RIFLE RANGE BOY

Sometimes you wonder. Is it just you, or is everybody going a little mad? Are people increasingly indulging in self-defeating activities which will, in a matter of time, blow up right in their faces? Why do they open themselves up to vulnerability? Is their desire to express themselves so important that it has to be imprinted digitally to the end of times. Why is there a pressing need to be with them or against the rest? Is there no middle ground? Why do they think it is a test of love to exhibit bedroom antics to the full view of the public? And still call it expression, even when others call it exhibitionism. You know there is no wrong or right answer? Truth is a multifaceted son of a gun with the last laugh when it finally comes to the fore. Your time is getting near, and you want to ride in the sunset, hurting fewer and fewer people every day. You want to thank your lucky stars for the times in your life, which you had in your own right, which had been unpredictable, but in the end...

There was a time when I developed a compulsion of wanting to know everything about Bhagavadgita. I was told that the holy book had all the recipe for a meaningful life. And I heard about a volunteer at a local temple who was conducting a series of lectures on that subject. My acquaintances were all praises about the speaker and the contents of his classes.   I was drawn in. I decided to give it a try. In the first lecture, all that I heard was that I was nothing. I was smaller than the smallest of the speck in the Universe. I did not matter to the greater scheme of things. Hence, the last thing I needed was my ego. I had to crack my hardshell called ego, following which enlightenment would flow in like an eternal fountain of knowledge. Like how Arjuna had to clear his head of all his doubts to receive the unlimited erudition from the Lord himself. I thought to myself, "I do not need these people to tell me that I am nothing; my wife tells me all the time that my ego is bigger ...

No, you are nobody. Not a special Being sent to existence on a mission. There is no purpose for your being. Your life does not matter to the equilibrium of the Universe. Your flutter is not going to send shockwaves anywhere. Not even a ripple.  You are propelled to Earth by mere chance; the right protein unwasted, utilised meaningfully at the right place at the correct time. Conversely, you could have been just a flushed down debris amongst the many putrefying wasteful effluents of humanity. You are not chosen. Neither are those around you. Neither of you is selected for each other either. The bond that you build along the way is just brittle as the next heart that you break in your next tour of duty called life. Everyone is for himself when it matters most. The filial piety that you give or expect is just societal arrangements to ensure that the unproductive segment of the crowd is responsibly assigned to someone. The cloud of guilt hovers over its shirkers. This kind of arrang...