Call Of The Wild

It was a beautiful spring morning, the coquettish winds scurrying through the whispering leaves, the sky spreading its blue arms, pressing to her bosom restless clouds and a silence encompassing them occassionally broken by the cooing of the birds. The nature was peaceful and so was my heart.I imagined if Chris would have been here he would have said, "Didn't I tell you.....now you can see what I see".
The book 'Into the Wild' by Jon Krakauer and a movie by the same name paint the portrait of a young man named Chris Mccandless, a complex individual whose story compels one to dwell on few negelcted aspects of existence.Chris dreamt of a life far from civilisation, a life not crippled by irksome desires, a life nursed by nature. His contempt of materialistic possessions and human bondings is uncharacteristic of a person his age. So when he finally walked into the wilderness of Alaska with a bag of rice, a rifle and a few other possessions I was puzzled. Though I admired his courage and the rules he had carved out for himself I searched for reason in his actions. He looked up from his book, removed his spectacles,smiled and said, "If we admit that human life can be ruled by reason, then all possibility of life is destroyed". I think I am satisfied by his argument.
Chris has been labeled a hero, a fool, a warm friend, an indifferent selfish son, a courageous man who had the courage to follow his dream and an impractical man who lived in a dream world devoid of reason.These perceptions of him are of no consequence and infact immaterial. He would be still be a dreamer who had the guts to step out of the line and tread a path which he thought was ideal for him, a common man like you and me who had this uncommon urge to cuddle in the arms of nature, a human being who made mistakes and paid for them. I guess one should concentrate more on the way he lived and the ideologies he professed rather than mull over his mistakes.
The movie is coming to an end.....Chris lies in the "magic" bus, inside his sleeping bag, his eyes placid, his heart effusing a sea-like calmness,violent on the periphery but contended deep within, the smile of a cherubic four year old kid. And as he breaths his last the only feeling that arises from the pit of my stomach is of a deep melancholy, a feeling so intense that it surpasses all emotions scripted in the most tragic stories. Chris Mccandless may have died but his presence lingers and can be felt maybe when you kayak down a swirling river, walk miles and miles till your calves burn or share a meagre meal. I can surely see now what he saw then.