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The Mountain

Siddhartha was born in the month of monsoon, in a small sleepy hamlet called Thione. He was a cute and a healthy boy born to a decent couple. The father was a craftsman and mother was teacher in the town school. They lived in their cottage by the green mountains of Thione. There universe was always peaceful and happy. Siddhartha grew up in an environment that was filled with love and care. He was an efficient learner and was quickly taking his baby steps. The first word he uttered was “Maa..” that left tears of lasting joy in his mother’s eyes. He would play for hours with his toys and would then have his lunch made by his mother. The courtyard in the house had a swing. A baby Siddhartha would swing like a pendulum sitting over it. One day his gaze fell on the green mountains behind their cottage. “Maa, what’s there in the green mountains? For how long they have been sitting there still?” He asked with an unmatched curiosity. “They have been there since a very long, long
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Two Earthen Pots

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An Empty Canvas

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The Oil filled lamp

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Why does a caged bird sing?

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Beyond the blue mountain

Travelling in the train, I sat by the window, A serpentine rail track, stretched into the woods. An entire new world, opened up past the window, trees and bushes flew past, as the mountains held their ground. They were beautiful, majestic, and still as if meditating like a stoic. An aura of mist kissed them, as I wondered, What’s beyond the blue mountain?

Embracing the openess

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