A Drop of Liquid Hope

First published in Heart-Bytes for the Flash fiction competition.

I sat in silence. The wind grazed my hair and honoured my nostrils with the stench of the seven seas. There were others too, who were seated unmoved in a spell of inactivity sharing silence with me. The sky filled with dark smoke merged easily with the stagnant liquid of the sea, indistinguishable in colour they united and held their bond. An uneasy sight for others, but I begged to differ.

Out of the two, the one that sat away from me kept dropping rocks into the murky water. The object hit the water, no ripples formed and sunk quietly into darkness. Life was something similar, in the end all that awaited one was darkness. There was nothing more to it, we inhabitants of light in our quest to find brighter lights move into darkness.

The stranger turned her neck a few degrees bringing me into her field of vision.

“Is it always like this?”

“It gets darker”

I could tell my reply was quick to bring in anguish to her heart.

“It wasn’t always like this!”

“There were better times?”

“Times where one could sea through the water”

“Just the like in textbooks”

“Something like that”

She shifted her gaze and so did I. Her friend however did not bother to break the silence. Content with the murky water he sat there. The clouds grew darker; the source could be seen now. The colossal vessel that floated like the fishes that lost interest in swimming now came into view. Leaving a trail of blacker black, it ordered fishes to rise up and show respect. The fishes rose and the girl’s heart sank.

A few silhouettes scrambled onboard. I remained still, while one shrieked and the other dropped another rock. A rock added to the grave of blue, maybe it fell on Neptune’s tomb. I did not know, I didn’t want to know.

The beast leaked black, sons and daughters of Neptune rose in awe. I still remained unmoved but the girl got up and stood for a while. She motioned towards the edge that separated wet from dry and emptied her bottle of water. The clear liquid vanished quickly unable to fight off the evil that lurked in every corner of its new home.

 She turned towards me and said “May be that will help”

************

Personal experience: phenomena far from argument

For Reason

The case for god on the basis of personal experience is not a credible argument yet for many centuries it has served the purpose of creating the effect or illusion of an argument. Believers around the globe have claimed to have felt, seen or heard the voice of god and many a times they act on such divine providence. Is this acceptable? But more importantly are their claims true? I hardly think so. For someone who is conditioned to accept or believe forces far greater than them any random piece of rubbish or any random event would in his/her perspective be interpreted unreasonably as divine or supernatural.

This attitude makes it quite easy for someone to thank god (not the doctor or science or reason or technology… the list goes on and on) after spending hours beneath the surgical knife. So now I’m sure you must be thinking “Then why do they do it?” What makes people not see the obvious but feel inclined (blinded by belief) to come up with stories of virgins and infants, angels and saints, fiery chariots and divided seas, cosmic forces of good and bad etc. This was something that troubled me for quite for sometime and I hope that it troubles you too. For if it doesn’t I promise you that the remaining words that I have poured onto paper are as useful as cat litter to you. To understand why people try so desperately to come up or create evidence for such fallacious oddities we must take into account the stalking process of socialization and its firm grip on our psyche. I must admit that the process of socialization has its share of let’s say virtue, innate virtue but when used by the narrow minded pompous manipulative god enforcers who take pride in their ignorance; this beautiful process becomes altogether diabolical and tends to glorify the idea of pure unadulterated belief and in worse cases belief in belief.

The inexistence of a god or for that matter any other phantom is something reason cannot prove neither can scientific enquiry, provided its objective. This is mainly because of the paradoxical fallaciousness it employs. Bertrand Russell in his article that went un-published for sometime “Is there a God?” wrote:

Many orthodox people speak as though it were the business of sceptics to disprove received dogmas rather than of dogmatists to prove them. This is, of course, a mistake. If I were to suggest that between the Earth and Mars there is a china teapot revolving about the sun in an elliptical orbit, nobody would be able to disprove my assertion provided I were careful to add that the teapot is too small to be revealed even by our most powerful telescopes. But if I were to go on to say that, since my assertion cannot be disproved, it is intolerable presumption on the part of human reason to doubt it, I should rightly be thought to be talking nonsense. If, however, the existence of such a teapot were affirmed in ancient books, taught as the sacred truth every Sunday, and instilled into the minds of children at school, hesitation to believe in its existence would become a mark of eccentricity and entitle the doubter to the attentions of the psychiatrist in an enlightened age or of the Inquisitor in an earlier time.

Reason can never convince someone obsessed with goblins and ghosts that they do not exist. This is because the subject enjoys the company of belief and imagination but fails to understand the necessity of reason and empirical evidence. Now we all agree that pixies and goblins along with the whole colourful lot are just beings of fairy tales but it is interesting to see the same “critical thinkers” (regarding pixies and unicorns and leprechauns and fire breathing dragons… this list too goes on and on) profess the reality of virgin births, resurrection, after life, eternal damnation, intelligent designers, heaven hell, transubstantiation… (another unending list). So why do we believe in some fairy tales and not others? The most obvious answer is that we are told to believe by many socializing forces to believe and hence we believe, living in constant fear to swim against the tide, even when we make a complete fool of ourselves by not doing so. Even though this is true and a common phenomena it does not answer why we try substantiate such irrational and preposterous claims. Surely we all have great amounts of doubt and skepticism in us to make it through the night? To understand the “whys” I would like to introduce to you two influential factors, something I like to call the diabolical duo-imitation and anticipation.

The reason why we imitate and anticipate is thanks to socialization. It conditions our psyche, keeping it always on the look out to fit in, to go with the crowd, for the crowd is always right and if they are wrong, well its safer and wiser to go along just as the saying goes “if you can’t beat them, join them” This works well as far as survival is concerned in most cases unfortunately this contradicts reason. In modern day theocentric societies the presence of tele-evangelists and god men are evidently felt. They tell you think that is soothing to hear, they make rules to their comfort and change them when ever god asks them to, it is strange to see that most times god dictates something, it works well to the advantage of god enforcers. Lets just say it fattens their wallets to a certain point in which it is quite hard not to let out a smile and profess the good news, and this my friends is real bad news, not just for some individuals but to the collective unconscious that forms and in time shapes the thought process of generations to come. The healing presence of god, the love and the peace are what these men in white sell. This induces a sense of personal relationship and many a time comes to the rescue of theist when they try to debate with reason and logic. Much of the popularity religion enjoys is due to the subtle process of imitation. A child from the moment he is born is labeled in order to create an identity for him and this unquenchable thirst to stick to the constraints of this imposed identity is what makes one act in ways that are strange to reason. In religion, this is exploited as it right from the start makes it clear that its provisions are what are best suited for survival. And hence just to satisfy one longing of being right and acceptable one feels inclined to imitate the acts of others.

Popular tele-evangelist Benny Hinn is known to amuse and create moments of awe using his cheap theatrics. With a wave of the hand he showers his audience with mild doses of “the holy spirit” the subjects feel inclined fall to the ground when he waves his hand, not because their muscles fail to keep them standing but because they know deep down that all good pure people fall when in contact with the Lord’s presence. They do so in order to feel an unconscious innate sense of acceptance. At times this preacher even brings down to the ground, his whole choir comprising of a few hundreds of good souls. How does he do it? How can he fool so many people at the same time and since he “fools” quite a large group shouldn’t it be true, that he does have something in him, something extraordinary? No he doesn’t he just makes people imitate others. You see these people are conditioned to think that falling to the ground or bursting out in tears is acceptable and hence right and so when the first knee bends, other around too involuntarily take part in this mass delusion and therefore within seconds they find themselves flat on the grounds and this to them is amazing and hence something supernatural.  

The second trick theists have up their sleeves is anticipation. Imitation and anticipation overlap and coexist in most instances of insanity and mass delusion. During ones stay on earth one comes to learn many things, a lot of interesting things along with a bunch of amusing things too. We see sci-fi movies, read bible stories and what not and this shapes our understanding of reality. Even in our day there are many who claim to speak with the dead, they are just exercising their belief in delusion and should not be taken seriously. Consumerism has gone to such great heights that it has even arranged for, thanks to public interest, our dialogue with the dead. All you need is a board with letters and numbers, a candle and some empty spooky space to add to the overall effect. You have all of these and in seconds, voila, you have a spirit or a ghost of someone dead. Your hand is now guided by this force and it reveals juicy information to you, name, age, cause of death etc. supernatural isn’t it? No, plain rubbish, designed to fool the gullible. The only reason your hand moves is because you anticipate it to move, because otherwise your brain deep down knows that this phantom would not be able to covey what he/she wants. In short it is safe to say that in this case it to your imagination that you are speaking to. Your deliberate yet unconscious imagination is what speaks to you and same is the case with people who claim to have been visited by their respective gods or by the spokespersons of these busy deities(whom we now call saints). This also accounts for why UFOs most times are described as flying saucers that hover through the air at the speed of light, it is thanks to the very many hours we spend listening or/and watching sci-fi fiction. There is a good deal of imitation in the process of anticipation and a lot of anticipation in the process of imitation. What we see from this is not evidence to assert the existence of the super natural but the internal conflict we all face, a conflict which subsides in order to quench our thirst of acceptance.

The existence of objects, be it gods or ghouls on the basis of personal experience is fallacious as it can never be proved. What we can say about such claims is that it is a mere manifestation of our socialization, of the environment we grow in. To think that such unsubstantiated claims are worthy of attention is truly a fault. 

****************************

Misfit

In a world with
masks and mirrors,
sky scrapers and scars,
babies and barbers,
trees and thugs,
philosophers and priests,
romancers and rapists,
saints and swindlers,
I stand,
Dumbstruck.
Fragmented.
Disillusioned and Confused.
Not knowing,
to which
I am considered-
misfit. 

When I was Born

When I was born, I was taught that eventually I would die and in this death I would also experience a birth, a kind of confusing yet equally disturbing birth into the hands of the creator who had paradoxically given me life just so that he could have the pleasure of controlling it and in the end taking it. How wonderful these notions seem to be, but now they seem too wonderful, too surreal and too absurd. The only satisfaction I have got out of all this is the unsatisfactory satisfaction of questioning and of being puzzled. Self righteous Shepards have cursed me in hushed tones so that their daring decibels go unheard, drowned by their obsession with beads and chants. “God is way past your comprehension” “Man can never understand God” they say, and for me this is just plain old escapism.  

When I was born what I and the rest of the others who celebrated my first coming did not know was that in the very room there took place another birth, the birth of my the other. As I screamed and twisted, kicking back my legs, squinting-not wanting another drop of light to disrupt my past year of bliss I failed to notice on the wall, clothed with not light there lay peacefully cradled in the arms of a much bigger figure my very own demon. The demon or the other as I like to call it, (as it was relative to my own existence) stayed there on the scaling walls, mimicking my every movement, bathing in our combined experience of all things that surrounded me and hence it. They named me Uh so I named my the other Oh and as I grew my demon shadow grew too, it was surreal but it was never lonely. During night time we used to have quite conversations but his tone was filled a deep sense of urgency and mine had in it a calm composed passiveness. His oblivion seemed inevitable at dawn; my long lasting existence seemed invincible. But at the age of twelve when a friend of mine visited the temple he decided to stay there, I decided to return and didn’t here from him (my friend X) for 21 years and 33 days, which gave me quite some time, too much time now I realize to spend with Oh. My skin grew darker and his stayed the same, I now saw a fairy land on those scaling walls, tasted the plaster and felt ecstasy and began to paint my self on those lively walls in which Oh resided with un-holy tones of red that flowed from my body. At the end of the wait Oh whispered “It is time” and now I could feel my demon Oh and myself Uh unite. It was an inevitable moment I knew-UhOh and then darkness was what was all around. Uh and Oh were one, yes we were one and in that state of madness I could sense the nothingness into which I was dragged grow around us. It was time to hush! Uhoh!

When I was born I never expected that I would have to go through such a physiological purgatory-this state of limbo. From such a sleep I hoped to rise but now such hope failed to reassure me. It was then that another residing phantom of my thoughts (they were my only friends now, being in a coma and all) said to me “You should hope that your friend wakes you up.” “Why would he?” “He’s a good man. A bit mad but what the hell anyone can tolerate a little eccentricity as long as he’s a good fellow” And as I lay along with Oh in a state of nothingness in which there was nothing of anything and this was the everything and the sole thing and at the same time the nothing, I began to hope for my messiah. He would come for the second time in my life, maybe a bit drunk, maybe a bit tipsy but would see the hieroglyphs on the wall, immediately understand the implications, race into the void that I made and wake me up. I would see him coming, clothed in contrast to all that surrounds me and take me back up or down or wherever is it that I had come from. This would be the perfect end or the perfect beginning.

When I was born nobody told me that I would be born again into this pompous world. But when this event actually took place, after hours or days I am not sure in which I hoped and prayed that I be taken back into the world and given a second chance, I found the whole process of coming back rather tiring. The bright skies were still there, so was my scaly wall, the birds were also there, just the same as the plaster that gathered below my four walls. Everything was the same, but the people had changed. There were no more demons. All the Oh’s had disappeared and the Uh’s, they were in a frenzy, my people were panicky without their the others.  Why? I asked myself till I understood that there was no real answer. They were panicky because they were not composed. But all this drama seemed too familiar and then it struck me. I had spread the disease of hope. Yes, hope was a disease when hope was left loose it fornicated with faith just the way it had in my state of oblivion. These people around me now believed that they were going through everything that I went through. I had carried their destruction on my back and had saved them but they still felt lost and began to hope that some one would redeem them. The world with it colours seemed grim to these souls, everything began to crumble. “Save us! We are righteous” was all I could hear them say. It was too disturbing, that question and so I decided to remain silent. And as a few more years went by I saw grey headed clowns doing cheap magic tricks but this time in a comically pious manner. They began persuading people to look up at the sky, promising them that there was a better world up there and the sheep looked up but I the lamb continued to keep by glance at the ground beneath my feet. These people began to spread rumours of what was to come and these tales were narrated at public gatherings in which all of them kept staring at the skies in devotion (event though half of them had turned blind)

When I was born I was told that God had a plan and nothing goes against this plan. But what I found out was that the blind considered all possibilities and all conclusions as part of that fool-proof plan, instead of admitting that the future was something that they really had no idea about.

New Blog

Hey check out my new photo blog 'Technicolour Tales' 

You are now…

You have been trying to sleep for quite sometime now. Your eyes, they have turned bloodshot letting you know how they crave rest. Your mind is tired and still slumber shies away, maintaining an unholy distance. Adding to the intrinsic turmoil your neighbour’s cat is determined to get right one of Bach’s freakishly high notes, devoting and spending endless hours of your sleep. Yes not hard work nor patience but the feline instinct makes it smart enough to make it spend your precious pennies. How loathsome. A thing or two you should learn from the fur ball.

After a long wait you decide to get out of bed. ‘Finally’, ‘At last’ are a few adverbs that whoosh past the labyrinths of your crooked mind. But realization now comes as a shock, right when you utter the final syllables you realize that no matter how many times you perform that redeeming action of getting up you will always find yourself succumbing to the desires of your master laziness, for you are asleep and your actions count for nothing. It feels good to hide yourself beneath layers of warm blankets.

The time has come for you to try again. Just like the spider that has been re-making its web in children’s books for a long time. How long was it? 200 years I think but you are free to assume anything, for not a line of truth, have you encountered so far. Getting up sure seems challenging don’t you think? And your desire to get lost in time is not helping. Get up, now.

You are not alone. You are in the presence of a ghost. Some one three hundred years older than you is staring you right in the face and you lie there like a corpse, respect less. She looks a lot like many women from creepy old pictures that you used to find at your grand parents villa. You remember one person now. The eyes your memory digs out and put in front of your eyes are hazel in colour, but the one that you now stare back at is just a light shade of grey. Your memory is in contradiction for you quite well remember those peculiar set of eye balls. These look lifeless, like the ones at Madame Tussauds, not just lifeless but also they seem to you as resonating lie. You are troubled for her rosy cheeks are missing too. Where have they gone? Where have they gone? Do you know? No you don’t. So if you do let me know too. You don’t know.

That photograph, it deceived you.

A liar.

All that time has left behind as a shameless residue is an array of light and dark black.

You are unable to take it all in and so you raise your arm bringing it into your field of vision. You start an unending fit of comparison, the blood and colour filled flesh versus the pale miserable fragment of memory and imagination.

The comparison continues.

Life and death.

The real and the un-real.

The ghost smiles.

You stare back with dilated pupils.

Her lips stir in motion. You can see that. Her facial muscles they too are now in action. You fail to see that. Twitching and expanding and contracting they paint a silent picture, a picture of contrast. No sounds uttered still nothing bothers you because you feel an urge to pay close attention.

Yes, you pay attention, but not to her speech. You are still occupied with the HD image of yourself and the soulless image of you friend.

She is gone, never to return.

You are still in bed. It is dark and hence you are aware that a lamp is burning behind your head. The warm covers have lost its warmth. Something is dripping from your feet. The culprit that has caused the loss of warmth has finally been found. Why is water dripping from your feet? You are eager to find out. You wiggle your way out of the damp covers. Is it blood? You feel panicky but that sensation settles soon. It is neither blood nor water, it is paint. The lamp has been of good use.

Now if you were to compare like you did earlier you would be confused. Your legs are dripping away the difference. A pool of difference forms beneath your humble abode, your bed.

Without colour your legs are lifeless. The feet that took you places far and wide are now a liability for you. How sad.

You might want to chop them off!

No you shouldn’t.

They might never wake up, then what?

Let them rest.

Rebecca now enters the room. What is a Rebecca? For some odd reason you felt like saying it and so you have. You realize this too and so you begin customizing her.

She now has a rather tanned look. It is because you remember her to be pale.

You are now tempted.

She moves closer and you notice an all too vague yet familiar look of innocence even in her most ridiculous look.

She stares at the pool of colour beneath you bed.

This time you hear a voice. You are quick to recognize the voice as hers. Why? She does not speak! She does not even to try to paint a silent picture, then why? You want to hear her, that’s why.

What is she saying?

Promises.

Are you sure?

Regrets.

Yes you are sure.

Words resonate and ricochet.

You are caught right in eye with a Darling. It has gone right through you like a bullet. You feel no pain. But it pains to know that you are not worthy of pain.

You are now awake.

You are now awake. You awaken once more and once again you wake. Then again and again and again till you fall asleep.

*****

The City of Lights

  Click here to view the post on Heart-Bytes