Are you too an atheist Asked a colleague. Shocked & baffled with such a question. It was as tough as an examiner asking," so, how would u rate your performance ?

"I have failed many such questions and now I precisely have failed even to attempt a judgement of self. Advocacy for a judgement largely depended on sequential arrangement of facts. So i decided to try placing the facts to find an answer.

 In search of the genesis, i ask my mom, were i an easy temperament child? She answers, there is nothing easy in child rearing. An obvious answer from an unsophisticated feminist, who aren't rare in an non feudal villages.

 Should i go about what i believe and what i not believe, what i have known and unknown?

 What I Know not
What i know not, although i become joyous, rather thankful, is the answers when i being told as special by my longstanding long distance friend from BG, or when a text from Sabika comes in odd hours with odd spelling meaning to say she misses, when my friend calls me psycho to mean me as a patient & not therapist or when a friends calls me newly anna ( brother) despite my insistence that i am younger or equal (lying), or when my friend feeling weird, when people ask were u classmates?. 

What i believe not
I dont believe it is out of my gregariousness, coz i know i am far from it. It is highly likely that there is no chance of even a hidden unexpressed gene for gregariousness in me, but probably a sociophobic gene.

 What I know
I know , through all these decades, all that have been consistent are inconsistencies except my vulnerability The doubt when i attempt to talk, when i occupy space & time, if it were an infringement on a free human expression. Besides,I know that every smile is returned with a smile, be am a failure or non conformist or anything, a smile brings back a smile.

 What i believe
I believe i am not a pilgrim on progress to celestial door but a wanderer who plays as though a prank, entering opened doors to greet asalamu alaikum ( peace be unto you) and runs back to security.

 Am i an atheist?

The case of the missing basket ball

The case of the missing basket ball..
Where is the ball?
The only work I turn to ask Sabika, when I misplace something, key, bag, wallet, etc.(the only other work she does is to place a cup of coffee, besides my bed, though I refuse her favour). Her usual response would be to point the very wrong place, where I wouldn't find anything I am looking for. Probably, she buys time, she would eventually find it.. But she did not this time.
I turned to the boss, the Dad. Aththa (dad), a man who forces and works his vision of order in any corners of a home or a person!( Somewhere I read that external order is required to balance an internal cahos) His famous animations when something gets out of his pre ordered reach, would always be a collateral damage, when you ask him anything that is misplaced. He would turn the house upside down, shake, search the every minute detail.. And give it us.. But this time he failed, the boss and his novice apprentice failed. Fear creeped in..( Fear a submission or preparation for an unwanted outcome).. With its deadly claws, each time plunging its sharpness little deeper.. Added to this was the SMS,( a mode, which makes us into multitaskers.) Niju: grnd polama( shall we go to the ground)
Me: hmm. Yes... Do you know who is having the ball?
Niju: therla( dont know) bal( ball) shivata( with shiva) nu nenikren (i hope) aventa kelunga( ask him)
Called up Shiva, and he guessed it might be with Gokul
Meanwhile another SMS
TV Dinesh: wru?
Me: in home.. Ball enganu therla..(i dont know where is the ball) TV: its with shiva, u come sir.
Me: he said he doesn't have.
TV: yesterday u gave to him only. Me: but, mrnin we played. Meanwhile TV has called up shiva ..then comes the msg TV: oh. Shiva told ask shagul. I came out of my home, yelled, " shagul bhai, where is the ball ". He seemed to recall that it was Niju who picked up but somebody got it from him..Enough. I ventured to say, " I ll go to the ground, and check. Shagul ridiculed," it has been more than 8 hrs. Small cricket ball costing just eight rs would not be found there. It is impossible for a basketball to be found.. The predicted truth stung me deep .
Out of desperation, out of no choice.. I drove, to ground, so did alll the others.. To our surprise, the ball existed there doing its job.
The ball was doing its job, like a celestial body on earth.. Controlling , driving the human energy.. It made us emote laughter, anger , tears,.. It bound us to one another.. Made us comrades..in court and friends off court. Taught us relationships that lasted even after crossing the lines of the court. It spoke to us about goals that required effort but once missed then to rebound. It made us realise win was just an episode.. And even repeated actions can have a newer perspective.. As someone.. Gave the ball and said, yes its yours.. It seemed as if it was proclaiming its supernatural magic.. And as if it was saying I come back to those adhereing me and my teachings in their hearts.. Thanks friends..

Lies...

"Beauty is truth, truth beauty," - that is all
        Ye know on earth, and all ye need to know.
John keats.
The debated lines of the famous poet.( I read that The movie The Bright Star is about the love of keats with his neighbour, wish I could see it. ) is apt for the debate I am in.
There are many lines that beauties truth, but what is the truth?
I ventured to ask my students, " how important are lies"? Answers, lies makes us happy. Lies makes others happy thus needed. Lies bring comfort. Can't we agree this as truth? Can we face this truth?
Why is this paradox? Why is this lie, that truth is a virtue, being professed.? Is it a proof of exercising that lies are of utmost importance in the elementary functional unit of society... The relationship. Far more, important to the self itself. Deception( self deception) a means to escape the present, the uninteresting, unillustrated and unbeautied reality. Is it not within our might to create a flawless, perhaps, a lawless world in our imagination? And, is it not easy to believe and to protect with one's all potency, to fight, to resist being pulled to this uglier world that is created by someone called "god"or "nature", but most importantly not by us.
Have we not invented words that sounds better and colourful than the word that truly called Lie. Have we not known the imperialism which meant as mission to civilise but rather paved for the flourishing capitalism. Do we not use words like business, technique, knack or even nicer words like hope, vision, plans etc. Well, the nicest words, flattery, romance and love! Flattery - seemingly to be true but not meaning them( I dont say this but Dostovesky). Romance- Creating, projecting, and accepting a mode of behaviour that tries to portray one relationship being above all.
Love- True love is not heroic ( Dostovesky again) what is true doing here. Love- do we need this word! Is not when human is harmonious in thoughts, words and actions, when not ambitious, when content and happy with reality, not be in a state called love that needs no aids of words and gifts, unlike the mutual dependancy created between people.
We are Paradox.(not paradoxical) the Nigerian writer what in world causes the insistence by the oppressed that his oppression be performed in style!( By a person with expensive luxurious cars, private jet etc) What half way measures could hope to cure that?
Is this not the very reluctance to come out of our comfort zone of our comfortable lies?( The writer adds his astonishment, when he finds every coup is being celebrated and then things fall back) or the lack of patience in the boring, uninteresting realism? We postpone, we neglect and we manipulate what truth demands of us, now, in this realism. Truth, a luxury in the complexly evolving lies, is perhaps being a twin in this greater evolution, with a greater cause.. Perhaps.. Like a cure of a disease.

Marriage

"It took thirty years of meticulous preparation to be single, but just hundred days of married status" ktb. I still look at my ceiling fan, when I retire to bed, and, though not prejudiced, but I think out of pattern, I shall get the question( standard) "what am I thinking".
What am i thinking? This FAN. Yes, this is the first thing to ever come up as an introduction to a greater concepts of a personal freedom in marriage. She said, " let it be on, its too stuffy in here (honestly I did not derive a meaning than what it sounded). I was rather shivering, wanted to cover and tuck myself. My feet were cold. Yes . Had a cold feet.( Perhaps, it had more meaning than it sounded).
The Dusk
Eyes speak, when I was leaving for work, she looked through the window, made me joyous. Amidst the chaotic moments of life, she looks with an unknown language. I wonder if this is a feminine language. Now when I read eyes are windows of soul, I tend to ask, which eyes, silent, talking, tearing, open, or closed eyes. I am still an illiterate.
When the language of eyes stop the language of tongue begin. What of you can you say when you speak of you in terms of the moments that passed or that to come? (Thinking). She is comfortable in talking of happened things or planning things,( so are many people ) I ask them where or what is your present. I understood now , as I suffer like performing an ardent task in talking of things that are by gone and things awaited. So are others in talking their honest present. We as individual have faced different threat to evolve into different persons, or even faced a same threat but reacted differently. So, we are in no right to label. The Nights. Knowledge,( incomplete) all my learned knowledge turned out to be of no help. I learn and I am learning. Nudity, that has become equivalent to sex due to the capitalist's economic manipulation. Every bit of skin sells a product, every bare six pack symbolises something to sex. Alas! We as self, as intelligence, as concepts, as ideas are governed. I believed nudity in my world, had a greater meaning( greater not in terms of reverence but in terms of rarity). Nudity meant a hard laborious work, art, motherhood, poverty, devotion, self denial, childhood and so on. My favourite one of these was nudity meaning vulnerability to the core. My knowledge ( incomplete) always said, the physical defences of dress is shed only after the mental defences are surrendered or defeated. I am wrong. I find nudity can be strength, nudity can be a camoflauge. The meaningless skin can hide any meaningful soul.
The Dawn.
Are you happy? For me an intimidating question but not an unanswerable ! I did not know why after a series of incomprehensible sounds and inappropriately timed silence, I got an answer from her, " I am not."( of course, I believe it was momentary ). I asked her why, again followed by incomprehensible sounds and inappropriately timed silence ( I call it chinese, though it is nothing similar to Ni hao or xie xie) " because, I had a dream, an image, and rehearsed scenes, which is not coinciding with you. Thats right, everything is subjective. Every minute detail is subjective. We live in a world of our self reflection. We are the world. We do not let anything be, but rather demand or expect to be or become closer to our ideation. Every single entity of this wife spread out world is converted into a mirror, to be looked, to be liked, to be sorted, to be accepted by us. Weird! Even sex is subjective! No matter, if princess beautiful or prince charming is by your side with all the influenced definition of beauty, what does matter is the other reflecting ones idea of pleasure through this unspoken communication. Weirdest! I read that even taste is subjective. Not everybody might like the dark chocolate oozing cake named as choco ecstasy( possible) which I like.
The Days.
" Do you love me"? She asked.
"Why do you ask?" ( Not a right answer I know but I know my limitation when it comes to romance)
" coz, you dont let me do any of your things"
" In time, I shall be confident of my love and I dont want somebody to aid my work"
A sinister smile
" why do you smile?".
" you would change".
Then, I realised we are in am ideological war. We as humans, are ever ready to wage the most passive but violent ideological war as soon as we acquaint someone. We measure our steps, our truth, our environment, in a precise calculated strategy before we accept another. I now doubt if every war is result of miscommunication. In a world of this sophistication where everyone is talking, texting, chatting with someone, we still have war. Perhaps, its due to the primitiveness in us to wage a war and not a step towards am ideological understanding.

Hell and Heaven

I am late.. pacing to the doors, sleep.. burdening my every steps, Why am I tired?! Is it because of the walk ( I coaxed and now accompany Mom for walk as fitness, ) and with those 2.5 kg ankle weights?! I don’t know, but now sleep has shackled with tones of weight than those miniscule ankle weights. I reach the door of the hospital, greet the staff, and I hit to the bed ( bed, really?) straight, that s just an arm length in its breadth, so no room for tossing and curling, but still man ‘s primitive instinct of lying on a branch high above the tree is still loaded in every genes and so I lied, closing my eyes, I felt a somebody, perhaps a baby’s hand with its tiny smooth nails, brushing my chest and abdomen, disturbing my sleep, but weird, it was from the inside, Yes, this is gastritis, ( Amma ( mom) says excess coffee, and no sleep) , I try to shout at the baby stop it, but then its of no use, I just ignored it, Today I didn’t need to count sheeps or imagine a heavenly hammock with lianas and dunapren( hand spun) like the girl in my Bulgarian short stories. Today I am dead, in sleep.

No, Not that dead, I realize my ancestral branch sleeping skill was not enough, I am tossing , turning, fretting, Nope this wasn’t a dead sleep, suddenly, I was in a bigger , familiar bed, I knew this bed, the smell, the colour and design, its warmth, I knew this bed, Oh yes ! this is my home,! Wow, I felt kissing the bed with gratitude , its embrace is more living than anything, and why do I say just a bed! No , not now, the bell, the door bell, Amma says, get up answer the door, answer it, Oh Bloody hell, the bell, I lift my hand to touch the mobile ( modern man does look his mobile first after the sleep, Not his wife, nor his friend or his children near by but his mobile, these small gestures looking into a person have meant to become intimidating action of a bigger choking love) Oh! Yes it wasn’t home, it wasn’t the door , it was the mobile ( newer instincts haha) I answered it, what ! my Uncle says Your relative has expired, the news of demise was not enough to shatter me out of the sleep, I said well, and before I finished the word, I slept.

Wail! What the hell, How can it be, I am not in that house, I am in the hospital, perhaps I dreaming, yes I think I am dreaming, Wail again , louder, tearing my doors and enough potent to tear my sleepy ear drums, I slammed the door open, an old man, cold clammy hands, profuse sweating, Blood glucose sample normal, Yes! Shock , I am awake, nope , I am half asleep, I shout, foot end elevation, IV access lines, Fluids rush, dopamine , drops, urinary catheter, I am in action, and I am in half sleep, the bleeps of the monitor, the boring graphs were extremely artistic, I ask, hey Old man, he answer me with What?! Damn, he is conscious, fluids rushing, I should ascultate, Lungs clear, that’s the word I used to hear, but today it was clearer, like a breeze gushing out of the thickest forest, Wow, I thought lungs clearer, who were those free tribal men playing a music Lub dub, Oh No! his heart, Old man , you have a rhythm boss! Stable, Inform physician, Lots of walks in and out of the corridor, I didn’t know, even the Sun has walked in with its lights.

Morning! Good ( sleepy ) morning, time to move, I feel those tiny smooth nails are not those anymore and they are not brushing either, this was a claw, tearing me , but from the inside, No this is nt the kiss of the excess of coffee, this is hunger, I am sleepy, hungry, walked in and out of a restaurant, and now I am in the bus, I think I had the breakfast, yes , I did ( rava dosa), But why did I think that, I should be thinking how the man pulled the braids of the lass, the sister of Brother Sheban, to the hodzha, since these were the lines I were reading from my book of Bulgarian short stories, But, I ran out of thoughts for those lines, and I ran out of my wakefulness, But I were not allowed to rest in peace, everytime the bus screeched to halt, I should shout me to wakefulness, to see if it is my stop. What fear, If I miss my stop, ( honestly no fear, but shame, the look of my co passenger, as if I were imbecile, I sometime cry within me am I so sinful to scowled to sleep pass through my stop).

I reach home, knocking , amma, amma, My dad ( oops), opens the door, says Mom has travelled to attend the funeral of the relative. Dad, real Oops, silence paused with sentences, have been our language, I know he wants to exercise his vocal cords with me, but he is Dad not a friend, aththa( dad), a greater judge, has struggled a lot, has lived a lot, aththa cannot give himself up to my petty persons’argument of egoless self, aththa forgives but never forgets. My silence was not of contempt due to too much familiarity, my silence is due to humility that I shall not try to win him. Our silence was pause, Aththa , so , where are you going, He answers, to the third day funeral prayer of our neighbor.

I am still not over with the sleep, still negotiating terms, I gave in, straight to the bed, Bright white afternoon, my roof with asbestos, never hints me of chillness, two fans, not a word of chill, a warm oven, or a coccon , ( coccon is better, coz I have lived and living, not adjusting or getting used to but living) Yes, I sleep, I am sleeping, Where am I, what is this, a place? A space? What is this, Nothing, no land, no landmarks, no horizon, no stars, all fused not in white ( absolutely not in white, not like Neo Anderson entering the architecht’s room) but in a monochromatic dull grey , as if it was a raincloud, just that it wasn’t on the sky or looking down the earth, It was just space.

Am I alone?! Nope, who is this?! I Know her, I run towards, my mind pacing to know the familiarty but my words already have sprouted out, I shouted Amma, what is amma doing here , in this space, what is the business, was she not at the funeral, I go have a closer look, she doesn’t see me, I find she is having a countenance of amma, but not only hers, she has the face of the Moms of my friends, nephews, even amma’s . She was Mother of all. Ripened with age not frail, but ripened, Her Bosom was burderned and drooped with over filled Motherhood. She was the Mother of All, I stood close and far enough, just to see her and not to be seen.

Here he comes, Son of Mother, she hugs and weeps of Love, as the sweet white frothy water of the spring, she makes him lie on the lap and holds him to the right bosom, and sways in a motherly way, and sang a word , Enough, Enough, my child who fed in my right breast, enough, You have struggled enough to come to see this old woman, enough, the son of the mother, suckled by the right breast, looked at her and smiled, again, she sang in words, what way my child of right breast, what smiles on your way, you made friends, talked about health, joy and love, You married a women, gifted her with time and words and not with diamonds and pearls, You made sons, played with them, taught them the fun of nature and strength of the sweat. Both smiles, and it was refreshing, heavenly.suddenly the Mother of all seems excited.

Here he come, son of Mother, she hugs and weeps of Love, as the sweet white frothy spring, she makes him lie on the lap and holds him to the left bosom, and sways in a motherly way, and sang a word, enough, enough my child who fed in my left breast, enough you have struggled enough to comme to see this old woman, enough, the son of the mother suckled by the left breast looked up to her and cried in exhaustion, She again sang in words, enough my child of fed by the left breast, you have struggled enough, What a way, You made ways and equipped to be better than your friends, you spoke with plans, You married wife, pleased with her presents and thoughts of what could still please her, You made sons, taught them how to be in safety, and earned and found ways to earn and to lock them up so your sons can live in safety. Enough! Both eyes meet, a grave exhaustion, for the son of the mother and for the Mother herself waiting for his return from his tiring world.

There on the space she with the sons of her both the breast, sitting, Not on pastures, not on golds, Not on desert and not on spitting fires, But just in that monochromatic space, Who is she?.! My heart races, who is this lady who resembles amma, and of all the mothers, who is this mother of all, My spine shudders, NO , NO , It can’t be, My heart is speeding, sweat, yes I feel the sweat pouring I want to move , but NO, NO, It can’t be, It is sacrilege, I want to get rid of the worst thought, I cried , NO this is blasphemy, I can no more stand in this blasphemous place, No she can’t be, no she can’t be and I broke my sleep with word ALLAH.

Tribute to the son of The woman,

Mangal ( my student)

Papparowther ( my neighbor)

Banuathha ( my relative)

the book and the law

...So, i start... the happenings of these few days have triggered me to contemplate on the relationship between me and the world...perhaps, nothing new ..but still worth lingering with the undecideable thoughts...
what is the book of rules? .. that is a million dollar question for a person like me with an ambition of "ultimate freedom"...i go to that an extent of lunacy to call that freedom is an innate trait and thus the word itself is meaningless for it does not show who delivers and who is the recipient of that previliged comfort.
The so called societey have been merciful for a fundamentilist freedom worshipper in atleast putting the codes of conducts in written words but the cruelty is punishing.. i am speechless when so much of concern and energy have been directed to the abstract rules created and judged bu the abstract "society".... the more my contemplation began touring in to the world of this obscure ..i felt a spiritual wave... like trying to concieve the form of the inconcieveable...
i was criticised when i had a friend of younger age than me by an eminent educationist.... indians as..we are ultimate slaves to educ ation for it gives us more than the bread and the water, so our long term inestment is throughly checked .....
Do the" law" which has paved the path for the evolution of both the mind and the body allow such discrimination? ..... the discrimnation continues even after the knowledge that the ultimate functioning unit of human "a cell" has the similar composition and components of other cell , thus not permitting us to command the superiority with the noun "human". the thoughts are nothing but series of chemical reactions causing electric impulses with in the neurons...yet, the astonishing fact is that we all stick to the 'I' as the centre of everything...
Has the same law which has shaped and modelled all through ages in making this species into a biped has shaped him into "egoistic" being? is it necessary for the race of the surivial of the fittest?...
then what am i? the social deviation? am i a mutation ? an abberation? an evolution? what am i?.... i still am, will be in the abstract society.....like all other gifts of the law, the revolutionary, like a diferently sexually oriented persons, like a intersex human.... i am part of the society and not a deviation.....
i think the law has made us to compile the book as a aguidelines .... and not as a book to deliver judegemnts and shatter the reasonings of the human mind.... come'on.... how could anyone be universally wrong?