Gerald D'Cunha

GRIHA PRAVESH

2012-01-28T13:46:00.003+05:30

There is a simple spiritual law. It goes like this:

“When you leave a place – any place - youleave it in a better condition than you found it when you first came in.”

Well, it says, ‘Anyplace’!

Just a while from now,Mr. Kamal * and his family are all set to step into their new house. Theauspicious moment is just round the corner… and, they have invited my family,too. I have asked the Florist to deliver a lovely bouquet at the stroke of theclock… “Wish you and your family all happiness, prosperity and peace, dearKamal,” I have written on the note.

What a happy momentfor young Kamal and his family!

Incidentally, the manwho sold that house to Kamal was not liked by anyone around. He had lived inthat house for nearly five years… and, during all these five years, he had beena chronic complainant… mean and vengeful… short-sighted and selfish.

Well, it is not myperception… It is the general perception of everyone around here.

Five years ago, whenthis man had come to stay here, he must have come with big dreams… They say, hewas not liked by the people there, too, and he was literally banished from thatplace. Now, here, in the company of similar men, he continued to live by hisold ways… and, he carried himself when he landed here, five years ago.

People don’t changejust because they have moved to a big house… Wherever they go, they carrythemselves!

Two days back, whensome of us were talking, this man happened to come. “Only two days for mehere,” he said, maybe hoping to find some sympathy.

None even raised aneyebrow!

“Good riddance… Whytwo days, get lost today itself!” This was how all of us had felt. Yes, he hadpolluted this place… He was leaving it in a condition worse than how it waswhen he came in.

And, today, young andfriendly Kamal is moving into this house. He was on rent in this very complexfor the last five years… and, even though he did not own any house, every oneout here loves him and his family…

So, Kamal will carryhimself to the new house!

Yes, he will carrythe goodness, happiness, prosperity and, above all, peace.

He will leave, oneday, leaving this place in a condition much, much better than how it is now. Ihave no doubts about it.

Leave the place alittle better than how you found it whenyou first came in!

Does this spiritual law also apply to relationships?

I think, it does.

As a teacher,

I willapply this law

to send my students as much better

a lot

than how I found them

when they first came to me.

As a father… As ahusband… As a business associate… As a friend… As a neighbor… As a Societymember or as its Chairman… As a co-passenger… As a well-wisher… As whatever…

Yes, the spirituallaw is at play everywhere, every day…

I should not leave myplace making it ‘dirty’…

I should not leaverelationships making them ‘dirty’, either!

The time for ‘Griha Pravesh’ is here…

The time to make myhome a better one…

I have come… in you, dear...

When I leave you,your heart will surely tell me –

That I have left youa lot happier, a lot richer
And yes, a lot more peaceful.

* The name is changed

GERALD D’CUNHA

THANKS:
The image used in this Post isby Ashok Ahuja. He is aprofessional Photographer and a very dear friend of mine. He is also one of thefounder members of The Dawn Club, and, along with his gifted-artist wife, Sudha, has been helping me, and theClub, right from its inception.

DEAR, I CARE FOR YOU...

2012-01-28T09:28:00.003+05:30

Mind is weak…

And, it loses faithin the goodness

Of other people,

And fast.

At one moment,

My mind makes me feelsecure

Just by a passingthought of a loved one…

But, the next moment,

Just a skipped call

Could make my mindfeel very lost and lonely…

Am I lost and lonely

Because I did not hearmy loved-one’s voice?

Or, is it because Idid not hear my own?

Every time I tell myloved-one,

“Dear, I care for you”,

I do get the reply,

“Yes dear, I care foryou, too.”

Now, the deal is done…

I have promised tocare for you,

And you have done thesame to me…

Yes, it looks likethe pact is sealed…

And we shall be foreverfloating

Among the lovely starsin the skies.

But then, we are onthis trembling ground…

Still unable tocomprehend

The depth of thatpromise

We just made to eachother:

“Dear, I care for you”!

I keep asking you – “Doyou still love me?”

And, you keep asking me– “What about you?”

Mind is weak…

Love and care doesn’tlook like

A job of this mind…

No, it is incapable

Ofloving and caring.

I prayed to God, justthis morning, once again:

“Lord, help me how tolove another…

Even when I do nothear

That sublime voice fromthe other end,

For days and daystogether…

Help me hear my own:

That, I care and lovemyself enough…

Yes, enough to do thesame for another.”

Mind broods…

Heart rejoices.

If I am not secure inmy own heart,

I shall only be cagedin another’s!

GERALD D’CUNHA

NO ONE HAS KEPT A GUN ON MY HEAD

2012-01-27T14:20:00.000+05:30

WhenI first read the book ‘Loving What Is’, byByron Katie, I had come to realize that stress in my life is the result of an‘unexamined problem’. That, what happens in my life does not cause stress in mylife, but the story that I weave around it , in my mind, does.

So, she urges us towrite down, as clearly as possible, our ‘Problem’… what we think as the causeof our stress… and she leads us, through a very therapeutic inquiry, justthrough her four simple questions…

Mrs. Katie calls this inquiry - 'The Work'.

By the end of dealingwith these four simple questions… yes, when we have answered sincerely these four questions, we will be left with nothing or no oneto blame!

We realize that it is our life, and, hence, it is our business…

Situation changeswhen its perception changes… Till then, we would only go crazy wanting to makea cat bark!

As Mrs. Katie, sobeautifully, tells us that, at the end of all our frantic attempts to do that, thecat will only look at our frantic face and sing - ‘Meow’!

When we see thereality…

as it is…

the blame and pain, both, come to an end…

We becomestress-free…

Light. Peaceful.

Mrs. Katie tells inthis book, that, in life, all of us mind only three businesses: our own, or someone-else's... or God’s.

She shows us, gently,that whenever we step into others’ or God’s business, we invite stress in ourlife. "So, step out of others’ business… and step out of God’s… " She reminds us. "When you focus on your own business, you become light, peaceful."

Today, at 6 in the morning,our door-bell rang. I was awake since 4 as I had to correct some Prilimspapers. I had called my students to my class at 8 am today to collect the same.So, when I opened the door, I saw a middle-aged lady and her young son standingoutside. They seemed a bit agitated. A tree had fallen on their car at 5 in themorning and damaged it badly.

Now, I was the Hon.Chairman of our Society and I had to deal with the situation. My concerns: Istill have so many papers to correct; I have to shave, take bath, organize mybreakfast and lunch… So, the first reaction was ‘irritation’. They wanted me tocome and have a look…

“Why did the Society not cut that ‘dead’ treebefore?” they asked me.

Now, I gently askedthe lady, “Ma’am if the tree was dead, why had you been parking your car rightunder it… Even not allowing anyone else to park his car there?”

“No, no… Societyshould have done something,” she argued.

“Ma’am, it is an accident,beyond our control… Now, let’s see what we can do… Give me some minutes, Iwill put somebody on the job… I have toleave in a short while,” I pacified.

My colleagues arelevel-headed. But, none was available to handle it. I left instructions withthe Security chief, our garden in-charge and a very helpful and tactful seniormember of our Society and I left for my work.

But then, even aftercoming to my classes, I kept co-coordinating the ‘crisis management’ over myphone!

Well, I was quitesuccessful. I did feel good about the way I handled the crisis. But, I wasfeeling annoyed, stressed out, being encroached upon… and even angry andresentful.

“Why did this ladypark her car right under that 'dead' tree... even though she knew it could , any time, collapse on her car?”

“Even if it wasnot dead, who could stop that tree from falling, this morning? Who could stopGod?”

“The car is insured…So, whose headache is it to compensate her?”

“Even if the Societyhas to compensate her, why am I – the Hon. Chairman – taking it ‘personally’ andworried?”

And yes, yes, “Whotold me to become the Hon. Chairman, in the first place? Did anybody keep a gun on my head?”

Katie ma’am, you areright… Thank you.

All is well, by now…

The ‘Inquiry’ isover…

I can see the catsaying ‘Meow’… and, that’s perfectly okay…

Yes ma’am… I amloving it…

Loving ‘What Is’!

GERALD D’CUNHA

WARMED BY THE SAME SUMMER

2012-01-26T16:47:00.000+05:30

Two days ago, I had posted an article – ‘The Sky IsFalling’. I had narrated an incident, where I had led a delegation of abouttwenty respected-members of our Society to the local Police station. I was theSociety Chairman, and, that night, I had passionately argued our case beforethat biased and unfair Police Officer. I had used my raw emotions - allcharged-up – and, it had carried the desired effect. We had come back withjustice done to us.

But then, I had lostmy sleep, that night. The emotional turmoil within had taken its toll. So, inthat article, I had spoken about our senior-member Mr. Harwadekar’s concernabout me; his loving advice – “Gerry, even if the sky falls on you, you shouldnot panic… you should remain calm… You should not let emotions take the betteroff you.”

I had humblytaken this advice. And yes, I had confessed it in that post, the next morning.

No baggage left in mysoul… I was healed, completely!

That very morning, Ireceived a very honest comment from Kumar, a regular reader of myPosts. He had written:

Dear Gerry,

How it is thatevery article you write has a relation in my own life some way or the other?One of my friends always tells me, “You create anger during an argument butdon't get angry". But, I find it extremely difficult to separate thetwo!

Thanks for thefantastic article.

God bless you.

N.Kumar

I got back to Kumar,immediately:

"Kumar, is there a separation between you and me?...
We are connected in deed, Kumar.

Jesus Christ is an epitome of Love. But, The Bible gives enough instances ofhis anger, even of the God Almighty Himself. The Hindu scriptures tell us aboutGod's anger...

You mean well for the other... Then, your emotions - whether anger, fear, orjealousy - they don't matter. Just mean well. That's holistic anger!

Let's be human, the real ones!

Love,

GERRY

I haven’t met Kumar in my life. Only my Blog hasconnected us. He thinks, my writings help him… He can relate each one of themto his own life… Which means: Like me, he loses his head many times a day…feels scared when his wife, Yashoda, still not home till mid-night… sulks, like me, when someone decries him for no reason… and yes,turns green, jealous, when his neighbor, Pillai, wins a five-crore jackpot!

Well, what I really want to say is: We all arehumans. Have the same red blood… same pumping heart… and the same wet eyes.Shakespere so beautifully conveyed this message through his character, Shylock,in his immortal play – ‘Merchan Of Venice’.

Shylock:

I am aJew. Hath not a Jew eyes? Hath not a Jew hands,

organs,dimensions, senses, affections, passions;

fed withthe same food, hurt with the same weapons, subject to the same diseases,

heal'd bythe same means, warm'd and cool'd by the same winter

andsummer, as a Christian is? If you prick us, do we not bleed? If

youtickle us, do we not laugh? If you poison us, do we not die?

And ifyou wrong us, do we not revenge? If we are like you in the

rest, wewill resemble you in that.

Why do I write, everyday… and on matters which seem so mundane?

Someone – a‘Maharati’ – told me, last evening: “I don’t become angry.”

"What aboutfear?” I asked, “Don’t you feel afraid?”

“No, I don’t,” hereplied.

“And jealousy?” Ienquired.

“Why should I becomejealous?” he quipped.

I felt like running away from this alien! Even Jesus Christ showed rage, feltfrightened - even insecure - when he came down to live on this Earth. And, thisman – the Superman - was telling me that he did not get angry, afraid orjealous in his life!

Even if I say, “Godbless you,” I know, God won’t!

I do get angry.

I do get afraid.

I do get jealous.

And, I do want to know:

“What is wrong with that?”

If something iswrong, then alright: Let me write about it… as it is… not hiding anything, notjustifying, not blaming or accusing… not feeling guilty or victimized. Yes, letme write about it honestly, fully… beautifully.

And, there it goes –my anger, my fear, my envy - like a ghost out of my body…

Leaving me feelingnot just good, but Great. Yes, Great!

Probably, that waswhat made Kumar ask me in his comment, “Dear Gerry, How it is that everyarticle you write has a relation in my own life, in some way or the other?”

And, I also hope, that was what made me replywhen I said, “ Kumar, is there is a 'separation' between you and me?... We are connected, in deed, Kumar!!”

Yes Sir, we are cooled by the same winter… andwarmed by the same summer…
And, yes, yes… If they poison us, we do die!

I wouldn’t have written my Blog posts, if thatwas not so!

GERALD D’CUNHA

LEAVE ME ALONE

2012-01-25T18:04:00.000+05:30

WhenI was in Second-year B’Com, I came across a man in my life. His name was Norman.I was 19 and he must be 30. He had come up in life the hard way and was acompassionate soul. He showed a great deal of interest in me, in my progress… So,he kept directing me, motivating me,even helping me financially.

But then, as months passed by, I felt a lotsuffocated by his approach… Norman was dreaming for me, planning for me and evenfunding for me. Initially, I felt very cared for and loved… I felt a lot gratefulto this soul. But, as I felt the strain of being trampled upon my individualityand freedom, I began to feel the irritation and resistance in my heart. It wassimmering within me for months. Then, one day, around ten of us had been for apicnic. There, some statement this man made towards me triggered off myrebellion. I voiced my discomfort, my loss of freedom – and I found myselfbluntly telling Norman : “Don’t manipulate me… Leave me alone!”

I left that group, immediately…and cried like a baby. Till I felt good about myself.

For long, we did not see each other. One evening, aftersome years, I received a phone call from him, here in Mumbai. I was so thrilledto hear his voice. We met. We spoke about the episode on that hill… and we bothlaughed it out over the dinner.

We both knew, what had gonewrong. He could not crush me in the name of care and love. I could not be anungrateful soul even though I valued my freedom.

That was several years ago.

Later, without realizing allthis, I found myself playing the reverse role. I adored great singers andenvied the tremendous adulation they got from the audience. Similarly, Iloved great sports-stars and simply gotawed by the aura around them. And, here was me - the poor me - always down inthe dumps… So bad in everything - studies, sports, singing or speaking… a chroniccase of inferiority complex. So, I started dreaming for my two youngerbrothers. I wanted Rony to be a great singer, and, Viva a great Cricketer. Theywere very small and susceptible. For many years, I kept directing them, pumpingthem and funding them. And, they did notlet me down. Rony was becoming a rising singing-star in Mangalore… and Viva wasplaying Cricket for the college and moving ahead.

But then, when all this washappening, I never realized – even for a day – that I was playing a Norman in their life.That, they were individuals in their own right… and, I could – and I should –do only so much… and I should leave them alone, free. No, I was still dreamingfor them, planning for them… and even breathing for them. I brought them toMumbai – the ‘Dream City’ – and I was hopingto launch them in a big way.

With in a short time, the obviousthing had to happen. First, Rony expressed his discomfort with all this. He wantedto go back to Mangalore, and he did. After some years, Viva too felt thebreathlessness. He was so overawed by me that he could not tell me what hefelt. One night, when I came home, there was a note waiting for me. “Dattu, Iam so fortunate to have a big brother and a motivator like you. I can notforget what you have done to me in my life. But then dattu, it is time I becamemy own man. Sorry, I am moving out to stay in a hostel. I love you, dattu.Thanks for everything”

It was night. All that I did wasbrooding on it. I was hurt. I was angry. I was restless. I was unable to sleep…By the time my restlessness ended, I had realized my folly… I reaslised how theobsession with another person’s life – all in the name of love – was a blatantway of imposing on him the burden and pain of my own unfulfilled dreams. It wasclear for me, by now, that I was manipulating my brothers, emotionally. And, Ihad to respect their verdict, now… however bitter it sounded. And, I had to be gracefulin learning this valuable lesson.

I did; and, weall moved on with our lives.

Today, Rony is a very popularsinger in the Konkani circle. Viva stopped playing cricket, but has become afairly successful businessman. And, I have no qualms – and not an iota of arrogance– when I say: We are extremely good to each other… and proud about each other,too. My brothers have remained profoundly grateful to me… and I shall alwaysremain grateful to them for helping me grow-up in my life.

Immediately after this episode, Ihad penned in my dairy this little poem:

GREAT MAN

I tried to make my younger brother

A Great Man.

Day in and day out, I sat with him,

Tired to motivate him, coax him,

Train him, guide him, support him…

And I kept reminding him:

“One day, you shall be Great!”

Many years passed by,

Nothing dramatic happened;

I began to get frustrated… mad!

Then, one day, he coolly told me:

“Brother, there are mountains,

There are plateaus

And, thereare plains.

Is it necessary for every soul on this earth

Tb be Great like a mountain?”

I started thinking,

I started thinking.

Later, I published this poem in theDawn Club inspirational booklet – ‘THE LATE BLOOMER’. Every summer, when wehave our Public-Speaking sessions, our students chose to read some inspiringpassages in the class. This poem is one of their favorites.

Maybe, we all do it. Or, maybe,someone does it to us... always!

Just yesterday, this dramaunfolded in my class.

Vijeta is a very bright andcommitted student. She is also is a level-headed and very socializing kind ofperson. I have been teaching her for the last four years and we have beenhaving an excellent rapport. Never ever she has hurt me, in any way.

However, some days back, when shehad not done her homework, I expressed my annoyance, but not in any angry oroffending manner. I did tell her, “Vijeta, you are planning to become ateacher… How will you deal with your students in a similar situation?”

Suddenly, I saw her face sinking.It seemed, what I had said was not liked by Vijeta… I do not know what madeher sulk… But, after the class, she just left abruptly, evidently irritated andsad, and I was left even more upset. “What did I do to receive this treatment?”I was asking myself, “I am her teacher… She can’t do that to me!”

Then, yesterday, just fifteen minutes beforethe class, I got Vijeta’s call. “Sir, is it okay, if I don’t attend today’s lecture?”

“Why, what happened Vijeta?” Iimmediately asked, “You know, I have just started an important chapter… Youneed to have good hold of the concepts.”

“Sir, today is Kiran’s (Her closefriend and the daughter of one of my dear old students) birthday and she istaking us for lunch,” Vijeta said, probably, hoping that I would be convinced.

“Vijeta, my class will get overat 1.30. Why can’t you join your friends after that?” I countered.

“Sir, the party is in Vashi andwe all have decided to meet in Chembur at 12,” she insisted.

“See Vijeta, I think you shouldnot miss the class… You know, the concepts will help you not only in your examsbut also for teaching,” I persisted.

“”But, sir, it is just one lecture!”Vijeta screamed.

“What? Come again?” I yelled.

“Sir, it is a question of justONE lecture!” Vijeta was aggressive.

I hung the phone.

I could not swallow thatargument. I immediately called-up Dheeraj, Kiran’s dad and narrated to him theincident. He was at home and he told me that he would talk to Kiran about it.“No, let Vijeta attend the class… She can join them a little late,” he agreedwith me. I also wished Kiran and said, “Beti, I am not trying to spoil yourparty; hope you understand.”

“No sir, please don’t think so. Iwill ask Vijeta to attend the class,” Kiran assured me.

When I entered the class at 12.30sharp, Vijeta was already there!

Other students were still coming.I did not immediately say anything to Vijeta. Nor, did she seem apologetic. Herface was grim and when I saw that, I had already said this:

“Vijeta, can I ask something toyou?”

She looked grimly at me to mean,“Now what? I am already P….. off with you!”

“Tell me Vijeta, tomorrow whenyou become a teacher and stand here in my place, how would you deal with such asituation?” I asked.

Vijeta was waiting to explode.“Sir, I have been extremely regular… Mohit bunks so many classes, Veena does,Reema does, Anil does, Shree does… I don’t skip my homework, but everyone elsedoes,” Vijeta had decided to confront me.

“Yes, you know how I feel aboutthem when they do that repeatedly, Vijeta. You want me to feel the same aboutyou?” I put it emotionally charged.

“But sir, I am also a college kidlike them…

I love my friends, I love my share of fun…

and I think you are expectingtoo much from me… and I feel that’s unfair…

I can not handle it, sir.”

Vijetawas on the verge of breaking.

I was stunned!

The other students were watchingus. The atmosphere was all tensed. I knew I was doing more harm than good bythrowing my weight as a teacher.

“Vijeta is right,” I told theclass, “Sometimes, we teachers don’t realize how much we pressurize ourstudents. I am sorry Vijeta.”

“Sir, you don’t have to say sorryto me… But, I just felt like telling what I was feeling all along,” Vijetatried to pacify me.

“Still, you have a point… and Imust accept it, ” I said and started theclass.

Incidentally, it helped me toteach well… and I could see Vijeta a lot relieved after that showdown with me.

After the class was over, I came tomy office. I wanted to be alone for a while. Just then, the door opened. “Sir Iam really sorry for hurting you,” it was Vijeta.

“No Vijeta, I realized I wasburdening you with my expectations… and, you were feeling a lot suffocated. Iam sorry,” I said completely mellowed down.

“Sir, please, don’t say that. Youwere right… But, it was me unable to handle that weight,” Vijeta quickly said,“Today, I just wanted to make my friend happy by being there.”

I was silent for a while. Then, Imanaged a smile, which – I am honest when I say this – did come from my pain… Igently said, “Vijeta, in life, we try to make someone happy without realizingthat how unhappy it can make someone else!”

“I am sorry sir,” Vijeta said,again.

“I am sorry Vijeta,” I repeated.

Norman was a good soul… He meant well for me.I know that even though I had screamed at him on that hill – “Leave me lone”.

I am a good soul, too. I meantwell for my brothers and my student, Vijeta. They know that – I am sure – eventhough they have screamed at me – “Don’t manipulate me”.

What goes around… yes, does comearound!

*Except in the case of my brothers, all other names have been changed in thispost.

GERALD D’CUNHA

THANKS:
The image used in this Post isby Ashok Ahuja. He is a professionalPhotographer and a very dear friend of mine. He is also one of the foundermembers of The Dawn Club, and, along with his gifted-artist wife, Sudha, has been helping me, and theClub, right from its inception.

THE SKY IS FALLING!!!

2012-01-24T17:15:00.002+05:30

Mr.Harwadekar is a very dear well-wisher of mine. He is about 85. The night beforelast, he had observed me talking to a Police Officer.

It was our Society matter andabout 20 of us – including Mr. Harwadekar – had been to the Police stationregarding some dispute. The particular Police officer was absolutely biased andwas trying to intimidate us. Our twenty-member delegation consisted of all respected,well-educated and cultured members and I was there, that night, heading thedelegation as the Society Chairman. We were right and had all the moral andlegal authority to present our case. I began on a very courteous note – gently,yet assertively. But, when I saw the Officer still being biased, I used myemotions… got charged-up – not angry or agitated – passionately charged-up.And, I spoke very strongly with that officer. The good men around me gave metremendous amount of inner strength and I did not feel the fear or anxiety evenfor a while.

In the end, the Officer camearound… mellowed down… He changed his track.

We came out, a lot satisfied. Justicewas done to us.

Last night, Mr. Harwadekar, whohad witnessed my passionate presentation, told me,
“Gerry, I was worried about you, your health… You should not be so excited.”

“Yes sir, I should not; you areright,” I admitted before my concerned well-wisher. “I did not get sleep forlong, last night.”

“Yes, that’s what was wrong,” Mr.Harwadekar said immediately, “You should not allow your emotions to control you;you should control your emotions.”

I remained silent.

“I know that sir… I know it verywell,” I told my well-wisher in my mind, “But, I have been finding it verydifficult to separate my emotions from my actions… at least, so far.”

“Gerry, even if the sky is falling onyou,” Mr. Harwadekar advised me lovingly, “Slowly look up and say, Oh, sky… Skyis falling.”

“Yes, and don’t throw things andrun in panic just when you hear someone screaming ‘Sky is falling’…!” Anil, another young well-wisher of mine, whowas sitting next to us, added.

I liked this imagery: The sky isfalling.

It will fall on my head if I stand still, right here...

and, it will fall on my head

even if I run, to save myself, at 100-MPH speed!

So, why drain your energy before you die.?

Look up to the falling sky and say,

“Wow!What a rare sight!”

We won the fight last night… But,I lost my sleep!

Many years ago, one afternoon, Ihad called up my residence number from my office. My son was six-year old then,and he picked up the phone.

“Son, can you give the phone to mom?” I sweetlyasked the little fellow. It was some urgent matter.

“No dad,” my son hurriedly replied,“She can’t move!”

“Why? What happened to her, dear?”I panicked.

“I am drawing her sketch; she can’tmove!” The young Picasso banged the phone down!

The sky did fall, that afternoon…and I was running. I was asking my little son, “What happened to mom?” And, hewas telling me, “Just chill!”

My wife had laughed…

My son drewa lovely sketch of his mother... and he called it, “Just Chill”!

I called it - ‘The Sky Is Falling’!

GERALD D’CUNHA

THE CHESS GAME

2012-01-23T13:38:00.002+05:30

Everyday is a new day;

It comes with new challenges todeal with.

And, it comes with new opportunities

To learn and grow…

To become wiser, finer andstronger in life.

Hence, there are no problems, notroubles in life…

There are only opportunities

To become fine human beings.

I must thank God for my daily troubles–

For the wonderful opportunities

That He serves me, each day.

I, therefore, ask God

Not for a day without problems,

But for the wisdom and strengthto deal with them…

So that I can build a mind ofsteel and a soul of gold.

This morning, my friend, Soniya, forwarded

This inspiring message to me:

“Life is like
Playing chess with God.

After your every move,

He makes the next move…

Your moves are called ‘Choices’…

His moves are called ‘Challenges’.

Today, God has sent me many opportunities…

“Thank You, Lord. Thank you.”

GERALD D’CUNHA

LORD, AS YOU DO WITH ME...

2012-01-23T10:14:00.003+05:30

Helpme Lord

To keep alive in my soul

Eternally

The flame of love…

Love with real care,

Love with hard, long patience,

Love with profound faith,

Love with enduring resilience,

Love with childlike hope,

Love with Herculean strength…

Yes, help me Lord

To love…

To grow in it…

In LOVE.

Lord, You have not condemned meto the hell-fire

Even though I am so full of sins;

Help me do the same with myfellow-men…

To love them despite their sins,

Never, ever to sit on a judgmentseat,

Help me to weed out the sins

From the garden of their souls…

And pick only the lovely roses…

Yes Lord, as You do with me.

Help me Lord

To triumph over my insecuritiesand fear,

Love giving freedom…

Enough space to breathe and grow,

Love with out losing my zest,

Love without turning bitter in life...

And never ever to love

As per my swinging moods.

Help me Lord

How to give,

How to receive,

And how to grow…

In LOVE.

GERALD D’CUNHA

THE SCHOOL OF LOVE

2012-01-21T12:31:00.003+05:30

Iseriously feel, this world would have been a much, much better place to live in… and, our heartswould have been much lighter and our lives would have been so much happier – Yes,had we all assumed in our minds less.

Most of our assumptions arebaseless… and, they are the root cause of our worry and, thereby, our sorrowand unhappiness.

My young son lives in a hostel inPune where he studies Animation. Last evening, I had a very strong urge in myheart to talk to him and I called him up on his cell. It was ringing… but, hewas not picking up. “This is not college hours, he can pick up… He should,” Ireasoned in my mind. I tried a couple of times without any success. Finally, Isent a message enquiring about him and expressing my love… My strong urge tosay “Hi’ to him… and how I missed him.

But, till this morning, he didnot get back to me!

The strong urge to say “I loveyou, son… I miss you,” by now, had turned into a strong bitterness, a pain… andI was angry.

“He can’t be so callous andinsensitive to me,” I grumbled in my mind, “I am his father.”

When you love, you arevulnerable. I have no doubt about it. If I miss my son and if I strongly yearnto tell him that, I think that is true love. I did that, last evening.

But, then, my son did not validatemy feelings… He did not pick up my incessant calls nor did he respond to mymessage. So, I am hurt. Bitter. Angry. I have the right for my feelings… I havethe right to tell him so. “That’s also love,” I argued.

Therefore, this morning, just around10.30, I called him up, again. It was ringing and ringing… and, my mind was boilingup. “This is the limit, son. Better don’t do it to me, again,” my wounded mindwarned. “He knows it is me… and, does it on purpose.”

“Hello dad,” the voice on theother end sounded dead-sleepy, “Sorry, I was fast asleep,” my son had finallypicked-up the phone!

Today is a Saturday, and it is aday off to them, normally. They get up late on Saturdays, skip their breakfastand, sometimes, even their lunch. But, they catch-up with their sleep!

Why do they do that?

Because, their studies demandthem to be night-hawks. They have projects with deadlines… regular submissionsand presentations. Grading is strict. Attendance is strict. Late-entry to theclass would be a snake-and-ladder experience. They sit till late at night –some times the whole night – in their Lab to complete their projects. So, theyare on the edge most of the times. Our son has told about this to us many timesand I have understood it, well. Still, since last evening, my mind would keeptelling me, “No, he does it on purpose.”

This morning, when my son came onthe line, I did tell him that I had tried to talk to him last evening, andabout my message. “Yes dad, I saw the missed calls and I also read your message,” he told me gently, “But,I was very tired and sleepy as we had not slept for two nights successively. Ithought I would get back to you later…”

Was that love?

Oh yes, it was. It is!

If I had loved my son, really so,I had to trust in his honesty. He did not lie when he said what he had. My arguments- “Still, he could have”… Yes, that is my problem, my human weakness.

And, recognizing that my mind,

often, assumes –

keeps judging, analyzing

and scrutinizing others –

is a partof my growing-up in love.

I have a long, long way to go inthis ‘basic school’ where they teach – “How to Love.”

GERALD D’CUNHA

FINDING OUR WAY

2012-01-20T12:36:00.001+05:30

Mrs.Joseph had come to see me

Just a while ago…

She wanted me to teach her son,Jordon

For his crucial Twelfth,

Which he will be in the comingyear.

“Sir, Jordon is a very intelligentkid, full of potential,”

Mrs. Joseph told me,

“He only seems lost… Not givinghis best.”

She continued, “Sir, I want youto help him

Get hold of himself…Work to hisfull potential.”

I smiled and re-assured,

“Ma’am, don’t worry, Jordon willfind his way…

He will work to his full potential.”

I told her about me…

How lost I was…

How I discovered myself late, andslowly…

How the pressure of provingmyself to anyone began to drop…

How work became pleasure…

How motivation became as normalas my breathing.

“Yes… but then, sir!”

I sensed Mrs. Joseph wanted totell me,

“Jordon is not you, not Gerry!”

I felt that anxiety of aconcerned mother…

And, I told her in my heart:

“Ma’am, I wish you had met mewhen I was like Jordon!”

I re-assured her,

“I was not Jordon either…

I was miles behind him!”

GERALD D’CUNHA

THANKS:
The image used in this Post isby Ashok Ahuja. He is a professionalPhotographer and a very dear friend of mine. He is also one of the foundermembers of The Dawn Club, and, along with his gifted-artist wife, Sudha, has been helping me, and theClub, right from its inception.

THE IDOL WORSHIP

2012-01-20T10:49:00.004+05:30

Theidol

Does not become sacred

Even if I pour the choicest ofthe milk –

And barrels of it -

Yes, even if I do it
From dawn to dusk...

And, for years.

Nor will my mantras,

Even if I chant them
Without taking asolitary breath,

Make me a holy man...
Yes, even for a solitary moment.

Last night, I suddenly realized

That I was telling someone –

“I love you, I love you”,

For too long a time

Without even breathing…

And suddenly,

I felt I must stop chanting my mantras,

I must stop pouring the milk…

I must breathe!

And when I did,

The idol looked so majestic, sosacred…

Yes, for the first time -

After a million desperateattempts

To express my reverence to it.

I gathered my courage and toldthe idol:

“I have no milk to pour on you, today…

I have no mantras to chant for you…

I want to breathe…

After a long, long time.”

“Fool,” I heard the voice behindthe idol:

“Pouring milk was your idea

Of making me sacred;

I am sacred, any way,

Even without your barrels of milk.”

Before I could allow that to soakme,

I heard the voice telling me more:

“Chanting mantras was your belief

That you would turn holy;

I can see your holiness

Only when your heart is still…

No, not when you are lost in adaze.”

“I love you” -

Are not just three words…

They are three ‘Worlds’ –

Mine, Yours and God’s!

I can feel my heart beating…

Beating as I breathe…

As your image fades…

As the ‘Idol Worship’ ends…

And , as I really learn to loveyou.

GERALD D’CUNHA

THANKS:

The image used in this Post isby Ashok Ahuja. He is a professionalPhotographer and a very dear friend of mine. He is also one of the foundermembers of The Dawn Club, and, along with his gifted-artist wife, Sudha, has been helping me, and theClub, right from its inception.

THE FIRST FRUIT

2012-01-19T14:07:00.002+05:30

Today,too, I received on my cell-phone, some inspiringtexts from my well-wishers. As I always say, the best thing that can happen toyou, early in the morning is: the thought that someone, far away, is thinkingabout you, your well-being. It really feels good. You do feel like a ‘winner’in life!

And, today, I received, early inthe morning, these two messages.

Shankar was my student more thantwo decades ago. He, along with his two friends – Rohan and Neeraj, were veryclose to me. Then, they graduated, did their respective MBA’s and otherPost-Grads, and settled well in life. They got married, for which they didremember me. They kept in touch for some years, and as life demands of us, theygot too absorbed building-up their respective families. We lost contact.

And, this morning, I receivedthis message from Shankar:

“Sir, we are extremely excited toannounce that we are blessed with a beautiful baby daughter…
Both, mother andbaby are fine.”

Simultaneously, another messageflashed. It was from Abro.

Abro passed out histwelfth-standard some years ago, and joined the Hotel Management studies it thefamed Government Catering Collegein Dadar. He kept me updated about hisprogress all through his Hotel Management studies. Today, the message said:

“Good Morning sir, I got my firstoffer letter – Management Trainee
fr Yum grp Kfc and pizza hut .. the outletsare all over India.”

I felt extremely happy forShankar and Abro. Shankar was sharing the news of the birth of their firstchild… and Abro about his first job. I immediately called them up and wished.“Shankar, may the little star shine bright… Our love, kisses and blessings,” Itold Shankar. “Abro, may you shine even more,” was what I said to Abro.

Why did Shankar, after over twodecades, felt the need to share his happiness with me?

Why did Abro?

I do not know why.

But, it mademe feel good about myself.

More so,

when I really, really felt happy for them.

There was a time, yes when I wasvery small in my native village… When a new baby was born, they would die tobreak the news to the Parish priest of the church. On the baptism day, the babywould be placed at the feet of Lord… and they would pray silently.

And, there was this time, when ayoung one got his first job, the familywould offer a special mass in the church… and, when the first salary came, theywould hand it over to the church… To the Lord. That was the silent promise theyhad made to Him!

And, there was this time, whenthey received the first fruit in their garden, they would take it to the Lord… andonly after that, they would taste the rest.

We still do it… Yes, even here ina busy city like Mumbai. Only, in a different way. Some wait for the crow tocome and take his first bite… Only then would they savour the food. Some wantthe Priests to take their meals first, and then would they go about eating.And, some, like Shankar and Abro, remember someone like me – their dear teacher– before they would ‘eat’ their GardenFresh – their first fruit!

GERALD D’CUNHA

THE FULL-MOON

2012-01-18T16:15:00.003+05:30

I amin a mood of writing about dogs, today! Just a while before, I have posted one:‘A Baby Becomes A Buzzo’. Here is one more.

“A dog may bark at the Moon,” myidol, Prof. B.S.Raman had bursted out , one day, angrily , at one of my classmates, “But,the Moon will not lose its shining.”

I do not remember the context:Why did he cry so? And, who was that classmate of mine that provoked the outburst, and why?

Our village dogs always howledthrough the night. Sometimes, at the trespassers – both men and beasts -sometimes, at the burglars, and, sometimes, just when the Moon shone, up in thesky, in its full glory! The dogs would simply look to the skies and keephowling, and keep howling! Then, they would feel tired, breathless. The howlingwould end. They would go to sleep. And, they would open their eyes again, lookup and howl, all over again. When the steam was out, they would stop howlingand go back to sleep.

This would go on and on tillsomeone, whose night these night-howlers had ruined, would come from behind andcane them hard… so hard, that they would think ten times before looking up…Leave alone howling!

When I was in school, a teacherhad told us a touching story which I do not clearly remember. “On a full-moonday, you can see a howling dog… there, up inside the Moon,” I vaguely remember hertelling us, the little ones. Probably, on every full-moon night, our villagedogs, on sighting another dog in the skies… would howl at him. They probablyenvied him. To them, it was not the Moon that shone… It was the dog… And, our poor village-dogs did not like it, even a bit.

So, howl they would,

on everyfull-moon day –

all through the night -

just hoping to make that dog in the sky

stop shining.

Just hoping to get even with him,

here on earth!

Suddenly, today, I remembered all thesevillage dogs… the dog in the Full-Moon… and, that tender story of my schoolteacher… and, above all, I remembered that angry outburst of my idol, Prof.Raman:

“A dog may bark at the Moon,”Yes, he had howled, “But, the Moon will not lose its shining.”

GERALD D’CUNHA

A BABY BECOMES A BUZZO

2012-01-18T12:25:00.000+05:30

Hewas born here, just outside my classes, some years ago. The little childrennamed him ‘Buzzo’. He is quite huge, well-built, and has a white-and-goldenbody. She was born just a year later. Again, right outside my classes. She islean and pitch-dark. The children named her ‘Sony’. And, they both have spentall their years, right here in our premises, as husband and wife. Every year,they breed six to eight lovely children. Some live, some die… But, none of themyou find around the parents. Some have gone to better pastures… some have been stonedto death… and, some have been trapped and dragged away in those Municipal Vans.

Just a few days ago, Buzzo andSony have given birth to six lovely children. And, all of a sudden, there is anunusual excitement and joy around here!

Last year, when eight amazingbabies were born to these parents, we all thought this world was a wonderfulplace to live in! The little children would go crazy fondling these babies.Every afternoon, as soon as the school bus landed here, about fifteen children wouldjump off the bus, and fight among themselves just to get hold of one of thebabies… just for a moment… till the conductor would come and drag them away.

Anushka and her close friend, Sarika, both eight-year-olds - would throw their bagsat home, and without even taking their lunch, spend the next couple of hours makinghouses for those babies under the garden benches… and feed them with milk broughtfrom their homes. “Wash your hands before you eat,” their mothers would scream.But, that hardly mattered for these kids. They loved those babies.

Varun andNikita would come to my class on a motor bike. Nikita was mad about thesebabies… She would feed them; and everyday, she would take some of them for ashort ride on the motor bike. And, she would come back and place them neartheir mother, so gently. She also would pester Varun to click her picturesholding those innocent babies close to her bosoms… And Varun, her boy friend,would oblige!

I don’t think she loved him, herMacho, as much as she loved those cute babies!

So, the time to rejoice has come,once again! Some months ago, Vaidehi, my F.Y. BMS student, was taking theround-about way to come to my classes. “Why do you take such a long way to cometo my class?” I had asked her, one day. “I am afraid of that big dog.” Buzzowas huge, looked ferocious… but, he would never ever bark at or harm any of ourstudents, no matter what. Still, some of our students, like Vaidehi, would beafraid and try to run away from him.

Two days ago, I saw this sameVaidehi - and her friend Manali – both,literally fallen over the new-borns and having glorious time! “Be carefulmadams,” I cautioned, “Their mother may attack you.”

“No sir, she won’t,” was ourVaidehi’s confident reply!

This morning, I had sent off mystudents after my lecture. Suddenly, I heard someone running back to me and ask,“Sir, do you have a bowl?” It was my Eleventh-standard student, Aanchal.

“Bowl? For what?” I asked her.

“We want to feed milk to thepuppies,” Aanchal was excited.

They had asked the doodhwala tostop his bicycle near the puppies. I cut an empty Bisleri bottle with a knife,to make it look like a cup, and gave it to Aanchal. “Be careful madam; their mother mayharm you,” I cautioned her, too.

“No way, sir,” was Aanchal’sreply, too.

“Are you ready for fourteen injections?”I asked her.

“I don’t mind.” Yes, it seemedso!

For the next half-an-hour, three of them – Aanchal, Kartik and Kush – had a blissful time!

All my students, when they cuddlethose babies, I feel very happy. What a way to love, care and give… What aninnocence… How beautiful life is when it is full of innocence… When there is noexpectation, no blame, no complaints, no criticism , no harshness ofback-biting, no weight of old grudges, no pain of betrayal or even the heavy stoneof hostility… How, nice it would be to remain babies all our life… How nice itwould be to see others as babies and just love them so!

No, Life is never meant to be so.A baby becomes a Buzzo… and you no more pick him up to caress!

Sony feeds the babies. When sheis ready to feed, all six of them would scramble to reach her nipples. Yes, thebabies scramble… and hard. The tough ones get first, and they are fed. The weakones struggle and, sometimes, don’t even get a sip! The mother, when the timeis up, simply walks away… without even looking back, not even thinking who willgo without food!

Just in a few days, thoseunfortunate ones will die! Hungry!

My students, perhaps, have notwitnessed this tragedy of their life. “SOOOOOO Sweet!!!” This is what they have witnessed. “SOOOOOO Cute!!!”

I don’t like to draw theirattention

to this side of the story.

A good story has everything, they know:

Joy and Sorrow,

Love and Betrayal,

Victory and Defeat…

Success and Fall!

I had left home, this morning,very, very annoyed. The door had been just banged. It is not the baby I hadseen… it was Buzzo!

And, I can vouch: Buzzo is a nicesoul! A gentleman!

“I am sorry dear… I love you… Ilove the innocence… I love this drama called LIFE!!!”

GERALD D’CUNHA

THANKS:

The image used in this Post isby Ashok Ahuja. He is aprofessional Photographer and a very dear friend of mine. He is also one of thefounder members of The Dawn Club, and, along with his gifted-artist wife, Sudha, has been helping me, and theClub, right from its inception.

ONE MORE CHANCE...

2012-01-17T11:16:00.003+05:30

Everydisagreement

With another means:

You have one more chance to learn

How to respect, honor, valueanother view.

Every argument with another means:

You have one more chance to know

What works for you and what against.

Every unfair criticism fromanother means:

You have one more chance to learn

To believe in yourself…

Value, respect and honor

What you hold to be fair andjust.

Every heartbreak that comes

Like a bolt from the blue means:

You have one more chance

To nurture your soul

And awaken the spring of goodness

That you never thought buried sodeep within you.

Every hell-bent tormentor

Who so relentlessly coups

To destroy your child-like spiritmeans:

You have one more chance to learn

What patience is…

What compassion and forgivenessare.

Every tear that you shed

And every smile that you sendmean:

Life is beautiful…

Yes, so beautiful!

GERALD D’CUNHA

TO LAUGH WITH YOU AND CRY WITH YOU...

2012-01-16T13:42:00.004+05:30

Twenty-one years ago, Fr. Reggie Pinto had celebrated our nuptial massin Mangalore. Last night, I was so delighted to meet him in Mumbai at theamazing grounds of Holy Family church in Andheri. He had come, all the way formMangalore, to celebrate the nuptial mass of his niece, the gorgeous Marishka,and her handsome groom, Adrian. Fr. Reggie was also there to raise the toast forthe lovely newly-wed.

Fr. Reggie is young andholds very young views as well. This makes him gel extremely well with theyoung generation. You feel relaxed when you are with him. And, you also feel alot accepted and respected as you converse with him.

Last night, after hehad done with his toast-raising, he spent, along with his elderly mom, the restof the time chatting with us around our table.

Some months ago, Fr.Reggie had lost his father who was close to 90. ‘Pinto Master’… this was how Fr.Reggie’s dad was called fondly by everyone in the village. He and his wife –Maggie aunty – were both teachers… and amazing teachers they were!

Last night, Fr. Reggiespoke to me, at length, about his parents’ commitments to their teachingprofession , social responsibilities and,above all, to their marriage and family.

Pinto Master loved hisstudents so much that he would teach them, free of charge, at home after theschool hours… Often, these students would come from far away places and Maggie aunty would serve them food and make themstay back for the nights. This was a common feature at their residence. Pinto Masterwould, later, help these youngsters in writing their Job applications and evenuse his contacts to obtain jobs for them. People coming to seek emotional helpwas a regular feature.

After his retirement,Pinto Master kept himself fruitfully busy. He was active in the churchactivities. He was a terrific script-writer, actor and director. On GoodFriday, he would make sure, the worshippers cried as they watched his play - ‘ThePassion of the Christ’! He served as the Church Administrator for solidtwenty-five years. Whenever a wedding or any other celebration popped up in thevillage, it was Pinto Master – the main Chef. Fr. Reggie told me last night,that his dad had handled a crowd of three thousand… and efficiently. Any eventin the village – Christening, Communion, Marriage, Ordination, Jubilee or Death– Fr. Reggie’s parents were there right in the front, all in command!

What fascinated me themost was the legendary God-parenting. Fr. Reggie’s parents had ninety-nine Godchildren! One short of a century – because, a massive paralytic attack had comeon the way, and very badly!

For thirteen longyears, Pinto Master spent his days on his wheel-chair and bed. For anincredibly active and useful person like him, it was simply the most painfulthing that could happen. But, it happened. Hundreds of his students, who werenow settled well in life, would come to visit him… Thousands of well-wishers andneighbors – of all castes and creed – would pray for him. Scores of Priestswould send prayers to God from their altars. But, Pinto Master had to spend hislast years in the manner God had wished…

Yes, in spite of allthe good work he had performed and the noble life he had chosen to live!

I remembered the famousbook, “Why Bad Things Happen to Good People?”

The answer can only bemystical… Yes, only mystical!

But, then, there wasMaggie aunty in the life of Pinto Master. His wife. Years and years had gone bysince she had held his hand at the altar of God and said:

I, Margaret, take you, Robert,

to be my lawfully weddedhusband,

my constant friend, my faithful partner

and my love from this day forward.

In the presence of God, our family and friends,

I offer you my solemn vow

to be your faithful partner in sickness and in health,

in good times and in bad,

and in joy as well as in sorrow.

I promise to love you unconditionally,

to support you in your goals,

to honor and respect you,

to laugh with you and cry with you,

and to cherish you for as long as we both shall live.

Nearly six decades had passed by sincethat day, since that commitment before God. Fr. Reggie told me last night, thathe had lost count of the number of nuptials he was privileged to preside over.But, every time he made the young couple take that one vow of marriage, hisvoice would crack and heart would tremble. “It is the most humbling thing thatI have come across in my Priesthood,” Father told me last night, almost choked , talking about the kind of commitment his mother had for her husband in herlife.

“Not less than fifty times,during a night, my dad would call her… Lift me up; place me down; change myside; change my pillow; why this food cold; bring me fresh… and, yes, my motherwould do it!” Fr. Reggie narrated to me. “Once, she had to be in the hospitalfor one day for her cataract operation and I opted to be at home with my dad. Imay be a Reverend Father… but, I lost my cool and yelled at him that night,‘Dad, why do you torture me like this? Don’t I have to sleep?…”

“I really wonder how could my momdo so much for all her life,” Fr. Reggie told me. “The real test is when thetimes are bad… and, for thirteen years, the times were really bad for my mom anddad. Like a rock, she stood by him and nursed.”

They had brought to show us ahuge photo album of the funeral photos. Shivers ran down my spine, as I flipped through those pages.The magnificent church was packed with mourners to the hilt… On the altar, there were forty-five Priests to celebrate the final mass for Pinto Master, thegood soul; there were students whose lives were touched by this man’sgenerosity… They had travelled from far away places; there was the Bishop andthere were all those from the village – yes of all faiths – to bid himGood-bye. Above all, there was this frail woman, all heart-broken, standing byhis side till the earth consumed this gentle soul for ever!

“Son, let me have some sleep,this night,” was what she said to Fr. Reggie that night. You can imagine, theremustn’t have been a single night – in all those thirteen long-years – whenMaggie aunty had slept properly!

It was a stunning ambience. Therewas live music and the dance floor was electrifying. It was the last song… thefamous song sung almost by every great singer. Last night, the brilliant youngsinger closed his eyes and sang it for the couple… as the parents and dearestones of the bridal couple wrapped them - gently, slowly and tightly - with those satinblue-and-white ribbons.

Oh, my love, my darling

I'vehungered for your touch,

along lonely time

Andtime goes by,

soslowly and time can do so much

Areyou, still mine?

Ineed your love, I need your love

Godspeed your love to me

Lonelyrivers flow to the sea,

tothe sea

To the waiting arms of the sea

Lonely rivers cry, wait for me,

waitfor me

To the open arms, wait for me

Mylove, my darling,

I'vehungered for your kiss

Are you still mine?

I need your love,

Ineed your love

God, speed your love,

tome.

Then, the song ended...

And the couple kissed!

It took more than an hour forour taxi-man to bring me and my wife home from the wedding venue. It wasmid-night… and, I was unable to speak a single word!

“Marriage is surely not anight!” Last night, I had no honesty left in me to advise the awesome Adrian and Marishka! Yes, that was twenty-one years since I said at the God's altar:

"Dear, I promise to love you...
to laugh with you and cry with you...
in our good times and bad times!"

GERALD D’CUNHA

I AM THE NATION!

2012-01-14T12:05:00.001+05:30

Iam Anna!

Nobody became an ‘AnnaHazare’ just by donning that ‘sexy’ Gandhitopi! Nor did the scourge of corruption go from this country… No, the BlackMoney worth crores and crores of dollars, stacked in those Swiss lockers – as thefolklore goes – has come back to India. No, not yet. The Delhifast ended… and, we thought Anna had won. The Mumbai fast flopped… and wethought Anna got cow-dung on his face!

Yes, in this greatnational pastime – the ‘tamasha’ - we are either with the Government or with theopposition or with Anna.

We are seldom with ourselves!

We expect Anna to dothe ‘the scavenger work’ for us… Clean this mess. This ‘S..t’ calledcorruption!

We are fools of the firstorder… We have pinned hopes on Kasab. Means: When he is hanged, our nation willbe free from terrorism! Now, we have pinned hopes on this old man, Anna… Means:When he fasts, the Government will pass the Bill… and, Bingo! Phut goes thecorruption!

Anna has promised usthis Paradise… The Fools’ Paradise!

“Who has time to wastein a Maidan?” a typical Mumbaikarreacted without even blinking. “Are you going?” I had asked him, when theMumbai fast was just about to take off.

“Will Delhi show repeat?” I further pushed him.

“Delhi? Those fools have no other work… noother entertainment. Here, we worship our trade and train!” he was blunt.

And yes, this Mumbaikarwas right.

I was in Mangalore whenthis Mumbai ‘tamasha’ was going onand the great Parliament debate was going on and on till the mid-night. I haddecided not to read any newspapers or watch TV… I wanted to stay away fromdepressing drama. I did not want to take sides and jump at the end of thematch: “Yey! Anna won… Or Yey the Governent won… Or, Yey, the BJP!”

But, wherever I visitedin my hometown, I was surprised to see the people glued to TV like acricket match! The young kids had an opinion on it. Dan is just in tenth standard,and it was crystal clear that he was very alive politically. He ‘hated’ Anna’sarrogance and, he wanted his show to flop. When it did, I heard him shout, “MyFirst Communion had a bigger crowd than that!”

“Wow!” I thought, “Whata way of telling Anna and his fools – ‘Enough’!”

Well, you may ask me:Where have I put my money? On Anna or the Government or the Opposition?

On none of them!

I have put all my moneyon me!

I am corrupt. And, yes,when I say that I am honest!

In the thick of the Delhi show, about fivehundred young and enthusiastic medical students, young Docs, of a famous Mumbaimedical college had approached their Dean. They wanted leave and permission tojoin the on-going Anti-corruption rally in Mumbai in support of Anna. The Deanagreed on one condition. He made them assemble in the college campus, raisetheir hands to their chests and made them take these Solemn Vows:

“As a Doctor, I shall be honest to the core,”

“I will not overcharge my patients,”

“I shall not take commissions from the labs and otherdoctors,”

“I shall not take commissions from the Medi-claims,”

“I shall not perform sex-detection tests,”

“I shall not evade Income tax,” …. And so on!

At the end of thisassembly, none of these young Docs wanted Anna to end corruption!

I am corrupt. Let mefast unto death… to free myself of this scourge!

Yes, the Kingdom of Heaven lies here – here within my heart!

This is the only Paradise… Till it doesn’t come, nothing else will!

I don’t need an Anna totell me I am corrupt!

I am the Nation.!

I am not Anna!

GERALD D’CUNHA

IT IS SO COLD OUTSIDE!

2012-01-13T11:03:00.005+05:30

It is very, very cold, here, in Mumbai! Delhi is too much, I know. And HimachalPradesh and Punjab is unbearable. Kashmir is beyond my imagination!

For us, this much isjust bearable. In the mornings, we find it particularly chilly… A cup of hot,hot tea or coffee! Wow!

Every morning, ourdoodhwala boy rings our bell around 6.30 or so. Yesterday, when I opened thedoor, I instantly said, “How do you manage? Wear something thick.”

“Okay sir; thank yousir,” he said with a very broad smile.

Maybe, no one must havesaid such things to him! I hope, I not trying to play a Noble Man here. I didfeel what I had said, that early morning when it was too cold outside, made thedoodhwala boy happy.

I had an old sweater,which I was not using for years. I kept it ready last night to give him when hewould ring our bell this morning. So, there was a pleasant surprise to him whenI handed over that sweater… The smile was ever broader!

In the same way, themiddle-aged lady, who comes to our place do prepare roties every morning, feelsvery happy when I offer a cup of hot tea to her every morning. It is not socold only for me… It is for this slogging woman, too!

Just when I reach mySociety gate, around 7.45 or 8 in the morning, I see those security men, two ofthem very old, who have still not finished their night duty…all in the open! Iam the Chairman of the Society. The least I can do for them is: “Kaka, how didthe night go?”

And, the worst wouldbe: throwing my weight around them… because I am the Chairman of the Society!

It is so cold for thesepoor watchmen too… and more so, because, they have spent the night right underthe chilly skies!

It doesn’t cost us todo these spontaneous acts.

Many do for their own reasons.

I do it for my own.

ThoughI have not much analyzed

why I do what I do -

I think,
empathy and compassion
are very dear personal-values to me.

And, others do, in their own little way…

fortheir own reasons.

Some give biscuits forthe street-dogs every morning on their way to the offices. Wow! Look at thehappiness of those dogs! Their tails tell you how happy they are!

Some offer grains tothe pigeons every morning… And look how many pigeons– hundreds of them – come,know not from where - to receive their fill. And, look at their happiness… When they flutter and go back, you can feelthat!

Some go, late at night –almost every night – to handover the left-over food to those who sleep on theroads. And these unfortunate ones do tell “Thank you, sir… Good night”!

And, then, after takingthat ‘dinner’… they go back to sleep on those roads… and those dividers!

It is so cold outside!

GERALD D’CUNHA

GIVE US OUR DAILY BREAD

2012-01-12T15:24:00.000+05:30

There is a place called ‘Thaneer Bhavi’ in Mangalore. Translatedfrom Kannada, it means ‘cold-water well’. I do not know how this name has comeabout… In Konkani, we used to call this place ‘Thantrebail’. I do not know whatthat means, either. But, I know this much: it is a beautiful beach!

My earliest memoryabout this place was going there with my parents when I was very small. Therewas no direct access to this beach. We would first go to a place called ‘SultanBatteri’. It was a small, ancient fort built by Tipu Sultan on the banks of ariver. From this spot, a local boat had to ferry us across to this littleisland-like place – ‘Thaneer Bhavi’. No beach in Mangalore is safe forswimming, including this one. But, I still remember I would simply jump withjoy whenever I was around this place.

The locals were mostlyChristians from the fishing community. A small church stood right in the midstof those windy beach-trees. Wow! That quiet beauty! This church would come inmy dreams, so often, later in life. So, after several years, when I had been toManglaore this time, I told Joe to take me there. He took me by the broad,beautiful road that they have now built to reach there. Presently, the place isa tourist attraction. The church is now renovated… The majestic wind-trees arecut to make more open space for the church. However, when I stepped outside thecar, I got into the old-theme… Christmas was just over… The stars and the crib werestill there to welcome us… The little local children played cricket inside thechurch compound. We went inside the church and spent some quiet moments. Iallowed myself to pass through the images I would see in my dreams… till thetears in my eyes dried up.

When we came out of that silent church, the youngparish-priest came out to take us inside his room. There, I shared with him thereason why I was there. “You must me the hundredth person to tell me that,”this young Father told us. “I some how have this strong feeling that the Graceof Mother Mary is acting upon you.”

I do not know, whethermiracles happen that way. But, something was always calling me there in mydreams. I went. I sat in that quietness. I prayed. I cried. If that was MotherMary’s Grace, so be it. Thank you Father, I am touched, blessed!

Two days later, myyounger brother, Vivek, took me to one of his friends’ ‘mansion’ on thewaterfront right next to ‘Sultan Batteri’. It was late evening; the Sun had hadalready gone home… and the vast lush-green expanse of this ‘mansion’ lookedlike the magnificent Taj Mahal on the banks of river Yamuna. To me, it was evenmore stunning as it stood, gloriously, right facing the river… and then youcould see the little strip of the island and the roaring Arabian sea.

This man is young andhas made lots of money at an early age. He has built this house and lives in itwith his wife and two children. The house is like a palace…and it is fortified.A guard would peep from his security cabin and decides to allow you in or not.A handful of bodyguards keep an eye on everything that happens around… Thereare cameras capturing your movements … Two boats are anchored in the jetty,specially erected, right outside… A beautiful 40-seater boat and astate-of-the-art motor-boat can give you some joy ride. There is a BMW, anAudi, a Merc and a couple of fine SUV’s. There is a sports bike… and they sayit has cost him close to twenty lakhs!

When you enter theking-size drawing room, you feel guilty to step on those ultra-luxuriousfloorings… even to sit on the ultra-fine sofas. You can see the finest brandsof spirits here in that bar, if you haven’t seen anywhere before.

I had always dreamt ofthis place.

I had dreamt of a small house

that quietly faced that river,

the island and the sea…

Of sitting inmy easy-chair

and watching the glorious sunset…

Of falling in love with thesilence,

the imagery...

the incredible ambience.

I had always dreamt of such asetting

to write my poems…

my beautiful stories…

Wow! Wow! Wow!

So, when I visited thisplace, I felt extremely jealous of this young man. “Mother Mary, why have younot blessed me with such a place to write my wonderful poems and stories?” Iasked Her angrily.

I received no answer!

“Give us our dailybread,” Her Son had taught us to pray, long, long ago.

Today, when I write this– my daily blog – I can sense the power of that simple petition to OurFather-in-Heaven. And, I can feel in my soul Her Grace…

She has been calling me,for years, so that I could write about it, today!

GERALD D’CUNHA

THANKS:

The image used in this Post isby Ashok Ahuja. He is aprofessional Photographer and a very dear friend of mine. He is also one of thefounder members of The Dawn Club, and, along with his gifted-artist wife, Sudha, has been helping me, and theClub, right from its inception.

THE DISTANCE AND YEARS

2012-01-11T15:22:00.005+05:30

Every morning, I receive, on my cell-phone, a short passage fromthe Holy Bible. A dear friend of mine - who lives hundreds of miles away - sends it to me, regularly, every morning.And, it feels good!

On every Christmas day,right when the Sun comes out in the East, I receive a lovely bouquet of flowers.Gauthami and Hetal were my students, more than fifteen years ago, when theywere in their final-year B’Com. Ever since then – yes, for all these years –they have made sure that I – their sir – should receive the most exquisitebouquet on Christmas-day morning!

“Please. Please don’tbother,” I keep telling them, every year.

But then, they dobother, do send.

“Sir, there are onlytwo teachers in our life to whom we do it,” they tell me. “To one, we send iton his Birthday. To you, we do it on Christmas.”

Yes, they have beendoing it, without a break, for more than fifteen long-years! Both Gauthami andHetal are married and settled in two different, far away, corners of our city.They have their joint families, husbands, children and their respectiveprofessions to mind. Fifteen years are too long a period to keep a teacher likeme in mind. We may wish, send flowers for a year or two… and then, we tend toget sucked in our own world. We forget. Gauthami and Hetal are certainly noexception. But, every time the Christmas comes, these two amazing ladies remindme that they ARE!

Mitesh is in Singapore, now.He too passed out his B’Com about twenty years ago. He has lived in manycountries during all these years. Again, he has never failed to send me a Christmascard for all these years. No mobile-phone or e-mail greetings, it is a realcard – the ‘hard copy’ – to his sir!

Again, I have told himrepeatedly, “Mitesh, why do you take so much trouble?”

“It is no trouble sir,”Mitesh tells me, “It is my pleasure.”

I used to send cards onDiwali, Christmas and New-year occasions. Later, I began to send greetings one-mails and mobile phone. I met a middle-aged man last evening. I had alwayssent greetings on the New-year day to this man. This time, I forgot.

“I didn’t receive yourNew-Year greetings this time,” he grumbled, as soon as he opened his mouth, last evening.

“Happy New-year,” Ioffered my hand.

But, his lukewarm-responseconveyed to me that he was a little upset: I was supposed to send him mywishes, you see!

“You could have sent meyour wishes, even though I hadn’t.” I felt like shouting at him. That wouldhave been an ugly way of going about life, particularly a New Year… I chose to bedeaf to what I had just heard from this man!

Why should Gauthami andHetal send me a loving bouquet each Christmas? Why should Mitesh his greetingcard? Why should my friend send me inspiring lines of the Holy Book, each morning?Why, even though I keep telling them, “Please. Please don’t bother.”

Some days ago, when Iwas in Mangalore, I met a dear old-friend of mine. I was very close to theirfamily. However, I had not communicated with them for over two decades. Still,when I met them this time, I felt the same warmth as I felt years ago. There were so manybirthdays, anniversaries, Jubilees, marriages, Christenings, Holy Communions, evendeaths, in their as well as our families during these twenty long-years. And still,when we met, neither of us complained about the lack of communication.

“The distance and years

are only that…

the distance and years,”

this friend told me.

“How true!” I agreed.

And yes, ‘HappyNew-Year’ is only that… only ‘words’! Yes, unless our hearts know how torejoice – by being simple, grateful and hopeful!

A Christmas card. Alovely bouquet. A Holy passage. Thank you.

GERALD D’CUNHA

HOW CAN WE DO THAT?

2012-01-11T11:25:00.002+05:30

Joe called me up this morning. Surprisingly, to tell me thathe had started reading my blog, every morning!

I had always thought (eventhough we are such great pals) that he would not be the one to find anything ofsubstance in simple stuff like my Blog.

What we assume are onlyassumptions. They may not be true!

So, when Joe expressedhis fondness for my Blog, I felt good about myself… What a feeling that is!That, early in the morning - somewhere, hundreds and thousands of miles afar - someonethinks of you as soon as he or she begins the day! That, what you write, makeshis or her day… Wow! What a feeling that is! What a way to live!

I felt, for a moment,that I was the richest man on this earth! And, I resolved, once again, comewhat may, I would live this way!

Then, I couldn’trefrain myself from asking Joe, what he had meant when he said: “How can I drive?Mariette (his wife) has gone to Mumbai!”

As I had told in myearlier post, I had just laughed on hearing this statement, and then wondered: “Whatdid he mean by that?”

Joe was not in a moodto fool around with me, this morning. “You know Gerry how it is,” he said. “Mariettehas to manage my three children, this big house, her demanding job… and me. Nowshe is not around and I can make out how tough it is to do what a lady has todo in the house!” He continued, “We men take our wives’ contribution forgranted… We drive them crazy with our demands and indifference.”

Distance makes lovefonder!

Neither Joe, nor I,

noranyone with a reasonably sane mind,

here on this earth,

is an exception to thisold principle!

By the time I publishthis post, Mariette might be seated inside the plane and all set to go backhome. And, Joe might be in his car, on his way to the airport in Mangalore, to receiveher.

“Joe, are you driving?”I hear me ask him.

“How can I?” I hear himanswer.

Yes, how can ‘we’ dothat?

Yes, with suchwonderful people in our lives!

GERALD D’CUNHA

I AM NOT HONEST...

2012-01-10T11:58:00.001+05:30

I am not honest…

I feel I am honest whenI say that!

I am not free of corruption…

I feel ‘uncorrupted’when I say that!

My mind is not freefrom sinful thoughts…

I feel the touch of Godin my soul when I say that!

God has given us only HisTen Commandments…

And, I tell Him, sooften – yes, so often:

“My Lord, I am sorry, Ibroke one, today!”

And, when I say that,

I feel the surge of Hislove and forgiveness in my heart!

I keep committing thesame mistakes,

Over and over again,

Even though I know I shouldn’t…

But, I do, I do… Yes, Ido.

And, I do get one morechance to amend…

One more chance to ‘ComeHome’!

Yes, I am not honest.

I feel I am honest whenI say that!

GERALD D’CUNHA

THE EMBROIDERY

2012-01-09T15:43:00.002+05:30

Allof us are concerned about the safety of our dear and near ones. We express ourconcern in many ways. “Take care,” is a very, very common phrase we use, timeand time again, to do that. I do it every day, so many times… and for so many dearpeople in my life.

Some months ago, a very dear young-student of mine wastravelling alone to Pune. When the bus started, she sent me a sms saying thatthe journey had just begun . She was very excited to travel by the Expressway andall alone, particularly.

“Take care,” I instantly replied, “Be careful with thestrangers.”

“Don’t worry sir,” the young one quickly consoled me, “Iam sitting next to an elderly lady!”

I sent a smiley to this dear student of mine. But, behindthat smiling face, hid a little bit of my embarrassment. “How much protectivewe are! How low is our trust level!” I wondered.

But then, I also felt a lot happy for what I had done andsaid to this dear one, so spontaneously. I meant well for her… I wanted her toexercise some caution… and as she was a young girl, travelling for the firsttime, I argued in my mind that I had done the right thing. Above all, I amsure, my gesture must have made her feel loved, cared for and special.

So, I do not regret about my gesture towards this youngsoul.

Some days ago, I was to make my return journey fromMangalore by train. “Son, be careful about the strangers in your compartment,”my elderly mom advised me, “Do no accept any eatables or drinks offered bythem… You must have heard about how passengers are looted by drugging.”

“Thank you mom, I will keep that in my mind,” I made mymom feel loved and respected. She had advised her beloved son with all her loveand concern. And yes, when she had said what she did, I felt loved, cared forand special!

“Take care of your baggage,” an uncle of mine advised me,“Carry a chain and a lock to tie your bags… You must have heard of how bagsdisappear when you are asleep.”

“Thank you uncle, I will remember what you have said,” Imade my uncle too feel loved and respected. And again, yes, I did feel loved,cared for and special when my uncle did show his concern.

In my section, there were three families. Latif, a smartyoung-man, was travelling with his beautiful wife Sania and their vibrant,three-year-old Rehan. There was Mr. Vaz and his wife, both senior citizens.They were returning after attending their niece’s wedding. Then, there was this50-plus lady travelling all alone, and aloof - and, all the time busy doingsome embroidery.

None of us bothered to tie our bags or to think aboutwhat we offered to - or offered by - each other. All of us had something and weshared with each other. Rehah was the clown, our entertainer… He kept eatingnot only from us but also from everyone around. It was fun.

In between, a couple of young foreign tourists enteredour compartment. They immediately fell for Rehan! He was watching some actioncartoon on his father’s laptop. They joined the little one laughing andscreaming with him as they watched it. Rehan, all charged-up, ferried for themour snacks – chips, idlies, sandwiches, grapes and oranges. These young foreigners– two ladies and a man – were in a foreign land. We were all strangers aroundthem. They traveled so light – some lose, plain clothes and one piggy bag ontheir back – and they traveled with a light heart. Till their destination – Goa – arrived, they were found absorbed with the simplejoy that they could lay their hearts on…

Before they got off the train, all of them lifted highour Rehan and kissed.

No, neither Rehan nor any of us there - drugged these foreigners. No,they did not disappear with any of our bags, either!

The next morning, when we all had to get off, we firsthelped the senior citizens with their bags… Latif helped me, I helped Rehan.

The only person, who helped herself, was that aloof lady.She had not spoken a single word with any one of us, leave alone sharing food…Her embroidery was still incomplete, even though the journey had ended.

Probably, like us,

some well-wishers must have cautionedher:

“Be careful about the strangers…

Tie your bags…

Do not accept

anythingthey give you to eat or drink…"

That morning, this lady had landed safely.

So had the rest of us.

The difference – I think – was: unlike her, ourembroidery was complete!

GERALD D’CUNHA

THANKS:

The image used in this Post is by Ashok Ahuja. He is a professional Photographerand a very dear friend of mine. He is also one of the founder members of TheDawn Club, and, along with his gifted-artist wife, Sudha, has been helping me, and the Club, right from itsinception.

2012-01-09T11:13:00.001+05:30

DON'T CUT THE TREE...

2012-01-07T14:03:00.002+05:30

Don’tcut the tree, my friend,

Just because it isbereft of any leaves.

The season will change… the leaves will return,

The tree WILL look glorious, all over again…

Just have faith; just wait.

Don’t’ go back, my friend,

Just because there are no waves on the seashore…

The Moon will move…

The tide will change,

And the waves will return…

The sea WILL be buzzing with action,

All over again…

Just have faith… Just wait.

At this time, my friend,

I know you are feeling extremely down…

Depressed.

But, my friend, remember:

This is just a season –

When the leaves fall,

When the waves take rest…

It is just the season

For your heart to mellow down and pray…

Just have faith… Just wait.

Don’t give up your hopes,

Your dreams… and your zest for life.

Yes, the heart will sing

And the soul will dance…

Yes, all over again…

Yes, the season will change…

WILL change!

Just don’t cut the tree,

Just don’t go back,

Just don’t give up…

On you… my friend!

GERALD D’CUNHA

THANKS:

The image used in this Post is by Ashok Ahuja. He is a professionalPhotographer and a very dear friend of mine. He is also one of the foundermembers of The Dawn Club, and, along with his gifted-artist wife, Sudha, has been helping me, and theClub, right from its inception.

THE PACK OF LOVE

2012-01-07T10:44:00.001+05:30

Myfriend, Joe is mad! Last night, I called him up. There was disturbance in theline… so, I said, “Hey Joe, are you driving?”

“How can I?” Joe’s response was instant, “Mariette (hisONLY wife!) has gone to Mumbai!”

I laughed. Then thought, “What did he mean by that?”

Well, had I asked him that, I knew he had readyrejoinders. I only said, “You Wise-crack! You drive me crazy!”

Joe and Mariette got married very early. They have twolovely daughters, Namratha and Niyothi and one son, Nikhil. Namratha is marriedto Brian and they just celebrated their first wedding anniversary on thisNew-Year day. Niyothi is already engaged and Nikhil is doing his engineering.Joe runs his business and very successful in it. Mariette heads a nursingcollege. It is a lovely family. It is fun to be with them… You come out a lotrefreshed. And, of course, your heart and stomach, both, filled as well!

Mariette is a very caring person. When I told that toJoe, he had his repertoire handy. “They say, when you are just married, your wifeloves you hundred percent; when you get your first child, she loves you fiftypercent; when you get your second child, she loves you twenty percent… and,like me, if you get a third one, then you get nothing from your wife!”

Yes, Mariette’s love for her three young children wasvery visible to me when I was around them. Namratha loves to dance. On theanniversary day, while she was dancing to a popular number, I saw Marietteleaving everything and everyone aside, sitting on a chair undisturbed, and watchingher lovely dancing-queen, all captivated and proud. When she saw me, shepointed to her daughter… That meant: “Look, she is my daughter!”

On the Christmas eve, Joe and Mariettee had come to ourhouse (Where I was staying in Mangalore) to wish us and give Christmas sweets.While they were returning, my youngest brother, Vivek, casually asked Joe, “Ihave some nice big Pomfrets… Shall I give you?”

“Hey, Vivek… No, no… No need. There is enough in thefridge.” This was Joe’s immediate response. Typically, a male one!

“Brian may love them, Joe,” was the spontaneous response ofMariette. Brian was her beloved son-in-law, Namratha’s hubby.

The nice, big pomfrets went to Joe’s home. Yes, speciallyfor Brian!

Three days later,

when I was having lunch at Joe’s place,

I recalled this simple, spontaneous gesture

to all of them on the dining table.

Mariette’s eyes welled…

“When we were just married, she would tell, ‘Joe wouldlove them’...” Joe taunted while Mariette managed to blush!

“Gerry, did you meet Lionell?” In the midst of the celebrations, Mariette wanted to knowwhether I had met her would-be, second son-in-law. When I said, “No,” she heldmy hand and took me to introduce.

Two days before I was to leave, she took me to a mall andpicked some beautiful sarees and accessories to my wife, Anima. On the day Iwas to leave, Joe picked me up from my place and took me to his. They made mejoin their entire family and have a real, sweet meal. Then, when I was gettinginto the car, Mariette handed me with a lovely bag. “Gerry, this is for thenight,” she said, “Don’t have the outside food.”

She had packed the lovely Tupperware container withdelicious fried rice, and Prawns chilly. There was a spoon, a lovely napkina bottle of water and two pluffy oranges. Above all, there was love!

Joe waited till the train left Mangalore. That very momentI sent my Thank You message: “Mariette is a gracious soul. I am touched. Thankyou Joe for everything.”

GERALD D’CUNHA

THANKS:

The image used in this Post isby Ashok Ahuja. He is aprofessional Photographer and a very dear friend of mine. He is also one of thefounder members of The Dawn Club, and, along with his gifted-artist wife, Sudha, has been helping me, and theClub, right from its inception.

THIS IS MY DADDY... AND THIS IS MY MUMMY

2012-01-06T13:36:00.003+05:30

This time,the New-Year day came on a Sunday. I was in Mangalore, my hometown. The firstthing I did on this day was: I visited my cousin, Francis.

About thirteen years ago, while working in his farm,Francis had a fall. He doesn’t remember from where did he fall… But, everybodyassumes it was from a tall tree he had climbed upon. This accident had left himcrippled for life… Below his chest, his body has no sensation; it is dead. Hecan’t move it at all… Hands are now ruler-thin… he can hardly move them. Helies on his bed, horizontal, like a heavy stone… and he is there, in thatposition, for the last thirteen years!

Yes, Francis’ mind is sharp, speech is intact and hisheart is as sensitive, yet strong, as any man’s can be. He remembers vividlyevery thing before that fatal accident; he also remembers everything after it.What he doesn’t remember is: the accident itself. His wife had rushed to thespot on hearing him cry in pain… But, neither he, nor she, nor anyone elseknows from where he had fallen. There was a tall tree nearby… and hence, it isassumed that he had fallen from that tree.

Francis was born and had done his technical education in hisvillage near Mangalore. After that, he worked nearly for ten years in Mumbai. Later,when he was about 30, he returned back to his village and got married with thehope of settling down permanently there. Just about two years had passed bysince his marriage, and this tragedy struck his family!

I had not visited Francis for all these thirteen years asI had not been to my home town for a very long time. So, this time, when I wasthere, I decided to visit Francis. And, what a day I chose to do that!

Francis received me with exceptional warmth… and, he exudedunbelievable amount of zest. He made me feel as if he was normal… “Hey, I amfine,” was the loud message he was sending me.

Helen, Francis’ wife, had just walked into this newhousehold. Like any other young woman, she too must have walked in with thehope of raising a fine family… But, this was what awaited her. What isinspiring for all of us is: the way Helen decided to carry her cross! If thatis how one can paraphrase her choice. She had just married Francis… They had nokids… and she was pretty and young. She could have made another decision: towalk out of Francis’ life… Leave him alone… and settle somewhere else, withsomeone. But, she chose to be with Francis… She committed to the cause ofnursing him back, to the best way she could, and for these thirteen long years,she has done exactly that. When you lookat her, she comes about as an energetic and content soul… You don’t see thebitterness, the anger or the self-pity. Her dignity and grace makes you humble…and leaves you challenged… “Come on, brother, can you do what she has done?”Yes, you come out being silently challenged by her extra-ordinary life.

“For the first five years,

I cried, complained andsuffered,”

Francis told me.

“Why me? Why at this young age?

What mistake mywife has committed

to deserve this punishment?...

I spent my days and nights inself-pity,

blame and anger.”

He continued,

“It is only after I passed through

this period of helplessness,

that I have now gotten hold of myself.

I don’t cryanymore,

I don’t’ blame any one…

and I am not angry, now.

It is fine… It isfine, and I really mean it.”

An uncle of ours had just passed away the earlier night.This uncle had financially done well for himself and left a large amount ofmoney and property to his four children. But, when he died, it was a lonelydeath… the children had walked away from him… and he was all alone when died.Referring to this case, Francis said, “What is the use of all your wealth… andwhere are all your children when you need them? I feel blessed to have a wifelike Helen.”

I was trying to hold back my tears. But, I couldn’tsucceed.

“How many times I thought, and even tried, to throwmyself out of this bed and put an end to my life!” Francis told me laughing. “Iam a heavy stone… I couldn’t move even an inch to do that!” He added withmischief, “Those days are gone; I perform all my daily functions lying flat onthis bed. Helen did not know farm work… I taught her from this bed… and evennow, all the instructions and directions she takes from me. I watch TV and I amin touch with what is happening around the world… I love songs, dance andmovies. I like simple good food. I love to speak on the phone… but, some onehas to hold it for me.”

Lydwin is about eight. She brought to show me a photoalbum. “This is me,” she pointed out at a beautiful picture, “and this is my daddyand this is my mummy.” Both Francis and Helen looked at me with tremendousamount of joy. The little one doesn’t know that she has been adopted by them!

“So beautiful you look, dear… You, daddy and mummy - all ofyou!” I caressed the little Lydwin’s head. “God bless you.”

I am very sure, when the little Lydwin grows up, some onewill tell her the truth. But, by then, she will be wise enough to comprehend thedepth this unique bond. To whom she was born? From where did her father fall?And, why did her mother not desert her crippled-for-life father?... Yes, shewill be wise enough to realize how irrelevant all these questions are…

Yes, if we really love!

GERALD D’CUNHA

THE NEW-YEAR-SPECIAL MASS

2012-01-05T10:17:00.002+05:30

Iwas in my home town , Mangalore, after ten long years. However, for Christmasand New Year… Yes, it was after thirty-three long, long years! In those days,we would have the mid-night Mass on 24^th and 31^st. Now,the Mass is held early… The mid-night Mass is all over before 9.30; latest, by10!

On the 24^th night,I was really excited to attend the Christmas Mass. I was dressed in myChristmas best… and, the open-air Service made me a lot nostalgic. Thearrangements were outstanding, the choir was brilliant… and, the sermon wasjust hypnotizing. When it all ended, I felt a lot good and happy… Happy that Iwas there after so many years! My mom was so happy that she kept introducing me- her ‘good’ son – to all and sundry: “This is my son, Gerry”!

“Wow!”

So, on the 31^stnight, I was equally excited. I had kept my suit ready… and, just a couple ofhours… we would be out for the New-Year-Special Mass!

And, just when there was anhour left to leave, Rita, my cousin from Delhi,her little son Sunny and her father-in-law – all of them arrived with sevenbags and the un-confirmed train-tickets! The train was to leave Mangalore at8.30. I saw anxiety writ-large on the face of the elderly man, Rita’sfather-in-law. They were strangers in this city… and, it was night… There wereso many heavy bags to carry and, above all, the tickets were not confirmed, yet.I instantly decided to skip the New-Year Mass which I was so excited about. I decidedto accompany them. Rita said, “No Gerry, don’t bother; we will manage.”

But, I knew, I shouldn’t leavethem alone… in such situation.

I called for a vehicle, andloaded their entire luggage… and then we proceeded to the Station to reachthere at least an hour before. There, as Rita and her father-in-law focused ontheir tickets, I handled their luggage and little son. Finally, the tickets issuewas solved… and I saw a great sigh of relief on their faces. There were noporters to carry those heavy bags. So, from one platform to another – for quitea long distance that was – those bags had to be carried. I made two trips tocarry them, while the elderly man and Rita managed the lighter ones.

I was there with them

till thetrain left sharp at 8.30 that night.

Both the elderly man and my cousin Rita

saw me till the door for the parting hug.

I could feel the pounding of theirhearts…

and hear what they wanted to say!

When I reached home, my momwas already home… The Mass was over.

“Sorry mom, I could not attendthe New-Year-special Mass,” I told my mom.

“No my son,” my simple momhugged me to wish, “You have already attended the Mass, today!”

“Happy New-Year, mom; I love you,”I whispered in that embrace.

GERALD D’CUNHA

THANKS:

The image used in this Post is by Ashok Ahuja. He is a professionalPhotographer and a very dear friend of mine. He is also one of the foundermembers of The Dawn Club, and, along with his gifted-artist wife, Sudha, has been helping me, and theClub, right from its inception.

THE HEART SAW...

2012-01-04T17:11:00.001+05:30

I hadtaught Yashoda about thirty-one years ago. She was in Eleventh standard. Afterthat, there was no contact.

About a year ago, the students from this batch hadinvited me to attend a re-union, which I did. I was there for some time andcaught up with so many of my first-batch students. I had also carried with meabout hundred copies of my book,‘Vaachas Chame’, and had asked the organizersto distribute the copies to each one present. I had blogged after some monthssaying that, even though the book carried my telephone numbers, e-mail and Blogdetails, none of the recipients had communicated with me. So, I had no cluewhether they had received those copies or not. But then, it was okay. I had giventhose copies with no strings attached… And, if I really meant so, I had nobusiness to expect any communication.

Two days back, I was in train on my way back fromMangalore. I received this phone call. “Sir, I was one of your students from1981-82 batch; my name is Yashoda… I don’t think you remember me.”

I really did not.

Yashoda told me, that night, that she had missedme on the re-union day as she had come after I had left.

“Sir, I feel so relieved now; I did not know howto approach you after so many years,” Yashoda told me. “But, you are our same-oldGerry sir… You make me feel so comfortable.”

I felt good to hear that. Here was someone, milesafar, talking to me after more than three decades… and, she was saying she feltcomfortable talking to me! I felt great!

“Sir, the reason I called you today is to thankyou,” Yashoda told me. “Thank you for the wonderful book you gave us – ‘VaachasChame’.” She continued, “Sir, I want to tell you this: from the day my husband,Kumar, saw this book, he has not kept that aside… So many times he has read it,and still reads it.”

I was feeling not only great, but also a lotpampered!

“Is he there around, Yashoda?” I asked.

“Very much here sir; speak to him,” Yashoda gavethe phone to her hubby.

“Hey Kumar, what am I hearing?” I started.

“Sir, I always wanted to call you and thank you,”Kumar said. “So many times I told Yashoda to call up, introduce me to you… But,she was a lot scared to do so.” He continued, “Finally, I couldn’t waitanymore, sir. I told her that it is New Year, and we must call up sir and say‘thank you’…”

By then, I must have received not less than twohundred messages wishing me a happy New Year. But, no one had wished me the waythis couple had. It was something that could come only from a real, reallonging of hearts. It really made me feel happy… It gave me hope that what Iwas walking into was not just one more year… Instead, it was one moreopportunity to touch lives…

It was late night.
It was dark outside.
The trainmoved incredibly fast
through this dark night…
I just sat looking into thedarkness…
and still being able to see a lot…

The eyes only stared into the darkness. The heartsaw!

GERALD D’CUNHA

THANKS:

The image used in this Post is by Ashok Ahuja. He is a professionalPhotographer and a very dear friend of mine. He is also one of the foundermembers of The Dawn Club, and, along with his gifted-artist wife, Sudha, has been helping me, and theClub, right from its inception.

THE RIVER AND THE OCEAN

2012-01-04T13:52:00.001+05:30

One of the main reasons why I had been toMangalore, this time, was to meet my Hero, Prof. B.S. Raman. I had written aboutmy desire to meet him in one my posts in October 2011. Joe, my friend, had metsir and learnt that they would be permanently moving to Ooty in coming April. Joeknew how much I worshipped my sir, how much influence he had left on my life…So, it was Joe that kept the pressure on me. Else, this trip would not havehappened.

Prof. Raman isover 75, now. He had retired from active teaching about fifteen years ago. Ihave told many times before in my writings, and from several platforms,including my classroom, that my life changed because of my sir. I have also toldthis: he changed me silently. I was shy, desperately shy… I was nervous,pathetically nervous… I was filled with self-doubts… miserably so. I wasclueless about my future - What I had to do in life. My handicap about speakingin English and my stage fear had brought in me the chronic disease ofInferiority Complex.

So, in my firstyear B’Com, when Prof. Raman came to teach me, I found in him my Redeemer, my Messiah.He had taught me for three years – during my entire degree-college life. Allthat I did was to sit in that 150-something-classroom, completely faceless inthat crowd, and admire this man. I burningly desired to become like him. And, Idid it day in and day out. And, yes, I did it without speaking to him a singleword! I just admired him and desired to become like him. That’s all I did.

It was enoughto change me for good!

Just thismorning, a parent called me up. She was referred to me by a very respectedcareer counselor. Now, this lady has a young son… and, she says he is lost. Shewants me to help him out in some way… that is to find his way in this mazecalled Life! I have called them this afternoon… and all that I am going to dois: just tell the young man how lost I was when I was like him… and how I foundmy own way. I will tell him, that he needs to be ‘touched’ by something, bysome one. The rest will just happen. I will tell him the way my Hero, Prof.Raman, touched my life… I will tell him what an incredible force inspirationis! And, I am sure, the young man will go back with hope.

We were thereat Sir’s place for more than an hour. During this memorable moment, I opened upbefore him… I told him about my story, the impact he had left on my life justby the touch of his shadow… How much I had longed to tell him about it… and,How blessed I felt now.

Age has made mysir a much mellowed soul. But, it has not shaken him from the ground that hehad always stood on. He was outright simple then; he was now, even more. He waspainfully hard-working then; he was now, even more. He was passionate about hiswork then; he was now, even more so. He downplayed his achievements then; hedid that even now, and more so.

Some things aregoing to tell you why it is difficult for us to emulate this soul. He haswritten a text book on almost every subject of a Commerce student. When I receivedfrom him the autographed copy of his latest book, I was amazed: ‘The Constitution ofIndia’! So many books, over so many years… and, Prof. Raman has not touchedcomputer to write them! He has written all of them – and still writes –manually. Every line, every word! When I asked him for his Cell number, Ilearnt he did not use a mobile! He has stuck to the same publisher who hadhelped him out when he was a ‘Nobody’. Even at the peak of his popularity, no lucrativeoffers from any publisher – however great he may be – could tempt my sir awayfrom his loyalty. It is certainly no good business acumen; but, is supremelyfine business ethics… At least, I think so. Prof. Raman had lived for all histeaching life in the staff quarters provided by the college. He vacated it onthe very day he retired! What is not fair, is not fair! My sir’s life was - andis - as simple and uncomplicated as that!

Joe and I feltextremely blissful after spending time with our sir. His wife was such a sweetsoul. So, simple, so gracious. We told her that our sir could not have done somuch with out her silent support. She must have stood by him like a rock! Hisdaughter-in-law and two grand children had inherited the same legacy. We toldthe young ones how fortunate they were… how blessed! Then, I asked the grandsonto open that Blog post – ‘Just the touch of that shadow’. My sir stood behindme like a shy child, next to him stood his wife, daughter-in-law, two younggrandchildren and Joe. There, I read out to them that post with my tearfuleyes. When it ended, I stood up, bent down to sir’s feet and cried.

A pilgrimagehad just ended! It was a long-cherished one!

GERALD D’CUNHA

THANKS:

The image used inthis Post is by Ashok Ahuja. Heis a professional Photographer and a very dear friend of mine. He is also oneof the founder members of The Dawn Club, and, along with his gifted-artistwife, Sudha, has been helping me,and the Club, right from its inception.

WITHOUT ME...

2012-01-04T11:20:00.002+05:30

For ten days,

I took a break frommy routine work –

My teaching work,my Society work,

My house-holdchores and even this Blogging.

I went on a holidayto my hometown – Mangalore…

And, I just returned last morning.

And, let me tellyou this:

The world did notend

Just because I wasnot around here!

The Sun did rise, oneach of these days,

Right on time, inthe same-old East…

And it did set, right on time,

In the same-oldwest!

The Moon and the Stars

Were faithful totheir duties…

The birds and thebeasts

Went about theirdaily routines…

It rained in someplaces

And snowed in someother…

The seas were roughsomewhere…

And they slept like a baby elsewhere.

Yes, my wife andson…

And some dear ones…

Might have missedme.

And, they did saythat to me, every day,

When I was awayfrom them.

But, their liveswent about smoothly

Without me,

Even though theykept telling me

I was important tothem.

The work place wasperfectly fine…

There were othersto manage it well

In my absence…

The house was verymuch in order…

The Society’saffairs

Were well under control…

And, nobody’s heartstopped

Just because Iabstained from blogging

For ten or twelvedays!

Hey, World will goon – perfectly well – without me!

GERALD D'CUNHA

THANKS:

The image used in this Post is by Ashok Ahuja. He is a professional Photographer and a verydear friend of mine. He is also one of the founder members of The Dawn Club,and, along with his gifted-artist wife, Sudha,has been helping me, and the Club, right from its inception.

I CAN NOT DO IT ALONE...

2011-12-21T11:37:00.001+05:30

Sitting here,

Rightnow – this very moment –

Manypeople come to my mind…

Someof them are far, far away…

And,some are not so far;

Someare alive,

And,some are no more.

Iam in touch with
The kind of feelings

Myheart experiences

Whenevermy mind stops at

Eachof these persons.

Ifeel extremely happy,
Elated, privileged and secure

WhenI think of some;

And,when I think of some other,

Ifeel sad, angry,
Betrayed and extremely insecure.

Mymind swings like a seesaw …

Sometimes,I am on ‘Cloud Nine’ -
Very up-beat…

And,sometimes, in doldrums -
Very, very down.

Iam not a rock…

Iam a human with a heart.

Myheart needs care,
Reassurances of love…

Itlongs to find an anchor,
Time and time again.

Ineed some good souls in my life

Totell me with all their heart –

ThatI am a fine soul…

Thatthey accept me

Withall my mortal flaws.

Ineed some good souls
In my life

Towhom I can say,

Evenin the dread of the night…

“Dear,I feel good about myself

Justwhen I think of you…

Ifeel very, very secure!”

And,I do need some souls
In my life

Whocan say the same to me.

Wheredoes my sense of

Happinessand security come from?

“Ican do all alone,”…

Thissounds like a valiant cry…

But,it is not; it’s certainly not.

Ican not do it alone…

Ineed you – my ‘Soul mate’…

Youneed me
To feel and say the same.

Eden Garden might have been

Themost exquisite
And secure place

Onthis Earth…

But,even God, Jehovah,
Had realized

ThatHe couldn’t make
Adam live there,

Allalone!

GERALD D’CUNHA

THANKS:

The brilliant images used in this Post are by Ashok Ahuja. He is a professional Photographer and a verydear friend of mine. He is also one of the founder members of The Dawn Club,and, along with his gifted-artist wife, Sudha,has been helping me, and the Club, right from its inception.

OUR GLASS BOWLS...

2011-12-20T13:38:00.001+05:30

Sheis just twelve… and she is the only child to her parents. Two years ago, hermother died in a road accident. The father always loved this little girl andtreated her more like a friend rather than like a daughter. She would talk tohim about anything and everything. But, now, he is a lot worried. He had come totalk to me, this morning.

“Sir, she listens to you,” hesaid. “I want you to talk to her.”

Talk to the little girl aboutwhat?

The girl doesn’t talk to herfather the way she did before. Whenever he tries to talk to her, she eitherdoesn’t open up or argues, yells.

“What is wrong with you?” hescreams at her angrily, “Why do you behave like this?”

If only, she knew - ‘Why?’

I am not a psychologist or apsychotherapist. Nor am I a psychiatrist. I am just a normal teacher… and, Ididn’t even have a daughter to raise and, thereby, know why the little girlschange, why they sulk, why they rebel… yell back at their parents.

“She is growing up… she is justgoing to be a teen,” I told him. “I think, it is just a normal behavior.”

“But, sir, it is too much.” Hetold me. “She doesn’t respect her elders at home; she has forgotten how to‘talk’… she only ‘screams’; She doesn’t tell me about her school projectsexcept on the morning she has to submit them and, makes me run around… Shemakes me mad.”

“Is it more like this, now,after the death of her mother?” I asked him.

“I think so,” he seemed toagree.

“It is normal, then,” I toldhim. “She needs to be handled with love and firmness both. Her world is fastchanging… and, as a father, you need to adjust to this change.”

“Still sir, I would appreciate,if you could talk to her one of these days,” he insisted.

“I would, certainly,” I assuredhim, “She is such a sweet girl.”

He thanked me with all his heartand went about his work.

My mind went back to that tragicaccident, two years ago. It was on the eve of Diwali. He was taking his youngwife on his motor bike; they were on the way to one of their relatives’ place.It was mid-noon time and there was heavy traffic on that highway. A smallmistake the car in front of them did, and the bike lost its balance… the younglady was thrown off, bang on her head, and she bled profusely. Only a miraclesaved them from getting totally crushed under the crazy traffic. He survivedwith minor injuries; but, she lost her consciousness. By the time she was rushedto the hospital, she had lost too muchblood. The doctors tried their best. But, the lady never returned from thecoma; after three days, she gave in!

What we all can not still believeis: In that accident, the Diwali gift - the glass bowls – had tossed itselfabout twenty-foot distance. But, it had survived without even a scratch!

After two years, this man had survivedthis trauma…

“I must be him to feel what ittakes to do that,” I realized.

Now, he was here with,whatlooked like a minor problem compared to what he had gone through.

“But, was it ‘minor’?” Iwondered, again.

“I must be him to feel that,” Ireasoned.

The lady who died in theaccident

was someone else’s wife;

the little girl who is rebelling

is someoneelse’s daughter.

The world that is filled with painful memories

and crushinganxieties,

too, is someone else’s.

“Whose plan was it – that, theGlass Bowls had to survive?” … I still wonder, this mid-noon.

The little girl will come tomorrow.I have faith in simple miracles our daily rides offer… I have a little story totell her, a loving poem to recite… I have asked a Star to stay there in the skytill she comes... and I have saved some raindrops to make her dance like alittle princess.

Well, this man has faith in me.

I have faith in simple dreams…

I believe in miracles that safeguard our Glass Bowls!

GERALD D’CUNHA

THANKS:

Thebrilliant images used in this Post are by AshokAhuja. He is a professional Photographer and a very dear friend of mine.He is also one of the founder members

THE DEAD SEA

2011-12-19T13:04:00.010+05:30

When I first came to Mumbai, my cousin’s wife helped me get a job in an Insurance Company. It was just a temporary job; but, for a struggler like me, it meant a lot.

I was not interested in any office work, as I was dreaming about a teaching world. But, the hard reality was that I was alone in Mumbai and I had to earn… I had to accept any job that came my way… Yes, I had to be ‘practical’.

So, there I was… in that office doing a job not of my interest. Naturally, my heart was not in it.

What I still remember about that short stint in that office is: there were two very senior colleagues around me; they have stayed in my mind for two different reasons.

The first one was a very rude person. He was unapproachable… extremely critical and for my every mistake - like little children in school do - he would run to the Manager’s cabin to complain. It was a daily scene… and, I would dread to think about this man… So, negative he was!

And, the second one was a kind soul. He was very caring for all the new-comers. He empathized with them… and went out of his way to guide them, teach the, share his experience with them. In the process, he empowered them. I still remember how patiently he would help me see and overcome my mistakes. He would do it in a very gentle and positive manner. For him, mistakes of a junior like me were an opportunity to share, teach… Make a difference in someone’s life… And, in the process, feel good about himself. That was his way of self-growth… His way of living life.

The other man was a sadist, to say the least. He found tremendous amount of thrill when we juniors sulked, cried. When we were frightened, he felt good about himself… Every time he ran to his Boss to complaint about us, he got a pleasure out of it… He felt secure. He derived his sense of security by keeping others suppressed, uninspired, and dumb.

The good soul sought

his security by enlightening, inspiring and empowering others. When others around him grew,

he too did.

He found a great joy

for being a part of success

of those around him…

particularly, we juniors.

This episode took place about thirty-two years ago. I have no idea where those two men now are. But, if today, at this moment, if I am remembering them, they certainly must have taught me something. And, because I learnt what they taught me, I am now able to pass on the same to you… my readers.

THE LESSON: Be kind to those around you, who are new and inexperienced. Empathize with them… Share your knowledge and experience with them… Empower them. Find your own security and happiness in the security and happiness of these novices. Find your own growth in theirs.

Empowering someone around you – particularly the less-fortunate ones, less experienced ones – is a quality stemming straight from our healthy self-esteem. It is also the best way to enhance our self-esteem. You cannot empower and help some one and feel low about yourself at the same time.

There is sea in this world by the name – ‘The Dead Sea’. They call it so, because, it doesn’t’ share… Whatever it receives, it keeps to itself. They say, no one travels by its sides… No merchant stops to take its water…and no bird flies over it… No one goes near it with a hope… The legend has it that even the Sun – the perpetual giver – is angry about it…!

I do not know where those two men are, today. But, I want to cry out to both of them “Thank you”.

I have never gone near ‘The Dead Sea’…

I do not wish to!

GERALD D’CUNHA

THANKS:

The brilliant images used in this Post are by Ashok Ahuja. He is a professional Photographer and a very dear friend of mine. He is also one of the founder members of The Dawn Club, and, along with his gifted-artist wife, Sudha, has been helping me, and the Club, right from its inception.

I AM BLESSED...

2011-12-19T12:26:00.006+05:30

“How are you?”

Let me tell you very honestly. I had asked this man, casually, as I generally do.

“I am blessed,” was this man’s response.

And, it hit me like a bolt, suddenly!

I looked at him… into his eyes, particularly. Why did he say that? Was he saying that mechanically, the way I did?

“I am blessed!” Wow, what a way of telling the world, “I am fine”!

I knew this man. Last year, he went through a hell lot of problems… He lost his young wife to cancer, and then, he lost a huge amount of money in business. After that, we lost contact.

Last afternoon, when I met him, I never expected him to respond the way he did. There was loss, there was pain… and it wasn’t so easy to recover… It wasn’t easy to put oneself back on track, so fast… So, if someone had asked me in such a state “How are you?” would I have responded the way this man did? I wondered.

It wouldn’t have been that easy for me!

“I liked the way you said, ‘I am blessed!’ ” I told him feeling very happy on what I had heard.

“I am blessed; I am,” he said quickly, “Without His grace, without His Blessings, nothing is possible sir; nothing.”

“Oh! Yes, sir, I fully agree,” I told him. This time, I wasn’t telling him that mechanically.

Some say, “Halleluiah”

and some say “Praise the Lord”.

Some say, “Vayu Guru Ki Kripa,”

and some say, “Insha Allah”

or “Ishwar ki Kripa”.

I myself say , very often:

“By the grace of God,”…

Yes, I have heard... I have said.

But, last afternoon, I felt it, like a fresh breath of life…

“How are you?”

“I am Blessed”!

GERALD D’CUNHA

THANKS:

The brilliant images used in this Post are by Ashok Ahuja. He is a professional Photographer and a very dear friend of mine. He is also one of the founder members of The Dawn Club, and, along with his gifted-artist wife, Sudha, has been helping me, and the Club, right from its inception.

BELLS ARE CHIMING...

2011-12-17T11:56:00.007+05:30

“I will wish you on Christmas,”

He said.

“Wish me now,

Today is Christmas,” I told him.

“Don’t be a fool, my friend;”

He said irritated,

“Every day is not Christmas.”

I did not want to see

My friend irritated

With what I said…

So, I said,

“Yes, friend,

Every day is not Christmas.”

When Christmas comes,

Bells will chime…

Snow will fall…

And, Stars will be bright…

There will be music,

There will be dance…

And, there will be

A never-ending night!

Yes, that is the time,

Someone wants to wish me:

“Merry Christmas!”

Not, NOW!

There is music in my heart…

There is dance in my soul…

The bells are chiming…

The snow is falling…

And, yes, the Stars are bright.

My heart longs to wish,

“Merry Christmas, my friend…

Please, don’t wait.”

GERALD D'CUNHA

THANKS:

The brilliant images used in this Post are by Ashok Ahuja. He is a professional Photographer and a very dear friend of mine. He is also one of the founder members of The Dawn Club, and, along with his gifted-artist wife, Sudha, has been helping me, and the Club, right from its inception.

CLAY FEET AND COTTON SOUL

2011-12-17T10:08:00.014+05:30

Fear is not true… it is a lie.”

Well, I have heard the Wise-men say…

And, often, playing a Wise-man’s role,

I have said so, myself!

Now, is Fear really a lie?

This morning, I left home,

Feeling that lack, all over again…

Maybe, it had something to do

With those two scary dreams

I dreamt last night…

Maybe, someone somewhere

Had stopped praying for my well-being…

I do not know…

But, I did leave my home

Feeling a bit scared…

Like a little child leaving for school…

Yes, on ‘some days’!

Does Night exist?

The night which brought me scary dreams

Is a lie - the Wise-men say…

They say – it is only the absence of light!

“Oh! Yes, yes, you are perfectly right…”

I say without even blinking.

The same feeling I get

Whenever these Wise-men say,

“Boy, the Fear is not there…

It is only the absence of Faith…

Absence of Trust!”

But then, this morning,

I began to doubt this wisdom … for a while…

“Fear is there… It exists,” I began to argue.

Then, I came here and wrote…

“Fear is not true… It is a lie,

Last night…”

The last night is gone…

The morning is just about to go…

There will be a young Sun to guide me through the day…

The young hopes…

The young souls...

The young dreams…

The young resolves.

I am a human…

I think, I need this wisdom above all other;

Yes, the Wise-men who said what they did

Couldn’t have said that

Without their clay feet and cotton souls…

I am a bit scared today…

It doesn’t change the truth:

The truth that Light exists and the Night comes only when the light goes…

And, Fear comes only when my Trust shakes!

I have just come an hour far

From that early-morning cloud of darkness…

I am already through…

Into this new land of sunshine…

I am, once again, basking

Under the young Sun… of Truth!

GERALD D'CUNHA

THANKS:

The brilliant images used in this Post are by Ashok Ahuja. He is a professional Photographer and a very dear friend of mine. He is also one of the founder members of The Dawn Club, and, along with his gifted-artist wife, Sudha, has been helping me, and the Club, right from its inception.