God - part II

Horror

I've seen horrors … horrors that you've seen. But you have no right to call me a murderer. You have a right to kill me. You have a right to do that … but you have no right to judge me. It's impossible for words to describe what is necessary to those who do not know what horror means. Horror. Horror has a face … and you must make a friend of horror. Horror and moral terror are your friends. If they are not, then they are enemies to be feared. They are truly enemies…Colonel Walter E.Kurtz, Apocalypse Now.

I remember I was preparing for my medical entrance examinations. I was living as a paying guest in one of the households of bhathinda. As far as possible I could see myself a part of this profession only. There was only one focus. Though a second thought always used to persist and poke. What if I don’t make it to the finals? What if I lose and scatter without reaching the end? Finally, I made it. I got into a medical college and earned a degree. I got a job and started earning. Soon I realized I could buy all those things with my salary which I couldn’t afford yesterday. Yes, I could until one day when it all got shattered. I am very thankful to my friend Gaurav for causing this damage. He took me to a lane in the multiplex area of Saket, New Delhi. He introduced me to a forty something lady, a rag picker by profession sitting on a cot, surrounded by a group of 35 well fed, healthy street dogs, sleeping peacefully in the cold winter of Delhi with some fire in the centre. She was their mother. She used to feed those 35 street dogs picking up from the rags. How the fuck is it possible? It woke me up and burnt down my entire ego. It exposed a part of me which I always clothed and pampered. This was horror. Sheer fucking, nail biting horror. We have always been wrong when it has come to the portrayal of horror on screen. Horror is not some visually disturbing, ugly, brutal, torn piece of dead flesh portrayed on celluloid. Horror is something which is very alive and soulful like a piece of music or a beautiful painting. Horror is a moment of creative transformation. Horror was that second thought which persisted and sailed me through my examinations. Horror was that visual which exposed my timidity and crushed my ego. Horror is the persistent negativity which keeps us moving. Horror is a necessary destruction, a necessary murder which we are required to do. Horror is an unexplainable something which is a part of me, a part of you and a part of all of us.

Horror is the last hope.

Horror is the necessary god. Yes the god…

God - part I

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Oh god…!

This was something new after countless days of watching snow making mounds and mounds in front my shelter. Finally, it was a bright sunny day with a lot of chill factor to make it more juicy and horny. Moreover it was Tuesday and a mandir parade was organized in my battalion to apologize for the mistakes made in the past and to request nature god to be merciful throughout our tenure. And more interestingly, after a long time I was paying a serious, though forced visit to an organized religious ritual. Unlike civil, mandir is a very formal and structured event in army compulsory for all ranks and beliefs to attend. That is why I addressed it as a parade in the beginning. So there was no question of getting a day off (I deliberately got it once and still remember the chaos it brought to my mind and soul). I was having my afternoon siesta which had generously extended to an evening one. I got a call at quarter to six from a staff officer of my unit reminding me of the parade. The hell broke. I had to get ready. My eyes were swollen. I was feeling shitty getting up from my sleeping bag at +30 and going to attend mandir in -30. What the hell has happened to me? The time has made me wiser. But I was always happy insane. Anyways, I stepped inside the mandir and saw my troops lost in a mad world of devotion and deities. Religious hymns were being sung to the tunes of bollywood numbers. I was given a comfortable place to rest my arse. I sat down and met somebody. Yes, you guessed it right. It was god. Decorated and ornamented in a beautiful stone carving and a glass frame. Besides, the punditji of the battalion was sitting on the floor waving god with a bunch of peacock feathers. Indian soldiers were chanting with their closed eyes and cracked voices, ‘we are fucked, we have been raped, please help us god!’ My relationship with god has gone through many cracks and crevices. My facebook status has shifted from a believer to a non-believer and finally to an agnostic over a period of time. There is no serious animosity between us. But we have decided to remain indifferent and insolent towards each other. It’s a mutually signed agreement. I read somewhere written that there is a 99.9% probability that god doesn’t exist and there is a 99.99% probability that he doesn’t exist in the form we worship him. Though I am not sure about the first part of the statement but I definitely believe the second one. Anyhow, we were facing each other again. I tried to look straight. Into his stoned eyes. You are still the same. You haven’t changed ever since. Are you the one I was looking for so many years? Are you the answer to my questions? Are you the one I compose in my poems and dreams? Are you…Really…? But he didn’t even blink. I tried sounding desperate. Do you really breathe and eat? Do you ever fuck and sleep? But he was as cold as a stone. I closed my eyes. I saw colored patterns dancing on a black canvass. I saw the whole world, thousands of men and women, dancing, singing and making love to each other. I felt deceived. I opened my eyes. The patterns collided with each other and vanished into a thin air of trouble and longing. Are you the one responsible for this dichotomy? The question remained. I shrugged and heard people reciting hanuman chalisa. I was the most ignorant fool sitting in the whole crowd. I closed my eyes again. I saw a big zero with millions of small zeroes in front and million others following it, running and chasing each other creating a mayhem. By the time the show was over. And I had got my answer. The prashad was finally distributed and we decided to call it a day. I returned to my room, dazed and confused, logged in to my facebook account and saw some unread messages waiting for a reply.