He was a nationalist, had given almost all of his life for the upliftment of this country. A part time writer, who had written around half a dozen books mostly containing issues belonging to our nation. An intellectual who could speak, read and write at least five languages. But even then very far from name and fame.
In 1995, he was on Himachal tour for a week and I had to perform as his driver. I was college student then and a very good driver (which I think still I am). On the way to interior Himachal, in one town our night arrangement was made at a local house. The owners of that house were joint family members who had a boy of my age doing his CA that time in their family. The room of this boy was arranged for the writer. The room was an ordinary room with very little furniture. There was a notepad hanging just above a study table in that room. The facing page of that notepad was blank when the room was occupied by that writer.
The next morning after breakfast, when we were ready for the journey of that day to another place, I had to enter that room to get something from the study table. I again looked at the notepad hanging above there. The facing blank page was no more blank. There was some scribbling in Hindi on it which could be translated as, “Life is a bridge, we have to cross it and not to sit on it.” No name was mentioned who wrote this but I knew.
Question is, do we take our life as a bridge or we keep dying everyday to live forever on that bridge?
In 1995, he was on Himachal tour for a week and I had to perform as his driver. I was college student then and a very good driver (which I think still I am). On the way to interior Himachal, in one town our night arrangement was made at a local house. The owners of that house were joint family members who had a boy of my age doing his CA that time in their family. The room of this boy was arranged for the writer. The room was an ordinary room with very little furniture. There was a notepad hanging just above a study table in that room. The facing page of that notepad was blank when the room was occupied by that writer.
The next morning after breakfast, when we were ready for the journey of that day to another place, I had to enter that room to get something from the study table. I again looked at the notepad hanging above there. The facing blank page was no more blank. There was some scribbling in Hindi on it which could be translated as, “Life is a bridge, we have to cross it and not to sit on it.” No name was mentioned who wrote this but I knew.
Question is, do we take our life as a bridge or we keep dying everyday to live forever on that bridge?
2 comments:
Inspiring Quote !!
May I recall the quote, when I will be sitting in the valleys - lost in deep thoughts.
Cool Prem, surely it would be apt to recall the quote that time :)
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