There was a time when we used to frequent my granny's house every weekend and holiday. Being young, I had no other companion of my age group except my young sis whose idea of playing was planting a flower and watering it, watching it every hour to check if a plant has grown out of it. My friend was the nature around me. I would lie on the huge boulder and watch the skies for hours, imagining that I was alone in the whole wide world. I would walk thru the woods, climb trees, pluck cashew apple and indulge in its juicy pulp and searching for wild fruits like the maroon Karjikayi or the tiny white Bemmaralu. And now, I'm back amidst nature and it calms me and makes me happy to watch the flowers bloom amid green leaves, tiny insects crawl out of them after having their fill of nectar, leaves sway in the mild breeze and glow in the mid-morning sun. I love the early morning ritual of watering the trees and plants, with glistening droplets falling on me; making me proud that I'm a part of their growing up.
'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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