Security Guards, and Death & love.

I have been thinking a while to write down what I have been observing and what hammers my Self but the impulse was never so great as to force to write it down. This time too I avoided it for quite a many days, but now it wants a vent. It has two things in its background: one security guard, and my recent contemplation about death, final truth if there is any, happiness, and love. 
Before going further, I should deviate to tell that this is my first note on this page, not from my home town Aligarh, Aligarh which seems so intimate once I am away from it, but from Hyderabad. I came here on 12 and will be here till 2nd of November. This city is good, quite hi-tech, and embodies four great universities—University of Hyderabad, English and Foreign Languages University, Osmania University, and Maulana Azad National Urdu University— in itself. In spite of the technology, Indian culture is alive, and there is much contact with nature.  Two days before on Dusshera, you could see every woman having flowers in their hairs; and almost every bus having tree branches around their faces. On the first night of arrival, I saw some vendors who were sailing sugarcane in pieces. The people are polite.
But the food...It’s not like a typical north Indian food. You will find every dish made out of rice. If you can find chapatti/roti; you are lucky (though we are given rotis (which are not like north Indian rotis) since we are north Indian). Every curry (vegetable) is sour as if they have mixed lemon juice in it. One leaf called kadi patta is the leaf which they use in almost every curry. (Are we sheep or goats who are eating leaves in every curry and food, we have joked several times.)
Now let me come back to the things which have forced me to talk you. The story goes like this:
Maulana Azad National Urdu University, in which I am for 21 days, is a good university. It was established in 1998. The library is not rich in scholarly books but still it is hi-tech. I usually use Wi-Fi while attending lectures. On the gate of this library, there are two security guards. Yes security guards; the persons in most strange dresses, easily identifiable in their dresses, conversations and health from others. Sometimes the most innocent, other times the most pitiable. Yes one of the species of human beings which are sometimes heard stealing from the owner’s house. I have had some conversation with one of the security guards who work at the library gate in the day and on the main gate in the night. When does he sleep? Somewhere from 1 a.m. For this day and night duty, he gets 7,000 INR a month. It’s not that he is forced to work day and night, it is he who works in the night so that he can earn extra 3500 INR with his 3500 salary for the day. Beggars are burden on society, we say but aren’t we burdening these poor guards. They secure the things which are our convenience. Still we don’t pay them enough to say that they can be half happy as we are? What a great thankfulness!
It’s not the case that there are not socialists like Marxists in this campus or the city but why they should worry about them.  Why they should worry when they get twenty times more money for working for half of the time? Marxism (and Marxist) seems a misnomer, and it’s just one platform for power.  I remember when there was natural calamity in the Laddak, I requested one so-called Marxist to donate some money for the rehabilitation of the affected people. This money is tax free, I said. This Marxist did not give a single penny out of his thousands INR per month salary.  For sure my work is not criticizing the present form of Marxism or any other ideology, nor have I capability to do so. We all live under some ideology.
Why there is no rule implemented—a fundamental right— which sets the minimum wages in India, I ask?  Why there can be no campaign? This may be quite unresting. Unrest we are all.
 Here comes another story about my recent contemplation about death, final truth if there is any, happiness, and love.  It seems everyone is unrest all around. Poor and rich, healthy and unhealthy, man and woman all alike. It’s like—When the Earth Stood Still’s (a movie’s loose terminology)—that we are all unhappy willingly. When I reflect ideally, it seems all things in this world are problematic except one thing that we call Love, love in its all forms. I am not the first one saying this, all thinkers in all ages have expressed as such.  In my contemplation, it is my ‘ideal republic’. Simply it seems not possible.
In the morning, I heard that one father died in his sleep few days after his son’s wedding. Soon after, I saw in the newspaper that one miner who was saved in recent Chilean mine operation was walking in a royal like dress, waving to the people, cameras following him. It seemed he was un-identifying himself with the common persons. Before this incident, perhaps he was one of them. What a farce on human triviality! 
Though we can be sacred of Death, it seems the ultimate reality, if not initial. I remember one of my professors saying (while teaching psychoanalysis) that we live to die. I cannot also stop thinking about the central point of Shoonya (zero) philosophy (loose reference to a Hindu spiritual debate).  It seems if we can accept death as final reality, and therefore love without any condition, it will solve many problems, if not all. Yes many for sure.