Reality and Simplicity ⇒ Kirno Sohochari


One of my longtime friend (he is a true poet and artist but bit whimsical in lifestyle) once said to me, “Do you know I hate people who called me by name. Because I don’t wish to call by name, because name convinced you to believe that you’re “X” and never could be “Y” or “Z” or else anything. I hate this nailed your identity system of society. It’s very disturbing to marked by the sticker that I’m “X” with this and that dot…dot… and always trust to this and this dot…, so that nothing could mislead me to being anything other than the fixed dotted lines. What a monotony it is! A total corruption that you birth here nameless, later they fixed the “name” which you not defined at all. You’re now owner of a name with proviso that you have to respect this. What a joke man!”


… life is even more complicated, if you stroke the brush to sketch the real, it will automatic reflects the original.


I know my friend from the boyhood age and his family is. He sprouted in a generous family where liberty was fenced such an ideology that, you should have liberal to pick the such-and-such dots from the organized dotted lines. Suppose, you have to prove the ability that you’re social and cultured, you have great interest of reading literature, playing or practicing music and art, and having curiosity about science-progress, political issues etc., —under certain condition that you believe sacred books, go to the prayer house according intervals and confide each single word of sacred book as true.

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My friend’s family was little different to their neighbors, not entirely but definitely they were different. We the neighbors were straightforward to the law that everything is necessary here to live a complete social life, despite the laxity to everything. Suppose, we strongly believed in God’s master plan about the creation, believed doomsday and reincarnation after death to receive the reward or punishment, joined daily prayer to hear the sermon, but in spite all of these efforts we were loose conducted to stick ourselves in faith based rituals with great obedience.


… life is just do the duties you have to do, and hand over the baton to the offspring before you die.


The prayer hall filled by people in every Friday noon (and the fasting month) and the same prayer hall experienced absence of people on other days. That means believe was strong among us but to follow the rules-of-game always flubbed by terrestrial duties and ambition of this human life. People were playful to the worldly events to makes money, so they could secure their impermanent life. They were more pretentious than to be honest, because their mission fixed by the objective to wheel the life’s span at any cost. In a word, we were carefully careless and consciously unconscious about the final fate or destiny of life. My friend’s family was truly exceptional there.

I saw my friend (even when he is full adult, studying university) to read sacred book with great belief in the early morning and after that to amplified on classical or rock music or brush the oil canvas by nudity. I saw him always to never miss the prayer-time and later the same man simply flung himself such an activity that is not match with his conscious obedience and belief to the master planner of this world. His family members were more-or-less the same. They were legally decent to the neighbors by maintaining an elegant distance. Suppose my friend’s…


… the best painting is always trying to reflect the original.


Father was puffing his cigar by walk along the lawn in a moody outfit. He was a successful businessman and landowner, having great passion to drive Sedan and Volkswagen 1500 model car. People respected him for his ancestral root. He was coming from one of the most influential family (who were Zamindars at once) and fine-tuned by culture. I saw him many times to recite the sacred verses and equally recite such verses that is truly denotes the opposite. 

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This man was punctual to his daily prayer and very tidy to uncork the wine-battle in time by the opposite. It was contradictory, because his belief-system not permits him to drink wine or boozed on it. Even addiction of painting, music is restricted there. My friend’s father even then liked to live the duality with elegance. He claimed himself secular in culture and conservative in belief! Certainly a strange quandary it was.

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My friend’s mother was a beautiful and gorgeous woman with sharp eyes, dark short hair and swan-neck. I never saw her to cook any dishes but she knew everything about the art of cooking and her dish up the food in dine was simply awesome to get you hungry. Her recitation of sacred verses always reminded me the Circe, who hypnotized the great Ulysses during his home-back moment after the Trojan war. Because of the friendship, I was lucky to see her very near. She had an impressive voice to sing the most difficult song such an ease that we were mesmerized to hear this. However, this magical woman was puritan to the belief that, women are the provocative evildoers of hell and she believed that she is one of the provocateur. I saw her later to hides her beauty under the impenetrable veil and rarely go outside, instead of the magical woman liked to seal herself in the shaded prayer hall of the house. Elite’s ridicule indeed!


My sister is the example of that lie which tries to prove that truth exists.


My friend had two identical brothers and one sister. The twin brothers were handsome and dashing. They had great curiosity to explore that what is lie behind the utterly lucid (in daylight) and mystically starry (in night) sky, but the curiosity always screwed up by the tug-of-war between sacred verses and scientific notions. The twins tried to represent them the smartest on everything; even if it was the girls, they were very playful to catch their attraction. They married in the same family later. It was an arranged marriage and later the both twins divorced them, because their wives not believe the same that, everything was identical to the master designer of the universe.

It was funny, because the ridiculous intellectual battle made the twin couples separate. We neighbor can laugh to think it an elitist syndrome, but it was not laughable to the twins and the family. Later they told me, ideology is larger than the life, because everything in here created to serve the purpose that all these things would be same to the end, regard their great diversity.


… She was the only fresh air in this pandemonium


The “Identical Theory” of twins seemed weird but interesting to me. The twins later dedicated themselves to build an “Identical Model”. Everything in the universe was identical in a massive black-hole-like unlimited dark sphere (includes the master designer who was also identical to that moment and later separate Him to the creation). The present world (where everything has its separate function or meaning) is not all the end of story. Present will again go to be identical at future, to meet the invisible super existence to create another new life form.

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Anyway, the twins are not in this town now. Their identical existence faced a traumatic accident of madness and one night both fled to the house to embrace the super identical, because they believed super identical existed behind the massive silence of this giant universe. Nobody knows where they fled and least live or not. 

And, the sister of my friend, only member of this weird family is now living a quite tedious social life with her macho pragmatic husband and healthy babies. She is now mature in her beauty, mature to the objectives of life, and even more sacred to the belief that: life is just do the duties you have to do, and hand over the baton to the offspring before you die; so that your name will exit here to the end of everything, and that is life. The grand master designer designed for all the being to do this.


… but the curiosity always screwed up by the tug-of-war between sacred verses and scientific notions.


I saw her always tried to act little different in the family. She was fond of playing piano and I saw her reciting verses like her father, but the manner and style are different there. She liked to recite metaphysical poets and droning Tagore or the mystic folk-song with great sacredness. Sometime I was puzzled to hear all of these contents, because, she tuned all these stuffs with a very light but beautiful ecstasy. Her wavy hairs, deer-like-eyes and the sunlit-face were very charming to enjoy the beauty she conveys in her heart.

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She was the only fresh air in this pandemonium, out of all controversy to adjust your “self” between the earthly and transcendent, belief and disbelief, fortune and misfortune, pride and prejudice, virtue and pretension, even the right and wrong. I yet never see anybody like her, to act such a free soul by carrying the heavy burden of frightful morbidities of the family members. She is perhaps the only human who is consciously unconscious about her elitist quandary and the fact that, everything in this world has name and definition and you have to struggle with all these to engrave your own name here.


… we were carefully careless and consciously unconscious about the final fate or destiny of life.


However, my friend is still struggling with the “name duality”, despite his poetic and artistic genius. His poetry reflects the dark, painting always brushed on deep color where he tried to vanish him as “nobody”. Many times I told him about his little sister that how she carried these entire “named and numbered burden” such vibrancy, that I feel jealous to see her.

My friend many times replied the same, “My sister is the example of that lie which tries to prove that truth exists. She is innocent sans knowing the name of innocence, beautiful without any conscious that she is beautiful, frivolous except know nothing about the “frivolity”, naive sans knowing the words “naive”… she is not aware that she is simple, even she doesn’t know she is genuine before the name “genuine” defined here.

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I’m not like her, you none could be like her, because she is a “genetic accident”, yeah, an exceptional birth commences here from the unknown, but the world is so regularized and defined by the name brother. Exception is incompetent to replace the regular virtues, which have a name and definition and features to doing all these things to carry the massive burden of fixity that you must have “Name” and “Name” have to be Ambition, Power, Status or Fame to achieve the goal of life in here and after there. My sister is exceptional and I’m not interested about exception, because she does not amend my loss that: “I’ve a name to win everything I desired to achieve.


… everything is necessary here to live a complete social life, despite the laxity to everything.


My friend is sill be negative to the exception and to his sister, albeit he loved his sister a lot, but even negative to follow the simplicity she carries on this weird-and-complicated name-based world.

I think it’s indeed difficult to adjust your “self” to the extreme innocence and simplicity by forgetting all these “named and numbered” definition of life itself, but we can try at least to do this. Last week I suddenly met her in my friend’s attic. She was nicely sitting on the chair as a model of my friend’s recent portrait series.

After end of the third sitting my friend going outside for a moment, lighten up his pressure to the upcoming “solo exhibition.” I glanced for the minute to the unfinished portrait. It was significantly different to his stereotyped artworks. A female face is looking to the infinite from the dark bluish background. The curvatures of the face reflect the agony but the eyes are vividly glistening to celebrate the infinite simplicity of life. The artwork yet not finished, but it seemed strange to me that first I saw such like painting of my genius friend. I told her sister, “Have you noticed something different in the canvas? Is it not exceptional?”

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She was smiling and then replied, “Maybe brother! I know very little about painting stuffs. I just told him to portray me as I am, but I’m not grumpy as he stroked me on the canvas. Painters mind is different and they always quest something exceptional, which is not common at all. Anyway, I think the best painting is always trying to reflect the original; it not tries to beaten over the bushes. You know, I don’t like any complexities that could have multiple on abstract and so on, because life is even more complicated, if you stroke the brush to sketch the real, it will automatic reflects the original. Anyway, let’s see, what brother does to the end!”


A total corruption that you birth here nameless, later they fixed the “name” which you not defined at all.


That day was very exceptional for me. I’m not stayed long for some emergency but her words yet even haunted me. My friend’s exhibition is knocking to the door, though I do not have any time to visit him recently, but I’ll definitely go to his exhibition to see the final maturity of his sister’s portrait.

Albeit, I’m still in doubt that he yet perhaps rotates in his crisis to carry the “burden of name, number and definition confusion”. Perhaps he is yet not able to brush the real with all its “name, number and definition” burdens. Because, simplicity depended on to the ability of paint all these realities as it is.

I hate this nailed your identity system of society.

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Photo Credit: Self Portrait, Three Girls of Amrita Sher-Gil’s paintings; Journey’s end & Untitled paintings of Abanindranath Tagore; Rabindranath Tagore’s paintings;
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