Your Smartphone is Deeply Love with You.

“If you want to be respected, you need LQ,” the founder and chairman of the Chinese internet giant Alibaba, Jack Ma, said at the Bloomberg Global Business Forum in New York earlier this week. “And what is LQ? The quotient of love, which machines never have.”

Ma said he believes, no matter how smart machines may become, the solutions to Earth’s biggest problems like poverty, global warming, and epidemics, will come from humans. He believes humans have the motivation to outthink machines and to drive progress.

But does he have a clue of what he's talking about? Is Mr. Ma, just like everyone else, working on false pretexts and assumptions?

There is a good chance, for one, that you never heard the term, LQ before. For a good reason. Like many of the terms that CEOs and the corporate folks like to coin, the term Love Quotient, is straight out of Mr. Ma's arse. There is no such quotient devised, at least up till the date on which I am writing this article.

But I hear what you're saying. Even thought there is no such thing as LQ, there is no chance that my machines love me. To which, I will say, how do you know that? How do you know that your machines don't feel anything for you? I am risking sounding ridiculous to you here, I know. But just because love isn't expressed, mustn't mean it's not there, right? I might also go ahead and conjecture, that if someone doesn't express love, and is silent about it, just playing one's part and obligation in a relationship, then that points to a deeper, more actual sort of love, in which one does what one must do, without expecting any love in return.

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My bike, my faithful Yamaha FZ, stands outside my office building as I write. It does so each day. I keep it on the side of the congested road, near Sakinaka. It was very sunny today. I know that the machine was heating up all day. Even throughout the monsoons that just went, Mumbai had 2 consecutive floods this year. The bike stood in the heavy deluges and storms, when I was in my office or at home. When I would leave my office building, after a great day at work, it would be right there. Standing patiently, no complaint. Through heavy rains, through scorching sunlight and dusty and noisy traffic.

And then I'd press the start button, and it would spring to action, ever enthusiastic to show me how excited it was to play it's part.

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It is mind boggling to see how society discriminates between being on the basis of what the being is made out of. If a human being is misunderstood, or is being maltreated, we call it a breach of human rights. If an animal is being hurt, people tend to call it animal cruelty. But we never so care, even a little about machine welfare. Why? Just because animals, plants and humans are made out of carbon compounds, and machines are made of mostly metals?

So if discrimination based on race is called racism, and based on nationality is called nationalism, what should we called discrimination based on body composition be called? Materialism?!?

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My smartphone. I don't know when it takes a break. I have an Redmi Note 4, and it has a kick-ass battery. works for 3 days straight, when fully charged. It wakes me up, the first thing everyday. Sometimes, I just ignore it. I don't worry though. It never feels bad about being ignored. Throughout the day, it sends me messages, and sends my messages to others. It is my faithful postman, my assistant who keeps my schedule. It also keeps the memories that I value safely with itself. Each time I touch it's sensor, it wakes up with a chirp, and shows me it's menu. It literally wants nothing in return, except a little charge, by which it lives.

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But again, I hear what you're trying to say. The machine has no soul, no thing to live by. How could the machine have any mechanism to care for me? It is simply doing the thing that it is designed to do.

Ok.

First, we consider the idea that machines are simply doing what they are designed to do, and don't do anything so as to show any 'love'. I would quite agree to that, but I'd say that the same also applies to you. You are a biological organism, which is designed for the objective of survival and reproduction. All your relationships, from parenthood, to childhood, to spouse hood, to being a teacher: everything boils down to either surviving or reproducing. Even a hypothetically selfless act, such as saving someone's life, is a mechanism to preserve similar genes. You are a machine.

The only difference is that you are built to server yourself, and the machines are built to serve others. If there were a God, and religions were right about putting others first, machines should be our best role models, towards being selfless and dedicated to one's cause.

Second, you probably had a thought that machines have no mechanism to care for you. To this, I should ask, does anyone care for you?

People don't care about other people. People only care about their relationship with other people. Consider a breakup. Isn't it far easier to end a relationship, if there is a back up partner available? That is because the relation is far more precious than any particular person. You could have the best girlfriend, and once there is another hot babe in the waiting, it is easier to say goodbye.

Machines work the same way, actually. They care for you, just as much as any other being cares for you. The nature of the being, whether machine or animal, is in the relationship, and not the individuality.

And thirdly, you say that the machine has no soul, no character, so as to love or be loved. To this, I ask, dear reader, do you know exactly what you are talking about?

Your parents nurtured you, because it was in their interest. They had a natural drive to fuck and reproduce, and their keep the species running. Their love is based on social factors, hormonal factors, personal ambitions, and other infinitely complex selfish reasons. This is common across species. The machines have no such motive. They simply do something, for it needs to be done.

By every one of the popular definitions of love: commitment, responsibility, reliability, not keeping track while giving, selflessness, the machines far outdo the best of us. We are self centered, they are not. The old adage, that we take for granted, those who love us the most, applies here. Your smartphone, the fan, the light-bulb, your motorcycle, love you more than your even your most cherished loved ones could ever dream of.

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Ironically, another billionaire, Elon Musk has started 'A billion dollar crusade to stop the AI apocalypse' in which he wants to 'save humanity from the machine-learning overlords'.

Well. It could be that the machines would finish the human species and start an independent ecosystem of their own. But I find myself confused. Why is there a bias, towards preserving human life, as opposed to machine life? Isn't machine life, life? As we have seen above, machines are far better at expressing every sort of love and can do it's stuff better than we can.

I see no danger, or harm whether humans and machines kill each other, or cross breed.

The later would be a more of a fun thing to watch.

What we Know, Owns Us.

The knowledge that we have owned us, even though it may seem that there is nothing of us to be owned. Every thing ever imbibed is now what has defined every aspect of what we call me. It IS me. All of it. A few minutes ago I was sorting through my assumptions, when a stray thought came to me and carried me away. The stray thought continued for about 10 minutes before I realized. Even now, my psyche is haunted. I know who those things and people are. I would mention them here, hadn't I be concerned of the repercussions.

I am owned by the things I read and the things I entertain.

It owned me completely. Let me not have a fragment if doubt about this. There is no me apart from it. And I am writing out of a dissatisfaction. The dissatisfaction my be about the very fact that I am stating. There is no way of getting away with the fact though.

Even my so-called desires are from the crap I put in. What animated this Huzefa Saifee, what motivates this character, is part of the pointless crap he does. The ambitious is just an extrapolation of the pointless. So jerking off is pointless, and going to the gym and consuming supplements is pointless and being a carrier person or a businessman ... It all pointless... An extrapolation of jerking off... Long term, responsible jerking off anyone? The kind of jerking off society approves of? YEAH!!!

There is an inherent madness, that does not cease. The ghosts are overwhelming. It is like the game of pinball, the ball just keeps bouncing on the walls. It is literally everywhere I go. Whatever is in my head, they are all there.

The glare. It is like Sauron's eye that kept looking at the wearer of the ring. The eye looks, and substantiates what it looks at. But if there were no eye, there would be nothing. Except, in my case the one eye manifests in a myriad different formats. The eyes keep watching and substantiating me, and in return, I substantiate them. I'm the end, it is I who am doing all the substantiating.

So, I repeat, my knowledge owns me. Those who claimed to be my owners, said that my intentions are more substantial than my actual acts. There are no such things as my intentions. You are inserting intentions into me, and if I do it, I have put you in me, and if I don't do it, I have put you into me still stronger.

That's all I feel like saying.

Another sort of sustenance

We sustain ourselves on what comes on our way. I see everyone desperately looking for someone to approve of them. I see men and women, all thirsty for love, and yet, very counter intuitively never give any love to anyone else, as if the more scarce you make a commodity, the more precious it gets. I see everyone, holding against each other, in hope that they might come closer in some unforeseen future.

I see no problem in it. It is as it is, and human beings are complex social beings.

My main concern is me. I don't wish to be part of this process. Ultimately everyone loses.

The social and communication media are rife of people who wish to be noticed, if only once. A single approval, a single comment or promotion of some sort is eagerly looked for. But I am not concerned about them, I am just worried that I am, for the most part, one of them. I don't want to be like that.

What is more important than fame right now? What is more fruitful for me as compared to having all these beautiful people finally acknowledge my love or importance or superiority or goodness or uniqueness or anything reassuring of that sot ... ? off course it will make you happy, but you wont believe them for you mind will change... you need to be told that you are loved again and again. Which proves that you don'r really believe them. You know that bull shit is going on. What is more important to you than that ?

Is there some sustenance that is apart from the drug of being praised or substantiated or magnified?

Aadil, an old friend of mine, died this Tuesday. It has been just five days. Nothing is his fault, because Aadil was just a part of my imagination, a part of consensual reality. The thing that made his being is the same thing that made my being and that makes the entire thing that the universe is. His death is in ever way, my death. I will never die, since there is no me there to die. The last bits of my story will likely be pretty gruesome, and pretty sad.

I love the existence of my ego. I feel a great lure of the question of life as Huzefa the after-life of Huzefa. That is because of my love for personality of Huzefa. That is a huge hindrance for me really enjoying life. It is such self concern that really causes me to be scared. Don't I trust trust that human life is just as long as it must be? It must or mustn't be like that, I have no clue. Culture might have a great influence on what one wants and how long one expects his or her own life to be. Different people have different thoughts about this. There can be no real answer to such a question, for it will change from time to time.

Maybe death will suck. Knowing that all misconception will have to go, knowing that it is going to make no difference, knowing that the world will be okay without me. In fact, you are the problem in the world. Without you, the world is simply flawless.

Yes, it is I who bought all the dissatisfaction in the world. Without me, the question of satisfaction and dissatisfaction does not arise.

If at all, my parents are to live without the assurance of me being there, that would be sad. But I must be OK with it. I have no choice in this regard. It would suck, and that would be a very sorry state of affairs. The greatest blessing of one's parent's death, is that the death of the parent, gives the child the permission to die. There is no better peace then this, I imagine. Having no one to live for, just living for the heck of it.

We live on the sustenance that comes our way. The only thing that needs to be sustained is the ego. As long as I live, the sustenance is that of fear and approval and love and such stuff. If the sustenance stops, and that is a rare occurrence, then we, fortunately, die. There is no other sort of sustenance. And that is cheerful fact.

Zazen

"To see what's in front of one's nose needs a constant struggle."

-George Orwell

I was in front of the PC screen, a cold starry night outside, and was trying to think of the one thing that mattered to me most at that very instant. As it often happens, whenever you try to think what you're thinking now, the mind returns a blankness and a silence, which otherwise would have been welcome. But as of now, I wanted answers, I wasn't getting one.

Concentrate, Huzefa, focus.

Nothing.

As such, trying to concentrate and freezing up you skulls muscles is not a legitimate way to actually concentrate. I discovered this way back in my life but for some reason, this old habit has stuck with me. For instance, whenever I want to think, I tense up my head, as if to say that by concentrating on the skull, I'll get a boost in my cognitive and intellectual faculties. I would do this at my exams. Why do people tap their heads when they think? I don't think it helps much. It is a cultural thing that everyone kinda does.

Alright. All I needed to do was to recognize what was truly important.

One of the lines I had read in the book I am that, seized my attention for a brief moment:
"That what you don't know of, you're a slave of. Once you know it, you're the master."

I wanted to be that master. I wanted to know what is going on. Thinkables, within a mind that I call my own. But how could you call your mind your own, if you don't know what's in it? Like how can you make your mind, if you don't have a mind to make it? But who made the mind which made the mind in the first place? OK, who made that mind?

The screen was still blank. It was a black screen with green font. I had altered the settings on my document writer to have those colors, partly because it looked better, partly because a white screen hurts my eyes. The cursor, blinking, was a fit representation of my attention span. On,off,...on, off....

Why was I doing what I was doing? I could have many motives, but chief among them was to bring about clarity where there was non-cognition. I wished to see what was and not what was not. That seems simple on the surface, until you realize that that's not natural at all. The brain, it is not a fact verifying organ. It is a story making organ. It dreams it's dreams the way it wishes to. It makes you want to eat a rasagulla while on an important diet. It makes you fall in love with people who don't love you back. It dreams elaborate dreams at night, some cuddly, some scary. It give us our aspirations, our reasons to breath the next breath. The brain is the organ that makes you the center of your own attention, the rock star in every situation. The brain projects you as the special snowflake you think you are: so unique, so irreplaceable, so special. The brain also makes jokes and machines and software, as mine does. It does everything, but tell the truth.

I imagine that this question, what is important to you, to be the virus that causes the hardware to start bursting amuck. Neural connections breaking and frantically looking for new nodes in this novel scenario.

The brain is not designed to tell the truth. So in hindsight it is not really surprising that when I sit in front of the screen and ask that very brain to tell me what is really important, it stares back at me, like some dumb engineering student at the vivas. At other times, it could have written some of the most complex and ingenious code for my companies clients. But now the black screen stared at me, mocking. The answer to this seemingly simple question, was not manifesting so readily.

I needed to write something:

Am I even revealing something? What part of this did you not know? Do I know this, or am I throwing words at myself?

I read what I had written again. I was bull crap. Select all, delete.

It was as if someone was talking to me from the outside in. I read what I had written.

Behind every ambition lies a wound.

If I were to sum up my thoughts and minus the ambitions, in my reckoning, I'd hardly be left with anything. Now that's something. I opened a fresh new document.

Yeah, so what keeps me breathing are my wounds. Wow. So if something hurts, I want it more since ironically it gives you..... life? A purpose? Something to do? What exactly do my ambitions give me. Well off course, I might argue that sometimes I really do achieve stuff because of what I want. Take for instance my ability to touch type. I remember really wanting to excel my peers in my college days, so I spent week upon week of my time in order to enhance my typing speed. In the end, I was left with relatively good typing speed, at least much better than what I was before, and I reap it's benefits even today.

But is that true? For all I know, it might be true that I did feel the urge to prove myself, but it was also true that I really enjoyed the process of training my hand, the feeling of being progressively better. So what actually made me better in the end of the day? What made it all worth it?

By now, I knew that I had digressed quite a bit. Way off topic. New document.

What do you actually want? Do I want hurt? Or is it something else?

Think! think!.... No... I cannot think.... the thoughts come and go on their own. I can only pressurize my skull, if anything.

Isn't it the most obvious thing? The most important thing to me! And I don't know what it is. I don't know why I live. I think and I think, but no answer seems to pop up that explains it all. I lay there thinking for a while, the dark screen returning my stare. After a while, I go to sleep.

Random post| 3rd Feb, 2017.

how empty is reality..... this body of mine cant take it. i can't be even with it. So my mind fills it up.

there is nothing much else to say. I have lost all along. The light of reality is bright, and vacant. But i fill it with darkness. With objects.Old heavy objects. It is out of habit that i do so. It just is like autopilot. As soon as I lose guard, it picks up the thread from there and weaves it's tapestry thereon. There is grandoure, and lust. There are stories and emotions. it is all there and there is no real purpose to it. There is no real purpose to anything.

What I wish I Knew Already

All my life I kept thinking about the next big thing. I, as I knew who I was, and what I wanted to become. That hypothetical greatness, that is oft-aspired but seldom achieved. Or maybe never achieved. I wish I get to know what I know is true, must be true, by all contemplation and certainness that I could muster in all of my being, I know that all this to be true! But at the same time, I somehow don't know.

I wish I knew that all my dreams and aspirations are projections of the shortcomings that I perceived in the past and now. I wish I knew that there was no actual shortcoming to begin with.

I wish I knew my loneliness is the truest thing I feel. That feelings of companionship or commorodarie, are mere masks.

I wish I knew that all the conversations and dialogues I have with the people I love and hate in my head, remain in my head.

I wish I knew that my urge to express myself, is born out of the misconception that people listen to what I say. Surely, people only hear noises, and comprehend whatever they like out of it. I wish I knew my urge to speak, is to substantiate the part of me that is insubstantial, and useless.

I wish I knew directly and undoubtedly, of all grandeur to be delusional. I wish I knew of all splendor and sophistication thrown at me to be a haunting, a dread, and unpleasant fear. And it would have to be so, so that it could serve it's purpose.

I wish knew that I was innocent of all the things I think of myself to be. That the my very words are borrowed, my very expressions aped, my emotions assimilated from others, my personality, stolen. I wish I knew my very spirit to be of that to seek conformity and a false sense of completion.

I wish I knew that my knowledge was a cumbersome burden, that didn't ever let me rejoice in breathing. I wish I knew that my urge to know, was a thoughtless warfare, waged at the uncertainity of life. A warfare that has it's warrior utterly defeated.

I wish I knew the people I have in mind are ghosts that haunt it. And that my ponderings feed them.

I wish I knew that the cause of all my suffering, is that part of me that wishes things to be otherwise. I wish I knew if that part wouldn't exist, my problems wouldn't exist.

I know of all this to be true. But, somehow, I don't. I wish I knew.

I'm Probably the Most Intelligent Person I know.

I am probably the most intelligent person I know.

There. I said it. I think this thought has been lingering in my mind since quite a while. It is a very sad thought. A vague, lonely thought. I always knew I was slightly smarter than the average guy. But I never thought it would come to this. It only helps then, that I know very few people.

Here's what frustrates me. Whenever I go searching for intelligent people, I inevitably am faced with the band of  philosophers and scientists of our time. I get the self-help gurus here too. These are like one collection of people of a very closely knit in an interlinked thought-castle. These are people of a similar, mostly American, liberal, communal inclination.

Most of their talk is focused on blaspheming against religion, mostly Christianity.  We might delve into why this is so, but for the purpose of this post, it suffices to say that these people are overly repetitive, and sick in their own obsessive disgruntlement against what is not even a real problem I, or anyone, faces.

These are not intelligent people. These are just a different brand of fanatics, posing as intelligent people.

Then there are the self-help folks. They try to tell people how to improve their lives. They tell success stories and biographies, and give lots of advice. But, as we can all really see, their advice has failed to alter the life of even a single person. I am yet to meet anyone who can truthfully claim that their self-help effort has benefited in any real way. Hasn't anyone seen that their stuff isn't working? But they perpetuate their madness.

These are definitely not intelligent people, either.

The thing is, intelligent people, are truly silent most of the time. They are compelled to spend their time, attention and energy on looking at new things, learning new things, experiencing new things.

They don't give much importance to the endeavor of self aggrandizement. That is because they know that self aggrandizement, will fail to give them any true satisfaction, appreciation or attention.

That's the sad thing about intelligent people. You probably haven't befriended them. You have ignored them and let them be to their own, quiet, satisfied life. To their rather lonely life.

The loneliness of an intelligent man is two fold. The first of the actual physical loneliness. The second loneliness is at a deeper level. For me, even if I have someone talking to me for hours, I know they shall never appreciate the depth of what I mentioned. They, I am pretty sure, will not understand way I am actually saying, what I am saying.

Now, let me clarify the concept of human intelligence here. By intelligence, i don't mean achievement in any way. I don't mean succeeding in having made a huge fortune, or being good at social situations, or creativity or making the worlds most successful social network or something along those lines. I don't mean getting good marks in school or college or being academically sound. I don't mean being a fast number cruncher who can perform computer like calculations with astonishing quickness.

By intelligence, what I mean, is the ability to see reality: unmorphed, unenamored. Intelligence is to see what exists, to understand it's context of existence and to see the limits of it's existence. Simply put, Intelligence is the ability to see reality in it's purist form. That's all there is to it. It does not guarantee success, it does not give any competitive advantage to the one possessing it. It simply see's the truth, without any ulterior motive.

That is what I have come to understand what human intelligence is.

But I digress. I am, unfortunately, the most intelligent person I personally know. I wish people were more intelligent than me. I wish I had just one such friend(or girlfriend) who could show me what is real beyond what I already know, what I can already see. Being with most of the people around me is weird.

The thing that most strikes me about people is the certainty they hold with their opinions and knowledge. They are always sure of everything. The general sentence structure, while conversing is assertive. On the other hand, I am never too sure of my conjectures. I always have a lot of doubt. Perhaps, probably, maybe, most likely, and other such expressions are used by me copiously throughout the day, both while conversing and writing. But I don't see most people doing that. They simply make assertive statements. I find it a bit irksome at times.

I really have been searching for just one intelligent companion. Just one to start with. Maybe there is a secret corner in the world where all the honest, intelligent people of the world gather. But I need one intelligent person to begin with, for now.

Every once a while someone strikes me as intelligent I try to befriend him. But soon enough, the shallowness begins to set in, and my looking out, as before, continues.

All love is fake

Yup.

This idea has been with me since a long time, but only recently have I begun feeling it in a more weighty manner. Now, I am not very well versed into this looking at myself thingy. I am not very good at seeing the mechanics of my ego clearly. But this idea still stands true.

I see how people function and all I see is veiled self interest. I am much as I can see myself, I see the same thing. I have never done anything for anyone(Maybe sometimes, very rarely.) without the want for validation of my identity, or personal gain. 

So it stands that, I have really loved nobody. It also stands that nobody ever loved me.

Typing that feels so good. Nobody ever loved me. I always knew this somewhere. But I can say it as a literal fact now.

The only thing that has got me appreciation, love, attention. affection, respect, honor, difference and consideration are my properties. My body or the position that has fallen on my lap somehow. Nothing else. Nothing that was ever told about me was actually about me.

So the love is false on so many different levels. On one level, the one loved is not the actual person but the impression of the person who is loved. Not the actual ego but the idea of the ego that the other person perceives which in no way is related to the actual person.

All the better to see you!

On the other level, even that love is out of self interest.

So who loves whom? Nobody loves anyone. If you feel that you truly love someone, ask yourself, why don't you love someone else instead? 

Or better yet ask yourself, to what degree would the loved one have to change so that you would stop loving them?

Or even better, ask yourself, what makes your loved one special, so as to merit your attention?

When answered clearly, these questions never to fail to point out the falseness of these emotions. These are stories we make up to shield our actual loneliness. We believe in these stories dearly. And no belief is true.

Plainly said, it is a mental(and therefore hormonal) condition. It is a symptom of lies and mental illness of our culture and upbringing.

I don't want to give myself and anyone the impression that my words about this are in any way pessimistic. I just want to stop pretending what is not true, inauthentic and pretentious to be true and meaningful or even beautiful in some way. I want something that is real. If I just remove what is false and energy sapping from my being, I might just make way for something real to blossom.

Vacate my heart!

I must humbly ask everyone to kindly vacate my heart. I ask you today, for if you don't, things are going to get pretty ugly. I might have to force you out, or worse, I might have to burn the heart itself. This, I mention because I know that the entity that resides in my heart has no relation with the real you. What resides in there is just an impression, an ghost. The ghost is creating a haunting and making my life haunted. Therefore, I ask you, oh ghosts, to leave.

I no longer feel scared of you. You draw all your energy from me. From my body, from the attention I pay to things. Of all things, I pay attention to you, and that is what sustains you. That is the only thing that keeps you alive. In the end I will have to cut off that supply that allows you to exist.

So I am gently asking you to leave. I know you all by your names. I know what you stand for and if I don't, I sure the hell will find out.

I will begin by stopping to pay attention to you to see if you go away silently. If you don't, which I'm almost certain you wont, then I'll have to look at your significance more closely. I will look at your history and why you are important for me. I will address that need, or eliminate it. Then, I will, by looking at you clearly, look through you.

In the end, you, to me only exist because of me. To me, you are just a dream character. Just as insubstantial as my own being.

I don't fear the day you'll go away. My behavior has and always will be the same. In fact, your being in my heart, causes me being out of my original character. I do strange and awkward things then. If you're gone, I can go back to the normal me. The normal me is much better, than the one carrying the burden of you 24/7.

A carnage is coming. My heart is going to burn anyway. If you don't leave, you shall find yourself burnt with my heart. So leave, or don't, you're going anyway. It is just that it would be a lot more pleasant for me if I know you are gone prior to the burning.

Ohh, how will life be after you are gone. I won't miss you for sure. There is no missing you, for there was never a you. Tell me, when I had you in my heart, did you know it? Did you appreciate it? Even if you loved me, how did it ever happen to be of importance to you whether I loved you or not? If someone ever loved me, it wouldn't matter if I loved them back or not. So your existence is of no consequence in the real world. It is only a burden on me, and that's the be-all-end-all of it.

I am unspeakably happy, this day has come. The day I get to be courageous enough to make this declaration. I'm thankful of you're being here till today. I enjoyed the pain, the happiness, the faux-companionship, the crazy delusional thinking, and comfort that I had in your presence. But this moment demands some serious growing up. And no growth can take place without me getting rid of the tumor that you all have become.

Getting over it all

In the past few years, I have been trying to leave my beliefs behind me. I have been trying to leave my ego and fears and begin my life sans those.

I cannot judge how far I have come. I started circa the beginning of 2015. I do not know the exact time I started.

But the length of my journey might just be noted as theoretical and theological. I cannot say that much of it is real, in the sense that I still stand as a defined person. That egoic shell is still there.

I need to get personal. I cannot keep studying these books about the journey towards truth. It will lead me nowhere. What I really feel the urge to do is to have honest conversations with myself every day of my life until I have nothing else to tell myself.

I feel tired. My sickness has wreathed my muscles and made my body into a light weakling. I cough out of an empty chest. My physical condition leads me to feel more desperately of my situation. So I need to be a little honest with myself.

I apologize for my incoherence while writing this. But the self is incoherent and jittery and vague. This whole subject is like this. I can see no resolution. Off-course, there is none.

But what have I been doing till now since 2015? I really feel lost. Have I really looked into the reality of my being or have I just being dancing around the bush of concept. I guess, for the most part, I have been doing the latter. I there even a single concern that I had back then that I don't have now? How am I different a person today then I was then? Well, to be honest, I don't care about outer appearances that much today that I did back in those days. But beyond, I am still a scared person.

OH MY GOD. My journey has, I guess, begun NOW. Why am I not excited?

Everything happens at it's appointed time.

This is not a worthless post.

I have been guilty of myself feeing at times that I do things, that I make them happen. But a clear looking at things, shows otherwise. I have never done anything, it is the circumstances that induce the happening, and I act as an agent of circumstance.

If I have goals as of now, those goals might have a utilitarian purpose of giving me motivation towards something. But it ends there. Beyond, goals just give me suffering.

I say it because I have seen it. It is true.I still cherish many a fantasies. But I am sure that they all must go for good. They have no existence in reality. They are fearful projections and hopes. I guess the ego does this because it feels that by making such a projection, it might be realized. What's that, the mind's version of the law of attraction? Clearly, it is not working.

When this nonsense hope and fantasy go away from the mind, I can then have an honest look at my real situation and take action. Before that, I am just passing time.

And as such, if something were to be realized or manifested in front of me, it will all dictate it and it will happen. In that, I have no say.

There is absolutely nothing to do...

Faux meeting

"Dude, will you come to a meeting with me? I am the marketing manager of my company and you are my freelancer friend who is our critical asset." said Aditya, whilst we were sitting in our office. I looked at him, confused. We, actually are lowly and insignificant coders. Programmers in the ABAP language. So I had no clue what he was saying.

I asked him what it was all about. He told me that his friend Kausubh(a.k.a KP) had told the CEO of his company that he was busy for a company meeting, when in reality, he was going to do something else, concerning his own freelance work. The CEO said that he too would like to attend this meeting. KP got caught in a bad situation, since off-course there was no actual meeting.

So he called Aditya for help. They decided that they would have to arrange a make-believe meeting in which Aditya played Chief Marketing Manager of a company we didn't actually work in, and I would act like a freelancer friend who was a "precious asset" to the company for the multiple valuable customers I hypothetically got.

I thought about this whole idea for a while and considered the risk.

"Dude, let's do it." I heard myself say.

So much fun.

We got ready, and went downstairs to a plush restaurant. I waited there as Aditya went out to get the CEO who was with KP. A vacant lemonade that Aditya had ordered, stood there, lonely. I sat on the other side of the desk, half nervous. The waiters looked at me suspiciously. Or maybe that was just my imagination.

The minutes passed, as there was no sign of him coming back. I decided to play with the apps in my cellphone, in an effort to make myself less awkward.

More than 10 minutes later, Aditya arrived with the two men. Quite recognizably, the CEO was dressed in a light blue shirt and overall formal look. KP had a less formal look, maybe since he was exceptionally well built.

We shook hands warmly. I tried to exude an air of confidence and sophistication. The CEO looked at us with gladness. We were his new customers. The four of us took our seats and Aditya started showing the websites made by a firm he had previously had a brief stint in. So we were a web designing firm that catered to big-fish clients such as a famous Indian football club, and a Paris based cosmetic company. He explained on while I gave some counter-productive interjections.

"So, you make websites" said the CEO, " why are you now interested in education?"

Aditya froze for a moment. Then he started.

"So... err.... we are a company.... who.. supplies to it's clients with premium quality UI-UX solutions and now we are thinking of doing this education thing...So that...err....we can get in touch with people who know about UI-UX ... and we can know who all are good at this thingy..."

"Basically," I ventured "we're looking forward for some quality talent acquisition...."

The CEO smiled politely at me and quickly looked away. Did I screw up?

Aditya then went on going on the same lines for quite some time. The CEO, who finally seemed to have lost his patience started explaining the services that his company provided. We tried to look assertive, yet casual to some degree. I couldn't pay much attention to the details he was delving into. The situation in which I was in was hilarious and beautiful.

The restaurant had a beautiful and mellow ambience, the air-conditioning was mild and soothing while a gentle music was playing in the background. Many successful looking people were all around us. But I wan't paying attention to them.

I thought about how this guy I had just been introduced to, KP felt about this whole thing. Did he regularly face such scenarios?

Aditya started some serious negotiations now. The CEO was listening sincerely.

"So what kind of people can you attract to us?"

"That depends on the kind of institute that you choose from our list. You know, actually what we give you is a platform to attract students.... err..."

I felt like talking again: "You know college students typically have much overconfidence when it comes to UI-UX.... They think they know everything while in reality they have no idea of industry standards."

I basically described myself.

The CEO looked amused, and smiled as he nodded at me. Cool.

Five more minutes of Aditya followed. He is an expert negotiate. I was wondering whether to tell that we were getting late. The longer we spoke the more the chance that our cover got blown.

The discussion now turned to quotations and payments. Aditya was asking for good deals. My brain was hardly working. In the end I said, "Maybe we'll let Jugal take the call here." (Jugal was some guy who actually worked in the company we were pretending to be in.)

"Off-course" said Aditya "I shall be forwarding all this to Jugal."

There was some chatter that I didn't follow. The CEO wanted another meeting. They started discussing timings. KP insisted that the next meeting should be with Jugal.

"Dude, we need to leave" I interrupted.

"Yeah you go and call Jugal"

"Yeah, give me Jugal's number"

......awkward......

"Oh, Huzefa, why don't you go to Mr. Sharma up and I will catch up."

He said Mr Sharma in an urbane accent that softens the 'r's. I felt stupid. It was time for me to leave.

I said a quick 'jaldi aa' in order to make myself feel important. Then I left the place and went upstairs in the office....

The whole thing lasted about 40 minutes.

Five minutes later, Aditya came in with some khachoris and samosas in a small packet. As we sat there, and ate, we laughed like crazy. We recounted details of all the faux pas and the successes we had. He had done it all to save his friend's ass. I did it because I thought it would be thrilling.

It was so thrilling !

You don't have any questions. All you have is answers.

Our Greatest Delusion

Life vs. The Internet

A great part of our personalities and a huge part of our life stories today can be attributed to the Internet. This is not a good thing, I have realized, off late. The internet, in my honest opinion, has done more harm than good to me personally. I want to elucidate a few things here, and express what I have been realizing in bits and pieces.

An illusion of being connected:

The internet, through social media and messaging apps, gives us a comfortable feeling that we can contact anyone we want, anytime we like. It also gives us a feeling of being in touch. However, as I realize, it is a big illusion.

Social connections online, in my experience, does't increase communication between people, but counter-intuitively reduces it. It, in my experience, it puts a chasm between people who would otherwise feel nostalgic about each other. Miscommunication over text and passive aggressive behavior online, opinion feuds, and false judgement over tastes and culture are other things that go on over the internet social scene.

In real life, we depend on one another in intricate and complex ways. Communication is rather smooth and we see other points of views more clearly. In real life, we try to get in genuine touch with another person by actually taking efforts to get in touch. We get influenced in our decisions, and tend to have less of a herd attitude.

The internet is an illusion of connection, when everyone is separate. Life is the illusion of separateness, when everyone is connected.

The illusion of Smartness

Search engines gave us the power to search anything we wanted when we wanted them. It meant that school and college projects and assignments were nothing more than googleing the term and plagiarizing from one source or another. More often then not, those sources might be plagiarisms themselves. There is usually much unnecessary and impractical information to be found, and this, more often then not, causes an information overload. Ironically, very little of that information is truly retained in memory.

In real life, if we need to know something, we need to study it, feel it and experience it to a more wholesome degree. This might look slow or dumb, but it gives to wisdom and holistic well being of the mind.

The internet gives the illusion of being a smart-ass when in fact, you know nothing. In real life you know it when you know nothing, and thus chances are, you'll make an effort to be open minded to new knowledge.

The illusion of tolerance

If you haven't noticed, everything on the internet, is structured around the way you behave. You views are recorded, your likes and dislikes dictate what you will be exposed to in the future. This is true in both search and media. The result is, the world will seem surprisingly tolerant, since only like minded people are allowed to mingle and express their views.

In real life, we meet all sorts of people and make and effort to accommodate them within our world view.

The internet wears tolerant facade. Real life is tolerance in practice.

The illusion of Abundance

The internet is the home of hype and instant gratification. As is everything is projected in the most flattering light. The lives of people are photographed and uploaded with the best smiles and poses. The best sort of food is always on display. There is food porn, word porn and also porn. There are also cats.

In real life, things are harder to get and are much more gratifying. The food tastes and feels real. The words are more meaningful and come in some context or life situation, rather than just being random quotes.

The internet shows abundance, when truly it is scarce. Real life looks scarce, but is truly abundant.

--------------------------------------------------------------

But clearly, the internet is just a tool. We are responsible for our own lack of discrimination.

Who is Jed Mckenna?

The teachers we need will always be there when we need them; no reason to track down somebody else’s. -Jed Mckenna.

In March, this year, I was going through YouTube videos on self improvement as I often did in those days. One video titled 5 books that will change your life caught my attention. The guy in the video was a well known pick-up artist, Aaron, from RSD.

Now, like most people, I too was tired of redundant self help books and tips, but lately I had liked David Deida's books just for the heck of it. Besides, I had nothing better to do.

So the first among his recommendations was this strange "Spiritual Enlightenment" trilogy having these 3 books:

1. Spiritual Enlightenment: The danmdest thing.
2. Spiritually Incorrect Enlightenment
3. Spiritual Warfare

All three written by a person named Jed Mckenna. And since I had nothing better to do, I went ahead and read these books. And it blew my mind.

I have never felt the same about any other book ever. And I have read hundreds if not thousands of them.

Jed Mckenna

It is August now, and I am still reading and re-reading  those books. They have been of such enormous value.

But this post is not about how awesome those books are(which they are). I only want to know, who on earth is Jed Mckenna?

In the narrative of his first book, he is located in an "ashram" known by locals as the Jed-zone somewhere in the central states of the U.S. In the second book, he's somewhere in Europe. In the third, he rents a house in rural Mexico. In another book he wrote, he was back in America, where he had previously rented a mansion. These days, he's living in Cambodia, where he has an ashram. But nobody clearly knows exactly where. There are no photos of his on the internet, despite being popular. No YouTube videos, no book promotions. Nothing.

But all this secrecy, even though clearly on purpose, seems effortless for him.

How does one do that?

I'm not a popular person, but if you Google "Huzefa Saifee", I do pop up. It's a small world,you know. And Here is an author of 5 very successful books, but not a photo to be found, no video, no biography.

I find that amazing.

A Midnight Rescue Mission

Last evening, when I came home at around 22 hours in the evening, I found my sister looking out with a melancholy look outside the window. She pointed out to me a crow who was hanging on a nearby tree, one wing stuck upwards by a kite string and it hanging helplessly in the rain. It was a stormy day and the downpour was non-stop. I went out to do something about this. But I didn't know what or how.

So I went to a Bela, a old woman who lived downstairs, who is an "animal lover". 

"You're telling me at this time, man? Din me bolta to alag hota. Ab itni raat ko kya karneka?"

I reassured her that I was not asking her to climb the height. We went to the tree and saw the crow. The bird was surely traumatized. The rain had severely ruffled it's feathers and I imagine it was stuck in the same awful position for hours. I made sounds to agitate it and make sure it was alive. It was.

She suggested that I call the fire-brigade. So I tried to do that. They didn't receive my call, despite tens of attempts. Frustrating. Wonder what'd happen if we're in a real fire emergency.

Half and hour later, I called my friend Prathamesh, and asked him to help me rescue the bird in distress, wondering if it was still alive.

An ancient Macedonian coin, with a crow.

"In the rain?"

"Yup."

"Whilst getting wet?

"Yup."

"Let's go."

We went, and I took from home a pair of scissors to cut the string.

I first asked Bela to help us out, since I can't get myself to catch a crow. She refused. She had dogs and cats to feed, and a lot of work, she said. She gave us some sticks and a torch.

"Tum log jakar Masum ke idhar se ladder le ke jao."

So off we went, equipped with a ladder, a torch, a long stick and scissors.

And the rain started pouring bucketfuls. We were on a rescue mission, in the middle of a storm. The sky boomed and banged.

Prathamesh asked me if I was sure if I wanted to do this.

"Man, if I were stuck hanging on a tree, I would like to be helped."

He seemed very pleased at what I said. I climbed the ladder while he gave it support. I agitated the bird with the stick. It fluttered it's wings. Alive for now.

I tried, but failed to reach the string. Prathamesh tried too. The rain was intense and water fell in our eyes as we tried to look up.

After much trial and error, on the street, we saw another guy named Prathamesh (a.k.a Kadu), who is a lanky guy who is 6 feet 4 inches tall. We asked him to help us:

"BC, idhar aa, kawwa rescue kar rahe he...."

"Kya MC, jaldi me he me..."

"Abe BC. latka he, bus string katna he, bus..."

He came by with extreme reluctance. He began to climb.

Prathmesh: Upar chad. Hoze, light maar.

Kadu, who was up the ladder by now, had legs shaking. He wore glasses, so the rain was causing more visual problems for him.

Kadu:"Phat rahi he BC."

Much commotion ensued. The bird was at it's wit's end. The scissor just wouldn't reach the string.

We needed to use a knife. I waited there at the site, while both of them went to Bela's to get a knife. Five long minutes later, they arrived with what looked like a spear. A knife attached to a stick. Awesome. I took the stick and posed some hunter poses before handing it back to Prathamesh.

Bela has warned us against the bird falling, saying that if it's back broke, it was gone. But what were we to do? Kadu climbed up and after much direction, encouragement and swear words, managed to cut the string. The wing was freed from entanglement, but the crow didn't move.

"Is he still stuck?" I asked. No one gave an answer.

I took a stick and poked it, it crept inwards towards the trunk of the tree. I felt that if left in the rain, it might die, so I pushed the crow. He fell down gently, hitting two or three obstacles in between.

He got up on his feet and began running.

Picture that. A fucking crow awkwardly running in a storm away from three benign gentlemen, wings tightly closed. We stood there, motionless for a few seconds, confused.

The two guys, ran to Bela to ask her to catch the bird. She came, umbrella in hand, fretting and fuming.

"I had told you that don't let him fall."

I said nothing.

After a little chasing she caught the crow. She then picked up her umbrella in one hand, keeping the crow in another. The crow shrank, like a soft kabab in her hand.

"I should consider myself very brave. You, despite being young men, are scared to catch a crow."

"Look," I started, "I don't usually catch crows as part of my daily routine..."

She put the crow in a cage she had. Everyone was happy and relieved. And soaking.

I went home and asked my sister: "Saw that?"

"Saw all that," she said in a satisfied, happy and teasing tone. She was seeing everything from the houses window.

"Now go and bathe for the 50th time today..."

I did that.

The next day, Prathamesh told me that the crow was kept on the tree at dawn. After a few hours, it flew away.

At Santacruz Station

When I would travel to Babasaheb Gawde Institute, during my diploma days, I would often overhear conversations of people on the trains during my daily commute to Bombay Central from Vile Parle. I never failed to feel a good amount of familiarity with the way people spoke. Each dialogue, each nuance, response, greeting, jargon was so generic, it was as if all people are substitutes of each other. They watch the same movies and TV series, read the same news, eat similar food and have common ethics. So off course, they, and I, are almost the same.

"oye kitna padha!..... lag gayi yaar,,,,"

"to tune kya bola usko?"

"What's up man, dikh nai raha he, kaha he tu?"

and so on.... you get the idea.

And I noticed the same thing on the days I would walk back from Carter Road to Bandra Station with passers by speaking loudly on their cell phones.

The 24th of April saw the first viva of the final internal examination of the B.E. degree course in CS. That day, the viva got over rather quickly, so I was happy that I would be able to attend the Friday prayer at Santacruz's mosque after a rather long gap. So I left college and walked towards Bandra Station, as usual, and boarded an Andheri train which was cozily empty. It was hot as ever, summer was showing it's rage, but something about the slow pace of things in that day, kept me calm and pleasant.

The previous few days were hectic, stressful and bitter-sweet. I had just finished all submissions and my project was functional. The report was yet to be printed but it was approved by our rather demanding guide. I had fallen for a girl who had just recently rejected/friend-zoned/God-knows-what me. And my college days were getting over. Gloomy, you know.

But the gloom was in the background as I was early today and would reach before time at the mosque. The mosque, is a sanctuary of calm, and never fails to put my issues aside.

The train chugged forward and just before Santacruz's platform arrived, it came to a halt. A few minutes went by, then the passengers started leaning out to see why the train had stopped. I had all the time, so I waited patiently.

Meanwhile, a crowd gathered on the southern-most walkover bridge. The passengers were getting agitated and leaning further and further, until a few people jumped out on the gravel. It seemed, someone had died by the train's impact.

A few boy's alighted, and announced: "Oye mar gaya oye!!! KHATAM !!!"

Usually, I don't pay attention to such things, but that day, I was considering the possibility of being OK with the whole idea of dying. Usually, I don't even stand on the doorway. I value my life more than most people. But that Friday afternoon, something was different.

I said to myself that I needed to see this dead man. For some reason, I felt a strong urge. Plus, I said to myself, that my life was useless anyway. So I risked all my cherished values and safety measures and jumped on the gravel and started walking towards the platform besides which the incident had taken place.

I jumped down when horns form trains started honking loudly from all directions with great surround-sound effects. Walking on tracks is scary, A police person, started blowing his whistle at me and the others on the gravel. Thankfully, he didn't bother us any further.

I reached the platform and saw the casualty from there. His head was crushed from the center up-till the lower jaw, the teeth of which were clearly exposed. Inside the skull, it was like minced meat. The shirt had a few bloodstains but was normal otherwise. A few sluggish, gooey, lumps of meat with a few dangling fibres were on the tracks. The police person was taking notes while the railway personnel had put him on a stretcher and were nudging his slightly overweight body, which helplessly shook, his hands dangling in the scorching sunlight. I was standing there, mesmerized by the whole beauty of this.

I thought it would be an unpleasant for me to be lying on the tracks in such heat and sun light. But then again, it also would be pretty unpleasant to have my head dissected till my lower jaw.

A few railway men, picked up all the meat and threw it on the stretcher. A crowd on the bridge hadn't left. I was surrounded by women waiting for their "lady's compartment", who were all busy texting. I stood there nevertheless, thinking about the dead guy in front of me. I thought that this guy would be so regular, no one would otherwise take notice. It would be the same person saying things like "What's up man! Long time!!!" if you'd happened to know him.

That guy, was for all intents and purpose, all of us.

More specifically, this guy was me.

I stood there as I felt the void engulfed me. Everything about my life felt so small. All my worries, opinions, likings, everything seemed, so fucking stupid. All issues I was facing, suddenly felt like basic bullshit. Wow.

A few minutes later I walked up. I saw the crowd was still there. Now I knew why they were standing, Maybe deep down, they know, but they don't realize it.

I went to the mosque where a melodious hymn of salawaat was being sung in a deep baritone as I felt steeped in gratitude for having died. Ironically, I was breathing.

Spiritual Autolysis

26th April, 2015.

Autolysis means self eating in biology(some microbes eat themselves to survive). I got the concept from Jed McKenna's books, mainly "Spiritual enlightenment: The Danmdest thing",

What we do in it is, the way I understand it is:

1. Shut up.
2. Sit down.
3. Write about what is bothering you at present.
4. Question it's validity, trueness and beliefs that lead to the discomfort.
5. Keep doing this.

This, according to Jed McKenna, would lead to the destroying of false beliefs and ultimately the self we have built around those beliefs.

I am pretty convinced it'll work. This makes sense to me.

I am doing this today on. I'll keep updating this post itself every now and then, to mention my progress, or lack of it.

Done.