A long long time ago, a bored writer in a foreign land sat down to rest his limbs in the local public library. There was no Internet due to the recent floods in that foreign city, and the library was full of old people reading newspapers and magazines. The flood waters had receded two weeks ago, just in time for the big city to hold it’s annual festival that drew a million tourists each year.
There was a faint dampness in the air, due to the still towering dark clouds hovering over the city. The overall air of quite desperation mixed with a feeling of loss hung over the library- as if still under water from the floods. While the rest of the metropolis woke up to either a hangover from the weekend festival, or to Monday work deadlines, the library woke up to a feeling of emptiness.
Having nothing better to do, the writer opened up his portable computer and started doing what came naturally to him such situations- write.
“What can I write about?”, thought the writer to himself. It was not that he was unusually good , or that he was unusually bad as a writer. He was just not inspired. He turned the volume on his portable music player louder.
“Shall I write about seeing thousands of white women yesterday wearing skimpy dresses and cowboy hats”, thought the dark-skinned writer. “ That could be sexist”. Confronted with above average levels of female skin, the writer had retreated in the most secure place he could find, his own mind. “Who is better off”, thought the writer”The woman of the West trying to move with few clothes to attract Men, or the Women of the East all covered up trying to again please their own personal Men.”
“Men will always rule”, thought the writer,” as they have always ruled. Either directly or indirectly, by diktat , threat, bribery or by manipulation. “
“Since the Man of the West could no longer burn witches at the stake, and the Man of the East could no longer stone adulterous women, they had turned to glossy magazine covers or religious diktats to do what they do best- manipulate women into pleasing them”, thought the writer.
“ I could get in trouble with this line of thinking”, said the Writer to himself. It was not that the Writer was a big expert in pleasing women. Men who keep their women happy do not go to foreign lands and sit in public libraries to write.
“No”, thought the writer, “Enough trouble is there in my past and too few money is there in my present. Let me try and blend in with these people”.
And with that, he crumpled the electronic paper on his portable computer, deleted the file to the Trash can, and powered down his machine. So he could walk anew, refreshed , in the beautiful foreign city, to see the Greatest Show on Earth than the Man and the Woman of the West had put up for people like him.
This is a work of fiction- please dont take it seriously.