From Cobra to Corona: The scale of Homosapien fears

As scared to the guts Homosapiens scamper and slither into holes for safety, the still remaining species come out of their hiding places and take a view of the empty stage. The skies are relieved in the absence of the massive metallic birds, who no longer shout in to its face and puff out million tons of horrible farts in its nostrils. No wonder, the skies are bluer. Mother Nature appears to have regained its smile.

The Bigger pathogens are busy in fighting a smaller pathogen as of now. On the empty stage, on the premises of a gated colony in a city, a Cobra comes out to take a stock of the abnormality, the eerie silence. ‘What fresh mischief the two-legged ones are cooking up from their houses now?’ it must be mulling in its little brain inside the attractive hood.

The stage is less crowded. So its revulsion of Homosapiens is diluted a bit. In front of an unoccupied ground floor flat, it flashes its majestic black body as a veteran soldier from Mother Nature’s army who has occupied an abandoned post and claimed independence from subjugation and slavery. Its hood is raised with peaceful alertness. In routine times, a Cobra in the open in a human colony gets swiftly condemned as the worst possible enemy and you straightaway hear shouts of ‘Maro Maro Saanp aaya, kill, kill, kill the snake’. But now Corona is the biggest enemy. So there are no such impromptu shouts. Cobra is a lesser evil in comparison to Corona, the Mahishashur out there to wipe out the entire humanity. I think many eyes must have even fetched tears of devotion for Lord Shiva’s fabulous necklace. Some extra devotional type may even offer a logic: ‘Corona dies the death of a stray dog where a Cobra breathes!”

Not too many have the courage and even the will power to come out and attack with their routine childish vengeance to kill a snake. Possibly we try to kill our own fears by attacking a snake. But now the fear is far bigger than symbolized by an almost innocuous Cobra. The shapeless reptile Corona, stretching its obnoxious slithery invisible body across the planet stands for our fear for life as of now. So no Maro Maro war chorus. A bit more than average responsible fellow calls the snake catchers. ‘Sorry boss, we can’t come! Lockdown! Policewalla’s stick is more dangerous than the Cobra’s hood’. So they back out.

Someone believing the police to be the ultimate remedy calls the them. Two Corona-scared policemen, their faces hidden under the mask, arrive with their sticks. Guns have become irrelevant by the way against Corona, the rascally criminal. Even a stick stands better chance in the fight. Its tip may squash a few Corona idiots waiting to feast upon someone’s lung cells. The policemen strike their sticks on the ground from a distance. With an irritated hiss, the Cobra gets back into the unoccupied flat. People prompt the policemen to be the saviors as they are expected. ‘We aren’t snake catchers!’ they reprimand. ‘But you are supposed to protest us!’ the believer in policing powers offers his point very politely. ‘Presently we have to protect you from Corona by forcing you guys to stay holed up inside your houses,’ they recall the pressing issue. Everyone looks expectantly at the heroes to salvage the day from the side of Homosapiens. ‘Take out chilies from your houses and throw inside this flat from the windows!’ they tell the solution and scamper off to fight the bigger Corona battle.

Left to devise their own solutions, the people shout their snake manuals from their windows and balconies. A spiritual type says, ‘Mix some milk in water and throw inside!’ The idea is immediately taken up. Nobody seems to argue and opine unnecessary. All appear to conserve their energy to fight the bigger enemy. So the solution is carried out. By chance, mischance or for any other reason, the Cobra comes out again to take a stock of the empty stage. And they applaud at the victory from their locked down houses. It scares the Cobra and angrily it slithers into drain pipes linking the sewer to cozy pots where Homosapiens vent out their exhausts after their planet-conquering efforts.

‘It’s even worse!’ a panic-monger immediately hoots out his apocalypse scenario. ‘It has the power to slither across the pipes and bite you on the chuttar, bum, as you are busy disburdening yourself on the pot!’ The horror of Corona appears to take a backseat. All appear to envision the injection pinch on their bums offered as a sort of punishment for all the negative karmas of life. Well, we need to be pinched definitely on our ass for our errant ways. But then in that case even the Cobra can’t escape the effects of someone’s dirty morning deed of the day. To kiss the ass, it has to first cross the final hurdle set up by the Homosapiens in the form of pot’s contents floating like a safety layer to save its ex-master!

From physical ejaculation to cosmic orgasm

Physical intercourse, which we so often present as decent sounding 'Lovemaking' is the least possible utilisation of the cosmic energy contained in the physical self. Just the first milestone in the journey of evolution of the soul. It's simply the gateway to the world of actualization of the full potential of the kundalini Shakti. You can say it's simply like a little flower drawing a tiny sip of sunrays to blossom up, while far away the infinite energy of the Sun dazzles brilliantly. When the cravings for mere physical ejaculations stop creating the illusion of the ultimate pleasure, when cosmic orgasm stands seperated and at a distance from the maya of physical ejaculation, the entire body vibrates with divine orgasm, the soul dances to the tunes of the ultimate liberation, physical pleasure raised to the highest power possible, to infinite proportion. All the tiny pleasures that maya has set up on the small scale lose their duping power, which restrict the physical self from merging in the pools of the divine self, and one tastes oneness. Or the divine nothingness. Or the cosmic everythingness. All same same!

One need not be the one who has glimpsed into the sun source directly to truly know the truth in these simple words. All of us are equally eager seek to drop the burden of "me". However, the only tool that most of us appear to know is the short, temporary bliss of physical intercourse wherein for a brief moment "me" or ego ceases to exist.

Accepted that all of us have the inkling about, a little glimpse, the ultimate bliss through physical intimacy. It only means all of us are equally qualified to dive into the permanent bliss of the cosmic orgasm, where each cell, not just the genitals, of the body vibrates with infinite pleasure, bliss and egolessness. As all journeys start with the first step, Mother Nature has given us this easiest means, which apart from helping us propagate our species, introduces us to the path of real egolessness.

Animals hardly have the potential to consciously raise the bar to move into the higher dimensions of egolessness starting from the physical ejaculation. But humans have the potential to consciously move from sex to super-consciousness; from the point of cosmic release of egolessness at the reproductive system to the overall physiognomy and further into the domains of soul, where the real self looks at its reality, beyond the screen of physicality..

There are spiritual techniques to facilitate one on the path of egolessness leading to the cosmic orgasm. The central channel along the spine, sushumna, has seven chakras for the movement of vital life energy. But the upper 5 chakras are blocked, leaving the lower 2 chakras for the outflow of vital energies. But the lower chakras are just defined by anger, hate, greed, lust and jealousy, so the majority of the energy is lost at the lower chakras. It's like a pipe having 7 chakras has upper 5 blocked, leaving only the lower 2 open, wherefrom the vital energy outflows in the form of basic animalistic instincts. However, if the upper 5 chakras are cleansed, energy gets a channel to move up, taking one into higher domains of egolessness. Pleasure of lower chàkras loses its value, just like toys lose their importance as we grow old from kids. Similarly, pleasure of lower chakras appears valueless in comparison to the joy felt at the moment energy reaches the higher chakras.

A major portion of the urge to get a temporary release of ego is related to the search for meeting desires, fulfilling expectations, assurance, love, connection and insecurity. The messages from the higher dimensions, in the form of free floating thoughts, emotions and desires, need carrier medium. Irony is that at this plane of existence, at the human level, the carrier medium are humans of flesh and blood. So just like a vehicle has to have fuel to drive, this carrier medium as a physical body has to have its driving fuel also, which are quite interestingly born of exciting, sweet sour version of maya, illusions, and manifest as seeking of assurance, love, connection, insecurity, desires, expectations, physical intimacy and many more. Just like in the journey of the vehicle, the destination is more important than the fuel, similarly, in glimpses of truth, the fuels of maya are less important than the destination of the soul. However, it does not lessen the value of the driving fuels in any way. Their need itself sums up their value in the journey. Journey well. Stay joyful, stay safe. Namaste.

A day in the life of a Corona scared poet

Well, I have believed in the principle of putting down my tail under my legs and back away, almost running off the scene of issues and confrontations. Condemned as an escapist, I still find it feasible and practical beyond words. It stops the cascade effect of further build up of untoward scenes. Most importantly, it pacifies many egos. Little do I care, if their pacification of ego has to stand on condemning me as a coward. However, this strategy works when you have the tangibles visibly confronting you. What to do when the opponent is invisible like Little Master Corona?!

It may come from any direction, through any possible mean and in any form. As an escapist it literally means running away from each and everything. I feel like burrowing the deepest hole and hide there like a scared centipede fearful of getting crushed by rampaging boots. How many precautions to take? There are so many Donts that life even for someone ascetic-type like me appears cramped. Precautions raised to the power of infinity equals paranoid fear. Still I try to keep the raised power within manageable figures to maintain it within the limits of sanity.

As many Donts as possible imposed like a dictator on my own self. A bit of sense of safety creeps in as I ponder over my own disaster management. Not going outside too much. It is within my grasp. Usually I keep within my house. Walks through nature. Yea, I love that more than anything else in cosmos. That’s my strength. Trees are guardian angels. But how will you dodge rough peasants accosting you with bear hugs as you walk to your guardian angels, especially if you have been smiling and cordial with people. Running away from them won’t help. They will take it as an invitation to athletics and catch you as a trophy. That will be even more serious. Putting up a grimace on your face as you come across them to avoid them will create concern and hence they would poke you until you giggle. So no outings any longer. Painful yea, but what to do. You get a call over the phone and you have to sound like that the person on the line just stole your buffalo, otherwise you will get some invitation and the resultant dozens of excuses you have to offer. So straightaway sound like you just found that fellow sleeping with your wife or girlfriend. So launch a sort of ambush. A merciless beheading of cordiality. Self preservation is the topmost priority man, what else to do?!

Someone left his body in the village, and I offered my condolences in silence. So mean of me, I know. But it’s better not to add to the heap of ash waiting gleefully, especially with its buddy Corona ready to help it to become a little hill, in the village cremation yard by falling easy victim to the deadly invisible army by marching out like an unarmed soldier in a somber, peaceful, grieving party. If you wear the mask on the way to the cremation site, people will accuse you of blasphemy for being so clinging to life, the traitor that has to be taken dirt cheap. While on the way to the crematorium, you have to walk like a lifeless body who isn’t interested in life anymore. Show any type of zeal or precaution for preserving your life, it sounds like an insult to the dead. So if you commit this sin of showing your craziness for living among the ash heap of the dead, you are sure to be condemned as the cheapest rascal who holds life so dear even with this fact of death written so prominently in the form of the body being carried for the final ritual. So very prudently I dodge this eventuality and chuckle at the mask that I had to literally bribe my friend to grasp tightly in my hand like the best lifejacket has fallen on you by itself and the aircraft has fallen in the seas. He had two by the way. But I am so lazy. Now my laziness is legalized by the governments world over, by the way. Laziness is the key to survival! So like an old sullen monkey when I forced him to donate one to me, he gave me a look as if I would be the cause of his death, not this idiot Corona, if God forbid that happens. Anyway, self-preservation again. What to do?

An elderly sturdy peasant woman delivers purest of cow milk to my home. A real gem of a woman, a real motherly Bhabhi who is very caring and considerate. And see what my overblown precautions are forcing me to do. Her son has recently commuted to Delhi in congested local trains. And this has again spoilt the game altogether. The motherly, nourishing aura around her has dissipated suddenly. I am scared of the word Delhi. There are more than 20 million people cramped shoulder to shoulder there. ‘Some gallant sneezer must have sung his nasal apocalypse song right into the boy’s face!’ the calculus of my precautions swiftly let loose the rampaging horses of panic.  He is a good boy and carries more than average respect in my eyes as he wishes me Namaste almost reverently when he sees me. But I change colors like a chameleon and take him as the sturdy carrier horse of the enemy Corona. The elderly sturdy Bhabhi also appears a gallant swift mare carrying the enemy forces now. I have abandoned politeness lest she spends even a single extra second at my place after handing over the milk utensil. I hold the milk container like a bomb diffuser handles the deadly wires, slightest mistake, an explosion and the end of the world. I boil the milk extra hard to decimate the enemy. Poor milk. I must be burning all its nutrients in my fight against the virus. I rinse the milk utensil so hard that it might get scared to get holes in it.

Oh, the newspaper! How do I tell you how scary it has turned? It arrives from Delhi, hundreds of hands touching it all the way down the supply chain. Their collective animosity gets coagulated into the honest and diligent delivery boy. I ask him to stop delivery till my further orders and assure him of payment for the intervening period as well. He but seems to carry the honor of the newspaper industry on his shoulders. He agrees with an unwilling yes. But wait. He isn’t ready to budge from his stand. I find the deadly weapon, almost a mortar of Corona, dangling in the grills of the gate. My request has just made only this much difference that he fixes it in darkness to avoid the chances of the repetition of my precautionary request. I see it as someone is planting bombs on my gate stealthily. What to do? I take the scary thing with the minimum pinch in a corner, holding just the least portion that would enable it to be lifted and straightaway throw it in a corner in the yard where the sun will beat the Mickey out of the virus. Instantly I run to sanitize my hands. Scared all this while that my fort walls have been breached by the enemy soldiers and they are scaling the walls and I have to launch the fusillade of my protection cannons. So here I rub my hands as vigorously as possible. Throughout the hot sunny day I enjoy the sight of the paper literally baked to a funny dish. It’s only the next day I touch the newspaper, half assured that the idiot Corona has been decimated by Father Sun. So I keep myself updated a day behind. Patience helps man. Update and updation is hardly effective anymore.

Today when PM Modi requested to bang utensils and make scary war music at 5 in the evening, to scare away the monsters, I jumped into the fray from the safe premises of my house and beat my heart and soul out on a worn out, dented dung container vessel of my grandfather times and made such noise that for an instant I myself got scared! Offs, this Corona idiot will drive me crazy. More specifically, I am turning irritated also. Today I chased away a cat like it came to my house as a spy from Corona side. Almost hit it, and shouted at it, even though it must have been trying to breakfast on a little mice that has cut down the soles of my leather shoes recently. A monkey that was stoically sitting on the compound wall met the same treatment. I behaved so weirdly that even the monkey looked at me seriously like a sane human being. OOfs! What to do? Horrible times!

Little Master Corona

O thou little master,
The world was a bit faster,
You now force brakes,
Lions turn into drakes,
Even newspaper is scary,
No longer a news carrying fairy,
It comes from Delhi,
Fear pinches my guts and belly,
With inhibitions I touch,
A fearful world is such!

The Story of a frost-beaten tree

The winter has'n brutal and harsh,
And my struggle turned almost a farce,
Lost all my leaves,
With loss my soul grieves,
Still not all is lost,
For greenish life finds a host
in the wheat at my feet,
They pay a respectable greet,
My loss and my pain
doesn't go in vain,
Tumbled down as my leaf
with pain and grief,
Blossom thousands around,
Wheatlings like daughters doth surround,
Fell where my tear,
Many a smile this earth doth bear,
Doesn't go waste my pain,
Sows it the prospects of gain,
If not for me,
Definitely for thee!

The Light

The light does hark,
beyond the deepest dark,
There is a day bright,
after the ghostly haunts of a nightmarish night,
After a barren famished fight,
there blossoms a springed delight,
After pining pangs of seperation,
there is a worthy end to the desperation,
After crashing in the gutters,
there is a surge and rise to bathe in holy waters,
After crying convulsions on the lips,
a smile takes honeyed sips,
After the last deafeat,
still there is an undying urge to accomplish the feat,
Even when blind with despair,
there is hope hiding and cajoling somewhere,
Even in hate, love still lurks somewhere!

Lost

It has been months since
I last lit my faith's lamp,
So many days have passed since
prayers chimed in my dark den's air damp,
My meditating self,
Now gives atheistic yelp.
Lost my faith!
Lost my prayer!
Lost my rituals!
Lost my meditative trance!