The Confession Of A Lamp

"I have all the light to give, but the takers are falling for the dark," said the lonely lamp. 

The most honest confessions are made in the nostalgiac environments pampered by the bliss of solitude. It was the time of festivals celebrating the arrival of winter and probably the best time to observe the momentary smile on the faces of the people. There was artificiality everywhere, either it was in the decorations or on the faces of the people. The best part was the group of children playing with the fireworks. Amidst all these dogmas, an old fashioned oil lamp crafted from the clay was lying alone. The lamp felt like a forgotten entity among the vibrancy of the younger generation. Its flame was gradually fading away in the cold air. I turned my head around in search of other such lamps only to find disappointment. It was the only lamp left in the vicinity while the rest were faded away. The half oiled lamp was the last one of its kind, grieving its loss. Out of curiosity, I approached the lamp and asked what was bothering it? The lamp flickered and said, " Sympathy is the least that I need right now." Too much ego is not ideal for a dying flame and is true in real life as well. But, this is not what bothered me; the tone of rejection that I received, made me think the deeper aspects of those words. Instead of getting all steamed up, my heart filled with consolation; such powerful was its tone. I tried again, this time with some genuine interest I told the lamp that if there is something to share, I may be of some use. The lamp suddenly increased its brightness and started to give a taller and stable flame. At that moment, I could not understand the intensity of my words. Did I speak some spell? Even half-filled with oil, it burnt as someone refilled it. Although it made me happy that somehow I succeeded to provide comfort to the lamp, my curiosity grew even stronger. This time I didn't have to ask, the lamp started speaking. The story it told me afterwards and the experience it poured, was more than enough to reboot my thought process.

Generally, every tale starts with "Once upon a time," in this case the lamp itself was the time. It carried all the information of the ages passed by, like an enormous hard drive shrunk into a small object. From the desk of a student from first civilisation to the technological outburst of the modern era, the lamp witnessed every major event of human history. It said, "I used to be the source of light in people's lives. My flames blessed every nook and corner of the homes and shrines. No matter how dark is the arena, once a single ray of light originated from my flame enters, the dark runs for its life. I was like a god to the people of those times who gave a great significance to me. People came to me not only to light their homes but to light their hearts too. These people are different from them. Sometimes I doubt if they ever lived on this earth. I have seen all the wars, the misery they brought was unbearable. People used my flame to see through the plans of their next move and later they used the same flame to cremate the dead. I was supposed to end the darkness and now they associate darkness with me. Humans are so complex, aren't they? I use to cremate the dead but, who is going to cremate me when I die? The light once used to give hopes is looking for hope itself." I was so engaged in the conversation that I lost track of time and found that the lamp had dried up. On its final way to fade away in the darkness which it was supposed to end, gave the last outburst of its scorching flame. I thanked the lamp for the valuable time and gave farewell saying, "Fall for the dark to meet the light, do not go gentle into that good night."