Divide and destroy

I love this place. It never ceases to amuse me. Let me tell you a fact, on a lazy afternoon when you have broken your back from dawn, the best place for a butterfly to land her back side is the rooftop of a school. Look at them kids singing, “If I were a butterfly…”. Cute! Well, here is a little essay written by a butterfly. And I don’t have to tell you what it is titled now, do I?

Imagine a field of endless flowers lined up. Beckoning to be pollinated. Provided in abundance by mother nature herself. Me, or any of my kind have had nothing to do with their sowing, fertilizing or blossoming to such glory. And just as we ready ourselves to being what is naturally our right, a big ‘papa’ butterfly announces that not all of us are entitled to claim what we think belongs to no one. In order to make sure that everyone gets a fair share we are divided into groups on the basis of what our deceased and long gone ancestors did and where we have flow from. Then when we ready ourselves again, another ‘papa’ announces that it would only be fair if we are divided on the basis of how big our wings are and how much pollen we can process. So we are divided again in to overlapping unclear groups. And we ready ourselves. But just as we about to flap our wings, yet another ‘papa’ stood up and said that the butterflies who come from lesser fertile areas must get more access to these flowers. Even if that meant wastage of pollen as these butterflies did not know how to make the most of what was being provided to them. So we stood aside as these butterflies went about causing their share of destruction. And we had not yet finished sighing at the wastage than another ‘papa’ felt that the bees should not be robbed of their right to pollinate. So another portion was set aside for them. Suddenly we noticed that a many butterflies claimed to be bees and began helping themselves while we could only be mute spectators. When we objected, the papas replied, “They have papers that say they are bees.” And if all this was not enough there were a handful of butterflies that could have all they wanted, when they wanted as they had ‘GOLDEN WINGS’. Some of them merely had parents who had golden wings. And that entitled them to anything and everything. While all the butterflies squabbled, the field withered and the flowers perished. Years later, the butterflies were still squabbling. Pinning the blame on one another for the dearth of flowers to pollinate and what the four papas…(four fathers….forefathers) said. Here is what we have learnt works.

Laissez Faire!