Purpose

Why do we exist? What is our purpose in life? Why does the universe exist? Why is it expanding? If we assume that everything has a purpose, then what is the purpose of the universe? What is the reason for the expansion of the universe? What is the reason of Earth’s existence? Does it exist just to support the homo sapien sapien species, and take it to the next level of evolution?

When we humans, being a small blip in the time since the universe is assumed to be born, cannot exist peacefully without finding a reason to live for, how can it be that the ever expanding universe has no reason for its existence?? And if it has a reason, what can it be?? And if it has a reason, would it be too far-fetched to argue that since it (universe) has a purpose, it is also a being? If it is a being, does it have a soul? Assuming of course that all beings have a soul. Let’s say it does, then is its soul a collective of all the souls of people, the animals, the plants, the rivers, the stars, the space .. that exist inside its boundaries? If it is, then is it affected by bad thoughts? Is that what we call ‘vibes’? Can we feel the energy balance of the World’s soul, if we try to do it really really hard?

How can we live in a world, breathe in it every day, see it every moment, and yet not understand one bit of it? Is this thought what drives the scientists, the explorers, the artists and the god men? Trying to find a reason?

We know how it rains, why it rains, but how did it start? How did earth end up being so perfect? How did the human body end up being so perfect? Can it be that a movie like Lucy is a step towards human’s understanding of the world? We try to find different combinations of chemicals which make us happy, make us sad, which makes us what we are, but how were we created? Made this way? Is this thought what drove Darwin?

How can there be so many different combinations of the same 26 pairs of chromosomes, that makes so many people, each different from another in so many ways, but still basically the same?

Everything in this World has an explanation, but nothing is a reason.

If there is a God, he must be one hell of a man! And if this is all just a coincidence…. Well then I’ll be damned!

For You, My Love.... Love you....

Sunsaan sannata hai

Kali raat mae

Teri yaad ka sath hai

Har ek saans mae

Yun to tanha zindagi hai

Par jalti hu main tere pyar ki aag mae

Hazaro chahne wale tere hain

Marti hu main bhi tere har jazbaat pe

Kaash ki mujhme bhi hoti wo baat

Ki deta tu hamesha mera saath

Isi kashmakash ke darmiyaan hain

Na jeete hain, Na marr pate hain..... 

Is tere pyar mae.

Mumbai : The Mistress

My experiences with the mistress became semi-forgotten memories embedded somewhere in my sub-conscious hidden under layers of time and emotions till the day she beckoned again.

My first memories of mumbai are of my childhood, the part of life when we are oblivious to any difference between home and away other than in the amount of time we get to play. And so it was with me too. I screamed from various joy rides in Essel world on the top of my voice. We traversed the never ending roads, asking for directions from complete strangers to some mysterious place which eluded us. I looked forward to 2 a.m. home cooked dinners.

It didn’t soak in then that however early we left or however late we came back to home, the city was always awake. We always found public transport, we always were with a crowd, and we always found at least one vada pav stall open.

She called me again under the innocent pretext of employment. I had heard so much about her by then that I didn’t feel quite ready to face her charms and thats why I settled for the next best thing. I travelled to her cousin navi Mumbai and stayed there with an uncle of mine. But you just cant stay when she calls, so I surrendered to her wishes and boarded a ‘local’, as the life lines of Mumbai are fondly nicknamed. In the 90 minutes of travel which ensued, I tried to understand why so much had been written about the mistress. I tried to fathom what makes this place so special.

Initially to my inexperienced senses, everything felt and seemed the same as my hometown, or for that matter any other city in India, with the same kind of people, with a few variations owing to circumstances. The truth couldn’t be further. Over many 90 minutes to and from the temptress, the real nature of the city dawned upon me. I absorbed the generalities gradually without even realizing it then.

The very people who had pushed and crushed each other trying to board the train, would squeeze themselves to make space for the 4^th seat traveller.

The same people who had cursed and yelled at each other, smiled and laughed with each other in a matter of minutes.

I am very much affected by the handicapped people, or using the politically correct term ‘differently-abled’ people. I just don’t know how to behave around them. When a hawker with only one arm boarded the compartment, with a heavy bag on the leftover stub of his other arm, I didn’t know how to react. Should I be sympathetic to him? That would be degrading. Should I ignore him? That wasnt much better than sympathy. While my mind was caught in this debate, my eyes registered a group of pukka mumbaikar girls, barely out of their teens, haggling with him about the prices and designs of the trinkets he was selling, giving him a status everyone craves. The sense of equality. Of course they  didn’t know what they were doing. It was a way of life for them.

I once saw a couple on marine drive, the lady dressed in black burqa, the man in sherwani and skull cap, a picture perfect orthodox muslim couple; French kissing. Nobody other than me noticed this, I guess cause it was Mumbai.

But if this was the only face of Mumbai I had seen I would’ve called her ‘my-lady’ and not my paramour and its many other synonyms.

I am yet to see the many burqa clad women talk in the language of the soil.

I’ve seen men beating up youngsters for travelling in the first class on vadala road station. People stared, but nobody tried to stop this. I too kept walking with the crowds. After all, the connecting local to andheri was due on platform 1 in 3 minutes.

But I have also seen a man wearing rags, totally drunk, raving about his experiences in the states and Switzerland and hongkong.

I have heard dirty shirted and unslippered men discussing lakhs of rupees in the locals, on their way back to their homes in slums.

I have sensed that more than any good or bad side to the mistress, there is a sense of possibility. Thats what makes her the temptress. Because she tempts you with a feeling that nothing is impossible here. Maybe thats what drives so many people here every day, to the city of dreams. Literally the woman of your dreams. And she waits with her arms open wide.

• The spirit wonders 
  
  
  in the moonlit streets
  
  
  
  
  Sometimes steady, sometimes fumbling
  
  
  
  
  
  Running and stumbling 
  
  
  
  
  on the narrow paths
  
  
  
  
  Crying out with a smile
  
  
  
  
  
  Would there be no escape for the soul?
  
  
  
  
  
  Would my spirit never rise to the beyond?

Finding a path

With the onset of each new day

The spirit dies bit by bit

seeking the elixir of true north.

Perhaps the days are bearable

But the nights breathe hard

struggling to climb the mountains; ending up going in circles.

Stepping on the remnants of crushed dreams

Profusely bleeding swollen feet

running after mirage of The Ideal.

Pious fire burns the soulExcruciating pain hollowing the body

leaving not even ash behind.