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".
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