Ashtabhuj

I was working on a novel since 2011. It's a fine concept, though the idea for it is basic so I would reveal it now that I'm not planning to write it anymore. It was about two factions who were fighting for dominance, one was a secret university and the other was a corporation. The novel went into history, archeological relics and Indian folklore and beings such as Asuras, Daityas, Pishachas and others. There was a lot of tradecraft, style and adventure in the novel. Unfortunately in the present world it all becomes redundant, so I decided not to write it, even though I might write it for personal pleasure.  The deal about writing a novel is that all stories have been told before, it's how you write it, present it and the treatment you give it. At present I'm not able to exercise my imagination as I was able to do before due to the daily hand to mouth survival, but I do get ideas. I had gotten an idea for a space opera, a neo-mythological noir and some other ideas. 

I have come across comic books that effortlessly blend Indian mythology in to modernity and those which present Indian mythology with a style that doesn't look cringe and yet is stylish. The growth in me as a writer is that now I have depth. Even though language still remains a concern for me as I have not been able to be as good in English Grammar as I would like to be. Even in my daily writing, I never check or edit my drafts, and just post it. I find editing and checking my drafts as a waste of time until it is a body of work I really want to be presented well. 

Indian pop culture has collapsed. Though there are still a few comicbook companies that are producing average to good content and incorporating Indian mythology and folklore in their stories. I, however l, don't pay much attention on the collapse of Indian pop culture. I read a good comicbook when I get it, and I write, though not much of fantasy and fiction now, but I write a lot. The novel I was working on had a working title of Ashtabhuj (eight handed), which would probably also have been its final title. It was generic concept but the work I had done was good enough to make it a good, interesting novel with a lot of adventure, tradecraft, mythological and folklore elements. 

Standup Comics

People have different interests, some are movie buffs, some collect fishes, some build terrariums, some collect stamps, some read books etcetera. I like reading. I had a collection of comics when I was a kid. Recently, post coronavirus, I saw comics readers connecting with each other on Facebook. Memories of my childhood came flooding back to me when I saw them discussing comics that I had read in my childhood. It was odd at first to see grown men discussing comics books, but then I realised that they have no shame discussing comic books and actually there should be no shame. I thought, then, to rinkindle my childhood love for comicbooks. I'm not a collector anymore, and I'm unable to go deep inside comic book worlds as I used to in childhood, but my love for comicbooks is a relic from childhood that I can preserve. It is a expensive hobby, collecting comic books, so I just read them, now mostly on my kindle. The problem now is suspension of belief. In the grown up world you gotta be on your toes all the time to survive and suspension of belief becomes a very difficult then, even if you are enlightened enough to know that there is no reality. The problem with knowing that there is no reality is that other person who is neck deep in survivalistic approach and a master in crabs in the bucket game doesn't know that there is no reality. There are other more practical reasons for why I'm not able to suspend my belief for reading comics but those are political and not worth discussing. There should be no shame in reading comics at the age of 34. Why? It is better than getting involved in useless politics and harming or sabotaging others, which is a national sport in the offices and workplaces of this country. Following your hobbies is like practicing non-violence. You are putting your energy in something productive instead of getting involved in useless survival games. Though one should not believe that those who have hobbies do not play the survival game. People can have hobbies and they can be assholes. People can read comics and they can be assholes. But there is also a population with hobbies that is enlightened enough to put their energy in their hobbies instead of playing useless survival games. These people choose their corner and be in it with their hobbies. Though in this country there is no guarantee that even if you are quietly in a corner minding your own business, you won't be harmed. The soul of this country is rotten, despite having one of the best philosophy, literature, scriptures, mythology and civilization in the world. How can soul of country be rotten despite having such a diverse and rich culture? Because those who run this country believe in only three things, resources, power and pussy. A person quietly reading books and comics in a corner, minding his or her own business is not safe. But that's okay, because it is here this person gets the chance to use the superpowers he gained from the comics. 

Lithium Eon

 A blog should be presentable. Life should be happening to write a blog. People show off their lifestyles on Instagram and blogs are not a rage as they were in the mid to late 2000s. People have chosen social media on blogs. I prefer blogs and I write, mostly because in school and college I wanted to be a writer. What do you write in a blog when life is not happening but just hand to mouth? You just write your thoughts. I write a lot. I start a lot and then it takes a downward spiral into existential philosophy, not this one though, or maybe just a little. 

Even though I write a lot and have been writing since a decade, I don't want to call myself a writer because I do not fulfill my standards for calling myself a writer. This blog actually is made for being a cozy place where I discuss less of existentialism and more of things and subjects of my interests. The tragedy with me is that I unintentionally found out the knowledge that makes every good or bad thing about life redundant, but then I still have interests, mostly because I'm still breathing. My interests are mostly books and wonders of nature and the universe. I'm not a very materialistic man except for what is needed for survival and security. The past decade has not been very kind to me but then I have learnt a lot and that counts for something. As I said this blog is just my cozy place, because I write my existential bullshit elsewhere, but then as I write I realise that due to the tremendous suffering I have gone through in the past decade even my cozy place has become dark. Though hopefully I would be able to salvage it. 

Since the past few years I have been trying to salvage my interests. They are mostly comic books, off road bikes and things related to martial arts, I won't be bragging when I say that I have a tenth dan black belt in Bullshido. It's a lot of work, knowing how shit the world actually is and still trying to salvage your interests to fight off the anhedonia. I remember during college when I used to sit in the balcony and smoke Dunhills alone, listening to Kurt Cobain. I found him cool back then and listened to him because I thought I was cool. It was a great time. Looking at the night sky watching wisps of smoke from my mouth trying to reach the moon. Back then I had a lot of hope for my future. I used to think that I would be able to work in the field of neuropsychiatry and would be able to save a lot of people. But just a couple of years later the truth dawned on me that I can't save shit, I can just alleviate temporary suffering in exchange for money and I can save a few lives to extend their suffering, knowing that those who don't suffer won't be coming to me in the first place. I used to think Kurt Cobain was cool, I don't think so anymore. Now I just find him a good painter who left his masterpiece for the forensic guys. Listening to Lithium now just aggravates my dysthymia. 

Great Expectations

 You sit on the bed in a rainy weather and read Sherlock Holmes while eating biscuits. You visit a website of short stories and read beautiful short stories. You read Kafka's short stories and become fascinated. Life was so simple once, and it could have remained so, if only...! I won't have opinion about truth, I won't say wanting to know the truth is like playing with fire. Because it isn't. Truth walks with you. All the time, everytime. Personally I do not like to be delusional but I think it is an individual decision, wanting to know the truth or not, and anyway it's the truth of the world, not the Earth. It's the truth of the society, not the nature. Though what is truth of the world is also truth of the Earth, and what is truth of the society is truth of the nature, in a small way, but it is. How did life become so unlivable that a man (then a boy) cannot even read Sherlock Holmes while eating biscuits on a rainy day? The fate of Conan Doyle was interesting. And Conan Doyle gave us Sherlock Holmes. Sherlock's genius was his genius. And after dabbling in detective fiction he finally ended up in occult. I was a firm believer of the idea that intelligent men have tragic ends. An idea which is not at all correct. The actually correct idea is that moral men have tragic ends. Intelligence is a dozen a dime. Sometimes the tragic end of these moral men is so tragic that the world sees them as immoral, and they become examples of immorality for eternity. What does a man want in present days? Most would want a mancave, a mate, and gadgets other than the basic needs of food, water, clothing and shelter. My needs were as simple as this. Just like any common good modern day man. Sometimes one shoots for greatness. Did I want to become great? Yes, I was working for greatness, for this is all we are taught in schools, to aim for greatness as we read the biographies of the greats. For me political greatness was to aim for welfare of each and every citizen, and work for them to have a happy and content life. I wanted to become great as a writer or artist but I didn't know that greatness as a writer doesn't exist. Writers are foolish losers who ghostwrite for individuals who actually make writers great. All great writers are actually sacrificial lambs that have been made great to set an example of them, so that if anyone follows them, he or she comes to know what actual greatness is. Actual greatness is a mirage. The truth is dominance and not coexistence. The truth has always been dominance shrouded within coexistence. And if someone thinks they can sublimate their suffering into greatness, they must be ready for them to be made an example of for eternity. Greatness doesn't exist, but what exists are short stories and detective fiction with chocolate biscuits on a rainy day. Anyone who tells you that you control your destiny is wrong. You don't control your destiny. You control your decisions, and that too in a very feeble way. The shame that arises from wanting to be great is tremendous, especially in a world where greatness doesn't exist, only dominance does. But this shame is soothed by good books and chocolate biscuits on a rainy day, only and only if you manage to have the basics, that is food, water, clothing and shelter. You slowly realise even the basics aren't as basic as you had thought and you see yourself slowly turning into a hamster on a wheel. 

The Slice of Freedom

 Is adaptation necessary? Life can become complex. You see outcasts and you see the trailblazers. Who decides who is an outcast or who is a trailblazer? There are people who decide that. I believe in following rules and it actually is something that has brought me the most suffering, though it is a very individual thing and there is no one size that fits all. People listen and play rock music in this country, but if the same is done by a boy in small town, it won't be digestible to a lot of people. Happiness evades some people, and to them my advice would be to be happy with that situation. I love books, I have always loved them but after a point of time I realised that books are the expressions of delusions of others, either delusions or imaginations. I'm not talking about academic books here. I'm just talking about books. After a point of time in one's life, survival becomes more prominent than love and at this point in my life my love for books and stories started to fade away, not that I've ever been fan of survival. The actual reason my love for books started fading away was the realisations that books are a lie, and there are other very hard and practical reason too. Though I keep forgetting that books are escape and comfort too. One can escape into fantasy, travel the world and other worlds through books, and I have to keep myself reminding this to keep my passion for books alive. Following rules can be tricky, especially when they are conjured from the thin air for the purpose of oppressing. Not letting people read books is an old trick in the business of oppression and it is weaved into having guilt of damaging nationalistic pride by learning from other culture and if the other culture is superior then there comes the idea of being deserving to read those books and gain that knowledge. It is a political method of keeping people away from knowledge and happiness and one would have thought that these things don't happen in the present world. They happen, and a level so deep that there isn't any level deeper than that. Though the very level it happens on invalidates it, given that existence of that level is realised. What seperates a great civilization from a third world country? The fact that people in a great civilization do not shroud their base desires in morality and righteousness. The basic thing about hiding base desires behind morality is that it is, for the most part, done by scoundrels, who think they are the keepers of moral order of the society while at the same time excusing themselves of all morality and righteous thought and behaviour. When oppression becomes such that you fear learning from other cultures, or deriving pleasure from fictional works of authors from other culture while at the same time feeling that you don't deserve to read literature from other cultures (especially if that culture is perceived by some as superior to your culture) you must realise that you live in a third world. Adaptation is not necessary, it's just what gentlemen and weak do. And it's upto you to find out which of the two you are.

Nth Time

Things get weirder with time. I have a name for this blog but that would bring a lot of unsavoury memories. Who writes a blog in 2023, many would say. I do. And I plan to tackle a lot of subjects that I love in this blog, but mostly books, travelling and cultures. I'm not a foodie so food won't be here much but you never know. I said things get weirder with time, and they have for me, for I have seen such things in the past decade that would count as magic, but then magic can be called as unknown science or technology, isn't it. I read William James and felt enlightened as never before. I would like to think that there is a God, I would love it if there is a God, but in my lifetime I haven't seen his or her existence. I believe though, not in a societal God but in a very personal God, and She is female. Politically I'm an atheist, more of an agnostic actually. I like to think that people like to read in these times of video narcissism. People who read and people who read good books are my kind of people, but then there aren't good books anymore. People write, and hit a roadblock and start writing Animal Farm and Farenheit 451. Peace, I know, can never be achieved, because a select few have achieved it, and their peace depends on others not having any peace. So, in a way world peace has been both achieved and not achieved. Reading gets tiring for me now, but I know that I would always love books. Though good books can't be written anymore. A warm cozy corner doesn't exist, and those who knows this fact, actually achieve that corner. Because knowing that warm cozy corners don't exist is a achieving them. Those who do not know that warm cozy corners do not exist and actually achieve them are in an enviable position and their ignorance is what makes the world actually beautiful. I like to know cultures because there is beauty in cultures and many cultures are fast disappearing as they actually were and taking a whole different shape. But I suppose that's development. This blog presents the warm cozy corner of my life which I know that it both exists and not exists at the same time. It presents my interests which are mostly books and sometimes other things too. The totality of my experiences is riddled with suffering and this blog represents things that are not suffering and my experiences that have been forged by suffering. There is a lot of beauty in the world, and sometimes we are trapped in a position that doesn't let us see that beauty. It happens sometimes. But then we can always try to build that warm cozy corner that shields us from all the unbearable truths of this world, which are many and actually dominating. Comfortable truths have found their cozy corners and remain in it because they won't survive the reality. I don't claim that the content of this blog are true. They are what they are. Mostly my attempts at escaping some realities and also documenting some. Hopefully, I find my warm cozy corner here.

Description Writing #1

You sit on the bed, bored. The walls stare at you. The door of the balcony is open a crack and sunlight is coming through it. You have again failed to achieve your daily goal. How long is it going to last? Today is not forever and some day you will have to face the ultimate truth. The ceiling fan is whirring and you don't have even one thought in your head. You just can't overcome the daily resistance. You go to work and there is the same boring stuff. It's heavy, it sucks your soul and you do not know why, because you love your job. Probably it's the people. Hell is other people, you have read it somewhere and now you feel it in your bones that it's true. It's a daily thing for you. You get out on the road to go to work. Stop at a cigarette cart and buy a cigarette and you walk to work smoking a cigarette. While returning again you get a cigarette from the cart and walk back home. There is a lot to do at work but you feel that your world has ended. The beauty in it is gone forever. Ignorance is bliss, and your ignorance has left you a long back. Now you just have a blank mind and a daily routine. The bed is warm. You get up and close the balcony door and switch the AC on. It starts getting cooler a little bit. You pick up the water bottle from the head of the bed and have three gulps of water. You replace the cap and keep the bottle back. You have to go home tomorrow. And when you go there you don't know what to do. About ninety percent of your time goes away in dealing with things that aren't even your problems. But you have to suffer as you made those things your problems, whether intentionally or not. You come home you lay in your room, thoughtless. The baige curtains shine with the sunlight filtering through them. The dressing table and the bookshelf stand facing you. The clock on the wall shows you the passage of time. You know there is no hope, except the hope of pushing through and pushing through becomes difficult when there is no hope.