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

                                                                   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

 

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

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

                                              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)

                                                        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)

                                                        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)

                                                    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)

                                                 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..