Mausoleum of Passion

“Do you have IT in you? Do you have IT what it takes?”, announced pamphlet rolls strewn around the city to everyone curious enough to look at them.  The pamphlets invited the youth of the city to a dazzling event of show of IT. The young citizenry went into overdrive in discovering the IT in them. Everyone went about digging out the IT in the anatomy of their lives by operating on their selves, by examining their personality, and by carrying out diligent experiments like alchemists to transform themselves from a person with no IT, to yes IT. The frenzy was palpable in the bold and the beautiful, the introverted and the ugly, the average and the savage, the loon and the toon, the fool and the cool. A smorgasbord of youth constituted of various shapes and sizes, were preparing themselves to dish out their varying levels of innate or nurtured forms of IT.

The D-day had drawn. Eager participants had presented themselves at the “Masoleum of Passion” as the pamphlet had directioned. Everyone had to stand in queues for hours in the penetrative heat, to await their turns even as the overhead Sun managed to eject fountains of sweat suppurating from perspiring pores of those who had queued up for laying down their IT for the IT contest.

But their long arduous journey to the winner’s podium was marred by two sinister baldheads with danger written large on their foreheads. The two sinister baldheads were to sieve from the ITs on display  to filter down and choose the one with true IT. One by one the eager participants displayed their wares like boring salesmen eager to please a potential customer by endeavouring the two baldheads to generate the faintest interest in the IT each had to offer. The baldheads were none too pleased and stayed their grumpy selves just like the day on which they had received news of their keratin deficiency that had rendered the present shapely smooth curvature to their heads. As each contestant was booted out one after the other, by the two baldheads “dogged” determination in whelping the IT out of each attendant, the teeming mass of sweltering enthusiasm awaiting outside gradually thinned. Few remaining ones were left after the funnelling was carried out completely. 

The remaining ones were invited to the inner chamber of the “Masoleum of Passion” where they were all made to sit in a semi-circle facing the judges judged good enough for judging IT. Once everyone was rested, the baldheads dropped the topic for discussion. The mere finishing of the topic’s utterance saw an eruption of emotions and caused throatquakes in oesophagi of those gathered as they verbally clambered over each other by mounting layers of arguments and counter-arguments forming a rising sandwich of thoughts in the dimly lighted room. In the midst of this rambunctious cacophony and the earnest desires of each one to display the maximum passion as possible through the most loudest or dramatic actions, the muted silence of one of the participant was highly apparent and unavoidably noticeable. 

One of the baldheads remarked to the other, “That guy over there, yeah, the one who has remained silent so far. How on earth was he selected for this round. We are looking for passion, determination and the potency to be able to do something, in these young ones. By looking at him, I don’t possibly accept the decision that got him selected till here.” 

Overhearing this, the fellow who had remained silent so far, stood up and declared. “Oh, yes, I am passionate.” To which the baldheads replied in unison like a curious choir, “How”?

“By remaining utterly silent throughout, I have been extremely passionate about being dispassionate. Pure Passion, isn’t this what you were looking for? Those others gathered here in their imbecilic attempts at displaying passion expend a lot of energy and enthusiasm. And here I am, displaying unblemished passion about being dispassioned, without exhausting an iota of enthusiasm or energy,” answered the fellow.

“Aah” Exclaimed the two baldheads. “Nice argument and we must confess that you nearly got us there. HeHe. But No”. Thus slammed shut the vocal doors of the two and the wooden doors on the fellow even as the participant crowd resumed its former glory of gladiatorial tongues which were back to sounding like a flock of roosters having to lay eggs made of stones. Sounding so, the doppler effect had set in for that fellow who had a smile on his lips as his back slowly gained in distance far from the maddening crowd. 

Image from here.