Last week I had been to a wilderness famous for its beauty, Jog. It is an entirely different world, with its silence as if trying to hush us up with a secret, distinct in its never-ending, closed forests, which makes us, city denizens, fearful of what may lay beyond. The forests close in on you, yet make you feel free of everything you possess in this world, feel like not caring to lose for whatever you held dear earlier and live there forever. They beckoned me and I wanted to stay there, in a hut with no mobiles, no messages, no TV, not even a radio and no contact with the outside world. How beautiful it is to live calmly. And then it happened... I came back to city, the ever-present jungle of sound and opinions.
'Caught in a strange land in a net with other butterflies, I'm a caterpillar yet undecided to remain a caterpillar and perish or turn into a beautiful butterfly and live a life full of joy.' Readers don't laugh. But I came up with this one night recently when I was travelling in a train. I tossed and turned, not being able to sleep, upset over unexplainable things and frustrated over events not in my control. Then it occurred to me that our life and its usefulness depends on our decisions -- whether to remain a crawling caterpillar whose existence otherwise is either ignored by all and sundry or who is cursed for just being there and thrown out with a stick, or to develop wings of life and metamorphose into a beautiful butterfly whom everybody adores for its beauty and colour, for its flitting liveliness, for its service to the flower's pollination... I thought that I should be a butterfly, of service to others, but then again I thought, anyway, who really cares?
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