Thinking is no longer considered as a Vocation of few at the rejection of many. Every school of thought, which believes in essentializing various conceptual categories, ultimately rejected and ignored what is sublime and beautiful about uniqueness in Being and Becoming. World is in in flux so ideas are. Modernity was a project to bring scientific enquiry, reason at the forefront of traditional authorities. Modernity in that sense was a paradigm of critique. Post-Modernism was never a project to accomplish; it was an existentialist movement to bring Self under sieze. It was a literary movement which rejected all the materialistic ideas, emanated from repetitive scientific laws. Science, in that sense, became a blindspot; beyond which no possibility of flourishing music or magic was desirable and achievable. These practices were condemned to dogmas and superstition. Modernity ultimately brought a myth of scientism, which had a role in objectification of human lives; bodies, souls. Cartesian division of mind and body itself was a project to privilege mind over body; in that way, racism, colonialism, and mercantilism progressed into the direction of sinister cruelty. One race emerged as a good Samaritan to civilize "others". Modernity, in a way, was a myth of its heightened possibility. Post Modernity has been a question of existential choice. It has caused a crisis to si called objectivity. Now, nothing is true, according to them, so let's have a discussion and debate. This subjective reason has rejected all the questions of truth; asking to reframe those questions; how are these questions going to be meaningful right now? That is the question a Post-Modernist likes to raise. Indian thinkers, for example, J. Krishnamurti, asks to focus on consciousness over memory and information based life. Truth is not an authentic question or answer for him; life is!
पढ़ता हूँ हर एक दिन एक ही पन्ना, हर दिन हज़ार ये मालूम पड़ते हैं। जबसे होश संभाला है एक ही पन्ना सवांरते आया हूँ, लोग इसे ज़िन्दगी कहते हैं। इसपे लिखे हर एक लब्ज़ जो मेरे मालूम पड़ते हैं, ना जाने कितने जुबां पे चढ़े होंगे। आज हम भी कुछ पल के लिए ही सही इसके सारथी हैं, जाने से पहले कुछ रंग मेरा भी इसपे चढ़ जाए, बस इसीलिए एक ही पन्ना बार बार पलटता रहता हूँ। हर कोई अनजाने किताब की तलाश में बाहर निकलता है, जिसका हर एक पन्ना वो ख़ुद है। जब ख़ुद के रंग को समझ ही ना पाया, तो भला इंद्रधनुषी किताब के क्या मायने हैं? अस्तित्व में ना जाने कितने पन्ने बिखरे पड़े हैं, बस एक से ही अवगत हो जाऊँ, उसके हर एक शब्द को चुनता जाऊँ, कुछ पल के लिये सही, पिरोता जाऊँ एक माला ज़िन्दगी का।
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