"He that studieth revenge keepeth his own wounds green, which otherwise would heal and do well"-John Milton He was in his nineties now, slow, fragile and nearing death. Still, every day he used to wake up at 6 in the morning and stare outside the window, blankly. They said when he was young, he was agile, healthy and quick, no one knew what his profession was, but he did retire rich at the age of fifty-five. His only son used to visit the old rooms twice a day, 'Baba, I request you again. Come with us to the big house. What is there in this dump?' his son used to question. 'I can't leave now, there is one final task left son,' he used to smile, 'One final task.' Baba had sent all the furniture from the room to the new house but kept himself a bed and the jewel beaded box. 'No one has ever removed the box from under the diwan since last 20 years, baba,' the daughter-in-law use to question, 'Don't let the servants, but please let me
Life is one long journey from one station to another, just like a daily office employee waits for the next Borivali fast local impatiently at Dadar station, you wait impatiently for the next train to take you closer towards your destination. Just like the office employee, you know the train is going to come, it comes by everyday at the same time (almost the same time), the announcer has even announced that it will come but still mind has its doubts about the train and life. The journey of life takes you on every road, sometimes you start towards the east trying to get away from something, only to find that something ahead in front of you as you return from the west. Then there are those steeps which throw doubts in the strongest of the minds. You accelerate harder and harder hoping that the steep will be overcome but eventually realize a small reduction in gear is all it takes to go over that steep. The satisfaction you get as you reach the top, you know its not the mount Everest, b