Strolling along the Champs-Élysées Avenue years ago, I still remember Samuel Beckett moving past me with a smirk on his face, stopping and saying to me “Like the unreal city, London, this city of Paris is like a Wrong Side to me; how could you pad along, my friend?” I could always engage myself in unusual conversation with him as I was used to doing, but instead of replying, I let him speak. He continued “This world is meaningless, futile, shallow and absurd. What the hell your mind is waiting for? Waiting for what? Tell me, dude! But I know you can’t tell, because there’s nothing, you know, NOTHING that you can wait for. Why on earth are you justifying the existence of some non-existent entity in its entirety? Ain’t you from my folks, Syre?” I remained quiet, groping for proper words to reply. Before I could catch hold of some, he vanished in the multitudes of men and women, leaving some rings of smoke behind. I am still puzzled as to who he was! “The Wrong Side and the Right Side” was a book written by Albert Camus and it was T. S. Eliot who had termed London as “Unreal City”, while “the futility and absurdity of this world” was the seminal idea of Beckett’s writings; indeed, it was Beckett with his physical appearance whom I had talked to, but how come such a variance of thought flashed in the talk of a fellow who touched the thoughts of others very meticulously like an outright stranger! I am still puzzled. Yeah, I am puzzled. But I think I need to return from the complexities of thought. I believe it’s high time I left the complexities of memories and immersed myself in the melody of a cuckoo singing songs of the PRESENT amidst one of the boughs of a cedar tree in my garden. Melody of the Present has its own soothing effect.
© M. Syre