Self Inflicted

Perched high on a mountain top, you are screaming-
at times commanding, and some pleading.
You hear a thousand echo what you said.

The grave injustice, that you are handed out,
imprisoned by the world around;
you crave freedom from the invisible shackle and chain.

You speak now, the voice of a many people;
The suffering they had to endure!
You are concerned for their future and today.

Standing tall in your moment, you announce a sacrifice.
The one of self, for your cause, to take the dive, to open eyes.
You take the plunge for what you believe is right.

The descent now, barely took a moment.
In that moment you see your life, pass and fleet-
from your grip, makes you smile and then a cry.

There you hear a baby laugh, born free, a long time by,
There you hear a young boy’s heart, daring to dream,
There you hear a young man’s soul hard at toil, you smile.

There you hear all the freedom you had;
no quill on paper, no master’s whip could hold you back.
Yet now bound in the hands of death, you cry.

As you open your eyes, for one last look at the peak,
you see another imbecile mounting your perch.
Singing your tunes to no audience, pleased with his own echo.

The story of a Life

When he was born, some said he was the product of love and the cynics called him the result of lust. But he knew he was merely the birth of two souls in one. Whatever you might think, or say, or even allow him to believe, he was created, given a form, and allowed to live. Creation has forever been a point of contempt for scientists and spiritualists alike. But he knew where he came from- thankful for his existence; and the mysteries of existence were not his concern, nor something he would ever learn or care for.

Unfortunate events, for no better words and lack of a genuine explanation, forced a new set of parent figures in his life. He wouldn’t really question why, for they nourished him. They provided him a life. Now creation and nourishment are two different things; yet life has no meaning without either. He obeyed their commands; forever he was indebted to their shaping him, his character and his being. He wouldn’t question their eccentricities. He would quell his mistrust and doubts; he reckoned that they were doing the right thing. If he questioned their intent, he would be questioning his self, his being and all that was him.

But time is a slave of no master. As he aged and the fleeting overseer took his guides, his masters, away from him, he was left alone, a destitute. Soon, it would be his time to go. His deteriorating health and a displeasure at losing the capabilities that he once prided, his youth, made him sick, irritable and annoying. It cannot be confirmed whether it was euthanasia or that he had no say in it, finally he was put to sleep. He was relieved from his misery, his life, or what was left of it, an existence that made less sense as each day passed. He was thankful for this too, for life had no meaning without death; he realized that creation and destruction go hand in hand. If the clueless scientists and spiritualists had to see eye to eye, even for a brief moment, it might be over this- the end.

His tombstone read out his name in bold and a eulogy paid as much respect to him as a dog’s life was worth. It didn’t talk about the parents that had given him birth, the society that had shaped his life or the benevolence that had provided him death. It spoke about his qualities, his traits, some probably exaggerated or even fabricated; nonetheless, it was one devoid of references to his creation, nourishment and destruction. It might have been a dog, the protagonist of this story, or any other creature for that matter. When his story will be told and retold, his life would probably be buried under rubble, just as he is now. But a question still lingers- was he who he was, by birth, by existence, or by death?

Growing up

It had happened before. In fact, it has been happening all his life. Some people call it growing up and are awed by the miracle of this constant transformation. He plainly didn’t get it, or their apparent hypocrisy. Who in their sane minds would want to let go of a beautiful thing, for something so strange, the unknown, that only time would reveal, just a tad bit late.

It started even before his eyes had seen light. A mere egg and sperm had created life and set the wheels in motion. When he was fully formed, which now seemed a bitter joke, he was brought into this world, to face the vagaries outside the warmth and comfort of the womb.

Gradually, his limbs became stronger and he could move. It used to be easier and more enjoyable when people around him would do his bidding. Now they cheered for him to get up and take his first steps; people and their demands, he had to put in effort. In a year, they needed more than a pointed finger and a high pitched mumble. He had to learn to control his tongue and his wind pipe, to make strange sounds, which he later learnt, that only a part of the world’s population would understand. All his endeavors in learning and modulating his body, and there was more to come.

Eventually, he would start growing bigger; his body would grow out of clothes and his feet out of the shoes within weeks. He loved those clothes, and those shoes; but he couldn’t use them anymore. He would start losing his teeth and new ones would take their place - crooked and painful. Soon he would need braces to fix them. Nature was not the only force in his transformation; cosmetology and conformity were as much a part.

After several years of small transformations, he would wonder why he didn’t come with a manual. Now he had started noticing drastic changes. Some parts of his body seemed to grow plump. The distribution of hair on his body had changed so much. It was not just physiological, mind you. He now craved for new toys, the ones he had no interest in before. He craved attention and attraction from people whose existence he had once barely acknowledged. His thoughts and ideas would change; it was confusing, the pressure, the identity, and opinions, which would just hang in the air.

“When will this change ever stop?” he would ask himself. But he knew better. Once he had been a baby, an adolescent, even a teenager. In his middle age now, he knew that his body and mind would never stop changing. In fact, he had only seen what growing up was. He prepared himself for wearing down- another transformation they hadn’t warned him about.

RIP (Religion, Identity and Politics)

This piece is inspired by what some may refer to as “Existential Angst”. George Carlin would sarcastically dismiss his thoughts on such as the “things that prevent me from making any real progress in life”. Well, someone has to address them. They are perhaps as irrelevant to our lives as social responsibility. Yet we prophesize, partake and make an attempt to keep our efforts visible.

The first stream of thought stems from a recent lecture on Market movers. We learnt the importance of first, second and third movers in the market scenario. Third movers turning the market into purely competitive and hence commoditizing products made me reflect on which market of scale was the first victim of third movers. I figured religion would make the cut. Most religions emphasize on same or similar dogmas while suggesting varied paths of attainment. Logical differentiators such as paths are necessary in pure competition.  This should have, in turn, implied that the consumers, the believers, would have a low switching cost and would derive the same satisfaction from any religion. However, the high profile market was too promising to allow such feasibility. The ones we now call “hardliners” were bred with ill construed directives to protect the market interests. The result- a radical intolerant world. Strangely, it also set a precedent for the current trend of competitive markets turning into oligopolies.

It would be unfair to end our discussions on religion without venturing a bit into “personal identity”. In the current context I find the two words being an oxymoron. Identity is not who you are anymore. Identity is a reflection of your religion, location, race, gender, orientation and other complex variables; or that is what you are made to believe. It seems more feasible to categorize a person by his “Identity” than to actually know him for who he is. The process is quite logical, with the lack of time and evanescent encounters. There is also a risk of deception and exploitation to consider. The easy path would be to ask a few questions regarding his “identity” and viola, an analyst in your head transcribes a judgment based on your knowledge, or ignorance. In an era whose jargon begins and culminates with “social networking”, gaping holes appear as the network is stretched wider and thinner.

Moving along to more relevant issues, the uprising in Egypt is being credited with a stature similar to the renaissance. The internet abounds with aspirations of similar nationalistic activities. Some are fighting dictatorships, while others, corruption and poverty. The thin networks have proven to uphold such movements. What they lack is result orientation. Egypt is still under military administration. A past evil has been uprooted from the throne while a new evil is looming large. The world is standing by, rooting for the underdog that goes by the name of democracy. The democracies are contemplating similar strategies to end corruption. The whole world is fighting for perfect governance. But when would the world open its eyes to “Power Corrupts” and realize that there is no such thing as “perfect governance”. The only possible outcome is a short-term compromise that would be exploited again, challenged again and reached again.

The views here might border on pessimism. Maybe the ones calling it “existential angst” are right. Probably it is a symptom of the newly identified “quarter life crisis”. I have reached a quarter of a lifetime, with a sizeable chunk, being ignorant to the world and its ways. The sudden awakening seems to have hit hard. Perhaps ignorance was bliss. Perhaps denial would be the new bliss. Nirvana transcends from detachment to ignorance and denial.