Baggage

Carrying baggage is a ubiquitous exercise. Yet people are not properly fit. Maybe that is why the wheel was built – so that we can pull our baggage around without having to really and truly consider its weight. It is why we are never strong enough.

 

They were stuffed into the overhead compartments. Some were made neatly and some were arrangements of suffocated clutter. Then there were those that had been brought up in an order which unsteady, never-letting movement had rendered a mess.

On top of it all, they were jostled into compact spaces, each one adjusting their tough exteriors (as much as they would allow themselves) to accommodate others, quietly wishing they could lay their contents out without the risk of judgement.

Most of them were of dark shades, the mode being black. They were all representations of their owners: compact, suffocating, and private – awkwardly stubborn towards the sunlight. Only, today’s environment of networking and a required qualification of social adeptness had left these manifestations ironic.

 

Everything was on (the) line. Then again, nothing was. Even the line dividing air and the cloud was not just being toed, but towed – logging on was not entering a different environment; it was now welcoming pixelation of the real world, removing individuals from reality and digitizing their personalities, each aspect coded carefully so that there were no bugs. And if there were, there would be frequent updates. This was technological hoodwinking.

There is no more baggage. Error! There is no more you.

Turn off the monitor and you’re in the dark, no sense of your surroundings. The stumbling is not the worst part. To think this would be yet another misconception. It is a case of Schrödinger’s Ceiling. Only when it crashes down will it be known if there is a roof over your head or not.

 

The last two paragraphs may appear to constitute a digression, but, in fact, do not. This train heads in only one direction. There are many passengers. There are many stops. The only constant is baggage.

I stood on the platform. Others stared and turned towards their companions with hushed remarks. Nonetheless, I prided in my own being a fluorescent green, yet as I unzipped it to place another acquisition, I noticed a dark formation. I lost my sense of superficial fiction. I pressed my thumb against the cloth, scraping the edge.

Green flaked. It was dark, really dark.

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