A Sceptic Without Answers
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Brahma -The Genesis~~~~~~~~~~~
‘You are unique, not just in terms of your DNA and the carvings on your fingertips, but your whole physical and cerebral composition. There is nobody like you unless we are talking about a parallel universe’. A wise, quirky man might have said such things. But, how veracious is his perception about billions of men? Maybe it’s time to seek wisdom from a wise wonted woman.
We were all born crying, although I do not remember me hollering on the birth bed. But we tend to believe it because we had a glimpse of a newborn baby crying in the Twilight saga. During the first few puffs of my life, I never knew that the sounds and the gestures I make are unequivocally unique. Who knows, the sound emanating from my toothless mouth could be a cry of joy, or perhaps the remaining anger of the bygone ape, reincarnated again into the world of paradise.
Not so long ago, one blood-soaked baby beast acquired telepathic instructions from a few civilized fingertips. Numerous hands touched the crimson body. The roaring baby beast was being metamorphosed into a homo spirit without halting the cry of profound feelings. The real baptism of the slimy creature was over. The Narasimha has become a neonate! If you felt a reminiscence of this genesis, then, rest of the story might be yours.
The cord connecting my nascence was sliced, disconnecting the portal to my origin. There is no going back. Was it my first day on planet Earth or have I reincarnated? Howbeit, somebody must have used a Neuralyzer before I transitioned to the paradise land. Yet, it is amusing to see scientists probing the cosmos for black holes when we are already trapped inside one.
Like somebody’s mother said, you are given a box of chocolates to pick your favourite ones. But the box of chocolate was not decided by you. In other words, your birthday, complexion, immunity, sexuality, intelligence, diaspora and kismet forge your cocoa box.
A legion of boxes hovers over the infinite sea. In a trice, within the borders of my box, I will be bestowed with an identity but without my liberty. My body, mind, soul, and breath will have invisible strings attached. Some wise men entitle them as DNA. One of the floating cartons in the ocean was handpicked and logged into a river. This river has a label, ordained by mankind — family. This overflowing river will have tributaries alias relatives and distant relatives. They must have come through the same portal, but with different chocolate boxes.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Vishnu- The Incarnation~~~~~~~~~~~
Michelangelo must have used a mallet to sculpt the statue of David. But how do we get chiselled?
We can voyage to the Maldives either by air or water. Similarly, our path to the Milky way needs some route. All roads may lead to the same destination but certain things make these paths special- memories and stories. They are the roots of a family tree.
Stories activate the mirror neurons and sway the rhythm of heartbeats. Religious stories, love stories, ghost stories, business stories and Archie comics are the elixirs to the chronicle that we are engineering. Soon our habits and dreams are moulded by these tales. It becomes our truth towards our illusionary destination. But, will your passions and beliefs be the same had you been born in a different time, with different strings attached — another chocolate box per se?
Life has always been a chain of accidents. To make us more comfortable, let us call it a probability of events. They are the choices and chances powered by stories.
There comes a time when the intellect fancies things beyond basic human needs.
We want to acquire or create multiple things in our name- material and intangible. When we do, we take pride in such a manoeuvre. But we rarely look at the countless kinesics that has mended us since birth.
We are not like Buddha who experienced life at the age of 29. Having seen aged people, departed people, Spiderman and Darth Vader along with a plethora of stories throughout over lives, our spirit might have enlightened quite early. Let us not disregard the role played by search engines and multimedia in framing our choices. Just like the pre-historic humans who sat around the campfire to discuss stories and mythologies, we now sit in front of Firefox to test the myths. The societal supernova has exhibited likes and dislikes, just and unjust, beliefs, interests, tastes and habits. Now I have become an intersection of myriads of sets. Consequently, how can every discovery or invention have solitary trademarks and copyrights?
Now, the scepticism of control over our choices comes into view. For example, whom would you choose as a wise man when there are many in the souk. It is easy to pick up a candy when there are three different candies before you. What if there are 3000 treacly candies? Is it facile to pick your favourite one?
Of the choices, the most complicated and mysterious is the sensation of love towards a fellow human beyond your family. And it is a great mystery when an alien chocolate box joins your river, this time with different strings attached. Even Lord Voldemort didn’t understand how love works and he often discarded this idea by grumbling it as a feeling of vulnerability.
Once a choice is entrenched, we will have to forgo many other choices. But how do we know we have made the right choice? Can we differentiate between a good one and a bad one? If you ask Bin Laden whether his decisions are righteous, what would he say? Will you agree with him?
In a civilized world, a community decides what is good and bad. Or maybe how much of something is acceptable. If things go against such standards, we always have somebody to blame for, barring God.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Shiva-The Enlightened~~~~~~~~~~~
How do we get answers to our questions, let it be of any? Maybe you can look up at the night sky to get commandments from an old man with a beard although I haven’t even seen a Santa in a one-horse open sleigh. Maybe some UFO space shuttle may drop answers disguised as apples.
William Goldman said, “Nobody knows anything”? I don’t know why he said that. Maybe he didn’t get answers to his questions.
Answers arise out of questions. Whether we use our bodies for self-aggrandisement or to serve others, questions will arise. Buddha and his followers had questions. Some answers were remarkably recited and some were slain with silence.
There are no ideal answers. Even the gods are not sure about how and why the universe was created or manipulated. An answer must be something that satisfies everyone, but there are no such answers. Answers can cater only to a particular person or a community. “Your answers are found within”, said a wise old man. But who knows? It might be lying somewhere deep inside the Firefox.
We might be species with sceptical minds. But does it really matter as our origin and end will be nothing but a pile of pristine stardust?
Jabali, one of the characters of an Indian epic, Ramayana, tells Rama “follow what is within your experience and do not trouble yourself with what lies beyond the province of human experience”. All of us have got a box of chocolates. Let us relish each of the chocolates in our unique boxes to the fullest.
