Past

Past is difficult thing to leave. It becomes even more difficult if past that you are trying to forget was what your identity for all years passed. The memories you are trying to erase are what your habits and words for all time passed. It is difficult burden to throw away and more difficult if you know what you are throwing away is still dearer to you.
I never made peace with the fact that I worked for RSS. What kept me there are persons who designed the organizations, curtailed and fitted themselves to any task and impulsive responses whenever any social catastrophe happened. What made me to withdraw myself is restricted view towards human being. Sketching human being as religious entity, putting unnecessary benevolence or cruelty on him or holding concepts about humanity much more worth than humanity which created them are not my cup of teas. But even though I fragmented in my attachments, what never changed is my respect and attraction for creative organization of human beings and ever-present spirit of soiling the clothes. Its been three years I am away from what I have been my all for years before. There is no new recognition I found for myself. I am never able to leave earlier one.
First thing I read in the day was my friend’s blog.

( Read it at: http://vikramwalawalkar.blogspot.com/2010/01/blog-post.html)

He had participated in fire fighting act. He is a staunch believer and practitioner of Hindutva. He has wrote his experiences and feelings lucidly and at the same time there is no personal credit involved.. There are many arguments I had with him about philosophy of work. In my frustrated actionless days, I even criticized him just for the sake of it. Yet, after reading him, I find him my close one. I salute what he did. I wish I should be able to do the same if time calls. It made me to look back about what I had been. It evoked passion for impulsive actions towards any social pain. It teased sort of thought battles I fought theses days. It underlined the fact that what matters is difference made. Whether it is thought driven or impulse driven is not what makes difference. It is old friction. Day started, with lost, partial past and undefined and gray future. I am standing on collapsing present it seems.
What if I just jump in sea of people? What if I left all my identities back and submerge in this pool of unknown? Will I survive? Will ‘they’ let me live? Will not they rob me? Even when I say I want to study people, I keep my securities alive, though distant. Can I really be a part of them? I can really feel what they feel?
Yesterday, an unknown but helpful stranger strongly expressed his sympathies for naxalites. Today, my friend again stressed how RSS making difference. Will I be ever able to take stand so clearly?
Whirlpool of questions muddles every moment. This chaos about self becomes even complex when I feel that it is not just I but some other who are woven in it. Directly or indirectly, my actions or inaction are not just mine.
Where it leads? I strongly feel questions lead to questions. Answers exist independently.
In the evening, I was sitting in autorikshaw. I mostly get frustrated by crowd and by competition one has to participate in to get access to any resource in such crowd. With some efforts, I had controlled this frustration. Rickshaw started. And, it stopped soon. there is potential stalemate. Some rickshaws, each one going in mutually different directions had reached to common point. And rickshaw in which I was sitting was first in the queue of auto following it. I stepped down. Asked following rickshaw to move back. Then, I made request to one another rickshaw driver to adjust itself. It started moving in few minutes. Nothing great. But, what made me smile back to myself, is my natural response. Even today, I have it alive. Even today, my eyes get wet for people distant from my eyes. Even today, what I see worth is fighting spirit of any person. Even now, with all thoughts inclining to self-destruction, I see bleak but sustained hope that I can make small but constant difference. I feel I am alive, though puzzled, fed on artificial though diet and deprived of constancy.
Baba Amte said:
झोपलेत माळ अजून तापवीत काया
असंख्य या नद्या अजून वाहतात वाया
अजून हे अपर दुख वाट पाहत आहे
अजून हा प्रचंड देश भीक मागताहे

I am not sure whether this sorrow is infinite. I do not know what poet means by country. What I am sure of is repercussions these words made inside me. And, if they are real, real are my feelings, real are impulses I feel for actions and real is satisfaction that any selfless act brings.
Sometimes there is good way to answer chronic troubling questions. Forget them!