Life, or something close to it.

The world is very different now. For man holds in his mortal hands the power to abolish all forms of human poverty, and all forms of human life. – John Fitzgerald Kennedy

Along the boisterous streets of central Dhaka, on a footpath vexed with potholes, every evening at five-five thirty, Shakib, a twenty six year old student of Dhaka University opens his small tea shop. It’s more of a tea stall than a shop, just the same as hundreds of others littered in every corner of this metropolitan. His working hours stretch till nine, sometimes ten in the night. He then heads home, freshens up and begins his studies. He studies for three hours every night, just the three hours even if an important exam awaits the next morning. He’s not lazy, he just can’t afford any more time for academic excursions. The next day he attends his classes at midday and after his school day ends, his workday begins. And the same story repeats the next day and the day after that and the day after that, a never ending cycle of a life born in the lap of poverty. There is no time for a luxurious night out. There is no time for a relaxing evening at home. There’s no New Year’s Eve celebration. There is no time even for a disease. He can’t afford to get sick, not under these harsh times. He is shunned by more than half of his class mates because he is a second class citizen not worthy of friendship. He looks upon his ‘friends’ not with envy but with amazement that two people who study in the same University, who look the same, follow the same God, can have such contrasting realities. While others come to school in their fuel consuming, air conditioned, loud motor vehicles, he has to squabble every day over two rupees with an equally poor rickshaw puller. He future plans include complete abandonment of education and venture into foreign lands to find any semblance of a life worth fighting for, a life worth living. How much youth have our nations lost because the people high above do not care about the people down below? We are either rich or poor first and only then, after said division, we are human beings together.
“Had I know this would be my life, I would have refused to be born.” he says.
“That is a horrible thing to say. Your life is just as important as the lives of your rich class mates. In fact they are exploiting the financial prowess of their fathers while you are working for your life. If looked upon with an objective eye, you are a better man than any of them.” I say.
He smiles. The world doesn’t understand such philosophy. The world doesn’t care about who the better person is. It’s easy to say such things. A working man has to account for every paisa spent, he has to keep track of every rupee increase in the price of rice, he has to think and rethink about every taka he wastes on a cigarette, he has to look upon every tear in his clothes as a major catastrophe, every utensil broken is a calamity. He puts me to shame. The world doesn’t care about justice. Our society, our civilization is a sham. A society is supposed to care for its members, a brotherhood is supposed to ensure equality. Where can Shakib find fairness in any aspect of his life? This collection of unevenly blessed individuals is a deviously set up organization to help the rich get richer while the poor, well who cares about the poor? Some people risk their survival, venture into unknown lands for years on end without any news from home, while others enjoy video calls on their new 3G cellular phones. It’s shameful to hide under the refuge of the phrase that the world has been made this way, that life is unfair. If the world is this way, then it is us who made it so. If life’s unfair it is because we do nothing to ensure justice. How can we be proud of this society which makes young individuals choose between education and survival? Shouldn’t our warm luxurious jackets feel unbearably heavy when we see a fellow man shivering while he fights the cruel winter wind? Shouldn’t our extravagant meals become nauseating when we see an old lady emaciated and begging for a few bucks to buy a basic meal? Equality, brotherhood, justice have become words without consequence. What we are is prejudiced, greedy, exploitive. Animals base their lives on survival of the fittest. How are we any different? Our civilization is based on the strength of money. And in this society Shakib is undeservingly unfortunate to have been born in a poor household. What future does he have to look forward to? Where can he look for progress? His environment has rendered him powerless to get the academic qualification the big people of the world demand. He is condemned to follow what our society decides he should. He’s just an insignificant member in a crowd of uncountable unfortunates.
And after all this injustice, the one thing he feels he can be proud of, he says, is that he is a Bangladeshi.

I do not wish to scale the highest mountain. For then, what do I have left to climb? Once I reach the tallest peak, even the smallest of steps that I take next, will mark the beginning of my decline. I do not wish to cross the widest sea. For then, what do I swim across next? Will then the water that set me free feel the same again? I do not have a set objective for life, neither a definite goal nor a divine purpose. I am not in a resolute pursuit of the ultimate. I am apprehensive about a wholehearted devotion to a singular cause that is supposed to hold the meaning of life. And though I am scared of being a complete and abject failure, I am more fearful of any abrupt success. Because if I somehow fulfill the purpose, that I have prepared my whole life for, will I not be then doomed to a life of glorious reminiscence and regrettable future? If I prepare my whole life to climb the tallest mountain or swim across the widest sea, and once I complete it, will I be able to climb any other mountain with the same passion? Will the sea hold the same sense of freedom she once did? All I have in life are just these, my questions. And all I want my life to be is a defiant pursuit of answers. A pursuit of neither the riches of the coffers of Hades, nor the romantic blessings of Aphrodite but just a simple yearning to pass this life in a journey where on my way I manage to collect a few answers and I wish the answers I do receive lead me to more questions, and my thirst keep increasing, till I reach a point where either I feel comfortable with the answers my life has offered or my quest overwhelms me and renders me motionless. But if I do feel content on having learnt all that I wanted to learn, if I do feel satisfied that I know all that I wanted to know, if I can decree my thirst quenched, I will consider my life fruitful, my purpose complete and I will welcome my death. But for now, I wish for courage to never forget what I am and not give up my pursuit of the unknown.

Yes, I pull a Rickshaw



Woke up at 5 today
Same as yesterday
Saw a few more dreams
And crashed back to reality

Life didn’t change
It was just another Wednesday
Or was it a Tuesday?
Differentiating days seem useless.

The pedals seems fine,
The wheels properly inflated.
So begins a new work day.
So begins my destiny.

You look new to this place,
Where do you want to go?
That’ll be fifty rupees please.
You pay because you know nothing now.

A good start with a good customer,
I cheat because it gets me more.
Let me hear about your judgment
When you have to worry about your next meal.

And where do you want to go?
That’ll be fifteen rupees please.
You’ll pay 10? But it’s fifteen!
How about we settle for 12?

You heartless man,
What does three rupees hold for you?
Is it worth depriving me
Of a well earned cigarette?

You generously give five rupees to a beggar in charity
But argue with me for two.
The beggar just begs,
But I bleed for you.

I sweat and I toil,
I pull and I push.
But when I ask for two rupees more
You become a saint and I the Devil?

If you pity a beggar for his misfortune
Why cant you see
From your cushioned seat,
It is my sweat that drips for you.

I pull a rickshaw I know
I’m insignificant in this world.
A hindrance to you, car owners.
A cheat to you, my customers.

But don’t think you’re better than me
Just because you’re in an office from 9 to 5
I know I can’t sell the latest insurance scheme
But can you pull a rickshaw for a day, everyday?

“You see, money to you means freedom; to me it means bondage.” I read this line an equally impressive book and it tore me apart. It made me question so many of the decisions I have made till now. From as far back as I can remember, I have had a strict perspective on what money means in my life. It is, I have felt, a necessary evil. Something that I don’t really want to work for, but it will be impossible to do anything if I don’t work for it. To do anything, I would have to get rid of the financial problems first, and then I would be free to do all that I wanted. But doesn’t that mean all I want are things that money can buy? Doesn’t being able to use money to get the feeling of freedom mean that freedom is for sale?
So many decisions that we have to make has to be between two choices, a smooth easy path that so many before us have followed and have found a convenient destiny and an unknown path that holds ours dreams but offers no promises. The easy path leads us to continuity, which will help us carry on our life the way we are doing, it will let us live in a compromise. The unknown path is a path of extremes, where either we may soar or we may crash. We have to choose between guarantee and desire. I had to make that choice, I folded. I decided on the path which seemed to be easier, secure. For if I made good in this path, I could easily jump across and then go chasing after my dreams. I thought first I would secure my lifestyle and then worry about my aspirations. But now I realize exactly in that moment I sold everything that I am. I became just another passenger of a never ending circle of existence we so casually describe as being normal. Was my lifestyle really worth sacrificing so much for? I didn’t think my dreams would be enough to help me live the way I want to, I lost faith. I feared whether I will be able to retrace my steps if it turned out to be a mistake. What if my wishes were simply a fool’s errand? But can it be called freedom, if I don’t have the freedom to make a mistake? Gandhi said, “Freedom is not worth having if it does not connote freedom to err.” Weren’t what I wanted from my life worth a shot? Did it ever come across my mind that the easier path may be a mistake? Couldn’t it be that I didn’t belong in this road? No, I just saw the end where I will supposedly be making enough money to go on living the way I want to. But how much money is enough money? Is it enough able to have three square meals a day, or do I need to be able to buy a car when my feet are fine, do I need to buy the latest cellular phone, do I need to earn enough so I can satisfy all my desires for material goods? We are the victims of a new world order. We cannot differentiate between need and want. Ours is not the fight for survival, ours is the fight for luxury. For how much would I need to survive? Do I have to earn millions to ensure a proper existence? Wont happiness be possible on a meager salary? No, it will not. Not in this world because we have decided that money is now the standard for happiness. Although not directly proportional, we have concluded that the more money we have the better chance we have at happiness. So, is happiness for sale?
There are two roads that lead to freedom, and we must traverse through both to reach where we want to. One is travel, the other books. For when we travel through countless places and read innumerable books will we achieve knowledge. The questions we have, many have asked them before. And a few have strived and traveled the world searching for the answers. Fewer have found them and they’ve either written it down in a book or passed it on to someone else. All we have to do is find that book or meet that person. But the beauty or the tragedy of it is, we have so many questions and the perfect solution awaits, there are so many books to read and so many places to go, so many people to meet. Knowledge and freedom are synonyms. We cannot have one without the other. To have complete freedom we need to know where the answers for our questions lie. Someone once said, ‘freedom is not free.’ So, what is the price for freedom? Does freedom demand a separation from everything around us? Can we be free till we have something to be worried about? What will I do if my cell phone stops working, will I be able afford a plasma TV when I grow up, will I be able to get the stain off this expensive rug, what if I lose all the money I have invested, what will happen if I lose my job? If such questions still haunt us can we ever be free? Does absolute freedom entail I forget all that I own and worry of nothing other than the untainted pursuit of knowledge?
“You see, money to you means freedom; to me it means bondage.” I do not completely understand what it means, but it’s a notion I can’t seem to get out of my head.

The book : The Razor's Edge by W. Somerset Maugham

Being a moth is difficult. I do not wish to say being me is difficult, that's a given, but just being a member of my species makes life a hard one to live. We are hated creatures, though I can’t understand why. We are almost the same as our cousin the butterfly and yet, they are cherished and we are despised. Just because their wings are prettier than ours, just because their colors are brighter than ours. Is that all the criteria that needs to be fulfilled to be accepted, the color of my wings, the beauty of my body? But we don’t expect anything else from the others. We know, the way things work in this world and we've accepted being hated but we know it's not us who become inferior because of it. We who are judged based on prejudice, do not judge in return. We accept your verdict and we accept your ignorance. Even the change from a caterpillar to a cocoon to a moth isn’t as straightforward and easy as it sounds. Though, through this very transformation I receive from life the greatest gift that can be given. From trudging through the lowest depressions of the ground, I become capable of flight through the ecstasy of the sky. Ah, flying. Let me tell you, there cannot be a better feeling than flying. And ours is not the flight of the white winged dove that seems so divine to everyone else. No, our wings are frowned upon. The common opinion stands that we are despicable creatures, unworthy of something as revered as wings. Angels deserve wings, not moths. But I do not, and will not let myself be deterred into a feeling of shame for being who I am. These are my wings, and I will fly till they can support my hideous body. Your conclusions that my wings, my happiness are undeserved do not make a difference in my flight plan. My opinion of my life is more important than your opinion of my life. My wings are my happiness, my freedom and I will enjoy them without a hint of guilt.
In the last flight of my life, there was this kid, who wanted to go loafing in the darkness. It was a request I couldn’t understand. I found it strange; in fact anyone of us moths would have found it strange. We are uncannily attracted to bright glowing objects and darkness is the exact opposite of ‘bright glowing objects’.
'Why?' I asked him.
'Just look around.' he said.
Kids. We were moths, we didn’t just look around. 'We don’t have time to look around. We have to find a light to feed off.' I tried not to shout.
'What good will that do?' He was beginning to get annoying.
'What do you mean what good will that do? We are moths, that's our destiny.'
'But, we can just as easily dive into the darkness, no one's stopping us. It'll be an adventure.'
'Just follow me, and keep quiet.' The authority that comes with age is amazing. I don’t have to win an argument, at least not fairly, I just have to scold, raise my voice and he has to keep quiet. The strength of his argument is no match to the wisdom I am supposed to have gathered with my years. He sluggishly followed me to a bright fluorescent light on the fifth floor of some building. I landed right next to it. I could feel its reluctant heat, its blinding brightness. It was just what I was looking for, what any moth would be looking for. It was heaven, till he spoilt it. 'What now?' he asked. The most absurd of questions. Absurd because it was a question that didn’t deserve an answer, that didn’t have an answer. Why do men lust after success? Why do beggars beg? Why do cobblers cobble? It’s because they do it. Its what they were born to do. It is their destiny. And after they’ve achieved, what they set out to achieve, is it fair for them to question ‘what now’?
'What do you mean what now? We’ve got our light for tonight.' That should’ve be reason enough. It wasn’t. Not for him.
'That’s it?' he said. Maybe I should’ve shouted at him again.
'But that amounted to nothing. We just flew around, saw a bright shiny object and were drawn to it. Now we lie in its radiance with nothing to do. There was no purpose in that. How can our destiny be so meaningless?' He asked questions none of us would dare go near.
'What would you have achieved if you had gone away in the darkness? Just another story to tell? Will that have fulfilled your purpose? You do this or you do that, there isn’t a meaning behind anything, kid. The sooner you know that the better.'
'But, I would've been on a way I chose, a direction that wasn’t preset for me. I would've been able to make a mistake, experience freedom in its most brazen form. That has to count for something. How much longer do we have to keep continuing this futile exercise? A change will do every one of us good. A change...' he stopped short. One of you humans brought in your big fat fingers and sprayed us with one of your zillion insecticides. We fell. And with us fell our pride, the argument we just had, the authority of my age, the 34 successful flights that I managed, the dreams the kid had, our sense of freedom, all of it, everything, fell. All the experiences I achieved, all the perspectives I developed, all the respect I deserved, lay engraved in my frail body, shrunk into this tiny object that would in a few minutes be ant food. My life over in an instant. What purpose did it fulfill? What meaning did I unravel? What good did my destiny do to me? What benefits did I achieve from the way of the world, which I followed? Would I have had a different life had I listened to the kid, and taken up the offer for an adventure? No, it would’ve been a few laughs here, a few mistakes there but in the end, we would be lying as we were, just as insignificant as the last breath we breathed, just as hopeless as we were then. I, my life, may be forgotten or it may be remembered, I did not care. I was no longer an entity, no longer alive. Time stopped for me that day. The world came to an end.

"The dead look so terribly dead when they are dead."-W.Somerset.Maugham

"It seems a shame," the Walrus said,
"To play them such a trick,
After we've brought them out so far,
And made them trot so quick!"
The Carpenter said nothing but
"The butter's spread too thick!"

"I weep for you," the Walrus said:
"I deeply sympathize."
With sobs and tears he sorted out
Those of the largest size,
Holding his pocket-handkerchief
Before his streaming eyes.

"O Oysters," said the Carpenter,
"You've had a pleasant run!
Shall we be trotting home again?'
But answer came there none--
And this was scarcely odd, because
They'd eaten every one.
- An excerpt from The Walrus and The Carpenter by Lewis Caroll


When times are harsh and the days are bad, it doesn't take much time for them to get worse. This seems to be the inevitable protocol of bad luck, bad times lead, without fail, to worse times. There is no reprieve, no concession but a constant order of inescapable misery that keep piling up till even a hazy ray of light seems to be as bright as the sun, and we confuse a sliver of hope to be the answer to our prayers, God has finally remembered us. We offer our thanks, we offer our praise. We never wonder why he always lets us go through all that suffering for so long. Can we dare ask what was he waiting for? No, by then our strength to question has been replaced by a willingness to feel grateful to anyone or anything that’ll throw the dog a bone. An angel of god, he'll be to us and we'll be his debtors, his slaves. And god will feel good about himself on having helped an insignificant little man, and we’ll be thankful to our true savior for rescuing us. But what of all the agony we endured, what of the eternity of unanswered prayers, of unjust punishment. ‘Them? Well they’re all in the past. What you need to do is look ahead.” We’ll agree. We’ll keep quiet. We’ll follow.

The fisherman knew about this. Knew about it through experience. Years and years of unwanted experience. Seven years ago, he didn’t catch a single fish for 23 days. He stopped praying on the 24th day. He didn’t catch a fish for another 12 days. When he finally had a decent outing on the 37th day, he wasn't grateful to anyone, he didn’t thank anyone. He ate. Weeks of living off borrowed money, saving every penny, eating only when absolutely necessary had left him hungry. So he ate. If there was someone he should to thank when things are going right, he had every right to blame this entity when things aren’t going well. Since, he had decided not to blame anyone for all the misery he had to go through, he would not thank anyone for his happiness. If he had to go through all his pain alone, he would enjoy every bit of his pleasure alone. He would definitely not share his fish.

Days had just turned worse again. He still liked to say days were just bad, not because he was an optimist but because he knew there was whole level of worse still encroaching. Years and years of unwanted experience. The glass is never half full. It had been two weeks since he had caught anything significant. Today, all that might change. Though he didn’t pray for good luck or divine blessing, he still hoped.

He was out in the sea before the break of dawn. His small boat gently swaying with the waves. He rowed to a calmer area, with his rope already cast, he waited. The hours passed by. The sun was vengeful, with all its fury concentrated on the small boat out in the sea. He took a gulp of water, careful not to drink too much. Time kept moving on. 'This used to be a good spot', he thought, 'have I grown too old? Can’t I tell where I can catch a fish and where I can’t? Is this what it has come to? How can I call myself a fisherman anymore?' The water was almost over. This was the ultimate joke, he thought. There was water as far as he could see, but it was as if he were stranded in a desert. There were so many things he could’ve done in life, but…. It was about time he headed back. 'Two weeks and a day', he thought. Then he felt a tug, but it wasn’t just a tug, it was a pull and a strong pull at that. And in that moment he felt true happiness, there was no past, no future, no God, no Devil, no Right, no Wrong. For that moment, life was now, there was no other time no other place. The world shrunk to him, his boat and the fish. He pulled, the fished pulled back, he pulled harder. One pull at a time, slowly he won the battle. He was a man, adept at his job, the fish was just a fish.

It was a big fish, would get him a good price at the market. Should he wait? There may be another one to be caught. But it was getting dark, and with no water things might turn ugly. He will have to head back he decided and hope tomorrow is just as good as today, or maybe even better. He smiled, let’s not get carried away.

'Please let me go.' he heard. There was nobody around, except him and the fish. Was that the wind? It sounded very clear to be the wind. Was he going insane? Slowly the fish opened its mouth again, 'Please, let me go' it said. 'I have a family.' the fisherman kept quiet, it wasn’t the wind. The fish pleaded again. 'I won’t' he said, not I can't, but I won’t. Because he could, all he had to do was, catch it and throw it back, but he wouldn’t. 'I will not, throw away what I’ve caught. Regardless of whether you are actually talking or just a hallucination. You have a family you say, so did every other fish I’ve caught, if I let you go and feel good that I sacrificed my stomach for a life I will have to endure the guilt of the hundreds of lives I didn’t save. And I feel no guilt, you are like every one of them, by which I do not condemn you but praise them. And I will do what I want to, not because it’s an obligation but because it’s a choice. Even now, when my life seems desperate, I still have a choice. I have survived two weeks on failed expeditions another day will not make a difference. But I choose not to. I choose to, to put it honestly, kill you so I can survive in my terms. I will not patronize you and tell you how sorry I am, because I am not. I feel no guilt or sorrow in having to do what I do. Because what I do is not wrong. You might think it is, you might I am a monster but that is irrelevant. I know what I am and what I do. If I feel sorry for taking your life, I will in essence condemn my entire existence. What I do is not wrong and I am not sorry. I am a fisherman, this is what I do. You're having a bad day. And when days are going bad, it doesn't long for it to turn worse. I know through experience.'
“But I have done you no wrong. Is your need for a few pennies of more value than my existence? Isn’t my life worth more than you being able to afford a good meal.” the fish pleaded.

“No, you have done me no wrong. But this is not your punishment. I do not intend to kill you because you deserve it for your sins. I am not here to issue judgment, no I am here to fish. Me killing you is not about you, it’s about me. This is what I do. Your life is not more valuable than a good meal, not to me, not to all those who will bargain with all their might to get a piece of you. You may disagree, but we have our own perspectives. What you think is the greatest blasphemy, it is for me a daily routine.”

“Have you no mercy?”

“No. Not when I am asked to think that my life’s work is a business entangled in cruel murder, not when I am asked to show mercy that will make me question the work I do. I am a ruthless murderer to you, I am a mere fisherman to the world.”

“You are a heartless man. I pray to god you die in the worst circumstances.”

“I am an honest man. I spoke the truth. I do not wish to mock you with gentle words. You deserve the truth. I hope your prayers are answered.”

The fisherman ate a hearty meal that night. He died three weeks later. For once god was quick to listen.

"When I was still a rather precocious young man, I already realized most vividly the futility of the hopes and aspirations that most men pursue throughout their lives.”- Albert E.


The world spans 12,756 kms in diameter; I am less than six feet tall. The universe has been in existence for more than 12 billion years, I will be 22 years old soon. The world itself is no bigger than a miniscule pebble in the universe. It is to the universe, what a grain of sand is to us: irrelevant. And you and I share this small piece of rock, which meanders around the sun in weary repetition, with six billion other people. So is there even a sliver of a chance for us to attach some sort of significance to our lives.

Nothing lasts in this world. In the long run, everything comes to an end. Death is the ultimate tragedy, the final victory of time over our fragile bodies. Inevitable, unavoidable and inescapable. The only true destiny of our lives. And the reason why all we tend to do is eventually meaningless. The rules we make, the promotions we achieve, the treasures we enmass, what good are they when we are no longer around to enforce them, to celebrate them, to enjoy them. What we can achieve with our lives is infinite and what we do achieve is pitiable. We want innumerable things, but the concise nature of our lives leaves us with unfulfilled wishes, unsatisfied lives and a bitter disposition. What reason was there to do all that we did? What purpose did our life fulfill? We persevere day after day, following empty instructions and for what reason?

Do not look for the meaning of life. Your search will be ceaseless, you’re better off searching for the pot of gold at the end of a rainbow. There is no higher purpose, no deeper significance. You weren’t born to do anything except the things you want, you aren’t supposed to anything except the things you wish, you aren’t destined for anything except to die, same as me. You might do very well in your life, even change the way of the world, but that will not be because it was what you were born to do but because it was what you chose to do. There is no reason to be found within your soul, just questions and more questions. Why should we go through the motions, struggle and strive, for a reason that will be worthless, just to live in a wretched present, scavenging of the glory of the past and hoping for a better future but ready to accept the opposite? Why does courage leave us when we need it the most? Why are we unable to find a purpose, a cause to devote ourselves? Why can’t we push ourselves harder to chase our ever elusive dreams? Why are our dreams so ridiculous? How do we trade our instinct to secure a future with a conviction that lets us believe that in actuality our present is vital? Questions and more questions. Where do we even begin our search? All we do, all we accomplish will not justify our lives unless it’s our judgment we seek. If we can be proud of the life we lived, without letting our judgment be influenced by anyone else, then our purpose of life has been fulfilled. The people that surround you will never think you’ve lived a life worthy unless you bring world peace. But they don’t matter. You need to be selfish and find your private meaning of life. You may want to fight for the freedom of your country risking your life in battle or you may want to earn lots of money and relax in your mansion without caring for the world. What purpose can there be in earning loads of money, just to perish in a golden bed or dying for your country just so it can be ruled by corrupt politicians? Who cares, if that’s the life you want then that’s the life you want. It’s always supposed to be your choice. If you scale the heights of success or drown in the depths of failure, it should be a result of your choice. Success and failure are but the end of a journey. And it will only be worthy if it was a journey you chose. All we need in life is a direction. Its our journey beginning in the day we were born, ending in the day we die. It’s just a passage of time. We were born, we’re alive and we’ll die. That is the ultimate truth. We may not the save the world from global warming or cure cancer but we can try if we want. Or we can do anything else we want, without wondering if its our destiny but just because we feel like doing it. We do not have to prove to the world we’ve lived worthy lives, just ourselves.