Skip to main content

Lesson I didn't Learn

 I wish I had learnt the art of nonbeing in my adolescence. 

This week's Indispire theme is: Things I Wish I Knew When I Was A teenager #Life 

There is a character in my novel, Black Hole, who seeks nonbeing. Jane Abercrombie is a Jewish woman born in Hitler's Germany. She sees her people disappearing into nonbeing. Standing on the shards of broken windowpanes of Kristallnacht, Jane tells her father quoting Herman Hesse's Siddhartha, "I am going on my way, not to seek another doctrine, for I know there is none, but to leave all doctrines and all teachers and to reach my goal alone - or die." 

"Go my daughter," her father tells her. "Maybe, the non-being in India will be less painful than the non-being which awaits us here in our fatherland."

Jane will learn yet another nuance of nonbeing in India. Quite different from Hitler's and Yahweh's. Totally different from the Buddha's. She will learn the nonbeing of sexual ecstasy, the egolessness of Kamasutra's climaxes, from none other than a godman in the making. The fraudulence of the spiritual guru explodes in her psyche echoing Hitler's Kristallnacht. She leaves the ashram and goes to Israel where she will be given a dream in that country's Declaration of Independence: The state of Israel will be open for Jewish immigration and for the Ingathering of the Exiles; it will be based on freedom, justice and peace as envisaged by the prophets of Israel; it will ensure complete equality of social and political rights to all its inhabitants irrespective of religion, race or sex; it will guarantee freedom of religion, conscience, language, education and culture; it will safeguard the Holy Places of all religions...

A page from 'Black Hole'


Dreams are sweet and free. The reality is a nightmare.

I did grow up from my adolescent self-centredness. A little. But only to long for nonbeing again and again. Life offers it too in abundance. In the form of the Eliotean death-in-life that is abundant all around. In the form of people who are kind enough to reform you, people who want to redeem your soul, those who want to teach you patriotism... 

I wish I had learnt the real art of nonbeing in my teenage. 

In the novel, Black Hole, Jesus chooses nonbeing. Standing before the governor who vacillates between two loyalties - to truth and to the mob - Jesus wonders what he is to say in defence of himself. "What am I to say? Jesus thought to himself. That I detest the human species? That man is God's biggest blunder? That I long for the cross?"

Jesus chose nonbeing. The Buddha had done that much earlier. I belong to an inferior race, one whose adolescent self-centredness refuses to yield to the cosmos's endless process of pulverisation and transmutation. But I wish I had learnt that divine art long, long ago. 




Comments

  1. Such a deep and insightful read. I am sure some of us too have this feeling from time to time. This feeling not not wanting to be a part of this mindless world and yes humans are terrible and difficult to be around!!

    ReplyDelete

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

The Adventures of Toto as a comic strip

  'The Adventures of Toto' is an amusing story by Ruskin Bond. It is prescribed as a lesson in CBSE's English course for class 9. Maggie asked her students to do a project on some of the lessons and Femi George's work is what I would like to present here. Femi converted the story into a beautiful comic strip. Her work will speak for itself and let me present it below.  Femi George Student of Carmel Public School, Vazhakulam, Kerala Similar post: The Little Girl

The Little Girl

The Little Girl is a short story by Katherine Mansfield given in the class 9 English course of NCERT. Maggie gave an assignment to her students based on the story and one of her students, Athena Baby Sabu, presented a brilliant job. She converted the story into a delightful comic strip. Mansfield tells the story of Kezia who is the eponymous little girl. Kezia is scared of her father who wields a lot of control on the entire family. She is punished severely for an unwitting mistake which makes her even more scared of her father. Her grandmother is fond of her and is her emotional succour. The grandmother is away from home one day with Kezia's mother who is hospitalised. Kezia gets her usual nightmare and is terrified. There is no one at home to console her except her father from whom she does not expect any consolation. But the father rises to the occasion and lets the little girl sleep beside him that night. She rests her head on her father's chest and can feel his heart...

Florentino’s Many Loves

Florentino Ariza has had 622 serious relationships (combo pack with sex) apart from numerous fleeting liaisons before he is able to embrace the only woman whom he loved with all his heart and soul. And that embrace happens “after a long and troubled love affair” that lasted 51 years, 9 months, and 4 days. Florentino is in his late 70s when he is able to behold, and hold as well, the very body of his beloved Fermina, who is just a few years younger than him. She now stands before him with her wrinkled shoulders, sagged breasts, and flabby skin that is as pale and cold as a frog’s. It is the culmination of a long, very long, wait as far as Florentino is concerned, the end of his passionate quest for his holy grail. “I’ve remained a virgin for you,” he says. All those 622 and more women whose details filled the 25 diaries that he kept writing with meticulous devotion have now vanished into thin air. They mean nothing now that he has reached where he longed to reach all his life. The...

To an Old Friend

Image by Copilot Designer Dear S, I don’t know if you’d even remember me after all these decades, but I find myself writing to you as if it were only yesterday that we parted ways. You were one of the few friends I had at school. You may be amused to know that a drawing of yours that you gifted me stayed with me until I left Kerala after school. Half a century later, I still remember that beautiful pencil drawing, the picture of a vallam (Kerala’s canoe) resting on a shore beneath a coconut tree that slanted over a serene river on whose other bank was an undulating hilly landscape. A few birds flew happily in the sky. Though it was all done in pencil, absolutely black and white, my memories of it carry countless colours. I wonder where you are now. A few years later, when I returned to Kerala on holiday, I did visit your village to enquire about you. But the village had changed much and your hut on the hill wasn’t seen anymore. Maybe, you moved on. Maybe, you took up your father’s...

Waste Land

This is a silly post though I dare to call it a poem.  Read it at your own risk. “In the room the women come and go Talking of Michelangelo.” T S Eliots’ Prufrock had at least the consolation of women coming and going talking of Michelangelo.   I’m back to regular routine tomorrow.  And women will come and go talking of duties, workshops and seminars.  They call themselves experts.  They will dictate the terms and conditions.  They have the backing of a religious sect. And I will sing along with T S Eliot : Weialala leia Wallala leialala The winter break is over.  The real break is going to begin. Religious break? Or feminine break? I’m looking forward to Madame Sosostris with her Tarot cards.  She will determine the future. The future of her staff.  She has started by terminating the services of the redundant.  Who is not redundant in this world? Is the expert essential? Is the Sw...