Tuesday, October 31, 2017

I am a Truck

Trucks are not born. We don't have parents. There is no father and mother who taught me how to run on roads. In fact I cannot run on roads without someone with biological parents handling me. Though I cannot do things on my own, but I do carry a lot of power. More powerful than any of the living being with biological parents.

A truck is a complicated piece of machinery. There is a variety of material that is used to make me. I have got steel in me, a lot of steel. This steel might have come from India or UK or god knows from where. Someone Narendra in India or Theresa in UK would have run the plant to make the steel. The steel itself comes from one of the iron ore mines, may be Kiruna Mines. Stefan would have worked to excavate the mines to get the iron ore.

The truck also contains a lot of Aluminium. Aluminium is primarily extracted from Bauxite. There is quite a high probability that it might have come from Australia or China. Malcolm or Xi would have worked to get the ore extracted so that Aluminium can be produced. In Russia, the bauxite might have been cleaned and Aluminium produced. Vladimir would have been one of the employee  in one of the plant.

Many of these plants are run on coal. There is a  fair chance that the coal would have come from the North Antelope Rochelle coal mine in the Powder River Basin of Wyoming, US and Donald might be one of the person out of many in that mines. 

I also need fancy designs. People don't like ugly trucks. So a lot of work goes in making me beautiful. Paolo in Italy or Emmanuel in France would have worked in one of many design agencies for that. And one of the many hydraulic systems might have been designed and developed in Germany by Angela working in one of the many engineering houses. 

The truck needs fuel to run coming from one of the gulf countries. Salman working in one of the Saudi Arabia oil rigs or Hassan in one of the Iranian oil rigs working day and night finally help me to run on the road.

There is many more things beyond that. Shahid from Pakistan, Shinzō from Japan, Moon or Kim from Korea and people from many other countries would have helped me in getting into shape.

So you see though I am not born, it's not an easy process to make me. I am touched by all kind of people in the world from different culture, traditions and religions. I still wonder, still after that why I don't get leaned to one of the way of thinking? Why I don't feel strongly about certain things in life and feel the agitation inside? I don't feel like leaving the parking lot on my own and make the world my way. However anyone who has the key to me makes me work, the way they want, in spite of me not aligning always with what I have to do.

Today I have blood on my tyres. When I was running on road and plowing people to death, I was crying and hollering, but I was not able to do anything beyond that. I was doomed to be in the service of someone, who was just trying to prove something. This is not just my story but the story of many of my brothers and sisters. They are all kind from tanks, planes to ships. They silently kill people and animals and are not supposed to show any remorse. You will never see me crying or for that matter laughing. I am a dead piece of metal, more dead than any time before my life.

Now I stand at one corner and might be standing like that for centuries to come. Who knows I might make to a museum and everyone looking at me will say

"Look this is the truck, which killed people."

Many descendant.of the killed once will look at me with hate for centuries. And I will live with that voice of pain for centuries. 

I can't even say "It's not me". My partner in crime is gone long back but I am the only one destined to remain here in the world, to suffer the agony day and night. May be in the night, in museum I might be talking to some tanks or planes and share my grief. Some of them would even boast of their war wins. The only thing I will be able to say that those wins were also by killing people. I even don't know if they also feel the same remorse, what I am feeling right now. A tank when it comes back from war victory is decorated with flowers and gets a grand reception. But they have also killed people. Isn't it?

If human can hear me, the only request I have got is to dismantle me. My many parts will get into various other vehicles and machines. I hope that they get into trucks which will take food items and water to poor people. Some of me might become part of construction, which give shelter to many homeless. I want to be the needle of syringe which will save the life of many mothers and children.

Please dismantle me and make me part of creation and not destruction. This is my repent for things which I had no control on.

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