I did not have much ambition. Happy go lucky was I. Sport was all I wanted and all I did! I was 17 and going nowhere. I had not prepared well for the most important class XII exams, and anyways I did not care much. It was the summer of 2003 when my uncle gave a cassette and asked me to listen to a man speak.
"Listen to a man speak?", I thought to myself. Just to please my uncle, and of course, to show off I listened to that man. I played the cassette once, twice and many times over. Every time I listened to him, it did something to me. My heart missed a beat. Every time!
Then, life happened. Failure in class XII meant I had to reconcile to the fact that I will never be the doctor which the world around me expected me to become. His words gave me my life's meanings. When the mighty and the glitzy world of IT did not give me satisfaction, I turned to him again. When the loneliness of the mission fields of Assam hit me, he was not far away, and when the pain of going through mommy's final moments bothered me, I did turn to him for solace.
For Ravi Zachariahs always spoke the right words. He wrote the perfect prose. He had the poise of the words and dexterity of language, that can attract anybody. But the flowery language was just the music, his life was the words that spoke. My travel music was his words. He was the jogging companion long before the modern-day podcasts got me hooked. When my faith was questioned, and when I question my faith myself, Ravi was the sole voice which had held me onto the belief in Christ. For sure, the voice was his, but maybe the words came from above; For I doubt humanity have answers to some of the questions he had answers for.
I write, delete, write again and delete again! My words cannot justify the life of the man, whose words made me the man I'm! RIP Ravi, for you made my life meaningful, by the power of your words. Perhaps the words were otherworldly!
"Listen to a man speak?", I thought to myself. Just to please my uncle, and of course, to show off I listened to that man. I played the cassette once, twice and many times over. Every time I listened to him, it did something to me. My heart missed a beat. Every time!
Then, life happened. Failure in class XII meant I had to reconcile to the fact that I will never be the doctor which the world around me expected me to become. His words gave me my life's meanings. When the mighty and the glitzy world of IT did not give me satisfaction, I turned to him again. When the loneliness of the mission fields of Assam hit me, he was not far away, and when the pain of going through mommy's final moments bothered me, I did turn to him for solace.
For Ravi Zachariahs always spoke the right words. He wrote the perfect prose. He had the poise of the words and dexterity of language, that can attract anybody. But the flowery language was just the music, his life was the words that spoke. My travel music was his words. He was the jogging companion long before the modern-day podcasts got me hooked. When my faith was questioned, and when I question my faith myself, Ravi was the sole voice which had held me onto the belief in Christ. For sure, the voice was his, but maybe the words came from above; For I doubt humanity have answers to some of the questions he had answers for.
I write, delete, write again and delete again! My words cannot justify the life of the man, whose words made me the man I'm! RIP Ravi, for you made my life meaningful, by the power of your words. Perhaps the words were otherworldly!
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