I have found moon to be a strange fellow. Happy and smiling most of the time with a glow on his face. But he gets angry suddenly and decides to disappear. Then he comes back again with a sheepish smile, perhaps regretting his anger. Some days he seems pensive and withdrawn. Some days he hides as if he were a naughty child who had just pulled a prank. But he is most vulnerable and wavering when he visits the sea. Maybe its vastitude overwhelms him. Or may be he shies away from the waves trying to reach him, touch him.
'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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