Everyone out there say ‘let go’ and you drop into lap of peace and happiness. More than everyone quarrel night and day with ‘what if’ they let go. This ‘what if’ is an ugly hook that they find difficult to let go off. If only they could get past this ‘what if’, they could sail through ‘let go’. ‘Let go’ appears to be a scary free fall with nothing to break it! In this little piece, we revolve our talks…
It is only difficult people that can bring out the real being of a person. It is beyond the Saints to do this nor is it within the power of Mystics and Monks. They could be the jewel in the crown of the Messiahs but what turns a stone into a gem are difficult men. It is in the nature of things, real men are shaped at the hands of hard men. It is they who help evolve the…
Last week, I went to see the headmaster of the school that I went as kid in late 70s. He’s pushing 90 now. This short and swift man in a shape hiding age, smartly dressed as a matter of routine, was terror of a man in those days. A glimpse of him on the school premises would chill the bone of even the cockiest and cheekiest, forget about the herd of lamb and sheep shaking in their boots and…
We are thoughts or we are nothing! We are anything but thoughts! One way or the other, thoughts are engine and we are wagon, like it or not! We don’t run thoughts. It is the other way round. It is thoughts that tell us what or who we are. What we are here for! What is our purpose and pursuit! We come and go. Thoughts live on, stubborn, obstinate, don’t go away. They don’t come with us nor do they…
‘I’ve never seen you low or down nor ever on high! Do I take you as someone who have been emotion-free all through? This man, who seldom opened his mouth and when and if he did barely a word or two escaped his lips, made the last response minutes before he was gone. He spoke to me at some length in the hospital lying on his death-bed. No family, no friends, him and me and a nurse to behold…
Tony and I grew up about the same time in one and the same neighborhood. Getting to his house on foot from mine would take as many ticking of seconds as it takes to boil an egg. His was a shelter nowhere near a house but more than a hovel, squeezed between a group of back to back tall houses like a lamb in the herd of camels, non-plastered, made of home-made, unbaked bricks with a roof of iron-sheet over…