Before I start off with my monthly monologue, here’s a small bit of advice. We’re smack-dab in the middle of Navaratri season already, so the sooner you give your clothes for alterations, the better it is for all parties concerned. Oorja is colors brought to life, a festival that has a special place in every MICAn’s heart. All those sights and sounds, laughter and dance! The food and sweets on offer will gladden your heart and maybe add an inch to your tummy. It’s also the perfect opportunity to explore campuses other than your own. Take a trip to IIM-A or NID for their Garba night. Hopefully the rains will give us a break.
We’re down one trimester already. How do you feel? Relieved or sad? Frightened at the rate at which time goes by? Don’t worry about it. There’s a lot coming up so strap on your seat-belts and be ready.
It’s going to be a bumpy ride.
We hope you enjoy this issue. Feel free to write to us, whatever you like – right from articles, stories and other artwork that you wish to share with us to feedback and reviews about how we can improve Black Coffee and give you a more enjoyable reading experience.
The Storyteller’s Corner
Bala Sai, PGP-2
The taxi growled and puckered to a grind as the lights changed. Parthiban winced in the back seat, his forehead knocking against the window glass as the timid yellow beast shook itself awake. Outside, the city of Kolkata exercised its chaos, a yellow light washing over its potent nostalgia. A Bengali tune from the car’s radio wafted around his head like a ring of Saturn, kept from crashing into him by the barrier of language.
It was 8 in the night, the time when Hoogly takes to the streets, its currents knotting around black tires, polluting the air above with furious honks. A massive new clock-tower was being constructed outside, looking heavily like a structure one would describe as ‘Victorian’ even if one had no idea what ‘Victorian’ was. It was a behemoth with an identity crisis, new in age but old in character, with no idea why it was pretending.
“Or maybe it has to do with our inherent distrust of everything modern,” quipped the taxi driver, peering at him through the rear view mirror.
“If that were true, I wouldn’t trust my I-Phone. But I do.”
“That, saab, can be explained by the inherent trust of everything western.”
“Is there no value for merit, then?”
“Oh there is, there is! There is just no value for history.”
“What is the point of valuing history? History is for people who consume the story and leave the people behind. It’s for the dreamers and the cowardly. It’s for the birds that do not land. This clock tower you see here? It’s like a bowl of worms. It’s for these birds on the clouds to swoop down, satiate themselves and fly back, while its weight crushes those men with their feet on the soil, those unconcerned with history.”
“But saab, many a times, aren’t these two the same person?”
Parthiban sighed. “All the time. The heart is a foolish thing. Passions corrode.”
“You seem to be quite a romantic yourself, saab,” he said, chuckling.
Parthiban grunted and looked out of his window, at a huge digital billboard advertising a political party, a few damaged panels exposing its lie. The elections were just round the corner and advertising spaces in the city were high in demand. The buses and the trams, the auto-rickshaws, the huge billboards, all reflected a face. It was always the same face, regardless of gender or age or affiliation. It was the same face as every time before and every time after.
“Democracy, saab. Democracy. It’s the cruelest thing. It makes you believe you have free will.”
Parthiban chuckled. “You’re too well-informed to be a taxi driver,” he said.
The driver turned back and grinned. “You’re too passionate to be a cynic.”
“I never claimed to be one.”
“Nor did I.”
“What are you then?”
“Sometimes, I think that I’m a means, a conduit.”
“Meaning you know where this road leads to?”
“No, but at least that it is going somewhere.”
The car came to a sudden screeching halt, almost crashing into the minivan ahead.
The traffic had come to a standstill as a political procession clogged the road ahead. Frail little men crowded around the circus- doe eyed and ripe for charming, as the Gods danced for them on the stage, their deceptive dance of hopes. Khaki clad policemen with worn-out lathis appeared on the sidelines, their frowns directed at the men rather than the Gods.
“Well, the road might be going somewhere, but at this rate, we sure aren’t”, quipped Parthiban.
The driver threw his hands up and slunk back in his seat. “So, what destroys your sense of balance, saab?”
“I’m not sure. The deeper you go, the more meaningless it gets. Deep inside, man is unreasonable. And all those knots you tie to keep your beliefs secure- faith, hope, rationality- all of them unravel if you look long and closely enough.”
“Then how is it, these peace people ply their trade? Those that shape and hold sentiments, who mount the throne that is the state?”
“The key, bhai, is to time your tricks. To strike when they haltingly believe your knots are in place.”
The driver grunted. “It must be fun, believing that chaos unfolds somewhere far below you, and you can watch it with a sigh of contempt.”
“There, there. What is the point of privilege if you don’t appreciate it? Why am I supposed to feel guilty for the mess these others are in?”
“But, saab, an economy isn’t made with one man, you must concede. The consumerism you indulge in won’t exist if not for the chaos that engulfs these others.”
“This is no longer a question of political ideologies, is it? You blame the system, not just the politics, for corruption and greed. I contest that, though. Corruption is basic human nature. Let us not glorify humanity by arresting it in a code of Honor – an Honor that is dynamic, personal and amorphous. Breaking the code makes humanity less honorable than a species that doesn’t even make a code to begin with. All we get out of it is guilt, and sometimes, it is with this guilt, that kingdoms are made and slain.”
“Do you think that is wrong?”
“No. That is the way of the world. Some people are always bound to bleed. Civilization is all about disguising it. The system just makes sure people don’t slaughter each other on the streets.”
“What you are otherwise saying, saab, is that the system thrives by destroying equality, while promising it in some invisible future. To wilfully let them grab your will, cosseting yourself with indecision. It seems like quite a masterful deception, I would say.”
“It’s not quite as conscious as it is an aftershock.”
“The insecurity of the weak. The necessity for the weak to create weaknesses in others.”
“Dangerous words, saab. Myopic as well. I would say that the strong have reaped more out of it than the weak have eventually.”
“That’s because it was the system that created the strong and the weak in the first place. A fake sense of inequality kills a society from the outside. But a fake sense of equality, destroys a person from inside. And that, bhai, is the greatest violence in the world.”
“Are you saying that a person is a person without the society that shapes him?”
“I am not arguing between them. I’m arguing about which should power which.”
A policeman knocked on the driver’s window with his lathi, gesturing him to move to a side lane as the procession moved forward. The driver peered behind, honking furiously. Parthiban placed his hand on his shoulder.
“What’s your name?”
“Tilak, I want to watch it closely. Can we not duck into that alley?”
The driver had a fit of laughter, chuckling to himself. “How voyeuristic of you, saab! And how unsurprising.”
Parthiban rolled down the glass, and noise filled the cab.
“There is always going to be conflict,” the driver was saying. “You can’t choose to stay out of it; it’s not your privilege. Not as long as sacrifices continue to be glorified.”
“What are you saying, Tilak?”
“I’m saying that there is no solution in your way. It’s far too late for that.”
“Nobody acknowledges a revolution until they are halfway in it.”
“Is that what you intend to do? Spark a revolution?”
“The revolution is closer to you than you can possibly imagine.” Parthiban paused. “What is your solution, Tilak? What is your way?”
“My way is simple, saab. The wheel of fortune keeps spinning. I want to spin it the way that benefits my people best.”
The crowd began to push against the taxi, the procession squeezing through the narrow lane, now within a few feet from them. Parthiban could now see the leader, the several expressions of his face, the venom of his words sifting through them.
“Tell me, Tilak, is it about the pleasure of having others partake in your selfishness? Does that reassure you? A cause?”
“You’re seeing it backwards. The world isn’t bottomless. It ends in darkness, a black, slippery pit that consumes the self. ”
“An act of selflessness is a very selfish thing, Tilak.”
“If that is so, I am proud of it.”
Parthiban chuckled. “Do you realize that we’re saying very similar things, yet they are in direct conflict?”
The driver nodded, acknowledging him with a subtle smile on his face. He looked up at the rear-view mirror and caught Parthiban’s gaze. He held it. It was just for a moment, but it changed something in both the men. It wasn’t an exothermic change, but a slight exchange of confidences, a soft but thrilling realization.
They would have burst into a bout of laughter, if the bomb hadn’t detonated in the taxi that very moment.
Kajol Gupta, PGP-1
From Eyes of Lust
Ancient eyes stared dispassionately from the shadows at the crowd that moved aimlessly without any spirit or care, gait a lackadaisical approach at sophistication, manners a pathetic excuse in the name of gentility.
Devoid of humanity and laden with an unsettling inquisitiveness, the eyes that looked out at the surroundings were bright with an attentiveness that lacked both judgement and condescension. No one noticed the man standing beneath the oak tree, despite his unusually tall height and the hypnotic pull of his personality that would, normally, be noticeable even before his presence was ever realized.
Traffic lights changed, conversations flowed, an errant laughter floated in the air washing over pedestrians while rich aroma of various street foods mingled within themselves along with the smoke that was a constant presence of the city life. And while all this happened, while various scenes played as if snippets from a movie- a kid paying for his ice-cream, people waiting irritably in a queue in front of an ATM, a construction worker ducking under the yellow tape, finally leaving for home- the man beneath the tree stood silent and reflective.
Taking a deep breath that he didn’t really need, he intoned a word in a language unremembered, the movement so small it was as if he didn’t move at all. For a moment, limitations ceased to exist. Time lost its meaning and life seemed to halt for the ignorant while, in actuality, for those who could comprehend even the very basic nuances of enlightenment, it began. Breath was a useless commodity and time didn’t need to be clocked every second because it was eternal and multidimensional.
Now, as seconds were stretched and divided into their very tiniest component- a number truly inconceivable for the puny human mind to understand (a number they would naively call infinity) – the man moved out from beneath the shadow of the tree and looked up. His eyes were a color that would be hard to define- a base of warm brown with all the iridescence of the celestial spectrum, irises brightened with shades of green, gold and bronze. Raising his hands in an almost theatrical sweep, he whispered another word and in a swirl of blurring colors, he turned into smoke, seeping into dark corners, permeating slowly into all the living.
There wasn’t a human who could look at this creature in all his majestic glory and still remain sane. He was sensation unadulterated. He was power pure and simple. Seduction in its rough, undiluted essence- he was radiance of a thousand suns. Gratification in its paradoxically violent calmness… Want with its scratching, sizzling burn.
He was Lust. An amoral inhuman being, supposedly fallen from God’s good graces, now wandering the earth.
Just as innocuously as before, when time had began working in supernal terms, it went back to working around the clocks and the night sky was once again filled with the chatter of birds, while the humans resumed their activities, unaware of the phenomenal incident that’d just taken place.
Lust hovered in the sky in his new form as smoke- smoke, so easily disregarded because of its familiar presence in the city- snaking through cobbled streets, saturating the air with his presence, sinking in warm, inviting skins.. All the while peeping into human minds and observing the world as it happened.
He let all the occurrences of the planet wash over him. He let the busy minds of people with their constant murmurs and restless energies buzz through his psyche. He forced open all mental barriers until he was one with the world and then, he began to listen and to watch. From the multitude of happenings that occurred around him, he chose a random handful and let them play like a bunch of slides in front of his eyes…
A girl lay half-conscious on the dirty street. Her weakened body broke with a keening whimper as she desperately, unsuccessfully tried to shield herself from the ruthless, lascivious stares of the brutes who’d ripped her clothes to tatters and from the looks of it, may even have knocked her around with fists and blades. Blood covered her upper half as if a shawl wrapped around the shoulders. A meaty hand of another man jerked her cradled body to his while others catcalled with impatience and steadily growing lust of the perverse. The scene faded with the sounds of the girl’s sobs still ringing in its wake, that were now no more than silent cries of her heart as her will was callously overlooked and violated.
Another scene took over as the previous lost its grasp on Lust’s mind.
A man stood with a glass of champagne in his hand, leisurely gazing at the infamous veteran businessman with a multi-billion dollar empire as he finished his speech. To an idle spectator, he would look like any other ordinary guest enjoying a good inspirational speech while internally, he was seething with a bitter envy and a lust for power so far gone, he was like an addict in his last phase. Uncaring of his wife waiting for him at home, he smiled down at the petite blonde by his side as he jealously eyed the power that the businessman on stage commanded. The man’s mind was poisoned with a want so sharp, he was lost to happiness- too caught up in all things materialistic and temporal. Eyes burning with a feverish gleam as the man planned the biggest, most risky and the most dishonorable deception of his life, with an apologetic shrug to the woman next to him refusing the obvious invitation in her eyes, he turned to go set up.
As Lust moved on to another scene, he now latched on to the happenings between a couple who looked so engrossed in each other, it was obvious that they were blind to the world around them.
The woman stood naked in a room and turned to look at her partner as a touch traveled down her spine making her arch up. The air around them was thick with mutual anticipation and excitement that was so heady, they both leaned into one another more closely. The woman stood on tiptoes, tangling her fingers with the hair on the man’s nape as she tilted her head to catch his mouth in a kiss that was searing in its passion. The man wrapped his arms around her and brought her more close to his body as they continued kissing each other, all the while murmuring endearments and encouragements. This, Lust thought, wasn’t just his essence that they felt. There seemed to be another lingering fog surrounding them. Not a fleeting desire but something deeper, more meaningful. Love, he thought, ah. Letting the present sweep over him as he enjoyed their command on his core power, he turned to go, gathering his smoky tendrils as he began his transformation back to a human body.
Once again he stood beneath the same oak tree, now more pensive than alert. He pondered on all the visuals he’d just had. On all the things that were happening right this moment even as he breathed.
He thought about how, through centuries, the humans portrayed him as the good, like Eros- the Greek god of love, and the bad like Asmodeus- the demon of lust. He thought about how, with their limited thinking and prejudiced ways, they’d always looked at things with their smug preconceptions, which constantly resulted in a biased judgement. Fact was, he was too multifaceted and too magnificent to ever condense into a restricted mold.
He was utter seduction of the senses until it owned a person. He obsessed the soul, but not without permission, and that’s all it came down to- an individual’s willingness to give in.
Memories still sloshing in his mind, he remembered all their thoughts, their feelings, their experience and it singed his vanity a bit, even as impartially emotionless that we was, to always be cast as a villain or a hero. When would the humans learn?
Humans, with their love of dropping blame on everything other than themselves and their uncaring attitudes towards the consequences of their actions… He was surprised to find himself feeling something after a long, long time. He felt pity for them.
There were no victims, only participants. He didn’t prey on innocents. He overwhelmed only the weak that were too limp in their resolves to be so easily strayed or the willing, who were aware of the consequences of every action, who were eager to let go. It’s always a decision, never a fate. He wasn’t a sin, perversion was. Anything exploited beyond morality, anything blackened with malicious intent, excess beyond limitations.. That was a sin.
But, he wasn’t only good. He wasn’t only bad either. He was both. He was like a coin with two different sides, balancing the karmic equilibrium of the living. How the beings used his power, how they reached their satisfaction and how they reached their end- that was all in their hands, not his.
But oh, didn’t he show them a good time.
Shaking in silent laughter as shrugged the sombre thoughts, he spared one last glance at the vibrant city in front of him as he slowly closed his eyes. With a smile still tugging at his lips, he disappeared, as unnoticeable now as he was even while he was present.
Nitika Satya, PGP-1
Ever wondered about a gap? Of course. You have wondered. Always. From the first window you got between your teeth to your adolescence when thigh gaps became an unspoken desire to the emotional gap you felt for the first time between your parents and you, ‘gap’ has been a significant part of your life. And you have detested it most of the time. Only a handful number of people can boast of their diastema. Generation gap is one thing that has troubled every individual. Hence, it is not a surprise that the word ‘gap’ has earned a negative connotation for itself.
What is surprising is that it is not true even though we love to hate it. How conveniently we forget the gaps we deliberately introduce when we need our own “space”, just like we introduce gaps between railway tracks to prevent constant pushing and pulling against one another. These gaps complete us letting us have our own individuality.
Perhaps this recurring, incessant urge to “fill in the gap” blocks our vision to view a ‘gap’ as something providing liberation and novelty … a space to wander about and deliberate when others are working hard to fill in the gap, in the process suffocating you … a ‘gap’ that gives us a beautiful relationship despite being devoid of those butterflies in the stomach.
I am talking about that particular gap which gives you a person to depend upon when you want to cut out the drama from your life. It is just a small gap between two words that lets you breathe, small enough for you to occasionally jump over to take a completely different perspective. A gap that provides subconsciously required separation with a promise of continuity. It resides perfectly between those two words where its existence is sometimes questioned with suspicion and uncertainty, sometimes with a shocking denial of its authenticity.
Can there truly be a gap between ‘boy’ and ‘friend’? It almost resonates with the famous Mohnish Behl’s dialogue – “Ek ladka ladki kabhi dost nahi hote.”
Only if the character knew that friendships were gender blind. (sigh)
It was not completely his fault. He had been raised in a society which still took a girl-guy friendship with a pinch of salt. A section of society influenced the character and the character’s dialogue influenced more sections. It’s certainly innocuous but films mostly end up showing two best friends falling for each other in the end thus destroying the vision of immaculate guy-girl friendship in gullible eyes. Films mostly try to show that friendship is the first step to eventually falling in love. Hence, when there is a friendship blossoming up, the next level has to be love!
I am not guilt free. I too felt bad when Rani didn’t end up with Oleksander in ‘Queen’ but I am glad it didn’t turn out that way. So much for that idea of ‘non-existent cute gentleman who can truly be only a friend’ ! There’s so much concentration on ‘romance’ that platonic friendship is mired in expectations and anticipations of evolving into something … well, ‘romantic’ !
Will I get jealous when my boy friend ( mind the gap!) gives priority to his girlfriend? Perhaps , yes . No, the cupid has not hit me. When a mother grows jealous of her daughter-in-law because her son devotes more time to her , it’s not because of the cupid. When one girl becomes jealous of a guy because her sorority sister is giving more time to her boyfriend, it is also not because of the cupid. So why does the jealousy cropping up between opposite-sex friendships have to be necessarily seen through romantic lenses? I am sure the chubby toddler has better things to do.
Cupid will someday turn its attention towards us if it hasn’t so far. Meanwhile , we can try to appreciate the gap that is giving us a beautiful relationship. One that helps us understand the bro-code and more importantly, technology – related issues. (I hope the so-called feminist squad is not reading it). The gap between ‘boy’ and ‘friend’ is not a gulf that swallows the connecting chord, nor an abyss which can force you to fall infinitely into nothingness. It won’t complete you but you sure are incomplete without it. Feel lucky if you have a boy friend.
Teacher’s Lounge: Welcome
Falguni Vasavada-Oza, Faculty
#1 Their first pic together meant the world to her! She found love being portrayed flawlessly! He instagrammed the pic with a “brighter” filter & edited the flaw!#LoveintheageofSM
#2 She wanted him to post something about her! He posted on happiness instead! She unfollowed making someones world devoid of happiness! #LoveintheageofSM
#3 She: Come let’s see our pics!
He: Share them on WhatsApp, honey!Memories, alas, were lost over a network.” #LoveintheageofSM
#4 After applying a brush of “Smile” they arrived at the party. They truly played the role of a happily married couple! He thanked the photographer and she thought about a “filter” to post a happy pic! #LoveintheageofSM
Shashank Srivastava, PGP-1
Abhi Baaki Hai
Nange pair chalatha ret par,
Chalte chalet kadam naa jaane kaha le aaye,
Mud kar dekhta hut oh lagta ha abhi toh shuru kia hai,
Kadmo ke nishaan banana toh abhi baaki hai,
Patto si sukh chuki hai palke meri,
Patto si jhad jaaye itni kamzor nahi,
Inhe pakad ke nichodoge toh paoge,
Ki inme paani abhi baaki hai,
Mann mera ghabrata hai,
jab umeed ka ujala dhundlata hai,
Phir khud hi ko main samjhata hu,
Abhi toh bas badal chhaye hai,
Din dhalna toh abhi baaki hai,
Neend bohot hai in aankho mein,
Neend mein chupi ek khamoshi hai,
Waqt nahi son eke liye,
Kyuki kuchh khwab abhi aise hai,
Jinhe pura karna abhi baaki hai.
Angad Singh Bhullar, PGP-1
To get hated, and not yet hate,
To meet with a smile, all vagaries of fate.
To brush all rancor aside, and never berate,
To begin each day like a clean slate.
To get stereotyped and realize,
To end one’s generosity it does not suffice.
To fight for an idea one finds true,
To stick to principle, even when it costs you.
To sink really low and not yet despair,
To realize in redeeming yourself, the next day is always there.
To befriend someone, supposedly different from you,
To realize it only matters if the friendship was loyal and true.
Zeel Mehta, CCC
Uss din main bahut royi, school ne bas nikal feka iss duniya mein
Pucha bhi nahi agar main tayyar thi
Writer banungi main, ek badiya writer banungi, kaha mere dimaag ne ek khali dil se,
Par kya woh ek din kabhi bhi aayega, jab koi professor baccho ko prerit karne ke liye meri kavita sunayega?
Aur kya muje pata bhi chalega jab woh din aayega
Aaj thoda bahut likh leti hu, aur likhte likhte sochti hu,
uss chitr ka kya jo maine bachpan mein banayi thi
Sunita Williams ke poster ka kya jise bhula na pati thi
Uss camera ka kya jise papa se zidd karke kharida tha
Kya ek badiya writer ke liye yeh sab bhul jau?
Uss ek professor ke liye meri kahani puri na karu?
Kya hoga agar main writer na ban pau?
Professor yaha par kehte hai, sawal karo, sawal karo har ek cheez par,
Toh lo, uthaya maine ek sawaal.
Nahi banna muje ek writer, ek painter, ek photographer, banna hai muje sab kuch.
Thodi sketching kharab hai, thodi hindi bhi bekar hai, par kyu aap kehte hai mujse mere paas time naa hai?
Kahiye mujse Karo jo karna hai,
Saath hain tumhare bano jo banna hai!
Aditya Dubash, PGP-1
A Glimpse of Paradise and a Slice of Brotherhood
Careful not to wake my parents,
I sneaked out through the attic;
To the wall a little ways down the road,
To glimpse the sky meeting the Earth. What magic!
The old man sat there, looking at the sky,
Like every other night, I sat by his side.
“Nay, old man, what do you see?”, I asked.
He took a minute, to collect his musings while I listened to the tide.
“A memory of a distant time at a beautiful land”, he wheezed.
“Close your eyes and try to see,
Of being nestled betwixt the mountains, as the river flows close,
As dusk approaches and the whiff of pine trees”.
“I hear their light-hearted banter, as our laughter echoes,
Between the japes, the unknown tales venture out”.
“Who are these people?”, I asked.
“Brothers”, he managed to croak out.
“I see the road, as it snaked between the mountains,
Sometimes it’s just a path between walls of ice,
Sometimes a river flows beside us,
As mountains surround us beneath star strewn skies”.
“Such a place exists?”, I blurted out.
The old man laughed as the moonlight made the sea glow.
“Oh it did, boy. It was my first glimpse of paradise.
Of being one with nature, with brothers in tow”.
“We rode in awed silence, spectators to nature’s marvel,
Camaraderie grew stronger as we rode through,
Landscapes changed every half hour as if they showed nature’s changing moods,
Reflections of the sky that turned a whole lake blue”.
“How will I find my brothers old man?”, I ventured.
“Life will bring them to you”, was his reply.
“And if it doesn’t?”. “Then you belong to the world, boy. You are free”
He turned to me and the skies were reflected in his sightless eyes.
“Old man are you..?”, I began.
But he had already begun walking away.
Leaning heavily on his cane turned,
His last words to me, did he say:
“For one day you will fall for the feeling,
Of staring at the stars strewn across the sky,
Of making the whole world your home,
Wanderlust”, said they. “Human”, said I.
Ayushi Mona, PGP-1
A Written Recurrence
I can no longer tell you what I had wanted to say.
Instead, I take the coward’s way,
I vomit words on a blank sheet,
I think I will send them to you in fond remembrance.
They won’t make much sense,
But we both know that anyway.
This is the luxury I give myself,
Of a few more words.
Before I fling myself into the abyss that has been waiting for me.
This is my syntactic pleasure,
The calmness of evenly spaced words.
Before I face (or escape) the muddle that awaits me
Sending you this is my momentary escape.
A tentative step back
To test waters of a troubled past.
I will go back
To find that the cigarettes have lost
And the vodka has failed
In this restless battle to reclaim.
So, I will let these scribbled lines be my friend.
Thus armed, I will return to you
An unimagined foe.
I will soak some of this empty pain
Before I douse myself in it again.
Ashna Shah, PGP-1
Nirmit Shah, PGP-1
Shiraley Chandra, PGP-1
Thoughtcrime: Let’s Indulge
The law is the law but like always, laws are never absolute – only relative. A law that was, some ninety years ago, may be a crime today and a crime today may be a law some ninety years hence.
There is a world of difference between being a law abiding citizen and one that propagates it without due thought just because it is the law. Herein lies the fundamental disillusionment (or lack thereof) among fascism, socialism and capitalism, each subservient to other sub-genres, equally or more invasive to our psyche than we care to imagine or comprehend unless forced to.
Complacency and comfort are the cunts of cautious thought, guided much like carnal pleasure- by the need of sheer want; the biggest hindrances to revolutions brimming beneath our cranial shells. It is only when we get rid of these or forcefully dissociate ourselves from the confounded heresy of material distractions that our minds can truly fathom their true role in the grander scheme of things. It is only then that questions give birth to more questions instead of counter-reactions and this happens to be the premise of intelligent thought.
Question everything! Believe nothing you’ve been taught. Always question it till you receive an answer sublime enough to put said question to rest forever. Then question the next thing that comes your way.
The best way to question is to read. Read anything and everything you can get your hands on. Every piece of propaganda, of dissent, of the dissatisfaction of the proletariat and the feeble tries of the elites, the bourgeoisie and pseudo intellectuals to appease and assuage the impending overthrow, is an addition to the mightiest weapon at your disposal- your God awful intellect. It is also the only thing standing between you and the beautifully wrapped bullshit you’re spoon-fed to ensure the smooth functioning of the current form of complacency in your time, the poison of the period- democracy, autocracy, lunacy- whatever sails their boats (and yours).
Dissent at the top of your voice till your lungs give way to a throat filled with smoke and rapture and never ending slogans of questions that need answering. Turn to anarchy of the mind than that of the person and let your thoughts run free with wild abandon. Do not conform! Rebel against the contrived notions of submission and obedience just for the sake of it. Question your own motives for everything you undertake and make ‘thinking’ a part of everyday routine. Pay attention to the human condition and then shine floodlights on human conditioning, beaten into dank submission at the behest of comfort, at the cost of individual reasoning.
Think. Strive. Dissent. Rebel. Retaliate.
Never conform unless an idea resonates with every atom of your being. Never settle for a form of governance that doesn’t hold out for the greater good. Never ever hark hoarse about elites that pledge allegiance to people instead of the cause.
Read, my heretic hearts. Read and rebel against the shackles of what keeps you forced to drone on like worker ants when you’re meant to claim the open skies without a ticking death knell chained to your feet. Riot against complacency by reading, my renegades! Embrace heresy at the core of your being and question every single thing in accordance. Fight the doggone order of redundancy. Rise up to your own inner consciousness. Be a leftist. Be a rightist. Be whoever the hell your innate thoughtfulness guides you to be but for the love of everything that defies ignorance, read well enough that the questions make you ponder beyond the futility of life and into the realm of bettering it.