Reflections

As I read ‘Like the Flowing River’, by Paulo Coelho, I came across this chapter where he talks of his acquaintance’s experience with handling questions children have in their minds. Questions that often go unasked and if asked… unanswered by the more “learned and experienced” adults. The following are some questions mentioned: § What does God mean? § Where do we go after we die? § Why are we all born if we have to die in the end? § Why are there poor and ill people? § Why did God create mosquitoes and flies? § Who named different colours? § Why isn’t our guardian angel beside us when we are sad? § Who invented war and happiness? § If God is in heaven, and my mother is there too because she died, then how come He is alive? It melts my heart to read these questions and to think about the numerous little doubts in the curious minds of the young. Their innocence is as lucid as the glistening of pebbles in a shallow brook by a streak of sunlight, but their curiosity that very obscure. It re

It was one of those fine days last summer when I had this longing. A desire which had come up not long ago...but was truly a deep one within me... My parents agreed to fulfill my wish and took me where I wanted to. A nearby orphanage where there were lots of little tots having an entirely different life from that of mine. I always knew they might get food, shelter, and clothing may be a little education but one thing for which they would always yearn for is love. An affectionate hand patting them, encouraging words elevating their souls… someone to look up to an the end of the day and feel tranquil that there is someone waiting for me, someone who wants me, someone who treasures me. I was eager to go in and meet all the kids there. Some of the little ones, cheerful, not understanding what life hasn’t given them and not knowing the pleasures of the world beyond those walls. Their eyes … a vast ocean of innocence. Concealing God knows how many hopes and dreams for a lonesome life that ha

Somebody’s got to think out of the box… Somebody’s got to ponder over things that everyone does not… Somebody’s got to talk of the rhythm of silence… There is nothing right or wrong about any poem, about any form of expression. Its just a reflection of the thought-flow in the brook of one’s mind… It’s just the way the colors spurt across the canvass of one’s mind… And the thoughts that flow cannot be right or wrong. No one is to be blamed.. no one can be blamed. It is all the way everyone is designed. Just the way you and I are… It’s His mighty creation to make the people the way they are… Some are like you…who can’t grow out of conventionality… Some, like me…surrounded by the barriers of conventionality and yet yearns to think beyond it… and mentally… A maverick… Some like her… who has crossed all borders, all frontiers of conformism…who has drank the wine of unconventionality… and who expresses herself as a Maverick … in the true sense of its word… She can’t be blamed… she must not b