My Love for Cosmos

Picture this: a young astronomer in the making, staring into the abyss of the night sky like a pint-sized philosopher on a hot summer night. I was knee-deep in second grade, and my brain was buzzing with cosmic queries that would make even Einstein scratch his head.

There I stood, up on the roof with my dad, both of us playing the part of amateur astronomers. Stars, planets, the entire cosmic scene – I was totally into it. Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus, Neptune, and the late Pluto (RIP, little guy). I was casually dropping planet names, feeling like a mini Neil deGrasse Tyson in my cozy footie pajamas.

One evening, after a hearty dinner, I hit my dad with a question that stumped him harder than a riddle wrapped in an enigma: "If there was no Earth, what would have occupied this space?" Silence. A deep, contemplative silence that either meant he didn't quite grasp my astronomical genius or he was wrestling with the mysteries of the universe himself. Either way, I was on a roll

Zoom ahead to my deep cosmic thoughts – the ones that had me wide awake, pondering the essence of everything. What's hiding at the far reaches of the cosmos? How did this massive Earth even happen? Are we tucked away inside the Earth like interstellar squatters, or are we just kicking it on the surface? These were the intense queries of my second-grade days, and I seriously needed some explanations.

Spoiler alert: I didn't get those answers back then. But hey, at least I gave the universe a run for its money in the curiosity department. Move over, Galileo, there's a new starry-eyed scholar in town, and he's armed with a backpack full of existential questions and a love for bedtime astronomy.

The days when everyone was busy obsessing over Ninja Hatori and Power Rangers, and there I was, contemplating the mysteries of the cosmos like a tiny Carl Sagan in the making. Sure, I had a normal childhood, complete with the first TV in the entire neighborhood – the VIP of the village, if you will.

Imagine this scene: a gang of us gathered around the TV, going on a nostalgic binge of classics – Shaktimaan, Sonpari, Hatim, Sararat, Karisma ka Karisma, Vikral aur Gabral, and the lineup seems endless. I could likely perform the Ben 10: Destroy All Aliens script in my sleep. I mean, who wouldn't be captivated by Ben 10 battling alien chaos to save the world?

Now, let's talk about Shaktimaan. That show was my jam. The grand entrance, the superhero stunts – it was the epitome of cool. And that intro song? Pure gold. But here's the kicker – it had those brief glimpses of space. Cue my little brain going into overdrive. I'd stare at those cosmic moments and wonder, is space really that dark? Can I fall into space? What's holding Earth up there, and can I casually stroll to the edge and peek into the cosmic void?

The questions kept coming. Could I hold my breath and survive in space? Forget superhero powers; I was dreaming of becoming the first astrophysicist to pull off a spacewalk without a spacesuit. Move over, Neil Armstrong – there's a new space explorer in town, armed with Shaktimaan-induced dreams and a flair for intergalactic comedy.

So yes, while others were caught up in ninja shenanigans and morphing into power-packed rangers, I was busy contemplating the universe's greatest mysteries – one hilarious inquiry at a time.

The golden era of Discovery Channel binge-watching – when I was glued to the screen like a barnacle on a pirate ship. One show that stood out like a glittering cosmic gem was "Curiosity." Remember the first episode? "Did God create the universe?" Stephen Hawking, the maestro of astrophysics, waltzing in with a casual, "I don't mean to offend, but science has the juicier explanation than a divine creator." Boom! Cue the mind explosion.

Now, hold on to your telescopes, because that quote triggered something in me. Suddenly, I'm proclaiming my atheism like I just discovered a new flavor of ice cream. Thanks, Hawking, for making me the rebel of the temple.

Fast forward to me, a pint-sized philosopher in grade 2, questioning the very fabric of our temple rituals during Mah Puja. I turn to my dad, mid-puja, with all the innocence of a duckling asking about the meaning of life. "Baba, is there really a god? Science says no, so why the puja drama?"

Did he shush me? Nope. Instead, he hits me with some wisdom that I probably didn't fully grasp at the time. "It doesn't matter if there's god or not. This puja is like the cultural glitter on our family album. We preserve it because, well, why not?" Genius move, Dad, throwing culture preservation into the mix like a philosophical curveball.

So here I am, rocking the atheist vibe, challenging age-old rituals, and preserving culture like it's the last scoop of ice cream at a cosmic dessert buffet. Thanks, Stephen Hawking, for kickstarting a spiritual rebellion that turned my childhood into a hilarious quest for answers.

So, there I was, having an epiphany like I just stumbled upon the meaning of life, but not really. It was the day that turned me into a cultural preservation superhero. And by culture, I'm not talking about religion – oh no, that's like comparing apples and spaceships. Culture is the cool cousin that helps us rock our identity, our sense of self. It's as crucial as Wi-Fi in a world of connectivity.

Cultures are like the Avengers of our existence, each with its own superpowers. The way we talk, how we see the world, our myths and beliefs – it's our unique flavor in the cosmic ice cream parlor of life. Abandoning it would be like leaving your favorite flavor to melt away in the sun. We'd be identity orphans, losing a chunk of our individual awesomeness.

So, here's to preserving cultures, not just for the sake of tradition, but because being cultural custodians is like being the guardians of the galaxy, but with fewer space battles and more tasty gastronomy. After all, giving up on culture is like throwing away the instruction manual to being awesome, and nobody wants to stumble through life like a confused penguin at a disco party.

Enter the cosmic comedy, where I'm on an endless quest to question the unanswerable! Picture my love for the cosmos as a personal stand-up routine, with the universe playing the headliner, and me, the perplexed audience member armed with an endless list of queries.

My cosmic fascination transforms any ordinary moment into a deep cosmic dive. Ordering coffee? Suddenly, I'm pondering the dark matter that adds that mysterious twist to my latte's flavor. Waiting in line? Time gets all spacey, and I'm left wondering if aliens have more organized queues on their planets.

This cosmic curiosity has turned me into an explorer of the absurd, a kind of brain navigator like Columbus. Why does a round pizza come in a square box? Is Earth just trying to impress its celestial neighbors by pretending to be round?

And let's talk exploration. While others are on a treasure hunt, I'm out here searching for the meaning of life—or at least the TV remote. It's an epic quest that makes Indiana Jones look like he's hunting for misplaced car keys.

But it's not just about asking questions; it's about embracing the unknown with the excitement of a kid in a candy store. I'm the Willy Wonka of curiosity, and the universe is my chocolate factory. Who needs golden tickets when you've got a curious mind and a taste for interstellar wonders.

In this cosmic comedy, every mundane moment turns into an opportunity for a space odyssey. Why is the sky blue? Are clouds just fluffy intergalactic marshmallows? These are the burning questions that keep me tossing and turning in my celestial bed at night.

So, a big shoutout to the cosmos for turning me into the cosmic questioner, the interstellar inquirer, the galactic goofball always hungry for the unknown. I might not have all the answers, but I sure know how to make the journey one cosmic delight. After all, life's too short not to explore the universe, one absurd question at a time.