Owing to the fact that television in my house is completely monopolised by my Mom in the night on weekdays, catching up wth her Saas-Bahu programs (which I really can't stand), I tend to find my solace somehow in watching news channels, catching wth the days happenings. But the Indian media is hellbent in weaning me away from that too...for what is dished out nowadays in the name of 'breaking news' is anything but news. Sample this:
1. Amitabh Bacchan ko thand lag rahi hai (To main kya karu !)
2. Aishwarya Rai ne kachra balcony se bahar pheka (I m seriously not kidding, this was the hot news last week!)
3. Uttar Pradesh ke ek gaav mein ek aadmi ko pooch(tail) hai!
If u think this is bad enough, think again..the worst is yet to come. On Saturday, I was surfing the channels I caught upon an AV on a news channel..."Dekhiye..pehli baar..Ek Sher jhaad pe chad raha hai" Disgustedly, I turned off the idiot tube...After three hours, when I turned it on again, the channel was showing the same news again, as breaking news!!
I give up...Completely!!
Feb 26, 2008
Who packed my Parachute??
Charles Plumb, a U.S. Naval Academy graduate, was a jet pilot in Vietnam . After 75 combat missions, his plane was destroyed by a surface-to-air missile. Plumb ejected and parachuted into enemy hands. He was captured and spent 6 years in a Vietnamese prison. He survived the ordeal and now lectures on lessons learned from that experience.
One day, when Plumb and his wife were sitting in a restaurant, a man at another table came up and said, "You're Plumb! You flew jet fighters in Vietnam from the aircraft carrier Kitty Hawk . You were shot down!"
"How in the world did you know that?" asked Plumb.
"I packed your parachute," the man replied.
Plumb gasped in surprise and gratitude.
The man pumped his hand and said, "I guess it worked!" Plumb assured him, "It sure did. If your chute hadn't worked, I wouldn't be here today."
Plumb couldn't sleep that night, thinking about that man. Plumb says, "I kept wondering what he might have looked like in a Navy uniform, a white hat, a bib in the back, and bell-bottom trousers. I wonder how many times I might have seen him and not even said, "Good morning, how are you?" or anything because, you see, I was a fighter pilot and he was just a sailor.
Plumb thought of the many hours the sailor had spent on a long wooden table in the bowels of the ship, carefully weaving the shrouds and folding the silks of each chute, holding in his hands each time the fate of someone he didn't even know.
"Now," Plumb asks his audience, "who's packing your parachute?" Everyone has someone who provides what they need to make it through the day. Plumb also points out that he needed many kinds of parachutes when his plane was shot down over enemy territory --- he needed his physical parachute, his mental parachute, his emotional parachute, and his spiritual parachute. He called on all these supports before reaching safety.
Sometimes in the daily challenges that life gives us, we miss what is really important. We may fail to say hello, please, or thank you, congratulate someone on something wonderful that has happened to them, give a compliment, or just do something nice for no reason.
As you go through this week, this month, this year, recognize people who pack your parachute. And tell them thanks for packing your parachute.
This mail was sent to me by a friend. Thanx Nikhil, for sharing such a wonderful message.
One day, when Plumb and his wife were sitting in a restaurant, a man at another table came up and said, "You're Plumb! You flew jet fighters in Vietnam from the aircraft carrier Kitty Hawk . You were shot down!"
"How in the world did you know that?" asked Plumb.
"I packed your parachute," the man replied.
Plumb gasped in surprise and gratitude.
The man pumped his hand and said, "I guess it worked!" Plumb assured him, "It sure did. If your chute hadn't worked, I wouldn't be here today."
Plumb couldn't sleep that night, thinking about that man. Plumb says, "I kept wondering what he might have looked like in a Navy uniform, a white hat, a bib in the back, and bell-bottom trousers. I wonder how many times I might have seen him and not even said, "Good morning, how are you?" or anything because, you see, I was a fighter pilot and he was just a sailor.
Plumb thought of the many hours the sailor had spent on a long wooden table in the bowels of the ship, carefully weaving the shrouds and folding the silks of each chute, holding in his hands each time the fate of someone he didn't even know.
"Now," Plumb asks his audience, "who's packing your parachute?" Everyone has someone who provides what they need to make it through the day. Plumb also points out that he needed many kinds of parachutes when his plane was shot down over enemy territory --- he needed his physical parachute, his mental parachute, his emotional parachute, and his spiritual parachute. He called on all these supports before reaching safety.
Sometimes in the daily challenges that life gives us, we miss what is really important. We may fail to say hello, please, or thank you, congratulate someone on something wonderful that has happened to them, give a compliment, or just do something nice for no reason.
As you go through this week, this month, this year, recognize people who pack your parachute. And tell them thanks for packing your parachute.
This mail was sent to me by a friend. Thanx Nikhil, for sharing such a wonderful message.
Feb 6, 2008
On Dharma & Religion...
Saw a politician on TV today making a statement on the Raj Thakeray controversy, "We will not tolerate an insult to our Marathi Dharma". Made me really wonder, why do people use the word 'Dharma' so loosely?
When asked "what does 'Dharma' mean to you", Bhishma Pitamah said in the Mahabharata that "Dharma Matibhya Udgritaha" translated meaning 'Dharma is one which appeals to reason, to conscience, to one's soul'...If this is true how can one justify mindless violence as one appealing to reason? Can anyone believe in & commit acts of violence with his soul remaining intact?
Dharma definately does not mean religion or language or caste; it is the purpose of life. Religion or should I term it this way, devotion to God is like a burning lamp post which guides people in reaching their destination. People however misconstruct it & intermingle them. Reminded here of Abraham Lincoln's famous words:
“When I do good, I feel good. When I do bad, I feel bad. That’s my religion.”
When asked "what does 'Dharma' mean to you", Bhishma Pitamah said in the Mahabharata that "Dharma Matibhya Udgritaha" translated meaning 'Dharma is one which appeals to reason, to conscience, to one's soul'...If this is true how can one justify mindless violence as one appealing to reason? Can anyone believe in & commit acts of violence with his soul remaining intact?
Dharma definately does not mean religion or language or caste; it is the purpose of life. Religion or should I term it this way, devotion to God is like a burning lamp post which guides people in reaching their destination. People however misconstruct it & intermingle them. Reminded here of Abraham Lincoln's famous words:
“When I do good, I feel good. When I do bad, I feel bad. That’s my religion.”
Feb 5, 2008
The Papad-Seller
Train-traveling time is perhaps the only time in Mumbai when you have the time to witness a gamut of human emotions. Due to the fact that I can never sleep in trains unlike others, if I am fortunate enough to get a seat, I pass my time either reading novels or even more interestingly, observing others or reflecting.
Today, I was reading a novel, when I suddenly heard a soft voice speaking in polite Marathi,
“Konala Papad havet ka?” Does anybody want Papads?
Thinking who was adventurous enough to try & sell stuff amidst the huge peak- hour crowd, I glanced up briefly. What I found shook me to the core…For the seller was a very old woman! She must have been atleast 75 years old & from her appearance & language appeared to be from a very cultured Brahmin family. Bent at the waist, but still carrying a huge jhola from which she was disbursing the home-made papad packets. Everybody was moved to see such a frail, tired body being jostled by the rush-hour crowd & within no time all her packets were sold.
Having sold her packets, the woman was trying to find a place to stand. I got up & offered her my seat. She sat down, throwing a look of gratitude in my direction. Then she closed her eyes. And I proceeded to observe her unwatched. And thinking, what must have been the circumstances that must have forced an eighty year old woman to come out of the cocoon of her house.
Suddenly, I saw the old woman crying. Silently. She wasn’t even sobbing, just silent tears running down her cheeks, which she wiped periodically. What was she crying about; I wondered…has she lost someone? Problems at home perhaps? Or worst, a child had thrown her out of his house. I can’t really say. But felt really helpless & wretched, standing there…
After sometime she got up suddenly, wiping her eyes with her Pallu for the last time. And said to me “Tumhi basa, mala Thanyala utarayche aahe” Please sit, I want to get down at Thane. She turned, getting lost in the huge vortex of crowd which rose up to swallow her frail body. But before she turned, our eyes met for the last time. Her eyes arrested me. Or rather the lack of any expression in them. Completely vacuous eyes.
Some things are just so sad that only your soul can do the crying for you.
Today, I was reading a novel, when I suddenly heard a soft voice speaking in polite Marathi,
“Konala Papad havet ka?” Does anybody want Papads?
Thinking who was adventurous enough to try & sell stuff amidst the huge peak- hour crowd, I glanced up briefly. What I found shook me to the core…For the seller was a very old woman! She must have been atleast 75 years old & from her appearance & language appeared to be from a very cultured Brahmin family. Bent at the waist, but still carrying a huge jhola from which she was disbursing the home-made papad packets. Everybody was moved to see such a frail, tired body being jostled by the rush-hour crowd & within no time all her packets were sold.
Having sold her packets, the woman was trying to find a place to stand. I got up & offered her my seat. She sat down, throwing a look of gratitude in my direction. Then she closed her eyes. And I proceeded to observe her unwatched. And thinking, what must have been the circumstances that must have forced an eighty year old woman to come out of the cocoon of her house.
Suddenly, I saw the old woman crying. Silently. She wasn’t even sobbing, just silent tears running down her cheeks, which she wiped periodically. What was she crying about; I wondered…has she lost someone? Problems at home perhaps? Or worst, a child had thrown her out of his house. I can’t really say. But felt really helpless & wretched, standing there…
After sometime she got up suddenly, wiping her eyes with her Pallu for the last time. And said to me “Tumhi basa, mala Thanyala utarayche aahe” Please sit, I want to get down at Thane. She turned, getting lost in the huge vortex of crowd which rose up to swallow her frail body. But before she turned, our eyes met for the last time. Her eyes arrested me. Or rather the lack of any expression in them. Completely vacuous eyes.
Some things are just so sad that only your soul can do the crying for you.
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