They Come, They Go, But We Live

They arrive. It gives me a reason to live, perhaps a long life. Everything appears so good and normal.

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But then my young friends expect me to participate in some active fun games. They want entertainment and some thrill after coming away from their home land that have all available so easily. I start feeling weak first and incapable and old too gradually. I wonder if I can do something to upgrade or refurbish myself. Is it possible? Perhaps, the answer may be affirmative, but it requires a will; and I am lacking that perhaps more than anything else. And then sometimes the gout or colloid of the heart surgery or the psoriases of scalp make me feel more miserable. I get in extreme pain. I try to keep all that with myself, but sometimes my face tells everything, and the dear ones can read that. They get unhappy about my state of affair, and I feel more miserable and guilty too. All these are because of my own weaknesses to over torture the body in my prime days running after mirages or false bigness.

And the day of departure came; I became emotional and weak that I never was. This is the life, perhaps more so for those who have come from a traditional rural India. Nothing can be done about it.

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