In Conversation With—A Money-rich Man

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Recently, I visited a billionaire to record his video testimony for a project.  I don’t know what happened, but he suddenly started some out-of-the-context conversation:

Do you like my mansion?

Yes, almost.

What do you mean A-L-M-O-S-T?

Almost means, nothing can be achieved 100%.

Do you know how much this home costs?

No idea.

It’s worth billions.

Wait, I’ll show you my cars. Come.

Okay.

See the fleet?

Nice.

I’ve 10 servants to serve me day and night.

You mean, do you consider humans as servants? I thought that was an ancient concept.

Nonsense. They’re all my servants.

See all this luxury, son. I earned it.

Nice. But your eyes say something and your lips say something else.

Bullshit! Are you mad? Look at all I have. People don’t have enough to eat and I party day and night.  People don’t have water to drink and I possess this huge swimming pool. This is my success and I am happy.

Nice. But you call all these little things success? happiness?

Means?

Who is there to talk to you?

No one.

Where are your children?

In the USA.

I think this is the last line he spoke before pushing me out of his home. I don’t know what ignited anger in him but I am still wondering that does all these little things mean success and happiness? I think—maybe—he’s just a man with lots of money and nothing else; but it’s quite subjective.

In Conversation With—Coconut Amma

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Once upon a time, I was walking on the beautiful streets of Puducherry and I noticed the famous woman coconut vendor—Coconut Amma. I couldn’t stop and we had a striking conversation:

Mother, please give me coconut water.

Water or creamy? Take the creamy one, it’s sweeter.

Yummy, it’s so sweet and cold.

You’re the first woman coconut vendor I have seen in my life.

Women are now in outer space, why shouldn’t I be selling coconut water?

She really inspired me. I’ll never forgot this conversation and the lesson that women are everywhere.

In Conversation With—A Garbage Collector

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I met this garbage collector many days ago. I can’t forget the moments we spent together. He was such a gentleman and we had a spectacular conversation:

What are you collecting?

Garbage.

Oh, you sell plastic and earn, is it?

Yes, I am poor rag-picker, Sir.

My name is not Sir. I have a name.

How much do you earn by selling these plastic bottles?

Rs. 300-350 per day.

This is good. Do you send your children to school?

Yes, I send my younger child to municipal school.

What about the elder child?

He’s mind-less, so…

Isn’t all humanity mindless?

LOL! You can say that, you’re a big man.

I am not big man. I have a name.

What’s your duty-timings?

Night.

You’re BATMAN!

Means?

Anyway, do others like you fight with each other?

No, we do it with togetherness. We have defined our area and scope of work.

I hope leaders of the country learn from you.

You are rich people, you can say anything.

I am not rich. I have a name. What is yours?

Mahesh.

My name is Agastya.

What do you do Agastya?

I listen.

Means?

Anyway, I meet people and write stories. Has anybody talked to you like this before?

Never. You’re the first one.

Can I be of service? Can I offer you some money or stuff for children or home?

No, no, no. You have asked and that is enough for me.

Have you met God?

Yes.

Do you see God in me?

Garbage is my God.

I realized God while cleaning utensils—I could see the almighty in the happiness, the utensils, the sweat but I never visualized this angle in my entire life.

In Conversation With—A Piece of Roti

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I have started walking in morning; in my housing society compound. Since many days, I had been noticing pieces of roti on the back side. I was curious to know who keeps there pieces there and why the pieces are kept there. I couldn’t resist and one fine day, I and the lonely pieces had a conversation:

How come you’re here?

The lady on the **** floor threw me away.

What do you mean threw you away? Aren’t you the one the whole world is fighting for?

Maybe, but I am out because I wasn’t required.

But why?

The lady throws one of us out daily, if we’re left. She doesn’t like to waste food, so she throws us out for the pigeons or dogs.

Does pigeons or dogs eat you?

No.

WTF! Then what’s your future?

Just that of a garbage. The sweeper puts me into the dustbin—end of my life cycle.

Good, at least in the end, mother Earth will consume you.

No.

Why no?

I get wrapped inside a plastic bag and kept to decompose for days but I don’t get to reach the soil.

I am sorry.

You should be. Can you help me?

No. I mean, I don’t know. Let me see.

It’s so strange that food ends up being wasted every day. Neither it’s recycled, nor does it feed any species. The people who has intention to feed waste food to non-human species throw it away, rather than feeding it to them—with dignity and love.

In many belief systems, it’s a good practice to feed the waste food to non-human species but feed not throw waste food at them. There is difference between offering food and throwing it so that someone gets fed. I hope people will realize it soon—before the same happens to them.

 

In Conversation With—Hair Color

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I had been to saloon the other day. Every-time I go the staff, one of them is always after my life to color my hair. This time something different happened. While I was waiting for my turn for a haircut, I had a striking conversation with the hair color kit sitting in front of me:

Let me color your hair?

But it’s already black? Right?

No no, I can see many white hairs. Let’s color them.

But white is also a color right?

You’re right in a way but people usually hide their white hairs.

And, why is it?

They don’t want to look old—grown up, that’s why?

But I want to look old—rather a grown up. Besides color has nothing to do with age.

Oops, you’re a weird man!

Indeed, I am.

I don’t understand why people are in constant quest for looking young, and that too by hiding their hair color. Although, it’s quite personal choice but what’s wrong with accepting age with grace? Besides, youth this a state of mind, a vision and a mental culture. I feel strange when we tag black with young age and white with old age. Ridiculous.

 

In Conversation With—God

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I had always been complaining and blaming that the almighty never listens to me. To my surprise, for the first time, I had a striking conversation:

I kept searching for you but couldn’t find you. You cheated me.

You kept searching for me only in temple, mosque, church etc. while I was always beside you. You cheated yourself.

I spent endless days and nights to praise you. You’re the one, isn’t it?

But you divided me into numerous pieces, isn’t it?

Looks like you’re partial to the few rich? Please make me richer.

You’re earning well by cheating everyone, isn’t that enough?

Please give me more.

You have millions in your back account, isn’t that enough?

I want more things—I feel unhappy.

Happiness is not in things, it’s inside you.

I pray for the warrior goddess for 9 days during the festival, can’t you see it?

Her vehicle—tiger—is on verge of extinction, can’t you see it?

Which is your best form? To whom should I pray?

I am one dear, only one.

You know, I won an award this time, did you see it?

Yes, you bought it, I saw.

What to do? Everyone is corrupted.

This is not between you and them, it’s between you and me.

Corruption has spoiled me, I wasn’t like this.

You have been like this since time immemorial. You’re one of my failed experiment.

I ran here and there but you never showered your blessings on me. You were never there for me.

You ran here and there but never looked inside your heart. I was always there.

You never answer my prayer.

I do, many-a-time the answer is no.

I don’t know what to say—was it a dream or my mind playing its trick on me—but the conversation has shaken me up. I hope, I can do better and be prepared for a better conversation next time. Do pray for me, please.

In Conversation With—A Matchstick

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I burnt a matchstick the other day, I can’t tell for what, but I noticed one very interesting thing and I couldn’t resist talking to it. The result was an wicked but inspiring conversation:

Why are you so angry all the time?

Who me? No, I don’t think so.

Yes, you. You have such a hot head. The moment I you against the matchbox, you ignite with full force. What’s this anger about. And the whole society is getting inspired by you. They get angry immediately and catch fire on their head; like you.

I don’t know what are you talking about brother. I just do my duty; not to burn but to show light. It’s you who can’t see the other side.

Alright. But you burn cigarettes, burn houses, burn everything down.

I don’t do any of that. You do it.

After what it said in the end, I went completely numb. All this while I had been blaming others for wicked things that keep happening, whereas the real culprit is one of us—the wicked one.