The stethoscope fascinated him. And for the next few days all he would do was to hear the sound of his heart. He would do that with such scientific curiosity which was even lacking in the great doctors of his generation.
But it was only a matter of days before he would get bored and blatantly pass it off as monotonous.
That’s the tragedy of being young and immature. You tend to give so much importance to changes and ‘the new’, that you often fail to understand the variety and beauty of monotony. You fail to realize that’s what you cherish most, the constancy of your own existence and the familiar things surrounding you- the familiar sound, the familiar smell and the familiar sight.
And many years later one fine day he would be able to know the voices of his heart, he would hear the sound of every beat, how distinct, how enticing-beautiful he would think.
But it would be too late, for she would be gone, because in his youth he was deaf to the sound of the heart.
