OMEGA Man.. the rise of the slain

Recently scientists have claimed to make a path breaking discovery down the anthropological chronology of Man. Long after the emergence of the alpha male amongst the different races of the homo sapiens, they have found an exactly opposite, new variant in the development of Man, called the OMEGA Man.
According to the studies this maladroit descendant of apes sleep in late, live blithely with his parents and doesn't have a regular salaried job but is still happy with his life. On a typical day, he wears tatty clothes, plays computer games and works on his music.
No doubt reading about the species rang certain bells in my head but the thing I was confused about was should I be happy for presently being the one amongst this rare species or should I be mortified by this subtle criticism and incessant ignominy. The Omega Man, be it Ben Stone in the movie 'Knocked up' or Andy Stilzer in the '40 year old virgin', has been celebrated profoundly in Hollywood but practically being the one certainly is a different experience which feels like you have been put into the Pillory, exposed to the implacable words of every single person around you.
I know my present situation and a lots of people like me as Omega Man is a hobson's choice but I cannot denigrate the fact on the grounds of just being coerced to be so. The plight of ours I hope will end soon but presently we helplessly belong to the category of the 'The OMEGA Man'. This is not an excuse for my state but to put forward the relentless agitation inside, may be writing this post make me less of an OMEGA Man.

The Frame on the Wall....

Last rains I found cracks on the walls, the walls inside which I exist. I don't know how seasons are playing but these walls have dampened and developed cracks that run down like the blue tears on her cheeks. Once these walls used to mark the fortress inside which there was a world, a world that defined me, a world that fortified my existence from the world outside these walls, a world that I assumed to be perfect. Rain used to dance on the window panes, writing undecipherable messages on the window glass with its finger like little drops but now it just seeps through those cracks and like me sits by the corner, terrified and confused. Inside those walls there used to seem no day, no night, everything I assumed had stopped but now suddenly the winds have changed. That frame on the wall seems to be tilted by the changing winds. The dampness running down the walls to the very corner stone has disturbed the foundations just like someone has dropped a pebble into the stagnant water of my existence but the difference is that the ripples are not just on the surface but reaching deep into my soul.
I don't know how long these walls will survive the foreplay of the season but I am sure that the worst or should I say the best is yet to come because the tilted frame on that wall speaks volumes of the forthcoming changes.....


P.S: This post is inspired from a poem written by the legendary Gulzar sahab. This is my interpretation to his poem reflecting my personnel inferences.