Many extol the virtues of a beautiful sculpture carved out of stone. They say that only when a stone endures the strikings of a sculptor's chisel and bloom into an attractive form can its life (!) be fulfilled. Don't you think its 'fulfillment' is quite unnatural? What the stone finally turns out to be is the dream of the sculptor, not that of the stone. The thoughts and aspirations belong to the sculptor. The stone, which though was 'deformed' earlier in the eyes of the beholder, had its own individuality and freedom which was lost when the chisel touched it for the first time. Did the stone want to become a beautiful, 'meaningful' statue? May be, may be not.
'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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