Meaning of Life

What is the meaning of human life, or of organic life altogether? To answer this question at all implies a religion. Is there any sense then, you ask, in putting it? I answer, the man who regards his own life and that of his fellow creatures as meaningless is not merely unfortunate but almost disqualified for life". (Albert Einstein)

This excerpt is a letter written by Einstein in response to a 19-year-old Rutger's University student, who had written to Einstein of his despair at seeing no visible purpose to life and no help from religion. In responding to this poignant cry for help, Einstein offered no easy solace, and this very fact must have heartened the student and lightened the lonely burden of his doubts.

Here is Einstein's response. 

I was impressed by the earnestness of your struggle to find a purpose for the life of the individual and of mankind as a whole. In my opinion there can be no reasonable answer if the question is put this way.

If we speak of the purpose and goal of an action we mean simply the question: which kind of desire should we fulfill by the action or its consequences or which undesired consequences should be prevented? We can, of course, also speak in a clear way of the goal of an action from the standpoint of a community to which the individual belongs. In such cases the goal of the action has also to do at least indirectly with fulfillment of desires of the individuals which constitute a society.

If you ask for the purpose or goal of society as a whole or of an individual taken as a whole the question loses its meaning. This is, of course, even more so if you ask the purpose or meaning of nature in general. For in those cases it seems quite arbitrary if not unreasonable to assume somebody whose desires are connected with the happenings.

Nevertheless we all feel that it is indeed very reasonable and important to ask ourselves how we should try to conduct our lives. The answer is, in my opinion: satisfaction of the desires and needs of all, as far as this can be achieved, and achievement of harmony and beauty in the human relationships. This presupposes a good deal of conscious thought and of self-education.

It is undeniable that the enlightened Greeks and the old Oriental sages had achieved a higher level in this all-important field than what is alive in our schools and universities.

The Sample Five

I have five personalities from different  faiths.
I found it quite interesting to look into the possibility and likely hood of these people having a free passage through the golden gates of Heaven.Two are deceased and  we may not hold any doubt as to where one would be now.

Benny Hinn is an example of his kind who have virtually hijacked all faiths and religions.Thriving on the wrecked lives of people and the gullible .

Benny Hinn was born in  1952, in the then newly established state of Israel.

Took to evangelism, and reportedly earns revenue in excess of USD 250 million a year. He,Hinn is known for his  extravagant life style. He claims to have anointing, special power given by God to heal the sick. Watch dog groups have alleged that his healing acts are contrived and participated by volunteers. Hidden cameras placed at his healing ministries have found deep set and well orchestrated false and fake practises. Hinn exhorts people to donate to his ministry and be saved from all debts by the Lord.

Facts on Benny revealed by NBC:-- Hinn's salary is somewhere around a million dollars per year.
 he has a $10 million seaside mansion,.
 he owns a private jet with annual operating costs of about $1.5 million. and he drives a Mercedes SUV and convertible, valued at about $100,000 each. (Source Watchdog).

Benny Hinn Ministries supports  quite a few missions of charity around the world.

Mother Teresa - needs know encomium or  help from any amicus curiae

Nelosn Mnadela the living symbol of conscience.

The current bearer of St Peter's legacy. One of the richest person in the world.Ornamentally dressed and ostentatious- in total contrast with the shepherd he swears by.
Zealously labours in spreading the "Word" around the world .
Is awkwardly placed in his relationship with other faiths.

The White Sahibs of Great Britain called him "the willy politician and the half naked fakir.

Albert Einstine quoted in his eulogy ,"generations to come will scarce believe that such a one as this in flesh and blood walked upon this earth".
All that he possessed while he was shot dead was ,a pair of leather footwear, a metal rimmed spectacles,a fountain pen ,a pocket watch , a wooden walking stick, a manual spinning wheel, besides the home spun cotton fabric he draped around his body.

Sleeping with the Monsoon

I was pretty tired and must have fallen into the tranquil comfort of sleep well before midnight. I was alone in that house in Cochin. My friend Sree and family left for Coiambatore leaving me in charge of the regularly unkempt house and the big Great Dane, Motti. Various matters as usual tired me, by late evening ,and the sleep was a welcome visitor.

 I do not know when it began but I woke up at the sound of the music- drum beat and jingle of the rain. It was pouring and in torrents. I lie in bed and saw through the curtains on the window, the monsoon- by night- at its zestful best in Kerala. And I began enjoying its goodness after many years. Living in Tamilnad for the last twenty odd years had its deprivation. An incessant torrential downpour was one. The monsoon does not visit my part of Tamilnad as it does the total of Kerala.

Through the curtains, I could see the heavy rain drops by the hazy light on the street. They were slanted and nearly twisted by the wind. I lay there in bed in all the comfort and peace that only dreams could give. I travelled back years to relive certain days and nights as such during height of monsoon. There were nights when I used to lie cuddled under the sheet listening to the torrent outside and wishing that it pours and pours through day break and school could be done away with. Myriad stories from the times when I was little, the lore connected with rain and rainy days that I picked from the oldies then, went through my mind. It was browbeating rain outside. I seemed to hear every drop of the wonder out there.

I thought of the years that went by. And now into the later part of life, the sound of the rain still holds amazing sway over the mind. Like ones mother, Nature has her many ways to fan you and sooth, the music of rain was one such way. It was a lullaby from up above.

I thought of the book that I read long ago written by Alexander Frater, “Chasing the Monsoon”. It became a highly noted BBC film too. The book documented Fraters journey from Kovalam off Thiruvananthapuram with the arrival of the monsoon clouds. His visit to the men at the observatory in Thiruvannathapuram, and their crude ways of predicting the monsoon; his travel by boat from Quilon and following the downpour right through Kerala , into Goa and beyond till the north east.

I had the sudden urge to get out of the bed and walk in the rain. But the comfort and cosiness of the bed, the thin sheet spread over my torso, the cool pleasant air ,the flapping of the curtains at the persistent gentle howl of the wind, and the music outside touched me much that amongst the thoughts I fell back into sleep- I slept that night with “the monsoon”.

'Fraility'

I searched for goodness

But it never was.

Perhaps sublimed and in the shadow, I reckoned

And  I searched.in vain.

Ruth and empathy, I searched about

But it never was.

Little pearls of Godliness,that endure in all

I sought, but it never was.

The smile, the words, quenching they seemed

So, yet, I searched again

And of no avail.

Scintilla of hidden goodness

That might be in us all

I searched in depth and with hope

But it never was.

Lament I did,'pray, I be wrong’.

I wailed, falter did I, in search?

But I saw,nay it was not so;

Because, ‘Frailty’ was her name!

"Satanic Verses"

Why do we bark up the wrong tree?

Matha, Pitha, Guru, Deivm, is the wisest dictum that has been taught in our culture and that has been passed down the ages. And makes commonsense too! In my thinking it would be irrational to prefer a force that is putative, over persons in flesh and blood- one’s biological parents!

However, the cultural excellence apart, how do we see things, in what order, and in what line of importance? Every one irrespective of their religious leanings except for some satanic manifestations like me, (Satan, though religious, is yet a persona non grata in all faiths), get excited and show frenzied state of mind when the names of their Gods are invoked, be it in good taste or otherwise. Man has put God on a pedestal higher than his parents. The result, man has forgotten to be of allegiance to his God, and also he has ceased to respect and care for his parents. The sorry state is that one tolerates irreverence to ones parents, but presumes any comment that is uncommon as blaspheming his God, and indulges in violent retribution.Man has less love and regard for his parents, but has fathomless loves for his God, so he claims.

I have seen and felt quite a few examples over the past many years, where  parents are trampled and God revered.

I have felt revulsion and utter dislike for certain people who with impudence devoid of conscience throw out their aged parents. One gentleman I was acquainted with, (wonder if the adjective or noun, whatever the grammatical formulation, can be attributed to the fellow’s conduct), dismiss his aged parents from his scheme of things. He took them from his home where they were, and ungratefully threw them to fend in a small house in some remote village. This guy I understand conducts yearly pilgrimage to see his God in Sabarimala!

Yet another group of people I know have profanely used their pliable parents to further their covetous life. They thrived on the misery and financial constraints of their parents. The parents had to acquiesce mutely, because their financial capability was limited,and money was flowing in for the necessities and wants of living... Though I wish the surviving parent has saved remorse in her that may see her at peace in later life.

I have seen the total commitment, duty and devotion of a son to his mother stricken, and deteriorate with serious senile dementia.

And I have also known a son who was more concerned about the financial goodness of the business he inherited from his father than spent adequately on medical care for the old man, bedridden and sinking.

When I was little, I was immensely impressed and fascinated whenever   I saw my father supplicate at his mother’s feet and express obeisance before he set off on any journey. I can recall that, not only he, his brothers as well did the same.

But in the age that we live, interpersonal relationships evolving out of wedlock have also acted against the qualities of affection, love, devotion and gratitude one owes to ones parents. Old age homes are a new mantra and a venture for commercial exploitation. They have now become the distant out post where one can cast away ones aged and inconvenient parents.

And then one may join the beeline to  a Sabarimal,a  Vellankanni, or any other abode of the Gods.

In Third Person

To tell a story in third person has its convincing charm. If the narration is in the first person it becomes more often a soliloquy and would also raise question marks about the veracity of the explanations. It may also give way to the feeling that it was concocted. If, when the story is in third person, the narrator tells what is known to him and there will be interregnums when and where the story teller seems to have not much clue about how the plot went. Then it is up to the reader to infer. This is where the art of storytelling comes to play.

Such a fascinating writer was Somerset Maugham! He excelled in narrating in the third person. And the one that stands out in my opinion, amongst his works of excellence, is “The Razors Edge”, (later a Hollywood movie of the same name, made twice in 1946 and again in 1984 starring Bill Murray). The movie was not even a distant shadow of the novel. In fact, this was the literary creation of Maugham that initiated me into his fan club. And I must acknowledge that was one of the good that came about after I got to know and befriend Balan.

I do brood over this subject of describing a story (fiction or otherwise) in third person. It, besides creating an inquisitiveness and involvement in the reader also helps the writer from not being accused of blatancy. Because, describing the fact of the matter is always disapproved and considered blasphemous and insolent.

There are a plethora of subjects around that can be spoken about and commented. But a firsthand account may be alleged odious, covetous and, or fabricated.In many instance facts are stranger and starker than fiction.

Alone at Dawn

At dawn I sat down by the pond, and saw the wonder-

Of the nimbleness of the Sunbird glide down the mallow

Down with the dew drops and back to begin again.

The Mynas pick little may-flies that squirmed by the pond

The Munias fly by and feed the nestlings, nestled on the branch near

The warblers warble in haste to the silver oaks yonder,

The fish splash in the pond, amongst the lilies salmon and pink.

And the Toad, croak beneath the waterleaf, before it slumbers at the break of day.

I walked down the way, and saw the owls perched atop

The crow pheasant annoyed ,move into the bush as my steps near

While the Peacocks flutter in chorus, to stay away.

 I saw the sun in its amber glow; gently spread its aurora.

And the crimson clouds give way to the, brightness

 of another day.

I saw the Geckos scamper away at the alight of the day.

The birds of the sky fly by in union; the dragon- flies descend and dance a ballet.

A cuckoo sang from a distant tree.

I turned aside and saw my dog walk by my side, look longingly at me and say, ‘aye’!

Then I wondered- man, misfit in such a day?  I saw for sure the answer was, 'ye'.