He
was not friendly with alphabets and numbers. But the free-flowing shapes and
colors of life seemed very friendly and familiar to him.
He was in love with the book of life, an
avid scholar of it. Enormously elaborate was his understanding of life. Like a
curious child he pursued and played with the invisible, trackless toys of
mother existence.
No fallacious intercession by the
razor-sharp logic and reasoning honed by books.
The spellbinding balance in his
approach!
Friendly with the brisk gaiety of
free-flowing laws of nature.
Magnificent profusion of wisdom
naturally downloading into his system.
And he absorbing all of it like a teen in
the healthy throes of lustrous adolescence.
Soft, pliable self untouched by the
fiery glint and fierce possessiveness of borrowed knowledge. A solidly sculpted
self. A new-risen tapestry in the infinite fabric of cosmos. A softly sparkling
interlude rhythmically gleaming in the dark ignorance of customized knowledge.
A richly mellowed self. A soft bloom looking at everything with an enigmatic
clarity.
Although unlettered he looked a natural
scholar, a very wise man who knew and understood things human and natural which
most of the educated people would miss.
He proved in his little capacity—that
one can learn the fundamentals of life and living in the open rolling vineyards
of nature. And that there are always less known colors of life which are beyond
the reach of even the wildest guesswork churned out by an educated mind.
A romantic balladeer he bucked the trend
that only books and degrees show you truth, make you wise, prepare you for the
survival fight on earth.
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