a calling to Life

Oh Life, give me the will to hold this pen, so that I may word your beauty

Enlighten my will so that I may always act with purpose

Soothe my will so that I may take confidence in rest

Accompany my will so that I may never forget your essence or aggrandize my own

‘I’ speak as the smaller ego, and I surrender my will to yours, oh Life

Save Us All

May my thoughts never cling, but pass

May my thoughts arrive at the right time in the right moment and finish their work successfully

May I have the right spiritual fervor to welcome you into my little life

I invite you to mold me in your hands and work through me

Have me sit beside you and show me your Creation

Tell me all your plans so that I may learn to appreciate you more

Trust me, for I mean all that I have said I shall wait for your sweetness to grace me

May my brain be healthy to translate you when you arrive, oh Life

May I always feel astute to accomplish your strategies

Speak to me Supreme Being, my time is all for you and you are free to come as you please

I shall always have a space for you and I am thrilled by your trust in me, your love for me and your unmatched, unconditional encouragement for me

Thank you for showing yourself to me, beautiful Life

I now know where to look for you

I now know that you will always let me rest in your abode when my body fails me

Bless me , Oh Great One that I may be healthy in every sense, so that I may enjoy doing your beautiful work for as long as I can

— Your lasting student



Reminded of the time when I was younger than 10 and going to school in Bangalore. 

Particularly this one time when my father had returned to India and had brought with him a little gift from Muscat where he worked. The most unique little play thing I had ever seen and nothing had fascinated me so much. The dearest thing it was to me. So much so that I once took it with me to a place of authority, seriousness and study – the school. I held it safe in my shorts pocket and not a single moment could I forget that it was there so close to me. But it was still away from my sight and I ached for the slightest opportunity to take it out, feel it in my hand, play with it and look at that beautiful thing, the most beautiful, love- filled object. Finally there was a moment I could do it. It was a free class, no teacher except for one girl that was chosen to monitor the rest of the students. I remember we all were squatted on the floor and were told to just not make noise and keep to ourselves and not do anything unacceptable. I looked around, the enthusiasm gushing through me to take it out of my pocket. I reach in, I feel the paper, the folds.. the art wok already vivid in front of me. I finally held it before me and I’m pretty sure I hadn’t even realized that I had the biggest smile on my little face anyone could have ever seen at the time. My head down and admiring my little toy, the world and everyone around me disappeared into a blackness and all that existed was my plaything and my admiration of it. 

A trauma that I remember now at age 27, April 29 2020 happened the next moment. The monitor of the class, the girl, noticed that I was ‘playing’ with something, which was totally unacceptable. In a split second I realized that she noticed and I looked up.. half in shock at why she should care, half in shock of the danger that this brought. In that timeless moment, she bent towards me, snatched it from my hand, gave it a cursory look and ripped it straight in half. Then into four pieces. Then haphazardly into 6. 

The most painful experience of all my life and even right now as I imagine the hurt it caused me. I did not know what to do for there was nothing that could be done to bring it back to life or function. I felt I had died and my breathing made it more unbearable to even be alive that moment. My life and all my meaning was torn into two and the only object of love, affection and all things good and beautiful had been destroyed in a second and was forever locked away from me in the deepest darkness of meaningless existence. I had experienced my first taste of the receiving end of cruelty and my first true loss.


What next?

I write now because I am tired but want to feel like I am doing something of value. I am doing this to make myself feel that I’m ‘not wasting myself’ in doing nothing. I am tired because of the continuous failures I’m having at trying to get the code for my homework right.

I do not want to feel incapable and in moments of failure I want to make a desperate sense of the same. I will be persisting in my folly if I continue to write. Would I rather close my eyes and allow the unease to be for as long as it wishes? Maybe then I can go back to my homework and finish it. I am not the guy that can say to himself, “I will not quit, no matter what”. That sort of volition, I have not seen a lot in myself.

I begin to feel a sense of triumph as I finish this written piece. A triumph that I’ve somehow churned out an insight out of this little misery. Triumph has replaced the unease that was here mere seconds ago.

But what will come next?


And why this urge for abstraction?


Who are we? (2)

     Existence is just is. You are also this existence, but with eyes to see, ears to hear and brain to receive the subtle part of existence which may be called ‘thoughts’. The gravel on the ground is also existence, an unmoving, un-breathing existence that shows no apparent response to its environment.

Existence is. ‘Things happen’ in this large existence. Things are perceived to happen because there is something that perceives it. If you are that which is experiencing things, you are then the perceiver.

You are not simply a perceiver like a radio receiver which merely receives from the outside. You are lodged within an apparatus that does very complex things such as assume an identity, create meaning, sacrifice, experience fear, self-destroy, renounce and carry out myriad other beautiful actions.

Remember still, you are the perceiver. Another word for perceiver would be consciousness. You are consciousness. Consciousness is an unbiased, impartial word. You too, as consciousness are unbiased and pure; but you are so pure and transparent in quality that you would not be able to judge or think or act or ‘perform’ any function by yourself as just consciousness.

Does the white of paper perform any function? The quality of just being white is a basis that allows the possibility of painting or writing. You as consciousness too, allow the possibility of action and reaction and all sense experience.


Who are we?

Us human beings are really here to meet our own ends, nothing else, not any others’. Even in being apparently generous or ‘selfless’ there is an inherent gain that we each seek. Sometimes the pleasure of the act itself is the gain. We might also be enjoying a validation for which we are mostly unconscious of at that moment. It often is our insecurity in life, anxieties of the future and doubts on our capabilities. In ‘love’, we enjoy a solace, a very successful forgetfulness of the sense of time. All apprehension, longing, desire and pain come from the sense of time we experience in our minds. This sense that something begins, grows, proceeds, withers and ultimately disappears; this idea of ‘passing’ carries us with it till we disappear from this earth, unless we happen to see this situation of ours and try to understand how and why this is so.
People seem ‘good’ or ‘bad’ based on how well these gains are transacted with each other. Even in unconditional love, the joy of it is known only to the lover, unless the loved one also unconditionally loves this lover and experiences a separate and unique joy of that unconditional love.
This is in no intention to perform sacrilege to what we hold dear – this act of giving oneself to a great meaning. Meaning is nevertheless created by us for us. An advanced consciousness requires something abstract for its healthy ‘sense of living’…


The flame of lust

My lust has never left me, I do not know if it can ever go, permanently. Lust is like this pure flame on a newly lit matchstick. In our human condition, it burns everlastingly. It catches upon the nearest flammable desire that passes its silent but heated vicinity – and lights it up to a big blazing orgasmic fire. A dangerous mixture of hormones, exasperating, screaming – in a chaotic storm of triggered emotions. A simple desire in its final stages takes this invincible form, lasting a good half of a minute to the exclusion of everything else in consciousness, and then the ballooned form bursts into tatters and deflates, subsequently expiring from all strength.

The innocent flame of lust, I call it.
It truly is.



Innervated, my soul is screaming with a rage I have never felt. The expression so unbounded and free and irrational and full of the juice of life. Like a beast of no inhibition I blaze through the calm and numbing streets of this world that lack life vigor and imagination. The dullness of existence, so pale and not at all extravagant.
I satiate in my own speciality, in the fireworks of ego and power. But I fail and collapse on the nothingness that this all is. back to where I began, a place from where I can never escape. A place in which I am condemned to be. Like a rise and fall I fight again and again, fall again and again.
Endlessly suffering from myself, from a fever of meaning, I scream my lungs out to nothingness, and it responds with an eerie silence and signifies my inconsequence.
Who do I want ? This burns in me – that endless relentless little flame that will consume anything and everything in its way. The source of all life, this one. The ever smiling, moral-less flame of consciousness.


An Intimate Reverie


A very intimate sense of who I am echoed through me as I closed off for the day, tired. I had had a restful nap before dinner which kept me awake working on my assignments till 2 AM, under the yellow glow of the lamp.

“What do I want, really ? And why do I continue to do the things that I do? “

It was complete darkness – the way I like my room to be, conditioned for sleep. A faint brightness from the street outside leaked from the blinds. Behind it, a glass window was protecting me from the subzero cold world on the other side. After the few long hours of sitting on my chair, this was a needed respite. The mattress held me snugly as I laid flat on it, like it knew the fatigued state my body was in.

Just like my attention, always towards the light – my eyes followed suit tonight, staring at the gaps in those blinds…

I was slowly moving into something that had been ignored within myself.

The mind has had a reputation of being lost to life’s discontent, like a pig feeding on filth. It took me years to realize- I was trying to teach a pig to feed on green grass. The mind can take any form I realised – a pig, a fox, an ass or a cow. It depends on the food you provide. If nurturing green grass is what you have, a pig will never come to its place. Whereas if you have garbage, you are inviting those that feed on it.

A comfortable awareness began, of all my hopes and deep set longings. An awareness of myself doing what I’ve  always wished to be doing. Of a kind of living that completely exemplifies the person I am and the ideas I personify.

A picture of an authentic life envisioned by my own thoughts, for myself, began to form. A vision not influenced by friends, elders or family. Not led by social stigma. Not deviated by fear. Not needing to make a difference. Not needing to be heard.

I saw myself in a period of seclusion, drawing inwards and away from any concern of the future. Where I’ve had the courage and understanding to do what I know for me to be right. A state of mind and a kind of living where ‘what I make of my life’ does not matter and where there is the sole awareness that I’m a conscious being longing to feel complete by itself.

I saw myself not sheltered in a home of my own, but sheltered in my heart and throwing myself into a different world. A place that has not been inundated by modernity or slavery to technology. In a small house, with bare necessities, with a few pieces of cloth. Wilfully jobless, to follow a path of pure intuition.

To recognise the raw moments when opportunities come to you like living things. To develop a sensitivity to see the unseen. To feel your own presence as the most intimate thing that can be experienced. To learn to smile in emptiness, to live alongside emptiness. To be able to see human result-oriented action rise and fall like the short life of a wave in the vast ocean. To see the futility of effort.

To reach a silence that cannot be touched by anything or anyone. A silence that will warm you like nothing else ever could. A finality of experience after which you truly become otherworldly.

So my journey is towards an experience worth seeking. In a path that no one can guide, but me.