Congratulations! It’s a bartender!

Being born in India is like being born with a head tag that reads out one’s career. Right when the baby drops out or sometimes even before the sperm has hit the egg, they are destined to become something. “Hey, I want to have kids” both the parents talk. But it’s a bit different here, it’s like “Shit my favourite uncle died of cancer! Let’s have sex and give birth to doctor?” 

The kid learns unscrewing a bolt, and the parents are already proud. They are pleased because they want to make the kid a mechanical engineer, and this unscrewing somehow makes them feel like it’s progress. Doesn’t make sense? Shouldn’t either! “I always wanted to make you a doctor, son” Come, one dad, I always wanted to be born in a mansion with 24 servants. I couldn’t choose my parents, neither can you determine what happens to me.

When I was a kid, I always dreamed of holding guns and standing at the border, chanting slogans of my country. If the tables had turned and my country was to be vanished and occupied, I would still be holding a gun, but I would be called a militant. Career is a joke! Professions are just labels we created to make things easy; they are only labels.

 I felt relieved when my schooling was finished. Didn’t even know what those subjects had to do with my life, but I was promised that they would somehow help me. I happened to visit an uncle who lectured me for an hour. He said I should take engineering as my bachelor’s degree and also study my masters in some foreign university. I never knew why people would do those things. Like studying in international institutions, as they cost a lot! I thought they were going for the quality of education. But it was only later that I realised they needed quality of certification and not professional training.

An MA History from Danayya Institute from Dilshuknagar looks blech. But the same certificate with beautiful words and designs looks attractive. Who doesn’t “Woah” at a guy who had done ‘Masters in Liberal Arts’ at Stanford University? Did they feed him with diamonds? I don’t think so. But you can definitely buy diamonds with the expense of studying outside. 

Many people talk only about what they studied in the US or the UK. They won’t tell you how they paid their tuition fee. “What are you doing in the UK, Kaushik?” “Ah! MS! The US not the UK!” they say. They won’t tell you how many drinks they served to the customer as a bartender. They won’t tell you how many windshields they have wiped to be able to buy the flight ticket home. Their struggle is real, and their pain is genuine. Just because a parent’s uncle died of cancer, they decided to donate their kid to health services. They had the kid brainwashed from school and pushed towards medicine. 

While you sit here watching TV and telling your neighbours and relatives that your son is studying ‘Doctor’ in the US, he is cleaning pukes out of bar tables! Congratulations, It’s a bartender! The destined doctor you gave birth to had to see a hard life in a place that is not home because of your little fantasy. You could have instead donated your sperm if you wanted to help people medically! Maybe give something once in a while to hospitals? No! You had to have a kid that does what you can not!

Somewhere after realising that he actually wants to become a dancer, your son has already spent half of his life satisfying your doctor-doctor fantasy. You dream of your son becoming a top surgeon, buying you a car and a luxury villa. It is not wrong to imagine such things. But why doesn’t it strike to you that your kid has the mind to have some dreams too? What if he/she is dreaming of singing on a stage? What if she wants to be a stripper? That surely is a possibility!

Have a kid, if you want a kid, or your condom broke! Your dead uncle is dead. People who want to become an engineer will become an engineer. People who want to treat your madness will become a therapist. Just because you can’t fix your flat tyre, don’t have kids and make them a mechanic.

Waste of sperm!

By the – Übermensch

It was 23 years ago when that one sperm hit that one egg and a fusion of 23 x 23 chromosomes that had fertilised me. The journey was unbelievably painful. The questions I had in mind were always unanswerable. I remember asking why women have holes and men have poles. I remember asking where does god live and how come he’s able to see and be everywhere—the answers to those questions that I did get, but the satisfaction I did not. But I did nod, I did pretend like I found closure. Because all around me, every one of my age was satisfied with the answers, they were told. These unanswered questions started bulking up in the warehouse of my mind. Soon the storage was filled, and I had to let go of some. To do that, I had to accept a few norms and let the questions be unanswered forever, like the origin of the universe, I just left the scientists to fill it.

As far as I know, just like me being born in a stream of million sperm, the universe was created by accident. That’s how random this universe is. The things that occur; occur randomly, and it is us who give them meaning. We somehow hate random things is what I had answered for the question of why we want to believe in god. Because we hate our existence to be meaningless and a co-incidence; we created a creator who had then created a destiny for us. We want to believe it so hard because, without it, we are nothing. But after the thought of the possibility of creating the creator, can I ever force myself to believe something fictional to be true? No, I can’t go back! And that had made me the black sheep!

I was curious to know how I became me and not an ape! How am I a human? How did my ancestors evolve? While the people of my age were busy watching and playing sports. I hated the very notion of hitting a rubber ball with a wooden bat and then people running to catch it and the guy with wood in his hand running. I never wanted to afford such leisure. What a waste of time? I could find answers, meanwhile! But then, why are people tend to afford such leisures? I had a new question. It took ages for me to figure out that it was a way of passing the time. Leisures exist to pass the time without thinking about factual things. Like why a round ball rolls and why not a square piece? It took me a thousand questions to realise that I should not close the questions to invite new questions. I should upgrade the warehouse! I should broaden the range and encourage more new questions. That was the moment I started being a critic of everything life throws at me. I see a puzzle in everything. Why did my girlfriend happen to be my girlfriend? If I had a different set of clothing, with a taste of what she repels, would she still be? Isn’t that random? If a thing as small as it can be is changed, maybe Hitler would end up being a great artist, we would have his works in our galleries. The chaos is what exists. There is no pattern in anything. We think we have everything in control, but no. It is just like destiny, but the idea of predestination is false. Our fate is not predetermined. Instead, it always remains unpredictable, depending on random interlinked events. 

With that worm of thought, can I live among the flock that is not concerned about eating the worm? I see emotions as pretend, a user-interface. They are beautiful and uncontrollable; I can’t control my tears at the climax of Interstellar. I can’t help falling in love with things and people I find lovely. It’s up to my body chemistry to react upon them, to give my character depth, and that makes me human. Can I be normal when I’m voluntarily leaving a few things for my irrational part of the brain to run its course? Like when I made my first film! It rained that day when it was screened in our school. It rained because some drainage got evaporated? I could have crossed it off for precipitation, but I let my irrational mind to run its course. I gave it a meaning, knowingly that it is false. I took it as a cosmic gift; an appreciation. It is fun to think like that. When you are happy, everything looks happy; you begin to notice lotuses in the swamp.

It is not superior, neither is it inferior to have these endless questions and my eternal struggle to answer them. I happened to be this way because of the random events that had occurred around me. Had I not studied the origin of species, I would have concluded that a creator made us. It just happened! All the events; tragic and beautiful had made me what I’m, and made me this annoyingly questioning-everything-being! All world: the system and the pursuit of happiness seems a deception for me—a deviation from the chase of finding answers. Or a mere mask to cover the chaos. 

I see my parents not as completely-figured-out people, but just as people; just like me. They are growing with me, and I’m just a few decades slow in progress. Other than that, we are equals, we are only human. The system we built is like a hamster’s wheel. The system that encourages us to “settle down” is a pretend, for me. It means no value. These emotions, my choices, my love and my dreams are all ties that I have which keeps me running in the wheel. After all this understanding, I still choose to keep running rather than chewing this cage off. But for you, it’s a dream, an endless path you chase. For me, it’s a wall with no way. But I’m tied, and I fear to sever the ties. These emotional ties are the only warm embrace that gives me a purpose. They fill my void. I can choose to sever them and explore what lies beneath the cage. But I’m afraid that I will find nothing because of the knowledge that I have of the chaos. And my last refuge and comfort lie within the ties! 

Knowing that it is endless, I choose to run in the wheel!

Chasing nothing, just giving my comrades a company in their chase.

I’m running holding hands of the people who believe in the chase.

I’m guiding them towards their closure which I know doesn’t exist.

In this world that doesn’t entertain me, What I am but a wasted sperm?