"If you don’t change, you’ll remain stuck in your own self-created mud and can’t progress," Punit said.

"I understand," I said.

"Call the light with the right attitude and you’ll never have such questions in your mind," said Punit.

"What is the right attitude?" I asked him.

"Complete surrender to the inner light with pure faith," Punit said.

After a few minutes of silence, I asked Punit, "Has anybody actually solved a problem by consecration?"

"Consecration has done many wonders. Punit doesn’t want to talk about them," Punit said.

I thought that he meant his personal experiences.

"I am not talking about experts like you. I want to know about other mortals like me. Is consecration possible for the rest of us?" I asked Punit.

"Some of Punit’s friends do try," he said.

"Tell me about their experiences," I said.

"They are not able to consecrate all their problems." Punit regretted.

"Why?" I wondered.

"Unwillingness to change," Punit said with a smile.

"Change is a painful process," I said.

"But, without change, nothing can be done. Many try to do consecration. But, behind it, they make a cover for their personal desires and demands," said Punit.

"If it really works, we can solve any problem with consecration. It will be a life skill. But, I don’t know much about these things. If I need any help, what should I do?" I asked him.

"Trust the fire. It is the infallible inner guide. It will do the needful," he said.

We arrived at the airport. I parked the car.

"Your words give me some hope. Do you talk about the new consciousness in your conference?" I asked.

"Punit speaks a different language in the conference. He doesn’t talk about the fire openly with strangers. The opposing atmosphere brings on him stress. But, he saw a possibility in you, a real one. Besides, your contact didn’t disturb his atmosphere," he said.

I did not understand what he said. However, I told him, "You are wonderful. I don’t want to lose your contact. Here is my card." I gave him my business card.

"Punit thanks you. He doesn’t have a business card," he said and smiled.

He grabbed a piece of paper from his handbag, hesitated for a moment and wrote down his address. His handwriting was beautiful.

"Didn’t you like to give me your address?" I was worried about his hesitation.

"No. It was not his unwillingness. He remembered the fire and offered the act of writing to the fire. A conscious act," he said and smiled.

"Thank you," I took the paper from him and told him with gratitude, "Thanks for everything. I have one last question."

"Yes?" he smiled and placed his bags on a trolley.

After a pause, I asked him with a smile, "Didn’t your schoolteacher teach you the word I?"

Punit laughed merrily for the first time and winked his eyes. He waved his right hand briskly and rolled away his trolley to Terminal 15 without a word and without looking back. He disappeared.

I remembered a poem, "Thy voice has wakened my heart to an unknown bliss, Brighter than summer, brighter than my flowers, Into the lonely borders of my life."

Then I had a quick breakfast at the airport restaurant. I paid 25% more than the downtown restaurant for the same fried chicken breast and cheese sandwich, just because it was airport.

I did not bother to collect the change from the beautiful salesgirl. "Have it."

Rain poured. I drove slowly. The wipers worked hard to keep the windscreen clear of water. The wipers sang. Dig, throw. Dig, throw. Dig, throw.

* * * *