Sometimes, we take things for granted and for the most part we don’t appreciate what we have. Santa Monica is one of such places which might knock on the door of your brains and ask you to take a good look at yourself. The place where capitalism, commercialism and materialism are intricately woven to become part of your daily life and hit your eye. Not to forget Los Angeles nearby which is not lesser by any such standards. A big common city would have the beggars, the middle class and the rich. Remove the middle class at the heart of the city and you immediately notice the stark difference Santa Monica offers. You would find the shopaholic, the tourist, the overnight billionaire, the illegal worker, the spiritual conscious, and the homeless within 5 minutes of walking on the sidewalk.
The pier on the beach can be visualized as the net in a tennis court, either side has a different story to tell, a different game play. On the left side of the pier, one would see families flocking to hit the water, kids making sand castles, young people working out and beautiful babes tanning their skin. On the right though, the beach has a different story to paint. Fallen heroes from war in Afghanistan, and Iraq are buried here on the beach. One would find people mourning the loss of their dear ones and a few others who casually stroll in to read what the place has to say. Before you could hit the beach, on the roads connecting the beach pier you would find homeless people sitting on benches, lying on the grass or simply standing. Take the bus and you would find at least one homeless guy sitting in it after paying for one ride. They stay on the bus the whole day without having a place to stay, staring at other people who happen to take the bus because they either don’t have a car or a too expensive one to park it on the streets.
Many days, I have grumbled of not having a car and having to bike 3 miles to work. I complain paying rent for a single room which could probably get me big 3 bedroom apartment in Texas. But then, I slow my bike and look at people around. I feel I was meant to bike to work so that I keep my eyes wide open and see what the stark differences this world offers. The elite few who spend, waste, possess, and flaunt everything they have, and those who have nothing but themselves, and their cursed fate.
At the end of the day, even the bus the homeless take, has a a shelter to retire to. I hope I know what I am doing with my life, and I hope I learn to appreciate what I have.
Vipin Kuttadan
December 19, 2010
Although played on different turf’s, the rules of the game remain the same
Prashanth Rajan
December 21, 2010
Naice Suppu.