Our many lives...

If the lyrics are distracting, turn down the volume, but...don't turn off the music.

There are many lives in a lifetime.

Many lives lived for many people.
People that you know...and that you meet, along the way. Many lives, for many relationships.

But some don't last.

And so you die many deaths before you...die.

Lives... unfinished.

But also, lives you live for friends... beautiful as any. Lives in which you're cool beyond measure. Lives of shared dreams, of aspirations shared, of beautiful plans and never-ending companionship.

Of lofty ambitions. And prosperity and fame and of fortune. Lives full of dreams of forever.

Beautiful plans of never...ending...companionship.

And then lives full of regret.

...

Lives for God. For unrequited and unthinking devotion.

Lives of unfounded belief. Of sorcery and magic.
Lives of unreasonable servitude.

Lives full of the sins of jealousy and of envy.

And lives you live for your parents. Lives lived in an endless shower of love. 
Lives of unpaid debts. Of unsaid gratitude. With wishes that you'll some day repay them for everything.
These lives also but, of terrible deception. Of lies and half-truths. Lives of almost unfounded fear. Of unshared tragedies and of exaggerated happiness. Of everything being 'alright' for them, but wanting to run away somewhere far away.

Lives filled with a desire to break down and cry in your mother's arms.

...

Lives full of regret.

...

And lives you live...for love.

And not just the one life this... those many lives.

For every single time that that beautiful person crossed paths with you. For ideas and schemes and scenarios devised alone on sleepless nights.

Lives of blind passion. Of oaths sworn with child-like sincerity. Of private dreams and guilty pleasures. Lives of infinite fidelity and endless devotion. Lives of lying to yourself.

If you're lucky enough... Lives full of nights. 
Of unbridled instinct and undiscovered passion. Of feral need and raw animal violence.

...

So many. Lives.

Alas, but one life for yourself.

Why I am afraid... of Death

Like everyone else, sometimes I question my longevity.

Not that I really want to question it, but as part of the human animal, sometimes I question the fact if I actually will live long enough to witness controllable fusion and all that stuff, you know?

Controllable fusion, bad example?

Okay.
No. Not a good way to begin a blog post.

Welcome to another post about life and its immediate incomprehensibility.

Sometimes I question the fact if I may actually live to see, being an almost general lay-person on the issue, a Grand Unified Theory of physics.
...I don't learn from mistakes, do I? Talk about bad examples, Grand Unified Theory?
But.
But doesn't it sadden you?
You might not live to see a GUT?


Dan Brown almost had you believe we had antimatter weaponised.
Wait, what?

But doesn't it sadden you that we might miss so many amazing things that might happen after we're done.

After we're done... I mean after we're done here... dead and all, you know?
I don't like to talk about it, that's how afraid I am.
No, not afraid of death per se. Afraid of what I might miss.

A manned mission to Mars that could even have happened when you and I were alive, I mean.

You know what, forget everything in the future for now.
Will you be alive long enough to read all the good literature that you want to?
Long enough to watch all the good films that you need to?
All the good music that you might have missed?

You know, stupid as it might seem, I'm sorry but I think precious few of us have ever been guided right as to the number of ways any of us could have led our lives.
There has always been a 'pattern-to-be-followed.'
In different forms everywhere across the world.

But what has prevailed is the easiest one of these patterns. Not the easiest one to follow, mind you, but the easiest one to end your life with. The easiest one to live your whole life through with the minimum trouble. It is the path of least resistance.
You will agree that it sounds the most obvious, the most intelligent option, and perhaps I agree almost whole-heartedly that it is!
It is the path where you educate yourself through some established, and more importantly licensed institutions, get a 'degree', a piece of paper that qualifies you for a profession you want. And you 'profess' it.

And then earn money to generally make sure all of your offspring do the exact same thing.
The exact same thing.
With a few details changed.
Usually.

But then sometimes it sounds genuinely absurd to me.
Because.
Because I think you miss so much along the way!

I have strayed from this path of least resistance, a few times in the last few years. And it has led to a lot of trouble most times. Usually in the form of disappointment of conventional expectations.
That, I can deal with.

But.
But it has also led to so many revelations. So many new experiences. So many new emotions.
So many immensely fulfilling experiences.

And having experienced a lot of these 'experiences', realising that perhaps in universally absolute terms they are few, I have become fearful.
Fearful of the fact that I might miss so many more.

I am more fearful of what I might miss of the human experience than I am of what I miss of the materialistic dream, of what I might miss of owning, of what I might miss of earning, of possessing. 

I'm not naive. I do realise that the only way to survive is to do something that earns you survival.

But yet I have always been skeptical of social constructs.
Social constructs like 'careers' or 'degrees' or even 'marriage' perhaps to an extent.
These are naught but feeble assurances of what is seemingly a 'good life' (another social construct).

Because with these constructs, you delegate so much of your life to people who have already lived theirs. You cease to be original even before you have tried to be. You are unoriginal and you are oblivious of it.
I have always entertained opinions like 'learn from others' mistakes.' But the fact remains that someone else's mistakes might not necessarily be mine.
I want to learn, yes, but not from mistakes, I want to learn from and build on success.

Even before you die, you miss so much that you could have experienced.

Why am I afraid of death?
Because of the things I still want to see.
Because of the things that I still want to experience other than the mundane and ordinary.

Why am I afraid of death?
Because I have yet to live.

Control & Acceptance

There was a point in my childhood when I used to have this recurring nightmare.
One particular nightmare.

The stupidest thing is that I could never remember what the nightmare is, really. But I used to wake up crying because of these things when I was eleven or twelve.
All I remember about these dreams is that they involved some situation wherein I had been working at something for a while, putting a lot of effort and commitment into something, and then very near the end, it abruptly was taken from me. Leaving me with a lot of time wasted, or perhaps having spent something that could not be gained back.
It sounds rather stupid, even to me.
But take this thought and this feeling and put it in the worst situation imaginable, and that was perhaps what it was.

It was loss of control.
Loss of control over something you have really invested in.

I have sometimes had this nightmare in the recent past, perhaps two or three times in the last five years.

The reason for the decline in the occurrence of this dream is perhaps the realization and acceptance over time that I am not in control.

No one is.




Acceptance is a version of control.

You will surely disagree.

But.
Acceptance is the version of control we delude ourselves with, everyday.

Your body and it's many wonders and more numerous failings, you control.
Almost.
It's hard enough to control your head.
Your mind wanders.
Weird shit pops into your head at the most inappropriate time.
You say things that shock you later. In the heat.
Of the moment.

Control.
Other people?
Na, you think so? You're unpredictable enough for yourself most of the time.

Remember what you wanted to be?
Remember how good you thought you would be? The good boy, the good girl? The perfect man, or the perfect woman. A friend to everyone.
Angelic.
Incorruptible.

You say it turned out to be impractical, being that. Yes maybe.
But.
Acceptance is the version of control we delude ourselves with, everyday.

Control.

Over yourself, over people you love, over people you hate.
Never had it.
In the first place.
Take it as it comes, is the mantra. One day at a time, is the prayer.

You take chances. And you throw the dice. And when it goes in your favor, you are rewarded with the illusion of control.

When it doesn't...

I have friends who, a few years ago, were in love with each other, young love, stupid irresistible, mad love. And I was happy for them. And I actually thought to myself whenever I met them together that it would be wonderful to party at their wedding. You know, get all drunk, and be happy for them, and all that shit.

Hate.
Each other. Now.

I know the usual. Shit happens.

Yes it does, doesn't it?

You promise to be good. You promise to be true. In front of your God, you promise to be faithful. More than all of that, you promise yourself that you will.
And then you are you! All of your shortcomings.

People? They are inherently good.
People are inherently good.
Laughter track.

Your version of control is the belief that other people will behave in the way that you expect them to.

It works a lot of the time.

When it doesn't...

It doesn't.

I do not particularly believe in destiny. Or in fate. I am not advocating fatalism.
I believe in resignation.
I believe in acceptance.

Acceptance is the version of control we delude ourselves with, everyday.

A small town boy...

I've enjoyed my time in Mumbai till now, I really have. I might say I haven't at times, but now, looking back at it, yes I have.
It is really the first time I've been on my own. Starting afresh, no ties.

Free.
More than ever.

It has been hard, yes, and it still is, most of the times, remembering the comforts and the pleasures of home, and the people I've always known - my family, and my friends - the people I grew up with, and my hometown.

It's a wonderful place to live in, you know... Patiala. Indisputably magical.

Although I'm sure everyone has that to say for their hometown. But I've had this opinion confirmed by a lot of my friends who came from a whole lot of other places, to study in Thapar.
I have had a ton of batch-mates who miss Patiala more than they miss the places they grew up in.

This may be me being nostalgic, or home-sick...or whatever.
Veterans of living in hostels may scoff here. You're quite right to. But this is not me missing my home. This is me missing a city.
A greater home.
A place that is now a home for every generation of graduate that passes through Thapar every year.
However much they might hate it, or feel frustrated with it during their stay there.

When I was still in class 12, I had convinced myself that whatever happened, I would not attend engineering college at Thapar.
Because my father graduated from there.
How pathetically juvenile was that thought...
I would even go to some place less reputed, but I wouldn't stay for four years in Patiala, I could not!
It was unthinkable.
I needed to go to a fucking 'metro'!
I needed to see the world! There is so much more out there! I would get stuck in Patiala if I stayed there.

How passionately I hate that version of me now.
How pathetically...juvenile.



'A Metro'.
What an illusion.
Sure, I can go to a huge fucking mall whenever I want to, and shop!
When I want to go out with friends and go crazy, sure there are these supposedly 'hot' and amazing places we can go to, splurge on overpriced shit, hang out with a lot of fat-walleted and tiny-brained people. Where the topic of discussion is more often than not the latest iPad, or the new uber-expensive restaurant in *insert posh area reference here*.

But do you remember where we used to hang out?
The canal? That 'Khansama' truck outside of Columbia Asia?
I want a canal, man!
I want that serenity.

Whenever I go home, I make sure I spend at least one evening with friends at that unbelievably sacred place.
Ironically, it is where we once saw a bloated corpse floating along the way, and then panicked.
Ha! Where else?
It's weird I know, reminiscing about something like that, but every memory acquires a romantic feel to it, given time.

It had everything, man, it did, that city. It does.
Short of an airport.
I never had to think to myself, oh hey, I'll have to go to such and such place to buy that. Or to do that.
It has everything. It does.

I go back now, and I never want to leave.

It's been a while since I went into Thapar itself. A small town in its own right.
Remember the lawns?
There was a time, I think in the beginning of my second year, during the monsoon, when the chemistry lab gardens were flooded because of the rain.
Half a foot of water perhaps, engulfing the entire lawn.
A group of friends and I came up with a contest, with each of us putting in twenty rupees in a plastic bag, sealing it and then throwing it way into the lake that had become of the chemistry lab lawns.
Whoever got to the plastic bag first would win the 160 rupees in the plastic bag.
I got to be the guy who threw the plastic bag into the lawn, unwilling to jump into the lake myself.
I did it, and five guys wrestled through the water and mud to get to the plastic bag, shoving themselves into the water along the way, and in the end wrestling for the money. The winner found that I had secretly pocketed the cash before throwing it out, and a memorable controversy ensued.

...What am I even talking about?

Nostalgia is a drug.

“I felt a pang -- a strange and inexplicable pang that I had never felt before.

It was homesickness.

Now, even more than I had earlier when I'd first glimpsed it, I longed to be transported into that quiet little landscape, to walk up the path, to take a key from my pocket and open the cottage door, to sit down by the fireplace, to wrap my arms around myself, and to stay there forever and ever.”

― Alan Bradley, The Weed That Strings the Hangman's Bag