The Good Thinking Builder
Suchintan, meaning (I guess) Good Thinking, is builidng a house. With rust-coloured bricks. And a glistening, unrusted imagination. His house is like an ancient myth. A foundation. And layers and layers of untrammelled thought hovering above it. Visible only to those with a glistening, unrusted imagination. To the rest it is just a foundation. A maze of bricks.
Will you live in it? I ask Suchintan. No, he says, wondering whether I am slow, or pretending to be. It's for the ants, he says after a minute's silence. The ants are already there, holed up in one of the bricks he's got. They are crawling all over his hand. He gives his hand a shake. And his would-be tenants (or beneficiaries) hit the ground. Like rain.
Where is the door? I ask him to test the strength of his imagination. Here, he points to a gap between the bricks.The door is a gap. For the ants, I think, a gap will do. And windows? There, he says placing a random finger next to the door. By now he is convinced that I AM slow and not pretending. So he takes to answering questions he can see coming.
My best friend makes very good houses, he says. He can build them like this... a soundless click of forefinger and thumb. And a rolling of eyes. His house, meanwhile, is growing. Brick by brick. Hand-picked from a nearby stack by his tiny bricklayer hands.
I don't play with the 'dirty boys', he says suddenly, animated. Who are these dirty boys? He gives me names. Names that don't sound particularly dirty. And why are they dirty? Oh, because they are very bad. They beat us up. Hmm. Spoil our houses. Hmm. Tease the girls. More hmm. I am katti with the 'dirty boys'.
Those shoes, he's finished with the house and is now pointing at my feet, my dad also has them. They're his. Stolen by me, when he was sleeping. Uh-oh, they're not. He laughs catching a hint of the ridiculous in my claim.
A woman's voice calls out for Suchintan. It's time to leave the house of myth and imagination and come home. To mommy. To lunch. A cozy bed. And homework.
I have one last question. Can you read what's written on the bricks. Yes, he nods. Bee. Bee. Cee. They're from TV, no?
Yes. BBC Bricks? True.
They're bricks from TV. He laughs and starts walking home, leaving behind a play house only he and a few slow others can see.
Will you live in it? I ask Suchintan. No, he says, wondering whether I am slow, or pretending to be. It's for the ants, he says after a minute's silence. The ants are already there, holed up in one of the bricks he's got. They are crawling all over his hand. He gives his hand a shake. And his would-be tenants (or beneficiaries) hit the ground. Like rain.
Where is the door? I ask him to test the strength of his imagination. Here, he points to a gap between the bricks.The door is a gap. For the ants, I think, a gap will do. And windows? There, he says placing a random finger next to the door. By now he is convinced that I AM slow and not pretending. So he takes to answering questions he can see coming.
My best friend makes very good houses, he says. He can build them like this... a soundless click of forefinger and thumb. And a rolling of eyes. His house, meanwhile, is growing. Brick by brick. Hand-picked from a nearby stack by his tiny bricklayer hands.
I don't play with the 'dirty boys', he says suddenly, animated. Who are these dirty boys? He gives me names. Names that don't sound particularly dirty. And why are they dirty? Oh, because they are very bad. They beat us up. Hmm. Spoil our houses. Hmm. Tease the girls. More hmm. I am katti with the 'dirty boys'.
Those shoes, he's finished with the house and is now pointing at my feet, my dad also has them. They're his. Stolen by me, when he was sleeping. Uh-oh, they're not. He laughs catching a hint of the ridiculous in my claim.
A woman's voice calls out for Suchintan. It's time to leave the house of myth and imagination and come home. To mommy. To lunch. A cozy bed. And homework.
I have one last question. Can you read what's written on the bricks. Yes, he nods. Bee. Bee. Cee. They're from TV, no?
Yes. BBC Bricks? True.
They're bricks from TV. He laughs and starts walking home, leaving behind a play house only he and a few slow others can see.
good but cudnt get much of it. 'Suchintan' has built a home in my cranium for sure, but where exactly are the ants?
ReplyDeletethey're IN the house. why else would suchintan make it. coz they were always in it..
ReplyDeleteorite> ants are hard working, they certainly stand for everything good..
ReplyDeleteso u mean to say 'suchintan' is expanding his territory?
Suchintan is essentially building the house for himself but because he knows that the "dirty boys" will sack the place as soon as he goes home, he says it's for the ants. It's his way of pre-empting the pinch of a loss that to him is more or less certain. Umm that's what I think....
ReplyDeleteSuchintan needs a pet :) I duno what else to say, I felt good after readin the post.So..
ReplyDeletePerhaps, a Scotch maybe!! And thanks man!
ReplyDelete