Wednesday, July 17

no Other – paramatma – at home, but not

I got my answer of long time this morning: of what I used to feel missing when I lived in France. I was dropping two stranger boys to a bus stop who had put their hand up and asked me for a lift: could I have imagined that scenario in day-to-day city life of France? Often, I give and I see giving people lifts (rides, to go back to standard English) in India: it's normal to ask, it's normal to give. It exists more of a birthright than any swarajya: the other person  is going that way, so why won't he? so why shouldn't I? so what's the issue at all?

When I stop at traffic jams, I often talk to the people waiting next to me - in spite of the language barrier. Today I asked the guy waiting at a train crossing like me that where did that bus go (its number was strange, and I hadn't ever seen that number). He offered an answer - it looked to me an invented one, since in India we seldom like to say that we don't know, but maybe his answer was correct; that's not to the point - and then both of us discussed buses - green, red, different numbering schemes, etc. The train came only in another five minutes, so I had plenty time to learn more. As the train barrier rose, we finally broke our conversations (yeah, without any "bye," just like I had directly asked him the question without any "ahem" even, forget a "hello"): and we went our ways.

I don't have to go to Hindu philosophy to feel the paramatma ("supreme soul" shared by all): I can already experience it in India. Is it Hindu thought? A common background of difficult conditions and poverty? But then India was the golden bird: merchants of India have been there since time immemorial the richest and the shrewdest, so it can surely be not the poverty? What is it in this land that does not have a bonjour - not because we are rude, but because one doesn't say bonjour to oneself (with increasing narcissization, I guess though we are already there): because there is no feeling about otherness about any other. All Lacans and Foucaults fall flat on their faces in this land: there neither is nor is not the Other, an Other, Other. There simply is life. There simply is the temporary abode of soul: the inn where we stay. Some people ask for proofs of God and soul: I wonder if those same people ask for proofs of life when they go to watch theatre. Thankfully, this infantile state of mind is already not much to be seen in the land of lands: because we live our thoughts and thought systems. We act like children of the earth.

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