What is this life that we lead? Why are we here on Earth? What is our purpose to be fulfilled during our span of life? Is every single person able to accomplish his role in the scheme of this Universe? All such questions throng my mind a few times when I feel life isn't moving as I want it to. These intangible ideas in my head meandering inside, complicate my effort to understand the meaning of life. And, after a while when I reconcile with them, these questions seem to subside somewhere deep in my consciousness, ready to sprout again at any moment of despair I get into.
Today, as I was getting back to hostel from my sister's place, on my way, I had been drowning in the swamps of guilt on a matter so trivial that it's not worth mentioning. I was constantly thinking about how I could have done , what I did, in some other way and would have been guilt free. Consequently I was led to some other direction. I wondered how we humans are puppets in the hands of God, harking back to some episode of the Mahabharata where Krishna himself reveals how everything that happens in the world depends on his will. This distant and vague remembrance was still making rounds in my mind as I realized someone had been honking from behind and my autowala had slowed down his auto. I asked him what was the matter. As he told me, I saw it with my eyes : a soul free body being taken for the last rites by a few men. How my eyes welled up at this sight, is still unknown to me. I didn't know who had died. Was it a child, a girl, a boy, a man or a woman? It was a moment of facing the ultimate truth. In a split second, you don't know where your soul has left for.
These days, everyone is in a constant struggle to achieve something. This attainment hinges on the class or strata of society you belong to. The super rich find ways to be even richer. The poor try to make their ends meet. While the middle class looks upwards to the rich class and aspires to be like them someday. Material comfort has become the only truth that everyone wants to reach. No one seems to be satisfied with what s/he has. Of what use is all this strife, this monotonous struggle to acquire that which you would only take to your grave and not with your soul?
I wonder if I can ever understand why have I taken birth.
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