The greatest philosophical complex of mankind does not confine to the body or its location, to not past, present or future, rather it is far deep-rooted in such a place where you perhaps never make it but try hard, really hard to do so – that space, for the lack of a better word, or entity or the void, whatever it is, holds meaning, values, far truthful and significant than anything else there could be. Besides myself, everyone I believe, at one day perhaps in the most mundane of everyday moments, for instance, a leaf falls outside the window when you turn your head towards it, feels the urge to find that space, the body quivers, the air pressure feels imbalanced and nothing else can distract the individual’s attention. Call it for the sake of finding the meaning of existence, call it God, call it Maya – I do not know, I cannot call it anything, yet. All I know is that I’m thirsty, as thirsty as a man can be for cool water in the most excruciating summer on a desert, I’m thirsty, as thirsty as the earth feels during monsoon; but I’m hopeful too, I know there will be a calling and it will take me somewhere, where this self might belong, might feel home, but definitely far away from here, far away from this unstoppable carousel, where I am certainly not supposed to be.