Xavier Bage

Xavier Bage
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social worker, physician, teacher - would like to write on social life, health, homeopathy, family, children, spirituality- like to write short essays, short stories, poems
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Recent pages by Xavier Bage

In February, we usually have foggy mornings in southern Bengal. A foggy morning takes my mind to my childhood days in the north. In those days I used to reach the school with drops of fog on my hair, my pullover and my school bag.
A campaign for cleanliness has begun on the last birthday of Mahatma Gandhi. A look on it from the roadside......
Our postman walks on foot as he goes about delivering letters. It is a familiar sight to see him trudging on the streets even after working hours. Sometimes I wonder why he doesn't use a bicycle.
People often speak of the global village. After I became a member of the global village I missed many values of my native village.
In the society I live there is a custom of continual singing of praise to deities for 72, 120 or 168 hours. It has its value but as this singing is aired on loudspeakers day and night without stop, it causes immense disturbance to all, particularly to students.
When I wake up from my sleep I hear many voices before sunrise. The softest and the sweetest of them all is the voice in my heart.
A lone traveler walking back to his tea estate labour quarter met a strange dog before midnight. Whatever happened to that man?
It is such a pleasure to sit in the winter sunshine.
Last year, on the New Year Day I made some resolutions with all sincerity. As I look back and take stock of the year 2013, I find that many of my resolutions remain unfulfilled. These unfulfilled resolutions are standing in line and pointing accusing fingers at me.
Moses met God in a burning bush. The burning bush is all around us. We often fail to see it. Instead of taking off our shoes and bowing before the divine presence we get busy in picking wild berries.
There was a raspberry tree outside our tea estate residential quarters. I name it raspberry because there is no other name known to me for this unique fruit tree. Like my grandfather, that raspberry tree loved me as long as it lived and now is no more. I cherish its fond memories in...
I met a girl in her teens. She carved her name on the tablet of my life.
With Mahalaya, ten day festival of Durga Puja starts in the state of Bengal (India). Here is a glimpse into the most important worshiping event of the Hindu Bengali.
The happiest feast of the Hindu Bengalis -Durga Puja- is at hand. The joyous mood has already set in the air. People are talking about it, planning about it and the preparations for it are in full swing.
Last Sunday was a black day for mankind. Humanity bled in Peshawar and Nairobi.
We see endless violence in the world. People belonging to one creed, culture or color harbor prejudices and hatred against people of other creed, culture and color. This attitude of hatred and prejudices has been deepened generation after generation. Can we go back to the time where w...
As a foster parent in an orphanage I help slow learning children with their lessons. At such times I often hear the whispers of their hearts.
Trains take millions of people to the city before noon. In the evening, they carry the people back to the suburbs and villages.What an extraordinary scene it is even for an ordinary poet like me!
A scruffy dog with a skin disease sits outside my clinic, looking at me with a plea in his eyes. This poem is my unsuccessful effort to put his silent plea in words.
In the age of technology the custom of writing letters on paper has gone out of fashion. But, it had its passion and thrill which the modern day youth has missed.
Every Day is an envelope full of money given to us free. It is up to us how we spend or use it.
A wealthy friend advises me to leave writing poetry and do anything to be rich. Poor though I am, I can't stop writing poetry.
The Railroad from Alipurduar Junction to Buxa Dooars logging station in used to run through a deep forest. It also carried the colonial officials and their wives to the edge of the Bhutan hills. Today the railroad is closed but the rumbling and whistle of a ghost steam train is still...
How often I forget the fact that I am so extraordinarily lucky. This morning I meditate on some of the treasures I possess and appreciate their value.
I have wasted many opportunities to say kind words to someone in the past and regretted later. Today I did not want to miss the opportunity given to me.
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