Personal Narrative: Water Is Life

“I was out of things to do. I was bored. I was out of things I wanted. I was restless. I was afraid I would do something I would regret. But then again, I wouldn 't. I never would! Because I wanted to do nothing – Nothing at all, but get home and go to bed!” I had sworn off writing. I didn 't think I could write well. But the gravity of the event was such that I was compelled to pick up the pen once again. I was forced to venture into that world of the unknown, struggle for survival, introspect on my decisions and find myself again! “It was one of those days when I sat in melancholy in my regular spot, in my regular bus, through the regular route I take home after my regular detention because I was regularly irregular with my homework. I glanced out of

It tasted saline. I felt shallow. I had wasted water! I knew that ‘Water is Life’ but is it then that the quality of water that we use a measure of the quality of life that we live? Does my use of packaged water have any say in defining my life, likewise the use of the drain water by the woman? I saw the child after her bath totter to a nearby temple and offer her prayers, her mother behind her. I saw a sight that I relish even to this day. A sight that made me glad that I had eyes. I saw the child leading her mother, holding her hands like a parent would, making sure she wouldn 't lose a step. For a brief moment it looked as though the blind woman had regained her sight! Her daughter, the apple of her blind eye growing up, showing a sign of maturity that I, a 6 foot tall good-for-nothing never showed! Not once! A very rare feat to achieve at an age so tender. I laughed like crazy, unmindful of the quizzical glances I received. In a long, long time then, I prayed too. Prayed twice. Once to the little child’s god, in the makeshift temple to fulfill all her dreams, hoping that two voices prove to be more effective than one. But would he/she