Money will not buy you happiness
But it can buy you peace of mind...and some fancy shoes and bags.
Money is not everything
But it is definitely something....and some more.
Money is not important in life
And I am Maryln Monroe...and JFK rolled into one.
Money should never be one's top priority in life
But it should be a priority nevertheless....and it should remain there for the rest of your life.
You cannot take your money with you when you die
Who cares as long as you have some all the time to take it with you where ever you go when you are alive.
For the most part of my life I did not give money its due respect. I had given it the lowest position in the ladder of my priorities in life. And there it remained uncomplaining with a smug smile on its face like the one you usually find on the faces of people who think, "Ignore me, humiliate me, trash me -but at your own peril."
Only recently, life compelled me to look down the ladder and there I saw -Mr.Money, with a `I-told-you-so' look on its face. That's when I realised the truth and most importantly acknowledged the truth -that it is not necessary to either pooh-pooh money nor make it the Lord of your life. But it is important to understand its importance and give it its rightful place in your life.
From now on, I believe that we would be treating each other with great respect and would be of benefit to each other. Amen to that!
Sunday, September 23, 2007
Thursday, September 20, 2007
Mind is in a tizzy
Where did we come from?
Why are we here?
Where are we going to go from here?
Of all the answers that I have received for the above in the past three decades I am most comfortable with the following:
I came from eternity -I am an extension of the Divine Source or Energy (what you call it depends on whether you believe in God or not. But that is of no consequence to me. It is more comforting for me personally to think of the Divine Source or Great Energy as God. More real. But that's me)
I am here because I wanted to be here
I am going to go back home
Fine. I am here because I wanted to be here. But why did I want to be here in the first place? There should've been a reason right? Something here must have attracted me immensely to make me want to come here. Or I must have wanted to do something different and unique, something only I could do -that could've been a motivation for me to want to come here.
.....So there you are...I spend my life trying to figure out why did I want to come into this world in the first place? What was the reason? What was the purpose?
However, it is nice to know that I am going nowhere without finding that....or rather without fulfilling the purpose for which I came here...
Why are we here?
Where are we going to go from here?
Of all the answers that I have received for the above in the past three decades I am most comfortable with the following:
I came from eternity -I am an extension of the Divine Source or Energy (what you call it depends on whether you believe in God or not. But that is of no consequence to me. It is more comforting for me personally to think of the Divine Source or Great Energy as God. More real. But that's me)
I am here because I wanted to be here
I am going to go back home
Fine. I am here because I wanted to be here. But why did I want to be here in the first place? There should've been a reason right? Something here must have attracted me immensely to make me want to come here. Or I must have wanted to do something different and unique, something only I could do -that could've been a motivation for me to want to come here.
.....So there you are...I spend my life trying to figure out why did I want to come into this world in the first place? What was the reason? What was the purpose?
However, it is nice to know that I am going nowhere without finding that....or rather without fulfilling the purpose for which I came here...
Sunday, September 9, 2007
Observing life
I went for a funeral last evening...actually it was the eve of the funeral. The man of the house was lying in the mortuarty of a local hospital awaiting the arrival of relatives from Kerala, who rarely visited him when he was alive, but he would not and could not be given his farewell without the presence of the ubiquitous relatives.
So, there I was, standing next to the widow, not knowing what to say to her (I don't think I will ever know what to say to someone in such situations), squeezing her shoulders, hoping I was applying the right kind of pressure, which would convey my condolensces to her. Firstly, I wasn't supposed to be here. The widow was my mother's friend. Since my mother couldn't make it I was representing mommy dear and doing a very bad job of it. It was an akward situation. The wife didn't know what to say to me nor did I. So there we stood, she weeping gently and me breathing -yes, just breathing. Breath is the only thing that never fails you no matter what the situation is. It doesn't stop. The day it stops...somebody else would be standing there just like me...breathing and not knowing what to say, but breathing!
One often encounters humour in the house of the dead. It is not civilized or kind to laugh, so you just cough and shuffle your feet desperately trying to camflouge that little smile that is always trying escape through the corners of your mouth. I don't know whether it has happened to others or it is just me...I somehow tend to see things that makes me laugh or atleast crack a smile in the worst of situations. Some say that is a gift, I say it is downright uncomfortable -for me!
Once I finished squeezing the widow's shoulders and reached a point where any more `squeezing' would cross over to being considered `bodily assault' I quitely moved to the sidelines and began doing what I love doing -people watching.
As it is the case in India, there were many women surrounding the widow, consoling and comforting her. And again mouring in India is never silent -it is always loud, noisy and filled with sounds human chatter. So there were all these women, around a dozen of them, indulging in a kind of serial-monologue of sorts. The conversations were highly random. What happened? How did he die? Did you inform so and so? When are the relatives coming? Now what will she do? Oh he had a good death? Drink some tea? Who's gone to get the shamiana? We need more chairs. More people would be coming? Oh how did he die? I can spare some chairs from my house. Btw, you still have my chair.....
you get my point....it was thoughts, half sentences, full sentences, just a word...but there was a method to the madness. The aim was to fill the gaps. The silences. Because `silence' is a zone that the widow should not be allowed to step into right now. So, there she was, the widow, sitting in the middle of these cackling women. Sometimes what they said made her cry, at times she was forced to thing of practical matters which would take her mind off the tragedy. So the game continued.
It is in these conversations that you find a lot to laugh.
At some point the lady began to weep inconsolably. That is when the woman sitting next to her, in her mid forties, tall, clad in a cotton saree and still carrying the remnants of morning household chores on her...trying to console the weeping widow. "Don't cry," she said softly first. She repeated the same again and again. And each time the softness in her voice edged away. And finally, she told the widow sternly, "Stop crying. All this crying will not help you." What she said next made me chuckle. "Now all you can do is pray. Pray to God that you should also die fast. Pray that he takes you too. Soon." I am sure I saw the widow visibly go stiff for a moment. She was surprised and shocked no doubt. And I am also sure that I saw the widow slowly move away from the circle of this woman's arms and gently onto the shoulders of the woman on the right.
It was truly a comical situation....
So, there I was, standing next to the widow, not knowing what to say to her (I don't think I will ever know what to say to someone in such situations), squeezing her shoulders, hoping I was applying the right kind of pressure, which would convey my condolensces to her. Firstly, I wasn't supposed to be here. The widow was my mother's friend. Since my mother couldn't make it I was representing mommy dear and doing a very bad job of it. It was an akward situation. The wife didn't know what to say to me nor did I. So there we stood, she weeping gently and me breathing -yes, just breathing. Breath is the only thing that never fails you no matter what the situation is. It doesn't stop. The day it stops...somebody else would be standing there just like me...breathing and not knowing what to say, but breathing!
One often encounters humour in the house of the dead. It is not civilized or kind to laugh, so you just cough and shuffle your feet desperately trying to camflouge that little smile that is always trying escape through the corners of your mouth. I don't know whether it has happened to others or it is just me...I somehow tend to see things that makes me laugh or atleast crack a smile in the worst of situations. Some say that is a gift, I say it is downright uncomfortable -for me!
Once I finished squeezing the widow's shoulders and reached a point where any more `squeezing' would cross over to being considered `bodily assault' I quitely moved to the sidelines and began doing what I love doing -people watching.
As it is the case in India, there were many women surrounding the widow, consoling and comforting her. And again mouring in India is never silent -it is always loud, noisy and filled with sounds human chatter. So there were all these women, around a dozen of them, indulging in a kind of serial-monologue of sorts. The conversations were highly random. What happened? How did he die? Did you inform so and so? When are the relatives coming? Now what will she do? Oh he had a good death? Drink some tea? Who's gone to get the shamiana? We need more chairs. More people would be coming? Oh how did he die? I can spare some chairs from my house. Btw, you still have my chair.....
you get my point....it was thoughts, half sentences, full sentences, just a word...but there was a method to the madness. The aim was to fill the gaps. The silences. Because `silence' is a zone that the widow should not be allowed to step into right now. So, there she was, the widow, sitting in the middle of these cackling women. Sometimes what they said made her cry, at times she was forced to thing of practical matters which would take her mind off the tragedy. So the game continued.
It is in these conversations that you find a lot to laugh.
At some point the lady began to weep inconsolably. That is when the woman sitting next to her, in her mid forties, tall, clad in a cotton saree and still carrying the remnants of morning household chores on her...trying to console the weeping widow. "Don't cry," she said softly first. She repeated the same again and again. And each time the softness in her voice edged away. And finally, she told the widow sternly, "Stop crying. All this crying will not help you." What she said next made me chuckle. "Now all you can do is pray. Pray to God that you should also die fast. Pray that he takes you too. Soon." I am sure I saw the widow visibly go stiff for a moment. She was surprised and shocked no doubt. And I am also sure that I saw the widow slowly move away from the circle of this woman's arms and gently onto the shoulders of the woman on the right.
It was truly a comical situation....
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