Two Harmless Incidents

One day two young boys sat side by side on a table in a roadside dhaba to have lunch. They didn’t know each other; nor did they wish to know each other. Both were grappling with their own problems. One of them had just fought with his girlfriend and was looking very miserable. The other had just finished his exam and it was a disaster; he had no idea what he will tell at his home. So they were lost in their thoughts, without even noticing each other.

Soon their chicken curry and rice was on the table and they digged in—someone just uttered stress eating. As they were eating, another person came and sat down. Now the table was quite congested and the two began to notice each other. Their hand began to touch each other. So, one of them removed his hand. The third person noticed this very carefully. So, as soon as this boy came out, he began scolding him—

“This is so obnoxious and communal. I mean how it matters that he is a Muslim and so you won’t even touch his hand. As soon as his hand touched yours, you removed yours. For God’s sake, we live in a secular, democratic country. We should be tolerant towards other religions. This is not the way to treat people of other religions…………….”

He went on and on, lecturing on secularism and communalism. At the end of all this, this boy could say only this much—

“I didn’t remove my hand because he was a Muslim. I didn’t even notice that. I just tried to make way for him.”

Some days later, the three of them found themselves on the same table in a similar situation. The boy recalled last time’s incident. So, he was adamant that he won’t repeat last time’s gesture. After all he had to prove his secular credentials. In fact he became over-enthusiastic. And so he began pushing the other boy’s hand. Consequently the other guy removed his hand this time. He seemed to be very happy with himself. After all he has proved that he is not a Muslim basher. He is truly a secular individual. But the third person was again furious and red with anger—

“You are such an insensitive communal beast. I had some inkling last time itself. But this time you have crossed all limits. What do you think is this table? Is it a battle ground to prove that you are the stronger, the majority and he is the weaker one? Shame on you!...........”

He again continued furiously.

Meanwhile the other boy, like the last time, was standing all stunned. But this time he couldn’t contain himself. He came to the other boy and said something about riots and the creators of riots. Soon they began beating this third guy.

In some time it was all finished forever. The third man had gone to the hospital to save his dear ‘secular’ life. And the problem was solved permanently, at least, for these two boys.

Rewatching Gulaal: Its almost washed now

There are very few films which actually speaks more in the second time than in the first time. Gulaal belongs to that rare species. I had started watching it again because I had liked it immensely. I like these kind of dark, open-ended movies a lot. I had no idea whatsoever that it will change my entire understanding of the movie. Initially I had thought that it is a political movie with lots of political undertones and overtones. But when I watched it the second time, I realised why I had a feeling that there is much more to it than just politics and pseudo-violence (and obviously non-violence).

The second time, I guess, I got that. The movie is a commentary on the very process and purpose of the artistic creation. Prithvi Bana (played to perfection by Piyush Mishra) is not a minor, mad character in the movie. He is the real hero. He is the one who raises all the difficult questions and who questions it all. He is the one who is the voice of the narrator; the voice of the movie. In fact he is the only sane person in the movie besides that girl in the dark room. Everyone else is real mad and from their perspective this guy talking about the 'lost people', 'sarfaroshi', war, fundamentalism, pseudo-equality and much more is actually mad.

In the movie he is depicted as a minor and weak character who does not do anything except singing and writing poetry. He is being tortured and hit by all. But he can react in only one way-- by writing more poetry or by quoting from other literature. He does not act violently anytime. When he is hit by Ransa, he looks very hurt but he does not say anything. In fact this incident acquires much significance if we consider the fact that both of them, in a way, belonged to the same group (towards the end KK's character, in fact, confirms it). Both are educated in a 'foreign' land, which simply implies that they are fed with some independent thoughts and they have their own perception which cannot be changed by what others say. Both are aware of the history of the world and very well-read, particularly in the area of revolutions that the world has seen. Both are shown to be very attracted by Lenin (the kind of books read by Prithvi Bana) and other revolutionaries of the world (a look at the kind of paintings put up in Ransa'a room clearly indicates that). Both don't believe in the mindless activities that their family members are doing. It is no coincidence that Ransa'a father and Prithvi's brother are allies but they are fighting over a trifle issue. The means of Ransa and Prithvi are different but the ends are the same. One believed in the direct action; taking the bulls by the horns. He makes fun of these people; he questions them. And he comes directly to the field to fight it out in the middle. It wouls have been very interesting to see what he would have done had he won the election. But, probably, that never happens. People like him are bound to be lost into oblivion very soon. But the other one is very subtle; an artist; a revolutionary poet who wants to let everyone know the truth through his poems. But no one understands or listens to him, not even those who are actually on his side. He is taken as a disturbance, as a distraction and hit by them. But he remains there till the end. We can imagine him singing his poems even after everything has changed; in fact we hear him in 'duniya' and 'raat ke musafir'.

And then we have people like Dilip. He is there to study law and gets involved into the politics. He always thought that he is with Ransa but actually he was never with him. His character is best described by KK. He was the kind of guy who just needed a girl. If one rejected him, she is bad; she doesn't love him. But the one who had sex with him (mind it they never made love even if Dilip always thought so) was the one who loved him, even if she deserted him long ago. People like him deserve to die. He never had an ideology; he was always run and dictated by the others. He is probably the common man. He is one who for a little immediate profit forgets everything and becomes blind in the greed for something. He couldn't see; in fact he didn't want to see the real face of the girl whom he thought to be so innocent and lovable. He never realised the fact that she was the one who was changing his spectacles (and it is not just spectacles; it is a very powerful and recurring symbol in the movie which stands for anything ranging from non-violence to one's perspective and one's ideology). He was the one who was not concerned much with reading literature or about revolutionaries. He comes in contact with one and tries to emulate him but he can't. Like the others he also does not have the power to change; probably he has! But he does not utilise it in the right way. He is very easily distracted. And he wasted his energy and anger in doing something which would not lead to much. He is the typical common man.

But the movie actually belonged to Prithvi Bana who is contrasted with that flute master. This flute master is introduced in the very beginning to Dilip and his brother (followed by an introduction to the broken glasses of Gandhi-- the 69 and also an instruction not to take the 'right' turn since there is none). He is an apt counterpart of Prithvi. He is basically free, his own master. He does everything without any specific reason as such. But at the same time he is not much recognised in the real world. He is there in some romantic, peaceful world. But in a world torn by strife and conflict, he is just a marginalised being residing somewhere in reclusion, unaware of what is happening just under his nose (after all Dilip lives with him only). He represents those art for arts sake people while Prithvi represents those revolutionary poets. Neither of them is praised or criticised. But their position is clearly shown with respect to the happenings of the world. Neither of them is able to make significant difference to the way the things are going. But still one is trying and he is able to make some ripples; he is able to shake a little bit of the sleeping beauties. At least he occupies more space than the escapist.

And this metaphor is not just limited to one art form or literature as such. It is extended to all the manifestations of art including the movie itself. The movie not only shows the situation of the world but also shows its own situation. It shows its own place in all this without being vainly bombastic. It shows a complete world It is a commentary on itself, which is highly reminiscent of people like Luigi Pirandello and his dramas. Anurag Kashyap is very much aware of the fact that most of the people is not going to understand what he is trying to say but he is never apologetic about it. He knows that “poetry makes nothing happen”. He knows that it is not going to change the world; but he also knows that it will upset a few things; it will disturb a few people; it will make a few ripples on that seemingly calm surface; and it shall affect, no matter how little. And he thinks it to be much better than those which never tried. And all this is shown in the film; expressed through this movie very elegantly and very beautifully. SIMPLY OUTSTANDING!

The Fable of Tahaan and the 'hell here' Gulaal: Tales of Obsession

It was probably a mistake to watch both the movies back-to-back. Both are the kind of movies which, once you have wattched them, stops you from watching another one for at least a week. And it is probabaly no surprise that both, at their heart, has the central theme of obsession. And both use extensive metaphors and symbols to carry forward their theme. But that doesnt mean that both are similar. Both are completely opposite,as films. But then too much differecne means that they tend to be closer and similar in this vicious circle of opposites.
One is disguised in the form of a fable-- where two children are obsessed by one donkey and one of them takes to dangerous means to get the donkey back. The symbols are quite clear. As a country India and pakistan are nothing sort of children, fighting over a trifle. In the larger scheme of things, this is indeed childish and trifle. And all the emotions and attachment would look insignificant if we will take a look at the suffering that veryone tackles everyday. In the movie we have two very sensible children who solves the problem of possession quite easily. One of them ventures towards the wrong path but immediately realises his mistake. He pledges to make 'thousands of rounds' to get back his Birbal instead of resorting to the other way of Idris. And on the other hand the other child immediately understands the situation and returns Birbal to its rightful owner. But then Birbal will never remain 'only' of tahaan. Its very easy to imagine the future. These two children have started a friendship of lifetime and beyond. And Birbal will always remain with both of them. It is a beautiful tale of not just obsession but of love, hope and friendship. Each and every character is simply a personification of all the events and issues of modern-day Kashmor. And just one question is asked in the film-- "To whom does this valley, this mountain belong?" And the simple answer is "no one". Probably, in retrospect, there is another question-- If these two children can be so sensible, can't all the so-called intellectuals and diplomats be? Why not take a leaf out of these children's book? And this is not just being asked for the problem of Kashmir. All the differences are because of this obsession.
In stark contrast to this serene (but very disturbing), peaceful fable of Tahaan and Birbal is the in-your-face, dark montage of 'Love...Power...Revolution". It catches you unawares; jolts you out of your sleep and mauls you completely. Once the movie ends, you just want to run away-- out of this world-- to anywhere. you feel as if you are just a hapless, helpless fellow caught in the spider's web. Even the option of killing others or yourself is snatched away from you. And like and extremely poor, weak puppet, you want to take rest after the whole day's toil. But you cant even sleep. You just hope that this is a nightmare. it indeed is! But it is REAL. You cant wake up to find everything all right. The 'ray' of hope that was there in Tahaan is nowhere here. Its all dark night and we are just 'raat ke musafir'. There is no point fighting. The ore we fight the worse it gets. And then we realise that probably it is not all so easy as Tahaan makes it look like. It is much more complicated; the obsession is too deep-rootes and no one is cjild here; and it is not the question of donkey (I doubt that; probably it is even less significant than Birbal was for the two children). At the macro level it is just the stroy of a family where everyone is related to the other. One brother is killed by another. And its completely at the personal level that the story moves forward. But hardly do we realise that it is all about a personal grudge, revenge and obsession. Nowhere is this 'personal' emphasised but everywhere the root is intensely 'personal'. And in all this the only loser is one who has no personal connection to whatever he is doing. Somehow the movie is prphetic also. It resembles a lot to the case of Aman Kachroo. The family members neglects the boy's complaints and he is killed. And this is what makes the stroy even moe poignant. The story moves at so many levels and layers that it is just not possible to keep track of all of them in a single viewing. There is, in fact, no story or a central plot. There are only themes; The issues and all these finally reach at obsession. Everyone is obsessed with one thing or the other. And the movie comes out as the montage of all the sub-plots; all the smaller incidents. There looks something of a sort of story. But then if you are asked to tell the story...............blank; not possible. whose story will you tell-- the Rajput senapati, the Rajpu, weak student, the rajput, bastard sister (or her brither), Jarhwal; the naked girl in the dark room; the keep of the Rajput senapati; the Rajput poet with his 'ardhnareshwar' or all those people standing with gulaal smeared all over the face; or many more. Each character is a story; a sub-plot and they are brought together in an extremely violent situation. The fil is a bif question on the 'unity' itself which the gulaal seeks to achieve but fails miserably. And then beyond all these and with all these is the music. The film belongs as much to Piyush Mishra as to Anurag Kashyap, if not more. The music is the voice of the movie; it is the common each situation. And in the end it also surrenders; you are left with the world of dark, sinister conspiracies. Adding to this voice is the extremely extraoridinary art direction and stage setting-- just look at the room of that student. '69'-- just this smal rendering speaks volumes-- a sexual posture; and the shape reveals as if it is the broken, round glass of Gandhi, Subhash and many more "idiots", who talked about unity, peace and freedom but failed miserably. Or that "Hello There" converting into "Hell here". Or that sports bicycle. This single room is the world which the music talks about; the 'duniya' which everyone is urged to save; and finally left as it is to us. You are urged to do a lot; but there is no readymade or permanent solution; and the worst solution is killing someone. The problem never dies with one person. Despite all the violence, the movie looks very Gandhian in the end-- you can't achieve anything by killing the person whom you think to be the culprit. And the concept of gulaal (the symbol for untiy, love and peace) is completely reversed (symbolising the reversal in our own perception and world-view); and the fact that the movie ends on Diwali night summarises the mood of this very well-directed and choreographed montage.

Collage Loading ....

A coLlage

It is not a story. Don’t expect to find a story here. If you are reading it with the hope of finding a story, please don’t read it then. Obviously it was supposed to be sent to the bridprize competition in the stories category. But that doesn’t prove that it is a story. I wanted to send it because they don’t have any category for such writings, which are not in the cannon. It may be called a collage, but it is exactly not that also. I told you that it is not classified (in any sense of the term); may be it can never be classified. It may be just a heap of broken images; the children of men; in the name of God. It has a title because the entry was required to have a title, probably (canonical, remember); just an assumption.

So....... yeah........ classification. Someone was probably talking of some kind of classification. What does that mean? India, probably. UNITY IN DIVERSITY. U classify; and then differences; but then they are one. It is REALLY India, Bharat, or Hindustan, whatever. I am not a philosopher like Kumar sahib was; i won’t philosophise; i can’t. But Kumar sahib always used to. He was a well read man. Lenin, Marx, Mao, Che,........The list is endless. I have met him several times. But every time it is the same. The same multinationals bothering him; the same tension of increasing extremism, oh no, no, its useless extremism, or rather, communal extremism. He wanted all this to end. Probably because he had suffered at the hand of all these and is still suffering.

Once when i went to his house, it was probably Sunday and that is why he was there and my plan to meet his lonely wife seemed to be in danger (don’t take it otherwise, its just a kind of social service; what is wrong with it if someone is getting happiness out of it and that, too, probably the only happiness). It is no one’s fault, actually. All of were together in the university. Kumar sahib wasn’t sahib those days; and i wasn’t jobless. And Mani was a bombshell even then. They belonged to the same party; ours was and still is the most hardcore communist university. Actually at the time of admission Kumar had assisted Mani; since then they became close friends. In next year’s election Kumar became the President and his party captured all the four major posts in the Union. That was the night of blast. At about 5o’clock in the morning, Kumar and Mani came to the room, completely drunk by several rounds of vodka and beer and cigarette. After all it was the victory of Communism, socialism, of the oppressed. i was already asleep (by the way, i happened to be Kumar’s room partner). In the morning i learnt what happened the last night. They went to the bed. And even then it was no fault, why it should be. I mean they were soooo happy and drunk and young and it just happened. But then they fell in love, while making love; that was the last nail in the coffin. And i still can’t believe that i snored away gloriously all this time. Couple of years down the line, Kumar landed a job in Microsoft as a language consultant of Korean. With a very heavy, emotional heart, he left the party, the university. In a year, Mani, too, landed a job in Google. And to cut the long story short, they married. Its been three long years and they are still married. But i had to come regularly to keep the marriage going. Kumar sahib is so busy with his promotions, incentives and office affairs that he is rarely able to give time. Mani had to leave the job, because who will look after the house, then? And besides job in a multinational is so much obnoxious in itself, and so much more if a woman is working there. He knows the women there. And so the whole day she bores herself in house (except when i come up to light up her day); and whole night again bores herself in her husband’s bed.

And so today i, finally got a chance to meet my ex-room partner. And i found him still in the same state, thinking about the university—

“You know Aman, our university and our education system is crumbling down. There are so many horrible things happening there. First these religious fascists are ruling there and then multinationals have made their grand entry into the campus. How we had fought against the Nestle outlet; now it has come back. Then that 27% OBC reservation; it took 15 days of hunger strike to get it implemented. Yeah it was decided and announced that they will implement it. But we had to sit on hunger strike to really get it implemented. Now the population have increased; but they are refusing to increase it to 50% and no one is doing anything. And then remember that night of Presidential Debate, when a candidate was saying something against that stupid chauvinist God of Hindus, Rama. And these Hindu fanatics began shouting something against Allah. How we had opposed this vehemently! After all Ram was like that. On one hand they were defending someone so evil and then pointing fingers at Allah, so pious, so glorious. And then being communists it is our duty to defend and protect the Muslims.......”

I was bored with all that he was saying. But he went on and on and on. What i really wanted was to fuck Mani and going by her face she also wanted the same. So we did it in the toilet. But all the time he knew it. From then on began another phase of the hip and happening and bold Mani’s life. She was whipped and beaten up every day. She wasn’t beaten so much because she cheated on him but because she had slept with a Muslim. Kumar was always too tired or too busy to make love with her but..... And Mani knew all about his affairs but she kept mum. What could she do? She was just a woman. And me? I wanted to do something. But what is the need? I don’t want to get into this muddle and lose my life.

I was also getting bored of her and i wanted someone elsee.

They are twins. But nothing about them was twin-like. One was the communist and the other was the communalist. Now they are matured and employed; so it doesn’t matter much. But back in good, old college days it mattered; after all it was the question of ideology; it was the question of their identity.

It was the Valentine’s Day. We were sitting in the college gallery with two more friends. Actually this was a kind of shed which connected the two buildings of college—the language block and the main administrative block (which also had other humanities and social sciences department).all of us were the students of language block.

So we were not sitting purposelessly, although generally we used to. We were waiting for the ‘to-be’ valentine of this communalist brother. She came; he gave her the roses; she threw them away; slapped him; and went ahead in her way to do the same to a few more boys.

For five minutes after she was gone, leaving behind scattered roses and marked cheek, he remained silent. We all remained silent. Then one in our group said—

“Its all the result of Western culture; this valentine’s day and all.”

And then as if this communalist brother was enlightened.

“Yeah! I was also trying to figure it out. You got it right. You know we used to be the head of the village; and whoever we wanted, that gi

rl was brought to us; i mean to our great grandfathers. But today.............its all the result of the Western culture that we are giving so much respect and importance to these girls. First we will have to stop this Western culture from flourishing in our country and then............”

So the plan was made. All the couples in the college were beaten up on that day, to teach them as well as the western culture a lesson.

Then that evening this girl was called out of her hostel on the pretext of asking forgiveness. And much to our astonishment, she came out. The handkerchief, the chloroform and she was bundled in the car. We didn’t need to take her too far away. Behind that same gallery, that same language block, she was laid down in the darkness.

Both the brothers were single-minded on this issue and i knew they were right. After all it was the question of self-respect and manhood. And then that issue of foreign culture was quite legitimate also. After all if foreign companies (giving employment and money to our country) pose such a grave danger to our country then foreign culture, probably, pose a greater danger. And so all the way i was with them.

It was all for the love of our motherland; of our culture. And we all got the satisfaction of being true patriots. Her naked, moving body, the process of dressing and we were, again, filled with filth and anger that demanded a discharge. And i, obviously, didn’t film only while they worked hard; i also did my part, besides filming but they did the majority of the things.

I was the media.

The second film was even better than the first. In that pre-internet era, both of the videos sold like hot cakes in the college. But men inherently like rapes and so the second video, obviously, sold much more than the first. And even in this internet era that is our most downloaded video and also the highest paid.

And so even now we try to make this kind of video. But rapes are so rare and so we have to work really hard to make communal riots a success. And these riots are also a part of our ongoing struggle against foreign culture, as you can clearly see.

This is really great part-time business as it is a great social work too. After all we are fighting against the foreign culture and promoting the real, Indian culture. It is very satisfying for the three of us.

he [yes, with a small letter as he is no god, no extraordinary] did not come riding on a horseback, or on two motorbikes or in a stylish car; he did not come running, walking , dancing; he did not come cycling, swimming, gymming; he did not come sleeping, walking; he did not come singing, writing; he did not come flying; he simply came; how, from where, to where, for what, why is not a mystery; mysteries are not to be solved; all these questions are not to be answered; they are for the questions’ sake only; he probably came for the sake of coming;

I [yes, I am extraordinary for I spotted him] was the first to see him on the road; there were hundred others waiting for the traffic to move; he came, all saw him but only I saw him; so normal, so ordinary; no catwalk or dogwalk; it was walk; to ; the traffic opened up; the noise, the shout, the shock; the pool of blood overflowed the traffic and reached My shoes; it was not to stop; it had just begun; he was seen for the first time; he was to be seen for many-many more times; in his dream; or My dream; simply walk down the lane;..............................................................................................................................................; it was the eternal wait of Sita; I saw him again; I knew the pool of blood was to extend; I had to stop that walk; but I am extraordinary; blood crossed the capacity of My shoes and; the equation reversed; it began to drown the shoes; I had to save My shoes, somehow, anyhow; how?; the question mark was bigger than it looks; I had to take drastic steps; everyone suggested so; but what is a drastic step; I had never taken a step; and I did not know; I still do not know; I called up a meeting; the first and the last step was to catch him; I did not know; no one knew; how; all told to take stern (now, what is that?) action; the meeting ended; important decision (“take stern step”) taken at the meeting;

something was soon to happen; it had to; it is the rule of nature; I; subordinates; all; everyone waited; all had gathered somewhere for a meeting; to do the same to their subordinates; I waited; My subordinates waited; and their subordinates waited; I wanted to move; My subordinates wanted to move; and their subordinates wanted to move; the blood was sticky; the moisture pretended stickiness; on the elevator; I; My subordinates; and their subordinates could not move; the elevator had jammed; the tyre had punctured; the oil tank leaked; the axle had broke; no tower; big jam of the new bridge; a screeching standstill; did not want to; and so could not; came the left air from nowhere; it had to come; to lift me; My subordinates; and their subordinates; the moisture was removed; elevators mended; all mended; all normal; the flow of blood stopped; or it seemed so; it was to renew not long after; he was really an animal; a blot on rationality; the coldness of the dead blood was in his eyes; it sought to freeze the air; it sought to freeze My eyes; and I did not look into his eyes again; I always stopped My gaze before reaching his eyes; he was after all not human; and it is below My dignity to let an animal look into Me; his sensation and his soul was buried deep, encased in ice inside him; nothing could have stirred him; his body was hot; but he was colder than ice; his body was living (at least, it looked to others); but he was not; yeah!..............now I got it right; he was in sleep; it was exactly as in sleep; living and not living at the same time;

his eyes never closed; and so he was never sleeping; but all the time he seemed to be in; I could not understand this; he would not open his mouth; he would not open his eyes; and I; My subordinates; and their subordinates could not do anything;

there is nothing that does not break; that was Mt belief; but then the weaker breaks first; I; My subordinates; and their subordinates were weaker than him; I knew it; they had realised it; and their subordinates realised it;

he was kept in the thought reading chamber for whole one day; but then it was inconceivable that a person can remain without thinking for such a long time; and to top it he had no memories—absolutely nothing at all; not even of killing the people!;

was he a robot?; no he can’t be; he had those ganglions; and he was definitely a human being; all tests proved it; was he in sleep?; memories are not erased in sleep; and sleep is not a condition where memories are not recorded or thoughts not thought; I thought he was in sleep; but now it seemed that I was in sleep; and dreaming a long, bad nightmare; I wanted to come out of it; but I was unable to;

I mean he killed with such cold disdain; not in cold blood but in freeze blood; and he remembers nothing; there must be something to it; and I was bent to discover what; it was probably for the first time that I felt with such passion; for the first time I had a motive; a feeling of trying to get something; but how was the question; for the moment all way seemed closed; but there is an ancient saying—where there is a will, there is a way; I don’t know how I recalled it when I began to lose My patience; my passion; my zeal; it was an indication to strengthen my will; and I did; I became more hardened; more bent to discover him; who he was; what he was; no way looked in sight; there was wall and brick all around; a closed area with no path to walk on; but I decided to walk into that wall; I knew I had the will; and I knew the wall itself will make way for me; from now onwards I and only I was walking; neither my subordinates nor their subordinates; for My company I had My will;

I again went to him; still I was not able to look into his eyes; but at least for some time I was able to stand it; and then suddenly a fresh way unfolded before me—

“do you have any motive behind killing these innocent people?”

and the way really worked; for the first time he stirred; yes; he really stirred; and his voice came our as his mouth opened

“no”

that single word still resonates inside Me; I repeated My question; but he never repeated his answer; I thought it might have been My hallucination; anyhow I moved on to the next question—

“then why you kill?”

“i enjoy it”;

“why?”;

he fell silent; I thought he would not speak again; but then I realised that he was thinking; he had begun thinking also; and his answers showed that he had his memories intact; but then how can he deceive machine; that question was for a latter period; presently he answered My present question—

“i enjoy the sight of blood; it gives a feeling that my dream world has become more perfect”

I was dumbfounded; however, it was not long before I regained My wits—

“dream world! what is your dream world?”

“the world where I am is my dream”

“but you are killing when you are awake.”

for the first time he laughed

“yes I am awake in my dream world”

“what do you mean? when this is your dream world, why are you trying to make it more perfect?”

he fell silent again; and this time he was not even thinking; he never wanted to answer it; I knew I had to frame some other question to make him speak again

“do you have a real world also?”

“yes”

“why do you not make that world perfect?”

“that is already perfect”

“do you go there?”

“no”

“what do you mean?”

he remained silent;

“why don’t you go there?”

again silence;

“have you seen that place?”

“i have”

“when?”

“when i am awake”

“how?”

“with my eyes”

“why you went there?”

no answer;

“do you live there?”

I never intended the question but pat came the reply—

“yes”

I did not understand; and still I do not understand; but I did not want to show it; I had no further questions; but I had to ask a round-up question so that the ending did not look abrupt—

“why did you not speak all this in the first instance; before all this torture; and why you spoke now without any............”

“speak as much as needed”

after this interrogation I again became disillusioned; all will disappeared; all passion evaporated; I no longer desired to know him; I again became aloof and segregated; it was again the turn of My subordinates; and their subordinates;

and he also never spoke again; he had confessed; and the case was being framed; but we needed motive; and the motive was too nonsensical and out of world to be considered sane; we needed something which was more understandable; his confession seeked to prove him insane; a psycho; but I knew he was not insane; he was probably more sane than anyone of us; more sensitive; for whom dreams are reality; and what we consider reality, they all were dreams; this is what the Bhagwad Gita says; this is what the rich Sanskrit philosophy says;

he was to be hanged till death; but he disappeared; just the way he had appeared; probably he had woken up into his real world; but he will sleep again; he will come back to his dream world; or My dreamworld;

its green light now. Everyone is moving. I can’t concentrate. Let everything stop. Then I will continue. But do I really need to? Does anyone really need to.........................Do anything? Why stop for such insignificance?...................