Ganeshguri: A Spectacle Soaked in Red [30th October, 2008]
“How terrible man has been to his fellow man could be measured by the great exodus from what seemed to be a Garden of Eden"
~ Mario Puzo (The Godfather)
A mass of black, a cloud of thick smoke was emanating from Ganeshguri. It was as though a black curtain had stretched before the rays of the Sun, adamant in its resolve to cast a shadow on the tarmac below, where now ran a river that was red as the cherry. The air began to reek of a strange odour. Burning rubber had come to conspire with scorching flesh in immerse Ganeshguri in a cauldron of chaos.
Amidst the deafening roars of the bursting tyres, the mortals wailed and whimpered with pain. The lucky ones, like opiated mortals, lay silent and motionless. A sight of utter disarray slowly unfolded before the eyes. It was a mayhem of a different sort, a gory arena. It was a concert contrived by cold-blooded conscience in the colosseum of depravity. There was no counting of the dead, as a sea of wounded and charred humanity spread in an asymmetrical and unknown pattern under a veiled sun.
“Civilization was a thin, dangerously fragile veneer, and when that veneer cracked, man became one with the beasts again, falling back into the slime of the primeval abyss he prided himself on having climbed up from."
~ Sidney Sheldon (The Naked Face)
The horror-struck crowd, shaken by the onslaught, of an unknown accord, metamorphosed into a mob and responded with a fury. It was a display of collective wrath, a rage of abysmal proportion, an anger unaccustomed to the eyes.
The manifestation drove into a frenzy and unleashed a show of violence. Stones, bricks, and bloodstained boots were hurled around. The street came under the occupation of anger. Official vehicles bore the brunt of unrestrained vandalism. The constabulary found itself butted and kicked from all sides.
The cataclysm slowly dawned on the lapidified mortal, whose eyes had feasted on the macabre play. The ghostly panorama had him in a grip of petrifaction. It was after what seemed like ages did he pick his satchel up and walked home, whilst those images played over and over again, in a loop, repeating a profane oath, to linger in one tiny corner of his brain until the dusk of his life.
~ Mario Puzo (The Godfather)
A mass of black, a cloud of thick smoke was emanating from Ganeshguri. It was as though a black curtain had stretched before the rays of the Sun, adamant in its resolve to cast a shadow on the tarmac below, where now ran a river that was red as the cherry. The air began to reek of a strange odour. Burning rubber had come to conspire with scorching flesh in immerse Ganeshguri in a cauldron of chaos.
Amidst the deafening roars of the bursting tyres, the mortals wailed and whimpered with pain. The lucky ones, like opiated mortals, lay silent and motionless. A sight of utter disarray slowly unfolded before the eyes. It was a mayhem of a different sort, a gory arena. It was a concert contrived by cold-blooded conscience in the colosseum of depravity. There was no counting of the dead, as a sea of wounded and charred humanity spread in an asymmetrical and unknown pattern under a veiled sun.
“Civilization was a thin, dangerously fragile veneer, and when that veneer cracked, man became one with the beasts again, falling back into the slime of the primeval abyss he prided himself on having climbed up from."
~ Sidney Sheldon (The Naked Face)
The horror-struck crowd, shaken by the onslaught, of an unknown accord, metamorphosed into a mob and responded with a fury. It was a display of collective wrath, a rage of abysmal proportion, an anger unaccustomed to the eyes.
The manifestation drove into a frenzy and unleashed a show of violence. Stones, bricks, and bloodstained boots were hurled around. The street came under the occupation of anger. Official vehicles bore the brunt of unrestrained vandalism. The constabulary found itself butted and kicked from all sides.
The cataclysm slowly dawned on the lapidified mortal, whose eyes had feasted on the macabre play. The ghostly panorama had him in a grip of petrifaction. It was after what seemed like ages did he pick his satchel up and walked home, whilst those images played over and over again, in a loop, repeating a profane oath, to linger in one tiny corner of his brain until the dusk of his life.
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