God was on a survey. A panic wave had hit him from around the Shastri Stadium. He rode down his beam to an abrupt stop at a rickety bench. A mother hunched over her son’s cricket bag. “I am a mess Bhagwan. My grandmother prepared my mother to be a homemaker. My mother raised me with the capacity to earn if need be. I am confused over what I am trying to equip my son for. I hear I should facilitate boredom for his creativity to flourish. But it also seems he will have to pitch in with housework. Will he be the sole breadwinner?”
God rolled his eyes, “Humans! I don’t remember wiring them with self-destruction. The template will have to return to the design table.” He prompted the anguished woman to resume.
“I just want my child to be happy. His father and I are bringing him up to be a collaborative, compassionate, creative, committed young citizen of the world. We pour all our time, energy and resources into him but we find ourselves improvising, one day at a time. Should I enrol him in a German or a Mandarin class?”
God raised his hand, “Enough woman! Joy is a by-product. Does he dust your drawing room and walk the pet? Teach him productivity and morality and reciprocity, it is all you can do. His happiness will grow on the tree he plants, nurtures and protects with his own bare hands.You breathe".