Of Old Times And New...

Suraj was trying hard to make sense of the alphanumerics but was failing splendidly. "Give me alphabets and I'll give you a sonnet" he thought as he tried hard to concentrate on his Applied Mathematics book. The house was bustling with life. His grandfather was watching television while his grandmother was cooking a delicious dinner of rasam and vada, singing to herself as she often did. 

In normal circumstances, he would have minded all the noise and activity. However, exam time meant that he welcomed any distraction, small or big. If he could spend fifteen minutes tracking the movements of his building dog and thinking what the dog must be thinking, he could easily live with songs and television.  

He purposely sat at the couch by the window, facing the compound of his building where elders sat in the morning, dogs sunbathed in the afternoon, children played in the evening and married couples sat on the swings at night; and of course the omnipresent watchman. Today the compound wore a deserted look, with cars parked around and not a soul travessed the gray concrete of the compound. 

And then the lights went off!

The world plunged into darkness and the numbers and alphabets became black just like the night sky. Suraj looked out of the window to see that it was a major power outage; after all, the roads were dark too!

"Aaho, haven't you paid the bill?" asked grandmother from the kitchen.

"Of course I did! Everyone's light has gone" said grandfather, mildly annoyed at grandmother questioning his competency in paying bills. 

Suraj chuckled at their relation. He knew that grandmother was teasing grandfather and that grandfather would never know that he was being teased. He gazed outside at the darkness and the silhouette of the trees outside his window. An odd speck of light from a vehicle would pass by, illuminating the trees and bringing their green leaves to life. 

He was reminded of his childhood when power cuts were a source of joy. They mostly occured during the summers, when everyone had their holidays. And they always occured at night, somehow. All the children would meet downstairs to evade the heat in their houses. Everyone would be happy that the lights had gone off since it meant meeting your friends after the normal permissible time limits. It meant playing hide and seek, the real deal, where seeking someone was truly difficult because of the absence of lights. It meant getting their handheld torches and trying to scare everyone by illuminating their faces and making horrible expressions. 

Once they plucked out the leaves of a tree and placed the leaf just above the torch. The intricate network of veins in the leaves amazed them. That something so beautiful, intricate and detailed could exist in something that seemed so normal at face value affected Suraj. That was the night that he wrote his first poem about how people are like leaves : dense, intricate, detailed and beautiful.

As the years went by, the running would stop and now they would sit around and talk till the lights came back. And when they did come, there would be a tinge of sadness as it meant that they would have to go back to their homes, no excuses remaining. 

In school it gave them an excuse to ask the teacher to give them a free period. Even though school was in the morning and all the power cut did was make it hotter, they could take the slightest of excuse to ask for a free period. And the teacher, tired from the constant arguing and the increasing amount of sweat would give in and agree not to teach. And the world was a happy place.

But now the power cut meant different things, thought Suraj. Now the first thing that crosses the mind is the absence of the WiFi because of the power cut. The stress about a piece of work that you have to submit the next day. The exam that you're supposed to study about but you left it to the last minute and now you're freaking out. Now you don't have the time to see the world in it's dark majesty. 

"Suraj!!" a voice called him from below. "Coming down?!"

Maybe it wasn't as bad as he thought. Maybe he wasn't that old. And maybe there was still hope, as Robin Williams said, to suck the marrow out of life. 

He shut his book and raced down, happy again about the power cut. 

The Stages Of Being A Beatles Fan...

I know this may go against all that we know, but yes the Beatles are underrated. 

With all the hype on Quora and all the hype that the Rolling Stone magazine gives them, you may think I'm out of my mind. But I'm not.

I won't go in to the statistics of it or how the Beatles changed music and the music industry. All that has been said by people much more qualified by me. 

I'm only going to give a personal account. 

As a die hard Beatles fan, I know most will agree with the cycles of being a Beatles fan.

Cycle 1:

This is when I was first introduced to the Beatles. Now I'm 21 and I had no one to really tell me what to listen to. So I started off as most did, by listening to the famous ones. I heard Hey Jude, Yesterday, Let It Be, I Saw Her Standing There, From Me To You, She Loves You, All My Loving, Something, While My Guitar Gently Weeps etc

All melodic gems. All so good to listen to and so refreshing. The positiveness in most songs hit me most (with exception of Yesterday). The Beatles were referencing all the songs to me! 

Is there anything that YOU want?

YOU think you've lost your love? Well I saw her yesterday.

As a listener, I was touched and I was instantly connected. Even in songs like Yesterday, Hey Jude and Let It Be, though they weren't addressed to me, I was Jude. I was the one in trouble. I was the one who thought I was a better man yesterday than today.

I devoured these songs.

Cycle 2:

This is the lesser-known-gems cycle. You're still stuck in the melodic part of things, but you dig out the lesser known songs

This one consists of songs like You Can't Do That, I've Just Seen a Face, And Your Bird Can Sing, I'll Follow The Sun, I'm Looking Through You, Michelle, You Won't See Me.

These might not be lesser-known gems for everyone, but they do come under the not-so-well-known category.

You begin to think "Wow! These guys are good. The melody just sticks in the head"

Cycle 3:

You start dabbling in the critically acclaimed songs. A Day In The Life, Strawberry Fields Forever, Penny Lane, Lucy In The Sky With Diamonds, Here Comes The Sun, While My Guitar etc

And then you realize that these guys are geniuses. They don't have great melody, they have great lyrical sense. They cover concepts I only dreamed about.

Living is easy with eyes closed, misunderstanding all you see

With every mistake, we must surely be learning

Newspaper taxis appear on the shore, waiting to take you away/ Climb in the back with your head in the clouds and you're gone!

The lyrics blow you away!

Cycle 4:

"I must obsessively listen to all the Beatles songs!"

You start scouring their catalogue. You listen to every song there ever was. You listen to all the albums, from start to the end. This cycle lasts a long time!

Cycle 5:

You now start scouring the internet for stories. You want to know about these guys. You want to know the stories behind every song. If you're me, you read up about every song on Wikipedia and you make an application which let's others do the same !

You also start listening to the Anthology series

Sometimes, cycle 4 and 5 start parallely.

Cycle 6:

You now have a favourite. You know whether you like Lennon or you like McCartney. But you have chosen. And this will remain with you for sometime. You start reading up about their relationship. How it began, how it was ruined. You'll try and find the mistakes in the person who isn't your favourite. It was his fault!

Cycle 7:

You now obsess over the Beatles breakup. You're going to blame Yoko Ono and you start thinking Why did John have to be with her? 

Cycle 8:

You realize how underrated George Harrison really is! You listen to his songs again, the obscure ones. Love You To, If I Needed Someone, Inner Light, Think For Yourself etc. 

"Wow! George was a genius too!"

Cycle 9:

Damn Lennon-McCartney. There is no such thing as better in Lennon-McCartney. You realize that you were naive to think one is better than the other, or one is more important than the other. The Beatles, are the Beatles. There is no John-Paul-George-Ringo. You listen to their solo stuff and you realize the spark that is missing. You realize that the Beatles are greater than the sum of the individuals!

Cycle 10:

Woah! Ringo is an awesome drummer! Strawberry Fields Forever, the rolls in A Day In The Life, the drumming pattern in Ticket To Ride!

You read up about Ringo and you realize that he was the loving one in the band. The one who genuinely tried to keep the band together. Who had no ego issues. And you realize how sometimes they treated him like shit and feel bad.

Cycle 11:

You realize that the Beatles broke up, because it had to happen. All things must pass (yeah George!). Yoko wasn't the only reason for it.

You accept them for what they are. Individuals with faults.

Cycle 12:

After all this obsession, you want to take a break. So you go to other music and after some time you come back to it. 

Wow I never realized this haunting slider in Strawberry Fields Forever

I never noticed the awesome backing vocals in Here There and Everywhere

The lyrics of Across The Universe are so poetic and beautiful

You fall in love back again. You realize, how much you underestimated them. 

And this Cycle 12 continues for life. You keep going back to it, and the Beatles keep giving you more. They keep proving to you that you took them at face value, but they have more depth than you can imagine :)

P.S - I apologize if I skipped any important steps. It's a little difficult to summarize years worth of journey in a small post :)

Empathy is the key...

I'm often intrigued by the dark side that every creature possesses and it's no surprise that humans come out on top (as usual) in this area too. Animals may feel anger, territorial aggression, love but us humans have a much larger dark side with jealousy, guilt, hatred, spite etc. either because of our incomprehensible conscience or our ego. And over the course of analysing these grey clouds of our oh-so sunny personalities, I've found out that the one thing that we humans actively avoid is empathy.

We're not devoid of empathy but subconsciously humans are very picky about showing empathy to fellow humans. I've remarked in my former post how we humans have a shielding mechanism to the society's pain, which allows us to function in day to day life. I feel it's a generally evolutionary trait that we've acquired because of the increase of pain all around us. To explain in a nutshell what I'm talking about, imagine just for a moment, how you would feel if every bad feeling you've ever known, every misery, every sad news, every bit of jealousy, hate, spite and guilt came at you together. It would annihilate you. How many times do we hear about the ISIS killing one more person? I'll tell you what your reaction will be. It will be :

A) No reaction. You change the channel, open the sports page of the newspaper or if you're technologically inclined, you'll swipe it away. (Swiping it away is most effective, because it genuinely feels like you're dismissing it but more on that in another post)

B) You'll feel bad, but you'll still repeat step A or a customization of step A.

C) You'll feel bad, you'll question why you're feeling bad and when your brain tells you that human life is sacred, the narcissistic defensive side of the brain which wants your life to function will remark that 'People die every day. If you don't mourn one, why mourn the other. Why is that person special?' (On a side note, if you're type C, consult a psychologist)

So, in all the three scenarios you have successfully removed the scenario from your consciousness. Because it's uncomfortable, because it won't let you sleep, it won't let you function, it will cripple your consciousness. And I'll tell you what. You'll not even think about how you didn't think about that ISIS victim. Why? Coz your mind cannot comprehend your apathy. Your mind cannot comprehend what a monster you are, to not be moved by the burning or beheading of a living, walking person with a family and a kid.

So this coping mechanism of ours, which we seemed to have developed as communities got smaller, restricts our empathy to known people and it reserves our apathy for people we do not know. In the olden times, and I'm talking about really olden, people lived together in caves. Anyone suffering in the cave, would get empathy from everyone. But as houses got smaller, families were created, empathy became restricted.

Getting to the crux of the matter : to negate every negative aspect of a human, try and be more empathetic. The cure to hatred and spite, guilt and envy, is empathy. It's the one antibiotic that works against them all. When you put on the spectacles of empathy on your eyes (that's cheesy, but couldn't help it), your bitterest enemy seems docile. Your whole outlook changes.

Think about the person you most dislike (everyone has one at least). Why do you dislike him/her? Does he/she have any faults? Or does he/she have it all? Start thinking things from his side. No seriously, do it. Think how they might be struggling with their lives (we all struggle).

I once didn't like a person because he had it everything. And I had nothing. I'm not proud of it, but I'm bold enough to admit it. I had to work for everything, but he got it all and he was ungrateful. Then I tried to see life from his perspective. About the identity crisis that he must be facing. How it must be killing the person because they are nothing but a shadow without a body. And this changed me. The moment I started being less self-centered and more outgoing and putting myself in people's places, I could no longer feel bad towards them. In fact, I started feeling bad for them. And that's where my apathy kicked in.

Because if you really analyse, this is a selfish exercise isn't it? This is serving no one but yourself. But I encountered this great theory on whether what you do is right or wrong. And that theory suggested "Think about what you're doing. Now think if every person in the world did this, would the world be a better place?" If the answer to this is yes, you're doing fine. So think about it, if everybody tried to be empathetic towards another person, just to decrease the negative side of theirs, just to clear out the grey clouds from their skies, would the world be a better place?

P.S - That theory was suggested by Gregory David Roberts in Shantaram. Must read.

To Be Or Not To Be.. Selfish?

All humans are designed to be selfish and look after their own needs above everyone else's. The degree of selfishness varies from person to person; from downright backstabbing crazy, to subtle sabotaging and manipulation to get their own way, everyone's out there to get things done for themselves.  Hard as it is to admit, we are a selfish race. We were selfish when we were evolving, which is why we evolved in the first place. Nature's rules are clear. The fittest survives. To invoke the well known quote : "Every morning in Africa, a gazelle wakes up, it knows it must outrun the fastest lion or it will be killed. Every morning in Africa, a lion wakes up. It knows it must run faster than the slowest gazelle, or it will starve. It doesn't matter whether you're the lion or a gazelle-when the sun comes up, you'd better be running.", human race advanced and survived for all these years because we were selfish. We learned how to stay away from predators or how to kill them. More than that, humans learned to kill humans when they were a danger to their own selves. Selfishness, which might be considered a subset of our survival spirit is the reason why we are where we are; which includes being the most advanced species on the planet and also the species which is causing the most harm to the planet.

If you've read Ayn Rand's books, they're all about the concept of objectivity. She touches upon a lot of subjects, one of which is how selflessness and not selfishness is driving the world into tatters. Although her points may be far too cynical, they have value. In our present society, we are taught to look upon any service given to us as a gift and we are taught to being grateful to that person for giving us the service (despite paying for it). A lot of it stems from the fact that most people perceive their job to be a necessary tool to survive and not to live. If everyone genuinely cared about what they were doing, completing the job would be a thankless deed. If you really love doing something, doing that thing becomes a necessity; an act that you must, and I cannot emphasize this 'must' enough, carry out to put your soul at rest. If everyone does what they really love, completing their task would be the most important thing in this world and society would fall into place. This is easier said than done because there is always a fine line between passionate and obsessed and many people slide into obsessed causing them to do things which might not be good for society. That's why Rand's philosophy turns out to be a little too out there.

And there's the other side of the spectrum. Selflessness. One of my complaints with selflessness is how misused that term really is. Any deed classified as selfless, when deeply analysed will have an ulterior motive of the said self. Very few acts are truly selfless because it takes a lot of stomach to do something selfless. I think the most pure form of selflessness is when you know that doing that particular act will harm you but it will benefit that opposite person. That is what I feel is a selfless act. On a different note, isn't it funny how being selfless requires some kind of self assurance? 

So then to be or not to be? The key to all this is balance. Be too selfish, and you're just a rotten person spoiling the earth with your stupid presence. Be too selfless, and the world will trample all over you. Have selective people, be selfless for them. Always look out for yourself. Because if you don't love yourself, nobody else will.

P.S - Trying these types of argumentative pieces instead of creative pieces. 

The Journey Within...

You open your eyes, but it's dark all around. Not the dark that you're used to, with a glimmer of light making way through tiny crevices. This was an absolute dark; one in which you cannot even feel your body. The silence pierces through your ears, threatening to make you deaf. Never before has your voice felt so loud. Never before have you realized that there resides two people within you, with a voice of their own.

A distant glimmer of brilliant white light fades in to your vision, but the sudden onset of bright light doesn't hurt your eyes. You realize that you're not seeing through your eyes. You look around and you look below, but you find no body and you find no physical presence. You see a red liquid flowing below but you can't feel it. You are a body-less entity.

You are drawn to the brilliant light, like moths to flame, yet you seem to be in control of yourself. You realize that you seem to be in a tunnel, full of wet walls that appear to be very soft. You try and navigate yourself through the myriad tunnel like formations, each forking off into lesser tributaries or joining larger ones. You go straight towards the light, always choosing the tunnel which enables you to see the light. The brilliant light stays constant, never ever appearing to come closer, yet never seeming too far. The light lights enough of your path to see ahead, but never far enough for you to know what lays ahead.

As you go ahead, other paths, more greener, more prettier, appear. You look down and you see you've assumed the shape of a toddler. You have tiny hands and tiny feet, yet you are still in mid-air, defying gravity. You look to your left and right, and you see images that make you excited and happy.

"Don't go there," the voice that is soft warns you. "Follow the light."

"It's just a quick detour. We'll be back in no time!" the other voice lures you.

The white light still makes you curious, and you try to reach out and hold it, but it's too big to fit in your palm. You decide to venture ahead, towards the light.

The path goes on, your body grows and now you're a teenager. Bigger, better and more exciting things entice you and urge you to detour. This time, the soft voice loses and logic comes into play.

Just a small detour won't make any difference! I'll be back towards the light in no time!

The other tunnel is dry and homey. It has hard walls, a carpeted floor and things to keep you occupied. It has an artificial light, more like a fire than a bright white light. A light which doesn't seem harsh, but welcoming. At the beginning there is only one thing, and that keeps you occupied for a limited time. After it gets old, you go in search for newer things. You create things that have no use to you. This search is different from the journey to the white light. This search helps in keeping the mind occupied and doesn't force it out of it's comfort zone.

"Let's go now! We have to know what the white light is!" the soft voice tries and reminds you. But you're too occupied filling the holes, left by your previous worldly objects. You lose your toy and try and fill it up with a different toy. You lose a person, and you fill the hole with another. Filling the holes is easy. A possibly unending journey towards a possibly non-existential object is tough.

"The right thing is always the tough thing! You've gotta remember that!" the soft voice tries and reminds me.

"Why should we do the tough thing? Then what's the point of all this? Are we sent here to suffer? This is nonsense. We must do what makes us content and happy. Anyway, we have a long time here. We can go to the light later", the harder voice told. You choose the hard voice because it serves your comfort.

The holes get bigger and you search for bigger things, more things to fill them. You fill them with money, worthless conversations and fair weather friends, jokes at expense of others. You do everything that will take your mind off the single most important thing : your conquest for the light.

By now, the soft voice is non-existential. You forget that it ever existed. You put it down with all the bullshit of the world that you can. You appear to be very hip and cool, but you're only a coward. A coward who can't face their inner demons and make the first bold step.

Your body is frail now. Your spirit, damp. As you're left alone more and more, you remember about your dear little friend with the soft voice. You try and communicate with it, but it takes time. You've almost forgotten how to! But it comes back, slowly and surely. You remember about the white light, and it's brilliance. You set off on the journey once more, but it's harder this time. Your body is frail, the way is long and most of the time is spent in coming out of the holes that you filled in. A glimpse of the light energises you.

You toil and toil, the light no nearer than before. Regret fills your mind as the memories come unbidden. You regret the time wasted in chasing imaginary things. You laugh at yourself, realizing how you made fun of dogs chasing after cars. Your body gives in, and you sink to the ground. For the first time, you feel the red liquid, scalding hot and burning, almost acidic in nature. You want to scream, but you laugh. You want to listen to the hard voice, the voice that comforted you, but it's nowhere to be heard. You want to go on, but your body is being consumed. You want to see the light, but your vision closes and with one small arc, the light is gone.

Chapter One : A New Beginning

    He splashed some cool water on his face, hoping that the drops of water would hide his tears and his sore red eyes could be passed off as a minor cold. 

     Nicholas Davis was not an emotional man. He rarely cried and prided himself on the fact. It wasn't that crying was an act of weakness, but nothing moved him. Not even death. Yet, as he stood at the basin of the gents washroom of the Heathrow Airport looking at himself, he couldn't help but feel a tinge of sadness for the things that had been and the things that would be.

     Not today. I've got to be strong. For Melanie.

     He picked up his backpack and headed towards the gate, where boarding for the flight to New York had just begun. He had arrived two hours early and had already checked in his baggage. Baggage was an understatement. He had checked in all that had remained with him. All his belongings.

    He showed his boarding pass to the lady at the counter, who greeted him with a fake, plastic smile. Nicholas hated anything that was insincere. He made his way to his seat in the plane, a window seat that he had requested. He hoped he wouldn't have any annoying co-passengers. He looked around, looking for the emergency exit and found that it was two rows ahead of him. He didn't plan to die tonight, but death wouldn't be the worst thing at this point in his life.

     The plane was filling slowly with a mix of people. Some English, some Irish, some Asians and Indians. He tried to divert his mind by observing people. Most seemed happy to fly to the USA. 'First time fliers' he thought, without realizing that it was the first time he was leaving the country as well. First time and forever. 

   His co-passenger arrived bustling with energy unnatural for a man his age. He was average height, with a slight stubble on his wrinkled face. His white hair indicated he was at least 60. He put his backpack in the luggage compartment on top and sat down with a thump which had a finality to it. 

      "Hey I'm Fred! Are you flying for the first time?" he asked, beaming.

      Why is he smiling so much?

      "Hi I'm Nick. Yeah I'm flying for the first time, just like you I guess" said Nicholas in tone which wasn't half as warm as the words.

     "Yes I am flying for the first time. It's so exciting! I think I made it just at the Nick of time" exclaimed Fred, looking for a reaction to his little joke.

     "Umm hmmm" Nicholas replied, determined not to give a foundation to this conversation. Nip it in the bud and you won't have to suffer his conversation for the rest of the flight.

     He hoped that the third seat would be occupied by a chatter box, so that the two of them could get together and leave him alone. 

     Normally, Nicholas would have not minded company to kill time on a trip. But today was different. He wanted to be alone, to think things over and over again, knowing that they cause him pain, but still wanting to do it. 

     "Sometimes, you should feel pain. As a homage to the people who died. The world shouldn't remain the same at least for one person. Or else, what is the point of a human life", he thought as he decided to wallow in his misery.

      A middle aged man with a very short moustache had already taken up the third seat, and Fred and man-with-Hitler-moustache seemed to be getting along. The air hostess announced that they were about to take off and advised everyone to wear their seat belts. Fred had already fastened his seat belt when he sat for the first time, in obvious excitement. In a few minutes, the plane started slowly, making it's way to the runway. As it straightened up from the turn, the acceleration began, and Nicholas was pushed back in his seat. He could feel his stomach as the plane picked up speed and with a swift arc, they were airborne. He looked sideways to see that Fred was frozen in his seat, his hands clutching the arm rests tightly. And just when Nicholas thought that the old man would subdue..

     "That was AMAZING wasn't it! We should do it again." he said as that annoying grin came back on his face.

     Nicholas ignored him and put on his headsets to block out the outer world. The outer world had lesser chaos than the inner world of Nick's mind. A thousand thoughts, a thousand images, all rushing at him. He was all alone he realized. He was stuck at forty thousand feet between two lands; the land that had been and the land that would be. He had sold his house in Westchester, England and he had decided to move to America on his uncle's request after what happened a couple of months back. So there he was, suspended in air with no place to go and no place to call home. 

     It was a mental thing, he realized, to have a place to call home. It gave a sense of assurance to every human to have a place that he can call his, that he can go to after a long and crappy day, or the place he can retire to even when he fails. 

     But Nick wouldn't get that. In USA, he would be the foreigner from England, and in England he would be the bloke who left England for greener pastures. It was like God was playing a cruel jape, taking away even his sense of identity. 

       Without realizing, Nick fell into a deep sleep and the images came to him unbidden. 

      He was running, in his dreams. Constantly looking back over his shoulder, but never finding anything. Yet, he ran. His footsteps seemed to leave a deep red color, a color similar to the color of blood, on the ground. He was sweating profusely, but he was feeling very cold. The sweat was not because of his running, but it was because of the fear. He had to outrun it. The cold seemed to be rising if he slowed down and he ran faster, stumbling and balancing himself. There was a helicopter waiting for him at the distance. He could only see its fan, rotating violently, ready to fly. The rest of the chopper was blocked by a big wall of mortar and red bricks. He had to climb the wall to get to safety. He got to the wall and looked for foot holes that he could use to hoist himself up. He desperately clawed at the bricks, but he just couldn't lift himself. And through the cracks of the wall, blood slowly oozed out, onto his hand......

     He woke up with a violent jerk. He was still on the plane, the lights had dimmed. Fred and man-with-hitler-moustache were fast asleep. He called an air-hostess and found out that they plane was due to land in an hour. He had slept for an impressive six hours.

      He spent the rest of the hour browsing their movie collection, and even put on one just to pass the time. Fred and man-with-hitler-moustache were awake soon.

      "You slept quite a bit! Lucky man" said Fred.

     Each sentence that the man uttered made Nick like him less and less, he decided. The captain announced that they would be landing and requested everyone to be seated. Fred clutched the armrest, scared surely, but was never going to admit it. They landed without incident and as they got down from the plane, Fred offered him a goodbye handshake.

     "It was nice flying with you. Hope to do it again soon. Hehe" said Fred, with his signature grin.

     "Yeah I don't think so. I'm moving here, so I won't be flying back to England." Nicholas replied, happily.

     "Oh that's sad," said Fred, visibly disappointed. "Well you can give me a call if you want to meet up in New York. Here is the number where I'll be staying."

     Fred handed him a card with a number on it. 

     "Sure I'll give you a call" replied Nicholas, though he had no intention of doing so. 

     They parted ways as they went for immigration checks and to get their baggage. Nick never saw him again, and was glad about that. He could get out of this airport, greet his uncle who would be waiting for him and then begin life anew. 

      The immigration and other formalities finished in an hour and he walked out of the airport looking for his uncle. He scanned the whole arrival section, but there was not a single soul that Nicholas recognized. There was no one waiting for Nicholas. 

The After-Life...

This post is a sequel to the post The Before-Life. Please read that one before reading this one. 

********

I woke up with a start. I had had a bad dream. I could remember it vividly. I had fallen down from a huge height, into an abyss. And then I woke up. 

It was extremely dark. I sleep on my stomach and the bed felt very hard. Had I slept on the floor? There was a soft lapping of water. Did someone leave the tap on in my room? I reached out to grab my cellphone only to feel a splash of ice cold water. Something's not right! I got up, panic stricken and looked around me. Endless water, endless skies and countless stars adorned my surroundings.  Shit. Even though this may sound very beautiful, it was very scary. I was in the middle of an ocean, on a raft roughly the size of my body, and worst part, I didn't remember how!

The sky was lit up with stars, but there was no moon. The waves were small, bobbing gently through the fabric of space, as if they were trying to help me combat my panic. 

"And we meet again!"

There's nothing more scary than being alone in an endless ocean and then hear a voice out of nowhere!

I followed the voice to my left and was startled to see another raft and a woman on it. 

"You again!" I exclaimed recognizing the familiar face of the woman. The white robe, kind brown eyes, the unmistakable aura around her and the radiant smile. 

"You remember me" she smiled. I didn't know whether it was because she didn't think I would remember or because she was relieved I would. Why do I always want to impress her so much?

"Yeah I do! The last time, I disappeared before I could process what you said! So what's happening now?" I asked

"Do you know those times, when you die in your sleep? You wake up with a start right? Your eyes suddenly pop out, your heart is racing and you look around everywhere to familiarize yourself with your surroundings. To distinguish the real from the dream. To see your pillow and feel your blanket. To heave a sigh of relief and go back to your semi conscious state. That's lucid dreaming. Well, almost. Lucid dreaming is when you know you're dreaming even when you're asleep. You kinda had a lucid dream. Except for the dream part. You're dead. Welcome to after-life" she said solemnly.

I had figured that out, but I was hoping that it was another before-life. Not the after life. 

"Bummer," I managed to reply. "So what now? Where are we? Is this heaven? Or hell? Or some place in between?"

"This is the Universe. The Cosmic Shore" she replied, staring into the distance. Like that was supposed to satiate my curiosity. She conveniently leaves out answering the other questions. It's like she only answers the ones she thinks are worth it. 

"Care to explain further?" I ventured.

She sighed. "Look at this ocean. This Cosmic Ocean represents the entire Universe. Endless, shoreless and ever expanding. The place where you are is your place in this Universe. Time for some physics!" 

"You really like physics right? Quantum physics in the before-life and now some more" I said.

"Of course! Physics is the learning of the Universe. How can someone not be interested in it?" she replied, as if it was obvious.

She continued. "So! One of the basics properties of wave motion is how a particular particle of a wave never really moves in the wave. Sure the particle moves up and down, achieving it's local crest and trough but the particle never moves linearly. But the apparition we get is that every particle movies linearly, pushing the other one and thereby achieving a swift, beautiful motion. After all, the waves of the oceans all seem to come forward and meet us on the shore. Only when you go in the sky and see from top do you realize the waves are stationary. They just move in their places and collectively it seems to move forward. Of course this breaks when the particles meet the shore but you get the gist. It's also seen when you see a bird sitting in water. The bird never really moves. 

"Now observe us both. We both have been adjacent for quite a long time. Here, we don't have a reference point of view and thus we don't know it, but we're just bobbing up and down in the same place.

"Every person is just another particle in this Cosmic Shore we call the Universe. And all the surrounding particles are the people in our life. Our parents, friends, lovers, enemies. We have our ups and downs in life, our own crests and troughs and we overcome them. After a trough, a crest must come and vice versa. We feel we've done a lot when we come up on a crest. But we lack context. We are the particle at that time. If you see from the context of the Universe, the particle is not moving forward nor backward. The motion of the particle is inconsequential to the Higher Purpose."

"Wait this is absurd. You mean all of humans and our human lives are waste? I get it that the Universe is one big place and that the actions of humans don't really matter. And that works when we really need to get the pressure of our backs. But to say that to a person, who's lived his entire life on Earth, doing something is really disrespectful and makes us feel like idiots!" I answered, visibly irritated.

She smiled sadly. I knew my folly the moment I said it. "The particle is inconsequential in itself. But it's the bobbing of each and every particle that makes the Universe what it is. After all, the collective motion of all particles is what makes up the huge wave. And that's how each particle makes the whole Universe and keeps it moving. It's only to curb the ego of a person that they're made to realize how inconsequential they are. Because there's a fine line in knowing you're important and only you're important."

I acknowledged her thoughts. But there was something eating at me. 

"Where's the Universe headed? You said the collective motion of all of us, carries the Universe forward. Where?" I badgered her.

"That's for another time child. You're not mature enough to know the answer. Maybe next time you will be", she replied.

"What do you mean next time?" I asked.

The world enveloped away.

It is weird not to hear sounds..... I was on the beach again

The Criminal...

       He checked his pistol, two bullets left. He continued ahead, in a daze. He didn't know where he was going, what he was running from; just that he had to run. The trees and the walls and the buildings all merged into each other, each with their features accentuated. 

      Run!

      Looking behind to see an empty road, he let a sigh of relief. With the sound of approaching footsteps, he quickly hid behind a small wall. 

      It's not been long. I know what I am doing. I know why I am doing it. I know it. In some part of my consciousness, I can feel it. It's like a bug in my ear. It's so painful, I can't get it out. Run!

      He peeked through one of the cracks in the wall. A pair of feet. Black pants, black shoes. 

      This is it! 

      Stealthily, he aimed at the person approaching and pulled the trigger. He waited to see the face of the person he'd just shot. The one mistake. Gloating. 

      Before the person slumped to the ground, he heard the shuffling of feet from behind him. 

       "Put your hands up in the air! NOW!"

      He turned around in an arc, with his outstretched gun, but it was knocked over by the man. 

      "You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say or do may be used against you in a court of law. You have the right to consult an attorney before speaking to the police and to have an attorney present during questioning now or in the future" 

      He looked up to see the officer. But he couldn't make out his face. His face seemed an ugly mash of eyes blending with each other only separated by a nose which amalgamated with his mouth. He laughed, hysterically. 

      Promise me, you'll not leave me.

      

      The bars of the cell slammed closed. This was his home now. Four walls and darkness. They had told him that devils lived in the darkness. But no one ever told him, that people were sent into darkness to become devils. In the court hearing, he didn't remember much. They pronounced him guilty of murder. The number, he could not say. He had offered no defense, not because he felt guilty. Guilty people got away as much as not-guilty people went to jail. But this was his life. He had accepted it.
      Promise me, you'll not leave me.
      The words still got to him. They came and went like tornadoes. Calm before they came, but they left him screaming and screeching, pulling his hair and skin, pulling his ears till they bled. But the voice would remain. 
      It's like a bug in my ear. It's so painful, I can't get it out. Run!
      The guards would have to come in and hold him down. He acquired super human strength at those times. The strength of a mad man. The strength of a schizophrenic. Afterwards, he would laugh hysterically for hours and hours. He was the devil.
      The four walls gave way to even smaller four walls where there was only space for a bed and a latrine. More solitude, more attacks. 
      The past was like a distant memory to him, just like it is to most people. The pain of the past had diluted to such an extent that he could not remember his vengeance. 
      Time is a cruel concept. It takes away pain, but it also takes away purpose. It's funny how the people who mattered to you so much, the people who you would die for, the people who you would kill for, become inconsequential over time. Time takes away our best memories and also the worst. But sometimes, the worst memories are the one you want to hold on to. Because those are the ones which give you strength. Because sometimes, you act on those memories and as time passes by, those actions seem futile and the purpose of life fades away.
      Promise me, you'll not leave me.
      It has started. My boy. My sweet little boy. So young and innocent. Has eyes just like me. Big and brown and full of life. The way those eyes light up when we are on the swings in the park. His laugh. So carefree. We're returning back from the park. It's just a moment. Oh the dreaded moment. I wait on the sidewalk, turning around to get him his ice cream. I hear a big screech of the tires and a small thud. The world spins around. I know it's my boy. Those big brown eyes. They're full of blood. 
      Please don't leave me.
     I can't take it. I need to get these things out of my head. I hate myself. I want to get out of my skin!
     The doctors say he's dead on arrival. Something burns. It burns a hole inside my heart. I will avenge him. I'm facing the owner of the car. There's a gun in my hand. He's pleading for mercy. My boy's big brown eyes, no more life in them. Full of blood. I kill him. 
      I face the ice cream guy. He's pleading for mercy too. I hear the screeching of the tires. The thud. I cover my ears in pain but it's still there. I kill him too.
      Six months on the run, and the pain has receded. The purpose has dissolved. The memories are gone as quick as salt in water. They only come in bursts. Not the memory of my boy dying. The memory of those two people I killed. The memory of me not burying my child and having one last conversation with him. Making my peace with him.
      My ears! I can't take this. I want to pull it out. Pull out my ears. Pull out my memories. My memories which could have been of happy times with my boy. But they're just of those big brown eyes full of blood. They're of the screeching of the tires and the thud. They're of two innocent people begging for mercy.
      RUN!