The usual bright yellow sign greeted me, along with it’s happy, tinkling melody as I entered my workplace. It read “WELCOME” in bold, bright yellow capital letters on a light blue background, bordered by blinking LED lights in any colour imaginable. It was a cheerful sight to behold and like most people, I would have been delighted to see it. But for the fact that I see it almost everyday. And that it was just as cheerful regardless of whether I felt like I had just struck the jackpot in the lottery or killing myself. It was somewhere in between today. I felt immune to the happiness which was radiating from the sign. I passed the carousel at the entrance and the new attraction -an overpowering and threatening metal skeleton they called the Speed Demon- and reached my real workplace. A sign read “STAFF ONLY”. I took no heed of it and entered.
The clock read 8.43. Today my “operator” (I call him that because I don’t know what other word to use) was 13 minutes late. I have learnt to tell the time from the big, round-faced clock facing the shelf where I am stored every night. My operator doesn’t need much time to get ready. He does not chatter with the other employees. He kept to himself, like he does everyday. He looked expressionless, but inside, he is bursting with them; jokes, criticism of the government, what he saw when he was coming to work. It was a mask. My operator is painfully shy. He does not have many friends, and is mere acquaintances with the people here. He interacts with humans mostly through me. I am his best friend. I cannot see his face when he is operating me but I can feel his heart, tell his mood, when he feels something. Most of the days, he doesn’t reveal much, not even to me. Today is not much different. He feels lonely.
I remove my working clothes from the shelf and start to put them on. Todd and Jimmy are sharing a joke. I long to join them but I haven’t gotten round to doing it. Tomorrow perhaps. My working clothes consisted of a whole suit of black, with white gloves and red shorts. The head-dress consisted of cartoon rat’s face, with huge ears that seemed to be waving hello at everyone. The suit is my best friend. He laughs and cries with me. The gigantic ears are great listeners, when I need a friend to hear out my problems. The big smile is the only answer it gives me, and not sarcastic replies which some of my friends in the past had given me. It doesn’t leave for heaven suddenly, like the way Jeannie did 4 years ago.
I feel myself becoming slightly damp as I absorb my operator’s sweat. It’s a tough job, having to carry my heavy frame around, waving and handing out balloons to little children. It is the only time I can move. He always lightens up when he is surrounded by children who want to get close to him and love him. Or me. I am just the exterior. Inside, I am him.
The suit is starting to get heavy with my sweat. But I ignore it. It is my only medium of reaching out and communicating with strangers. When I make the children happy, I get happier. But this feeling is fleeting. That is why I quit programming computer software and took up this job. To experience the feeling of fleeting happiness. I could not do it face to face. My previous job made sure of that. So everyday, I come to work to feel happy. These days, the effects have dwindled. Perhaps happiness is like a drug. The more you take, the lesser the effects and the more of it you need. I hand out a balloon to a little girl. She laughs, my suit grins and I manage a rueful smile.
It is a long day at work. My operator sometimes doesn’t stop for lunch. When he does, he does at exactly 1.30. And he hides away from the little people he makes so happy. He does not want them to see his real face. And that the cute rat(that’s me) is actually a not a cute rat but just a man in the rat’s suit. Children actually believe he is me. In a way, he is. As they grow up, this childlike innocence is lost. In place of it is skepticism and they think that we are a product of childishness. The do not remember the past, where the man in the suit has made them happy. They came here and learnt how to numb sadness. Over time, they also numb happiness. I think I am rather philosophical for a suit.
9.30. The rides are closing and I am coming to the end of my working hours. The Ferris wheel slows down and stops. The teacups stop dancing. The stream of people is flowing towards the exit. I go against the stream, back to my workplace. I remove my suit with some reluctance and place it on the bench. My human interaction skills drop tenfold. Todd and Jimmy are going for a drink and I bid them goodbye. All hail my interaction skills. Unwillingly, my mind drifts back to 4 years ago, when I had a real human for a friend. Now, it is the only one I can hug, laugh and cry with.
A tear escapes the eye of my operator and drops onto my eye. My vision is blurred for a moment, then the tear rolls down my plastic cheek. I look like I am crying for him. Perhaps, I am. Perhaps, I am crying for myself. Because inside, I am him. I do not know the character of which I am moulded to look like. In my dreams, I dance inside the magical castle of the cartoon rat. But when I awake, reality is still cruel. I am helpless without him. And maybe he is helpless without me.
"A younger me found solace; solace in the hidden things,
things that were never what they seemed, seeing these things as dreams."
there's the man whose vizard stands strong
a cacophony of puzzled faces
so he can do no wrong
he hides away from all their gazes
there's the man whose mask is broken
what can God do now that
all his hopes from him are stolen
he's trapped in limbo and in lull.
a masquarade how grand this is
all closed gates are finally opened
all can see through the heavy mist
there's the man whose mask is broken
his emotions are never dull
his face is neither short or long
his mask can be a single smile
there's the man whose vizard stands strong
