Miracle

Do you believe in miracles?

I know thats a very strange question, firstly because "miracles" so to say has no defined realm. Something that seems miracle to you may seem quite an ordinary thing for somebody else. But I was still wondering how many people actually believe in miracles. I could have have asked "Do you believe in God?" as well but then that is one question to which people almost answer mechanically. I call myself Agnostic. But sometimes I wonder if I took that stance just to evade that question. Anyways I was talking about miracles. So before you think about my earlier question, you have to be clear what the word means to you.

When I was child, I always looked at dewdrops with awe and thought them to be jewels provided by nature that adorn the neck of mother earth. After sometime I realised it is just water. But then isnt Diamond that transfers its sparkle to the beholder just carbon (or should I say 'coal' to put it more crudely). So whats wrong if my precious little dewdrop transfers its sparkle to my eyes and I see it not as "just water" !

See, that morning dewdrop is a 'miracle' for me. I can cite a hundred other examples that seem a miracle from my eyes. What then is your 'miracle'?

[This post is inspired by Anks'poem (specially the last stanza) and Paulo Coelho but these are my thoughts that I have tried to put up.]

Slipped away moments.

As I watch people moving around me so fast, I wonder am I standing still. (Ah that reminds me of "relative velocity") . Did time move away from me or did I run away? Probably we both diverged from each other and are still doing. (the universe is expanding). In the course of such a journey so many things have slipped away from my hand and I barely noticed. Coming home is a reminder of those slipped away things.

Each time I come home, my father tells me to look into my room and discard away the things that I dont need. I sit back and open the briefcases and cartons one by one and look at those memoirs of my school days. Each of them telling me a story. Cards, gifts, letters, photographs, slambooks, sometimes even a dried up leaf or flower carefully kept between the pages of my diary.

A few more steps back and I find my old dolls, torn and neglected. Once they used to be my constant companions. And as I go through the albums, it doesnt take much to relive those moments of birthday parties, the hue and cry I used to make to go there, the games, the delicious dishes, the surprises and the lost friends. I still remember some of the birthdays though I dont have any idea where to wish them... nov 22nd, dec 15th, march 6th... so many more. Have you ever tried holding grains of sand or even water in your clenched fist? It feels the same way.

But it doesnt end there. I am talking about things that left me long back and are too far way now. How about the things that slipped away recently. Here in my room, I find my unread books, unfinished poems and a story that I left half written, letters that I never posted, cards that I never sent, gifts that I never packed, paintings that I never completed, a diary entry which ended just with the date (I wonder what was it that I wanted to write).

I pack them back just as they were, not a single thing discarded, quietly saying "next time, dad, next time" and wondering will the next time ever come.