Saturday, December 20, 2014

An Anecdote of the Guilty

It sneaked inside, and held my frontal cortex. It said O' dear here I am for your well being. I said Ok, get in. It slowly started eating my soul, and then lo! it became my soul. Trapped in it, I couldn't get out. I shook my head, I went away, still it remained there, like a parasite. It ate every bit of my soul, until I puked the intoxicant away. I was in the middle of nowhere, the parasite was gone, my soul wasn't back, a moment of helplessness, a moment of bewilderment. Then  the merciful soul came back and I received it in shame and guilt.

I was wondering how I could get out of the trap. I wanted to make sure that it doesn't deceive me next time. So, the quest began and lo! I found a man. A man who opened my inner eye, and here is how it happened. The sympathy inside me for other beings of my own species got ignited. Thousands of beings of my own species were suffering and dying as they tried to manufacture the intoxicants. I started crying as I learnt that I am a contributor to their suffering. That's it, my heart was filled with both sympathy and hatred. Sympathetic with the beings of my own species who suffers as they manufacture the intoxicants, and hatred towards people who exploits the beings of my own species to manufacture and sell those intoxicants.

The sympathy and hatred inside me not only stop the sneaker from getting inside my frontal cortex, but also persuade me to destroy the intoxicants, as I am doing now by writing this post on this blog.

Please read my previous post love your soul.

Sunday, November 30, 2014

What's your Idol?

It was a long long journey. Multitudes of people climbing up a hill to get a glimpse of their beloved idol. It was a steep hill, with curves and climbs, that reached to a sacred place for many idol worshipers. Me and my dad, scanned the hill from distance and wondered how long it will take to climb the hill. I saw a shortcut from distance, the way was empty, none of the worshipers went through that way. The shortcut climbed the hill all the way to about a quarter (from bottom) of the main route, from where it joined the main route. The shortcut was empty, and thus we chose the shortcut.

So, we went ahead, and Lo! we ended up in a castle. I do not know how we ended up in the castle, but yes it was a castle full of mystery. A castle with many paths, and we both were completely baffled with fear and loneliness, frantically searching the route to the sacred place of idol worshipers. The castle had mazes all around, up and down, right and left. A yellow castle, neither was it painted, nor was it decorated, yellow yellow everywhere. Some of the steps were steep, while others were long slides. We climbed the first stair, a narrow one, hardly enough for a fat man to squeeze in. We reached to another floor. There were steps and slides in that floor too.We chose the stairs and slides neither by reason, nor by intuition, we chose them out of fear. We preferred the broader and straighter ones rather than narrower and steeper ones. As we went higher and higher, we had multiple options, with fear did we choose, with fear did we go. Climbing up, sliding down, and then again climbing up we reached at the corridor, leading to a place with an ambiance I have never seen before. Lo! There was an idol made of silver (or appears so), with hands, legs and big eyes. It danced in its position, and I wondered what made the idol dance. There were two boys dancing on both the sides of the idol. An atmosphere of fire, rage and anger, and the only consolation for us was the smile of a friendly priest. We were facing the idol, right in front of us. We were near the front entrance door ( I did  not see any other doors, though). The temple was reddish and dark, it was reddishly lit up with fearsome fire around the corners. The light from fire was brilliantly reflected by the silvery finish of the dancing idol. There were a few people, both women and men in the right corner watching at us. Another idol with bigger eyes, colorful body was in the left corner. Perhaps, it was shaped to cast a sense of fear among the idol worshipers. A friendly priest was sitting on the left side of us. The priest was fair, and had a south Asian look. He smiled at us and was keen to talk to us. My father slowly folded his hands to the idol, in the Hindu way of saying Namaste. It would be odd for him not to do so  - the priest might think that we did not belong to his clan. When I carefully noticed the hands of my father, I found a trick that he used to shy away from the unforgivable act of idolatry. I joined my father and clasped my hands as my father did. Since it was too hard for both of us to pay respect for an idol, due to our monotheistic ideology, the trick was to slightly open our hands, so that for us it meant like a prayer to Almighty God, who created the heavens and the earth and all in between. I guess the priest did not cast any doubt on us, because from outside it appeared as though we were worshiping the idol.

After sometime, the idol was not there, but the boys were still dancing. My soul was lamenting out of guilt, even though I did not worship the idol, in essence I did worship the custom. The custom was my idol. Otherwise, I would not have folded my hands to show the priest and the people who are looking at us from the right corner. As we retreated, the priest keenly showed us a small place in corridor, which he said was the old temple. The corridor had no idols, no paintings of statue, it was painted green and was an abandoned place. Perhaps, nobody wanted a temple without idols, and all the money was thrown into the new temple.

As we were about to say farewell, the priest claimed his share, we payed the amount and retreated. We went down the hill to our normal lives. Next day morning, after breakfast as I sat down in front of my laptop, I remembered the dream. Well, I thought of jotting it down, so that it may not fade away like hundreds of other dreams, which fade away every day.

As I started thinking about the dream, I not only wondered about the sheer creativity of brain, but also the fear of custom hiding in our hearts. Even though, out of reasoning, the characters in the dream (me and my father) absolutely criticized idol worship, they themselves acted as idol worshipers did, for the fear of society (the priest and, the men and women in the right corner) and the atmosphere (of fire, rage and anger). The idols for the characters of the dream were not the dancing idol and the colourful idol in the left corner. Their idol was the custom, fear and their own life. They preferred to be hypocrites in the sacred place of idol worshippers by not preaching their monotheistic belief. They instead tried to please the customs of the idol worshipers for the fear of losing their hidden idol - society.




Tuesday, November 25, 2014

Love Your Soul

The supreme court deep inside says "you have sinned!". Anything can be erased from memory, but how can I erase my own consciousness? The moment I erase my own consciousness, I am not me, I am unconscious, I am devoid of soul.

The larger your soul is, the better it is for you. Then you find intoxicants, that can rip of your soul from your body. The intoxicants can be anything, lust, thirst, pleasure or pain. As you drink a drop of lust, your soul starts departing, your consciousness shrinks, and your mind is incapable to think beyond the control of the lust.

Why soul is important? Why should we cherish it? It may be possible to become a great thinker by being a drunkard. It may be possible to become a magnificent king by having hundreds of concubines. It may be possible to become a filthy rich man by having an unwarranted love for luxury. It may be possible to be a shrewd criminal by having a sadistic mindset. None of the intoxicants - lust, thirst, pleasure or pain, prohibits them from achieving their goals, because the soul once departed is not departed forever, it returns back when you seek it. A poet while intoxicated, when his soul is far away , may not be able to write a masterpiece, but once the soul is back, he may be able write a beautiful poem, full of meaning. On contrary, the intoxicants cause a normally unrecognised problem. They make people to think that it is possible to live without soul and to find pleasure through a soulless body. Such a belief, is perhaps one of the most dangerous beliefs human beings can inculcate to their mindset. It breeds escapism - "It's too difficult to judge (judging through wisdom - a conscious activity), so I will resort to intoxicant (escaping from the task of judging)", pride - "I can live without the help of my own soul", jealousy - "he/she is more conscious than me, so let me also instill intoxicative mindset in him/her", criminal mindset -"I am in soulless state now, so it is ok for me to act without wisdom", selfishness - "I don't care about earth's limited resources, I am soulless and I need more intoxicants to maintain my soulless state", and fear - "If I do this or that, I may not be able to get intoxicated next time".

As it is mentioned in Quran, intoxicants have some benefits, but the harm they cause far outweighs the benefits they can bring.

[Quran 2:219] They ask you about intoxicants and gambling: say, 'In them there is a gross sin, and some benefits for the people. But their sinfulness far outweighs their benefit.'


Let soul be your intoxicant, and you will love your soul and fear when you lose it. Even while you are sleeping, as your soul (consciousness) departs far away, you will be afraid of losing the soul - you will be afraid to sleep. Love your soul, love your consciousness and that is one of the essence of wisdom I found in many religions.

The supreme court deep inside is your soul, once it has returned, it laments- "you have sinned, you have abandoned me in exchange to your love of intoxicants". You call the cry of your soul as guilt, each drop of it's tear makes your heart bleed.

Repent! 

Tuesday, November 18, 2014

Changing Life, Changing Time

I was a person like no other person, for how on earth two things can be equal? I was a person not like I am now, for each second passes by I am not the older me. I will not be the same me tomorrow, so what is the point in planning for the future? Imagine, if I plan my whole life for a happy death, and at the time of death I am a different person wanting different things, giving different things, thinking different ideas, imagining different thoughts, loving different wishes, then for what good my plan will serve? It may be that during the time of death I feel afraid to live, I feel uncomfortable with the comforts of this life, I feel heat as cold or cold as heat, who knows!




Saturday, November 15, 2014

Look at 'em

Look at 'em, lot of them there. Now its all blurred, they were so many that my tears wanted to shade my eyes from getting filled by them. O' ye beautiful night, as I look into thee, how good you look! How little I feel within myself, and where my worries are gone? O' ye stars, how many lives thou sustain over there. Me with this tiny brain, thinks about thee like a lamb wondering about a mite in the grass. O' me, why can you think more than what you need to live? This world, looks like a shadow of my thoughts, and the shadow of millions of thoughts. You are a thought in there, with hands, legs and eyes to see. O' you man don't cry, for the tears can not hide you from truth. Take me there, to a place where I see no other world, and I will live for myself like a bird in the sky. Someday it rains, someday it is hot, and does the bird think why it rains, or why it is hot? Why me, who always thinks, why do we live?


Wednesday, November 5, 2014

B R E A K It

Rays of light, strings of music, let it come inside, as it is coming now. The brightness and the shadow, the hope and fear, the wonder of knowledge, as I see them, as I hear them. B R E A K it all and see the truth inside. Darkness inside, thoughts of darkness where I can hide the truth. Seeking light shadows the thought. B R E A K it. B R E A K what? B R E A K the darkness away and let the light not hide inside darkness. Don't search for love, light, they are right inside. Just take of the veil of darkness that hides them.

Memories, those memories which kills a man from death. It is there, right before you, right in there. Take it off and walk naked for the cause of finding it.

The Canvas of Love

Let me draw on this canvass of plain nothingness. I see pixels here and there. It pops up, gets blurred and new ones come. This canvas remains, even when the pixels vanish. That is the story of love, for love does not vanish even if lovers hate, even if lovers die. Pixels die someday, lovers die someday. Love remains, and the canvas remains.

Rain, let it rain from the blue sky. Let it sing the praises of shadow, as it drops to the shadow of cloud. Let me cry a bit and say, the rain doesn't know that by the time it reaches ground there will be no cloud, there will be no shadow left. For all the love you have, O' raindrops, each second of your longing for the shadow tears the cloud apart. With great pain, thunderclaps and lightening, the cloud cries - get out of here O' you rain, you don't want me, you want my shadow instead. 

LOVE is not a great place to start your love. O' man, love is not what you create, it is you who are created. The plain white canvas remains, as the sky remains high. 

Monday, November 3, 2014

The Beauty of Sadness

I love this life as much as I love my death.
Why hate sadness, repel it?
The illusion of sadness, how vague it is.

Sadness is love, sadness is beauty.
Love it, accept it.
You, me, this world,
What will survive at the end?

Bound to perish, we love life,
So much, that we hate death.
Death, as we were before,
In the thread of time before our birth.

She says, she is not afraid,
And I said, I am not afraid.
O' there goes the life of trance.
These are not the words of a sufi,
These are words of a layman.
Like everyman he dies one day.

And will be born again!




Tuesday, October 28, 2014

Man vs Woman - Who is more Dependent on the Other?

How a man is different from a woman, or how a woman is different from a man? How dependent are they between each other? Who is more depended on the other?

Let us compare - this is not for the lighthearted. The below scenario is under the assumption of a controlled environment where only an adult man and an adult woman are alive in an island. In the below cases, it is assumed that sex will lead to pregnancy.

If a man wants to live independent of a woman, he can live. If a woman wants to live independent of a man, she can live. But, if a man wants a progeny, then he should have sex with a woman, look after her during pregnancy and during the initial stage after childbirth, so that the progeny will survive. Thus, in this case a man is dependent on a woman. Similarly,  if a woman wants a progeny, then she should have sex with a man, and be dependent on him for the sake of her child and her own care during pregnancy. Thus, in this case a woman is dependent on a man.

If the man wants a progeny and the woman does not want a progeny, and if the man forcefully has sex with the woman (rape), then that man is dependent on the women since he needs the child. She may choose to take care or abandon the child as she wishes. Thus in this case the man is dependent on the woman but also the woman is dependent on the man during the pregnancy (for her own care) but not after the childbirth. If the woman wants a progeny and the man does not want a progeny, and if the woman forcefully has sex with the man, then only the woman is dependent on the man.

If we analyse all  the cases above, we see an imbalance between the dependencies. We see that woman is more dependent on man. If a woman wants a progeny or not, she is dependent on a man after sex, while a man is dependent on a woman only if he wants a progeny. Thus there seems to be an imbalance of dependency between a man and a woman where clearly a man has a slight advantage over a woman.

Your thoughts are welcomed.




Sunday, September 21, 2014

Who are Thou to tell me how a Poem Should be?

Closed my eyes,
tranquillity,
subtleness,
that unknown source of peace!

And now opened my eyes to see my hands moving
to what it possess
to what it requires
on my keyboard
in search of life
in search of misery.

Who are thou?
to tell me how a poem should be?
or how a poem should not be?
Yelled, and said: this is my hand
these are my fingers.

Well, whose fingers?
Who am I?
The same old question.

Who are thou?
to tell me how a poem should be?
or how a poem should not be?
Yelled, and said: I have my own grammar
these are my thoughts.

Well, whose thoughts?
Who am I?
The same old question.

It was a shock.
And do you know what a shock is?
it is cultural shock.
It was a shock for those who are wired in a single way
No parallel connection, no serial connection.

Who are thou?
to tell me how a poem should be?
or how a poem should not be?

Who are thou?
to tell me how a poem should be?
or how a poem should not be?
I will ct, pastepaste, dele, rewrite
I will. put. a. fu.ll stop wherever I wish.

This is my blog
bound to perish
like me, you and everything created
This is a blog unlike no other blog
for where on earth can you find two things equal?



Monday, September 15, 2014

Maybe I am Wrong

May be I am wrong,
 
For I can see only what my eyes can see,
 
For I can hear only what my ears can hear,
 
For I can think only what my brain can think.
 
 
May be I am wrong,
 
For I know only what I know from others,
 
For the good I believe is by the good I know,
 
For the right I do is by the good I believe.
 
 
May be I am wrong,
 
For I kill a life some days,
 
For I eat some plants some days,
 
For I chew some molecules everyday.
 
 
May be I am wrong,
 
For I say what I should not say,
 
For I act what I should not do,
 
For I think what I should not think.
 
 
May be I am wrong,
 
For I think I am good,
 
For I think I am pure,
 
For I think I am bad.
 
 
May be I am wrong,
 
May be I am wrong!
 
O' God! Only one who I know is Right,
 
Make me not wrong. O' God!

Saturday, September 13, 2014

24 days of Suspense!

"Eyes blurred, I looked above. It was a morning like any other morning, but a morning not like any other morning. Sun was right there where it was expected to be a million years ago, while my eyelids close to the horizon where it shouldn't have been, or maybe where it should have been. I can't see what the out come is, while I can see what I am doing right now. As I watched the outcome, my eyes were filed with tears, the same old question 'who  am I?' Don't you think I am not a fan this world - yes I am. I am because I run away from death like a galloping horse in the racetrack of life. I have no idea about when I will die. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, may be years later. I do not know. But still we live like we will live for ever. Driven by this craze called life, we live. Why? Why? I do not think the question is about why, the question is about...why not.

If I die early, the one who reads this post will say it is coincidental, or I was informed about death. I am not the one who..."

Today when I wanted to write something on this blog, I found this post along with other dusty drafts. I think it was written on 24th July 2014, and it was the last post I had written (I am editing the same post to publish). After 24 days, my only sibling, my sister died due to a car accident in New Zealand. 

Tuesday, May 20, 2014

Beliefs and their Influence on Our Emotions

Sasami believed that eating pork is sinful (-). She ate pork (-) today, and she felt guilty, unhappy.

Bhonna believed that eating pork is good for health (+). She ate pork today (+), and she felt satisfied, happy (+).

The core element here is belief. 




Belief makes who you are. I sometimes feel that our mind is a set of belief itself. Tell about anything in this world, and I think I can correlate some underlying belief based on it. For instance, say 1+1=2. Some would argue that such a mathematical truth is not a belief. Well, for 1+1=2 to be a mathematical truth, you must believe that 1 is a unit which is equal to nothing other than 1 itself, and 2 is a unit which is nothing other than 'two' 1s where 'two' is 1+1, where + is nothing other than taking two separate things and combining them together. Such a simple equation involves a number of beliefs hidden within it. Again, what does combining mean? and so on.

Beliefs could be altered through changing the underlying beliefs. That should involve in some sort of logical reasoning. Let us get back to the example of Sasami. Sasami believed that eating pork is sinful. She believes so because her family said so. She believes in her family. Now, her belief about eating pork can be altered by altering her belief about the family.

Some beliefs are strong, while others are weak. Strong beliefs have more number of underlying beliefs (which I shall call sub-beliefs) than a weak beliefs. Some sub-beliefs are parallel in nature, while others are sequential. Parallel sub beliefs are a set of sub beliefs which directly influences a belief. Sequential sub-beliefs are a set of sub-beliefs which are chain like, one influencing the other in a sequential manner. For example, Sasami believes that eating pork is sinful because 1) her family says so 2) her doctor said so 3) she read it in a medical Journal 4) her scripture says so etc. These are parallel sub beliefs. Example of sequential sub-beliefs is, Sasami believes that eating pork is sinful because, she read about the harmful effects of eating pork in a Journal, the article was written by a doctor, the doctor had a medical degree, medical degree was given by X organization and so on. Interestingly most of our beliefs have both parallel and sequential sub-beliefs which makes psychology (especially cognitive psychology) so complex.

Can beliefs be changed?

Admit it or not some deep rooted beliefs are very hard to change for even the most liberal person. If the reader is like most of the modern homo sapiens, imagine your neighbor persuading you for incest or cannibalism. Would your belief change? At the same time some beliefs are easy to change. Sundhru used to have aspirin for quite a few years, and a single article, on his favorite newspaper, about the negative side effects persuaded him not to have aspirin.

So do I have a mantra to be happy? Yes. Let Sasami not eat Pork or let her change her belief about eating pork and then she will be happy with pork, at least. Remember it is often easier to control our animal nature (more about animal nature and mental model in future post) than to change one's deep rooted beliefs.

I would like to hear about some instances in your life which changed your previous beliefs.



Wednesday, March 26, 2014

A Slight Turn

In a series of next posts, I will be discussing about various psycho-philosophical hypothesis, which will be a bit different from the previous posts. I will still continue writing on the usual insane/trance thoughts those randomly come to my mind irrespective of the elegance in them.

Tuesday, February 18, 2014

A short History of 26 Billion Kms

Today I turned 28. Strictly speaking I took 28 rounds around the Sun (I don't see any better standard). If I were to account for lunar years, there seems no astronomical significance for 12 lunar months - 12 lunar months seems to be an arbitrarily chosen value which is close enough to estimate the  cycle of solar influenced seasons. But, I am too small to underestimate the relevance of lunar months, there is a tremendous influence of lunar gravity in a localized environment.



How many more revolutions I wish to take? It is not always the same. There were instances in my life when I felt that I am not moving at all, and when I wished that I could stop moving any further. Even though, while I am in dead still, I am moving at a speed of 107,300 km/h. That is as much as moving around the equator of earth around 2.5 times in an hour. There were instances in my life when I felt that I want to live for ever. But, the truth is sooner or later in astronomical time, the sun, the earth will be a story of past. And there is problem when I say 'past', because who know when the 'past' will be a past - when the time itself will stop.




Anyway, living in this world for 28 years or 26 Billion Kms around the sun (apart from a billion or so Kms while I was in my mother's womb) my mind is getting ripe to accept death. I was like a young Siddhartha in my early years, I was afraid of death and used to feel depressed on every birthday. I used to cry in ecstasy as the midnight approached (though I was born around 5 am). I never used to feel happy for my birthday, I felt I am getting an year closer to death. I used to think 'how I will face death', it used to give me a nightmare. Today I slept well, had a sound sleep from 11 pm to 6 am. I feel like I am no more afraid of death. It is not because of the drama created by my friends and family on each of my birthdays (perhaps the concept of birthday itself has evolved as a cure to make people forget that it is indeed a sad day), it is because of realization. If you had closely observed the agony of a deer while it is caught by a lion, you might have observed that even though the deer resists in the beginning, later on when it realizes that there is no escape, it simply accepts death, calmly and with all submission. I sometimes feel that it even enjoys the pleasure of getting killed when it is about to die. I am like that deer, in fact we all are.









Tuesday, February 11, 2014

THE CULT OF FREE AIR BREATHERS

A deep breath, at what cost? Of everything you have, is it that only air is free? We Muslims, Jews, Americans, Africans, Whites, Greys, Retards, Dwarfs - all have one cult in common. We are in the cult of free air breathers. Say, loud, let everyone hear that we are in the cult of free air breathers...!!!! Breath , O' man , O' woman, breath as much as you can. Shallow breath, deep breath, conscious breath, unconscious breath, yoga breath, evangelistic breath, stressful breath, happy breath, subtle breath, loud breath, sexual breath, sad breath, first breath, last breath... All breath, all kinds of breath.



Sign Here

THE CULT OF FREE AIR BREATHERS



Monday, February 10, 2014

Four Minutes of my Life

Please hurt me, I miss getting hurt. The loophole of this psychedelic hurt, I used to lick with the tears of my fate. Now, where hast thou gone, O' hurt?

It is such a fun to see the hurt with the eyes of a spectator, spectator of my own fallacy. Just four more minutes to go, before which I have to end this post. I will be no more doped by the end of this crazy four minutes. Astronomy domine will be no more, Floyd will be back to his business. Hurt, my damn fallacy. Hurt, it was all I desired for my own pleasure. Hurt, I love you. O' hurt, hurt, hurt, hurt (yelling literally). Hurt, I just want you to be back. Back to my conscious, do not care me , do not love me, ah.. please love this soul yearning for you, O' heart. End!

Saturday, February 8, 2014

The Emotional Marketplace

I was looking at her so closely, I felt that she didn't care for me anymore. There goes the problem, I was like having the worst time in my life. Not getting enough love, enough attention as much as I supposed to have got. And who decides how much attention should I get? Me, who else! And there goes all the menace - I try to bring her attention back, I try to play all the drama, I even try to hurt myself and then threaten her with my own self torture. All goes in vain, and I wonder why.

I looked through her eyes, and I found that she was desperate for a solution. She normally knows what the solution is - a few kind words with a little of attention. But, she is not ready after all. She too is as sick as I am. She can not take it any more. I saw it in her eyes. Thus goes the spiral of emotional bargaining. I hurt myself, she restrains herself. A marketplace where the spiral of bargaining goes on and on. There is no deal at all. Demand is so high, while supply is almost nil. Highly inelastic, even if I threaten her with the highest price the quantity of consolation does not increase. The bargaining goes on and on, and finally I write a suicidal note and voila I win! I win, because that is the highest price I could bargain for. What did she loose? Nothing but a token of appreciation. And she gained a suicidal note from me.

This mutual exchange of demand and supply created a marketplace. That emotional marketplace is the place waiting for further emotional transactions. There is no broker here, I did not want a broker. We did not want a broker, because no broker is willing to work for free. 

There goes the second bargain, similar as before. But it is so easy now, because there is a self established marketplace. I threaten her with a suicidal note and she gives the token of appreciation. It is as if she is already waiting for the suicidal note, she knows that I will do anything for a piece of appreciation. I am getting filled with appreciation, she is getting filled with suicidal notes. By time, I become more and more greedy, I become so bullish for appreciation. But she is a reluctant seller. She doesn't need a suicidal note. She is forced to have one because I am willing to pay a suicidal note. She thinks that there needs to be a broker. While for me, I do not want a broker. So, I threaten her that if she tells anyone about our secret emotional transactions, I will leave another suicidal note.

But you know there are spies everywhere. Well right next to me, even trying to pry on every single transaction. They are wolves dressed like a sheep. They need to enter the market to gain some profit. What profit they are looking for. They want a tiny portion of appreciation that she is willing to give me. And in exchange they are ready to console her. I do not want a broker because of the transaction cost involved. The brokers do not charge me, but they charge her. That causes a delay, I do not want any delay. Time is precious, I am so greedy for appreciation.

The unavoidable brokers have entered the marketplace. They need more and more suicidal notes from me, less and less appreciation for me and thus more and more transaction. They need less and less appreciation for me because appreciation is a scarce resource, and they think that if she gives all the appreciation to me they will be left with nothing. Brokers, ah those brokers! Even leeches are better than them. Because leeches are self proclaimed parasites, while brokers are self proclaimed evangelists.

The broker is sucking her up, it involves a lot of cost for me. Everyday I have to leave with a suicidal note. Brokers being so happy, come to my house to run the marketplace. Holy brokers, everyone on the streets loves them. Brokers even sell the appreciation they have got in the secondary marketplace, and they get even more appreciations. Thus all the gossips in the street starts. I feel inferior, I confine myself in my house. I do not trust anyone and I start even doubting the walls of my own house. Those brokers, they seem to have ruined my life.

She realizes that brokers are not sheep after all, the gossips reaches her, and now she decides to say goodbye to the brokers. She is looking for some other way out. But now there is a recession, I being afraid of the consequences I had to face because of my greed for appreciation, I stop writing suicidal notes. I stop demanding appreciation. The emotional marketplace is under recession. Gossips starts to gear all around. The daily headlines read something like this ''Neighbours say that the house is much peaceful now, emotional marketplace is under recession". There are stories all around, some blame the the brokers, some blame the households, some blame the whole system of marketplaces, some blame the excessive betting by brokerages, some blame the artificial demand created by her, some blame the unlimited suicidal notes written by me that put an inflationary spiral in  the system.

Nobody actually knew the answer, some have already predicted this peaceful marketplace long ago. They were called pessimists and were ridiculed by the neighbors. "This fighting, this suicidal notes will go on and on for ever", one of the neighbors said during the emotional boom. Nobody guessed that it was a marketplace created by her. She was the one who restricted the supply of appreciation. She could have appreciated quite easily, it didn't involve much cost. She could have given the appreciation for a smaller cost, like an apology from me, or anything that involved a much lesser emotional cost. The emotional spiral would not have boomed, markets would have been much stable.

So, is she the only scapegoat to be blamed? Off course she has to be blamed for the artificial demand she has created. But, what about the surplus suicidal notes I was writing? What about my greed for appreciation? It is also rational to blame that. 

But after all why should we blame anyone? Why we need such a booming marketplace? Is the marketplace absolutely necessary for our survival? I don't think so. It would have been much better to be content with what appreciation I had already got. It would have been better if I restrained myself from being greedy. If my demands were low, if I printed less suicide notes, and if she had been a bit more liberal in appreciation.

P.S. Now she is very liberal in appreciation, because I demand less.

"Wisdom comes from experience and may God save the bulls and bears."

Saturday, February 1, 2014

A Believer's Paradigm

Who is he who is not he? I think it is not him because he is not him. Perhaps he is a mirage, but in that case he is not real. If he is not real, then why do we think that he is real? So, either our thinking is a mirage or he is real. Our thinking may be a mirage of fear, hope, sorrow, frustration and what not! But if he is real, then what is the reason of the very process of our thinking? Are we real afterall! 

Who are we who are not we? I think it is not us because we are not us.  Perhaps we are a mirage, but in that case we are not real. If we are not real, then why do we think that we are real? So, either our thinking is a mirage or we are real. Our thinking may be a mirage of love, desire, pain, anxiety and what not! But if we are real, then what is the reason of the very process of our thinking? Is he real afterall!

Monday, January 27, 2014

Rhythm of Sin

I, the little thoughts in me. I , those DNAs playing around each cell. I, they call me a man. I, they used to call me a boy, a kid, a baby, a hope, nothing. I was eaten by my father a long back. Who knows from where the first compound of carbon in me had come. Perhaps, from a lettuce, or a mammal that my father ate. Or perhaps from the air he breathed from some remote Indian village, accidentally squeezed through his esophagus instead of bronchus. I am air, I am water, I am carbons. Now, they call me a man, a sinful man.

By will and hope, I squeezed through the egg of my mother, escaping the heat of lust. I , thought it was an escape, but O' nature, am I me? I am me now, a man, and food for the weeds and worms, soon.

Tears have no meanings, it is the sorrow in my tears that has meanings. It is the curiosity of hope, that shines out of each drop of tear. A hope to find myself, they call me a man. Oh, my feeble fingers, how slimy you are. Would break apart with a single blow, yet you live, you write, you eat. O' my feeble finger, I love you, but you know, those hungry worms waiting in the grave. Should I be Pharoah, or should I die in arctic. By any means, O my feeble finger, look at thee -  my dear finger, I can not save you. I can not, for I don't know who am I.

They say, I ought to find the path, a path for my pleasure. Where is Kant now, for your philosophies though flying high above the west, you have already been into worms. These words, may be read by someone, and I am not sure who he or she will be. 

Who trained man to eat, who trained man to breath? She was like my soul, I saw my image on her face. She was so different than me, but that face, those eyes were the simple pleasures deep inside. It was another sin, underneath my skin, deep inside. It is gone, all over, the way it was written on my fate, I do not know how two could be one. 

She lost her Dada, a part of her, the man who gave her the first carbon. She was eaten by her Dada. Who knows from where the first compound of carbon had come. Perhaps, from a lettuce, or a mammal that her Dada ate. Or perhaps from the air he breathed from arabia, accidentally squeezed through his esophagus instead of bronchus. She is air, She is water, She is carbons. Now, they call her a woman, a sinful woman.

She might not like this philosophy, she might get hurt. So am I, I am hurt by he, I am hurt by her deceased Dada. I am hurt by the birth, this mysticism of birth and death.

Love you O' my feeble fingers, love you O' my bloody heart, love you O' every single part in my body, O' every single cell in her body. Those neural networks, I love thee, you say what you want, let people call you insane, write my brain, write, your writing will be perished just like you. Someday, if you are born again you will hate your sins more than how much you loved your cells.