesome, lingers poignantly to this day. And through this dark cloud, rises an icon of Roman imperialism, an intimidating testament to its indomitable glory.
The arrogance of its power emanates from every column. The magnificence of design, the perfection of symmetry, the enormity of scale, all celebrate an architecture and engineering as grandiose as the empire they flourished in.
The past lives on with the present. Influences and reflections juxtapose each other in a fantastic draw of sensibilities that simultaneously celebrate a flamboyance of art, and contemplate a history as infamous as it is revered.
With my back to the Forum, I look again at the ruins of this masterpiece. My thoughts canter as I ponder the significance of its saga in our lives today.
In the collosseum of our minds, how many beasts have we not bred? How much sand have we not kicked? How many battles have we not staged? Are our own gladiatorial conquests and contests so different from what shocks us in history? Have we never screamed for blood and climaxed in our own sadistic pleasures? Have we not built our castles of toil and run the maze of time? And yet, we stride along, cautious step on cautious step - catching up and moving on.
We live our lives in history and make another as we go along. We stand for our influences and stand by our dreams. And as we pull the baton of our achievements, there is always the finish looming large. When we do take a minute to reflect on our choices, time's Collosseum rises forth, again. Another gladiator stares destiny in the face.
- Deccan Herald. Sun, September 28, 2008.
The stole clung to me in a frantic embrace as the howling wind soared phoenix-like, as if to obscure me from a vision that unfolded numerously in an age of ravenous cats and human game.
Rising heat, the damp of perspiration, raucous jeering of a throng of fifty thousand, mounting rapidly to a crescendo … and a gasp! A deadening quiet ... The air hangs thick with anticipation. Every muscle tense, all eyes are on a distant figure, far, far below. Nothing moves except the wind, wailing its solitary song. An owl screeches past. A deafening clang of heavy iron echoes ominously, way below, somewhere in the incongruous maze of sand and structure.
Man and beast stand face to face – terror rife, in the space between them. Each one, the hunter and the hunted.
Thoughts freeze, fists clench, chests heave and jaws tauten as the audience sits on egde, aroused.
The lion shifts its steady gaze … the gladiator moves, eyes fixed in shrewd strategy. His ankles cross each other and the slightest clink of shackles sounds out in the amphitheatre, shattering the silence.
Meat-on-meat-blood-on-blood. A vile chant picks tempo. And one man stands alone - torn.
A worthy spectacle.
Hell heaves open as the multitude rises in mass hysteria. And the heavens, unable to behold this gory scene, break down on all of us.
Reeling from what I’d seen, I gratefully stand in the rain, drained of emotion. Dazed, I look around me - the bloody tale of a ghastly tradition, nearly 500 years long, resonates in every grain of every stone.
The inescapable shadow of a pursuit so horrific and gruesome, lingers poignantly to this day. And through this dark cloud, rises an icon of Roman imperialism, an intimidating testament to its indomitable glory.
The arrogance of its power emanates from every column. The magnificence of design, the perfection of symmetry, the enormity of scale, all celebrate an architecture and engineering as grandiose as the empire they flourished in.
The past lives on with the present. Influences and reflections juxtapose each other in a fantastic draw of sensibilities that simultaneously celebrate a flamboyance of art, and contemplate a history as infamous as it is revered.
With my back to the Forum, I look again at the ruins of this masterpiece. My thoughts canter as I ponder the significance of its saga in our lives today.
In the collosseum of our minds, how many beasts have we not bred? How much sand have we not kicked? How many battles have we not staged? Are our own gladiatorial conquests and contests so different from what shocks us in history? Have we never screamed for blood and climaxed in our own sadistic pleasures? Have we not built our castles of toil and run the maze of time? And yet, we stride along, cautious step on cautious step - catching up and moving on.
We live our lives in history and make another as we go along. We stand for our influences and stand by our dreams. And as we pull the baton of our achievements, there is always the finish looming large. When we do take a minute to reflect on our choices, time's Collosseum rises forth, again. Another gladiator stares destiny in the face.
~
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Comments
If I have got 'you' thinking this way, I have certainly done something right here! :) :)