Smart not Hard

Once below a time, a man had a hard time meeting his daily amenities. He was industrious. So industrious that he had little or no time for rest. Rest was waste to him.

His hard work didn’t pay him the successes and wealth he deserved.

He landed himself dead tired on his bed at home. Sleepless night would ensue, his thoughts lost in thoughts. After an infinite blinks, he would have a nap or two.

His penury perplexed him. He wasn’t as successful as he had envisaged. All through his life, he led a melancholic and poor life, just fit for rats and the like.

He resigned to himself believing in his karma and , ‘some are born great, some achieve greatness and some have greatness thrust upon them’, echoed resiliently on his semi-deaf ears. A tear drop on the floor would usually break his trance.

He was sure that a bad karma was at work. He felt increasingly tired and loathed his life.

And at 65, he signed his last looking like a nonagenarian.

On a funeral pyre, his face told everything: he died of exhaustion and much sorrow. His face wasn’t peaceful. There, on the funeral pyre laid a man defeated by life. His body was reduced to ashes. He was history now, gone into oblivion without knowing one simple truth (and secret) of life: It’s not how hard you work; it’s how smart you work.

Love’s labour Almost Lost

Stories like mine should never be called a love story. But it can qualify for a deception of an innocent soul. I am an innocent soul here. Or, at least I claim to be. You be the judge.

Just like any boy-meet-girl kind of story; I met her in my college days. We were in the same college. I developed an instant liking for her. Yes, I took some time to win her winsome heart. That was done rather fairly well.

She became my world, my sole reason to live or die. It happened sooner than I realized it. She was reason enough to make my day a heaven or a ravishing hell. I became too devoted to her. I nearly became her guardian angel. I was too faithful to her that I willingly ignored all the girls in my college. I almost worshipped her.

I found her too innocent. Her face was too pale and cherubic that I almost believed that she was an angel dropped from heaven just for me. Her cherubic face was the last thing I could forget. Her cuddly gesture and a childlike expression were something I saw for the first time in my life. I was, needless to say, so mesmerized by her.

It is dangerous to fall in love. That is what people say. It is dangerous if you don't know how to love. It is dangerous if you are so naive. It is dangerous if you are governed by your emotions. It is dangerous if you are a fool. I was naive and an emotional fool too.

Her past was as pure as it can be: no boy in her life, no kisses and no intimacy. It was all first time with me or so she used to tell me. I believed her. I believed every word her luscious lips spoke.

Her phone would beep countless times with unknown numbers. She would be engaged on call for countless minutes. She would go home on leave. She would be out with her friends. Even when I got her on the other line, she would say, she’s busy with assignments. In fact, she had very little time for me. But it was all okay with me. I am an understanding and empathizing type. I didn't suspect anything or never wanted to. I feared it would ignite irrational thoughts and break her heart. I didn't want doubts, suspicion and callous talks, as it is known to burn beautiful relationships to ground.

My truly well-wishing friends, as I realize now, would try to tell me rumours they heard about my angel. They would easily dismiss it after seeing disdain on my face. They really wanted to tell the truth but never dared to break my poor (and paranoid) heart. I never listened to them anyway. It was like me and her against the world.

I found out, much later, that people pitied me; something I never wanted. My gala of ignorance was too tempting and was on all lips. It was the talk of the college while I was lost in her charisma, braving the worldly criticism and irrationalizing their ‘biased’ opinions. I defended my stand vehemently. I was definitely under her spell of some mysterious kind. She would tell me not to listen to or believe in third person. And all I could do was nod in total agreement, like a faithful dog. Just that I didn’t lick her shoes.

Time flew under her spell like Odysseus under Circe’s.

And it was time that taught me many things about life and love. And slowly time taught me to look beyond what I saw in her and in my paranoid heart. And I saw many truths. Well, this can be  another story, altogether.