...we all are farmers. How well do we do in ploughing the land decides the quality of harvest. A soul aware of the finality puts his best in leaving the best crop behind...to be cherished by the posterity.

Believe me...every demand that I make carries a slice of my 'self'. I've vainly tried sometimes to sober some of them, hide them, rephrase them, fake them...and have always ended up owning them, loving them.

An apparently disorienting demand carries thoughts way beyond the obvious...something deeper, deep-seated, undying, raw, uncivilized, rude, crude, deranging...yet real, pure! And I will never cease to have them.

Particularly the friendships that we cultivate in the later part of life largely rest on a deepseated sense of inequality - stems from a thirst for emotional, recreational, creative, sexual or spiritual consummation. Friendships happen between unequals...

anyone hailing from kolkata would know how well does a Bus double as doting rocking cradle to numberless office-goers...even today when my car moves next to any packed bus, I make an effort to stick my head out to see the stooped heads swaying in rhyme with the moving bus on a bumpy road. The engine's sonorous rumble adds the lullaby touch and the seats rock them to a short-lived yet consummate sleep.

Some just age and some grow. Lately my discourses with foes and friends have chiefly hovered around the not-so-subtle differences between the 2 phenomena...and funnily some agreed with me just to disprove their eminent aging...and some just smiled - a smile that only comes with beautiful growing!