Reading a story is like pealing an onion, each chapters reveal new secrets and show their hidden layers. Everyone has their own story to tell, that is mysteriously connected with the stories of millions of other people living or dead in this planet. We think ourselves as an individual with our own identity and conscience, but NO, we are connected beings not with DNA or through our blood lines - but through our stories. Stories are at the heart of our being, and they are our reasons of living. The physical being of us has no meaning, but as a connected being with millions of other stories, we individually play an important role. So here is my story of dreaming. Story doesn’t begin when we are born, or when we are given a name by the almighty holy priest. It beings when we all hit by our consciences that pushes us to make a decision that transpires our story and defines our character and role in this world. For some it begins early, but for some it begins late. However, it always b
Everyday, after college I would walk home with my friends. Wandering around and talking about future. What will we do? How will we be? How much will we change? Ideas! Ambitions! Life!!! Everything always tumbled down to a cup of tea at a near by shop, where we were regular visitors. A sip of tea and bunch of thought provoking questions and contradictions. All intelligent and weird minds searching for the answer to a common question - the meaning of life. Trying to find that right path towards salvation. Complete Consciousness!! Now and then we would simply get lost within ourselves, in the midst of the crowd. Thoughts wandering far beyond the time frame. Everyone building their life on their own dimensions. Confident. Lost. But hopeful. Like some lost sailors on a boat, every one of us would be looking at different directions hoping to see some signs of calling. But then we wouldn't find any. "What are we searching for ?", would be one damning question in every