We Are Many ~ Pablo Neruda

Of the many men whom I am, whom we are,
I cannot settle on a single one.
They are lost to me under the cover of clothing
They have departed for another city.

When everything seems to be set
to show me off as a man of intelligence,
the fool I keep concealed on my person
takes over my talk and occupies my mouth.

On other occasions, I am dozing in the midst
of people of some distinction,
and when I summon my courageous self,
a coward completely unknown to me
swaddles my poor skeleton
in a thousand tiny reservations.

When a stately home bursts into flames,
instead of the fireman I summon,
an arsonist bursts on the scene,
and he is I. There is nothing I can do.
What must I do to distinguish myself?
How can I put myself together?

All the books I read
lionize dazzling hero figures,
brimming with self-assurance.
I die with envy of them;
and, in films where bullets fly on the wind,
I am left in envy of the cowboys,
left admiring even the horses.

But when I call upon my DASHING BEING,
out comes the same OLD LAZY SELF,
and so I never know just WHO I AM,
nor how many I am, nor WHO WE WILL BE BEING.
I would like to be able to touch a bell
and call up my real self, the truly me,
because if I really need my proper self,
I must not allow myself to disappear.

While I am writing, I am far away;
and when I come back, I have already left.
I should like to see if the same thing happens
to other people as it does to me,
to see if as many people are as I am,
and if they seem the same way to themselves.
When this problem has been thoroughly explored,
I am going to school myself so well in things
that, when I try to explain my problems,
I shall speak, not of self, but of geography.

"She Walks In Beauty" ~ Lord Byron

She walks in beauty, like the night

Of cloudless climes and starry skies;

And all that's best of dark and bright

Meet in her aspect and her eyes:

Thus mellow'd to that tender light

Which heaven to gaudy day denies.

One shade the more, one ray the less,

Had half impair'd the nameless grace

Which waves in every raven tress,

Or softly lightens o'er her face;

Where thoughts serenely sweet express

How pure, how dear their dwelling-place.

And on that cheek, and o'er that brow,

So soft, so calm, yet eloquent,

The smiles that win, the tints that glow,

But tell of days in goodness spent,

A mind at peace with all below,

A heart whose love is innocent!

Colleges are like old-age homes, except for the fact that more people die in colleges

Board exams  are over , but the actual exams start now for students as well as parents, whoa that's admission. Just an imaginative story of current scenario. About teenage, about interests about personal development , about competition, where  only “buy, beg ,borrow or steal “ work. Who has taken admission with their own interests, college is like heaven, but those who are forced to take admission what about them? I have read somewhere Colleges are like old-age homes, except for the fact that more people die in colleges.

Let’s start with three best friends, two guys and a girl. A day-dreamer guy  “M” ..a practical cousin brother  “E”  and a adorable, sweet  cousin sister “S”

Scene :1

M : Dad, why should I take admission in engineering?  just because your brother’s son (so what he is my best friend ) has taken ? [it’s too hard to get a govt. Job after engineering, which papa of my gf wants : WT*]

S : dad, I got admission in well reputed college, now why you have a problem if I do join library ? [Damn it , it’s my hobby and passion also, huh :(]

E : I am content in whatever I am doing.

Scene :2  [After three years of college]

M : Dad, i told you i can’t do that, and i am leaving this profession, it’s not “E” is too good, but “E” is too good in this field, just give him a screw-driver and he can use it any way, but dad he can’t cook fried rice and tandoori  I do. I just want to go in that field, why don't you understand? Cooking is my passion, computer is my hobby but electrical field is not at all my cup of tea.  [aah !! UDAAN is must watch movie for all these parents]

S: what dad, why should i not go for masters, just because i will not get that much educated guy in our after masters, how pathetic!!

E : i am tired of fighting for both of you to our parents . do whatever you want to do with your own.

Scene :3

After midnight , at 2.30AM cooking pasta, M asked to E.. “Is it my fault that you love engineering, why i have to compete with you when i take my baby-step?  You are doing a job and doing some part time industrial course An look at this girl, doing masters and  her dad doesn’t even know that she is having collection of more than 10 GB of literature books :D and where am I ? i Don’t know anything.  S and E : lol.. no at least you know how to make good pasta while crying :D ..M said, guys i am serious, she wanna break up with me, just because i am a looser”

Scene : 4 [In a depression mode]  

After few months, Final exams, M left the engineering, left all social networking websites. [what can be best to show that you are not normal rather than deactivating accounts or updating sad status, and m not against it ] 

i have to make my best friend as my competitor ?

why can’t she wait until i make up my carreer or is she right that i can’t do anything

how to get respect again in eyes of my parents?

Should i take advice from E and S ..naah..they both having exams and this is the right time when they can prove themselves, i can’t add my negativity to ‘em.

And He had taken a decision.
**********************************************************************************

Just want to ask some more questions?

1 )What you ‘d have done if you have father , shown in udaan movie?
2) What should be decision of M ?
3) To parents, have you ever tried that experiments with two balloons , and one ruler to prove your kids that Air has weight. If no, then why are you asking why your children are poor in science and maths ?

4)What if  M has taken decision to move forward,  how many parents will support same decision of his child  ignoring what society will say?

5)What if he has taken decision to suicide, Can you imagine yourself singing that song “jaane nahin denge tujhe” for your friend, brother sister or child? just because of such issue ? as Reel life is different from real life, Sharman will not survive in this material world.

6)What if M have to respect his decision of his dad, and rest of his life will spend  with tool – box ?

7) in which category you come?

Awaiting reply...

"The Daffodil Principle" by Jaroldeen Asplund Edwards

Several times we just meet situation where we just don't want to move forward. We just blame people around here, we blame for lack of time. And we use to wait for right time, but as such "no time is wrong to do the right thing."

This is a very inspirational story I ever like whenever i stop, I use to say, "stop waiting" -The Daffodil principle , Here it is :

**************************************

Several times my daughter had telephoned to say, “Mother, you must come to see the daffodils before they are over”. I wanted to go, but it was a two-hour drive from Laguna to Lake Arrowhead. “I will come next Tuesday”, I promised a little reluctantly on her third call.

Next Tuesday dawned cold and rainy. Still, I had promised, and reluctantly I drove there. When I finally walked into Carolyn’s house, I was welcomed by the joyful sounds of happy children. I delightedly hugged and greeted my grandchildren.

“Forget the daffodils, Carolyn! The road is invisible in these clouds and fog, and there is nothing in the world except you and these children that I want to see badly enough to drive another inch!”... “But first we’re going to see the daffodils. It’s just a few blocks”, Carolyn said. “I’ll drive. I’m used to this”....

After about 20 minutes, we turned onto a small gravel road and I saw a small church. On the far side of the church, I saw a hand-lettered sign with an arrow that read, ‘Daffodil Garden’.

We got out of the car, each took a child’s hand, and I followed Carolyn down the path. Then, as we turned a corner, I looked up and gasped. Before me lay the most glorious sight.

It looked as though someone had taken a great vat of gold and poured it over the mountain peak and its surrounding slopes. The flowers were planted in majestic, swirling patterns, great ribbons and swaths of deep orange, creamy white, lemon yellow, salmon pink, saffron and butter yellow.

Each different-coloured variety was planted in large groups so that it swirled and flowed like its own river with its own unique hue. There were five acres of flowers. “Who did this?” I asked Carolyn.

“Just one woman”, Carolyn answered. “She lives on the property. That’s her home”. Carolyn pointed to a well-kept A-frame house, small and modestly sitting in the midst of all that glory. We walked up to the house.

On the patio, we saw a poster. ‘Answers to the Questions I Know You Are Asking’, was the headline. The first answer was a simple one. ‘50,000 bulbs’, it read.

The second answer was, ‘One at a time, by one woman. Two hands, two feet, and one brain’. The third answer was, ‘Began in 1958’.

For me, that moment was a life-changing experience. I thought of this woman whom I had never met, who, more than 40 years before, had begun, one bulb at a time, to bring her vision of beauty and joy to an obscure mountaintop. Planting one bulb at a time, year after year, this unknown woman had forever changed the world in which she lived.

One step at a time, she had created something of extraordinary magnificence, beauty, and inspiration. The principle her daffodil garden taught is one of the greatest principles of celebration.

“It makes me sad in a way”, I admitted to Carolyn. “What might I have accomplished if i had thought of a wonderful goal 35 or 40 years ago and had worked away at it ‘one bulb at a time’ through all those years? Just think what I might have been able to achieve!”

My daughter summed up the message of the day in her usual direct way. “Start tomorrow”, she said.

She was right. It’s so pointless to think of the lost hours of yesterdays. The way to make learning a lesson of celebration instead of a cause for regret is to only ask, “How can I put this to use today?”

Use the Daffodil Principle. Stop waiting...

*******************************************************************

 what I have learned from this simple short story is :

   Stop waiting...move forward  and do remember one thing.   

"The journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step "

 

  

"When we two parted" by Lord Byron

When we two parted In silence and tears, Half broken-hearted, To sever for years, Pale grew thy cheek and cold, Colder thy kiss; Truly that hour foretold Sorrow to this. The dew of the morning Sank chill on my brow It felt like the warning Of what I feel now. Thy vows are all broken, And light is thy fame: I hear thy name spoken, And share in its shame. They name thee before me, A knell to mine ear; A shudder comes o'er me Why wert thou so dear? They know not I knew thee, Who knew thee too well: Long, long shall I rue thee Too deeply to tell. In secret we met In silence I grieve That thy heart could forget, Thy spirit deceive. If I should meet thee After long years, How should I greet thee? With silence and tears.

A short story - "A letter to a silent brother"

Today, I am not writing anything from my-side. I love a short story from a long time. As I don't know actual source of this story, I am just sharing here without courtesy.[but you may find several links in google related to this short story. I still have this one in my collection. Hope you will like this :)

Dear Patrick,
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 with 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. Every time 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'd struggle and you'd 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 that 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 your skin. Then she'd leave you there. I would sometimes watch from the window 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 sometimes 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 around me, the simplicity of life and the wonders of this 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 was 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 a 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. "I hear you," I whispered. And for the last time, I said, "I'll always love you 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 life 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.
Your sister,
SARAH

About Me...

"Addicted to Tea, Music and  Internet"