Hira

You talk to a girl – let’s call her Pari – for some time. You haven’t happened to see her, yet you talk to her daily on the phone. Then she disappears. She disappears because she was unable to own you.

After some months, you talk to another girl – Hira – and she is exactly the same person you talked to before. But not entirely the same. The identity is different. And this time, you happen to meet her.

You talked to two different people; perhaps the same. Yes. No. She was the one.

You talked to one, met another one; and both were the same.

You know, men want variety. They talk about it all the time. ‘Change’ and ‘biryani’; not ‘daal chawal’ every day. But then, men are always looking for the previous one. “The one who got away.” They are forever striving for nostalgia. Maybe they live in nostalgia too. Who knows their psyche?

Always trying to get a whiff of the breeze they inhaled a decade back at the beach.

Back to Pari. Oh! Hira. The same person. She knows you already. And as is likely, she disappears again. Because you could not be owned. You were not conquered. Her agenda was to own you, and your agenda was to escape.

Such a clichéd story: A random call. Random sharing. Random meetup. Random disappearance. End of story. No? No.

There is something to be said about being nostalgic in the present. Sensing and fearing a future without the beloved. You are going to lose this person right in front of you. Who you just met. For the first time. And for the last time. After the first touch. After the first kiss. After the first breath. That’s it. Nothing to follow. No seconds. No second touch. No second kiss. No second breath.

Are these lies? Like everything else. This life, this breathing, this space, this whole coding in a virtual platform? Oh! Pain is real. It can be felt. It nurtures and evolves on its own. We all have our share of pain in different shapes. And we are kind of addicted to it. Because that is the only thing we own. And sometimes that is the only thing we know. Pain. Very personal pain.

But even pain is nothing more than some angry brain cells.

See the other side of the human spectrum: special people. Above all of us. Above politics, above consumerism, above religion, above philosophy, above love, above lust, above everything. They are happy. Just happy. They don’t have eternal pain, like us who are actually handicapped and mere consumers.

Rooh / nafs / soul is dependent on a body. Complete human body. Religion simply dismisses differently abled people as they will not be judged in the Hereafter. Fine. But there are questions. Rooh depending on a body completely rejects the idea of soul. There is no soul perhaps. Just a system. Working and evolving.

One cell splitting into two. Two into four. Four into eight. Myopic microscopic evolution.

Or one cell is ordered to split into two. Two into four. Four into eight. The design.

Sigh! Don’t want to drag to the point where a story becomes blasphemous.

Eyes see a person. There is a chemical response in the brain. Curiosity. Love or lust, whatever, is a biologically intrigued chemical reaction. Mood, mood swings, temper, very intelligent anger, everything, is a chemical reaction. And then a whole human body, an object not to be objectified, is talking to you on the other end of the receiver. From chemical reaction in the brain to frequency signals on the receiver to decoding of wavelengths by the ears; love is born. Give yourself a break.

Reminds me of Merovingian’s causality scene of the Matrix. Everything is coded and hence can be manipulated, accordingly.

Back to her. Pari. Or Hira. Or whoever’s Zia she was. Two persons. Two cities. Two names. Yet, one.

How does it feel that you talked to one and met another one; who are exactly the same? That was the story that caused chaos in a dead sea. Some phone calls, and some social media snapshots – welcome to the modern world. What remain are some pictures to see. Sleazy pictures. No second touch but a possession forever.

The pictures remain, the person does not. The story remains, the voice does not. The stories have evolved. Now Ranjha isn’t running madly to save Heer. Romeo is already dead with nothing in hand. Now, the modern-day-Ranjha sneaks onto Instagram, takes screenshots, and keeps on reliving the past. Eating himself like the tail of a snake.

Why do men need to relive and die again and again, yet looking for variety at the same time? Are they still in an early evolutionary phase? Will they ever be stable? How they long and strive to see someone naked for months and then keep on reliving the moments where they were able to save some sleazy shots? Isn’t this digital-lust pathetic?

And the person you see in the picture is the same, yet not the same. The body is the same, yet the soul is different. What would have been a future of such a story? Only unfulfilled love stories are complete. Fulfillment follows disaster. And mutilated stories are not even worth telling. But here it is. As it was. How else to write such a weird story?

Maybe in another life. When they both are cats. Animals.

P.S. I know exactly what I was writing initially but kept on adding some words / fragments randomly in this piece. And look what I made? Noodles! May you make some sense out it. I couldn’t. Maybe in another piece.

Random Numbness (November 2020)

I was waiting for so long.
For a miracle to come.
Hush. Now. I see a light in the sky.
Oh it’s almost blinding me.
I can’t believe I’ve been touched by an angel.
With love.

These are some lines from Celine Dion’s song. No jazbaat intended.

Since yesterday – a new day – there have been some miracles. We have witnessed epitome of logical reasoning; which is jazba. Jazbaat can do shit.

But that’s not the instant case here. IG – not Instagram – is the apex post of a police officer in a province. Who was abducted. From his home. Forced to file a case. Blah blah. At 4-am.

Now imagine Balochistan. Or Fata. Or all the people who are not IGs. People who are no more than locusts; eating state’s crops while being treacherous, treasonous, and venomous. Shame!

If an IG can go missing, theories regarding missing people stand true.

If an IG can be abducted from his home, stories of abductions stand true.

But of course, not everyone is IG enough to get a response like that. Suspended. New postings. New locusts to kill.

This is treason. Someday, on your way to evolution, you will find this definition. I am sure.

Land does not matter. People matter. Land is for the people. People are not for the land. If a land has nothing to offer to its people – other than graves – than it’s worth is not more than that of a graveyard.

As Iqbal once said,
Jis khait se dehqaan ko mayassar nahi rozi,
Us khait kay her khosha-e-gandum ko jala do.

As he also said,
In taza Khudao main bara sab se watan hai;
Jo perhan iska hai, wo mazhab ka kafan hai.

A new day indeed. Quoting Iqbal without checking the exact words. I am bad with poems. Can’t remember couplets. But we all have our references to support us. Right?

But then there is history too. And yesterday was historical, which has negated all your fairy tales. Perks of being duffer. Their own narrative was invalidated . Quashed. Flushed.

Anyway, I am concerned. Not for you. Or you. But I am concerned about those who are going to be the leaders of times to come. Our kids. Our next generation.

People were mad when Trump was losing. They thought Trump was good for them as there were no new wars. Pretty dumb. I say that because these same stunted-analysts never talk about those who started wars at home.
Who were the presidents in 1965, 1971, the 1980s, and during War on Terror? Exactly, hypocrite!

Back to Trump. Well, he was the loudest voice of populism in the world, which was bad for everyone. You want liberals in Europe and America to let you make mosques and let you practice your faith. For that – liberalism – Trump was bad. He was bad for blacks, for immigrants, for health services, for minorities, for women, for the whole world.

He was as bad as you are good at your hypocrisy on liberalism.

So, don’t be sad that a populist has lost. You were a loser even when he was the winner. A patriotic loser though.

Anyway, things are expanding.
With all the disagreements and agreements, PDM has done a pretty nice job. With all their vested interests, they are your only hope at the moment. You can throw them out later on with mere votes. But those – against whom PDM is standing – cannot be thrown out with votes.

Let me be precise, there is this thin line. All you need to do is to step on the right side. Disagree where you may.
Disagree on Urdu and lingua franca.
Disagree on what happened at Quaid’s tomb.
Disagree where you have your reasons.
But stand corrected. That’s all. Let the sun of democracy rise here.

No further judgements. You are dismissed.

Zood-e-Pashemaan

Haye! Us zood-e-pashemaan ka pashemaan hona!

Such a sad day for all those who were thinking that IG story was a bluff. Or a fake story. Or a comedy.

Well, it was comedy of errors. The puppet laughed and had no clue what to call it.

All the warriors were busy burying the story as a hoax. Surprise!

A day will come and the sun will rise when you will realize that things are deeper than you think. Just kidding. Such a day won’t come. You will never realize. It’s part of your comedic-neuro-system.

So, go to sleep. They will take care of you and your lands and your IGs.

Keep busy denying. And dying.

Tom & Jerry

Nawaz Sharif took 2 names. In return, Imran Khan took 3.

Wasn’t that the whole point? Thanks!

It’s nothing more than Tom & Jerry fighting to rule the same house. Remember Tom & Jerry? We never saw the lady who actually owned the house. We only saw her boots. What coincidence.

Looney Tunes… continues.

Random Numbness II (October 2020)

What would have been a whistleblowing scandal in the West, is a usual news in Pakistan. There never has been a Watergate kinda scandal here.

Bashir Memon’s (former DG FIA) episode could have been a swift blow to the government in a conscience country. At least it would have caused serious investigation. But here, it is just another conspiracy against the handsome.

Or – in the past – Hamood Ur Rehman Commission Report should have stirred the whole establishment within a fortnight. But of course, not here. The East was a piece of traitors. Done and dusted.

By the way, our commission reports have evolved. Resembling our CCPO Umar Sheikh, reports also blame the victims and their families and the public-at-large. Like APS Commission report.

Public outrage needs a direction. A civil or civilized direction. In case of unknown rulers, public and its outrage is clueless. How can you agitate against an institution with guns and without roses? How can you even think of morality and integrity in a mannequin as PM? It’s just a dummy with lingerie on for display. For your eyes only.

Yet “I am democracy”.

Demoncrazy.

You know if your entire focus is on exhaling your rage, it will lead to nothing. For example, calling for ‘hang the rapist’ and seeing the rapist hanged satisfies you. Until there is another rape story to haunt. I mean a big rape story. Otherwise, it’s a routine morbidity in the state. From minor kids (boys and girls) to girls (without discrimination) to corpses (women only).

I am indifferent to the idea of rapists being hanged, just to be clear.

The problem is the problem. When are we going to look deep into the psyche and the upbringing of the rapist, and the root-cause of the problem? Their childhood? Their background? Their idea of crime? Their social circle? Their environment?

There is a need to make a committee of psychologists and sociologists to have a deep look. Even hanging a rapist daily won’t solve the problem. We have accepted the problem – good –  now we need to find the cause.

A lot can be found while benchmarking international practices where this issue has been studied and controlled.

Anyway. Back to the future.

Hilary Clinton once said, “you can’t keep snakes in your backyard and expect them only to bite your neighbors. Eventually those snakes are going to turn on whoever has them in the backyard,” That was for us, Pakistan.

‘Snakes’ are the ‘proxy outfits’. Our very own beloved. For whom we are begging FATF.

‘You’ is ‘deep state’.

And deep state is deep shit.

In another widely circulated video, a host asked Hillary Cilnton about deep state. Clinton defined it as a term coined by political scientists to describe certain countries like Pakistan where… well… what to say. 2 years and half a million rupees. Enough said.

As she cannot be labeled as a ‘traitor’ or an ‘agent’ – inconveniently as she ain’t Miss Fatima Jinnah – she is causing anger. Because she just didn’t mention Pakistan but she kept on explaining the deep state without a pause and without a mistake.

Ouch! Between the legs.

You can be angry at her too. Hang Hilary. Be done with it. But the problem won’t be solved like that because she is not the problem.

And look at the brighter side. Out of all the 195 countries, she mentioned us. Pakistan. The word ‘Pakistan’ echoed in the entire west. Goosebumps?

If all the missing persons are terrorists / agents – like Idris Khattak – and Ehsan Ullah Ehsan is not missing like missing persons; then don’t you think everything is tilted upside down in this land of pure? That was just an epiphany while writing a note of treason.

Shut-up!

Get out of your comfort zone and stop ridiculing your intellect by reacting at the ‘effects’. Focus on the ‘cause’. Figuring out the cause will help to solve hundreds of issues around you. Including pizza services.

Look for the chef who is cooking the rotten eggs. These waiters, are mere waiters, working for their tips.

By the way, what a win for Noorani. Whatever the outcome, or your judgement, he will be remembered as victorious with mere words of objective truth. Just like hips, numbers don’t lie.

One article, couple of tweets, no apologies and check-mate.

And PDM.

Rally plans are all set for Gujranwala. New CPO has been appointed. Those who danced all night for freedom of agitation in 2014, are using state machinery against the opposition. Well, don’t be afraid. This is not even an opposition.

For two years, this opposition tried to appease the deep state. After failing, it decided to fight. The stance – which is harder at the moment than anyone could predict – is going to be a thing to watch. The funny part is, PM Imran Khan was not even considered by the PDM. The guns are rightly pointed at the guns.

With all the opportunists (waiters) united under the PDM, this is another episode in the history of the country with some hope. Some hope. Although, there are more chances that it will be shattered. But for once, with some politicians, journalists, activists, writers, and whistleblowers; this is the first time ever that the state within the state has been taken this harshly for their eternal crimes.

For Sale, Baby Shoes, Never Worn

Parents smell their children. They inhale their presence deep into their soul. Maybe it is an addiction. Maybe it is the fulfillment of being. Maybe it is because the two are one. Whatever the reason, it is the ultimate form of love and honesty.

Parents breathe in their kids.

Parents talk to their newborns. They not only talk about random stuff, but they talk about their deepest – most philosophical feelings – too. As the two are one, it is like the unspeaking one is understanding it. And every feeling associated with it.

Parents. Parent. As soon as a person becomes one, they become someone else too. They may look the same, but their entire internal system is changed.

Some parents have more financial resources than others. But have you seen underprivileged parents trying hard to make ends meet? Have you seen struggling parents in expensive malls spending hard earned money on their kids’ joy-ride? Trying hard to buy a burger for them? Going through sweat, blood and tears and giving them their all? Every single penny counts.

Parents – who cannot stand each other for one second are seen in family courts standing for hours on end each month to witness a glimpse of their kid. Some see their kid(s) after a fortnight; some after a month. Some after six months. Some after a year.

Parents – mostly men in family court cases – face severe trauma when their children are brainwashed and hate them. Yet, the parent is again present on the next visitation date. With the same smile. The same hope. Some hope.

The strongest of men have succumbed to parenthood. Bowed down through an unseen string with unimaginable emotional power. Who knows what this parenthood is?

Parents. Ask them if they will import pain of their kids. Ask them if they will trade cancer. Tumor? Kidney? Marrow? Heart?

A kid in pain has parents in pain.

A kid with a tumor has parents with a tumor.

A special kid has special parents.

With all the violence and hopeless conditions in the world, people still make kids. Why? Why do mothers in Palestine and Kashmir and Africa and Burma give birth? With all the threats and risks, they go for an eternal uncertain decision of their lives. They know there is something – unseen – missing from their existence. Can motherhood be explained with words?

And then there are those who sniff kids too. They prey on them. They plan and target and then unleash their ugliness on those who don’t even know what they are being put through.

A raped kid has raped parents.

A bleeding kid has bleeding parents.

An unstitched kid has unstitched parents.

A dead kid has dead parents.

Imagine yourself at the other end of the eternal torture. Parents do. They imagine this all the time.

Imagine your kid being raped. Imagine your kid in a coffin. Imagine your kid bleeding. Imagine your kid missing. Imagine your kid being lowered in the ground.

Imagine your kid’s school being live-telecasted with bullet sounds on TV.

Kids as collateral damage. Sacrificed in war. Over 130 were killed in APS in December 2014. We called them ‘shaheeds’ and were done with it. A mother said, “People say I should be proud because my son is a martyr. Would any mother willingly trade places with me so she could feel this ‘pride’?

Would you trade your kid with one of the APS kids?

Would you love to hear the same lectures of martyrdom at your kid’s grave?

Would you accept the APS Commission Report with silence as you are doing now?

People say He loves you 70 times more than a mother loves her child. I object.

I wish God had seen and felt all this too. He should have come down and lived like a parent. Remember that poem “Allah Mian thallay aa”? That holds so relevant. I wish He could have been a human being in pain for a lifetime before creating us. But then, I have other queries too…

A decade back, I was scared of such queries.

Today, I am not scared. Not of queries at least. It is answers that make me shudder.

Random Numbness (October 2020)

11 Pakistani Hindus died in India. They were Hindus after all. No hue and cry. That’s why. Imagine if they would have been Muslims… Sunni Muslims… Punjabi Sunni Muslims? This would have caused an uproar. But just uproar. We get emotional after a couple of days for a couple of days.

Like we got emotional after APS. After Mashal. After Sahiwal Massacre. After Imaan. After Zainab. Now after Sialkot Motorway.

Or like we get emotional for Kashmiris. UNGA speech. One-minute silence each week. Two-minute silence. Three-minute… shut up! That’s not even an average ‘duration’ of men here. But they stood in defiance, against all odds, without knowing and without asking anything.

What else do you want from the herd?

And that’s old talk now. They got Kashmir. We will get Gilgit Baltistan. That was the deal. Hush!

Anyway. Social media had a “Yazid per lanat challenge” vs. “Gustak-e-Sahaba per lanat challenge” for quite some days. While people were sending duly-earned lanats on each other, APS Commission Report was publicly flushed. Utter disgrace. State doesn’t care about blood. Be it of children. Over 130 children.

The guy who accepted the responsibility of APS Massacre, Ehsan Ullah Ehsan, escaped. Was caught. Got primetime slot on television. Became a strategic asset. Then escaped. ‘Apparently’. All in the name of hidden – behind the curtains – ugly business deals.

So, my dear 130+ kids! You are alive forever, as you are shaheeds. Martyred. I know you went to school, not war; but no one goes to war these days. Those who go to war – apparently – aren’t martyred anymore. What else can I say? Apologies? No. Sorry!

Go to Jail. Do not collect $200. That was monopoly, the board game.

Do not got to jail. Collect $200,000,000. That is pizza business. Don’t know how it came here without a good sauce.

War has always been business. For example, when the state was running operations in Balochistan and FATA and Bugti was killed to show power; boys – apparently on-duty – were doing business. Mining. Real estate. Selling people. Stuff. Now the business has expanded globally. Alhamdulillah. Billions of dollars. And that’s just the tip of the iceberg. No one is talking about the islands in Australia or the elite estates in Dubai.

Back to the APS Commission report.

Now – again Alhamdulillah – we have two commission reports regarding December 16th. Congratulations! Blushing?

Ok!

Last weekend, people were busy throwing dirt at each other. Apart from Shia vs. Sunni, there was PML-N vs. PTI too. Talal Chaudhary happened. A woman MNA was discussed, along-with her character and #TanzeemSazi at 3 am in the morning. Rubbish escalated and went to ‘najaiz aulad’ vs. ‘shadi se pehle aulad’.

Do you guys ever realize that you are being played? Like pawns in the chessboard working for the Queen?

While you guys fight over the characters of others, you are being molested with your basic rights.

While you are indulging in sectarianism, they are counting profits while indulging in drinking.

While you guys are discussing legal and illegal kids of others, your own DNA is manipulated at your own home. Apparently your own home.

So many ‘apparently-ies’ today. But it is what it is.

That’s all for my catharsis for today. Thanks herd!

Random Numbness (September 2020)

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. A kid is raped.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. A woman is raped.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. A journalist is missing.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. A kid is murdered.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Kafir. Kafir.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Hit-and-run killer in an open-and-shut case is acquitted.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Terrorist escapes from prison. Well, not prison.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Another kid is raped.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Another woman is raped.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Another journalist is missing.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Kafir. Kafir.

Hardly A Tick. Hardly a Tock goes by here, without an episode of degradation of humanity. Then we compare numbers and stats with the West. Is there another state as ugly as this? No.

West includes ‘marital rape’ as ‘rape’ in their numbers. Even then, we are the leaders. The East. Mashraqi Muashra. Self-proclaimed champions of haya and pardah, with gems like Ansar Abbasi watching PTV.

Oh! I forgot.

Welcome to the land of pure. Windmill of martyrdom. A martyr here. A martyr there. A kid here. A woman there. Kafirs everywhere.

After the motorway incident we are expecting justice from those who killed a family in front of their kids. In Sahiwal. In broad daylight. Remember that?

And even if the police does its job, judicial ugliness will surface.

Like Majeed Achakzai went free after CCTV footage of hit-and-run murder of a police constable. What do you expect?

People go missing in the Capital and hardly a judge is able to do anything.

But you hate the messenger. Right? Ad Hominem. Don’t waste time vomiting.

Whenever there is a mess, there is a diversion. For our diversion, the state uses religion. Illiterates – who misuse religion in mosques and madrassahs – come out. Create a mess. Burn stuff. Real issues are flushed. Non-issues become grave. Some dead bodies complete the play. Credits: Unknown directors and known producers.

The split between the Ummah is 1400 years old; since the departure of the Prophet Muhammad PBUH. There were wars between the great companions. Sahabas were killed. Muslims killed Muslims. There are references on both sides of the argument. Equally strong and equally debatable.

Do you think you can resolve that with your hate or violence?

Or by demolishing a shrine or a mosque?

Or by killing a person or two?

No.

None of you is going to resolve anything. Because there is nothing to resolve.

None of your scholar is going to win. Because there is nothing to win.

Namaz was offered 5 times a day. People saw the Prophet (SAW) offering Namaz 5 times every single day. Yet there are differences in opinion on how He offered Namaz. And here we are resolving things which happened once or twice.

1400 years. This split is going to sustain till the Judgement Day. You need to accept it. Tolerate it. And live with it.

You can debate and persuade. There can be conferences. There can be harmony which can lead to a lot better future for our generations to come.

Or do you want your kids to continue your legacy of “Kafir Kafir” on roads? Please, if you may, use contraceptives.

The circle is shrinking by the way. Coming closer to your demise with every passing day. And you think your licking will serve as a certificate? Maybe yes, for you. Maybe no, for your family or friends. Who knows!

When that state machinery needs blood to run, it will consume you anyway. Be it a patriot or a traitor. Be it a Sunni or a Shia. Be it a Muslim or a non-Muslim.

Anyhow.

If something is not igniting violence, hate and discrimination; let it be. Disagree. Criticize. Argue. But don’t stay numb on their abductions. Don’t be happy on violence against your opponents.

As Voltaire said, “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it.”

Like women coming out on marches and chanting things which you never imagined in your wildest dreams. You took marital rape as your legal and religious right. Or convenient denial of its existence. On a bed given to you in a charity. Or dowry. Whatever.

You have to hear the other gender. Even if they are raising debatable slogans. Because this is the first time in the history of mankind that womankind is speaking. Hear them. At least give them space to shout. Let it be.

Again, it’s easier to have an ad-hominem-piss-off after everything. Come and vomit. Give verdicts. And be happy with the state and its writ and its pimping and your licking. Nothing is going to resolve, anyway. Because agriculture has nothing to do with Agriculture Department. Says the  Agriculture Department.

Adios.

Consent

Consent. The big argument. Yet, we are thrown in this world without consent. To suffer without consent. Emotionally. Physically. Psychologically. Financially. Socially. Suffer. Till last breath. Without consent. And then there are threats after death. Threats of eternal suffering. But where is the consent? Would you have consented to born in this world, if asked? Have you seen a 3-year old crying with pain in a hospital? Have you seen severe pain on an innocent face? Have you imagined a sexually abused 5-year old being stitched? Have you seen kids born with major health issues? Heart surgery at the age of 2? Dialysis at 10? Have you seen someone finding Operation Theatre in a public hospital with a bleeding girl in hands? Have you seen a son taking his unconscious mother on his shoulders from ambulance to stretcher? Have you seen people taking dead body out of the emergency room? Suffering emotionally and hurt financially and broken potentially. Have you seen the ordeal of people praying outside the ICU or CCU? Have you observed people lined outside emergency counter in public hospitals, while their loved ones bleeding on an stretcher in scorching heat? Have you seen pain in the eys of your kid? Or your mother? Or your father? Or a stranger? Have you stared into such eyes? Have you seen a very familiar gaze – like of your mother – looking at you for one last time? Getting stranger by passing time? Dying with all the unfullfiled wishes? And… have you seen request / plea for death? Verbally / non-verbally? People consenting to die? People trying to die? Wishing to die? Praying to die? ‘You don’t know Jack’ perhaps. I do. And I agree with him. But not allowed. Misery is allowed, freedom isn’t. Painful beats are allowed, free absence isn’t. Killing is allowed too in certain cases, suicide isn’t. Suicide is also allowed in certain cases, if benefiting a king or a barren land or a gory war. However, there is no concept of consent in nature. Not at all. Nowhere. A tiger kills any animal he wishes. One has the power to drill his teeth while the other is only born to be eaten alive. Nothing is consented. Except pain and suffering. We want the weak ones to give consent to the powerful ones. Isn’t diat / qisas consent? From the miserable to the powerful? Freedom denied. Suffering legalized. Questions and questions. Without solutions. Right? Read again. There is no solution. Because there is no consent. Or you can denounce. Denounce everything. That exists and that doesn’t. Maybe then you will see a light at the end of this miserable tunnel of being. Or maybe that will lead to another tunnel. Who knows? Were neither asked nor told. Post Script: Schopenhauer believed that the only way to avoid suffering is not to be born at all. For him, death was the only way to peace. Nietzsche tilted from Schopenhauer’s philosophy and blamed suffering to religion. Like Marx. But Marx mentioned it as an ‘opium’ too to ease the pain for the masses. But this way or that way – you suffer without consent.