Power and Money

Power and money have an almost inherent tendency of accumulating. Sinking. Like gravity. One can try to impede this coalescence with great effort. But the resistance is short-lived, at best. So heavy is the weight of its logic that it does not let trivialities like honesty and justice get in the way.

In fact, it is almost childish to expect the rich and powerful to take a stance. Most of them have got where they are by abetting or turning a blind eye to crime,if not indulging in it themselves. And what is crime anyway? It is merely a violation of generally accepted behavioral aesthetics? And aesthetics are always aspired to but seldom achieved. We expect too much out of our judicial institutions. The sheer abundance of injustice in the world is proof enough of how naive our aesthetics are.

The few noble souls who do manage to get a foothold in circles of power can’t help but get colored by its excess; either out of compliance or for camouflage. The only balancing force is other centers of power. Which is why very often injustice is only replaced by overcompensation. In the French revolution many innocent heads rolled and the Arab Spring ended up being just a blip on the radar.

Power endures because its only allegiance is to itself. In that sense, it is truly agnostic across eons, cultures and religious garbs. And sometimes it merges with a competing center of power. They circle each other in envy and magnetism, each attracted by the other’s darkness. Like two black holes destined to become one. Even the faintest ray of light can’t escape from the absolutism of its influence.

The only hope is to observe it from afar. For to play its game is to be coloured by its darkness. All our heroes have fallen, if there were any to begin with. From tainted godmen to flawed artists blood is on all of our hands. Especially the ones who proclaimed themselves the cleanest. The only thing larger than the universe is the ego. And there is no black hole big enough to contain it.

The only real heroes then, are people you have never heard of. People who lived and died in utter obscurity. Not because of their mediocrity but by virtue of the incredible lightness of their being. By their shunning of greed, envy and possessions. By their acceptance of oblivion as the only eventual certainty. And by their joy in merely understanding the world without scrapping for souvenirs. The shroud has no pockets and the universe has no memory.

• Punit Pania