Desire is usually understood as a psychic phenomenon, produced by individual. In modern period, desire is produced like any other goods, which have innumerable buyers and sellers. It's like American dreams, which are bought and sold in spite of the fact that they have larger social and psychic implications. "Desire production" (Gilles Deleuze and Félix Guattari, Anti Oedipus: Capitalism and Schizophrenia, 1972) is a deleuzean construct, who visualised the "production mentality" from the perspective of desire, which is not a psychic-lack in Freudian sense rather it is a socially produced material, having commercial value in the terrain of market. Like Buddha visualised mind as a social construct, which has no substratum of its own, likewise desire as an individual's fantasy is unreal without territorializing it in context of society and social production. The terrain of market alongwith financial institutions flourish as an imaginary world produced by society, which is inculcated by individual in his fantastic desires. What is away from the market in our world if desire is the basic good it deals with? Desire is as social as individual, as political as egoistic; its luminous value in a globalising world is too appealing to ignore by any ordinary mind. The outgrowing dimensions of consumerism are not unrelated to the fantastic world of desires. Advertisement agencies are those master creators of desire, who play with the vulnerabilities of human's mind. Desire as a social construct is easily accessible in an algorithmic pattern of digital life, whereas news are sold as narratives in the benefits of few at the cost of making a passive bunch of minds, living a life of helplessness and powerlessness (Rolf Dobelli, Stop Reading the News, 2020). The root cause of desire is as internal as external. The moment one observes its roots, the edifice of phantoms no longer exists.
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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