The Existentialist

Existential Writer / Speaker / Coach

The Existentist

Philosophy, psychology and motivation for a life of purpose and passion.
Discovering what it means to be truly alive.

  • Mumbai, Maharashtra, India
  • +9193-2020-1350

About: Happiness

The Existentialist is an extension of About:Happiness, committed to helping our clients lead richer, fuller, happier, more meaningful, more fulfiling lives. We help you find your answers to age old questions like:

What's my life purpose? 90%
How can I be truly happy? 70%
How do I become my best self? 95%
What's my role in the the world? 60%

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  • On Christmas Eve

    On Christmas Eve

    I am sad. But I am not quite sure about the origin of my sadness, nor its magnitude. I wonder if I’m sad or depressed, or very sad or very depressed. It has a sense of finality about it – like the end of an era, or the end of all hope. The only thing that comes to my mind when I think of nostalgia now is nitesh jain. To say my life has spiraled downward into apathetic degeneration would be just too dramatic and quite unreal. I can feel the life slip out of my hands, but to make things better (or worse) it’s as if I’ve been administered an overdose of tranquilizers to ease the pain. What I have then, is the sight of my slow, methodical amputation by my own hands, before my own eyes, while the rest of my useful faculties lie gagged and anesthetized so that I can see my own pain, but yet not feel it. Anticlimactic culmination is again too strong a phrase to use, this feeling is soft, innocuous, numb… brutally agonizingly incapacitating, but comfortable in its execution. Like a painless death, only that it doesn’t grant me deliverance – just keeps me stuck one tantalizing step before it so I’m constantly in the dilemma of liking the remainder of my dear pointless life, or instead wishing for an unknown dark coveted future.
    It’s dissolution of my pain, or maybe my composition. It’s a cocktail of my excruciating misery and the helplessness of a sleepy stupor. It’s a superposition of pain and pleasure, just that I can feel neither.
    As I lay incapacitated and wondering what I could do to make me feel better the sheer enormity of lifelessness dawns upon me – very slowly and smoothly. Nothing from what I have done in the past or the future is something that’d drive me, nothing that inspires me, nothing I’d love to do or so my mind compels me to believe. I’m stuck listening to the same feel-bad pink Floyd song and writing as I have always done, to myself – no vent, no translation. I wonder what death must be like – pain must be a bloody good emotion. Oh pain is what I feel in plenty right now, just that I don’t feel it.
    I believe a man must be empowered enough to be able to feel, comprehend and live his own misery, if not be capable to solve it. With what options to you leave a guy when you give him not only no strength to fight, but no mind to realize the enormity of the decadent mess he is around. You can give the person inferior strength so that he may never win, but please God, don’t seize his sight. Let him witness its own death – let individuality prevail, albeit for the brief eternity of a lifetime flashing before his eyes.

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    4759, NY 10011 Abia Martin Drive, Huston



    +201 478 9800
    +501 478 9800


    0177 7536213 44,
    017 775362 13