Friday, December 25, 2009

Late Bloomers

I like choices.

I bet we all do. But somehow we seem to take pride in our ability to deny ourselves things.

Iam not getting into the monogamous institute of marriage ( it need not be, depending on where or into what you are born or even what you choose to be). I know you would love to get my foot in the mouth and make me sleep on the couch for the rest of my life but I will refrain.

Take for example food.

I do not understand vegetarians.

Why would anyone choose to be a vegetarian? I don't know. Our dental structure clearly shows that nature never intended us to be that way. We were meant to eat what we get. We were never meant to be choosy but in some weird quirk of evolution, cockroaches lost the battle to supremacy and the mantel of Lord of all that he surveys fell upon us and then some prehistoric monkey developed a taste for vegetables.

I don't get it.

I like those guys who one day gave up meat because they decided on humanitarian grounds not to be part of taking life... but lets face it; Fried chicken is far more tasty than your soul.

What I do have a problem with Vegetarians is something I was discussing with a couple of vegetarian friends of mine. They haven't really helped in the ecological balance of earth, which they could have if they had enlarged their menu. You see, its my earnest belief that we tend to conserve what we think is important to us. We seem, somehow, to have an aversion towards dying.

Now if the vegetarians increased their diet to include the salads made from the nut or leaves of trees from the rain forest or made soups from the root of the cedar, oak or silver wood, we would have had a greener planet. Instead they left it to the meat eaters to protect and breed their meals on legs which now threatens to fart us out of our planet. Vegetarians could have been the saviours of our planet.

I have always maintained that, for wild life to survive we just need to start developing a taste for them.

A tiger steak anyone?

My plan to save our planet is very simple. I have been thinking... Yes, it does occur.

Now we all know that death is a great business. Funeral services are the only business that can claim year long supply of customers. Recession or not, people has to die.

So , my plan is this. When we bury someone why don't we insert a seed of a tree into the corpse's heart before we do so? Think about it. You have one tree per dead person. You replace graveyards with forests. And we can use the cremated ones ashes as fertilizers.

Personally I would like to be the worm food for a banyan tree.

Man, Iam so damn brilliant.

Now all I have to do is create a religion around it so that you will take it seriously. Nothing better than a bit of brimstone and fire and some infidels thrown in to motivate people to do the right thing.

Monday, December 21, 2009

Sun is still in my bum


I like that word. It sounds like what it implies. It sounds correct. Maybe its conditioning but vagina sounds nice. Clean. Medical.Text book. Almost clinical.



See what I mean? Same thing, different words...different imaging.

I taught my son to call his penis Pepe. Don't ask me why. I just did. I regret it. I should have just asked him to call it a penis.We really don't need several words to name the same things. Yet somehow we seem to do it. Its like Gandhi's word Harijan for the untouchables or the low castes. Over time the very word which was supposed to elevate them, give them a sense of pride, became a label. The very word , which meant God's children, became synonymous with being of lower caste. Now its illegal to call anyone Harijan. Its Scheduled Caste. Hopefully in the future we will just call them Indians. Or how about people?

Its the same with Negros who are now called Blacks. Its the same word. Same meaning. Different associations. Different history.Funny when you think about it.

Rose by any other name...

At 40 I have realized only one thing as a certainty. I have no clue. Everything is so confusing. Now we need to gauge every ones reactions prior to any actions. Now you will think twice before you go to comfort a crying child in the playground. Now you will refrain from correcting a misbehaving child. You will watch a husband beat his wife because its none of your business. You will not act because of what others might think. We have become so politically fucking correct that we have become eunuchs. Ooops. I forgot. I cant use that term anymore. Its fucking politically incorrect.

Truth is I don't know anything. Really I don't. Its not everyday you wake up and realize how stupid you are.

The last 30 odd years have been spend accumulating so called knowledge, experiences, cells and fat.

I have spend 30 years becoming a fucking hoarder!

So, during the last few years I have been doing a sort of spring cleaning. Basically cleaning out the attic. Now that almost everything I have accumulated is gone ( the fat remains) , Iam as empty as a retard. Ooops. Cant say that either, can I?

Tell you what I do know.

I exist.

The indention in the shape of my bum, much like the image in the Turin Shroud, on my couch ascertains my existence.

Truth is that's all I really know. I don't know if Iam the only one that exists and that all of you are just figments of my will and imagination. There is also a chance that all of you think the same way too. But Iam not sure. I can only be absolutely sure of my feeling, my pain, my love , my anger, my frustration...your emotions and feelings are concepts. I cannot and do not get a first hand experience of it therefore, it will always remain an empathetic understanding. An outside perspective compared with my own feelings , emotions and actions. No matter what I have read, or heard or been born into in the name of my heritage and culture, I still remain separate. This supposed existence of a unifying mystical formula is beyond my reasoning.

All I feel is : It must be the same for you.

Maybe its our separation that is the common factor. Imagine the fucking irony in that!

Sunday, December 13, 2009

Breaking it down.

If you want to know the nature of time, you need to stand in a lift that is slow and the number of floors it travels to is more than 15. To make it more exciting, you and the bunch of people who takes the lift from the ground floor should not be added by people getting in from different floors. It causes distraction to the discomfort in experiencing time on a first hand basis.

Notice your stance.

You probably will be standing still, erect, looking ahead, almost not breathing. Or you will be looking at your feet or at the numbers on the floor display panel. You will feel the others behind you, like the breath of a spirit and theres almost a guarantee that you will not turn back to look or acknowledge.

When the lift door opens, you step out with almost a relief.

Now imagine getting stuck in one with your girl, just the two of you and not much of clothes between you both.

Time, my dears, hence, is relative.

See? My post is educational. Wasn't that way better than understanding it through some dead unfeeling formula?

This is what I have a problem with. This effort in making the most simplistic of things complicated.

Take life for example.

Now you don't need a PhD to live it. Hell, you don't even need a licence. You just have to be born and viola! you are carried away in its flow. Simple. Along the way, others in similar positions as you will come your way. You will exchange ideas, you will analysis each others methods to live, you will find some lives lived more attractive, then, abandoning your unique life, you will try to ape another life. From there starts your life of disappointment.

My wife disagrees. But I really think that there is no meeting ground in regards to individual. We are different. In every way. Similarity might exist in regards to our physiology, which helps in identifying us, pegging us, marking us as a species or some other such labels but we are different. Our lives are different, our experiences are different. Every emotion that we feel is different. My anger could be different from yours. My love is different from yours. The way we see colors are different. The way we smell the same thing is different. Our deaths will be different.

Then why do we think that there is a single path to a single source?

My enlightenment, if there is such a thing, is bound to be different from yours.

Maybe, just maybe, the Hindus got it partly right by having their 1 million different gods. Which then went on to become a mess.

Why cant we celebrate our uniqueness? Why is there this need to willingly come under a banner of religion, country, race, gender? Why is there this need to believe that my way is better than yours? That its only through my way you will find yours?

Think. Doubt.Question. Break it down. Tear it down. Then rebuild.

Only then , I think, can you call anything your own.

Even yourself.

Faith, without questioning is akin to slavery.

Have a great year ahead.