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Saturday, September 26, 2009

A Random Post

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People come and go by. They keep coming. They always go. Some stay back. Some do not even bother to look back. One is being adored the other being abhorred. One being loved and the other being hated to the brink of raving madness…
Met many, known few. Seen many, felt few.
To few these eyes know, to some more these ears understand, and to one this soul responds.
Life is a mosaic of patterns stitched here stuck there and of these all, one patch is me. Me- with no impressive name and no significant aim in life yet, I exist somewhere in the myriad folds of this beautiful pattern of umpteen beings with same flesh and blood and yet different names to call with.
The other day I was walking down on the Tolstoy Marg, carrying books which I borrowed from British Council, happened to saw a non-significant beggar girl in a dirty red ghaghra playing amongst her group of beggar kids. Do her smiles make any difference in someone’s life? Does anybody sing of her? Is there any worth of her life? One day, who knows, she will die in anonymity in some accident or by some diseased death. Will there be someone to cry for her, shed some tears? Only kids, if she gets married… but, will she get married? Whom she will marry? And, if she does, then they both will beg to eke out their living…
We think over existentialist phenomenon, do these roadside people, beggars too think on same lines? I think no. I mean how could they, as in their entire thought process is directed towards getting hold of some money and food to gobble on. Such rhetoric on life, existence, meaning and purpose of human life, and so on are only for minds that are fed properly. We are fed and clothed so we have enough time to ponder over such rhetoric. These big talks, and fluffy issues creep way into your life when you have shelter, food, and clothing and have enough to shell off your pockets whenever required to meet your basic demands.
For a chap sitting and smoking on footpath, nothing actually matters-he, actually knows, what it is to have carpe diem. What it is to live in present. He revels in the pleasure of the moment because he is the only one who has been taught harsh lessons of life- accept the small pleasures of life with open arms lest you never know life is such an uncertain phenomenon which never showers you with smiles every day.
Future is a dream yet to be realized, past is the time irretrievable, and present is the time we all have with us. So, make sure you live this present at its best so that you can realize your dreams in a best possible manner.
I, at times think what Genie does when she is not eating or barking. She too must have brain as ours except that gift of language. She may think what kind of ridiculous people we humans are- worrying day and night, measuring and weighing our propensities for surviving, when the fact is that there is this deep slumber waiting to be fulfilled or say resumed back for us. Isn’t it?
Why worry? Why think at all? Why we must know the answers to the deepest and mysterious secrets of human nature and the nature itself?
We live a phony life that has to be lived as we are here, meant to do this stuff called ‘living’ just like that.
I think I am tired and need rest.