While cleaning out old papers and magazines, got a Week magazine of 2009 which had stories on Kargil war. Felt proud that our government took the right (and bold) decisions at the right time, not bending to Big Brother's pressures; proud of our soldiers who lost their limbs, lives but not their true spirit in the face of a Stinger. Felt tears brim over at the pride of their parents. When will we learn to respect our soldiers instead of silver screen idols and heroes of the pitch?
'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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