The Riot of colours at the horizon left me all alone while the god of light and knowledge, Sun, descended. I was talking to him but he could not wait for discussion to end, so, he walked away. Yet, I kept asking questions, and the answers, flowed to me in a never ending stream, a stream of holy Ganges.
I speak to my God very often and he answers all my queries in one language only, silence, at times, deafening silence. I speak to him in various languages, in language of fear and failure, in language of hatred and frustration, in language of jealous and yearning and in many other languages, which, perhaps, have no expression. He is never invited to participate in a discussion which involves joy and happiness, success and growth, achievement and so called power.
In all discussions he never utters a word. The words of silence and affectionate looks fill my world and are answers to all my queries. At times, he holds my hand at takes me along, and this is a story of few walks which I took with him.
He took me to my childhood where I played with my best friends. We played under the thick cover of peepal tree. The breeze was pacifying and the shade cool, a lactating mother fed her kid just besides us, and passersby, just glanced over us, and the mother. It was nothing special in it as it happened day in and day out. I peeped into the mind of one of the passersby as he smiled at us, without moving a single muscle on his face and then glanced at the mother. The glance made him recite a small prayer, an ode to motherhood. He was overwhelmed and so were the surroundings. His companion was nearly the same age. He looked at the mother and saw only naked breast he could not see the kid and his imagination never could taste milk oozing from the breast. He too was overwhelmed, over whelmed with shot of libido, forgetting, he too, as a kid had nibbled breast of his mother as the kid did. I looked at God perplexed; he smiled at me, with certainty. His smile told me, life is the way we see it.
It wasn’t last stroll with him nether was it first. His language of communication remained the same, silence.
The other day he took me to a slum, far from the civilized world but not too far from where the civic world resided. Kids played music in Divine rhythm, rhythm of old utensils and worn off plastic ware. I peeped into an old mans mud house. He was happy, that today, he had earned enough money to get his wife treated. I was sad, my wife had slight infection, which was already under treatment. He found happiness in feeding a stray dog while my blood pressure shot up chasing that dog. Part of his bread was meant for heavens, but sadly, I could not spare anything for heavens, He gave me enough to buy two cars, a big house and all thing that were supposed to please me, but not enough to feed a bird or a stray dog.
He too vanished, behind the outgrowth of cane fields, like god of light and knowledge, Sun. He too could not wait for my discussions to end, but answers flowed in never ending stream of the holy Ganges.


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