obody has seen God, the originator of this universe, but everyone recognizes his or her real-time ‘creators'—the two parents who were joyous at your birth and fully committed to doing all they could to keep you in comfort regardless of their own wants. They could never be given back enough by you for their one-sided love and sacrifice. That they should remain enshrined in your memory and always missed after they were gone is perhaps their only recompense.
They might also invoke in you an introspection of how, as an independent adult, you treated them in their lifetime. It is certain that in their own last thoughts, when the faithful remember their unseen God, they will find their visible creators by the side of that God. The life of every human being, long or short, is a story—only his or her story—that would be engrossing enough if well told with human sensitivity and compassion.
When expansively stewed in moments of happy childhood memory, parental joy, distress of livelihood when there was scarcity in spite of an honest effort at work, tragic loss of dear ones, and pressure of duty amidst hope, life becomes a collective of distinctive stories large enough to provide for the making of a full-fledged novel of quality with an absorbing read. The national morality of India is sustained by its normal-looking families—predominantly middle and lower middle classes—that were known for having multiple children, a sense of dedication to one’s responsibility towards the.