Monday, December 29, 2008
Friday, December 26, 2008
Tuesday, December 23, 2008
One day, he passed a wealthy merchant's house and through the open gateway saw many fine possessions and important visitors.
"How powerful that merchant must be!" thought the stone cutter. He became very envious, and wished that he could be like the merchant. Then he would no longer have to live the life of a mere stone cutter.
To his great surprise, he suddenly became the merchant, enjoying more luxuries and power than he had ever dreamed of, envied and detested by those less wealthy than himself. But soon a high official passed by,carried in a sedan chair, accompanied by attendants, and escorted by soldiers beating gongs. Everyone, no matter how wealthy, had to bow low before the procession.
"How powerful that official is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be a high official!"
Then he became the high official, carried everywhere in his embroidered sedan chair, feared and hated by the people all around, who had to bow down before him as he passed. It was a hot summer day, and the official felt very uncomfortable in the sticky sedan chair. He looked up at the sun. It shone proudly in the sky, unaffected by his presence.
"How powerful the sun is!" he thought. "
I wish that I could be the sun!"
Then he became the sun, shining fiercely down on everyone, scorching the fields, cursed by the farmers and laborers. But a huge black cloud moved between him and the earth, so that his light could no longer shine on everything below.
"How powerful that storm cloud is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be a cloud!"
Then he became the cloud, flooding the fields and villages, shouted at by everyone. But soon he found that he was being pushed away by some great force, and realized that it was the wind.
"How powerful it is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be the wind!"
Then he became the wind, blowing tiles off the roofs of houses, uprooting trees, hated and feared by all below him. But after a while,he ran up against something that would not move, no matter how forcefully he blew against it -- a huge, towering stone.
"How powerful that stone is!" he thought. "I wish that I could be a stone!"
Then he became the stone, more powerful than
Anything else on earth.
But as he stood there, he heard the sound of a hammer pounding a chisel into the solid rock and felt himself being changed.
"What could be more powerful than I, the stone?" he thought.
He looked down and saw far below him the figure of a stone cutter.
Monday, December 22, 2008
I am the postmaster of this village and received your letter. I am also an honest lawyer and ordinarily would be pleased to accept a case against a local debtor. In this case, however, I also happen to be the person you sold those crummy goods to. I received your demand to pay and refused to honor it. I am also the banker you sent the draft to draw on the merchant, and I sent that back with a note stating that the merchant had refused to pay. And if I were not, for the time being, substituting for the pastor of our local church, I would tell you just where to stick your claim."
Unlike the postmaster, not many of us are multi-talented. We cannot do ALL things well, or even fairly well. You may be a skilled chef, for example. Or, on the other hand, your motto may be more like mine:"Where there's smoke, there's dinner."
As gifted as the great mathematician was, even Albert Einstein experienced feelings of inadequacy. In 1948 Einstein was offered the first presidency of the new nation of Israel. He turned it down with this statement: "I know little about the nature of people.... And I am saddened and ashamed that I cannot accept it.... I lack both the natural aptitude and the experience to deal properly with people."
Einstein knew plenty about the nature of the universe, but this wise and sensitive man also knew that he lacked the necessary political skill for such a demanding position. Is there really any shame in knowing our limitations?
Einstein focused on that which he did well and the world is the better for it. Madame Marie Curie said, "Life is not easy for any of us, but what of that? We must have perseverance and above all confidence in ourselves. We must believe that we are gifted for something and that this thing must be attained."
Be confident! You may not recognize it, but you are gifted for something! Whether it be big or small, do what you are gifted to do and you will be happy
FROM: Naveen Lahori
Saturday, December 20, 2008
Is success of another,
Whether a small step forward,
Or a large leap of faith...
Happiest of the most cheerful,
Are the ones that bear the biggest pain,
And the brightest of company,
Are found in the shade...
So never judge a book upon its cover,
As you don’t judge a flower before its bloom,
The power of a man,
Is never known by himself,
Until he passes through the wall in his mind...
The waste of the lives of the heroes in battle,
Leave all the wives behind.
For the skill of gaining knowledge and wisdom,
Always out of reach for the vain...
To the depths of vanity,
The good will always prevail,
And as in time the natural process emerges,
As dark always clears,
And as life is never idle...
Like when change does appear,
The challenge will persevere,
As the first star rises,
Does the imagination of the children,
Begins the inspiration of the man...
These words of inspiration have been contributed by our group(Prerna231) member who wants to be a silent contributor...
Thursday, December 18, 2008
Tuesday, December 16, 2008
Saturday, December 13, 2008
Thursday, December 11, 2008
Sunday, December 7, 2008
Saturday, December 6, 2008
A mother is devastated, she is howling with pain, yelling all she can in that dark and dingy corner of her four by four kholi. There was nobody to hear her yell and not a soul to pacify her, because outside her shack is a long winding lonely road. There was no existence of mankind for miles and miles ahead.The wind was at rest, the leaves didn't rustle and no resonance of a barking dog, silence filled the air. Loneliness was already killing her, but no one knows what made her cry?
Losing something you love with all your heart isn't really the grief you can ever overcome. Radha lost her baby. Her only means to live. She saw her child getting crushed under a car in front of her own eyes. Blood was all over and the accident was terrible. One lonely night, she was walking down the street to get a breath of fresh air with her child cuddled tight in her arms. She walked a long time s till she saw the face of mankind (in the most evil form).
The whole time she walked with her child in her arms the only thing that worried her was Aryans (her son’s) future. What kind of a person will he be? Will he make me proud? How much light is life going to bring in his existence? She was imagining and feeling every day of the Child's growth, and what she had in store for him. But who knows what’ sin store for us tomorrow, life can change in the splits of a second. Talk about destiny, all those dreams hopes and expectations were snatched away from her in an instant. Her smiles were frowns and her faith just crumbled, like a deal soul in a living, rather breathing body.
This is how it happened…. On that abandoned road, were a few streetlights barely sufficient? There was this one light that was visible from a distance, but as it came closer it got brighter and brighter. That light changed Radha’s life into darkness forever. A speeding car came down that road, as if the driver had jammed the accelerator, cutting across the wind. He came at a speed of 110kmph throwing beer bottles out of his half open window. He was definitely drunk, the speed took everything in its path. Just then, there was aloud cry, and silence set in again. The cry of a baby and no sight of a child.
Ironically the mother wasn't hurt, not a scratch on a body, not a bruise on her arm. She opened her eyes and didn't see Aryan, her vision was blur. After a few minutes when her sight cleared up she looked allover frantically for her baby, but alas! There was nothing. Just then she noticed something about then feet away it was blood draining into the gutter’s, and pieces of minced flesh, laying there saying so much without saying anything at all. The blood of her baby, the child who hadn't even seen life, he paid the price for another man’s folly. The same little child whose future was just being planned.
After many long discussions at night in their crowded bed, the two boys finally worked out a pact. They would toss a coin.The loser would go down into the nearby mines and, with his earnings, support his brother while he attended the academy. Then, when that brother who won the toss completed his studies, in four years, he would support the other brother at the academy, either with sales of his art work or, if necessary, also by laboring in the mines.
They tossed a coin on a Sunday morning after church. Albrecht Durer won the toss and went off to Nuremberg. Albert went down into the dangerous mines and, for the next four years, financed his brother, whose work at the academy was almost an immediate sensation. Albrecht's etchings, his woodcuts, and his oils were far better than those of most of his professors, and by the time he graduated, he was beginning to earn considerable fees for his commissioned works.
When the young artist returned to his village, the Durer family held a festive dinner on their lawn to celebrate Albrecht's triumphant home coming. After a long and memorable meal, punctuated with music and laughter, Albrecht rose from his honored position at the head of the table to drink a toast to his beloved brother for the years of sacrifice that had enabled Albrecht to fulfill his ambition. His closing words were, "And now, Albert, blessed brother of mine, now it is your turn. Now you can go to Nuremberg to pursue your dream, and I will take care of you."
All heads turned in eager expectation to the far end of the table where Albert sat, tears streaming down his pale face, shaking his lowered head from side to side while he sobbed and repeated, over and over, "No ...no ...no ...no."
Finally, Albert rose and wiped the tears from his cheeks. He glanced down the long table at the faces he loved, and then, holding his hands close to his right cheek, he said softly, "No, brother. I cannot go to Nuremberg. It is too late for me. Look ... Look what four years in the mines have done to my hands! The bones in every finger have been smashed at least once, and lately I have been suffering from arthritis so badly in my right hand that I cannot even hold a glass to return your toast, much less make delicate lines on parchment or canvas with a pen or a brush. No, brother...
For me it is too late."
More than 450 years have passed. By now, Albrecht Durer's hundreds of masterful portraits, pen and silver-point sketches, watercolors, charcoals, woodcuts, and copper engravings hang in every great museum in the world, but the odds are great that you, like most people, are familiar with only one of Albrecht Durer's works. More than merely being familiar with it, you very well may have a reproduction hanging in your home or office.
One day, to pay homage to Albert for all that he had sacrificed, Albrecht Durer painstakingly drew his brother's abused hands with palms together and thin fingers stretched skyward. He called his powerful drawing simply "Hands," but the entire world almost immediately opened their hearts to his great masterpiece and renamed his tribute of love"The Praying Hands."
Wednesday, December 3, 2008
Tuesday, December 2, 2008