Flow

What is it exactly, when people talk about it romantically, “Go with the flow.”? What is that even supposed to mean exactly..? The nature of human will is to take firm stands and oppose forces of nature including other human beings. To be firm and unmovable is a quality worth aspiring for, not the polar opposite of it, or it isn’t..?
And what if the thing which we call ‘Love’ is just a superficial, abstract phenomenological development out of the dominance games we play in the society as a means to chose for the best gene pools to be transferred to the next generation..?

But,in the end Who knows definatively? Who could be taken as arbiter of truth? Who can claim such and still not proclaim himself a god? If survival is the only characteristic of existence, I think ‘Mother Nature’ won’t mind losing hundreds of ‘Divine individuals'(as they are known across the individualistic societies around the world) in the bad gene pool, to a good one with a couple of high performing brutes, with ambition strong enough to even shatter mountains with a glance. One which has traits and qualities which facilitates existence of humans in their harsh environments in the coming future and not to hinder this natural process.

Winter Skies

There is a certain hue to the winter skies. Even on those sunny days, when its all blue and vast in its mejestic expanse, as you look above at it, standing alone, or with friends, somewhere in an open field, with mildly cold, but pleasant, winds surrounding you from all sides, you can feel the skies having this, kind of a character, to it.
Like faded color on a canvas, with the blue giving way to the yellowish and white on the edges, as your vision moves more towards the horizons, you notice them actually covered in chrome, or a dull blue at best.You see the whole sky filled with twirling particles, atleast in your vision, and beyond that, a sense of well being prevails in your soul,something that which you can not shed, atleast on these sunny days, which might’ve come after a streak of gloomy, clouded months, during which you were struck in your house as the world outside went into a quiet slumber.

But even now, on these sunny days, its as if that sullen world overlays itself , as a weak filter from the past, on your frame of the here and now, and makes you feel sad thinking about it, yet cheerful in a way… grateful , thay those days are over and now you can bask yourself in the winter sun and spring might be just around the corner.

Unrequited Love

          There is a certain aura to love that didn’t last, or even didn’t take off, to begin with. There are so many possibilities… , unknown, untraced, left back in an uncharted territory, which was never explored, never came to be, never materialised in the real world. No wonder, it has been of so much importance in lives of people all throughout the ages. Right from poets of such repute as Dante, to writer of such stature as Marquez. This chimera, has attracted attention of, and consumed many people in its liar, over the years.

People are generally drawn towards the unknown, towards places they couldn’t go, to things they were never able to do. We are wired to explore the chaos of existence. And such relationships are our forays in that domain. In the domain of the unknown. If you were with someone and now no longer are, that fact in itself, represents to you , deep down in your subconsciousness, all other worlds you could’ve inhabited where you could’ve been with the person whom you are no longer with. All those unknown worlds beckon you. They draw you towards them. And you feel enticed by them, entangled in them, unable to and unaware of the need to, move on.

Something similar happens when you love someone and he/she doesn’t love you back. That person become the representative of unknown, or in many cases, unknowable, in your world.He/she represent everything that you are not. They represent a world so far removed from yours that you think of all the things you could be in their world, or they in yours. But nevertheless, they signal to you the chaos that lies outside the boundaries of your knowledge, of all the things outside your field of existence, that which you are not, and probably could never be. Places you could never be at, or hardly reach. OF STRINGS OF FATE WHICH YOU CAN NEVER EVER IMAGINE TO UNDULATE.

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But that is where we go wrong.. in my opinion.. Because improvement is an unending process and perfection never comes, and even any proximity to it doesn’t come at snap of a finger, but sometime might take generations. There is that saying which goes something on the lines of, “Opposites attracts, same repels”, but in the search of people who are too much different than yourself, you are in a way, challenging a dragon of chaos which is far much bigger and stronger than you are ready to handle, and that dragon could eat you. And that happens with a lot of people,.. in their relationships, the dragon of chaos swallows them alive. So, not to say that the struggle is futile, the search meaningless and the feelings that you feel, unreal.. but sometimes you have to recognise your current boundaries of being and the the limit to which you can stretch them. And yes, that limit might be infinite, but this life is very short, and time is running out fast, and you have already lost a lion’s share of that.

So better move on?

True Love

Do you believe in this.. ? The idea of true love…? That something is so pure out there, so great and so unconditional that it is something that which can save you from yourself…? From your own shortcomings and your own failings…? 

I mean you can very well believe in something like this and still feel inadequate , incomplete and irredimable. Because nothing saves you… , nothing comes along and lift you up by your bootstraps. You have to do all of that yourself . You have your god, and your own unknown self, to an extent, to fill off the gaps of inadequacies and shortcomings in your owb life to live more freely, more openly, and to confront the realities of existence. 

Something, at which, you might be good or bad at. To confront the realities of existence. Depending on your personality as you would have been at that given moment in your life. Because that’s how it is supposed to be. To be and not be at the same moment when it comes to things like this. To be a shareholder in and be a part of a life you mightve never ever thought of for yourself in the long run..? Right…?

(Note – The picture is of the character of Carmela Soprano, from the tv show, Sopranos, a character, using which, all these themes I talk about, are explored in great detail over the course of the show, and something that made me think about all this stuff)

Existential Balance

The struggle in the social domain, I think , on an interpersonal level, is to find a balance between the Darwinian power struggle in the evolutionary realm, and the bonds of compassion and understanding we forge with strangers to form an in-group, in the long term, where we can rely on each other, and trust each other and mean something to each other in this life. 

The struggle is always there, on an underlaying level, the primordial , animalistic struggle to dominate over one another. At the same time, there is an urge to form connections with people around us, to live harmoniously and peacefully, and if possible, to whatever extent, blissfully, juggling these balls of tension and cohesion concurrently and finding a way through existence.

Sopranos Existentialism

Sopranos shows us that only if those people ,who are living the most accomplished of lives in fileds where they are confronted by the existentialist suffering of existence much more acutely than the rest of the population, could have the insight and the vision, or develop one to become self realized enough to become aware of their “condition”, then the idea is presented with much more authority and rigoiour than when being pontified by a pot smoking, pot bellyed virgin, nobody , who lives a miserable existence.

Travelling

You are sitting in a vehicle and always looking toward the front , of things coming your way, or you anticipate them coming your way. Never looking at the things passing you by.

 Those things which you are anticipating to come, approach slowly at first, then rush towards you and pass you by in a blip, but by the time they approach you, you have already lost interest in them and your focus of attention has shifted towards the next upcoming thing. This is the basic difference between a child and a grown up travelling in a vehicle. While the child is mostly enamoured by his immediate surroundings, the thing passing him by in the present moment, adults are not. And even for this they are not to be blamed, they have already lost their keen senses of perceptions, needed to live in the here and now, long back, and even if they try to focus on their present surroundings, they won’t be successful due to their short attention spans.

Love Saves

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There is a redeeming value to Love. Even if we might be unaware of it, it exists.Requited, unrequited, accepted, unaccepted, distant, near, even fake love. Yes,even if Love is faked, just for the jest of it, would start changing you in ways you could never imagine. It would start opening neurological pathways in your brains and would make you look for possibilities and options and hope in places where you might’ve overlooked it, or not even thought of could’ve ever expected to exist int the first place. It gives you courage to grapple with the meaninglessness of existence in constructive ways.It gives you a motive to exist in this cruel world,giving you mode to exist in all the absurdities of life, it makes existence and thousands of its discontents, bearable.

A lot of troubled and resentful people around the world who do all kinds of horrible things to themselves and people around them, are just unloved, seeking it in their own ways, no matter what that might mean to them. Unloved people do things which make the suffering of existence worse than what it already is.  Our aim should always be to lessen it, not to add to it as it is as bad as it is, in itself.

Melancholic Nights

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In one of the rooms which are made specifically on the rooftops, away, aloof from the world, where even the winds come swirling in unsure and unconfident strides.. where only those kinds of antisocial people reside on whom rest of the world has given up hope on, and more importantly, those who have given up hope on the rest of the world, in quite nights when a cold wind is gripping the world outside,making the ceiling-fan in your room unnecessary, something which might’ve obstructed you from noticing other, fainter sounds ever present in the background. The same winds forcing people deep into their cosy beds and quilts, in arms of their loved ones, babies and pets snuggling up to their mothers and owners and lovers trying to disappear in their partner’s bosom, by hugging them tighter than they usually do, you hear the sound of some distant horn blown on a far away road, carried all the way to you by the gushing winds, along with the howls and cries of dogs and other nocturnal animals , living out their daily, often overlooked,  primordial struggle for existence, and maybe a guy talking over on his phone , softly, yet quite distinctly as he paces up and down the narrow passageway by the side of his house,his conversation over phone made all too clear by the dead silence of the night, and you can make out he himself is talking to someone he loves, someone in whose embrace he might like to disappear in, in these cold nights.

Sounds of distant horn of trains leaving and arriving at the nearest railway station reach you too. All these ambient ‘noises’, which remain more or less the same no matter which city, which part of the country you are in , as part of an ever existent background setting,unchanging, at-least in comparison to our time frames , i.e moving and changing too slowly for us to notice, still always present there, right at the corner of our perceptions, our daily struggle to pay the bills, our worries and hopes , our success and failures, our dreams and our realities.

Only on these special cold nights, when everything stands still, except for that cold breeze that is blowing outside , you notice these sounds and realise that your place in the world is not defined by the post that you hold in your office, or the money that you have in your bank account, but by the people you collect along your way in life. Because only those who truly care for you, make the world for you.. rest of it is just .. ambient ‘noises’ and surroundings , unconscious and uncaring of your existence or your absence in this vast vast universe.

The city

The city rises as an edifice made by the old gods from the dust of the magnificence which existed before. To make an example of people who steered too far away from the path shown by him. It’s hot outside, with a heat wave slowly gripping the lands as the morning matures into another summer day.

The drought here doesn’t only exist in the ground but in the very heart and soul of people. Blank faces looking into oblivion, from their shanty houses and shops, made from the dust that exist all around them, as a result, dulled on their edges, broken, with holes in between and disintegrating. Some have rented out their houses to host very large banners on the front side, in the desperate hope, for the posters to mask their dust tombs, in which they lie, dying a slow, painful death, like the rest of us. But this scheme has also proven inefficient, with the treacherous banners caving in to give us a glimpse into their gloomy world, where just a bed-sheet, bought from some cheap lahsa sale ,years ago, hangs as the last refuge against the voyeuring eyes of the world. What are they trying to hide..? Don’t they know that all of us are suffering here together..? God has abandoned us long ago, and we are living in hell with all the demons.Maybe we all are constantly,subconsciously, looking for less fortunate people than us to feel better about our own existential condition. Hence quite a few numerous ways to feel happy in the world, generally don’t guide us towards finding any meaning in our lives, but to feel grateful for what we have and others don’t .

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The city is like a replica of a village with colonies divided on basis of caste /religion, with a lot of rustic looking folks, visiting it from the countryside, where, amazingly, things remain bleaker. Hell, indeed, is a pit-less hole. The flyover sprangs over this abysmal waste of filth and humans and dust and destruction and malice and all the thousands of variants of sins found in their true variance , as a hand rising out of a man on verge of death, suffocating and gasping for air. But just like that man’s effort, to breathe fully, fails…  the flyover fails too to breath in life into this ever dying, but never dead, city.