Abhijit Naskar's Blog - Posts Tagged "naskar"

Systemic change is a slow and tedious process,
It doesn’t happen overnight by vandalizing society.
If vandalism and activism were one and the same,
Our jungly ancestors would’ve been the ideal humanity.
Change habits, change yourself, submit to no primitivity,
The change that you dream of, be the epitome of that change.
Obstructing traffic and refusing to let an ambulance pass,
You’re not fighting any crisis, but being a crisis yourself.
Go fly a kite, it is good for the mind as well as body,
Get lessons on common sense before appointing yourself king.
The line between activism and terrorism is so thin that,
Often many go astray without having the slightest inkling.
I repeat, systemic change is a slow and tedious process.
The more you rush with recklessness, the more you digress.

Naskar has never sought for recognition, neither should Naskareans. Work my soldiers, work – work for the welfare of this world with the last ounce of valiance in your veins. Only then shall you stand bold and proud, with a smile on your face, as a testament to my life. I don’t want to live in my words – I want to live through you – I want you to be the proof that there ever was a human called Naskar. I exist, when you exist – as the absolute epitome of humanness possible – when you don’t, I don’t.

I don’t want your allegiance – to me or anybody else! Allegiance is too petty a term to define what I want of you – for I don’t want your allegiance – I want your annihilation – your absolute apocalyptic annihilation – for the ascension of humanity! Can you do that? Then what are you waiting for! Burn my books, and go lift the world! Let me live in your blood, not in books.

Naskar is made by Naskar alone, not an industry or benefactor – or more importantly, by family wealth. I had a roof over my head, food on the table, and clothes on my back – that was more than enough.

I started writing with literally zero dollar in my pocket. Let me tell you how it began, because for some reason, I completely forgot a crucial event of my life when I wrote my memoir Love, God & Neurons.

I once met an American tourist at a local train in Calcutta. The first thing he asked me was, had I lived in the States? I said, no. Then how come you have an American accent – he asked. Watching movies – I said. We got chatting and he told me about a book he had recently published, a memoir. I believe, this was the cosmic event that planted the thought of writing my own books in my head – I had already started my self-education in Neurology and Psychology, and I was all determined to publish research papers on my ideas, but not books. Meeting the person somehow subconsciously shifted my focus from research papers to books.

So the journey began. And for the first few years, I made no real money from my books. Occasionally some of my books would climb the bestsellers list on amazon, like my very first book did, and that would keep the bills paid for several months. Then the invitations for talks started coming, but they too were not paid in the beginning. The organizers made all the travel arrangements, and I gave the talks for free. It’s ironic and super confusing really – I remember flying business class, but I didn’t have enough money to even afford a one way flight ticket, because I had already used up my royalties on other expenses.

Today I can pick and choose which speaking invitations to accept, but back then I didn’t have that luxury – I was grateful for any speaking gig and interview request I received, paid or not. One time, I gave an interview to this moderately popular journalist for her personal youtube channel, only to find out, she never released the video publicly – she posted an interview with a dog owner instead – whose dog videos had gained quite a following on social media. You could say, this was the first time I realized first hand, what white privilege was.

Anyway, the point is this.

Did I doubt myself? Often. Did I consider quitting? Occasionally. But did I actually quit? Never. And because I didn’t quit, the world received a vast never-before seen multicultural humanitarian legacy, that you know me for today.

There is no such thing as overnight success. If you have a dream, you gotta work at it day in, day out – night after night – spoiling sleep, ruining rest, forgetting fun. Persist, persist, and persist, that’s the only secret – there is no other. Remember this – the size of your pocket does not determine your destiny, the size of your dedication does.

Naskar is an alter ego,
Naskar is a calling,
a madness bigger than sanity,
not chained to one being.

Even Abi is no match for Naskar,
Abi will perish, not Naskar.
Naskar is a chemical catastrophe,
priming humans as kind thunder.

Naskar is factory of humanitarians,
imbued with wonders against malice.
Muscle up your heart, heart up your brain,
uncontaminated by leanings of prejudice.

Nascar is a race, Naskar is a journey,
voyage of sapiens ushering in humanity.
Surpassing constraints of archaic bigotry,
Naskar is Manifest Humanity.

When I finished my first 1000 sonnets,
I felt, now I shall take it slow.
But now at the finishing of second 1000,
I feel, I gotta write thousands more!

The first thousand took me four years,
the second thousand took me two years,
all without an ounce of industry support,
I am the sole maker of my literary empire.

Sonnets are my vessel of reason,
Sonnets are my bearer of justice.
Sonnets are my medium of divinity,
I’m my sonnets – antidote to malice.

Proof of poetry is in the spirit,
Proof of justice is among the just.
Worlds to unite before I sleep,
Proof of life is in standing guard.

Where God retreats,
Human must step in.
Where myths fall short,
Mind must intervene.

Where doctrines dwindle,
Conscience must march uncorrupt.
Where scriptures fall cripple,
Character must stand on guard.

Where logic dreads to tread,
Love must rush to rescue life.
Where governments legalize fear,
Citizens must be bearer of light.

Advance of Human is advance of God.
Wishful indolence is religion of the cod.

I wanted my mind to be accessible to everyone,
so I started translating my core ideas into as
many languages as I can phonetically make sense.
I wanted to be visible further beyond the eyes,
so, lacking braille, I started recording my voice.

I have a scientist brain, sufi heart, and a monk
spirit – I don’t need to outsource any faculty.
I am capable, I am incorruptible, I am alive –
I need no one’s charity to uphold my humanity.

No backing, only backbone.
No benefactor, only brain power.
No industry, only integrity.
No contract, only character.

Exclusivity breeds jungle, inclusivity makes society.
Vip access is for animals, accessibility is humanity.

No matter how many years go by,
how many decades, how many centuries,
there’ll always be some people who’d
call me a fraud – don’t be upset,

don’t hold a grudge – nothing good
ever comes out of bearing grudge,
just let them be – let them be and
let them go, because I forgive them.

Let them hate their head off,
seeds of heart are already planted.
Apes throw tantrum when they are insecure,
pursuit of delusion soothes the vegetated.

When calls the Kainat*, chatter of
monkeys turn faint echoes from the past.
*Cosmos chimes in my chambers of heart –
veritas est pons, pons est veritas.

The world often wonders about my influences,
in doing so it often cooks up fake inspiration.
So I write this little sonnet memoir, so you’re
aware of the crucial names in my ascension.

There is no Naskar the neuroscientist,
without, firstly Persinger, then Ramachandran;
there is no Naskar the poet, without Mevlana.
And among all your historic philosophers,
only appealed to me Tolstoy and Aquinas.

Then there are Ramanujan and Tesla,
with whom I’ve identified deeply.
And finally, to speak of my origin,
there is no Naskar the mission,
without Gadadhar Chatterjee.

These are my most cherished beings,
names that are never out of my mind.
None of them were flawless, none my god,
but they live rent free as part of my light.

Put your conspiracy theories aside, I’ll tell you why.

Pain Fuels My Pen (Sonnet)

When I started writing, I had a partner,
I had plans to settle in Sofia with her.
But then I lost my link to the Balkans, when
she grew weary and took the hand of another.

I couldn’t write a single word for days,
but then, I let the god complex unleashed.
That’s about when my writing skyrocketed,
as the heartbreak jolted my brain
into a hyper-publishing engine.

I had all the time in the world,
and enough pain to fuel my pen.
Every time I got my heart broken,
it benefitted my mission.

First time someone broke my heart,
I dropped out of engineering
and emerged as the Monk Scientist.
Second time when I lost my love,
Planet Earth received the Poet Apocalypse.