SOMEWHERE

Somewhere out there is an anomalous world beyond which there is no existence known, no codes for survival, but a true sense of being is felt; yet no solipsism and no self-absorption; but higher standards for truth. 

Certainly a better one, than this - the world where you fight for it, for all it's worth - your existence; and it is lied to, it is ignored.

Quarter Life Crisis

"When you’re losing control of your entire life it helps to focus on what you’re good at"

The more I think the harder it is to snap out of it. What. How. Why. These words are almost clubbed in my head - endless-possibilities; each time. The uncertainty is the bummer. The silver lining is that I see possibilities. Not like our young minds are most overwhelmingly fed - there's too little, and it's too scary, yonder. Never learned to listen to others, me.

The bitch is that endless possibilities carry a baggage of "maybe". And most people love to bark on it. I see people of my age talking of conformity. They talk of sacrifice as if it's a virtue. Some blindly follow. Some, they wait for time to heal. I don't understand this. But then their immovable faith in this unknown, irrational emotion is strong enough to induce a "maybe" inside me. And a "maybe not".

What if I have been living a lie? What if this is all just an amorphous figment of my imagination? There's a perfect backdrop. The world, an overcrowded box of limitations. The people, shrewd survivors, constantly tipping of you to jump off that free-rolling bandwagon. A guy who never listened to others, no? :P

Either way, the focus shifts from being a tadpole in a well and a whale in the ocean, to what actually marks the individual whale/tadpole's character. Purpose of life? No. NO! Hands up! I've given up on THAT. You can never know, not even the one's who've accomplished theirs'. The point is, whatever's done IS done. तासीर is somewhat the word we are looking for. 

I don't know what I'm good at. I think that's a part of my identity. Good at nothing. I suck, putting it mildly. A friend once remarked that we can be a fan of an action or a existence only if we assume we can't match that particular height of awesomeness. He went on, "There's an unbeatable competitive urge in our minds that plays the trick". Where you are a fan, there's no competition. I mean, yes there are acknowledgements, but honest fanship, very rare. Unless you are "GREAT". This topic arose over my acceptance of being a universal fan. Much like O+, the universal donor. Being a fan has been my identity for too long, blimey! I'm a fan of this music, that band, that footballer, the club, this food, that business-genius, that science-guy. Even friends, as I always tell them, there is that one quality that makes me go bonkers, and that's the respect part. Unnecessary to mention that without respect there is no sustainable friendship. What else could any relation thrive upon?  Love, compassion, trust -all that comes naturally, being a human being. Just be a good one at that.

What do I want? Every evening I go to the field for a run. A couple of kilometers' walk to get there. There are things I notice everyday. There's a rather popular temple on the way, always crowded. A gathering of the hungry ones outside the temple, who are in need. A gathering of the hungry ones inside the temple, who are in need for more. It's something I put on my list of brilliant-business ideas. A temple once belonged to Hanuman. Some time ago, Shani was added to the same. Apparently, the scary one and attracts most "givers". Maybe profitability wasn't good enough, lately Sai Baba was added to the collection. That one's in vogue. The faith. I see a huge bungalow with one too many cars, a drooler's paradise, that doesn't make sense to me either. People, fat cars, offices, shops whatever you can find on the streets these days, I try to make my exposure as quick and as small as possible. Once inside, all I have is a green of the field, and blue of the sky. The timing is perfect. Such that the temperatures are cooling down, and light going out. I just lie in the grass, and look at the sky. I see flock of birds flying over my head. Watching a number of birds loosely knitted in random shapes, organized to go back to their nests, very relieving. That is the best pat of my day. 

I once read a book called Avoid Boring (Other) People by Watson, the DNA god. I found his bird-watching annoyingly boring, so I'd assume it's about the feel. Sometimes I read a book sitting right in the middle. And then when I'm done running a few kilometers, sweating the lords out of my head, post the day-night transition, I lie down again and watch the stars. I often even remove the ear-pieces, otherwise in constant-ium. Everyone has by then, left. The silence, the purity, the nothingness, and the stars. THIS is magic. This is another one of my "best part of my day". Oh, I have just too many :P Music is good, to accompany all this. It's a good tool to avoid all the thinking, unquestionably the most effective drug, and I've had quite a few in my repertoire lately. But then it's not like always. I have had a tiny playlist of some 200 odd songs ever since my iPod's resurrection. Things change around us and they change us, even is a slight dent, sometimes.

So what do I want? To know this, you might think I am delusional. I've been called a loser. A discussion with my alter ego, a friend who is but precise; and I know - I want nothing. 

"Cause I wonder sometimes about the outcome of a still verdictless life.. Am I living it right?"