It was here I learnt that corporate principles and military principles are basically the same. Insulation. Illusion. Hype. Activity.
Tarun J. TejpalTags: politics work corporations
His copy was full of lofty echoes: Greek Tragedy; Damocle's sword; manna from heaven; the myth of Sisyphus; the last of the Mohicans; hydra-headed and Circe-voiced; experiments with truth; discovery of India; biblical resonance; the lessons of Vedanta; the centre does not hold; the road not taken; the mimic men; for whom the bell tolls; a hundred visions and revisions; the power and the glory; the heart of the matter; the heart of darkness; the agony and the ecstasy; sands of time; riddle of the Sphinx; test of tantalus; murmurs of mortality; Falstaffian figure; Dickensian darkness; ...
Tarun J. TejpalTags: writing
The greatest book in the world, the Mahabharata, tells us we all have to live and die by our karmic cycle. Thus works the perfect reward-and-punishment, cause-and-effect, code of the universe. We live out in our present life what we wrote out in our last. But the great moral thriller also orders us to rage against karma and its despotic dictates. It teaches us to subvert it. To change it. It tells us we also write out our next lives as we live out our present.
The Mahabharata is not a work of religious instruction.
It is much greater. It is a work of art.
It understands men will always fall in the shifting chasm between the tug of the moral and the lure of the immoral.
It is in this shifting space of uncertitude that men become men.
Not animals, not gods.
It understands truth is relative. That it is defined by context and motive. It encourages the noblest of men - Yudhishtra, Arjuna, Lord Krishna himself - to lie, so that a greater truth may be served.
It understands the world is powered by desire. And that desire is an unknowable thing. Desire conjures death, destruction, distress.
But also creates love, beauty, art. It is our greatest undoing. And the only reason for all doing.
And doing is life. Doing is karma.
Thus it forgives even those who desire intemperately. It forgives Duryodhana. The man who desires without pause. The man who precipitates the war to end all wars. It grants him paradise and the admiration of the gods. In the desiring and the doing this most reviled of men fulfils the mandate of man.
You must know the world before you are done with it. You must act on desire before you renounce it. There can be no merit in forgoing the not known.
The greatest book in the world rescues volition from religion and gives it back to man.
Religion is the disciplinarian fantasy of a schoolmaster.
The Mahabharata is the joyous song of life of a maestro.
In its tales within tales it takes religion for a spin and skins it inside out. Leaves it puzzling over its own poisoned follicles.
It gives men the chance to be splendid. Doubt-ridden architects of some small part of their lives. Duryodhanas who can win even as they lose.
Tags: life religion mahabharata
441. While she was no radical, no natural breaker of rules, no seeker of the bold statement, she was in her own serene way uncaring of convention and others' opinions.
Tarun J. TejpalWhile she was no radical, no natural breaker of rules, no seeker of the bold statement, she was in her own serene way uncaring of convention and others' opinions.
Tarun J. Tejpalsorrow must not be cultivated: it is a poor lifestyle choice.
Tarun J. TejpalHe learned that almost all of the world lived in colossal and constant fear.Afraid of everything-the police,officials and courts,the thugs,criminals and mafia;afraid of the establishment and the anti-establishment;afraid of failure and of criticism,of being humiliated and being mocked,of being ugly and bald;afraid of cockroaches and of cats,of the seas and the skies,of lightning and of electricity;afraid of priests and physicians;afraid of dying and of living.More than hope,people's life seemed to be defined by fear.Most hope,it seemed,was only about somehow negotiating the fear successfully.A tiny minority managed to cross the line of fear and this tiny minority then became the shapers of the world in which the rest lived.
Tarun J. TejpalThe world doesn't need to be fixed,it only needs to be balanced.And the art of balance demands you tread lightly,not leap ahead in a continual frenzy.The art of balance demands you know your designated role in the game of life,not start muscling in on everyone else's.The art of balance demands knowledge of timelessness,of birth and death and rebirth.The art of balance demands you know the world cannot be fixed it must be endured. It must simply forever be kept in a splendid play.
Tarun J. TejpalTags: the-story-of-my-assasins
Power is the engine of the world,and sex and money its oil and lubricants.God is at best the invocation before you start the engine-meaningless if you have no engine to start!God is a goli,a multi-flavoured pill,invented by those who have power,money and sex, to give to those who have none! Love is another great goli.Some days we too swallow these golis.They feel good,like a joint,a temporary high!But they are not the reality.The reality is power,money,sex! And yes,there's another goli-morality!
Tarun J. TejpalTags: the-story-of-my-assasins tarun-tejpal
I would be unfair to myself if I said I did not try. I did, even if desultorily. But desire is a curious thing. If it does not exist it does not exist and there is nothing you can do to conjure it up. Worse still, as I discovered, when desire begins to sink, like a capsizing ship it takes down a lot with it.
In our case it took down the conversation, the laughter, the sharing, the concern, the dreams and nearly - the most important thing, the most important thing - and nearly the affection too. Soon my sinking desire had taken everything else down with it to the floor of the sea, and only affection remained like the bobbing hand of a drowning man, poised perilously between life and death.
More than once she tried to seize the moment and open up the issue. She did it with a hard face and a soft face; she did it when I was idling on the terrace and when I was in the thick of my works; first thing in the morning and last thing at night.
We need to talk.
Yes.
Do you want to talk?
Sure.
What's happening?
I don't know.
Is there someone else?
No.
Is it something I did?
Oh no.
Then what the hell's happening?
I don't know.
Is there anything you want to talk to me about?
I don't know.
What do you mean you don't know?
I don't know.
What do you mean you don't know?
I don't know. That's what I mean - I don't know.
Toc toc toc.
All the while I tried to save that bobbing hand - of affection - from vanishing. I felt somehow that if it drowned there would not be a single pointer on the wide stormy surface to show me where our great love had once stood. That bobbing hand of affection was a marker, a buoy, holding out the hope that one day we could salvage the sunken ship. If it drowned, our coordinates would be completely lost and we would not know where to even begin looking.
Even in my weird state, it was an image of such desolation that it made my heart lurch wildly.
***
For a long time, with her immense pride in herself - in us - she did not turn to anyone for help. Not friends, not family. For simply too long she imagined this was a passing phase, but then, as the weeks rolled by, through slow accretion the awful truth began to settle on her. By then she had run through all the plays of a relationship: withdrawal, sulking, anger, seduction, inquisition, affection, threat.
Logic, love, lust.
Now the epitaph was beginning to creep up on her. Acceptance.
Tags: desire
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