I met my Brutus...

Ever felt cheated…stabbed…stabbed at back…from the quarters you never expected…and at a time when you were completely off-guard…just the way Julius Caesar was stabbed by Brutus…? We all have our Brutus in our lives. Some encounter him early, some late and some too early. I, perhaps, have met him quite early in my life. This Brutus has no fixed gender. He can be a male, a clever creature, not necessarily sinister looking, with one of the friendliest faces and a smile on lips but a nefarious scheme hidden in the layers of his hearts and wouldn’t miss a chance to stab you. And this Brutus can be a female too, looking delicate, but one of the strongest minds working behind, to make your life a living hell. Being camouflaged in fairer sex helps this Brutus appear unsuspecting and thus the stabbing becomes, swift, easy and the prey is caught vulnerable…

My Brutus stabbed me from behind, typical of Brutus. The dilemma is, we all know that there is a Brutus waiting for us, lurking from behind and will stab at the most opportune time, when we’ll be too carefree and too assured that nothing can go wrong, but we can’t identify him when we still have time to avoid the slayer…because the Brutus is one of them whom we trust the most. The reason behind Brutus’ flawless kill is that he knows us as close as we know ourselves. And sometimes better than that…

My Brutus killed me…I wouldn’t identify the gender of my Brutus because that is futile. The truth and the only truth is that I am murdered. I wouldn’t live again. But let me confess one thing. I want to thank my Brutus. I want to thank because I’ve learnt a lesson, a lesson for the life…that never place trust on anybody…no….never. Because, you never know, who suddenly garb Brutus-sque and murder you.

Julius Caesar was fortunate. He had moments of life left to look behind and ask his Brutus…mine didn’t give me a chance to ask…‘et tu Brutus’.