‘Baba, you become what your thoughts are. And your thoughts are frighteningly tragic’. Words, her words, spoken in her characteristic candid cadence, seemed strained by a weighty concern. Concern, a silly teetering notion, more often irrational while genuine, is such heartening a conception. It gives a tangible shape to one’s social existence. It makes you feel that there are people who stand evidence to your existence, and will probably be affected as when you cease. Is it through the eyes of such people, those who seem to bring value to our existence, that we gauge our self-importance? Attest to our self-worth? Nurture our self-esteem?
Maybe, but how sane is such an assessment as to a person’s appraisal that is to come from outside of him. While no man is an island, each is a microcosm in himself. He stands capable of all that life is, and has to offer. Yet, for the most fundamental of all assertion that one can hold upon, one as about the very significance of his own ephemeral existence, he has to depend on his companions, accomplices in this conceit called life. Such incongruous irony hewn into our social fabric, coded in the neural circuitry of our magnificent brain, is a very sane thing for life to exist. It allows for people to relate, to associate, to congregate to form populations. But beyond the very need of ‘life’ to sustain life, is there a point in this whole charade? Will it ever amount to anything?
Though, i wonder, why at all need this thought take center-stage, ‘to matter’, ‘to amount to’, ‘for there to be a point’. Maybe the very reason for the uneasy queasiness surrounding this icky quagmire of a philosophical ramble is our arbitrary aspiration for things to matter, to amount to something. Once out the equation, life, at face value, without being imbued with any greater purpose, underlying logic or predestined course, seems such a pleasant trip. A journey. An opportunity. True, life is a blip in this enormous space-time landscape. But as till life is, it’s a sane thing to relish its perks, live through its pains, and marvel the act of existing, alive, in this small little temporal window, where this bunch of atoms and molecules that’s us, can move-about, think, relate, care, and consider with concern the like’s around, in good faith.