Tuesday, 8 September 2015

The Elephant Palazzo

I did not think something as trivial as a palazzo would affect me in so nontrivial a manner; perhaps the upshot has just been stirred by the nearest thing that it could possibly be stirred with, as it was raging to sever shackles. The palazzo became the disposed catalyst for good, I believe. My elephant palazzo- or the elephant palazzo that could have been mine rather- was just like any other cotton palazzo; but the miniature auburn elephant prints and the saffron flow of the palazzo, they captivated my imagination and I had taken an instant liking to it the minute I had seen it; but it took me time to appreciate my love-at-first-sight moment.  

What happened, to reiterate, is thus. Lately, I have been frequenting this one garment store. In one of my visits, a charming elephant-printed saffron palazzo caught my eye and I took it within me to try it. I found it draped me elegantly, made me feel comfortable and everything nice it should. Then I tried some other garments- a floral range of attire, for it was summer back then and the entire fashion diligence seemed to have gone berserk combating scorch with floral prints. One of the floral outfits won my fancy over the elephant palazzo and all of a sudden, I tried to find blunders in the palazzo. I don’t remember how I managed to find any. I didn’t buy the palazzo, I bought a handful of other things instead.

I did not think of the episode until I saw the elephant palazzo again during my next visit at the store. I couldn’t remember why I had forsaken the palazzo but I was steadfast to hound logic and reasoning behind my previous clusters of buy. I recognize the feeling now, as I sit here writing this- it was immature vanity, I’m confident it was. Vanity ushered into me, a surge of vanity I dread today and find inexplicable, inexcusable. That I had made the right decision by not buying the palazzo was a postulate I was determined to prove accurate. Consequently, I hunted the store, abandoned the palazzo and bought a couple other things from the store that visit as well; all this while, the naïve palazzo lay staring, unaware of the war it had participated in and lost already. While I was leaving the store, I turned behind to glance at the palazzo display once more; I did not know it would be my last time. Something inside me felt foolish but that day conceit emerged victor. 

Sure enough, climax sashays and the next time I saw the rack of palazzos, my elephant palazzo was gone. I did not speak of it to anyone, it was too trivial to be cried about. But ever since then, the episode, the palazzo began to weigh on my mind.
This is my haggard rationale behind writing this piece, this is my tribute to the elephant palazzo, my tribute to something that floated me back to getting trampled under the profound weight of letting go of something I probably loved and was too apathetic to realize, the profound burden of consequences of injudicious decisions. I guess something had to hit me and I was waiting for it to hit me. The naïve palazzo did its bit.

We wander around in life looking for psalms of joy, looking for elephant palazzos and when we stumble across them, they don’t look as appealing as they did in our dreams. At least not until we lose them. Passenger singer Michael David Rosenberg put this sentiment beautifully into his record-breaking sensational single ‘Let Her Go.’
You only need the light when it’s burning low, only hate the road when you’re missing home, only know you love here when you let her go.
And you let her go.
And you let her go. 
That’s when it all sinks in. The choices, facades, clamor, menace, debacles, everything comes revolving around your hub; their eyes seem skeptical, your decisions seem to lack wisdom, their mediations seem unfair, your beliefs seem to lack courage, and you feel like hibernating. 
No one, nothing seems to understand or console.

There are consequences to every fine thing you do, bad thing you do. People judge you for the littlest of quivers; I have seen instances when being nice to someone has been labeled immaturity, realization is labeled depression, happiness is rumored to be insanity, confusion turns into incapability, sorrow is fakeness, sympathy is flattery, and affection is civility- all of it, unquestionably, celebrated fragments of their celebrated perception. I have felt wrecked and broken to the point of genuineness becoming myth. But one fine day, a moment of epiphany proclaimed to a tired ear that the wide world doesn’t own up for everything that has been done to you, everything you’ve done, the elephant palazzo you’ve lost, the palazzo you seemingly will never get again.
Floating in that direction, I embrace today that the world seems cynical a lot of times but harboring grudges against it for the sake of a few judging eyes doesn’t make sense anymore. It has occurred to me that what I want now to do is to crush every possibility and breathe. Possibility of doing the glorious, making the wrong choice, hiding the spilt milk, deviating to the lesser beauty, forsaking beauty or being forsaken- every suffocating possibility must be crushed and the crumbling pieces should fade with sands of time.

Meanwhile, I float with choices, stride to freedom, obliterate suffocating perennial possibilities, I close my eyes, I regret my elephant palazzo, but I open them back again and I breathe because I need freedom. Freedom from grappling pasts, the prospect of intimidating present and inadvertent future, freedom to let go. To stop fretting about a million trivial massive-looking things tempts manifestation of it being a heavy toll but the thoughts take a heavier toll on you. I have realized that by living with it for a while. The elephant palazzo will be missed and every decision I made encircling it might keep haunting me but I choose to embrace freedom, live with instincts and choices- wise and unwise, appreciated or criticized, by me or by onlookers.

For what is freedom if it doesn’t stir into you some barbaric instinct- something perhaps dampened asleep in our sober lives- but in that one moment of possibility, you forget eras of civilization, rigorously trained traits; and inside you, gripping you is a strange passion which sends you madly whirling around the room, in the freest, handsomest light.
That is freedom, you see; it sets you free.

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