The Invisible Man

Can we give names to fear? Well, can I, for that matter, give names to it?

Mm… To start with, let's say, fear is a day named Sunday. Or better yet, fear is a taxi full of drunken people. Fear is, so we continue when those people in the car abuse you screamingly! “If you are a girl, I love you. If you are a beetle, hate you like hell!”

There is a point to note… I don’t want a bunch of drunken people to love me either. But it is a shame to realize that we are not allowed by our conscience to hate monks. Ah, it sickens you to see a bunch of them sitting in a taxi, robed in maroon uniform, reeking of liquor.

You fear they might attain enlightenment right in front of you, with the taxi driver, who is drunk too when they are covered with blood, off-road. You also fear you might slide off the road speeding at 80 kilometers per hour with the men in robes cutting chase on you, and you fear that they might spell mantras on you.

You fear it is dark. And at some point in time, you fear religion. No. You fear men of religion. You fear what liquor can do to them. You fear they smoke. You fear that they shout. You fear they are mad.

I don’t say it is wrong to drink or smoke. I don’t say it is wrong to wear maroon robes. I don’t say it is wrong to shout. I don’t say, it is wrong to be mad. I only say it is wrong to drink or smoke, or shout or be mad when drunk when you are wearing a maroon robe.

Well, in the end, fear is a man in a robe who stinks of liquor, smokes and that shouts a lot.