Chronicles of a Vagabond

In The Silence Of My Solitude - A Novel (Part 28) -- Final Part

2010-12-12T11:45:00.000-08:00

STOP

Dear Friends, I don't hate you.In-fact, I don't hate anyone, as I think hate is a useless emotion. I don't love you either. Because, I have no idea what is love.

Then, I wonder, Why am I warning you?

Friends, Stop reading right here.You may not like what you are gonna read. Especially, some of those friends who think of themselves as beautiful, and those who strongly believes in the moral order of the mainstream society, and those whose experiences are that of the sanitized version of reality either through censored- movies or censored- books or via censored- experience.

Every moment of our life people tell us what to look and what to experience. Our life became a huge censor cut -- not appropriate at any age, any time, or epoch.If for a moment if we assume that we are our experiences, then let me tell you this, We are fake. We experience what the collective society wants us to experience.What we experience is not life but a day time television family serial. Life does not happen in the society. Whatever we experienced is not authentic. Life happens only on the edges of the society.

I know that for a fact, because I went there.

You see, the society is like a hologram, and the mainstream is an illusion. But, the information to create that illusion is created by the people on the edges.

Mainstream is static, the edges are dynamic.

So, start reading from here only if are ready to face the edges.

I warn you.


        In the heart of darkness, behind the bushes, invisible to any human, I waited. I waited for 1...2...3 hours. The rain stopped, moon shined, and the crickets and frogs started their noise business. The hut was in my view, lighted by a kerosene lamp, with the beggar laying on the bed staring at the top of the hut.

Then, just for couples of seconds, there was silence. No sound at all. Then, as if it was a cue, and as if he was in a trance, he got up from the bed, came out of the hut and started walking towards the north direction. I followed him.

Instead of taking the road, he walked through the fields, and he walked, walked, and walked, for close to 5 kms, and I followed him. Now, the area we were walking looked like barren land, and full of soil. Then, suddenly, he started running, and ran I after him.

I ran for a furlong, and then slipped and fell down. When I got up, I noticed that I was at the edge of a small hillock over-looking I didnt know what. I took a couple of steps, and there it was, the Godavari river in all its glory. It was huge.

One wrong step there, I would have dived down 30 feet below in to the river Godavari.
I stood there on the edge, with the humongous moonlit river before me. It was the most beautiful and scary thing I have ever seen.

"So, you suffered enough?". It was the beggar. I nodded in agreement.
"I don't think so", he replied, "But, I will let you come with me, with one condition. You should obey me without asking any questions". I nodded again.

A small boat was waiting for us down below. As we approached the boat, he whispered to me, "That thing on your wrist is your pass, and only it will save you tonight".

There were two people on the boat, and one of them asked him, "Who is this?"
"one of us", he replied.

The boat sailed for close to one hour downstream, and I noticed the stream getting faster, and I was able to hear some noise resembling some drums.

We stopped at an island, and I was able to see many huts with their twinkling kerosene lamps.

We entered a large hut lighted as sublimely as possible as if to say that light is not their best friend. Groups of hooded people covered from head to toe sat before a stage. The central part of the stage was illuminated by a top light. We sat in the middle of the crowd, and the beggar whispered to me, " What ever you see, don't say anything.Just don't say anything.Promise me".

"Promise", I promised. Why would I say anything?

Without any announcement of any-kind, a hooded figure came on to the stage. Because of the top light his face was invisible, almost looked like those of image of death in western movies.

"Comrades, lets start the game of suffering", and left the stage, and the lights were out.
I was able to hear some noises on the stage as if people were arranging things. 10 tense minutes went by.

Lights on.

The same person (I hope so) on the stage, but this time, something like a huge box fully covered by a black cloth was behind him.

"Comrades, I just came to know that today in our presence there is a special guest for whom we were waiting for many years. He is one of ours. No harm must be done to him", he announced.
I heard a whoosh of murmur and it die as fast as it came.

He then dramatically looked at the audience and pulled away the cloth covering the box. It was a cage with a naked women inside. Looked like she was sleeping, and her back was in view to the audience. She looked almost like a model, perfect shapes and size, and a light-brown skin tone.

Probably a skit, I thought. May be it was a wish. I really hoped that she was acting. I really fucking hoped. Because,

A new character entered the stage, and a terror passed threw my spine and I shivered. Does this nightmare ever stop?

A huge, ugliest Armadillo walked onto the stage. It was twice the size of the armadillo I had seen on the Ataka. It opened the cage all by itself with a flick of its tongue and walked into the cage.

Its a skit, right?

It looked at the audience for a couple of seconds just like a magician looking at the audience before his act. It then brought its face near to the woman's and started licking her which woke her up. Then, started screaming. A scream of horror which I had never heard in my life ...either in real or in movies. It was definitely not acting. It was a reality play, and it was happening right before my eyes.

She screamed and screamed, running away from the monster armadillo towards the edge of the cage. She screamed for a minute, and then collapsed.Her nerves couldn't handle any of it. The monster just sat there at the center like a pet dog looking at the audience. A kind of encouraging murmur whooshed through the crowd.

Lights off. The central part of the stage was lit again, and the speaker started his speech.

"Comrades, What is suffering? Why do we suffer? More importantly why do we suffer with the knowledge that there is no end for our suffering? Usually for people, when they suffer, a hope that their suffering is not going to be forever, balms their pain. But, there is no such kind of balm for our pain. Then, why do we suffer? The answer : We suffer because we carry the sins of the every organism. We literally carry the sin of the bacteria inhabiting in our body, slowly eating away our skin, our body parts; but have no fear, it can never reach our heart, the only organ which defines us.If at all there is something as free will, and if at all humans acted as if they are in control of their actions, then we wouldn't be sitting here. Our paths met and our destinies intertwined because of only one reason : Mainstream society's will to survive, and making us outcasts by defining ugly, beauty, and fearsome. Isn't the bacteria killing us just to survive? In that sense, whats the difference between the society and the bacteria inhabiting us. Then why is sin applicable only to humans? Because humans think that the are in control, and that arrogance which they are not in control of makes them think that they are in control of all the organisms in the planet. "

"Our father, the God we believe in, never gave any special status to humans. Every human is like an ant. If we see this society from upstairs what we see is an ant colony.No difference."

"Our God is a leper, and will forever be until life exists.In the beginning God created energy and matter in his own image, and said let there be chaos; that was how this universe formed. All was well; God glided through one planet to planet, to stars and to galaxies. He loved it. He loved the silence. Then why did god create the universe if he loves silence? To feel his own existence. But the chaos created a desire in the inanimate, a desire to see copies of themselves, and that's how life formed. There is only one sin : Desire. God suffers, and as a servant to the God, we too suffer because of the sin of Desire."

As if that was a cue, the lights were turned off, and moment later turned on again.

Armadillo at the center of the stage, and a beautiful scared shitness, naked woman sitting at the edge of the cage as if to go away as far as from the Armadillo. She was shaking, crying, and started shouting.. "This is a dream, right? This is nightmare, right? Where are my fans? Where is Mama and Papa? This is just a nightmare. I will soon wake up from it. Just a night mare"

The Armadillo which was sitting at the center of the stage, just like pet dog, started swinging its tail, and opened its mouth to show its teeth as if it was laughing. Then it walked towards the crying model, and started licking her vagina. Within a minute, two things happened in quick succession. One : She vomited, Two: She organsmed. Then, she fainted again.

The speaker started again, "Comrades, I hope you observed the two desires which bought her down. The desire to survive and the desire to procreate. There is one of more desire in her which sealed her fate -- her vanity -- her desire to attract. That's why we selected her.She is the vainest woman in the whole country".

Next episode : The armadillo sat on her and started fucking her with her tail. Blood started oozing out of her vagina, and it was difficult to find out if she was shouting orgasmically or shouting in pain.

I couldn't hold it anymore, and I shouted, " STOP IT".

The armadillo stopped its fucking, and sat there on its tail obediently. The girl was in shock..and was convulsing, and soon became unconscious.

The speaker replied, " As I expected..You didn't suffer enough"
"What do you mean by that?"
"Suffering brings you to truth. Suffering, is, the, truth", he proclaimed.

"let me ask you this", he continued, " given a choice between knowing about your mother or saving this woman, which one do you choose?"
"That is ridiculous", I replied angrily.
"Ridiculous? I am not asking a hypothetical question. Its a real question, and you have to choose either one of them. If you choose to save this woman, You would never know about your mother".

I stood there for a minute feeling all the guilt in the world because I knew what I was going to choose.

          "The last hut on left", he finally revealed, and said, " No one follow him".

I slowly walked out of the hut as hooded figures watched me with curiosity. The anxiety built up in me. This is it. This is the moment I am waiting for. After all the drama, finally, it is just a walk. A walk to the last house on the left.

I saw him, the midget, guarding the hut, the same midget I had seen on that night in the moonlit backyard of dad's house. That meant only one thing -- my mother came to see me.She was right there watching me. That meant she was okay, that meant she remembered me.

The midget did not stop me. It would have been a huge mistake if he stopped me. I walked into the hut. A small figure was sleeping on a small bed with shadows dancing around from the light of the kerosene lamp.

"She is sleeping". Some one whispered. "She is dying".Some one said.

I slowly removed the white hood covering half her face. No, She was not my mother. It was a woman with no nose, lips eaten away revealing her teeth, and with skin..god knows what happened to it. The smell was horrible. Then she opened her eyes and I recognized them -- It was my mother's eyes.She was my mother.

I sat on the bed taking her hand in my hand. No fingers left in that hand.

I looked into her eyes, and they revealed me the whole story -- A story of a mother waiting for her son. A story of a mother who went through hell, and continued to go through it, staring at the wall all alone..all alone. What did she do to deserve that?

What did the nurse do to deserve the things I had done to her? But, I was not in control of myself. Then again, were the situations which led my mother to this moment, were in control of anyone?

I began to see the truth in lepers theory of the universe. I am not in control of myself because of the desire, but I am a product of desire. Life is not supposed to happen, but it happened, and God is suffering because of it. But, the fact of the matter is -- God is a victim of his own desire -- his desire to feel his own existence. What a vain God.... this leper God.

How do we measure suffering? How many types of sufferings are there? Do we have a spectrum of sufferings?

In the spectrum of sufferings, I believe, Leprosy is on the extreme end -- the extreme suffering -- A physical and emotional hell, slow death, stigma,untouchable, unseeable, unthinkable.When I use words like stigma, it may appear as if I am appealing for the mainstream societies help. Fuck that.

Hasn't this society defined words like beauty? Hasn't this system created concepts like 'fame' and made everyone crave for it? Hasn't this system made everyone crave for acceptance?

But, is the world of societies and cultures, in control of itself?

Everyone of us, every organism in this universe, is a machine controlled by desire, and that desire is same -- a desire to survive -- a desire which started life on this planet.

I wanted to sleep in my mothers lap, or may be just wanted to touch her feet. I slowly pulled up the blanket she was covered in ..I couldn't find them..I pulled up further..still nothing..I pulled up futhur..and there I found it....that she was just a half woman -- she was just a slab of meat -- like a chicken on the butchers table with its skin pealed off (skinless) with no thighs..but wings still flapping involuntarily, a sight which makes you want to take a knife and stab it till stops its movement, a kind of movement, a kind of instinct which is more horrible than death.

I looked into her eyes. They were content, and full of satisfaction, and happiness. Is it because of me, or is it because she found the truth?

Then I broke down, and started sobbing, " Ma, whats the truth?"

I felt down in a swoop beside her, putting my arm across her torso, and sobbing like a kid, burying my head on the pillow and her ribs.

Then her hand touched and consoled me, in the same way a mother consoles her infant. I didn't know what happened...A film of my life ran backwards in superfast...adult, teenager, kid, infant, single-celled...and then....silence..complete silence...in the darkness.

A silence which is not silent because of the lack of sound...a darkness which is not dark because of lack of light...but because of solitude...a silence and darkness which defines themselves....and they was no static, no murmur, no background light..nothing. Nothingness!

In essence, I reached a moment where there is no desire. There is no thought. There is no image. There is no sound. The silence and the darkness are just words to describe that. It is not a feeling either. It is not a glimpse. It is just nothingness...there is no observer and the observed... there is no me....there was no I....complete depersonalization...except a brain which recorded the event..or an illusion..and may be got confused itself because of lack of emotion.

But that moment of nothingness was just a moment, and the film ran back to present tense.

Then, I noticed that I relaxed completely...there was no anxiety..no pain...just peace..calmness..and
tranquility. Then I feel into deep sleep, and for the first time in my life.. with no bother about whats gonna happen when I wake up...no bother at all....

         I woke up to the sound of the drums as if there was a party going on outside. My mother was sleeping peacefully with her hand on me. I gingery came out of the room...and people -- the lepers, were dancing around a fire...and it was difficult to see whats happening, as it was still dark. I walked closer to the fire..and there it was.... the head of the model, and beside it, the head of the armadillo. I felt nothing.

Then the dawn broke..and the twilight twilighted..and I ran towards it..making sure that no one was between me and that moment of dawn. Somehow, it filled with hope....a practical hope from the truth of nothingness. I came to the edge of the river; looked as if the river had no end. I sat there and started watching the moment of dawn. It was beautiful...and my heart filled with joy... and planets were visible...and then a huge red ball rose from the waters...and filled me with optimism and hope...saying you and me brother, whatever the ultimate truth is....whatever it is..the immediate truth is that whatever happens today..tonight..in the darkest hours..I will rise...and shine. Talk to me brother.

After that orgasmic event....I went back to my mother.

Mom, " There is nothing ultimately....but the sun rises...until the desire goes away...and, with it, the life".

She smiled.

"Ma", I continued, " Do you have any desire?".

She looked into my eyes ...and we made eye contact..and understood each other.

Then I slowly walked towards her, sat beside her, and wrapped my hands around her neck...and started strangling her...

She looked into my eyes....and then..she didn't blink..

She found her silence...in her solitude.

Yes, I killed my mother.

                                                                THE END.

In the beginning..

In The Silence Of My Solitude - A Novel (Part 27)

2010-12-12T09:47:00.000-08:00

                                                           31. Mirror and Mother

     The next day afternoon, I went to a skin specialist as soon as I woke up, without even brushing or taking bath. The doctor confimed my suspicions -- that the senseless skin on my wrist was nothing but leprosy. Before he started his usual 'dont worry' stuff, I ran out of the office. I didnt want to waste anymore time. I wasted enough, may be I was already late.

      First things first. I went to the nearest internet cafe and typed ' Armadillo leprosy', and there it was before my eyes..thousands of search results.

Mycobacterium leprae infection has recently been detected in wild armadillos in Brazil. Leprosy is still endemic in Brazil and although its transmission is mostly by person-to-person contact, many cases report no history of previously known leprosy contact. It has been suggested that other sources of M. leprae may contribute to the transmission of leprosy in some areas. Our objective was to investigate whether contact with armadillos is associated with leprosy. A case-control study was carried out in Brazil. Data was collected from 506 leprosy patients and 594 controls on exposure to armadillos and age, sex, place of birth and living conditions. Univariate analysis and unconditional logistic regression were conducted to investigate whether leprosy was associated with exposure to armadillos.

Conclusion: The results of this study suggest that direct exposure to armadillos is a risk factor for leprosy in Brazil.
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A scourge since pre-biblical times, leprosy is a chronic disease that produces sores on the skin and mucous membranes and infects nerves, producing loss of sensation in the affected areas. Clinically, the disease appears as two types. In the more virulent form, or lepromatous leprosy, the numerous sores contain many bacteria; in the milder form, or tuberculoid leprosy, fewer sores appear because of the body’s immune response to the infection. Signs of the disease often do not appear for many years. While leprosy is rarely fatal, it can cause permanent disfigurements .
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Thirty years ago, the number of people worldwide with leprosy was estimated to be between ten to twelve million. Since the introduction of multi-drug treatment, the number of new cases reported in 2004 has been reduced to 410,000. Despite recent efforts to eradicate the disease, full control of leprosy has eluded populations in Southeast Asia, India, South America, and other tropical areas of the world. New drugs may still be needed to control new cases resistant to current drug treatment.
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Strangely enough, in the 1960s scientists were researching leprosy by injecting the disease in armadillos for experiments. However, they found that many of the armadillos already had it.
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India continues to record the highest number of new leprosy cases in the world followed by Brazil and Indonesia.

Leprosy stages a comeback in Bengal

A leprosy patient is someone who has a skin patch or patches with a definite loss of sensation in early stage and other signs include one or more tender enlarged peripheral nerves; the presence of leprosy bacilli on the slit skin smear at early stage. In late stage, it presents with deformities.It is important to note that deformities caused by the bacilli in the late stages once treated are irreversible.
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I don't need to mention here explicitly, but I would like to say that the images of leprosy patients were nothing less than horrific. Surprisingly they were all, especially the patients in late stages, appeared like the fearful armadillo I had seen on the ataka. It was as if they were all becoming into inhuman and grotesque Armadillos, slowly and surely.

I tried to imagine my mother. The same mother who was called as the most beautiful girl in the whole village; Yes, the same mother who used to sit before the mirror, applying coconut oil to her long hair, admiring her beauty; the same mother who thought her only strength in this cruel world was her beauty; applying talcum powder to her face...I imagined her taking the talcum powder in her hands..I imagined the smell..I imagined the smoke-like image.

I imagined her wearing a Saree. I imagined her wearing gold. I imagined the jealous looks of her friends...looking at her assets and her face.

Mirror and Mother.

"God, what happened to her face!!! It is not the ugliness I am talking about..it became weird..she became inhuman..a devil..a satan", my Dad's words reverberated.

Is it possible for the leprosy to change the shapes of the face without outwardly manifesting itself???
I looked in the mirror, didn't notice any change.

There is no question about one thing : Leprosy does not kill. Leprosy is the real living hell.

There was no psychoanalysis, no internal mind talk, no intellectual masturbation.The pain was intense. But, I enjoyed it. I fucking enjoyed it. Because, I deserved it.

The goal was clear : Find mother.
If she is alive, do I have the guts to face her? I dreaded the image of her.

The search re-started again. What prompted me to drive to some remote village? What prompted me to go into a hut? Why was that kid watching that particular channel? Why did I sit there?

Paul Newman hit the balls. The balls dispersed. After that, the balls are not in control of newman. They follow rules of physics.

The balls : Me, Mother, and the Kid. Our lives were intersecting.


     The ever increasing pain in my heart cleansed me, it gave me energy, it pushed me. A new man of action was born, a disciple of Sherlock Holmes. The Hound of Baskerville became the Armadillo on the Ataka. Nothing bothered me anymore. It was as if I found,once again, whats wrong with me --- I lacked motivation. Now, there was motivation, pain, and inspiration. There was anticipation. There was passion. I was a mad artist.

What a clarity!! Pain mingled with peace. The mind giving up to the soul. In all the chaos of the mind, I found a meaning..a sense of purpose..a light house guiding me..telling me to just follow it. There was no doubt.

I drove to the town, the town where everything started. I parked my car before the library..and tried to sleep. In the morning, as soon the library was opened, I ran inside to the surprise of the librarian. He didn't ask me many questions, and pointed me to the old news papers section -- a huge room full of old news papers.

Fortunately, they were all sorted by the date; I rummaged through the dust and spider web filled papers, and finally got a bundle of papers during the 2 year period before my mother's disappearance. I started reading each paper looking for any bizarre incidents that had happened during that period. When I reached the 10th paper, I decided that it would be impossible for me to wade through all of them, and besides, I didn't know what I was looking.

As I was about to give up my search, an old man asked me if he could be of any help. I asked him straight-up if anything bizarre had had happened during that time period two decades back.

"What do you mean by bizarre?", he asked.
"Anything to do with animals and skin diseases", I replied.

He thought for a while, murmuring to himself, '"Bizarre..bizarre...bizarre", and then asked,"You mean like a circus?".

"May be". I replied impatiently. Something was telling me that time was running out..that I had to move fast..without knowing for which event it was running out? I assumed it was plain old anxiety with excitement and anticipating the moment I was gonna see my mother.

"Yup, a circus did pass through this town during the time period you mentioned"
"What was so bizarre about it?", I interrupted him
"Well, nothing bizarre about it."

Think, old man, think.

"Okay, can you give me the time period during which they passed this town", I asked.
"Oh that's easy. It was always during the festival season during the month of October..try 2nd week", he said.

It didn't take much time for me to find an article in the district edition of the newspaper.

Animals escaped from the circus. People are advised to notify the nearest police station if they see any wild animals. They are also advised not to feed, or play with them. It is advised not to approach them. The circus owners seems to have told the police that among the escapees there was also an animal which was touted as the freak of the circus, a fearful looking animal. But as of now, no one has seen such animal.

That was it. I searched for more articles in all papers that month, and found nothing.

An ugly looking leprosy carrying Armadillo was the freak of that circus, and one night, it escaped along with its compatriots. It found a cozy ataka and found a borrow in it..in the same house me, my mother and father lived....

I started to think up a story trying to tie all the loose ends, and it all made sense...and none of it felt fantastic
That fierce looking armadillo made my mother behave crazy, and because of that no one believed her. In the end, my mom realizing that she contacted leprosy left the house partly in shame, and partly to protect me from herself....

A neat tight story....but where did she go? What happened to her?

My thoughts stopped at the beggar, the beggar in my mother's village, the same beggar I declared as crazy. His words reverberated in my mind.."You didn't suffer enough...didn't suffer enough..."

I drove to my mother's village. It was raining, and a rainbow appeared on the horizon. It was beautiful, the rain I mean;never liked rainbows.They are creepy.All illusions are creepy.

The sun bunked classes that day as the depression and rain took over. It was already dark, almost, when I reached the village. I drove to the beggars hut.

"I think I have suffered enough.Now tell me what happened to her", I asked him politely.He was on his bed smoking his home made cheap cigar.

"What you talking about?". He appeared incredulous.
I showed him my wrist. He noticed the white patch; I did notice change of colors in his face.But he was adamant.
"I don't know what you are talking about", he replied.
"All right. Think about it. I have suffered enough, and you know it. I will come tomorrow. Think about it the whole night". I left.

I parked my car at my relatives house, went inside, talked some shit, and then came out through the backyard with no one noticing me. I walked in that darkness to the beggar's hut; hiding myself in the bushes with his hut insight; I waited.

Continued here..

In The Silence Of My Solitude - A Novel (Part 26)

2010-12-12T09:22:00.000-08:00

30. In Search Of Solitude

On that day, I came out from my office,drove out of Hyderabad in-order run away from myself or to find myself. I noticed that I was watching the rear view mirror as If some one was following me. I finally stopped, looking for a petrol station, when the car cried for petrol.I already drove 100kms out of Hyderabad.

It was a small village, typical of that particular area of the state -- house made of rocks, huge ones, instead of bricks; a small fire camp somewhere; a goat herder; old people sitting under trees wearing shawls made of some animal's skin -- a sleepy village. It already became dark and the yellow fluorescent street light replaced the sun.

I was told that the nearest petrol station was 20kms away from the village. I noticed that I was exhausted, and decided to drink Tea, walked into an old hut which looked like the only hotel in the whole of the village. It was a small hut, two rooms; with a table, 2 chairs and a TV. A kid, 8yr old, probably, who was watching the TV announced by arrival. An old woman took my order for Tea and disappeared into the kitchen.

As I waited for the Tea, every second produced hundreds of thoughts and images, and they attacked my operating system I installed in my mind, the operating system which was based on the concept of power for power sake. It was like a stop-motion video of Caracas getting eaten by the scavengers and I became a mute spectator of myself. I realized that the operating system is as good as the hardware -- my memories.Then something happened -- I entered deep in to my mind and the image of the carcasses and operating systems disappeared. Was it the kid, the hut, the TV or the solitude with the thought that I was a away from the civilization? I didn't know. But I entered my own mind, and imaged it like a room. It was a room full of people having a party, forming into small groups; drinking,chatting, arguing; ignoring me -- the host.

I noticed something peculiar in that scene -- everyone resembled me, no they were me, even the women and the kids. I approached a group of three; a women and 2 men; one guy was telling a story. They didn't notice my arrival almost as if I was invisible, but it appeared to me that did notice me but were just ignoring. The guy who was telling the story was also holding a foot ball in his hands.

"2 year old. I am crawling..and I am going under the bed", he said and threw the football to another group. The guy who caught the football continued " 24 year old. I am fucking a girl on the bed", and threw the ball to some other group. The story continued, "15 yr old. I am looking at a nude magazine", and the ball throwing and the story continued.

I realized that they were telling my story, albeit in a non-chronological way. Who am I? I am just a story. A boring story. Then some one threw the ball to another group, a group of people wearing black from head to toe, just like a burkha. One of them grabbed the ball, and then they ran as if to escape from me. I ran towards them shouting ..who is it..who are you? , They escaped in to small room.

I entered the room, it was empty except for a mirror. I walked towards the mirror, expecting to find myself..to find....myself. I was not in the mirror. I was nothing. I was a...nothing. Everything else disapeared from the view, just me standing before the mirror with no image of myself in it. Loneliness...terrible loneliness. I tried to shout but no sound came out of me. I tried to move..but couldn't.Anxiety built up..and then..I heard..

"Sir, Chai"

The scene changed. Now, I was in a small room in a hut, with TV on, and a kid watching it, and a hot chai before me. Back to reality.

I starting sipping the Chai trying to make sense of my mind. Who am I?

looked like the kid changed the channel. It was National Geographic;A kids program about animals.

I took one more sip of the delicious Chai. Who am I?

The anchor on TV: Hey kids, today I am going to introduce you to a very peculiar animal...you will find it mighty interesting..you wanna know about it?

Yesssss...the kids shouted.
anchor : First, lets take a break.

Ad about a shampoo followed by a car commercial.

Who am I? I am nothing. I am just a story written by someone..and it is not in my control. If I am just a story, why are those people running away from me? What are they hiding?

The kid changed the channel again. A Telugu movie.Familiar song.He changed it again.

Anchor: Kids, I know some of you are shy. But, don't you worry, I am going to show you the shiest animal on the planet...

Yes. I am just a story. A love story, a tragic story, an adventure...a mystery.

Anchor : It is so shy that it always live alone. It is a solitary animal.

Those people who ran away from me are the puzzles in my story.They are the mysteries in my story which need to be solved.

Anchor: You may ask why it is solitary and why it is shy/ Nobody knows.But, I think it hides away from us, because it thinks of itself as ugly, and don't want to show its face to us.

A man is a story. But, who writes the story?

Anchor: Hey kids, tell me this, If you go to a forest and if you find a football, what will you do?
kick it..some kids shouted. take it home..some others shouted.
Anchor: Never do that. Never ever do that. You know why?
why?
Anchor : Because it is not a football.
What is it?
Anchor: It is our shy and solitary animal.It has the capability of rounding itself as a football just like snail..to protect itself..as it has very thick skin.
Wowwwww
Anchor: Never go near it.Okay?
Why? It is going to bite us?
Anchor: No. Dont go near it. It carries a horrible disease called leprosy.
leprosy?
Anchor : Yes. Leprosy, a horrible disease..which makes people ugly.
ohhhhhhhhh noooo..
Anchor: You want to see the animal?
yesssssssss
Anchor : Before that, lets take a break.

The kid changed the channel again..this time to a news channel, which kind of surprised me.
I left some money on the table and walked out of the hut..towards my car.

A shy and solitary animal...a football..an animal which can round itself into a football...ugly..disease..ugly....it hates itself...don't touch it..why? why? it carries a disease...horrible disease...a horrible disease....leprosy...

A FOOTBALL...UGLY..SOLITARY...DISEASE...FOOTBALL...HORRIBLE....LEPROSY
...LEPROSY..FOOTBALL..........FOOTBALL?

Some of them were familiar terms, and I made a connection, and my heart began to pound. I ran back into the hut, grabbed the remote from the kid...and started shouting,"Where is it? Where is the channel?
"What channel?"
"National Geographic"
The kid grabbed the remote and changed the channel.

Anchor : Hey kids, you wanna know about this mysterious animal?
Yesssssssss
Anchor : First, look at this video.

An animal the size of 10 times that of rat, slowly rounded itself by its own skin...into a football. It just looked like a football.

Anchor : Kids, Meet Mr.Armadillo.The most strangest animal on the planet. They are notoriously shy and they hunt only during night. We left our cameras in the jungle...and see..what they captured...

An armadillo was walking straight towards the camera..with its eyes reflecting the light. I was able to notice the resemblance between the armadillo and the creature I saw on ataka...except the one on the camera looked like a beauty queen when compared.

THE CREATURE ON THAT ATAKA IS AN UGLY ARMADILLO.

Anchor: Now, tell me why you shouldn't go near armadillo.
Leprossssyyyyyy ..the kids shouted.

LEPROSY. My heart skipped a bit and I looked at my wrist.

I ran out of the hut.

As I drove back to the city, I experienced a potpourri of thoughts,emotions and feelings..as I tried to connect all the lose threads in the story..and once I got the clear picture of the whole mystery...I stopped the car. I walked into the darkness, looked at the moon and the stars which knew everything; and as if to wash away their image and my sins, tears formed in my eyes blurring their image; and I cried..and I cried..and I cried.

Cried like a baby...cried crazy.....and I whispered to myself, " Mom, I am sorry".

Continued here..

In The Silence Of My Solitude - A Novel (Part 25)

2010-12-02T00:48:00.000-08:00

                                                          29. The Pond

What are you thinking, My dear Friends? Are you disgusted by me, and disgusted by yourself for rooting for me all this time? Or, Have you come to conclusion that I am just making it all up, and that it is impossible for a character to behave in such a way, that too a character which gave lectures on love, humanity, consciousness, and what not, a character which declared proudly that he has the ability to understand himself and others?

If that is the case, let me just say that you are ignorant of this thing called mind, and laws that govern it.Let me also add that it is an act of self-preservation which makes you feel that you are better than me, putting yourself in the camp of virtuous,cultured,compassionate group.

So, let me ask you this? Have you ever broken someone's heart? Simple question right? During those times you rationalized yourself that it was the right thing to do, haven't you? Just remember that moment, those times; the pain was too much, wasn't it? It was almost as if you were compelled to do it. Then, you took a decision, but was that decision really your decision? or the result of the laws of human mind?

A mind is a pond. Emotions are those waves of disturbances, and the thought is their source. The laws of the pond, whatever they are, are designed for only one purpose : To maintain peace in the pond. It will do anything to counteract those waves, and the only way to do it is to change the very nature of the pond, where the waves are not waves anymore, and the thought which produced the waves becomes impotent.

The nature of the pond is nothing but the philosophy of the mind at that particular moment. Knowledgeable or not, ignoramus or not, the nature of every mind is to find a solution for its chaos. There is no good or bad in the realm of mind. There is only right thing. Every man at any moment is doing the right thing at that particular moment. Every moment is a perfect moment, and there is no escape.

Are you the pond or the child playing near the pond?
If you are not that child, then keep your judgment glasses to yourself, and let me judge myself.

My judgment : I had gone insane, not of a clinical one, but a moral one. I became the king of the narcissists. The pond changed its nature to preserve, and that process was out of my control.

   The train bound to Hyderabad on which I escaped with my 4 lakhs of rupees after systematically breaking the heart of a poor woman, stopped somewhere in madhya pradesh in the middle of night as if to say to me that we were both at a safe distance from Delhi, from the scene of a horrible moral crime. The man who played god got down from the train to relieve himself in the nature.

It was dark outside. I felt a sense of bonding with that darkness, as if it represented my mind.A thought of guilt passed over the horizon like a shooting star, and died down. No, it didn't die, it was killed by the philosophy, by the newest operating system I installed in my mind. All those emotions of empathy,sympathy, compassion and love, became viruses to that system, and it had good security mechanisms to protect itself from the intruders.

I was one among those super-men who went through hell to realize the truth.The truth that the weak but fox-like cunning humans invented those concepts of compassion only to bring these super-men down. The super-man, the lion, realized that, and he had nothing but contempt for these foxes. The super-man escaped from the clutches of the morality the weak had imposed on him.Nothing could bother that super-man anymore, not even his own memories; he knew what he wanted, he knew the purpose of his life. All he wanted was power....by any means necessary.

His experiment of playing-god gave terrific results. First, he selected a weak human, found her vulnerability, and played the game. He patiently waited for 6 months for the fruition of that experiment. Every moment during those 6 months, the thought of playing god pushed him. He didn't see a person in her -- he saw the whole humanity her - the humanity which is the scum of the universe. The same humanity which was full of weaklings like his mother, father, relatives, strangers,beggars .. who tried to make him suffer, who stood between him and his potential. Now, he realized his potential, and the experiment proved to him that he can play god only if he rejects the morality of the society.He also realized that given a chance, even these weaklings want to play god, but they cant,just because they are weak. Even his father,who lectured him about life as a game, he himself was a weakling. He gave too much respect to the weakling society, and that was why unable to burst open through the mediocrity.

I hit the humanity at its sweet spot -- its vulnerablity -- Love. I used the same concepts these weaklings taught me to keep me down. What a revenge!

There was no guilt, no moral obligations, no mandates. I felt free. Freedom finally!

           I wanted power --- that was all. That motivation drove me. Arjuna looked at the mango, only at the mango, not at moral leaves, or at the judging branches. Arjuna, arrow,mango. That was all.

                                                            30. Success Is Easy



Millions of weaklings greeted me as soon I stepped out of my train into the great city of Hyderabad. Yes, they were all weaklings,the smelly cockroaches, rats about to be trampled by the super-man. They just talk, talk and talk..I am going to do this..I am going to do that..and all that. They read self-help books, philosophy books, religious books...so that they can talk and talk more. They look at the richest man on the planet..and say..hey he is my idol..I wanna become like him..I will be him. But they can never become what they want to become..because they are weak. As simple as that.

One of the characteristics of these weaklings is jealousy, that's what they thrive on. Weakness begets jealousy. Whenever a potential super-man escapes these weaklings, they burn with jealousy. They will do anything to bring him back to their level. For a moment, jealousy unites all these weaklings making them powerful. That is why, the super-man needs to be careful, he needs to understand these weaklings first. He should show his potential at the right moment, and he should escape only when he reaches the escape velocity. The super-man needs patience.

This jealousy of these weaklings is strong only when the super-man is in sight. But, once he reaches his escape velocity, and reaches the stars and become a star himself, that jealousy turns into slavery. He becomes their idol. He becomes their master.

The super-man should also understand that these weaklings are not moral, even-though they talk morality. He should be very careful with the trap they set. They are also sentimental fools, ignorant of the fact that behind their sentimentality is a desire to survive. They delude themselves that their relationships with others have a deeper meaning, conveniently forgetting the fact that they started all these relationships with a objective of a need to be fulfilled. Most of them are delusional, conditioned to believe in god, taught to prostrate before him, and beg him.

    I, the super-man, studied these cockroaches. Yes, it was hell to live with them or talk to them, but I was patient...just like I was patient for 6 months with that nurse...

     What is power? Power is the ability to achieve a goal in least amount of time. The difference between others and me was that power itself became my goal -- I defined power by power itself. What is the goal of the sun? Its goal is to exist powerfully, and I became the disciple of that sun.

I applied for jobs in information technology, as I had a masters in that subject; got selected in one of those companies which rents out cheap labor to myriad of companies in look out for cheap labor in third world countries. The first rule to understand in order to grow is the system of hierarchy : Boss,big boss, bigger boss, the ultimate boss. The second rule is to understand that every person in the organization is a self-hating fool in want of some praise to feel better about himself. Knowledge of the system and human psychology.

Following these rules, within 6 months, I reached a position where I was able to command close to 100 employees under me. I bought an apt, and then bought a girl friend.

The shallowness of my girlfriend amused me to no end. I didn't want deep thinkers, because I knew a thinker would find me..would find my hatred of the humanity. All she wanted was to shop around, going to parties, and showing off.

What can I say about these shallow people? They shop, party around,get drunk and get fucked, and in the night they hug you and cry; making you wonder what has happened to the same jollybean? Shallow women has a very limited understanding of themselves, and unable to face the confusion in their minds they try to run away from themselves finding some solace in the material things. But, in the night, they breakdown, holding their lover asking him if he loves her or not.

The stage had been set for me to conquer the world. I had a great job, money, and a sexy girl to fuck. I was waiting for the right time to back stab my own CEO and grab his position.

Then the night mares started.

Initially, I lost couple of hours of sleep, and then I began to dream whole nights..vivid dreams. During the day, I was in control of myself, with my philosopher, with my motivation to conquer the world; but in the night while asleep, How can I be in control of myself? I dreamt about mother, about that creature, about some one getting raped brutally, and when I looked a that person..it was me. I dreamt abt a child getting murdered, a beast eating a man, the woman beside me becoming in to a centipede.

The dreams became so vivid that I began to believe that they really occurred. I went to doctor, got myself a few sleeping tablets, but they worsened the dreams. I began to dream of beasts with huge bodies and strong wings, flying all over the moonlighted moors.They flew towards me, and when they approached.. I saw myself in them.

The dreams became soo horrible that I dreaded my own sleep. I started to drink zillion cups of coffees every night to ward away the sleep. My day and night became living hells.

On one night, I locked myself in the bathroom, and I shouted to myself : I am great, I am awesome, I am invincible. It didn't help, and the obviously not so invincible character I created seemed to be slipping away from me.During one of those nights, after showing myself to throat pain, I sat in the balcony and started watching the moon.

"What are you looking at?", my GF asked.
" Looking at the moon", I replied.
"What there in the moon? It will there tomorrow too.It wont go anywhere".she declared.

The beauty is all around us, but we take it granted, and refused to enjoy it. That thought of beauty lead me to the thought that the anchor of philosophy I had, the character I created was slowly melting away from me, as if to say that it is not the real you. You are something different.

Then, the itch started, on my wrist; and then it soon became numb, forming into a white patch within a few weeks.

I just ignored it.

Continued here..

In The Silence Of My Solitude - A Novel (Part 24)

2010-12-02T00:14:00.000-08:00

                                                                    29. I.Stand.Alone

Obviously, I didn't die.Obviously, I realized that when I woke up from my coma 15 days later, on a disgusting floor of a government hospital, disgusting even to a beggar standards.

A fat,short female nurse shouted, "You have a family? You know why you are here? Because, you are talking English.You looked like a learned man. Who are you? Are you a learned man? why are you not talking? funny man you are..you know what you were saying for all these 2 weeks?? 'I stand alone'..what is that? What happened to you? Who hit you? ".

I smiled at her.
"look at your smile", she smiled.
"What did I say when I was in coma?? Can you repeat that again?", I asked.
"You used to say I stand alone and then murmur about something..philosophy ..I guess"
"I.Stand.Alone", I said to myself.
"There you go again". She laughed.
"How many days am I going to stay here?", I asked her.
"You were supposed to be out of here many days back. But, I requested the doc. You know, I like you. But you can stay her for only one more day.Call your family mean while. I will be back".

               That night, I didn't sleep at all. I didnt even try to sleep. I thought about what she said , and as to why I uttered those words. I realized that I was not in coma for all those 15 days -- I was in a dream. A dream in which a man lost his faith in humanity, making him cynical and cold hearted. An old man with a huge mustache appeared in his dream within a dream, kicked his ass and set him straight.He revealed to him the real nature of the world. He said, " You fool! Look at you! How weak you are! Your father forsake you, you friends forsake you, the humanity forsake you. You know why? Because you are not powerful. Don't you get it? You have the intelligence and capability to become a superman, but now you became into a half-man because of your fucked up philosophy. My blood boils every-time when I see a man like you screwed by the rest of the imbeciles in the world."

The man asked, " If I was powerful, would I have found my mother?"
The old man replied, "You idiot! You need that bitch because you became weak because of your philosophy. If you are strong, you don't need a mother"
The man asked again, "But, how can I make peace with my memories?"
The old man replied calmly, " A strong will needs no peace. It is above and beyond the memories".
I didn't question him. I didn't want to question him. What drove me to accept him? --- HATE. Hatred towards the world. I lost faith in the humanity. Everyone left me -- my mother,father, relatives, friends, beggars..every one. I stood alone.

    I thought about the dream the whole night, and in the morning when I saw the sun rising in the horizon, I knew a new man was born in me..once again. The sun sealed the deal for me. I didn't perceive the sun as sun that morning. I saw power, I saw glory, I saw a supreme will. Oh sun, the great sun, No one can touch you.No one can even look at you. You don't need to make peace with anyone. You burn away your memories. You are above and beyond all these cockroaches. In-fact, when you burn away your memories, these good-for-nothings bastards live and survive from the resultant glory". A new man was born, a new man who didn't need to chase mysteries, or find his mother, or make peace with people or with memories. He didn't even live on earth. He was above and beyond. He said to himself," Father, you are wrong. Life is not a game. It is a war, war with the weak, the majority who wants to drag the great to their level."

                "How are you doing today?", the same fat,short nurse inquired that afternoon, disturbing my thoughts. I gave a smile, and looked in her eyes. "You look fine. You look confident", she said genuinely surprised.

"Can I tell you something.... You are the most beautiful woman I have even seen in my life". I flirted with her.
There was a glow in her face as I expected. She laughed, and asked, "Who are you?".
"You got some time? Can we go somewhere private?". I implemented my plan.

I already inquired about her that morning by asking fellow patients and other nurses. she was 40, a christian, widowed, no kids, and living alone. That was all I needed. She stole a wheel chair for me, and drove me towards the canteen. "Okay, tell me now", she said.

I started my story, " You asked me 'who am I'? You know, the reason why I am here right now, and the reason for the situation I am in right now...is because I asked the same question. The riches my dead parents left spoiled me. I did lot of bad things all my adult life. Finally, one day, I realized that I was living a meaningless life. I questioned myself 'who am I'? I left everything and went in search of my soul. In the Himalayas, among all the Buddhists and sadhus, I met a pastor who showed me the purpose of my life --- to accept Jesus as my savior. After baptizing me, he advised me to go and find myself a soul mate, mandatorily the one who accepted Jesus as her savior. I searched for my soul mate all over the country...in vain. When I saw you that morning, I knew I met my soul mate"

She remained silent for a moment, and then started laughing.

"What non-sense are you talking?You are really a crazy guy".she couldn't stop her laughter.
"Well, its up to you to believe it or not. God is my witness", I interrupted her.
"Why don't you just shut up, crazy man". She was still smiling.

"Alright! At-least can you do me a favor? Can you transfer me to a better bed, and can you let me stay her till I recuperate?", I pleaded with an addendum, "What would Jesus do?"
"Sure.Will do", she replied.

I knew. She fell for it.

   It took me exactly a month to convince her that we were soul-mates and one more month to convince her to let me move in with her.

For her, it was all a miracle, some kind of magic. Here she was, a 40 yr old woman, fat, short and to tell you the truth some insensitive fellas might even call her ugly...and moreover she was widowed and most importantly ..a lonely woman. She thought herself as cursed, and gave up her dreams of a romantic and secure life. And then, suddenly out of nowhere, a man came into her life, a dying man who was saved by her ...the story of such could only be read in romantic novels. A man 10 years younger to her, a learned one, enlightened one, plus a man who was born again twice....only the lord himself could create such miracles.

In the end, the word soul-mate turned out to be an empty farcical word used by desperate lovers who sees what they want to see in their partner, at least during the initial euphoria of the relationship.

I noticed dramatic changes in her after I moved into her apartment. She started to take care of herself, became confident, started to smile a bit more than the usual, and generally behaved in such a way as if she finally found her happiness. She also become extremely pious, and dragged me to church every Sunday. As far as she was concerned, my existence in her life was a proof for god's existence.

She pampered me in such a way no woman would pamper a man in any kind of relationship.I have to tell you that I have never experienced such kind of comforts in my life..its not the materialistic comforts per se, but the way in which she debased herself to make me comfortable, her almost slave-like service to the master...that was something unique in my life. Moreover, she didn't ask anything in return, all she wanted was my existence in her apartment.

Her devotion to me was not about sex either, as I already told her my firm 'belief' that sex outside marriage is a sin, conscious of the fact that I was giving her hopes about marriage. But, she never broached the subject of either sex or marriage, almost as if she didn't want to change the status quo. Her situation was like that of woman who has a costly diamond securing her financial future, but seldom wears it from the insecurity of getting robbed.

I myself behaved like a perfect gentleman -- boosting her ego by praising her beauty, flirting with her, and making her feel wanted and I never even once hurt or made her cry. We soon become the perfect couple in the history of coupling.She displayed me to her friends as if I was her Olympics gold medal, surreptitiously checking up on me to break up the conversation the moment she thought there was a mutual attraction developing between myself and her female friends.

After 6 months of that relationship, after I completely recovered from the physical trauma, I have to add though ---- there was NO emotional trauma to recover from,...I proposed to her in a christian way just like they show in Hollywood romcoms. You should have seen her -- a 40 yr old short fat not-so-visually pleasing woman jumping up and down in her nurse dress -- the money shot of those sappy happy-tears scenes in the same romcoms. Infact, her life itself became a movie which fulfills the romantics dreams of middle-aged women...on the screen. She was on the top of the world.

Marriage date was fixed, and arrangements had been done. She borrowed money to the tune of 5 lakhs for the marriage, and spent almost 1 lakh on her shopping itself. She giggled just like a teenage bride when she tried her wedding gown. On the night before the wedding, I kissed her and told her that I was the most luckiest man in the whole world for having her as my wife, and I promised her I would take care of her for the rest of my life. That poor woman sobbed like a baby, she wanted to say a lot....but just uttered 'I love you soo much', 'thank you ..thank you', ' I will do anything for you'...and then hugged me, and even before her tears dried up, she fell asleep.

In the morning, her 6 0'clock alarm might have woken her up, and having found her bed empty, she might have called my name, and then she might have knocked on the bathroom, searched for me in the balcony, and then calmed herself saying that I might have gone to the shop to get my newspaper. And then, after waiting for an hour or so, she might have called someone, and then in extreme anxiety she might have opened her side drawers only to find 4 lakhs she had kept there.. missing. Then realizing what had happened, she might have broken down, shouting hysterically with her disheveled hair, feeling lonely.....and finally going into depression the same way I had gone exactly 7 months prior to that.

Something else happened 7 months prior to that : I had gone INSANE.

Continued here..

In The Silence Of My Solitude - A Novel (Part 23)

2010-12-01T23:33:00.000-08:00

                                            28. Depression = State of mind + Self-Talk.

It took exactly 2 months for that new man to become old.

The new man worked on the preposition : In India most of the mentally ill, left by their loved ones, become beggars out of necessity. He did his research, and found :

1. Most of the beggars live in cities.
2. Begging could be lucrative.
3. Mentally deranged beggars belong to a lower caste among the religion of begging.

As usual in any world, begging world has its own hierarchies, almost as if hierarchies are the building units of any world. A power structure must exist to keep the world together. I could write a non-fiction book about that world, but let me skip that for now.The modus operandi was simple : Go to a particular area, show them a photo, offer them money, and wait. 'Yes sir, I have seen her..just yesterday morning, near that temple'. Then you give them on lecture on honesty,which of-course they ignore, and then you offer them more money to take you to the oldest beggar. Then you show the photo and ask them to dig up their memories.Money works, but a bit of sentimentality along with money works much better. "Look, either way I am gonna give you the money.So, please be truthful.She is my mother".

Temples, railway stations, bus stations, hospitals, tourist spots : High density beggar areas. I searched all of them, ofcourse with no result. After a week or so...

"Ya, I know her", an old beggar replied, when I showed him the photo.
My heart skipped a bit.

"Follow me", he commanded. He started walking along the railway, and I followed him. It was already dark, and the only light was the diffused lights from the cars and buses on the road adjoining the tracks. A woman on the side of the track smiled at me, and out of nowhere lifted her Saree to her hips exposing her genitalia or whatever left of it.No, it was a man. The old beggar walked for a kilometer or so, stopped, turned around and signaled me to come to him. As If that was a signal, two strong woman, actually eunuchs to be correct, stopped me in my tracks.

"Brother-in-law, we need your wallet, baby", said a eunuch sexily.
It was a setup. As soon as I came to know that it was a setup, I surprisingly felt some relief, the source of which I couldnt fathom. Either I wanted someone to hit me or I wanted to kick some ass to take out my aggression that was building up in me. Whatever it was, I didn't betray any kind of fear in me either in my face or body language.

"Sister-in-laws, Come and take the wallet, baby", I offered them.
They didn't make a move. They didn't expect my move.
"But, let me warn you right now. The first one who touches my wallet will be dead", I warned.They looked at each other, and one of them said, "Brother, you are too naughty", and left me alone.

No one messes with a fear-less man.

               I went to Chennai, and then to Mumbai in search of beggars and their worlds. Finally, when I reached Delhi, I was already out of money.

On that day, as I started walking along the shops located opposite to the New Delhi railway station, I realized that I had reached the end, the end of my physical energy, emotional energy and financial energy; that my search through the cities became a way for me to warden off the depression; that I became a machine going through motions; that the darkest hour I faced was not really my darkest hour; that the transformation into a new man was just me hypnotizing myself; that I was going to die right there as a homeless and hopeless. I quickly stopped the thinking as I knew that it was a double edged sword. The self-talk sometimes takes you right into the middle of depression quagmire, or sometimes it lift you out of your spirits. 'You are nothing.You are a loser'. 'You are the best.You are awesome'.What if depression is just a self-talk resulting from the state of mind? What if...

Depression = State of mind + Self-Talk.

where Self-Talk = thoughts resulting from the mind trying to conform to the conditioning of the society like money, fame, security etc...and defining a man using those as building blocks.

So, does it mean that the psychic pain is directly proportional to the development of the human civilization. Are we all fucked??

I realized that the only way to ward off the self-talk was by talk itself, and I started talking to myself.

"Motherfuckers!", I shouted. That shout startled people around me.

"Cockroaches, piece of shits, assholes. What you all running for? Why you look busy? The world is coming to an end. Die fuckers die. who am I? I am that. I am the one. You want a story? Once upon a time there lived a whore. Thats it. The end. Theory of relativity...my ass. That fucker Einstein stole it from me", I continued my tirade.

People started laughing at me. There was a look of immense satisfaction in their faces. It was as if they were saying to themselves, " Thank god I am not him. I am much better. I am fortunate".

Please, bro, don't do it.
its over bro, its over.
there is hope, bro
I have no choice bro, I am done. I cannot face my mind.Its too late.

I started singing. "He understands blue mountain..oh he understands my home...where the blue berries are blooming..I am gonna make some blue berry wine...."

That was how my descent into temporary induced outward insanity started.
People watched the charade for a while, enjoyed themselves and left.

I was hungry. 5 rupees was all I was left with.What could I possibly buy with 5 rupees? I could buy some fruits, but for how much time would they stay in my stomach before it cries again?

I sat on the footpath, beside the wall. The cars were honking and people going somewhere. Whenever my head spins, I get this keen sense of sound. All those people going somewhere, somewhere important. Then I heard a sound of coin dropping on my feet -- it was one rupee coin. As I was looking at it, it dawned upon me that I earned my first rupee as a beggar. That thought repulsed me. Me?? Beg?? R u kidding me! I angrily threw away the coin. I noticed a young woman with torn clothes begging 5 feet from me. I got up and sat beside her. She looked at me with the same way Microsoft looks at its competitors, hostile!

I said to her, " Look here fucking slut. I am not here to beg"
She didn't quite get my drift.
I said, " The thing is that, society already reserved different sections of the street to different people. Right now, I belong here"

I guess a light bulb moment hit her -- she smiled at me, put her forefinger on her forehead as if her forefinger was a gun. No, it was not a gun -- it was a screw driver. I realized what she was implying, and I laughed. She laughed back. Mad people ..Welcome. She implied.

I was a beggar by position, and a mad one by nature, and a madder one by lack of will to beg. I wanted to understand my humiliation. "Why am I humiliated to beg?" One country is begging from the other, one employee is begging the employer, one interviewee begging the interviewer, the godmen begging from devotees, bride grooms begging from the brides.Some one is begging for love. Everyone is begging from someone.You may say that they are not begging, that they give something in return.

The beggars give back too. The beggars give back the sense of " I am better", a sense of proud and fake "altruism".The sense of "I am better than someone" is essential for the illusionary world we live in. There will always be begging, just like prostitution, just that the style changes a bit.

I had all this understanding. But, I refused to beg. I could not run away from the programming, from the false pride.

Beggars.Fucking assholes they were. People romanticize poverty too much. The basic nature of all human beings is survival, and in this society survival became synonymous with greed. Fucking beggars stole my shoes.

I spat where I sat. I shat a few feet from where I slept. The smell of piss and shit was horrifying for the first few days.After a few days though, it felt like home. I ate from food left on the roads, near marriage halls..and wherever rich people partied. But, I never begged directly by asking someone. No matter how much I wanted to run away from the pride, I still felt proud in the fact that I was better than these beggars, by not begging. Whats the fucking difference? I refused to answer that question.

A month after my experiments on the sidewalks of the street, I got bored of it. It was the same shit everyday, the same struggles every day. No difference between a software programmer and a beggar, in the sense that a man gotta do whatever he gotta do in a day to survive. Lie, cheat, steal,beg; sometimes in the name of law, and sometimes in the name of morals and most of time just by being animals.
I was disrespected by the patrons(?), spit and hit upon sometimes. What horrible things did I do to deserve disrespect and saliva. Between throwing away food and trash can ---- I exist. I was the in-betweenist scavenger. That was my contribution to the society.

Well, some people thought that I was not contributing enough.

On that night it was drizzling, as if the rain wanted to take away the heat and shit on the streets. I didn't eat food for the last few days as the marriage season was over. My clothes were torn completely and what ever left needs large quantities of detergent.My hunger and weakness took away the shame. Its like when you are dizzy and about to fall, you just give up all your shame. You have to!

The cool breeze made me sleep. Nothing can beat the nature's AC. I slept like a hibernating bear at the end of her hibernation. I slept looking at the sexy wall poster of some new Hollywood actress. I dreamt touching her boobs and caressing her ass. She spat on me, looking at me with disgust. I gave her a tight slap, and she became my slave. I told her to get down, and I dropped my pants.I was about to cum when I felt a sharp pain on the left side of my cheek. Who ever disturbs a person during his/her orgasm must be shot to death. Never mess with the 'high' of a person..either it is power or orgasm.

I woke up from my dream to the realization that I was being hit like a street dog..by three obviously angry men. They were not uncouth or in any way belonging to the street. They seemed to be educated, working class men, with their in-shirts and boots. I wondered why they were angry. I had an erection and it came out for air through the large hole in my pant. I knew the basis of their anger. Limp dick was fine..erected ones not so. I was the 'mad' 'pervert' beggar. I deserved some boots on me. I could see the anger in their faces, and the disgust on the faces of onlookers. They wanted punishment. They were part of the stoning.

Then, some brave guy among the onlookers got an idea, after I gave up my struggles. He took a large rock and dropped it on my head.I was asking, 'Why?' 'Why?"..Tear automatically came, and the wounds on the other parts of the body became small fish. The big fish was the wound on my head. My head started bleeding, and the tears got mixed with blood. I never saw such amount of blood in my life..it formed a puddle around my head. I guess, the sight of blood stopped their lynching. Either they felt bad for me, or they remembered the laws of the land. I tend to believe the latter. Then, I went in to coma -- unconscious and then to deep sleep.

I woke up to the sound of crickets. It was all dark, but I could hear the sound of the traffic. It must have been midnight.I was wrong. I woke up because of a rape in progress...or lets just say necrophilia or more accurately comaphilia. It made me laugh.Words came out, when my body lamed out.


                                           The difference between great men and others,
                                            is that, great men don't get erection
                                            looking at the powerless.

It startled those perpetrators a bit. I guess they thought I was dead. The fact that I was conscious didn't stop them. The fact that I was learned didn't stop them. Someone pushed a dick in my mouth, and I bit it with all my strength. Wrong move, rapist!

I don't exactly remember what happened next. I spit out a bit of dick along with its blood, and then I saw a fat man down on his knees shouting with pain. A few seconds later, some rocks were dropped on my head. I wished newton saw that amazing power of gravity. It was not lynching, it was postmortem.

Then, I died. I thought I died. Whats the fucking difference!!!

Continued here...

In The Silence Of My Solitude - A Novel (Part 22)

2010-12-01T23:27:00.000-08:00

27.The Lone Sailor

I returned back to my pad in Hyderabad. The black cloud of depression hung between me and my soul. I tried to remember my 'practical philosophy', but it didn't help. Some one said 'Depression is anger turned inside'. It became true in my case. I was angry with myself for not finding my mother. I blamed myself. I self-sabotaged.

I started smoking, drinking, and found some solace in masturbation. I jacked off away from my soul. I stayed at home for weeks long, only coming out for some food. The solitude turned in to loneliness, a terrible loneliness.

The fact that I did what I could did not give me any solace. That depression killed my confidence.
I am loser. I am a lazy bastard. I am dumb. I am good for nothing.

Look at the world. The world is progressing, you are digressing. Look at your friends. They are rich. They are enjoying their married life. How blissful they are!

The situation, the so-called 'reality' of the situation -- the financial situation was not encouraging either. Just had enough money to survive for couple of months. That was all. I had some options left though, one of which was to ask from my friends the money they borrowed from me.

My friends, here's where you come into my story. Please try to remember what some you had said to me. Let me recount.

'Find a job yaar'
'Hey, what happened to that guy, that guy who never cared for money'
'You are a hypocrite for asking me money'

Some of you even stopped talking to me when I insisted that you owe me money.
Then I realized something about myself, my attitude towards money -- I had a false sense of prestige towards it as I asked people money instead of demanding their return. I falsely despised money and I realized on that day that money is neutral...

Then I realized one thing -- I was being dragged to play the GAME OF LIFE --- interacting with people automatically made me a player in that game -- that It is impossible not to play that game.

Yes, I was dragged in to that game of life, and the result : Jealousy.

I became jealous of rich people, happy people, poor people, lovers, prostitutes, dogs, cats, and the even rocks. Jealousy burned me. I tried to stop it, I tried to observe my mind, but it became impossible. The sea was too rough to anchor. The lone sailor drifted aimlessly in that thunderstorm.

That night, the lone sailor woke up from his sleep. It was all dark outside, not even the stars to keep him company. A dark threatening cloud hung above him. He wanted someone -- anyone to talk to. He wanted to touch,he wanted to hug, he wanted love. He imagined his friends, his father, relatives, the strangers, the society...saying 'Who asked you to venture into the sea you idiot? Dont you think we all are happily living near the shore? We knew the risk. That risk is the situation you are in. Face the risk'. The sailor hung his head in shame, and accepted his defeat. He gave up fighting. Then he cried, he cried for the first time in a long time, with tears rolling on his face, he shouted, " Mama, where are you? Let me sleep in your lap. Just once. I need your vuyyala. I just want to find that solitude. I want that silence. Come to me wherever you are".

I looked at the cloud.It was not as fierce as it was few moments ago. It rained tears for me, and slowly it dispersed. I felt an instant relief, and my heart became light resulting in me finding my soul.

I triumphantly came out of the depression by giving up my fight against it. The sea calmed down, the storm died, and the anchor dropped, philosophy got restored, and the mind started observing itself.

I realized on that night, that sometimes I gotta give up something to get it back. I gave up the control of my mind to control it again. As soon as the confidence returned, my desire to find my mother came back in full force.

I thought that I became a new person that night as I faced the darkest night of my life and came out of it. I hypnotized myself that I became a new man...just like those millions of people who finds Jesus, who goes to swamijis and ammas, who goes to yoga centers or even people who fall in love for the first time...temporarily hypnotizing themselves that they found a new path, that their life changed forever, that a new person has been born inside,deluding themselves that they found permanent happiness and that it is never gonna leave them again. Just say something bad about their new path..trust me..the relationship is over!

I shouted at the society, at my friends, at the dogs and cats, at all those people who snickered at me during that dark hour, " I faced the storm and it passed over. Now it is coming for you, but you are least expecting it. Sorry for you, chumps. The biggest risk is not taking the risk"

Yes, I was over -confident, and over-reacted, but that statement came from somewhere deeper in my mind, a place where truth originates, at-least the truth I thought as truth.

Continued here...

In The Silence Of My Solitude - A Novel (Part 21)

2010-12-01T23:10:00.000-08:00

24. The Search

A man got to start somewhere at some time with something in order to achieve his goal.I am not talking about planning, brainstorming or theory. I am talking about practice. I am talking about realizing an idea in the material world. An idea becomes complete only after realizing the idea. In that sense, an idea in theory is never complete, as the implementation of the idea changes the idea itself.

During those 2 months I changed many of my ideas, ideas about myself and the ideas about finding my mother.

As soon as I reached Hyderabad, I went to the oldest psychiatrist hospital, one of the only two hospitals that existed three decades back. It was an old building, neglect written all over it.

The head of the hospital, a 60 yr old psychiatric professor received me with some curiosity.
"What can I do for you", he asked.
" I would like know about a woman, 25 yrs old, who might have received treatment here 25 yrs back".
My request surprised him a bit. As far as he was concerned, people come there to dump memories, not in search of them.

"Why do you want to know? Whats your relation to that woman? What was she suffering from?"
"She is my mother, Sir"
Mother sentiment.
"Can you tell me the whole story?

I told him just enough to pique his curiosity. After some more questions he took me to an old basement room where all the records of the patients were dumped, and I started searching.

Finally, the search came to nothing. No patient with my mothers name existed in those records..
As I came out of the hospital, I finally asked him, " Is it possible for any person to go crazy after coming in contact with some horrible image or some being?"

"There is a possibility of temporary insanity. But I would definitely rule out the possibility of a person going permanently insane after that, even though the episodes of breakdowns may reoccur".

                                            I spent the next few days researching on the internet. I googled, wikipead, yahooed, ASKed,binged.

animal + ugly
alien + ugly + fearful
animal looks like a horse, elephant, crocodile
freak of nature + mutation
the most fearful animal on the planet
the most ugliest animal on the planet
going crazy after seeing it

None of the images that resulted from the search had any resemblance to the creature I had seen on the ataka. I went to the libraries, zoology departments and zoos asking people if they had seen or heard of such creature.

I made a list of all the psychiatrist hospitals in India, those hospitals which existed many years back. I called everyone of them, some of them helped, some didn't. I visited those hospitals which refused to help on phone.

During my final call to Delhi psychiatric hospital, I asked the doctor, " What happens to those patients who were abandoned by their families? What happens to patients who could not afford to pay? What happens to them?"

"Some commit suicide, some die in accidents, but most of them become beggars", he answered.

They become beggars. A beggar. A beggar.

I remembered 'the beggar', the beggar who insisted on permanency of mothers love, the same beggar who gave me 500 rupees as I left that village -- my mother's village, two decades back as a kid.

                                                                      25. The Beggar

I immediately packed my bag and went to my mothers village. Nothing changed in that village. The rat catchers still lived in the outskirts. Most of the youngsters left the village to the cities in search of jobs. Some youngsters took up farming. The only change was the TV with its cable, ruining the tranquility that once existed in that village. The old women who used to narrate stories of their lives, and the lives of their grandparents, reaching upto a century....were now discussing the stories of serials on the TV.

No one recognized me at first. Old people became too old and young people were too young. When I told them who I was, old people cried and hugged me, and the young people looked at me with curiosity which transferred into some genuine happiness later.

That was the house in which my mother was born. I was born in the same house too. She must have written her diary here. She must have dreamt about a beautiful life here...and here...look here..she must have day day dreamed here. Look here, at the veranda, she played with other kids here. She must have sung some songs.
What was her world? The house, the school, parents, siblings, movies - especially bobby, friends..and what else? That was her world. She wanted to escape that world, so she daydreamed. She sat there under that tree in the backyard and dreamed. She dreamt about a knight in the shining armour coming to her village on a horse and rescuing her. That must had been the only dream she dreamt. what else could she dream given the environment? Oh you feminists, fuck off! What else could you all expect from her?

Did she fell in love with someone before she got married? Did she fuck someone to control the raging hormones? What were her views about religion,caste and race?

Then she got married, and then got pregnant. She carried me for 9 months. She was here for the last 6 months of her pregnancy. Yes, right there in that room, she went through labor pains for whole night, and in the early morning, just as the sun rose, I was born.

A nice husband and a fat son. Perfect life! Then something happened. Her dreams were smashed. She left. Abrupt ending.

Two days went by.On that day, I went in search of the beggar, to the rat catcher's colony. There were all together 20 small huts exhibiting shameless poverty. I asked for the beggar, and they pointed me towards the last hut. A small group of naked children followed me.

He must be 60yrs but looked like 90.
I introduced myself to him, and he recognized me.

"Where did you get that money?", I asked without too much of formalities.
"Money is nothing", he replied dismissively.
" You know my mother?"
"She grew up before me in this village. She is the most beautiful girl in the whole village, may be in the whole mandal"
"Do you know where she is now?"
"she dead. Wounded deer wont survive in the jungle"
"How did she die?"
"Truth will kill you", he replied as he shifted his gaze towards the top of the hut.

It had a hole, and the sunlight was falling on him, as if he was in the spotlight. If not for the circumstances, I might had enjoyed the beauty of it.

"Do you love your mother?", he asked.
"I don't know". What is love?
"You are not ready"
"Ready for what?", I asked.
"You haven't suffered enough"
"Why should I suffer?"
"Because you have to burn a bit of yourself to see the light"
"What are you talking about?"
"You know why men always think about vagina? Because they are curious about their birth place". He puked out of context.

Then he started laughing, and during that bout of laughter he blurted out, "Okay, I will tell you the story".

Story: "Once upon a time, there was a village, and there lived a beautiful girl in that village. Unfortunately, she was born in a lower-caste. Then she got raped by a rich man. She got pregnant. A baby was born. She gave the baby to rat-catchers. After that, they found her body in the river. That boy grew up into a strong man. He came to know about his father. He burned with rage. Then, he saw his sister, the daughter of his father. She took care of him. She became everything to him. His sister, a goddess of compassion. Then she went away. Then she disappeared. Thats the truth about two tragedies in his life."

I didnt expect that subplot, but it all made sense as to the reason why he showed love to me..in-spite of being a poor beggar.

"When was the last time you saw her?"
"On the day you were born"
"But, you said she died". I was irritated.
"Good people cant live for too long in this world".
"So, you don't know what happened to her?"
"I don't know, and I don't wanna know"
"Who told you your story?", I asked.
"I dreamt it".

That was it. I knew what was happening. I was talking to a crazy man, hoodwinked by his imagination sprinkled with some facts. Depression came over me as I walked out of the hut.
I heard him shouting, " You are not ready for the truth.You haven't suffered enough".

                                                            26. Portrait of a lady.

I met all my relatives. Everyone of them. Asking them the same questions again and again.

A : Beautiful woman. I tell you that.
B: Her eyes. Her best
C: Yes. Her eyes.Angelic!

A : She was naughty as a kid.
B: She was a good kid
C: She was alright.

A : She was very intelligent.
B: She was dumb.
C: She was okay.

A: She used to sit here and daydream.
B: Yes. she was a day dreamer.
C: ya..she was lazy.

A: She was selfish.
B: She left her son.
C: yes she was selfish.

A: She used to be friends with those beggars.
B: She was a compassionate woman.
C: She cussed me once, when I told her not to talk to them.

A : She had no caste feeling.
B : She hated caste.
C: She was stupid.

A : One thing I can tell you -- she was not normal.
B: She sometimes behaved abnormal.
C: Some screws lose in her head.

A : She eloped with that guy.
B : She is dead
C: I know where he is.

"Who?', I asked.
C: The student.
"What! You sure?". I was surprised.
I called him, the student.
Student : That was a long time ago. I liked her, but she started behaving odd. I left the town for work. After many years, I heard she died..that she committed suicide. Thats all I know.
"Can I meet you?", I asked.
"Sorry, I am busy", he disconnected the phone.

A: stop this. Find a job.
B: Get married.
C: Let bygones be bygones.

I realized on that day, that the toughest task, the task which makes an investigator worthy of his profession, is the task of filtering the bullshit. People just talk shit. Moreover, what I realized was that none of these people cared for my mother, and more over, it is impossible to create a portrait of a character from the opinions of the people.

Most people live their lives always thinking about what others think of them, trying to adjust their behavior, even goals..in-order to please them. They would be shocked to know that people don't know shit about them, and they even rarely think about them. All they have are opinions..dime a dozen..formed through their own prism of narrow perception.

[A-Z] : You idiot! We live a boring, unfulfilled life. So, we create stories to create drama. We also give you free advice to feel superior to you. Now, get the fuck out of here.

Absurd. It was all absurd.

I just marched through the 'Shock Corridor' and failed to pick up facts from the shit of imagination....the imagination of the 'real' deranged.

Continued here..

Trailor of Gandu. A bengali movie directed by Qaushiq Mukherjee

2010-10-31T09:43:00.000-07:00

Details coming soooooon..............

In The Silence Of My Solitude - A Novel (Part 20)

2010-10-13T12:54:00.000-07:00

23. Steps on the sands of time

It was already midnight when I reached the nearest city's railway station. Except for a few homeless people it looked deserted.As I left the house that evening, I had felt as sense of joy passing over me. I tried to understand the significance of it. I realised that the joy was about 'Action' , that I was doing something, getting out of the house and walking, working towards the solution. It was the joy of a hunter with hunger in his stomach sensing a prey in his sight. The joy of 'just do it'.

I had a plan, not an exact plan perse, just an outline of what I had to do. I made sure that I didnt plan too much as I was notorious for skipping the queuqe far too many time. The order and structure of a well planned plan used to always bore me to death. But, even if I had planned exactly what I was supposed to do, How would that plan look like?

The goal was pretty clear : Find mother.
Fortunately or unfortunatley, Coincidentally or fatefully, we both experienced the same things. I walked in her foot steps. It was like a equation which produces the same solutions given the same input data.

Step 1 : Mental Breakdown.
Step 2 : Shock from husband's change of behavior.
Step 3 : Left the house.
Step 0 : We saw the samething.

After those initial steps on the sands of time, it all looked fuzzy, as if a herd a buffaloes passed in that direction erasing her steps. I could able to think up two scenerios pointing at the directions she might had taken, based on her mental condition.

Scenerio one : She had gone crazy.
Scenerio two: She didnt.

If she had gone crazy, Some one must had helped her? Who was it?
If she hadnt gone crazy, Did she leave the house just like me, just like me....
That thought brought a chill to my spine.

She got up that morning. She ate. She thought. She made up her mind. She argued with my dad. She finalised her decision. It was midnight. She woke me up. Took me in her lap.She cried. I cried. Then she left. I slept. She went to a railway station. She sat at the same bench where I was sitting now.Then she started crying.

I got up from the bench, and carefully observed it. I looked around. It looked surreal, but it all looked familiar, as if I was just walking through my mother's memories. People were looking at me. Who are they? Theives? Rapists? A woman in the middle of the night, quater century back, in india. Was she robbed? raped? and then hit with rocks, and thrown on the tracks?? What happened?

I didnt feel any kind of fear in me though, especially the fear of coming face to face with a thief or a serial murderer. 'Hey you, come here, who are you? a murderer? you wanna kill me? hahhaha, come here. Try your murdering skills on me. You wont kill me? Why? Oh, because I dont have fear?'

I didnt fear none of those things : Going to strange places, getting robbed, attacked, or even raped. What I feared was the doubt in me -- What if I am fucking up my life? A doubt, a small doubt. I knew the source of all that fear : Inspite of me saying fuckall, and going after my mother, I still wanted to be part of the society. I wanted to fuck sexy women. Love a woman and be loved. Who will love a man like me? is there a woman who is in search of her mother..just like me??

Announcement about an incoming train. Dejavu. Sad.
What was that emotion? How to explain a complex emotion?

A boring train gallopped into the station. A poor family got down from the general compartment. Another poor family boarded the train. People starting their journeys. People ending their journeys.

Hey you, where u going?
I dont know
why are u going?
to find my mother.
Where is she?
no idea
How is she?
no idea.
R u gonna take the train?
I dont know.

Announcement again. The train started moving.

Take the train.
Why?
You have no choice.

I ran towards the general compartment.

I stood at the door watching the huts of the poorest of the poor, whose lives revolved around timings of the trains and trains themselves.The train pulled away from the station, picking up speed, chasing the darkness.

Destination : Hyderabad.

Continued here..

In The Silence Of My Solitude - A Novel (Part 19)

2010-10-13T12:27:00.000-07:00

22. Intermission

Dear Friends, Are you getting bored reading my life story? Are you murmuring to yourself ..who the fuck is this guy, and whats the deal with his mother, and why should we care? And the literary cinematic critic in you wanting to give thumbs down to my amateur effort, questioning my grasp of English language, my lack of creativity, and finally exclaiming , ' Look, the main character is uninteresting because it is not well defined!! '.

Well defined characters???. What nonsense! What a lie!

If there are hundreds of thought possibilities in my mind, and if I chose one thought among all those, based on the state of my mind, then how can I define my character with boundaries and borders? How can any one define the character of a man if that man is a change in progress? People define the character as 'oh..look at this man...this man is full of integrity', 'this man is full of shit', 'this man is epitome of [ ] '..etc. etc. But, would the man -- the man full of integrity possess it, had he faced the same situations and circumstances a man without integrity faced? Then, they talk about some great man in the history, saying..'Hey look at this man..he was intelligent..his objectives were well defined..look at the way he solved problems..and finally found success' . They look at that great man's life from his birth to death, and then they look at his success, and define the character accordingly. They define the person's character posthumously. Nothing can be so inaccurate in the realm of united states of mind.

First of all, how can they use a word like 'great man'? If I have the same genes as his, and if I faced the same situations he faced, Won't I be him? How can anyone call a man 'great man' without answering 'What is a man?' .

There are no great men in history. Just men. That's all. You delude yourself thinking of those people as great because you want to achieve, atleast partially, what they achieved. The so-called greatness of those men is nothing but your desires playing games with you, a desire to have a character, an achor, a god-ideal for your lost self.No wonder we have so many religions!

Even if the so-called great men exist, and if you meet them in heaven or hell, ask them this question, 'What happened during that darkest night of your life? Did those dark nights reoccur even when you found solutions before?'. His reaction would be, first : he would hug you and cry for asking that question, and goes on telling how he suffered during that dark hour, second: he would say that something drove him, some kind of invisible shit drove him towards that solution. Well, how about this --- Luck??

If there are no great men..then there wont be loser men. There wont be any-kind of hatred.

That was why, I forgave my dad. He didn't ask his mind, he didn't ask his circumstances, he didn't come across with stroke of great luck. He didn't ask his parents, the environment he grew up in. He didn't ask none of it.

I forgive you too, my friends, for judging me from your social conditioned sense of beauty, and your conditioned definition of the art itself.

Continued here..

In The Silence Of My Solitude - A Novel (Part 18)

2010-10-01T23:44:00.000-07:00

21. Good bye

What must be the number one priority in life?

As as a kid, they tell -- “your priority is to get good marks in school, behave well, and be obedient”.
As a teenager, they tell you -- ‘Your priority is to get good marks, and think about future”
As an adult -- “ Your priority is to find a job, make money, marry, have kids, and have a secure life”.

THEY dictate OUR priorities. Nice!

But, really, What must be our priorities? Let me tell you what my priorities were.

As a kid, I just wanted to play.
As a teenager, all I thought about was sex and knowledge.
As an adult, all I want was to find myself.

But, all those wants, Did I want them because I was forced to do something else?
The mind wanted me to play because I was forced to go to school.
The mind always thought about sex, a bit too much,because of the sexual frustration brought on by the conservative society.
The mind wanted knowledge because lot of things this society taught didn't make sense.
I wanted to find myself because I was lost.

What would a child,teenager,adult want if he is not forced to do anything??
Here's the thing -- even if people stops forcing their will on you, the nature would still force its will on you, and that is -- survival -- survival of the human body.

As a child we need nurturing from parents, and we need their love. Different needs at various stages of our lives, and dependency on people for those needs, makes us want our wants.

Our needs dictates our wants, even if they are polar opposites. Then wants becomes needs. A cycle.

That begs the question -- What do a human being really want in life? Are our wants dictated by the circumstances? Does an absolute want exist?

I needed money,fame, and comforts; and I spent time and energy to attain them, and I attained them, but I lost myself in that process -- I lost my happiness. Now, I want to find myself and find that happiness. Needs and Wants.

Yes. I wanted to find myself. isn’t it your first priority?

Please! Be honest to yourself. Have you ever got up one morning, and asked yourself, “ What the fuck am I doing? Why am I not happy? Why I feel like a prisoner of my own mind, even after following all the rules of the society, the same society which promised me heaven if I followed all its rules and conventions?”

After the hunters and gatherers discovered farming, after forming their societies and villages, after finding the so called ‘civilizations’; one guy got up on the stage, and said, ‘Look, this is how we are supposed to live. This is how we are supposed to procreate. This is how we need to stone 'crazy' women to death. Because, if we don’t, this whole fucking society will collapse. That’s why, this is blasphemy; that is taboo. We need to believe in god, because god gives us rains. And then we need to follow a religion. We are not supposed to kill ourselves, but we can kill others. We must wage wars. Because you know my friend, if you don’t defeat them, they will defeat us. Lets do the farming..but hey ..we need fertile land..okay..lets invade that place..that civilization. Lets kill them all…or better..let them be our slaves. Morality? Power is the only morality. Yes, sir, You got to be powerful. Hey woman, you are weak, you are a slave. Woman, if you don’t behave, this society will collapse. The whole burden is on you. The future of the society is on you, and you can only save it by being a slave. Hey boy, take care of her. Keep her in the golden cage. Let her crave for sex and love. That’s your duty, my dear son. You gotta work. You are not supposed to rebel. The society will fuck up if you rebel. Work, Work, Work…Money,Money,Money…that must be your only priority. Kill people, back stab friends, bribe…and in the end if you are rich..all is fine. We, the society, sanction it. But, who am I? I am only you. I am not something different. I am the program which keeps you in line. You know, we created this great concept called -- ‘Fame’, and we conditioned everyone from their childhood to crave for it. Yes, it is the drug we gave you. Crave for it idiot. What?? You don’t want fame? You are a rebel, You will be responsible for the destruction of this utopia. You need to ostracized, you need to be outcasted, you need to be spit upon.Say yes for conventions. Say yes for money.Say yes for fame. No to hunters. No to dreamers. Please don’t think. Well, if you think something good, may be we will honor you posthumously.”

Clap..clap..from the audience.

Okay, lets stop talking about humanity.Lets stop talking in generalities. Lets talk about certain kind of people, those kind of people who are in minority in majority. The kind of people who are hunters in this world.

Let me ask you this, What happens to hunters in farmers world? Fucked?

But, part of the soul of minority is in the soul of the majority. So, we have to come again and talk in generality. Every farmer yearns to be hunter. I became that yearning, I am that yearning.

Every man is a hunter in heart. Every man is always hunting for truth.
A man will find himself only when he finds his truth…what ever it is.

How can a man find himself, and there by find happiness, if he didn’t make peace with his memories?

A man’s only priority in life is to be happy. Simple!

I wanted to be happy. The money didn’t give me happiness. The cars, big screen Tvs, diamonds, gold..didn’t give me happiness.

Mother was a memory of a mystery. I didn’t love her. I just wanted to find what happened to her. I just wanted to make peace with that memory, by solving that mystery. That was all.

Fuck the god..if he says to me that it is not my priority.

Mother is not mother. Mother is Me.

It is just pointless to tell a hunter to farm.
It is just pointless to stop a person who is in the pursuit of truth.

“Dad, You are mad. The whole world is mad. It is a mad,mad,mad world.”, I said as I picked up my bag, and stepped out of the house.

Goodbye, Dad.

And then, I went in search of truth, in search of my mother -- a mother to the humanity, in search of my happiness.

Continued here..

In The Silence Of My Solitude - A Novel (Part 17)

2010-10-01T23:03:00.000-07:00

                                                    20.The Mind-Bang

“What you going to do now?”, asked my father as I was packing my bag. The bulk of the bag was filled with my DVDs and books covering whole range of philosophy to psychology to fiction.

“I am going to find her”, I said calmly.
“Listen, son, Please listen to me. Don’t do it. Listen to me carefully”, he pleaded.

“Okay, I am listening”. I replied, obviously a bit touched by the 'please'.

“Let me ask you this. If you were born in a poor family, unable to afford even two decent meals a day, in a family where your sister is supposed to sleep with dirty laborers for those meals, if you were born in a family in which getting a heart disease is death, in a family which dreads that time in the night when the father comes drunk and beat everyone in sight; would you be thinking in the same way you are thinking now? Answer me.”

He talks logic. He talks logic. Mother wrote in her dairy.

“ I don’t know”, I replied. I was interested to know where he was going with all this.

“ You don’t know. But, I have seen families like that. They wouldn’t care a rat’s ass if their mother left them or not. If she left, its fine. You know why? Because, the hunger in the stomach or rather the fear of getting hungry can eat away the sorrow of deaths of hundred mothers. They wouldn’t chase mysteries. Tomorrow itself is a mystery for them. They are so involved in solving their own mystery of life that all other mysteries are mere facts for them. ‘Our crazy mother mysteriously left us’, that’s not a mystery. There is no why? What? How?. It happened and its over, and the next day the sun rises as if nothing happened.”

“Where you going with all this?”, I interrupted.

“Look at you. You get up at 12 in the afternoon. Eat food thrice a day. Drink diet coke. Smoke cigarettes. Drink alcohol. Watch TV and sleep effortlessly at 2am in the night. Where did you get all this comfort? Who provided you for your education? If I let that woman stay in this house, or if I went in search of her and brought her back, she would have destroyed our life. I wouldn’t be able to provide the comforts and education, you wouldn’t have this spare time, and acidity in the stomach because of overeating, and diet concerns. You wouldn’t want to go after her. You want to go after her because I saved this family. I saved this family."

"What family? You and me?", I laughed, satirically of-course.

"Yes. You and me. Two lives versus already one brain dead person. Think logically with the perspective of reality. What else can any man do in my position? Crazy people are crazy making.We both would have gone crazy. We both would have hated her. Look all those old people who refuse to die, who piss in their beds, who cannot move, look at them, do u think their kids really want them? Life does not stop for anyone.Everyone have their own lives to live.We have to move on. We have to survive."

I saw his point. I understood his logic. I had seen many middle class families who just hated their grandparents, very old grand parents who remained coma like for many years. Yes, their grandson and daughters cried for them initially for the first few years. And then, it got on their nerves. The old people just refused to die, eating away their time, money and most importantly their hygiene. Imagine the smell of piss and faeces, and that constant smell of death which refuses to leave.

Yes. I understood what he was talking. People move on.There were no memories to make peace with, just their conscience. Making peace with your conscience is nothing but the concept of moving on, as Everyone moves on, as if it is a fact of life. Morality has no meaning if everyone does the same thing.

But, then again, nothing made sense to me. All logic is based upon certain assumptions and ground rules. If you agree to those assumptions and ground rules, then only you can venture into that logical world. He made sense because a part of me understood those ground rules, but a part of me refused to accept the same rules. I went beyond those rules. I wanted to know the reason behind those rules.

Lot of questions popped up.

For what purpose are we all moving on? For what purpose we are living? For what purpose we are surviving?

I asked him the same. " Dad, What is this life all about?"

He gave me a surprised look and remained quiet for close to half-minute, and said something which kind of triggered me to some realizations, which made me finally find the reason behind my obsession to chase the mystery of mother.

" Life is a game. As simple as that. We got to understand its rules first, and than play it.Its pointless to ask why we are playing that game, because we are born on that playground. Horrifying darkness surrounds that playground. A darkness at which we are not supposed to look, a darkness into which you are not supposed to venture. People make rules of the game, people play the game hard, people compete with other, people do anything to involve themselves in the game -- with only one purpose -- with - only - one - purpose --- Not to stare at that darkness. That darkness is unknown, and its the most fearful-thing in the life of every organism, it is death, it is insanity.For all practical purposes, your mother ventured into that. I refused to follow her. I did the right thing"

He remained quiet for a few seconds, and then said as if he found something about his own life."Fear of that darkness drives our lives".

Emotion driving those rules: Fear. Fear of unknown. Fear of darkness. Fear of death.

The metaphor my dad gave stimulated my mind. May be that's why metaphors are for. May be every word is a metaphor for something in our lives.Now, he was talking about the king of metaphors -- a metaphor for life itself. A metaphor in which his philosophy of life got wrapped in.

Thoughts.Thoughts.Thoughts. What drove these thoughts? I didn't know. But, many thoughts came, only with the goal of proving myself right. I guess!

"Dad, What if there is no darkness surrounding us? What if there is a beautiful world surrounding us? Beautiful gardens, peaceful gardens with flowers and trees. But we refuse to look at them, because we were told..taught that there is only darkness outside, that it would be horrible for us if we stop the game and look outside. People refuse to look because they fear..an illusory fear. What if all that fear is an illusion?"

"Death is not an illusion"

"But, fear of death is."

"Are you saying that you have no fear of death?"

"No. I realized, just now, that I can be truly happy only when I lose that fear"

"You can never face death without fear"

"May be I will fear death at the exact moment I meet it, but I refuse to let my life guided by that fear".

He got my logic. He got my logic because I went beyond his assumptions, and established my own assumptions. But, those assumptions themselves became logic. Contradiction?

All physics becomes meaningless beyond big bang. All logic becomes useless beyond the big-bang of mind. is big bang in the realm of physics same as big bang in the realm of mind?

How can we define big-bang of the mind? Whats this mind-bang?


                              Yeah, he got it. Everyone gets it. But, they discard it. If they don't discard it, and accept it, that means they lived a false lives all these years. They played a game, and they played it with a purpose, but the logic behind that purpose was based upon wrong assumptions.But, they already mastered the rules of that game, and played that game all that life, just like a machine. They were programmed...and I was just a bug or a virus...for them.

Their life is programmed."Vadhinchina vistari valla jeevitam". A great poet said in telugu.

The machine --my father, started again, " But, that's not reality".

"Whats reality?"
" The reality is that your body is material, and it needs to survive"
" Dad, Do I need all your cars, palaces, fashions to survive?"
" But you gotta be competitive and successful in life. You need to find success and be powerful"
" Why do I need to be powerful?"
" You need to be powerful to play the game better"
" Wait. You need to play the game better so as to play the game better?"
"So, you chose to be a loser, then"

"How can I be a loser if I refuse to play that game of life...at-least the game you are playing which is based on false assumptions. You see dad, there is no stopping in that game of life you are playing. You get food and bed, but thats not enuf. You gotta own stuff, buy stuff, you are not supposed to be satisfied with what you have..because if you are satisfied, then you stop the game, but the fear wouldnt let you stop, and you gotta play the game forever..you played that game for too long that, Fear became you."

"Son, you are not buddha, you are not jesus, you are not muhammad, you are not mahavira.
If you think you are, please come out of your illusions. You dont know what pain is. You never suffered."

Can a buddha become buddha without pain?

Words came automatically out of my mouth, as if the thought 'Fear is an illusion' , and the thought that I rejected the assumptions on which the humanity based their lives, drove me.

"What if pain is pain only in your game?"

Pain is pain because of the game.

"But, you are still in the game", he replied.
"Yes, I was playing that game. I am taking a break from it now"

He lost interest in this whole discussion, I guess, as he might have found his contradictory self, and he was not comfortable with contradictions. His logic might have shutup my mother..but not her son.

He finally asked, "Where is this going?"
"I dont know, Dad. You tell me. You started it, so let me continue this.Now, tell me, what is the purpose of our lives?"
"Purpose of life is to play the game.Simple! Because, if you dont play the game, you would'nt be here to ask that question in the first place"

"I thought we are all in the pursuit of happiness"

"The happiness can be found in the game itself"

" Are you happy?"

"No, I am not", he replied.

"Why?"

"Because of you".

"Sorry dad. Your game is yours, my game is mine.If everyone plays their own game and find happiness in that, then how can I be responsible for your unhappiness?"

"You are my son, goddamn it!", he finally lost his patience.

"She is my MOTHER", I strategically stressed the word.

"Whats your point?", he asked betraying some helplessness.

"Dad, You are right and wrong about your game metafor for life. You are right because thats how people live. You are wrong because thats not how human life is supposed to be. Yes, I too played that game. But, it didnt give me any happiness. Now, because of mother I am forced to look into that darkness. I am forced to face my own fears. Mother is hiding in that darkness,and she wants me to find her even if she was buried or burnt to ashes somewhere. The only way I can find her is by chasing away that darkness -- becoming free of fear -- and filling it all with light. Then only I can find mother, and my happiness. Pursuit of mother is pursuit of happiness"

What I ever I said at that time was not planned at all -- I realised it right there -- at that moment -- triggered by the argument.

Continued here..

In The Silence Of My Solitude - A Novel (Part 16)

2010-10-01T22:28:00.000-07:00

                                                 20. The book of revelations

One of the biggest myths perpetuated by the humanity from time immemorial, one of the biggest lies the humanity believed and deluded itself is this --- Parental love --- that Parents unconditionally love their kids. If such kind of unconditional love existed; then why are there honor killings, incestuous rapes, forced arranged marriages, jealousies, harassments, cruel corporeal punishments. divorces, second third fourth marriages, selling own kids, and borderline parents engulfing their kids? I am not saying that parental love does not exist, I am just saying that when people say that parental love is universal,that it is granted, that it is given....Its all a lie.

If at all there is anything that is called as Love, it only comes from understanding, not from needs. In that sense, a buffalo ferociously protecting its calf from the lion is not love, the mother nurturing her kid is not love ...they are just necessary evolutionary survival instincts.If parents refuse to understand their kids...then parental love has no meaning. There is nothing immoral,moral,right or wrong in that. Just that there is a disconnect between what the society teaches us and what really happens.

That was why I couldn't control my laugh when my dad finally said, " In spite of all this, In spite of you behaving so oddly, I still love you.Because, you are my son".

That was how that episode ended. Me laughing, and he leaving the scene.

             That afternoon, as I was getting ready myself for an afternoon nap, I got a call. A trembling, agitated voice said, " Meet me exactly 10pm tonight at the ground"

"who is this?", I asked.
He revealed his name. It was the servant, the one who collapsed on the ataka.
"Just be there. I need to talk to you", he curtly said and disconnected the phone.

I spent the whole afternoon about what he was going to say. I had an inkling as to what he was going to say. He might had seen something there.But, why didn't he say something then? Why now?

At 9:45 pm I walked to the ground, reaching 5 minutes before the appointment. It was empty. The only light was the street light outside the ground. I stood at the lighted section of the ground and waited for him. Few minutes passed.Then I noticed a figure approaching me from the non-gated side of the ground, as If he was already there before I came.

I recognized the servant's voice as he asked, " Did anyone come with you?"
"No", I replied.
"Now, tell me what did you expect me to find there when you sent me up there", he asked with a trembling voice. He was obviously scared shitless.
"What did you see?", I asked him.
"Do you believe in god?"
"No"
"Do you believe in Jesus Christ?"
"Wait..what is all this?? Just tell me what you saw there""
"Read the bible..in the book of revelations..its all written"

I was aware of book of revelations. Every biblical horror movie I ever saw had a reference to that particular part of the book. If those horror movies were to be believed, the book of revelations had some information about how the world is gonna end..all those predictions.

"Cut the crap, and tell me what you saw there", I asked this time forcefully.
"Devil". he said, " I saw the devil"
"A devil?", I asked.
"A satanic devil", he replied.
" If you saw something there, why didn't you tell us about it on that day? Why did you act as if nothing happened"
"Don't you get it?"
"What?"
"The devil is protected. If your eyes meet the devils, and after that if you continue to be believer in the lord Jesus Christ, You are dead. They will kill you"
"Who are they?"
"The soldiers of Satan, your father, and his two friends"
"Stop it. Stop this nonsense", I raised my voice.
"I am warning you. Leave that house immediately, right now.You will die if you don't", he warned me.
"Thanks. I will think about it", I replied a bit sarcastically.

He remained silent for few moments.

Then he blurted out, "Its coming in my sleep. I couldn't forget its eyes. I couldn't sleep. The devil wants me.It wants me. Only Christ is protecting me..."

He murmured something, and then trembled in fear, and then he turned around and ran, disappearing into darkness.

While walking back home, I remembered that I too shouted 'I saw devil..I saw devil' while I was in the hospital. My 'devil' was different than this servant guy's 'devil'. I was sure that I had referenced devil in a casual way. But, his devil was the biblical devil -- the Satan himself. Then, it all made sense to me. He saw IT. IT saw him. But his conclusions were different.

I once had an unfortunate encounter with these kind of religious fanatics. With that experience, I can tell you, Whenever they see something extraordinary, either on earth or in the sky, they immediately attribute it to the bible. Most of the time it was all about second coming of the Christ, kingdom of the god, or the end of the world..and there was always evil lurking around..competing with the lord; it could be a comet, or a tragedy, or even gay marriage. If something abhors them, and if they couldn't wrap their mind around it, they immediately attribute it to the devil, concluding that it was a sign of things to come...horrible things.

Its not that they believe the bible, They want to believe the bible.They want to believe in something -- something permanent. They yearn for that.They were taught all their life that Bible is the word, that it is the word of god, and that it is permanent and eternal. The existence of other religions, faiths, agnostics and atheists makes them uncomfortable, and it plants a seed of doubt in their mind.That doubt bothers them every day. These extraordinary events provide them an excellent opportunity to clear that doubt. They find some hidden meanings in the bible pointing to those events, making them clear their doubt and restore their faith in the word of god. In that process they go to extraordinary level, almost obsessional level, to publicize the event, and finally saying that the Bible predicted it.

I attributed the same reason to the servant guy. But, in this case, the event actually happened to him. I felt bad for him. Jesus Christ, most probably the first person in the whole world who started the love movement at a mass level, taught us to love the enemy. But, there is no way any living human could love that creature.

I was sure about his recovery though. I thought that he was just going through a phase of coming in terms with a creature he had never seen before. I came out of it, didn't I? ...did I?

                     That night, as usual, I couldn't sleep. The encounter with the servant, and his words proved to me the existence of the creature, and he became my living witness, a living proof of my sanity. Slowly a plan formed in my mind, as to what I was supposed to do, and how to proceed. While I was thinking about the plan, I realized that I didn't love my mother. I just wanted to solve the mystery of mother. The mystery became my obsession. Dead or alive, I wanted to know what had happened to her after she left the house. I was surprised at myself, watching the passion and obsession with which I wanted to go after her. I wondered what could be that force inside my mind which was driving me towards her.

              Next day afternoon, when I got up, My Dad broke me the shocking news. The servant guy committed suicide. His wife found his body hanging from the ceiling as she woke up in the morning. He hung himself right before his wife and kids as they slept. He took measures not to disturb their sleep as he died. That poor guy! That poor selfish guy!

In his suicide letter, written in poor Telugu, he explained that he was unable to clear the mounting debts and since he couldn't find a solution, he was forced to take that extreme measure. Few sentences near the end of the letter caught my attention. He wrote : Poverty is THE devil. I saw that devil. No matter how much I tried, I couldn't get away from it. I refuse that devil as my master. Jesus commanded us to love the poor because he knew the hatred in this devil.

That was how he ended his letter, and that must have been the first and last time he was creative. Had he realized, as he ended the letter, that he too could be creative, would he still be alive? Can a creative person creatively live his life? Can he creatively find solutions for the problems in his life? As I read those words, I felt that he cleverly mixed two truths in his life -- The 'devil' he saw, and the poverty he experienced everyday. But, he was afraid of the so called 'soldiers' coming after his family if they came to know that he saw the 'devil'. A dying man always want to tell the truth, to the people and to himself. And, that guy did his best to tell the truth. In the end, both were true. For me, he died a long back when he saw the devil of poverty, and now the sight of real 'devil' sealed his fate.

Some people face their fears, fight with them, and comes out triumphantly.
Some people face their fears, and unable to bear the horror, kills themselves.
Some people fear the fear itself, and by refusing to face it, die every day.

That servant who became my friend posthumously, my lone witness, my only proof of my sanity....died only twice.

Continued here..

In The Silence Of My Solitude - A Novel (Part 15)

2010-10-01T22:02:00.000-07:00

                                                  19. People Don’t Change

Can we really understand people? Can a husband really understand his wife, with whom he was living for the last 50 years?

Yeah, sure, he knows what she likes, what she wears, what she eats, etc..etc..but, does he really understand her? Can a father understand his grownup son/daughter; whom he fathered, looked after, fought, compromised and for whom he sacrificed part of his life?

The answer to all these questions points to a single source --- Pain.

Pain may as well be a prerequisite for self-knowledge, and which in turn is a prerequisite for balming the same pain; but pain could also lead to self-destruction if the circumstances do not allow that person to introspect, especially if that pain grows up the ego to hide it.

Hide it, It grows. Observe it, It diminishes.

When a person hides his pain, he builds a wall around it, as he builds that wall..he automatically builds a wall around his soul..there by turning into a different person.

He lives with that character he built for the rest of his life, more or less. As hidden pain grows, the growing pain reaches the boundaries of the wall, and the mind adjusts itself to build its ego, and there by changing him further -- to a worse version of himself.

That person is always blind to the facts before him, especially the facts which would rupture his ego. That person, knowingly or unknowingly becomes the most dangerous person creating pain to everyone around him.

And, that person exists in every one of us in various intensities.

My dad was no different, in that moment. But, was it obvious??

He was a person who commanded respect in society, a person who craved and worked for that respect. Such a person would do anything for that society, even if it involves hurting his own family. The society sees only that part of him, the part which strives to be a conformist. If a man is not obvious to himself, how can his real nature be obvious to others except during the times of explosive emotions.

What my dear dad implied was that I too was going in the footsteps of my mother – that I was also going crazy. Preposterous..ain't it? Even if I had the same psychiatric disorder as my mother, Even if I was going crazy…Why would we see the same ‘something’ at the same place?

I was shocked by his revelations. I was angry. But I observed myself.
I knew that I was going through all the emotions any person would go through If he faced the same situation. But the difference --- I observed myself. That observation calmed me down. If I was able to observe my mind, didn't it mean that I disassociated myself from my mind? If I apply the same logic, Whom shall I blame? My dad or his mind? If I blame his mind, then doesn't it mean that I really don't hate him?

Did I observe myself or I only thought that I observed myself? It didn't matter. When a thought calms you down, you apply the same thought process to others. I applied the same thought -- the thought that he was not to be blamed but his mind, and that application made me forgive him. The tragedy of the whole concept of 'observing yourself' is that -- the thought -- the thought which made you unhappy already happened.

Is a man responsible for his actions?? I didn't know the answer for that, and it didn't matter either. I didn't want revenge. I wanted the truth. I knew that people don't change. They do the same thing again and again expecting a different result every time. That implied only one thing -- My dad was going to demonstrate, at-least partially, how he behaved with her when he rightly or wrongly suspected her of going crazy.I hoped his behavior would provide with information about what my mother had gone through, or at least what she might had felt.

So, I let him continue that drama. I acted in that drama. I observed him as I acted. I didn't ask him too many questions. A man's actions betrays a lot more than his words.

"Dad, Why don't we search the Ataka?", I suggested him.
"No, I already did it when your mother came running to me on that night. There is nothing on it..damn it! Dont you think I would have seen it for all these years? Ask yourself..why you saw it only after reading her diary".

She wrote something in her diary, and after reading it your imagination played a game with you.

"Please, for my sake, search again?", I pleaded this time.

He accepted. Thank god.

He, along with neighbors servant, started searching the Ataka. My dad lied to the servant that I saw a snake in there. The servant turned out to be, incredulously during all these incredulous incidents, a snake lover. He wanted to catch the snake alive. He warned me again and again not to kill the snake as he noticed me arming myself with an iron rod.

I armed myself with an iron rod. I found it in the construction site a block away from my house. I didn't intend to do anything with it, but it acted as an anti-dote to the fear in me. Are all violent people kids inside?

They searched the whole ataka for almost an hour.

"Nothing in here", the servant shouted.

My dad's eyes met mine. Accept your defeat, they were saying. I didn't.

"Do you see any hole in the wall?", I asked the servant.
"A hole?"
"Yes, a hole in the wall at the corner".

The servant disappeared for a couple of minutes, and then he shouted, " Yes, there is hole here. A big one, the snake might have escaped from here. I think it came from the same hole"

I looked at my dad. WTF expression in his face. He immediately walked over there and confirmed it.

"Any explanation for the hole?", I asked.
"I don't know. I am sure it was not there when we built this house", he replied.

"Do you see any football lying around there?", I asked the servant with some trembling excitement in my voice.
"A football?",
"Yes, a football"
"What football got to do with a snake?", he asked.
"Just look for a football", I ordered.

He again disappeared for a couple of minutes. I could hear the sounds of boxes kept aside, objects dropped, objects picked up..the usual sounds of a search..and then..silence..increasing my heartbeat..and then again the search. He found nothing in the end.

As they were about to climb down the ataka, I asked him, "Did you look inside the hole?".
"No, I didn't", he replied.
"What if the snake is inside it?"

My dad wore an apathetic face. He already concluded the outcome of these proceedings.

The servant, who was already drenched in sweat, disappeared again.

"No.Nothing in the hole", he shouted.
"Search properly", I shouted back.

A tense minute went by. I didn't know why I was tensed as If I sensed something, as If that creature was right there looking at us, observing us. I might had sensed the smell. I might had sixth-sensed it. I didn't know. But, I felt very tense.

I was able to see the the light dispersed by the torch light. An eerie feeling. An anticipation of hell.
My Dad got down the ataka and went in to the hall for a breather.

The servant finally came back, and stood at the edge of the ataka. The torch light still on.

"Nothing here", he said. He gave up the search.
"Do you smell anything peculiar?",I asked him.
"Peculiar? No. But, then again, all these kinds of places smell the same"

Then, I noticed a a shadow of a snake..may be a tail..I didnt know..it was right behind him..
and I shouted on the top of my voice, " LOOK UP!"

He looked up. The torch fell down. Then I heard a scream, and then I heard a thumping sound of someone falling down, and then...silence. Terrible silence.

                          "What did you see?", I asked him, after he came out of his blackout.

That poor guy had lost his consciousness on the Ataka. My Dad called for help, and two of his friends appeared. They got him down the ataka, and searched it once again...including the ceiling.They found nothing. We waited for him to wake up. Finally after half-hour he woke up. I knew what he saw. I was sure he was going to tell them what he saw. That was my ticket to prove everyone that that creature was not my and my mother's imagination.

I asked him again , "What did you see?"
He replied, "Nothing".
"Nothing? Then, why did you scream, Why did you fell down? tell me".I was shocked by his response.
"No. I didn't see anything. I slipped and fell. Thats all. I didn't see a thing", he replied.
"I told you to look up, right? You looked up, right?"
"Yes, I looked up.But there was nothing. I just slipped and fell"
"What nonsense!". I was totally frustrated by his response.
"Look, I didn't see anything, not a snake, or rat, or a cat. I need to go now", he said.

I tried to stop him, calling him a liar and whatnot. My dad's friends stopped me.
That guy almost ran away from the house, as if he didn't want to be there even for one second.

"It was on the ceiling. I saw it.It was right there", I shouted.
"What did you see?", one of my dad's friend asked.
"A creature, I think", I said.

They looked at me with sympathy. Looked like they already knew the whole story -- my dad's version of the story. But, I tried to convince them. I told them everything, all the events that had happened for the last 2 weeks. They didn't interrupt me.

After I finished my version of the story, one of the friend said, " Listen to your dad. You need a doctor". The other guy said,"No, he just needs a job", and laughed.

Nope. They didnt believe my story. I didnt see any reason as to why they had to believe it. There was no proof. Moreover, the story made me look deranged. I didnt blame them.

                           Two days went by. My dad decided that he had enough with that Ataka, and he hired some construction laborers to dismantle it. I didn't object to it as I too wanted it to go. It was the scene of a mystery ,but I was not Sherlock Holmes, I was the victim cum detective. Moreover, I believed that Ataka served no purpose to the amateur detective in me..as I gleamed as much information an amateur could from it.

While they were dismantling it, with their tools and whatnot, they discovered that the hole had in fact an opening outside, a six feet above the inside opening, near the upstairs, not as big as the hole inside, but a smaller one, covered by some trees. It took them large amount of concrete to fill the hole, and they joked that we had been screwed by the engineer who built this house as he used inferior material to build it.

But, for me,it all made sense. If I forget for a minute as to who made that hole, the fact that there was an opening outside made it plausible for me to believe that a creature entered through it. That became my proof.At least I thought it was my proof. But would the existence of the hole prove the existence of a creature?

As they dismantled the ataka, and filled up the hole, I broached the subject with my Dad.

"Dad, Dont you think it is kinda odd that there is hole with an opening outside? In all these years, you didnt notice that?",

"No, I didn't, and frankly, I am quite surprised. But, this has nothing to do with any creature whatsoever. I never saw anything."

"What makes you so sure?", I asked him.

"What makes me so sure? Even if there is something here, I don't see any reason why would anyone behave oddly, or crazily after seeing it. Its just impossible", he explained.

"But, you yourself said that you didn't see anything. How can you be so cock-sure about how people are supposed to behave after seeing it?"

"Why don't you just leave me alone?". He was irritated.

I observed his face closely. No, it was not cock-sure, it was full of doubt. There was guilt in his face, and that meant only one thing -- a doubt had been planted in his mind. It appeared to me as if he wanted to dismantle the ataka to erase his memories, his guilt, and his doubt. A seed of doubt had been planted in his mind, and he wanted to kill it before it grows big. He tried to kill that seed by dismantling the scene of the mystery.

The ataka was dismantled within a couple of hours, and it took two more hours to fill the hole. By that evening, everything was clean and done. If any new person saw that room, and was told that there existed an ataka few hours back, he wouldn't believe it..imagine me telling my story that something else existed in there. My Dad took extra care to make sure that no traces of past existed in that room. Thats how he tried to kill his memories, thats how he tried to repress them. I call it repression by destruction.

That night it rained heavily. The TV was on. Dad was eating his dinner all alone. Watching him like that, all alone, made me feel sorry for him. What did he achieve in the end? The things he had done decades back were haunting him. He thought past as something gone, something over..and he thought he moved on. But, did he really moved on?

Thoughts as usual came and gone, even as I was watching the TV. But, this time, there was no fear..I was sure that creature did not live there anymore. That calmed my mind a bit...and the thoughts freely flowed. I was thinking as to why that creature appeared only to me and my mom, but not to my Dad. I was a late sleeper, and as I wrote before, I got that habit from my mother's side -- she is also a late sleeper -- a vampire kinda -- a nocturnal.I remembered that every-time we saw that creature, we saw it in the middle of the night. That meant that the creature is nocturnal. It becomes active in the night. Some animals are nocturnal, aren't they? Since, my dad was an early sleeper, he most probably didn't come in contact with it.

There was something else -- Why didnt my Dad and his friends hadnt been able to find it the last time they checked the late-ataka? Most probably, it must have escaped through the hole.But, why did it come to ataka in the first place? What does it eat? Male? Female? Sex? Kids? What is it anyway? An alien that fell down in a freak accident? A creature born on earth?

I remembered that it rained quite heavily on the night I found it. I also sensed the smell when it was raining. I quickly turned to my dad interrupting his dinner, " Dad, Can I ask something?"

"What?"
"Was it raining...well, did it rained on that night when mother saw, i mean, she thought she saw something?"
"I don't remember", he replied without giving much thought to my question.
"Please remember, its important"

He thought for a couple of seconds, and then said, " Ya, it rained that night.So what?"
"Nothing. Just asking", I replied.

If it was not a mere coincidence that we both found the creature during rainy nights, that meant --most probably it likes to stay in dry places, and hates wetness. Since, it is a nocturnal creature, and since it rained that night, the creature instead of going out that night, climbed down the ataka most probably in search of food.

The puzzle was getting solved too easily, and I didn't like it. Yes, it relieved me for a minute, but there was a sense of unease. I felt as If I was writing a Sherlock Holmes mystery, and trying to give hints to the readers, sometimes throwing them off the track by misleading them, and in the end showing them how all those edges fit perfectly, and how clever I was as a writer. But, that story was all my imagination. In the same way, What if that creature was just my imagination, and what if I was using mere coincidences as solutions to the puzzle? What if I was imagining as a writer and reader at the same time, trying to out-guess myself? A small doubt. Wait, What if I just doubt my own success, What if I was sabotaging my own progress.....

A thunderstrom somewhere stopped those thoughts.
Rain again, I thought.

Wait, Rain. Night. It is raining tonight. A rainy night.
A creature. Noctural. Hates rain. It is raining now.

I didn't sleep a wink that night.Nothing returned. Nothing happened either.

              Two more days gone by. I waited for my dad to make a move, the same move he made with my mother. He didn't make a move, he didn't talk to me either. Then I realized that he already made a move, it is called the silent treatment. Either that or he was really thinking something, or worrying about something. I put my hopes on the later.

Worry is nothing but mind looking for solutions for pain or a prospective pain, and result of that worry may go both ways. The mind may find solution or it could find a short cut by repressing the pain.Either one of them must happen ASAP, because the mind cannot sustain that pain for longer time. It is almost like death. That shortcut -- repression of the pain is a survival technique which we learnt as kids....and mastered it as we grew up. That's why I say that people don't change, because in order to change you have to be truthful to yourself. Repression goes against truth.

I was sure my Dad was not going change at all.The small doubt -- a doubt that he might be wrong about my mother -- a doubt that got planted in his mind because of the existence of the hole, and most probably the peculiar behaviour of the servant, caused him pain. But, it was a small doubt and a small pain. These small pains, in comparison to ego-smashing-life-altering mega pains, are very dangerous. I predicted that he was going to worry, feel guilty, and regret for a couple of days, and unable to face the resulting pain, he would hide it, by falling back on his old self. He would absolve himself of all wrong doings, he inflates his ego by telling himself that was the best father, best husband, and he did the best he could do. He would put the blame on others. He pities himself for being the sacrificial lamb. He imagines telling people how he sacrificed his life for the welfare of his family, and the people calling him 'a great guy'. That thought calms him down. Taking that calmness as cue, the mind encourages the same thought. The mind imagines, creating stories to gain sympathy from others, and the only way to do that is to make the villain of the story evil. The villains in this case - Me and my mother. Then slowly he starts believing his own stories. The cycle of pain-repression-ego inflation is now complete. I predicted all of it, and was just waiting for him to make a move.

On the third day, he approached me. I didn't find any kind of worry in his face, but he appeared sad, as if he was carrying the burden of humanity.

"You know what?", he said.
"What?"
"The truth is that You and your mother..both are both mental", he said.

I realized right then and there..that my predictions came true. His words were carefully designed to officially put the blame on others, and more importantly designed to hurt them.

He continued, " It breaks my heart to say that...to talk the truth. The truth that I married a crazy woman and begot a crazy son. I wonder how many hits this heart of mine is gonna take. A crazy wife who destroyed my life, and now, a crazy son who is destroying my happiness..whatever remained of it. Oh god, let not even the worst enemy of mine face the same predicaments I went through and going through"

His face grew sadder, but I knew that somewhere inside he was feeling happy, feeling better about himself. He was infected with Jesus Christ syndrome -- a false sense of sacrificial lamb -- fake righteousness -- A self-pitying narcissist.

He killed us to save his soul.

People don't change, do they?

Continued here..

In The Silence Of My Solitude - A Novel (Part 14)

2010-09-17T02:06:00.000-07:00

18. Isn’t it obvious?

I was just born, and was sleeping in my mother’s lap. She was singing a song. I was trying to find a world within her lap, which formed into a shape of Uyyala, as if that’s how the world should be….a world which provides you the solitude you required. The only visible things were my mothers eyes and the blue sky. How safe I was! How peaceful I was! Me alone in my mother’s lap. Yes, my mother was shielding me from everyone…the evil in the word, all the hurts in the world, all the pain in the world..all the anxieties in the world..

Then, she stopped singing.

I asked her, without opening my eyes . Don't stop, sing.

She started laughing.

Mother, why are you laughing?

Then, she started crying.

Mother, why are you crying?

I opened my eyes. I saw the beast’s tongue trying to touch me, and I screamed.
That woke me up from my dream which had turned into a night mare.

“You okay?” my dad shook me.
“What happened?”, I asked.

I noticed my dad’s face. It was pale, a paleness that could only come with shock.

“Dad, what happened?”, I asked again.
“Nothing happened. You fell down. That’s all”, he replied.
“Why are you looking at me like that?”
“How am I looking?”, he tried to change his expression.
“I don’t know”. I had no clue.

I noticed the date on the calendar. Already seven days had passed since my breakdown – since I saw that creature that night. I didn’t remember much of what happened during those 7 days.

I vaguely remembered scenes of me in a hospital, feeling comatose and sleepy, as if I was dreaming. After repeatedly pleading my Dad to tell me what happened, he finally revealed that I had a mental breakdown, one of those breakdowns trauma victims go thru after horrible accidents. He was forced to admit me in an hospital, and I had pretty much made a mess in there, alternating between being fearful, being confident as if nothing happened, and then sometimes becoming violent, trashing everything near my bed. I was talking to myself it-seems, sometimes shouting..I saw the devil..I saw the devil…

I pretty much slept for the next two days. On the third day, everything came back, all the memories, all the incidents that happened, the incidents that caused my mental breakdown.
I became extremely fearful, and then as if someone flicked a switch, I became very confident, and then it turned into pure unadulterated rage. But, this time, I observed it all -- My mind playing tricks on me, as it was trying to make sense of what had happened. It was alternating at furious rate, going through my states of mind as if to solve an unsolvable problem. It was permutating and combinating all the chemicals in my brain. But, the fact that I was able to observe it, meant only one thing – that I was coming back to my normal self --The self which tries to observe itself.

Once I started my observation of my own mind, I began to gain confidence slowly, but steadily.I tried to kill the thoughts of fear and rage, with thoughts of reason. I decided that I needed a philosophy, a collection of positive thoughts, remembrance of which would produces thoughts which would fight with thoughts which were not in my control. I sat down, wrote a big essay titled ‘Practical Philosophy’; even though while writing, I felt that I should have written it using bullet points, like those quotes of philosophers people always quote, but neither understand nor follow them.

After looking at my finished essay, I felt that the breakdown, indeed, helped me. I went through hell, and the hell rebooted my mind, well, almost, because noting can erase the memories. But, I found new strength and speed in my thinking. The buggy programs and harmful virus got deleted from the computer, from the sharp strike of an accident, most probably an accidental deletion of those programs. I should add though…I could have gone the other way too -- crossing the borders of sanity.

Armed with that ‘Practical Philosophy’; a philosophy which I believed almost like a religious faith, except giving myself a few percentage points of doubt; I began to understand, not feel, the incidents that happened.

It became obvious to me that my mother had gone through the same mental breakdown I went through. The difference was that, she crossed into that hellish world of insanity, most probably never to come back. It must have been pure luck that the exact opposite happened to me. But, would an insane man know that he is insane? May be not, but could an insane man observe his thoughts, and observe the reactions of the people around him? Most probably not…and my probability of being sane was higher than being insane. I came to the conclusion that I was sane, without answering the question, “What is insanity?” I was aware of that loophole.

I was also aware that I was living in the same house – the house in which an Ataka existed, and in which, most probably, a creature had lived and was living. I allowed a bit of doubt, because, it could all be my imagination, fueled by reading my mother’s diary. I decided to doubt, unless I find 100% proof. ‘A rational person always doubts’, I rationalized.

Few things left: one of which was my dad’s side of the story. I wanted to know everything from him, and I confronted him that afternoon.

“Dad, listen to me carefully”, I started,” I found mother’s diary..well..not exactly a diary....a pooja book converted into a diary”

“What are you talking about?” my Dad asked with genuine surprise.

“Let me finish. I read that diary. She wrote that she saw something in this house. I believe she went crazy after seeing it. Ten days back, I believe I saw the same thing”

“Show me the diary”, he demanded.

I produced the diary, and explained how she hid her words in the pooja hymns.
I noticed his face as he read the diary. Surprise written all over his face.

“Dad, what are you hiding? You took her to a psychiatrist..didn't you?”

“Yes”, he replied.

“Why don’t you tell me the whole story?” I asked.

“What’s there to tell? There is nothing to tell. She broke down mentally..because of some psychiatric disorder..that's all…she left us.Gone..just like that..whats there to tell?”

“What about IT – the beast?”

“As I told you ..She had gone crazy…she went mental..she had lost it”, he raised his voice.

“But, I too saw that creature”, I too raised my voice.

“Isn’t it obvious?”, Dad shouted.

“What obvious?” I shouted back.

His expression changed from anger to extreme sadness, and his eyes became moist.

“Dad, what’s wrong? Why are you crying?”

“Listen to me. This is what happened. Let me tell you the whole story”…he took a deep breath.

He continued...” Your Mom, my wife, she was beautiful…oh my god..she was such a beautiful women. We lived happily for a while. But, as they say: Love, like happiness will not stay forever...we lost that love, and I neglected her as I became busy with my work. She became lonely. I didn’t care..I should have..but I didn’t care. Then, one night, in the middle of the night, she woke me up. She was a wreck.She was trembling with fear. She said, ‘ I saw a thing on the ataka.I saw something. It is looking at us. It is observing us”. At first I took her seriously. I searched the whole ataka and found nothing. I even took a photograph of the ataka, and also the photograph you found.I found nothing on the ataka..nothing. But, She didn’t believe me. Her descent to madness started from there. I took her to a psychiatrist…and he diagnosed as having schizophrenia… 50-50 he said. He said that she was going through some delusions..and the symptoms matched with schizophrenia. Whatever it is ..she started behaving very oddly. She lost all her beauty. She stopped talking care of herself, and she started hating me..for not believing her..for not supporting her. What else could I do in that situation? How can anyone reason with a psychologically disturbed person?”

He stopped. Silence.

“Then, what happened?”, I asked.

“Listen to me. Life is not like one of those stupid movies and novels you watch and read.Life is not about dreams..its not about idealism. You have to understand that”, he said.

This time, surprise was mine. “What are you talking about?”, I asked.

“Life is about moving on. We have to move on to live. We have to move on to survive. If you don’t move, we die. As simple as that.”

“Alright, I got that. What happened to her?”, I asked again.

“I gave up on her.”, he finally revealed, with absolutely no guilt in his face.

“What!”, I shouted

“Yes. No medicine was able to cure her. I just gave up, and one day she left. I searched for her..But as you know, we couldn’t find her anywhere”.

Silence for a couple of seconds.

“Dad..did you…you knew that she was leaving us on that night?”

No response from him.

“Dad, answer me”

Silence.

“ANSWER ME”, I shouted this time.

He became furious. “How dare you shout at me like that? How dare you? Whats your life?
Whats your experience? You are nothing without me. You are insulting me? Are you capable of running your own life? Are you? Look at yourself….what a loser you turned out to be! That’s what you are..a loser. I put all my hopes on you, and sent you to foreign lands, with what…with my hard-earned money. And what you did? You threw away all that..everything..and came back as a beggar..as a loser. How dare you insult me? Everyday I am dying…everyday..whenever people ask me ‘Whats your son doing?’. What am I supposed to answer them..that my son is a lazy son of bitch, that he is loser, a jobless bum? That my son smokes and drinks..thats what he do all day..you want me to say that? Everyone is asking..’Why your son still single’?..what shall I answer them..that you are impotent bastard..that you are a freak? I lost all my respect in the society because of you. But, still, I showed you love. I cooked you food. I took care of you.I provided a safe roof for you…and, now, you shout at me? How dare you?”.

I was shell-shocked. Almost as if a bomb exploded near my face. Whose priorities got fucked? His or mine? Its my mother we were talking about..for fucksake.

He might have realized his mistake. He might have realized his fucked up priorities. But, the effect was reverse. That realization might have pained his ego, and he went ballistic.

That anger made him weak, and opened up the flood gates of secrets.In that moment of weakness, he exposed himself.

He continued…almost raising his voice to the top of his pitch, “ You want to know the truth? You really want to know? Okay, lets talk man to man. R u ready?”

“Yes”.

“Then listen. Would the woman you loved be the same woman after she lost all her beauty? Would the woman you married be the same woman after she lost her mind? If your soul-mate loses her soul, would you be the same person, and would she be the same woman? That woman ceased to be the woman I loved and married..once she had gone crazy. Aren’t we our minds and bodies? I ask you. How can you still love the woman who hates you with all your heart? My wife died a long back..she died on the day..the day..she imagined seeing some fucking creature..she died on that day. I lost my wife on that day. I couldn’t even able to touch her..you know why? Because that bitch stank. I never told this to anyone before…..after she had gone crazy..she started emanating some horrendous smell..I never ever ..in my life..smelled such kind of smell. It’s the smell of death..its the smell of devil. I never told anyone about this..as I didn’t want to become laughing stock. If she went crazy because she saw the most ugliest fearful creature on this earth..how about me…who was smelling the most horrible smell on this earth..day in and day out..It drove me crazy…and God, what happened to her face!!! It is not the ugliness I am talking about..it became weird..she became inhuman..a devil..a satan..but still, I performed my duties as a husband…I was/am a responsible hardworking man. I responded to my responsibilities. I was a perfect husband to her. But, how far can a man take the pain. People started avoiding me. I lost all the respect. A man is man only when the society respects him. That was the last straw. I had to take a decision. I let that ghost..a shadow..go. I didn’t push her. I just didn’t stop her. Then, she left. I moved on. I suggest you move on too. DON’T WASTE YOUR LIFE.COME TO REALITY”

I trembled with disgust. Who is this guy sitting before me? The same guy I thought as a human being for the last 30 years?

“What reality?”, I asked him..almost murmuring.

“The reality that we got to survive. We have to live. We have to move on. Don’t chase the past.It will destroy you.”

“Mother is past?”

“Yes.She was past”.

“Past becomes past when you find closure”, I replied.

He didn’t respond.

We sat there …silent..for couple of minutes.

I broke the silence, “So, you thought, whatever she saw was just her imagination?”

He nodded in confirmation.

“Then, how do you explain what I saw?”

He looked in to my eyes, with sadness in his eyes, and said “Isn’t it obvious?”.

Once I realized what he was implying, an invisible bond of father-son relationship
was smashed for a moment, and I started looking at a new person, an entirely new person.

A cruel, selfish bigot, I must add.

Continued here..

In The Silence Of My Solitude - A Novel (Part 13)

2010-09-05T06:53:00.000-07:00

17.The Constancy of Everything.

Dear Friends, Please listen to me carefully. Please follow my train of thought. Please try to feel my questions. Please understand me.

What is the most horrible thing you have seen in your life? What is the ugliest thing you have seen your life? What is the most fearful thing you have seen in life which made you tremble with fear..giving you nightmares? What is that thing you have seen, and if God present yourself before you and grant you only one wish, You would beg him, ‘ Please erase the memory of that thing from me’? Were you ever in a situation where you said to yourself, ‘Okay, This is it. This is the absolute fear. I never want to experience this again’? Have you ever come across people who absolutely abhor cockroaches? Have you ever met people who suffers from Ophidiophobia, and ask them, ‘What if when you wake up, you discovered a snake around your neck with its hood right before your eyes, and smell its breath?”? Have your ever panicked in your life? Have you met anyone who suffers from panic attacks?

Forget for a second about the reality. Even in imagination…

What’s the best horror movie or story you have heard or seen, which haunted you for years? What’s your worst night mare?

What is the most horrible fearful situation or thing the humanity has seen or heard?

Is it the image of those 16-pack skeletons in Auschwitz camp during Second World War? Is it the image of thousands of dead bodies being dumped unceremoniously during the same war? Or is it the image of that innocent dead girl among the bodies? Is it the image of that naked Japanese girl running on the streets when her town was attacked? Is it the video of massacres somewhere in Africa? Is it the image of a person being shot dead? Is it the video of people jumping from the burning twin towers? Is it the video of be-headings? Is it the video of black hawk helicopters killing civilians? Is it the video of women stoned to death?

What are those things,situations,images,videos, stories,nightmares…the world has seen,faced,heard,experienced, and imagined; Which made it tremble with fear, imagining itself in that situation, and plunged into action, saying, “ Never again. Never again such thing should happen to anyone in this world”.

I ask you, what are your nightmares?

Losing a job? Living in a shack? Begging for money?
Death of your loved ones?
Losing your beauty? Losing your fame?
Getting stuck in a bad marriage? Spouse having an affair?
Loss of love? Loneliness? Going crazy?
Boredom?

Why do people commit suicides? Because, they fear their own existence.

Fear is the root cause of every emotion in the emotional universe.

A person lives in his own emotional universe, and the meta-physics of that universe is determined by the absolute constants, just like the constancy of the speed of the light in the physical world.

Doesn’t the physics change if the max speed is beyond the speed of the light in vacuum?

That’s why, you don’t feel my fear, and I don’t feel yours. We have different absolutes.
If I have the same fears as yours, and If I can feel them the same way you felt, won't I came and kiss you and hug you with tears in my eyes?

And, in that moment, that night, the moment when I focused the torchlight on to that figure standing beside the candle….the fear in that moment became the Maximum Absolute Fear in my life.

Yes, the fear was mostly from what I saw. But; the whole situation, and the sequence of steps leading to that situation, the power-cut, the harsh light from the torchlight, the angle, the shadows, my state of mind, my imagination…everything..everything added to that Horror.

It was a 4 foot human/animal/Alien. May be, May be not. Whatever it was, it was a living breathing organism. If a tortoise mated with a crocodile mated with a large shrimp mated with a snake mated with a very old short woman…the result is IT. It was the ugliest living organism I ever saw.

It was standing on its strong hind legs, Which looked like the feet of a crocodile; Its front legs were so tiny, that they looked like a large shrimp; it had ears of a small elephant, with lot of white hair coming out of it, almost touching its neck; the face looked like a horse, and the skin around the neck and face looked saggy and wrinkled, reminding me of a very old woman; its huge tongue reminded me of a snake, as if the snake itself became part of the tongue; and its teeth reminded of the aliens I saw in ‘Alien’ movies.

But, what horrified me the most was its eyes. They looked human, as if they were capable of emotions. Those eyes were looking at me, they were observing me. They had the look of a very strict school principal who sternly looks at the irascible pupil…saying, “ Look, I am observing you for a long time. I was patient till now. But now, you have crossed your limits. You are going to suffer”.

It was not only horror which engulfed me… all the other complex emotions that had their source in fear played a part in that moment. I abhorred, despised, loathed and hated it.

My panicked frozen body produced tremendous amount of sweat, and the torch light slipped from my hands. As I watched the falling torch light hitting the floor, the power came back, and the lights killed the darkness, illuminating the room, as if to wake me up from a strange nightmare. I looked back at the candle, to find that grotesque organism. It was gone. The lone half-burnt candle became the lone witness of that organism other than me.

I jumped to the floor, slipped, and as I turned back, I saw IT on the Ataka, standing exactly at the same position I had stood before, looking at me, observing me, with the same kind of expression it had before. How fast does this thing move? If someone photographed me at that exact moment, they would find that the expression on my face would exactly match with the expression my mother had in her photograph..the photograph which I investigated couple of days back. I was at the exact position..the same position my mother had stood in her photograph.

Then, it turned and walked away into the darkness of the Ataka. When I saw its back, as it turned, I puked out of some extreme disgust. Its back was so smooth that the only expression I could be come up with was of disgust…just like a smoothness of a snake, the smoothness on the cockroach wings…the emotion coming from the contrast of an ugliest organism having a smooth and beautiful skin.

I ran towards the hall, checking my neck…as if to find some crawling insects, shouting in my mind..as if not to let the sight of that organism register in my memory…and then kicking myself ..as if to wake up from sleep.

I slipped near the gate, falling down on my face, mumbling something. I noticed my dad running towards me. and I shouted..

I saw it. It saw me. I saw it. It saw me.

Continued here..

In The Silence Of My Solitude - A Novel (Part 12)

2010-09-05T02:38:00.000-07:00

16. What the fuck was that?

I woke up the next day sometime during afternoon, somewhere between 2 and 3pm.

Decided to run, and went to the ground, and I ran, stopping after every other lap.Imagine milk boiling in a vessel. Every time I ran to exhaustion the boiling milk reached to the brim of the vessel, and when I stopped, it was as if someone switched off the stove as the milk was about to overflow.

When I ran to exhaustion, I felt the pain, and the mind raced to ‘ I cannot’, ‘I cannot’; and when I stopped, the chorus changed to ‘I can’, ‘I can’, ‘just need a break..but I can’. Then, I ran again to ‘I cannot’..then stopped again to ‘ I can’. A ‘cannot’ cannot exist without a ‘can’. Just flip that coin, and everything becomes impossible, because we at one time thought it was possible.

When I walked back home, I was full of joy. The confidence returned. Felt refreshed. The body began to recuperate, and so was my mind. Everything looked beautiful.

When I went back home, I laid down on the floor, feeling relaxed.

My mind is a beautiful thing. The world is beautiful. The spider web is beautiful.
Confidence is the by product of happiness. Yes, it is.

Everything is a thought. There is no escaping the thought. Where the thought comes from? Where does the idea in the brain germinate? I don’t know. But, what I know is that, only a thought can cure a thought. Only a thought can cure the emotion. Only a thought can fight with a thought.

A thought can free me from a thought.
If fear arises from a thought, I can cure it with another thought.

What remained to be answered though was, “What kind of thoughts I need to look for to cure that fear”.

That night, I went upstairs; this time armed with odomos for mosquitoes, and watched the stars for hours. I felt ecstatic looking at the sky. I noticed some moist in my eyes as I zoomed in and out of the galaxies.

It was 12 in the night when I finally came down to my room, when the moon aged the stars, making them invisible. I consciously pushed away all the questions that arose from the last night incident. I got that strength to push away the engulfing black cloud… from the chemicals that got released from my run. I needed that time-out. The ‘run’ gave me the confidence to postpone my investigations.

I looked for my dad. His room was empty. I switched on the TV and watched some shit on the TV.

Time 1 am.

Felt thirsty. Went to the kitchen. Opened the fridge.
The light inside the fridge illuminated my face. I stood there looking inside the fridge.
Then it hit me – a feeling… as I said to myself, ‘Deja vu’.
But, it was not Deja vu, I remembered that the exact situation happened last night.
Then my old friend ‘fear’ said Hi, and I looked for a thought to back stab him, but found none.

I quickly turned my head to find someone near the window watching me. No one was there; Only shadows of the trees, from the moon-light, forming some peculiar patterns. They danced with the breeze. I felt as if they were giggling and dancing to make fun of me and saying , “ Look at this idiot. How scared he is. All his philosophies and analysis, which he thinks on the comforts of the bed comes to nothing when the shit hits the fan”. The shadows danced faster and faster, and then they swung to and fro wildly as if they were some reincarnated devils.

I quickly turned my head to right. No one. Then again to the left. No one.
I turned around, completing 360 Degrees. No one. It would have been chaplinesque if not for the fact – the fact that I felt that someone was watching me. Out of no where I heard a thunderbolt, and in a matter of seconds the clouds ate away the moon, and it started raining.

The rain, the wind, and me; alone in that moment.

Making sure that no one was watching me, I picked up the bottle from the fridge. As I opened the cap, and about to drink; I smelled something. I stopped right there. Freeze frame. The bottle in the mid-air.

The smell – with a tinge of sweet and sour quality to it. Yes, the same smell I smelled few days back. The same smell my mother smelled a decade back. Yes, that peculiar smell.

I put the bottle on the fridge, walked all over the kitchen and the hall to find the source of that smell. The smell was very faint, and it became comparatively stronger as I walked to the ataka room.

Power-cut.

The whole house was enveloped in darkness. The wind might have knocked off some electric poles.

Damn! Please, not now.

I slowly walked to my room, found the torch light, and switched it on. The elongated shadows of the familiar objects gave an unfamiliar, eerie look to the room. I walked to the kitchen. Found a candle and lit it.

Then, I heard a small noise, a sound of whoosh, as If someone passed by. I focused the torch light all around the hall. All clear.

Just my imagination. Just my fucking imagination.

There was certainly some fear in me, but it didn’t stop me, it didn’t debilitate me. My situation was like that of a horror movie buff who watched hundreds of horror movies only to find that no new horror movie was scaring him enough, and finally declaring all of them as crap.

The fear became familiar, and that relativity of fear pushed me to action. I did not wait for the power to come. Some impulse pushed me.

I placed the candle on the floor of the Ataka room, climbed the Ataka, switching the torch light from left to right as I climbed. I focused the torch light all over the Ataka, and found nothing out of place, except the smell.

I noticed that the floor was a bit damp, and as I moved towards the corner, the floor became wetter. The corner was full of suitcases placed on top of each other. Holding the torch light in my mouth, I began rearranging the suitcases one by one, and as I lifted the last suitcase, uncovering the corner, I found a small hole in the wall …a 0.5 x 0.5 foot hole. Water was dripping, drop by drop from that hole. That was the source of wet dampness in the Ataka. Rain water was leaking through that hole.

I got down on my knees, focusing the torch light into that hole. It was a foot deep empty hole. But the smell was strongest there. I sat on my knees for sometime trying to make sense of that unusual hole. Nothing made sense. Nothing.

I uncovered all the corners of the Ataka to find any holes. And, as I reached the edge of the ataka, and looked down at the room, I noticed a small figure on the floor, standing beside the candle.

I instinctively focused the torch light towards the figure.

Then….

I saw it.
It saw me.

It was already observing me as I climbed that Ataka. It observed me as I uncovered the hole in the wall.It observed the whole thing.

Our eyes met. The shock that resulted from that rendezvous froze me into a statue.

And, I didn’t move.Not an inch. It didn’t either.

Continued here..

In The Silence Of My Solitude - A Novel (Part 11)

2010-09-05T02:15:00.000-07:00

15. The Relativity of Everything

I couldn’t sleep that night. For a while, during that night, one emotion canceled another. The emotion of anger and shame worked against the emotion that came from fear. That resulted in apathy, a peculiar calmness -- a sense of surrender.

That calmness turned out to be transitory. Once the calmness had gone, my mind started the familiar process of problem solving by replaying the events that had happened couple of hours ago.

Did my eyes lie? All that stuff was just my imagination? If it was just an imagination, then, Why did I imagine in that particular way? Why did I imagine a midget? Why did I imagine a hooded figure?

No. It was not my imagination. There was no precedent for such kind of incidents happening to me. But, in dreams, peculiar things happen. Right? But, that was not a dream.

I was being watched by someone. Who would that be? A thief? If it was just a thief, why he looked back at me when he jumped the wall? It was, almost, as if -- he had no fear.

But, what surprised me was my Dad's behavior. If at all there was any peculiar behavior during that incident, it was his. I couldn’t understand why he refused to believe me, why he looked at me with doubt, why his face betrayed a sense that he was looking at a crazy guy.

I remembered the sense of victory I felt the day before, when I solved mysteries by my persistence and intelligence. I discovered that the mysterious object that my mother was looking at with fear was in fact a normal football. I concluded that my mother was psychologically disturbed. During that process, I might have discovered a new technique in programming to uncover the blurred traveling objects in a photograph, that too in a span of 5 hours. I was not sure about It though, but I might have.

But, all that happiness, that victorious feeling, a rush of feeling coming from the satisfaction of solving a mystery; turned out to be a starting point for sadness, anxiety; and the events turned in such a way that the ending point of the mystery became a starting point for some more mysteries.

I didn’t doubt my dad when he said that there was never a football in the house. Football was never a popular sport in that town. In fact, I had never seen anyone playing any sports, except cricket. Even if someone had brought a football to our house, I didn’t see any reason why the existence of that object brought fear in my mother.

All through these waves of thoughts and doubts and analysis; one thought prevailed through the end, the thought – What if all this was just my imagination?

What puzzled me the most were my States of mind.. I was fearful at one time -- body shaking, sweat-bathing anxiety; and another time, It was the rational mind; and the next time it was the mind full of Action. At one point, every thing looked clear, and then it transformed to muddy waters, and then, all I was looking at was a huge dark wall, almost like an abyss.

Isn’t that moment of clarity a permanent state of mind? Why am I not able to forcefully transform my mind into that perfect state? Is moment of clarity a relative term? If everything is relative, then does it mean that we are able to enjoy the clear waters of Hawaii only when we experienced the pain of muddy waters elsewhere? Is pain and pleasure the sides of the same coin? Can we find that true happiness without experiencing pain? Is pain a requirement for self-knowledge?

Does beauty exists without ugly? Does compassion exist without cruelty?
The beauty of the night sky, is it absolute or relative?

If everything is relative, then what is absolute in the universe of human emotions?

In the physical realm, If speed of the light is constant, then what is the counterpart for that constancy in the realm of emotions?

When thoughts come in waves, sometimes canceling each other just like the crests and troughs of two waves; I tend to wonder – How many people exist in my mind? What is that particular thought which I could catch and say – ‘Yes, This is Me’?

Thinking itself became a boon and bane to me. On one hand, it solved problems, but on the other, it made me question – Who am I? But, how could I run away from thinking? How could anyone experience the joy of mystery without thinking? Didn’t that thinking gave enormous pleasure to my heroes … Sherlock Holmes and Einstein?

I cannot escape from thinking. I cannot escape from that burden. I got to think.

Even when I was in that state of mind which I loved, and vulgarly named as ‘fuck it’; there was a thought which put me in that state. An observer was watching that state. But, an observer itself is a thought, right?

Look at it this way. We cannot observe something without the existence of an observable. When we observe something, it gives us a thought, and that thought itself tells us that we are the observer. So, that begs the question – Do we exist only in relation to others?

Is all our existence…relative?

Continued here...

In The Silence Of My Solitude - A Novel (Part 10)

2010-08-27T02:10:00.000-07:00

14. Calm like a Bomb

Is Life a straight line? Look at yourself. Are you the same person whom you wanted to be? Watch your history. Tell me how many twists and turns it had. How many times you died? How many time you were reborn? If you die everyday, are you the same person? How many times you had molted your skin?

The desire for a straight line is nothing but the craving for security in life. Women craving for commitment and marriage with a rich 'settled' handsome young prince, Politicians and capitalists storing hundreds of crores in their bank accounts, people killing people for religious security, people exploiting people for monetary security, lover begging 'Please don't leave me' for emotional security, I ask --- Can we ever be secure in life?

Why is that underlying anxiety, resulting from that crave for security, driving our lives?

With that question in my mind, I woke-up from my sleep from some kind of unknown anxiety.

But, my mind didn't stop.All these preachings were nothing but my mind rationalizing, making up stuff, and making itself believe that it was in command.

When you preach, you feel better than others, as you need that security of feeling better than others. When dialogue reaches preaching, rationalizing reaches masturbation. What we found is the truth, isn't it? We want to share it to others, don't we?

Then I realized whatever the state of mind I had that day had gone, replaced by fearful state of mind.
Then my mind shifted to the topic in hand -- 'states of mind'.I was quite surprised at the way I was changing my states of mind.

What triggers these states of mind, what triggers these ups and downs? An idea? What idea? A doubt?

Then I realized that the fact that my mother went mental already opened a can of worms deep inside my mind, and all these thoughts were nothing but the stink emanating from that. So, the only way to solve that anxiety was to consciously pick up those worms all by myself, especially in that state of mind.

Doubts created that fearful state of mind, and that state of mind had limited options.

Okay. So, she had gone crazy, psychologically disturbed to be politically correct.
Then, what happened? She left the house.
Then it meant that, one : Most probably she didn't die.
Two : My Dad knew all about this as he was the one who took her to psychiatrist.

It meant that my Dad was somehow responsible for her leaving the house.
It also meant that the stories I heard as a kid about my mother were carefully edited fictional stories with fictional doubts.

Who else knew about this??

A desire to wake up my Dad and question him passed over me like a flash of light.

What if I am wrong?
What if I am asking wrong questions because of my state of mind?

I got up from the bed and started boxing in the air, and it did worked. It distracted my
vinayaka -- my mind.I didn't stop though. I boxed and jumped for more than 5 minutes till I was out of breath, and dropped onto the bed. I felt calm. Loved that calm. My mind was busy repairing some shit. How to describe that calm. I didn't know at that time, but -- It was -- Calm like a Bomb.

Time : 1 am.

Felt thirsty. Went to the kitchen. Opened the fridge.
The light inside the fridge illuminated my face. I stood there looking inside the fridge.
I felt something wrong in that scene. I didn't know if it was some animal evolutionary instinct, or something else, but I noticed that I was not alone in the kitchen.

I quickly turned my head toward the window. Someone was looking at me from the backyard outside the window. I noticed a thick hood just like yodas wear in star-wars movies, and it was illuminated by the full-moon light. I couldn't see the face though.

"Who is it?", I shouted with trembling voice. The instinctive fear already got me.
The figure quickly turned away, and disappeared.

"Who is it? Who is it?", I shouted on top of my voice.
My legs started trembling, and a rush of adrenaline hit me.

I picked a knife, opened the door, ran to the backyard.I noticed a figure, almost like midget, getting pulled up the wall by someone.

I ran towards that figure, shouting, " Who is it? Who is it?".

The moon was brightly lit, and shadows from the trees gave an eerie look to the backyard. As the midget got pulled up the wall, I had a clear look at him, not his face, but his body.Something was odd about that figure - he looked like a midget, but not a midget. Then, he jumped the wall, and disappeared.

I tried unsuccessfully to climb up the wall.

Then, I noticed my Dad running after me.

He shouted, "What happened? What are you doing?"
Gasping for breath, I tried to shout, "Someone was here. Someone was looking from that window".
"What!"
"Some one was here.Some one was here".
"Where?? I don't see anyone"
"I saw them. I saw them".
"Them? More than one?"
"I guess so."

Dad brought a stool and a torch light, climbed the wall, and searched for sometime. He found nothing.

He dragged me back to the Kitchen, made me sit in a chair opposite to him, gave me some water, and started asking questions.

I noticed some fear in him, but I was not sure if he was fearful about my behavior or about the incident.

He asked, " Now, tell me, What exactly did you see?"
"I just got up as I felt thirsty, came to the kitchen, opened the fridge, and noticed that someone was watching me, and when I looked, he....they ran, and when I ran to the backyard, I saw a midget climbing up the wall", I replied without stopping.

"A midget?"

"Yes, A midget, looked like a midget, but not a midget".

"What do you mean by that?"

"I don't know. He looked odd."

A couple of seconds of uncomfortable silence. The door to the backyard was still open, and I had clear view of the wall, illuminated by the moon.

" He got pulled by someone, I think.", I said as I turned towards the wall, pointing to it.

Then, I saw the hooded figure this time, climbing up the wall, pulled by someone.

I shouted, "There he is again!.He is climbing the wall!He is climbing the wall! He is on the wall! ".

The hooded figure jumped the wall before my dad could catch a glimpse of him. It all happend in seconds.

"I don't see anyone", Dad shouted back.
"He just jumped", I shouted again.

He ran again to the wall.He again found no one.

By the time he came back, I was already trembling with fear.

"What did you see?", he asked.
"A hooded figure jumped over the wall"
"But, I didn't see anything".
"Thats because he jumped before you saw him", I screamed like a pig.

A couple more seconds of silence.

"You drank today?", he asked.
"No".

He came close to my face, and sniffed like a dog.

I didn't know what happened next, but I felt a sharp pain on my left cheek.

My dad slapped me.

"How dare you come to my house drinking like that. You shameless pig. Now, go to your room and sleep", He ordered.

I burned with anger and shame.

"Now, go to your room.What are you, a drunkard? What?? You saw a midget, and then, a hooded figure? Drink some more and you will see the devil himself. Idiot!Go and sleep. Or, you need one more".

I slowly got up, walked to my room, and then I stopped.

I turned back, and asked him, "Dad, What happened to mother?".

"What!", he tried to shout, but there was no vigor in it.

"What happened to mother?", I asked again.

"Whats happening to you today?", he asked incredulously. His face became paler.

He tried to regain the composure.But, it was too late. Both parties knew that they touched on a grave topic which was buried deep, almost for two decades. Both of us never dreamed that we would touch upon that topic ever again in our lives.

"You go and sleep. We will talk about it tomorrow", he said meekly.

"That means, you do have something new to say about her.", I got the upper hand.

"No. You are not feeling right today. You take rest. Get refreshed. We will talk tomorrow", he said unconvincingly.

I turned, walked a couple of steps, and then I turned back. I observed myself that I was unconsciously trying to make the scene very dramatic.

"Dad"
"What again?"
"Dad, Were you a football player?"
"What!!!", he said, stretching his facial muscles to max in order to express the max incredulity.
"Were you a football player? Had we had any footballs in the house when I was a kid?"
"What nonsense are you talking?"
"Just answer, Dad".
"No. I never played football.Never bought a football.No one in this town had any footballs in those days.", he answered with impatience.

He continued, " Why are you asking about footballs?"
"Nothing", I replied.

Couple of seconds of silence.

He asked, " Is that all?".
"Yes"
"Now, go and sleep", he said, and waited there till I closed my room's door.

I laid down on the bed, looking at the ceiling.
To my surprise, I was very calm. Was it the slap? Did the anger ate way the fear?

I looked at the spider web on the ceiling. A victim struggled in the web. The spider ran towards it with glee.

I muttered, " Yes. Life is a straight line. As straight as the lines in the spider's web".

Continued here..

In The Silence Of My Solitude - A Novel (Part 9)

2010-08-26T17:16:00.000-07:00

13. The 3 P's.

As I zoomed in, it appeared to me as if the mirror in the photograph was coming
to meet me in slow-motion,and throw whatever it had on my face. It was surreal.
It was like the scenes in some horror movies where they show the shot of the devil,
that too in closeup, in the first scene itself for shock effect with no thought for

suspense. There was a moment of eerie silence as the the contents of the mirror appeared.

The image blurred a bit because of the zoomin. From that blurred image, and
from the kind of shirt in that image,I came to conclusion that the photographer
was certainly a man.He bent down his neck a bit while photographing so as to
fit the Ataka. Nothing unusual about it.

I hit the zoom button again, and centered the flash portion of the photograph,
and carefully observed. There was certainly something unusual about it. Just

above the flash, there was a portion of the photograph which was

blurred more than usual than its surrounding parts. Generally a blur
in a photograph happens because of movement. So, with the assumption
that my mother had been using a clean mirror, I concluded that the blur in
the photograph must had occurred because of some movement.

I wasn't able to clearly see the object that was moving in the photograph.

Few hurdles needed to be crossed :

1. General blurring of the image because of the zoomin.
2. The sharp spiky flashes from the flash obscuring the image behind.
3. Distinguishing the general blur from the blur because of the movement.

People say that necessity is the mother of invention. Nothing could had been
truer in my case at that time.I never thought in my life, until that day, that, three
things I loved in school could come to my rescue -- Programming, Physics,and
Python. Three P's.

I quickly opened my laptop, copied the image into it, opened my python interface,
made some coffee,and started writing a program.It took me exactly 5 hrs
to complete the program. Nothing mattered.No one disturbed. Every ounce of

creative juice flowed.

What I did was..first : Calculated the general blur of the image, and from
that got the real blur of that particular part of the image because of movement.

Second, since blur of the movement is nothing but an object dragging,
I collapsed the object in space-time, just in the same way a 3D object
could be collapsed to 2D.

I checked and re-checked the program, and ran it. After fixing few more
problems, ran the program again.

It took a whole minute for the image to appear on the screen.

It was a Football.

And what caused the Foot Ball to move? Most probably he,the photographer,
had kept it on his head to make her laugh, or it must had been rolling from the
table behind his head. I didn't see any reason to investigate further as to find
out what had caused the football to move. Round objects move easily. Simple!

Was I happy that I found Football instead of something exciting? I would say
a mixture of emotions. I was happy about the fact that I judged my mother right,
that she went crazy. But, I didn't find it even one-tenth exciting as the findings
in 'Blow up'. Then,again, I was satisfied with myself, that I chased a mystery with the
stuff I learnt in school, that I was not a loser after all.But, then again, I was sad that
she went crazy. It would be a lie if I say that I didn't think about the genetic
component of that craziness.

I wanted to postpone the subsequent questions as I wanted to celebrate my victory.
Generally, people are alone in their failure. I was alone in my victory.

I went out that evening to a bar, had couple of Kingfisher strongs, ate chilly chicken,

and finally ate 3 Meetha pans to counter the beer smell, and came back home at 8pm.

"Dad", I shouted as soon I saw him, "Good News!"
"What? You decided to get married?"
"No! No! No!", I complained like a puppy.
"Then what?", he asked.

"I love you, Dad", I replied shyly, went into my room, collapsed onto my bed, and Slept.

Continued here..

In The Silence Of My Solitude - A Novel (Part 8)

2010-08-23T03:10:00.000-07:00

12. Michelangelo Antonioni.

Existence begets survival begets fears begets analysis begets fact searching...and what are the facts?

The fact was that a diary existed, in which there were some more facts written by a normal woman, and some illusions written by a psychologically disturbed woman.

Yes. I am getting rational.Fear made me irrational.She didn't see anything.She thought she saw something.She thought she saw something because she went mental. What kind of psychiatric disorder was that? schizophrenia??

My dad went out, and I was all alone in the house.

I started reading the diary again, this time looking for specific terms 'psychiatry',

'schizophrenia'...I didn't find any of those words, but found the word 'mental'...

She wrote : He took me to a mental doctor today. He thinks I am mental. Mental? I am mental?? The doctor gave me some tablets They are making me sleepy.

She wrote that entry many pages after her last entry...at least the entry which I

had thought as last. I kicked myself for being sloppy. I read the diary again, this carefully, making sure that I hadn't left anything important.

I was amazed at myself for alternating between being rational and being fearful.Fear threw problems at me and rationality solved them. But, did the fear paved way to rationality, and viceversa?

It didn't matter anyway. The facts pointed to a definite solution, a solution which said that my mother had gone mental. I just need to tie the loose ends -- on one end was the smell problem, which I dismissed as a mere coincidence, and on the other end the 'ataka' problem, and in-between is that problem of photo. The last of those two problems, I decided to solve that day. Solve might be a big word..may be more like confirmation.

Even now, I sometimes wonder, why I didn't ask subsequent questions like What happened after she got mental? Why nobody, except my dad knew about it? etc.

My answer is this : How many states of mind are there? There is one state of mind which is full of fear and anxiety, the fear and anxiety which are necessary for survival, I must add. Next, there is the state of mind which consists of complete rationality. It analyzes everything. Finds solutions for all problems. Finally, there is one state of mind which I prefer, and try to be in that state most of the time. I call it 'fuck it' state of mind. (fuck it, in the sense when people say. " fuck it! I will just do it". )

How to define 'fuck it' state of mind?

fuck it state of mind = (animal mind) minus (fears of an animal)

It is the state of mind where you go by instincts, the instincts which define you as a person, which comes out of wholesome 'you', but without the fears.Animals go by instinct, but they are full of fear. If I become like an animal without its fear, I become 'fuck it'. Its like having sex, rather more like fucking, and what matters is your desire.Nothing else.You don't analyze.You don't have any kind of fears. All you want is to satisfy your desire.

Its like when you see a picture, and without much analyzing find out that something is odd about it. Its like recognizing faces without analyzing every part of it. If we transfer that instinct to 'action', then I call it 'fuck it'.

What triggers that state of mind? I had no idea. I have no idea. I didn't know. I don't know.

With that state of mind, I quickly searched for a torch light. My search became fruitful after 10 mins. I found a working, high yield torch light in my dads room. I changed to comfortable clothing, and I climbed the ataka.

It looked chaotic.I pointed the torch light at the darker corners of the ataka.

Nothing there. Then I started the laborious process of unpacking everything in my sight. I unpacked the carefully packed cardboard boxes, unpacked the clothes box, old news papers box, pooja item boxes. I unpacked everything. But, found nothing. I found nothing unusual.

I spent close to one hour there, and was bathed in sweat. All through that unpacking and searching, I was observing myself, I noticed that state of mind in me. I was surprised at myself. It was as if the director said, 'Action', and the actor acting the scene untill the director says 'cut'. is it possible for the director to direct each and every step of the actor? Hell No!

The perfect moment is the moment when the director gets what he wants without being able to understand the thought process of the actor. Its immaterial for him. I didn't care much about thoughts....all I cared was action.

I was pretty confident that nothing unusual existed in that Ataka. I got down from the ataka, went to my room, and laid down for a while. Didn't care much about etiquette of not dirtying the bed sheets. I didn't care. I was THE animal. Right??

15 minutes rest. What next? What next?

But, first, the ending of lose end : Nothing was there on ataka.

Next, the mystery of the photo.

I placed the photo on the table, and looked left and right, as if I wanted to let-go of my 'conscious analysis' of my mind. Then I turned my gaze at the photo casually, looked at it for a couple of seconds, and turned away.

I found the same odd things I found before. The look on my mother's face, the camera angle and the camera's flash in the mirror.Obviously, well, obviously according to my instincts, mother was looking at the camera, and the exact spot where the person, most probably my dad, clicked the camera..that spot had been caught in that mirror. If I somehow find out whats in the mirror, I would be able to clear this mystery once for all. I was quite sure that I wouldn't be able to find anything.I was sure that her expression was the same kind of expression I saw in mental hospitals..where people smile,laugh,cry as if they were going through a movie of emotions...almost a child like.

But, loose end is a loose end. I wanted to clear the last hurdle.

But, How? How to find the contents of that mirror. It was difficult, because the mirror was not those huge mirrors you see in movies, but one of those hand-held mirrors for the purpose of women who think they are beautiful.

Then, I got an idea...more like.. copied an idea. I remembered my favorite movie 'Blow Up' directed by the great Michelangelo Antonioni. I watched it many times before and thoroughly enjoyed every time. WhatS great about that movie is that the director using boredom as an aesthetic. The movie moves slow, and you feel a kind of sweet boredom. Its like that existential shit. But, what I remembered was not that, but a particular central scene in the movie.

The main protagonist is a fashion photographer.In his usual crazy search for beauty, he goes to a park..just on his instinct. He observes a couple romancing..and takes a pic of them. He follows them, and after a few minutes, he finds the woman alone, and take of pic of her. The woman chases after him demanding to return the reel. Cut to the scene I was talking about -- The hero develops the photographs.As he is aware that the woman desperate need of that photograph, even to the extent of going naked for him, he wants to find out the contents of those photographs. He blows them up further, and make them into bigger photographs. He notices something odd in the photograph -- The woman watching someone with fear, and a semblance of a body lying in the bushes. He develops the photograph further, blowing them up again. The photograph takes up the whole wall..as if it is a wall-poster. Then he notices clearly a dead body among the bushes, most probably the body of the same guy she was with a few minutes back in the park. The whole scene unfolds in silence with no music or sound. Thats what make the scene extremely interesting. We observe the hero with bated breath.

I remembered and re-remembered the exact scene, and then, life imitated art. I wanted to blow up the photograph the same-way he did. But, Lacked the equipment. I didn't want to go to photo studio and attract attention. I wanted to do everything by myself.

What to do? What to do?

What if I scan the photograph and zoom it? Simple, right?

I grabbed the photograph and my wallet, and ran out. I went to the internet cafe, fortunately they had a brand new scanner. I requested him to let me do that scanning, and the owner obliged. I scanned the photograph, saved it in the USB, and ran back. I didn't care what people thought of me. What judgment people

came about me? All I cared was to make sure they didn't come to know the things I was doing.

I looked at the JPEG image of the photograph for the first time, after I copied it into
my dad's computer.

Then, I zoomed it.

Continued here...

In The Silence Of My Solitude - A Novel (Part 7)

2010-08-23T03:08:00.000-07:00

I got up exactly at 6am the next morning. I am able to tell the time because I took

a mental note of it as I woke up, as I was in doubt about the happenings of that

previous night -- that it was all some kind of a dream. I decided that it was all a

dream. Only in dreams or rather nightmares we concoct such fantastic stuff.

As I was in that sleep-but-awake state , kind of something opposite to purgatory, I replayed the events of last night or last night's dream.My decision to conclude them as dreams didn't give me happiness at all. I thought of it as a loss of opportunity of an adventure. I wanted to have that kind of adventure to escape from boredom.

Aren't we all escaping from that kind of boredom? isn't every step we take in a day is a step away from boredom? Reading newspapers in the buses.watching wall-posters as we travel, trying to find drama on the streets even if it involves a victim and violence, avoiding boring people, changing TV channels obsessively, playing ghupchup with 5 yr old cousins and wondering where that carefree and interesting life had gone, checking on our phone every minute, sending messages and twittering,eating, smoking that cigarette, eating that gutka, masturbating, and finally loving.....I ask again...aren't we all escaping from that dreadful boredom?

But, was my dread from boredom so powerful that I was ready to face grave consequences in chasing that mystery, especially when that mystery involved my own mother? I wished whatever happened that previous night to be true. I wished that my mother went through some bad stuff. I wished that some drama had happened at the expense of someone's suffering. But, then again, I also felt sad for that suffering? A mixture of emotions. Usually, a big fish eats the small fish, a big problem eats the small problem.

is it possible to be happy and sad about the same incident? is it possible to be happy about the death of loved ones especially when that death solves many of your problems? when the big problem eats away your small problem, don't you be happy during that transition of problems? For example -- a earth quake happening exactly on the day a student is about to write an important exam in which he is sure of failing. I am sure he would regret about the loss of lives later, I am talking about the exact moment he hears the news? Would he be relieved or not?

If he is relieved at that exact moment, don't you think he would regret that happiness for

the rest of the life? Thats exactly the moment where most of the people

ask the question 'Who Am I?" -- the exact moment they question their own morality.

The pain of regret and guilt make you dive in to your own soul by asking you

the same question again and again -- 'Who the fuck am I?"..WHO THE FUCK AM I?

WHO THE FUCK............. AM I?

Was I the same man who loved that woman? If I was the same man, and if I thought that she was my soul-mate, then why I got attracted to some sexy women..imagining my life with her. Am I the same man who decided that money is nothing but at the same-time have this irresistible attraction towards it? Am I same person who hates hypocrisy which exists in my mind? Am I the same mind which hate and love the same novel? Am I the same mind which questions the answer and answer it again and again, and every-time coming to the same conclusion? Why do I get bored of things which I loved at one point? Why do I get bored of a movie after watching it 20 times? What is permanent in this world? Why do I desire for permanence? Am I not aware that I am going to die one day? Why am I looking for the permanent definition of the word permanent?

Am I following some fucked up philosophy? is admiring a philosophy same as following it?

What are the facts here? --- I wanted some adventures at the expense of someone's suffering.From that fact, can I conclude that man at his deepest core is selfish?
That humanity is driven by individual selfish needs? is love a selfish need?

What about my soliloquy about differentiating human needs into evolutionary needs and consciousness needs? If love is a selfish need, then into which category does it belong to? If love is a positive emotion, then why does it torment you? If love is not an overrated emotion, then why did my mother leave me?

What are my needs? What are my wants? How can I define myself? Why shouldn't I restart my life..saying..okay, this is me.This is what I am. This is what I am gonna do. This is what I expect from life. This is what I wanna be.

Why cant I say that?
Why am I soo sure of myself at one time, and feel as a loser another time?
How about all the self-knowledge I attained during the times of happiness?
How come that knowledge is not helping me during my blues?

Why am I not able to stop that train of thought which is going to meet an accident,

and conclude that life is fucked up? so, is this all fate? are we all pre-programmed

machines unable to reprogram the program?

Who am I? who am I? who am I?

When the same questions comes in multiples of three, my anxiety gets tripled, which
slaps me out of slumber, and make me search for reality ...and in this case my mothers diary.

It was right there beside me, having the same contents it had the previous night.
So, None of it was a dream. wait..what if I am dreaming the whole thing..even dreaming that I had mother once, dreaming that I went to America once, even dreaming that I exist. What if I am just a story? A story written by a pervert writer? Can a character written in a story think? What if I am just character a writer is writing about, and thinking and living in it.

"Stop it. Stop .......it", My mind shouted , "Whats the fucking difference?????????"

Thats were my mind stopped its funny business, making me wonder which was better? being an animal or being a man. Do animals know that they exist?? do...

Stop it. Stop it. My mind again shouted to itself.

"What a wonder! You woke up so early?", my dad said as he entered my room.

I must say that he saved me from the never-ending spiral of thoughts.

I nodded.

"You wanna join me for a walk", he asked.
"Yes".

I ran that morning. I ran so hard my lungs started squeaking like a pig.

At least, I exist, Bitch.

continued here...

In The Silence Of My Solitude - A Novel (Part 6)

2010-08-18T13:46:00.000-07:00

11. What is fear?

Human beings perpetually live in fear. Fear defines us. Bring me any man, and I can tell you his life story through his fears. Fear drives us to do things, things which becomes part of our character.

If we investigate the nature of fear, more often than not, we reach to the point of 'fear of death'. Death kills our soul, but fear of death makes us soulless. The more you fear, the more you distance yourself from your soul. What good is man without soul? What good is a man if he is an animal?

This single idea of 'fear of death' is the source of all fears,which includes the generational fears -- Fear of losing job, fear of insecurity, fear of losing a family, fear of losing fame..everything..everything in humans life is defined by fear.

Fear begets fear. Fear is a vicious circle. The more you feed it the more it rises.

Damn! My mind lecturing me again, I thought as I trembled with fear holding my mother's diary.

Sometimes, instincts take over the mind and all rationalizing becomes useless.

Yes, useless it became, all that rationalizing, because, the trembling didn't stop.I knew that I had smelled that peculiar sweet and sour smell. I knew that the smell was stronger on the 'ataka'.I knew that I felt some wetness on my hand as I searched the same ataka. I remembered that I rationalized it as some nonsense -- as exactly my mind reasoned -- an illusion of fear.

But, my mother's dairy was not an illusion. It was right there in my trembling hands. It was right there before my eyes, and I was not dreaming either. I was not sure of that dream part though.But, even if it was all a dream, What difference that would make? I felt the fear, dream or not.

Sometimes, reasoning itself, if not taken to the extreme end, makes us fearful. Because, reason uses facts, and the facts were --

1. My mother felt that she was being watched by someone.
2. She smelled a peculiar 'sweet and sour' smell, in congruence with my experience.
3. My Dad obviously didn't notice none of it.

The last point, if true, had some grave consequences,one of which could be genetics. My mind monkey climbed to the top of tree and started swinging crazily, and my hand and body trembled more.

As I watched myself with amazement at my trembling hands,and as I watched the trembling diary, a photo slipped out of its pages and fell on the floor.I picked it up.

It was a 3" x 4" black and white photo. It was my beautiful mother's photo. OMG! She was soo beautiful.I could even go to the extent of saying that Dimple Kapadia in bobby, whom my mother admired, is nothing before my mother's beauty.The black and white nature of that photo added a quality which almost says that the photo was not real, almost like a myth -- some kind of legendary tale.

But, something was very peculiar about that photo. Something was amiss.Something was wrong. First of all, the photo was taken at an unusual angle, from a top angle, and mother had to lift her face for the photographer to capture her face.Second, the expression on her face was very unusual. Its difficult to describe that expression.If you were at Hiroshima when the atom bomb exploded, and if you captured the faces of the victims, who just came to know about the bomb, and if they were half-way in the process of changing their expressions from smiling to absolute fear, but not completely in fear, that was the expression I saw in my mother's face and eyes in that photo.

It was as if my mother was smiling,just before the photographer clicked, and then changed her expression to fear, as he clicked it.

From the angle in which the photograph was taken, I kind of deduced that it was humanely impossible for anyone one to photograph from that place, as it was very close to the ceiling, and only a midget could achieve that impossible feat. I was sure my mother knew no midgets.

Questions, questions, questions.

Who clicked that photograph? Why that unusual angle? What made her fearful?

I noticed a small print of date on that photograph.

Sep 2nd 1982.

I quickly checked the dates in the dairy, and the date coincided with those dates when she actually felt that she was being noticed by someone, and smelled the smell.

It meant that during those August-September months of 1982, something must have happened. I also noticed that the college student was mentioned a couple of times during the same time.

A sudden, uncharacteristically cold breeze from the windows knocked off the photo from my hands, and it flipped over.

There was something written behind the photograph,in my mother's own hand writing.

I saw IT. I saw IT. I saw IT.
It saw Me. It saw Me. It saw Me.
no doubt about it. That idiot didn't see IT.
I am gone. I am gone. I am gone.
I am done.I am done.I am done.
My Life. My dreams. My plans.
Gods are crazy. Gods are bastards. Gods are evil.
Why me? Why me? Why me?
Cry.Cry.Cry.
Laugh.Laugh.Laugh.

Proofffffffff. Pooooooooooffff.

She saw something. Okay.
Something saw her. Okay.
gone. why?
done.why?
gods.why?
cry. why?
laugh. why?

Whatever she wrote, she must have written it in abnormal state of mind. It didn't make sense. How could a sight of something bring such abnormal changes in behavior? What did she see? Why didn't anyone see IT? What is IT?

I looked at the photo again, this time concentrating on her face.Her face was flawless. She had that quintessential black katuka under her eyes.Her hair was just a bit disheveled, but not much. She was just like that bapu bomma, with a large bottu, probably red in color. Her facial muscles were tensed.A beauty in danger. Who doesn't want to save her?

Then I noticed a small mirror behind her, in the window,placed at 45 degree angle to the window. I brought the photo close to my eyes, and zoomed in. The mirror was a bit bright, and when I noticed closely, I kind of deduced that it must be flash of light in the mirror, most probably the camera's flash,if at all the camera had a flash.

Thats all there was in the photograph. Nothing more to glean.

I heard a knock on the door. I quickly switched of the light and pretended sleep. My dad came in to the room, switched on the light, making sure that I was asleep.

My pretension became real, and I fell into deep sleep. That was uncharacteristic of me. Me sleeping soo early? I guess my nerves were fired by the fear and the adrenaline rush. But, surprisingly the after effect was very calming...and the goddess of sleep invited me into her lap, and I fell in deep slumber.

continued here...

I Dream Alone

2010-08-08T02:10:00.000-07:00

3 questions need to asked regarding dreams.

1. Why do we dream?
2. Whats the mechanism of dreaming?
3. What are the effects of a dream on us after we dreamt the dream.

Obviously, the best way to begin to answer these questions is by analyzing our dreams.

The problem with dreams is that - we tend to forget them. But, at the same time dreams get recorded in our memories, just as whatever we see or think or feel gets recorded. So, it is not the problem of memories of dreams - it is the problem of accessing our dreams. It means that dreams are dreamt in a different state of mind, other than the state of our day-today consciousness. I don't know if can use the word subconscious here, so let me just use the word 'dream-state'.

In my experience, the dream-state is the most creative state of all my states of mind. The emotions I have felt during dreams were hundred times more powerful than any emotions I have felt while imagining or while watching movies, reading books or even in reality. Dreams bring powerful emotions in me.

Dreams are personal, in the sense that, if I explain my dream to others, I might not elicit the same kind of emotions from them even if I have superior story-telling abilities.Dreams are closely bound to our memories. Every aspect of the dream has a corresponding aspect in our memories. Every person has unique memories which cannot be replicated in other person.

At the sametime, our memories are not only about what we see or think, but also about how we interpret the things we see and the situations we face. Where does that interpretation come from? I believe the way we interpret things comes from our previous experiences, which are again - memories; and also in the way in which the brain has been wired.

I would like to stretch that logic furthur, and say that If a person is able to understand my dreams..well..most of my dreams, it means that person is closest to my memories and matrix of my brain.
So, Dear Reader, Do you feel my dreams?

The State of mind

The dream which I am going to narrate has less story but more emotions. It has real characters, and imaginary locations which I don't remember.

My state of mind was pretty clear and happy when I went to sleep yesterday afternoon; after eating my lunch consisting of chicken fry, sambar and excellent curd. After the lunch, I watched Laxman hitting his century, and then, at that point I went to bed (also after eating three delicious guavas).

My state of mind was definitely happy, but there was a thread going on in my mind about a girl. A girl I was in love with. A girl I have never met. A girl whom I am never gonna meet. A love which will go unfulfilled ( in the sense that we are never gonna become a couple), because of the impossibility of the situation we both are in, and most importantly, our compassion and sensitivity are gonna become stumbling blocks for us to see each other.

Some one said that love is a sweet torment. Thats true. I was tormented by this stupid and impossible love. The stupidity arises from the child like fantastic quality of that love. But, I am always in control of it. I knew that if I work on it, and rationally take a decision, I would come out of it very easily. And, I was working on it. Thats why I ask, 'why we dream?'. Is my mind telling something about 'What I am supposed to do?".

(Memories are easy to forget, but the decision to forget them (or repress them) is not easy. Its like losing a part of you. )

The other character in that dream was my ex-GF. We move on after bad relationships, but our memories remain. From time to time, I think about her. What she might be doing etc. etc. You may call it as my weakness, but I can never forget my friends, relationships and any person who became emotionally close to me at one point, even if that person is an X now.

In spite of all these underlying threads of thoughts, I can definitely tell you that my mind was very happy as I hit the bed. I loved the bed. I loved that great pillow. I loved the cool breeze the fan was fanning. I put on my bose headphones, and listened to Dr.Dre for 10 minutes.

Just for the sake of not missing any details, I would like to explain the lyrics of Dr.Dre's song, and why at that particular moment I loved them. As I said, love is a sweet torment. And, since I am a straight guy, and I was obviously in love with a girl, the anti-dote, unconsciously was misogyny. If you meet me at some other time, I would argue with you that gangsta rap is not misogynist, and that it is portraying the reality of the situation. But, here, in the situation I was in, gangsta rap was definitely misogynistic and that was what the Doctor ordered for my torment.

The song is called 'lets get high'.

Yeah -- I just took some Ecstasy
Ain't no tellin what the side effects could be
All these fine bitches equal sex to me
plus I got this bad bitch layin next to me
No doubt, sit back on the couch
Pants down, rubber on, set to turn that ass out
Laid the bitch out, then I put it in her mouth
Pulled out, nutted on a towel and passed out

After that, I turned around, facing down on the pillow, my right leg at 70 degree angle to the left leg, and hit the snooze button.

As usual in any remembrance of a dream, you tend to forget the starting of the dream.But, you do remember that there was definitely a beginning, and you remember forgetting it.

And obviously, Did the dream happened exactly the way i am going to narrate? No. And, at the same time, I can say that it did happen exactly in the same way. Thats the nature of dreams.

The Dream

It was some hotel room, an unknown city in an unknown country. I was sitting on a bed.

A girl was looking for someone in the closet. She was calling some name, and I heard her saying, " Darling, where r u, where are u hiding?".

As she opened the closet, she saw me and I saw her. She was my ex-gf, and i was obviously her ex-bf. I was shocked, and she was also shocked.

She had a look of 'its fucking unbelievable', and I had a look of 'yeah, it fucking unbelievable'.She, with a sense of hostility, exclaimed, " WHAT!!".

She continued, " What!! what the hell are you doing you doing here?".

I replied, " I would like to ask the same question".

She said, " This is our ...this is my room".

I said, " No, this is my room".

She said, "What are you talking?"

I said, " What are YOU talking?".

Then jump cut to next scene. Me and my GF sitting on one bed, and my ex-gf and her husband sitting on the other bed.It was as if some discussion went on before that scene.

I moved to my GF and whispered in her ear, " Shes my ex-GF".

I saw some colors changing in my GF's face, and then she turned to ex-gf and said, " You know, you are not supposed to enter someone-else room"

Shouting match ensued between them.

Then jump cut to next scene. Me and my ex-gf's husband on one bed, and my gf and ex-gf on the other bed. My GF and ex-GF were arguing about whose room it was.

I said to ex's husband, " you know, my GF had an X too, just like your wife"

He laughed. Nice guy, i thought.

Then, he asked out of blue, " You wanna swap?"

Damn, this guy is too fast, I thought.

Series of discussion went in my head. If I agree for swapping, I am gonna see the same ass I saw before, but he is gonna see a brand new ass. Whats in it for me? Nothing.

I declined his proposition, and then took my GF and went out.

There was some marriage goin on. We decided to 'wedding crash' for the sake of adventure and were walking along the buffet. Then I noticed my GF for the first time. Her face was fuzzy, as if the TV people fuzzied out the F word. She was like 6 foot high, and was strongly built.

I said to my GF, " You said u are five-four but you are like six".

She replied, " Thats because of my sandals"

"I don't think sandals are gonna make that much difference"

"People always used to say that I appear taller when I wear these sandals, and besides, you are not wearing anything"

Then I looked at my feet. I was barefooted.

For some unknown reasons, I noticed that I was getting angry with her as we sat to eat food. I said, " You know something, we are not at all alike.I thougt we were alike, but no, we are not alike".

She asked, " What do you mean by that?"

"For starters, you are ugly".

She had a look of hurt in her. I knew what I was doing was a bad thing and didn't mean it, but I wasn't able to control, and was surprised by my own words.

She replied angrily, " You cruel bastard. You are ugly too", and hit me on my chest. I fell like 10 feet away from her, just like they show in Charlie Chaplin films.

I was somehow not angry at all. It was as if I felt I got what I deserved. It was as if I want her to hit me. When i got up and looked around, she was gone.

The Search

Where did she go? I gotta get back to the room and say sorry to her. What happened to me? She is the most beautiful girl I ever met. Why did I say those words? What triggered such kind of uncharacteristic behavior from me? I want to hug her and ask her forgiveness.

Then, as I entered a building, I noticed that it was not the same building where we took the room. Then I noticed that all the buildings had a similar look, a kind of approximation to Chandigarh, but more like buildings in the movie 'Edward Scissors hand' -- color-full but peculiar.

I started searching for her in each building. Then I noticed that what I was experiencing was a combination of Bicycle thief, Spoorlos, Saragossa manuscript and Eyes wide shut. I noticed that life was imitating art.
I entered a building. There were groups of men and women in the middle of sexual orgy. As I entered, they all stopped what they were doing but still in their positions, looked at me with a sense of apathy - no emotion on their faces. Then I saw a pig faced woman with no nose. She was sitting in doggy style. I saw some leather belts and masks lying around. A fully clothed man, whom I assumed to be the owner of the building, pushed me towards the naked men and women, and ordered, " Get naked". I pushed him and ran out.

I entered another building. It was named something like 'china embassy'. A Chinese guy ran towards me, " you need a room, a room, a nice clean room? You need a room?". Before I could say anything, he pushed me towards a room. That room was very dirty, and there was a tall Chinese man standing naked. He had a huge dick, unerected, and there was another Chinese man, naked, and he had a dick which looked like as if it was half eaten by a bug. I ran out again.

I noticed that my anxiety was increasing at rapid rate, and my walking was getting slower and slower. It was as if I was walking on a moon. I wanted to run, but more I wanted to run, the slower I was walking. It was as if some kind of friction was stopping me.

Baby, where are you? I love you very much. Are you looking for me. Are you scared. Please don't be scared. I am coming. I am coming for you. I will make it up for you.I will do anything for you. Please don't cry. Please.

Then I started shouting her name. It felt weird. It was the first time I said her name. Our names rhymed. I remembered Orhan Pamuk's protagonist in his book " The New life". The guy talks about soul mates, and how their names rhymes etc. It goes like this:

.............

I discarded friends who weren't aware that not only did her name mean soulmate but it also signified God. Taking the cue from the fact that our names rhymed, I had our wedding invitations printed in my imagination, adorning them with a smart rhyme like the ones that come out of New Life caramel candies. I succeeded in predicting the number of lighted windows I counted for an entire week at three in the morning, without exceeding the margin of five percent error that I allowed myself. I repeated fuzuli's famous line of poetry, Janan yok ise jan gerekmez, to thirty-nine people, subjecting them to my interpretation, "If the soulmate is absent there is no need for the soul". I called up and asked after her under twenty-eight different guises, each time using a different voice; and I would not go home before I said Janan thirty-nines times, forming her name in my imagination with the letters I extracted from billboards,posters, flashing neon signs, in the show windows of pharmacies, kebab and lottery shops. Still, Janan did not come.
...............................................

All I wanted was to see her..just once..and tell her how much I love her. Anxiety was killing me. Even a small step needed lot of energy. I wanted to run to her.

I entered another building. There was a black guy begging. He begged for money, and I ignored him. Then he threw his plate at me, as if, when I fall he could grab my wallet. I expertly avoided his plate, and ran out of the building.

I entered a new building. This one looked normal outside, but inside it looked like a maze. I went in circles, each time ignoring the fact that I went through the same circle before. My body was there, but my mind and heart was with her. Snapshots of her face flashed in my mind.

This is hell. This is hell. I can never get out of this place. I am never gonna meet her. I am never gonna see her. what is she doing now? Thinking about me? Don't wait for me. Please go somewhere. Eat your dinner. Find another man. I am just a half-man.I cannot protect you. I am irresponsible. I am useless. I am not supposed to love anyone. You need a better man. Look, I am stuck here. I am not even able to find the way back to you. Where are you?? Please shout something. Please. Please say something!!

Then, my anxiety reached the max, and my heart was about to burst, and then I woke up.

"Thank god!! Its all a dream".

1. Why do we dream? To exist (philosophically speaking).

2. Whats the mechanism of dreaming? desires and fears, coming together to determine sequence of events, combining with any other memories. Important thing to understand is to disregard those extemporaneous memories and directly go to the heart of the dream --- interpreting a dream.

3. What are the effects of dreams on us after we dreamt the dream? Once remembered, dreams act just like normal memories. Since the emotions related to a particular memory effect our subsequent decisions, the emotional effect of the dream do effect us by deciding the course of action. We generally tend to disregard it, as we generally tend not to find the emotional source of our actions.

The source of the dream though, I believe, came from a passage in Pamuk's book.
......................
I had heard of others who had read a book only to have their lives disintegrate. I'd read the account of someone who had read a book called Fundamental principles of philosophy; in total agreement with the book, which he read in one night, he joined the Revolutionary Proletarian Advance Guard the very next day, only to be nabbed three days later robbing a bank and end up doing time for the next ten years. I also knew about those who had stayed awake the whole night reading books such as Islam and New Ethos or The Betrayal of Westernization, then immediately abandoned the tavern for the mosque, sat themselves on those ice-cold rugs doused with rosewater, and began preparing patiently for the next life which was not due for another fifty years. I had even met some one who got carried away by books with titles like Love Sets You Free or Know Yourself, and although these people were the sort who were capable of believing in astrology, they too could in all sincerity say, " This book changed my life over-night!"

Actually, the frightening thing on my mind was not even the pathos of these scenarios: I was afraid of isolation. I was afraid of the sorts of things a fool like me might very well end up doing, such as misunderstanding the book, being shallow or, as the case may be, not shallow, being different, drowning in love, being privy to the mysteries of the universe but looking ridiculous all my life explaining the mystery to those who are not in the least interested, going to jail, being considered a crackpot, comprehending at last that the world is even crueler than I'd imagined, being unable to get pretty girls to love me. If the contents of the book were true, if life was indeed like what I read in the book, if such a world was possible, then it was impossible to understand why people needed to go to prayer, why they yakked their lives away at coffeehouses, why they had to sit in front of the TV set in the evening so as not to die of boredom, unwilling to close even their curtains all the way, just in case something halfway interesting in the street might also be watched, like a car speeding by, a horse neighing, or a drunk cutting loose.

Just thematically replace the 'book' with my dream 'GF'.

( Note : To the extreme smart asses out there, my dream GF is not internet literate, and she is not in any of my friends list)

The mystery of a Soul Mate -- Sherlock Holmes in India series

2010-07-24T07:45:00.000-07:00

The Nizam Nawab.

"You know, Watson, that,nawab of nizam was the worlds worst miser?", said Holmes, sipping his black coffee and smoking his pipe containing guntur tobacco.

Watson was reading Deccan Chronicle - the classifieds page. He had a look of astonishment in his face, more from the "friendship" ads than the little nugget from the pages of Holmes encyclopedic knowledge.

"is that so?", he replied with some nonchalance.

" Oh yes, it was so, Watson", Holmes replied ignoring Watson's morning blues.

Holmes continued, " He was also, at one point, the world's richest man."

The word 'richest' got Watson's attention. He brought down the paper revealing his face to Holmes.

"is that so?", he said with some excitement.

"oh yes, it was so, Watson. His stories of 'being too careful' were legendary. He used to save match sticks, half-smoked cigarettes and what not", said Holmes.

" I wonder, I really do, what was his motivation?", wondered Watson.

" That was what I was thinking about, Watson. What motivates the worlds richest man to be the worlds biggest miser. I strongly believe that he suffered obsessive compulsive disorder,an OCDM, OBSESSIVE COMPULSIVE DISORDER FOR MONEY, which, BTW, is considered to be a virtue in present times. In other words, greed, Watson, greed. Greed is an OCD, and it has no cure as no one looked for it. The difference is that, misery is not greed anymore, greed has now something to do with spending capacity of the slaves enslaved by the corporations. "

"Now, come on, Holmes. We all know greed is good. We ruled, plundered, and developed this country. Our empire was built upon greed.", replied Watson.

"Watson, Don't put the burden of white man on me. I was against imperialism, and you know that"

" Holmes, lets change the topic. My mind runneth sloweth in the morning", Watson pleaded as he knew where this discussion was going. An argument, with Holmes legendary lectures on the inhumanity of imperialism, and his indignation against the empire which never saw the dawn as history had already proved (Not!),was not what he wanted.

" Whats your opinion, or rather, facts about Hyderabad", asked Watson trying to change the topic.

"A fascinating place Watson. A very fascinating place. A mixture of two distinct cultures. Islamic and Hindu. A very curious mixture. The architecture and the cuisine beats everything I had seen in our trip of south india", replied Holmes.

"Chaos, Holmes, chaos..that's what I see in this city. Pollution, traffic, poverty, corruption, and the beggars, and of-course the bane of India -- the politicians. Sorry, Holmes, I miss home. I miss beautiful and clean streets of baker street. I miss our old apartment already", said Watson.

" I dont blame you, Watson. You think as a doctor. I think as a person who is very much interested in mysteries. There are so many mysteries in this city, every person in this city has a story to tell, a secret to hide, and a mystery to unwrap. You are also a writer, Watson. Think as a writer instead of as a doctor."

" But, Holmes, what made me write was you chasing a mystery. It was your method in finding clues, and it was your analytical mind which finds solutions by the clues, that's what I was interested in, not some stories of common folks in this city."

"Watson, you embarrass me sometimes. You are right though. The trip to india refreshed my mind, and now it is hungry for a puzzle, a mystery, and waiting for me to embark on my obessessive drive to solve it."

" Don't, Holmes, don't ask for it", said Watson a bit alarmed, " This is a foreign country to us. We don't know their customs, their morals, how they think, what they do. You are a hero in England, not here. Lets not make business out of pleasure.", Watson tried to persuade.

" I have to disagree with you, Watson. I am sorry to say that. Every mystery, every puzzle, every human story has the same underlying themes -- love, lust, jealousy, greed, fame and power, and all the emotions which are common to all humans. Don't get carried away by the details."

"But Holmes, as you know, the devil is in the details, " quipped Watson.

"Leave the details to me, Watson", Holmes replied, and went back to refill his tobacco pipe, and Watson went back to read his Deccan chronicle classifieds page.

Holmes walked to the big glass window, or rather a transparent glass wall, and started watching the city from his topmost floor of the hotel taj bongara.

There was a sense of excitement in him, and he was looking forward for something, something which would bring him joy. What would it be?

The Man with a Mystery.

It was raining that day. Holmes and Watson decided to spend their time in their room, reading books, watching TV, and/or arguing about matters which didn't matter.

They ate their sumptuous Hyderabadi Kalyani biryani, and lit their tobacco pipes.

Watson was about to say something when they heard the phone ring.

Watson answered it, heard something and said to Holmes, " Call from reception. They say that a young man wants to meet you, and he seems to be quite agitated. They say that he said that it was with great importance that he came to meet you. Shall I say no?"

"Watson, opportunity strikes only once, either you grab it or forget it. I see an opportunity here, and I am going to grab it. I am really interested to meet this first client of mine in India.Send him in", said Holmes.

"But, Holmes, a client? You said 'client', but I thought, we retired. You as a detective and me as a doctor and writer", complained Watson.

"Watson, Can a mind retire? Can a heart die if the man is still alive? Can a passion die? A man is defined and suffered by his passions. Let us live our passions again", said Holmes authoritatively this time.

Watson got the drift, resigned himself, and said something on the phone.

Watson knew what was going to happen. He was pretty aware of the obsessions of Holmes.

He was a great friend to Sherlock Holmes. But, as usual, in any relationships, greatness of the person doesn't matter. All it matters is their life style and idiosyncrasies. Watson's lifestyle and philosophy was in complete opposite to Holmes. But it was not really serious. Watson was like Einstein's wife who cared more about how he dressed rather than his theory of relativity.

But, Watson was homesick. He was also sick of Indians, even-though it was not his character to think ill of a person, if not the whole country. But, somehow, he came to dislike Indians. He saw india, in-spite of its history, as unoriginal. He saw Indians aping the west, as if the spit of the west was a deodorant for them. This pissed him off. He came to find dharma and karma in this country, but all he found was coca cola. People using products is one thing, and people using those products as if they are defined by them is totally a different thing." England enslaved India many decades back, but now, Indians are enslaving themselves", he once commented.

Watson sank back in his couch, waiting for that familiar sound; knock, knock,knock.

But there was no sound. A young man barged in to the room, looked at Holmes, and sat in the chair opposite to him. It all happened so fast that nobody had the time to react. His hair was disheveled, wore a baggy jeans, a red tshirt, with black sandals, which only the god knows how many miles it saw. He looked pretty excited.

"Sherlock Holmes", he cried. No, not that crying. He actually cried.

Tears rolled on his cheeks, and he tried to dry them with his tshirt.

"Sherlock Holmes.Sherlock Holmes. Today would have been the greatest day of my life if not for the circumstances we are meeting in. You are my Hero, Holmes. Thanks to Watson and his writings, you are my Hero. I am also very fond of you Watson", he said as he turned to Watson.

Watson smiled a fake smile. Holmes smiled genuinely.

"Calm down, young man, calm down. Since you already read Watson's rather exaggerating stories about me, you must know the drill, and lets get down to business immediately", he said as he looked at the young man attentively.

"Sure, sure, Holmes. Dr.Watson is a great writer, and I have to disagree with you that he exaggerated", said the young man, and smiled at Watson baring all his teeth.

Watson came back with one more fake smile.

"Now tell me young man, why do you refuse to wear a cologne, and why you still wear clothes you bought in 200 BC?", enquired Holmes.

"OMG! OMG! You are like lord Krishna, you know everything.You are a genuis.How you came to about that"

"Not a big deal young man, You are emanating a rather disgusting ordor, which can only come from the purification of some bacteria under your arms because of the sweat, and your clothes are pretty worn out"

"OMG! OMG! Your sense perception rocks! especially your eyes and nose", exclaimed the young man.

"and your sandals, they are soo worn out that they could as well be skin around your feet", observed Watson.

"OMG! Watson, what an observation. I gotta tell you that you learned a lot from Holmes", said the young man.

Both Holmes and Watson looked defeated, as the young man came up with plethora of ' oooh myyyy godddds" every time they opened their mouths.

As if to save them from their embarrassment, the young man shouted, " Holmes, please help my brother. He is going crazy. Only you can save him. Only you can save him from erragadda hospital. Please save his life.He is possessed by a devil. I am sure about that. He gets up in the night and shouts some crazy stuff in foreign language.Did you see the movie 'shining' by jack Nicholson, where he writes the same sentence all the time? My brother writes the same story all the time. He named it '12 goddamn hours in my goddamn life'..sorry to use such goddamn bad words..but my brother is pretty bad mouthed guy. He writes that story every day, and sometimes he types without even looking at the laptop screen"

"Interesting. a story, you say?", asked Holmes.

"Yes, Holmes, a big fuc...I mean a very big story.Also a very peculiar story where nothing happens actually"

"Interesting. nothing happens, you say?"

"Yes,Holmes,nothing much happens.Its like one of those art movies which wins big awards but drowns the studios, where the camera remains static for minutes together"

"Interesting. static camera, you say? wait! What am I talking about! ", blurted-out obviously embarrassed Holmes.

"well, not exactly a static camera..but", continued the young man.

"Stop it, Stop it! Lets not digress anymore", Holmes raised his voice a bit.

Watson laughed. He was obviously enjoying the whole charade. He certainly felt that he was the smartest guy in the room. "Holmes is getting old and this lunatic is taking him for a ride", he thought.

"Okay, let me see the story", said Holmes as if he decided to get down to business ASAP.

The young man searched his pockets and took out a sheet of paper from each of his pockets. Obviously, they were all crumpled.

"But you said that it was a big story", inquired Holmes.

"Holmes sir, I edited it. You see, because of the TV and internet and blogs and all, the attention span of the people got reduced quite drastically. I assumed the same with you, So I compressed it by 80% just like a zip file. Besides, it contained some vulgar language, and I assumed that an upper class person like you would find it rather...what you say...common...and trust me when I say that nothing much happens even in the edited version. "

"You are not supposed to...okay..forget it..give me the story", said a bit exasperated Holmes.

Watson spilled his coffee as he was unable to control his laugh. He apologized, and then tried to gain his composure. He tried to act serious, but he laughed again.

"Watson, I know why you are laughing.You may find me acting crazy.Well, that's true, I am not in my elements for the last few days, and I am sure that's because of that story. Imagine the mental boredom I had gone through in editing that piece of cra....I mean..a boring nothing-much-happens story"

" Please ignore me..I just remembered a joke from a Telugu movie I saw yesterday. You carry on ", Watson lied as he tried to explain.

Holmes started reading the story aloud.

12 Goddamn hours in my Goddamn Life.

First Hour :

I met her for the first time on the flight to FIJI islands. She was going to Galapagos islands, and I was going to Australia, which btw, is also an island. So, in a way, we were both going to islands. If you ask me, that would be the first proof that we were almost alike, that we were both going to islands.

I got the window seat, and she got a Aisle seat, and in between sat a big fat woman. In a way, I should say that would be the second proof that we were made for each other, that we were both made uncomfortable by the same woman, as the economy seats used to be pretty tight.

Not only that, I believe that fat woman was in fact the cupid, yeah, the capital THE cupid. She borrowed some books I was reading, and the other woman (the heroine..btw..I was the hero..just in case you thought otherwise) borrowed from her. Then, the cupid borrowed from the woman, and I borrowed from the cupid. ...and then..the woman whispered something to the cupid and the cupid whispered the same to to me......and..........to cut it short.............we liked each other books.

I wasn't able to see her clearly, as you see, its very ungentlemanly to watch a woman when there is a chance for her to notice you when you are noticing her. Thats why in porn, women artists try not to look at the camera as it would make the gentlemen watching it feel ungentlemanly. Even though, the male artists look at the camera as if they are winking at the gentleman who is watching it, as if to make him jealous and make him buy one more porn video. A gentleman can be made to feel jealous but you shall not make him feel ungentlemanly. To cut it short, I wasn't able to have a good look at the woman, exactly because I was a gentleman at that time, and that's not to say that I am not a gentleman now.

Second Hour:

When I was a kid, people used to call me 'krishnudu'. I would have been happy if they didn't put it in a derogatory way, as they nicknamed me because, in their own words -- I was the naughtiest kid they ever saw. As far as I was concerned, I never stole ghee and other various dairy products, and I never played with my class girls under the trees and behind the bushes. As I grew up, people started calling me 'laziest'. If they had used a much better word as 'lazy', I would have felt a little better, but they always had to use superlatives with me. I never understood how a naughtiest kid becomes laziest.As a teenager, I was once thrown out of my school, accusing me of being a 'devil'. As I grew up into an adult, they started calling me 'stupid', 'idiot', 'rebel', 'loser'. Few days back my teenage cousin kid sister called me, 'kid'.

Now, out of all those words and superlatives, I agree with one, and that is the word 'kid'.

That was what I thought about her when I saw her the first time, as she was descending on the escalator at the fiji airport.

She was wearing a half-Saree. A neatly ironed Saree, I guess made of silk, very cleverly covering every part of her body, but leaving everything to the imagination of the viewer. The half-saree reminded me of my childhood, and those times - pongal,ugadi,festivals, and a culture about which I was nostalgic but not proud about.I had thought that half-Saree became extinct, but when I saw her; I felt as if a creationist found a human skeleton pre-dating monkeys, and realizing his dreams of proving the fallibility of theory of evolution.

Why would a woman wear a half-Saree in modern times, that too while going to Galapagos islands? You see, it was definitely as fashion statement. It was not as if she wore any dress in her sight in her room, as I used to do. She definitely had a thought in mind. She definitely had a connection with that culture, if not a connection, at least an appreciation.That meant she felt a connection with a part of me or appreciated the same part of me.

When I looked again, she was in the middle of her descent on the escalator. I noticed she was looking at some empty space before her, exactly the same way Che Guevara looks in his iconic photo. I noticed a bit of anxiety in her face, which told me that she was not looking at empty space, but looking for something or someone. Something told me that she was looking for mother's love, or any person who would show that kind of love to her. She was searching for a person,preferably a male; who would take care of her, who would accept all her flaws, who would love her unconditionally, who would not judge her, who would be with her all the time, rain or shine.

She was the lost kid looking for love, just like me. A kid. A confused kid. Leave a kid in the adult world and watch her expression. More often than not, you would notice a look of confusion. That was what I noticed in her -- a kid lost in the adult world, unable to understand its rules,regulations and egos; and terribly bored by them.

As she reached the end of the escalator where I was standing, I noticed her a bit more closely and clearly. Her eyes looked tired, and there were dark patches under them. It was as if she hadn't slept much last night, it was as if she was thinking about something. It could be about lost love, she could be thinking about her future, she could be thinking about 'Why am I thinking?', could be about her travel the next day. She might have read a book, wrote something interesting, or she just couldn't sleep because her brain needs to be completely exhausted before it sleeps.

I knew that feeling. The feeling of sleeping late and getting up early. A feeling of thoughts buzzing super fast in the brain because of the sleeplessness, caused exactly because of the same reason. A feeling why the world needs to start its business so early in the morning.

I knew that feeling. I felt sympathy for her, and then bonded with her, and then I fell in love with her. I loved her at that moment.I started loving her from that moment.

Dear Reader, Now I have to tell you about my brother. He is a rascal, a narrow minded brute.He doesn't understand romance, he does not understand love. [ Note : Holmes, I edited this portion of the story as it has some unparliamentary words regarding my character.I promise that I am not what my brother says about me.He is what we call as the 'black sheep' of the family. With your superior mind and analytical abilities, I hope you come to conclusion that he is extremely jealous of me and my success, which BTW, is not much, and which BTW, tells us what a sore loser he has become in his life.]

My brother argued with me for god knows how many times that it was love at first sight. I strongly condemn his judgment in strictest of terms. How could it be love at first sight? first of all....

1. I looked at her many times during her descent on the escalator.So, definitely, it was not love at first sight.

2. Love at first sight is about looks. My love was about what thoughts went behind the looks.

3. It was not love at first sight, it was the first sight of the girl whom I was already loving for the last 25 years of my life.

I refuse to proceed furthur with my proof, as I would like the reader to form his own opinion whether it was love at first sight or not.

She didn't notice me as she got down from the escalator and walked past by me. I watched her as she walked away from me. Her back was beautiful. The silk half-saree made the protrudings very obvious. It was as if the half-Saree was saying to me, ' look, I am very thin and silky, and if you put your hand on her lower back, your hand would slip, and as you slip, you grip her harder, and more you grip her harder the more you slip, and the more your grip her harder..to cut short....you feel her better without even trying. Thats why silk route was the most famous route to china during those days'.

I never thought that a half-Saree could have such a hard and slippery sense of history.

She wore a half-Saree which I like. A silk one which I like. She has a nice lower back which I like. She was made for me. You know, God first makes a woman, and then he makes a man phisically and mentally appropriate to that woman, and then he performs their marriage, and then he throws them away at different and random places, and forgets about them. Thats why they say that marriages are made in heaven. If at all they marry here on earth, then it would be their second marriage, and as the villain in James bond movie said, ' You only marry twice'.

If instead, that man marries a different woman, and the woman marries a different man, then it is not marriage but a miscarriage of god's will, or goddesses will. Sometimes, I wonder about god's gender. I strongly believe god(desses) is a transvestite. Thats why people in Indian trains bribes transvestites (a standard bribe of Rs.10) to not to curse them.[ Note: I strongly condemn my brother's out-of-context and inappropriate remarks about god's gender. I believe that transvestites are also humans, but, you know, not as human as us. As Pope John Paul Buchuk said, God made humans in his own image, and since transvestites are not as-human-as-us, it would be a blasphemy to compare god with them.I hope you get my point]

My mind went chaotic as she went out of my sight. My brain was rehearsing various scenarios to approach her. It was a difficult situation. My mind thought and thought, and then it panicked. When I panic, I really do panic. I ran to the washroom, washed my face and looked at the mirror. I looked at myself for sometime.Then as I turned, I noticed that my image in the mirror didn't turn. My image looked angrily at me and shouted with a resound, 'NO!'

It was not a big deal. I saw the same scene in the 'Gundamma Katha' when jamuna was about to leave her house. Both jamuna and her mirror image discuss pros and cons of leaving the house, and in the end, ofcourse, the real jamuna always wins.

'Screw you! This is boring', I said to my image and walked out.

For the next remaining hour, I thought of many opening lines.

'hi', 'hello', 'namaste', 'weather is nice', 'I saw you somewhere before', 'welcome to fiji', etc..etc...but I felt all of them as cheesy and unoriginal. I was always unchessy and original, as you can tell by the way I tell my story. I am also a great story teller, comparable to the greats of Dostoevsky and the yikes, and I am also very modest and humble.

I also tried to remember a condoms ad I saw as a kid, where a supremely confident man walks and asks for condoms when the other man trembles with embarrassment. That was the kind of confidence I wanted.

"Madam, Can I have a condoms of packets...I mean packet of condoms?", I rehearsed in a low frequency but trembling voice.

Third Hour:

As Holmes began to read the third hour, Watson shouted hysterically...

"Whats wrong with you, Watson", Holmes asked with some alarm.

"Stop it, Holmes, Stop it! I cannot bear this torture anymore. This son of the Yorkshire witch, this brother-in-law of Pennsylvania vampire, and brother of this young man; how dare he compare himself to Dostoevsky, the great Russian writer who produced works like crime and punishment and Brothers Karamazov!! As a writer I am utterly appalled to hear this diatribic sorry-for-an-excuse story. Oh lord bejesus chirst, I feel like a sinner even to call it a story. I would rather watch Margaret Thatcher minus her clothes on a very cold night than listen to this story ", puked Watson. No, Not that puke.He didn't puke, literally I mean.

"But, Watson, we are not reading this story for entertainment purpose. This is an evidence, and thanks to this young man who brought this story in an unedited and pristine condition to us,We are reading this story to psychoanalyze this person.To understand his motivations and desires", said Holmes as he looked at the young man

Watson was about to say something when the young man interrupted him.

"Sorry to interrupt you, Dr.Watson.I am compelled to say something to you," interrupted the young man, " First of all, my soul felt a deep wound when you mentioned my name in the same sentence, that too in a sequential order, along with Yorkshire witch and Pennsylvania vampire. If anyone else said the same to me in the old city, bastimesaval!, I would have hit him soo hard that his scream would be heard from the top of the Golconda fort to the soldier sleeping in secunderabad. After that, he wouldn't even know the difference between somajiguda and habsiguda. Secondly, you mentioned Dostoevsky as a great writer. I disagree with you as I find him pedantic, and thats not to say that my brother is not a horrible writer."

"pedantic?? Do you even know the meaning of that word?"

"Watson, I am gonna excuse you for asking that question as you are ignorant of my background. I have a huge and rather painful flashback. My father was a mathematics professor..."

"What mathematics got to do with this..."

"Let me complete my thought, Watson. My father was a very famous mathematics professor, and he was very strict. He used to carry a big cane with him, and he used to say, 'If I hit you once with this cane, you would feel the pain of hundred canes', but he was slightly wrong about that -- I felt the pain of hundred and one canes when he hit me with that cane. He wanted me to compete in the international mathematics Olympiad. Forget about Olympiad, I couldn't even compete in the school courtyard. As they say in telugu, ' Pandit begets stupid', that's what happened. I developed a terrible fear for his cane, and horrible hatred for mathematics. I turned to literature as a solace and as a revenge.So, in a way you can say that my great Pa was responsible for my literal leanings, and yes, of course, I know the meaning of pedantic for fu... intercourse sake".

"What the hell is literal leaning?", asked Watson satirically.

"Stop it Watson, Stop it young man, Please stop it. What the hell you two are talking about? Young man, I have never seen a client like you in my life, who not only talk nonsense but also make us talk nonsense. We have a problem here. Lets discuss about it. Lets stay on the course and not digress anymore", pleaded Holmes a bit uncharacteristically.

"As you say, Mr.Holmes", replied the young man meekly.

But, Watson was adamant.

"Holmes, let me put up a proposal here. Instead of reading this 'story' in sequential order, let us read the ending, and if its worth any salt then we will read the other hours's excerpts in a random way.Please grant me this wish now. You can read it later if you want to", pleaded Watson in his characteristic way.

Holmes agreed with him, even though he disagreed in his mind.He just wanted to move on.

Holmes started reading aloud the twelfth hour -- the final hour.

The Twelfth Hour :

The truth of the matter was, I wanted to be chased by a woman. Since she was also like me, she also wanted to be chased by a man. She distinctly said that in her own words. If that was a hint..then I thought it was a pretzel, as I didn't care much for it, as my priority of being chased by a woman was much more than her priority of being chased by a man.

So, that was how we played that game. It was like Vishwanthan Anand playing chess with Vishwanathan anand. Its like the cat scratching its own mirror image. Its like..well..I hope you got the point.

But, you can only play games till the twelfth hour. After Twelfth hour, there wont be any hours. Thats why they call it the twelfth hour. But, the fact of the matter was, her plane to Galapagos islands starts exactly at the end of that twelfth hour. She would be gone forever and something must happen in the last hour.

Dear Reader, Love is not a decision. It does not happen consciously. It creeps up on you without you knowing it. But, the difference between me and others is that, I observe it.For me, an unrequited love is a scary concept. When you love someone without that someone responding to your love -- you are hanging on to a thin thread with a deep valley below you.An unrequited love is like a ball (football, I mean to say) in your court when your goalkeeper went on a cigarette break. Its very difficult not to get fucked. Besides, such kind of love is very humiliating. It is like beggar begging and is told to find some work.

Since, I observe that love, and since, I am always in control of emotions most of the time, and if the love object is not responsive to my love hints, I immediately repress that love. I don't feel bad about it either. I am not one of those devadas types. I move on. Love is just one passion of my many passions of my life, one of them, I have to tell you, is a game called 'chamma chekka'.

You might have noticed in the previous hours that she gave me many hints, and I have to tell you though, that what we considered as hints might not be hints at all. Let us give her that benefit of doubt. She was not at all responsible for my love. Let us not drag her in this controversy.Besides, she is a confused kid just like me.

If I thought that her hints were love hints, which I did, you might have wondered why I didn't respond to them. My answer is very simple. You see, I don't know since when, but love and love affairs had always had certain protocol associated with them. The protocol was always " I love you". Its not 'I die for you' or 'I will drink rat poison for you' or ' I will do sepekku for you' , Japanese style. No. The protocol was and is always ' I love you'. Only after that protocol, the love game really starts. Its like the film certificate before the film. In the international court of love, your case would be dismissed immediately if you didn't follow that protocol. (refer lailamaju Vs the state)

That was exactly what I was waiting from her as she was ready to board her flight to the Galapagos islands. I went to her as she stood in her line. She watched me as I walked to her.

"So, you decided to leave?", I asked her.

"I have no choice. I have to go", she replied.

"You wont be happy if you go to Galapagos islands", I said, intentionally skipping the part 'stay with me'.

.................................... No reply.

"Do you think you will be happy?", I asked.

................................... No reply.

Silence. An uncomfortable painful silence.

"You know what", she said breaking the silence.

"what"

"We are Soul Mates", She said, and walked towards her flight, never to turn back, leaving me behind.

Very simple ending.

If you ask me whether I was happy or sad at that moment, I would say neither, I would say that I was just not sad. You see, she did not follow the protocol, and it only meant that she didn't love me. That was very much fine with me. An unrequited love is not love at all. I immediately repressed my love to the deepest and confusing layers of mind. It was as if it didn't exist at all.

I boarded my flight to Australia an hour later.

After a few days of eating my sister's hand-cooked excellent food and becoming fat, I one day went to the garage to find some solitude and may be clandestinely smoke a fag.

Something bothered me for all those days, but I couldn't find what it was. As I sat in the garage, smoking, I realized that I was thinking about her all the time. I was not thinking about her in a erotic way, was not thinking about loving her, or meeting her in parks or going to movies.

When I woke up in the afternoon, I used to think that she might have gotten up in the same manner. When I ate like a pig, I used to think that she too might be eating like a pig. When I felt depressed, I used to think that she might be depressed too. When I was enjoying with a girl, the thought that she too might be enjoying with a guy, at least, did not produce any jealousy.All the feelings I felt, I felt as if she was feeling too. It was the perfect synergy of two souls.

It was if we were Soul........................Mates.

Wait, where did I hear those words? Yes, she did say those words, didn't she?

Did it meant that she understood our relationship much more deeply than I understood it? Was I wrong when I underestimated her deep emotions and necessities, and called her a confused kid?

Dear Reader, that 'Soul Mates' was the trigger which hit the bullet of my repressed love, and the effects of which I am seeing to this day.

What if she meant what she said? What if she wants me? What if this is all my imagination?Even if she meant what she said, What if she changed as sreedevi gets transformed in the climax of Vasantha Kokila. All these what ifs combined together and formed into a Mystery which could never be resolved.

and that's the Mystery of a Soul Mate.

One thing she taught me though; even if she didn't mean what she said, or if she meant what she said but not anymore; is that love has no protocols. If love has any protocol, then the only protocol is the word 'soul mate'.

End of my story.

Holmes stopped reading the story. There was pin drop silence in the room (with the assumption that it was a large pin). Watson went into his thoughts. The young man was staring at the ceiling as if he was trying to remember something.

Holmes broke the silence, " Young man, Your brother seems to be pretty adjusted with his circumstances. It was as if he wanted the mystery to remain a mystery. I think, in the end, he is pretty happy with himself and his soul-mate."

"No, Holmes, No. He is acting crazy", replied the young man.

"okay, let me meet your brother. Let me talk to him"

"No,Holmes. I would not let such a crazy man to come near you.Please don't insist", he begged.

Holmes suddenly laughed out of blue. No one understood why.

"alright! What do you want me do?", asked Holmes.

"Holmes, I need the identity of that woman. I need her address and all the details about her. Most importantly, I would like to know the number of moles and their positions on her body"

"What!!!", both Holmes and Watson exclaimed at the same time with a crazy look on their faces.

"You see, Holmes, I have my own private theory regarding this whole affair. I strongly believe that she is a witch who is hell bent on destroying lives of young men like my brother. I know a witch doctor in the village of bistar near the border of andhra pradesh in orrisa. 20 years back, he woke up the most dangerous evil in the whole world --'Kashmora' to destroy his opponents. It was pretty well documented in the non-fiction books 'tulasi' and 'tulasi dalam'. Because of the development of science and technology, even the devils are asking for psychological profile of the victims. The witch doctor has a theory that the moles and their position on the body has everything to do with the psychology of that person. He calls it 'molistry'. if you can provide me with that woman's mole information, the witch doctor will study her psychology and wake up the appropriate devil. Then, the devil will destroy this woman"

"You are scaring me", whispered obviously scared Watson.

Holmes laughed for close to one minute. Watson looked at Holmes as if he lost his mind. The young man smiled at Holmes.

"Young man, this is the most absurd and hilarious story I ever heard", said Holmes.

"isn't life absurd and hilarious, Holmes?", winked the young man.

"You are right, Young man, You are right", Holmes winked back

Watson felt as if he was in a mental hospital, or rather, an absurd hospital, where he was the doctor and the other two in the room -- his patients. He thought, " The young man said something horrible about witches and destroying that woman, and then Holmes laughed, and the Young man winked at him, and Holmes winked back at him. am I in a dream?"

"So, tell me Holmes, are you going to help me?", asked the young man.

"Of course, Young man, Of course. Contact me in a week", said Holmes.

With that promise from Holmes, the smiling young man left the room.

Holmes turned to Watson to say something.

"No, Holmes.Dont say anything. My mind got super heated. I need a big bottle of brandy to find my sanity. I dont get it. This is all absurd. This is all nonsense. This is all confusing"

"All confusions will be cleared by the end of this week", smiled Holmes.

                                                                                                  Da Letter

The week went fast. Watson noticed that Holmes didn't work much on the case, even though he promised to help the young man. Watson tried to not think about it, but the more he tried not to think about it, the more he thought about it. He took a pencil and paper, and wrote the sequence of events. Finally he wrote in big letters, " WHO IS THE VICTIM? FIRST FIND THE VICTIM".

That day, the day Holmes promised to clear all confusions, finally arrived. Watson was anxious the whole morning. Holmes was calmly reading his news paper.

Finally, Watson said, " Holmes, remember your promise?"

"Patience, Watson. I am waiting for a message which should come at any time now ", replied Holmes.

As soon as he completed that sentence, there was a knock on the door, and someone slipped a letter under the door.

Watson ran towards the door,picked up the letter, and opened the door. There was no one outside. Watson opened the letter, and said to Holmes, " This letter is addressed to you"

Holmes smiled and replied, " Read it, Watson. Read it aloud".

Watson started reading the letter.

Dear Sherlock Holmes,

I knew it. I knew it as soon as you smiled at me on that day, that you solved this mystery. I saw the twinkle in your eyes, that by studying me, and understanding my motivations, you understood everything.

I know you are going to explain everything to Dr.Watson. But, before you do it, let me explain to you my motivations in my own words.

Holmes, What is this life all about? I know that's a difficult question to answer. Let me put that question in a different way. What do we do in life?

From the perspective of men, let me answer that question. First of all, let me state the obvious,that we all came from a woman. As kids, we go to school and talk about sports,superheroes and girls. As teenagers, we go to college and talk about sex and girls.As adults, we go our offices, earn money, talk about sundays and women. In the middle age, we talk about retirement and women. While we are on our death bed, we talk about death and women. You see Holmes, for a man, a woman occupies a significant part of his memory. A man falls in love with many women in his life. In that sense, women in general occupies a large part of his memory. If you ask me, 'What is a man?', I would say that a man is collection of memories. If a man is a collection of memories, and if women occupies significant part of his memories, then, is it not logical to say that a man is defined by women? Also, by the same token, Can we say that a man understands a woman mostly by understanding himself? let me get back to this point at a later time.

Now, if a man is his memories, and If the man puts a huge chunk of memories under the label 'do not touch', don't you think that the man is actually half a man? Then the natural question is, why do a man repress his memories? The obvious answer is that people takes themselves too serious. The source of that seriousness -- the lack of perspective in life. If you look at the stars in the sky, and really think about them, and the space, and the earth, and the past history, don't you realize that how insignificant you are in the grand scheme of things? One of the major advantages of thinking yourself as insignificant is that -- it frees you away from the illusions of fame and power. It is a fact that every man's ultimate goal is happiness. But, how many people are happy in this world? What drives people to go after fame and power? Fear drives these people. This fear drives people to take themselves serious. And this seriousness drives them to repress their memories, because they fear those memories and the effect of those memories in present tense. If a man is afraid of his own memories, how can he love a woman with his whole heart. That begs the question, what is love?

What is love, Holmes. A man throws acid on the face of the girl who rejected his love. The society wanted revenge and killed that man in a brutal fake encounter. Didn't the society commit the same mistake the man has committed? What sort of society we are living in when we cure the symptoms instead of the disease. The disease is in the definition of the love itself. Love is not about possessing somebody, love is about sharing souls. You can share your soul with anyone, and sometimes there will be instances where you even mate with a soul. A soul has nothing to do with the physical presence of that person. If Love is nothing but mating of souls, then why do you try to get access to her body. When a man has too much pain in his heart, and when he thinks that his love object would cure his pain, he immediately creates a small world consisting of two people - himself and his object of love. My theory of world says that, that world has been created so as to gain power and fame in that world. All he thinks about is : How can I gain control of that women? How can I be powerful to that woman in this world? He goes through lot of shit to gain control of that woman. He buys her gifts, spends money etc etc..only to gain power over her. He continuously thinks about the world, and this fills him with anxiety. From that anxiety, comes jealousy, and from that jealousy comes distrust, and from that distrust, the girl tries to run away from his world. A man cannot be alone in his world, If he is really alone, then what would be the meaning of power and fame? Once he becomes alone in his world, his soul dies, and he throws acid on the woman. very simple!

When a man says to a woman that she is the whole world for him ---- Run away. It is not about love, It is about power.

Forget about romantic love, lets talk about parental love. Does parents really love their kids or are they emotionally using their kids to escape from their own pain? In order to understand what I am saying, we should study the extreme case -- A borderline personality disordered mother. A BPD mother is always in terrible pain, a pain I am sure you would never have experienced. It is almost like death. A BPD woman runs from man to man, as if the whole race of men will be getting extinct tomorrow. She feels a bit like human only during the times of fresh love. When unfortunately, A BPD woman becomes a mother, She clings on to the child. It was not with love she was doing it, but with the thought that her child is gonna cure her pain. And by doing that she converts her child to BPD religion.

In the same way, the normal mother who has pain, creates her own world containing her kids. Even the facade of freedom she gives to her kids is a strategy to gain power over their kids. When the kids get struck in her world, they become exactly like her. When the mother hurts her own kids and says that she did that because she loves them -- that's all a drama. There are some instances where the mothers are jealous of their daughters especially when they goes away from their control. I am not saying all mothers are like that, I am talking about mothers who has more than normal pain in their hearts.

That begs the question, why even normal women have soo much pain in them? That logically leads to Female Oppression. Let us not talk about the old school female oppression of widows and all that crap. Lets talk about institutionalization of modern women. The modern women never accept that they are oppressed. This is because they were programmed to think in a certain way since their childhood. For example, they are forced to think that they are supposed to get married at a particular age Forget about parents, even the so called modern woman feels anxious as she reaches the age of 25. In that anxiety she chooses the wrong partner. All is well till the honeymoon.Then, she realizes that she got stuck. She sold her dreams for the sake of security, and I ask, security from what? Security from the programmed fears written by the society. When she feels that she got stuck in that world, and that circumstances are deciding her life, She feels anger directed at herself, and that is nothing but pain in her heart.

Marriage is not a security. Marriage is a security in the same way that a jail is a security against road accidents. Thats not to say that there are no successful marriages. I have seen some wonderful marriages. There are as many kinds of marriages as there are kinds of women. Until now, I was talking about men and women in general. But, in reality, each human being is unique. Every human being suffers from at least one psychological disorder. The only solution for all the problems is self-knowledge, which can only be possible if they try to unprogram themselves from the societal programming.

Holmes, I need to cut short here.I didn't sleep the whole night and I feel delirious. I also feel bored of all memories, women,men,marriages and what not. I think I have exhausted my mojo of inspiration. You may ask me, "are you a saint? are you perfect". Of course not. I am just like all those people I am talking about. I go thru ups and downs just like every body else. But, sometimes, a moment of clarity hits me and I have to use that moment. That is this moment. Thats not to say that I don't have a muse, Of course, I have my own muses.

A story is a memory. All we have is our stories. All we leave to next generation is our stories.When we get old, as our memories get weaker, what saves us from that horrible situation of losing our memories is the stories we write.

A man is never alone, Holmes. A man can only be defined by his relationships with the humanity, even in his solitude. We express our emotions to the humanity. We tell stories to the humanity, and we read stories from the humanity. A person's stories, irrespective of the style, always tells something about himself. This is because a person creates art, as every art is a story, in his solitude. Only in his solitude he can be his real-self. Thats why art is powerful, and it needs to have the maximum exposure.

Hope, Watson understands this.

                                                                                            Your biggest fan,

                                                                                                      The young man.

PS: Why I don't have a brother? You should put that question to my parents.

2PS : I was really hurt when you commented on my BO. I am always hygienic.

cutshortPS: its okay. well iz all.

There was a silence for couple of seconds.

"Holmes, I thought this letter is going to throw some light on this case. But, it doubly confused me now. What kind of letter is that?? Does it have any relationship to this case? and what the hell is 'Hope, Watson understands this'? What I got to do with any of this? Holmes, please answer", pleaded Watson.

"Where shall I start?", asked Holmes, with a look of immense satisfaction in his face.

"Okay, lets start with the question : is there any mystery in this case?"

"The only mystery in this case is that there is no mystery"

"Okay, I didn't get that answer. let me ask you another question : Who is the victim?"

"I don't call it exactly a victim, But if you insist -- You are the victim, Watson.The victim is you"

Watson was spellbound. For him, it all looked as a never-ending nightmare.

"Me???? I am the victim? That is a fantastic statement, Holmes. I am afraid to say"

"Watson, you have been duped by the young man right from the beginning"

"Holmes, I am not going to ask any more questions.But please explain me the whole thing from the beginning with out stopping as you used to do before, during our glory days"

"Watson, It is actually a very simple story. There once lived an young man in Hyderabad. He wanted to tell a story, and pass on a message,and he wanted to have the whole world as his audience. But, he neither had the money nor resources to do that. But, he had some intellect. He came to know about our visit. He knew that I was interested in mysteries. He knew that you were always interested in writing about my cases. So, he constructed a mystery for us. He wanted to dupe us, and make us work, and then in the end he wanted to reveal that he duped us. He hoped that would a good story for you to write, which of course, includes the story he wrote. I was duped in the beginning, that was why I started liking him. He weaved some absurd stories only to sidetrack you.I am sorry. I let him do that"

"What made him think that I am going to publish his story?"

"Thats because he knows that you are just like him. Just like him, you want to write stories. Just like him you want to share your joy of working with me. You both have this itch of telling stories. You both can never hide anything in your hearts." , explained Holmes.

"So, how much of his story is truth and how much of it is a lie?"

" I don't want to tell you that. Lets leave the facts, write what you feel. A story always writes itself, Watson"

Watson sank bank in his couch, and replayed all the events once again. The key given by Holmes unlocked all his confusions. But, he still didn't know which part of the story was true and which wasn't.

"So, you mean to say that his entire story, including the girl and half-Saree, is a figment of his imagination?"

"It could be, Watson."

"that illegitimate son of queen Elizabeth!", Watson cursed, and then smiled.

"Let me give you a suggestion, Watson. See, we have here four sources of information. 1. Psychology of the Young Man 2. The story he wrote. 3. The story he told 4. His letter. Write the best story you can write using all these sources. That story will be the truth, and its life", suggested Holmes.

"I think I am going to write this story, from my heart, Holmes"

"Excellent, Watson"

"What shall I name this story : Mystery of a soul mate AKA How I got duped?"

"Its better if you name it : Mystery of a horny Buddha"

"What Buddha? What the hell is horny Buddha?"

"You didn't read his 7th hour story?"

"NO"

"Okay, read it then", Holmes handed him a sheet of paper.

Seventh Hour:

When I came back from the washroom, I saw her talking animatedly on the phone.Then she suddenly started crying. I went to her and inquired what was it all about. She sobbed uncontrollably. She said that she lost her promotion in her company, and her colleagues back stabbed her, whom she had trusted with her life. It was not about the promotion she was sad about, but she was in lot of pain because she lost hope in the humanity and its trustworthiness. Her sentimentality moved me. She is just like me, I thought. .Sentimental and compassionate!

I said to her, " Forgive those who hurt you. Forgive yourself. Call them and ask forgiveness.Then only your pain will go away"

"OMG! You talk just like Buddha", she said with smiles among her tears.

She looked very beautiful.

So, I am Buddha for her, I thought.

Then, out of no where, she came and hugged me. I was shocked. I didn't know what to do.

where to put my hands now, I thought.

Then I slid my hands behind her back, but it slipped, and I held her harder, but it slipped again,and I hugged her harder, but it slipped again..

and then I felt.......horny for her.

You know, people ask me why I call myself as Horny Buddha.

Simple reason : I felt as a Buddha for her, and Horny for her at the same time.

Hence, Horny Buddha.

                                                                                    The End.

An as-it-is-no-bullshit snapshot of a day in the life of a lazy vagabond.

2010-07-12T07:34:00.000-07:00

Amritsar.

10am.

I woke up to the sound of someone banging on the door.

"who is it?"
"sir"

Knowing who it was, I opened the door.It was the hotel boy.

"sir,are you going to stay for one more day"

Do you want me to stay or not? r u surprised that I am going to stay one more day?is this some kind of scam?

"ofcourse"

"okay,sir"

11am.

I woke up again to the sound of someone banging on the door.

"sir, are you going to stay for one more day?"
"Yes. Yes!! I am going to stay for one more day, I told you before"
"okay,sir"

dream or dejavu?

"can you do me a favor? next time when you come here,please knock, like this;knock, knock,knock; just, please dont break the door.okay? Krupaya dhyan dhijiye"

He laughed.

12am.

I woke up again,but this time to the sound of someone knocking on the door.

"sir, are you staying? because if you are not staying, we would like to paint this room"

"I am staying and I am not leaving this room. You gotta postpone that, and please let me sleep"

"okay, sir"

3pm.

I woke up this time on my own.

Should I feel guilty about getting getting up at 3pm? Ofcourse not, because I am not the usual tourist whose time is money. I got lot of time. guilt trashed.

but if you had woke early, you would have done soo many things..right?

short cuts, my friend,short cuts.I find diamonds in my shortcuts.

4pm.

I walked down to the lobby of the hotel, and was facing the owner.

"Hello. How are you? I just want to say something here. last night, I asked for plates, and I didnt get any. I asked for a remote, and I didnt get it. I asked for a key and I didnt get
it, and you know what your boy said, he suggested me to change the channels manually, and the TV was at 6 feet away", I laughed as I said.

He laughed too. He knew that I was taking that oppurtunity to start up a conversation, or just to crack a joke. Cues of the society.

Laughing at mundane things in life is a gift. Trust me.

"We will do the needfull"
"you know what.. you said the samething last night"

He laughed again.He knew that there is no way that anyone could get remote for that crappy TV.He also knew that tourists who come to Amritsar stay at his place atmost for a day, because it
was the nearest one to the bus stand.Since no one bothers to come again, why bother!

If not for me getting up late, I would certainly have checked out of that crappy,and a bit costly-for-my-pocket hotel.

no shortcuts here...when it comes to money.

but at the sametime, just when you thought you saved up all the money with your judicious planning, things like reverse-lottery happens...and there goes all your money in to someone else pocket.

4.15pm.

I walked out to the busy street.Noise,dust,heat,cycle rickshaws,auto ricshawas,buses,cars,what not. Then I noticed a sudden surge of excitement in me.A feeling of adventure,
a feeling of not judging what I was seeing as bad. A feeling that everything is an experience, an experience which is an end to itself.It was not to write,brag or film about.
Just an experience! It was not with a future purpose. The purpose - present and there itself.

With a spring in my walk, I appraoched a cycle rickshaw.

"golden temple"
"sit"
"how much"
"you sit"
"no, tell me first""
"10 ruppees"
"what!!"
"10"

10 rupees was nothing.But, I had noticed that cycle ricshawale's dont charge much.no idea why.I also noticed that I grew a beard, and my clothes were not so presentable, and it did work many times later in tricking the wallahs.

Poor help poor.I know it for a fact. I observed it many times.

All the rickshaws in amrisar were open richkwas.I jumped in to it, and started watching the old city. Both golden temple and jalianwallah bagh, two places where deadliest incidents happened, were at a stone throw away distance from each other in the old city. As usual in any old city in a city, it was full busy, with many small and big shops.Very hectic.small streets.old buildings.and lots and lots of tourists.

We crossed jalianwallah bagh, and I wondered if it was the place where general dyer killed a thousand peacefully protesting indians.I thought of the movie gandhi, and richardattenbourough, and visualised how this place would be like during those days.It kind of struck me that the street saw the deaths of thousands of indians in the hands of miliray once before indepence, and once after independence, which happened couple of decades back, and ofcourse which also killed the dynamic but a bit megalomaniacal leader Indira gandhi.

The richshawalla dropped me somewhere between jalianwallah bagh and golden temple, and I started walking towards golden temple. The sun was super hot,but my mind was super cool.I ignored my body,which was a mistake,especially for someone who just came from the cool climate of himalayas to the plains where
civilizations prospere and destroy themselves.

I was about to enter golden temple when I heard some one shouting "wagha border, wagha border".I knew what he was shouting about, and out of curiousity I apprached him.

"how much?"
"80 rs"
"will you wait till I get back from the temple?"
"look, let me give you a very good suggestion. The border closing is gonna start in an hour.you dont have time. first, I will take you to the border, and will drop you here at 7pm.You have plenty of time after that"

"temple has lights in the night?". Stupid question.

He smiled, "ofcourse.Golden temple very beautiful in the night"

"how much time we got?"

"10 mins"

"look, I am gonna go for a chai and come back in 10 mins.okay?"

"first reserve your place and go. If you miss this shared taxi, you gotta shell out 600 to go wagha."

He looked trushworthy. I paid for the ticket,and went out in search for chai.

There was a small blink-and-you-miss-it chai shop near jallianwallah bhag. I gotta stress this because
it looked like punjabis dont drink chai that much.

I sat down drinking my delicious but a bit watery chai.

Ms.Huxley.

Why did I think about her yesterday? Why am I thinking about her now? Why was I thinking about her for the last one month? Why?

you know why, dont you? Because, you are stupid.

I am cool takeit easy guy.Nothing bothers me.

You can bullshit others, not me.

I finished my chai, paid 5rs, and walked towards the wagha guy.

Our group consisted of some old and boring indians -- 50 yr olds couples, obviously north indians.As I sat beside the driver seat, I noticed something odd. I was not feeling good, and was not able to point the reason. I felt thristy, and then it dawned upon me that I ignored the hot sun, but it didnt ignore me. It didnt discrimate at all.

Heat stroke! is it a heat stroke.What the hell I am thinking about. who gets a heat stroke at 5 in the
evening. am I becoming like woody allen, worrying about heat strokes and diseases.

fuck it, I dont care.

The maruthi van started slowly through the crowds. It amazed me how we came out of old city without an
accident, because at some point I asked the teen driver about his drivers license.

We were on our way at full speed in no time.

Train to pakistan. Did that train go through these places.did people massarched each other here.History of punjab is history of blood.death.blood. Death.Dead body.Dead body..dead body..dead body...PRANEETHA!

NO! Please, not now.

No, you gotta do it. You are repressing your memories.face them!

farmaldehyde and cheap agarbattis.farmaldehyde and cheap agarbathis.NO, not now!
cheap makeup, shoddy makeup, horrible makeup, horrible makeup to coverup horrible face.
cheap makeup, formaldehyde, agarbatti, and rigor mortis.fat dead body.

No, she is not my praneetha. she is not!

MOM : Tell me the truth.
me : mummy....
MOM: please tell me..
me : (crying)...
MOM: why is he crying? vamsee is crying..why is he crying..
me : mummy..
MOM : tell me right now
me : Praneetha...
MOM: No, dont tell me. She will be fine.she is just in hospital.She will be okay.
I prayed to many gods.Dont cry, she will be okay.Doctors are taking care of my praneetha.
I know you dont believe in god, but pray for her. go to a temple.She will be okay.
dont cry. She is just in the hospital. she will be good. god does not punish such a great girl.
I am sure about that.She will be india by the time I come there.dont worry!
me : but..
MOM : give the phone to mamu..

mamu : akka, she is fine.just a small accident.dont worry.

jaipur.Mangal,his wife,her sister and me;watching a movie in the supposed to be the most beautiful theatre
according to lal kishan advani.

My phone rang.

me : Akka, wassup!
Akka : You have to immediately go to hyderabad.
me : why?
Akka : just go
me : why?

Something happend in hyderabad. something bad. Someone in hyd met with danger. pinni?

Akka: Vamsee....Vamsee..be brave.
me : what?? just tell me.
Akka: Vamsee..vamsee..praneetha is no more.
me : what?? what are you talking about?
Akka: She met with an accident in US.

This is a nightmare, right? Ofcourse its a nightmare.or, did the time just stop.Who said this is the beautiful theatre in india.This is the most ugliest.

JFK internatioanl airport.The flight about to leave for munich.delay.half hour.

My phone rang.

me: pranee, how r you ra? You didnt answer your phone on your brithday.
praneetha : Annaya, r u really going back to india.
me : yes, I am.
praneetha : What will do there? Please think about it.
me : I dont know ra. I will do something.Tell me about your birthday.
Praneetha : I really enjoyed it annaya. All my roomates gave me a surprise brithday party.
My best birthday. but, they made a mess with eggs and milk and what not.
me: eggs and milk. What kind of birthday is that? Did they hit you with eggs? What kind of animals do that!
Praneetha : No, they hit the other guy, I told you na, my friend.
me : Why did they hit him if it is your birthday? Whats happening?
Praneetha : just like that. He helped me a lot when i came here na, thats why.
me : I dont get it.
praneetha : leave it. Did you tell peddamma that you are going back?
me : I think they know.
praneetha : Annayaa..
me : tell me ra..
Praneetha : nothing.
me : I am serious this time. Send me your BOA Account number. How many times do I have to tell that.
Please listen to me.I have money now, I wont be having anything later..
Praneetha : Arey..Money is not at all the problem.I will complete my MS, find a job, and will send you money.dont worry.
me: hahaha..big girl! you know what,I feel really guilty for not visiting you and helping you out.
Praneetha : forget about it..I will come to india na..
me : super idea.hahaha..
Praneetha : Annaya, why dont you get married?
me : why? you wanna wear a saree,full makeup, and harrass my wife's side..dont u?
Praneetha : hahahha..yes.
me : now listen, first your marriage, and then mine.okay?
Praneetha : Anayya...
me : tell ra...babu..
Praneetha : you know that guy...my friend...he has a car...
me : and..
Praneetha : nothing le...
me : you wanna say something to me?
Praneetha : Annaya...
me : listening....
Praneetha : be safe.
me : I will try.

Memories. Damn memories! It takes a millisecond to feel them, but takes an hour to write about them.
But, no matter how much I write, I would never be able to express the emotion associated with those memories.

Repress!Repress!

Done!

The van didnt repress much. It faced the road with enthusiasm,
and with some recklessness. I guess it trusted its driver.

5.30 pm.

We reached attari. The border is called attari-wagha border, and
ofcourse, bordering pakistan.The ceremony we were going to was the border closing ceremony, which happens everyday at 6 pm.
Thousands of indians on one side of the gate, and the same number of pakistanis on the other side of the gate come everyday to show their patriotism when the soldiers try
to outperform each other in style in closing the gates.

When I got out of the van,I felt very weak. I attributed it to lack of food,sun and thrist. I walked to the restuarant, saw some one eating a somasa and ordered it along with a super cold
thumsup. It took me 2 minutes to complete the whole thumsup, but
still felt thirsty. I left the halfeaten samosa and went to the
nimbu soda stand.

When I took the first sip of nimbu soda, I thought I was in heaven. Limca,sprite or any other lemon flavoured drinks are
nothing before this road side nimbu soda.The best nimbu soda
ever!

Rejuvinated, but still weak, I bought a corn cob and went to the border. There were two check points before reaching the border gate. One for corn cobs, and the other for weapons. Obviously,I sacrificed my corn cob for the sake of national security, and when I reached the second security point and when i turned left, I saw a woman in military dress with a big gun hanging on her back side.I wouldnt say it was instant love, but certainly there was some instant attraction.

A woman. Military dress.Impeccable.A big automatic weapon.
Danger.strength.fear.attraction.

The fact that she could easily destroy me in anykind of fight excited me.

I skipped my line and came back to watch her, or may be take a pic or two.She was standing in a manly way,a bit vulguar, with her legs apart,and directing the female traffic. Sudden impulse came over me to go and talk to her, but then again I remembered that my fitness levels were abysmally low to face any fractures of any sort, and so I proceeded to the border with dissapointment, and wondering what a coward I was!

When I reached the podium specially erected to watch the ceremony, I Immediatley understood the impossiblity of watching it. There were not hundreds but thousands of patriotic
indians climbing on the gates and walls and steps to watch the
cermony.

The people climbing up those 20 steps reminded me of tirmula queques. Just replace spirituality with partiotism.Two concepts I did/do not associate myself with!

I mixed in with the crowd, and started climbing the steps with
some kind of fake determination. I got to confess here that I feel claustrophobic among the crowds, especially when there is a frenzy to see something, to act on something, as if the moment would be gone forever if they dont act now. In that temporary
insanity, they dont care about others,even if what they are going after is something which temporarly bond with the same people who they are fighting now for a place.

I am a free man right!(What ever the hell it means)
I have no fear right!(Except in the curious case of milatary woman)
I can do anything, right! (Anything that is convenient to you)

With great difficulty, and after getting pushed and shoved, smell of sweat, I finally reached the top only to find there
were hundreds more people vying for vantage positions. Impossible!

Then, there was huge roar of people shouting 'vandemataram', 'bharat mata ki jai',from which I kind of deduced that the ceremony had started.

The same people who were pushing and shoving each other were
shouting these plastic ready made slogans, and a thought occured to me that their patriotism is not about india, but a hatred for
pakistan. fear, more than the hatred.

"Vandemataram"
"Bharat..Mata..ki jai"

Mob fury. This is the mob. This is the mob, with frency brought by temporary insanity, would not hesitate to kill or maim their object of hatred. The mob is always one person. It has a character united by the single point hatred agenda among its
constituents.Very dangerous!

I got moved by the mob. This is my country. These are my people.
We are brothers and sisters united by common cause,the nature of which I couldnt fathom at that moment. I looked at the people. They looked just like me. A shock of patriotism passed through me, and I too wanted to shout vandemataram, with my fellow partriots. As if to save from my dilemma, some one shouted, "peace...peace...shanti..shanti..", and I was brought back to my senses and rationaity.

What if I am in the position of kamal hassan in heyram?

I didnt want to stay there anymore, and walked back to the street full of vendors selling patriotic cds.

weakness,trembling legs,no-apetite,thirst.

Whats happening to me?

I sat down near the nimbu stand.

thirst
nimbu soda
thirst
nimbu soda
weakness.no apetite.
corn cob
thrist
sprite.

Am I suffering from dinking too much water? too much water reduces sodium levels, but I drank too much sodium too..whats wrong.

Ms.Huxley. What is she doing now? getting fucked?

so what?

sucking a ..I mean..like..

stop.so what?

saying, " I love you"

jealous?

vamsee is never jealous.

As josh used to say, " but only when you talk in third person"

fuck josh.

I knew whats happening. Phyical depression leads to mental depression atleast momentarilly. All I needed was to unplug the mind. But, is it possible?

As ruchi says, did I too wake up in a different shade? or do I go threw different shades in a day? or with my force of will, I can change any shade into the coolest shade ever or the brightest shade ever? Even if I change my shade to a better one, wont my memories remember that I lived in that not-so-better shade before, and hence conclude that I am not really happy that day? and..overall determining my happiness.

The van started, finally. The couples were sharing their experiences. Normally I would have joined their conversation.
I didnt. No mood.

I heard some one saying, " We found an AC room for 200 near golden temple". I am paying 4 times as much.shit!

I looked at the couples.

Soo normal..soo boring. Why do they
lead their lives? What makes them live their boring lives?
Why do they wear such boring dresses? Why cant they be sexy?
please cover your sagging boobs! Its depressing to see sagging
boobs.

The not-so-old woman looked at me and adjusted her chunni.

You are a hypocrite.

why?

look at your self. your beard.your dress.your sandals.

whats wrong with my sandals? They are made from camels skin.
completly washable.

only if you care to wash!

I looked outside. Rich,plush fields. With all these fertile lands, india is still poor? How can it be possibille?
The problem is not with the answer, but with the quesion.
The question must be, " Who owns those lands?"

you are a hypocrite

look, that issue is over.

no its not over.How dare you judge those middleclass couple.

wait.Do you think I am the same person everytime. Dont you think I have moods...and in certain moods I momentarilly judge others? cut me some slack.

then you need to cut slack to every who look others with contempt. May be there are in that mood at that time.

You got a point.

I was getting progressively weaker as the couples became progressively louder, and the van progressivley faster, and the sun progressively dimmer, and my mind was becoming progressively negative.

Spinoza.He is the only philosopher who understood emotions. He is the most noblest and practical of all philosophers.

"Understand your emotions, and pit one against the another"

How to do it?

A philosopher becomes a great philosopher when he confirms you.
not when he teaches something new.Spinoza taught me some stuff, but mostly he confirmed. Getting confirmed is a great feeling.

Since it is impossible to unplug my mind, let me use my mind to cure my mind.

As surya said..knowlege talking to knowledge.

"Whats wrong?"
"I am feeling negative"
"whats that?"
"I am feeling sad"
"reason?"
"my body feels weak"
"lack of energy leads to lack of chemicals in brain.solved"
"but I dont want to feel sad"
"you are being a perfectionist"
"oh no..perfectionism..My hate for it is perfect.what to do?"
"enjoy your sadness?"
"enjoy my sadness?"
"dont you enjoy sad movies?"
"yes"
"just like that?"
"yes. just like that."
"not convinced"

The van stopped.

The driver to the couple, " You gotta get down here"
husband, " You said you are going to drop at the bus station"
"walkable from here..walk"
"No.we wont"

Argument ensued.There were only two alternative because of some
traffic reasons.Either I need to get out or they need to get out. I offered to walk to the temple. I didnt hear thanks from anyone.

I walked on to the busy street. Thrist, weakness, sweat, heat.
Its dark outside and still felt the heat, or was it humidity?

7:45 pm

I dragged my feet to the golden temple.People.Lots of them.
Spiritual people.Lots of them.This must be an important place for them.very important.

Ofcourse, they killed india's PM because of it.Didnt they?
Killed by her own bodyguards. How much mental struggles those
body guards might have gone through.

I deposited my sandals, and walked into the temple.There was a small pool of running water before the entrance, most probably washing away sins of the devotees.

I folded up my jeans a half feet above my feet, and went into the water. Instant refreshment! The cool water massaged my feet.I stood there for 20 seconds,enjoying it, while the people around
me moved on. As I approached the entrance, a guard adorning a weapon which looked like a spear, stopped me, indicating that I was supposed to wear a head scraf. I took a headscraf, but didnt know how to wear it.

you dont know how to wear a headscraf, fumbles at locks,fidgets near women,you dont know how to repair an automobile, dont know how to make a knot, dont know how to negotiate, dont know how to
build a house.You have no style.No grace.Nothing.You are just an half-man.

dear,I create style.dont follow it.

You are also genghiz khan, the great.

check this out.

I wore the scarf with no difficulty and walked in to the temple.
The temple was in the middle of a manmade pond, and ofcourse very beautiful.It's image was making beautiful shapes on the surface of the pond. The air above the pond was cool. I sat near the pond facing the temple. That was what I wanted - to sit at a cool place.That was it.

Some kids surrounded me, asking me to take their pics. I obliged.

I walked to the main temple, but the line was too big and too slow.Weakness and impending boredom of a slow moving line made me decide against going to the temple. I was weak,but enjoying it in way.I noticed that I was enjoying it because I gave up fighting it. I looked at my folded up jeans, and no one was judging me, as they too folded up their pant wahtever. The fact that I folded my pant made me free.Weird!

Weakness is like a freefall, and when you are in a freefall, you better not fight it, just enjoy it.

is giving up fight against weakness same as gaining strength?

8:45pm.

I walked out of the temple, refusing to unfold my pant. I liked it that way. I went to a store selling some religious products, most of them knives and talwars and what not.

"Do you have guru granth sahib..I mean the sikh holy book?"
"why? you wanna buy it"
"ofcourse, I wanna buy it"
"where u from"
"hyderabad"
"well, if you wanna buy it, you need 5 people,a big box, and some manual fans"
"what???"
"I will be fined 10000 if I sell it just like that"

either this is utter nonsense or some language problem

"what are you reading.I need something like that.A small book"
"its some other book".
"you got a nice store"
"its good"
"why is it hot here"
"its not hot"

I am back.The obsurdity is back.Hurrah!

"how much is that knife?"
"you wanna buy it?"
"no"
"do I need a license?"
"no"
"so many weapons.what they do with weapons?"
"they just wear them"
"are they very sharp?"
"yes.very sharp"
"they kill?"
"what??"
"they kill?", indicating a beheading motion
"u a tourist?"
"may be"
"what you do?"
"I dont do much", I laughed.
"you wanna buy something?"
"no.just looking"

He went back to reading his book.I left him with his book.

life is a monty python script.There is no question about it.
No one understood and explained life better than monty python folks. The trick is to participate in that absurdity, and also
enjoy it. You can only enjoy it when you become the viewer of that absurdity. You participate and view it.

When people participate, but not enjoy it unless there is a joke in the absurdity itself, they are asking for trouble.If you participate and watch it, you even have the chance of improvise..and the script can be changed to meet your needs of enjoyment, if not the ending.

Death and tragedy happens in mython python skit.But, they are all too dramatic and farce...just like life. We take life too seriously, and thats because we refuse to accept that we are absurdopiens.

you should remember this.

I will...may be.

I hired a cycle rickshaw. I gotta find a new hotel now.cheap and comfortable.I already read about a hippie budget hotel in lonley plante guitde, but that guide is mostly geared towards foreigners.

As I entered that nondescript hotel (or a house), I noticed that there was a spring in my walk, and enthusiasmi in my mind, and a foldedup jeans,supposed-to-be camel skin sandals,and an yellow head scarf,and a beard.

I was stopped by a man, most probably a worker there.

"what you want?" (in hindi)
"I need a room"
"where you from?"
"hyderabad"
"no rooms"
"no rooms?"
"yeah..no rooms"
"there must be some empty rooms"
"no..I am telling you..no rooms"
"I want to go to the reception"
"this is reception"
"this is reception? you are the reception?"
"yes"
"I am going to the reception". Screw you.

I walked in to the hotel reception.
The owner, a middle aged women, wearing a punjabi dress,and
working on a laptop was sitting there.

I switched to enligh,"lonely planet guide mentioned your place, and so, here I am."

lonely planet's name brightned her face.It was an honour.

"I know", she smiled.
"It said pretty good things about this place.Looks like its true", I said looking around.

She smiled.

"you have rooms?"
"plenty of them"
"but that guy said no rooms?"

The worker joined us, and he switched to english which kind of surprised me.

"where you from?", asked the worker.
"from US"
"why didnt you say that before?"
"whats the difference?", I looked at the owner..surprised

she reprimanded him,"you are not supposed to say that"
I pointed him, and said, " you know..thats discrimination" and laughed.

"when do you want the room?"
"tommorow"
"come tommorow, I will show you a nice room"

Done.

9.30pm

"where you gonna take me now?", I enquired.
"where ever you wanna go", the rikshawallah replied.
"how much??"
"whatever you want to give"
"how much??"
"look at the distance and you decide"
"okay"
"where shall I go now?"
"okay.Take me to the best resaurant in amritsar. I mean the best"
"I know where to take you.There is a place only locals go.Not a big place..but very good food"
"thats exactly what I am looking for"

I liked that guy. Trust was established.

He rode slowly through the city,and for 2 times I got down the rickshaw to push it.

"you smoke beedi?"
"yes"
"you eat gutkha?"
"yes"
"you use tambaku?"
"yes"
"why?"
"because, we gotta enjoy everything in life"

I laughed.

"give me a beedi"

He stopped,gave me a beedi and lit it.
I started smoking the beedi.

"Where you from?", he asked.
"hyderabad"
"is it hot there?"
"very..but not as humid"

We passed through a dome like entrance named 'gandhi marg'.

"this is hall street", he said.
"chor street?", I couldnt hear him clearly.
"no.. H-A-L-L street.chor street near railway station"
"there is a chor street?"
"yes"
"what they sell?"
"everything. not good stuff"
"will you take me there?"
"yes, tommorow"
"you work in the morning?"
"no.but if you want me to take there..I will"
"why you work in the night"
"there are 3 buses in the night"
"why not morning"
"too many rikshaws"

The dhaba was creatively named as 'punjab dhaba', and it was very busy, and at the same time looked very efficient.

I offered him to sit with me, but he refused.
I ordered a chicken biryani and chill chicken.

"where you from?", asked the waiter.
"hyderabad"
"what are doing here?"
"nothing"

He smiled.

"can you divide them in to four packets?"
"why?"
"why? because I wanna give it to my friend"
"You can take 2 packets and eat it with your friend"
"No,my friend wants to eat seperately", I rolled my eyes like a lady.

Absurdity.

Football commentators were analysing the days matches on TV.
Then I saw a girl, most probably 16 years old,coming down from the steps. She was wearing a middi, a bit too short, and her thighs pretty visible and shinging. I should say quite sexy.

she is a kid.

I dont think so.

Even if she is not a kid, she is younger to you more than a decade.You were already a man when she was born.

so? Whats your point.

nothing.

Then her mother's eyes met mine, and I shifted back to the TV.

wait!her mother is hot too.

they are washing the golden temple

why?

because, a sinner visited it today.

Rikshawallah dropped me back at the hotel.I gave him a C note and those 2 packets,and went in to the hotel.

11pm.

Took bath.No hot water.But, refreshing.

What next? What next?

I switched on the TV. NDTV.

what next? what next?

charras!

I remembered that I had left over charas from himalayas visit.

a. break a small piece and heat it up
b. make a fine powder out of it.
c. put it into a rolling paper,and roll the joint.tobacco optional.
d. enjoy.

Charras,exactly like weed, gives two kinds of highs.
Introspective high, and/or relaxing,laughing fit body high.
It depends on the mood of the charrist. (yeah,I invented the word) It also depends on the environmental conditions too.
A fellow charrist,TV, and music makes it very interesting.
The problem with charras though, is that, it makes you extremly lazy.Extremly!

My body relaxed complelty, and I could feel the relaxation from head to toe, as if a relaxing wave was passing through the body.
I felt as if someone was massing my brain.I felt very very relaxed. My mind was not doing its business of reason,problem solving or regurgating my memories. I was in the MOMENT.

Charrass is also a great natural medicine for ADHD.It slows down your lightning speed thoughts.

Thank god, its not the introspective high.

I looked at the TV.Some discussion goin on in NDTV. I wanted to change the channel,but couldnt -- I was stuck, as if someone put
fevicol on the bed.I stared at the TV for close to 15 mins.

I finally gotup in super slow motion, and changed the channel,noticed that it was a movie channel, and fell back.

I dont care.Even if it is the worst movie ever, I will watch it.
I am not getting out of this bed again.

12:30 am.

It was some govinda movie with raveena tondon and mahima chowdary. I always thought that hindi movies are shit, but somehow always liked govinda.

With that appreciation for govinda, I started watching the movie, with a thought in mind that I was completly relaxed, and that my mind was very very happy.

a girl : sir, this is maggie speaking.
govinda : bolo, this is noodle speaking.

Time stopped... as I laughed for close to 2 minutes.
I laughed soo much that I was out of breath.

This is life.I am very happy and content with my life.
This is life.Laugh,laugh and laugh.

Remember, charras only zoomsin your mood, its not a magic stick which can miraculously change your mood.

That means that I am happy.I am happy with or without charras.
I am happy and content with my life..expect for a few present and prospective bumps..what else they could be ...if the biggest tragedy in your life already happend.What kind of future tragedy could match that?

Govinda is an actor with limited range,but within the range, he is absoutely brilliant. He is the king of the slapstick comedy.
I became his big fan at that moment.

The thing with charras or even weed is that, you detect subtle emotions in people, especially when you are watching a movie.
You detect certain subtle things a great actor always do.You are able to detect it because, the duration in your mind goes slow.
In normal situations its very difficult to notice that subtely,but would notice the effect of that subtility in the scene.At the same time, you can detect the worst of acting on charras.

At that moment, Govinda was the king for me. He was the only actor in the movie, the others were just helping him out.
There was cetain ease in him which put me completly at ease.
He just slided into the character.His expressions,eventhough completly over the top, were very appropriate for the story,because the story was a farce.Big farce.Intentinally,monty pythonically farce.

Okay, I dont know the whole story as I watched it from the middle, but it goes like this.

Govinda somehow gets two wives : one city bred girl and the other village punjabi girl.No one knows about this, except govinda and his two buddies.Complications start when the two wives comes to know each other. The stuff he does, the sentimental dialogues, and the extreme lenghts he goes to keep them apart, was the stuff of comic lengendary.

When with mahima chowdary, he talks punjabish. I know how punjabi people talk and behave, so I can vouch for his authenticity.
with raveena, he acts as city bred.He has two kids,one from each woman, and they two look almost alike.

The kids comes to know about this and they stages a plan to confirm. The first kid puts an X mark under his shoes.The second kid is supposed to check it out when govinda goes to the second house.

kid : Dad,I want to touch your feet.let me take your shoes off..
govinda : acha...I dont believe it.since when you started doing this.
kid : just now, my teacher called me as said that I should respect my parents.
govinda : she called you and said that?
kid : yes, just now.

I know this is an old story with old diagoues. But govinda's over the top but ease in acting made it very funny.

Okay, the kids give 2 days ultimatum to govinda to come up with the truth.Then, govinda does something which is totally genius level. He comes up with a casette. The casette comes with a scene where he and the other non-existant govinda having a conversation in a party. they talk, they smile, they drink and are having a blast. "Hence", he says, "We already met,and we dont need to meet again...now".

Then the kids come up with a judwaa casette,and they ask why those two govindas are shaking their hands and touching each other.

Govinda is in a soup now,and before he could say anything,a new govinda comes to the house.

Shock.complete shock, not only to the govinda in the movie but also to me.

I was like...How the filmmakers are going to justify this!
Twins?? flash back??

Sometimes the moviemakers try to do something serious, but the effect is complelty hilarious.Unintentinal hilarity.

Now, the film starts to get unintentionally funny. Whenever the new govinda comes, the background score tranforms in to complelty ominous villian music. Even his style becomes a sauve, cold,calculated villianity. He does that soo over the top that it becomes super funny.

Now, the film reaches to such a mix-up, that no one knows who real govinda is,including the filmmakers.Because, both govindas try to act like other, as if it is chess move.

The truth behind the new govinda is soo stupid, that I dont want to go here.But, let me just say that it was unintentionally funny.

Total laughs : 20.
duration : 2-3 minutes.

Buy all govinda comedy movies.

1:30 am

Looked like there were no ads for that channel. As soon the movie ended, a new movie started.

The movie started with a background song, and opens up in a pooja room,which looked like one of those pooja rooms in a palace. A young woman is doing pooja, and all the others watch her as if they just orgasmed. She does pooja soo slow, as if she is waiting for the background song to end.

What kind of stupid movie is this?

Then I realised that I was not watching a movie, but a teleserial. It was as if I walked into a lions den unknowingly.

Everyone wore gaudy dress,full with jewelry, as if they were going to a party or something.There were not.

They just looked like dolls. Finally, the song ends..and...

Old woman : elder bahu, from now on this xyz kandam ki responsibility is yours..

and hands over a big set of keys to that young women.

What kind of house has soo many keys? How many rooms does that house has? is that a hotel?

Then the young women says something, which I dont remember,but,I
remember that the time stopped again..and I laughed for 2 minutes.

I think I went back to 19th century.Charras time travel.

Wait.Then starts some really omninous music with a zoomin to another woman. That woman looks sexy, but there is a sense of evil in her. She is obviouslly jealous.

As the serial progressed,I noticed that I was feeling claustrophobic, as if I was in a jail, and could never get out of the house.

How women could live like that? Whats soo exciting about living all their in that house?

Then I solved it. I not only solved the mystery of 'why women want to live that', but also the mystery of 'why people like these kind of serials'.

The reason :

People always want to live in a circle or a world, which is mostly based on their carrer or whatever work they do.They live in other worlds too, but that one particular world becomes their top priority. Their self respect, fame,everything has more importance in that world. For example, a lectures lives in the world of college and education, and for him/her that world is very important. He/She wants to be king/queen of that world.All their politics, all their struggles has direct relationship with the environment and necessities in that world.Not only they learn lessons in that world, but they do think all those lessons learnt are applicable to other worlds.Smaller the world, bigger the competition and bigger involvement in that world.

All the drama happens in the world. The stakes are always high as he/she moves up in that world, and they go to enourmous lenghts to protect their interests.

Now,this drama is what makes them alive. It is what makes them get up and look forward.

Each and every person wants to attain power and fame in that world.Drama always results from clashes between people who are in direct competition to each other. Not only participants, but also the viewers get addicted to that drama. Rumours,politics,affairs,jealousy...everything.

When a person gives too much value to 'fame' in that world, he/she tries to use people in other world to use them in his important world. Again, going to the lecturer example, he wants his kids to earn better than any of his colleagues's kids.He would be happy if it happens. He could not and would not think beyond that.

Now, because of the female oppression, women were forced to form their own small worlds, either it is a family, or street or village.Thats where she finds her happiness, and more importantly fame and power, and her direct competitors are other women.Their entertaiment comes from the drama in which they are voluntary participants. You often might have wondered why a small offhand derogatory remark effected her. Thats because, you were not able to demark and understand her world.They are somebody in this world, and they would never allow anyone to make them nobody.A husband is just a pawn in her game.

Because of the female liberation, their worlds shifted from family to work place...

In that context, I dont think I have any right to criticize these teleserials. The viewers are the audience who lives in that world, and completly knows the dynamics of that world.They understand that drama, enjoy it and anticipate it.For others, it is piece of crap, its like watching chess without knowing chess.Boring!

In essense, when i am criticising the serial, I am actually criticizing that world.Nothing else.

Granted, that I hate over-dramatics,makeup and music ..what not.
But, when a person lives in that world how would you expect her to expect world cinema techniques...and the nature of a serial is extend..extend..extend..

Expland your world, I say. When you expand your world, you are zooming out.When you zoomout, you will find that the fame in your older world has no meaning.It is just an useless relic, and you wonder why the hell you worked soo hard in that world.

But, at the same time, work becomes effienct only when your world is smaller, and at the same time, again, your work becomes monotonous, but you keep on doing that monotonous unoriginal work because of the fame and power and survival in that world.

The problem with smaller worlds is anxiety.This is because of competition. Everyone wants to be king the world.

You ever wondered how people could live in jails? They were able to live in jail because they create their own worlds, and hierarchies and policies in that world.Fame within the jail is very important for them, and that fame and power,makes them survive. You ever,again, wondered why super rich still wants to be richer? Apply my theory of the worlds.

When you completly zoomout and completly expand your world, then your world becomes the smallest and the biggest..ie your world consists of only one mind...your mind which includes all the minds.for example, buddha. Truth is a parabola.

If you think that president of the united states has a bigger world, then you are completly wrong. His world is his white house, his competitors are within washington DC. His fame within the country is important than his fame outside the country.All his policies and decisions comes from that.

Expanding your world is directly proportional to the knowlege you have.Reading, Travelling and meeting people and contemplation are all part of your expanding world. As you expand your world, you become more a generalist rather than a specialist. As you expand your world, your happiness increases, your anxiety decreases, and you become a much wholer person than an animal.

When I say specialist, I am not talking about the work you do, I am talking about the end, the boundary of your world, where you became a specialist marksmen who secures your world.

What is my world?
Can I have rapidly collapsing and expanding worlds?
Since everything is created by mind, can I create a mind space
where can I zoomin and zoomout whenever I want to, and so be effienct and also original.if it is possible, why not everyone doing it?

2:15 am

I smoked the remaining joint.As soon the serial ended,a new movie started. Its called 'shourya'.

crap movie.look at the title..soo obvious.

wait,who knows which snake..whatever..

whatever!

I noticed that the actors were not trying to act but trying to live in their characters.The pace of the movie was deliberate and in control. It looked like a well made hollywood movie.

Rahul bose, eventhough a bit self-conscioius, was very good. So was javed jaffery..and then came kay kay menon.Wow.!

Then I realised that the movie reminded me of 'A few good men'..and ofcourse it was, a remake of the same. But, it was interesting..and I realised that some people really want to make good movies..even if they are not mainstream..

Indian cinema changing???

Then I again realised that, all the present non-bollywood middle of the road movies have similar themes penetrated into the story -- The angst of the educated and liberated rich..except those of Anurag Khasyap. There is a dilemma between aping the west and being original.Because, the rich in india, unknowingly, became westernized.Now, the middle class is also becoming,knowingly, westernised, and the liberal rich is losing their identity.I guess.

Indian cinema needs something new and orginal.The change that happend/happening was/is fake and unorginal.

New and Orignal. Mind blowinly original. Suicide bomb type original.New and Original.

New and Orignal.N and O.NO

nah!

4.30 am.

The movie ended.

I had great fun, fun for 6 continous hours without even getting up.very happy and content..very happy and content.what u say?

yes.No question about that.

thanks for finally agreeing with me.

I felt thirsty and extremly hungry.I can go the extent of saying that charras must be prescribed as meds for anorexic...because it makes you extremely hungry...and your sweet tooth becomes the sweetest.

I walked out of the hotel to a street which was unrecognisable from what it had been in the morning.It was like one of those streets you see in filmnoir films. Some cycle richshaws here and there,a fire somewhere burning tyres, and a small shop supplying food at a time when every one was deep in coma,except, I guess, those students who were dreaming dreams supplied by their parents and the society.

Trigger.

They say dont follow your heart, follow money.
They say dont follow your heart;marry,get settled,and raise kids.
They say that all those people followed their heart destroyed their lives...that they are the losers.

I ask, "What life?"
I ask, "r u happy?"
I ask, "r u content?"
I ask, "what did you achieve which the so called losers didnt achieve?"

Look all around you.Look all around carefully.
All those people who are teaching us how to lead our lives..
....look at them. R...They...Happy????

All right, I am gonna listen to the society.

I will get a good job. I will put myself in the cubicle of mediocrity and boredom.

Thats not enough, right?? I need to get a GOOD job. I need to climb up the ladder in the company, stock options what not.

Okay,I do that too.

But,thats not enough..right??

Okay, I become a millionaire.

Have you ever seen a millinaire who just takes off and enjoy his life? Rare.

More money you have, more money you want.

Have you ever noticed how many millinaires do feet sewa to swamijis? Lots of them.

You know why? Because, they are unhappy.

An unhappy person,who does not try to understand his unhappiness will certainly create hurdles to others.

An unhappy person will point at you and say, " You,You are responsible for my unhappiness"

Yes, I am the trigger,but, where is the bullet?
where is the bullet?

The bullet is in that unhappy person, his source of frustrations, anxieties, and dissapointments; his childhood,his teenage, his environment, his marriage, his life.

Middle class mores.Middle class morals. Middle class hypocrisy.
I am sick of them.

India got independence in 1947. A few decades later our parents were born.

They saw poverty.They saw russia growing super fast. They tried to ape russia. Then, they saw america. They saw american movies. It became their dream to live in america.It was their dream of live rich. It was their dream to smash the wall of poverty once for all for many generations to come. Its all Maslows theory.Every godamn of it.

But, they werent able to achieve their dreams. Now, they want their kids to achieve their dreams.

We are living in interesting times. India is going through enourmous change, and we are all part of that change.

But, if that change is that of aping some other country, then we are in deep shit. We need to head a new system. I am not talking about utopia. I am talking about a change which has its foundation on new principles.

Change is constant, My friends.

Never ever listen to people whose world is smaller than yours,even if they have enourmous experience and gold medals in their world, except when you need their world's expertise.
and trust me when I say that life is not about worlds,even if it is a world ...its a very big world which encompasses lot of things and ideas.

oye! bhademiyan, controluh..controluh..

arey..leave me yaar..let me vomit..yaar

enough of vomit.It stinks

truth stinks

the truth is -- have you ever been in a 2 room rented house?
have you ever been hungry for more than a day? have you ever been in a situation where you run from paycheck to paycheck?
Then, then only you understand this society.

true, I didnt.Thats exaclty why I cant think in those terms.

but, atleast, simulate and empathize with the people who has gone through these things.

you want me to forgive them.

yes.

You gotta point.

I bought a coke and sprite, well aware that they have lots of sugar, and walked back to the hotel.

Ms.Huxley.

Damn it! Why is she not leaving me? Why am I thinking about her?
What is she doing now?

5am.

The final step in the proof of my life is music.
Charras, I fogot to tell you, makes all your senses pleasurable.
.When you are high,good music feels great, and great music feels orgasmic.

The latest music list I made had some great music. Good rythyms and some great drum beats...and bose headphones did wonders to that already great music.

Ideas formed and died. Thoughts came and gone.

Ms.Huxley.Ms.Huxley.Ms.Huxley..
where are you? What are you doing?

now,can you come out of your romantic scene, and tell me once for all who the hell this Ms.Huxley is and the story behind her.

about Ms.Huxley? I told you manytimes about her..that I met her at fiji airport 3 years back when I was going to australia..and..

thats the weirdest thing. I remember you telling me about her, but not what you told me.But, I do remember feeling that you are stupid.

stupid?

I mean in a logical and analytical way.

whatever that means.

okay, tell me again.

No.I am tired.Read it here ....later.

tell me something.Do you love her?

......

Do you love her?

I dont know. I dont know. When, after sex with her lover..

wait! a lover??

I think and hope so.I dont think she would still be single.

What?? You are horrible.

screw your morals.When, after sex with her lover, when she goes to the balcony all alone,watching the moon, and when she goes into her thoughts..and when she is thinking...I just want to hug her. When she gets up in the morning, and drink her first cup of coffee, and when suddently her day brightens..I just wanna go and kiss her, and when she has her blues or periods, or when she is alone feeling bored and sad, and when she walks through her garden of memories, I want to walk to her and tell her that my garden of memories are just beside her garden and then I want to touch her face, look into her face and tell her that I will be always there for her. And when she is going in her car, or walking, and then when she starts thinking, thiking in solitude..I wanna go to her and tell her that I too am thinking about the samething.I love that moment.I love her in that moment. I want her soul..I want that moment.Her solitude with her thoughts alone..which wouldnt be possible if I am there with her.I love her soul, the real her...and meeting her would destroy it all.

tell me something.

ask.

so soulmates never meeta?

I think so..

Why didnt I remember her even when you told me?

tell me something.

ask.

Do you remember your dreams?

no.

exactly. She is my dream girl.

5.30 am.

and I slept, and my ego went into coma, atleast for while.
is it possible to dream a dream without my ego?
How can it be possible? How can I define my reactions, and my
motivations in the dream without my ego.Its as if each and everything step I take, or perception of a scene in the dream even if I am just a viewer, comes from my ego.

am I my ego? Nothing else?

Sometime during sleep.

I dreamt a dream. I was at a beach, looking for water and waves.But there was no water..just small pools. A woman was touching me..and I was running away from her..thats all I remember.

The end.

Mind and I -- A dialogue

2010-07-04T02:06:00.000-07:00

something triggered in my mind

u see, the trigger triggers a memory
and memory links with memories.

memories are like Australian bush fires
follows the wind and burn the shit out
the mood of the mind is the wind
your emotion is the burnt you.

it depends on the trigger anyway
bad trigger takes you everywhere
every bad thing there was

shame,embarrassments,
rejections, heartbreaks,angst,anxieties,
helplessness,hopelessness,jealousy,
oh yes...the jealousy!!
and then there is the biggest of all,
LOSS OF CONFIDENCE and
LOSING ZEST FOR LIFE.

and this loss of confidence will make you
cling like a baby to whoever it is beside, mostly, a bed and alcohol.
and even make you histrionic

okay, that's fine.Memories belong to past, and past is past.
the problem comes when the mind starts getting clever
it imagines the future, and then analyse it
based on the input of those memories

Now if the mind picks up the bad emotion and uses it as input
to analyse the future, all you get is program failure.
get it?

whole walls get built just an inch before your goal
big huge monstrous walls
even goals like walking your dog or doing your partner

and they push you into abyss
you see, the abyss comes with more abysses, u think
but there is only one abyss

that's why humans understand each other
by understanding that abyss
the abyss is lonely
the abyss is...whats the word?
it makes you a nobody
it makes you question your position in the world

when your mind digs up those memories
it is following evolutionary design
to solve a problem.
but there is no problem. that's the problem.

"you blame it on trigger, don't you, mind?", I ask the mind.

"nope. trigger is neutral.but, I am just doing my job", says mind.

"you do a shitty job though"

Silence.

I say to my mind, " I am not the same person as before"

"you are your experience"

I ask, " I am not my knowledge?"

"experience is knowledge"

I say, " Kant says otherwise"

"Kant is a cunt"

mind is he or she?

I ask her again, " If I solved those problems once for all,
why do you still bring up those memories"

" there are no good or bad memories, only memories"

"but, why do I feel sad when I remember them", I ask

"because, your philosophy is fucked"

I ask, " why don't you help if u know that?"

" All I care is your survival, only to see your seed survive,
now, you know why I make you think about opposite sex all the time..hahaha"

I plead, " my mind, my mind, I thought you are mine"

"are u ..u?

"I am my memories", i say

"if you are your memories, why do u hate them? you hate yourself?"

I replies with anger, "do you think its in my hands? the memory
comes and does it work even before I catch it"

I shout, " HELP ME"

she goes on digging up some recent memories.
suddenly, I feel happy.
Those memories brings up a skeleton of philosophy.
the philosophy says, " I am my mind and I am not my mind"
it further says that my mind is full of hierarchies
the lowest being our simple emotions which have their source in fear.
fear for survival.

the upper most is nothingness.it occupies no space, no weight, no orientation
it is nothing. the nothingness.Some call it consciousness.

The process where you TRY to make it into something is you.
oh ya, you are a process, not a thing.The process is free will.

"didn't Sartre say, " Man is free, but his freedom gives him anxiety"", I quote.

"I believe Sartre's anxiety is complex anxiety" and then she shouts, " wait! I just got a message from the hierarchies..that an Idea is forming in me"

I ask her, " which hierarchy you belong to?"

"The more we talk like this, the more I move up"
and she adds, "when I meet you up there, then, you will live in the moment,
instead of living in the past or worrying about the future. You will become you"

"I always had a problem with that moment concept. how can I catch it and analyse it?"

" you don't analyse or reason, You live it"

" some one said the same, and I said 'screw you'"

" you see, there is a reason for that moment, but, you don't live in reason, you live in the moment"

" I heard Bergson saying something like that"

"okay, whats the idea that's forming in me?" I persist.
"I can only whisper it to you, you wait till I come up there"

" How can I know whatever you going to say is the truth, how can I know which philosophy is truth?"

"LOL.There is no such thing as truth. There are no absolutes.no morals either"

"don't say that. I am waiting for that truth all my life"

"What ever works for you to find yourself, is YOUR truth"

"but people always have their truths in them,does it mean they found themselves?"

" No, most people live near the bottom of the hierarchy. they live in fear"

" So, the truths in the upper are better than the lower?"

"no comparison. those truths are there to live in that hierarchy.Does a lion survive
in the jungle if it follows your truth?"

"but I lived in that bottom before, why did I move up?"

"humans are predisposed to move up.effects of evolution.That's why they suffer"

"they suffer? but suffering is at the bottom, right?"

"this suffering is because of the complex emotions. Not all emotions are created equal."

" only humans have these complex emotions?"

"yes. and when they try to cross that suffering from complex emotion, they move up"

"So, I have to suffer to reach the top? that's depressing"

"but,but, you don't need to suffer exclusively, because, you are already suffering.everyone is"

"come on..I don't suffer"

"You say that because you fail to understand that complex emotion.When you think, when you
create, art, everything is because you suffer.Happiness is part of that"

"What?? Happiness is suffering? This is preposterous!!"

"Happiness is the expression of a complex emotion,happiness is an art the
artist in you creates to express his complex suffering. for example, love is
happiness, but it comes from the complex emotion
of question about existence...which precedes loneliness"

"sometimes you contradict yourself"

"Contradiction does not come from essence, but from the words and the natural inadequacy of the language"

She finally moves up to me. I feel what mind has in her mind.
but for readers sake I ask her whats the idea that formed.

" Whatever works for you to find yourself. Happiness is the indicator.
u see, the wind is my mood, but, you are not the bush, you have the
ability to do something...ie freewill.Freewill though, has its own
limits."

" So, the free will is mostly discounted will.", I become spinozastic.

" lets us be optimistic here, for humanity sake!!", mind loses her patience.

"is that the truth?", I ask.

"It is the present truth. You still have a long way to go"

" So, the above statement is the truth. The absolute truth?"

"No, its philosophy"

"avuna! So, philosophy is about philosophy.", I mutters.

"whatever!!", she mutters back.

I ask her, " you wanna go for a dinner, and then to my apartment?"

she replies with disgust, " Sorry. No mind fuck and no more coffee either.I am getting hot"

"I know you are hot", I laugh.

{after that, the ghost resting on vikramarka's shoulders escapes and climbs
up the tree, laughing ghostly.vikramraka comes up with an expression
something along the line of "WTF!" and walks back to the tree,
as determined as vikramarka.}

The best thread I ever read in a forum........

2010-04-26T10:47:00.000-07:00

I never thought a normal thread in a travel forum could unravel itself into some kind of a thrilling story.

The thread is at once a coming out story; a funny,bitter,informative,philosophical
and suspenseful rant which went on for a period of 3 years and still continuing.
This is the story of 'scotman' who at the age of 20 came to India to smoke some
weed in a quite place, and got screwed,fought,learned, and ultimately became a
better person. Yes, I know, this looks like a review of mainstream bitter-sweet
philosophically shallow movie.But, it is all true. I laughed, learned, tensed, and moved
by this innocent and naive man, who wrote from his heart, and spoke from his gut.

One of the few threads on the internet which has the potential to be made in to a movie.

Some excerpts from the thread:

I'm now very high, as I write this. To think I was just, only reason to smoke high quality hash in a remote mountain villiage, pondering what my next move in life will be. Living with no worries or big responsibilities. It has, in the most part, been like that, But ive come to crucial realisations that being in India for these 26 daus only , would be worth the near 2k shelled out for my 4 month stay here. Parvati cream sure is good, but just maybe this country is better. To actually decipher and put in order, whats good about being in this quite primitave, compared to Scotland, place is not easy. But make no mistake, this societys mentality is different and far better than that of the west. Unfortonately Indias rapidly gowing middle class seem to want to act like the west. Thankfully, here in the mountains, this type of indian is only a tourist. To be totally honest though, its not all fun and games here, beggars galore, no toilet paper, all scrounging, shameless even sometimes from well off children, for milk (Which they want cause its alot more expensive than a 1,2,10rs handout, so they sell it back to the shopkeeper at a lower price. They get 50/70rs while the shopkeeper gets to sell the powder milk twice!) A scam explained to me from a philosophical west indian rasta, who was living in a shepherd hut halfway to triund, if you set off from dharamkot.

---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Typical Indian City story though. I dont like delhi and I think its not delhi I dislike, its Indian citys. (rajkot pop, 1million) I got off the train and the standard jossling from autos to get me into theyre rickshaw commensed. After being very clear that I wante taken to a hotel for 200 or less (repeated about 10 times before I finally got in) 2km down the road he and his mate take me to a 400rs a night guesthouse. They wouldnt take 200 so I walked away and went to look for one myselfe. As I handed him the 20rs which hes lucky he got after his fly move, again typical from city dwelling indians.... He started shouting "NO NO HUNDRED HUNDRED!" In delhi when I arrived I would have probably given him the 100 and taken the 400 room to boot, but after actually preparing for the inevitable, I told him that he "must be the most expensive rickshaw in india" except in my scottish pissed off tone with language far from christian. the gujuratis dont get many western tourists ad they dont seem to understand much english. I think they understood that though and didnt follow and hassle me down the street which they have done in the past!
Its not actually the citys, its the fly bastard indians and autorickshaws that just fuck you about I dont like, and blatantly try to take as much rs as they can in the short time we become aquanted

--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Fuck it..just checkout the whole thread here http://www.indiamike.com/india/kullu-and-manali-f146/living-in-a-quiet-town-near-manali-t26368/

Rape, Revenge and Violence

2010-04-20T15:48:00.000-07:00

The most powerful weapons men used against women : Physical strength and dick.
So, Mademoiselle - CUT IT OFF. :)

I spit on your grave - 1978
Directed by Meir Zarchi

Irreversible - 2002
Directed by Gasper Noe

Bandit Queen - 1994

Directed by Shekar Kapur

This is one of the GREATEST movies ever made.

Abraham Maslow made my day!

2010-04-19T16:35:00.000-07:00

The main article here. Thanks to George Boeree.
about Maslow

Excerpt from the main article :

Self-actualization

The last level is a bit different. Maslow has used a variety of terms to refer to this level: He has called it growth motivation (in contrast to deficit motivation), being needs (or B-needs, in contrast to D-needs), and self-actualization.

These are needs that do not involve balance or homeostasis. Once engaged, they continue to be felt. In fact, they are likely to become stronger as we “feed” them! They involve the continuous desire to fulfill potentials, to “be all that you can be.” They are a matter of becoming the most complete, the fullest, “you” -- hence the term, self-actualization.

Now, in keeping with his theory up to this point, if you want to be truly self-actualizing, you need to have your lower needs taken care of, at least to a considerable extent. This makes sense: If you are hungry, you are scrambling to get food; If you are unsafe, you have to be continuously on guard; If you are isolated and unloved, you have to satisfy that need; If you have a low sense of self-esteem, you have to be defensive or compensate. When lower needs are unmet, you can’t fully devote yourself to fulfilling your potentials.

It isn’t surprising, then, the world being as difficult as it is, that only a small percentage of the world’s population is truly, predominantly, self-actualizing. Maslow at one point suggested only about two percent!

The question becomes, of course, what exactly does Maslow mean by self-actualization. To answer that, we need to look at the kind of people he called self-actualizers. Fortunately, he did this for us, using a qualitative method called biographical analysis.

He began by picking out a group of people, some historical figures, some people he knew, whom he felt clearly met the standard of self-actualization. Included in this august group were Abraham Lincoln, Thomas Jefferson, Albert Einstein, Eleanor Roosevelt, Jane Adams, William James, Albert Schweitzer, Benedict Spinoza, and Alduous Huxley, plus 12 unnamed people who were alive at the time Maslow did his research. He then looked at their biographies, writings, the acts and words of those he knew personally, and so on. From these sources, he developed a list of qualities that seemed characteristic of these people, as opposed to the great mass of us.

These people were reality-centered, which means they could differentiate what is fake and dishonest from what is real and genuine. They were problem-centered, meaning they treated life’s difficulties as problems demanding solutions, not as personal troubles to be railed at or surrendered to. And they had a different perception of means and ends. They felt that the ends don’t necessarily justify the means, that the means could be ends themselves, and that the means -- the journey -- was often more important than the ends.

The self-actualizers also had a different way of relating to others. First, they enjoyed solitude, and were comfortable being alone. And they enjoyed deeper personal relations with a few close friends and family members, rather than more shallow relationships with many people.

They enjoyed autonomy, a relative independence from physical and social needs. And they resisted enculturation, that is, they were not susceptible to social pressure to be "well adjusted" or to "fit in" -- they were, in fact, nonconformists in the best sense.

They had an unhostile sense of humor -- preferring to joke at their own expense, or at the human condition, and never directing their humor at others. They had a quality he called acceptance of self and others, by which he meant that these people would be more likely to take you as you are than try to change you into what they thought you should be. This same acceptance applied to their attitudes towards themselves: If some quality of theirs wasn’t harmful, they let it be, even enjoying it as a personal quirk. On the other hand, they were often strongly motivated to change negative qualities in themselves that could be changed. Along with this comes spontaneity and simplicity: They preferred being themselves rather than being pretentious or artificial. In fact, for all their nonconformity, he found that they tended to be conventional on the surface, just where less self-actualizing nonconformists tend to be the most dramatic.

Further, they had a sense of humility and respect towards others -- something Maslow also called democratic values -- meaning that they were open to ethnic and individual variety, even treasuring it. They had a quality Maslow called human kinship or Gemeinschaftsgefühl -- social interest, compassion, humanity. And this was accompanied by a strong ethics, which was spiritual but seldom conventionally religious in nature.

And these people had a certain freshness of appreciation, an ability to see things, even ordinary things, with wonder. Along with this comes their ability to be creative, inventive, and original. And, finally, these people tended to have more peak experiences than the average person. A peak experience is one that takes you out of yourself, that makes you feel very tiny, or very large, to some extent one with life or nature or God. It gives you a feeling of being a part of the infinite and the eternal. These experiences tend to leave their mark on a person, change them for the better, and many people actively seek them out. They are also called mystical experiences, and are an important part of many religious and philosophical traditions.

Maslow doesn’t think that self-actualizers are perfect, of course. There were several flaws or imperfections he discovered along the way as well: First, they often suffered considerable anxiety and guilt -- but realistic anxiety and guilt, rather than misplaced or neurotic versions. Some of them were absentminded and overly kind. And finally, some of them had unexpected moments of ruthlessness, surgical coldness, and loss of humor.

Two other points he makes about these self-actualizers: Their values were "natural" and seemed to flow effortlessly from their personalities. And they appeared to transcend many of the dichotomies others accept as being undeniable, such as the differences between the spiritual and the physical, the selfish and the unselfish, and the masculine and the feminine.

My thoughts on this theory :

I self-actualized a bit.

GEMS ---> DO THE RIGHT THING

2010-04-10T13:36:00.000-07:00

No single movie changes our lives.

We usually say that they changed us because we wanted them to change us. We want them
to give us a fresh start to our lives.They usually don't.May be they do. I am not sure.

In that confused sense, I can say that "Do The Right Thing" changed my life. I lived in
bed-stuy because of impact it had on me.

There are certain moments in life which are more powerful in retrospect/

Come to think of it,the discovery I made during my stay in bed-stuy is more powerful

now than before.

Bed-Stuy. Afternoon.

I watched the movie for the nth time, and then started watching 'behind the scenes' disk

of the movie. To my surprise, I found out that the movie was shot right on my street, and

the house I was living in, was the place where crucial scenes were shot, before it was built.

And, when I opened my window, I was able to see the mike Tyson portrait they showed

predominantly in the movie.The open place under the portrait was the place where Sal's
famous pizzeria set was built.

Surprised, I was. But, not overwhelmed. The poverty got me, the noise got me, and people

buying single eggs got me. I wasn't able to enjoy that moment. Spike lee didn't glamorize

the poverty, but I loved the movie soo much that I romanticized the poverty. Let me tell

you this -- Poverty Sucks. Poverty around you sucks.

Watching spike lee movies was a revelation of sorts. They made me ask many questions.

1. Where did I develop my taste for movies?

2. Why I feel comfortable with white people as actors?

3. What is beauty?

All the programs the society inadvertently wrote for me to follow, just vanished.

I gotta tell you that it was a very liberating feeling. Because, spike lee smacks you

in the head. He smacks hard,and you might find some wounds in your head or some

wounds getting healed after 'The End'.

The subtle and not so subtle feeling I observed in Spike lee's movies was ANGER

..the controlled one.His words are like bullets, his shots are like canons, he is the

'Genghis Khan' fighting against the tough enemy called racism. Well, some people

say that he too fell in to the trap of racism. Who said, "when

you stare at abyss too long, it will stare you back" ?

Spike lee's influence on film making is phenomenal. Not only in America, but also else

where. His first movie, "She's gotta have it", was remade many times by different people.

Some people may want to disparage spike lee's influence on American psyche, but that

is because he smacked them...instead of the usual MLK way. He is the Malcolm X

of the American film making. I even go as far as to say that Obama's victory has

something to do with spike lee's work many years back. Why? Because, he woke up
people, he rabble roused, he used the medium in the most entertaining way to talk
about issues,and HE CHANGED THE SYSTEM..in such a way, that people started

accepting anyone who was less rebellious than him.Every society needs a person
like spike lee.He is the change the history books forget to mention.

I know each and every shot in this movie..not because I observed it technically -- I
watched the movie many many times.( I am not capable of watching a movie technically

..as it bores me). I watched it soo many times that I finally got bored of it. No surprises

for me in "Do the right thing".

I don't want to write anymore shit. I can go on an on..about how great Danny Aiello was
in this movie and all that. So,

Let me just say this, "Thank you, spike lee. Please don't die.".

Do The right Thing (1989) - Trailer