Boxes come in all shapes and sizes. Some travel far, some stay close. They sit shoulder to shoulder, waiting to be sorted at the train station—silent carriers of unknown stories.
A former Indian Prime Minister once wrote a poem titled “Envelope” that went something like this:
“The letter inside is yours
The address on the cover is his
Between the two of you
I get ripped open.”
What’s inside us is far more precious than any address on the outside.
To grow, to evolve, we must let go of old versions of ourselves. We must rip open, just like those envelopes—so that what’s within can reach new places.
The address keeps changing. The journey never stops.
So, go ahead—break open the box. Let the new you emerge.
(at Jamshedpur, Jharkhand)
