When i sit back and start to think of the meaning of the word life, I get drawn into a deep conversation with myself.

‘LIFE’. “This is a simple four lettered word”, you may think. But go into its depths and you will find that life has a more deeper and graver meaning than any of us could even imagine. I want the reader of this blog to close his eyes for a minute and think about what, according to him, is life made up of. Let me take a guess. The first few things that might have come into your thoughts are all the small enjoyments that life is made up of . All the luxuries. But go deeper into yourself. Tap your subconscious and then ask yourself – “DO THESE THINGS REALLY MAKE UP LIFE? CAN I NOT DO WITHOUT THEM?”. Well my friend, the answer is a loud resounding “NO”. These things do not make up life. They are small and unimportant. Yes, they make life enjoyable, but they do not make  life. To explain myself, let me cite a story………..

it is called – ‘Empty Pickle Jar- a lesson on life ‘ .

A professor stood before his philosophy class, holding a large and empty pickle jar. When the class began, he proceeded to fill the jar with golf balls. Then he asked the students whether the jar was full. They agreed that it was. So, the professor picked up a box of pebbles and poured them into the jar. The pebbles rolled into the open areas between the golf balls. He asked the students again, if the jar was full. They agreed that it was. the professor, then picked up a box of sand and poured it into the jar. Of course, the sand filled up everything else. He asked once more if the jar was full. His students responded with a unanimous “YES”. The professor then produced a bottle of chocolate milk from under the table. He poured it into the jar, effectively filling up the empty space between the sand. The students laughed. “Now,” said the professor, ” I want you to recognize that the jar represents your life. The golf balls are the important things like your Family, your Children, your Health and friends. The pebbles are the other things that matter, like your Job, your Home, your Car. The sand is everything else, the small stuff. If you put the sand into jar first, there is no room for the pebbles or the golf balls. The same goes for life. If you spend all your time and energy on the small stuff, you will never have room for the things that make you happy. Play with your children, get regular check-ups, enjoy dinner with friends and family. There will always be time to clean the house. Take care of the golf balls first, the things that really matter. Set your priorities. The rest is just sand ” . One student asked,”What about the chocolate milk ?”.The professor replied,” No matter how full your life, there is always room for chocolate”.

Remember everyday is a gift……..

And the quality of your life, is your gift to yourself.


My first story

Once in a while, I try to put my thoughts on paper, in ink, which resulted in my aspiration to be a  writer . Not older than 15 years of age. Just completing my tenth, but I love to write. Hence, I started this blog, with a small hope of sharing my stories with the entire world. Here is the first.

I am a forgetful person by nature. I forget many details may it be important or not. I have not improved much in the past few years though I have made a constant effort to remember a few things.

A couple of months back my mother sent me to the market to buy a few things out of which due to my forgetful nature I forgot a thing or two. On my mother’s bidding I headed back to the market. It was early that Sunday morning and I decided to make the best of it. I took a shortcut through a garden also called the Joggers park. As i walked the only sounds that could be heard were the chiprping and cheeping of birds and the crunching of dry leaves and twigs under my feet. Somewhere in the distance a maulvi was offering namaz. The luring aroma of the samosas and jelebis being freshly prepared made my mouth water. A scent of mogra flowers filled the air with a strong fragrance. Out of all these the sound of the sweeper sweeping stuck out like a sore thumb. I had almost reached the market. I started to think of the things that my mother had asked me to get : a kilo of vegetables and 4-5 different varieties of fruits. I peered into my purse. It contained 500 rupees. Enough for the things that I needed to get. For some reason the market used to leave me spellbound. I decided to wander about for a while an so after buying the necessary items I started to window shop. As I moved from store to store the shops became smaller and then started the carts along with their vendors. As I planned to move ahead a strong muskiness filled the air. It gave me a slight touch of glee, joy and delight in that overcrowded market. The smell of freshly brewed coffee made me hungry. I glanced at my watch. It was almost breakfast time. I ordered for a coffee and some snacks. I still had about 300 rupees left. As I waited for my order to come o felt a cold hand tap me. I was startled and I turned around. It was my batch-mate Priya. She was not seen in school for the past 7 months. She looked pale and ill. She smiled at me. I asked her where she was and she said that she was now living in on top of a hill surrounded by the mesmerizing and captivating beauty of nature in a small stone hut. I smiled. She handed me a small white envelope with my name written on it in big bold letters. She then hurried away. This behavior puzzled me. As I sat drinking my coffee and having my snacks I started to think about Priya – the most funny girl in the class. She was a good friend of mine and I missed her a lot when she left school. Itried contacting her family and even going to their house. The house was locked … Anyways , I paid for the order and left a 10 rupee tip. I walked back home. Once again I came across women haggling for the price … flowergirls weaving garlands and the children crying for toys. In short there was hustle-bustle all around. I finally reached home at around 11 am. I opened the packet that Priya had given me. It contained a 500 rupee note. At first it made no sense to me . But I read a letter that was kept along with the money. Priya had written that this was the money that she borrowed from me a long time ago to pay her canteen expenses and bus tickets. I was shocked that she still remembered it. I kept the money carefully in my piggy bank and I started to study. I had almost forgotten about the incident when I met Priya’s sister Shruti. I asked her about Priya’s health. She had tears in her eyes as she told me that Priya had died about 6 months ago. I could not believe it. I narrated the incident and even Shruti was shocked. She took me to the hill where she was buried.

Then Priya’s words made sense to me… “… the hill with it’s mesmerizing and captivating beauty of nature …. In a stone hut. She was buried there. I was speechless. It was an encounter with a ghost. The most extra-ordinary can happen at the most ordinary times.

Hope you enjoyed reading the story. Any changes or suggestions, even criticism, will be welcomed.

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