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is educating his son because of his love for him. Because the father himself could not become a minister, he wants his son to ascend the high rostrum, though his refrain is the same: that as he loves his son intensely he "......"
But, unfortunately, he does not know that to get his son placed as a minister means nothing short of hurling him into the fires of Hell. If a father really loves his son, he would not like it in the least, that his son should take to politics. But mysterious are the ways in which love manifests itself. All the fathers are telling their sons that they love them, all the mothers are repeating the same thing, all husbands and all wives are saying so to each other. Millions of people all over the world are telling to one another that they feel love, and still after every ten years a war erupts which results in the killing of fifty or a hundred million people. And each new day sees the continuation of war -- whether it be in Vietnam, Korea or Kashmir.
All humanity is loving but no explosion of love is seen taking place anywhere. The irony is that all humanity is said to be experiencing love, yet wheat we see is only explosion of hatred and not of love. The hippie holds that there is certainly some deception in our love. Actually we are practising hatred while labelling it as love. Now I tell a woman that I love her very intensely, but if the same woman just casts a look upon a neighbour, then all love takes leave of me and I hasten to pull out my sword.
How fragile is this love! If I really love that woman I cannot become jealous. There is no room for jealousy where true love exists. But we are so conditioned that we exult in keeping a watch over those whom we profess to love, and we somehow postulate a basis for jealousy. We pine ourselves away and cause others to suffer the same mental agony. The hippie says that this world has had enough of this hypocrisy, and he now wants to be as he is. If he has love in his heart he says so, and the day it stands exhausted, he openly declares that it has dried up; there is no need of indulging in flowery talk; and he departs. But the old conception about love asserts that once love
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