He Who Spits Paan At The Ceiling

After All, Our Lives Are But A Sequence Of Accidents - A Clanking Chain Of Chance Events. A String Of Choices, Casual Or Deliberate, Which Add Up To That One Big Calamity We Call Life.

Loss Is Essential, Loss Is Part And Parcel Of That Necessary Calamity Called Life. Mind You, I'm Not Complaining. Thanks To Some Inexplicable Universal Guiding Force, It Is Always The Worthless Things We Lose - Slough Off, Like A Moulting Snake. Losing And Losing Again, Is The Very Basis Of The Process, Til All We Are Left With Is The Bare Essence Of Human Existence.

If Time Were A Bolt Of Cloth,” Said Om, “i Would Cut Out All The Bad Parts. Snip Out The Scary Nights And Stitch Together The Good Parts, To Make Time Bearable. Then I Could Wear It Like A Coat, Always Live Happily.

He Who Spits Paan At The Ceiling Only Blinds Himself.

Where Humans Are Concerned, The Only Emotion That Made Sense Was Wonder, At Their Ability To Endure.