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Life is Journey

Let us be good and kind to fellow passengers. “A good journey is helping, loving, having a good relationship with all co passengers... and making sure that we give our best to make their journey comfortable.”… and that is our Call in Life.

Life a theatre

by melputtUR nArAyaNa bhattatiri (AD 1559-1645)
முகுந்த யஹ்க்றித்வா விஷ்வரம்ஹம் ரஜநிய வணிகம் ப்ரொஜ்வலத்பஹ் அநுதீபம்
Mukundha, who created world as a theatre, night as a curtain, with the sun as a lamp
ஷஷ்வத்ஸந்து ஷ்தஸந்ப்ரெக்ஷகம் அகிலஜகத் பாராந்திநாட்யம் விதத்ய
eternally happy audience from the entire universe, watching a confused play with
கர்மௌக் ஹொச்ச்ண்ட மார்த்தம்கிகலய வஷகாண் வாஸநாகா நஸக்தாண்
loud sounds, lots of activities, rhythm of drums, all immersed in the songs of their own liking/taste
ஜீவச்சாத்ராண் முகுந்த ஹ்ஸ்வயமப்ஹிரமதே க்ரீடயண் ஸோஸ்து ப்ஹூதயிஹ்
with all living beings as actors, you Mukunda enjoying as the director and also playing, may bring happiness and well being to us
Speech: “All the world’s a stage”
(from As You Like It, spoken by Jaques)

All the world’s a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,
His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse’s arms;
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress’ eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,
Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon’s mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin’d,
With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper’d pantaloon,
With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well sav’d, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

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