In The End, It’s All A Question

I Met My Wife When We Were Both 19 Or 20, At A Music School Where She Was Taking Voice And Piano Lessons And I Was Doing Classes In Music Theory And Composition.

What An Unreliable Thing Is Time--when I Want It To Fly, The Hours Stick To Me Like Glue. And What A Changeable Thing, Too. Time Is The Twine To Tie Our Lives Into Parcels Of Years And Months. Or A Rubber Band Stretched To Suit Our Fancy. Time Can Be The Pretty Ribbon In A Little Girl's Hair. Or The Lines In Your Face, Stealing Your Youthful Colour And Your Hair. .... But In The End, Time Is A Noose Around The Neck, Strangling Slowly.

Traffic In The Streets Of Bombay Is Chaotic At Best. Riding A Bicycle Is A Dangerous Occupation. However, There Are Hundreds Of Them On The Streets Competing With The Cars And Buses And Lorries Because It Is The Poor Man's Mode Of Transport.

Children Don't Make Judgments About Which Details Are Important... A Child Captures Them All.

You See, You Cannot Draw Lines And Compartments, And Refuse To Budge Beyond Them, Sometimes You Have To Use Your Failures As Stepping Stones To Success