Yet another mundane funeral.

I died another death today. But frankly, I am not sad. I maybe a bit upset yes. Strange as it may seem or bizarre that it may sound I am upset not for having died this death, but to relive this experience time and again. I have done that many a times in the past. Today is just another day for me, just another mundane funeral. I am upset at being numb to the entire experience and actually to a point that now it comes to me all so…unnaturally.

Every time I experience this torment, I am condensed to increasingly being myopic. I know I will rise from the dead again. No messiah necessary. But then, this makes me more pragmatic, but they say I am expected to be pragmatic and logical. I must not feel. I am to merely think and decipher. I am to only deduce for another. To feel is not my forte I am told. I must go on forever and knock on the heart of the one who shares me. Rather the one who abuses me ever so willingly? But I want to feel. If I can feel my own pain, why can I not feel other feelings? Why must I be stereotyped as my predecessor? Can it not change?

A million or more deaths by now, I wonder…what is it like to die naturally? Just one moment in time and you are gone. All your legacy, your black and white dreams, your unsung songs, all gone. And your aura reduced to the mercy of someone else’s memory. And for you its life after death.

For me one life begets another, a million beget another million and so on.

Bear with me; today is no different than the other. This funeral has nothing new to offer. It is clock-wise, precise and regimented. Same rites, as if programmed, not a single mourner to witness or lay wreath to my demise.

Wait. I am sorry. I almost forgot…let me introduce myself to you. I am the mind- Yes, the mind- center of consciousness that generate the thoughts, the feelings, ideas and perceptions.

My story is one that is buried deep in the subconscious of every human being. I am a generic I was born unto this world to a man who never got along with me from the word go. He was no different to millions that pollute the environment with their breath of compromise. A smell so settled in every nook and corner of this country. This man to whom I must belong, is to be so devoid of all emotions when it came to me…days passed before we could even say hello to each other. I grew up almost on my own. I was chained to my own existence, as a living being. I began to feel lonely.

I can’t help it. Nobody wants to hear my ideas. My philosophy. What good is my doctrine if not able to pay my bills? I care less for what the world is up to…I care not for where we are headed. I am an individual. I must think or act like one. This is not the age of revolution or the time for intellectual deliberation. Lets just get on with life and kill the thought, for now and ever.

I was molested more than once by cleverly craft words that bred rhetoric and compromises that has put me to shame to this day. I felt helpless. The society I co-exist in had no room for me; I was a non-starter here. Everyone loathed me and the likes of me. I could see all around me organized attempts to strip me of my existence and get over with it…and yet I resisted each time. Every time they killed me, I resurrected my being with hope of being heard one day. I whispered, I yelled…no one gave a heed to my uttering. I was left to die my own death of isolation…only temporarily.

Why can I not stop this mad rush of thoughts? I must not pay attention to these useless thoughts that play havoc in my life. It’s all-useless. Meaningless and all so not necessary. Why should I burn my youth to deliberate the ills of a society drowned in its own fear of reform. How will it bring betterment in my life? I must cease all thoughts that erode my happiness. Who wants to think? Not me.

My trouble started from the time I realized my potential. I wanted to be heard be noticed and bring a change. I have not been successful.

I am the minority of the elite class. They choose to call me as the intellectual wealth of this country. They call me intelligentsia.

I am a product of the conformism that plagues the thoughts. I am a victim of social arrestation. I am the wasted resource of 150 million like-minded minds. I am a minority.

Too much thinking is excess. And excess of everything is bad. I must be careful, nothing I should think or feel should put me on the wrong side of the fence. Success owes its birth to compromise. Originality of thought will make people become skeptical and they shall look at me with suspicion. I must put my mind to sleep. If I am to survive. I must know this is Rome. I must do as do the Romans. No uncials to chisel, just the senate and I.


Alas, I must live another life until death jolts me to another life that I shall live until death itself comes again…or so the story goes.