Around Zion - a lonely cyclist


Tuesday, March 6, 2007

To Utopia and Back...

I was just browsing through the Blog, when I happened to chance upon the word “Utopia” and found it to be the main theme set by my fellow Blogger. So, mostly out of enthusiasm to share my weird experience in this Blogspace, and somewhat out of curiosity for this interesting nomenclature of the Blog, I decided to put pen to paper, or for that matter, fingers to keyboard – whichever way you may like it.

It happened so, that last month or last week (again it’s your choice – whatever you like – both will take you to February), I received an invitation to spend a week in Utopia itself. The invitation was even more delightful because the invitation-card was signed by the Bearded Man Himself. It seems that ever since some inconspicuous writer called Dan Brown had tried to tarnish His character by bringing His love life into disrepute, He has been trying to maintain His public-relations well. Hence the invitation to insignificant earthlings.

Anyways, I was too overjoyed to receive it and my joy knew no bounds when the gates to Utopia came into view. Needless to say that I was not overjoyed to see the gates, but the two heavenly creatures who were flanking the gates, waiting to welcome into their kingdom, none other than me. To make it short, they were flawless. As they swayed their bodies in a sequence of practiced seductive moves in ushering me within the city gates, I could only imagine the week that lay ahead. Whatever it was, I was not one to complain.
Among other things, especially if you can concentrate on the environment rather than the Utopians, you will notice that Utopia is green with a capital G and that everybody is dressed in white. So, after changing into the customary white uniform, I gave myself up to the pleasures of Utopia.

To cut a long story short and for the benefit of the readers who could not stop imagining Utopians, I will not furnish any of the other mouth-watering details. It would suffice to say that at the end of the week I was least interested in leaving the place.
Yet as all good things eventually come to an end, my seven days in heaven also came to an end, and the customary time for feedback came (Yes they have it in Utopia as well). As I stood there ruing my chances, in front of the wise elderly man, he gave me a choice. It seemed that I had displayed impeccable behavior in Utopia (if gawking at female Utopians can be classified as impeccable behavior) and as recognition I could become its permanent member. As I was left thinking whether this really was happening to me and was trying to find the catch somewhere, the same way I try to find it in Credit Card offers in more familiar surroundings, the man came up with a condition. The following lines spell out his condition exactly as he said it:

Condition: “… The dynamics behind the happiness that you see all around you stems from a single rule. If you follow it, any place can be a Utopia. Needless to say, if you wish to stay back you will have to abide by the rule. The rule is simple: It is something like ‘Anything and Everything in Utopia is in share-mode’. Only then can you achieve the abundance and happiness that you see all around …”

As he continued to explain this so called simple rule, I slowly realized the full impact of his words. In ideal Utopian conditions there can be nothing that you can call your own, no wealth, no bank accounts, no fame, no power, not even the people you love. Because, according to him, it is this possessiveness that breeds greed and hatred.

But then where is the thin line between sharing everything and forsaking everything? I couldn’t have cared less. By then I was absolutely pissed off. The man’s reasoning, his logic, in fact now that I thought of it, everything about him sucked. I so wanted to leave the wretched place. Suddenly I wanted everything that I could possibly call my own.

Utopia was good for a vacation.
But I am not ready to be an Utopist. Not yet.
Ps: Somehow I don’t remember how I reached Utopia. I guess they have erased that part of my memory.

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