Years have passed, yet I cannot forget the poem I read in my 7th grade. Back then, it held only academic significance, aimed at affecting my grades. Subconsciously, it deeply touched my mind, body, and soul. Now, with a 3-year-old child and having lost my father at 62, its relevance has dawned on me. As my father lay on his deathbed, my child's visits sparked a twinkle in his eyes, an innocence matching that in my child's gaze, both unaware of life's impermanence. In his final days, my father became as frail and vulnerable as an infant, signalling the last of man's seven ages. I, too, am traversing these stages, anticipating the transitions that complete life's full circle.
Life is akin to a 100-meter sprint; it's brief, so let's make it sweet. When you think about it, what's so serious about life? Whether it's the seven ages of man or our Hindu philosophy of ashramas, the journey is swift and decisive. Life has its own design, with the beginning and the end being remarkably similar, like two ends of a rope. You are born a child and die almost as one. You arrive with nothing and leave with nothing for your final destination. Yet, everyone must play their part in this rope trick—let life ascend to its highest level. It's not about money or fame. It's about being a good son, daughter, father, mother, friend, brother, sister... What's more pleasurable than being with your loved ones, sharing joy, laughter, sorrows, and even money and fame? Home is where the heart is, and my heart is with those I love. What use is money and fame if it can't be shared with them? This rope is uneven, filled with knots that must be untied together...
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