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| Essay 1 |
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The Old Bridge |
| Essay 2 | And when Buddha smiled with me | |
| Essay 3 | Drinking from an old man's pot | |
| Essay 4 | GLAIDIATORE | |
| Essay 5 | A Dream | |
| Essay 6 |
Monsoon mayhem
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| Essay 7 |
A trip to Shangri~La
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ISFiT|2003 recollection
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| Essay 9 |
Zoram
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Monsoon mayhem I was returning
home. I didn't know monsoon had already flung in its full swing. There
was hardly any sign of rain when I was leaving Delhi. The train had
already pulled in the state of Bihar, and it was morning. I wondered
why there wasn't warmth of the sun to wake me up. I have been
perplexed by the vastness of the Ganges while crossing over the Farakka
dam near Malda in West Bengal. While passing over the bridge, I could
sense the danger of depth and coldness in the deep blue water. The
river seemed to make horizon with the sky at distant, as though it
would engross me into its infiniteness. But there
was loss everywhere. While nearing Hetauda, I saw fields in level
with the road. And the paddy like tiny grass outgrowths. The rain
had washed away soil from the hills and filled up the fields. People
were roofless, and they had barely managed to collect bits and pieces
from their broken houses. When I was home one of my little kittens had been ill. I had suffered a loss too. Delhi was a bitter experience. At the Canadian embassy in Delhi I was treated like a filth to be filtered. All my sincere effort towards my dream of attending a Liberal Arts College was drowned with the paddy under water, like the damage this monsoon had done.
That is my Karma. Well, it does communicate. The sequence of events, the situations, timings, everything adds up to that big picture of one's Karma. |
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