I love eggplant. It gives me wind. My stomach doesn’t agree with it. I can’t resist the temptation of eating it. There’s nothing like eating an eggplant.

Conflict between the body and a taste in mouth!

Let go of the eggplant! The problem is solved, naturally. No hassle!

But, that’s not possible! I am not prepared to forgo eating eggplant. I just can’t do without it. Simple as that!

Hmm! So, go and eat it!

Yeah, but this f**ing thing gives me gastritis. The problem is the eggplant. The buck stops here. Why do I possibly pay for a thing that is not my making? Why can’t I eat it? What if tomorrow some other things grown in the garden don’t agree with me? Should I go quitting them? That way I end up dead in want of food. It is not me who is the problem! The problem lies in the eggplant. Why do you expect me to change! Why not you ask the eggplant to change!  I’ve committed no offence by eating that shitty thing. It is my right to eat it. Humans have right to food. Right to food is one of our fundamental rights! It is that stupid eggplant that is not playing fair with me. The fault lies with the vegetable and you are pinning the blame on me! Why should I take blame for someone else’ wrong! Why should I be punished for someone else’s doing?

Well, I can see a point in your argument.

Alright then, we need to ask the farmers to grow eggplants that don’t give you wind. Yes, that makes sense.

Well, we need to do a good amount of spadework before farmers have access to the seed of eggplants that don’t give you wind. We need to ask the scientists to carry out a serious research on genetic properties of eggplant. May be they need to bring about genetic mutation, genetic synthesis or some other scientific wizardry in the laboratory to come up with a seed that doesn’t give wind to the consumers!

Fair enough!

Now, take a look at this conflict! The happiness is around but I am driven away from it.

Something woke me up in the dead of night. I can’t figure out what it was. I have no memory of peeling the Chinese feathery blanket off me and creeping out of bed at this hour of the night ever before. I tugged open the door of the refrigerator, plucked the water bottle off it and drained down the icy cold water numbing my teeth, came out into the terrace and lifted my bleary eyes to look up into the sky in the eerie silence punctuated by the barking mutts. The sky was dead black, full of old, young, and little twinkling stars, a myriad of them all over, end to end, far and wide, in all corners, seemed like the universe is buried in a black veil embroidered with precious jewels, fighting the piercing wind blowing down from the Himalayan snowy fields. The little blinking bright things were beyond count, and yet in amazing harmony, natural or cosmic order, peaceful and quiet, communicating with each other in low whispers. It was a strange astral kingdom, a fantastic phenomenon, where everything looked so wonderful, joyful, happy and blissful.

To me, the Steller plane was a sight for sore eyes, tranquil and blissful, making all thoughts stop dead, melting the hard head like cheese in the oven, so much so that I slumped down on the wet, naked wooden chair, and began gazing into the sky in wonder in spite of the frigid air. The fact is that I had never ever looked up into the naked sky at this hour of the night. It was honestly a virgin sight to my dirty eyes. The dark sky teeming with little blinking lights looked to me so funny, mysterious, deep, bottomless, unfathomable, and infinite, without an end and a beginning, vibrant, behaving in an uncanny way that fell beyond human power of comprehension. The astral phenomenon up there had mesmeric, and yet soothing effect on me. I had a feeling like some angelic forces flying out of heaven into me and causing subliminal effect on my mind and body. I felt like I was under the influence of some charm that had kept my worries, apprehensions, anxiety, and fear at bay. I was incredibly light like cotton and soft like candy floss, sitting on wooden chair and gazing into the sky as though under a spell.

And then, a thought struck and jolted me out of the whole thing. It brought my dead stooping grandmother back to life in my mind. As a child she would say evil forces camouflage with darkness in the dead of night to charm humans and do harm to them. And then, that spark of thought led to the other thought about my father who the doctor said had invited pneumonia walking home from farming fields late at frosty nights. The thoughts together wrenched me away from the state of peace and bliss I was in only a second ago.

I got my old head back and the first thing it did was to smash down the portal for train of thoughts to pour in and pounce on me. They fired up my head for the flood of other thoughts. One of my thoughts traveled to the breakfast meeting with the distributors scheduled for the early hours. The other thought went to the fussy distributor who’d have pain in ass unless he picked holes in the product. The other thought swirled around the bratty kid, nephew of the owner, who is put in to check goods down the production line, and often foolishly allowed faulty goods slip through the net. The owner had no eyes for the wrongs of this sassy little bastard and loved to give me an earful. And, the other thought went to the hump-back storekeeper who had a thing about me, pushed clients into buying product other than mine.

The jumble of thoughts kept me awake in bed. I lost sleep. The happiness was around. I was only too busy to stretch out a hand and pick it. I let my “Tomorrow” in and that wrenched my “Today” from me.

Some eight years or so, I was in the lake city on an assignment for one of the Travel magazines. I was to churn out half-a-dozen promotional write-ups in exchange for commercial ads. That afternoon, I was a free bird out of cage into free air, decided to go kayaking, paid for a kayak, picked a bunch of chilled beers off a nearby store, and dashed to the turquoise water lake at the feet of a girdle of lush green hills with the landmark Buddha Stupa crowning them.

An hour or so had gone by, in the middle of joy, kayaking and guzzling beers, tossing scraps at the shoal, and just then, the news of my mother’s death traveled to me. Her memory came rushing back to me.

My mother is dead. I can’t believe it. How am I goanna take it! She was not like ordinary mortals. She was different in so many ways. She was a special gift of God. I was born to her. She had raised me with delicate cares. She’d get up long before dawn break, do the sweeping, cleaning, worshipping God, make bread of rice flour and steaming tea, serve me, and walk me down to the morning school in the blazing hot days of summer. I remember how she had fought like a tigress with my father over my ankle injury. I remember how she’d come down in my support when my father’s warning voice admonished me. She’s gone! Oh God! My house wouldn’t resonate with her voice. Is she no longer tending the kitchen garden? Who’d feed the doves with scraps? Won’t the flower plants wilt and die without her? Will I ever get to eat the hot rice bread?

The happiness was around. I f**ed my mind and plunged myself into misery.

The lesson: The thought of falling dead is one thousand and one time more horrifying than death itself. Death is natural. The thought is unnatural. Live naturally. You have nothing to lose because you own nothing. Put into action the energy you put into thinking. And then, you find the thing that is you simply amazing.