Disdainfully Human


My disdain is for people in general. There I said it. For someone who is communicative in a reserved way – wary of offending witless, touchy, conceited sapiens – I consider this blatant confession quite an achievement. Lacking a word for a more sordid degree of antagonism, I abhor people. I detest the pettiness in people. I detest man and his whims. I detest his depravity. I detest his countless facades. I detest the parochial. I detest the silent spectator.  I detest the diffident victim. I detest hypocrites, sycophants and the inauthentic. Over the years, in my more dawdling hours of surreptitious appraisal of people at train stations, malls, parties and other locations of mass public gathering, I have learnt a lot (or so I think), rendering many a vicarious acquaintance: The cheating husband, the scheming wife, the deceiver, the deceived, the licentious, the pervert, the virago, the megalomaniac and the fiend himself; the glint of relish in the eye of the beholder of such decadence. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there.  A rather cynical weltanschauung, purported to be a by-product of the proverbial vicissitudes of life.

I want to bring myself to condone such ‘acts’ as foibles we all possess.  I want to trust man unhesitantly and I want it reciprocated. Yes, selflessness is utopian yet I yearn for an assurance that when misfortune strikes I have someone to help me assuage the situation: an unselfish act of kindness. I want man to be an assimilationist. I want man to lose his short-sightedness, to prise away from his fettered life. I want to live in a world where I don’t have to vie for acceptance, a self-deprecating endeavour in itself. A world where I can be unpretentious, genuine, ME.

Go ahead! Dub me a misanthrope. You’re free to judge inasmuch as I am free to dissent. (Let me admit nevertheless, hyperbolizing resentment – an ubiquitous disposition- is something you and I secretly cherish)  A misanthrope has an all-pervasive, abject hatred toward Humans. I on the other hand consider this resentment a matter of infinite hope: the flickering incandescent flame of hope niched somewhere in the vestibules of our hearts. A flame suggestive of man’s infalllibilty, humanity, love, ingenuousness, individuality: traits, man was inherently meant to possess.

Wishful Thinking. Yes. Wistful of such things am I. Things, that I trust would one day emerge from the realm of infinite hope.



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