'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.

'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…

'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…

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.

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…

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

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?