By Rukmini Devi Dasi“Life doesn’t really make sense, does it?” I ask. “The equation doesn’t balance. We are born. Soon it’s all about getting an education. We hunt for a job, create a family, and die. What is the point of it all? Shouldn’t we ask why?” Looking straight at me, Dreadlocks doesn’t flinch. “We are driven by the taste of happiness. It is what we want most, right? Yet even those who have all the things we want can’t shrug off the feeling of being unsatisfied. Is it surprising that happiness slips through our fingers? How can we be happy if we are not even sure who we are? It seems like you’re an African man and I’m and Indian woman. Yet don’t we feel the same pain?” He nods. His eyes show he has seen suffering.
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