by Abinash Palai
Have you ever repeated something? Alphabet, semesters, those three words, weekdays? In a robotic world, repeat is the name of the assembly line. A conveyor belt, which processes such mechanisms at one end, and at the other end emerge clichés, habits, norms: the symptoms of the dystopia, the tumor which we misdiagnose as swelling, the warning signs we disregard, the disclaimers we don’t read
Here’s to people and art that surfaced, even though momentarily, in the sea of monotony. The hexagonal pegs for the round holes that didn’t fit but broke ground instead. The ones who braved this world to create new ones. The easy answers to “pick-the-odd-one-out” lists. The aberrations, the anomalies. A philosophical treatise by Mills and Boons, an Agatha Christie romantic novel, a Christopher Nolan Bhojpuri movie, a Radiohead rap, a porno with a great story. Things that stuck out like sore thumbs, or delightful weirdness.
Here’s to Cliché Guevara, our new regular feature, the vigilante of Mundanetown, protecting the sanity of its citizens whenever the darkness of boredom has prevailed.