I went for a play recently, Not Guilty by Kumar. It was a play about his life, staged to dispel the heady rumors and gossip surrounding the man. Many went for the performance expecting another stand-up comic routine, and were left feeling shamefully guilty, almost as if they had laughed at a tragedy.
The reason simply was because Kumar, that night, dropped all the facades the public usually sees. He was finally fleshed out, a cardboard cartoon character acquiring 3D imperfections, problems and woes.
He talked about a loneliness which has haunted him for years. About how money and a satisfying job was just no longer enough. About how all he really, really wanted was a family to call his own.
The most striking line? "I don't want to push the envelope, I don't want to broaden horizons, I don't want to test the boundaries; I don't want to inspire, I don't want inspiration. I'm just not interested."
What drives a man to become a shell? An automaton driven by electric cells and gears and bolts, instead of heart, emotion, soul?
Hate sounding like a lovefool, but I suspect love ain't just another emotion, it's probably a very, very important fuel.
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