The Speech


Under a sky polished to darkness, amidst foggy exertions of machines, the Ioba walked down narrow streets, without care for the puddles that blotched his path, passing by buildings of mercurial foundations and perforated facades, stopping alas before the town’s coveted intersection where a sea of humans surged unhindered, unfocused and untainted across gorges of cement, limestone and traffic lights. Statues stood at ranks higher than those of any edifice cursorily built in the name of patriotic conviction, ones that ravelled to its observer the sumptuous absence of a defining trait and hovered amidst the virulent smog of thoughts that knew not to analyse but to reflect alone.

The involuntary vibrations of the vocal cords that seemed to accompany all thinking proved effective in acting as sirens, signaling people, the intelligentsia and the impressionistic intellectuals, spread about the streets of news that wore no polished disinterest. Every stride of the Ioba was silently considered as a harbinger for a sense of presentiment to come, notifying them of the disturbing awakening that was to press itself upon the masses like the inevitability of an earthquake.

The crowd gathering around had neither fear nor guilt, but an understanding they were without vile to preach divine intervention for. Such was the pain of knowing; of skinning off the corporate sponsored bandages of false hopes and exposing wounds of meaningful struggle. The spirit of the body and the actuality of the brain became accredited themes that were no longer forged to discriminate, with each of the mesmeric ideas forming an ideal indenture to facilitate progress. The void about them felt lighter and it was with an unbearable sense of being that every raging mind reposed at once.

The Ioba climbed onto the grime stitched dripping slimy sheen of the statue of a faceless man, stood tall, muscles poised, and looked down at the sea of unassuming faces tilted naturally at angles that radiated moral brute. Not a man spoke, not a woman shuffled, and not a kid whined over the sky shattering stretches of scorching scratches that had its momentous share of frightened credit. There was a silence that demanded no orders, an unmatched calmness even to the cruel volition of nature.

“To those bellicose guardians, fabricators of fallible fables, and their entailing imaginative rights to worship personalized deities, I would like to say that their idea of God worships my being.”

“If not in myself were I to allow the operations that sustain my life, you would know not sort of self mine is. It is thus not erroneous to profess that, than such as can be explained by the attributes of your fantasized benevolence, you believe that there is no greater perfection. I beg not to be wonderstruck, for I believe that a line, if it were to liven up and opine on its idea of God, would in like manner say that He is a one-dimensional omnipresence, and nothing more.”

“Invariable laws being the sole bellwethers of every phenomenon that conducts itself in the universe, the will of God is often seen as following the scrupulous tracks of the aforesaid on the same footholds. The laws of nature, and the power God is preached to be in implication with, are but one; the same actions and inactions described on grounds diversified in presentation, usually having one deemed as the cause, and the other, the effect. Their secession from each other is impossible, ironically proved with years worth of trials by men trying to do exactly that, to find the superior one from the illusion of its duality.”

“The passion of man is what leads him to attain unsurpassable mastery in his areas of interest. To not execrate it as vices of human nature should be the caution one must exercise in their pursuit to comprehend such emotions as properties just as pertinent to them as their need to breathe and want to exist.”

“I acknowledge the fact that I’m addressing all scroungers of the earnable, and the scurrilous laggards of the universe. But I’d like to grant you all the luxury of my faith, for I believe in the human race, in the God in man, and the pioneers to which our species shall be revered in excellence to”

The crowd stirred, some starting to identify with a larceny of their powers to revolt, one guided by the natural decency of superlative principles. Dignity, self-respect and honor seized the throne where earlier, patronized by pretentious parables, sat men without esteem, self and reason to lead kings astray in their quest for glory. An unnatural calm had sunk in, desolating all needs to initiate the cautious bowdlerizing of illicitness.

“Thinking solely about the essential but mundane mendacity of an ordinary existence is a retrogressive act that drags one down to the reality of common men. The common men, who abstain from themselves the liberty of individualist dreams and purge the world off iconoclast visionaries, the ones who establish permanence in perception and propagandize a gestation of generic ideas for the masses to embrace, the ones who dwell in the cushions of subservient pledges, ever racy in their attempts to bring down the threats of the organic thinkers.”

“Sycophants propose the ideals of sybaritic pleasure among the untrained and unassuming, inspiring them to seek glory in resplendence, cultivating in them a habitude to dismiss recondite entities that question their softly implanted ideologies and to bring it down confidently with blind strife. Elements that rattle the ignorant cocoon of their corporate lives, the civility of their civilizations, the forbidden grounds of darkness, the uncertain shades of abstractions and the inexplicable nature of a gulf that persists even after a syncretistic view of the world has been offered up. They ask of these young minds to compromise without strain, to give in without hope and to let go without fear, for in the illusion of a disciplined society is manifested an unquenchable, irrevocable crave for security.”

“They are scared; fear rules them all, from temporal frights to extended cowardice.”

Aravind Deepak
The Unconditional Maverick



About Aravind Deepak

Diligent dreamer. E-mail:

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