I Believe in the Beauty of Life

 

I Believe in the Beauty of Life

I believe in the quiet splendor of all things beautiful—those that do not shout for attention but softly reveal their charm. The gentle touch of morning light, the fragrance of fresh earth after rain, the graceful sway of trees in a soft breeze—all remind me that true beauty often lies in simplicity. It is in these humble moments that the heart finds peace and the mind learns stillness.

I believe in the power of music, especially the kind whose melody flows effortlessly, reaching deep into the soul. A song that carries emotion needs no explanation; its rhythm alone can heal, comfort, and inspire. Just as a poem that sings like music does not merely tell a story—it breathes life into words, painting emotions that the heart instinctively understands.

I believe in books that uplift rather than wound, in stories that nourish the mind and awaken kindness. A good book should cleanse the soul, leaving the reader gentler and wiser. Likewise, I cherish paintings and images that calm the eyes and awaken serenity, and plays or performances that keep alive the childlike wonder within us—the spark that makes the heart young no matter the years.

I find joy in the smallest of miracles: a sunbeam dancing on a blade of grass, a drop of dew resting like a jewel in the heart of a flower, or a daisy blushing under the morning sky. These little wonders may go unnoticed by many, yet they carry the poetry of creation. To pause and appreciate them is to touch the very rhythm of life itself.

I believe in Joy and Laughter, for they lighten the burdens of the soul. Laughter is not merely an expression of happiness—it is a sacred sound that connects hearts and chases away despair. And joy, even in sorrow, is the secret flame that keeps life bright. Together, they make the journey of existence meaningful.

I believe in Sentiment and in Love—the two forces that bind humanity to its higher self. To feel deeply is not weakness but strength; it is what makes us human. Love, in all its forms, purifies and elevates. It teaches us forgiveness, patience, and grace. Where there is love, even silence becomes a hymn.

Above all, I believe in God and in the eternal spirit of Hinduism. The divine dwells not only in temples but also in every living being, in every drop of water, and in every breath of wind. My faith reminds me that life is sacred, that duty and compassion are paths to liberation, and that God’s presence surrounds us always—in beauty, in joy, and in the quiet beating of the heart.

The Solitude Between Minds

Wouldn’t we all live more honestly if we admitted that no person can ever fully enter the inner world of another? This truth, raised in A Burnt-Out Case, points to the deepest condition of being human: each of us moves through life in a private universe of thought and feeling. Affection, empathy, and dialogue may reduce the distance, but that invisible barrier never disappears completely.

Greene proposes that this very inability to perfectly understand each other might be what led human beings to imagine God. If no human mind can grasp another entirely, then perhaps we create a divine presence who can. In the novel, Querry abandons fame and travels to a leper settlement in Congo not because he hates the world, but because success has only made his isolation louder. He wants to vanish from a society that praises him yet cannot truly see him.

Fowler, the journalist in the book, sees God differently. For him, the divine is not a moral foundation but a convenient reference used by columnists to give shape to chaos. The opinion writer seeks to tie events to words like justice, virtue, and truth. The reporter, in contrast, must simply show life as it appears—conflicted, contradictory, without tidy explanation. This difference reveals the tension between our longing for meaning and the fact that meaning is rarely obvious.

This dilemma echoes modern life. We are more connected through screens than ever before, yet misunderstanding grows. Our vocabulary grows larger while our clarity weakens. Even within intense love—between partners, between parents and children—there are always rooms of the mind no one else enters.

T.S. Eliot’s Prufrock voices a similar ache: the torment of being unable to say what one truly means. He speaks, but the words seem powerless to convey his internal truth.

Greene’s irony is gentle yet sharp: we invent a God who listens because we cannot find humans who do. Faith becomes both comfort and contradiction. In the end, both Greene and Eliot remind us that being human is to constantly translate ourselves—seeking someone who will truly understand—even as we know complete understanding may never arrive.

IF HE EXIST

I drive joy there was a doctor in Benaras who spent 7 minutes in the morning and evening for mediation on God. Knowing this, his colleagues and friends laughed at him. One day they argued that he was wasting 7 precious minutes on something, which he had been misled into believing. The doctor replied, “Well, if God does not exist, I agree that I am wasting 7 minutes a day. But, if He exists? I am afraid you are wasting your entire lifetime. I prefer to waste 7 minutes rather than a lifetime. Why should you grudge me the 7minutes joy that I derive 4m.-

ILLUSTRATED REVIEW : 7thheaven moment of the week in second t20 between India Australia India’s no 77 scored the highest from India, england under 17 won by 7 goals , belgium under 17 won by 7