There was a time when I waited for Sunday. After a week of work, and I worked hard, a day of rest was very welcome. I loved to sleep. I am not an atheist, and I go to church maybe once a year for midnight mass on Christmas eve. So I'm not a churchgoer basically. Therefore Sundays did not mean that I was seated in the pews in church listening to the pastor's sermon. The pastor, in fact, would not recognise me until my sister, who goes more often to church, introduced me as her brother after Christmas Eve mass. I also had a problem sleeping and would lie awake at nights trying desperately trying to fall asleep. I tried counting sheep and it never worked. I also tried those sleeping videos on YouTube. I listened \ and felt bored. They were not music I was familiar with and they kept my eyelids firmly apart. Even a safe tranquillizer that my doctor prescribed did not have any effect. The on...
I was tripping along without a care in the world when my two left feet entwined hopelessly and I went sprawling on the ground. As I picked myself up sheepishly, I noticed a chap standing in the middle of the road with his thumb stuck out. "Help me up," I said weakly. "God only helps those who help themselves," he said without turning around. "I can't ask God to help me up you know," I said trying to reason with him. "Why not? He hears all prayers even from a stumble bum," he said looking at me. "Are you calling me a bum?" I asked wondering if I should take offence. "No, merely a stumble bum," he replied. "That offensive word again?" I protested. "Oh! Stop! I can see a lorry coming," he said his eyes squinting. He stuck out his thumb and waved energetically at the approaching vehicle. "Ho!" he shouted. "Ho to you," the lorry driver grinned as ...