Monday, 12 September 2016

The looming dystopia.

We're living in pretty crazy times. We're racing against a lot of odds, dancing to a lot of tunes, and grappling but waddling on a little too many fronts. Times are changing pretty fast. One moment early and you're an idiosyncratic sibyl. One moment late and you're a conventional prude. Generations before were allured to this enormous and rapid evolution due to the sloven lives they lived. Pretty much trite and slow, everyone craved for movement and life. And now there's more than we can take. 

We're a rotting bunch of miraculous multi-functional cells we don't even give a damn about. We've become the black box for the times to experiment with. Raw inputs generate raw outputs. And the judgment of your performance is upon another black box, which in turn is dependent on another. In that sense, we're sitting on a ticking time bomb when it comes to the way the world has been set. All sacrosanct documents, no matter how intensely detailed they are, are all prone to judgement and individual opinion. Life, as we know, is completely bereft of any logic at all. It's all fugazi.

We're too frail and scraggy on our social structures. Relationships built on provenance of eternal trust with the promises of a lifetime laid on them, crumble under the vice of one misguided whammy of truth and revelation. Business partners build empires together and then let ego make them part ways only to demolish empires built with blood and sweat. We're nothing more than a confluence of many varying coteries. We're too proud to be part of a clan, which stays intact only as long as some purpose prevails. But it's only after the savage storm of contemplation strikes, that we realize there was no purpose at all. 

We're guided by trends, by consumerism, and by all the scrimmage media feeds us. We take immense pride in being knowledgeable and speculative, but when a glib truth runs by, we can't do a thing. Our entire lives are spent in a large contradiction. We generalize in our interests and fancies, and specialize in what gets our bread and better. And when the field shuts down, all our plans of leisure post your quota of hardwork vanquish. 

We're too timid, too stolid and too gullible, all at once. We're taught to be achievers, but never taught to build on the instincts. We're too reliant on wisdom built through the years and even when intuition slams it down, our jingoism on our knowledge never dies down. We're too churlish to know that we know nothing, too flaccid to note that there's much more than meets the eye. We're getting more and more ill-informed and less knowledgeable because universal knowledge is doubling, tripling, and quadrupling by the day!

We're lurking towards a world full of aficionados who don't know their field, of veterans whose knowledge is outdated and praise uncalled for, specialists who can't see beyond yesterday, leaders who're more uncertain than the last man in the cavalcade, and heroes who're too tamed and frightened to tell you what lies ahead. The chagrin of realization is often so powerful that it either deludes you to see surreal beauty in the hegemony of the subterfuge or that it allures you to the tide that just doesn't want to look further ahead.

The waning bravura, the lost charm and the livid conscience of our times has left a scar of ineptitude on our collective abilities to sift through the gibberish of universal deluge. We're too free to tell lies to ourselves. That we shall win someday, that hope shall bode a prosperous and harmonious world for all, that things will fall in place. What's important is to know that halcyon exists only in the mind of the magician, and then reamed on the coppice left after your years of whining. 

People telling someone else everything will be alright, lovers looking in the eyes, hands in hands, promising of spending lifetimes together, and still clinging on to their own premonitions about the better half running away due to a fallacy and yet choosing to stay with the fallacy and not the lover. We'll never change because no matter who it is who demands us to, changing oneself is tantamount to acceding to the default proclamation of your own shortcomings.

Our egos and our lives, which are nothing but mere semblances, are too big and brawny to penetrate and so we please to be. We present to the world the compliant facade of our true selves, while we keep the harridan within, seething and kneeling for a chance to come out, which it never gets, only to take you down with it. We're heading towards a dystopia, the final showdown for mankind's survival. It shall be one where man shall fight against himself, for a position that debilitates his morality, but caresses his parapet. It shall be one where the sense won't prevail, but the judgment built on their veracity will. It shall be one where swords of rectitude will be  wielded but up against your own self. Finally it shall be one where we're set to conquer and win again, because like always our victories are measured against our own yardsticks. The same ones that proclaim a slave lesser than a man, and the heart lesser than the brain. 

Sunday, 11 September 2016

The pyrrhic pride in our lives.

We're living very morbid lives. We we're brought into this world by parents who succumbed to the tyranny of the times. Socialism and communism failed to reveal and prosper, and neo-imperialism and capitalism now demand cut-throat competition. And it has receded so deep in the alcoves of social fabric that we now live the reality, instead of knowing it is someone's bloody job to change it all. We're alive and we're equipped and for the first time in many centuries, we're all relishing the proclamations of deluding maxims of liberty and fraternity; the enticing charm of being able to thrive in a world while taking everyone forward with you, and of cherishing the universal brotherly spirit of equanimity. Well, it's an absolute farce. The world is sadder than ever, and all that's responsible for it, is the way we've been made to work our asses off just to achieve a purpose, and to embrace the fortitude in being able to choose it, not knowing how vitriolic that liberty is.

We're chasing cars and brands and our proclivity to share quotes written on top of pictures of these artifacts makes our desires a tad too vocal. On the other hand, we also share posts related to some atrocity committed on some poor chap in some faraway land. Additionally, we're largely religious, fully obsequious to tradition and also obliged to keep that thread intact. But we don't see the irony. The purpose we choose has been materialized to such an extent that even if you ever achieve it, all ends will never meet. The labyrinth of capitalism is such that your victory is always someone's loss which rescinds your affiliation to universal equality, and your quest for your victory changes all the elements of your character you borrowed from your religious tenets. In short, all victories are now pyrrhic. They come at too high a price!

In a connected world where we adore superstars and dote on cars, the clamor of the world is hidden beneath the glamour of what these same superstars and the companies they endorse wan us to buy! We're not chasing just corporate success or that corner office. We're doing it for money, for fame, for pride and for the ones we want to make proud. We set up with a very noble purpose in mind, like acquiring more skills, more education or attending to a more noble cause. But given what we and our forefathers have allowed to become, all objectives are materialized and manifested in snobbery. What was once a world full of people who wanted to be someone, is now a world full of people who want to be someone so that they can attain something. The being someone for the veracity of being that has been completely forgotten. 

Our victories are inspired by possessions. That man from your downtrodden locality became a banker and made a lavish house so you follow the same path not because you want to become a banker, but because you want that house. And courtesy of the zeitgeist, if you told someone you genuinely want to be just a banker minus the house, you'd be deemed a cretin. Our victories are not real victories anymore. They're pride of being capable of moving up the ladder of consumerism coupled with the barbaric slashing down of someone else's right at that. That's the strata of the society now. 

The only pithy truth, the only applicable proviso is that only a few people ought to be happy, and not everyone. Back in the past the caste differences or the bourgeoisie proletariat scuffles meant the same. Today, it is split in the availability of limited opportunity for the largest population. We become so engrossed in our success and so engulfed in relishing our victories and seeking pride that we miss out on having just blanched in front of the eternal decimation of equality, thereby reneging on our very obedience to the universal equality and harmony as dictated by religious sermons which we couple with our modern education and direction. Every victory is a testament to growing differences but in your own constricted world, that Benetton shirt you can finally afford silences and garrotes any shred of resistance that your conscience shows. 

Your victories and your pride not only annihilate the rummaging and dwindling hope of someone else, they also shun out the real you. You feel lachrymose and putrid seeing everyone else succeed and get cars and watches and phones so you suddenly decide to take resolve to change the course of your life. You draw this realization that you've been serving horrible bosses ostensibly for no real reason or rhyme because you're not achieving anything. So you decide to leave everything behind and chase happiness by elevating your knowledge and skill and then subsequently your standing, but you don't see how you leave the real and genuine you behind. You're now just another replica of the person who inspired you, superimposed on the same catechism of material prosperity, without even noting that you didn't start for that purpose at the first place. 

The happiness you sought seems to be found, but you found something else. The definition of happiness changed just as the objective changed from reaching somewhere to reaching out to something. You wished and dreamed as a person, being in that social aplomb, that microcosm of your own friends and family. But you're a changed person now, and so is everyone's attitude towards who you are now. Your victory comes as  stamp of glory everyone rejoices, and so do you, but you haven't won because your victory and your pride were so pyrrhic that you lost what you once fought for - to get back happiness into the life of the real you. You lost the real you in turn. The victory, the pride, was all too pyrrhic, and as this pattern remains too hard to believe in, both I and you will still fall for it.