Absolute Nothingness

People draw inspiration from loss, from love. I draw, if inspiration it can be called from nothingness.
What is my purpose. I know not. Man without a purpose is the highest depravity of all, someone has said.
Process. Evolving.
These are words I relate to very well. I have lived it and will continue doin so. 'Coz that is how it is supposed to be. But the nothingness grows.
Here
Not a leaf shivers to give respite to this sultry heat in dry monsoons at 12 in the night in this far off village. The buzzing of mosquitoes and constant zing of jhingur and occasional barks in the dark is the only sound. And my tacking of the keys.
A lone lizard waits in the corner, my fearful eyes darting upwards after each minute. Its pitch dark here. On other noisy towns they sleep or chat with friends.
Its another night of stolen electricity for the villagers here. The women who were proudly showing what they can now read and write would also have slept by now. They will have to wake up at 4 and start their day in the cover of darkness. By 6 they will be done with their chores of cooking, cleaning and packing lunches. From 8 to 8 they will break their backs in the fields. At 930 they will come for night lessons in the dimly lit room with a blackboard and slogans of women empowerment.
How motivated they are to learn ka, kha, ga, gha….. The little children, some still in their blue school tunics, had promted their mothers when they faltered while reading the alphabets. Each one so proud to show what they had learnt. Guddi, the girl in blue (who accompanies her mother to the night school, daily) had recited a rhyme for me which I did not understand. The young teacher called Naina, daughter of one of the women of night school said how much satisfaction she gets out of teaching the women. “For the 1st 20 days, they could not even hold the chalk properly. Their hands would shake while writing. Partly out of feeling shy.”

“…….If my husband stops me from coming, I tell him that its only 2 hours that I spend on myself…..”, a valiant one had commented.

What motivates me? I know not. Nothing seems to matter. Not even appreciation for myself to have facilitated some kind of change in someone's life.
Now
Slight breeze lifts my red sequined dupatta which serves as a curtain for the night. Shit, the lizard has moved from its corner.
Something rattles outside my window. A lonely peacock also cries somewhere in the dark outside. The dogs seem to have slept off. I keep flashing my torch to check the movement of the lizard. And scratch mosquito bites.
I light another cigarette. My companion of the night.
And let my mind go blank. 1232 am.