I Am The Maitreya

Note: Thoughts in this post are pretty disconnected; so please read it as a piecemeal to make a sense out of them, if there is one at all. I am sick and tired of formatting, in fact, I spend more time formatting my write-ups than writing them. So, I have come up with an igenious idea, for different paragraph different color code. Enjoy my rainbow thoughts…

If I were a Greek, and I were a God, I would have been worshipped and exalted for my only attribute—sloth. I wouldn’t be at the Pantheon on top of Mt. Olympus, why would I be, the God of Sloth himself, and climb all the way to the top that beats the purpose of my divine designation? Something like: God of Fire catching a cold. Interestingly, a thought did cross my mind—why not petition for Hindu pantheon instead, closer to home and culture, rather than sport a curly hair and curly beard, clad in toga, if accepted by the Greeks; rather I would be around familiar gods in Indras’s assembly. Then I said, ‘Nah,’ what are my chances of Chitragupta accepting my application form at the HR department of Heaven? When upper management must be seriously thinking of downsizing already bloated DR (Divine Resources)—33 Kotti of gods (1 Kotti = 10 Millions). All in all, there are ten gods for every Nepali. With that ratio, we should have been devoid of all earthly worries; instead we are the most challenged and beaten, destitute of destitutes. Why this fundamental disconnect with the divine? Very fundamental question, I guess.  Preamble to this post: I know, I know, preamble should have been at beginning, since there is a prefix—pre in the word, thanks for reminding. But what’s the fun at being conformist. The rebel in me says, ‘hell with the template,’ I do as it pleases me. So I place it here. This rant is solely inspired by my lethargy, which I released after a long self denial that I have mastered the art (of being lazy) in its finest form. By mere perfection of the craft, I am no more an individual, but an institution. The only object(s) I am willing to lift and carry around that defies and challenges GRAVITY without any complains are my own pair of testicles in their sac, other than that I get very very testy burning my calories. For that I thank the creator for giving men only a pair, you might say, a pair since, symmetry is human, but think of it, we could have got them in fours and sixes, still a symmetry. Now, just imagine my contempt towards carrying all those heavy boxes while moving my apartment, all day cursing for making me a member of ultra-consumerist-capitalistic world dragging blenders to bed, toothbrush to table, or not metamorphosizing me into a Kafka’s bug for no need of toothbrush and blenders, and no need of moving.  So, I thought, if I find carrying my own toothbrush around cumbersome, then I exemplify laziness to its finest, on how Kama exemplify Lust, Sarswoti exemplify Knowledge etc. etc. well, you got my point. With the same argument, I deserve to be the God of Laziness, if not, at least a demigod, like Hercules, not a man not a god, one in between. Which inspires me to fill a form applying for God-ness, and which takes you back to the original chain of thought. Fundamental disconnect, may be because our faith is based on miracles more than anything else. This is true for believers of all faiths, more so for Hindus (I am not taking about those who have done a serious readings). As a result, there are gods among gods, some are alpha-gods, some are lesser gods, and some are just god-men, on our part we discriminate while worshiping them. Our devotion is a reflection of a pop-culture; sometime Manakamana takes over Bhangala Mukhi, Bhangala Mukhi takes over some Deiv Than, but herding the pack is Bob Sai Marley Baba sporting that afro. That ubiquitous afro in saffron is really really beginning to get on my nerve, nothing to do with his pretension of being god; it’s his fucking hair-do. Every time I see his picture hanging on some wall, I get this urge to run him down with a lawn mower. All things said that hair-do only does justice on Hendrix or Don King the boxing promoter, Baba, please, you can keep your pretension, but at least get a hair cut for the greater good.   Sai Vaktas and Premis—my apology.  Running berserk from mountain top to mountain top, or to some kuti, making all those arduous vows and promises in return for bestowing devotee with their object desires—can be anything, if no job than a job, if has a job than a promotion, if has a lucrative job than a beautiful wife, for the women—man with a lucrative job who is looking for a wife, if has disease cure it– if syphilis cure this time and promise never to go back to whorehouse ever again, for the wife of the syphilis infected man—cure her husband this time around and she would keep a month long fast, in short anything and everything under the sky.  And, we completely understand that there is no free lunch, thus an age old tested barter system, so we make vows and promises like: I will not have sex with my wife for two months, I will shave my head, I will buy a dozen of banana everyday for next four months, I will climb bare feet just clad in dhoti to Himalaya, I will buy the biggest khasi/boka or the most colorful rooster in the whole of Bagmati Anchal for the sacrifice so on and so forth.  The whole affair is laughable and ridiculous, on the other had I do understand frustration and desperation, when the situation is beyond human control and reach, it’s obvious to turn to almighty for help or divine intervention, that’s the beauty of faith, which gives a glimmer of hope even at the direst of times.  But think from the perspective of god, what the fuck would god do with a dozen of DDT and insecticide infested crumpled up banana, when he dines on ambrosia, what good is your mullet or lock of hair to god, what interest does he have in your sex life or your abstinence from it? If I were a god, and a devotee were to snivel in that manner to cozy up with me for my favor, I would have fucking shoved all those fruits up his ass for insulting my intelligence, may be that’s why I am human.  If I were a god, I would have liked my creation to use the intelligence that I have bestowed on them while revering and worshipping me, which I didn’t give to any of my creations. Exercising the faculty of own intelligence would have been the ultimate devotion—using his gift to mankind. And what would the idiots in West do–come up with ‘Intelligent Desing.’ But, if people are all that stupid in their devotion, then I qualify for my god’s station too, for my laziness. One more in 330 millions, but sans saffron and afro—fucking dick.  Note: To keep the record straight, my mother thinks, I got a job in US, just because she took that Khasi to Manakamana.