Swami Shraddhananda

The tea was just hot, and Swami Shraddhananda liked it just hot. He took a sip and let out a gasp of satisfaction, even as he sat in the verandah of his bungalow. Tea was an answer to everything, he thought. But if only he could have said that on telephone.

This was Sabah’s tenth call in four days. Why was she so worried? The world was full of worries. Shraddhananda sighed at the thought of this. It was as if people were not ready to take up responsibility of their own peace. Everyone wanted peace to drop down from heaven.

Sabah’s tone had changed with each call. At first, she was jovial. But soon, worry had crept upon her, inch by inch, and every call indicating more concern. ‘Your mother is fine, Sabah, you should stop worrying,’ Shraddhananda had told her finally. But where is she, Sabah had asked. “I told you,” Shraddhananda had said while rubbing his forehead, “She wanted a holiday. She took it.” To where, she would never go without informing me, Sabah had stated. Shraddhananda could only sigh. “Maybe she got fed up of me as well, just the way she got tired of your Father,” he had chuckled. Please stop trying to make jokes, Sabah had snapped. I’m worried, and all you can think of are jokes, she had said in an annoyed tone before the call got cut.

What’s with people who are worried? Why do they try so hard to infect others with their worries too? Swami Shraddhananda just couldn’t wrap his head around this conundrum. He had tried so hard to get rid of his own worries. It was working just fine. And now, he had to cater to his wife’s daughters too. That did not seem fair.

Shraddhananda slowly got out of his cane chair and looked at the courtyard. The garden looked perfect. The first rains of the year had rejuvenated the plants. Grass had started growing everywhere. Shraddhananda gave a sigh of relief. At least the nature is on my side, he told to himself before walking back into the house.

 

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