A Meaningless Being

It is an unusually warm November day in Mumbai (read: climate change); the third Friday of the month. Few people out there would know that it is also, apparently, World Philosophy Day. For the kind of significance this day has (or must have, ideally) to me, I did not end up doing much about it. But well, if there is something philosophy (or at least, a part of it) has taught me, it is that life is ultimately meaningless, and so are these so-called "Days". Not a day goes by without my engaging in philosophy - personally as well as academically (the latter case may be an overstatement but that's not important). It became, quite unexpectedly, an inseparable part of my character and everyday being. I do realise that this may change - just as everything else does - but I have also come to realise (by philosophising, of course) the importance of phases in my development as a person, with all my characteristics and ideas. In fact, with a little contemplation I recently concluded that none of my interests have remained absolutely constant in my life, and (to quote a text message from my online conversation with a close friend) I work in phases. But I do not feel anxious about that at all - among the many things that this wonderful act of philosophising has given me, it has also helped me embrace change and meaninglessness as an obvious fact of life and myself.

Speaking of phases, perhaps only two such phases have lasted long enough to become an important part of my being - the arts, and the wild. The power of music, the grace of dance, the vibrancy of film, and the beauty of all artistic and aesthetic agents predisposed my worldview. And that is not to say that any of these have given some sort of meaning to it - they have only improved my eyesight; broadened and colourised my vision. On the other hand (or would it be better described as "another shade in my spectrum"?), the vast green landscapes of this planet and all the beings and systems that they hold are perhaps make up one of the very, very few things I would place above my own life (and that of other humans too).

The wild - the thousand droplets of water settled on a large green leaf, the anthill that stands tall beneath it, the lyrical birds that harmonise with the noisy forest, the snakes, the worms, the occasional alarm call of the hanuman langur signalling the presence of a wary leopard, and the silent wish of a hopeful human for a burning glimpse lingering in the forest air even as she departs. You may call it an expected effect of my aesthetic predisposition (or not), but what really comes the closest to me is the entire kingdom of birds. No other string of English words can describe my feelings for these guiltless birds like poet and photographer Anand Vishwanadha does in his poem "The Poetry of Birds":

"The birds I see

stray through my eye

to reside in my soul,

in the quiet vastness

where uttered words

reach no more. ..."

If I had the time, resources, and writing skills to accurately describe every part of my existence (not to mention, if I understood my existence in the first place), I would probably still not write it down (did I mention the very important part of my meaningless existence where I am absolutely, devastatingly lazy?). Nevertheless, it is these few things (philosophy, the arts, and the wild) that I hope to be writing about in this blog. I don't know for sure why, but purposelessness is something that I have also accepted as a fact of life. So hopefully, this tiny space will see more reflections of the thoughts of this existentialist bird, wondering and wandering in this meaningless, purple sky.