Shoonya is a paranoid writer succumbing to a rage that may or may not be murderous. He thinks it took forever to make his point. He loves every minute of his sardonic portrayal of life on life’s fringes. And you see him as a modern archetype—a talented, disappointed man surrendering to an anger he cannot govern, an existential blackness he cannot understand.
It actually began, quite reluctantly. Unnecessary as it may seem, life teaches you what you allow it to teach. Even Life cannot teach you what it offers you. One has to let himself dissolve into the experience and let it sink in, and that I might call religion or education. Whatever the other person is willing to accept. Nay. Does it matter? Nay.
Life is about teaching oneself. Being a self-thought-taught "person", picking up bits and pieces from various experiences, I tread on a path; I have myself laid out for myself. Never have I asked, in other words, begged for words, from "messiahs". Never did I think myself of having enough virtue, call it patience, to learn from others. So "rich" were my experiences.
Things change, dynamically. Responding to an open question, throwing caution to the winds, I immersed myself into a debate, with people who thought, had streamlined their thinking apparatus and abilities. Gradually, they pestered; read "lee...
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