The Most Useless Question Ever Asked: Who Am I?
- Madhukar Dama
- Apr 18
- 4 min read
Spoiler: You won’t find the answer. But you’ll definitely find a workshop.
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INTRODUCTION: THE QUESTION THAT WASTES LIFETIMES
"Who am I?"
Three words that have launched ten million spiritual careers,
sold a billion dollars in robes, mala beads, and enlightenment coaching,
and still —
not a single person has answered it without sounding like a TED Talk or a cult leader.
It's the most useless question not because it’s meaningless —
but because it’s a trap disguised as a quest.
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HOW THIS QUESTION WAS INVENTED (PROBABLY)
One day, a man was sitting under a tree.
The fruit fell.
The breeze was good.
His belly was full.
But instead of just being,
he thought:
"Wait… who is being?”
And it was all downhill from there.
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THE INDUSTRIES IT CREATED:
1. Gurus & Guruburgers™
“If you ask Who am I enough, eventually you’ll dissolve your ego.”
(Until then, pay Rs. 25,000 for the retreat.)
2. Philosophy Faculties
Still debating identity while asking for projectors that work.
3. Instagram Enlightenment Influencers
Posting “Who am I?”
next to filtered yoga poses, smoothie bowls, and feet in sand.
4. Therapists & Trauma Work
You don’t need to know who you are.
You just need to know who you’re not — but even that costs Rs. 2,500/hour.
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REALITY CHECK: YOU WERE NEVER SUPPOSED TO KNOW
The leaf doesn’t ask, “Who am I?”
The cloud doesn’t pause to philosophize.
The ant doesn’t chant mantras for identity.
Only humans —
with too much time and too little grounding —
ask this question like it’s a treasure map.
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THE TRUTH IS TOO EMBARRASSING TO MARKET
You are…
A changing collection of stories
A breathing mammal with memory loops
A nervous system reacting to sugar, stress, and mother wounds
A set of borrowed names, fears, and ideas
And if you’re lucky… a moment of silence when none of this matters
But that doesn’t sell well.
So we keep the question alive.
Like a hamster wheel, well-oiled by philosophy and funded by retreat centres.
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THE MIND LOVES QUESTIONS WITH NO END
“Who am I?”
isn’t a mystery.
It’s a stall tactic.
Because if you stopped asking,
you’d have to actually live —
chop vegetables, feel the wind, cry when needed, and laugh without a reason.
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WHAT IF YOU NEVER ASKED IT AGAIN?
What if…
You lived like a tree — rooted, still, flowering when it’s time
You touched the soil more than you touched your thoughts
You let others be — without explaining yourself endlessly
You gave up needing a clean answer to a messy truth
Wouldn’t that be enough?
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DETAILED CONCISE SUMMARY QUOTE:
“The question ‘Who am I?’ survives because it has no answer — and the illusion of a noble pursuit feels better than the simplicity of being. Stop asking. Start living.”
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“Who Am I?” — A Dialogue with Madhukar the Hermit
In which a seeker comes seeking identity, and receives rice instead.
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Scene:
A cool afternoon under a neem tree.
Madhukar is washing lentils in a clay bowl.
A nervous, serious-looking seeker named Arun walks in with mala beads, five notebooks, and a borrowed spiritual glow.
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Arun:
Namaste, Master Madhukar.
I’ve been to seven ashrams, two vipassana camps, and one retreat in Rishikesh.
But the question still haunts me: Who am I?
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Madhukar:
Hungry?
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Arun:
No, no… I seek the answer. I’ve left my job. I’ve renounced meat, salt, my girlfriend, even Wi-Fi.
But still — no answer.
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Madhukar (pouring rice into a pot):
Hmm. You didn’t renounce overthinking.
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Arun:
But Master… don’t we need to ask? Isn’t it the highest question?
---
Madhukar:
The cow never asked it.
And still gives milk.
The tree never asked.
Still offers shade.
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Arun:
So you're saying... I shouldn’t ask?
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Madhukar (smiling):
You already did.
Six thousand times.
Has it brought peace?
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Arun (quietly):
...No.
Only more books.
And Instagram quotes.
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Madhukar:
Then the question is not seeking an answer.
It is avoiding your life.
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Arun:
But isn’t it spiritual to ask?
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Madhukar:
No.
It’s spiritual to wash your own plate.
You are not a question.
You are a breathing, blinking, pooping mammal pretending to be a puzzle.
---
Arun:
Then who am I?
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Madhukar:
The one who just asked that again.
(Hands him a bowl of rice.)
Eat this.
Taste.
Chew.
Swallow.
Shut up.
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Arun (after two bites):
This rice… it feels more like me than all my thoughts.
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Madhukar:
Exactly.
You are not your thoughts.
You are what digests them.
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Arun:
So… I’m just this?
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Madhukar:
No.
But “just this” is the door.
Everything else is a detour —
with hashtags.
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“You Were Never a Question”
(in the voice of Bukowski, hungover on too much philosophy)
they told you to ask
"who am i?"
like it was some holy riddle
carved in cosmic dust
and whispered by monks
who never paid rent.
so you asked.
and asked.
and asked again.
but nothing answered —
not the wind,
not the gods,
not even your own gut
churning on yesterday’s excuses.
then a man
with dirt under his nails
handed you a bowl of rice
and said nothing.
and for once,
you shut up,
chewed slow,
and felt
something real.
turns out
you were never a question.
you were always the thing
blocking the answer.
