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You love Humanity? Not Enough!

I am posting another passage from Dostoevsky, one that explains or describes the feeling many of us often feel. Passionate love for humanity, and yet at times indifference for man. How we often dream of serving and benefiting humanity, and yet are unable to translate that passion when we deal with individual humans. This passage, my friends, is a self-castigation exercise. I want you all to give it a read. I really feel that Dostoevsky speaks to us all. Ingratitude is probably what drives people away from each the most. Not everybody wants materialistic returns. Some honestly, just want to be loved back in return.

‘In active love? There’s another question and such a question! You see, I so love humanity that — would you believe it? — I often dream of forsaking all that I have, leaving Lise, and becoming a sister of mercy. I close my eyes and think and dream, and at that moment I feel full of strength to overcome all obstacles. No wounds, no festering sores could at that moment frighten me. I would bind them up and wash them with my own hands. I would nurse the afflicted. I would be ready to kiss such wounds.’

‘It is much, and well that your mind is full of such dreams and not others. Yes. But could I endure such a life for long?’ the lady went on fervently, almost frantically. ‘That’s the chief question — that’s my most agonising question. I shut my eyes and ask myself, ‘Would you persevere long on that path? And if the patient whose wounds you are washing did not meet you with gratitude, but worried you with his whims, without valuing or remarking your charitable services, began abusing you and rudely commanding you, and complaining to the superior authorities of you (which often happens when people are in great suffering) — what then? Would you persevere in your love, or not?’ And do you know, I came with horror to the conclusion that, if anything could dissipate my love to humanity, it would be ingratitude. In short, I am a hired servant, I expect my payment at once — that is, praise, and the repayment of love with love. Otherwise I am incapable of loving anyone.’’

She was in a very paroxysm of self-castigation, and, concluding, she looked with defiant resolution at the elder. ‘It’s just the same story as a doctor once told me,’ observed the elder. ‘He was a man getting on in years, and undoubtedly clever. He spoke as frankly as you, though in jest, in bitter jest. ‘I love humanity,’ he said, ‘but I wonder at myself. The more I love humanity in general, the less I love man in particular. In my dreams,’ he said, ‘I have often come to making enthusiastic schemes for the service of humanity, and perhaps I might actually have faced crucifixion if it had been suddenly necessary; and yet I am incapable of living in the same room with anyone for two days together, as I know by experience. As soon as anyone is near me, his personality disturbs my self-complacency and restricts my freedom. In twenty-four hours I begin to hate the best of men: one because he’s too long over his dinner; another because he has a cold and keeps on blowing his nose. I become hostile to people the moment they come close to me. But it has always happened that the more I detest men individually the more ardent becomes my love for humanity.’

‘But what’s to be done? What can one do in such a case? Must one despair?

The Brothers Karamazov – Fyodor Dostoevsky

A slow, lazy day at office, working on the weekends …

Oh how I hate working on the weekends. Before you say others do as well, I know countless people who actually look forward to it. Others are okay with it. But I, abhor it, with a vehemence my white knuckles would explain as I write this! Every Monday, after working on the weekeends, I feel as if I’ve never been away. I want to just stay at home or party with friends; whatever it may be, I just do not want to be heading towards my office building.

You enter your floor, around 10 or 11 am …. workers are scrubbing the floors, Punjabi songs are blaring loudly on their China sets, there’s the general smell of Phenyl ( I can’t remember how its spelled ) that has spread over the entire floor and the ever-tightening noose of corporate suffocation ! You go to the conference room cuz that’s the only place where you’ll find air conditioning on the weekend. That is one place where you are a little more likely to feel solace. Lift your legs and rest’em on the nearest seat, connect your laptop to the network, keep a reinforcement of ciggaretes near you and smoke the time away in sporadic puffs of boredom.

The only bright thing is looking upto lunch where you are offered either Biryani or Broast, a courtesy from your generous office. Other than that, it is nearly always a drag. You have to drag a leg, to work and survive through the day, hating your life and what you’re doing with it. One more thing you can do to keep your chin up is to keep a good music collection in your mobile that allows you to drown in the music, numbing the sensations of miserability.

Yes, I am in the middle of a very slow, lazy day at office, working on the weekends … : )

The Undertaker …

Walking the silent night
crunched dead leaves making the only noise
I wrap the cloak around me , it’s cold
I walk quietly in the cemetery
I am the undertaker!
I’m old and worn out
Seen so many lifeless bodies, so many lifeless souls
I’m numb to the acrid smell of death as I
Nonchalantly dig up another grave
I feel part of the soil which has refuged
Tones of decayed flesh buried 6 feet under
Ah the strange irony of my job, I love pyers
I make money when life expires
I live cuz people die, I pray for people to die!
My sadistic mind keeps me sane
Your sorrow is my only gain
As I cover another grave with marble
I get up, away from hysterical sobs and whimpers
I steel myself and walk quietly away
Into the depths of the black cemetery
I am the Undertaker ….
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