The owner of an elegant house stood outside his home, and spoke to the painter, “I want those grills of my house to stand out. Paint them in black, white, silver and gold! Just look at the intricate design I told the welder to make, now I want every twist and turn of those iron rods to be emphasized. Let those grills be a work of art!”

And the painter went to work. With clever skill and deft hand he brought out the lines and edges of the grill, blues and reds and black and gold!

Every evening, after the twins belonging to my daughter, messed up the full house with their toys and other paraphernalia which little boys throw all over, she would sing, “Clean Up! Clean Up!” with the twins joining in the singing with their three- year old voices. Then they would run all over, cleaning up, what they’d messed up!

A few years ago, while Anna Hazare and the nation cried themselves hoarse against corruption, a medical association of specialists decided to organize a march against corruption and hundreds trekked a few miles shouting slogans, holding banners over their heads and placards pinned to their chests.

He was a good friend of mine, and his name was Joe. He was over twenty years older, but I loved being with him, and one day discovered why. He loved to listen, and it was a strange way I found out.

I was standing at a bus stop, when a girl who was acting in a play, I was directing made her way to me, “Hi Bob!” she said.

 “Bob, here’s a pic of me, taking the vaccine jab!”

So many pics floating all over of friends, elderly uncles and aunts, and political leaders getting the vaccine jab, but not one photo, shows them looking at the shot being administered!

There’s a smile on their faces, though tension is very apparent, their eyes look at the camera, though eyes also betray their thoughts elsewhere, but no, oh no, we don’t look at cruel needle breaking through sensitive skin, do we?

Ours was but to agree to the jab, ours not to see it done!

The hair on the delicate hands of the milkmaid stood on end as she heard her cow moo. “What is it, dear cow,” she said, even as she continued milking, “What is it that troubles you?”

The cow mooed again, and the milkmaid whispered, “You are safe! Our fences are tall; no lion can jump in and be off with you. Our laws are strong; no one can butcher you anymore! You are safe dear cow, why the terror in your voice?”