From one of the most read books of 20th century - The Prophet By Khalil Gibran.
Then a woman said, Speak to us of Joy and Sorrow. And
he answered: Your joy is your sorrow unmasked. And the
selfsame well from which your laughter rises was oftentimes
filled with your tears.
And how else can it be? The deeper that sorrow carves into
your being, the more joy you can contain.
Is not the cup that holds your wine the very cup that was
burned in the potter’s oven? And is not the lute that soothes
your spirit the very wood that was hollowed with knives?
When you are Joyous, look deep into your heart and you
shall find it is only that which has given you sorrow that is
giving you joy.
When you are sorrowful, look again in your heart, and you
shall see that in truth you are weeping for that which has been
your delight.
Some of you say, ‘Joy is greater than sorrow,’ and others say,
‘Nay, sorrow is the greater.’ But I say unto you, they are inseparable.
Together they come, and when one sits alone with you at
your board, remember that the other is asleep upon your bed.
Verily you are suspended like scales between your sorrow and
your joy.
Only when you are empty are you at stand still and balanced.
When the treasure-keeper lifts you to weigh his gold
and his silver, needs must your joy or your sorrow rise or fall.
To read more about Khalil Gibran, go to here
To download and read 'The Prophet' as ebook, go The Prophet eBook Site
Friday, April 16, 2010
Thursday, April 15, 2010
Riya
Yesterday, I was thinking about how much my daughter has become the center of our lives. It is so hard to remember or recount the days before she was born. It looks like a time from previous life. Now it is so hard to imagine that there was a day when I used to enter a home without her running to hug me or give me a smile or asking whether I have got some candies for her. And the chatter-box she is, it is so hard to recall silence before her.
Due to her, I am able to experience so many emotions. I have never thought that there are so many emotions in me. I have always been a guy who did not use to express his emotions or feeling for someone easily. I know I am like that to some extent even now but due to her I have been able to learn to express my emotions more easily to people I care for in my life - whether my parents, my nephew, my nieces, my sister and several friends. It is so easy for her to show her emotions to me and express her love and this is what I try to learn from her. Her way of expressing is so simple and so effective. Most importantly, due to her, I have been able to understand my priorities in life.
She is now more than 3 years old. But that feeling of holding her in my arms first time still lingers with me. How does time fly?
Due to her, I am able to experience so many emotions. I have never thought that there are so many emotions in me. I have always been a guy who did not use to express his emotions or feeling for someone easily. I know I am like that to some extent even now but due to her I have been able to learn to express my emotions more easily to people I care for in my life - whether my parents, my nephew, my nieces, my sister and several friends. It is so easy for her to show her emotions to me and express her love and this is what I try to learn from her. Her way of expressing is so simple and so effective. Most importantly, due to her, I have been able to understand my priorities in life.
She is now more than 3 years old. But that feeling of holding her in my arms first time still lingers with me. How does time fly?
Monday, April 12, 2010
Stopping By Woods On A Snowy Evening
Have always liked this poem. This poem, written by Robert Frost, was first published in a 1923 Pulitzer prize winning volume of poems titled 'New Hampshire'.
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Whose woods these are I think I know.
His house is in the village though;
He will not see me stopping here
To watch his woods fill up with snow.
My little horse must think it queer
To stop without a farmhouse near
Between the woods and frozen lake
The darkest evening of the year.
He gives his harness bells a shake
To ask if there is some mistake
The only other sound’s the sweep
Of easy wind and downy flake.
The woods are lovely, dark and deep,
But I have promises to keep,
And miles to go before I sleep,
And miles to go before I sleep.
Friday, April 9, 2010
Sometimes...
You just want the time clock to go in reverse so that you can go to a moment/phase in past and undo the things which you did wrong at that time.
Since most of the times you cannot turn clock backwards, you just keep on regretting about things. Some people say regretting about past things/actions is not a good thing - one should move on and blah blah... But I feel regretting is a way of reminding to yourself that you did something wrong. To have that guilt feeling burning in you keeps you on toes to not commit the same mistake again.
This is also necessary since some mistakes last for a lifetime.
Only if I could have...
Since most of the times you cannot turn clock backwards, you just keep on regretting about things. Some people say regretting about past things/actions is not a good thing - one should move on and blah blah... But I feel regretting is a way of reminding to yourself that you did something wrong. To have that guilt feeling burning in you keeps you on toes to not commit the same mistake again.
This is also necessary since some mistakes last for a lifetime.
Only if I could have...
Monday, April 5, 2010
Thursday, September 10, 2009
My First Visit To Koshish
Making a visit to Koshish, near Sarita Vihar was like coming to a different world altogether in the heart of the city. Koshish is a school-cum-vocational center for slum kids, and is located in a slum near Sarita Vihar. The main aim of the school is to provide basic primary education and help the kids secure secondary education in the government schools. As soon as we left Sarita Vihar's D block road and entered into a rather bumpy road towards the slum, we could feel the change from 'our' world to 'their' world. Near an open sewage drain and a little down (or up) on a more bumpy ‘kuccha’ road, is this school. Koshish, quite compact and the most minimal structure a school could have, surrounded by sheds full of buffalos and slum houses made of tattered clothes and sundry materials. My first impression on seeing the school from the distance was the stark contrast it was presenting with the surroundings – properly constructed, painted in pink, with clear writing on front - it was like someone has put it there from somewhere else.
My first interaction with the reality outside of my car (apart from the bumpy roads) was the rather peculiar stench which hit my mind as soon as the car doors were open. It cannot get clearer than this - that stench was the clear difference between 'my' world and 'their' world. As soon as I entered the school, I could see the playground area on the right which had slides, swings, see-saws. I noticed that instead of see-saw, only the lower bar was present. I came to know later on that the see saws cannot be left in the open due to threat of theft. It is made available to kids on Saturdays to play. Upon entering the school, the kids recognized my friend and greeted her with 'Good Morning Mam' in a quite rhythmic tone. I was impressed by the smiles these kids had on their face. Really, they were enjoying it there. I was quite humbled with the way they greeted us and by their enthusiasm when they greeted us in their world.
The school is a four room school. Due to small number of rooms and nearly 180 kids studying, there is no concept of rooms allotted to grades. Younger kids study in the main hall (or room) while somewhat older kids in another room. A room is used as a store for keeping sundry items plus tailoring machines used for teaching older girls sewing. Another room is being used as a computer room. There is also a bathroom and a loo which I do not think are used very often because I saw kids going out for that. We met a teacher who was running the school at that time. She was quite aged and polite – something which I feel is necessary for such a school. The school office was at one corner of the main hall and it consisted of some photos on a wall indicating kids who have got admission in a English medium school or a health checkup camp. There was a chart on another wall indicating the number of students across the years and it has surely grown over the time.
The school runs in two shifts - the morning shift is for younger kids while the afternoon shift is for older kids. There is a lunch break in between where the lunch is provided by the ISKCON people. As I was told, this lunch is also a motivation for some kids to come to the school but at least they come. All the kids were quite happy there and most of them were reading their books or writing Hindi alphabets or numbers on their notebooks. One thing which I noticed was that some kids as young as five (or even four) years knew writing Hindi alphabets and numbers, which the private school kids are not taught now a days at that age. Another thing which I noticed was that most of the kids were wearing uniforms and all of the uniforms were quite neat.
As we sat there and noticed the kids – some of them playing pranks on one another, some just lost in their own worlds, some reading books and preparing for their exams, some reading out the Hindi alphabets and then English loudly for us – I could feel that the kids really wanted to study there. This was quite a change for me – since most of the times, ‘we’ feel that kids from the slum are not interested in studies – they (and their parents) just want to earn money through them. I took a round of the school – greeted by buffaloes from the nearby shed – and found out that the whole structured was just a square building guarded with a minimal boundary. Everything was inside the building which makes sense since I was told there have been instances of some theft and stoning at night. Although the number of kids were very less when we visited the school - as we were told that some kids have gone for an examination – but I could feel a sense of crampness for the kids. And it was hard for me to imagine what happens when they have 100 (or 80) kids in one shift.
When we were leaving, I wanted to talk to a kid who was quite naughty as he was playing pranks on other kids but he turned out to be quite a shy guy when I started talking to him. So, we left the place and after some more of bumpy ride, we were again on a ‘pucca’ road - an indication of us crossing into another world – so near yet so far from those kids. I was certainly not taken back by the poverty there – since in India one is never too far from it – but I was surely taken back by the enthusiasm of the kids. They were happy there – with their books, bags and utensils for the lunch they were eagerly awaiting – reciting their chapters as instructed by the teacher.
My first interaction with the reality outside of my car (apart from the bumpy roads) was the rather peculiar stench which hit my mind as soon as the car doors were open. It cannot get clearer than this - that stench was the clear difference between 'my' world and 'their' world. As soon as I entered the school, I could see the playground area on the right which had slides, swings, see-saws. I noticed that instead of see-saw, only the lower bar was present. I came to know later on that the see saws cannot be left in the open due to threat of theft. It is made available to kids on Saturdays to play. Upon entering the school, the kids recognized my friend and greeted her with 'Good Morning Mam' in a quite rhythmic tone. I was impressed by the smiles these kids had on their face. Really, they were enjoying it there. I was quite humbled with the way they greeted us and by their enthusiasm when they greeted us in their world.
The school is a four room school. Due to small number of rooms and nearly 180 kids studying, there is no concept of rooms allotted to grades. Younger kids study in the main hall (or room) while somewhat older kids in another room. A room is used as a store for keeping sundry items plus tailoring machines used for teaching older girls sewing. Another room is being used as a computer room. There is also a bathroom and a loo which I do not think are used very often because I saw kids going out for that. We met a teacher who was running the school at that time. She was quite aged and polite – something which I feel is necessary for such a school. The school office was at one corner of the main hall and it consisted of some photos on a wall indicating kids who have got admission in a English medium school or a health checkup camp. There was a chart on another wall indicating the number of students across the years and it has surely grown over the time.
The school runs in two shifts - the morning shift is for younger kids while the afternoon shift is for older kids. There is a lunch break in between where the lunch is provided by the ISKCON people. As I was told, this lunch is also a motivation for some kids to come to the school but at least they come. All the kids were quite happy there and most of them were reading their books or writing Hindi alphabets or numbers on their notebooks. One thing which I noticed was that some kids as young as five (or even four) years knew writing Hindi alphabets and numbers, which the private school kids are not taught now a days at that age. Another thing which I noticed was that most of the kids were wearing uniforms and all of the uniforms were quite neat.
As we sat there and noticed the kids – some of them playing pranks on one another, some just lost in their own worlds, some reading books and preparing for their exams, some reading out the Hindi alphabets and then English loudly for us – I could feel that the kids really wanted to study there. This was quite a change for me – since most of the times, ‘we’ feel that kids from the slum are not interested in studies – they (and their parents) just want to earn money through them. I took a round of the school – greeted by buffaloes from the nearby shed – and found out that the whole structured was just a square building guarded with a minimal boundary. Everything was inside the building which makes sense since I was told there have been instances of some theft and stoning at night. Although the number of kids were very less when we visited the school - as we were told that some kids have gone for an examination – but I could feel a sense of crampness for the kids. And it was hard for me to imagine what happens when they have 100 (or 80) kids in one shift.
When we were leaving, I wanted to talk to a kid who was quite naughty as he was playing pranks on other kids but he turned out to be quite a shy guy when I started talking to him. So, we left the place and after some more of bumpy ride, we were again on a ‘pucca’ road - an indication of us crossing into another world – so near yet so far from those kids. I was certainly not taken back by the poverty there – since in India one is never too far from it – but I was surely taken back by the enthusiasm of the kids. They were happy there – with their books, bags and utensils for the lunch they were eagerly awaiting – reciting their chapters as instructed by the teacher.
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Book Review: Thug By Mike Dash
Thug, (ठग), a member of the murderous Indian cult
Thug, slang for a gangster, a petty thief, or a minor villain, deriving from the above cult
For nearly two centuries, this lethal murderous cult made the life of the highway travellers hell throughout the central India, Rajputana and South (to some extent as well). Thugs were normal native people - nothing different about them - they used to do farming at their homes and then due to certain problems (like famine, bad crops, loans, etc...) they get onto highway and murder people for as little as eight annas.
The Thuggee cult was suppressed by the British rulers of India in the 1830s, due largely to the efforts of the civil servant William Sleeman, who started an extensive campaign involving profiling and intelligence. A police organization known as the 'Thuggee and Dacoity Department' was established within the Government of India, with William Sleeman appointed Superintendent of the department in 1835. Thousands of men were either put in prison, executed, or expelled from British India.The campaign was heavily based on informants recruited from captured thugs who were offered protection on the condition that they told everything that they knew. By the 1870s, the Thug cult was extinct.
'Thug: The true story of India's murderous cult' by Mike Dash is the result of three years of research in the voluminous archives of the English East India Company, preserved in London, New Delhi and Bhopal. Mike Dash gives a competent historical account of Thug beliefs and practice, through to their extermination by Sleeman and his men. This book traces the history of Thugs, looks into their lives, their modus operandi, their victims, their leaders and their decline.
A wonderfully researched and written book, Thug by Mike Dash, is a honest attempt towards understanding this controversial subject.
Thug, slang for a gangster, a petty thief, or a minor villain, deriving from the above cult
For nearly two centuries, this lethal murderous cult made the life of the highway travellers hell throughout the central India, Rajputana and South (to some extent as well). Thugs were normal native people - nothing different about them - they used to do farming at their homes and then due to certain problems (like famine, bad crops, loans, etc...) they get onto highway and murder people for as little as eight annas.
The Thuggee cult was suppressed by the British rulers of India in the 1830s, due largely to the efforts of the civil servant William Sleeman, who started an extensive campaign involving profiling and intelligence. A police organization known as the 'Thuggee and Dacoity Department' was established within the Government of India, with William Sleeman appointed Superintendent of the department in 1835. Thousands of men were either put in prison, executed, or expelled from British India.The campaign was heavily based on informants recruited from captured thugs who were offered protection on the condition that they told everything that they knew. By the 1870s, the Thug cult was extinct.
'Thug: The true story of India's murderous cult' by Mike Dash is the result of three years of research in the voluminous archives of the English East India Company, preserved in London, New Delhi and Bhopal. Mike Dash gives a competent historical account of Thug beliefs and practice, through to their extermination by Sleeman and his men. This book traces the history of Thugs, looks into their lives, their modus operandi, their victims, their leaders and their decline.
A wonderfully researched and written book, Thug by Mike Dash, is a honest attempt towards understanding this controversial subject.
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