What is it with age?

The alarm rings and you wake up. Have breakfast and head out for school or work. You impatiently stare at your watch waiting for the lecture to be over; the clock strikes 5 and you are ready to leave work. Come home, all tired and look at the plan for the next day.

You take the paper from the rack and the headlines are covered with young people your age doing wonderful things. You check the age of the latest popstar in town, its less than 20! You search the age of the latest popular TV actors, less than 25 it comes out. The bones in your body suddenly feel week; the straight As suddenly succumb into the dark.

I feel the rush to act, to do something instantly, to rush out of the door and into the sunshine. And the patience inside keeps on sliding away as the days pass on. We get old, and we feel the need to act more, to get something done. The patience is still sliding away.

Its good to have young role models coming up these days. But we got to take it positively for ourselves.

Sometimes I tell myself, that it isn’t about success at a young age, it isn’t about the high paying job at the early 20s, it isn’t about winning the top awards when you age less than 25, its about finding out a dream and then working towards it. That each person’s journey is incomparable to the other. Its about doing something worthwhile, whenever you can, whatever it may be, however small it may be. Its about reminding oneself all these, time and again, just like brushing your teeth every morning and night. Its about holding on, and perhaps not focusing too much on age.

Its about working without focusing too much on the rewards, its about doing the good ‘Karma’, and everything else will fall in place.

 

The Boy and the Master III

Like the tortoise I am


“Patience!” said the master and stopped.

The boy was bleeding with the blow he had just received onto his right arm. The sword of his fellow knight was dipped into the blood of the boy. The boy was trying to hide his pain, the tears were on the verge of a break out. The moment was getting harder to pass by.

First, second, third, his blood kept on dripping from the sword.

“He is bleeding master,” said the fellow knight.

“It was you who made him bleed,” said the master sternly.

Did he not care that the boy was bleeding? Or did the boy deserve the pain that had now overtaken his mind. He dropped onto the ground, unconscious.

“Take him in,” said the master.

The fellow knight carried him on his shoulders, almost dragging him in.

“Slowly,” commanded the master. “He is not yet dead.”

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