Posts Tagged ‘peace’

The commercialisation of shanti.

Posted: December 15, 2012 in Uncategorized
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It’s ironic, or maybe idiocy, how some preach “shanti” and are the ones who love a hectic life. I feel it’s become more of a fad to talk about peace and shanti, nowadays.

“Yea, I’ve been in a state of shanti for the past few months. Oh man, did I tell you the other day I did a fuck load of coke and hooked up with this really cute gu.. blah blah.”

I’ve heard this so much, it’s a bit tiring to the ears. Some women I know (Men come under the same; I’ve just heard it a lot more from women) preach the concept of being peaceful, but live the life of hectic sycophants. They thrive on the deformities of a regular life. They create facades for every facet of their life. One of the facades is that of being peaceful within. It’s projected with an air of superiority. One of convulsing high-handedness that starts to prick on the shreds of intelligence in most people.

I’ve realised one thing. Those who are at peace, don’t feel the need to assert it. Being at peace or shanti, is to do with you and yourself. How are you suppose to quantify peace to anyone else? If someone asks you how peaceful you are, how are you suppose to respond to that? You can’t, according to me. It’s a personal experience. It’s not meant to be dissected and calibrated. Staking a false claim gets relegated as a common cry for attention. It might fool others. But it’s time you stopped fooling yourself.

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Day 8 without a shower:

Day 1 through 7 has gone by in a daze. The smell is creeping up. It’s not strong enough to overpower the senses of passing tourists, but it has come to purge the area around my nose.

Deodorants mask the monstrosity that has become my physical being. But like all man-made things, it also fades away. All that is left for me is to follow the daze, to try forgetting the smell born out of laze.

The forests beckon me – “Come to us, the further you go from ‘cleanliness’, the more you feel clean”. It’s a call from the wild – Be wild. The smell will go. It’s cold; it always goes. It just dissipates. Just like all our worries. One more pull of that magical flute, and all your worldly associations are dulled out. It has become your rite of passage to the land of the uncultivated, the free, the wanderers, the helpless life-addicts. And there’s always a welcoming party.

When the elements sparkle orange, it’s a party. When the lungs squirm in agony and exhilaration, it’s a party. When eyes glaze over and thoughts play havoc, it’s a party. When the haze of cloudy vapour masks every smell, its a party. A party of liberating proportions. One just for my senses. With me as host, guest and entertainment.

Cut to Sunday.

Posted: June 24, 2012 in experience
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Scene opens on  a Monday morning. Work happens. Work happens over and over again. Scene closes on a tired person entering his house, and crashing asleep.

Repeat scene for Tuesday, Wednesday and Thursday.

Repeat start of scene for Friday, but add tinge of happiness for an upcoming weekend. Scene closes on the same. Only it closes about 6-7 hours later than usual, with a lot of alcohol and a lot of chaos.

Cut to Saturday morning, or maybe afternoon. Open to massive hangover. Cut to repercussions of massive hangover. Headaches brought on by stupid noises, body pains and general lethargy. But add to that, a long list of chores. Paying bills, depositing cheques, general shopping for the house, and other mundane activities you don’t have enough time to do in the week.

Fast forward to Saturday night (or at least try to fast forward). The scene opens to bright lights, colourful people, laughing and dancing, musical merriment, and a lot more alcohol to drown out the week gone by and the day of chores. Scene closes on a black out.

Cut to Sunday afternoon. There is no Sunday morning. Waking up. Finally waking up. Letting the activities of the previous night, wash over you. Just lying there in bed, looking out the window. Just basking in the glory of having absolutely nothing to do. That is what Sundays are for. Just doing nothing. Do nothing, but with yourself. Walk the streets, listen to random music, sit at a bar in the afternoon. Alone. Completely alone, except for your thoughts. I like the sitting at the bar part. Sit at that bar with your words pouring out. Stare out, into the rain. Feel the rain washing away the filth of the city, of the week, of the previous binging nights. Become clean of everything. All commitments, all headaches and all worries. Listen to the music that plays, feel the music, get lost in that music and learn to love it. Learn to love again. Learn to think of something bigger than yourself. Learn to find yourself again. The person who got lost somewhere down the road, into the abyss of always doing something. Find that person, and forget what the next day brings. Cut to peace.

And repeat all over again.