Skip to main content

If Truth were to be Told- Excerpts

This book is my attempt to get better, with greater understanding and clarity of purpose. In the age of too much information and little knowledge, where interpersonal skills are judged by the number of social networking sites you use, where grief is shared on twitter, hand-holding has lost relevance, relationships are taken as a direct derivative of usefulness, this book attempts to re-kindle the fire which Prometheus once brought to the Earth, the light which separates human beings from the other species. Through this book, I have been able to celebrate the nights which were lonelier than I thought I would ever face and the pain, which was deeper than I thought I would ever come across and even the happiness, which was more hysterical than I thought I would experience.

Chapter-1 Going With the Flow:


The joy of freefall is one of the earliest pleasures of life that a child experiences. Only later in life when we feel secure in the knowledge that the hand which threw us up is there to hold us on the way back do we come to note the feel of the nostalgic wind, the intoxication that comes with rising up each day that kept thrilling the child till the time he has to face the first fall of his life.....And once we can remember well enough, a worry, a scare seeps in, which makes it so difficult to let go. Even if not all people end up being acrophobic, still it becomes so difficult to even remotely recall the feeling of euphoria associated with freefall...On deeper analysis, we find that it is not that we feel we are going to hit the ground and we fear the impact, but it is the fear of the unknown, the fear of not knowing when exactly we are going to hear the thud, as we touch the ground. As we grow up in life, we get into the tendency of calculating and pre-calculating the paths that we choose, trying to predict every bend, every turn of the path ahead of us.
.....Would it not be wonderful to just go out because you wish to speak to a person, even if you make a fool out of yourself, in the worst case scenario? Is it not better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all? Don’t worry whether the cart comes before the horse or vice-versa, as long as the damn thing moves!

Just ask yourself when was the last time you looked at the new, green twig on the tree, or the droplets of rain, slowly forming shapes and falling from the iron railing. Just think of the immense peace that you feel out of just thinking of it, and then try to relearn how to do it again in today’s time and age....

Best things in life are not planned; best ideas are not conceived on the hill-top, but come out of the grind that we call life. When, what we call life is allowed to touch our souls so deep that we come out completely drenched in it, filled by fun, happiness and sometimes, even by sorrow, all great creations comes out of this ability to will for the destination and the direction and the willingness to let yourself flow with it.

Chapter-2 Being Unique:
All of life’s exercise is a struggle to be loved, initially the love of parents, which, one is certain of till the time you outgrow it, then it is a lookout for the love of friends and society, sometimes camouflaged as sympathy, empathy and sometime as respect or acceptance. ...
becoming independent of other people’s opinion leads to self-actualization. Accept that you are different from the person next door and then rather than working on being the same as others, cultivate your points of differentiation. Be more of what you are...
It is so painful to see the process by which each of the coloured feathers is taken off so that we end up bland and indistinct. The end of the process is twice as painful as the process itself; when you lie in a pool of blood drawn out of your own dead dreams, and worse, you cannot even smell the dead which surrounds you and start moving around dressed in blood covered clothes with a nonchalance of ‘So what?’...
There is a fallacy, which pronounces ‘All men are equal’. The truth is that by agreeing to this, we are insulting the creativity of the big Creator, of nature; we are implying the lack of innovativeness, lack of ingenuity in Nature’s own design. Men are not equal, nor are they supposed to be. Men are supposed to be unequal, different. ..
look deep inside yourself, to seek, to identify and to recognize yourself; and having done that, to move all heaven and earth to regain the lost you.
Try to find the friend that you used to come across on the other side of the mirror every day, the one who knew you so well and the one you knew so well, with whom you never felt lonely in the most solitary of the cold nights. Do not try to exercise the muscles you never had. Do not try to expand the faculty you have never been blessed with. Find what you have. Find what is given to you. Build like crazy upon it, for time is fleeting......
In a limitless sea of time ‘how long’ measured on a human scale does not matter. ‘How deep’ what is really matters.

Chapter-3 Standing with One Another:



Unlike non thinking animals, the thinking man derives his power from the power he has over men who he calls his circle. The caveman who ruled the group was the one voted to rule, partly due to his capability and partly because of the number of people on whom he held sway.

A lone man with capability is like a deer out in the front of a pride of lions. He has no protection, no support or backup. Sometimes, he tries to fit in, in the same group of mediocrity, in spite of feeling the shallowness of the relationships there. He is like a man on the top of the cliff, taking a plunge into the large expanse of water, only to find that there is no depth there. Instead of feeling the sheer joy of tearing through the depths of water, you end up in the mud at the base of shallow waters. Humiliated and soiled, he sits alone in a corner, alienated and feeling more vulnerable than ever before.





Popular posts from this blog

Bahubali 2- The Conclusion- Movie Review

We are living in an extremely cause-heavy world where causes - real and imagined cloud our minds. I saw this in the case of the movie - Beauty and The Beast. There the quarrel of the social commentators was that it explored the gay angle of one of the characters only briefly, only fleetingly. There can be nothing more absurd than that. You are demanding more from an artist than possibly he can offer. Art is a profession of lonely persuasion, and it serves the purpose its creator desires it to serve. Nothing more and nothing less. It is sad and unfortunates that the liberals, which in Indian context largely translates to Leftists, insists that art is nothing but a vehicle that should be provided to them for their political agendas and narratives to ride on. It is like insisting that the reference to the Negroes in the "The Great Gatsby" should have been expanded to cover racism in detail. The brief episode was merely to substantiate the character and nothing more. Just as cre…

Resurrecting Hinduism- Without Embarrassment

I have been pondering about the sense of despondency, the sense of shame which has been imposed on the Hindu thoughts in Indian society. Every act of faith has to be explained, justified. When partition happened, Muslims fought and obtained an independent Nation, while the other large chunk of population, which, in spite of numerical supremacy, was subjugated for centuries, got India. In line with inherent openness and flexibility of Hinduism, India became a secular nation. This is a matter of pride, since it acknowledged the basic secular nature of Sanatan Dharm. However, as things would evolve, vested political interests considered India as unfinished agenda standing in the path of a religious empire being built world-wide. Through a well-calculated intellectual conspiracy of neglect and vilification, it came to a stage that modern Hindus where embarrassed of their religion and apologetic of their faith. This neglect also resulted in the religion being left to the guardianship of un…

The Unbearable Agony of Unwritten Words

The weather has changed. Skies are clear once again, fog lifted. Azure, cloudless skies; trees bare. The dawn descends with the shy, blush of a fair, newly-wed woman. The days are not yet jaundiced with the pale, bright yellowness of the summers. There is a distinct hint of red in the yellow. 
Writing is sporadic, very less. A few intermittent blog post. Unwritten words sit heavily on the soul of a writer. To accept oneself as a writer is to embark on a dangerous path. It is a solitary profession and a hard one at that. 
I read to prepare to write. I tell myself. Be at some point, even reading has to make way for writing. Writing is not a quick job. It takes time, time and sitting all agitated inside and all peaceful outside, the incongruous internal and external world pulling one apart, in diverse directions. Writing takes time. One needs to tie that heavy stone to the neck of a reckless, wandering mind and allow it to sink to the depths. Bubbles of air escaping to the surface, a brief…