nce upon a time, there lived four car wheels. Born and brought up in Bridgestone, they all then lived under the same chassis of a classic Chevy.All was fun until they began to get weary of the roads - their spokes were no longer gleaming, and the once sharp grooves of their tyres then abrased by time. And one night, inside the dark and lonely walls of a sleazy garage, one of the rear-wheels had a strange and disquieting thought in his bearings – “Why am I bound to this car along with this other rear wheel? Why is it that only the front-wheels get to remain in the front of the car and get all the view and glory of the road? Why should I be forced to turn in whichever way the front-wheels turn and go in whichever way the front-wheels go? And why should I always have to support the weight of the car with the pressure of the air forced inside my tube?”
The perplexed rear-wheel even tried to get some questions answered from the only folks he knew in this world – his fellow wheels, only in vain.
He began to dream of living a life of freedom with no restraints whatsoever – free to release the constrained air of passion and desire from inside his tube – free to tread to places where he wants to – free to tread his own way.
And so, on a fine spring morning, as soon as he was out of the garage, the young rear-wheel opened the tube-valve and let out all of his air himself. Before soon, the rear of the car was jacked, and he was removed and replaced by the spare at the back of the car. As the car began to move, he slowly unfastened the bolts which secured him to where the spare was. He eventually made his leap of freedom to the inviting asphalt below.
He quickly steered himself away from oncoming traffic and headed to the meadows on the sides of the road. It was for the first time he had touched blades of grass – it felt like heaven.
Sadly, no sooner than he began to enjoy his new sense of freedom, he realized that he was powerless without the car he had belonged to. He had once thought that only he and his fellow wheels had the power to move the car forward (silly he had no notion of what an engine was) and was shocked by his own inability to move even an inch by himself. And with all his air let out, even gravity couldn’t help him much to go places.
With the last traces of momentum gone from him, the plane and lush-green meadows became the once-rear-
wheel’s tomb.
Who has control?
The front-wheels which steer the car? The steering-wheel which commands the front-wheels? The driver who is at the steering-wheel? The rich owner of the car seated behind the driver? The owner’s mistress who he’s going to meet with the flowers in his hands? His money that she’s after?
Is there anybody in this world who is truly free?
Given a chance, would you choose to remain free from the shackles of desire, wealth, deed, responsibility, sacrifice, power, pleasure, pain, friendship, love and humanity?
