Love Each Other. Consensually.

Strength has always been so much important in society.

A man is not a man unless he has a taut physique, at least six feet tall, with macho demeanor and chest hair poking out near the top buttons of his shirt. He does dare devil and challenge others without a thought of any harm happening to him. And let’s face it; he is a man, what can ever harm him?!

Don't think we are being partial either. A woman is also very strong. A woman's prowess comes from her strength of compassion, humility, values and affection. We have traditionally been a culture that holds women to such high regards. Almost all of the famous Gods in the epic stories have a strong female counterpart. We worship women and her kind.

A woman is not a woman, unless she is the humble thimble of the family, compassionate enough to do everything at home to keep her family comfortable, keep her values intact such that when the male in the family decides something she never challenges him, and affectionate enough so that she keeps his bed warm even if she is not the mood for any loving.

You see we are a country of strong people. Strong traditions. Strong values. Strong emotions. Strong prejudices.

We are proud of our history and revere our herd mentality. Some may say we are scared that if we don't shove our values down the throats of young people our next generation might forget our rituals and will lead our beautiful land becoming one of lechery and half-nakedness. Some might point out that the biggest champions of our traditions - the politicians and the heads of religions - are now more prone to watching porn in the parliament buildings and to molesting disciples. For them we'd like to point out that they only do so to show the world that they are normal people, one among the masses.

Ah the masses of our country. What can we tell about such wonderful people? No words will suffice to praise their hard work and awareness about what actually is going on in our country. Remember the big uproar of political unrest over widespread corruption in government? Tens of thousands of people on the roads protesting and demonstrating their demand for change. And look now, we now never see a single bureaucrat anywhere in the country be caught in a bribery racket. Right?

That's where we think this Nirbhaya protest went all wrong. You see this is one change where half measures won’t work. Mass revolt against corruption was one thing. But for the Nirbhaya uproar, though there was a big fight. And the politicians did bring in their valuable words of wisdom. But most of the traditional minded people, which still hold very high positions, were still not too entertained about it. After according to them all the women were clearly asking for it. Rape happened only in India and not in their Bharat.

dnaindia.com

You see... I agree with all of you... The protesters and the traditionals...

The protesters weep for the women who got violated so bad that by the end of the turmoil her entrails were dropping out of her privates...

The traditional weep for their idea of cultural living going to ruins... The culture that our country has been living in for centuries... That which is most familiar to them… They do not know any better…

For both people I will just like to point out one thing... Time is different...

The protesters need to remind themselves that while getting on the road, or on social media comment sections reminding everyone else that something needs to be done; does sound like you are doing something about it. In reality you are not.

So… Stop, please stop. Nothing ever gets done that way, who are you kidding? Mass protest worked in an era when countrymen actually believed in belonging to something. Now, patriotism only shows up when Indian cricket team is playing the World Cup. Don’t believe in the popular solution melodrama. Protect your own people. Take care of the women around you. That is the most practical solution I can think of. If every person in this country started looking out for each other, even if only their close ones, don’t you think we’d be covering more ground than spending another decade in making laws that probably won’t ever get enforced in our lifetime? Take care of the women in your life, be there for them. If they are out with someone, don’t be a stalker, but you can at least be aware of the people around her. And you, the people around her, please take care of her. Be a man.

The traditionals need to remind themselves that while yes it might be true that the old traditions are at a risk now. But then we are not the people of the old times... While it is true that women might wear tighter clothes or show more skin than the ladies in your epic stories. That does not in any way mean she is doing that to get some. Women working night shifts to earn her food for her family is not doing so because she has loose morals and is hungry for late night action. A child is a child. You don’t have any right to snatch away her right to a happy childhood just because you have a penis.

We once preached respecting women and elders and children. That was probably my favorite part of our culture. The level of affection we were taught right from a young age by and towards the people around us. Many of my friends from abroad are amazed at how close knit our families are while theirs are torn apart with divorces. I don't know where all that love and respect got lost...

I really do like what we have here. I adore what we had in the past. But I dislike the things for which we stand for now around the globe. Our country is not really that bad. We just have a bad case of inaction, and indecisiveness. More importantly, a sense of empathy at an individual level.

We have survived so many things together. It would be such a waste to be defeated now by our own failing sensibilities. Be kind to each other. Be sensitive of each other’s pain.

Today, and forever, love each other. Consensually.

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Them Half-Baked Social Workers

“No society can surely be flourishing and happy, of which the far greater part of the members are poor and miserable.”

- Adam Smith

Okay lets see. Today was a fairly normal day.

I was being the usual guy who sits in front of the mapping designer all day dragging objects and coding this and that. You know usual nerd IT stuff. Then this mail comes around lunch time from a colleague. It seemed to be one of those forwards that you get in your inbox from people who themselves got from somebody else, but it being of a huge size (this one was 3MB) you forward it to everyone else you know an rid your inbox of its burden soon after to avoid the out-of-space debacle.

The subject of this specific one was "And we say that we are working hard!!!”

Well well, feeling a tad too sarcastic today aren’t we.

So I opened it, and behold a big picture of a dirty bony kid stood there staring back at me with soiled hands and booger pouring out of his nose. Eww right?

I had figured out the topic of this mail by now. This was going to be another mopey whiny one about malnutrition, orphans or something. Don’t get me wrong I have nothing but love for them, but heck looking at some of the relatives/family one ends up with sometimes makes me feel envious of those buggers.

Anyways, I scroll down to next picture - another shirtless kid (surprised?) with some sort of white dust all over him, maybe concrete.

Unimpressed, I scroll down to the next image - a greasy kid pushing some sort of lathe drill into metal and such

Aha now I see where this is going, lo and behold the next image - a really dark girl smiling and holding a handful of flowers to a car window at a traffic signal.

This was a mail about child labor. I keep scrolling down with back to back images of kids not yet into their teens doing minimum wage work like waiting on tables, cleaning dishes  at a restaurant, picking recyclable plastic garbage at the junkyard etc. There was this one picture of a kid working at a construction site lifting like 5 concrete bricks, each almost as big as his limbs. That I found oddly impressive.

       

Well jokes aside, the pictures were a sad affair and I was especially moved by the one with the little kid picking garbage in the huge almost-mountain of a landfill junkyard. I could only imagine the repulsive odor and disgusting gunk in that place. That child definitely harped on the empathy cord I sadly am born with. 

Their Balls Against His Bat!

“The bowler approached the wicket at a lope, a trot, and then a run. He suddenly exploded in a flurry of arms and legs, out of which flew a ball.”

- Douglas Adams
  'Life, the Universe and Everything'

 Another curve ball comes his way, a googly, a yorker, a killer bouncer right to his head.

What is going on inside the head of the guy with the bat, is it about how or why or what slieght of hand the bowler did to put this challenge in front of him?

Where are the spectators watching right now, is it at the bowler who is standing right the huffing and panting close to the umpire sweating like a pig and out of breath?

Who is the bowler and the fielders gawking at wide-eyed, expecting some action next? Is it at each other, in their shifty restless glorious squinted faces that has been standing there under the sun since God-knows-how-long?

Why is the time standing still?

Why are they all looking at him like that? What are they expecting of him?

4 more runs with 1 ball to go.

The odds are against him, yes. But do they think that all this pressure they are crushing him with, is going to help his case in any way at all?

Don't they understand the import of this fraction of second in his life?

The Depressing One

“So in the end you try to think of someone else you're mad at, and the unavoidable answer pops into your little warped brain: everyone.”

- Ellen Hopkins

I used to have this friend (you will soon realize why the 'used to' usage here) who thought ill of almost everyone.

 

Except himself that is, obviously. He was always put himself in high regard and always thought he was right in doing so.

 

He was the most cynical, pessimistic, illogical soul probably in all of the worlds that all of the faiths that mankind has been yet been able to invent. You show him the picture of that firefighter who leapt into a burning building and saved a 10 year old girl, and he will point out how and where the guy's hands are in the poor semi-unconscious child's body and call him a pervert. You show him the story of a rich billionaire who has just started out another multi-million dollar campaign to eradicate polio in Africa; he will show you another article where this same techie billionaire had syphoned off billions from unsuspecting customers by forcing them to buy his products. You tell him about the 10th standard girl next door whose study room light was on all night, he will tell you about the time that he saw her riding on the backseat of a bike with some guy who looked to be of her own age.

 

You tell him just about anything that had for some extend a flimsy bit of positivity in it. This prick could come up with something to bring you back down and rub something completely different onto your sunny-eyed face proving to you that the world is simply not worth a single sliver of silver lining no matter what.

 

Well. That was until he happened to fall in love.

Posthumous Grammy Award for Ravi Shankar (AWESOME!)

Posthumous lifetime achievement Grammy award for Ravi Shankar

Three-time Grammy winner Shankar, who died on Tuesday in California, is among seven artists including Carole King and the Temptations named as Grammys Lifetime Achievement Award honorees.

"He was selected before his death and notified last week he was receiving the honor," a Grammys spokeswoman, Stephanie Schell, told AFP when asked if Shankar was added to the list after his death.

"As one of the world's most renowned sitar players, (Shankar) is a true ambassador for international music," the Recording Academy said in its brief biography of the Indian musician, alongside those of the other honorees.

Sitar virtuoso Ravi Shankar has given Indian culture of one of the best gifts. The renowned musician even became a hippie musical icon of the 1960s after he introduced traditional Indian ragas to Western audiences over an eight-decade career.

"As a performer, composer, teacher and writer, he is considered a pioneer in bringing Indian music to the West," it added.

Shankar died on Tuesday in southern California at the age of 92, after failing to recover from surgery at a hospital in La Jolla, near San Diego last week. His family was at his bedside.

The sitar pioneer taught his close friend George Harrison, the late Beatle, to play the instrument and collaborated with him on several projects, including the ground-breaking Concert for Bangladesh in 1971.

Harrison called Shankar "The Godfather of World Music", and Yehudi Menuhin, widely considered one of the greatest violinists of the 20th century, compared him to Mozart.

The other Grammy lifetime award recipients are "You've Got a Friend" singer King, classical pianist Glenn Gould, jazz musician Charlie Haden, blues legend Lightnin' Hopkins, Motown greats the Temptations and Patti Page, famous for "(How Much Is That) Doggie In The Window."

The 55th annual Grammy Awards show will be held in Los Angeles on February 10, 2013.

- AFP (Excerpt)

  Los Angeles, December 13, 2012

  First Published: 08:06 IST(13/12/2012)

http://www.hindustantimes.com/Entertainment/Music/Posthumous-lifetime-achievement-Grammy-award-for-Ravi-Shankar/Article1-972134.aspx

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The Insanely Awesome Life of E. A. Poe

"Deep into that darkness peering, long I stood there; wondering, fearing, doubting, dreaming dreams no mortal ever dared to dream before."
- Edgar Allan Poe

There are times in most human beings life when they come across something very beautifully awesome that it hurts them why they lived for so long only to discover this gem only now. He starts wondering how amazing his life would have been if he had know about the existence of this beauty much earlier.
Well in my life there has been quite a few of these shocks like Beatles, Led Zep, 'Its a wonderful life', 'Patch Adams', 'Life is beautifull', Harry Potter, Ayn Rand, fried chicken.

And now, E. A. Poe.

I am not really a big fan of poetry, let alone the dark kind. I appreciate songs with poetic sensibilities (one Mr.Paul Simon; Mr.Art Garfunkel can attest to that). But I never really got to like poetry too much. It seemed way to quirky for my taste (coming from a guy who thinks eating icecream with a fork is normal). But E.A. is something totally different. I tried gettting into other famous poet's work, Whitman, Frost etc. But nothing compares to this guy's insane outlook towards the world.

In Indian literature there was a writer Premchand 'Munshi', he wrote in hindi as far as I've read. Mostly short stories based on day-to-day lives of ordinary people of his time. He was an ultimate cynic and had the most realistic outlook towards life. Imagine that, and go atleast a hundred times vicious. Then maybe you would get somewhere close to Poe's domain.

E. A.'s work is probably the most controversial of American literature in his time. Born Edgar Poe on January 19, 1809 he is more known for his tales of mystery and the dark than his more "normal" ones and generally considered "the inventor of the short story". But just how awesome it is, is for you to discover.

There was this one article I stumbled upon that introduced me to him. I was reading about Stephen King's Carrie, it mentioned that this King numero uno in some or the other manner resembled Poe's writing. And well I was of the solid belief that Carrietta White as insanely vicious dark character as can be possibly written. So, I was wondering what this guy who died in 1849 could have done to have inspired this inhumanely carzy girl.

Like they say, ignorance is bliss.

The Birthday Blues

"Every year on your birthday, you get a chance to start new. "

- Sammy Hagar

Okay. So I was born today. Yes, today 24 years ago I came to this awesome planet and made it extra awesome with my awesomeness.

Okay, that was lame.

But tell me one thing, what is all the whole fuss about?

Take this for example. There was this Prime Minister we had in India, a very ancient but somewhat respected one. That is a rare feat out here, none of the politicians are respected much not in the real sense of it. Fear induced respect at times may be. But not the real thing.

This ex-PM hated celebrating his birthday, but since he was a public figure it was a big deal. His party members made it a point to make it headlines in all the leading newspapers and channels. On his last term of PM'ship he stated that his birthday wont be celebrated this time around.

He said, "I never really found the reason to celebrate every single birthday throughout out pithy pathetic lives. It might be out birthday here today, but it could also be somebody else's divorce anniversay or the day someone lost a leg, or when somebody lost a loved one. What is so grand about today, just because we were born today? Doesnt that only mean that we are now a day older and more closer to our death than our last birthday??"

Well he was famous for stubborness, so nobody could push him to cut the cake in the usual grand out door do. So they just did it without him, as a tribute. A reading of excerpts from his famous hindi books and articles. A play based on his life's journey so far etc. The usual.

But no cake cutting by the birthday gentleman himself.

A year later, the party lost general elections, the PM got ousted from his seat. And he never had to suffer through another public fuss over the day he was born. I think he must be just glad celebrating it with his family and close friends. Thats he wanted always right, judging from whatever he said to the media.

Ironic.

Well life is full of such baffling coincidences. I'll try and avoid them on this topic. That politician was 60+ years he has had a full life with loads of accomplishments and surely he must be satisfied a bit with it. Here, I am one-third his age, I have started my roller coaster ride. And I dont want the Irony Goddess to come striking her hammer so soon on my joy ride.

So, just to please her if not anything else. I swear:

• I will cut the cake
• I will pick up each of your calls
• I will try to answer all your prying questions truthfully (flexible on this a bit though)
• I will try not to be pissed at people who never call all year and when they call you to wish happy birthday, demand if you have recognised them by their voice or not. (seriously, why do people do that?!)
• I will reply to all the texts personally and not mass forward the templates.
• I will attend to all your RT's and posts on my facebook wall.
• I will enjoy the day to the fullest and also make you all feel the same way too (this I will ensure personally!)

Thanks in advance to all of you. You all are very kind to remember. Feels wonderful to have so many wonderful friends around!!

Thou Art Awesome ;-)

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I Am NOT Anna.. I Am ME!!

"True bliss does not come from outside, it comes from inside, from serving the people."
- Anna Hazare

Reaching into the heart of any one person is hard enough a task to do these days. People are so deceitful, corrupted and shamelessly vile. And anybody who is able to reach out to the masses has my immense respect. It is tough these days to build a voice of your own, and have your opinions be heard and be quoted. Be identified and agreed upon.  We rarely find anybody these days who actually thinks what he says and actually mean what he says. Everybody has their own agenda. Everybody has their own little propaganda to fulfill. Everybody twists and twirls his own words for what seemingly is the greater good, his good. It would be utterly stupid of us if we blindly follow anybody’s footsteps if we aren’t sure where they are going to lead us personally. Is this future that they are promising us, really that good. Can anyone in today’s day and age be such a visionary to bring us, a nation of more than a billion people, all collectively to a brighter tomorrow??

All this is too good to be true….

We as a nation are still largely under the spell of the Wise Old Man in white khaddar. Mr. M. K. Gandhi and his comrades cast it on us during the Raj. And it’s been so ever since. Don’t get me wrong, I really am eternally grateful for them for giving us the freedom to live as we wish, unbounded to anyone. But as  much as I relish in the joys of my independence, I also am disheartened at the price that we are all paying till this day. We have been intoxicated with the prospect of not thinking for ourselves. We have become addict to the very notion of the Wise Old Man on the television being capable of knowing what is best for us and making decisions on our behalf. There hasn’t been a single Wise Young Man who has had the mass’s attention so single-handedly and unquestionably like him, and by the looks of it never will. People are mesmerized by what these knowledgeable aged souls have to say. This person knows all the answer. Age bring experiences, which in turn imparts precious wisdom. Yes, I know that. But does that mean the young are dumb? Don’t we know what is right and what is not? What about our principles? What about our individuality?!

The Night Of The Wrestler, The Rich Kid And The Crazy Bitch

"Peace cannot be achieved through violence, it can only be attained through understanding."
- Ralph Waldo Emerson

He never thought he would find himself in such a predicament. He always thought that he was above such petty casualties of life. And most around him believed it too. He always seemed so casual, so at ease with himself and the world around him. He was the centre of all the action, was always a fun guy to be around. He had the way about him like he ruled the earth he was walking on; people somehow had started to think so too. People loved him, and always found reason to be around him. He was a man’s man. Some envied him, most wanted to be him. Women loved him, he loved them back. Each and every single one of them, he never distinguished one from the other. Always spread his love and attention around. But then something happened. Someone happened.

All through his school and college life, he had been conscious of the effect he had on the people around him, especially those of the opposite sex. He was tall, not bad looking but his real trump card was his wit and smile. From as far as he can remember, everyone told him he was going to break some hearts when he was grows old. He took that seriously I guess, always found himself to be living in a bit too many hearts at once, making guest appearances in one too many poor adolescent and some not so young women’s nightly fantasies, each a bit sinister than the last one, each getting weirder and even more paranoid as he progressed along the in years.

Somehow he managed to keep his wits about him and not get too carried away by all this. He kept doing well at school; got all the grades required to get him into a well-reputed architecture school in the capital city. In college too, in spite of all the girls in his class going gaga over his shoulder long hair, which was a craze back then, he still stuck to being his self. He never was lonesome, had the company of the best of people around him wherever he went. The geeks, when he wanted some homework done. The queen bees, when he needed something else done, which they got done using their jock boyfriends. Sometimes a lonely spinster, or even some married, female teacher of the college had a weak spot for this boy and he had his way no matter what.

He had his merry way throughout the first and half way through second year of college. The Christmas holidays were close. He wasn’t going to be able to go home this time, not that he cared too much. But he really hoped to extort some money from his dad to buy him a new car, the old one was getting out of fashion. He was still having a brainstorming session, devising a strategy for this mission, in the dorm lobby when he heard a loud yell from the floor above. He ran upstairs, and found a girl running into toilet at the end of the hallway, sobbing. He also heard noises of footsteps rushing upstairs to the floors above and the slamming of a door.

He spent quite some time outside the toilet, pondering whether he should go in or not. He never before in his life has been at this spot, where he had to choose something for himself. He was always told what was good for him, decisions where always taken for him. And wherever this wasn’t possible he always went along with the crowd and did what they did. He never really thought for himself. And at this moment, he had to. He can either, go back downstairs to his sofa and think of ways to get a brand new car bought from his rich father’s money. Or, he can open this door and find out what really happened here a few minutes ago. Luckily for him, this time again the decision was made for him.

The door suddenly opened, and out came the craziest looking woman he had ever seen. She was almost as tall as he was, but stick thin, had funny eye glasses on which made her eyes look huge. This wasn’t one bit funny because the look in those eyes right then was murderous and that scared the living crap out of him. This was the first time he had looked anyone so angry. He was always used to people being hunky dory around him, de had never known a lousy day in his life and if were there any such day his dad’s riches were always at his disposal to make him feel happy happy again. The girl stormed out of the doorway, right past him hardly noticing him or the slightly perturbed look on his face. A part of him was glad that she was gone, but a part of him was offended by the fact that she was the first female ever in his life who had totally ignored him so offhandedly. And the curiosity got the better of him and he followed this clearly insane character up the stairs to the floor above.

The Invisible Man In The Sky

“Okay, let's look at the logic. You create man. Man suffers enormous amounts of pain. Man dies. Maybe you should have had just a few more brainstorming sessions prior to creation. You rested on the seventh day. Maybe you should've spent that day on compassion.”

- Patch Adams (1998)

Show me one human being who doesn’t have problems in his life. Show me one person who doesn’t have issues. Show me one person who doesn’t have some skeleton in his closet that he/she trying desperately to forget. Everybody has their own reason to be pissed at the Creator for the way things are going on in their life and around them. We all have scores to settle with Him. We all have questions that we hope to ask Him when we reach the pearly gates up top. Why should we just blindly trust in Him when He was the same guy who created the all this pain and suffering in the first place?

Recently I had this pack of relatives visiting us, the whole array of quintessential variety of familial bliss. The whole house was filled with their bags and clothes and jabber. This guy became the VP of so-and-so company. This guy’s kid got employed in so-and-so MNC. This guy’s experimental procedure worked and his tumor got removed. This guy celebrated his 93 birthday on a beach. This guy died and left that woman a huge fortune. This guy divorced his wife for his neighbor. That family had to move to another city because of debt. That couple had to move to another state because of an alleged affair of the guy with the neighbor’s wife. That woman’s children are fighting for the family estate while she is on her death bed. And on and on went on their “this-just-in” news telecast of our huge far-reaching family tree for our own private pleasure - Familial bliss.

Then suddenly some genius brought up the topic of going Shirdi, to a temple there. I was not averse to that trip, I had gone there a couple time before and liked the place. I said I’d come along too, regretted it the very next instant. The whole woman folk of our household were the only ready to go the trip and they being true their species got into a navigational frenzy and put a gazillion places on the list that we could visit cause it comes “on our way”. Most of these places were temples which I thought went with our trip to the Shirdi. But I still till today don’t understand the reason of three malls and five shopping centers and God-only-knows-how-many roadside shops that we stopped that seem to pop up “on our way”.

I don’t say that I hate going to temples or anything. But too much of anything makes me weirdly grouchy. We visited nearly eight crowded, noisy temples til it was time for lunch. And that definitely put me on the edge. I started to pick up fights with my sister for the lamest of things (read shotgun). I even created a huge ruckus with one shopkeeper over the price of a leather wallet (I still think that Rs. 2500 is too much to pay for a wallet!). To add to the wonderful mood I was in, I was in a car with women all jabbering away about the most inane things, and on the wonderful roads that we have here in our country, filled with as many holes in it as people practically living on the roads. The crowds, the noise and the pollution, the jabbering and exhaustion, what more do need to get pissed off!

By six in the evening, I had somehow completed most of the temple-hopping for the day. We would start for Shirdi on the next day. Only the one last stop of the day was left, the grand finale of sorts, the ISKCON Radhe Krishna Temple. I was looking forward to this one the whole day long. Not cause I wanted to visit this place so bad, but cause I really wanted to get this day done with. Even the anger in me had succumbed to desperate tiredness in my bones now. When we finally reached the place, I could barely lift my behind from the bucket seat of the car. I dragged myself through the bag check, the metal detector frisking (all the more reason to pissed off at Kasab and his lot), took off my footwear, washed my hands and feet. And then I entered Heaven.

Or maybe it was just a good replica of it. The whole temple was made of white marble-like stone. The dome was gold, the pedestal was gold, the idols themselves of pure while were clad in silk and doused in gold jewels. The place was filled “Hare Rama, Hare Krishna” chants, that seemed to come from the walls (probably from the hidden speakers). In an odd state of mind I joined the line moving towards the idol. Followed it as if in a trance and did the whole ritual myself, the washing of the palms, collecting the diya, all the while moving towards the idol. When I reached the mob myself, it was surreal. The whole mob was moving as one with the chants, some chanting themselves. I reached the first pedestal, the first pair of idols, then the next, then the next. They were for some reason very distracting. When you see one, you have these feeling that its seeing you alone and none other from the mob around you (probably sounds nuts, but I swear that Radhaji’s smiled at me! ). Then the line kept moving forward and I was suddenly out of the mob. I put the diya in front of another idol and came onto the courtyard. That’s where I saw the most memorable part of the night, that lady in white.

She was a foreigner, probably 60. There were lots of foreigners here, and like most foreigners who come here, was wearing a sari. But she was wearing the plain white ones that widows wear, that’s what that caught my eye, and the expression in her face. She probably was a widow, probably still in mourning. Here, in India, to escape all the sad faces back home, trying to get back her lost self. In this temple to get some answers from God. She probably came here with a lot of anger, anguish and pain. She came here with a heart filled with sorrows that she could not say to people around for fear of making them sad too like her. But you could never say any of that by the expression on her face. It was content, peace maybe. She was smiling with tears in her eyes, the oddest of expressions on the human face, the rarest one. She did not have any more grudges with God. She got what she came for.

Maybe that’s just exactly why we have religions and beliefs. All this unflagging faith that we have in this invisible man in the sky, is probably to be just able to have this one person who you can trust to have all the answers for your questions. To be able to talk to, when there’s no one around that would understand the things that you want to say. To talk to when there aren’t enough words to express what you want to say. God is probably just another you, the better you, who knows you better than you know yourself. The one who can make sense of everything that’s happening or has happened to you and around you. He knows. And you live trusting that He knows, and find solace in that. And when you die you go to His open arms, greet Him like old friends..

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