Who Am I? (part- 1)

I’m not Mani, or Joseph or Hussain or Reshma.
I cry,  Was I not there,  before my my name was given?
I shout,  Will I not be there if somebody takes away the name from me?
I argue,  Won’t the rose smell,  if its name changes into pig?
I defy,  Will the honey in the bottle become poison If such a lable is pasted on it?

I'm not my name.
Though people call me so.,
Though my parents imposed on me such identity,
Though I was made to remember  myself with that,
Because the lable cannot become the product.

Then,  Am I the body that I care more everyday?
I’m not the body that is the house inside which I temporarily live,
I’m neither young nor aged, since my house is only new or old.
I’m neither black,  Nor beautiful,
Neither tall nor short,
Neither sick nor  healthy,
Neither fat  nor lean,
Since only my'bloody' house is so.
I have to vacate this house
When it grows old and becomes unfit to live.
Am I so stupid to cover my house with blanket called dress?
Am I so mad to spend many hours to decorate my house before mirror?
Why do I hang jewels to my house and be proud of doing that?
Ha..ha.. Why do I look for my ‘own house’ of 2BHK or 3BHK carrying my own house?
Perhaps my real enemies are those who taught me such habits.

Am I a lecturer? Or just I identify myself falsely with my profession?
Was I not there before getting into that profession?
Will I not be there after resigning or retiring my job?
If I’m not a lecturer,  how can I become HOD or Principal, Or C. M or P M?
I’m not my profession that is a role I’m made to play.
Just like the role of husband  to my wife,
That of son to my father ,
That of father to my son,
That of friend to my friends and many more.
All these false identities are not me.

Am I my mind who never leaves me unless I’m asleep or unconscious?
Whether my mind is me or my friend or my enemy?
Whether my mind thinks or I think?
If both are same,  I = my mind.
When my mind is innocent,  people say,  I’m innocent.
When my mind is brilliant,  people say,  I’m brilliant.
When my mind is cunning,  people say,  I’m cunning.
When my mind is silent,  people say,  I’m silent.
So I’m my mind.

My parents deposited something into my mind,
My teachers fed up something,
My religion programmed something,
My society tailored something to my mind.
My friends,  relatives,  neighbours,
TV channels,  Movies,  Mr. Net,  Miss. Whatsapp,  Miss Facebook
All filled me with what I’m now.
What my mind consumed is real or unreal or mixed?
Sometimes I or my mind look like a dustbin breathing out foul smell.
Am I really my mind or consciousness (arivu )that is conscious of all these things?

Let the inner journey continue after a halt…