No one has said and meant
More than when she said:
Nothing.
She wrapped a whole universe
Around it
Like a thin membrane
Protecting life from
Known and unknown threats.
Nothing? I asked incredulously.
Nothing, she responded with conviction,
As if she had discovered
The most meaningful manta
That would set her soul free.
Still, I tried, one last chance,
Like a drowning man
Clutching at straws,
There has to be
For God’s sake
Something.
And yet, like a stylus
Struck in a record’s groove
She said: Nothing.
Nothing, I insisted,
Is what our babus do
In government offices
Or what years of enquiries
Into missing public wealth discover
Or most of our batsmen score
On foreign tours.
Do you mean
That Nothing, I sought confirmation.
She repeated with
Equal enigma
And conviction:
Nothing.
After hours of my doubts
Confusion and helplessness
I became quiet
Cleared my mind
And closed my eyes
And allowed Nothing to overwhelm
All those somethings
Ostensibly wise
And clever
That had assailed me.
And bowed my head
And agreed wholeheartedly
That Nothing mattered,
That Nothing was, indeed
The right answer.
I learnt nothing from her;
I learnt everything.
I prayed to God
To make me equally wise
When someone meaning
To do nothing
Asks me: What’s wrong?
I, too, should stare
Vacantly
With a trace of meaningfulness
And quietly whisper: Nothing.
Nothing is
And will ever be
More profound.
