……… Nihung aa gaye………Nihung aa gaye………Nihung aa gaye . She heard these loud voices of children and she ran as fast as she could to get to the firni (dirt road around the village) to watch Nihings. In fact to watch the almost never ending strip of horses on which the singhs came to their village every fall. The echo of the Jaikaras was so melodious that she did not leave her place for hours, not until the last horse passed by but until she could not see the last horse either due to dusk or due to dust of the firni or both. It was the yearly event of her childhood that she looked forward to; each year. Nihungs stayed in her village for about two months and these months were full of festivity. And Nihungs came this year too. She was no longer a little girl; something changed about her. She could tell because her mother would ask her to come home before the sun set. She was not supposed to play gulli-danda or kanche with boys any more. So this year she stood next to bunch of other g...
Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life's longing for itself. They come through you but not from you, and though they are with you, and yet they belong not to you. You may give them your love, but not your thoughts. For they have their own thoughts. You may house their bodies but not their souls, for their souls dwell in the house of tomorrow, which you cannot visit, not even in your dreams