Growing old

The older we grow, the louder are our chants, the greater is our fear of the unknown and the inevitable end.

A lady who turned sixty a few days back travelled across a continent to catch a glimpse of a seer in an ashram. She failed to get a darshan of the holy man even though she was prepared to buy a ticket for Rs. 1000/-, for the place was already packed. A wizened old man past seventy apparently wanted to know from a young priest, barely twenty five, to point out the passages from a holy book that he must read and chant, in order to receive the divine blessing.

An octogenarian who spent his youth as an avowed atheist became a believer in the hope that he would get a safe passage through eternity when he would be called upon to make the last journey through life.