It is with a profound sense of dismay that I record today's feelings. When I see the suffering of people, especially, old helpless people in such large numbers in society, I definitely feel that society is going the way reverse to which Ramakrishna-Vivekananda had attempted to orient it. The aged the world over are a terribly neglected lot and await their painful exit from the world unloved and forlorn. The very children they had given life to have forgotten them to all intents and purposes and spend their leisure hours in the pleasure garden of youth oblivious of their duties to their old parents and kith and kin. Cruel is life and cruelty compounded is this abject neglect of the aged who in the twilight years of their lives learn the bitter lesson of the ephemeral nature of terrestrial life and the massive trickery of Maya in whose mazes they find themselves hopelessly trapped. And when the appointed hour comes their ordeal comes to an end to the accompaniment of hypocritical obituaries and memorial services which in no way go to help address the desperate situation that prevails still for the ones that yet struggle to die.
Old age, disease, depression and desolation, these are the perennial playmates of the pilgrims of progressive years with death as their final repose, their solace, their salvation from heir earthly sufferings. These are the lighthouses of our humankind that have shed their lustre on the dark waters of our terrestrial life and seen our ships home who now live bereft of light in the evening of their lives. Is there a God who will hold their hands? It will be posited, I know, that it is God alone that suffers as these hapless souls in this drama of human existence where ignorance makes us perceive all these delusions of human pain and suffering, that it is God alone who is manifest as this variegated world of pleasure and pain, youth and decay, fruition and finality. But it is small consolation when I see these phenomena as real, myself trapped in this microcosm of things, helplessly dragged on by the progressive series of hallucinations when dream appears as the wakeful painful reality and consciousness is lost in the whirl of sensory perceptions. All around is this misery of disease, despair and desolation, souls cut off in the vesper hour of their lives from all that humanity cherishes as worthwhile, love, company, care and help. Who will look after these helpless souls if not you and me, my friend? Who will make their lives bearable, nay, merrier even in their misery if not you, my friend, and me? Our parents suffer everywhere, our aunts and uncles, sisters and brothers. Will any God come to rescue them? Perhaps, yes, in death. Till then, my friend, let us be the gods to these elders in bringing hope and help to their twilight years. Let us serve them with all our might, with all our mind, our resolves united, our hearts throbbing with the feeling that ought to pulsate therein for only then may we say that we still live, else, we are relics of a past humanity, dead and beyond redemption.
The path is open before us, the royal avenue of service to man as God. The reverse alleyway is open as well, 'The way of all flesh'. The choice is ours. 'To be or not to be is the question'. Meanwhile, the suffering continues. Hail Buddha, mighty Soul! Manifest Thyself again in this world of sorrow to mitigate the evil. Hail Vivekananda, Thou Voice without form! We anxiously await Thy return to waken souls from their age-old slumber with Thy clarion call, ''Awake, awake!'' Unto that blissful day of your return Swamiji I rest my pen tonight. Till then let me struggle on to bring a smile to the faces of these elderly statesmen of the human race, they who have seen through the hollowness of this terrestrial existence and patiently await the call of the Master, their return to the loving arms of the Mother who never forsakes.
Jai Ma! Jai Thakur! Jai Swamiji!
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