I speak, therefore I am
Why should I forget who am I?
Shut-up; don’t make noise; keep quiet. Your ill-timed rants----like an ever coughing old-man in the dead of the night---may risk the semblance of peace. Moreover what is this cacophony of identity? Silly, haven’t you learnt a lesson yet, even after the never-ending streams of blood painting red all the shores during these years of turmoil. This identity talk is all, what they call a mere intellectual talk shop. I thought the tumult of tempest would have made you wise; it seems you are as immovable--- may be foolhardy---- as Pir Panjal. Oh obstinate, open the windows of your clogged mind and seek a lesson from your failed revolt. What is identity; it is a conflict that is occupying your mind. Think hard, ponder over and contemplate; only your existence is your identity. In case you exist, then only you can claim any identity. Your being is your life, when did a corpse had a soul? Lifeless, soon rotting is given a burial before a pungent smell makes all sick.
But of what use a mere existence is? Without a uniquely recognisable and respectable existence a simple being is worse than a death. A symbolic existence is no better than a miserable vegetative state. Oh hoo hoo, now serfs are also demanding dignity, it’s to deserve first than desire. Whenever you talk identity, you smack a conflict. Why you breathe conflict with every breath? Can’t you imagine your being, without a filthy paradigm of us and them? Is it not possible for you to overcome the limiting influences of cast, creed, colour, region and religion? World is shrinking fast and you are still obsessed with the eighteenth century brand of a shallow nationalism. Why is it not possible for you to imbibe the values of new millennium, universal ideals of equality and modernity? Underdeveloped creature your backwardness is the curse, in which you are badly trapped. The time has come to break the shackles of conservatism.
Oh my God, what a diabolic idea to deprive the vanquished his self, his identity. In the name of material development, it is nothing else but to make a resisting nation, struggling to attain its cherished destination, to submit before the deities of the time. For a victor his identity is what defines him. And for a conquered an identity is like an onion, after every layer is peeled nothing is left behind, it only gives tears.
Identity akin to an onion is all bullshit. It is to confuse more the already confused. The hard-shell of identity indeed has a kernel inside. The concept of universal brotherhood equality and ‘human rights for all’ and ‘we live in a civilised world’ is music to the ears of the powerless; it is all an idealistic hyperbole. This world under the thin veneer of civility is still as brutal, violent and uncivilised as was the caveman. The longer the length of the gun a nation possesses the more the so called rights it enjoys. If everybody is equal then why few are more than the equal? Why the victors have all the rights and privileges while suppressed are deprived all the dignities of life?
Oh impractical man, leave aside your ideals and forget the pangs of identity. Accept the reality of the day, be part of the proceedings and submit to the supremacy of time, otherwise you will perish. Whether submission before the dominance of the moment will help me to preserve what I am, what I believe and what I like to practice accordingly? Or else, it is only to get lost in the Sea of a greater irrelevance? In case it is to melt in the melting pot of time and leaving no trace behind, what difference it makes to my already undignified existence? If I have to finally perish even after submitting, it is better to perish while not submitting before the torment of time.
Oh foolish, life is smiling, spreading its wings ready to take you to a joyride. What a perplexing riddle, will the death of a struggle bestow me the real life or joy of the life push me towards an eternal death? Why these strange shadows are rising and rising and swarming the entire place. Are these shadows friendly chanting the scripture or I am hearing a war- cry heralding my demise? Is it getting dark and dark or I have gone blind?
Do not throw pebbles on the calm water surface, it create ripples, I am told. However what to do with the volcano just beneath the surface, that is about to erupt? I am in agony and death is slowly surrounding me; I am asked to keep quiet. What a disgusting vicious circle; I resist I am reminded of death and once I am silenced I cease to exist.
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Lastupdate on : Fri, 31 Aug 2012 21:30:00 Makkah time
Lastupdate on : Fri, 31 Aug 2012 18:30:00 GMT
Lastupdate on : Sat, 1 Sep 2012 00:00:00 IST
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