Hi Googlies, 1/4/10
PTL!
Sorry you guys were disappointed. I am on parole big time thanks to the middle published on 12th. Seems I got many negative remarks for many middles so Herald thought it wise to put me on hold till Editor comes back. I FEEL EXILED! The Middle is my exhaust pipe for my funny side and I love being a comic so it feels like someone has put a plastic bag over my head and is squeezing the air out of my lungs at the same time.
I don’t think I got any negative ltrs for previous middles or Gadgil would have mentioned them. Why the hell would he have given me the fortnightly slot when I was hated, for Pete’s and Pandu’s sakes!
Three articles sent to Herald have not been published in the time frame I hoped so I am posting them here for you to enjoy. Please do not send them elsewhere without my permission, OK?
Maria has told me that my short stories should be inaugurated after Easter. I’ve written 3 so far, centred around 8-year-old Sahir, a Punjabi boy, living in Goa. The first one is titled ‘The Pieces of the Puzzle’.
On the personal front, just read an exceptionally humorous story called “Father of the Bride’. Earlier, I had read ‘Cheaper by the Dozen’. These two have been made into blockbuster Hollywood films, both starring Steve Martin in the role of the father.
Hope you had a splendid evening on 27th by candlelight in aid of EARTH DAY. We went to Glenn’s village, Saligao, where the local school had a programme organized for this purpose. We had to carry candles and those who played non-electric instruments regaled us from 8.30-9.30 pm. Last year, India joined in the endeavour and saved 1000 Megawatts. This year, I don’t know how much was saved but I enjoyed being a part of the effort.
Vi$h, I got your final episode. When is it gonna be published? It looks like it has been styled on the Chetan Bhagat books, but it did make interesting reading. How do you find time to write with your hectic schedule? Do you have any contact with Roshan or Darshan Dixit? Tried to see if he is on Facebook but no luck. He will go places given the opportunity and I’d like to be able to help if I can. You and he were my shining stars
Chalo then, bye for now. Do pray that I can continue with Herald. I love writing, I really do.
4m d heart
Auriel
Articles follow:
1. FATHERS WRITE.
2. ‘P’ FOR POLITICS, ‘P’ FOR PRAYER.
3. MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE – A PLAY FOR POWER.
FATHERS WRITE
Dear Reader,
I was almost 18 years old, when my girl friend told me that she was pregnant. Her parents told her, "If you are pregnant and you don't get the abortion, you can't live in our house anymore." My girlfriend told me, "If there is a way that I can get help; I'm not getting an abortion! I'll keep our baby." We were both scared...had no where to turn to.
Then we thought it would be best to get the abortion. Her parents and I paid half each for this abortion. And ever since that day, it hurts to even think about the abortion.
You think about, "Would it have been a girl or a boy...If the baby was alive...it would be 10 months old....what would it look like?" and "If the baby were alive, what would I be doing right now?" I think about it every day. I could have been taking my baby to the park, if it were alive. And bought the baby a teddy bear, or even a juice. And even...go to the toy store and buy the baby a toy. It's hard for me to deal with ...especially when you see families together everywhere you go. They all look happy.
You have a choice to keep the baby and have a nice place to live while you are pregnant. So...please think about what you are doing to yourself, your body, your mind and your baby. And make the best choice...call for help! Okay?
A Concerned Friend,
Kevin (19 years old)
Dear Young Man,
So you want your girlfriend...or maybe your wife to get an abortion. Well, so did I a few years ago. We had been married for ONE SHORT MONTH and I was making close to nothing...struggling to survive. She had to work at least for a year or two. And guess what happened? She gets pregnant. Just what we needed! I said, "No way. We can't afford it. And I'm not going to have to depend on my parents." So I went to the Drug Store And I said to the guy, 'You got to help me.' Well, he gave me some things and I went home and to make a long story short. It didn't work. And nine months later a baby girl was born, Anna Marie.
Yes, those first years were very difficult and we did have to move in with my parents and then with hers...which lasted for almost three years. My wife did work. A high school friend of hers took care of the baby along with her own child or one of the grandmothers would help out. And we managed.
Why am I telling you all this?
I guess its because I am hoping and praying that you might learn something from what could have been the WORST mistake I ever made. I've made a lot of mistakes in my life..but at least I never succeeded in aborting my own child. And I thank God every time I think of it.
Yes, it was difficult...but anything worthwhile is difficult. And where your own child ... your own flesh and blood... are concerned when you are considering an abortion... you are considering aborting your future too.
There is an old saying, "What comes around...goes around." I believe that saying is true. God will help you or send help to both of you during this difficult time. Ask Him to. I am praying for you and the mother of your child. I am hoping this letter helps you to avoid the most terrible mistake of you life.
Take care,
Jack
These letters were taken from a prolife website and I share it with you to highlight the fact that not just the woman, but even the man, goes through trauma after a ‘medical termination of pregnancy’. Very often, the father of the child is never consulted nor are his feelings considered, the premise being that it is the mother who bears the brunt and therefore must make the choice.
Society must acknowledge their responsibility in such crimes because it delivers the verdict of guilty and sentences the boy and girl to a lifetime of guilt. If society understands that a life is more important than outward appearances and teaches its children wisdom and prudence, instead of safe sex, I bet we can turn this tide around.
It is not old-fashioned to be chaste and pure, and to abstain before and even after marriage for a higher purpose. Even animals know this better than us, for don’t they ‘come together’ only for mating? We tell a youngster, “Beta, use a condom.” What we are actually saying is its ok to use a woman as a sex object as long as you don’t get her and yourself into trouble.
Sex education should encourage chastity and abstinence instead. Do we think our youth are dense that they can’t understand these words? You will be amazed at how many youth just want right direction and respect those who give it to them without mincing words. I have taught boys of the sixth standard about this and they are so open and appreciative of these ideas. Some may say, “Isn’t that too early for a child to know?” My contention is if you allow them unrestricted TV viewing and every second episode is rampant with couples kissing and making out, what do you think our children are learning anyway?
We are spirits inside a body and we fail to see that our calling is not just to make love and babies but to lend a hand in creating a beautiful world, like the world God created for us ‘in the beginning’. So let us not thwart God and defy his plan with our own warped up, narrow-minded concepts of sex and procreation. Self-control and chastity are the keys that open the door to a freedom of the mind that knows no boundaries. Once we make the right decision, that door will always be open for us.
And when the mistake does happen as it will even in the best of situations, it is not wise to throw ‘the baby out with the bath water’, but to acknowledge one’s mistake and rectify it by not repeating it and definitely by not committing another, that of hiding it through an abortion. In such times, courage and respect for life are what is called for.
I appeal to parents especially to understand the needs of your children. When they do not get love in their homes, they turn to the world and can be horribly deceived. I ask you to teach your boys and girls to respect themselves and others and preserve themselves pure and holy as a beautiful gift to their spouses on their wedding day. These values only you can give them.
I appeal to the young to listen to your elders for they have lived longer and, though they may sound old-fashioned, they will ultimately be the ones who will say, “We told you so.” in the end. Chastity is not a bad word. Safe sex is.
______________________________________________________________________
‘P’ for Politics, ‘P’ for Prayer.
‘Mr. M.P. charged in land-filling case’, ‘Mr. J.F. held for rape of R…’, ‘UP Minister caught in sleazy video’, ‘CM runs away from home’. Oh, I can go on and on and on. A single thread runs through all these headlines – a politician’s human failings and subsequent falling. As recipients of the decisions these men and women make for our welfare or ‘woe’fare, we have the right and responsibility to act. Often, however, we only react. Either we get volatile, spewing venom, or we remain passive, ‘tut-tut’ing in protest. In rare cases, we act, as the villagers did at the rally on March 4th to implement the RP.
I must admit, at the onset, that I too am guilty of reacting to the deeds of our politicians. Who likes to hear heinous tales of a hormone-hippy MLA or a money-mad MP? Whether one rapes a woman or a piece of land the havoc created is the same. People are hurt, lives are destroyed, trust is lost. Of course, it angers me when I see the poor victimized so that the rich can buy them with their own money. It saddens me to think of women treated like prostitutes in their homes or workplace, abused and misused just because they are dependent on their ‘bosses’. I am aghast to hear that hospitals leech their patients dry when they should be giving them a new lease of life. And I have to hang my head down in shame that I have elected to the chair a person who is most likely going to bring the downfall of my country or state.
So I urge my fellow compatriots actively engaged in the battle to create a change of heart in our leaders, to get down on your knees with me and pray for them.
Jesus said once, “Have the faith to move mountains.” Is our faith that strong? When Joshua believed God and circled the mighty wall of Jericho, it came crumbling down. David defeated and killed the giant Goliath with stones, flung from a child’s catapult. Daniel was protected by God in the lion’s den and Joseph was given the post of governor in Pharoah’s court so he could save his family. God is definitely all-powerful. I am certain He alone can turn things around, if we only give Him full control. We need do only whatever he tells us to, and our actions should always be coupled with compassion - for our politicians were created as pure as we were in their mother’s wombs.
Pray for them – ‘They do not know what they do’. When the rich man died and went to Hades, he realized too late that all the ill-gotten wealth he had accumulated was of no use. It could not even get him a drop of water to assuage the heat of Hell’s fire. Many of our politicians amass wealth for their children and their children’s children at the cost of our children and our children’s children. They need our prayers desperately for their children will inherit their sins as well.
Pray for them – ‘They do things so that people may see and praise their deeds’. Ever heard of the herd mentality? We see it in young men and women, teenagers especially. ‘Everybody is doing it so I too must join the bandwagon. If I don’t I will be sidelined, ostracized even. I will lose my position, my power, my prestige.’ Our leaders too are rarely ‘one of a kind’. They all ‘herd’le together forming a well-knit family of fiends. The Zilla Parishad elections have been a classic example of this herd mentality. The fanaticism each party exhibits and upholds so fervently is distressing. So pray for true democracy and for ‘one of a kind’ leaders like we had in the past – Gandhiji, Nehru, and now Rahul Gandhi.
Pray for them – ‘Their God is money.’ All politicians begin with good intentions but somewhere along the line they forget these and embrace the immoral ideals of stalwarts in the field. Who ever heard of leaders having cars and houses on a meagre salary in the past? Even if they claim to be doing honest work, is that the right example to give the aam aadmi who has to walk with blistered feet and live in thatched huts? Even the attire they don is as expensive as their taste in branded models. Khadi, once spun by Gandhi on a chakra for a song, now costs a bomb. Visits to casinos, fist fights in airplanes, manhandling reporters are all signs of a power-puffed politician.
I have great faith in prayer to move mountains, and in God to achieve the impossible. My only fear is that he will ask me to find five righteous people so he can avert the destruction of the ‘Tower of Babel’ing fools and I will not be able to get even one, not even myself. (823 words)
_____________________________________________________________________
MESSAGE IN A BOTTLE.- a play for power.
(Scene opens in a dingy room of a motel on NH-17. The curtains are drawn and the door bolted. Two men are seen huddled around a box; the other four are sitting on a huge king-size bed, jumping up and down as if to test whether it can withstand their strength.)
Agent Mango: (Quivering with excitement, his goggles almost falling off) Open the box! Open the box!
Agent Mouse: (Stroking his receding hairline) Patience, Babs. Wait for Agent King Kong to come. He is vital for our mission.
Agent Slicker: This suspense is too much. Why is Agent King Kong taking such a long time?
Agent Light Bulb: (with a dazzling smile) You know how it is! He is forever getting caught up with health issues. Must be one of those days for sure.
Agent DeeJay: I left an inauguration of a massage parlour to come here. Why can’t he do the same with his job?
Agent Lampoon: Try asking that to him, you moorhen. Health is wealth these days, don’t you know?
(Silence fills the room. Twiddling their thumbs, the G-7 keep giving furtive glances at the box, then at each other. Suddenly from the far right, there is the sound of a blaring horn, followed by the strains of ‘Crazy Frog in the House’)
Agent Mouse: (hurrying to open the door) The ‘Naal’ has finally come. Get up from the bed and let’s get down to business.
(Agent King Kong saunters in and greets the six with a high-five each, then spots the box on the floor.)
Agent King Kong: Aila, ala kai? What has Shredded Power sent us now?
(Squatting, he rips open the brown wrapping, lifts the lid and takes out a glass bottle carefully from the tissue lining inside the box.)
Agent DeeJay: (squinting hard) There is a message in the bottle. See there, it’s folded and fixed to the mast of the ship.
Agent Mango: (Reading aloud) XLMITY. Aha, seems to be a Russian ship. Got groovy lines too, just like our River Princess.
Agent Light Bulb: (pushing Agent Mango aside) Break the darned bottle, man. Let’s get to the bottom of the mystery, for crying out loud!
(Agent Slicker takes a paperweight from the table and gives it to Agent King Kong who ceremoniously breaks the bottle. Reaching for the message, he nicks his finger on a jagged edge and blood oozes out. The paper drops to the ground and everyone scrambles to get a hold of it. The paper tears in two: Agent Mango gets one half and Agent King Kong gets the other half.)
Agent Mango: (reading from his half) It says here: “Dear Digs, I am writing to tell you that I am happy with…..”
Agent King Kong; (reading from his half) “…..Alemao. Tell the G-7 to behave and humbly apologise. S.P.”
Agent Mouse: (in a frenzy) What utter nonsense! We can’t allow this message to reach Digs. C’mon, think, men, think. (Looks at their vacant expressions) Ah, never mind, let me have a look at the two bits. (He stares at the message for a couple of minutes, then beams) Simple Salmons, I have a brainwave. Let’s rearrange the words. Dumbo Digs will not be the wiser. (He snips here and he snips there, then sticks the pieces together carefully)
Agents G-7; (reading aloud, together over Agent Mouse’s shoulders) Dear Digs, I am writing to tell you that I am happy with the G-7. P.S. Tell Alemao to behave and humbly apologise.
Agent Mango: Let’s go right now to Malbhat. We must strike while the iron is hot, the champagne is bubbling, the…...
Agent King Kong: (Hitting him on the head) Aare, Vedia, don’t you know Tuesday is a bad day to do anything good? Let’s go first thing tomorrow instead. Tomorrow is Wednesday – Budh-Var, you know?
Agent Deejay: Yeah, yeah, good one, Boss. We’ll go first thing tomorrow. Catch the rooster before he crows. Then let him bell the Cat, what say?
Agent Light Bulb: (eager to have the last word) Miaw! Let’s hope he doesn’t run away again when he sees us coming. Seems only just yesterday, he ran when those Active Ishts of ours bamboozled him with the RP demand.
Agent Mango: (equally eager to have the last word) Amen to that! A CM at home is worth two in the casino. (Earns a stare from Agent Mouse and shuts up)
Agent King Kong: (Shaking his fist in the air) Victory to the G-7! Pao to Alemao!
(They all shake their fists in a victory sign in the direction of the capital as the curtain falls)
(778 words)
Sunday, March 28, 2010
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
Hi Googlies, 16/3/10
PTL!
Thanks for your prayers, good wishes and support in my freelancing career with Herald.
Even though you may not write in, I know whoever is reading this is responsible for my articles in that your positive vibes have reached me and it is helping me to write better. God has indeed given me a great pat on the back – Herald has finally given me a weekly slot on Fridays. I am thrilled at the chance to send in my stuff because there were so many of them collecting in my computer which I couldn’t send. Posting the one I had been waiting for ages to be published. I’ve tried a different style here. Hope you all will like it. Maria, from Junior Herald has told me that my short story had gone to the illustrator for the pic and will be published on 22nd & 29th. Keep a lookout for it, ok?
It’ll be on pg 14-15.
My eldest son is on hols but will commence vac classes at school from 17th. He’s going to appear for the 12th Boards next year. We’ve decided not to send him for coaching classes so please pray that he can manage on his won. He has the brains, you know! Just lazy, that’s all. I intend making him join a course at MGM Animations in May coz he loves drawing.
Aaron, my second son, is 8 yrs old. This year he will go for summer camp at school and for basketball coaching. He’s excited coz he sees his big bro play b/ball and wants to follow the leader, I guess.
Nathan & Baby will enjoy their hols with Mama dearest as usual. We decided not to put Charis into Nursery next year so she can enjoy her beauty sleep. What a beauty she is and how she does sleep!
No big holiday plans, but Glenn & I will plan our little trips visiting people and places in Good ole Goa. Then there is swimming on Sundays for the boys.
Want to share a poem my Grandpa wrote for me.
To My Ganddaughter
verse in her name
AUREAL CONCEPTION
At the approach of dawn on the twenty-sixth of May
Unexpected joy greeted our way
Rani was born so charming and a treat
Eager faces find her so sweet
As contentment is the greatest jewel
Let it be said of our little Aureal.
Considering that we hardly landed from Cochin
Our sweet Rani appeared on the scene
Now all that may be said and done
Certainly she waited for her son
Ever so happy and gay
Prayers for her health every day
To us, she will be always dear
In our hearts, a constant cheer.
On my journey’s, I was longing to see
Now I am merry as can be.
By her Grand dad
Chalo then, bye for now.
4m d heart
Auriel
This edited version came on 12th March 2010 in Herald.
HER SABBATH DAYS
Sunday morning up with the lark, I think I will take a walk in the park. Hey, Hey, Hey, it is a beautiful day! For every human being slaving away at the office desk all through the week, Sunday must surely be the promise of Heaven. Alas, not so for my dear friend Felicity whose tortuous tale I must tell you.
Felicity is a Roman Catholic but not just any Roman Catholic. She is a Sunday Catholic. So, when everyone counts on having good sleep over the weekend, she wakes up bright and early to go to Church. Jackie, her drunken father, stirs up in bed and clutches his head in despair. The revelry of the night before manifests itself in an ominous hangover. Only a sip of unholy water can save him now. He groans as he gets dresses quickly and heads for the nearest bar in the vaddo. Felicity is busy getting ready, dressing in her Sunday best and dousing herself with a heady perfume. Arms full of jingling bangles and golden chains around her neck, she covers her head with a psychedelic scarf and emerges from her humble abode, opens her pink parasol and heads towards the Church. She is accompanied by Antonio, her pompous cologne-reeking husband, himself dressed to kill and dragging his feet purposely, to reach late and have an excuse for standing outside as usual.
My friend enters and searches for a seat right under the fan, and soon its soothing swishing lulls her to near-sleep. The choir interrupts those 20 winks by breaking out into hymn as the priest, clothed in holy vestments, takes his place at the altar. Now, Felicity loves to sing so she hits the roof with her, ‘melodious voice’, causing the worshippers around her to listen in shocked silence. A baby bawls in protest, but she manages to drown his voice with her own.
The Mass begins and people all around her drift back mentally to their homes; some plan the afternoon meal, others, the evening outing. A young lady, two rows ahead smiles secretly. Wonder what is on her mind now? A young boy looks around furtively, spots the flavour of the day and throws her a rakish smile. A little boy sprints up and down the aisle in an attempt to beat the local athletic record. A baby squawks; her mother grabs the golden opportunity to take her out for some fresh air.
The lengthy homily that follows soon after, gives our perspiring Felicity a chance to catch up on her remaining 20 winks. An old man feverishly counts the beads of his rosary as he listens to the preacher, killing two birds with one stone. A few gentlemen slip out for a breath of fresh nicotine.
Homily over, its time for offertory. The ushers make the rounds with their collection bags. Antonio searches frantically in his pant pocket, sure he had a small coin in there. He fishes out a twenty but hurriedly pushes it back. Cigarette money, you know. By the time, he looks up again, the usher has already gone past and he heaves a sigh of relief. Felicity, of course, never carries a purse so one cannot really blame her for not offering up anything.
Mass proceeds and our young damsel is in distress because she has just spotted Mrs. Fernandes, the village gossip, sitting close by in the next pew. An unkind piece of slander had been doing the rounds just a week ago, Felicity being the villainess of the piece, and our young heroine had blown into the old woman, shredding her to pieces. “Peace be with you” time nearing, she is at her wits end trying to avoid that cursed woman’s fierce looks. Hitting upon a brainwave, she drops her handkerchief at the opportune moment and thanks the young boy who picks it up for her. Now she can receive the Lord with a clear conscience.
Finally, oh, finally, the priest utters those much- awaited words, ‘Go in peace’ and Felicity genuflects muttering “Thanks be to God” meaning “Thank God” and exits, heading straight for the nearest food stall. There she stuffs her mouth with sorpotel and sanna, talking nineteen to a dozen to everyone she knows before returning home to enjoy the rest of her weekly holiday. (721 words)
PTL!
Thanks for your prayers, good wishes and support in my freelancing career with Herald.
Even though you may not write in, I know whoever is reading this is responsible for my articles in that your positive vibes have reached me and it is helping me to write better. God has indeed given me a great pat on the back – Herald has finally given me a weekly slot on Fridays. I am thrilled at the chance to send in my stuff because there were so many of them collecting in my computer which I couldn’t send. Posting the one I had been waiting for ages to be published. I’ve tried a different style here. Hope you all will like it. Maria, from Junior Herald has told me that my short story had gone to the illustrator for the pic and will be published on 22nd & 29th. Keep a lookout for it, ok?
It’ll be on pg 14-15.
My eldest son is on hols but will commence vac classes at school from 17th. He’s going to appear for the 12th Boards next year. We’ve decided not to send him for coaching classes so please pray that he can manage on his won. He has the brains, you know! Just lazy, that’s all. I intend making him join a course at MGM Animations in May coz he loves drawing.
Aaron, my second son, is 8 yrs old. This year he will go for summer camp at school and for basketball coaching. He’s excited coz he sees his big bro play b/ball and wants to follow the leader, I guess.
Nathan & Baby will enjoy their hols with Mama dearest as usual. We decided not to put Charis into Nursery next year so she can enjoy her beauty sleep. What a beauty she is and how she does sleep!
No big holiday plans, but Glenn & I will plan our little trips visiting people and places in Good ole Goa. Then there is swimming on Sundays for the boys.
Want to share a poem my Grandpa wrote for me.
To My Ganddaughter
verse in her name
AUREAL CONCEPTION
At the approach of dawn on the twenty-sixth of May
Unexpected joy greeted our way
Rani was born so charming and a treat
Eager faces find her so sweet
As contentment is the greatest jewel
Let it be said of our little Aureal.
Considering that we hardly landed from Cochin
Our sweet Rani appeared on the scene
Now all that may be said and done
Certainly she waited for her son
Ever so happy and gay
Prayers for her health every day
To us, she will be always dear
In our hearts, a constant cheer.
On my journey’s, I was longing to see
Now I am merry as can be.
By her Grand dad
Chalo then, bye for now.
4m d heart
Auriel
This edited version came on 12th March 2010 in Herald.
HER SABBATH DAYS
Sunday morning up with the lark, I think I will take a walk in the park. Hey, Hey, Hey, it is a beautiful day! For every human being slaving away at the office desk all through the week, Sunday must surely be the promise of Heaven. Alas, not so for my dear friend Felicity whose tortuous tale I must tell you.
Felicity is a Roman Catholic but not just any Roman Catholic. She is a Sunday Catholic. So, when everyone counts on having good sleep over the weekend, she wakes up bright and early to go to Church. Jackie, her drunken father, stirs up in bed and clutches his head in despair. The revelry of the night before manifests itself in an ominous hangover. Only a sip of unholy water can save him now. He groans as he gets dresses quickly and heads for the nearest bar in the vaddo. Felicity is busy getting ready, dressing in her Sunday best and dousing herself with a heady perfume. Arms full of jingling bangles and golden chains around her neck, she covers her head with a psychedelic scarf and emerges from her humble abode, opens her pink parasol and heads towards the Church. She is accompanied by Antonio, her pompous cologne-reeking husband, himself dressed to kill and dragging his feet purposely, to reach late and have an excuse for standing outside as usual.
My friend enters and searches for a seat right under the fan, and soon its soothing swishing lulls her to near-sleep. The choir interrupts those 20 winks by breaking out into hymn as the priest, clothed in holy vestments, takes his place at the altar. Now, Felicity loves to sing so she hits the roof with her, ‘melodious voice’, causing the worshippers around her to listen in shocked silence. A baby bawls in protest, but she manages to drown his voice with her own.
The Mass begins and people all around her drift back mentally to their homes; some plan the afternoon meal, others, the evening outing. A young lady, two rows ahead smiles secretly. Wonder what is on her mind now? A young boy looks around furtively, spots the flavour of the day and throws her a rakish smile. A little boy sprints up and down the aisle in an attempt to beat the local athletic record. A baby squawks; her mother grabs the golden opportunity to take her out for some fresh air.
The lengthy homily that follows soon after, gives our perspiring Felicity a chance to catch up on her remaining 20 winks. An old man feverishly counts the beads of his rosary as he listens to the preacher, killing two birds with one stone. A few gentlemen slip out for a breath of fresh nicotine.
Homily over, its time for offertory. The ushers make the rounds with their collection bags. Antonio searches frantically in his pant pocket, sure he had a small coin in there. He fishes out a twenty but hurriedly pushes it back. Cigarette money, you know. By the time, he looks up again, the usher has already gone past and he heaves a sigh of relief. Felicity, of course, never carries a purse so one cannot really blame her for not offering up anything.
Mass proceeds and our young damsel is in distress because she has just spotted Mrs. Fernandes, the village gossip, sitting close by in the next pew. An unkind piece of slander had been doing the rounds just a week ago, Felicity being the villainess of the piece, and our young heroine had blown into the old woman, shredding her to pieces. “Peace be with you” time nearing, she is at her wits end trying to avoid that cursed woman’s fierce looks. Hitting upon a brainwave, she drops her handkerchief at the opportune moment and thanks the young boy who picks it up for her. Now she can receive the Lord with a clear conscience.
Finally, oh, finally, the priest utters those much- awaited words, ‘Go in peace’ and Felicity genuflects muttering “Thanks be to God” meaning “Thank God” and exits, heading straight for the nearest food stall. There she stuffs her mouth with sorpotel and sanna, talking nineteen to a dozen to everyone she knows before returning home to enjoy the rest of her weekly holiday. (721 words)
Wednesday, March 3, 2010
Hi Googlies, 4/3/10
PTL!
Sorry that you all were disappointed yet again. I don’t know why my short story has not been published so I am going to surprise you with a preview of it right here on my blog.
Ideas for new articles keep pouring in; my friend Sajla has correctly warned me that there will be a lull and last week, I felt it. But since I had taken the precaution not to send all my articles in, I still have 8 in my ‘To Be Sent’ folder.
Yday I finally penned out an article on romance. Now I am keen to expound my ideas on saving water, electricity and gas in the home. Shall begin work on it after I finish this letter to you, my faithful readers.
I had sent 2 poems which were published. Posting them today for you guys and gals.
Kirsten, my eldest son, is busy with his finals so do keep him in your prayers. I am waiting for the hols. Just around the corner by end-March.
Glenn gave me a shock today; he spotted Sajla on Facebook and told me that I shd take Internet. It is certainly a major change from his views on wastage of the electronic world.
Been preparing the minutes of my Society mtg for 5th. Being a Secretary is a royal pain as every Tom, Dick and Harry comes only to me to complain. Now I redirect them to the Chairman or Mr. Churi. Gave in my resignation but no one is interested in the post, so they rejected it. And so the donkey plods on.
Hoping to begin the legal work in regard to a plot we want to build a house on. Please keep this in your prayers to. Insha Allah as they say in the Gulf.
Chalo then, bye for now.
4m d heart J
Auriel
TO A MOTHER
In the stillness of the night
A whimper breaks out soft
The alert ear listens
And rushes to comfort
A glass falls; the cut is deep
A wail is all it takes
For that earnest soul
To hasten and soothe.
The night is long; the lesson drags
A yawn is stifled
That watchful eye has seen
The brewing mug is ready.
The day has come to bid goodbye
To greet another’s world
Those eyes once filled with love
Now fill with un-staved sorrow.
The tree grows; a gurgling smile
And soon there are fears
A patient hand, a loving hand
Arrives to cope with all.
A head grown white, shoulders drooping
Yet she is the strongest
Her ways are loving solace
She is, yes, a Mother.
THE SPARROW
A sparrow comes everyday
And says to me:
“It’s lovely to be free.”
I watched her as she built her nest
Way up in the tall neem tree
Her lover hunted for twigs
Soon their home was ready.
I saw in it eggs it held,
White and small and pretty
Captive she was for many days
‘Hatching’ was what she called it
Soon the little ones peeked out
Their tiny bodies were hungry
The duo toiled day and night
To feed their little future.
But then they flew away, away
She lost them: now she’s all alone.
I ask her why she bothered
That’s when she says to me:
“It’s lovely to be free.”
THE PIECES OF THE PUZZLE- PART I
Sahir woke up early, jumped out of his bed and ran down the stairs. “Mama, Mama” he shrieked, running to hug his mother in the kitchen. “It’s my birthday today, today. Yipeee!” His mother looked down at him, ruffled his hair and smiled. “Yes, I know, beta. And you must be wondering what present you are going to get from us, hah?” Grinning sheepishly, Sahir acknowledged her query with an excited nod.
After breakfast, she took him to her bedroom and rummaged through her pile of clothes. There, nestled under her huge mound of saris, was a rectangular package all dressed up in attractive shiny wrapping with a huge bow around it. She gave the package to Sahir with a “Happy Birthday, sweetheart” and a kiss on his forehead.
Sahir ran up the stairs to his room, hoping against hope that it was the gift he had been praying for. Of course, he had hinted to his parents many days before that he hoped for an Optomus Prime but knowing that his parents were short of money, he was not sure that they would buy it for him. Still, one never knew! Mum was persuasive; maybe Dad had relented to her pleas after all.
With trembling fingers, he opened the wrapping, carefully saving the bow to use later for his craftwork. As he opened the box, his face fell. It was not the toy he had hoped for after all; it was just a jigsaw puzzle. He looked at it with disappointment, tears trickling slowly down his face. The puzzle was that of the map of India. A puzzle- and a map at that! What was his mother thinking of? “It must have been Dad’s choice.” he mused, grumpily.
Sahir tossed the box and its contents in disdain onto the bed and went out to sulk in the balcony. He could see the children going by on their way to school. He decided he was not going to go, just to spite his parents. Engrossed with his plan for revenge, he did not hear his mother come until she whispered, “Sahir, are you still angry?” Then he remembered the gift and, with a grimace, he turned to his mother, sighing, “Mama, you know how much I wanted the Transformer toy. Just this once couldn’t you have bought me something I wanted?”
His mother didn’t know how to pacify the distressed boy so she hugged him to her bosom soothing him with gentle caresses instead. Then, taking his hand, she guided him slowly back inside and sat him down besides her on the bed. She opened the box and laid out the pieces of the puzzle on the Micky Mouse bedsheet.
“See, Beta, this is our state.” she pointed as she picked up Goa and placed it in the centre. “And this is Kashmir, right on top, close to Pakistan.” Sahir did not bother to look. Instead, he folded his hands across his chest and stuck his chin into his neck in rebellion. Realising that she had a battle ahead of her, Sahir’s mother continued to place the pieces on the sheet so that the whole map was in position. She then said “Come down soon” and walked away.
Sahir looked up after she had left, at the door, and then at the pieces of the puzzle on the bed. He felt like throwing them into the wastepaper basket. But he knew his father would throw a fit if he did that so he began to pick the pieces up one by one to put them back into the box.
Suddenly, he spotted a familiar name. “Delhi”, he said, as he looked closely at the piece. “Why, that’s where Nani lives.” In bold letters across the piece were the words “HARYANA”. He quickly ran to get his Geography text book and learnt that Delhi was the capital of India and that it was in Haryana. The puzzle suddenly became exciting for the little boy and he began to piece it together, checking with his book all the time. “Here goes Jammu & Kashmir, just above Himachal Pradesh.” He checked with the picture on the box, then searched for Punjab. “There it goes. Now to find Rajasthan.” Sahir thus grouped the pieces into North, South, East and West. Then, beginning with the four Southern states, he placed the Western ones above them and finally the Northern states right on top. Next he did the Eastern side and, putting Madhya Pradesh last, he finally completed the map. He counted the number of states; 28 in all. WOW! He dismantled the puzzle, put the pieces back into the box and glanced at the clock on his study table. It was time to get ready to go to school. Quickly donning his uniform, he grabbed his satchel and the box, carrying both down with him. (To be Continued)
THE PIECES OF THE PUZZLE- PART II
In the drawing room, his father sat, reading the newspaper. Sahir asked him if he could take the puzzle to school. “Why not, beta”, his father replied with a knowing smile, folding the paper as he continued “You can show it to your Geography teacher and your friends can learn the map easily too, nah?” Sahir nodded happily. Today he would get a good remark from his teacher and a lot of attention from his friends. Oh, how he loved his Dad!
“Thanks, Dad, I was sad that you did not get me the toy I wanted but this is far better. I will take good care of it at school, don’t you worry.” Sahir assured his father with a tight hug. “I know you will. And this vacation we can go on a tour to some of these places. Maybe a North India tour first, then a tour to the Himalayas next year and another to see the places in South India the year after that. What do you say? Would you like that?” “Yes, Dad, yes.” exclaimed Sahir, excitedly, “But can we afford it?” “Don’t you worry your little head, beta”, said his mother. “Dad has his LTA facility and the Government firm he works for has housing quarters in every state. We won’t need to spend much and can still have a good time.”
Sahir walked out of the house on a cloud, with stars in his eyes and bells on his feet. “I have the best Dad in the whole wide world” he thought to himself as he trotted off to the bus-stop, his puzzle box tucked under his arm.
When Sahir reached the class, he placed the box on his desk. His friend, Atul looked curiously and asked, “Kya hai, buddy?” Sahir highlighted all that had happened that morning. Atul immediately wanted to see the puzzle so Sahir opened the box. The other students eager to watch, looked on, as Sahir pointed out the various states to them. “Aiyo, this is my state.” cried MS, Munnaswamy for short. “And this is mine.” said chinky-eyed Bijoy. The boys all began to search for their respective states, so no one noticed the arrival of their teacher, Mrs. Braganza.
“Ahem, Good Morning, boys.” All the boys scurried to their places. Approaching Sahir’s desk, she adjusted her spectacles and peered out of them. “What have you brought us today?” she sternly asked the frightened boy. “N—o—thing, miss, just a puzzle. My Dad gave it to me as my bir---th--thday gift.” Mrs. Braganza picked up the box and looked at the cover. Suddenly, she smiled. “Good choice, son. Can I hold on to it for now?” Saying this, she picked up the pieces and carefully put them into the box. Then she kept the puzzle in the cupboard and began the class.
Sahir was worried. Would the teacher give him his present back or would she take him to the principal? He could not concentrate on the lesson. The teacher, realizing his predicament, called him up to her table and asked for his calendar. Right there in front of the whole class, she patted him on the head and gave him a positive remark. Sahir walked on a cloud for the second time that day as he went back to his desk.
In the recess, the boys usually played in the corridor. Sahir had seen Mrs. Braganza take the box away with her. He approached the staffroom, but there was a big crowd of teachers near his teacher’s chair. He peeked through a small gap and gasped. His Geography teacher was solving the jigsaw puzzle and the other teachers were helping and encouraging her. He was overjoyed and ran back to tell his friends. They all ran to the staffroom to watch the fun. When the teachers heard the commotion, they came out and one of them asked, “Who brought this to school?” Sahir came shyly forward. The teachers surrounded him, congratulating him and his History teacher said, “I always thought Sahir was not interested in studies, but today he has proved us wrong. Keep it up!”
Sahir walked on a cloud for the third time that day, a happy grin on his face. His parents loved him, his friends loved him, his teachers loved him and ‘All iz well’ with the world again. All because of a simple jigsaw puzzle of the map of India. Oh, how he loved his Dad, and his puzzle and his beautiful country India. He vowed there and then that he would not pester his parents for silly presents again. He would instead ask them to keep their promise and take him on tours to see all the wonderful places of India. He could click photographs with the camera that Mohit Chacha had given them when he came from USA. What fun! He couldn’t wait to pack his bags.
Moral: Love your country India for she is your ‘Mother’land and look after her well. (Concluded)
PTL!
Sorry that you all were disappointed yet again. I don’t know why my short story has not been published so I am going to surprise you with a preview of it right here on my blog.
Ideas for new articles keep pouring in; my friend Sajla has correctly warned me that there will be a lull and last week, I felt it. But since I had taken the precaution not to send all my articles in, I still have 8 in my ‘To Be Sent’ folder.
Yday I finally penned out an article on romance. Now I am keen to expound my ideas on saving water, electricity and gas in the home. Shall begin work on it after I finish this letter to you, my faithful readers.
I had sent 2 poems which were published. Posting them today for you guys and gals.
Kirsten, my eldest son, is busy with his finals so do keep him in your prayers. I am waiting for the hols. Just around the corner by end-March.
Glenn gave me a shock today; he spotted Sajla on Facebook and told me that I shd take Internet. It is certainly a major change from his views on wastage of the electronic world.
Been preparing the minutes of my Society mtg for 5th. Being a Secretary is a royal pain as every Tom, Dick and Harry comes only to me to complain. Now I redirect them to the Chairman or Mr. Churi. Gave in my resignation but no one is interested in the post, so they rejected it. And so the donkey plods on.
Hoping to begin the legal work in regard to a plot we want to build a house on. Please keep this in your prayers to. Insha Allah as they say in the Gulf.
Chalo then, bye for now.
4m d heart J
Auriel
TO A MOTHER
In the stillness of the night
A whimper breaks out soft
The alert ear listens
And rushes to comfort
A glass falls; the cut is deep
A wail is all it takes
For that earnest soul
To hasten and soothe.
The night is long; the lesson drags
A yawn is stifled
That watchful eye has seen
The brewing mug is ready.
The day has come to bid goodbye
To greet another’s world
Those eyes once filled with love
Now fill with un-staved sorrow.
The tree grows; a gurgling smile
And soon there are fears
A patient hand, a loving hand
Arrives to cope with all.
A head grown white, shoulders drooping
Yet she is the strongest
Her ways are loving solace
She is, yes, a Mother.
THE SPARROW
A sparrow comes everyday
And says to me:
“It’s lovely to be free.”
I watched her as she built her nest
Way up in the tall neem tree
Her lover hunted for twigs
Soon their home was ready.
I saw in it eggs it held,
White and small and pretty
Captive she was for many days
‘Hatching’ was what she called it
Soon the little ones peeked out
Their tiny bodies were hungry
The duo toiled day and night
To feed their little future.
But then they flew away, away
She lost them: now she’s all alone.
I ask her why she bothered
That’s when she says to me:
“It’s lovely to be free.”
THE PIECES OF THE PUZZLE- PART I
Sahir woke up early, jumped out of his bed and ran down the stairs. “Mama, Mama” he shrieked, running to hug his mother in the kitchen. “It’s my birthday today, today. Yipeee!” His mother looked down at him, ruffled his hair and smiled. “Yes, I know, beta. And you must be wondering what present you are going to get from us, hah?” Grinning sheepishly, Sahir acknowledged her query with an excited nod.
After breakfast, she took him to her bedroom and rummaged through her pile of clothes. There, nestled under her huge mound of saris, was a rectangular package all dressed up in attractive shiny wrapping with a huge bow around it. She gave the package to Sahir with a “Happy Birthday, sweetheart” and a kiss on his forehead.
Sahir ran up the stairs to his room, hoping against hope that it was the gift he had been praying for. Of course, he had hinted to his parents many days before that he hoped for an Optomus Prime but knowing that his parents were short of money, he was not sure that they would buy it for him. Still, one never knew! Mum was persuasive; maybe Dad had relented to her pleas after all.
With trembling fingers, he opened the wrapping, carefully saving the bow to use later for his craftwork. As he opened the box, his face fell. It was not the toy he had hoped for after all; it was just a jigsaw puzzle. He looked at it with disappointment, tears trickling slowly down his face. The puzzle was that of the map of India. A puzzle- and a map at that! What was his mother thinking of? “It must have been Dad’s choice.” he mused, grumpily.
Sahir tossed the box and its contents in disdain onto the bed and went out to sulk in the balcony. He could see the children going by on their way to school. He decided he was not going to go, just to spite his parents. Engrossed with his plan for revenge, he did not hear his mother come until she whispered, “Sahir, are you still angry?” Then he remembered the gift and, with a grimace, he turned to his mother, sighing, “Mama, you know how much I wanted the Transformer toy. Just this once couldn’t you have bought me something I wanted?”
His mother didn’t know how to pacify the distressed boy so she hugged him to her bosom soothing him with gentle caresses instead. Then, taking his hand, she guided him slowly back inside and sat him down besides her on the bed. She opened the box and laid out the pieces of the puzzle on the Micky Mouse bedsheet.
“See, Beta, this is our state.” she pointed as she picked up Goa and placed it in the centre. “And this is Kashmir, right on top, close to Pakistan.” Sahir did not bother to look. Instead, he folded his hands across his chest and stuck his chin into his neck in rebellion. Realising that she had a battle ahead of her, Sahir’s mother continued to place the pieces on the sheet so that the whole map was in position. She then said “Come down soon” and walked away.
Sahir looked up after she had left, at the door, and then at the pieces of the puzzle on the bed. He felt like throwing them into the wastepaper basket. But he knew his father would throw a fit if he did that so he began to pick the pieces up one by one to put them back into the box.
Suddenly, he spotted a familiar name. “Delhi”, he said, as he looked closely at the piece. “Why, that’s where Nani lives.” In bold letters across the piece were the words “HARYANA”. He quickly ran to get his Geography text book and learnt that Delhi was the capital of India and that it was in Haryana. The puzzle suddenly became exciting for the little boy and he began to piece it together, checking with his book all the time. “Here goes Jammu & Kashmir, just above Himachal Pradesh.” He checked with the picture on the box, then searched for Punjab. “There it goes. Now to find Rajasthan.” Sahir thus grouped the pieces into North, South, East and West. Then, beginning with the four Southern states, he placed the Western ones above them and finally the Northern states right on top. Next he did the Eastern side and, putting Madhya Pradesh last, he finally completed the map. He counted the number of states; 28 in all. WOW! He dismantled the puzzle, put the pieces back into the box and glanced at the clock on his study table. It was time to get ready to go to school. Quickly donning his uniform, he grabbed his satchel and the box, carrying both down with him. (To be Continued)
THE PIECES OF THE PUZZLE- PART II
In the drawing room, his father sat, reading the newspaper. Sahir asked him if he could take the puzzle to school. “Why not, beta”, his father replied with a knowing smile, folding the paper as he continued “You can show it to your Geography teacher and your friends can learn the map easily too, nah?” Sahir nodded happily. Today he would get a good remark from his teacher and a lot of attention from his friends. Oh, how he loved his Dad!
“Thanks, Dad, I was sad that you did not get me the toy I wanted but this is far better. I will take good care of it at school, don’t you worry.” Sahir assured his father with a tight hug. “I know you will. And this vacation we can go on a tour to some of these places. Maybe a North India tour first, then a tour to the Himalayas next year and another to see the places in South India the year after that. What do you say? Would you like that?” “Yes, Dad, yes.” exclaimed Sahir, excitedly, “But can we afford it?” “Don’t you worry your little head, beta”, said his mother. “Dad has his LTA facility and the Government firm he works for has housing quarters in every state. We won’t need to spend much and can still have a good time.”
Sahir walked out of the house on a cloud, with stars in his eyes and bells on his feet. “I have the best Dad in the whole wide world” he thought to himself as he trotted off to the bus-stop, his puzzle box tucked under his arm.
When Sahir reached the class, he placed the box on his desk. His friend, Atul looked curiously and asked, “Kya hai, buddy?” Sahir highlighted all that had happened that morning. Atul immediately wanted to see the puzzle so Sahir opened the box. The other students eager to watch, looked on, as Sahir pointed out the various states to them. “Aiyo, this is my state.” cried MS, Munnaswamy for short. “And this is mine.” said chinky-eyed Bijoy. The boys all began to search for their respective states, so no one noticed the arrival of their teacher, Mrs. Braganza.
“Ahem, Good Morning, boys.” All the boys scurried to their places. Approaching Sahir’s desk, she adjusted her spectacles and peered out of them. “What have you brought us today?” she sternly asked the frightened boy. “N—o—thing, miss, just a puzzle. My Dad gave it to me as my bir---th--thday gift.” Mrs. Braganza picked up the box and looked at the cover. Suddenly, she smiled. “Good choice, son. Can I hold on to it for now?” Saying this, she picked up the pieces and carefully put them into the box. Then she kept the puzzle in the cupboard and began the class.
Sahir was worried. Would the teacher give him his present back or would she take him to the principal? He could not concentrate on the lesson. The teacher, realizing his predicament, called him up to her table and asked for his calendar. Right there in front of the whole class, she patted him on the head and gave him a positive remark. Sahir walked on a cloud for the second time that day as he went back to his desk.
In the recess, the boys usually played in the corridor. Sahir had seen Mrs. Braganza take the box away with her. He approached the staffroom, but there was a big crowd of teachers near his teacher’s chair. He peeked through a small gap and gasped. His Geography teacher was solving the jigsaw puzzle and the other teachers were helping and encouraging her. He was overjoyed and ran back to tell his friends. They all ran to the staffroom to watch the fun. When the teachers heard the commotion, they came out and one of them asked, “Who brought this to school?” Sahir came shyly forward. The teachers surrounded him, congratulating him and his History teacher said, “I always thought Sahir was not interested in studies, but today he has proved us wrong. Keep it up!”
Sahir walked on a cloud for the third time that day, a happy grin on his face. His parents loved him, his friends loved him, his teachers loved him and ‘All iz well’ with the world again. All because of a simple jigsaw puzzle of the map of India. Oh, how he loved his Dad, and his puzzle and his beautiful country India. He vowed there and then that he would not pester his parents for silly presents again. He would instead ask them to keep their promise and take him on tours to see all the wonderful places of India. He could click photographs with the camera that Mohit Chacha had given them when he came from USA. What fun! He couldn’t wait to pack his bags.
Moral: Love your country India for she is your ‘Mother’land and look after her well. (Concluded)
Tuesday, March 2, 2010
Hi Googlies, 27/2/10
PTL!
Posting the article that came on 26th in Herald. I have posted the original unedited version this time as the article was severely edited to fit and therefore two stories were omitted. Enjoy! If you like it, do ‘forward’ it to friends and also tell them about my blog. Thanks. Please get in touch with me and give me feedback. ok? I write for you so I need to know if it is worth it or not. You may even suggest topics you would like me to write on and I’ll try to oblige.
Chalo, bye for now. Take care of yourself and take time to give today and every day of your life. Luv u.
4m d heart J
Auriel
GIVE TO LIVE
The man who gets but never gives May last for years but never lives.
There is a story told of a pig and a cow who lived on a farm. The pig lamented that, although he was as useful to the farmer as the cow, the farmer appreciated the cow more. “My meat is used to make delicious sorpotel and bristles used to make brushes,” he said “So how come you are given a nice clean shed while I have to wallow in this mud.” The cow looked patiently at the poor perplexed pig and said, “Well, that is true, but the difference may be that you give only after you die and I give while I’m still living.”
When we are born, and we are all born helpless, we are received into the arms of two people who have made a commitment to only give. Our mother and father. We need to only give out a loud cry and they are at our mercy. The sacrifice they put ensures our security. As we grow and keep getting from them, we learn at one point that we must also return the gesture and give back. But few really do. Becoming a ‘giver’ from being a ‘taker’ requires great effort and sacrifice.
I read once that there are seven types of givers-
· Auto-givers: Give to themselves only.
· Occasional Givers: Give thoughtlessly, without any high motive.
· Penitential Givers: Give as sop to their conscience, as atonement for the evil they do.
· Theatrical Givers: Give to display and win public applause.
· Conventional Givers: Give because others give, because they are expected to give.
· Moral Givers: Give through a sense of duty and not through love.
· Spiritual Givers: Give because they love the other person as themselves and desire to help them.
The human heart is the richest mine in the world! Giving yourself to the world by your loving words, thoughts and actions is true generosity. Often, the moment we talk of giving, people misunderstand. They think “She’s asking me to part with my money.” We are always in the habit of underrating ourselves, are we not? Is money all we can ever give the world? I am not talking about giving money although I guess everyone appreciates a donation or a loan. I am talking only about giving of yourself to the world. The world is full of people who need you. Your family at home, for one. Do you realize that if you die, your boss will replace you in a week’s time, but your family will feel the loss for the rest of their lives. Yet you spend more time with your boss than with your family. I know that a job is important but is overtime necessary? Will the extra money you make by stealing time from your kids really keep them contented for long? Even at the office, you can still keep in touch with your family via phone calls, messages on the mobile.
Your relatives and friends form the second category of people you need to give to. Today life has become so ‘busy’ even though one is looking at a computer screen for hours, waiting for someone else to make the contact. But its so easy to give oneself through the computers via emails, forwards, photographs and for those with more time on their hands, there is Facebook to increase your circle of friends and discover more relatives out there than you knew you had.
The third category would have to be your neighbours- those living in your building or society and around in the community. You can judge your popularity by the number of smiles or nods of acknowledgement you get when you walk down your lane. Do you know these people well? Their names, what they do, etc. Can you count on your fingers the number of times you have reached out to help a neighbour? Maybe it was a distress call to take someone to the hospital or a fight that compelled you to intervene. You could visit an elderly person on your holiday; just an hour of your time would put a smile on his face for the whole week.
Few people get the opportunity to reach out to the wide populace - the poor, the needy, the troubled, the lonely, the angry, the desperate. For those who have the heart and can make the time from their ‘busy busy’ lives, this is the fourth category. Involve yourself in church activities, social action forums, NGOs. Be a volunteer in an aged home or an orphanage. There are always a dozen reasons for doing nothing- there is only one reason for doing something. And that’s because you want to.
A General of the Polish Army was outstandingly kind to the poor. One day an urgent message had to be sent and, as there were no other horses, the messenger was told to take the General’s horse. When he returned, the messenger told the General that when he went on an errand next, he would not take his horse because the steed insisted on stopping at every poor home and with every beggar along the way.
Give love. Give forgiveness. Give a listening ear. Give time to your family. Give your spouse the faithfulness you promised on your wedding day. Give your child the freedom to choose and make its own way. Give the old a safe place to live and your caring touch. Give your neighbour a good neighbour.
In his diary, a humble blacksmith penned the following verse:
“What? Giving again?” I ask in dismay,
“And must I keep giving and giving away?”
“Oh, no,” said the angel, looking me through,
“Just keep giving till the Master stops giving to you.
PTL!
Posting the article that came on 26th in Herald. I have posted the original unedited version this time as the article was severely edited to fit and therefore two stories were omitted. Enjoy! If you like it, do ‘forward’ it to friends and also tell them about my blog. Thanks. Please get in touch with me and give me feedback. ok? I write for you so I need to know if it is worth it or not. You may even suggest topics you would like me to write on and I’ll try to oblige.
Chalo, bye for now. Take care of yourself and take time to give today and every day of your life. Luv u.
4m d heart J
Auriel
GIVE TO LIVE
The man who gets but never gives May last for years but never lives.
There is a story told of a pig and a cow who lived on a farm. The pig lamented that, although he was as useful to the farmer as the cow, the farmer appreciated the cow more. “My meat is used to make delicious sorpotel and bristles used to make brushes,” he said “So how come you are given a nice clean shed while I have to wallow in this mud.” The cow looked patiently at the poor perplexed pig and said, “Well, that is true, but the difference may be that you give only after you die and I give while I’m still living.”
When we are born, and we are all born helpless, we are received into the arms of two people who have made a commitment to only give. Our mother and father. We need to only give out a loud cry and they are at our mercy. The sacrifice they put ensures our security. As we grow and keep getting from them, we learn at one point that we must also return the gesture and give back. But few really do. Becoming a ‘giver’ from being a ‘taker’ requires great effort and sacrifice.
I read once that there are seven types of givers-
· Auto-givers: Give to themselves only.
· Occasional Givers: Give thoughtlessly, without any high motive.
· Penitential Givers: Give as sop to their conscience, as atonement for the evil they do.
· Theatrical Givers: Give to display and win public applause.
· Conventional Givers: Give because others give, because they are expected to give.
· Moral Givers: Give through a sense of duty and not through love.
· Spiritual Givers: Give because they love the other person as themselves and desire to help them.
The human heart is the richest mine in the world! Giving yourself to the world by your loving words, thoughts and actions is true generosity. Often, the moment we talk of giving, people misunderstand. They think “She’s asking me to part with my money.” We are always in the habit of underrating ourselves, are we not? Is money all we can ever give the world? I am not talking about giving money although I guess everyone appreciates a donation or a loan. I am talking only about giving of yourself to the world. The world is full of people who need you. Your family at home, for one. Do you realize that if you die, your boss will replace you in a week’s time, but your family will feel the loss for the rest of their lives. Yet you spend more time with your boss than with your family. I know that a job is important but is overtime necessary? Will the extra money you make by stealing time from your kids really keep them contented for long? Even at the office, you can still keep in touch with your family via phone calls, messages on the mobile.
Your relatives and friends form the second category of people you need to give to. Today life has become so ‘busy’ even though one is looking at a computer screen for hours, waiting for someone else to make the contact. But its so easy to give oneself through the computers via emails, forwards, photographs and for those with more time on their hands, there is Facebook to increase your circle of friends and discover more relatives out there than you knew you had.
The third category would have to be your neighbours- those living in your building or society and around in the community. You can judge your popularity by the number of smiles or nods of acknowledgement you get when you walk down your lane. Do you know these people well? Their names, what they do, etc. Can you count on your fingers the number of times you have reached out to help a neighbour? Maybe it was a distress call to take someone to the hospital or a fight that compelled you to intervene. You could visit an elderly person on your holiday; just an hour of your time would put a smile on his face for the whole week.
Few people get the opportunity to reach out to the wide populace - the poor, the needy, the troubled, the lonely, the angry, the desperate. For those who have the heart and can make the time from their ‘busy busy’ lives, this is the fourth category. Involve yourself in church activities, social action forums, NGOs. Be a volunteer in an aged home or an orphanage. There are always a dozen reasons for doing nothing- there is only one reason for doing something. And that’s because you want to.
A General of the Polish Army was outstandingly kind to the poor. One day an urgent message had to be sent and, as there were no other horses, the messenger was told to take the General’s horse. When he returned, the messenger told the General that when he went on an errand next, he would not take his horse because the steed insisted on stopping at every poor home and with every beggar along the way.
Give love. Give forgiveness. Give a listening ear. Give time to your family. Give your spouse the faithfulness you promised on your wedding day. Give your child the freedom to choose and make its own way. Give the old a safe place to live and your caring touch. Give your neighbour a good neighbour.
In his diary, a humble blacksmith penned the following verse:
“What? Giving again?” I ask in dismay,
“And must I keep giving and giving away?”
“Oh, no,” said the angel, looking me through,
“Just keep giving till the Master stops giving to you.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)