An innocent blackmail

Big brother: Please give me that toy. It’s mine and I want to play with it.

Little sister: No, It’s mine. I won’t give it to you.

Big brother: Think again. I won’t allow you to watch TV. I won’t let you watch Doraemon or Pokémon.

Little sister: Please take this. When did I say it’s mine?

Big brother: That’s like a good girl and my sweet sister

An Unsolved Mystery :D

Language, considered to be the most common way to communicate and converse. When left to a completely new place without the fluency of the local language, it leads to a fear for survival and the dire need to know the basics.

It has been no different for me. I’ve always dreamt spending my time in social work and getting connected with the local community in need. But, how will I converse with them has been the question that goes on, in the back of my mind.

My grandma however has been a perfect example for me that language isn’t a barrier in conversing. After spending her lifetime at her native, she willingly accepted the opportunity to travel and stay with her children and their families, spread across different states of India.

Our house was situated in the outskirts of a little town. And the people who surrounded us were farmers who owned huge acres of land and spent most of their time taking care of them.

The owner of the land was a lady, aged probably same as grandma. When she was on her usual visits to the farm which was near our house, she never missed an opportunity to talk to my grandma. Both didn’t had a common language to talk, my grandma spoke in her native and the old woman spoke in gujarati.

After she would leave , we used to ask grandma, what were you two talking about. And to our surprise, grandma always had a perfect answer to it with details around their conversation.

Well, to this day it still remains a mystery how they made it work. Even though, both of them left for their Heavenly abode they continue to inspire us with these memories of them.

And here she is.. Our hero.. ❤ ❤

Hello again

Am I the only one who faces moodswings with writing? There are times when I want to keep on writing and then there are times when I can only think of catching up with good sleep whenever I can. 😴 It’s been super busy lately and I refocused on reading a bit than writing. I’m hopeful to be back with the new month.

I apologize for not been active lately. I have for sure missed a lot of content here. But I’ll try to read them whenever I get a chance.

Happy weekend to everyone!

Pictured below – me and my nephew.. 😂 👓 🔥 📙

Food for thought…

Last weekend, after lunch I stopped by the Belgian Waffle to buy waffles for my niece and nephew. Going through the menu and deciding what to buy is always a pain with the fancy names.

So I decided to go by the pictures and whatever looked best. Since it was a takeaway, I had to wait for a while until I could get my order done. So instead of taking a seat I just looked around to see the artwork.

Even though it was a small place where hardly 10 people can be accommodated, they had done a good work to make it look cool. I was impressed!

However, I left the place with the below message alongwith the waffles.

~ Ayesha

Happy Liu..

“Me, I wanted to live up to my name and be happy. That’s not to say I wasn’t annoyed, but everyone should have a bird singing inside them as well as a crow cawing” 🐦 🎶 😊

~ Happy Liu

From Happy Dreams

A Novel by Jia Pingwa

I do not belong to this world!

“Because I live in the world of my imagination where everything looks exactly as I want it to be.” ~ A child.

What a child needs is something attractive (to them of course :)) and the moment they get hold of it, no one can stop them. My niece and nephew often reminds me of this and most recently through these artistic drawings that they mercilessly drew on the walls of their house. They definitely have a story for what they do but do they care about the outcome or how it looks. No. What keeps them going is the sense of satisfaction in keeping themselves active and engaged in their “adventures”.

Made me think, why spend money on wall paintings for my new house. Let me call these little artists and give them a day to fill the house with innocence.

cof

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It’s a small world

“What can I give?”. I had finished reading this book somewhere in later part of year 2016. This book was published by Srijan Pal Singh in the memory of his most loved teacher and India’s most loved personality, Dr. A.P.J. Abdul Kalam. When Dr. Kalam left us in July 2015, I really felt sad for not having got the opportunity to meet him at least once in my life because I knew he was one of his kind, a scientist, a successful former President of India, a teacher, a writer and above all a great human being.

Thus, when I heard first about this book, without wasting much of time I ordered myself a copy. Probably within a day or two of the receipt of the book, I had finished reading because it was so captivating and so much about a common man and his teaching for the people like us. Inspired by Srijan’s mention of the Kalam Library Project in the book, I was all energized to do something and be a part of this overall project and make a difference for the under-privileged kids. I had already started following Srijan’s page on Facebook so I could stay updated on the recent projects of the Kalam Center.

Once, I sent him an email inquiring about how I can contribute to their mission. He was kind enough to respond to me and provide me further contacts to get additional information. For some or the other schedules I didn’t get a chance to reach out to these individuals.

In one of the following weeks, I went to a cafe to have my breakfast after my French classes. As I was looking for a table, an individual who was seated at the corner table caught my attention. I stopped and thought, “Isn’t this Srijan Pal Singh?” I couldn’t believe my eyes. I was still confused and wondered,”What could he be doing in such a small cafe like this?” But I was confident that it had to be him. Since he was talking to an elderly lady who was sitting along with him, I thought I should just take my seat and order my food. Also, I thought I wouldn’t be a great idea going and talking to him.

But once again, I thought – this was a lifetime opportunity to meet the writer himself and who knows if I ever got this chance again. So I decided to talk to him and introduce myself. As he was leaving, I reached out to him and confirmed if he was the person I thought. He smiled and said yes. I introduced myself and asked how he was here. He said this had been the place where he used to hangout the most as he completed his studies at IIM- A. I told him how much I liked his new book to which he requested if I could write a review of the book as well so he can share with people. We exchanged few words and he left.

For me this was an experience of a lifetime. Out of nowhere there was this person whom I was recently talking to, in front of me.

If you haven’t read this book yet, you can get your copy here.

The last leaf

A short story by O’Henry. This was also a part of our English curriculum. My memories as a student have always been vague as I was never interested in studies. Surprisingly, there are a couple of stories from the English textbooks that I can recall. I would rather say, I don’t just recall but also think it still drives my approach toward different circumstances.

The Last Leaf is one of those. It is a story about a young girl Johnsy, who is struck with illness and is not able to recover due to her lack of willingness. The falling leaves of an ivy wine tree near her window in the hospital turned out to be her reason. Day by day she counts the number of leaves left and is confident that with the last leaf falling she also has to die. Her mother Sue worried about her condition reaches out to old Behrman. Behrman – a failed artist. Despite his 40 years in the field, he was still not able to create that masterpiece which he always wanted to.

Hearing Johnsy’s imaginations and Sue’s worries he gets ready to help her. While Johnsy is asleep, Behrman goes to the other side of the window and takes his position.  A cold rain was falling with some snow.

The next morning, Johnsy insists her mother open the window shade. Sue obeys. To Johnsy’s surprise there stood one ivy leaf without being affected by the rain and snow. Later that day, the doctor says he is positive now of Johnsy’s recovery since she was responding well. He leaves the room referring to another patient that he had to attend. It was Behrman struck by Pneumonia too. His chances of living narrow.

That afternoon, Sue came to Johnsy’s bedroom and said –

“I have something to tell you, white mouse. Mr. Behrman died of pneumonia to-day in the hospital. He was ill only two days. The janitor found him the morning of the first day in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing were wet through and icy cold. They couldn’t imagine where he had been on such a dreadful night. And then they found a lantern, still lighted, and a ladder that had been dragged from its place, and some scattered brushes, and a palette with green and yellow colors mixed on it, and – look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn’t you wonder why it never fluttered or moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it’s Behrman’s masterpiece – he painted it there the night that the last leaf fell.”

Such a touching story! Behrman’s masterpiece didn’t lead him to gain wealth or fame but saved the life of a little girl. Gave her the hope to live and in the process lost his own life. In our own lives, we are tangled in the web created by ourselves and make them our yardsticks to measure our success. Success is not about our capability to fulfill our materialistic wishlist. If today, we are able to give a ray of hope to someone, that comes back to us in the form of self-contentment and gratefulness.

Let there be a little bit of Behrman in each one of us!

Here is a picture from my own garden of the Arabian Jasmine. Every time it blooms – it gives me happiness. And the bud? It symbolizes hope, isn’t it?

An Instrument of Peace

At 8.00 a.m. in the morning, we had to be ready for the assembly that started with prayers followed by announcements, news and prayer requests. I remember being dropped by our school bus half an hour early to the school time that allowed us to take copies from our friends to finish our homework before the school day started. There was always a sense of urgency to finish them on time as we never wanted to get those red remarks in the school diary. 

At 8.00 a.m. in the morning, the entire school stood still because it was time for prayers. From a very young age, I was always attracted to a conversation with the Invisible, but standing alongside 60+ students with joined hands never gave me that feeling of being prayerful. 

“Make me an instrument of your peace”, used to be a frequent song played during the prayer time. I loved this song, I still love this song – but probably I never understood the deeper meaning of it until later when I heard it on YouTube recently. It took me back to the memories of my school. Looking at where the world is heading into – constant chaos, hatred, destruction, and distrust – each of the word adds so much meaning. If there would have been something called a “World Anthem”, I would have proposed this song for the same.

A picture perfect

While I was capturing some beautiful views at the old city in Ahmedabad, three kids came to me requesting if I can take a picture of them. Their innocence and the happiness on their faces would not have let anyone turn down their request. I agreed and took this picture of them.

To my surprise, they didn’t ask me to show how the picture turned out to be. They just went away with double the happiness and smiles. Maybe for them being captured was the greatest thing to happen.

I don’t know who they are. I never met them thereafter, but this picture still gives me joy and inspires me to take life easy and to be in the moment.  And I am sure wherever they are, this is what they will continue to do – inspire and spread smiles.

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