Monday, November 26, 2007

'MATRIX AND BHAGWADGITA'



"The door to your right leads to the source and the salvation of Xion and the door to your left leads from matrix to her and to the end of your species. And as you have already put, the problem is choice."
- The Creator says to Neo in Matrix

Going back to the streets from where I started the journey i.e. going back to the concepts of illusion (my first blog) which got revived last night when I finally watched Matrix after years of resisting myself, considering it to be nothing more than a sick, graphically manipulated action flick. But to my wonder I found it to be a 21st century translation of our very own bhagwadgita, Gita which answers the very question of existence of human life on the earth and the purpose for which a man gets trapped in this web of life and death and the only way out to achieve eternity. Applying the model of matrix in our own context this whole world which we deem to be real is nothing but a beautiful illusion crafted by the perpetrator, whom we call God. The very reason of our existence is a purpose, a very unique one. Once that purpose is achieved, the doer is exterminated (in the language of matrix; gets deleted). The only real problem, keeping the rest of all aside for a moment (irrelevant in the real sense), is the problem of choice, the choice between real and unreal, the choice between desire and freedom, illusion and fact, benign and sinister, and the choice between existence and salvation. But the man smart enough to deal with the problems, already decided which way to go to, eliminates this whole problem of choice. As the Oracle explains in matrix to Neo when she offers her a candy, he asks her in return that how did she know he was going to take it? I view ‘Oracle’ as a composite of all religions, sects, scriptures, hymns and manuscripts which are there with us the entire life, guiding us always which road to take but we hardly pester us to follow them. So the question of choice doesn’t arise in practical terms. The choice has already been made. Everything is planned and already decided. Belts have been tightened and I am ready for a flight, flight to the world of my dreams, my oceans and mountains, my aspirations and realities. I am educated… I am the master... I am the ultimate. I have found the secret code. This is the only purpose of my very existence. Destruction. To born, age and consequently die without actually realizing what are life and death in actual expressions. And here lies the key to the door opening into the world of myriads lost in the fixture of life and death, i.e. the door to the left leading from matrix to her and to the end my species.

But why is it so difficult to choose the right door and why isn’t it the choice we always make? Is it really so hard to comprehend the real world which is in fact a world of illusions? What I understand is that it’s like a mirage. You try to grab it; it disappears and reappears far away, taking you further away from the door to the right, i.e. the door that leads to the source and salvation. Really, a brilliantly designed program by a mastermind who must be laughing at the moment when I am trying to crack his own puzzle.

Sunday, November 4, 2007

'DIED INSANE'



i was strolling on the road
when i saw it coming
i could escape the collision
but i let it go
it shattered me to pieces
but i saved the very thing
they call me insane...

STRUGGLE FOR SANITY...


STRUGGLE FOR SANITY…

A painter scribbles four lines on paper in a random fashion and calls it the masterpiece of his life. He had never been so justified in his presentation. He always wanted to draw something like that but just now he got the real combination and accomplishment. For the first time in his life he had been so true to those four lines. For the first time he had been different. For the first time he had broken a wall. Just then four boys walk into the room and have a look at his masterpiece. They burst into laughter and call it the joke of the century and absolutely rubbish. They call him insane. They scratch the painting and tear it into pieces. The painter contented as has never been, just looking at them and doing nothing, standing there with a smile on his face collects the torn pieces from the floor and put them in his pocket. He picks up his brushes, colors and throws them in his bag and walks out of the room with the same smile on his face and retreat to sleep. He never woke up after that. But that night he dreamed of something profound. A ray of light coming from behind the mountains, dazzling into his eyes and asking him to follow its path. The path which has no road, no turns and very few accompanying travelers who look contented with the same mysterious smile on their faces. They join their hands and wave them into the air for someone standing far away at the horizon waiting for them for centuries. Just then the dream vanishes into eternity and the breath leaves the matter…

Who’s sane? Who’s insane? Who wins in this struggle for sanity? These are some of the questions which need to be answered… till then remain insane…

Sunday, October 21, 2007

'THE SAME OLD ROAD'

‘THE SAME OLD ROAD’

Everyday we walk the same old road to the lecture hall. The road which we have traversed through a hundred times in the past three years, the same old road besides the field and the parade ground, then a short course in front of the haunted girls’ hostel, then making a short cut through the abandoned, barren piece of land stretching from Midway canteen to the Open Air Theatre saving 5 minutes of our long and arduous journey to the class, finally reaching the destination by another short cut through the mortuary. The road is the same, the destination too the same. Only the new faces have been added up. But their energies still the same. Everything looks apparently unchanged, identical. But things are not that similar as they apparently appear to be. A lot has changed. The only thing is that we don’t want to look at them. Rather we fear to look at them. Everybody wants to follow the Buddhist philosophy, “if there is a problem that cannot be solved, there is no use worrying about it”. They want to follow the middle path no matter where it leads them to. Talking about the changes, the vehicles have virtually disappeared from the way, ‘thanks’ to the ban on the motorized two wheelers.
The road has been flooded with a number of warning boards demanding the use of helmets and horns while driving besides speed limits below 20 km ph. Everyday we see the abandoned, barren piece of land getting converted into a beautiful garden sprawling with fountains and plantations, becoming more beautiful day by day. About 50 people working on it day and night. Their efforts have started giving dividends too. But beauty comes with a curse.The stretch has been banned from regular usage. Those who cross that land would be called trespassers and would be fined for the same. Now, we don’t use the regular way, instead travel the entire road around the once abandoned land to our destination.
Sometimes I feel guilty, guilty of becoming a part of the change, guilty of my helplessness to change the things which I want to. I feel getting consumed, slowly and slowly by the guilt from inside. The river is taking me to the place where it wants to and I am getting driven along with it. I curse myself of becoming the system, the very system which I hate the most, the very system which calls me a trespasser and the very system which restricts my thoughts and actions. I want to cross the land again but my hands are tied. I want to break the ties but the fears surround me. But whatever it is the joy of getting to the destination through the short cut remains etched in my mind, hurting me always whenever I see that road.

Walls walls everywhere
I want to see beyond
Let me go the other side
Let me break the wall…

Friday, October 5, 2007

THE FLOCK OF SHEEP AND MY POWER

“Power is when you have the power to kill someone and you don’t. That is what the emperors do”
- Oscar Schindler

“Now I think you are a little drunk…!”
(From the movie Schindler’s list)

I am educated. I am sitting on the chair. I have the power to consume what I want to. Thousand knocks on my door. They want water. They are starving. I will die if I share what I have. I can’t run. I will be caught. I will sit inside and not open the door. This is the only way. They know what is happening inside. But at the same time they are helpless. I have the power to exploit. I have the power to hide. They are meek. They can’t organize or revolt. They are handicapped. They need someone to initiate. A spark. Simply seems impossible to light up from anywhere. Someone needs to be insulted badly. Someone needs to be ripped. Darkness is their weakness, their darkness my power. Phone is ringing. A warning call. A call for help. They know that I will not pick up the phone. But still want to try their luck. Luck is their last resort, their luck my escape, my power. They chose me. They have to suffer now. They could stand up at that moment. Block my way if they wanted to. But they didn’t want to clutch anything. They were having nice dreams. Feared they would depart if eyes see the morning sun. Dreams were their leisure, their dreams my realism, my power. I didn’t want to drop what was coming my way, what was in my ‘luck’. They were dwarfs. Lonely dwarfs. I had friends for support, ‘TRUSTWORTHY ONES’. Now they are caught badly in a web. A web of dreams, a web of lucks, a web of helplessness. I have the power to destroy the web, to break the wall. But I will starve if I help them. I have to eat. Someone has died outside. They are crying. They are howling for help. Believe someone would come. Their belief is their legacy, their belief my treasure, my power. I am helpless to help them. We both have the key to the door. I have not changed the locks. I didn’t have time. I had to eat. They have lost it somewhere. They can search it if they want, open the door and kill me. But I don’t fear that they would find the key. You need to jostle for that. They can never ever. They want to cry and dream and try their luck. They are adamant. Ignorance is their steer, their ignorance my light, my power. Oh! I can’t listen to the music. They are screaming like beasts. But who cares for the music. I am starving. I have the power to eat.

“Bleeding and babbling we fell on his neck with a scream
Wave upon wave of demented avengers
March cheerfully out of obscurity into the dream.”

- From the song ‘sheep’ by Pink Floyd

BUDDHA AND FREEDOM


Buddha and freedom

A Peculiar thing is happening with me nowadays whenever I see Buddha written somewhere, the first thing
That comes to my mind is freedom. I don’t now why, but it’s true. I haven’t read Buddha to the fullest but
Whatever I know and whatever I have imbibed about Buddha and Buddhism if that means freedom
Then I don’t want to learn more about Buddha. I have reached where I wanted to. I have gained what
I always wanted to. I have found my Buddha and I am a convert now.

THE MYSTERY MAN


THE MYSTERY MAN

I often talk to him. He looks like me only. He behaves like me, talks like me, walks like me. Too many similarities. Sometimes, hard to decide, who is who? He gives me tics, makes me laugh, and sits with me when I am alone. He never abandons me. On a lonely evening, watching the sun setting, sitting in the gallery of my room, when I remember the sweet memories of childhood friends and long nights of laughter with my sisters, he plays Pink Floyd for me on my laptop. In return he never expects anything. A strange union but as cohesive as the molecules in a solid.

So many similarities but differences do occur. He contradicts me sometimes. I feel like slapping him on the face. He burdens me a lot when I am about to take a decision. A unanimous one rarely occurs. I walk west when he wants to take me east. Despite the differences we walk together. Not talking to each other on the road, struggling to remain quiet, cursing inside. He screams at me when we finally reach the wrong destination. I often think that he already knew it would be the wrong way. He is too egoistic. He accompanies me where I want to go even if it’s the wrong path but never stops me in between. His warnings are mysterious. They don’t really come as warnings. Feeling frustrated what to do, I try spy on him. But it doesn’t really help at all. I call him psycho. He smiles at me. A mysterious smile. Hard to comprehend. He takes it lightly when I give him pain as if it doesn’t pain him at all. I try to starve him, drench him, but it only makes him more rigid. Once I tried to hide from him what I was doing. But ultimately found him standing behind me, monitoring everything closely, stealthily. He knows everything about me, my weaknesses, my limitations, when I will stumble. But often remains quiet. The mystery of this mysterious man boggles me…

I have found something… But how can it possible? ... It’s absolutely rubbish… I just can’t believe… Oh! I think I heard him coming. It’s time to go now.

……..

He … lives… in…ME… but… it’s… not… ME…!

THE FALL OF CRITICISM

The fall of criticism

A Waste of talent, Waste of time, Waste of money, Mockery of cricket, an Illustration of dexterity and muscles, 20- 20 bullshit, Gully cricket, cheap entertainment… What the hell is going on here? Are you listening to us?

They are trying to make their point. They want to be listened. Please attend to them.

We can’t see you happy. The smile on your faces rips us apart. We will prove our point until the last breath and wipe the jubilations from your faces.

This is the mindset of critics and that is the sort of criticism we are dealing with in the 21st century. Wikipedia describes Criticism as a democratic judgement over the suitability of a subject for the intended purposes. But criticism in Y2k is not only illogical and blind but also deaf, dumb and lame.Criticism just for the sake of criticizing something, an opprobrium for gaining attention, a denunciation for appraisal and gossiping at cocktail parties, admonition for retaliation, a barrage of literary words thrown to hurt someone and pack the editorials of prestigious newspapers and journals, an unimpressive articulation of right to speech and freedom of expression, a bread earner for those who have been thrown out of every possible publication house or have become bankrupts after years of swindling the readers with their plagiarized columns and writings and have nothing to do in their lives now, a portrayal of frustration and jealousy, an agitprop of worthless intellect and a cheap gratification of personal rivalries against an idea or a person.

The whole nation is enjoying. Good old days are back, good old cricket is back. The people are glued to their TV sets. Cricket has finally got its fans back. Indian team has regained its consistency. 20-20 has removed the blemish of India’s greatest defeat in 2007 world cup. The world cup is in our hands at the time when everything seemed hostile. Nobody seems to have any problem. But there are few people, who have a problem in everything worthy of praise and applause, who just don’t like changes and experiments, who only want to follow the path shown to them by their great grandfathers. Sometimes I think that we don’t always need to be critical in our outlook.

People call them critics. I call them pigs, fat old pigs.

Gone are those days when criticism used to be the sword to fight against the tyranny and oppression, when criticism was a fearless supreme force, when governments used to fall by the blow of words and policies changed and implemented in a matter of seconds, when films used to be big hits or flops even before their first screenings, when words used to do what revolutions often failed to achieve, when pen was really mightier than sword. Gone are those days.

The reservation policy for the backward classes raised a hue and cry. Students went on hunger strikes. Effigies of Arjun Singh were burnt. Colleges were closed for days. Tear gas, lathi charge everything was tried but it became impossible to control the mob. The government didn’t soften. People started losing all hopes. Shattered ones committed suicides. Everybody opposed, even the people who were going to be the main beneficiaries of the policy. But it finally got a clean chit without any resistance from the opposition parties. An opposition party considers it a right to criticize every possible move of the ruling party because it is meant to do so and that is what it does even if there is nothing to criticize. But such a big move got succeeded in getting implemented without even a single remark from the NDA and other opposition parties. What happened to the strength of criticism when it was needed the most?

Criticizing what needs to be criticized and applauding what needs to be applauded. This is what a healthy criticism should be. Anyways, that is all for now. Congratulations we have won the world cup and 20-20 is there to stay and flourish for years to come.

Monday, September 24, 2007

ON A WAY TO MY CONCLUSION...


Through the spaces between the leaves
I was staring at the moon
Wandering, what makes it so beautiful?
I saw a crater carved onto its surface
Immediately a cloud came and obstructed my view.

GHOST STREET


Walking alone on the street
Everything quiet
A deafening silence
But thousand shadows chase me
Anonymous
Silent
As if they are dead
Trying to keep pace with me
I fear to look behind
As if something stops me
The shadows get darker
Thicker fatter
Revealing them slowly
Every moment every second
They seem to be familiar
I have met them once
Their expressions seem to remind me
Something I fail to remember
Pointing at me sarcastically
Whispering about me in shear silence
Frightening me
They want to tell me something
I am weakening every moment
Losing myself in bits and pieces
Getting shattered
Broken
A deafening silence
I fear to look behind
I think I have recognized them
How could I not…
I look behind
The shadows disappear…

Wednesday, September 19, 2007

I AM INSANE...

I am insane…
I don’t walk on lines. I walk in between the lines, naked, haphazardly, undecidedly, purposelessly but I reach where I want to. They call me insane.


Black windows of paint
I scratched with my nails
I see others just like me
Why do they not try to escape?
They bring out the older ones
They point in my way
They come with a flash of light
And take my family away
And very later I have learned to
Accept some friends of ridicule
My whole existence is for your amusement
And that is why I’m here with you
To take you away with me.
- (the song ‘paper cuts’ by nirvana)


Sitting naked in my armchair on the edge of a tall building, glittering and gleaming sunrays shining into my eyes, lost in my own world of thoughts, I want to feel the wind on my face and the heat of the everlasting sun, I want to enjoy the fear of the invincible death and laugh at the immortality of human soul, getting closer to my end each moment I want to get the glimpse of my 21 year old life in a fraction of seconds and giggle at my helplessness to save this matter from getting perished away, I want to see the beauty of the world below and the madding crowd from the eyes having no ego at all at the moment, just a last and a little desire to fill the entire horizon in their aperture, life will never ever be that beautiful again, I want to sink in the depths of the deepest oceans, burn in the heat of the hottest stars and fall from the heights of the highest peaks, there is something between life and death, not just life and death only, which I want to experience in this moment, I want to be me just me.

Krishna: He who sits
Suppressing all the instruments of flesh,
Yet in his idle heart thinking on them,
Plays the inept and guilty hypocrite:
But he who, with strong body serving mind,
Gives up his mortal powers to worthy work,
Not seeking gain, Arjuna! such an one
Is honourable. Do thine allotted task!
Work is more excellent than idleness;
The body's life proceeds not, lacking work.
- bhagwadgita


0600 hours: Drenched with perspiration, lying on the cold floor of my closed room, naked, febrile, bruised, lacerated, soiled, masturbated, immersed in my own vomit, in a subconscious state of mind, heavily doped, suffocated, my arms weakened by phlebitis, the beats of pink Floyd running in my blood, numb, comfortably numb, I can hear no birds, no hymns or division bells, I cannot see the awakening sun shunning away the darkness of the night, I cannot feel the fragrance of the wet soil, I feel no pain, no weakness, just a beautiful and seductive feeling of virtual bliss, a feeling more pleasurable than an orgasm , I can see what I want to see, I can think what I want to think, I can hear what I want to hear, I can scream and cry without any inhibitions, they say that I am hallucinated but this hallucination is more real for me than their reality, the wall has cracks but I see none, I can only see the mountains, the birds, the roses, the meanders, all dancing with me in my tunes, everything is beautiful, splendid and glorious, everyone is my friend, no foes, I know no hatred, no vulgarity, no differences, I feel no gravity, I am flying, I have an answer to every question, I am floating in the river of my wisdom, I can dream what I feared to dream, I can achieve what once seemed impossible, I am rich, I am supreme, I am educated, I am what I am.
 
Krishna: As smoke blots the white fire,
as clinging rust
Mars the bright mirror, as the womb surrounds
The babe unborn, so is the world of things
Foiled, soiled, enclosed in this desire of flesh.
The wise fall, caught in it; the unresting foe
It is of wisdom, wearing countless forms,
Fair but deceitful, subtle as a flame.
Sense, mind, and reason- these, O Kunti's Son!
Are booty for it; in its play with these
It maddens man, beguiling, blinding him
Cut then atwain
With sword of wisdom, Son of Bharata!
This doubt that binds thy heart-beats!
cleave the bond
Born of thy ignorance! Be bold and wise!
Give thyself to the field with me!
Arise!. - bhagwadgita


I love her, she loves me, I can bring the stars to her feet, I can rip my flesh at her disposal, she makes me feel significant, magnificent, I forget my egos, my consciousness, my apprehensions in her company, all my words seem to exhaust when she smiles, her love is sacred, knows no profanity, salvation seems to have been attained when I embrace her, all the revolts, both inner and outer, pacify when I lied naked with her beside the fireplace, I look different in her eyes, beautiful as I had never ever been, she can never betray me, she can think of nobody else when I am around, she is fearless when I hold her hand, she knows no shame when I kiss her and squeeze her into my arms in public, she gives her entire being into my custody keeping nothing for herself. I love her but I have to kill her… I killed her.


Krishna: The Doors of Hell
Are threefold, whereby men to ruin pass,-
The door of Lust, the door of Wrath, the door
Of Avarice. Let a man shun those three!
He who shall turn aside from entering
All those three gates of Narak, wendeth straight
To find his peace, and comes to Swarga's gate.
- bhagwadgita

I wander in the streets, starved but satiated, injured but healed, naked but clothed, lonely but contented and live but dead.
They call me insane. I laugh at them.

Krishna: Religion is not his who too much fasts
Or too much feasts, nor his who sleeps away
An idle mind; nor his who wears to waste
His strength in vigils. Nay, Arjuna! I call
That the true piety which most removes
Earth-aches and ills, where one is moderate
In eating and in resting, and in sport;
Measured in wish and act; sleeping betimes,
waking betimes for duty.
- bhagwadgita




video

Thursday, August 16, 2007

21 GRAMS


In 1907 Dr. Duncan MacDougall conducted experiment on 6 patients who were on the verge of dying and concluded that the man loses 21 grams of weight after death or in other words the weight of the soul is 21 grams. I was really amazed to learn about the experiment and the extent to which the thinking of man can take him to prove that even the proverbial, immortal, conceptual soul is nothing but 'matter’ which according to definition is anything which occupies space and has weight and volume. The film 21 grams (starring Naomi watts, Sean Penn, Benicio Del Toro) based on the similar concept ends with beautiful lines when the images of the characters are flashed for few seconds along with the ups and downs which they face during their journey of life – how much is lost? How much is gained? How much is actually lost? How much is actually gained? It seems to laugh at the concept and says that life is not a mathematical equation. Both sides can’t be equal every time. All the facts and calculations in which we remain bogged down throughout our very existence on this earth seem to lose their meaning when life comes to an end and then when one tries to calculate the net loss and profit he made in his lifetime, he actually laughs at his foolishness which he carried all along.

Do we still need a similar experiment?

Sunday, August 12, 2007

I SMILE...


The darkness grows within
Spreading its roots inside
The light still glows within
Keeping the hope alive
I smile at the darkness
I smile at the light…

LOST IN TRANSLATION



Lost in translation
Osho says that Buddhism died along with Buddha and what we have today is nothing but a modified form of Buddhism translated by the scholars and the disciples of Buddha to preach the masses and satisfy their spiritual needs and desires. When Buddha died, the followers of Buddha, the so called enlightened people tried their best to translate and write down the philosophies and teachings of Buddha in the form of scriptures to pass it on to the next generations. When they were done everyone had his own interpretation and no two interpretations matched with each other. The moral is clear. Meaning was lost in translation so was Buddhism with Buddha.

Yesterday I was watching a movie ‘The Motorcycles Diaries’ based on the life of two South American doctors, Ernesto Guevara and his friend Alberto, who went on a tour of South America to cover 8000 kilometers in 4 months. It was in some Latin American language. The subtitles were there. The dialogues of the movie were really very good and thought provoking. But when the movie ended we felt that the movie wanted to say something more than what we could actually make out from the subtitles. Something was definitely lost...

Few days ago I was reading Geeta as translated by Swami Prabhupad. He has talked about an importance difference that exists between the two words dharma and religion. For a moment I was completely taken back because I never knew such kind of difference even occurred. According to him RELIGION means a belief and a belief is susceptible to change with time. It is not constant like dharma because DHARMA refers to something which is constant, which cannot be changed, which cannot be destroyed. It brings us to a fact that we don’t have an equivalent of dharma in English language. What we really have is the lost ‘Dharma’ in the form of ‘Religion’. Something is definitely lost in translation. Isn’t it true?

All our ancient scriptures and holy texts were written in Sanskrit or the languages which nobody is well versed with nowadays. A lot has been said in those scriptures, a lot has been translated for us but don’t you really think that what we are interpreting today is nothing but things which have lost their essence in the journey of translation?

I remember a very famous joke at the moment. When the human beings were created, God sent a messenger to earth to inform that we have to sleep 3 times and eat one time a day. But the messenger suffered from a kind of memory loss. He jumbled the message and translated it to the human beings. As a result what we have today is a severe competition for survival and food. Don’t you feel that this world would have been a heaven if we spend 75%of our time in sleeping and not in cutting each other’s throats?

Words lose their essence in translation. They come to be interpreted in a different form and manner. What lies in the end is nothing but a distortion, a distortion which we have to believe, a distortion with which we have to live with and a distortion which we have to leave as a part of our legacy to the generations ahead. Does it leave us with a painful conclusion that all the religions, studies, thoughts and interpretations of the thinkers and scientists which we believe today have been distorted in some way or the other and in the process of translation, they have undergone a significant change in the meaning and aim with which the words were created and arranged to convey a particular message? Is this our fate to remain lost in translation... forever…?

Or do we have a way out???

Friday, August 3, 2007

THOUSAND ARROWS IN A BROKEN SMILE...


This article is inspired from Veronika , the central character of Paulo Coelho's novel 'Veronika Decides To Die.' But I dedicate this article to My Veronika who is standing on the verge of destuction but still can manage to thrive for thousands of years more. Paulo Coelho's Veronika has everything in her life a girl can ever dream of. Her life consists of loving parents, attractive boyfriends, and all means to fulfill her dreams. Sometimes you just can’t expect more from a life. But still she is discontented, still her heart is empty, still her heart craves for something missing from her life, still she wants to end up everything and die. Ultimately she decides to embrace death in hope to find the treasure after her existence comes to an end. But the struggle doesn’t end here. She utterly fails in her attempt and reaches a mental asylum where she realizes the fact that there is a difference between living and being alive.

Now, I would like to tell you about My Veronika. Her life is entirely different from the life of Paulo’s Veronika. Her life is full of miseries. She is an orphan. She is not beautiful. Her face is half burnt with acid. She doesn't even know if she would be able to have her next meal. In short her life is a hell, anybody would like to get rid of. But still she is contented, still she has embraced life like a treasure, still she wants to live and face what life wants her to face, still she enjoys every moment of her life and tries to give a meaning to it, still she wants to cross the river and reach its other end and dive in the innermost depths of the invincible oceans, still she manages to smile, no matter there are thousand arrows in her broken smile. Her smile is without any ego. It is as pure as the smile of an infant. It is filled with the entirety of life. It seems to have imbibed the sweetness of honey. It is filled the sacredness of thousands of temples. It is a source of inspiration to all those who are standing on the cliff of a mountain waiting for the right moment. Life has tried to rip it open with full force but still it has managed to preserve its structure and form. Her fight with life starts the moment she wakes up in the morning unlike Paulo’s Veronika who wants to run away from her fight by ending up the things. She extracts happiness out of the small things she does in her life. She hasn't learnt to stop. She moves ahead and ahead into the darkness of the road in hope to find the dying spark which would enlighten her life. She is just invincible. She is life in its accomplished form. She is My Veronika and I simply love her.

This proves that happiness is subjective. It comes to those who search for it. It may not be a bouquet of accomplishments but still it can be the one. It is the contentment of soul which makes you happy and draws a smile on your face. My Veronika searches for it. She has found it too. She has found it entangled in the bushes of dark jungles where even light fails to penetrate. She has found it in her deeds. She has found it in her efforts and the little success she achieves through these. She is the most successful person existing on this earth. She is mine and I simply love her.................

INTERPRETATION OF PHILOSOPHY


It is often said that a philosophy has many interpretations. Everybody can interpret a philosophy in his or her own manner. But in my view philosophy has only one interpretation; one that is eternal, one that is truth and one that is ETERNAL TRUTH. All other interpretations are nothing but beautiful illusions, always trying to allure you, always trying to embrace you, always trying to put you on an easy but the wrong path. But there is only one interpretation which emanates from the essence of a philosophy. It can’t be described in words and understood by mind. There is no language which can describe the meaning of philosophy because words have a language and philosophy has no language of its own. Its comprehension lies beyond the level of mind. It is similar to enlightenment. A moment comes and everything seems to be clear, beautiful and consequential. The path to its interpretation is illuminated by thousand lights. You don’t need a candle to explore its path. You just need to get rid of all the predeterminations. You need to be free, free from all the illusions, free from all the pre-determinations and free from all the beliefs. As Buddha says

“Belief as such is a barrier; it does not matter what belief it is, true or false.”

Be free and just follow the light. Surely you would be able to interpret the philosophy and understand the profundities that lie beneath.

Sunday, July 29, 2007

LIVING THE 'ILLUSION'


“Now he has departed from this strange world a little ahead of me. That means nothing. People like us, who believe in physics, know that the distinction between past, present and future is only a stubbornly persistent illusion.”

This famous Einsteinian quote perturbs me a lot and puts me in a dilemma. Dilemma of existence of this very being, dilemma of futility of the fourth dimension of space i.e. time in which everything is so intertwined and submerged that it will take a whole lot of humanity to destroy and reincarnate itself to abolish its significance, dilemma of the very purpose of this life, dilemma of the boundaries existing between us and the Forces that tend to unite us all, dilemma of the presence of atoms, molecules and the protons and the neutrons within. If everything according to Einstein gets narrowed down to an illusion (a stubbornly persistent one), an illusion which being persistent is not stable, it continually moves with us, it breathes with us, lives with us, eats with us, mourns with us, laughs with us (rather laughs at us) and dies with us in this illustrious soil; then everything becomes so simple, completely uncomplicated and completely comprehensible. Ahhhh! At last the problem is solved. What a relieving and exhilarating moment! A wait has finally ended and moksha has been attained. Now no problems seem to sneak and trouble the mind. The answer seems to have been present with us since ages. We should have looked for it and it would have been ours a long time ago. We would have been the masters of this universe and this world would have been our baby. We would have conquered the invincible and plundered the nature of its splendor and glory. We would have been gods, gods in disguise of an illusion, gods in search of an illusion, gods in fight with an illusion and gods in love with an illusion. But is it so easy to believe this so called fact and reduce everything to an illusion and be a part of this illusionary world and the illusionary glamour? Does our search for the answer ends here, here in this illusion? If everything is an illusion, then why are we deceiving ourselves every moment, trying to ignore the existence of this very illusion? Why are we struggling every second and dividing the illusion into past, present and the future? Why are we always busy in drawing the lines between you and me? Why are we always making comparisons between the things that don’t really exist? If Everything is an illusion, then all the distinctions, distinction between good and bad, man and animal, reality and idealism, virtue and sin, knowledge and ignorance, holy and profane, cryptic and candid, benign and sinister, seem to become redundant and lose their meaning. All differences seem to have hugged and accepted each other in their indifferent form and being. But does masking everything with a veil of illusion solves the mystery of our existence and struggle in this illustrious world? A question has been answered but a part of it still remains unanswered.

Herman Hesse in his masterpiece novel Siddhartha tries to make to make the things simpler and uncomplicated when Siddhartha, the central character of the novel, explains his friend Govinda ;
“Never is a man or a deed wholly Samsara or wholly Nirvana; never is a man wholly a saint or a sinner. This only seems so because we suffer the illusion that time is something real. Time is not real, Govinda. I have realized this repeatedly. And if time is not real, then the dividing line that seems to lie between this world and eternity, between suffering and bliss, between good and evil, is also an illusion. The potential Buddha already exists in the sinner; his future is already there. The world, Govinda, is not imperfect or slowly evolving along a long path to perfection. No, it is perfect at every moment; every sin already carries grace within it, all small children are potential old men, all sucklings have death within them, all dying people - eternal life. It is not possible for one person to see how far another is on the way; the Buddha exists in the robber and dice player; the robber exists in the Brahmin. During deep meditation it is possible to dispel time, to see simultaneously all the past, present and future, and then everything is good, everything is perfect, everything is Brahman.
Accepting the fact and living with it are two different things. If today I accept the fact that I am an illusion and time, in which everything finds its measure, is nothing, but an illusion, then will this acceptance make the things simpler or more difficult for me, blocks my mind with ambiguity. Siddhartha answered many unanswered questions but it has given me more questions to ponder over. A traveler on a long and arduous journey in search for his destination finally attains it but when he reaches there, he finds to his surprise that path which he took to reach his destination never existed and what he has attained in the end is nothing but a betrayal. It’s like waking up from a fulfilling dream and then repenting over. It’s like robbing you of your entire wealth when you have finally earned it. It’s like arriving at an orgasm and then finally withdrawing from its inexplicable pleasure. It’s like stripping the mother of her smile when she finally sees her baby after the pain she went through during the delivery. But there can be a another side to the coin also if I find that whatever I wanted to attain, fulfill, earn, arrive or smile at never actually existed for me. It was never meant for me or if it was meant for me then it was always with me. The fault existed within me. I never endeavored to look for it. I never tried to feel it. I never struggled to comprehend it. It had always lived with me, always, throughout my trifles and my failures. It used to laugh at my disappointments. It used to ridicule mehttp://l.yimg.com/www.flickr.com/images/spaceball.gif throughout my expedition. But I never felt its existence. In both the situations I will attain nothing but restlessness and disappointment. Does that mean I should continue living the way I have been living till now or should I accept the fact and make my life more complicated, more onerous, more incomprehensible? The answer remains to be found. May be its possible that the answer itself is an illusion but following it remains the only answer to the puzzle…