Carry your dreams with you..!
28 May 2009
How often we see people who’ve grown old; eyes filled with misery, their
body language that of a listless person, their gestures hopeless! What
happened? We ask silently. Where did things start going wrong? Didn’t
you have dreams like others when you were young? What happened to those
dreams?
Here’s a little illustration I’m going to use today: There were once 2
brothers who lived on the 80th floor. On coming back to their building
one day, they realized to their dismay that the lifts were not working
and they’d have to climb the stairs up.After struggling to the 20th
floor, panting and tired, they decided to abandon their bags and come
back for them the next day. They left their bags there and climbed on.
When they have struggled to the 40th level, the younger brother started
to grumble and both of them began to quarrel. They continued to climb
the flights of steps, quarreling all the way to the 60th floor.
They then realized that they have only 20 floors more to climb and
decided to stop quarreling and continue climbing in peace. They silently
walked up and reached their home at long last. Each stood calmly before
the door and waited for the other to open the door.And then to their
horror they realized that the key was in their bags which they’d left
behind on the 20th floor.
This little story reflects what happens in some of our lives, doesn’t
it? Many of us when young dream big dreams, but like others, live also
under the constant expectations of parents, teachers and friends. This
pressure starts building up, and some of us instead of holding onto our
aspirations, start listening only to the expectations of others and
throw away what we imagine we want and follow what others expect of us.
So around the age of 20 we get tired and decide to dump our dreams.
Being free of that stress and pressure and having youthful energy on our
side we work enthusiastically and try to be ambitious in what we are
doing. But by the time we reach 40 years old, we realize that just
ambition by itself cannot keep us going. We begin to feel dissatisfied
and start to complain and criticize. We live life with misery, as we are
never satisfied. Reaching 60, we realize we have little left for
complaining anymore, and try to walk the final years of our life in
peace and calmness imagining there is nothing left to disappoint us,
only to realize that we cannot be at peace with ourselves because there
are unfulfilled dreams which we’ve left behind, dreams we abandoned 60
years ago.
Those dreams haunt us; maybe you see a writer and wonder why you’re a
businessman when you once dreamt of writing or wanted to be an actress
and now a housewife. So here’s some advice: Don’t wait to reach the
eightieth floor before finding out you’ve left your keys behind:
Whatever age you are, whichever floor you are on, stop, feel your pocket
and if your dreams aren’t with you, retrieve them, and start all over
again!
Then when you reach 80, you’ll smile and tell all around as you jangle
the keys in your bag, “I carried my dreams with me..!”
The sucker festival..!
27 May 2009
Quite often I meet old friends, happy, cheerful people I’d met maybe in
my childhood and find they’ve changed horribly; I look at hardened
faces, unsmiling mouths and angry eyes and wonder where all the
happiness went. “I’m divorced Bob!” some tell me, “My husband was a
toad!” “My wife was a flirt and I found she was having an affair!”
And I feel sad for them but wonder how to tell them that the whole world
isn’t as bad as the experience they’ve had, that there are millions of
good people in the world and that the bitterness and suspicion they have
for all mankind could stop them from getting back on their feet:
We’ve all been made suckers, right? But the idea is to feel bad about it
for awhile, then bounce back: I’ve never visited the town of Wetumka.
But I understand the folks there celebrate a day every year when they
laugh at themselves. They call it Sucker Day and they plan a town
festival on the last Saturday of September to commemorate it.
It all started in 1950 when a man calling himself F. Bam Morrison
arrived in Wetumka and persuaded local residents to put up money to
bring a circus to town. They did not know F. Bam, but he was a nice
enough fellow and they trusted his word. Merchants bought plenty of
food, beverages, and souvenirs in preparation for the crowds of people
who were bound to attend. And Morrison sold advance tickets. The people
were ecstatic at the thought of a circus in their very own village.
Children could hardly sleep at night.
On the day the circus parade was to march down the main street, ecstasy
turned into dismay when nothing happened. F. Bam had slipped quietly
away in the night with all the money he had collected. There would be no
circus. The good folks of Wetumka had been swindled.
It didn’t take long for their disappointment to turn into amusement,
however. Someone came up with the idea of holding a four-day celebration
anyway. And why not? They had all the food and goodies, and besides,
everyone’s heart was set on having a good time. They called their party
‘The Sucker Festival’. In a display of good-natured fun, people
celebrated the fact that they’d been conned, snookered and cheated. And
now Sucker Day is an annual event at Wetumka; a good excuse to come
together, laugh, and have some rollicking fun. We’re all going to be
fooled sometime, especially if we easily place our confidence in people,
but are you going to give up trusting just to avoid being had? I expect
I’ll get suckered plenty of times yet by friends and strangers I believe
in. But I hope the next time I can learn from the good folks of Wetumka
and laugh at myself because I’d rather be a sucker for a day than
unhappy for a lifetime..!
Monsoon tamasha 126..!
26 May 2009
Every year in Mumbai, am sure it happens in other cities in other
countries too, but in Mumbai, just before the threatening monsoons
there’s a lot of shouting, screaming, shrieking as civic officials haul
up sleepy staff, political leaders who rule the corporation stand
precariously on river banks, shouting at ward officers to get gutters
cleaned and being photographed as they point to some sand at the bottom
of some nullah which others can’t see but they with their great dynamic
vision have spotted.Then the railways get into same act; GM screams at
his workers, at his stationmasters and assistant stationmasters, who
bawl at gangsmen to clean the tracks and finally screech at the
municipality for not allowing future flood waters from railway tracks
flow into fields and open spaces that do not exist anymore.
Every year same tamasha; and we, impressed by the photographs, roused by
their rhetoric and deeply stirred by their seeming dedication, wonder
how when monsoons come, roads flood, drains clog, trains stop and city
halts. But this charade takes place without fail every year, misleads
the whole city, dupes voters and makes a fool of you and me. Which
reminds me of the time, hardly a few months ago, when I decided to
wallpaper my bedroom; I dislike the smell of paint and also wanted
distinctive design that would take away the monotony of a bare wall:
“How do you like this design sir?” “Too loud!” “And this?” “Too big! I
want something so subtle, it should not stand out but people should feel
its presence! You know what I mean?”“Ah sir, you need design No.
126!”“126?”“Yes sir, that design does all that you say a design should
do!” And so it was design 126 I got pasted on my bedroom walls. “When
are they putting the wallpaper?” asked the wife as she came home that
evening.
“It’s on!” I said proudly, “Just feel the wall, the contours of the
design, can you see its subtlety?” “I can’t see anything Bob!” And
that’s the wallpaper I’m now stuck with in my bedroom, where even when
the sun comes pouring in I can’t see design or shape, or for that matter
colour, not that, this stops me from showing my bedroom off to people,
“How do you like the wallpaper?” “Wallpaper?”“Yeah, it’s so refined, so
classic you got to have an eye to see it!”
“Yeah! Yeah! We can see it!” Well the wallpaper fellow fooled me, I fool
the people just like you and I are fooled year after year by the pre-
monsoon tamasha, which if you’ll permit me, I’m going to call the
Monsoon Tamasha 126! “Good name Bob!” say the politicians. “Good job
sir..!” I gasp from beneath flooded roads.
The net and the newspaper
25 May 2009
Doomsday predictors predict we will soon attend the funeral service of
the Newspaper: Dearly beloved we have all gathered round this grave, to
lay to rest someone who has been with us for well over two centuries.
During this rather long life that our friend enjoyed in our midst, he
not only educated but entertained with his daily comic strips and
cartoons, and of course informed us with reverberating, earth shattering
revelations.
He came in the morning before most of you were awake, lay on your
doorstep, waiting for you to stoop and gasp with surprise over the
immensity of whatever he had to reveal that day.
Of course there were days when he had nothing to shock, when he allowed
your eyes to wander and relax over nude and semi nude pictures he so
generously titillated you with. Those were the days when the rustling
wind also rustled through its pages and left you relaxed and
rejuvenated. But today our friend is dead, and we have all gathered here
to pay our last respects to someone we cherished every morning along
with our bed coffee.
Now before we deliver his body to the ground is there anything anyone
else would like to say. “Yes!” “And what sir do you want to say about
our dead friend the Newspaper. “That he is not dead!” “Ah sir you mock
all of us who have gathered here to bury him. You mock also our dear
friend who lies dead!”
“He is not dead!” “Are you a doctor sir?” “Yes and No!” “You cannot be
both sir! Either you are a doctor or you are not! Either you can certify
him dead or you cannot!” “I am a doctor of research, not a medical one,
I have done research on our friend here, you so quickly want to bury,
may I ask you your name?”
“I am known as WWW!” “Yes of course! You are the World Wide Web! And
wouldn’t it be convenient for you to see the Newspaper buried!” “You
offend me sir!”“If I have, I am sorry, but Mr WWW, let me tell you, it
will be a long while before my friend the Newspaper dies. You my friend
may offer your reader instant gratification by getting him specific
information in a jiffy, but..”“What?” “In a newspaper it is not the
information I seek that I read, but it is pages spread out with
headlines and information opening themselves and offering themselves to
me, saying take, read and I look and choose after seeing the spread
offered to me. You sir, cannot offer me the spread at one time which
yonder Newspaper you have tried to throw in the grave offers!
Look!”“What is it?”
“He moves, he is alive, look he kicks the lid of the coffin you tried to
nail on him. Ah arise my dear Newspaper, come out and be with us, you
have lived a hundred years, nay two, and you will live another hundred,
nay ten..!”
Some political humour..!
22 May 2009
The Indian elections are just over and here’s some humour on all the
parties that contested the elections, some you know, some you don’t, but
just join me and have a hearty laugh about many who are now either
smiling in victory or sulking in dismay:
I do hope this new government gives protection to cartoonists and humour
columnists who poke fun at them, but here goes; it’s all about party
symbols: Why is the Samajwadi Party’s symbol ‘ Cycle’? Because after
banning English and the use of computers, that’s all we’ll be able to
afford!
Now here’s one you wouldn’t know even if you voted for this party: Why
is Congress symbol ‘Hand’? To remind Indians that their fate is forever
in the hand of one family!!
And this one about the losers: Why is the BJP’s symbol the ‘Lotus’?
Lotus is the symbol of Sarawasti and learning and BJP will educate us
through the wisdom of Varun Gandhi and Pravin Togadia. Maybe that’s why
they lost because India doesn’t want that sort of education! Right?
Now here’s one for the biggest braggart in this election who thought she
was too big for her shoes till the voter taught her a lil’ respect: Why
is Mayawati’s symbol ‘Elephant’? It’s a self- portrait! And we’re
talking about ego, okay! I don’t know whether I’m hitting below the belt
but tell me why is Jayalalitha’s symbol ‘Two leaves’?
Because that’s what remained after she ate up all the fruit Again one
from the same state: Why is DMK’s symbol ‘Sun’?
So that Karunanidhi can justify wearing dark sunglasses indoors! And
here’s one for the man who’s cursing his gamble in which he lost all
he’d gained as railway minister: Why is Lalu’s symbol the ‘Lantern’?
Because there’s no electricity in Bihar! Ho, ho, where’s poor communist
Karat, he’s got to hear this: Why is Communist symbol ‘Hammer and
sickle’?
Because that’s what he just used to commit political suicide! Here’s one
for the ever- eternal prime minister in-waiting: Why is Sharad Pawar’s
symbol ‘Clock’?
Because his time never seems to come! And after telling you the last
one, run: Why is Shiv- Sena’s symbol ‘Bow and arrow’?
Don’t worry you don’t have to run, their aim isn’t too good nowadays,
thanks to sharp shooting by the MNS under Raj..!
So easen up, laugh a bit, it’s about a neighbouring country and we all
wish her well as she gets another five years with a bespectacled man and
a family of three..!
After the vote..!
21 May 2009
Can you hear the drums? The drumbeats of victory, the triumphant march,
the dancing on the streets, the firecrackers, as results pour in. But
suddenly a change; same humble face that begged you for votes, same
pleading voice who promised the moon, now stares arrogant, scornful from
TV screen and begins his real agenda: His campaign is over, you voted
him in, now his true colours.
A powerful senator dies and his soul arrives at the Pearly Gates, where
he is met by St. Peter, Welcome to Heaven,” says St. Peter. “Before you
settle in, it seems there is a problem. We seldom see a high official
around these parts, you see, so we’re not sure what to do with you.” “No
problem, just let me in,” says the senator. “Well, I’d like to but I
have orders from higher up. What we’ll do is have you spend one day in
Hell and one in Heaven.
Then you can choose where to spend eternity.” And with that, St. Peter
escorts him to the elevator and he goes down, down, down to Hell. The
doors open and he finds himself in the middle of a green golf course.
Nearby are all his friends and other politicians who had worked with
him. They run to greet him, hug him, and reminisce about the good times
they had while getting rich at the expense of the people. They play a
friendly game of golf and then dine on lobster and caviar. Also present
is the Devil, who really is a very friendly guy and who has a good time
dancing and telling jokes. They are having such a good time that the
time flies, before he realizes it, the senator has to go. Everyone gives
him a big hug and waves while the elevator rises. The elevator goes up,
up, up and the door reopens on Heaven where St. Peter is waiting for
him. “Now it’s time to visit Heaven.” The next 24 hours pass with the
senator joining a group of contented souls moving from cloud to cloud,
playing the harp and singing. They have a good time and, before he
realizes it, the 24 hours have gone by and St. Peter returns. “Well
then, you’ve spent a day in Hell and another in Heaven. Now choose.”
The senator reflects for a minute, then answers, “Well, I think I’d be
better off in Hell!” So St. Peter escorts him to the elevator and he
goes down to Hell. The doors of the elevator open and he is in the
middle of a barren land covered with waste and garbage. He sees all his
friends, dressed in rags, picking up trash and putting it in black bags.
The Devil comes over to him and lays his arm on his neck. “I don’t
understand,” stammers the senator. “Yesterday I was here and there was a
golf course and a beautiful club and we ate lobster and caviar and
danced and had a great time. Now there is only a wasteland full of
garbage and my friends look miserable.” The Devil looks at him, smiles
and says, “Yesterday we were campaigning. Today you voted for us!” And
after you’ve laughed, can you hear the drums even louder? Oh, they’re
coming back to give you a barren land with waste and garbage, with all
of us dressed in rags, picking up the trash they throw out of their
BMWs, Mercedes and oh yes the bullet proof Ambassador cars we’ve gifted
them with. For the next five years we’ll see same hell again..!
No big deal..!
20 May 2009
Was reading in a city tabloid that actor Gulshan Grover on a recent
visit to the USA was overheard saying unkind stuff about pretty Freida
Pinto of Slumdog Millionaire fame: According to the newspaper Gulshan or
Gullu as he likes being called kept telling his American hosts that
Freida’s success isn’t a big deal. He also went on to say that every
other Goan girl resembles Freida!
Hey that’s a bit nasty, what? His foreign friends however didn’t quite
like his comments and told him that Frieda was definitely hot and worth
all the hype. Now dear Gulshan or Gullu as you like being called, here’s
a small story: Once upon a time it was announced that the big bad devil,
you know the fellow, with horns and all, well he was going out of
business and would sell all his equipment to those who were willing to
pay the price. On the big day of the sale, all his tools were
attractively displayed. There were Hatred, Malice, Deceit, Sensuality,
Pride, Idolatry, and other implements of evil display. Each of the tools
was marked with its own price tag. Over in the corner by itself was a
harmless looking, wedge-shaped tool very much worn, but still it bore a
higher price than any of the others.
Someone asked the devil what it was, and he answered, “That is Envy.”
The next question came quickly, “And why is it priced so high even
though it is plain to see that it is worn out more than these others?”
Because replied the devil, his horns and all shaking away to glory, “It
is more useful to me than all these others. With this I can pry open and
get into a man’s heart especially when I cannot get near him with the
other tools. Once I get inside, I can use him in whatever way suits me
best. It looks worn out because I use it on everybody I can, brother
against brother, husband against wife and few people even know it
belongs to me.” Gulshan or Gullu as you like to be called can you
imagine this tool was priced so high that no one could buy it, and the
tale goes that to this day it has never been sold. It still belongs to
the devil, and he still uses it on mankind. And another tale Gulshan or
Gullu as you like to be called: You ever heard the crab story? No, no my
friend not the ones we eat at Mahesh lunch home, I know, I know they are
delicious, but these ones in my tale are alive, yeah man they haven’t
been killed as yet and are being taken to the market to be sold and then
served for dinner at, ha, ha, yes Mahesh lunch home maybe. Now these
live crabs, they’re in a basket and the basket, now hold your breath
Gullu, isn’t covered. What did you say, they’ll run away, ha, ha, but
Gullu or Gulhsan whichever you like to be called, they don’t, you know
why? Because when a crab tries to climb and move out of the basket, the
other crabs pull him down! Nice story nah? I believe we Indians are like
that, we pull down any other Indian trying to come up; shouldn’t we be
cheering for Freida, trying to make it big in the international arena?
We know you feel bad you refused the inspector’s role in the film, never
thought it would make it big at the Oscar’s did you? But she took the
opportunity and is climbing up, let us cheer her, applaud her efforts
and at the same time cheer and applaud others making it big, without
ever saying, ‘No big deal,’ because to strive and win is a great big
deal..!
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