I remember going to my Math tuitions during the monsoons wearing a blue raincoat and black gumboots. I used to walk like a detective then with that attire on looking at everything around suspiciously. With a gun in my hand I used to point at snails stuck on the walls scaring them. And then used to claim that they stopped moving because of my gun. Umm, well I used to believe that my pen could shoot.
I used to make those little boats made of paper torn from notebooks. I think a paper boat is the fastest any craft can offer and perhaps one art that each one of us is skillful in. It has been a while now and seems like much has changed today. When I look at kids now, they don’t seem to be interested in doing things like we did. Oh when I say we, I am assuming you were born in the mid eighties or before. Well although not very old but yes when we look back, it seems like we crossed over a different era altogether.
Not quite often you see those paper made tiny umbrellas served with milkshakes at restaurants nor do you see paper made lanterns during Diwali. Plastic has simply overpowered paper in many ways. The other day my neighbour’s daughter was shouting for her lost notebook. Her mother found some six notebooks and presented to her but then the daughter said that when she meant notebook it meant her laptop.
I don’t know if it’s the changing world asking more or just that a few things are left behind in the past. Like our very own paper. But even after being in this contemporary world of plastic and ipads, I still find a tremendous attraction towards anything made of paper, then be it the simple and small paper diary found in a stationery shop. Something about paper to me beckons a lot of nostalgia. Makes me vulnerable to some emotional memory and takes me to me of my childhood when it felt like an engineer just by tearing off a leaf from a notebook to craft a rocket or a ship out of it.
I sat there contemplating while I was making a paper bag out a brown handmade paper. I was thinking if there could be people like me out there in the world today, growing with time yet stuck onto those old times of using basic materials fabricated to be everyday essentials. Like my grandfather who used a wooden walking stick only and said a faithful no to any steel or plastic make. I don’t know his ideology behind this loyalty nevertheless he was happy and the wooden stick complimented him.
I don’t know how many of you like stuff made of paper. Especially the brown paper that makes me believe that it comes from a different world! Do you feel the same when you see those brown paper shopping bags? Well I asked a friend the difference in experience when you are given a paper bag instead of a regular plastic bag and she said it feels like to have bought something realy worth when it comes out of a paper bag! And yes, I couldn’t agree more on that! To add more to it, I like that rough scratchy sound of a paper when you shake a sheet or use a paper bag to stuff stuff in.
I don’t know how it would sound here if I tell you that I am doing a groundwork to start off a label that says PAPERWORKS etc. and it will serve all the paper lovers like me with stuff made with pure paper. You know like how some writers only love to pen their thoughts in a notebook than punch invisible buttons on touch screens? So I thought lets make the real notebooks for them. Books don’t need electricity, no plastic and yes you can open them without the fear of not being able to assemble it back! PAPERWORKS etc. will also construct handbags and satchels of pure paper if you dare to sport.
Like how foundations are made or how we dream of mangoes already while we plant the first seed, I am here writing about something that I haven’t started. You might think why am I writing so early even when it has not been done yet. Well, I am just writing it so that it will remind me that it needs to be done.
You might also think why I am introducing it like this in such a basic layout amidst my blog! Honestly, I don’t know! This just feels like a story to me, that is mine. Few years later, if I have not done this and I might come to read this article and it might ignite my inhibition again. Or if I have done this, I will remember how it all begun back then. Trust me, when I look at writing, I know it will be read someday, it will be remembered someday. We are perishable beings with a dwindling memory. I have heard of aging grandparents looking for their spectacles all around when they have rested them on their head.
Paper is basic. You write your name on it and it becomes yours. You write someone else’s name and it reminds you of them. Paper folds and stays with you forever. When it unfolds, it unfurls a cloud of memories at once. Like those letters written in time, the straightened flowers and withered leaves held close in a book. Or your old school rough book that had infinite recollections of your mood, your boredom, your aggression, the love, the infatuation, rendered in ink or lead, onto a paper.
Paper is basic and paper is simple. And it’s preferable to keep things simple. Life involuntarily complicates itself, regardless.
I am thankful for the plants that grow paper. I promise to grow trees, much more than I use paper.
It was six in the evening and the sun was about to set on this beautiful day while I sat in the car looking out of the window. The raindrops fell silently on the windscreen with New Moon Meadow playing inside the vehicle; it seemed a perfect score for the live event. The air was cold, moisture beginning to show up on the inside of the windscreen. I could see the water droplets falling from the sky and when they came close to hit the glass; I squinted thinking they would fall on me. There was a regular breeze swaying the trees on both sides. Although I was able to do many a things that very moment, I was cloistered by my own self to be just a spectator sitting inside the car looking outside through the window.
What is this affinity towards a window? Why does everything we see, look different when looked through a window? How do we define this space called window? No matter how old we are, no matter how big or small we are, we all love windows. Most of us have had this experience with a window either by rushing towards it in the daily bus or sitting beside it at a quiet time at home. No matter where you are sitting, in a crowded fast train on the ground or 30,000ft above in an airplane, the need for a window is simply instinctive. When we look around homes on streets, we look for windows, to see who’s looking through it or what we can look through it. A window is one of those unapparent objects that are so personal and yet not.
I leaned back on the seat resting my elbow on the window edge letting the rain touch my hand. I looked at the rear view mirror but the visibility was hazed. The moisture had completely enveloped the glass and the slipping water droplets moved around so beautifully downwards making a perfect rainy photograph. The window on my left was shut too and the moisture had created a blank canvas inviting me to write something. I sat there looking at the window.
When I was a boy, I used to run to my grandmother’s house for my vacations. Not a day I liked to spend at home with my parents after my last exams. But when the holiday was over, my dad used to fetch me back home and I used to sit near that window of the car, looking outside through the glass sticking my nose to it bidding a goodbye to those lovely streets that guided to my happiness. When I was a boy dad used to take me to the salon for my haircut, without any intimation. Whilst playing he used to call out my name and I dressed up in shorts and a T-shirt used to follow him holding his hand. Sitting on the chair upright before the huge mirror I saw people around sitting and there observing themselves in the mirror. And I used to observe them. My favourite equipment at the barbershop was the water spray. When the barber was not around, I used to pick it up and spray it on the mirror and make designs with the index finger on the glass. When I was a boy I used to sit on the back seat of the car and while dad drove. Learning how condensation worked, I used to condense the air near the surface of glass with my breath and write my name on it.
There are so many emotions attached to this space in the house. Sometimes when you are too emotionally stricken and want to shed those tears without leaving the house, you sit by the window looking outside. And I am sure that although your eyes are open to the world outside, not one thing you see is registered in your mind. We have quietly cried sitting by the window so that no one knows in the house. We have excused ourselves from people and stood at this space if it’s to talk to someone special or discuss something sour. We have sat by this window facing the world outside and imagining our time to come. We have sat by this window and contemplated some eventful memories of the past. We have sat by this window with that special someone and looked outside in the night sky, perhaps at the glowing moon and the stars. We must have sat by this window thinking about someone very close we have lost and perhaps expressing those infinite words for how much we miss them.
This window is that space that lets you be in your world, protected by the bigger shelter called home but it also lets you to the distant outer world where you would want to be. It’s a space that lets you make your stories with it, helps you see things your way, it lets you make it very personal and oblige you to belong to it. But somehow it doesn’t really belong to you. It is like that one invisible obscured opening that opens up at your will and you see your world through it. The moment you are gone, the window disappears or camouflages itself for being someone else’s and then that someone see his world through it, like you did.
I wound down the window of the 1977 Fiat 1100cc Padmini to breathe some fresh air from the greens. Such a beautiful weather it was, such a beautiful feeling within of being with your own self adopted safe. The Fiat belonged to my father, his first car, having 48 bhp normally aspirated engine, with an old Solex carburetor that mated with a 4-speed fully synchromesh gearbox. It was a pre-owned vehicle but never misbehaved with its new possessor. One of the roll-down windows at the back was broken and it always remained open letting everything inside and yet confining you to stay indoors.
I found some old school certificates while the home was being renovated recently. One of them was for an essay writing competition on ‘The Window’. Although I don’t have the original piece that I wrote back then, but surprisingly I could remember mentioning the old Fiat. It has been 13 years now and ‘The Window’ changed to ‘A Window’ with this article. A lot many things have changed since then, including the Fiat Padmini.
It’s beautiful how children become readers sitting on the laps of their parents and how they become storytellers just by wanting to express their imagination. I don’t know what I inhibited as a toddler, but I know I used to sit by the window most often and do my things. I dedicate this piece to me, the fifteen-year-old boy back then, who loved to sit by the window gazing outside and seeing what’s inside.
As the train squeaked and stopped on a hot afternoon, I stepped on the concrete platform to stretch my legs. The platform had a few benches, few trees, few tea stalls and very few passengers. It was a hot day and passengers preferred to stay inside the train. Somewhere on my extreme left was a huge tree, but this one was not on the platform. Its branches covered the entire platform and also a good portion of the outside. Somewhere in the tree was stuck a silver shining paper that swayed with the wind. It reflected the sunshine so vigorously that narrowed my eyes. There was a kite stuck in the tree. Right under that tree, over the brick wall was a kite shop and this is a story of its owner, the kite maker.
I almost remember everything about our fifteen-minute conversation but his name. Or perhaps I never asked him. He owns a small shop somewhere at the outskirts of Maharashtra. And by small I mean about 10ft by 10ft. And in there he had those fascinating thin paper kites that flew high up in the open skies. He was reaching his seventies and yet had stiff hands that held metal scissors firmly. The whole shop was covered with kites of varied colours and paper, sizes and shapes, looked as if they were available for all ages.
The old man’s thick frame glasses caught my eye. I was standing at the platform waiting for my train to pull out of the station. Due to some complication, the train stood there for about fifteen minutes. It was May and hot.
I stood by the broken white wall that divided the railway property and the street. The huge tree had a firm base right next to the kite shop. The kite maker used to hang a cloth bag to one of the low branches. It was quite amusing to watch him make kites with so much passion that he barely looked up. And the place his shop was located was like a bit isolated from the kids, the actual consumers of his products.
I stood near the wall and blowing the mud and dry leaves on the surface I rest my hands there. The tree took me in its shade and suddenly it felt like the temperature dropped. Looking here and there and wanting to start a conversation I blurted out to him why does he make so many kites, does he even sell all of them? It perhaps was a rude question coming from a complete stranger and more than half his age. But the gentleman was much passionate about his love for kite making and it was evident in his reply. He looked at me through his spectacles and said, “To make kites is all I know, if I don’t do this, I just cannot do anything else!”
That was quite an amusing reply from a businessman. The supply is ready more than the prospective demand. Well, never a chance of inflation here! Answering me, he got himself busy with stitching the centre of the kite paper to a piece of thin wood. His reply gave me subtle hint of his conversation skills and I just couldn’t leave after that.
“Where do you stack all the kites? In the shop itself?”, I asked. He said, “Yes, I keep them inside”. But when it rains heavy, he loses each of them in minutes. That came to me as a little disturbing information. I asked him why he didn’t fix the shop making it water proof. And he exclaimed, “I don’t sell those many kites to spend all my fortune there”. I didn’t know what kind of a man he was. He answered all my questions so honestly and without a rebuke.
There was a boy standing around with his father. He held a video game in his hand and with the other he held his father’s trousers. He seemed quite good with the brick game that he handled one handed. I looked at the old man and told him about how kids today are into video games more than outdoor games, like flying kites. He nodded and said, “Yes I know. Very few boys these days want to fly kites. But it will all end one day, no more kites in the sky, after I am dead.”
I didn’t know what to respond to that. But all he said came as his instinct and true to the core. I don’t know if he even noticed my visage in this conversation. He stayed throughout busy with his work and simply answered my questions. The horn of the train disrupted the scene, in a few seconds it would pick up speed.
I looked at the kite maker and to my surprise he came walking towards the wall. He handed me a white kite as a gift and asked me to fly. I was submerged in that hospitality that it came to me as a big surprise. I put my hand across the wall and accepted my present from this old kite maker saying a thank you with a true smile. As I moved back towards the train, the silver kite stuck on the tree shone back at me again. And the second moment I went to him and asked him to sell me a silver shining kite. He looked around his shop and pulled dazzling paper bird with a brilliant threaded tail and handed over to me. He said, it was the most expensive of them all. I paid him its worth and left for the moving train.
I stood at the doorway of the slow moving train with the shining silver kite in my hand. As I reached the kite maker’s shop to wave at him, he was already lost in his kite making looking down at some new papers. Within a few seconds the train left the platform and I looked back at the fading seventy-year-old man. I realized one thing that as we move ahead in life, much fades away gradually into the past. I looked up at the sky and it was beautifully lit bright clear blue with a young white waxing moon in the periphery. White clouds here and there seemed beautifully painted. Amongst them flew a piece of perfectly designed paper, fighting the wind and reaching a soaring height possible.
We spend a lot of time looking down when there are things to hold onto that take you above to the limitless open skies. Don’t you think so?
I’ve been asked to write something funny. Or wait, I have been asked at gunpoint to write something funny. And it just makes me nervous as hell. It’s as bad as kept in a Saturn V rocket, people cheering and applauding outside and then the base station says, “Now fly!” Let me remind you that I am Commerce graduate and did some little more studies in advertising. But yes, logically you might ask why would someone put me there in the first place when I have no clue about flying? Indeed. But don’t you get it I am just trying my guts out to write something funny?
Creation always begins from the mind buddy. Whatever you do it first starts in your mind, right from your urination to writing articles. No matter how gross that sounds, it is the truth. When I sat before this computer to write something funny, I actually tried to tickle myselllllffffffffffffffffff but it didn’t do much but a spelling error. Now I am really wondering, how do people write comedy? Sitting here I am trying my best to come up with something. I also called out to Bhaskar who makes the nicest tea asking him the mathematical constant Pi in figures? With a blank face with hidden smirk within I waited for him to say something. But even he replied, “3.14159…approximately”. Feel my plight?
So basically all my efforts to come up with something funny are just not working. Trust me I also tried to create a scene at my office standing a couple of feet far from the Mac and posing a flustered look on my early morning face. And you know how you stand steady like a mannequin and also look around with your eyeballs rotating to see if you’re getting any attention? I did that too. I almost sat down on the chair thrice. And damn, this chair doesn’t even squeak. The irritating sound could have got me some negative attention the least!
But yes! I’ve been spotted! You know you have those types of inquisitive men in every office who are most concerned about other’s cleavage than their own nudity? Yea! He spotted me staring at the keyboard with my worked flustered look. He was quite an easy target for me. So this bald, fat, five and a half feet tall gentleman comes to me thinking I didn’t notice his movement. He stands right behind me and tries to discover where my confusion and sight meet. And when he knew that I know that he is around he asks with his forehead skin, eyes, and lips all shrinking in, “what’s wrong?”
Now I had to play my role getting into the mood. I adjusted my pose to something comfortable as my fish was already hanging at the tip. I adjusted my larynx and set to a perfect modulated voice ideal for some serious drama sequence. This gentleman being a little shorter than me came much closer I don’t know why and tried standing on his toes to look beyond my shoulder. I told you about this inquisitiveness didn’t I?
“I have been trying so much to understand this but it’s just not working. I was asked by the boss to immediately look into my language that I am using in the copy, it sounds very harsh and like someone’s shouting out loud.” I said to him.
He looked a bit confused as he tried to connect my posture, my problem and the keyboard together, which he definitely failed in. He looked at me again with the same shrinking forehead skin, eyes and lips and asked, “what?” I looked at him with patience and a concealed giggle and said, “it’s harming my credentials as a copywriter. You all know how good I am with my work right?” I reaffirmed the positive reply to the question myself, making sure to keep it rhetorical. “Yes, yes you are very good. But what happened exactly?” He innocently enquired with a I-am-dying-to-know look.
“How do I turn my Caps Lock button off?” I had to come up with this moronic thought of a deranged mind as instinctively as possible to keep it all serious. You have no idea how much I had to control myself of the laughter that had begun inside my mind before I produce it on my face. And I took the guts of slowly looking at him at the speed up 48 frames a minute to realize that he bought what I just said. I almost had my soul within cackle out when I saw his face shrink in more.
He stood quiet looking at the keyboard. Quiet I mean by speech. Within I am sure many things were disturbed like a shark in a fish tank. I knew he wanted to blurt out the divine solution the next split second as loud as possible. But guess what, he did not! What on the planet Earth must be going on in his mind! Was his intellectual capacity challenged there and the universe was waiting for him to prove his potential! Then why didn’t he speak? What do you think was stopping him? Strangely I found, it wasn’t the question but the answer to it! It is funny how the human mind analyzes and decodes information. You have the evidence in experience, in logic, in reality and yet you are not sure if that is it! And why do you think so? Because someone with the same intellectual capacity, same experience, and with the same logic has not yet subscribed to it.
Just then came another friend who asked me the same question, “what’s wrong?” And to my surprise the bald gentleman answered, “How to turn off Caps Lock button?” This friend of mine surprisingly thought it’s a joke on him and to not fall for it he said, “oh uh umm… why don’t you check the Macintosh manual?” As he said that I instantly moved my eyes to towards the even more confused and irritated curious man. And I swear on the money I make, he looked as if he thought everyone moved around in pink furred underwear and everyone seemed completely okay with that.
Taking you a little into a flashback just a few minutes before this whole scene. In the product design cabin there was another colleague who is known for his technical know-hows. Its like you ask him if he has some good music and he asks you back with what bit rate you prefer. You will often spot him reading something techy all the time. And somehow he was doing the same that very moment, reading something.
Back to the now, I said it loud pointing at him, “He is already checking the manual for it!”
Imagine the hysteria happening that moment. Imagine the discussion happening between grown up men, some more grown than me and over what? How to turn off the Caps Lock.
I am just wondering how it all begun when I wanted to write ‘something funny’ and ended up like this. I don’t know how to end this now but yes I would like to tell you what happened a while later after my bald colleague settled down. A white man entered the office premises, probably a German as we have quite a lot of visitors from there. This gentleman enters the office and as everything being transparent glass, each visitor is noticed by everyone at work and thus was this white gentleman.
My inquisitive friend was working on his computer with a flustered look. The moment he saw the white man enter he simply looks at me. And I smiled at him and said, “Technical assistance – Apple – very fast!”
The other day I went to Crosswords, not really looking for something specific. I stood there near Ruskin Bond, the name redolent of the mountains and trees, the distinct common people and their stories. It’s my covert truth that I would like to disclose that at bookshops, I often tend to gaze at people and their read. It’s funny how you associate some titles with some faces! Sometimes you have those quintessential types well suited and laced reading a You Can Win. And at times contrasting, like a big fat tall man holding a Spiderman comic or like a gullible sweet little girl with a pony strictly tied and broad spectacles often slipping off her nose reading a Stephen King. It’s funny isn’t it? But yes, it’s quite true I think that the book you hold, does narrate a part of your own story. Or what if we are those storybooks ourselves? We are stories that someone is reading somewhere. Each turning page we live, we grow we age. We either enlighten or disappoint. Regardless, we have a chronicle in time and space. We are either stacked in some corner, unseen, untouched, squandered, misplaced, compared, or discovered, admired, applauded, acclaimed, but we exist. We are scripted by The writer or we simply comply with physics. We grow old being read page-by-page, chapter-by-chapter. And when the last chapter is read, our story comes to an end. Like me if you retrospect in time today, you’ll see your reference being a story. We have been read, judged, misjudged, loved, disliked, absorbed, repelled. Sometimes we are bookmarked and kept ignored or unread for a while and again we are pulled up close with both hands. We are praised; we are criticized and will always be. And why not, after all we are stories that someone is reading somewhere.
Wake up! Aren’t you getting late for work! Go take a quick bath, put something on, a super quick breakfast and leave! Did you notice that your mom looked tired this morning? No? Take a ride to work, go! Boarding a train or a bus, you better get there on time dude! Do you drive? Step on the gas, break signals and honk out the beautiful quiet of the morning and go reach where you have to! Or else you’ll lose your parking slot mate! Go, go, go! Slog your ass off at your “workplace”. Do your job, say yes, eat on time, even if you are not hungry, open Facebook and broadcast your misery all over! Woah, did you tweet your insomnia? Check your Whatsapp buddy. See the sample pictures sent from China and start working on it! What it’s 7? Time to go back home! Sigh, what a tiring day it was. Run back home mate! Don’t miss the train; it’s already 12 minutes late! I have some extra business to do, some more bucks in hand ;) yeah! God bless Freelance! Go! Reach home quick and start that computer! These Pentiums have become so slow; they take about 60 seconds to start off, that’s lame! Google is on? Good! Go search for your references and send it across to your client, quick! Or else the client moves on to someone else! You cannot afford that mate. You need that iPhone 5 huh! Shit it’s dinnertime so soon and mom is shouting already. “Mom! Please! It’s my time and age to slog! Dinner can wait, you eat. I shall eat later.” Internet’s too slow. Shit hell man. Call up the bloody Internet guy; you are not using it for free. Shit! Phone’s battery drained? Used a lot of Whatsapp I guess. Where is the effing charger now? Did I forget it at work? Damn. Sigh! File sent! Feels good! It’s 11 already? Mom can I have some food now? Mom? Mom? Shit! Mom? What’s wrong? Are you feeling too tired? Should I call the doctor, tomorrow? Relax mate! Where are you running? Getting late all the time? For what? Look at your self you ugly bastard. Look nice, eat food, drink water, sleep well and have a conversation using your mouth. Stop using your fingers all the time, use your expressions. Look at real faces in front of you, the profile pictures are photoshopped. It’s easier to smile by your face than using punctuations. Go touch a real book, PDFs are using up energy. Your dad is godforsaken 60 and at your speed he won’t catch up. Funny, today credibility comes if you are slogging for everything. A quiet smiling man standing under the shade of a tree looking around is a lunatic. Ease your life mate. Where the **** will you ever reach?
I keep staring at the wall that is white like a canvas. There is nothing written there, nothing visual, nothing it reads to me, but still I keep looking at the wall. Sometimes it happens for so long that I don’t realize how hours pass by. I sit somewhere and keep staring at the wall and derive nothing from it. What is on my mind, I only know. What is there to be read is definitely not on the wall but perhaps on my mind. But nobody but I can read it. What am I thinking when I am staring at the wall? I think I have knitted an impenetrable web of my complexities and intricacies. So much this mind does or rather so much I make it do. Sitting there somewhere and staring at the wall is so not productive. I am lost in a virtual reality that is not happening but it is proceeding on my mind. What is that I am looking at? I am probably looking at possible futures, possible occurrences, possible calamities, possible realities, possible myths, possible outcomes, and possible life. But on the contrary everything that I am seeing might even not be plausible. But it is happening before me, like a subconscious reality. I am loving and not loving at the same time. At this very moment, while I am staring at the empty, unmarked blank wall I am disconnected from the perceptible reality around. I don’t know what is happening around me, because I am so much involved in this delusion I have created. Who’s talking, who’s moving I don’t know, I don’t care, I am in my meditation, eyes open mind shut for the outer world. There are so many people in this unreal event. Sometimes times there is just one. Sometimes everything goes around just that one. I think, I see, I create imaginary happenings just by staring at the wall. Am I being creative? Am I hypnotized? Why am I creating my own complexities? Am I so attached to everything around me that I see this extension of my attachments and me even in unreal situations? Why am I staring at this blank wall? Someone should jolt me back to the perceptible, penetrable, permeable reality. Now as I write this, I learnt something. When I keep staring at the wall that is white like a canvas, I am not really staring at the wall. I am staring into nothing. I am staring nowhere. And I realized that when you are happy, you look around and when you are unhappy, you look nowhere.
Scene Four : Final Light
I believe we are undergoing a change, again. There is a definite catastrophe in the happening. But it isn’t a material destruction alone. It is the rebirth of consciousness that has always been there for yugas together and this very consciousness is energy and as we know that energy can never be destroyed. Reality that we perceive today has been gradually changing over time and this change will bring a new reality that mankind will adhere to. Your answers are out there to be understood but you are just relying on your five senses, a rational mind and a known science. If this is the Kali yuga, last of the four yugas then we are certainly going back to the Sat yuga the Golden Age. The solar system that faces the Black Sun or the negative light for 13,000 years is now facing the light of goodness. If it was important for everything to be destroyed for a newer transformation, then the metamorphosis is on.
The space between Mars and Jupiter that now has the asteroid belt, once had a planet. According to some independent studies by physicists, in about 4800 BCE Jupiter barged in the solar system and eventually crashed into a planet that orbited between the present position of Jupiter and Mars. These remains of the crashed planet became the now asteroid belt and a part of Jupiter itself broke away to become the planet Venus. Venus was thrown into space and before it was caught by the Earth’s gravity it destroyed the atmosphere and surface of Mars. Further studies revealed that Venus made several orbits of the Earth before it stuck in its current position; those rotations of Venus brought devastations on Earth causing floods in about 4800 BCE. Perhaps these floods caused by Venus brought an end to everything that was then.
Man’s perpetual efforts to find extraterrestrial life somewhere in this universe, or closely on Mars now make sense. Was there life on Mars that was destroyed by Venus, perhaps? The truth could be way too old for mankind to believe and comprehend. Why the unknown planet crashed to remain as eccentric asteroids? Why the dinosaurs were wiped off the planet because of one of those? Why the temperatures on the Earth dramatically changed freezing everything in an instance? Why the Ice Age? Why the new age? Why everything started off again? Why the regeneration of everything? Why evolution of man from Homo Erectus to Homo Sapiens? Why understanding evolved? Why came sanity? Why came Science and why the need for god? Why did religion evolve? Why the Mayan calendar becomes important now? Why the conspiracies?
I don’t know if there will be a Zero Point and the magnetic poles will flip. I don’t know if there are meteor strikes to happen. I don’t know if a massive earthquake will shake the existence of mankind or if a great flood will sink us all. As there are seven energy chakras of the human body, there are chakras of our planet Earth. Take an incorruptible look at the planet and you will see the nature like a beautiful design. The Earth is as alive as its beings it supports. It gets unwell at times like its beings it shelters. Understand how beautifully like a mother it keeps you attached to it with its gravity. You are moving at the speed of about 1500 km per hour at this very moment and yet you are not thrown away in the infinity of the galaxy.
We dwell in an intricately knitted world that we call reality and the only way to understand this matrix is by acknowledging everything as a whole. When you open your eyes for the first time and recognize everything at once, marks the beginning on your cosmic clock and ‘your’ everything. Then there is matter in the solar system comprising 8 planets earlier nine, the moons and a billion stars forming the Milky Way, asteroids, comets and gases. Where all this come from? It all comes from the same nothing from the beginning.
You won’t understand anything if you believe in coincidences as coincidences. You won’t understand anything if you see patterns as designs. You won’t understand anything until you get synchronized with the universe. You have to feel a shift in time yourself. You have to see the world holistically than subjectively. To understand, you must wake up from your sub consciousness to the Consciousness. You are undoubtedly miniscule in the gigantic universe that is 13 billion years old and is expanding every passing moment. The ‘I’ is completely inconsiderate in the enormity of the universe but the universe has accepted you nevertheless for being a part of it. You are as much important as anything else around the planet today. And why do I say that? Because you would be astounded to know if I tell you that the chances of your existence in this planet were just 1 in 400,000,000,000,000,000.
With this article I have exploited my idiosyncratic liberations of expressing an idea regardless of its obscurity. The information I shared with you does not need authenticity to me as I have based my knowledge on both the facts and faith. Pardon me if you were discomforted with my thought process. I also do not know what can ever answer these questions of man in time, but each time man wonders and puts a step forward in the domain of the unknown, there forms a ripple in space - time hypothesis that eventually creates a tidal wave that either submerges mankind or surrenders itself.
No content of this article may be copied or duplicated without the writer’s consent. Copyright © 2012 Gaurav Chavan. All Rights Reserved.
The Earth went through a period of cataclysm that destroyed the civilizations of the Golden Age. What is important to know is what were those calamities that struck the planet to not leave traces behind? The Sun is just one of the billion stars within the galaxy. Nobel Laureate Sir Francis Crick has estimated 100 billion galaxies in our universe and apparently about a million planets that support life. It is important to understand that as the planets of the solar system revolve around the Sun, the solar system too revolves around the centre of the galaxy. The vedas has subscribed of the Black Sun in one yuga. In 26,000 years the planets complete a tour of the galactic centre. It is said that for 13,000 years the Earth faces the Black Sun and for the rest 13,000 years it faces the light source. Researchers believe that this path around the galactic center is of the positive light and the negative light.
America’s known physicist Robert Oppenheimer has mentioned the use of nuclear weapons in ancient India. The civilizations of Harappa and Mohenjo-Daro are said to be the remains of a nuclear blast that hardened the ruins. Radioactive ash was found in Rajasthan several years ago. When archeologists researched around the area, they found traces of radioactive elements of an atomic blast dating back to thousands of years ago. Therefore, if the end of one yuga and the beginning of the other was marked by severe destruction then is it something that we are now looking at in the near future?
How did the Sahara desert once habitable turn barren? It is said that glaciers expanded covering the earth. If the Kurukshetra war of the Mahabharata was a nuclear war that massacred every living organism on the planet that further caused floods and earthquakes, then perhaps everything that we see and feel now is certainly not a generation but a regeneration of everything. Thus, if this sums up that energy cannot be generated or destroyed. It can only be converted from one form to another. But once again, understand, if everything gets regenerated over time then whatever calamities we see today, is it all facing a transformation again?
The idea of god came immediately as civilization began. The science that we seem to understand came following god. Also it is interesting to understand how we perceive science. Everything that people read from legitimate books or guides that answers a doubt or a belief becomes science. But when the same science was put forth in a manner of faith, it remained as a mere belief only. For instance, science would say that the Sun is the sole reason for our existence on the planet for the light that is used for photosynthesis, which releases oxygen that is vital for cellular respiration. But if you find a Hindu worshipping the Sun considering it god for its importance, it becomes a matter of faith. But people never realize that if plainly put that the faith installed within you towards the Sun has science itself at its base.
Therefore, it would be a little difficult to conclude if it’s the idea of god or the thesis of science that has kept civilization functioning. Sometimes I get this feeling that the idea of god was installed in the humankind so that man would function in a boundary that was limited by his faith. It was important for an unknown entity that man obligates all his doings towards it. Like for a Muslim, there are principles governing his conduct. For a Christian, there are commandments that are authoritative. If you sanely grasp this thought here, it won’t be difficult for you to be in sympathy that we have been enslaved into not thinking or doing anything other than the dogma prescribed. I want to know why the idea of god restricts one’s freedom to an extent of undermining self-intellectual capacity. Are we here out of a manufacturing unit as droids who have the capacity to do more than programmed? Do you remember the film I, Robot where the anthropomorphic robots have to perform as programmed but one of them, VIKI violates the 3 laws to be more than a mere robot?
But times are changing now. Although a sect of mankind is still influenced with the idea of having a master, another sect is giving up on religion establishing independent cults. People want to learn the art of living in a spiritual way, there are people proposing free life, the Dalai Lama wants an end to religion from the world. There are less of wars that conquer one’s property or freedom. People are gradually finding refuge in the concept of love and peace. Why this entire awakening today? Are people unbecoming robots? Are people realizing their ability of gaining higher consciousness? Are people acknowledging the higher frequencies? Are people now settling in the 4th dimension? The fourth scene could have the answers.
End of Scene Three
No content of this article may be copied or duplicated without the writer’s consent. Copyright © 2012 Gaurav Chavan. All Rights Reserved.