सत्यमेव जयते

A dialogue from recently watched movie, Talaash...

A prostitute(kareena): Sahab, how can a person die who doesn't even exists.

The moment I heard this, my expression was... Bitch Please...!!

I tell you what (if you have time)

A guy gets down bus for water, an unknown snatches his wallet which hardly contains 5 thousand bucks. This guy chases the robber and robber kills him.

Isn't it funny that life isn't worth more than 5 thousand bucks and in some places not more than 100 bucks?

A girl molested for walking out of the pub, people arrested for expressing their views and a girl brutally raped.

Doesn't it sound like savages?

Let’s talk about the justice... We shout, scream and yell. Nothing happens.

Unless the situation creates hype in crowd and the accused is not a rich guy, authorities don’t even respond.

Fear of the crowd not what is right or wrong...

How ironic it is that we are from the same people who received Nobel Prize for writing “Where the mind is without fear and the head is held high” and the great who wrote (Vedas) – यत्र नार्यस्तु पूज्यन्ते, रमन्ते तत्र देवताः and सत्यमेव जयते.

We are proud of these, aren't we?

But something is wrong here and we don’t know what it is, do we? 

We update in facebook, twitter and in every social site as much as possible. After some days, we forget about the incidents and the victims then say people die every day.

Welcome to the reality...!!

(there will be a smile on my face whenever I see satyameva jayate emblem on currency notes)

Love

"Do you remember what I said about money and about the men who seek to reverse the law of cause and effect? The men who try to replace the mind by seizing the products of the mind? Well, the mail who despises himself tries to gain self-esteem from sexual adventures —which can't be done, because sex is not the cause, but an effect and an expression of a man's sense of his own value."

"You'd better explain that."

"Did it ever occur to you that it's the same issue? The men who think that wealth comes from material resources and has no intellectual root or meaning, are the men who think—for the same reason—that sex is a physical capacity which functions independently of one's mind, choice or code of values. They think that your body creates a desire and makes a choice for you—just about in some such way as if iron ore transformed itself into railroad rails of its own volition. Love is blind, they say; sex is impervious to reason and mocks the power of all philosophers. But, in fact, a man's sexual choice is the result and the sum of his fundamental convictions. Tell me what a man finds sexually attractive and I will tell you his entire philosophy of life.

Show me the woman he sleeps with and I will tell you his valuation of himself. No matter what corruption he's taught about the virtue of selflessness, sex is the most profoundly selfish of all acts, an act which he cannot perform for any motive but his own enjoyment—just try to think of performing it in a spirit of selfless charity!—an act which is not possible in self-abasement, only in self-exaltation, only in the confidence of being desired and being worthy of desire. It is an act that forces him to stand naked in spirit, as well as in body, and to accept his real ego as., his standard of value. He will always be attracted to the woman who reflects his deepest vision of himself, the woman whose surrender permits him to experience—or to fake—a sense of self-esteem. The man who is proudly certain of his own value, will want the highest type of woman he can find, the woman he admires, the strongest, the hardest to conquer—because only the possession of a heroine will give him the sense of an achievement, not the possession of a brainless slut.

He does not seek to . . . What's the matter?" he asked, seeing the look on Rearden's face, a look of intensity much beyond mere interest in an abstract discussion.

"Go on," said Rearden tensely.

"He does not seek to gain his value, he seeks to express it. There is no conflict between the standards of his mind and the desires of his body. But the man who is convinced of his own worthlessness will be drawn to a woman he despises—because she will reflect his own secret self, she will release him from that objective reality in which he is a fraud, she will give him a momentary illusion of his own value and a momentary escape from the moral code that damns him. Observe the ugly mess which most men make of their sex lives—and observe the mess of contradictions which they hold as their moral philosophy. One proceeds from the other. Love is our response to our highest values— and can be nothing else. Let a man corrupt his values and his view of existence, let him profess that love is not self-enjoyment but self-denial, that virtue consists, not of pride, but of pity or pain or weakness or sacrifice, that the noblest love is born, not of admiration, but of charity, not in response to values, but in response to flaws—and he will have cut himself in two. His body will not obey him, it will not respond, it will make him impotent toward the woman he professes to love and draw him to the lowest type of whore he can find. His body will always follow the ultimate logic of his deepest convictions; if he believes that flaws are values, he has damned existence as evil and only the evil will attract him. He has damned himself and he will feel that depravity is all he is worthy of enjoying. He has equated virtue with pain and he will feel that vice is the only realm of pleasure. Then he will scream that his body has vicious desires of its own which his mind cannot conquer, that sex is sin, that true love is a pure emotion of the spirit. And then he will wonder why love brings him nothing but boredom, and sex—nothing but shame."

Rearden said slowly, looking off, not realizing that he was thinking aloud, "At least . . . I've never accepted that other tenet . . . I've never felt guilty about making money."

Francisco missed the significance of the first two words; he smiled and said eagerly, "You do see that it's the same issue? No, you'd never accept any part of their vicious creed. You wouldn't be able to force it upon yourself. If you tried to damn sex as evil, you'd still find yourself, against your will, acting on the proper moral premise. You'd be attracted to the highest woman you met. You'd always want a heroine. You'd be incapable of self-contempt. You'd be unable to believe that existence is evil and that you're a helpless creature caught in an impossible universe. You're the man who's spent his life shaping matter to the purpose of his mind. You're the man who would know that just as an idea unexpressed in physical action is contemptible hypocrisy, so is platonic love—and just as physical action unguided by an idea is a fool's self-fraud, so is sex when cut off from one's code of values. It's the same issue, and you would know it. Your inviolate sense of self-esteem would know it. You would be incapable of desire for a woman you despised. Only the man, who extols the purity of a love devoid of desire, is capable of the depravity of a desire devoid of love. But observe that most people are creatures cut in half who keep swinging desperately to one side or to the other. One kind of half is the man who despises money, factories, skyscrapers and his own body.

He holds undefined emotions about non-conceivable subjects as the meaning of life and as his claim to virtue. And he cries with despair, because he can feel nothing for the women he respects, but finds himself in bondage to an irresistible passion for a slut from the gutter.

He is the man whom people call an idealist. The other kind of half is the man whom people call practical, the man who despises principles, abstractions, art, philosophy and his own mind. He regards the acquisition of material objects as the only goal of existence—and he laughs at the need to consider their purpose or their source. He expects them to give him pleasure—and he wonders why the more he gets, the less he feels. He is the man who spends his time chasing women. Observe the triple fraud which he perpetrates upon himself. He will not acknowledge his need of self-esteem, since he scoffs at such a concept as moral values; yet he feels the profound self-contempt which comes from believing that he is a piece of meat. He will not acknowledge, but he knows that sex is the physical expression of a tribute to personal values. So he tries, by going through the motions of the effect, to acquire that which should have been the cause. He tries to gain a sense of his own value from the women who surrender to him—and he forgets that the women he picks have neither character nor judgment nor standard of value. He tells himself that all he's after is physical pleasure— but observe that he tires of his women in a week or a night, that he despises professional whores and that he loves to imagine he is seducing virtuous girls who make a great exception for his sake. It is the feeling, of achievement that he seeks and never finds. What glory can there be in the conquest of a mindless body? Now that is your woman-chaser. Does the description fit me?"

- words of my perfect teacher...

I found zombie in my closet...

Yes, I did.

While I was wondering what to do about the biggest problem of my life which kept me bothering for many a days, there was a knock from the jib door...!

Unaware of its existence, skeptically I opened. There he was, cheeky smile on the corners of lips, expectant eyes of my glaring looks. I wasn't scared but there was an aura around him that one should be frightened.

Then he came out showing his intrinsic behavior, made himself at ease, looking into my eyes with a grin. He wasn't just looking into my eyes but soul and I was shivering at this thought. I stared at him for a while, waiting him to speak, gathered all my strength and spoke (exhaustively)

“Who are you ?”

..... (no reply)

“What do you want ?”

..... (no reply)

“What's that, is it a secret pathway to somewhere ?”

..... (no reply)

“What the hell do you want from me, what’s so funny uh? Why are you staring at me, you dumbass ...!!”

I was already regretting my anger by the look on his face, there was a slight movement in his facial muscles when he spoke

“Touché..! You know me all your life, I was there for/with you every moment of your life watching your back. I did help you in all your problems and sorrows and will be. Yes, I am your guardian angel or whatever you can think of. Now, don’t you act like not knowing me?”

Deep down my heart I know this and there weren’t any words to meet his eyes

“Don’t fret ! I know what’s on your mind... I am here because you are not letting me help you. How many more days will you be running away from me? Why were you so worried? I reckon, the concern for others making you suffer. They have took you for granted and you still care for ‘em, why? Don’t agonize over things too much, leave  ‘em behind, you have tormented yourself enough.”

“Yeah! You can say that but I am no saint and you know that. The people I have taken them for granted never left me, do you know why they didn’t and why it is that I should be hard on these. They were always there for me whenever I’m in need. In life, we need people, you just exist in my mind. It takes time to know who are the real ones and why are you forcing me to take hasty decisions. For heaven’s sake, I got the right to live my life as I wish, damn it.”

“Don’t be naïve, I did never usurp your being. You are important person in their lives and it is the reason why they never left you. But look at them, how many chances you give them to prove themselves as the wrong ones, breaking their vows.”

“It’s just that....”

“Nope, this time you are listening to me. How many times you feel like a sinner and shut me down. I have always tried to give you the pleasure of living, wanted to see you happy. You left gluttony at your little sister’s cry, greed at your best friend’s need, envy at the jealous people around you and you keep your pride. Sometimes you let me in and make me and you happy and the other times it’s just like this, torture. My friend! Let me tell you, there is no sin and squalor in this world. Do you hear me...?”

Those are the last words I remember and still dwindling in my mind, he induced me like a preacher...

So what do you think I’m gonna do ?

Yes, I’m gonna get some coffee.

  

Don’t worry, I will conclude...

It is my conscience which decides my life not the zombies or angels. I will do what I feel correct whether it may be devilish or heavenly. There is no sin except doing against your conscience.

Rage

and then I cursed myself, drunk to death, lost temper, kept my rage and moved on.

Maybe I thought it’s not worth to think it over, or am I scared to think about it? Is it that, am afraid, I would find myself questioning? Or I would find myself guilty. Does it happen, accused and the victim are the same Or victim is already serving his sentence without the acceptance of guilt. The feeling of being guilty makes one become the person he never thought, a demon. Why I am still scared to think of that moment which I have been through so easily? and it was like blink of an eye. I have planned and was ready for everything but that, maybe I was broken because I've planned for everything and faced the unexpected, beaten. Why my heart, or is it my mind, whatever, will not blame her. Wouldn't it be injustice that blaming myself without considering the other party? Maybe it is still in love with her. But I have burned that part of heart, a long back, how it can still love? the ashes are still there to show the burnt existence.

Is that necessary to be broken when someone hurts you, if not, why women have the power to break you like you have never imagined. Someone said, when heart breaks it doesn't make sound but pains a lot, I say that that person’s heart hasn't broken yet or he hasn't listen to his heart.