The Spider’s Fault

The corridor had that familiar hush of a government office morning. The chalky phenyl smell, ceiling fans chopping warm air and tube lights humming with a tired glare, paint peeled in shy curls from the wall and notices in Kannada and English overlapped like faded memories… It is worth mentioning the inclusive environment we provide for some specially-abled people these days with wheelchairs, ramps, and some helpers whom they need to pay as they wish.

Conduciveness! Such a shining example of universal justice, you see!!

I was sitting there. Half-tired, half-distracted, and half-given up, when my eyes caught this spider. A fairly big one, about two inches long, crawling slowly in the corner of the wall, minding it's business. It wasn’t harming anyone, just tracing it’s invisible path, probably in search of food or a safer space. For a moment, I was drawn into its quiet existence, when suddenly—thap!

A clean, unceremonious sound. The sweeper, moving through the corridor with a steady rhythm, had struck it while doing her job.

The spider was gone!

Suddenly my mind got restless. And, I sat there, frozen not at the act itself, but at the questions it stirred. Did she commit paap or earn punya? Was her deed good or bad?

Who decides this?

Society?

Religion?

People?

And

Most importantly,

Who gave them the authority to decide?

The sweeper was just doing her job, the duty society assigned her which is to keep the place clean, keep it safe!

But was the spider at fault?

No. It was only trying to survive.

Yet its small, unnoticed life was extinguished in a second, in the name of hygiene, safety, order.

That is the human way, isn’t it? We step over other lives without blinking, and then justify it as progress, success, duty and even morality.

I mean, just tell me one thing,

Who wrote this rulebook?

Who decides whose life is expendable and whose is sacred?

And then, another thought stung me harder. When a soldier kills in war, he is called a hero. When a man kills for hunger, he is called a thief. When we kill an insect, it is called cleanliness. When a cow is killed, in some places it is called a sin. Morality shifts like sand dunes here, decided not by any universal truth, but by the convenience and power of those who can enforce it.

And then the thought widened: We humans pride ourselves on living. We don't merely live; we don’t stop at survival.

No!!

We must accumulate.

Money, houses, jewels and land!

We work, we earn, and we tell ourselves it is for life. For success.

For happiness.

Someone spends his whole fortune appeasing his near and dear ones, and gets to be called reckless, like the famous short-sighted grasshopper.

An Extravagant!

What if he was not extravagant? What if he just wanted to Belong?

What if he chose people over possessions?

He might just be seeking validation from HIS people.

Yeah, yeah! I know it's against the law of nature and against the Great Darwin's “Survival of the fittest”.

(All the business people out there must already be rubbing their hands, figuring out how to monetize this another shiny idea of creating a market by turning unfit people like him into the next big Fit project. A whole new segment, right? He isn’t exactly Futuristic right now, you see!

Imagine the possibilities: a tailor-made package: A Financially fit. Family fit. Future fit.

Wrap it all up with glossy brochures, some buzzwords, and voilà, another revenue stream. You can thank me later for this stroke of genius. Or better yet, slip me a few ESOPs while you’re at it.)

Yet, pardon my dumbness, I still wonder, where will anyone carry these ESOPs, fancy titles, or lucrative packages, after death? What becomes of the almirah packed with 2-10 or the 50-500 Kg gold, the golden handwoven sarees, the nakkashied articles we commissioned lovingly for our God? What of the acres of land we bought for our kids?

Imagine!

just imagine!

If gold were to lose its market, if the land we fought for no longer mattered to those who inherit it, if the money in our bank became useless paper. Then what, exactly, have we accumulated? What is left that we can truly call ours?

Even the meagre cloth we wear is removed before the fire takes us, and we are returned to our own blood and ash. Isn't it?

But then the paradox stares back: can we live without these tokens? Are we at fault, or is it the system that has made it almost impossible to be counted without possessions? We say we gather for safety and security, but often we gather these to soothe our need, greed, or ultra-delicate ego bubbles. We call the result, success!

No one knows,

No one can know,

And of course, no one bothers too!

But still we run,

We manipulate,

We quarrel, deceive,

And commit the gravest deeds.

All in the name of Living.

We call it survival, you know…

But, it is mostly just a Spectacle.

A tragedy wearing the mask of happiness!!

And what of the spider?

Perhaps the spider lived more honestly. It spun its web, caught what it needed, asked for nothing more, disturbed no one. It took what it needed, asked for no more. It did not accumulate or manipulate, and definitely did not negotiate value with a marketplace!

It simply was…

And yet, it was swept away as meaningless dust. There is little meaning to fanciful phrases like Universal Justice.

And this time it struck me, “for sure, not perhaps, the spider was freer than us, because it never chased illusions.”

As I was drowning in these thoughts, the attendant suddenly appeared, calling my name. “Madam, your turn,” he said. And I stood up, brushed away the weight of my reflections, signed the register, and went ahead in my attempt to Live.

Sarcastic? Yes.

Hard-hitting? Absolutely!

Because that is the truth. One moment, we are questioning morality, life, afterlife, greed, tragedy, while the immediately next moment, we have to stand up and continue the very cycle we were critiquing. In the end, we still rise when called, and play our role in this absurd theatrical spectacle!

Almost like Camus' absurdism in The Myth of Sisyphus!

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