Life is like selling toys

The train compartment was cattle class with passengers continuously stuffing themselves with junk food pedelled by the railway caterers. Some catching a wink and some finding an uncomfortable shoulder of their neighbour to fall asleep. Vendors walked up and down the passage selling farm fresh vegetables, pirated DVDs, pocket diaries, eucalyptus oil and a near Methuselah potion. They created a cacophony. Not one of them appeared happy. They hated what they were doing. One could sense their utter contempt for the passengers. Some of them could even be bandits looting passengers of the night trains.

I looked at my watch and was wondering at my bad luck of not getting reservation in an upper class air conditioned coach. Then I saw her. She was small, dusky with soft flowing bobbed hair. A little dirty in a cream color frock with a lot of frills, looking confident and cheerful. A child of about 10 years, she was selling toys and rattlers made out of balloons. Plastic toy rifles sticking out of the cloth tied at her back in ninja style.

She enjoyed showing of her toys to the children. Negotiating confidently with difficult parent customers. Quick to move away from troublesome characters. I learnt a lesson from her on the day. Give a good fight to your life. Enjoy every bit of action that is enjoyable. Negotiate difficulties. Look forward to tomorrow.

You could meet her on Chennai - Bangalore day express trains. But you have to travel cattle class.

Who Am I?

It was a dark monsoon morning. I was in my morning prayers. This sudden thought crossed my mind. Who am I? what is the purpose of my life? Though these questions were not new to my mind or to anybody who is conscious, the clarity and calmness with which this question was raised and the thoughts that followed lead me to write this.

I have seen and heard friends with beaten ego and low spirit and hearts heavy with sadness. Some on the brink of damning God and some lamenting to Him. They came to me to talk about their woes. Was it because I appeared meek and friendly? Whatever, I heard them and I did. I spoke to them, did I? or was it I was being an instrument in the hands of a higher spirit? Leave, they did, with lighter hearts and a smiling face. Some stepped back from the brink. They required the reflections of my heart, spirit and empathy as their hearts were so laden with sadness like a mirror covered with soot.

I observed the high and mighty, their utter contempt for the meek and manipulation of the gentle ones' aspirations and need for recognition. The high and mighty felt like gods, the resources and minions at their beck and call. Yes, for them there was no need for God or spirit, except to talk the meek ones into their net.

It crossed my mind at the conclusion of my morning prayer, may be it is the purpose of my being a meek pilgrim at a dog eat dog office, to stand by the weak, oppressed and sad, through words, written or spoken so that they are happy at least when they talk to me. A bird perched on the neighbors large mango tree chirped thrice as if to confirm it.

Happy Days!!