Among the other things that are common in us human beings is that, we all lie. A lie told has all kinds of emotions felt by the liar as an aftermath- it leaves one satisfied/ guilty / relieved / angry / sad or most of the times in cases of habitual liars like me, it feels nothing. I love to lie. I am elated when my lie is taken to be ‘nothing but the truth’. I consider lying to be an art, which I did not intend to master.
I don’t really remember my first lie. I think I was a very honest person till I was 7 or 8 years old. One of the funniest things that I remember is that when we were kids we used to lie about relatives staying abroad. I had an aunt in U.S.A. then but at the same time not to be outdone by a friend (who claimed to have 10 aunts in London), I also lied about the number of relatives abroad. I remember that all of my friends claimed to have an aunt or an uncle abroad, and one them even had an American mom.( it was a lie, she was 100% Axomiya) .Even at that age having relatives abroad was such a status symbol, and this continues even now I guess, because I feel pride(at least a small grain of it),when I mention about some aunt or cousin who’s in U.S.A. or U.K., but again a brother in Thailand or Muscat doesn’t really effect me that way.
Coming back to lying, according to my favorite fictional character in a sitcom; Dr.Cal Lightman children learn to lie from grown-ups. So true! Well didn’t they lie about how monsters would eat us alive if we didn’t eat our veggies or go off to sleep early or do a countless other things. Some may refute by saying that it’s not lying but making up stories; to me it’s the same thing. Harry Potter books are lies and J.K.Rowling is a god damn liar. Her lies are swallowed by millions who come back for more. You call that creativity and fiction but please they are based on deception. We manipulate words to write poetry and prose, some of them are good and some of them purely suck. It pleases me so much that I was brought up on all kinds of lies in different shapes and forms. I am glad of a great liar called Enid Blyton (she lied about all her characters to start with) who made my childhood so wonderful. Even now in my 20’s I am so influenced by great liars, would there have been a Mersault for me if Camus didn’t make him up. ‘Deep thinkers’ will rubbish me for this. Well, I am not ‘deep thinking’ and I love the Count of Monte Cristo and consider Dumas to be a liar. I have a great respect for such great liars; they have given me so much pleasure. But again I wouldn’t be so happy if my boyfriend is caught lying about how he spent the last night. My love for liars … is relative.
So, what is my point now that I have spent 537 words on lies and liars? What are my demons when it comes to ‘lies’?
Solzhenitsyn had said “One word of truth shall outweigh the whole world”, and like him I have a great respect for the truth. But how many words of truth do I hear each day that outweigh the world or even the street at which I live in. It is lies all around, most of these lies are pathetic and they disgust me. What I respect is a good lie, a lie which gives me pleasure. And that my friend is my demon, which I won’t exorcise. So telling the truth always, is not the best policy for me. Sometimes I would like to get creative and load a whole page with lies.
This is one of those times.
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good read. more lies please.
ReplyDeleteThanks.
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