YoU WiLl NeVeR LeT mY HaNd Go.......

A Little girl and her father were crossing a bridge.
The father was kind of scared so he asked his little daughter,
‘Sweetheart, please hold my hand so that you don’t fall into the river.’
The little girl said, ‘No, Dad. You hold my hand.’
‘What’s the difference?’ Asked the puzzled father.
‘There’s a big difference,’ replied the little girl.

‘If I hold your hand and something happens to me,
chances are that I may let your hand go.
But if you hold my hand, I know for sure that no matter what happens,
you will never let my hand go.’

In any relationship, the essence of trust is not in its bind,
but in its bond.

So hold the hand of the person who loves you rather than expecting them to hold yours..

ThE HoLy FlAmE...

Once upon a time a man had heard, that in a foreign place, far away, there was a holy flame burning. So he got up and left his home to find the holy flame and bring some of its light back home to his house. He thought: 'When I have this light, then I will have happiness and life and all the people I love will have it too.'

He travelled far, far away and finally found the holy flame, with which he lit his light. On his way back he had only one worry: 'That his light could go out.'

On his way home he met someone who was freezing and didn't have any fire and who begged him to give him some of his fire. The man with the light hesitated for a moment. Wasn't his light too precious, too holy to be given away for something ordinary like that? Despite these doubts, he decided to give some of his light to the one who was freezing in the darkness.

The man continued his journey home and when he had almost reached his house a terrible thunderstorm started. He tried to protect his light from the rain and the storm, but at the end his light went out.

To return the long way back to the place where the holy flame was burning was impossible, he wouldn't have had enough strength to go back this far - but he was strong enough to return to the human being whom he had helped on his way home.

.........and with his light he could light his own again.. =)

MeMoRiEs

When Gulli-Danda & Kanche (marbles) were more popular than cricket.
When we always had friends to play aais-paais (I Spy), chhepan-chhepai
& pitthoo anytime ... When we desperately waited for 'Yeh Jo Hai
Jindagi' (Doordarshan serial)
When chitrahaar, vikram-baitaal, Dada Daadi Ki Kahaniyaan were so fulfilling.
When there was just one Tv in every five houses and...
When Bisleris were not sold in the trains and we were worrying if papas will get back into the train in time or not when they were getting down at stations to fill up the water bottle ...
When we were going to bed by 9.00pm sharp except for the 'Yeh Jo Hai Jindagi' day .....
When Holis & Diwalis meant mostly hand-made pakwaans and sweets and moms seeking our help while preparing them ...
When Maths teachers were not worried of our Mummies and papas while slapping/beating us ...
When we were exchanging comics and stamps and Chacha-Chaudaris & Billus were our heroes ...
When we were in Nanihaals every summer and loved flying kites and plucking and eating unripe mangoes and leechies ...
When one movie every Sunday evening on television was more than asked for and 'ek do teen chaar' and 'Rajani' inspired us ...
When 50 paisa meant at least 10 toffees ...
When left over pages of the last years notebooks were used for rough work or even fair work ...
When 'Chelpark' and 'Natraaj' were encouraged against 'Reynolds
& family' ...
When the first rain meant getting drenched and playing in water and mud and making 'kaagaj ki kishtis' ...
When there were no phones to tell friends that we will be at their homes at six in the evening ...
When our parents always had 15 paise blue colored 'Antardesis' and 5 paise machli wale stamps at home ...
When we remembered tens of jokes and were not finding 'ice-cream & papa' type jokes foolish enough to stop us from laughing ...
When we were not seeing patakhes on Diwalis and gulaals on
Holis as air and noise polluting or allergic agents ...

The list can be endless ...
On the serious note I would like to summarize with ...
When we were using our hearts more than our brains, even for scientifically brainy activities like 'thinking' and 'deciding' ...
When we were crying and laughing more often, more openly and more sincerely ...
When we were enjoying our present more than worrying about our future ...
When being emotional was not synonymous to being weak ...
When sharing worries and happiness didn't mean getting vulnerable to the listener ...
When blacks and whites were the favorite colors instead of greys ...
When journeys also were important and not just the destinations ...
When life was a passenger's sleeper giving enough time and opportunity to enjoy the sceneries from its open and transparent glass windows instead of some
super fast's second ac with its curtained, closed and dark windows ...
Do you really miss them .. don't u?

MaN aNd GoD

I walked on the clouds, realizing that this Heaven was exactly like I had imagined it to be. White, with Angels playing the harp on receding clouds. The sound of birds chirping and a distant waterfall could be heard. Suddenly, a huge bronze gate emerged from no-where. I was at the threshold of the divine abode. I realized that I was barefoot.

A blinding white light, like a trillion mini Auroras, descended from higher reaches. This was God, surely. It had to be God. It spoke out, a booming baritone, with an unimaginable sense of serenity in it.

“Welcome. Welcome to Heaven. You have been granted entrance in My adobe. You have led a life of honesty, self-sacrifice and generosity. I bless you, son.”

I searched for a face, for eyes, but was only met with light, bright white light.

“But before I allow you to enter this peaceful world, as is My duty, I will answer one question. Feel free to ask.”

“I…er…question?”, I was baffled.

“Yes, one single question. It may be any question. Topical, philosophical, metaphysical, definitive – anything. Any question, to which you need an answer. Any question, which needs to be answered. Any question, to which man below on Earth does not know anything about. Ask.”

Questions. Millions of them flooded my insignificant mind, what is life? Death? What, truly is the purpose of life? What is peace? What is happiness? Why do we die? What is…

“Man’s true identity?”

“Man?”, God asked.
“Erm…yes, what is man’s true identity, God. Who am I, God? Who am I?”

God’s next few words, like a sharp knife on a deserted rock, left a mark. A deep, invisible mark.

“Man’s true identity is unknown, even to me – his maker. His is everything, yet he is none. He is the leader of his own life, yet a slave to his own soul.

Man, who is he?

A doctor. Does he cure? No, he kills.
A politician. Does he change the world? No, he lies.
A sportsman. Does he inspire? No, he takes bribes.
A lawyer. Does he work a miracle? No, he cheats.
A teacher. Does he educate? No, he sells it at a price.
A policeman. Does he demolish Hell’s messengers? No, he is only a pawn.
A businessman. Does he end poverty? No, he is self-obsessed.
A priest. Does he show the world to someone? No, he thinks the world about himself.

Everyone of them, terrorists. You don’t need guns to be one.

Today man is someone good and evil. He is a paradox of himself. A timeless mystery and an eternal source of wonder. Man is superior to God, yet is inferior to the numerous insects trampled underneath his leather boots.”

God paused for a second. I breathed in wonderfully pure air. Someone, somewhere was singing a melodious hymn. God continued –

“Today, Man is falling into an impenetrable darkness, a darkness from which it becomes difficult even for me to recover him. But that is beside the point, you asked me Who You Are, right? Well, let me tell you – man has a million different identities shrouded in one single profound identity.


Every single non-living, base item in this world is a metaphorical example of man. Anything and everything in this world resembles man in one aspect or the other. You may test and see.”

I wondered. I pondered.

“A candle?”

“It should light up the place, but in doing so – it always leaves a thin trail of black smoke.”

“A tree?”

“It’s duty is to give shade and fruits. But it will be undoubtedly cut down one day.”

“A cloud?”
“It gives relief in the form of rain and tension in the form of lightning.”

I paused. God sensed my inability to continue.

“You may continue to ask me, I will keep giving answers. Yet, it’s finally time now to tell you man’s true identity. Do you want to know it?”

I looked up steadfastly. The bright light began to glow softly as the words fell like petals, reverberating on the bronze gate, over the clouds and into my ears –

“Man’s true identity is this – Man is a person, a human being. A living thing. Do you understand?”

I shook my head.

God smiled and uttered those immaculate words – “I am man.”

“Y…yy…you??”

“I am within Man as Man is within me.”

I stood dumbstruck.

“Man is God. God is Man. They are one and the same. I created Man. Man created me. That is man’s true identity. He created the Heaven and the Hell. He is the Alpha and the Omega.

I live within man, as man lives within Me. I am man’s son, yet I am his father. He controls me. I control him. But there are problems. The Devil hates him, but Man, being confused about my reality – hates me. He hates me, not the Devil. He does not believe in my existence. That is man’s only mistake. The mistake due to which he is falling into that impenetrable darkness.”
I asked cautiously, “Have you forgiven him, God?”

Suddenly the bronze gates of Heaven opened. I saw a wonderful sight. I saw a lush green field, large trees, small children playing around the grassy bushes. I saw a huge tree in the centre of the field, beneath it sat a man. He was meditating. His eyes were closed. He was praying. Not to God, not to any religion, or to any symbol. He was not of any religion but was not irreligious. Within a stroke of inspiration – I realized that this man was God. Yet, he sat like an ordinary man. I understood suddenly that man was forgiven. God had forgiven him.

Without my realization, inside the abode of Heaven, a smile came fleetingly to my lips and a single drop of tear emerged from my eyes and beautified my cheeks.

TwO LeTtErS

It was the morning after the battle. The silvery rays of dawn fell upon the bodies lying scattered in the aftermath of the fight. The morning papers all around the nation must be declaring that it was a glorious battle, and a great victory.


It is a strange place—“No Man’s land”. With all the arrogance of man who claims to own the earth, here was one strip that had been declared free of that bondage. Yet, scarred by the landmines and splattered with blood, it had been ravaged by both countries it lay between.


As I walked, I saw two soldiers who had apparently stuck each other a mortal blow and died falling upon each other. One arm boldly showing the insignia of Pakistan lay upon a shoulder marked with the crossed swords of an Indian army jawan. The land around them were covered in their blood…neither Indian blood, nor Pakistani…just human blood , draining away the dreams and hopes and love of two lives. As I kneeled beside them, I saw a bluish piece of paper jutting out of the pocket of the Indian jawan. With the characteristic curiosity of a reporter, I gently pulled it out. It was an inland letter, almost torn at the fold at constant reading and re-reading.


“My Dearest son…

May Ishwar keep you safe and well. How are you , my son? It is now three months since you have sent a letter. My old eyes are thirsting for a sight of you.

Your sister’s wedding has been fixed, but she is very stubborn, son. She insists that she will not get married without her Bhaiyya’s blessings. She is waiting to know when you will next come home. I have talked to the boy’s father, and he understands, but how long can we postpone it like that? The boy is very good, he is an Engineer and they have not even mentioned dowry. She is lucky to get such a match. But I feel very sad that my bulbul is going away… Your son is now almost one year old now. He is walking a little and looks just like you when you were young. Bahu is very loving and takes good care of me and your mother. But she always looks sad and spends hours in the puja room praying. She is very worried at the trouble at the border. But she is always cheerful with your mother and never lets her hear anything about the trouble. You know your mother’s heart is very weak and the doctor has said she must not be anxious. Poor bahu, she never mentions her anxieties to anyone.

Your mother keeps asking about you. I tell her that the army is like that, he would be remembering us, but he will not get time to send a letter. He will probably come home very soon. But beta, do write to us when you can and let us know. Just send us a telegram if you cannot write a letter. When you come, we will have Choti’s wedding also.

I am fine, have some pain in my legs, but bahu has got me some medicines from the town. Otherwise, all is well at home

God bless you, my son.

Your loving Father.”



I was trembling as I finished reading... I carefully folded it and put it back in the soldier’s pocket. As I was about to walk away, I saw that the Pakistani soldier had something clutched tightly in his hand. Shaken though I was, something prompted me to gently disentangle his fingers and look at it. It was also—it appeared—a yellowed piece of paper, muddy and bloodied. I hesitated, but then gently opened it to see the delicate writing in Urdu.



Beloved husband,

Peace and blessing of Allah be upon you!

I have just completed my Namaz, and yet, my heart is heavy. How long it has been since you have come home! And along with that, the news from the border is always of trouble. May Allah keep you safe through it all.
Abbu is very unwell. I think it is because his heart is anxious that he has not heard anything from you. Please send him some message somehow. He is aged and his whole life is centred upon you. But he is very loving towards me and never allows me to do any housework; he always says that I should rest because of the baby. It is only 2 more months now, and the only time I have seen his eyes happy are when he thinks of his grandchild.

Ammi is fine, she prepares all sorts of things for me and says it is good for the baby. But in her eyes , I can see the worry as the news comes from the borders. The other day, Shareef Bhai’s nephew was brought home injured after a battle. His arm has been amputated. Allah! I can still hear the weeping of his mother. Abbu has been anxious since then. He keeps going to the mosque to offer special prayers.

Your brother is also intent upon joining the army. Abbu looks very sad when he says that. But you are his hero, and he keeps telling me, Bhabhijaan, my brother is so brave. Yes, I know, I tell him. But my heart is anxious, and I do the special prayers so that Allah may protect you. Who is there for us but you?

Please do send us a message soon. When will you come home next? God willing, will you come home to see when our baby is born?

Praying for you,

Your Loving Wife.

My eyes glazed as I looked upon the two bodies,lying upon each other.

I am not sure who had won this battle.But standing there surrounded, by the bodies of those past caring about the fortunes of war,it seemed to me too,an immaterial thing who had won.I was thinking about the families and loved ones of the dead,who had definitely lost...

FiRsT LoVe

I was twenty two when I fell truly in love for the first time. I had had crushes before, but they were never really serious. But Rishi was different…

I don’t think I really got over it. Even now, when I call and he answers, I am bowled over by the sound of his voice. And he has not forgotten me either; he always recognizes my voice instantly, and he calls me often. I can almost see that winsome smile when I hear him…

I first met him when he came with his mother to visit his aunt. Nalini deedi was my neighbor. I had just completed my graduation at the time and I had a lot of time on my hands. I used to drop in on her often just for some light-hearted gossip, and it was one of those times that she told me that her sister Rajini and nephew Rishi were coming for a short visit.

“Rishi is such a nice boy! Quite mature for his age, very intelligent, warm and caring…” She was all praises for her nephew, but I just took that as an aunt’s prejudice. At the time, I was on particularly harsh terms with the male population, and I did not believe there were any worth knowing among them. Having been subjected to two “ladki dekhne aana” ceremonies (Ceremony of seeing the girl with a view to marrying her) had decidedly embittered me towards the male population.

But the minute I saw him, I was lost. I had heard of love at first sight, but this?! Who could resist that smile, or those eyes? He was the picture of perfection. His features looked as if they had been honed to flawlessness by a Master sculptor. His eyes were bright, fearless and open, as if he expected everyone to be his special friend. His smile, both shy and endearing, reminded me of the sun peeping from behind heavy clouds during the monsoons. He was better dressed than any guy I had seen so far; though he probably had his mother to thank for that! And he was courteous and friendly; altogether, very, very attractive.

And I fell in love with him.
He made me think about what my mother had hinted at the day I graduated; about marriage, and having a family. He made me wonder if it was not time to settle down… He made me wonder what it would be like if he were my own.

It wasn’t the same for him though. At first, he was a bit reserved, though considerate and polite; he would watch me as I spoke to his mother and aunt, and sometimes give me a quick smile. I used to wait for those moments, pretending I wasn’t looking at him, but he quickly saw through that and would laugh when he caught me peeping. I don’t believe those eyes missed a thing that was happening around him. I was constantly astonished at his perceptiveness and intelligence.

He never could pronounce my name properly, but I loved the way he spoke my name. When he saw me at the door, I’d strain to hear as he went to call his aunt and announce my arrival.

But it was the day of the interview that made all the difference.

It was horrible, that interview! The interviewer seemed to have some sadistic pleasure in breaking me down. By the end of it, I was sure I was hopelessly stupid, worthless and would never get a job or be anything in life. It was in total dejection that I rang the bell at Nalini deedi’s place, and Rishi came to the door. He looked at my face and for a moment, his face seemed to mirror my unhappiness. When I sat on the sofa, he hesitated a moment, and then sat by me. Then he cautiously patted my hand and gave me a smile.

I was so touched! I smiled at him through my tears and the relief on his face was obvious. What odd places one finds empathy and understanding! He waited a few moments, while I regained my composure. Then as usual, he went in to call his mother. At the door, he turned and smiled, as if sharing a secret. My heart almost burst with happiness. All my gloom was wiped away as if by magic!

That day I noticed him observing me closely and as I was leaving, I saw him looking at me through the window. On an impulse, I turned and waved. And to my joy, he smiled and We became friends after that. He’d look out the window and smile delightedly when he saw me. Once he got acquainted, he began to talk to me. I could listen to him for hours together. His mother would smile as she saw us sitting together. Sometimes, we went out together, and his lively interest revived the old sights of the city in my eyes too.

I didn't know how long it would last, but I did not care. I woke up each day looking forward to seeing him, went to sleep smiling over something he had said. I grabbed each moment like a precious jewel, to be stored away as memories.

Three weeks flew by and then--it was over. I thought my heart would break when I saw tears in his usually smiling eyes. I watched from the door sadly as they got ready to leave, wondering if I would ever see him again. I had always known he would have to go, but it was heart-wrenching whenit happened.

Just as he was about to get into the taxi, he turned, ran to me and hugged me tightly. He wiped the tears from my eyes and kissed me on both cheeks.

Then he pushed his favourite red car into my hands and lisped with all the fevour of his three years "Didi,thish ish for you.I luvv you velly much."

"I love you too,Rishi darling"

And I still do.He just called me to tell me about his first day in school.

No matter how many loves I have in my life,he will always be my very first true love.

tHe fRiGhTeNiNg sOLItUdE

“I want to die before you.” She said looking into his eyes. He didn’t answer her. His silence said it all. His solitude frightened him more than anything else in the world. His children were big now and their own kids to look after. The old age had caught up with him like the layers of dust on a light bulb, which blocked the light coming out from that old bulb. He had lived his life. His children gave him almost everything except the love, which he had given them in abundance when they were young.

“What’s the matter? Can’t you sleep?” She asked, “ Do you have pain?”

“No, I just can’t sleep.” He replied looking at her.

“Are you worried about what I told you this evening?” She asked.

“Yes..I’ve no one, but only you. Even if I loose you then what’s the point in living?” He asked.

She started talking to him, but he was lost in his own thoughts. She was his only person who kept him away from his solitude. She used to talk about many things, which meant nothing. But he just listened to her…her voice. She would ask in the middle of the night, whether he was awake? If he answered her then she would start talking endlessly, and he would give signs now and then to say that he was listening. This tiny room was their world. He realised in the consuming loneliness of this crowded house. She was his only sound. He was so dependent on her for almost everything in life. She brought him milk, food, newspaper, medicine and anything he wanted. Many times before he would ask for it. She understood him so well. She was the only wall between him and his frightening solitude. He also knew soon this wall may collapse and the solitude would sallow him like the waves of the greedy sea….he had infinite time to think about the memories of his life lived. But how long would he rewind and play the same cassette again and again in his mind.
“Tell me?” She asked.

“Yes?” He said.

“What would you do after I’m gone?” She asked.

“What do you scare me like this?” He asked, “ I can’t live even a moment without you in this world and you know it too well.”

“Ha, you’re still romantic.” She teased him.

“I will leave as soon as you leave.” He said.

“How? will you bribe death to take you along with me or what?” She asked.

“Wait and see, what I’ll do.” He replied.

Next day night, he showed her a small bottle and it contained some liquid.

“What is it?” She asked him curiously.

“Poison!” He said smiling at her.

“Poison? Why do we need it? We don’t have any rats to kill in our room, do we?” She said.

“Stupid. It’s not for rats! It’s for me!”

“For you?” She asked shocked.

“Yes, I’m going to empty it down my throat as soon as you leave your body,” He told her.“ Now, let me see where you’ll go leaving me alone.”

“Don’t you want to live?” She asked.

“Live? What for?” He said. “Can I hug you?”

“Come on, don’t be romantic…that too in this age,” She teased him. “ Now..close your eyes and go to sleep.”

“O.k.” He said with a sigh.

Next day morning, the two daughter-in-laws giggled as they walked towards their room. Then:-

“You know, I wonder why he still needs her at this age…why can’t he leave her alone..” Said the first daughter-in-law knocking on the door. There was no response.

“Let’s open it!” said the second daughter-in-law pushing the doors forward. They saw them laying in each others arms.

“See how romantic they are in this age.” Giggled the first daughter-in-law.

“Yes..what is that bottle?’ She said.

“Which bottle?” She asked.

“That bottle!” She said pointing her finger towards the empty bottle in the hand of the old lady.

FrM a sIs oF hER bRo(a StOrY oF iNnEr cOUrAgE,sTrEnGtH,pOtEnTiAl aNd LoVe oF cOuRsE....)

I was then an only child who had everything I could ever want. But even a pretty, spoiled and rich kid could get lonely once in a while so when Mom told me that she was pregnant, I was ecstatic. I imagined how wonderful you would be and how we'd always be together and how much you would look like me. So, when you were born, I looked at your tiny hands and feet and marveled at how beautiful you were.

We took you home and I showed you proudly to my friends. They would touch you and sometimes pinch you, but you never reacted. When you were five months old, some things began to bother Mom. You seemed so unmoving and numb, and your cry sounded odd --- almost like a kitten's. So we brought you to many doctors.

The thirteenth doctor who looked at you quietly said you have the "cry du chat" (pronounced Kree-do-sha) syndrome, "cry of the cat" in French.

When I asked what that meant, he looked at me with pity and softly said, "Your brother will never walk nor talk." The doctor told us that it is a condition that afflicts one in 50,000 babies, rendering victims severely retarded. Mom was shocked and I was furious. I thought it was unfair.

When we went home, Mom took you in her arms and cried. I looked at you and realized that word will get around that you're not normal. So to hold on to my popularity, I did the unthinkable ... I disowned you. Mom and Dad didn't know but I steeled myself not to love you as you grew. Mom and Dad showered you love and attention and that made me bitter. And as the years passed, that bitterness turned to anger, and then hate.

Mom never gave up on you. She knew she had to do it for your sake.

Everytime she put your toys down, you'd roll instead of crawl. I watched her heart break every time she took away your toys and strapped your tummy with foam so you couldn't roll. You struggle and you're cry in that pitiful way, the cry of the kitten. But she still didn't give up.

And then one day, you defied what all your doctors said -- you crawled.
When mom saw this, she knew you would eventually walk. So when you were still crawling at age four, she'd put you on the grass with only your diapers on knowing that you hate the feel of the grass on your skin.

Then she'd leave you there. I would sometimes watch from the windows and smile at your discomfort. You would crawl to the sidewalk and Mom would put you back. Again and again, Mom repeated this on the lawn. Until one day, Mom saw you pull yourself up and toddle off the grass as fast as your little legs could carry you.

Laughing and crying, she shouted for Dad and I to come. Dad hugged you crying openly.

I watched from my bedroom window this heartbreaking scene.

Over the years, Mom taught you to speak, read and write. From then on, I would sometime see you walk outside, smell the flowers, marvel at the birds, or just smile at no one. I began to see the beauty of the world through your eyes. It was then that I realized that you were my brother and no matter how much I tried to hate you, I couldn't, because I had grown to love you.

During the next few days, we again became acquainted with each other. I would buy you toys and give you all the love that a sister could ever give to her brother. And you would reward me by smiling and hugging me.

But I guess, you were never really meant for us. On your tenth birthday, you felt severe headaches. The doctor's diagnosis --leukemia. Mom gasped and Dad held her, while I fought hard to keep my tears from falling. At that moment, I loved you all the more. I couldn't even bear to leave your side. Then the doctors told us that your only hope is to have a bonemarrow transplant. You became the subject of a nationwide donor search. When at last we found the right match, you were too sick, and the doctor reluctantly ruled out the operations. Since then, you underwent chemotherapy and radiation.
Even at the end, you continued to pursue life. Just a month before you died, you made me draw up a list of things you wanted to do when you got out of the hospital. Two days after the list was completed, you asked the doctors to send you home. There, we ate ice cream and cake, run across the grass, flew kites, went fishing, took pictures of one another and let the balloons fly. I remember the last conversation that we had. You said that if you die, and if I need of help, I could send you a note to heaven by tying it on the string of any balloon and letting it fly. When you said this, I started crying. Then you hugged me. Then again, for the last time, you got sick.

That last night, you asked for water, a back rub, a cuddle. Finally, you went into seizure with tears streaming down your face. Later, at the hospital, you struggled to talk but the words wouldn't come. I know what you wanted to say. "Hear you," I whispered. And for the last time, I said, "I'll always love and I will never forget you. Don't be afraid. You'll soon be with God in heaven." Then, with my tears flowing freely, I watched the bravest boy I had ever known finally stop breathing. Dad, Mom and I cried until I felt as if there were no more tears left. Patrick was finally gone, leaving us behind.

From then on, you were my source of inspiration. You showed me how to love life and live to the fullest. With your simplicity and honesty, you showed me a world full of love and caring. And you made me realize that the most important thing in this life is to continue loving without asking why or how and without setting any limit.

Thank you, my little brother, for all these.

LoVe YoUr PaReNtS

An 80 year old man was sitting on the sofa in his house along with his 45 years old highly educated son. Suddenly a crow perched on their window.

The Father asked his Son, “What is this?”

The Son replied “It is a crow”.

After a few minutes, the Father asked his Son the 2nd time, “What is this?”

The Son said “Father, I have just now told you “It’s a crow”.

After a little while, the old Father again asked his Son the 3rd time,

What is this?”

At this time some ex-pression of irritation was felt in the Son’s tone when he said to his Father with a rebuff. “It’s a crow, a crow”.

A little after, the Father again asked his Son t he 4th time, “What is this?”

This time the Son shouted at his Father, “Why do you keep asking me the same question again and again, although I have told you so many times ‘IT IS A CROW’. Are you not able to understand this?”

A little later the Father went to his room and came back with an old tattered diary, which he had maintained since his Son was born. On opening a page, he asked his Son to read that page. When the son read it, the following words were written in the diary :-

“Today my little son aged three was sitting with me on the sofa, when a crow was sitting on the window. My Son asked me 23 times what it was, and I replied to him all 23 times that it was a Crow. I hugged him lovingly each time h e asked me the same question again and again for 23 times. I did not at all feel irritated I rather felt affection for my innocent child”.

While the little child asked him 23 times “What is this”, the Father had felt no irritation in replying to the same question all 23 times and when today the Father asked his Son the same question just 4 times, the Son felt irritated and annoyed.

So..

If your parents attain old age, do not repulse them or look at them as a burden, but speak to them a gracious word, be cool, obedient, humble and kind to them. Be considerate to your parents.From today say this aloud, “I want to see my parents happy forever.

WELL ALL OF US KNOW THIS STORY...I CAN ALSO REMEMBER IT,I WAS VERY SMALL THEN...DNT REMEMBER WHO AND HOW IT WAS NARRATED BUT HV HEARD IT FR SURE AND WITH TIME FRGT IT TOO...SO TODAY WITH THIS POST I WANT AL OF US TO TAKE CARE OF ALL THE FRGTTON THINGS-AL THE MEMORIES,EVRYTHNG...
I HAVE A STRANGE FEELING SMTIMES...I DNT KNW WAT,WHN IT COMES TO PARENTS!!!!???THE ONLY THNG I KNW IS THT THR ARE ENDLESS THNGS THEY HV DONE FOR US THT WE DNT KNW AND THEY WOULD NVR LET US KNW ALL THOSE THNGS TOO...ITS NT ABT PAYNG THM BCK COZ THIS DEBT CN NVR BE PAID BCK...ITS JST LOVE HAS GOT ONLY ONE WAY TO BE EQUALIZED AND THTS BY LOVE ITSELF..ALWAYS......

Frm a SIS of her BRO...(a story of inner courage,strength,potential and love of course...)

I was then an only child who had everything I could ever want. But even a pretty, spoiled and rich kid could get lonely once in a while so when Mom told me that she was pregnant, I was ecstatic. I imagined how wonderful you would be and how we'd always be together and how much you would look like me. So, when you were born, I looked at your tiny hands and feet and marveled at how beautiful you were.

We took you home and I showed you proudly to my friends. They would touch you and sometimes pinch you, but you never reacted. When you were five months old, some things began to bother Mom. You seemed so unmoving and numb, and your cry sounded odd --- almost like a kitten's. So we brought you to many doctors.

The thirteenth doctor who looked at you quietly said you have the "cry du chat" (pronounced Kree-do-sha) syndrome, "cry of the cat" in French.

When I asked what that meant, he looked at me with pity and softly said, "Your brother will never walk nor talk." The doctor told us that it is a condition that afflicts one in 50,000 babies, rendering victims severely retarded. Mom was shocked and I was furious. I thought it was unfair.

When we went home, Mom took you in her arms and cried. I looked at you and realized that word will get around that you're not normal. So to hold on to my popularity, I did the unthinkable ... I disowned you. Mom and Dad didn't know but I steeled myself not to love you as you grew. Mom and Dad showered you love and attention and that made me bitter. And as the years passed, that bitterness turned to anger, and then hate.

Mom never gave up on you. She knew she had to do it for your sake.

Everytime she put your toys down, you'd roll instead of crawl. I watched her heart break every time she took away your toys and strapped your tummy with foam so you couldn't roll. You struggle and you're cry in that pitiful way, the cry of the kitten. But she still didn't give up.

And then one day, you defied what all your doctors said -- you crawled.
When mom saw this, she knew you would eventually walk. So when you were still crawling at age four, she'd put you on the grass with only your diapers on knowing that you hate the feel of the grass on your skin.

Then she'd leave you there. I would sometimes watch from the windows and smile at your discomfort. You would crawl to the sidewalk and Mom would put you back. Again and again, Mom repeated this on the lawn. Until one day, Mom saw you pull yourself up and toddle off the grass as fast as your little legs could carry you.

Laughing and crying, she shouted for Dad and I to come. Dad hugged you crying openly.

I watched from my bedroom window this heartbreaking scene.

Over the years, Mom taught you to speak, read and write. From then on, I would sometime see you walk outside, smell the flowers, marvel at the birds, or just smile at no one. I began to see the beauty of the world through your eyes. It was then that I realized that you were my brother and no matter how much I tried to hate you, I couldn't, because I had grown to love you.

During the next few days, we again became acquainted with each other. I would buy you toys and give you all the love that a sister could ever give to her brother. And you would reward me by smiling and hugging me.

But I guess, you were never really meant for us. On your tenth birthday, you felt severe headaches. The doctor's diagnosis --leukemia. Mom gasped and Dad held her, while I fought hard to keep my tears from falling. At that moment, I loved you all the more. I couldn't even bear to leave your side. Then the doctors told us that your only hope is to have a bonemarrow transplant. You became the subject of a nationwide donor search. When at last we found the right match, you were too sick, and the doctor reluctantly ruled out the operations. Since then, you underwent chemotherapy and radiation.
Even at the end, you continued to pursue life. Just a month before you died, you made me draw up a list of things you wanted to do when you got out of the hospital. Two days after the list was completed, you asked the doctors to send you home. There, we ate ice cream and cake, run across the grass, flew kites, went fishing, took pictures of one another and let the balloons fly. I remember the last conversation that we had. You said that if you die, and if I need of help, I could send you a note to heaven by tying it on the string of any balloon and letting it fly. When you said this, I started crying. Then you hugged me. Then again, for the last time, you got sick.

That last night, you asked for water, a back rub, a cuddle. Finally, you went into seizure with tears streaming down your face. Later, at the hospital, you struggled to talk but the words wouldn't come. I know what you wanted to say. "Hear you," I whispered. And for the last time, I said, "I'll always love and I will never forget you. Don't be afraid. You'll soon be with God in heaven." Then, with my tears flowing freely, I watched the bravest boy I had ever known finally stop breathing. Dad, Mom and I cried until I felt as if there were no more tears left. Patrick was finally gone, leaving us behind.

From then on, you were my source of inspiration. You showed me how to love life and live to the fullest. With your simplicity and honesty, you showed me a world full of love and caring. And you made me realize that the most important thing in this life is to continue loving without asking why or how and without setting any limit.

Thank you, my little brother, for all these.

wHeN yOu lOvE-iT tHn aLwAyS sHd Be AbT lOvInG!

A boy was born to a couple after eleven years of marriage. They were a loving couple and the boy was the apple of their eyes. When the boy was around two years old, one morning the husband saw a medicine bottle open. He was late for work so he asked the wife to cap the bottle and keep it in the cupboard. The mother, preoccupied in the kitchen, totally forgot the matter.

The boy saw the bottle and playfully went to the bottle and, fascinated with its color, drank it all. It happened to be a poisonous medicine meant for adults in small dosages. When the child collapsed, the mother hurried him to the hospital, where he died. The mother was stunned. She was terrified how to face her husband.

When the distraught father came to the hospital and saw the dead child, he looked at his wife and uttered just four words.

What do you think were the four words?

The husband just said "I Love You Darling"

The husband's totally unexpected reaction is proactive behavior. The child is dead. He can never be brought back to life. There is no point in finding fault with the mother. Besides, if only he have taken time to keep the bottle away, this will not have happened. No
point in attaching blame. She had also lost her only child. What she needed at that moment was consolation and sympathy from the husband. That is what he gave her.

Sometimes we spend time asking who is responsible or who to blame, whether in a relationship, in a job or with the people we know. We miss out some warmth in human relationship in giving each other support. After all, shouldn't forgiving someone we love be the easiest thing in the world to do? Treasure what you have. Don't multiply pain, anguish and suffering by holding on to forgiveness.

ThE SuCcEsS

There was a farmer who grew superior quality and award-winning CORN. Each year he entered his CORN in the state fair where it won honour and prizes. Once a newspaper reporter interviewed him and learnt something interesting about how he grew it. The reporter discovered that the farmer shared his seed corn with his neighbours'. "How can you afford to share your best seed corn with your neighbours when they are entering corn in competition with yours each year?" the reporter asked. "Why sir, "said the farmer, "didn't you know? The wind picks up pollen from the ripening corn and swirls it from field to field. If my neighbours grow inferior, sub-standard and poor quality corn, cross-pollination will steadily degrade the quality of my corn. If I am to grow good corn, I must help my neighbours grow good corn." The farmer gave a superb insight into the connectedness of life. His corn cannot improve unless his neighbour's corn also improves. So it is in the other dimensions! Those who choose to be at harmony must help their neighbours and colleagues to be at peace. Those who choose to live well must help others to live well. Success does not happen in isolation. It is very often a participative and
collective process.

HaPpInEsS Is An AtTiTuDe

The 92-year-old, petite, well-poised and proud lady, who is fully dressed each morning by eight o'clock, with her hair fashionably coifed and makeup perfectly applied, even though she is legally blind, moved to a nursing home today.
Her husband of 70 years recently passed away, making the move necessary.
After many hours of waiting patiently in the lobby of the nursing home, she smiled sweetly when told her room was ready. As she maneuvered her walker to the elevator, I provided a visual description of her tiny room, including the eyelet sheets that had been hung on her window.
"I love it," she stated with the enthusiasm of an eight-year-old having just been presented with a new puppy.
"Mrs. Jones, you haven't seen the room .... just wait."
"That doesn't have anything to do with it," she replied.
"Happiness is something you decide on ahead of time. Whether I like my room or not doesn't depend on how the furniture is arranged ... it's how I arrange my mind.
I already decided to love it ... It's a decision I make every morning when I wake up. I have a choice; I can spend the day in bed recounting the difficulty I have with the parts of my body that no longer work, or get out of bed and be thankful for the ones that do. Each day is a gift, and as long as my eyes open I'll focus on the new day and all the happy memories I've stored away ... just for this time in my life."

MaK E A dIFfErEnCe

Once upon a time there was a wise man who used to go to the ocean to do his writing. He had a habit of walking on the beach before he began his work. One day he was walking along the shore. As he looked down the beach, he saw a human figure moving like a dancer. He smiled to himself to think of someone who would dance to the day. So he began to walk faster to catch up. As he got closer, he saw that it was a young man and the young man wasn't dancing, but instead he was reaching down to the shore, picking up something and very gently throwing it into the ocean. As he got closer he called out,"Good morning! What are you doing?" The young man paused, looked up and replied, "Throwing starfish in the ocean." "I guess I should have asked, why are you throwing starfish in the ocean?" "The sun is up and the tide is going out. And if I don't throw them in they'll die." "But, young man, don't you realize that there are miles and miles of beach and starfish all along it. You can't possibly make a difference!" The young man listed politely. Then bent down, picked another starfish and threw it into the sea, past the breaking waves and said, "It made a difference for that one."

ThE ViSiOn

A blind boy sat on the steps of a building with a hat by his feet. He held up a sign which said: 'I am blind, please help.' There were only a few coins in the hat.

A man was walking by. He took a few coins from his pocket and dropped them into the hat. He then took the sign, turned it around, and wrote some words. He put the sign back so that everyone who walked by would see the new words.

Soon the hat began to fill up. A lot more people were giving money to the blind boy. That afternoon the man who had changed the sign came to see how things were. The boy recognized his footsteps and asked, 'Were you the one who changed my sign this morning? What did you write?'


The man said, 'I only wrote the truth. I said what you said but in a different way.'
What he had written was: 'Today is a beautiful day and I cannot see it.'

Do you think the first sign and the second sign were saying the same thing?

Of course both signs told people the boy was blind. But the first sign simply said the boy was blind. The second sign told people they were so lucky that they were not blind. Should we be surprised that the second sign was more effective?

Moral of the Story: Be thankful for what you have. Be creative. Be innovative. Think differently and positively.

Invite others towards good with wisdom. Live life with no excuse and love with no regrets. When life gives you a 100 reasons to cry, show life that you have 1000 reasons to smile. Face your past without regret. Handle your present with confidence. Prepare for the future without fear.

Keep the faith and drop the fear.

The most beautiful thing is to see a person smiling And even more beautiful, knowing that you are the reason behind it!!!

HAI NA?
:)

I can sleep when the wind blows!

Years ago, a farmer owned land along the Atlantic seacoast.

He constantly advertised for hired hands. Most people were reluctant to work on farms along the Atlantic . They dreaded the awful storms that raged across the Atlantic , wreaking havoc on the buildings and crops.

As the farmer interviewed applicants for the job, he received a steady stream of refusals.

Finally, a short, thin man, well past middle age, approached the farmer. '
Are you a good farm hand?' the farmer asked him. 'Well, I can sleep when the wind blows,' answered the little man.

Although puzzled by this answer, the farmer, desperate for help, hired him. The little man worked well around the farm, busy from dawn to dusk, and the farmer felt satisfied with the man's work.

Then one night, the wind howled loudly in from offshore. Jumping out of bed, the farmer grabbed a lantern and rushed next door to the hired hand's sleeping quarters. He shook the little man and yelled, 'Get up! A storm is coming! Tie things down before they blow away!'

The little man rolled over in bed and said firmly, 'No sir. I told you, I can sleep when the wind blows.'

Enraged by the response, the farmer was tempted to fire him on the spot. Instead, he hurried outside to prepare for the storm.

To his amazement, he discovered that all of the haystacks had been covered with tarpaulins. The cows were in the barn, the chickens were in the coops, and the doors were barred.

The shutters were tightly secured. Everything was tied down.

Nothing could blow away. The farmer then understood what his hired hand meant, so he returned to his bed to also sleep while the wind blew.

******

When you're prepared, spiritually, mentally, and physically, you have nothing to fear. Can you sleep when the wind blows through your life?

******

GoD iS aT wInDoW

There was a little boy visiting his grandparents on their farm. He was
given
a slingshot to play with out in the woods.
He Practiced in the woods, but he could never hit the target. Getting A
little discouraged, he headed back for dinner.
As he was Walking back he saw Grandma's pet duck Just out of impulse,
he let
the slingshot fly, hit the duck Square in the head, and killed it. He
was
shocked and grieved. In a panic, he hid the dead duck in the wood
pile,
only to see His sister watching! Sally had seen it all, but she said
nothingAfter lunch the next day Grandma said, " Sally, let's wash the
Dishes." But Sally said, "Grandma, Johnny told me he wanted to help in
The
kitchen." Then she whispered to him, " Remember the duck?" So Johnny
did the
dishes. Later that day, Grandpa asked if the children wanted to go
Fishing
and Grandma said, "I'm sorry but I need Sally to help make Supper."
Sally
just smiled and said," Well that's all right because Johnny told Me he
wanted to help." She whispered again, "Remember the duck?" So Sally
Went
fishing and Johnny stayed to help. After several days of Johnny doing
both
his chores and Sally's, He finally couldn't stand it any longer. He
came to
Grandma and confessed that he had killed the duck. Grandma knelt down,
gave
him a hug, and said, "Sweetheart, I know. You see, I was standing at
the
window and I saw the whole thing, but because I love you, I forgave
you. I
was just wondering how long You would let Sally make a slave of
you."Thought
for the day and every day thereafter? Whatever is in your past,
whatever you
have done... And the devil Keeps throwing it up in your face (lying,
cheating, debt, fear, bad Habits, hatred, anger, bitterness, etc.)
....whatever it is....You need to know that God was standing at the
window
and He saw the whole thing..... He has seen your whole life. He wants
you to
know that He loves you and that you are forgiven. He's just wondering
how
long you will let the devil make a slave Of you.The great thing about
God is
that when you ask for forgiveness, He Not only forgives you, but He
forgets
. It is by God's grace and Mercy that we are saved. Go ahead and make
the
difference in someone's life today.
Share This with a friend and always remember:
God is at the window....

ThE FlAwS

A water bearer in India had two large pots, each hung on the ends of a pole which he carried across his neck. One of the pots had a crack in it, while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water.

At the end of the long walk from the stream to the house, the cracked pot arrived only half full. For a full two years this went on daily, with the bearer delivering only one and a half pots full of water to his house.

Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments, perfect for which it was made. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it was able to accomplish only half of what it had been made to do.

After two years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream. "I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you. I have been able to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house. Because of my flaws, you have to do a lot of this work, and you don't get full value from your efforts," the pot said.

The bearer said to the pot, "Did you notice that there were flowers only on your side of the path, but not on the other pot's side? That's because I have always known about your flaw, and I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you've watered them.

For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table. Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house."

Moral:

Each of us has our own unique flaws. We're all cracked pots. But it's the cracks and flaws we each have that make our lives together so very interesting and rewarding.

I knew you'd come

Horror gripped the heart of a World War-I soldier, as he saw his lifelong friend fall in battle. The soldier asked his Lieutenant if he could go out to bring his fallen comrade back.

"You can go," said the Lieutenant," but don't think it will be worth it. Your friend is probably dead and you may throw your life away.

"The Lieutenant's words didn't matter, and the soldier went anyway. Miraculously, he managed to reach his friend, hoisted him onto his shoulder and brought him back to their company's trench.

The officer checked the wounded soldier, and then looked kindly at his friend. "I told you it wouldn't be worth it," he said. "Your friend is dead and you are mortally wounded."

"It was worth it, Sir," said the soldier.

"What do you mean by worth it?" responded the Lieutenant. "Your friend is dead."

"Yes Sir," the soldier answered, "but it was worth it because when I got to him, he was still alive and I had the satisfaction of hearing him say...

"Jim... I knew you'd come."

----------------------------------------

--

Many times in life, whether a thing is worth doing or not, really depends on how u look at it. Take up all your courage and do something your heart tells you to do so that you may not regret not doing it later in your life...

ThE InSiGhT

Two men, both seriously ill, occupied the same hospital room. One man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour a day to drain the fluids from his lungs. His bed was next to the room's only window. The other man had to spend all his time flat on his back.
The men talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation. And every afternoon when the man in the bed next to the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window.
The man in the other bed would live for those one-hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the outside world. The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake, the man had said. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Lovers walked arm in arm amid flowers of every color of the rainbow. Grand old trees graced the landscape, and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance. As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene.
One warm afternoon the man by the window described a parade passing by. Although the other man could not hear the band, he could see it in his mind's eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words. Unexpectedly, an alien thought entered his head: Why should hehave all the pleasure of seeing everything while I never get to see anything? It didn't seem fair. As the thought fermented, the man felt ashamed at first. But as the days passed and he missed seeing more sights, his envy eroded into resentment and soon turned him sour. He began to brood and found himself unable to sleep. He should be by that window - and that thought now controlled his life.
Late one night, as he lay staring at the ceiling, the man by the window began to cough. He was choking on the fluid in his lungs. The other man watched in the dimly lit room as the struggling man by the window groped for the button to call for help. Listening from across the room, he never moved, never pushed his own button which would have brought the nurse running. In less than five minutes, the coughing and choking stopped, along with the sound of breathing. Now, there was only silence--deathly silence.
The following morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths. When she found the lifeless body of the man by the window, she was saddened and called the hospital attendant to take it away--no words, no fuss. As soon as it seemed appropriate, the man asked if he could be moved next to the window. The nurse was happy to make the switch and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.

Slowly, painfully, he propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look. Finally, he would have the joy of seeing it all himself. He strained to slowly turn to look out the window beside the bed. It faced a blank wall.
Moral of the story:
The pursuit of happiness is a matter of choice...it is a positive attitude we consciously choose to express. It is not a gift that gets delivered to our doorstep each morning, nor does it come through the window. And I am certain that our circumstances are just a small part of what makes us joyful. If we wait for them to get just right, we will never find lasting joy.
The pursuit of happiness is an inward journey. Our minds are like programs, awaiting the code that will determine behaviors; like bank vaults awaiting our deposits. If we regularly deposit positive, encouraging, and uplifting thoughts, if we continue to bite our lips just before we begin to grumble and complain, if we shoot down that seemingly harmless negative thought as it germinates, we will find that there is much to rejoice about.