I feel like slipping towards my five-month-old self again! Lately, I can’t whip out disturbing dreams from my otherwise serene sleep. My subconscious mind, somehow, insists on being a judgmentally parochial beast entertaining nothing but skepticism. Sadistic SOB!
A certain friend of mine, who is visiting India, called upon me last night and gave a brief account about his recent stop at Mirza Ghalib’s grave – of the locked grave site being nothing more than an abandoned resting place which has a fancy name to it: “Ghalib Memorial“. He told me he could sense Ghalib’s soul in pain. Later towards the night, I could feel this disturbing tale residing in my mind oftener than I wanted it too. How incessantly do we quote them, only to raise our intellectual morale in a certain company. How naively do we deduce implications out of their words in accordance to our own perception, oblivious to their true nature. With such inadequacy and injustice we treat their verses and yet not once do we think of praying for their souls…Such is the deserving fate of men? In his own words: The prison of life and the bondage of grief are one and the same. Before the onset of death, how can man expect to be free of grief? Earlier this morning I prayed for him and for all the souls who have departed leaving an imprint on this world.
This reminds me of a term that has been aimlessly wandering in my – (for a lack of a better word) – skull. Mysticism? Is it parallel to Spirituality in any context? The more the questions echo in my hollow skull, the more I can wait for the answers. Perhaps they will come to me on their own.
For now, I need to go study for some English paper. Later!