Personal Growth

Life is a flowing stream and we need to joyously flow with the current. The more we try to oppose it, the more we lose our vitality, our life force. Personal growth is realizing just that.It means knowing one’s soul, to know about those deep motivations and recesses that lie withinself.  But it is not an easy task. It requires a lot of hard work and dedicated perseverance. It is not for the weak hearted since it requires a lot of courage, for it happens too often that a man is brave enough to face the entire world save the truth of his own self.The things that lie locked deep inside the self may not all be to our liking, may not give us any kind of happiness either. People sometimes confuse the never ending process of personal growth with the pursuit of happiness, but we should understand that running after happiness is as futile as trying to catch our own shadow. It shall elude us, lest we stop trying. But let us be not foolish enough to think that happiness shall last forever, for whatever gives happiness will be the cause of much pain as well.

As we step into adulthood, life has waiting for us a lot many problems which need to be handled responsibly. A character disordered person may cause himself a lot of unhappiness by not being responsible enough to realise that life is difficult. Yes, that is the hard truth: LIFE IS DIFFICULT. Yet it has to be lived, keeping in mind the beautiful gift life is. But these problems and responsibilities become a lot easier in life if we accept them.

Acceptance and equianimity lead to personal growth. Life is to be lived with complete acceptance of our limitations and difficult emotions. Only when we accept life just as it is, are we able to enjoy it. Acceptance and equianimity help us break away from the constant ruminations of past and future thoughts which occupy our minds most of the time. They help us live in the present, enjoy the present. But some confuse this humble acceptance of life with inaction, something which will make their lives insipid and dull. But it is not so. Just for example, acceptance should not be the reason for one to be not happy about buying a new phone, but acceptance is about being wise enough to be not obsessive about it, not to attach oneself so much so as to lose one's identity when the phone is lost.

In this modern age of endless anxieties and difficulties, a supple and equianimous mind is needed to take on the travails of life. A flexible mind reacts to problems just like water reacts to a cut or a blow; it yields yet regains its composure. We need to learn from nature and its methods. It will lead us to a meaningful life.

Why I live alone

People ask me why I live alone by choice. To this I usually have no answers. For how can you put to words that which you can only feel strongly?

We spend our entire lives without trying to grasp anything about it. In fact no one can ever claim to understand life. It is just to quest for that meaning that is so beautiful. It is a journey with no destination, which horrifies people. But this is exactly that beautiful trail into nothingness that I wish to follow. And living alone is helping me do that. It is helping me listen to my heart and really know how I feel. It is letting me love my life. It is letting me live.

For oh! What would I not give to be able to keep the pleasure which I am fortunate to have every night standing in front of my library, choosing my favorite book to bed?  How peaceful and comfortable it is to be tucked away in your bed, lazily going through the pages, unable to make out the meaning of the last few lines due to drowsiness but trying with difficulty to do just the opposite, yet finally giving in. That defeat is almost charming.

For oh! What would I not give to be able to keep the pleasure of being able to write anything, anytime without any disturbance? I write when I am excited, when I am sad or happy, or when I am lazy or when I am sleepy. This all goes so smoothly without any kind of human intervention.

For oh! How lovely it is to be able to paint alone. Without the painter in you expecting any masterpiece, you are free to just slosh the colors in any random pattern and that too with no one around to criticize it.

For oh! How beautiful it is to be able to listen to your favorite music while still in bed in the morning (you can play it loud or mellow, who cares?), to be able to meditate with peace, to be able to see the dawn and the dusk through your window, to be able to take long and lonely walks in the chilly nights through the dark streets, to skip breakfasts and not to give a damn in the world for things which are damned anyways.

I live in a home (it is neither a house, nor a tenement, nor a shack, nor an apartment, nor an accommodation and not at all a paying guest room). It is painted with cool and vibrant colors. A spot in it is reserved for meditation, a corner for academic work and serious thinking, another place for watching television and another just to sleep. Then, there are so many books lying around with my art supplies lying on them somewhere. I take pride in dirtying my home sometimes but at another times it keep it squeaky clean. I find all this simply awesome and I cannot trade this freedom with anything else.

On a more serious note, living alone opens a lot of doors instead of closing them. The only thing is that the paths through these days lead to you. A man ought to live alone at some point or the other in his life just to be able to know himself. When you live alone and you know that no one is going to pick you up when you fall, you start picking yourself up, which is very important in life. It is much better than receiving undue support every time from family and friends. It is only in the depths of human darkness that the real joys of self discovery lie.

Some people say that I am a loner, but to be truthful, I am quite the opposite. Living alone has helped me make stronger relationships. Since, I practice solitude and not loneliness. They are pretty different occupations in life.

But do I need to make these things understood to others? I do not understand it myself.

                                                                                                                                   

My city Calcutta

George Moorhouse’s ‘Calcutta’ takes me to a different world, one where Calcutta still is taking baby steps into the form of today. It flashes in front of my eyes a time bygone, buried in the dusty books of history, being revealed only to those interested in the city’s origins. And that’s why I decided to read it on my way to Calcutta on the 15^th of March. I remember being completely engrossed in the tales of the foundations of the city, the treacherous and the duplicitous ways of the British, the oppression of the masses of our country and the battles to take control of Calcutta, which raged from time to time, since Calcutta in those days (mid 1700 s) was the first major city in Asia and the fourth city of the world after New York, Paris and Tokyo.

As the plane started descending towards its destination, I could look out of my window and the view I beheld filled me up with joy. The dazzling city in the night lights seemed so very beautiful, so very beyond words at that time. It had a life of its own. The miniature toy cars, the neat rows of houses(which were at the same time so much dense with so little space between them), the flickering lights and the non-existent skyline were all magical, it seems. It is a modern cosmopolitan city on the one hand, yet it has not renounced its historical look. Fort William, Victoria memorial, various old theaters and several ‘rajbadis’ (buildings made in the British style) are still present and it seems that they are not going any time soon.

After stepping down, a different world, completely opposite to the one at Gandhinagar, was awaiting me. I stood there mesmerized, in fact pretty happy from inside to see such a mass of confused coteries of people moving around in every direction possible. There seemed to be an immense confusion about me. There was some contrast in everything around me and myself, since I seemed to be the only creature which stood there motionless, because I did not wish to move. I was there completely silent looking about myself to the vitality and energy flowing around me. Yet in this chaotic confusion, the city had a unity of purpose, the same purpose which ran through the minds and hearts of all, the same liveliness that not only bestows upon the city its defining characteristic that it is famous for, but also imparting to it a certain addictive nature, so much so that a person indoctrinated to such a style of living shall find living elsewhere drab and not lively.

I realized that this was Calcutta and I smiled. Then I went on.