The smell of death, the touch of suffering,
The hungry mouths, the tired bodies,
This is reality, wait, its buffering.
This is what it embodies.
The sleep, the dream, the dream in the dream!
I force my memory to return to that day, that fateful night.
I feel so divorced from reality that everything seems to be from a film, some experimental film, where the maker is purposely using disjointed close ups, to display the brokenness of the characters, to make visible the dehumanising of them.
It’s like when I look at advertisements- dismembered body parts of women are made to mimic products, a torso becomes a bottle of alcohol, and two legs become scissors. The woman is not only sexualized, objectified, but her body is not even allowed to remain whole, it is sliced up. What violence!
But here in this scene the filmmaker has perceived of slicing the characters to convey to me that they are somehow not whole, they are somehow disintegrating, they are fading away. The film I see, has a burnt out texture, the whole shot seems to be fragmented; there is an emptiness evident in the mise scene; the atoms are 9.999999999999% empty, so reality is essentially emptiness and I am more not here than here.
The camera is fluid, the shots keep going out of focus and then the subject gets refocused on. Wait, is this some film festival? Nah, it’s my life, more like a snapshot of my life.
I see her face; her mascara is running down her face, she looks like some character from a horror flick. Dressed in torn jeans and a white tee, her feet bare, her messy make up, the alcohol on her breath and her cigarette smoke, they all surface at different times in my mind, like abstract close ups. They help me conjure up that very moment and I am there again.
A few weeks ago we had gone to the Police Station to file an FIR against this bastard. Not much was said that day or the following weeks of what had transpired because my sister was pretty much catatonic and has been since them, but this evening I get a call from her, drunk out of her head asking me to drop by. I ask Frank not to come as she might open up easier without a male presence, so hopping into a rick, I went straight to her Andheri apartment that she shared with Mel.
Anxiously I waited for her to get the door, and the sight that greeted my eyes shocked the living hell out of me.
Zeenia is wearing the same clothes in which she was raped and has painted her face very dramatically, presumably depicting the way she feels. I’m fucking scared. All these past few weeks what seemed like an eternity to me, she had suffered terribly from rape trauma syndrome and it has devastated us. We have all pretty much given up smiling or talking about anything normal, we just eat when hunger threatens to burn a hole through our stomach. Between Mel and me, we supervise her day and night, never allowing that one moment of weakness to overcome her. Slowly, slowly, she began to sleep for a few minutes, which has become a few hours. She’s stopped screaming in her sleep and the hallucinations about the rape have also lessened.
Only on days when we went to court, she’d be pretty much devastated to see the perpetrator sitting across the room, all smug and confident; lying through his teeth. Today the session at court was traumatic and this night is the reaction to that.
The night begins…
There are red Sula bottles strewn round the floor. I’m in Zeenia’s apartment at Yari Road, at least that’s where I think I am, my senses and understanding have abandoned me; we’re smoking spliffs and cigarettes like it’s going out of fashion.
The tiny apartment is smoky, it reeks of that cheap, sweet Sula smell that I detest; never been much of a drinker, in fact I do not care for alcohol at all, but today’s different.
Zeenia is drunk with a capital D and she keeps thrusting the bottle in my hand while petting Bhola, a stray puppy she rescued from the alleys of four bunglows. I keep sipping, knowing that she has something to say, but it is one of those things which can be mouthed out when one is sufficiently inebriated.
So I keep quiet, I drink on; we’re getting sloshed, Zeenia appears to be crying, hugging Bhola who stares at her surprised.
I see her face, a close up shot, her smeared mascara, and her face pale. What’s happened to you, my dearest friend, my sister? Why’re you wearing the same clothes? Why would you wear such ghoulish makeup?
Zeenia breaks down, she’s sobbing her eyes out. Bhola drags himself and sniffs her; he cannot walk as his hind is paralyzed, he carries his whole body weight on his front paws. There is a cello playing in the background, “Nothing else matters”, the celebrated Mettalica tune plays; there are no words, just the haunting tune spoken by the cello. It is spooky, it is surreal; eerily it plays on, the cello is hell bend on making me nauseous.
This nausea is different; it is filled with anxiety, with trepidation, with a doomsday feeling. Something bad is happening, no, no, it has happened and she is trying to tell me about it.
Birds fly high,
Heart as heavy as sinking iron.
The dusky twilight of today.
My haiku for the day, as I wait for her.
She is trying to work up the courage to speak about it, yes, something horrific has happened and she’s kept it bottled up for so long. Life as we knew it has ended, even Bhola can sense it.
Zeenia is on all-fours, on the floor, pulling her hair, screaming out in pain; all this while she was holding it in. I want to comfort her, but nausea is all I have. Where is Dadu? Where am I? Obviously not here, this body is here, pissed out of her mind, but where am I?
Am I in her scream? Am I in her pain? Am I even there? Do I even exist?
I just want to type away all this pain, yes, that’s what writers do, don’t they? A fucking fucked up cliché.
He raped me Nina, she’s saying. For the first time, I hear the words, the sinking feeling gets worse, as if it could get any worse. Since that day at the police station, she’d remained mute and unresponsive to everything, but today the flood gates have broken. I think I handled it better when she was silent, seeing her like this, with such a painful rawness is actually very scary.
Chills ran down my spine to actually hear these words- RAPE, RAPE, RAPE, it kept making a din in my consciousness. No, I did not hear it, but why is this word making so much noise, drowning everything else.
You read about rape in the newspapers, you watch it on tele, you see actors getting raped in films, you come across it in novels or short stories; but where do you encounter that word in the comfort of your own surroundings?
Such words do not perpetrate their violence in my mind when it comes to my sister.
As a writer you explore rape through different characters, you feel it deeply, but not like this.
Focus Nina, I hear a voice in my brain. Focus on what she is saying. “That bastard, he’s a fucking doctor, I trusted him…” All these words came to my ears disjointed, like a fragment from a whole dialogue but in the time they travelled to my ears these sound waves had lost most of their substance.
“How do people in positions of power abuse others so badly, I fucking don’t understand, especially women; these cunts create feminazis” shouts Zeenia. Her hands trembles as she tries to cut some white powder into straight lines. She snorts it through a crisp note, her eyes begin to water. She offers me the note; rolled up, ready to aid me in devouring some white powder.
No fucking way man, I did not yet care to fry my brain this instant, and of course the nausea is threatening to take charge. I have to keep it down. How did she get this stuff?
“Tell me all about it Zeenu, forget about the crap his lawyers are throwing at you, just tell me everything, from the beginning; he was about to operate on you, what happened?” I hear a small voice ask.
“Doctors are cunts; they probably rape patients on an everyday basis, who knows? Oh! And so are lawyers, fucking fuckballs…” she vacillates as if in a trance.
“But how, how,” I hear an insipid murmur. “How did it happen?”
“Fuck Nina, you’re just regurgitating the same shit over and over again, I was thinking about the story you wrote remember, about the rape…in the stables,” she reminds me.
I am quietened, I have no words. Yes I am dying to know how it happened, but I must not seem insensitive, as if at this point I can even feel anything. I think I officially know the meaning of hollow inside. I am guilty of writing that rape story in the stables, I am guilty, guilty…just hang me!
Once reminded of my creation of pain, I keep quiet; I know I have to pacify her, to give her some warmth. Why the fuck did I write that story? Oh Dadu, where are you now?
My mind is such a mess that right now even if Dadu appeared and spoke to me I could only materialize a vacuous stare.
Pull yourself together, that voice inside my head would just not shut up.
The scene playing in my mind, this movie I’m watching is boody nerve wracking. I want to shake this character Nina, the idiotic poet, phoo. What on Earth is her problem? Why can’t the bitch just hug her sister?
It’s as if the character in the film heard my cue. I see this Nina person slowly go up to her sister. She hugs her, it’s not a hug; it’s more of surrender. Zeenia had not expected this move, her rigid body turns limp, she surrenders to the power of human touch. The two sisters sob in each other’s arms, it’s perfect. The observer and the observed became one, for a second, I became Nina.
Nina, the writer; no big deal in a country where Chetan Bhagat is a best seller, it’s absolutely mundane now, being a writer that is. It’s officially the death of the intellectual. Besides what does this girl really write? Most would label her work as b.s, too grim, too existential (as if that’s a profanity), basically useless! Entertainment kahan gaya paaji? Fuck, fuck, fuck!
Yes I am a morose writer, a fucking retard, oh, and depressed retard!
Scream of infinite solitude,
Enmeshed in traffic of the soul,
A faint smile.
This kind of shit is running through my head, fuckity fuck!
The night drags on. It’s funny how when I have a pleasurable time, it’s gone before I can even quantify all the sensations I had felt; but when things go downhill, it’s like karma coming full-force to bite me in the ass.
Finally, we both stop sobbing!
Her voice is small, it’s in fact tiny!
I can barely hear it, although we’re so close.
“You know how fucked up this shit is, I went to consult him for that boob job, my producer finally gave me the cash…so I found him online and went ahead, those D cups were all I had in my head, I’m so fucked up, don’t shshhh me, I’m a dumb bitch. You told me not to go for it, but what was I to do. I needed bigger tits, for that fucking part. Fuck, shit’s really hit the roof. I’m fucked, fucked…” She says.
I have no response, my eyes are closed. I am not watching her face, just imagining her reactions.
I could see every single micro expression, every single movement of her jaws, of her eyes, how the lines creased in her face, I saw all the details without actually looking.
I taste Zeenia’s tears in my mouth or were they my own? I have no answers, I have just feelings. The nausea, the confusion is overwhelming and the emotions are transmigrating as words in my mind palace. I wish to document the pain of the dark night, there was an abundant amount of it and my psyche could not hold all.
I wait with bated breath for her to continue and it looks like Bhola did the same.
Her voice has a far off quality to it, like it echoes from some distant world. I listen as she continues.
“Don’t they have the bloody Hippocratic oath, practise medicine honestly, screw practising medicine, isn’t it absolutely unethical on so many grounds to sodomize your patient,” as she says this I realize she has stopped sobbing, so have I.
My eyes are still closed, I’m watching this scene as the abstract, fragmented film, all those extreme close ups to help the exposition along.
She moves away slowly, I just wait. Our embrace is broken, now we sit facing each other. I open my eyes, I see her eyes.
The pain in them is excruciating, it rips my heart apart. Looking into her eyes I know that no matter how hard I try I will never be able to pen down that emotion, that look will haunt me for the rest of my life.
Zeenia’s my baby sister, I came to the world five seconds earlier, so I’m the older sister; in any case I’ve acted like she was my choto bon.
Shey amar choto bon, boro adorer choto bon…yes, I would piss her off to no end when this song came out of my lips. Damn you Nina, cut out the didi complex, what’s with Bongs and didigiri?
And kobigiri? Kobi kobi bhab, chonder obhak. True that. What’s with all the poetry in my heart, it’d be better off being more prosaic, that’s what the world needs.
Anyway, I protected her, I supported her, I guided her; overall I performed all functions of an older sister as well as that of my mother. Dadu was always there, he was our guardian angel.
Sanity is returning slowly to me, I guess it’s the warmth from my sister’s hug. I’m inclined to ramble on, “Your tits are fine, and why did you even need to go to that asshole? I told you not to, you don’t need silicon in your tits to become an actor. You’re not a bimbo, you’re way better than that.”
Zeenu starts shrieking, “I know what you’re thinking, tell me, tell me. You think it’s my fault right?? You’re probably thinking of some fucking haiku right?”
“Nah re baba, how can it be your fault and no I’m not thinking of a fucking haiku?? Nah re shona, it is my fault. I should have insisted and when you didn’t listen I should have done something severe.”
“What severe? Tied me up?” Her voice takes on a lighter note.
“Probably, fuck knows.” A hint of a smile in my voice.
“I have made Dadu proud, gone and got myself raped.” She laughs cynically. Bhola gets excited to hear her laugh and barks loudly wagging his tail, she grabs him roughly and begins kissing him. What violent love!
“Dadu would have never judged you know that, although your desire for the film led to all this…” I murmur.
A slap is what I deserve; blurting this out was definitely not the right move.
“Desire is the root of all suffering he would say,” she smiles.
I think this night will never end and I don’t know when we passed out on the floor listening to Bob Marley- No woman no cry.
The mind is a funny mechanism, it does not remember everything, yet everything is tucked away neatly in some kind of mind palace. We remember things selectively, otherwise we’d go stark raving mad!
The scene begins to fade away, like a slow fade out. And I remember typing lines on to my laptop…
The smell of death, the touch of suffering,
The hungry mouths, the tired bodies,
This is reality, wait, its buffering.
This is what it embodies.
The sleep, the dream, the dream in the dream!
The lines disappear…
Another more menacing scene replaces this one. It has an ominous overture; the sound of water fills my ears.
You know the sound of water running in a shower.
Zeenia is inside and she is scrubbing herself furiously. We’ve lost the court case, after months of painful hours spent in court, the verdict is out. Dr. V is officially not guilty. It’s somehow proven that my sister’s the slut, apparently they had consensual sex. So the case is blown to dust, like a lamp extinguished with a puff.
That night will be embedded in my psyche forever. We’ve returned home after another god-awful day at court, and today was the last day. We have lost in the Mumbai high court. We may decide to challenge the verdict in Supreme Court, but that’s something we’ve got to decide together. For tonight, it is just silence I seek.
Melissa is Zeenia’s partner, they seem to be in love. I quite like her, the girl seems to have her head on her shoulders.
We were talking softly about nothing exceptional, in fact I did not even want to talk, but had to, Mel needed to talk and I was there.
So we spoke, sipping coffee and taking turns to pet Bhola.
I had insisted that Zeenia leave her bathroom door open, she had one too many episodes recently. The breakdown of her psyche bit by bit was becoming more evident and today in court I saw the look in her eyes- the look of defeat. It broke my heart.
I heard the water run in the shower and the words to her favourite song floated out. We kept on talking, the water kept running, the beats marched on. It was as if time was set in a loop. I registered nothing from the conversation with Melissa, I’m sure she didn’t either; we were both trying to keep from breaking down.
Then she politely asked us to leave her alone and went for a bath which seemed like ages. We also wrapped up and I went to see her to kiss her goodnight. Yes she was in bed, smelling wonderful, hugging Bhola. Kissing her I left, Mel went into the shower, finished up and crawled into bed.
That night I saw baba and ma in a dream, it was prophetic. I ran after being woken up by my dream and the thoughts that followed. I went into her room.
The air had turned chilly, if that was even possible in a city like Bombay; and I miss you like the deserts miss the rain, said the song.
We ran. I saw this happening in slow motion. My life in film- we ran to the bed, and what I had expected greeted my eyes.
She lay on the bed, all snugly hugging her Bhola who was not making any noise.
Mel shrieked Frank ran in; I don’t know what happened after that. Some sort of primeval hardwiring in my brain took care of things.
Zeenia’s mouth was wiped dry, she had to be changed into jeans and a sweatshirt; after cleaning her up, her clothes sat snugly on her body as we put her down in the couch.
I remember seeing her face, all the troubles had vanished, and she seemed to be in deep sleep. I remember Dadu singing “Amaro shone chandero kona, bhubone tulona nai re…”
He sang this song sometimes; it was apparently our mother’s favourite, her mother would sing it to her when she was a child.
Where is she? I barely remember her now, but she’s there somewhere in my psyche; sometimes I hear her sing, her smell, her touch, for a micro second I remember.
Today she had come to see me, in my dream. She had told me something which made absolutely sense- you are her, she is you…
The reality was beginning to fragment again, my head was spinning and I could hardly focus as parts of my dream danced around my mind.
I imagined her last moments; she kept her pills hidden somewhere, maybe in the cistern. I see her take out a fistful, while her tears and water all get mixed up, you’d know she’s crying if only you watched the agony on her face.
She stuffs the pills in her mouth, chokes on them but swallows them down. Reflex action, she feels like throwing up. But she clutches her mouth, forcing them down.
I cut back in my mind to another scene, we’re sitting in the bathroom floor, she’s fallen flat on her face, she’s hurt, purple blue bruises adorn her face.
“Please Zeenu, stop taking this shit. Are you trying to leave me alone, do you want to kill yourself?” I tell her.
Suddenly a smile breaks free from all this torment; she whispers softly, her voice like silk.
“Nina to be something I am not is also a form of suicide, listen I want to hand in my resignation from this fucked up life, before I get fired.”
I hear her laugh softly as if this idea had amused her.
“Quite the philosopher, to be or not to be,” I say.
“Has always been the question,” she says definitively.
“Don’t do anything stupid ok, remember what Dadu would say, all this shit is unreal.” She sensed the urgency; the request in my voice touched her somewhere I know.
She looked at me long and hard, “I’m the fucking poster girl for stupid at this moment,” She thinks, probably about Dadu as her face softens. “I doubt Dadu would quite put it like that, but I get the gist.”
We sit in silence on the cold, wet tiles, we embraced our tears instead of suppressing them and calm washed over us.
“Some fucked up illusion this is…why can’t something good happen to me for a change? She blurts out; I feel her heartache. “At least your Muffin has nine lives right, can’t he give me a couple?”
I smile. Do cats have nine lives?
Mel is touching my hands, she is trying to bring me back to the present moment. I cut back to the scene in front- my sister’s body is stone cold, she finally did the “stupid” thing.
Was it so stupid after all? My grandmother also handed her resignation and so had her father; after all we share the same mitochondrial DNA.
Somehow this incident had made Zeenia hate herself, it made her hopeless; I did not understand what could make her as full of despair as to end her life, not just hers, but end our lives.
After Dadu’s passing, she is, I mean was all I had. I’m still not used to referring to her in the past.
I can still feel her vibrations; our feelings exist as vibration along the nervous system and we feel what another feels. I feel my sister.
I hear the sound of an approaching ambulance; she will be taken away soon. Bhola is whining, his tail stiff and he just keeps licking Zeenu’s hands.
Mel was ready when they walked in, thankfully she sorted everything out. She tugged at my hands and nodded, signalling it was time to move.
I got up zombified, it was time.
The journey to the hospital is hazy, a blur in my mind.
I remember her body being carried in a stretcher, with tubes all over her nostrils and face.
What the hell were they doing to her?
It looked to me like some scene from a D-grade horror; hospitals sicken me to the core. It’s a bloody phobia-
I had this phobia all along which is why I had googled it; it was at least a comfort to know I am not alone.
They say that the fear essentially arises from the fact that one has no control over their lives once admitted.
A control freak, I’m not! It didn’t take me long to realize that nothing is under control and in fact nothing can ever be.
All I can recollect is sitting on a steel bench in the corridor; it’s flooded with lights, the walls are white, and everything smells disgusting! The Doctors in their garbs, mouths covered, the nurses in their uniforms, hair tied severely in a bun, they all looked scary and ugly; all the action was happening in slow motion and it looked like they were experimenting on humans. Maybe they’re aliens, who even knows?
Something about the smell in a hospital, a mix of Dettol, bleach, blood, sweat, puke and faeces; you can also smell the fear, the anxiety, the devastation disease and bodily suffering brings.
And then it just goes blank- fade to black.
Nothing else exists- not matter which is just a form of energy in a matrix of probability.
I see Dadu, his big, white beard swaying in the dark; a fire seems to burn in front of him, I can hear the wood crackle, I can see the fire dance in his eyes. He begins to look like someone not quite like Dadu, but he is him.
Dadu’s face began to morph into the face of Sanyal Mahasaya, his gurudeva. I knew that face only too well; it had been a part of my life as seeing it as the first thing in the morning cemented that face forever in my brain.
Sanyal Mahasaya looked wrathful, fearsome and terrifying. His voice was booing in my head, “Actions or karma can cause bondage, it can also liberate, in the one BEING, the ONE ALL, everything is connected to every other thing. Good and evil are subjective…the Universe is both positive and negative, like the atoms bouncing in your body…it is the whole series of contrasted qualities- NOTHING IS PURE GOOD OR PURE EVIL.”
I saw her face again; the song is playing louder now that the monologue is over, like the sound designer turned it up a notch!
“Now you’ve disappeared somewhere,
Like outer space,
You’ve found some better place
And I miss you…
Like the deserts miss the rain
Could you be dead…
By now the words had begun to scream at me- could you be dead??
It hit me hard- she is dead!!!
I will never hold her again, I will never laugh with her again, never share my life with her again; the same way I can never see Ma or baba or dadu.
It’s over, finito, kaput!!!
I see her again, frothing from the mouth, her body all twisted and blue from the poison, I feel the nausea swimming in my head.
I think about the observer’s paradox, this concept that the observer decides what to observe. What if I am observing all the wrong things??? There are infinite probabilities, so why is this option playing itself out??
Am I in some bizarre twisted way responsible for this? Can I take the blame for this?
I am ready to do pretty much anything at this point to suppress this immense pain; absolutely anything! Muffin where are you?
I’ve got to write, the words are coming, but not as fast as I’d like them to.
I shout, I see it, I hear it,
The pain, the atrocity, it exists….
HELP ME PUBLISH!
SUPPORT ME AND MY CREATIONS!!! firstname.lastname@example.org
Nothing in life ever made sense, everything was too arbitrary, too random, too chaotic. There was a larger pattern somewhere there, I knew it, I sensed it. But how could I find that design? I knew somethings were connected and sometimes events and scenarios repeated themselves. Why? I’d ask myself. What on Earth was the connection?
But the connection was not just on Earth you see! The connection is quantum, the connection is everything. Looking up at the sky, I knew that there were stories there. There was a pattern up there I realised, but did that pattern somehow relate to the one below.
Then I discovered astrology. I think I was sixteen and it changed the way I looked at life. The planets above spiralled through the highways in space and entered different signs. Sometimes they appeared to go retrograde. No they are not moving backwards, they just appear thus to us.
The situations and scenarios that led me here have to do with the veil lifting slowly. Yes the pattern exists. I was ecstatic. Kinda EUREKA moment there! AS ABOVE SO BELOW. The natal chart became a fascination for me- mine, my mom and dad’s, my baby brother’s. I became obsessed reading all kinds of astrology books.
II used to go to the National Library, which is the largest library in Asia to study up on the occult. Astrology was a favourite. Things started to fall into place and in fact this perusal of this ancient subject got me more and more interested in spirituality.
By then Blavatsky had happened to me. Bailey opened my mind to ESOTERIC ASTROLOGY and till today I have not stopped learning from them. HPB has made herself known to me through many meditations, channellings and writings which I will share with you as and when she asks me to.
Her first instructions came when I was asked to open this group on FB around nine years ago I think.
Again I divert. Back to how astrology not only made me connect to the COSMOS in an abstract way, it also directly connected me to my ANCESTORS. Developing my psychic gifts have opened up so many portals, so many narratives and meta-narratives, so many visions and illusions, so many worlds and Universes. Every human being is gifted with this psychic capability and BECOMING AWARE and BE-NESS(state of just being) are steps to come closer to these powers. They will manifest in everyone in due time.
My mom left today. She was with me for the past month and a half and today she is gone. sit on my WC and howl my lungs out. The cry is primal, it is raw and it is NORMAL(especially under a Pisces Moon, ah, it is also the last Moon to conjunct Chiron, in Pisces as well). Crying and letting go of emotions is very healthy. Do not stop anyone from crying, let them CRY for fuck’s sake, there is too much Pisces going on here. ha! Their tears are cosmic healers. The tears will not only cool your breasts as they fall on your chest, they are the balm the Universe is sending you. Let them come, let the floodgates break. This primal feeling took me back to the Scorpio full moon we just went through. Boy! Was that heavy!!!
The Gemini season is lighter, less intense, but it is intense when the Moon in Pisces squares Saturn in Saggy.
But still I cry…I cry for all the time lost, the useless harsh words uttered by me in moments of rebellion(very strong Uranian energy), the intense events that I afflicted on her(Moon in the 7th can do that for you, especially if it happens to be your SEVENTH HOUSE).
I cried for my lost childhood and I cried for my daughter. Her granny is her whole world you see. I cried for all the lost hugs and kisses, all the sweet stories and tea-parties, all the lullabies and playing dressing up.
I cry for the LOSS OF INNOCENCE, I cry for IMPERMANENCE! Because as a mortal, nothing scares me more that these shifts. I know not that everything is a vibration, pure mathematics. I only know of emotions and raw feelings- of pain, loss, suffering(Pluto aspects in the natal chart do this) and of course of love and bliss. But every feeling, every sensation is TEMPORARY.
No matter how strongly I try to hold on to it, they just disappear, like evanescent bubbles, each bubble a Universe unto itself. So many Universes coming into being and then dissipating while new ones appear.
As you are well aware, I have been doing these special RELEASE and FORGIVE meditations since February. It is done to FORGIVE ones parents. We have to forgive our parents for every thing we may blame them for consciously or unconsciously. You know that as we have spoken in-depth about this.
You know how everyday I have created this sacred spot for you where you and baba have visited. I have surrendered all my anger and resentment maa, you know that. With each meditation, I have released you from any known or unknown karmic ties of suffering that I might have unleashed on you. In turn all I ask is your forgiveness. I know you have always, already forgiven me. The Dasein has anticipated your forgiveness ahead of time.
This meditation that I created to forgive you made me overcome so many psychological repressed issues that I finally let go. I wrote about it, I meditated on it and cut the toxic chords forever. I have grown maa, ready to take flight on my wings and be the butterfly you wanted me to be.
This overwhelming crushing sense of loss at you leaving has left me so vulnerable, that today I understand that the meditation has opened up this block and today I experience FORGIVENESS as I have never done before. The intensity was rapturous. A rush of endorphin, Release of serotonin. Oxytocin.
Maa today I cry as I know that our story must end one day and that breaks my heart. I know we have had a complicated herstory. I know ma. Lilith in Cancer can do that you know. See this placement of Lilith means that the mother will sooner or later, through her action, words or deeds hurt the person!
Yes maa I was hurt and I hurt you. I took your protective love to be oppressive when I should have looked at the scenarios with less selfishness and more compassion. Today I know what it means to be a mom as I cuddle my daughter in my arms, as I smell her hair, as I listen to her sing to me or when she kisses me. I know how mothers feel. I know how you felt.
Maa you have a sensitive artist’s soul and no one can hold a candle to your illumination. Your heart always so full of live and wonder! You are a gift! To me from the Universe. Maa you have been my first Guru, my first spiritual guide.
From teaching me Shiv Puja to Adyastotram, from taking me to yoga classes since I was ten, to making sure I meditate daily during my school and college life. Maa today I see how important you have been in my spiritual journey. You are irreplaceable in every way.
You know maa, as a child I had this inexplicable fear of losing you. It was my worst fear and you know what as I explore this spiritual vibe, I can tell you that although I know how interconnected life and death are, it still makes my heart skip a beat when I think that one day you might not be there.
As the North Node has entered Leo, everyday I am becoming more of me and today I forgive you for every bloody thing. And maa, today I am sending spirals of love vibration to all the women I have shared my mitochondrial DNA with. I love you all.
Thank you ~~tintin
I want you to know that you are a part of my soul tribe and you are truly a remarkable woman. You lost two children and still continued to spread your love and light to the world. Your contribution will never be forgotten while me and my daughter are alive.
Your stories will live on through the mouths of my descendants I promise you that for you may have ended just this life, not the IN-finite fractals of narratives and meta narratives we have created through incarnations.
I met you in one of my most intense regression sessions last week. You are a part of my 144! Gita, I release you from all stigma, shame and guilt that society may have thrust upon you. I also release you from every karmic pain and attachment I might have inflicted on you knowingly or unknowingly.
I ask for your forgiveness and readily forgive anything and everything for LOVE is all I feel. You see nothing matters except the huge samsaric seas of consciousness where we have forayed together since infinity.
Gita I love you and always will.
Thanking you deeply~~ tina
You left leaving me hollow from inside. Your stories, your songs, your spiritual side, left a profound impact on me. There is so much to say today and I wish you could see the work I am doing. I know you knew where I was headed.
Your fascination for books and literature amazes me today. What depth of knowledge you had about Bengali literature and culture. What insights and you never shied away from providing me with guidance.
The paternal grandfather is the 10th from the 10th = 7th house and the Moon sits in my seventh house. The Moon(SUBJECTIVE MIND) has to do with INTUITION and you have helped me immensely to develop that gift.
You have meditated with me as a child. You have shown me the details of havan and puja. Namita I know you have suffered, but each time you have opened your heart and let the light shine through the crack and you have taught me the same.
I have learnt to open my heart from you. I pay homage to you and your mother Namita and all the great women who created you and me in turn. I send you spirals of love energy.
I bow down to all the mothers and grandmothers of my lineage going back to 14 generations and beyond. I salute you and your femininity.
I bow down to all the mothers and grandmothers out there, through all of space and time.
I bow down to the original FEMALE who is all our ancestor.
I bow down to the MOTHER MATRIX or DEVI energy.
I bow down to you in reverence as I am a vibration of you, as you are of me. We are FRACTALS of that ONE CONSCIOUSNESS swimming through SPACE. We are the Universe watching itself.
Blessed by the Sun in Gemini, this is my offering….I don’t know why but I compelled to urge you to CONNECT with your MOTHERS and GRANDMOTHERS~~Please call them…please…
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Rajani and the twins moved from their gigantic ancestral home to a modest apartment,
He continued working, but had lost interest. Only two clients remained with him, the rest hired his son who now also usurped his office. So with a very modest salary he began to educate and care for his granddaughters. He became father and mother, friend and teacher; he became their anchor in the stormy sea of life.
It would be time for weekly nail cutting, ear cleaning, hair oiling sessions; amidst squeals and protests, he would pacify them singing, shohe na, shohe na, kande poranooo with dramatic eye movements and wild gestures, especially when they tried to tell him to stop, that had them rolling on the floor laughing.
Slowly but surely, the trio began to put the past behind them and move on. The girls taught him to laugh again, to live again; life had given him a second chance to bring up his two girls again, he just wished Sita could experience this life with him.
He took them to Benaras, BodhGaya, Hrishikesh and Haridwar; they went to so many places in their country, even remote ones where tourists don’t usually set foot.
They’d be lost in the world of Hanuman as he destroyed Lanka, they’d be crying as Ravana abducted Sita, they’d be deeply moved when Karna would be going to battle against Arjuna knowing he’d lose, they’d be fuming with anger when Duryodhana insulted Panchali and time would fly as dadu would read to them the Ramayana, the Mahabharata, the Bhagvadgita and other sacred texts. The way he could tell the story, the simplicity, yet, the profundity in them, deeply touched the girls. Even while imparting knowledge from the Upanishads, he tried to make it as palatable as possible for the children, tell me how do you explain Tat Tvam Asi to seven year olds, yet not only did he try, it’d be fair to say, he succeeded too.
He could see his daughter Mita in the girls, different attributes of her visible in each girl.
He loved Nina’s poetry, she had rawness to her emotions, something primordial to the way she described reality even in that young age; surely poetry was to be her meditation and so it was.
The chotto ektakar shingara and the radhaballi,
Inhabiting my Sundays, my frenemies.
She’d written this haiku, barely aged seven and it made him laugh. She’d captured something of Kolkata in those lines; she’d grabbed a slice of their times together as they strolled down Sarat Bose Road on sultry lazy Sundays.
It’s absolutely true that nowhere except Kolkata do you get that tiny shingara or samosa for one rupee, it has peas in it and the Bongs cannot have enough of it. And what of the Radhabollobi? Try it, you’ll see. You may get acidity, but it’ll be worth it, vouches every Bengali.
Rajani loved these girls like he had loved their mother, but being a very enlightened soul he treated them all alike, even Arunava, but at times he was left wondering as to where he went wrong with that one. But Mita was his pet; he had a special soft corner in his heart for his eldest.
None had his spiritual depth except Mita and this bonded them immensely, every time he saw her, his heart wanted to embrace her. Khuku, he called her, his little girl and she was so much like him.
“Aye khuku aye…” he would play this song in the gramophone and Hemanta’s voice would flood the house.
She had his striking peaches and cream skin and almond shaped eyes like the goddess Durga, with abundant tresses swimming down to her knees and an hour-glass body which was as ageless as Time itself and looked like some Kumartuli’s sculptor was sculpting Maa Durga from clay. Shakkhat Maa Durga, people would comment.
Yes, she was breathtaking! Her intellect was sharp; she was thoughtful, critically questioning and deeply analytical. Many an afternoon was spent in discussing literature, philosophy, poetry and the scriptures of all religions. Her father enjoyed immensely the display of perspicacity while she explained some particular issue, idea or philosophy, her face shining red with passion and emotion. What radiance! Then she fell in love with Shubho at Scottish Church English honours class.
It was an exam. John Osborne’s play, “Look Back in Anger”, was the monster in question and 100 marks were at stake. Mita had not studied this play and her paper sat blank. She spotted Shubho in front scribbling away with immense concentration. She poked him a few times. He looked back and couldn’t take his eyes off her. In a state of suspended bliss, he handed her the paper. She took it with a squeal of laughter which thrilled him to the bone, and began to rewrite it in her words.
Now let’s fast forward, SHUBHO and MITA are married in Kartik purnima, the full moon beckoned a life of abundance and plenitude for them.
As Mita adorns Shubho’s neck with the baramala and the shubhodristi happens where they gaze into each other’s eyes, it’s like a dejavu. The breeze outside caresses his hair while he stands there looking at her, she’s carried on a piri by her brothers, uncles and cousins and her eyes are between two paan leaves and in that moment they both knew that no matter what life would bring it would be worth nothing without the other.
Mita gets pregnant which turns out to be pretty complicated with twins sharing the same amniotic sac and placenta, throughout the seven and a half months, she’s under strict supervision and spends much of her time reading, writing and talking to her daughters. During the course of her seven month pregnancy she almost dies twice and the lives of the twins are threatened, but she manages to trick fate into submission.
These girls, they had to see the sky wearing the bright blue cloak of a spring day, they had to experience the rain on their faces, caressing sometimes or slapping away, soft some days and as pokey as thorns on others. They had to see the cheetah run, they had to eat tangra macher jhol, oh, life in its complexity and multitudes had to be experienced by them, she thought.
Karma my dear friends had other plans. Mita and Shubho die tragically young, leaving behind only Rajani to take care of the twins. Their disappearance happened in Kedarnath temple during an annual pilgrimage they always undertook.
Rajani had to don the parent costume once again, this time for Nina and Zeenia and he was determined to play the role to perfection this time. As perfect as it could be! So now to get back to the story. Dadu is what Nina calls Rajani, the Bengali appellation for grandfather.
As she sits in front of this dead body, she thinks of her dadu. He would know what to do; he always knew what to do. Such were Nina’s thoughts. Delusion arises from anger, Dadu told her one day as she was furious with Joida, the Oriya driver who had not given her a minute to stand and chat with her friends after her Rabindra-sangeet class at Dakshini, to top it off he had the gall to speak rudely in front of them.
The dominoes fell,
The words like torrents
It was inevitable.
She’d written this haiku she remembered for the occasion.
Joida loved her as his own daughter and that was the excuse for the harsh treatment. She had almost wanted to slap Joida. But Dadu intervened. “Little one your mind is bewildered by delusion. You think that Joi is being pushy, but actually he is just trying to protect you. See, you lost your reasoning as your mind was bewildered…and one falls down, when reasoning is destroyed.” Dadu fell on the floor dramatically.
That made Nina smile even in her malaise as she sat in limbo, with dried blood on her hands. She deliberated with the thought of saying, “Out, damned spot,” but then decided against it. The dead body just lay there. Her hallucinations where he wakes up as some terrible ZOMBIE in a B-Grade film and chews her down bone by bone is funny, she observes. I can have funny thoughts, even in this scenario.
Then she notices that there were many parts of her, or no, there are many Nina’s inside of her, ambiguous and confused, each thinking that random thought while observing the others and then she notices that there is a Nina who’s also observing, but she has no thought as the others did, no opinion. She just watches. Not for the first time Nina could distinctly hear the separate voices- how diverge, how contradictory, how ironic were they, but this time there was a force to them that was lacking in the past. She tries to swallow, but her tongue sticks to her insides, parched and dry, it desperately needs some water.
The young housekeeping attendant is right outside Nina’s room and would have turned away, but a trickle of blood manages to seep outside. The attendant examines it carefully, and then thinks of what to do. Should he go and inform his supervisor? No he decides against it and taking a master key from his supply trolley, he puts it in the key hole and turns it.
The scene which greets his eyes chills him to the bone and a blood curdling scream escapes his lips shattering the quiet of the early morn. He looks ridiculous, scared out of his wits, barely coherent in his thoughts, he looked like a two year old who had seen a ghost in a Paranormal series on telly.
It’s Nina who surprises me. She didn’t even bat an eyelid at the shrill shriek. She just sits there, stares at her abyss. What did she see?? The abyss staring back??
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The hunger in her soul, the song in her eyes, and the vibration of her heart called out to me from the hologram.
What hologram? The one you exist in my friend!
It’s the cosmic television, like the one you stare at for hours every day. What else do you do when you return home from work after a long tedious day? TELEVISION na?
That same kind of television; imagine it in a slightly grander scale, nope, maybe not just slightly, imagine it to be grander on an unprecedented scale!
A cosmic television! Aha!
You experience me and your three dimensional space as you do images on the T.V.
Listen listen, at this level, everything there is, was or could be exists as a super-holographic sequence. Everything exists simultaneously. The albatross of doom over your head?
Forget that bird, listen carefully. These lines exist now and have always existed, in a sense I have always been talking to you, you in the hologram, me in it, sometimes out of it, nope I’m in it too; she is a hologram.
I don’t know quite how to explain it,
Something in her craving for truth, something in the way she depicted existence called out to me. A very abstract, unquantifiable sentiment entangled the abstract in me. Things don’t usually impact me as they do you.
I am myself an abstraction concretized!
This Book of Life and Death may give you some answers. Are you looking for answers? If not then bandh karo and chalo.
A story it will be, yes definitely! Let it oscillate in your mind. Let it do the disco dancing.
The ouroboros of a story, without a beginning or an end! Now you’re confused. Don’t be it’s just a story or is it? But while observing this story, remember, I take the artistic liberty to leave anything out, the very subtle nuances, the finer intricacies are often not done justice with words; soak the emotions up, let them begin to ferment in your mind and sprout ideas, thoughts, actions like a bean when soaked in water overnight; such strangeness does exist and such a strange narrator may or may not.
Time, time, time, cut its throat,
Derelict dreams, dysfunctional dilemma.
In the beginning was the word and then I appeared as the silent witness of all this mess, , the frequencies or sound in the light and the vibrations or light in the sound.
Mighty civilizations have appeared and disappeared without a trace, Zeno’s paradox has been thought of, if everything has a place, then place must also have a place, yes or no, to ad infinitum; the megaliths of Puma Punku have been built but now lie scattered as shattered memories of a bygone past that no one knows anything of, the dinosaurs have roamed the Earth and have been destroyed on the Western Ghats, the Kumari Kandam was lost to the sea taking with it a chunk of land from what you call India, and of course emperors, maharajas, kings, Prime Ministers have been assassinated, dethroned under my watchful gaze.
Listen to this, it’s her poetry. These few lines she wrote that had this stark honest, raw and original feel to it, yes, it made sense in all the nonsense and it made me want to collect this in the Book of Life and Death.
The human body is the war ground of Kurukshetra,
Reality lies is the five senses,
I see you, I hear you, I feel you, I smell you and I taste you!
In the world of dreams there are no differences,
I still see you, I still hear you….you get the gist!
The dream world is full of thoughts,
They are like drops from an ink pen, falling blot after blot,
They are like smoke from an incense, here one minute, gone the next.
They are like lightning, you see it for a nano second,
They are like thunder; you hear it, loud and clear, but then just the sound of the rain.
I am vexed!
These thoughts, they are my defence, my escape, my dream.
It was her grandfather, a kriya yogi, one of Babaji’s very own crusaders, who told her this truism as she crunched autumn leaves under her feet; the sound thrilled her to the very bottom of her soul- crunch, crunch, crunch!
Yes the human body is the esoteric Kurukshetra, more on that later. Who is Babaji? Even I don’t know.
Think about it, think long and hard,
Of the fragments, the notes all jarred,
The way things are designed, the way things feel,
In reality, there are no eyes, no ears, no mouth, no tongue, and no touch!
Is this a little too much??
Only electrical stimuli interpreted by our brain,
Do not ridicule this concept, do not think it insane!
You’re definitely wondering how you got stuck in here? Reading these lines and for what…do not despair my friend, it’ll be well worth your time, just read on, enjoy a writer’s psychosis.
There is no material reality,
I am asleep, I am dreaming, I do not realize,
That all is just perception!
These words they create just the sensation, an awareness of stimulation!
Now I wake up from this dream,
I seriously think I have entered another one,
The so-called real life, I hear it scream!
What is this life, but a dream? Do not for one minute think that your dream world is any more real than this solid physical world you inhabit, in fact the Sun, the Moon and the real you are all hidden away; it is every bit as real, yet, unreal. Makes no sense, it probably never will, but just read on…sapna, sapna, sapna…
Now this, it seems as true as my dream world,
How am I to know the difference?
My reality is blurred, it swirls and twirls.
This world is nothing but a habit,
Our belief, our dogmas, our prejudice!
A futile edifice, a worthless emphasis, an abject sedative
Form = emptiness, emptiness = form
Emptiness is not separate from form, form is not separate from emptiness…all is nothing and nothing is all.
Whatever is form is emptiness, whatever is emptiness is form, you know that the atom that you’re made of is empty, yes, my friend, mostly empty. Hulk-like we stay in the understanding that the body is solid, but it’s not.
The brain is not the Perceiver or the Perceived!
Who am I?
What is this world?
Who are you?
Who thinks these thoughts?
Who is this ME?
Who is writing these words?
To what avail?
I’m just a ghost in the machine,
An echo of an echo of an echo,
Reverberating through time and space!
Who is this seer?
Who contemplates this Universe to be unreal?
Who has all these thoughts in the head?
Only questions and never an answer!!!
A man and his thoughts are indefinable, and why so, because in the beginning he is nothing. His identity is shaped by what he can conceive of for himself; imagine all the poets and novelists creeping through the alleys in the urban atrocities looking for inspiration, staring at hollow faces coveting their neighbours meals or wives, the morbid fascination to see accidents, CSI shtyle. The flâneurie you take, to clear your mind, but there are questions and more questions…how is the human reality carved out from this nothingness?
Yoni shariram- the form appears from the vagina of Gaia,
Of Dharitri, of Zemia, of Erde, of Terre…
She is the mother, the sanctum sanctorum of creation.
This human body is the cause of such conflict,
There is segregation, separation and destruction,
In her very womb, we have been tricked by addicts of violence.
For a split second during meditation,
Comes the realization-
It is the Atman,
Matter has no self governing existence,
All things perceived, interpreted and seen,
Is a dream within a dream, a dream within a dream…?
The Indian subcontinent is the setting. It’s an oxymoron really- the youngest country, the oldest civilization!
The Sapta Sindhu is the beginning point in this case, then mutated to the India you see today the children of Lord Macauley, yes, you; at one point it was taken over by the East India Company, it’s holy books misinterpreted, unbridled fabrication of its history by so-called scholars who sought to assuage the Imperial agenda. The modern Indians, good little examples of Macauley’s vision; Pygmalion of the British Raj, just perfect, innit?
Bapuji Gandhi, assassinated, yup shot through the heart by Godse, GOD SAY?? Subhas Chandra Bose taken out of the equation, “Give me blood and I’ll give you freedom,” his naares did not do him much good, Delhi chalo, a flop show. The resilient cries of Vande Mataram drowned to the gunfire of the English army; what else could be expected? The British crown required the Kohinoor, which was just a drop in the pond, but you see why they had to control Bharata. Silks, spices, treasures, ancient texts, secrets, UFO anti-gravity technology and what not!
And then the finale- the unrestrained Anglicization of a country steeped in timeless tradition and time-honoured culture where every Indian was made to feel ashamed of their skin colour, clothing, customs, mores, literature, traditions, values and hoary heritage. Brownies were good as kerani, slaves, considering themselves as babus, who were created to suck up to their English civilized lords, the great white civilization.
Sycophants gathered in large numbers to appease the egos, fill up the stomachs and pockets and offer their heads and arses (maybe not literally, bloody buggers) in return to the Angrezi Babus. For what? Goods, ideas, concepts from vilayet! Aha! What amazing things they had and yes it was deemed to sell off the country piece by piece for these lovely things and for progress.(???)
The body of ancient Bharatvarsha hacked to create Pakistan and Bangladesh, its bleeding remains termed as secular India.
A new era began with the corporate takeover and rampant Americanization, you’re all living in America, HAARP and underwater nuclear detonations creating Tsunamis, the death industry of Macdonald’s and KFCs, fast food bhaiyaji, engineered famines with the Monsantos of the world, Islamic jehadis and Durga Vahinis, unrest and suspicion, religious intolerance and forced conversions, death and destruction, Nehru’s dynasty and Mohandas Karamchand Gandhi’s legacy of khadi and molestations, Congress under an Italian and BJP under the butcher of Gujarat as the country jostled and elbowed its way into the twenty-first century to sit at that table with the big white boys; witness, I was to it all and will continue to be….
The H-Bomb at work almost destroyed what you humans built, but do you seriously think this was first time in history that such a disaster occurred- nuclear weaponries have been used before in this very subcontinent. Yes my friend…Now I am become Death, the destroyer of world, yes Opperheimer, you can be the key to destruction of your world in your times. I have seen it happen and we’ve all been destroyed by it until another dawn awakens to the call of the creator. A new hologram is fractalized!
The watcher must now be a narrator and I must say it as I see it, Time for you right now is anthropomorphized.
Impatient kya boss? What about the story?? It’s coming, wait for it or you want it instantly. In this age of instant coffees and instant karmas, do you want an instant story as well?
Let’s do some akkar bakkar for a little bit more; arre don’t be so grumpy, chumpy. Humour me. Tick, tock, tick tock, it goes on and on in your psyche. Think hard, who am I?
Got it? Or no? Well…
You are in fact my slave, from the aam admi to the Prime Minister with his acche din slogans, from Mr. Mukesh Ambani cocooned in his billions of dollars Antilia, to the hungry beggar on the street. I rule your life, your little everyday existences.
I keep everything from happening at once. You can’t even imagine what chaos that is. Measuring me through the clock or your wrist watch all day, do you now know who I am, can you at least guess. I think you’ve got it, so do you know me?
But of you, I know all, every little detail.
Your little human condition, your little miseries, your tiny triumphs, your pathetic tears, your belly rumbling laughter, does have a way of making the world go round the Mulberry bush, you get the drift?
Well I have all the time, so let’s begin.
Funny concept, can time have time? Can an infinity be greater than another infinity? You smirk, but trust me the world is far magical than you have been made to believe, haan ji haan, sure it’s about cheque books and Kaun Banega Crorepati, but it’s also about altered states of consciousness, states you cannot ever envisage. Life is not about black and white or green and red, it is shades of colour you cannot ever hope to see with your eyes, life has colours you can never hope to smell, taste or touch. Yes colours can be felt in those ways, just not in your world! And in some worlds I am not as relevant as yours, and in some I have no relevance! I do not exist!
Do not go all freaked out on me, can you not imagine TIMELESSNESS; but it exists, I warn you, especially those OCD freaks out there, desperate to control everything.
Enough of meandering….
So who am I? Let me formally introduce myself. I am TIME and as promised I do have a story, a juggernaut of a story, an unstoppable monster and you’ll be forced to submit like wide-eyed little chunnu-munnus listening to your nanis at bedtime.
Twins. Rape. Murder.
Bollywood, breast augmentation, brainfart.
Poetess, plastic surgeon and the Sleeping Beauty.
Come on now, I know I have you! A violence-loving society like the one you’ve built starts salivating at all these contextual concepts when thrown at you. Murder is sweet, but mutilation is sweeter.
Blood and gore thrills you, outrageous humiliation of the body sends tingles through your spine, so stop this bourgeoisie sensitivity where you appear dismayed by such plots, but deep inside you can’t wait to curl up with your Sidney Sheldon! or Shobha De!! or Chetan Bhagat!!! by your bed side, reading about sex, rape, murder, call centres where Arun is called Aaron leading to a suppressed pathological schizophrenia, cheating on your spouse, wife swapping with keys and other new born urban atrocities.
It’s not every day that TIME tells you a story, a story about infinite probabilities.
A bit about me, saale, haramzade, time waste mat kar! A note in the Book of Life and Death!
I have existed for eternity. To you the word eternity probably will have some signifier, what can a finite mind grasp of the infinite?? Still I ask you to think about it. Think of something that never ends. Is that even possible, you ask?? The cogitation must never cease.
You think, therefore you exist, right??? Or you eat and defecate, therefore you exist, or is it copulation which cements your existence?
But what is the point of a process if it never ends; you will think to eternity about one question or be involved in sexual intercourse for all times(it’s not even a possibility) or eat yourself to death.
Does that mean you exist or not? Is it just the process of cogitation or copulation that makes you “exist” or is it the cogitative/copulative subject that’s important?
The journey or the result? A particle or a wave? Or a bubble?
Haramkhor time, procrastinating must have been my invention.
Mankind has managed to fall from an incredible level of sophistication to a dark age of barbarianism, like the age you’re an inhabitant of. It is a cycle- civilization and destruction!
Anyway, even though you did not exist, TIME was always already there! There is no escaping that idea.
I was born too you know, not as a babe from a mother’s womb, but as a concept from your mind.
To let you into a secret, I did not always exist. All I know is that this visible world is finite and periodical and so am I. I exist because of you.
I am born and then just like you gone with the wind; believe it or not, you and I are same in this way- WE ARE MORTAL!
This cycle of birth and death of TIME is the alpha and omega of recreating worlds. So in truth, you and I are finite, but IT, infinite.
A linear sequence of events is how you’d describe Time, but what happened when you were not there to count, the Big Bang baba? How did I exist?? So in a way, my dear friend, I exist in your memory and expectations, so essentially I live with you and die with you. Do not think this idea to be so far-fetched, even I can be put to death in your mind! Baap re baap, yes sir! I am fearful of my obliteration, of my extinction. I am born from you and I die with you.
I am your slave!
Well now I have your undivided attention to be sure. You humans love to know you are important in the equation. Am I right? But then you are, right?? God’s greatest creation. Hah!!
A plastic surgeon. A Poigant poetess, Phd student. A wannabe Bollywood starlet. No it’s not one of those haikus she writes.
Cadence of morning breeze-
A cup of tea.
Haikus she writes…
Yes I know Bollywood, the Bacchans, the Khans, the Kapoors, I hear the little whispers here and there, I see the deals done under the table, I know of the clandestine fornications in the back seats of SUVS, I know of which homes were wrecked by whom, and all the jazz! That’s some serious junk info. I’m the official knowitall bhai, for now I’m Mumbhai.
The Book of Life and Death is not a conventional book as you understand the definition, it is ever changing, an entity in itself, capable of conscious thoughts and feelings.
This story has come to my interest inumerous other worlds I inhabit.
Yes, you are there too and if I look, I will find you. The difference between you and them is that they know about these worlds, their consciousness shifts from one to one and they have observed me observing! Maybe it’s my imagination. In the many-worlds that exist, all the possible outcomes of a quantum interaction are realized.
You know all that you see around you, the world, the stars, your family, your lover, the Universe, it’s actually not just a Universe, and it’s actually a multiverse. Imagine the hairs on your skin, your world is one such hair on the body of abstract space, the evolvement happens in a deterministic style, embedding all thinkable possibilities within it.
So these twins- NINA and ZEENIA are moving through the arrow of time. They are moving to a fixed point, in one reality and to another point in a different world. Momentum and position are never constant, they’re all probabilities. But you get an omelette from an egg, not the other way round, the same way radio waves disperse from the antenna, never converge into it.
So now finally let’s cut to the chase and begin at the beginning. Not the conventional beginning point, but the very beginning of our story.
to be continued….
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Basically, at the very bottom of life, which seduces us all, there is only absurdity, and more absurdity. And maybe that’s what gives us our joy for living, because the only thing that can defeat absurdity is lucidity. ~~Albert Camus
This is so prophetic! Absurdity’s antidote is lucidity. How do we contextualise this when I am talking about twinflames? Lucidity means clarity of expression and thought.
Love is ABSURD to say the least. I for one, never understood how and why love operates the way it does in our society and in the greater collective mind. The concept of love has been denigrated to abject complications and mix-ups, rejection and humiliation, lies and deceit.
Media has taught us that people are disposable as there are so many options available out there. Get onto Tinder and find your love match. Hook up on speed dating! What a fucking ridiculous concept and how degrading to the very concept of LOVE. Not to forget the numerous apps where you can scroll through hundreds of profiles to get laid. Where is the love? Where is the emotion?
Love has become an arrangement. A contract and nothing more. When it begins, everything is perfect. But as familiarity arises, people tend to loose interest and look elsewhere. Most people that I work with had almost given up on love when I started working with them. But how can we ignore love?
Everytime I discuss romantic love, I have to talk about Moulin Rouge, one of my favourite love stories. The tragedy gets me every single time and Ewan Mcgregor when he sings- Love is a many splendored thing / Love lifts us up where we belong / All you need is love… Yes my lovelies, it is as literal as that…ALL YOU NEED IS LOVE!!
I am a hopeless romantic and most of my relationships have failed to fulfil me. Today I know it was not the fault of the person involved. It was just that we were vibrating in different frequencies. But we still met and started a relationship because of karmic reasons.
Why does this happen? Are we humans meant to just stray from person to person and then finally die unfulfilled? Because no partner is perfect. Marriage needs work and children need commitment.
In all this pressure and stress most of us miss our twinflame when that person makes an appearance. The people we marry are mostly not our twinflames. They are our daily companions and people we love and cherish, but a twinflame energy is all consuming in its intensity and complicated in its simplicity.
And it is NOT ABSURD. I will explain the esoteric context of twinflames. But first let me meander a bit. I have been obsessed with love, so much so that more than falling in love with my partners I was more in love with the idea of love. Call it stupid and childish immaturity coupled with a writer’s imagination, it is enough to know that nothing and no one made me happy- too many doubts, too many fucking mixed signals and never any surety of feelings.
My partner is the very epitome of level headed approach to romance, so much so that it makes me want to rip my hair off sometimes. Cool and quirky, he is an Aquarian Sun. Thankfully this is combated by his Pisces Moon and he senses my intuitive and mystical side, but our approach to love and romance is totally diverse. He shows love in a more restrained and practical manner by doing things for me which do not include poetry or songs, kissing on the beach(as someone is always watching) or under the full moon. He is not heavy into passionate oeuvres and melodrama(as he calls it) and I dream of intense all encompassing love where nothing else matters. Not practical! So I hear a lot.
When I came across the twinflame concept, it blew me away and I began to look into it. Meditating upon twinflames, I learnt that I have not yet met my twinflame. He is out there somewhere, but we have not touched base!
During one of my Past Life Regression sessions, I realised that someone I have known for over ten years in Goa is in fact my twinflame energy and this got me thinking. Could this man be my twinflame even though I have no sexual feeling towards him. In fact I am not even attracted to him in the conventional sense.
Somehow I am not convinced that he is my twinflame and sometimes PLR therapies point us to places but the definitive interpretation may not be accurate. It might be that my twinflame energy is in Goa, it may not be that person. It may have the music that was going to connect us, I thought.
That is what I feel. And now I can tell you one thing that as I meditate upon this phenomena, I know that my twinflame is out there. Somehow I feel that even he is aware of me and my presence!!!
Don’t ask me why? I have no clue as to who he could be. Does that mean I will give up my life and go looking for him. No. In fact most twinflames never meet! I know how harsh that sounds, but let us get LUCIDITY on the ABSURD concept of twinflames.
Firstly let us understand what TWINFLAMES mean to the mainstream. Most people seem to think that the twinflame is some sort of MIRROR SOUL and this originated from Plato’s Symposium which indicated that humans originally had two faces, four arms and four legs. Humans became so powerful that they threatened to overpower the gods and then Zeus split them in half. So when we discover our other “half” again we are filled with a profound sense of wholeness. I personally think this is oversimplification of this mystery.
Your twinflame pops out and your life changes completely when you encounter him/her. Even online. You may be scrolling through FB feeds and then suddenly you see that profile picture and everything stops short. For when you look into those eyes, you experience this intense yearning and excitement, yet, there is a feeling of knowing that person and the sense of COMING HOME.
I know this has happened to a few people who have consulted with me. Yes some of them have been lucky enough to have met their twinflame. But for the rest of us, it is still not time.
Listen my lovelies, every relationship changes you. Whether you know it or not. But when you are confronted with this twinflame vibe, the breath is literally knocked off your chest. You feel are fired up and you don’t know why. You want to contact that person but your brains tell you otherwise.
In fact most of us will never do anything about these feelings if we are lucky to have them. Because each of us are caught in our own issues. And also the twinflame relationship is anything but smooth and peaceful. It is not for people who are used to shallow waters.
This relationship is about diving into the fertile chaos to recover love pearls for the soul. While most of us will never face our twinflames in this incarnation, but some of the blessed ones will meet their twinflames and have a stormy relationship with them.
This relationship will be tempestuous. It will shatter every safe, preconceived notion you have ever held about love, romance. It might even destroy the idea you have held about that person. For example, your twinflame may not look like how you expect or behave in a manner you are used to and this is totally normal. What else did you expect?
While I am not asking you to drop your partner and go looking for your twinflame, what I want you to do is at least know the signs if you ever meet that person. And even if you do, there is very less chance that you will hook up. Don’t get pissed with the messenger, pay attention to the message.
In most cases, the twinflames may see each other from a distance and like each other. Again this “like” factor will be extremely intensified. Suddenly out of the blue you may see him and your eyes may meet. And at that moment your whole fucking world will collapse. Nothing will exist but him/her.
You may feel so connected to him physically, mentally and spiritually and you may not even know him/her. The voice of your twinflame will also sound very familiar for sound is what created this Universe.
Before there were any stars or galaxies, 13.8 billion years ago, our universe was just a ball of hot plasma — a mixture of electrons, protons, and light. Sound waves shook this infant universe, triggered by minute, or “quantum,” fluctuations happening just moments after the big bang that created our universe. ~~NASA
The whole of creation emanated from a vibration – AUM! Sound can create Universes and can destroy them too. We hear less than 1% of the acoustic spectrum consciously. But we do not know how our UNCONSCIOUS mind is reacting to all that sound we supposedly can not hear. Those frequencies are hitting us with information. We are just not tuned in to those frequencies to realise what they mean.
His/her voice may strike you ass oddly familiar and you will exchange telepathic communication with each other. I have seen his happen with most twinflame cases. There is no blackmagic involved in this(lol). Yes people ask me if I do black magic(me being a witch and all…lol). This happens due to quantum entanglement and is a natural function of our connectedness with each other at quantum levels of the psyche or our UNCONSCIOUS MIND.
Oh and another thing that I have seen is twinflames are mostly from diverse cultures. The sixth race as described by Blavastky will be MIXED RACE and the American people who will become the “pioneers” of the 6th sub-race of the 5th root race and this process is due to begin relatively soon.
“We are preparing here in America a new race which will exhibit the perfection of the glories that I said were being slowly brought to the surface from the long forgotten past. This is why the Americas are seen to be in a perpetual ferment. It is the seething and bubbling of the older races in the refining-pot, and the slow coming up of the material for the new race. Here, and nowhere else, are to be found men and women of every race living together, being governed together, attacking nature and the problems of life together, and bringing forth children who combine, each one, two races. This process will go on until in the course of many generations there will be produced on the American continents an entirely new race; new bodies; new orders of intellect; new powers of the mind; curious and unheard-of psychic powers, as well as extraordinary physical ones; with new senses and extensions of present senses now unforeseen. When this new sort of body and mind are generated – then other monads, or our own again, will animate them and paint upon the screen of time the pictures of 100,000 years ago.” ~~HPB
You understand how Nature is reuniting twinflames to bring forth the SIXTH RACE. All well and fine you say, but how do I know this person is my twinflame. Come on, there is no dearth of men/women on social media.
Wait up my lovelies. Firstly when you see your twinflame, it will be a fucking déjà vu. You know him/her and this feeling only gets deeper as you explore each other. You may feel like you are meant to be with that person even if you have a partner. This does not apply of you think like this with every person you are attracted to. This applies if you know how to use your powers of discretion.
You suddenly feel like this person will play a crucial role in your own soul growth. You may not know how and why, but you feel so. If you meet this person, you click on all levels with such intensity that it leaves you breathless. Yet, all this excitement is mingled with a sense of coming home. That person is your safe place.
Even if you do not know them, you feel like you can bare your soul and that person will spiritually empower you. Somehow they balance the yin-yang aspect to perfection- the twinflames. Your sense of identity and individuality is expanded. It is like you are born anew.
This relationship with all its problems will give you a huge sense of freedom, so this energy sets you free. But you have to work for it. And even if you know them online, you are totally tuned into their energy field. Like you know when they are online and when you read their posts its like you know them forever.
I suggest that morphogenetic fields work by imposing patterns on otherwise random or indeterminate patterns of activity. ~~Rupert Sheldrake
Another thing with this energy is that you CANNOT IGNORE it. You are magnetically attracted to them, no matter how hard you try to avoid them. No baby, there is no running away from this one, but for fuck’s sake don’t mistake an abusive relationship as your twinflame because you are too deluded.
These are some of the attributes we face when life brings our twinflame to us. Now let me tell you about the THEORY OF THE MONADS or the 144 SOUL GROUP which makes the Twinflame phenomenon possible. Digging deep into the occult.
There are MULTIPLE UNIVERSES and infinite galaxies. One GALAXY MONAD contains Soul Groups for each Solar System, which contains 144,000 Monads. Each of these Monads in the ‘Soul Group’ contains a total of 144 individuals. Each Monad contains the Essence of 12 branches of ‘Oversoul Souls’ and each ‘Oversoul Soul’ is broken down into 6 sets of Twin Souls or Flames.
These six sets are then separated and this is very painful. They become male female from the ARDHANARISHWARA. You and your Twin Soul or Twin Flame together are one of these pairs of six in your primary Soul Mate Group. The other 5 sets of Twins in your primary Soul Mate Group are known as your ‘near Twins.’ Since each Monad contains 144 individuals in total, the other 132 outside of your primary Soul Mate Group in your Monad are your secondary Soul Mates.
These secondary soulmates show up often in the 3D world and we mistake them for the ONE, but if there is any chance of any interaction with our twinflame, then all confusion fades away. You can never MISS that person if you are AWARE of them. If you are not aware of their existence, then yes, they may pass you by. But if ever you have felt that electricity between you and your twinflame, then you know that this person is unmistakably so.
I seriously thought I will meet my Twinflame in Goa in 2002 and 2003 when I was single the last time, but I was obviously not ready for the experience and I met my partner that same time in Bombay. He is definitely from my soul group, but not my Twinflame which I have felt over and over again in my meditations. But I know he exists. I have sensed him so many times and wondered if he is aware of me. Where he is and what does he do? Does he think about me? Because like all us mortals, I think of him too.
You can use the number 147,023 to attract a lover if you are wanting to do so, but summoning your twinflame will require all the mojo you can conjure. Ask Venus to bless you in this endeavour.
The minute I heard my first love story I started looking for you, not knowing how blind I was. Lovers don’t finally meet somewhere. They’re in each other all along. – Rumi
ARTWORK Alex Grey – Love is a Cosmic Force
What a sight you are!
A true Goddess of your own creation.
The holy red gushes down your legs.
You stand naked, bare breasted.
The defiance in your eyes.
The slight smile on your lips.
They magnetic sway of your hips.
They ridicule you and laugh at you.
Your raw power scares them.
You know how to CONNECT.
You know how to join together.
You are a natural leader.
And that scares them.
They call you a sinner.
Never will you be a saint.
Even if you have fed the last morsel to them.
They have burnt you over and over.
But from those ashes have you arisen…
Again and again.
With different names.
In different countries and cultures.
The guilt they have bred in us,
Is not to be found in you.
The palpable fear is also absent.
For you seek no validation from them.
You don’t care to play by their rules.
Holiness in every ounce of your blood.
Every Goddess of every culture,
They reside in your body.
You are holy, the Creatrix!
You are not afraid of pleasure.
You know what to do with pain.
You are here to liberate other sisters.
You are not looking for personal gain.
Never have you controlled the urges,
That women have been taught to do.
Instead you have transmuted them into alchemy.
You have transformed them into divine inspiration.
You have ignited the fires of passion.
And made magic with the man you held.
For a God he was when you made love to him.
You are his Goddess.
You are our Goddess.
Your mission is to tell the others.
To activate the powers of the Womb.
This FEM-FORCE will steer us into a new awareness.
Let them worship the sacred blood of your menstruation.
For that is the only atonement from their end.
To have defiled and demonised the sacred life force of the menstrual blood.
They say you are a whore.
What does it matter if you are Madonna or a whore?
They have raped, pillaged and tortured,
The mother, maiden and the crone.
No one is safe.
They will find the Wild Ones.
Silenced they must be.
But how can they be shut for life?
In their voices is the fem-force of life and death.
We will be told we are evil.
We will be told our magick is for the devil.
The Devil is but Lucifer, the bringer of Truth.
The apple is the process of initiation.
It is you, yes you as Eve,
Who initiated Adam.
It is you Sita, who burned Rama’s sins,
In the fire of your sacrifice.
Wild Woman you will make us eat time and again,
From that sweet apple of knowledge and passion.
Run like a She-wolf and howl at the moon.
You are the Matriarch, the very crux of civilisation.
Tonight under the Full Moon, you will rub the damp earth on your body.
And make love to the Earth.
She is as wild as you are.
Soul lovers through infinities.
Image by Alexandra Banti