If the wretchedness of this world doesn’t destroy me, its goodness would surely kill me. I’m on a train headed to Chennai/Madras. From my window, I can see the sun set. The huge orange ball of fire is casting a fiery reflection on a pond in the middle of the paddy field. The pond’s muddy but the sun’s reflection is making it look like a brilliant furnace – as though there’s a giant fireplace right underneath it. It’s a charming picture – one that has overwhelmed me to no end. What am I running away from? Am I running away? Or am I running into something. Why am I going to Chennai? Somehow, I had my answer in the morning, today, as I woke up startled on my bed by a bad dream. There’s a flow. Waiting for me. Waiting to sweep me away with it. But there’s so much goodness all around. The quiet farmer egging on his bullock as the plough digs deep into the earth leaving fertile furrows behind. The shy, young mother shielding her little child from the deafening sound of a moving train as it rattles into the station. The line of trucks moving parallelly to the train I’m on – towards the brick kiln. A stork that’s settling itself on the brambles by the wayside hoping to find berries and bugs among the thorns. Little, naked kids diving into the pond, startling the swans out of their wits. They flap their wings. They cause ripples in the water. The kids watch the fun and burst out laughing. And then, there’s Chris Martin’s silken, sullen voice as Coldplay bursts forth into my brain through the speakers. Everything happens for a reason. As tears the size of a waterfall well up in my eyes, vision blurs. But the blur looks beautiful. I hear a voice in my heart.