Taking Existence For Granted

Sometimes I close my eyes and feel myself breathing, my heart beating, my thoughts squirming and my feet aching. I feel alive, perceiving whatever that goes on around the environs. I can smell a myriad, ear even more, with the breeze lightly touching my limbs and hair as they pass. My sense inform me that the moment is now. That I'm alive. That I'm present. And I exist. 

Then, I open my eyes towards the night sky and see the moon, radiant and bright, miles away. Beyond them I see stars, clusters of stars, even a part of the whole Milky Way, all those stars revolving around a super-massive black hole called the Sagittarius A-Star. Every night I see those constellations they seem to be very much in place, though slightly moving here and there. The moon has always been there. The ocean has always been there. The sky will continue existing though I grow old and rot away, though the world around me changes constantly. 

But what makes me alive? The air I breathe, the water I drink, the food I eat (probably not for everyone) and the moment I spend... All pleasant and strong forces have been employed to complete me, to cradle my comfort. It will still be there when I die, it will still be there when my children are born. It may still be there even more so. This moment, this present, is a gift divine. An eternal moment. And sometimes a thought crosses my mind:

I think, despite it all, we are taking all this for granted. 

"We have this one life to appreciate the grand design of the universe, and for that I am extremely grateful." -- Stephen Hawking

We are found to believe that everything exists and everything always will, and we pay no attention to it until it's all gone, and then we grieve for it. A day will come when we have exhausted all our resources. A day will come when all our water is gone. A day will come when, maybe, all elements creating life will be unsustainable. 

The moment of eternity we witness now is not eternal because it will always be there. It is only eternal because it'll still be there even after our deaths. But if we realize that our descendants nothing but our own selves in a newer lives, would we want to live in a world that our past selves have destroyed?

If our present is a gift from our ancestors (and sheer luck) of the past who have left us here to figure out our way ahead, then we would be wiser to use it well. 

Look towards the stars: half of the lights you see take billions of years to reach us. If that's the case, imagine that in such a timespan those stars may have exhausted their fuel for fusion and collapsed into a black hole. Those planets which may have had life is now gone. Those eternities have vanquished into nothingness. When we see across the sky all we're seeing is a window to the past, witnessing what may have occurred somewhere thousands or more years ago. 

But life that we have left is not without hope. 

"For millions of years, mankind lived just like the animals. Then something happened which unleashed the power of our imagination. We learned to talk and we learned to listen. Speech has allowed the communication of ideas, enabling human beings to work together to build the impossible. Mankind's greatest achievements have come about by talking, and its greatest failures by not talking. It doesn't have to be like this. Our greatest hopes could become reality in the future. With the technology at our disposal, the possibilities are unbounded. All we need to do is make sure we keep talking." -- Stephen Hawking

We want to survive. We want to sustain ourselves for longer. We've been given the miracle of life to appreciate the grandness of the universe, and we intend to live long enough to witness its very end. And perhaps, some day, be the Gods of fairy tales that may create a world anew.

Reaching the level of intelligence that no other animal in our planet has ever been capable of, humanity is slowly taking its first step forward in gaining ultimate awareness and agency that may help us survive. We are slowly reaching Type 1 from our initial Type 0 in the Kardashev Scale, and we will see the birth of a great multi-cultural world, that may place limitless extension to our powers of growth. As each day passes, almost every single individual in our world benefits from the boost of the giants of the past and propel us and our ideas towards a new tomorrow.

But there's always something holding us back. The innovations of the poets that defined our scientific and enthusiastic adventures towards higher intelligence in the past have now become tools in the hands of those afraid of change to pull us back (also known as, "terrorists"). Then there is a drawback of ageing where the human brain cannot cope with the speed of progress ahead in time, essentially affecting perceptions of the old (though benign) folks into thinking that modernism may not exactly be a nice thing.

What is it that makes us so afraid of change? What makes us fear to question and learn about the universe that has no limits to knowledge it may offer, or problems it may solve? What makes our knees tremble when we look into the bottom-less abyss above us, wondering if there's a ceiling somewhere that reflects your fears back at you? What is it that keeps us from imagination and exploration?

What keeps us from appreciating the sheer beauty of existence itself?

"I don't think the human race will survive the next thousand years, unless we spread into space. There are too many accidents that can befall life on a single planet. But I'm an optimist. We will reach out to the stars." -- Stephen Hawking

"If you could meet your grandkids as elderly citizens in the year 2100 … you would view them as being, basically, Greek gods… that's where we're headed." -- Michio Kaku

"Yes, the universe had a beginning. Yes, the universe continues to evolve. And yes, every one of our body's atoms is traceable to the big bang and to the thermonuclear furnace within high-mass stars. We are not simply in the universe, we are part of it. We are born from it. One might even say we have been empowered by the universe to figure itself out — and we have only just begun." -- Neil deGrasse Tyson

Instruction vs Creativity

There's something that psychologists have recently found that us poets have known since half a century now: the phenomenon is called The Anxiety of Influence. And what this concept proposes simply contradicts of what we thought we knew about the world.

Harold Bloom, the one who put forth the idea, argued that while a poet may learn plenty from their precursors, their creativity may also be weighed down due to the said influence. When that happens, you simply echo the voices of the dead, long buried, into the present time.

And what happens then? You are not the identity you hoped to create. You are simply that: a voice of the past. A moon that has no light of its own, hence only reflects from the sun that inspired it. You are but a shadow that will exist for a while, then will disappear once a new star -- with its own creative light -- rises.

But what does this have to do with those of us non-poets?

Think of it this way: what influences you is often what you're "told" how the world works. Being told about it is easier than figuring it out on your own, and hence you stop thinking on how to find out further.

See, when you embark on discovering things on your own, it's not just the destination you acquire, but you intuitively realize that everything else you encounter on your journey may be somehow related, and you begin to connect the dots in order to "get there". Every adversity you encounter will get you thinking, "How do I overcome this?" and you try to evaluate every possible way, muster every creativity you can, and learn about every possible outcomes to it. This not only helps you reach your goal but also teaches you how acquire your goals faster, and even how the world generally works in every nuance imaginable. Every door, then, opens to you and you become more aware of the things you couldn't have known otherwise.

But what if you're simply handed the information, or the goal? Your mind wouldn't need to go through the effort of figuring it out, will not think out of the box, and just accept it. It thereby creates a stagnant bias which holds you back, as you find yourself conflicting with newer ideas.

Hence, ordinarily you -- when only instructed -- retain a rigid and inferior world-view which may harm your growth, but a creative and "artistic" mindset can help you constantly reinvent yourself, helping you get better than you were before.

And this affects children even more so than adults. A proper learning environment is where the child is still excited about every new thing around. Most people commonly equate education with "instructing a child what to do" (in fact, it hinders learning), but the idea itself is misguided. Education is more than a set of instructions for a child (because children are learners, not labourers); it is, to borrow from a chinese proverb, a means to teach a child how to fish through trial and error, and not to simply hand one. Giving them things to memorize rarely works. Instead, channeling their enthusiasm to enjoy their journey of imaginative exploration is a reward in itself.

After all, this is what makes intelligent and successful artists and scientists in the first place.

So remember, that to be sucessful you must think creatively like a poet -- be original, be yourself. Love what you do, find your passion, and break away from the mechanical mundanity of life. There's a gift in the present moment you're living in, so make the most of it. And enjoy every moment of your passion and dream, your creative exploration and redesigning your purpose, because you have earned the effort you put forth for it!

Corrupted Authority, and lack of Empathy

When brother got home with a sulky mood, his bruise visible. Upon hearing about it from his friends it was obvious he had caught in a fist-fight with one exception: he did not even strike, let alone start one. It was strictly one sided, with my brother on the floor pummelled mercilessly by a man twice his size.

And none of his friends dared to help.

The man is a stereotypical bully who his taken his school-yard's lack of empathy into adult-hood, implying immaturity even at his age. He is simply a "child" in his 20s who doesn't know how the world works. He has a reputation of being aggressive, with no respect towards anybody -- period -- and believes himself to be invulnerable, manly, heroic and fearless. In other words, you don't even have to say anything to him to have your teeth broken; he'll attack you even if you so much as "look funny".

Now, this is a common occurrence in everyday life. Arrogant bullies are all around, so what's so special about this one, you ask? Surely you can simply have the police handle it?

Just one thing: his uncle is a police commissioner. Sending him to jail might be as helpful as asking monkey to sit on a chair, and eventually he'll be free with vengeance on his mind. In other words, even relying on the authority to "help you" may bring retribution of a vindictive man-child upon your neck. Worst case scenario, you die (aka "murdered") and leave your family in law's corrupt turmoil.

And even this is nothing new in the Third World, India. This happens all the time.

They've always assured us that the Law exists to maintain order, to help foster peace so that the individuals can efficiently help the civilization advance (and I, of all people, want the civilization to progress and I'll do everything in my power to help create those wheels of efficiency). But a question remains: Is it even working?

Since childhood we're assured that the sinful will have a horrid life to start with, and the "good" eventually triumph (and I actually agree with that last bit), and I understand that may be to restrict the human race's destructive behaviour to help them focus on productive means and essentially aid an entire species to survive and advance, no matter what field of occupation you choose. Conformity here is an obvious thing: you cannot live without the society, nor can the society be without you. Essentially, you are the society.

However, the same system that regulates us to stop committing crimes and focus on a productive life is today being run by those who act against such regulations in the first place. They are in place of such power not in any benign need to help others; they are there to exempt themselves from such restrictions and enjoy the benefit at everyone else's expense. Often fighting with every noble ideal in you against them will label you as the criminal instead. As Vautrin (from Balzac's classic Le Pere Goriot) would say, the enemy is an honest man.

We are asked to dream big, be honest, sincere, be brilliant. Every thing we work hard to build with such visions are crushed under the feet of corruption that finds amusement in such deeds, if only to stroke their own ego. And we are forced to submit, because the authority represents power of stability, even if that power is used against the very people who help drive the civilization forwards. Vanity reigns for its own sake, plucks every flower in the field and leaving it barren for the dying bees.

Why is it then, when our courage is kindled, that we have to choose between righteousness and sheer death? Why does such an existence then encourage every good person at heart to take towards the path of corruption, kiss the boots of false kings and do as they see being done?

Often the answer to such a situation is "combine your numbers and revolt", revolt against the broken system and have it patched for a better generation. But that's in numbers. What about the simple individual at the corner who hasn't any power, one so delicate that all it takes is a fist and a false paper from broken law to crush them for good? Is it then any wonder that people remember being "good and noble" as a weakness in itself? Are we to shed any love for arts and sciences to play the game of thrones, to see who survives, in the very world that requires everyone to co-operate?

Beyond that, I don't necessarily think that being a good person is any weakness. The idea of "good character" may stem into femininity (as a human attribute, not gender-based), hence sharing similar traits, and I can understand why the people mistake the former with a weakness -- what with the misguided belief that "femininity" is "lack of strength", because the truth far from it! In fact, what other people commonly believe as "good" is nothing more than lack of sin, but "true virtue" is what makes someone great.

What makes a good individual is not abstinence from the fear it may corrupt them, but the ability to face those corruptions and still being mindful and wise. Christianity has a good selection of virtues that an ideal human being could have, and may even rate a person regarding their maturity, but I'd like to add one more: Empathy / Karuna and Emotional Intelligence.

Empathy is what makes you feel the pain and happiness of someone else, and Karuna is what makes you want to hold the door open for someone else. Empathy is cardinal to a poet for a good reason thus, because it opens doors not only to knowledge but to envision where Karuna may play its role to make things better.

Those who often don't conform to these ideas of good-will rationalize that such a trait would make people take advantage of you (even though psychologists say otherwise). Even if that's true, then I would inform that lack of empathy simply makes you unlikeable and may bring more conflicts and unhappiness into your life than you've bargained for. You bring nothing productive on the table, and hence are barely important enough to even be around.

The man who hurt my brother only did so because he was insecure from within. He knew his position can be challenged, and he is afraid of that happening at any time. He can seldom control of his own emotions, and becomes impulsive. And the endorsement he receives from his own powerful and influential family justifies his intentions for him. He is too consumed and too troubled about himself that he seeks gratification from everywhere else materialistically, and if his addictions aren't satisfied he becomes uncomfortable again. He is damaged from within, can't hope empathize, because his mere actions and beliefs have killed any prospects of mindfulness in the first place. It's a never-ending loop. 

Then why, of all people, are these criminals the ones dominating societies in the first place? Well, I'm one to believe that when you lack empathy, you depend on aggression (which is an unstable use of power) and because you also lose influence, the least empathetic of them all tend to become insecure. In other words, they need something to replace their lost power. That substitute then becomes authority, the very position created by our civilizations and law to help regulate our peace and efficient progress in the first place. These plagues then clog the system, break it to their own needs.

So what can we do about all this?

I believe that we do the same as every emerging generations have done in the past: Be brave and change the world -- all it takes is a handful of individuals with hearts ablaze in revolution and minds sharp with clear objective. But before changing the world, it's still important to change yourself first, to become like those revolutionaries. After all, you're always a reflection of the society itself.

Why? Because showing off your muscles and aggression are easy. It takes real courage and wisdom to be empathetic and compassionate. Dare to make a difference, without the need of being the same as those you oppose.

Reality Bites: Claim The Cup

Something I wrote almost two years ago. A simple non-fiction writing exercise (read: write as quick as you can without going back to correct or revise anything), also as an effort to show what life/universe looks like from my eyes. Yes, even in real life we've got protagonists, antagonists and plot devices.
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30th March, 2011...

A tale of an audience is never interesting, yet watching the world spin before you transforms you into something magnificent.

India is a country where celebration has no end. For the slightest happiness the Indians would party as if there is no tomorrow, and Cricket is probably one of the biggest joys of their lives. Miles apart they'd cheer and drink for every run their idols make or every wicket they take, and even the strongest of typhoons couldn't shaken their joys.

It was after thirty long years that their country had any prospects of winning the World Cup, which was normally taken home by the mighty Australia. Never losing, never faltering, the Australians thrashed every team that ever stood their path, every prodigy that had any chance of beating them, always towering against the world with pride. With them coming in early to face India was intimidating. But tables turned when we managed to defeat these titans. India reached the Semi-Finals, up against their bitter rivals: Pakistan.

A storm or doubt and fear had fallen over the nation. So they beat Australia, but what if that was pure luck? Many prayed, many cheered. Hundreds stood crowded around a single television set. Even the passers at the street had somehow forgotten about their business, just to see this decisive battle taking place on TV at various shops and Cafes. And even the most culturally indifferent city, that is Pune, couldn't resist staying home or quickly tuning to their radio to know what happens in the stadium. And at the heart of the indifference was I, who found Cricket boring altogether. Yet, I couldn't take my eyes off the TV screen as my boss watched with keen interest.

India had played well, clinging to the end, with two-sixty runs and nine wickets, hindered only by the limited overs. Pakistan was already over a hundred runs with merely two wickets.

"They would no doubt catch up," said I. "Kapil Dev brought us the cup thirty years ago, but this is impossible for India to beat."

"It's too early to assume," said my boss. "We need to beat the first five batsmen and the match is ours."

"How come?"

"Common sense, the rest are all ballers," he chuckled. "They can't bat well."

The clock ticked and dusk fell. Crowd joined in and expanded as every TV spot in the city was occupied. One wicket down and people whistled. One bowled and they cheered. Another catch and out. Excitement gripped us. Will they make it?

"This is bad," said boss. "He needs to go down, and fast."

The camera panned in to Pakistan's captain, Shahid Afreedi. It was as his aura could be felt beyond the screen that people trembled at his sight. Some players from India were nervous, and they had every right to be so. Shahid never believed in playing safe and went perfectly for bigger fish. Several sixes, several boundaries. Each swing of his bat shook and terrified and stadium, but his enemies did not falter. He dared and waited for another ball, and conquered that too. Six wickets and massive hundred and seventy runs, and going. He had half-century in mind. No, full century! Another swing aiming for the boundary, confident that it would make it.

But it didn't. A player in a cap dived for the speeding ball that his his chest. Ignoring the pain he stood up and tossed the ball before Shahid could take any more runs. The man was Nehra, and fearlessly gazed down the stadium towards Shahid as if daring him to go for the boundary again. Shahid took the challenge.

Another ball delivered, and another hit towards the boundary, obstructed only by Nehra again. Another swing, and another save. Though intimidated, Shahid had a Plan B. Gazing towards Nehra he tapped his bat in position once. Twice. Thrice. The ball was launched, straight towards Shahid, who swung the bat in a strange stance. Nehra was ready for the ball, which never came. Shahid grinned and ran for his runs, in case someone takes control. The ball still flew in mid air, at the opposite side of where Nehra stood, almost going for the boundary.

Almost. A player, Sehwag, ran in and caught the ball before it touched the ground. Shahid was out.

The best batsman was gone, but there still weren't any guarantees. Though the rest to come weren't competent batsman, they could play safe and beat India with enough overs. One went down with a simple catch, another with an LBW, and another with a bowled. It was two-hundred and three runs to nine wickets, and I felt confident that Pakistan couldn't make it. But then he came.

Misbah, the titan batsman that Pakistan kept for last. But even for him gaining sixty runs was unthinkable. Plus, the overs were running out. That was when I saw the fire in the eyes beneath the helm. He was determined. He wouldn't falter and go down easy. To him this was a battle, and valiantly stood his ground. If playing safe wasn't an option, it was all or nothing.

His first swing took India by surprise as the ball flew for a six, which was an excellent shot. The second one missed, but the third again went for the boundary. His companion runner, a mere baller, played safe to let Misbah take the shots. And yet again, he played. One swing sending the ball dodging from the fielders' hands, another ball too high to catch. The crowd at the stadium cheered, while the crowd besides the cafe saddened. Though rival he was, there was something about him that I admired. Excitement gripped us yet again as he achieved over thirty runs on his own.

"Let's pack up," boss grinned confidently, as knowing victory was imminent. "It's over; we've won. His might alone can't handle those of several determined Indians."

Soon enough as I switched the lights and computers off as boss was still engrossed in the match, outside at a nearby slum hundreds of men, women and children held flags of India just waiting for the moment. Only one over left. This scared Misbah. He would either lose as the overs ran out or he gave it his all.

And sure enough, some mystical strength possessed him. The ball flew fiercely towards him, and swing sounded close to that of a cannon as it impacted with the ball. It flew, higher and faster than anybody who had any hope of reaching it. And it descended, like a meteor. Silence stung the city at the sight. It was a boundary. It was --

Someone managed to catch it before it touched the ground. Silence stung harder and more viciously to anybody who noticed. The man in the hat inhaled deeply, a bright smile playing across his face. He lifted his hat and tossed it to the sky. The man, as they recognized him, was Sachin Tendulkar, the best All-Rounder in India.

The day was won. Any grief, any doubt was lifted off our shoulders. Yes, even the indifferent city of Pune rejoiced in the flood of lights and smell of gunpowder. A stampede of children ran through the streets, waving flags and screaming praises for the nation. Many folks danced and played drums, joining in the celebration. Shopkeepers left their shops to happily vent their excitements. Bike gangs rode in groups, announcing the great victory. If this was the case with Pune, imagine the nation at large. Imagine a whole country, laughing and dancing in triumph, enjoying the moonlight! Imagine the fields, and the mountains, the police stations and offices, villages and parliament: all of them, singing in the name of victory!

The noise didn't cease for hours more as I arrived home. Even my father, who hates anything crazy, was excited at the thrill and excitement that victory bought us. It was then that I realized that no matter what our differences, no matter how bitter our enemity with neighbours, companies, families or individuals, if there's one thing that made the nation any friendlier, it was Cricket. Such things, no matter how crazy, will always bind the world in fraternity, even for those who aren't even remotely interested in Cricket.

Finals draw closer as India faces off against Sri Lanka. Thirty years have we waited for this historical moment. Will India take home the cup? Or will it yet again taste defeat? Only time, and sheer skill and determination, will tell.

Racial Fan Clubs

1200 BCE...

Vaishya: "Come on! What's the big idea? We want to praise the newfangled Gods too! Why don't we get to enter the temples? Why don't we get to read scriptures too?"

Brahmin: "Because you look funny. I'm sorry, but the temple membership is restricted to fair-skinned Brahmins and Kshatriyas. Unfortunately, there's nothing you can do about this, so you may blame your luck for being born in the lower castes. We apologize for the inconvenience."


4 BCE...

Brahmin: "We have a good news to announce! In a few select cities, the temples are now open to certain Shudras and Vaishyas. However, upon entering the temple, bare in mind you are subject to Terms and Conditions that you will always be oppressed --"

Vaishya: "Oh, thank you! But no thanks anyway, we've got our own club now. Isn't that right, Buddha?"

Buddha: "Oh, there's so much fun we have in store! Who's in for more free hugs and community love? We'll be going on adventures too!"


Current age...

Brahmin: "...Why are the temples so isolated now? Why am I the only one standing here?"

(The Brahmin boldly walks in the fields, unguided, and finds an Artist, Poet, Phycist, Biologist and Astronomer -- all apparently having fun with their endeavours. Noticing their new attires and activities and discussion, the Brahmin now felt inferior, and walked to the Poet, who seemed to be the most approachable of them all.)

Brahmin: "Who might you be?"

Poet: "Me? I think I am, what you often call us by, a 'Lower Caste' -- a Vaishya."

Brahmin: "I'm sorry if you feel offended by it. Why don't you all come to the temple? It's nice and cool, and relaxing while you praise the stone of the Lord."

Poet: "Why would we praise a stone, when we can celebrate the Lord's gifts itself? See, us artists and scientists here are already praising and playing with the Sun, the Rivers, the birds and the bees, the Winds and the ever changing sky. Why waste these lively and beautiful flowers upon a lifeless stone? The club of life is everywhere, larger than you can ever comprehend, unconfined by any walls or temples."

Brahmin: "I'm very sorry... Can I join you too?"

Poet: "Sure!"

Brahmin: "Ah! And where is this giant Club of Life structure you artists and scientists belong to?"

(Everyone besides the Brahmin laughed.)

Poet: "Oh, dear fellow, you're standing on it! Everything under and beyond the sky is life and divine. It belongs to everyone, and no membership required."