Mysore mornings are very cold now. It was so chilling a few days ago that we would shiver from feet up, to the very tip of our lifeless hairs. And I hate sweaters, jerkins. I start for the Press from home at 7.30 am and shiver all the way. After reaching I take a minute outside in the sun who too seems to radiate cold rays and fails in his duty to warm us up. It is fun to get warm and cozy after braving the chilly air. Nowadays, however, only the morning chill remains, as the day and night are getting warmer.
'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?
Comments
Post a Comment