Morpheus

Dusty pebbles and textured pavement surrounds ‘ Morpheus’, an individual who strives to give shape to a form. Air enters vacuum and through twist, turns and squeaks morphs a formless elastic piece of coloured rubber. Gazing with intrigue are the eyes of a two year old shabbily dressed kid whose attention gets divided in trying to draw in the green sticky blob that wants to escape its origin. He blows and puffs to create myriad attractive forms but survival seems to scurry away. Minutes pass as days in counting repeatedly the meagre quantity of the shining metal pieces. Rounded pieces whose numbers agglomerate to quote the value of existence in this microcosm.
As I-pod plugged yuppies, insulated in expensive gym wear, jog on the grooved gripped pathways of the majestic Victoria Memorial during the misty November mornings, Bimal kaka admiringly called Morpheus, tries to beat habit by originality. Animals, objects, folk characters find expression through his creation. The trivial yet expectant glances from passersby no longer excite him. His sole aim is to survive and hold ground in this ever changing vastness. Morpheus is the balloon man who I pass everyday while going back home from school.
Due to his unique personality and approach towards life I decided to spend time with Morpheus. Every day for half an hour I sat and listened to his stories. His descriptions and thoughts opened new avenues to my visualization. Being a fifteen year old inquisitive kid, I questioned him infinitely to gauge his intelligence. But his answers always had a certain winning edge to it. Slowly I joined the fan club of Morpheus with the two year old kid being the other exclusive member.
Morpheus loved to dream. In his mind, he travelled to unknown places where there were clear skies; his thoughts went astray visualizing his success. He dreamt of balloon shows where pieces of his creations would fly far away with people clapping and rejoicing. He dreamt of taking pictures with celebrities and eating a sumptuous meal with his family. He talked about colours and their personalities. He wanted to feel yellow and kiss red. He talked about nature and frivolous people surrounding him, about malls and vegetable vendors. He talked of importance and its context to changing times. I listened to his exciting views with utmost zeal. Hours passed in such engaging talk. As the sunset cast a sepia glow to the whiteness of Victoria, the twisted balloons added interest to the morbidity of the atmosphere.
I developed an indiscernible bond with Morpheus. I decided to introduce this power house of alternative knowledge to my friends, knowledge which has to be perceived and imbibed, not mugged without understanding. So after talking to my Principal, I fixed up a workshop where for the first time he would earn valuable paper notes instead of those limited shining metal pieces.
As I rushed to deliver the good news to him, I viewed oddity in the atmosphere. For the first time in 9 months, Morpheus was absent. He continued to be so for the next one week. A stifling discomfort filled me when I thought reason. Slowly I built up the courage to ask the pan shop vendor about ‘kaka’. It is more fitting to let this answer remain unsaid.
Though ‘Morpheus’ is missing in reality, he is immortalised in my dreams. There is no reason for change. But life survives on the powerful base of transformation. Sometimes the most enlightening thoughts come from the most unknown and surreptitious places and can morph our lives forever.