“She’s dying Bob,” said the voice over the phone.

“Get her into the hospital,” I said.

“She doesn’t want to go!”

“She has to go,” I said.

“She says she is ready to die!”

Was driving down a silent road, when I heard the sound of loud music, and found another car drawing up close, with windows down and music-full blast. Suddenly the peace I was enjoying was broken by the cacophony of noise, and as the car drew abreast, I found people laughing, jeering, and scoffing those outside!

The sound from the other car was garish. It’s not that I disliked their songs, but the volume was meant to disrupt, meant to intrude, and cause disharmony and tension.

So, here’s the thing: You’ve decided to climb Everest. You train yourself to become agile and fit, buy all the necessary paraphernalia, take a train, bus or flight and reach the base camp of Mount Everest.  

And there you are overjoyed.

She was young and her eyes blazed with excitement and joy as she looked at me, “I’ve got a first class with distinction,” she said.

“Congratulations!” I said and hugged her. I looked at her and remembered the same face streaked with tears two years ago as she learned she had failed a semester; not for lack of academic prowess but for not completing her projects in time.

Was at the funeral of a youngster, who died of a mental disorder. Many spoke at his funeral, and said how helpless they felt in trying to reach out to him, but could do nothing. “Oh yes, you did,” I said, when it was my turn to speak. “Each of you reached out to him, and gave him a few moments of love!”

This happened many years ago, when my younger daughter was little. She wept as she held a dead bird in her hand. “It died daddy. I saw it being attacked by crows. I chased the crows away and brought it home. I gave it some water. It was alive a few moments ago. But it’s gone now. Its dead daddy!”