Which great writer lived in the cities to write? Kuvempu lived in Mysore, which was and is quite unlike Bangalore; Poornachandra Tejaswi stayed in the middle of nowhere; D.R. Bendre was in Dharwad; Shivaram Karanth in Kota; Vaidehi in Kundapur and Manipal... After all, how can the concrete jungle seen from one's window inspire us or take us to our own dream land? How can honking replace the twitter of birds? How can smog represent the cool breeze that slips stealthily between trees carrying the scent of the woods? It is amidst nature that our fantasy takes flight.
'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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