There is no justice

It takes a second of moral judgement to disintegrate that which has been done for selfish needs. A sense of consciousness is all one requires to separate good from evil, wrong from right. But like every other subconscious object in this world, moral judgement and consciousness are fluid, never staying in one place, shifting and tuning to the butterfly effects of the universe. Judging a man’s deeds solely from action is morally incorrect as it leaves out space for the ‘if’s’ and ‘buts’. However, individuals make society and that which is socially acceptable becomes the moral high ground. If barbaric and inhuman torture is the ruling of the society then it must be delivered to morally corrupt criminals. The mass is always right. And why shouldn’t it? There is strength in unity and only the strong prevails. Justice therefore does not exist. What exists is the shadow of a reality. There is no justice system in a jungle and neither do they need one. Animals are governed by natural laws and that which they feel is necessary for survival.


And then one day you will wake up and find that all your friends are gone. You will realize that the life you have woken up to is not the life you had when you went to sleep. You went to sleep dreaming and you woke up in a nightmare. This nightmare is called adulthood. It will seduce you with fake promises and then cheat you of your peace. A day will come when you will search exasperatedly for your happiness but you will find none. It does not exist. It did once upon a time but you were busy living it, too naïve to realize that what you had was the most precious thing in the world. What happened? Where did it all go? Why did it have to be like this? No one has answers to these question, not even the wisest person. Sometimes at night when you go to bed with a head full of worry and a heart filled with depression, a long forgotten face will peak out from the far corners of your unconscious mind and call your name. It will say, “how are you my friend? How is your life? Do you want to come and play the way we used to?”. And that is the moment you will pour out all your feelings and cry; cry like you have never cried before because when you wake up you will realize that it was just a dream.

Fifty years from now when you are sitting on an empty platform, when everyone has left and when the last train has pulled out from the station, you will still be the same person as you are now, drenched in the rain of memories and yearning for the warmth of your childhood. But you have to move on, carry on with whatever you have because that is life’s truth and you have to accept it whether you like it or not. Your friends will leave you, your family will disappear, and your life will slowly fade away but it’s very, very important that you carry on with whatever you are doing. Life is one big question and the answer to it is death. But before the question can be answered you have to search for the answer. The search is very important. When the last chapter is done, you will realize with tears in your eyes and a smile on your face, how beautifully the book has been written. You will dream those childish dreams once again and live those sweet and beautiful moments of your life for one last time. And then you will get the thing that you were frantically searching for all your life-happiness.

Life – a suicide note? II

Dear …,

I called you but you didn’t pick up the phone. I called you again but you said you were busy. When I called you a third time we spoke about your problems. You hung up because someone behind you called your name and you said it was something urgent. I let go of the line. I didn’t have anyone else to talk to so I waited near the telephone in case you called. But the phone did not ring and the brutish and savage conspiracy that the universe had brewed specifically for me, suddenly spilled over my entire body and I walked away with heavy steps. My hopes refused to part ways with the telephone and reluctantly I carried my despondent body around town looking for a familiar face or expecting to hear a friendly voice call out my name but as I said, the universe had conspired against me in the most inhuman manner. I was all alone. I don’t know when but I got drunk. I even popped a few pills I found in my coat pocket. Soon my nonexistent body was floating on the face of this Earth like a ghost. Images went past me in a blur. I tried to make some meaning out of them but things like reason and meaning had long since abandoned me. The only assurance I got which told me I wasn’t insane was from the telephone booth. While the whole world felt like drops of ink in turbulent water, the telephone booth stood rock steady. The lonely box waited in the middle of the street like an expectant lover who has been stood up by her true love for the very first time. I felt sad for her and approached with discreet steps. The telephone, a black piece of art, lying there in solitude with no one to wrap their warm arms and comfort it in this terrible city. I felt sad. I felt so very sad that I sat near it and cried. I did not cry about anything in particular. I just cried because I wanted to. And I saw the shadows as they flew past me, never stopping, never comforting.

The evening sun slowly melted away into the mélange of different colors. As the sky painted out a picture of retreat on the canvas of our continually changing lives, I decided to give you a call. The phone rang once, twice, thrice and then you picked it up. But no it wasn’t you. The voice on the other end of the line was funny. I broke into hysterical laughter. Man it hurt! Yes, it hurt a lot. When I left the booth, the sky was black or was it my life? The moon hung its sad face in the sky, displaying the sadness it kept locked away in its heart while poets and lovers danced and romanced the night away. I headed home or wherever I ended up spending the night in this misty planet. I had time to kill till tomorrow morning when once again we would reunite over the phone, so I’ll rest my body for a while – my tired, fragile little body. And by the way if I don’t call you tomorrow, please come over to my place or wherever I am and you will find this letter beside the telephone. I might still be asleep so don’t wake me up. When I wake up I’ll call you.


Life – a suicide note? I

In a world full of chance and randomness, the word “routine” should be a misfit. But the ones who live in great obscurity with unexpected movements and surprising actions are the ones who are shunned, abandoned and frowned-upon by the “minority”.

If a lie is the truth then what does that make us? Are we a lie or are we the truth? Does death become meaningless or does it mean we are alive? Maybe we are just stuck in between two doors – life and death – wondering which way lie the greatest pleasures of being alive.

We are all suicide notes, a statement between two opposing ideas, a place where we have learnt to live, to call our own since the day we gained consciousness. And as a suicide note we have always wanted to belong somewhere. This sense of belonging has turned us into nothing but a pendulum, constantly swaying between two worlds – one where we belong and one where we want to belong.

Those whose veins tremble with the ebb and flow of life can never be found because we can’t see them, our blindness brought about by our incapacity to truly feel what it means to be alive.