Monday, December 29, 2008

The Beautiful Heart...

Arushi was only seven years old. Her cousin Rajat who was twenty years old, was studying medicine. Arushi thought he was already a doctor, so she called him Doctor Bhayia (brother).

One day she went to his room and found him studying a big book. She climbed onto his lap and asked, "Doctor Bhayia, what is this?" He said, "This is a picture of the human heart. There is one like that in all of us."She looked at it curiously, as if trying to understand everything! He caught her little hand to place over his heart and said, "Can you feel how its beating? It works hard all day to pump blood. I am writing an article on the heart for my presentation."

"May I help you?" asked Arushi, her eyes shining.

Rajat looked at her, hiding his smile and said, "Sure, you write something for me and I'll put it into my work. Off you go now."

Arushi sat down to work seriously. She wrote her article and gave it to Doctor Bhayia. On the day of the presentation, he read out his article that was a very good piece on the functioning of the heart. Then he said,"Sir, I seek your permission, to speak for another minute, to share with you, what my seven year old sister has to say on this topic."

The Professor in-charge was baffled, but all the same he nodded his head in as sent. This is what Rajat read out:

1 All of us have biiiig hearts. My heart does dhak-dhak all the time. My heart is red.

2 It is in circulatory system and pumps all the blood.

3 My heart loves all parts of my body. If my heart did not give love I would die.

4 My heart is cracked and breaked when people say a bad things to it.

5 When Raju break my dolly, a part of my heart cried and died.

6 When I get new toys my heart jumps.

7 My heart is soooo big, that I can put so many people into it.

8 Only God knows how to make new hearts so we should try not to break them.

9 Mama says God lives in all hearts. Then why do people fight?

There was pin-drop silence. Then the Professor rose up from his seat and started clapping. One by one, everyone stood up to give a standing ovation. Little Arushi had seen beyond what doctors see. She had seen beyond the mechanics, the flesh and the blood. Truly she had understood the real functioning of the heart!

Friday, December 26, 2008

The Bud Takes a Risk

I love the quote, which I read on AsAManThinketh: "And the day came when the risk it took to remain tight inside the bud was more painful than the risk it took to blossom." Anais Nin It caused me to think . A bud when it is closed tight is protected from the wind and rain. Its delicate petals and stamens are enclosed, safe from harm, bundled up tight and secure. But the pressure is building! Some thing is pushing them, one against the other and gossip is that at the top of the bud, the protective case has split and some of the petals are being pushed out!

Actually some of the petals were excited at the prospect of being free, of being able to move as they wished, of greeting the 'Sun' that they had heard so much about. Others were more cautious - fearing unnecessary change!

Now the report had come back from the top petals that the sun was dulled, and they were being battered by the wind. They were trying to get back in the bud - and all that was doing was increasing the split - and other petals were exposed.

One big petal was very quiet in all the ensuing discussion! He knew he was close to the Sun now. He had waited sooo long! He pushed up and out with all his might. He could see the split just above him now! I'll try again, he determined. I must get a glimpse! So he focused and tried again. He pushed and pushed and the pressure was too much for the bud and it split down the side. The petal turned his eyes outward! What wonder! What fresh air! The smells! The perfume! The possibilities! The freedom!

"It is wonderful, just wonderful!" he yelled to the petals behind him. "Come on! Let's show the world how beautiful we are!" He urged.

"But, the risk!" the other petals argued, "Let's stay here - it is more comfortable now the bud is split!"

Just then a little voice was heard outside. "Daddy, come quick. The bud is opening! Look at the beautiful colour!" "Can you smell the perfume?" was the reply. "No, Daddy, no smell!" "You will be able to smell it when all the petals are open. It will be wonderful"

The petals were all quiet for a few moments. Suddenly they understood! To bloom, would eventually cost them everything! But to bloom is what they were created for! To remain a bud and die on the vine was unthinkable! "We must bloom. We must all push together. We must be the best most attractive bloom. Then the bees will come and sup with us, and though we die we will actually live for ever!"

PS A week later a satisfied petal lay under the vine, blown against the fence. His colour was fading, but his perfume was still strong. They had done well. The little girl had admired them everyday - but more importantly they had opened themselves completely to the Sun - and the bees had come. And as he looked up to the vine, even now he could see the swelling, just below the last few petals, that spoke of fruit, with its promise of new life.

Near him on the ground was a bud - it had never opened itself to the Sun. The vine had dropped it to the ground as useless. How sad to have never experienced the Sun - to never have reached fulfillment! How thankful he was that the big petal had the vision and courage to lead them out!!

Aseem Kaistha
It's your attitude and not your aptitude that determines your altitude.

Tuesday, December 23, 2008

The Stone Cutter...

The Stone Cutter...

There was once a stone cutter who was dissatisfied with himself and with his position in life.

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.

Benjamin Hoff
Aseem Kaistha
It's your attitude and not your aptitude that determines your altitude.

Monday, December 22, 2008

You are Gifted...

A wholesaler in New York who sent a letter to the postmaster of a small mid-western town. He asked for the name of an honest lawyer who would take a collection case against a local debtor who had refused to pay for a shipment of the wholesaler's goods. He got this reply:

"Dear Sir,
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


I remember my mother's prayers

and they have always followed me.

They have clung to me all my life.

~Abraham Lincoln

"GOD made a wonderful mother,

A mother who never grows old;
He made her smile of the sunshine,

And He molded her heart of pure gold;
In her eyes He placed bright shining stars,

In her cheeks, fair roses you see;
God made a wonderful mother,

And He gave that dear mother to me."

A mother is a person who seeing

there are only four pieces of pie for five people,

promptly announces she never did care for pie.

~Tenneva Jordan

Motherhood is priced of God,

at price no man may dare
To lessen or misunderstand.
~Helen Hunt Jackson

Grown don't mean nothing to a mother.

A child is a child. They get bigger, older, but grown?

What's that suppose to mean?

In my heart it don't mean a thing.

~Toni Morrison, Beloved, 1987

Hundreds of dewdrops to greet the dawn,
Hundreds of bees in the purple clover,
Hundreds of butterflies on the lawn,
But only one mother the wide world over.
~George Cooper


Inspiration to a man,
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...

Melissa Coventry

These words of inspiration have been contributed by our group(Prerna231) member who wants to be a silent contributor...

Thursday, December 18, 2008

The Music Competition...


A talent search competition was being conducted by a music company for young budding singers. Twenty two entries had been selected from the hundreds of entries received. The contestants had sung in front of three eminent judges; men who had made a name for themselves in the world of music. The first round being one of elimination brought the number down to ten.

The second round, started with bated breaths and pounding hearts. All the young participants put forward their best. It was a rare honour to get a chance to sing on this platform, in front of such a voluminous audience and in the midst of so much talent. At the end of the second round, only five contestants were short-listed. Those that did not make it, wept openly, for they could not hold back the tears of disappointment.

The lucky five sang in the final round. Soon the singing part was over.There was a thunderous applause from the audience. The crowd was going berserk with enthusiasm. The singers had excelled. They had the audience literally dancing to their tunes.

It was time for the final verdict. The first judge called one of contestants, Meera, centre-stage and said to her, "I wonder what prompted you to choose such a difficult composition to sing. You have sung it terribly! I cannot even count the number of mistakes you have made. You youngsters think that by singing a few numbers here and there you can become singers of repute. Let me tell you, you have to practice day and night. You have to train under the grand maestros. Come out of your Utopia." He went on to sing a line from the same song to show this bewildered contestant, just how it should have been sung. Tears streamed down the girls cheeks. She fought to hold them back, but her eyelids were not strong enough to hold in control the flood of emotions that besieged her.

The mike was passed on to the second judge. He said, "Well, young lady, you were brave to have chosen that song. But you have a lot to learn yet.You need to train for longer hours. But don't worry; you can make it if you practice consistently. Good luck to you."

It was the turn of the third judge to speak now. He said, "First of all young lady I wish to congratulate you for having reached the final round, having proved your mettle in such a sea of talent. You have immense potential in you; you just need to garner it right. Do you think that people like us who have made a name in the world of music are any different from you? No, we are also like you; the only difference is that you are yet to become famous. Lady luck shall surely smile on you if you continue to persevere. Don't give up. In this field, one is always a learner; even we are still learning. The road is tough but it's not impossible to conquer. I wish you luck. You have my blessings, be happy."

The rest of the contestants went through their turns of listening to the opinions of the judges on their respective performances. What struck the audience was not the final result, but the attitude of the judges.As the audience walked out of the auditorium, a few were discussing the participants and the results. Do you know what most of them were discussing? They were discussing who the best judge was!

Encouragement and appreciation are tonics that are always in short supply.

It is not the critic who is important. Important are those who have had the guts to enter the arena. There is no greatness in pointing out where and how great men stumbled. For not all people have the guts to try; make mistakes and then get up and try again! A winner is one who after a long journey of sweat and perspiration has the strength to make it to the end. Even if he fails, at least he has had the experience of the journey. He has had the spirit of adventure. He has had the strength to submit himself to a verdict of success or failure.

Life they say is a rocky road. The challenge is to let it not grind you into dust, but polish you into a brilliant gem!

Tuesday, December 16, 2008

The Village Sarpanch

The villages in India have a head-man called Sarpanch. Inderpal was the Sarpanch of a village. He had become very old and was failing health.So, he told the village elders that he wanted to retire from the post of Sarpanch. A couple of names were suggested. They zeroed down on the names of two men, Karam and Mahipal. Both of them were considered to be capable young men. Having discussed the pros and cons of having either of the two as Sarpanch, the elders were unable to make a final selection. The old Sarpanch decided to put both of them to test.

The village was about a mile away on either side from two different highways. The Sarpanch gave both Karam and Mahipal an equal amount of money from the village funds and asked each of them to get Kuchha roads made to connect the village to the highway on either side.

Karam set to work the very next day. He employed a contractor who came with a large team of labourers. They cleared the track of bushes and trees and beat down the mud to settle it. The track cut through the play ground where some boys played Kabaddi. The funds were not enough for making a proper road. In a couple of days the contractor reported to Karam that the road was ready.

Mahipal on the other hand, recruited only a few labourers. He also got together all the young boys in the village and asked them to lend a hand in clearing the path to make a road for 'our village'. Half way through they came across an old Banyan tree. Mahipal said, "We shall not cut it, we shall divert the path a little to go by its side." All the young men helped to level out the land. They even erected small banks of mud on either side. When the road was ready, Mahipal still had some money left over. He bought a hundred saplings of mulberry. Together the boys planted them on either side of the road. The small amount that was leftover, Mahipal used to buy some sweets and distributed them amongst his spirited team of youngsters.

The completion of work was reported to the old Sarpanch. The Sarpanch went to see both the roads. He was impressed by the perfection with which Karam had done the job. It looked quite professional and meticulously done. The Sarpanch was happy.

Later he went to see the other road. He was greeted by a whole group of youngsters, eager to see the reaction of the Sarpanch. They showed him the saplings that they had planted. The Sarpanch was especially touched by the gesture of side tracking the old Banyan tree and not axing it.

He named Mahipal as the new Sarpanch saying, "The most essential quality of a leader is not perfection. It is his dedication, credibility and his ability to create a team. Mahipal has been able to win the trust of all these youngsters that is why they have followed him. He has been honest to the cause and has shed sweat to involve people and make a team. A leader is never a leader alone, he is a leader of people and that because he and his word are worthy of trust. Moreover, only one who serves is fit to become a leader."

Saturday, December 6, 2008

He paid the price

One life gone, 2 people dead!

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.

Simple, don't drink and drive. You could take a life, but kill a number of people.

Aseem Kaistha
It's your attitude and not your aptitude that determines your altitude.

The Praying Hands...

Below is a touching story about DURERS Praying Hands that is circulated widely.

It tells of DURER doing his creation in appreciation of a brother who went to work in the mines to support Albrecht's education.

Back in the fifteenth century, in a tiny village near Nuremberg, lived a family with eighteen children. Eighteen! In order merely to keep food on the table for this mob, the father and head of the household, a goldsmith by profession, worked almost eighteen hours a day at his trade and any other paying chore he could find in the neighborhood. Despite their seemingly hopeless condition, two of Albrecht Durer the Elder's children had a dream. They both wanted to pursue their talent for art, but they knew full well that their father would never be financially able to send either of them to Nuremberg to study at the Academy.

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"

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."

The next time you see a copy of that touching creation, take a second look. Let it be your reminder, if you still need one, that no one - no one - - ever makes it alone!

~Source Unknown~
Even though the story is fiction,
I hope the intent of thestory is appreciated,
Whether true or not.

Aseem Kaistha
It's your attitude and not your aptitude that determines your altitude.

Breaking Barriers...

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

Desert Flower

Aseem Kaistha
It's your attitude and not your aptitude that determines your altitude.

Tuesday, December 2, 2008


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The 'Home Of Peaceful Empathy' or HOPE as it was popularly known was a home for the aged. It had about thirty residents. Some were sick, others were healthy. Some were active, others were confined to wheelchairs.Two things they all had in common: Their children didn't want to keep them and they all had a limited lease of life left!

Every evening, all the residents would sit outside in the garden. The management would put cane chairs outside. Tea and biscuits would be served to them. It was a daily routine that these elderly people looked forward to. Next door lived a young couple and their ten year old son, Bunty. The little boy was very thin and weak. He seemed to have no friends of his age. Every evening he would come to the old age home and chat with the residents. Sometimes he would bring yellow daisies for them. He would put the daisies into the hair of the old women and into the button holes of the old men's jackets. He called all the women 'Grandma', and all the men 'Grandpa'. They looked forward to Bunty's visits just as much as he looked forward to them.

Sometimes Bunty would play the guitar and sing songs for them. One day he told them about the drama that they had at school. He enacted the various roles all by himself. He loved these old people and he loved to see them laugh. Another day he brought his cricket bat and played cricket with them. He loved to see the Grandpa's turn into little boys.

Bunty's mother was usually busy with her household chores, but sometimes she would come along with Bunty and chat with these oldies. They would often ask her why Bunty had no friends of his age. She would simply say, "He's happier playing with you. Perhaps he has got something in common with you."

One evening the residents waited for Bunty, but he didn't turn up. The nextday too, there was no sign of him. On the fourth day, one old man who was really missing Bunty, pressed the door bell of Bunty's house. A worried looking mother opened the door. "Good evening ma'am! I was wondering if Bunty is well, we haven't seen him around for some days.Is everything all right?" The woman hesitated, "Yes, I mean, no, it isn't. Bunty is sick. Would you like to come to his room?"

The old man followed the lady to Bunty's room. The sight he saw stopped him in his tracks. A bottle of blood was being transfused into the boy.Next to his bed was a trolley laden with bottles of glucose and dextrose. There were numerous bottles of medicine. There was a nurse on duty. She signaled for them to be quiet. She got up and motioned them to come out of the room. "He has just gone to sleep. He's been struggling with the pain. Please don't disturb him."

The lady said, "Grandpa, Bunty is thalasemmic." She swallowed to hide her tears, "Every month we take him to the hospital for his blood transfusion. Three days back he contracted a viral. He got a chest infection and had very high fever. We requested the doctor to give him the blood transfusion at home. He has very low immunity. It will take awhile for him to get well. The old man said, "He never told us. He came to see us everyday, but he never let us know. Come to think of it,even you never let us know!"

"Grandpa, Bunty's a strong willed boy. He'd be heart broken if all of you were to pity him. He never wanted to discuss his disease. He's not able to match up with his peers at school, while playing games, so he opts to play with all of you. It makes him happy, so I allow him to see you every evening."

The old man was speechless. All the little acts of love; all that sharing and caring; all that concern and laughter from a child who was thalasemmic!

The happiest people in the world are not those who have no problems, but those who learn to live with things that are less than perfect!

Aseem Kaistha
It's your attitude and not your aptitude that determines your altitude.

Eagles in a Storm...

Aseem Kaistha
It's your attitude and not your aptitude that determines your altitude.