Skip to main content

Optimistic Note for a Compassionate Society

I am wondering what is the source of hate-mongering from which India is suffering from. A country of Buddha, Mahavir, Kautilya, Gandhi is burning for the sake of nothing. Violence is perpetuated everywhere.  Criticism is made without reflecting upon the words one is using. Ecology of shifting the burden and the debate of us v. them are too parochial in nature. Media is selling the hatred and contempt, which is always a profitable business for them. In fact, violence is the cheapest product, which is easily sold in the market. Love and compassion are not too attractive virtues to be adopted.


Happiness is impossible unless one deeply goes into the root of all these debates. A conditioned mind, unless reflects upon its source of suffering, moves around the peripheral stimulations and identifies itself with some image. Image is a byproduct of imagination which can't be true. Our world is temporal, which is always changing. No image can capture its dynamics. No concept is vital enough to embrace all the nuances of our world. But human's mind creates an image of self and others; from this standpoint, all the imaginary construction is created, including a dichotomy of friend-enemy. The image of friendship blocks a mind to go further and inquire the reality, likewise the image of enemy is created without reflecting upon such imaginative conclusion. These posturings make it difficult to accept the fluidity and temporality of life. Most of our ideological positions are the byproduct of unconscious conditioning, which compels one to take an unreflective position. Image may rigidly define all the relationships, but in fact, no relationship can be carved upon an edict once for all. A mind who doesn't accept change is a dull mind, which cannot feel and express love and compassion. I am hopeful for a better future, if our younger generations are able to grasp the futility of discourse. Their most important concern is moral and political progress, economic stability, and a reflective life towards our fellow beings, creatures, plants. Differences and pluralities are the greatest source of our strength as a Nation. And this strength is required to be strengthen even further.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

पिरोता जाऊँ एक माला ज़िन्दगी का

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।

Time and Love

Time passes by Like moving in a train of thoughts Its sequence is always forward Vibrating like a cosmic dance of Shiva Time is creating and engulfing The little waves of the ocean Going where? Nobody knows Like a dream does not have a destination It is as true as any absurd play With friends of pleasure It moves like speed of light With friends of need It is felt like a moving river Allowing a little moments of thoughts Before everything becomes a history With friends of virtue Time becomes a sublime touch Soothing and healing the pain Becoming a spectator To watch the cries and follies Beauty and ugliness The rainbow of joy And an album of suffering Time touches Yet it remains aloof Like Purush is witnessing The colours of prakriti Yet remains unblemished And untouched The union of two is always mystical Their touch is a source Of creation and transformation Time is witnessing everything In its sequential movements Who is witnessing time? What is independent of the originatio...

Dreamer

Empty is mirror, Yet it reflects what is. Chit is absolute abyss, Yet it contains the existence, Like unending horizons of sky. Chit in bond with manas, Creates and witnesses, The playful dance of life. Shunyata is the absolute truth, Yet it is all of the possible worlds. Out of its voidness, World appears and disappears. Is it real or unreal? Or merely the Dream, Of all the possible dreams? If it is the case, Who is dreaming, the dreams of all? The One, the Cosmos. What if the One is also a figment of imagination? What if the world is a poetic creation? And the Poet has deployed itself, In every form of poetry? The poetry of life. What if only bhokta is bhojan? Only observer is observed? Only worshiper is worshipped? Only subject is object? All are the waves of same Ocean.