Hello there!

….welcome to my blog… I have no idea how you arrived here and above all I don’t know what you expect… However, now as you are here, lemme introduce you very briefly about who is this ‘Ridiculous Man’! Although each and every post on this blog will allude at some facets of ridiculous man and you are most invited to take a plunge into his reflections of life and emotions that are famished by an acute self-introspection. On large he has crawled out of the generality and is no more in a position to slide back, for he knows he was born among the wrong contemporaries. He exists in many forms and ideas that fervidly sits behind the veil of sanity, waiting to pounce at a precise time when question arises as to what sense their is to all that which exists, what purpose as to we seem to serve. Even if it was for a moment when futility of your actions reflected in your mind and you walked away from mere survival to meaning, from balance to chaos, from security to being vulnerable, from love to spite or to be precise from self-interest driven love to selfless spite, from external to internal, from knowledge to wonder, from unfeigned faith to ingenuous will to seek, if at all you ever wondered, even for a moment, as to what extraordinary guise is worn by everything that exists or doesn’t exists, how simple and yet so profoundly mysterious is this existence, then you are the ‘Ridiculous Man’! He has lived among us, inside us at every age… Since the earliest known beginnings of human civilizations, from socrates to cicero, from plato to Confucius, from Aquinas to Nietzsche… he is the same ridiculous man who lived through dostoevsky’s words from underground and the dream, through kafka’s metamorphosis, in the diary of a madman where Gogol gave a thorough insight about him, he is the same, who alluded to the idea of life’s absurdity through Beckett’s masterpiece ‘Waiting for Godot‘.

You are again welcome to come, share and provide your own philosophy on whatever you consider to be an essential at any given point of time. Whether in a form of a random thought, essay, thoughtful comment, poem or even an abuse (provided you back it up with some meaning and reason or entirely from gut because you felt like it after reading that post)….

No matter how ridiculous it may sound, it all make sense at some point of time!

4 Comments

  1. hi munish i saw your play some years ago, 2 or 3, in mumbai…the dream of a ridiculous man.
    i wanted to ask you if in some way i could contribute to your group, im a student of literature and write some poetry…i could share them with you if you’d like and take ur feedback.
    actually, i don’t REALLY want to contribute to ur group…as i have my own group to cater to (it’s called myself)…i just wanted to speak to you since…i don’t know why, to be honest…but it seems we share the same interests in philosophy…i was hoping we could correspond one time…actually im planning to write a novel and i know no way of going about it…so we could talk about that.

    i’m sharing a poem which i hope will enable you to like me…no im kidding, i hope you like the poem…the lines in quote are keats

    He was not given to lead the life,
    but was given to lead the road,
    “it’s all the truth you know on Earth,
    all the truth you need to know,”
    in this parted the ways of men,
    in this the men shall go.

  2. sorry for posting as comment cos an email id isn’t listed on the blog, and the id listed on the fb page of your group seems to be a group email than a personal one…so yeah

  3. Hello again…you see that you write, and since you must,
    i hope you have the good incentive to hear some words that i send from afar, since i have not read what you write, intentions that i fear, fear in a most literal way, most disappointing way,
    however, (and this is not a poem, nor am i drunk, or have any genuine need for you to appreciate me, though it might seem and feel that way, but there is a genuine conspiracy of silence that should be broken) it is my confidence in the feeling that shall shatter our sense of pessimism, one day, yours too,
    could, and most certainly will, in our time (no i’m not judging you, i consider you a friend, which again i fear i have no reason to, no poetic justice for)
    be offensive or something of the sort, come straight forward obscene in life, that artistic plane which it seems i go wrong in,

    just so, for it takes a book,
    or a sense of affection for someone,
    before one loses his breath,

    since you write.

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