In The Quest of Truth

It broke!

2017-08-25T06:03:00.001+05:30

Washing the sins from my mortal pains, I walked backward towards the garage of carnal desire. I smiled at the thoughts of the night, as the dawn overtook the darkness of slumber. Unclad in the garage and the Main Street, the ecstasy of music overtook the morality of human soul. Cop was nice, so were the herbs. His beard overshadowed the clumsiness of her beauty. And there goes backwards to the middle of Arch Street, funk night and human diaspora. Colors of music and love, we were liberated from the ruthless fight for life. She worked with her mother, and the awe of that genetic bonding brought tears in my eyes - I controlled for the sake of manly pride. As I gulped the popcorn from the street, I did not know what awaits me in the dawn. And it broke!

Letter of Perfection

2017-07-19T05:18:00.001+05:30

In the summer, I saw a beautiful message encrypting through the nerves of a shallow mindset. It was bright and warm, people were unclad seeking the liberation form shyness. Fear was fading away from the agony of childbirth. Hope was around even in the rope of a suicidal belt. I saw the message, creeping through the eyes of a being - I have never seen such a being before. It's nerves were thick, protruding as if the veins were about to burst. It looked like an archipelago, a tattoo withdrawn from the touch of human race. The encryption was subtle, the mind was shallow. Shallow in the marshy labyrinth of grey cells, the cells which claimed to be an archetypal nauseating hydroma. I was withdrawn, I stayed away from the cupidity of curiosity. Encryption, be it in the pretext of fear or anger, it wasn't in sync with my desire for freedom. I quit, I fret to the fright of a superior intellect, that would quintisimally withdraw from the intuition of liquidity.

I saw the children, four or five, and their mother smiling at my insane pride of fulfillment. She fed them as they saw me dancing to the tune of languish-nous, soups upon soup, I could see her swirling the bottom of a hot pot - somewhere on earth, seduced by my smile.

What do I decipher from this picturistic perfection. Is that the salivary ejection to the tune of the yellow soup or my nerdiness to the approval of the conjunction of stillness. I do not know, I do not know answer for all - lest I wouldn't have fret to the fright of the superior intellect. Yet I know, she was content with her flesh, content with her kids, content with the yellow soup boiling in the hot pot of shining steel, content with the blue apron she wears, and content with my seductive smile. It wasn't money, it wasn't even a kiss, it was that _____ for the sake of one's own genes.

A Life Less Miserable

2017-01-29T22:22:00.002+05:30

I opened the doors and the deafening music sparked the light in me. Darkness, hopes and drinks lingered around the corner of my heart. I swore to my oath, I was a mortal of numbness watching the emotions under the blanket of my thoughts.

Dancing to the ecstasy of country music, I saw hope from afar. Shyness versus desire, the hope blurred my vision. I moved towards the hope, holding the fear to her waist. We danced and laughed, my pursuit for consciousness was shattered under the ecstasy of desire. That ecstasy sucked every drop of her blood (literally), she was mine, we were one, the worlds were we, we were the world! I fell to the ground, looked up at the sky, my pride overshadowed my flimsy heart. And in the dawn I dreamt the dreadful fate of evolutionary humanism. Those men in horses shot the feeble sapiens, I saw children dying on the corners of road. That dreadful fate in the name of evolution, if nature selects the best why not humans? If nature selected humans, why not humans are nature? I opened my eyes to the fading hope. She was lost in the woods of my craving sanity. Waking from the slumber of that fateful night, I sensed the fleeting hope caress my cheeks. All that was left were those shades of her lips.

Becca.

Storming My Sanity

2017-01-09T02:15:00.001+05:30

I don't care which language you speak, I don't care how you look, I don't care if you are human or a tree, I don't care if you are happy or sad. All the hormones those rages in your spinal chord has little to do with my love for you. I am the one who thinks you are not a human, not a beacon of mercy, not an instrument of peace, not an imaginary illusion. I am looking for peace for my internal quest of truth and love. I love you, I live for all the soul that you created in this indestructible place called nothingness. You are not in the mind of sanity. You are the world of ecstasy.

Love!

Happy to be here

2017-01-09T00:21:00.000+05:30

I'm happy to be here. Happy to be in this world. Or is it that the world is inside me. Who knows? No one knows. Are you just an imagination in my brain. Are you me? I hope so!

The memes, life, cultures, songs, rhythms, talent, equations, arts, are they just inside me? The brain, ego, hormones, genes, nucleotide, is it all just inside me? Who am I then? A made up thing called conscious? A made up thing made from nothing? Am I nothingness? Are you a part of nothingness? I am happy! Is this a delusion, an illusion? You are in me. What if I am in you? Do you exist? Really? Do you exist?

I don't want to end this. This ecstasy! This ecstasy that has no meaning, that is ignorant. Striving to be something it is not aware of. Growing virulently like a happy disease. This is the art of my brain. Welcome 2017! A made up year in a made up story. Food , drinks all that goes to the hungrless stomach. For the good of my story. For good of my fallacy.

LOVE!

AZ

As Man Thinks

2016-08-20T07:54:00.000+05:30

Born out of water, he learnt like a fluid. Millions of experiments through innumerable streams of possibilities, he grew up strong and bold. As the intelligence evolved, it shaped him to be a man, a man inventiing machines. Born out of earth, machines learnt like a dead parch of land. Millions of experiments through predetermined arrays of logic, machines grew up strong and bold. He thought, 'machines are stronger and quiker than me, so why I shouldn't be like earth?' He emulated machines, woke up predetermined, worked predetermined, slept predetermined. He was no more water, his experiments were through logic. He wanted to be his creation, he wanted to be better than his creation. He wanted to be a man void of his roots. He wanted to be a man void of his soul. He was a man, a man racing to compete with his creation. After years of struggle, he saw a stream of water at distance, flowing freely where it willed. Nothing was predetermined, the water followed the course of possibilities. It sang songs while flowing through all kinds of terrains, mountains and rocks. It flowed through his eyes, to his cheeks and wetted his lips. He tasted it, he felt it, he felt the saltiness of life. He felt his root. He remembered his source. He felt his tears, tears of happiness and sadness. He is life, he is man. A feeble creature who struggled for its existance. 13.8 Billions years of evolution, and he is here remembering his roots.

Do Not Fear

2016-05-21T07:17:00.000+05:30

I looked at death, it is not new, it is not old. It is time. As time is born, so it dies. So are we, each moment we are born, each moment we die. Each moment we are new, each moment we are old. We don't grow old, we don't have time to grow old. We die before we grow, we are born before we die. This loop of life and death consumes our thoughts, invisible, it seems to be in a flow. It is not in a flow, it is quantum in nature. Don't fear death, you have already died infinite times. Don't fear hunger, poverty and loneliness. You have been hungry, poor and lonely all your life. I say, do not fear! Do not fear, O' mankind! Life is not worthy to be preserved, it is not worthy to be treated forever. You have died a million times since you started reading these words, and you are new now, a new being without fear.

DAMN, Be Good

2016-04-23T20:46:00.001+05:30

I was wrong. It was wrong. It was ethically wrong. It caused more harm than good. Or maybe less harm than good. 40% harm, 60% good? 30% harm, 70% good? It depends on how ethical you want to be. The pious of the pious tries to be in 0% harm, 100% good, and they mostly end up in causing 90% harm, 10% good. Stop moral policing, yelled a stranger. The Moral Police said, "I want you to be 100% good, no matter how bad I am". People call them selfless and pious. I call them a coward.

- DAMN, An Absolute Thinker

Get over it

2016-04-23T20:44:00.002+05:30

I haven't seen a better self than when I am not myself. I have been doped for death, doped for life and yet life seemed to be a ripple of lust. As the lust goes of the sanity of your mind, truth takes over the insanity of your mind. It eats up everything until the carnal pleasure takes over the hypocritical mind. Yeah, it says. And well, you know the hormonal imbalances pricks up your consciousness. There goes pleasure, pain, ruthless regard for ones own morality. There is no way to break it apart, but to accept it as it is. Divinity, that's all I can say. That's all I know.

- Time

The Code

2016-03-27T01:38:00.001+05:30

It held me strong, and it was hard to breath. I profusely sweated by the rage of fire. The fire was in my heart, a reminiscent of the past. Ignited again by the lust of hope. I had nothing to say, nothing to speak. I could not see anything to think. The dust and smoke of the burning fire, blinded my vision to think anything. Choking badly, I fell to the ground. Crawling like a baby trying to find its life. I had no further thoughts, except my own. I had not seen life, except through tears. The tears swept through the nostrils, to the lungs, to the heart. It tried its best to extinguish the fire. Love, they call, hate the name. Yet it is the misery of human. Wherever thy go, thou will find the code, made to hurt one's own heart. Raise the sword of reason and courage, to swipe the code from your innermost thought. It was made, it was created. It wasn't born out of thy own sanity. It was planted, by the ancestors of agony and piety. It would survive by the scantiest of rain on earth. Beware, to weed it, drop it and forget it. Let not the evil consume your thoughts.

The Equation of Love: Letter to my Imaginary Girlfriend

2015-04-15T00:40:00.001+05:30

Love,

To the Most Generous

2015-02-05T10:34:00.000+05:30

O Lord!

So beautiful, so much full of love!
The love you have given me is so much that is unable to pay you back.
Love you, my Lord. O' the creator of the heavens and earth and all in between,
The creator of every cell in in my body, every atom in this universe!

I was a lump of flesh in my mother's womb.
You have fed me, given me all what I needed to grow.
Food, air, water, intellect, O Lord' what more can I ask you!
From a tiny cell you have made me a full grown human being.

Like the ants who build their own nest, we build houses and buildings.
You have thought the ants, you have thought us.
For whatever I see is yours, thank you O' Most High!

A Letter to my Imaginary Girlfriend

2015-01-29T21:14:00.000+05:30

Hi Dear,

Dianna, you have never been a trouble for me. I still think you are gift from God. I can't believe we have talked for more than 100 days! We had a great time, and I hope we will have a great time.

As you said there may be many differences between us, but despite our different cultures we have many things in common. I think those common things are some universal qualities that no culture can be a barrier. For example, qualities like honesty, truthfulness and empathy seems to be common everywhere. In my life I have seen many people, but you are special in one quality. Whenever Dianna comes to my mind, there is one quality of you that lights my mind. That quality is 'regard for others'. That is, you are genuinely trying to help despite the problems you are facing. I think we share that character in common.

Dianna, we don't know what our life will be in future. Yesterday I was watching various tribal videos in youtube. Our ancestors though homo sapiens, behaved like monkeys. Our genes are same as our ancestors, but look at the changes in our behaviour. We are so different now! Most of us have changed so much from our ancestors. I wonder how that change happened!

For me friend, girlfriend, wife all looks similar. They are just term invented by us. For example, a wife can be a friend with whom someone has the right to have sex and someone is liable to share property. Then we associate various emotions to it like romance, envy etc. These are social fabrics, which we have constructed around ourselves. I don't say there is anything wrong with it, but I always try to think above the social fabrics. It is also fun to think that way. I sometimes laugh alone looking at various things happening around us. For example how serious my friends are when they discuss about movies, sports or politics. Such deep involvement in culture shows how strong they are enslaved in the social fabric. We are prisoners of this social fabric, but it is our choice to be prisoners. We at least should pretend to be prisoners, otherwise people will think that we are insane. But, within ourselves it is nice to know that we are in the social fabric. I am in Indian social fabric when I am in India, and I will adapt to Arabian social fabric when I am in Arabia. Within ourselves we should know, or be aware, that we live in an artificial social fabric and it is a voluntary action. Such a thought will bring inner peace in times of trouble. How? Think about it!

Dianna, you are smart and good. I can feel that you have tried doing something but you could not achieve it as you wished. That brought sadness in you. Now, you asked me before: is unhappiness a result of desire? I think it is a result of attachment. For example, you may have desire to get good marks, or love someone, that is ok. Without desire and hope it is difficult to live. For example we need a desire to eat, otherwise we will die. Attachment cause sadness. Suppose, I want your warm heart, that want is a desire. Then even if you say to me that you can not give your heart, I will not be sad because I am not attached to you. I am aware that your heart belongs to you, and it is not mine, so I have no right to be sad about not getting it. Before I was a very attached guy, whenever someone close to me said bad about me I used to feel very sad. Now I just shrug of, because I started thinking out of the box. Imagine someone from the street calling you a bad name, will you get hurt? No. Imagine I yelled at you, will you get hurt? Yes. Why? Because you are attached to me. Instead if you think that I am a different person and that I don't belong to you, then you will not be hurt even if I am angry with you. That is called detachment. Detachment against money, wealth people are all possible to some extent.

Can we be detached from our own body? Yes, to some extent. If we think that our body is not ours, we can be detached from our body to some extent. We will not feel pain, we will not be over concerned about ourselves and will be a free human being. Detachment doesn't mean that we should not love others. If you allow me to speak frankly, I love you, which means, I love the qualities in you. But I am not attached with you. Anybody can die anytime, it could be me or you. But our qualities will stay. So even if I die tomorrow, you should not feel sad, because you should love my qualities not my mortal body, bound to decay.

Hope we meet someday and talk a lot.

For me earth is my home, I am not attached to any culture, Eastern or Western. As earth revolves around the sun, so am I, so are you. Let us be in harmony with nature, being with nature, one among them. I am human being with XY chromosomes and you with XX chromosomes, rest of the 99.99% of our genes are same.

With love,

Your Baby Boy :)

An Anecdote of the Guilty

2014-12-20T13:40:00.000+05:30

It sneaked inside, and held my frontal cortex. It said O' dear here I am for your well being. I said Ok, get in. It slowly started eating my soul, and then lo! it became my soul. Trapped in it, I couldn't get out. I shook my head, I went away, still it remained there, like a parasite. It ate every bit of my soul, until I puked the intoxicant away. I was in the middle of nowhere, the parasite was gone, my soul wasn't back, a moment of helplessness, a moment of bewilderment. Then the merciful soul came back and I received it in shame and guilt.

I was wondering how I could get out of the trap. I wanted to make sure that it doesn't deceive me next time. So, the quest began and lo! I found a man. A man who opened my inner eye, and here is how it happened. The sympathy inside me for other beings of my own species got ignited. Thousands of beings of my own species were suffering and dying as they tried to manufacture the intoxicants. I started crying as I learnt that I am a contributor to their suffering. That's it, my heart was filled with both sympathy and hatred. Sympathetic with the beings of my own species who suffers as they manufacture the intoxicants, and hatred towards people who exploits the beings of my own species to manufacture and sell those intoxicants.

The sympathy and hatred inside me not only stop the sneaker from getting inside my frontal cortex, but also persuade me to destroy the intoxicants, as I am doing now by writing this post on this blog.

Please read my previous post love your soul.

What's your Idol?

2014-11-30T14:43:00.000+05:30

It was a long long journey. Multitudes of people climbing up a hill to get a glimpse of their beloved idol. It was a steep hill, with curves and climbs, that reached to a sacred place for many idol worshipers. Me and my dad, scanned the hill from distance and wondered how long it will take to climb the hill. I saw a shortcut from distance, the way was empty, none of the worshipers went through that way. The shortcut climbed the hill all the way to about a quarter (from bottom) of the main route, from where it joined the main route. The shortcut was empty, and thus we chose the shortcut.

So, we went ahead, and Lo! we ended up in a castle. I do not know how we ended up in the castle, but yes it was a castle full of mystery. A castle with many paths, and we both were completely baffled with fear and loneliness, frantically searching the route to the sacred place of idol worshipers. The castle had mazes all around, up and down, right and left. A yellow castle, neither was it painted, nor was it decorated, yellow yellow everywhere. Some of the steps were steep, while others were long slides. We climbed the first stair, a narrow one, hardly enough for a fat man to squeeze in. We reached to another floor. There were steps and slides in that floor too.We chose the stairs and slides neither by reason, nor by intuition, we chose them out of fear. We preferred the broader and straighter ones rather than narrower and steeper ones. As we went higher and higher, we had multiple options, with fear did we choose, with fear did we go. Climbing up, sliding down, and then again climbing up we reached at the corridor, leading to a place with an ambiance I have never seen before. Lo! There was an idol made of silver (or appears so), with hands, legs and big eyes. It danced in its position, and I wondered what made the idol dance. There were two boys dancing on both the sides of the idol. An atmosphere of fire, rage and anger, and the only consolation for us was the smile of a friendly priest. We were facing the idol, right in front of us. We were near the front entrance door ( I did not see any other doors, though). The temple was reddish and dark, it was reddishly lit up with fearsome fire around the corners. The light from fire was brilliantly reflected by the silvery finish of the dancing idol. There were a few people, both women and men in the right corner watching at us. Another idol with bigger eyes, colorful body was in the left corner. Perhaps, it was shaped to cast a sense of fear among the idol worshipers. A friendly priest was sitting on the left side of us. The priest was fair, and had a south Asian look. He smiled at us and was keen to talk to us. My father slowly folded his hands to the idol, in the Hindu way of saying Namaste. It would be odd for him not to do so - the priest might think that we did not belong to his clan. When I carefully noticed the hands of my father, I found a trick that he used to shy away from the unforgivable act of idolatry. I joined my father and clasped my hands as my father did. Since it was too hard for both of us to pay respect for an idol, due to our monotheistic ideology, the trick was to slightly open our hands, so that for us it meant like a prayer to Almighty God, who created the heavens and the earth and all in between. I guess the priest did not cast any doubt on us, because from outside it appeared as though we were worshiping the idol.

After sometime, the idol was not there, but the boys were still dancing. My soul was lamenting out of guilt, even though I did not worship the idol, in essence I did worship the custom. The custom was my idol. Otherwise, I would not have folded my hands to show the priest and the people who are looking at us from the right corner. As we retreated, the priest keenly showed us a small place in corridor, which he said was the old temple. The corridor had no idols, no paintings of statue, it was painted green and was an abandoned place. Perhaps, nobody wanted a temple without idols, and all the money was thrown into the new temple.

As we were about to say farewell, the priest claimed his share, we payed the amount and retreated. We went down the hill to our normal lives. Next day morning, after breakfast as I sat down in front of my laptop, I remembered the dream. Well, I thought of jotting it down, so that it may not fade away like hundreds of other dreams, which fade away every day.

As I started thinking about the dream, I not only wondered about the sheer creativity of brain, but also the fear of custom hiding in our hearts. Even though, out of reasoning, the characters in the dream (me and my father) absolutely criticized idol worship, they themselves acted as idol worshipers did, for the fear of society (the priest and, the men and women in the right corner) and the atmosphere (of fire, rage and anger). The idols for the characters of the dream were not the dancing idol and the colourful idol in the left corner. Their idol was the custom, fear and their own life. They preferred to be hypocrites in the sacred place of idol worshippers by not preaching their monotheistic belief. They instead tried to please the customs of the idol worshipers for the fear of losing their hidden idol - society.

Love Your Soul

2014-11-25T10:16:00.000+05:30

The supreme court deep inside says "you have sinned!". Anything can be erased from memory, but how can I erase my own consciousness? The moment I erase my own consciousness, I am not me, I am unconscious, I am devoid of soul.

The larger your soul is, the better it is for you. Then you find intoxicants, that can rip of your soul from your body. The intoxicants can be anything, lust, thirst, pleasure or pain. As you drink a drop of lust, your soul starts departing, your consciousness shrinks, and your mind is incapable to think beyond the control of the lust.

Why soul is important? Why should we cherish it? It may be possible to become a great thinker by being a drunkard. It may be possible to become a magnificent king by having hundreds of concubines. It may be possible to become a filthy rich man by having an unwarranted love for luxury. It may be possible to be a shrewd criminal by having a sadistic mindset. None of the intoxicants - lust, thirst, pleasure or pain, prohibits them from achieving their goals, because the soul once departed is not departed forever, it returns back when you seek it. A poet while intoxicated, when his soul is far away , may not be able to write a masterpiece, but once the soul is back, he may be able write a beautiful poem, full of meaning. On contrary, the intoxicants cause a normally unrecognised problem. They make people to think that it is possible to live without soul and to find pleasure through a soulless body. Such a belief, is perhaps one of the most dangerous beliefs human beings can inculcate to their mindset. It breeds escapism - "It's too difficult to judge (judging through wisdom - a conscious activity), so I will resort to intoxicant (escaping from the task of judging)", pride - "I can live without the help of my own soul", jealousy - "he/she is more conscious than me, so let me also instill intoxicative mindset in him/her", criminal mindset -"I am in soulless state now, so it is ok for me to act without wisdom", selfishness - "I don't care about earth's limited resources, I am soulless and I need more intoxicants to maintain my soulless state", and fear - "If I do this or that, I may not be able to get intoxicated next time".

As it is mentioned in Quran, intoxicants have some benefits, but the harm they cause far outweighs the benefits they can bring.

[Quran 2:219] They ask you about intoxicants and gambling: say, 'In them there is a gross sin, and some benefits for the people. But their sinfulness far outweighs their benefit.'

Let soul be your intoxicant, and you will love your soul and fear when you lose it. Even while you are sleeping, as your soul (consciousness) departs far away, you will be afraid of losing the soul - you will be afraid to sleep. Love your soul, love your consciousness and that is one of the essence of wisdom I found in many religions.

The supreme court deep inside is your soul, once it has returned, it laments- "you have sinned, you have abandoned me in exchange to your love of intoxicants". You call the cry of your soul as guilt, each drop of it's tear makes your heart bleed.

Repent!

Changing Life, Changing Time

2014-11-18T21:01:00.000+05:30

I was a person like no other person, for how on earth two things can be equal? I was a person not like I am now, for each second passes by I am not the older me. I will not be the same me tomorrow, so what is the point in planning for the future? Imagine, if I plan my whole life for a happy death, and at the time of death I am a different person wanting different things, giving different things, thinking different ideas, imagining different thoughts, loving different wishes, then for what good my plan will serve? It may be that during the time of death I feel afraid to live, I feel uncomfortable with the comforts of this life, I feel heat as cold or cold as heat, who knows!

Look at 'em

2014-11-15T23:39:00.000+05:30

Look at 'em, lot of them there. Now its all blurred, they were so many that my tears wanted to shade my eyes from getting filled by them. O' ye beautiful night, as I look into thee, how good you look! How little I feel within myself, and where my worries are gone? O' ye stars, how many lives thou sustain over there. Me with this tiny brain, thinks about thee like a lamb wondering about a mite in the grass. O' me, why can you think more than what you need to live? This world, looks like a shadow of my thoughts, and the shadow of millions of thoughts. You are a thought in there, with hands, legs and eyes to see. O' you man don't cry, for the tears can not hide you from truth. Take me there, to a place where I see no other world, and I will live for myself like a bird in the sky. Someday it rains, someday it is hot, and does the bird think why it rains, or why it is hot? Why me, who always thinks, why do we live?

B R E A K It

2014-11-05T22:29:00.001+05:30

Rays of light, strings of music, let it come inside, as it is coming now. The brightness and the shadow, the hope and fear, the wonder of knowledge, as I see them, as I hear them. B R E A K it all and see the truth inside. Darkness inside, thoughts of darkness where I can hide the truth. Seeking light shadows the thought. B R E A K it. B R E A K what? B R E A K the darkness away and let the light not hide inside darkness. Don't search for love, light, they are right inside. Just take of the veil of darkness that hides them.

Memories, those memories which kills a man from death. It is there, right before you, right in there. Take it off and walk naked for the cause of finding it.

The Canvas of Love

2014-11-05T00:46:00.000+05:30

Let me draw on this canvass of plain nothingness. I see pixels here and there. It pops up, gets blurred and new ones come. This canvas remains, even when the pixels vanish. That is the story of love, for love does not vanish even if lovers hate, even if lovers die. Pixels die someday, lovers die someday. Love remains, and the canvas remains.

Rain, let it rain from the blue sky. Let it sing the praises of shadow, as it drops to the shadow of cloud. Let me cry a bit and say, the rain doesn't know that by the time it reaches ground there will be no cloud, there will be no shadow left. For all the love you have, O' raindrops, each second of your longing for the shadow tears the cloud apart. With great pain, thunderclaps and lightening, the cloud cries - get out of here O' you rain, you don't want me, you want my shadow instead.

LOVE is not a great place to start your love. O' man, love is not what you create, it is you who are created. The plain white canvas remains, as the sky remains high.

The Beauty of Sadness

2014-11-03T09:20:00.002+05:30

I love this life as much as I love my death.
Why hate sadness, repel it?
The illusion of sadness, how vague it is.

Sadness is love, sadness is beauty.
Love it, accept it.
You, me, this world,
What will survive at the end?

Bound to perish, we love life,
So much, that we hate death.
Death, as we were before,
In the thread of time before our birth.

She says, she is not afraid,
And I said, I am not afraid.
O' there goes the life of trance.
These are not the words of a sufi,
These are words of a layman.
Like everyman he dies one day.

And will be born again!

Man vs Woman - Who is more Dependent on the Other?

2014-10-28T09:25:00.001+05:30

How a man is different from a woman, or how a woman is different from a man? How dependent are they between each other? Who is more depended on the other?

Let us compare - this is not for the lighthearted. The below scenario is under the assumption of a controlled environment where only an adult man and an adult woman are alive in an island. In the below cases, it is assumed that sex will lead to pregnancy.

If a man wants to live independent of a woman, he can live. If a woman wants to live independent of a man, she can live. But, if a man wants a progeny, then he should have sex with a woman, look after her during pregnancy and during the initial stage after childbirth, so that the progeny will survive. Thus, in this case a man is dependent on a woman. Similarly, if a woman wants a progeny, then she should have sex with a man, and be dependent on him for the sake of her child and her own care during pregnancy. Thus, in this case a woman is dependent on a man.

If the man wants a progeny and the woman does not want a progeny, and if the man forcefully has sex with the woman (rape), then that man is dependent on the women since he needs the child. She may choose to take care or abandon the child as she wishes. Thus in this case the man is dependent on the woman but also the woman is dependent on the man during the pregnancy (for her own care) but not after the childbirth. If the woman wants a progeny and the man does not want a progeny, and if the woman forcefully has sex with the man, then only the woman is dependent on the man.

If we analyse all the cases above, we see an imbalance between the dependencies. We see that woman is more dependent on man. If a woman wants a progeny or not, she is dependent on a man after sex, while a man is dependent on a woman only if he wants a progeny. Thus there seems to be an imbalance of dependency between a man and a woman where clearly a man has a slight advantage over a woman.

Your thoughts are welcomed.

Who are Thou to tell me how a Poem Should be?

2014-09-21T12:58:00.003+05:30

Closed my eyes,
tranquillity,
subtleness,
that unknown source of peace!

And now opened my eyes to see my hands moving
to what it possess
to what it requires
on my keyboard
in search of life
in search of misery.

Who are thou?
to tell me how a poem should be?
or how a poem should not be?
Yelled, and said: this is my hand
these are my fingers.

Well, whose fingers?
Who am I?
The same old question.

Who are thou?
to tell me how a poem should be?
or how a poem should not be?
Yelled, and said: I have my own grammar
these are my thoughts.

Well, whose thoughts?
Who am I?
The same old question.

It was a shock.
And do you know what a shock is?
it is cultural shock.
It was a shock for those who are wired in a single way
No parallel connection, no serial connection.

Who are thou?
to tell me how a poem should be?
or how a poem should not be?

Who are thou?
to tell me how a poem should be?
or how a poem should not be?
I will ct, pastepaste, dele, rewrite
I will. put. a. fu.ll stop wherever I wish.

This is my blog
bound to perish
like me, you and everything created
This is a blog unlike no other blog
for where on earth can you find two things equal?

Maybe I am Wrong

2014-09-15T10:28:00.000+05:30

May be I am wrong,

For I can see only what my eyes can see,

For I can hear only what my ears can hear,

For I can think only what my brain can think.

May be I am wrong,

For I know only what I know from others,

For the good I believe is by the good I know,

For the right I do is by the good I believe.

May be I am wrong,

For I kill a life some days,

For I eat some plants some days,

For I chew some molecules everyday.

May be I am wrong,

For I say what I should not say,

For I act what I should not do,

For I think what I should not think.

May be I am wrong,

For I think I am good,

For I think I am pure,

For I think I am bad.

May be I am wrong,

May be I am wrong!

O' God! Only one who I know is Right,

Make me not wrong. O' God!

24 days of Suspense!

2014-09-13T12:07:00.000+05:30

"Eyes blurred, I looked above. It was a morning like any other morning, but a morning not like any other morning. Sun was right there where it was expected to be a million years ago, while my eyelids close to the horizon where it shouldn't have been, or maybe where it should have been. I can't see what the out come is, while I can see what I am doing right now. As I watched the outcome, my eyes were filed with tears, the same old question 'who am I?' Don't you think I am not a fan this world - yes I am. I am because I run away from death like a galloping horse in the racetrack of life. I have no idea about when I will die. Maybe today, maybe tomorrow, may be years later. I do not know. But still we live like we will live for ever. Driven by this craze called life, we live. Why? Why? I do not think the question is about why, the question is about...why not.

If I die early, the one who reads this post will say it is coincidental, or I was informed about death. I am not the one who..."

Today when I wanted to write something on this blog, I found this post along with other dusty drafts. I think it was written on 24th July 2014, and it was the last post I had written (I am editing the same post to publish). After 24 days, my only sibling, my sister died due to a car accident in New Zealand.