Tuesday, May 16, 2017

The Gardener

He was pruning the plants in the posh gardens of an International school. 

The scorching heat and dust didn't seem to affect him….

"Ganga Das, Principal Ma'am wants to see you…. right now".

The last two words of the peon had lots of emphasis on them, trying to make it sound like an urgency.

He quickly got up, washed and wiped his hands and headed towards the Principal's chamber.

The walk from the garden to the office seemed never ending... his heart was almost jumping out of his chest….

He was trying all the permutation and combination to figure out, as to what has gone wrong that she wants to see him urgently....

He was a sincere worker and never shirked from his duties...

knock knock...

"Madam, you called me?"

"Come inside..." an authoritative voice laced with crispness made him further nervous...

Salt n pepper hair, tied neatly in a french knot, a designer sari-sober and very classic, glasses resting on the bridge of her nose...

She pointed out towards a paper kept on the table...

"Read this"...

"B..but Ma'am…. I don't know to read....

Ma'am please forgive me if I have done anything wrong... give me another chance...
And he broke down in fear….

"Hold on, you assume a lot... Let me call a teacher in, she will read it out and translate it to you...."

Soon enough the teacher was called and she started reading it, translating each line in Hindi...

It read- Today is Mother's Day and we have been asked to write an essay on “Mother”….

I belong to a village in Bihar, a tiny village where medical and education still seem like a far-fetched dream. Many women die every now and then while giving birth. My mother was one of them too. She has never held me in her arms. My father was the first person to hold me…. or perhaps the only person.

Everyone was sad and angry at me.. as I was a girl and I had "eaten up" my mother at birth itself.
My dad was instantly asked to remarry but he refused.

My grandparents forced him by giving all logical, illogical and emotional reasons but he didn't budge. My grandparents wanted a grandson, they threatened him to remarry else he will be disowned...

Without giving a second thought, he left behind everything…. his acres of land, all his relatives, friends, comfortable house, cattle, rather everything that will count for a good lifestyle in a village.

He came to this huge city with absolutely nothing, but me in his arms. Life was tough, he worked hard day and night.. raised me with tender love and utmost care.

Now I understand why suddenly he developed a dislike for things that I would love to eat when there was only one piece left in the platter.... he would say that he hates eating it and I would finish it considering that he does not like it.... but as I grew older I realized the reason and what sacrifice is all about.

He gave me the best possible comforts beyond his capacity.
If love and care defines a mother... then my father fits in there.
If compassion defines a mother, my father fits in well in there too...
If sacrifice defines a mother, my father dominates that category.
So in nut shell.. if a mother is made of love, care sacrifice and compassion...

MY FATHER IS THE BEST MOTHER ON EARTH

On Mother's Day, I would like to wish my father for being the best parent on earth... I salute him and say it with pride that the hardworking GARDENER working in this school is my father.

I know I may fail this test after my teacher reads this…. but this would be a very small price one would pay towards an ode to the selfless love of my father.

Thanks"

There was a deafening silence in the room... one could only hear soft sobbing of Ganga Das....

The harsh sun could not wet his clothes with sweat but soft words of his daughter had soaked his chest with tears.... he was standing there with hands folded….

He took the paper from teacher's hands... held it close to his heart and sobbed.

Principal got up.. offered him a chair, glass of water and said something... but, strangely the crispness of her voice was taken over by a surprising warmth and sweetness....

"Ganga Das.. your daughter is given (Blank)/10 marks for this essay.... Her Teacher has felt that this essay is far beyond her capacity to be assessed. We all felt that this is the best essay on a Mother ever to be written on a Mother’s Day….

"You are a True Gardner, who is not only looking after the gardens, but also nurturing the most precious flower of your life in such a beautiful way...."

We are having the Mother's Day gala event tomorrow…"So Ganga Das, will you be our Chief Guest for the event?"



This is to honor all the love and sacrifice a man can do to raise his children... to show that you do not have to be a woman to be the perfect parent...

Monday, April 17, 2017

Everyone has a Story

A father was travelling along with his 24 year old son in a train.

The son was seated near the window. But his behavior seemed to be crazy and disturbing to the co-passengers.

Looking out of the train’s window the boy shouted, “Dad, look at the trees, they are running behind!” and his Dad would smile

The other passengers felt that it was slowly getting beyond limits…

Now again the boy shouted, “Dad, look the clouds are running with us!”

The couple sitting opposite couldn’t resist anymore. They said to the old man, “You should have travelled with him in a cab rather than taking a public transport. Why don’t you take your son to a good doctor?”

The old man smiled and replied, “I did and we are just coming from the hospital, my son was blind from birth, he just got his eyes today. Moreover, I would have loved to take him in a cab, but I couldn’t afford as I have already spent whatever I had on his treatment.”

Every single person on the planet has a story.

Sunday, April 16, 2017

57 Cents

A sobbing little girl stood near a small church from which she had been turned away because it was too crowded. "I can't go to Sunday School?" she sobbed to the pastor as he walked by. Seeing her shabby, unkempt appearance, the pastor guessed the reason and, taking her by the hand, took her inside and found a place for her in the Sunday school class. The child was so touched that she went to bed that night thinking of the children who have no place to worship Jesus.

Some two years later, this child lay dead in one of the poor tenement buildings and the parents called for the kind hearted pastor, who had befriended their daughter, to handle the final arrangements.

As her poor little body was being moved, a worn and crumpled purse was found which seemed to have been rummaged from some trash dump. Inside was found 57 cents and a note scribbled in childish handwriting which read, "This is to help build the little church bigger so more children can go to Sunday school."

For two years she had saved for this offering of love. When the pastor tearfully read that note, he knew instantly what he would do. Carrying this note and the cracked, red pocketbook to the pulpit, he told the story of her unselfish love and devotion. He challenged his deacons to get busy and raise enough money for the larger building.

But the story does not end there! A newspaper learned of the story and published it. It was read by a Realtor who offered them a parcel of land worth many thousands. When told that the church could not pay so much, he offered it for 57 cents. Church members made large donations. Cheques came from far and wide.

Within five years the little girl's gift had increased to $250,000.00--a huge sum for that time (near the turn of the century). Her unselfish love had paid large dividends.

When you are in the city of Philadelphia, look up Temple Baptist Church, with a seating capacity of 3,300 and Temple University, where hundreds of students are trained. Have a look, too, at the Good Samaritan Hospital and at a Sunday School building which houses hundreds of Sunday school children, so that no child in the area will ever need to be left outside during Sunday school time. In one of the rooms of this building may be seen the picture of the sweet face of the little girl whose 57 cents, so sacrificially saved, made such remarkable history. Alongside of it is a portrait of her kind pastor, Dr. Russell H. Conwell, author of the book, Acres of Diamonds.

"Suffer the little children to come unto Me, for theirs is the Kingdom of God."