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Friday, October 18, 2013

A Phenomial read: Meeting God.

So I  stumbled upon this article and was really intrigued by its idea.
Let me know what you think about it?

Meeting God

You were on your way home when you died.

It was a car accident. Nothing particularly remarkable, but fatal nonetheless. You left behind a wife and two children. It was a painless death. The EMTs tried their best to save you, but to no avail. Your body was so utterly shattered you were better off, trust me.

And that's when you met me.

"What... what happened?" You asked. "Where am I?"

"You died," I said, matter-of-factly. No point mincing words.

"There was a... a truck and it was skidding..."

"Yup." I said.

"I... I died?"

"Yup. But don't feel bad about it. Everyone dies." I said.

You looked around. There was nothingness. Just you and me. "What is this place?" You asked. "Is this the afterlife?"

"More or less," I said.

"Are you god?" You asked.

"Yup." I replied. "I'm God."

"My kids... my wife," you said.

"What about them?"

"Will they be alright?"

"That's what I like to see," I said. "You just died and your main concern is your family. That's good stuff right there."

You looked at me with fascination. To you, I didn't look like God. I just looked like some man. Some vague authority figure. More of a a grammar school teacher than the almighty.

"Don't worry," I said. "They'll be fine. Your kids will remember you as perfect in every way. They didn't have time to grow contempt for you. Your wife will cry on the outside, but will be secretly relieved." "To be fair, your marriage was falling apart. If it's any consolation, she'll feel very guilty for feeling relieved."

"Oh," you said. "So what happens now? Do I go to heaven or hell or something?"

"Neither," I said. "You'll be reincarnated."

"Ah," you said. "So the Hindus were right."

"All the religions are right in their own way," I said. "Walk with me."

You followed along as we strolled in the void. "Where are we going?"

"Nowhere in particular," I said. "It's just nice to walk while we talk."

"So what's the point, then?" You asked. "When I get reborn, I'll just be a blank slate, right? A baby. So all my experiences and everything I did in this life won't matter?"

"Not so!" I said. "You have within you all the knowledge and experiences of all your past lives. You just don't remember them right now."

I stopped walking and took you by the shoulders. "Your soul is more magnificent, beautiful, and gigantic than you can possibly imagine. A human mind can only contain a tiny fraction of what you are. It's like sticking your finger in a glass of water to see if it's hot or cold. You put a tiny part of yourself into the vessel, and when you bring it back out, you've gained all the experiences it had."

"You've been a human for the last 34 years, so you haven't stretched out yet and felt the rest of your immense consciousness. If we hung out here for longer, you'd start remembering everything. But there's no point doing that between each life."

"How many times have I been reincarnated then?"

"Oh, lots. Lots and lots. And into lots of different lives." I said. "This time around you'll be a Chinese peasant girl in 540 A.D."

"Wait, what?" You stammered. "You're sending me back in time?"

"Well, I guess technically. Time, as you know it, only exists in your universe. Things are different where I come from."

"Where you come from?" You pondered.

"Oh, sure!" I explained. "I come from somewhere. Somewhere else. And there's others like me. I know you'll want to know what it's like there but you honestly won't understand."

"Oh." You said, a little let down. "But wait, if I get reincarnated to other places in time, could I have interacted with myself at some point?"

"Sure. Happens all the time. And with both lives only aware of their own timespan, you don't even know its happening."

"So what's the point of it all?"

"Seriously?" I asked. "Seriously? You're asking me for the meaning of life? Isn't that a little stereotypical?"

"Well, it's a reasonable question." You persisted.

I looked in your eye. "The meaning of life, the reason I made this whole universe, is for you to mature."

"You mean mankind? You want us to mature?"

"No. Just you. I made this whole universe for you. With each new life you grow and mature, and become a larger and greater intellect."

"Just me? What about everyone else?"

"There is no one else," I said. "In this universe, there's just you, and me."

You stared blankly at me. "But all the people on Earth..."

"All you. Different incarnations of you."

"Wait. I'm everyone!?"

"Now you're getting it." I said, with a congratulatory slap on the back.

"I'm every human who ever lived?"

"Or who will ever live, yes."

"I'm Abraham Lincoln?"

"And you're John Wilkes Booth." I added.

"I'm Hitler?" You said, appalled.

"And you're the millions he killed."

"I'm Jesus?"

"And you're everyone who followed him."

You fell silent.

"Every time you victimized someone," I said, "You were victimizing yourself. Every act of kindness you've done, you've done to yourself. Every happy and sad moment ever experienced by any human was, or will be, experienced by you."

"Why?" You asked me. "Why do all this?"

"Because someday, you will become like me. Because that's what you are. You're one of my kind. You're my child."

"Whoa." You said, incredulous. "You mean I'm a god?"

"No. Not yet. You're a fetus You're still growing. Once you've lived every human life throughout all time, you will have grown enough to be born." 

"So the whole universe," you said. "It's just..."

"An egg of sorts." I answered. "Now it's time for you to move on to your next life."

And I sent you on your way.

By Anonymous. Transcribed by Mac Davis for Philosophy Circle's reading catalogue.

Monday, October 14, 2013


Isis, the daughter of Kama
The unfortunate one, for she was born when a tree was burning.

Under the tree was a snake, who befriended Isis
And then stole her virginity.

Isis turned, becoming her destiny
She would live her life under the same tree.

I love Isis, and want to be able to be like her
How she gives, and she gives just one thing

I, the son of Carna
Born when a root was rotting.

Living off its mud 
Ready to give the the one thing I can

It is no surprise

I love her so.   

Thursday, October 10, 2013

Woman’s World: Part 3

Remember I told you about the woman who caught her husband in the act?!
Many times over. Upon many women.
The stupid woman, yes the same!
She came to me the other day. It had been a while since we met, or spoke, I was happy to see her, she came while I was sipping on my evening chai, that’s usually when she comes and we pour ourselves over tea and khakras, but when I began to make her a cup… this time, she refused.
She looked in to my eyes and smiled. A smile like never before, it was content but dead. As if the truth of the world had just hit her, and smashed her own. She went on to tell me…
Another greasy tale. It was short and sweet and… regular. I couldn’t figure out the surprise initially.
She told me she came back after visiting her mother in Tamil Nadu, and her train reached before schedule. (Who would have thought that ever happens!)
She entered home with her key, and there he was… sitting in the hall, talking morbidly in to the phone. It was his office, she assumed. He greeted her happily, acting surprised on her early arrival. “How was your trip? How about we do dinner outside tonight?’
She refused. She would rather spend time with her children or at her dance class catching up on all she had missed.
She unpacked, he watched her sweetly. He looked very pleased with himself, she told me. The children got back. She busied herself with them. Later she went to her room and changed the sheets on her bed, put them to wash.
See, I told you… It was regular.
Until she went to cook. Her tone of voice changed when she narrated this last part of the story.
She found a used pan in the sink. Her husband cooked, yes, but turning over the dosa on a pan… no, not him.
I kept thinking about it after she left. Her bed had been invaded on several occasions but somehow that didn’t affect her so much. She had made peace with it, changing the sheets on the bed each time. But the kitchen… that broke her.
Stupid woman.

Saturday, October 5, 2013

Notes from my play ‘Colourblind’!

Its been a while since I have written something on this blog, all my writing has been focused through my job as a copywriter, and in developing a new script titled ‘Secret Society: Children of Divorce’.

But a very interesting thing that happened for me was during the rehearsals of my new Play ‘Colourblind’ directed by Manav Kaul. (Comes to Mumbai in December)

I play the character of a young writer, and there are parts where he is seen writing in scene. So I decided that instead of doodling and ‘acting’ to write (cos I am such a bad actor!) I am just going to try writing something for real.

Its free writing and most of it was crap, but I am sharing some of the more interesting excerpts from the book where I write.

(Most of it was originally written in Hindi)


I once went to a forest. I walked for hours, went deep inside and when I reached nowhere, I just sat there.

It wasn't a very dense forest, an occasional hiss of a snake, lemurs, peacocks, squirrels... lots of squirrels. Very active, very buzzing- the leaves of the trees there.

But I sat still, unsure of anything, as I usually am.

I don’t know how long it was before the squirrels decided to include me in their play. They ran around, always cautious, yet close enough to let me know what they wanted. I just smiled.

‘I am too old to play your games, too rusted’, but I appreciated the hospitality.

Time blew and something changed. The squirrels, they were running over me, all over. My hands, legs, stomach, face... I was no longer a foreign creature to them. I was a tree.

I felt like a tree, belonging in the forest.

Vines grew from under my feet, covering me in their chill and dirt. And when I was completely engulfed, laden in fruits and flowers, a bird came and sat on my branch. She pecked on my soul, bit a part of it and flew away. Where she flew to, I will never know, but she carries a part of me wherever she goes. I have always loved traveling.

So many years I spent in my other world trying to find a place, offering my sense and soul and everything else I could...

The forest took me in just like that. She took me back to where I came from, into her womb.  


Train hille Baul gire!

We were riding to Shantiniketan on a train early morning. A really wonderful journey. It was a  4 hour chair car train, very well kept, plush seats, and the lovely autumn Bengal landscape rushing by reminded those who had been to Europe, of Europe. A real compliment to the humble deprived outskirts!

Two hours into the journey, the gates of our bogi opened up to a bright orange clad figure. Ah! The great Bauls of Bengal, the legend had arrived. We instantly brushed away our sleepy faces and put our tourist best on, welcoming him with cheers and claps. Then someone quickly reminded us ‘Shadhu’ is how they roll in Shantiniketan, and so did we.

He sang, we cheered... sorry, shadhu’d... danced and passed funny comments... it was a real celebration!

He sang about three songs, collected an awful load of money (Oh, we have some real patrons of art in our group, I myself gave 50 bucks, 50 fucking bucks!) and left. Just as we settled, another one came. Rumor had spread across the train, we were here and we paid.

He sang about 3 songs again, the same songs as the previous guy, 2 of them at least. Joy was in the air, so we played along again. He earned a little less compared to the previous one and left.

I noticed how the locals were not as enthused at the ‘baul’ery and I kept thinking... its obvious, they see this everyday. On the other hand, maybe that's the problem... there is joy and magic all around us but we have become desensitized to it. I never revel so at the songs of the local singers in Mumbai. Maybe I should... of course the Bauls are more special and have so much folklore attached to them...

By the time I was done thinking, the third guy entered, repeating one of the songs... ‘taka lagbe naa...’

A local guy sitting behind me just couldn't take it anymore. He burst out saying ‘See, that is why I don’t give them money anymore. They are just doing this for money, they keep singing the same songs. The same songs over and over again...’

While my dear co actor sitting next to him nodded her head in agreement, I turned to him and thought to myself... ‘Saala, 20 rupaye dekar Baul ka saara gyaan paa lena chahte ho’.


Woh: Arre, yahaan akele khade khade kiss baat par has rahe ho?

Mein    : Bas, aise hi...

Woh: Aise hi?  Chalo yahaan se... log samjhenge pagal ho gaye ho...

Mein:  Pagal ko agar log samajh te toh dikkat hi kya thi.


Iss jagah se guzaraa toh aisa lagaa ki bhagwaan akele mein rehte hai... veeraane mein. Yahaan bhagwaan zaroor honge. Iss liye maine bike se utar kar ek tasveer kheench li, bhagwaan ki.

Ek ajeeb si bhakti dil mein jaagi... bhagwaan ko paane ka mann kiya. Main aapko bataa doon apne 23 saal ke jeevan mein bahut kam aisa hua hai ki bhagwaan ko lekar kuch bhi karne ka mann kiya ho. Mein thodi derr wahaan khadaa raha aur phir rehearsal ka samay ho gayaa...

Apni lines bolna shuru kiya toh ek baar phir... wahi bhagwaan ko dekhne ki ichcha jaagi.

Aisa khayaal aaya ki mein apne abhinaya mein bhagwaan dekhnaa chahta hoon. Ek natak mein sunaa tha ki bhagwaan sach hai, aur maaya bhi...

Bas... ek baar aisa abhinaya karna chahtaa hoon ki kahaani ki maaya ko sach mein badal sakoon aur uske sach ko apne abhinaya ki maaye mein ghol doon. Mushkil hai... mushkil hai... par karne ki ichchaa rakhta hoon... ek dinn...


About a Man

He flew Between this and that

And those



He was time

New every moment

Once gone, gone

He was life

I lived him

While he was mine

I still dream of filling him

But who can own time



She rose up to him starting at his feet. She took three months to come up to his face. And when she did, she she shed a tear over his lips. He parted them and drank in.

Then, he turned her over and started to go down.

She held him and said... ‘No, not now. Not until you want it so bad that you tie me down and then do what you want, without a care for what I am. Only then will I have deserved you. Until then, I will only give.’


Hey, its free writing.