On Failure

1. The sheet that covers her face, clenched tightly between her teeth, growing moist around her mouth, is insufficient defence. She twists on the hard mattress, conscious of another morning that attacks her through the gap in the curtain. Another bloody day. Determined to return to sleep, she perceives her own condition from the bedroom door - such drama, such comedy, it is almost unreal. There is nothing left to live for. What's the point anyway?

2. He goes back to the cigarette every time the task is too big. He has been falling off the pace for a few months now. It is incredible how a few bad months can completely derail your life. Money, love and ambition have all dried up; as he stubs the flaming stub under his dusty chappal, he realizes health will soon follow suit. What's the point anyway?

3. You got fired. So what? She left you for another man. So what? Your dreams are crashing and burning in a blinding flame that lights up your wonderful past. So what? You deserted your parents, and now they're dead. How did it all come to this? There is either pain, or nothing. You want neither. Is happiness so difficult to find? Okay, cut that crap about not having to seek happiness. Of course you must seek happiness. Or perish in the attempt. What's the point of life anyway?

4. You cannot lose everything that matters unless you let something matter. You look at your friends, leading their sedentary lives, "hedging risks", existing but never living. Nothing matters. They eat, they breathe, they sleep, they find someone who will share their bed for sixty years, they get themselves a career, they eat, they breathe, they sleep, they defecate... They'll probably never feel like killing themselves. But they'll never feel like Alexander. Go big or go home. Only, "go home" is a lie. You don't go home. You nearly die.

5. You know those flirts? Who don't truly follow their hearts. Because they're cowards. And dabble with millions of ideas, people and events. They'll never make up their minds. Making up their minds would kill them. You know why? Because they'd be All In. Most humans cannot go All In. They're scared. They'd much rather live their lukewarm romances.

6. When you invest blood, sweat and tears in a person, in a book, in a company, in an idea... you do it with expectations. Sri Krishna talks about outcome-independence. Don't bother about the fruits of your actions; your actions are both the means and the end. But who is so great that he/she truly believes this? And if someone truly believes in outcome-independence, doesn't that spell the end of passion? There is no way to reconcile passion and wisdom. No, you cannot have the whole fucking lot.

7. You know it is reasonable to settle into a rhythm, right? Why work outside your comfort-zone? What's that again - "Life starts outside the comfort zone"? Yeah, no it doesn't. Life starts when you emerge from the womb, covered in a film of sticky fluid and wail into the world. Life ends when you can wail no more. Everything in between is life. So you lost. Everybody loses. There is no point analysing this.

8. Where do we go now? Where do we go? Isn't it too late to salvage something? It probably is. Then again, life is weird. There are no beginnings, no middles, no ends. It's just a mess. A hopeless tangle of events, thoughts, emotions, places, people... None of it is supposed to make sense. Not from up close, anyway. Maybe from a distance. From far, far away, everything makes sense. You're living a goddamned epic!

9. And she does it over and over again. She calls me to tell me how she suffers only because of her goodness. Yes doll, you suffer only because of you're good. And successful people are successful only because they have rotten hearts. Get over yourself. If you're good, you wouldn't use it as defence! Goodness needs no incentive. Be good because you want to be good; nobody is asking you to be anything. People are shit? Well, of course they are! If everybody was good, we wouldn't give a damn about you. You angel.

10. "God is a dick!" Well, you believe in God; you haven't been broken enough. Be thankful. And shut up. You know the sequence: believer becomes agnostic, agnostic turns atheist, atheist converts into a bitter cynic, and the bitter cynic suffers real physical pain. Then everybody dies, of course. You know what? You are so conscious about your failure only because you think you can experience the state of not-failing. That's called hope. And hope is a good thing.

Pale Blue Dots

Three Dimensions of Space

I stand opposite Bengali Sweets in South Extension-1, New Delhi. Where are you? I wonder who else is around? Maybe my flatmates, neighbours, the paan-waalah, the lady who irons our clothes… Jawaharlal Nehru perhaps, Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi? If this was a forest in those days, did great Mughal emperors hunt upon this earth? Did the Pandavas walk across this land on their way to Dronacharya’s Guru-gram? Millions of humans inhabit my space.

Four Dimensions of Space-Time

Today, I stand opposite Bengali Sweets in South Extension-1. Where are you? I wonder who else is around? Maybe my flatmates, neighbours, the paan-waalah, the lady who irons our clothes… Not too many people. Only seven billion are on the planet today, a fraction of which live in Delhi, a small percentage of who might be in South Extension-1. A few thousand humans inhabit my time and space.

Countless Dimensions of Perceived Universe

After everything I have been subjected to, and as a result of all my thoughts, emotions and memories, I stand opposite Bengali Sweets in South Extension-1 today. Where are you? I wonder who else is around? There’s nobody here. The streets are empty. You and I cannot be in the same place at the same time in the same state of perception. We see different things, hear different things, feel different things.

We inhabit different worlds. We are all alone.

You Only Live Once

If you stand ground when high-meanings around you

Are talking of the good and the evil that men do;

If you trust nothing, not even the men about you

And know that they, too, are doubting you;

If you get out there, without tarrying or waiting,

Or know the art of deceit, while detecting lies

Or know that loving is pointless, as is hating,

That here and now is just a throw of dice:

If you can dream – and achieve your dreams faster

Than friends and colleagues who have a similar aim;

If you love your hair-gel, lipstick or plaster,

And see them as tools to up your game;

If your actions don’t depend on words you’ve spoken

If men, to you, are breathing flesh and tools:

Tools that build, tools that sometimes are broken,

Tools that are replaced by similar fools:

If you make a heap of all your morals

And burn it in a massive, consuming flame,

And begin to trade in anything that sells,

And laugh at rules, and all things tame;

If you enjoy yourself, and always stay new,

And learn to live in society, alone,

And talk of freedom – what it means to you

Without making yourself to meanings, prone;

If you lead crowds with words of empty humour,

Or flatter kings, with your music and touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends matter,

If you let go saying, “This is all too much”;

If you can fill life’s every minute,

With proud memories of mistakes done,

Yours is everything, because nothing is in it,

And remember—you only live once, my son!