I got inspired with my own words.

I did not care the chilling cold. My mind prompted and my heart whispered me to set out for the hostel inmates. I opened up my heart’s feelings before the boarders and asked for their complete co-operation to make the up-coming sports meet a grand success. I inspired and at the same time, I got inspired with my own words.


You cannot brighten someone’s path without brightening yours.

I left the hostel auditorium. It was 8pm of wintery December. I came out to the vacant road. The inspiration continued to work in me.

For a moment, the world stopped around me. I became emotional because for two long years I have remained attached with the young boys and girls, all hailing from the lower strata of the society. Today they are sitting in front of me and listening with rapt attention to each word I utter. Tomorrow they will be distant stars whom I can see but I may not touch. Today they are sitting by my side with their body wrapped in woollen clothes but in a year, they will be the travellers whose trains have left my station and have moved ahead. Although in the coming days, I will still be engaged in like a stationmaster, still regulating the passage of other trains approaching successively, they will get down in a newer world carrying my message and my soul’s touch.

I brooded whether I am packing up the right stuff for the modern generation in the tender minds. I became unsure, terribly unsure of my capability.

The night seemed darker and the road seemed lonelier. I stood alone. Looking at the night sky, I raised my hands upward. The chilling cold kissed my hands. Dewdrops percolated my head though my hair. I closed my eyes, with two drops of tears rolling down, begged Goddess Saraswati to spread her whiteness overpowering my darkly littleness.