Tuesday, March 29, 2011

Bullshits : Chapter 2

Amid all the questions that a human will ask in his life time, yearning for understanding of his existence, his purpose, his meaning, theres one that stands out.

Why do people blog?

I have no clue.

But I can tell you why I blog.

I blog for the same reason some people unleash their creativity on bathroom walls.

I blog for the same reason why some people pee in the pool.

I blog for the same reasoning behind the person who writes to the editor of a newspaper thinking that words printed will mean that he was able to make a difference.

I blog for the same reason as Jesus, when being confronted with people who were bent on stoning to death Mary Magdalane for adultary, wrote on the sand with a twig before answering : He who has not sinned, let him cast the first stone.

Jesus was a blogger.

I blog because most of the thing I say ,you will listen, only because you dont know me. I blog because I know that you dont care about me and I have no real place in your life, therefore whatever I say here will actually get to you.

See? Who said that an uncaring world isnt a positive thing?

This is why, we dont listen to our parents, our spouses, our friends but will worship the words of a stranger whom we dont know but think we do. Blogging makes everyone a guru.

See. Lets put a spiritual spin on this.

How does god exist? It relies on its existence to the believers. You might disagree; but if none of us believed in a god , then the question of its existence will never have risen.Its like the question of the existence of Maragosepinia Kolakutz.

It didnt exist untill I made it.

So, if god really does exist, he totally relies on us to keep him doing the things he does, being immortal souls and all. So as long as god exist, mankind will exist. It is codependent. So if he really existed, then theres no reason to fear, is there? Its all peachy. But is it?

We know in a deep rooted way that we are screwed. We write books about it, makes movies about it, talk about it , dream about it, have nightmares about it and some people get to have sex because of it. We know that our days are numbered. So we pray. If we cant control it, then there must be someone who can. Its called hope.

The last I heard, hope floats.

Shit also floats.

So you see, when someone asks, why do people blog? its because we can.

As long as there is a natural tendency in us humans to be curious, to be interested, to be questioning, to be alive, there will be seeking , there will be listening, there will be reading. That will give rise to the seen, the speaker, the writer.

They are codependent. Its expressions might be many but its reasons will be the same.

I blog because of the few who reads it.

Wednesday, March 23, 2011

Bullshits. Chapter1

Nowadays I feel like that guy who cut the branch that he sat upon.

Never have I felt so alone. Never have I felt so free.

I was talking to my mother yesterday. A friend of mine from college days had died of drug abuse couple of days back. He was in some former life a football captian but later he stayed on years after years in the same college completeing a course that had no end. He died in the university town. What upset my mother was when she heard that his parents did not want his body returned home. The college buried him in the university town graveyard.

Mother could not understand. Death is supposed to be a leveler. What happened here? Are disappointments so unforgiveable? Who is the victim here? I dont know.

Iam finding that its becoming difficult for me to take any sides. I seem to have lost the sense of discrimination.This is making me a bore to have a conversation with, because I do not seem to 'get it'. Most of it.


Do you feel that emotions are indicators? I mean , do you sometimes observe the areas in your body where emotions act out of? Fear in your belly, anguish in your throat, emotional pain( sometimes felt as intense love) in your heart? Dont you think sometimes the heaviness or lightness or constriction is there in these areas but the actual emotion associated with it is uncertain?

I find myself paying attention to the body. I feel it guiding in some ways. I have felt that all emotions are self directed. Its focus or rather the catalyst is external but the associated reaction/emotion is the filtered reality. Your true nature can be experienced by observing your emotions. Dispassionately. It is filtered, so I guess knowing that the filter will effect your observation is helpful.

Emotions in that sense is an indulgence. It is you asserting.

Then there are those emotions that are self generated. Seemingly without any outside catalyst. The feeling of anxiety, the sudden heavy feeling or the unexplained feeling of joy. But when looked closely, it too has an external source.I think emotion is the true language of the body.And like all language it can be misinterpreted unless we have that level of honesty to see ourself as we are.

Why is all this important?

No reason.I dont even think this is important. It helps pass time.

If you pause to look, you too, perhaps, will see how utterly alone we are. Its kind of beautiful how contained we are , within ourself. We hear what we want to hear, see what we want to see, be who we want to be, be not who we want to be. Every interaction, experience is your own unique thing, because there will be none like you ever again.

Does that make you feel better?

I didnt think so.

Yesterday I was talking to my mother. One thing lead to another and we were talking of orphans. Mother was telling be that she feels she should spend more quality time with the children she has been sponsoring.The last time she went to that school, her kids were standing at the gate waiting for her.

She was telling me that she is grateful that she is in a position to help.

Grateful to whom? I asked.

To all the paths that led me to now. She said.

Its a safe answer. I know. But its a beautiful real answer.

I can't comprehend the life of a child who upon grazing her knee in the playground has no one to blow on that wound.

But I do know that we all will become orphans one day.

Sometimes I find myself thanking the beggar I give money to. Its a reflex. Iam embaressed by the whole thing. Iam annoyed because the out stretched hand shows a lack that Iam in a position to fulfill. Who is the beggar? He who does not have it or the one who gives it because he has it? Where is the so called beauty in charity? There is none. It is an ugly reality. Giving is not a noble act or a virtous act. It is an act of guilt. Of shame. Its our way of redemption.There is no beauty in redemption , only a sense of justice. The very act of giving makes the other a beggar.

Rather provide. Act on a want before it is presented to you. Do it in silence and be done with it. Its a privilage. Bestow dignity. Poverty sucks and it will be a lot kinder if they are not reminded of it.

It is becoming hard to take myself seriously.

Iam so full of shit.

Wednesday, March 16, 2011

Slip And Slide Away.

Its off late that I happened to see my feet.

Having a midsection that has its own zipcode and climate, prevents me from seeing a lot of other things below the belt. But one day, while stepping into the shower, my gaze happened to fall upon my feet.

It looked a lot like a drought hit river bottom.Not a pretty sight.This is why I keep a lot of things out of sight; it saves me the embaressment.

Anyhow; I came out of the shower and declared to my wife that my lower extermities has been hit by a drought. She retorted that some other neighbouring parts have already turned into desert.( Point to ponder: do you think that the reason we find oil reserves in desert is earth's way of moisturizing?)

Moisturize! My wife declared like a wild prophet from the Mount of Sinai , holding up a container the size of a milk bottle.

Iam a bloke. We don't moisturize.

We shave after we lather our face in the shower with the soap. Once , during a camp trip, I have even shaved using mint toothpaste. The result was a fresh clean shave. Its not everyday your breath and face becomes syncronized.

When a bloke is dry, we oil ourself.

We dont rub on some cream made out of a fruit cocktail. We strip to our bare necessities and have someone oil us down.

When you are married and the children are too small to be trained in the menial tasks that are expected of them in the future, that someone will be your wife.

That is unless theres something you are not telling me.

So I stripped down to my boxers, spread the picnic matt in the living room, handed over to wife a bucket full of heated coconut oil and lay face down on the matt.

Then I waited.

Upon not feeling any reassuring oiling happening, I looked up puzzled , to see my wife looking at me with disgust.

The reason?

No. Not my naked body, which trust me, is the reason she keeps in shape.

It helps with her diet.

Olive oil.

Whats with girls and olive oil?

According to her, coconut oil is for banana chips.

There were retorts I could have come up with for that comment, but Iam against domestic violence.

Babe, olive oil is a dressing. She is Popeye's girl friend. Its such a girly oil that it has got a girl's name.


Now thats dude oil.The word rolls in your tongue. Coconut. Theres nothing feminine there.

Theres one thing you learn when you are married to a woman for a long time. They complain that we dont listen.

Its true. We dont.

They listen.

Then they go ahead and do extactly what they want.

So ultimately, it was Popeye's girl friend who filled all my cracks with her greasiness.

After being marinaded for a period of one hour, I skidded my way to the bathroom, where I spend 2 hours trying to open the door, which kept slipping. Upon entering the shower , the process which nearly killed me, I proceeded to shower, washing Bluto's lust off me.

Now my feet looks like a broken chinese vase that has been put together with quickfix.

Moisturizing, I maintain , is over rated. Feet and hand needs the threads, which gives it a good grip. Greasing that is as stupid a pouring oil on your car tyres before taking it for a spin.

You know how that is going to pan out.

Monday, March 7, 2011


For a guy who seemed to have spend almost all his life trying to find the meaning of life, you will think, would by now know how to live.

Well , my friends, I do.

Anyone who knows me, I know, will disagree.

I invite their gaze towards my raised third finger.

Now, that my friends, is how I live my life.

As I never tire of emphasising, my way need not be your way. My meat is in all probability poison for you. So let me , my poor captive audience, go further into my journey in whogivesafuckism.

You probably know by now that my wife has prohibited all talks that revolves around my work and my state of mind inside the house ( not my state of mind inside the house, which is largely a state of confusion but rather discussion in relation to the state of my mind is prohibited within the four walls of my abode).

This ban has resulted in a sudden silence in the house, since beyond this, I seem to have nothing else to speak about. Point made woman!

So thats where you come in.

Call it farting in the wind ( which is what any talk about life really is. One hopes that someone , somewhere will sniff the stink)

According to me, theres no way anyone alive can ever know the meaning of life. Now that does not mean that we will know the meaning once we are dead. I wouldnt know. The last I checked I had a pulse and have no particular craving for blood.

Actually I dont think theres any meaning to life at all. I mean, the very question is a meaningless question. Think about it.

Its like asking, whats the meaning of wind.

Fuck if I know.

Heres my paradox, I didnt witness my birth and theres a plausible chance that I will not witness my death. Yet Iam told I existed for all eternity. And you call me drunk.

Face it.

We are the body. Every perception , every experience , all that makes you you are within this body. No matter how many theories are thrown around and how many times some guy with a beard says otherwise, you cannot exist outside your body and be aware of it. You can, of course fool yourself into thinking that you do, but tell me something-

when you think, do you hear it? or do you see it?

Tell me something.

What the fuck is choiceless awareness?

I have no clue. But I dont pretend that I do.

Now, therein lies the core of whogivesafuckism.

As long as you ask a question for the sake of asking a question, there will be enough and more cunning little bastards out there trying to convince you that they have the answer.

But they cant possibly know you.

They can theorize about you, they can even assume that they know you. The result thats you due to the combination and accumulation of the billions of recycled atoms, willed to a certain extent by the genetical code that could be the nearest thing to an immortal part in your whole body, is unique.

One of a kind.

Yet we are told to believe in a fit all sizes salvation.

And you call me mad.

They tell me that we are all the result of our experiences, that is in reality past. Which makes me a dead man walking.

They tell me that we are exactly where we want to be due to the choices we have made. We are in charge of our destiny.

And I tell them take their mother for a walk on a leash.

Tell that to the 4 year old kid who was raped and killed in the rest room of the mosque during ramadan. Tell that to the girl who was locked up by her prevert father to be his sex slave for an eternity. Tell that to the palestine father who tried miserably to shield his son from Israeli bullets. Tell that to the millions of jews who were murdered while their neighbours watched.


Yep. Now is when they throw the whole karma thing at me and this is where I tune off. I find this whole karma thing boring. Iam I the only one who sees that it actually serves no real purpose in the actual business of living?

You are trying to find a reason when there are none. You are trying to find a meaning when there are none. You are trying to find a purpose when there are none.

What is the purpose of a karma when you have no idea if you had a previous life? It is a speculation.

Here is the foundation of whogivesafuckism.

I do not know.

But Iam a king of living. I have been doing it for 41 years with no special effort.

Just have to wake up.