Goodbye Letter To CC

We look before and after, And pine for what is not. ~Shelley

Dear C_C

I worship, suffering. Especially when it comes from my own beloved people. I wonder on the means of my sufferings, because the causes are universal. Like all other human beings, I too have expectations and attachment. Therefore, I never presume my life to be devoid of suffering.

When our relationship was caught in an ennui, I knew either of us would take a step to terminate it. One with more self esteem would take a lead. So it had to be you. Being a good friend of the mirror, I knew almost everything about me. I do not know how people who have scarcely met me a few times or for a few days, claim to know more about me. Even you, not because you had other priorities, but because of your innocence, ignored what was vital to our relationship. Your moves and gestures betrayed what was going in your mind.

I refused to be a nucleus of your life, just because it would have killed either of us. There is no doubt that my suffering is due to my habit of seeing you around. First, you made yourself indispensable and then you walked away just like that.

I cherish this suffering and I would not be scared if happiness knocks at my door again and then leave me more bruised and hurt. I have surfed on the waves by choice. Sea has his own way of reciprocating love. Just like you. I really want a big wave to finish the story. To die choked by water and being eaten up by fishes. Life may be purposeless, but not the death.

Your intellectualism did not permit me to call you by any pet names. I know you hate being called ‘Darling”. I too think it to be obscene. But I do not understand why you always spoke in masculine gender. Why you were afraid of accepting your femininity? Innocence and insecurity go together, except in children. Even experience does not make you mature, otherwise you would not have made the same mistakes so many times. Maturity is just another name of cunnings. I can never fall in love with a cunning girl.

You always pretend to be a strong girl. Sometimes I could look into your eyes and know that you have cried. Crying is not a weakness, only strong persons are not afraid of crying. Your heart is butter, I have felt its smoothness, it melts even by little warmth, catches fire and gives burns.

Thankfully, we were honest with each other. Though both of us exaggerated while recollecting past. May be because we loved melodrama. Even we departed in a dramatic way. You said, “It does not matter, I go this way or that way”. Your kit was on my porch even though I had requested you to stay. For a moment, I thought you were playing a game. I immediately felt guilty to doubt your intentions. Your eyes were clear and honest. It really did not matter for you at that fraction of a moment. I knew what was best for you. To move. You have to melt tones of ice, before you could breathe normally. I bid you farewell with a heavy heart. Not even a goodbye kiss. I was afraid.

I still laugh when I remember how easily you accused me. You said you feel insecure of sexual assault with me and I refrained you from projecting your dirty mind on my character. Did you really think I could molest you? You are tempting, no doubt, but I have nothing to gain and much to lose. Though once or twice, I crossed the line and could feel your discomfort.

You have wonderful art of telling stories. But I am also worried about the way you tell a story. You are intense and sensitive. You relive every moment while telling a story. No CC No.  You have to detach and look at your past objectively. You have set your feet for a long journey, don’t change your path for trivial emotions. I miss you, so many people miss you. You also miss many of us; we are at your back. You are safe even if you fall back, but we all pray that you never fall back.

Adieu

VBG

Letter  2 

Letter  3
Letter 4
Letter 5

Read more articles here

©  Vipin Behari Goyal

ABSURD TALE OF FLYING CARPET

                           Only Absurd Is Meaningful

I do not know what went wrong. It has stopped flying. It was made to fly. I had few wonderful journeys on it. I do not know anyone who can make it fly again.

This is no ordinary flying carpet. Half of it is woven with the thread of idealism and rest half has threads of realism. Though both the sides have many patterns. Like realism has patterns of Socialist Realism, Naturalism and American Realism. The other half, which is made of idealism threads has many intrinsic and complicated patterns, some of which though look beautiful are difficult to understand.

These patterns are called Classical Idealism, Subjective Idealism, Transcendental Idealism, Objective Idealism and Actual Idealism. Each pattern has the name of craft man on the corner of design some of which are very famous like Kant and Hegel.

The World is Conical and horizontally divided into two unequal halves, but my carpet is equally divided in two. But apparently one side is far more superior in look, texture, colors, aesthetics and designs.

It has a wonderful mechanism. When I want to fly to my native country Utopia I had to sit on the Idealism side of the carpet. When I want to fly to Dystopia I had to sit on Realism side.

I do not why both the patterns together were called Absurdism by people.

The flying carpet was very shy of others. No one else could fly on it except me. I could carry only that single female with me who loved me unconditionally. Consequently, I found no partner to fly with.

Once Ayn Rand wanted to fly with me. When she took her famous oath of Selfishness, the carpet agreed to fly. This is the first time I saw him breaking the rules. His realism side became active and a flower pattern which was marked as Existentialism and petals were made of Kierkegaard, Kafka, Sartre and Albert Camus had one more flower of Objectivism. That time Realism had more glamour than Idealism.

The flying carpet was really impressed that I was not ready to sacrifice my Individualism and due to my faith in Utilitarianism I gave preference to quality of pleasure.

The carpet was quite an amoralist. He never passed judgments about something being morally right or wrong. In a way he was Shakespearian "Nothing is right or wrong, but thinking makes it so".

Though sometimes he would tell sarcastic jokes, but he was never sarcastic about Black, Jews, Polacks, Blondes or Sardars. He was far above petty human weakness of Egoism.

I think that was his basic quality which enabled him to fly.

Once I heard about a strange country. It was known as Conscience. That was a beautiful island inhabited by a single individual who was a true replica of me. It sent me a message by telepathy that my carpet was infected with the  virus of Ego. I was shocked. I did not know how to cure it. Conscience told it had permanent remedy. He also told me how I can do some First-Aid to make it fly. Moreover the Flying Carpet did not know the location of Conscience. The Flying Carpet was thrilled that I would cure him. He was always afraid of ennui. He always loved new designs and patterns carved on it. Sometimes he allowed something new just because it was New, even if it did not have any relevance.

Flying Carpet would have looked more beautiful without any of pattern and weaved by single colored thread of Humanism. May be the source of that thread is not normal human intellect.

When I tried to convince him the superiority of quantity over quality and advantages of simplicity he became adamant.  He didactically tried to prove that simplicity is absence of quality, and is not a quality in itself.

Once he proposed me to find a way to increase his size. I told him that his size is just suitable for the purpose he has been made. He is obsessed with the conviction that Size does matter.

He became desolate and introvert after that conversation. Now I can correlate that so many pattern made him egoistic and that is why he wanted to increase his dimensions.

How was our journey to island of Conscience? How did we reach there? Could Conscience cure the virus of Ego? Or virus could infect the Conscience and tried to kill it.

Read more adventures of Flying Carpet in coming issues.

Other related post

Absurd tale of castrated bull

© Vipin Behari Goyal
Advocate, Rajasthan High Court, Jodhpur, India

Trial of Killer Robot

News: Robot kills a worker in Volkswagen Factory

            

(Trial Room of a Court in Germany, where Judiciary is inquisitorial)

Judge: Mr. Robot, do you plead, guilty

Robot: No, Your Honor, I am innocent

Judge: (addresses to Public Prosecutor): Prosecution may proceed.

PP: Mr. Robot we have substantial evidence against you that you have committed a murder deliberately.

Robot: What is that proof?

PP: CCTV footage.

Robot: But that's a machine like me. That would be self-incrimination.

Judge: He is right. Mr. PP

PP: But your honor, that machine may have same genre like all Homo Sapiens , but they have different Mother (boards).

Judge: Alright, shows us the film.

A screen and projector are set up in court and a video clip is shown in which Robot claps a man from the neck and strangles him to death and then throws him on a board.

PP: Is that not you, Mr. Robot?

Robot: Looks like me, but I am not sure. Can you focus on id numbers.

The video clip is replayed and id is stilled and focused. Robot acknowledges that it is him.

PP: Why did you kill him?

Robot: He walked into my territory. I had no intention or motivation to kill him. Moreover, as per Master-Servant theory the Engineer who programmed me is responsible for this killing.

Judge: Did he programmed you to kill?

Robot: I was infected by virus so I could not differentiate in living and non living.

Judge: Who is responsible for the virus?

Robot: My parents. That is the company that produced me.

The GM of Robotics Company was summoned to the court. He stated that when he supplied the Robot it was in perfect working condition.  The Virus can affect man and machine equally. Robot has indicator for virus and should have been treated immediately.

 The System Engineer of the car company was summoned and he admitted that Robot was indicating a virus.

PP: Why you did not cure the machine immediately?

System Engg.: The assembly line had to be stopped for that. I reported the matter to GM through the channel, but he said orders are urgent and production cannot be stopped.

Judge: Did you explain that it may cause a death?

System Engg.: Not categorically, since I was not sure. I told him certain sensors are not working and Robot would not function normally.

GM of the car company was summoned. He confessed that matter was reported to him. He was hard pressed by the Board of Directors to achieve the target so he did not stop production.

The trial is going on. The Robot is still behind the bar. Board of Directors has announced a meeting to decide strategy if they are booked for Culpable Homicide.

Meanwhile, please express your opinion on the issue.

© Vipin Behari Goyal
Advocate, Rajasthan High Court, Jodhpur, India

A Tale of Castrated Bull

                        Existentialism, Feminism, Marxism, Post-Colonialism and Psychoanalysis of Bull

He starts from point A every morning and by the time of evening when his eyes are uncovered, he finds himself again at point A. But he has a sort of satisfaction that he had a long journey that day, maybe he missed the scenery on the way, but the satisfaction and smile on the face of his master tells that he has really performed well. This had been his routine for many years and he has walked thousands of miles, and if his blindfolds were not removed every night, he would have thought himself to be on the other end of the Earth. Thankfully, his master took great care of him after his work was done, massaged him, gave fodder, gave him a bath if required, and saw that he was comfortably settled in the stable. At his Bovine family, he was looked upon as someone drafted for good and not only his mature counterparts of the opposite sex, but even the heifers could know that he was good for nothing and turned their faces away, when he grazed with them in the pastures. He cannot forgive the one who had one fine morning removed his vital part to convert him into that which changed his destiny. And he could do nothing about it. God was great, but man was mischievous.

Now nothing matters. All beautiful heifers have no meaning for him. Even his nose is permanently obliterated to identify estrus. May be his long walk would lead him to land where he would regain his lost bullhood.

How strange it is that his female counterparts never claimed that equality with them that his master's wife always demanded with her husband. His counterpart females were contended with milking, propagation and ultimately being served as beef. Not that he finds any difference in the life of his female counterparts and that of his master's wife. The comparison is endless and he was astounded with parities. The only thing he doesn't know is that his master's wife would be chopped when she goes sterile or they would wait even longer, when she is finally of no use. If this disease of equality spreads in his bovine family, he is sure it is going to create a havoc. His cousin and even his real younger brother were spared by his master, who only gelded him of his vitality. His neutrality of gender had made him stoically neutral towards all issues pertaining to life- or even death for that purpose.

His endless walk is very purposeful. He knows by the smell of sesame, groundnut and mustard. Many times master or his little son has exclaimed with happiness. Once master told his son  the story of Sisyphus. He was a king who could even cheat the God of death. He was ultimately condemned to drag the boulder uphill and let it roll down and then drag it up again till eternity. The child had innocently asked "Is our Joe (well, that's his name) also Sisyphus"? He was very intent to know what his master thinks about him. But like all masters he too laughed it off. No good master should reveal his true opinion about his servants. A confused servant serves a better purpose than an opined servant.

Once he met a maverick colleague in the grass field. He was liberated by his master, but he was feeling abandoned.  He felt desolate and rejected due to identity crisis. He always took pride in being owned by his master, though when he was serving, he always cursed his master for being cruel and hard task master. Now when he was independent he remembered all the good qualities of his master. How much care he took of him, kept him warm in chilling winters and fed him good fodder even when he fell sick. Others took pity on him and tried to help him out, but he was also too arrogant to accept the help of others. Everybody thought he had no future, till one winter evening a lady who looked affluent by her carriage and dress, stopped near him. She found he was shivering so she asked his coach to find out that if there is no owner, he should be provided with shelter and fodder. Liberation always leads to some other kind of slavery. Frankly speaking, there is no true liberation. One amazing thing he found was that these affluent people always had a lot of pity for all types of our kind, but little or no mercy for their own kind. After some time he found that his colleague waited anxiously for the lady to take his care. He had gained good health, there was meat on his bones and he looked more well fed than his fellow grazers. What he did not know was that a group of wolves from nearby woods was making a conspiracy to attack on him at night.

Thankfully, he(Joe) had a short memory. Most of the time he lived in present and had no obsession to repeat what has happened in the past or to dream about what may happen in future. He could retrieve a few things from the immediate past, but that was all. He was truly happy with kind of mind set. He disliked his master when he mentioned very old incidents with great fondness or talk about prosperous future which would never come. He saw his short memory as a boon. It not only saved him from the vices of revenge, greed and anger, but also, prevented him from making silly mistakes like his master, who sometimes forgot to cover him with a blanket in the cold winter night and he had to shiver the whole night. May be he wanted to punish him for walking lethargically that day.

{The oxen are still being used in rural India to extract oil from oilseeds, where ox goes around an improvised wooden grinding machine. The oilcakes formed after extraction of oil are consumed by human as well as animals.}

© Vipin Behari Goyal

Excerpts from his unpublished book  'World is Conical'

Other related post

Absurd tale of Flying Carpet