Aaaj Kal Aisa haal ho gaya hai hum Indians Ka

एक राजा था जिसकी प्रजा हम भारतीयों की तरह सोई हुई थी !

बहुत से लोगों ने कोशिश की प्रजा जग जाए .. अगर कुछ गलत हो रहा है तो उसका 

विरोध करे, लेकिन प्रजा को कोई फर्क नहीं पड़ता था !

राजा ने तेल के दाम बढ़ा दिये प्रजा चुप रही

राजा ने अजीबो गरीब टैक्स लगाए प्रजा चुप रही

राजा ज़ुल्म करता रहा लेकिन प्रजा चुप रही

एक दिन राजा के दिमाग मे एक बात आई उसने एक अच्छे-चौड़े रास्ते को खुदवा 

के एक पुल बनाया .. जबकि वहां पुल की कतई ज़रूरत नहीं थी .. प्रजा फिर भी चुप 

थी किसी ने नहीं पूछा के भाई यहा तो किसी पुल की ज़रूरत नहीं है आप काहे बना 

रहे है ?

राजा ने अपने सैनिक उस पुल पे खड़े करवा दिए और पुल से गुजरने वाले हर व्यक्ति 

से टैक्स लिया जाने लगा फिर भी किसी ने कोई विरोध नहीं किया !

फिर राजा ने अपने सैनिको को हुक्म दिया कि जो भी इस पुल से गुजरे उसको 4 जूते 

मारे जाए और एक शिकायत पेटी भी पुल पर रखवा दी कि किसी को अगर कोई 

शिकायत हो तो शिकायत पेटी मे लिख कर डाल दे लेकिन प्रजा फिर भी चुप !

राजा रोज़ शिकायत पेटी खोल कर देखता की शायद किसी ने कोई विरोध किया हो 

लेकिन उसे हमेशा पेटी खाली मिलती !

कुछ दिनो के बाद अचानक एक एक चिट्ठी मिली ... राजा खुश हुआ के चलो कम से 

कम एक आदमी तो जागा ,,,,, जब चिट्ठी खोली गयी तो उसमे  लिखा  था - 

"हुजूर जूते मारने वालों की संख्या बढ़ा दी जाए ... हम लोगो को काम पर जाने 

मे देरी होती है !

Aaaj Kal Aisa haal ho gaya hai hum Indians Ka.

Sabhi nagrikon se asha ki jati hai ki vay “mitti ke 

putlon” ki tarah na bane rahen aur apne adhikaron 

aur sukh sampatti ke liye hamesha jagrook rahe 

aur larhte rahen, taki unko har prakar ki sahi 

sahulaten va haq hamesha prapt hon. Nahi to 

Raja hamesha un par isi tarah zulm va atyachar 

karta rahega.

This is a story worth sharing !!!

This about Mr Zavere Poonawala who is a well-known Parsee industrialist in Pune. He had this driver named Ganga Datt with him... for the last 30 years on his limousine, which was originally owned by Acharya Rajneesh. 

Ganga Datt passed away recently and at that time Mr Poonawala was in Mumbai for some important work. As soon as he heard the news, he canceled all his meetings, requested the driver's family to await him for the cremation and came back to Pune immediately by a helicopter.

On reaching Pune, he asked the limo to be decorated with flowers as he wished Ganga Datt should be taken in the same car which he himself had driven since the beginning. When Ganga Datt's family agreed to his wishes, he himself drove Ganga Datt from his home up to the ghat on his last journey. 

When asked about it, Mr Poonawala replied that Ganga Datt had served him day and night, and he could at least do this being eternally grateful to him. He further added that Ganga Datt rose up from poverty and educated both his children very well. His daughter is a Chartered accountant and that is so commendable. 

His comment in the end, is the essence of a successful life in all aspects: “Everybody earns money which is nothing unusual in that, but we should always be grateful to those people who contribute to our success. This is the belief, we have been brought up with, which made me do, what I did”.

An inspiring and classic example of humility.........

Waldorf Astoria: A True Story

A True Story-Very inspiring Indeed. It is Amazing to observe, that such great persons who have touched the lives of so many, have adorned this world. How many could we find now? Examples of some opposites, do make appearances in the business world, far too often now. 

One stormy night many years ago, an elderly man and his wife entered the lobby of a small hotel in Philadelphia. Trying to get out of the rain, the couple approached the front desk hoping to get some shelter for the night.  "Could you possibly give us a room here?" the husband asked. The clerk, a friendly man with a winning smile, looked at the couple and explained that there were three conventions in town.  "All of our rooms are taken," the clerk said. "But I can't send a nice couple like you out into the rain at one o'clock in the morning. Would you perhaps be willing to sleep in my room? It's not exactly a suite, but it will be good enough to make you folks comfortable for the night."  When the couple declined, the young man pressed on. "Don't worry about me; I'll be just fine here in the office, "the clerk told them. So the couple agreed. As he paid his bill the next morning, the elderly man said to the clerk, "You are the kind of manager who should be the boss of the best hotel in the United States. Maybe someday I'll build one for you."  The clerk looked at them and smiled. The three of them had a good laugh.  As they drove away, the elderly couple agreed that the helpful clerk was indeed exceptional, as finding people who are both friendly and helpful isn't easy.  Two years passed. The clerk had almost forgotten the incident when he received a letter from the old man. It recalled that stormy night and enclosed a round-trip ticket to New York, asking him to pay them a visit.  The old man met him in New York, and led him to the corner of Fifth Avenue and 34th Street. He then pointed to a great new building there, a palace of reddish stone, with turrets and watchtowers thrusting up to the sky.  "That," said the older man, "is the hotel I have just built for you to manage."  "You must be joking," the young man said.  "I can assure you I am not," said the older man, a sly smile playing around his mouth.  The older man's name was William Waldorf Astor, and the magnificent structure was the original Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. The young clerk who became its first manager was George C. Boldt. This young clerk never foresaw the turn of events that would lead him to become the manager of one of the world's most glamorous hotels.  "We are not to turn our backs on those who are in need, for we might be entertaining angels".  Life is more accurately measured by the lives you touch than the things you acquire. By the kind courtesy of Bidyut Chatterjee who sent it thru one of his mails. me_bidyut@yahoo.com

Guilt and Emotional Trauma – an Army Wife’s Tale

by Maj Gen Mrinal Suman

As recounted to Maj Gen Mrinal Suman on the eve of Independence Day 2012

This is a true story. This is my story. This is the story of Indo-Pak War of December 1971.

This is the story of the trauma that families undergo when soldiers go to war. This is a story of complex inter-play of human emotions and sensitivities that defy description.

This is the story of a medium sized town in North India where a career in the armed forces is the first choice of the progeny of most families. Preparation for NDA commences soon after secondary level examination. As a result, every family has more than one member in the services.

My husband, a young Captain, was at the battle front. I was 22 years old and expecting my first child. I had come to stay with my parents. Ours was a joint family. There were three more women – my grandmother, my mother and my aunt.

In addition to my husband, brothers of my father, my mother and my aunt were also taking active part in the war. Understandably, there was palpable anxiety in the atmosphere concerning their wellbeing.  

Although my grandmother put up a brave front to provide comfort to others, she spent most of her time praying to all sundry Gods, hoping someone would care to listen to her prayers. In addition to her own son and my husband, she was concerned about the other two members as well.

My mother and aunt went about their routine household chores without any display of the emotional turmoil that they were experiencing. Both were worried about the safety of their brothers. In addition, my mother was deeply concerned about her son-in-law’s wellbeing. I was perhaps too young to grasp the full gravity of the situation.

At times the frightening thought of my husband becoming a war-casualty did cross my mind – ‘will he never see our child’. However, recalling the spirit and confidence with which the troops had departed for the war front, I brushed such thoughts aside. Soldiers’ wives must be equally brave.

During those war-days, a telegram always meant bad news.  Arrival of the postman was dreaded by all families whose members were fighting the war. Ringing of the door-bell or even a casual knock on the door made their hearts skip a beat. Nights were full of anxiety as the postman invariably arrived at that time. Every dawn made them heave a sigh of relief.  The same was true of our family as well.        

It was 8^th of December and the war was at its bitterest worst. The night brought the much-dreaded postman to our door with a telegram. All four women huddled with trepidation in a corner of the verandah to await breaking of the most chilling news. It was certain that one of the four men had been killed in action. The suspense about his identity was nerve-wracking. 

In times of such extreme distress, we humans are forced to make our priorities clear to God while seeking his protection. Can there be anything more trying and agonising than having to make such a choice? Why should we be asked as to who should live and who is dispensable? We, the women of our unfortunate family were also subjected to the same ordeal.

As is human at such times, all of said our silent prayers – “Please God; I hope it is not him”. For all of us, him meant a different person – not that we were not concerned about other members. It is just that all of us have our own set of quotient of emotional attachments.

The eerie silence was finally broken after what appeared to be an eternity – my aunt’s younger brother had made the supreme sacrifice. While she broke down, the others involuntarily heaved a sigh of relief and said a quiet thank-you to their Gods.

Once relieved of our personal anxiety and agony, we controlled our own emotions of reprieve and started calming the grief-stricken lady. Loss of the young brother had shattered her inconsolably. In hindsight, our sudden makeover from petrified weaklings to compassionate consolers appears somewhat odd – maybe it was spontaneous human response on release from intense emotional trauma.  

The news of the ceasefire on 16 December ended our two-week long nightmare. We had been through ‘hell’ was our consensual refrain. Perhaps, our suffering was as severe as the privations faced by our soldiers in war. Whereas soldiers are eulogized for their acts of bravery, their women remain unsung and unrecognised. 

To date, I wonder about the preference my grandmother conveyed to her God on that fateful night – her son or grand-daughter’s husband. It would have been far harder for my mother to choose between her brother and son-in-law. Comparatively, I had an easier choice to make. It is another matter that to date I suffer pangs of guilt for having abandoned my uncles in favour of my husband. Was I being selfish? I have not found any answer as yet.

(http://www.sify.com/news/guilt-and-emotional-trauma-an-army-wife-s-tale-imagegallery-features-mioaKmdadhf.html?html=5)

mrinalsuman@gmail.com

A Motivational story

A business executive was deep in debt and could see no way out. Creditors were closing in on him. Suppliers were demanding payment. He sat on the park bench, head in hands, wondering if anything could save his company from bankruptcy. Suddenly an old man appeared before him. "I can see that something is troubling you," he said. After listening to the executive's woes, the old man said, "I believe I can help you”. "He asked the man his name, wrote out a cheque, and pushed it into his hand saying, "Take this money. Meet me here exactly one year from today, and you can pay me back at that time." Then he turned and disappeared as quickly as he had come. The business executive saw in his hand a cheque for $500,000, signed by John D. Rockefeller, then one of the richest men in the world!" “I can erase my money worries in an instant!" he realized. Nonetheless, the executive decided to put the cheque in his safe first. Just knowing it was there, would give him the strength to work out away to save his business, he thought. With renewed optimism, he negotiated better deals and got extended terms of payment from creditors. Soon he could close some big sales. Within a few months, he was out of debt and making money once again. Exactly a year later, he returned to the park with that uncashed check. The old man did not appear for some time yet the business executive decided to wait for a while more. A while later the old man came along the way but seemed to be unmindful of the business executive. He stopped the old man and was about to hand over the cheque with a few words of thanks as well as share his success story. At the same time, he saw a nurse come running up and grabbing the old man. "I'm so glad I caught him!" she cried. "I hope he hasn't been bothering you. He's always escaping from the rest home and telling people he's John D. Rockefeller." And she led the old man away by the arm. The astonished executive just stood there, stunned. All year long he'd been wheeling and dealing, buying and selling, convinced he had half a million dollars behind him. Suddenly, he realized that it wasn't the money, real or imagined, that had turned his life around. It was his new found self-confidence that gave him the power to achieve anything he went after. He understood that Confidence is nothing but the distant vision held positively no matter what comes in between. It comes from one's own commitment and dedication and entirely internal.  "Our duty is to encourage everyone in his struggle to live up to his own highest idea, and strive at the same time to make the ideal as near as possible to the truth" ------- Swami Vivekananda. This year, begin by setting high goals, and then power yourself by giving the confidence to achieve it. The best way to predict the future is to create it. -Peter F. Drucker

A 'Defence' lady's Train Journey - A happening Narrated by a Naval Officer's Wife

A 'Defence' lady's Train Journey

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"This happened a year ago. I was travelling by train from Indore to Mumbai. I had just concluded a hectic six day workshop at one of the city's premier schools.

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As I stowed my suitcase under the aisle berth, I looked forward to a good night's sleep.

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The coach was an AC 2 tier, and the four passengers in the coupe were already in their seats. Two men, two women. Perfect.

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One of the men, the younger one, looked a little weird, I thought. His face was a little lopsided, with the symmetry slightly askew. He had very short, almost crew cut hair.

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Not wanting to stare, I hung my handbag on the peg above my berth, and settled down on it. I then pulled out my mobile phone and dialled my husband's number to give him a "sit rep" ('situation report'), in naval parlance. My conversation, alas, is peppered with service terminology, which is the direct result of being in the company of service personnel-my father, father-in-law,and now, husband.

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While I was on the phone, three well built young men came in and plonked themselves on my seat. Asking my husband to hold the line, I looked enquiringly at them. One of them pointed to the berth above mine, signalling that it was his. I nodded and went back to my conversation.

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As I spoke, the three, while laughing and joking amongst themselves, slowly started hogging up more and more of the berth, while I shrunk more and more into one corner, until I reached the extreme limit of shrinking. Extremely cramped, I cut off my phone conversation, and declared to the three that I wanted to lie down and would they please move out?

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One of them pointed to a notice stuck above the berth that said that passengers could use the berth to lie down only after 9 pm. Until then everyone had to sit.

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Before I could give a fitting reply, several of which were on the tip of my tongue,and without my realizing it, the young man with the lop sided face was beside me. In a very soft, calm manner, but with a cold gaze, he asked the three to get up and move to the next coupe. The three men looked at my 'rescuer', one of them looked ready to say something, but one look at the young man's eyes, and they quietly moved out. I turned around to thank the young man, and his "Not at all, Ma'am", gave away, to me, his profession.

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"Are you in the services?"

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"Yes, Ma'am. Infantry. Came to Mhow for a short course."

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"My husband's in the Indian Navy. My father and father-in-law were both in the Army."

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One question led to another, and our conversation soon turned to the current situation in the country, and especially in Kashmir.

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By now our co passengers had joined in. None of them had ever been north of Delhi, and they more than I, wanted to get a firsthand account of how bad things were in the valley.

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The Army Major, whose name I shall not disclose, then held us spell bound for the next couple of hours with his experiences, of which a few are mentioned here.

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As a young officer, his first day in the unit was also the first time he killed a man - a militant, that too at close range. After the incident was over, he was distraught, and it was the care and counselling of his seniors that brought him out of his depression.

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He spoke of the utmost trust and camaraderie that he shared with his unit members, which was more valuable than any money in the world, because that was what their lives depended on.

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Like a true soldier, he also spoke of values and just behaviour, even towards the enemy. Once during the Kargil war, his unit had surrounded a post occupied by Pakistani soldiers. They fought fiercely, and finally overcame the enemy. The Pak soldiers, though in mufti, fought with all their medals on, as they knew they were going to die, and wanted to die a true soldier's death. After it was over, the Indian Major had his men identify the soldiers from their I-cards, and sent a letter to their unit in Pakistan praising them, requesting that they be honoured accordingly. It was later learned that the request had been carried out.

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His own face was lop sided because it was shattered by shrapnel during the Kargil conflict. He had a rod in his back and legs, which is why he could not offer his lower berth to one of the lady passengers.

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He was full of praise for the Army doctors, who reconstructed his face, and "made it almost as good as new". We all asked him what his family had to say about his new face.

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"My wife and six year old daughter feel I look more handsome now", he said with a laugh.

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He said the toughest job was to flush out militants holed up in houses in villages. I was reminded of this while watching the recent Mumbai carnage.

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"It's a game of extreme patience and vigilance. The exercise takes place mostly at night and entire villages are cordoned off for the task."

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While the army personnel grew more experienced at tackling them over a period of time, the militants too became smarter.

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"These days they aim not for the chest or head, but for the thighs, where the main artery is located. At times, if a soldier injured in the thigh is not rushed to medical help immediately, we risk losing him."

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I listened spellbound, my sleep long forgotten. I could see the other passengers similarly engaged; horrified, but unable to break away. It was almost an 'ancient mariner' kind of scenario.

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At one point I asked him whether he had received a bravery award for all he had done.

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"No Ma'am."

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"Why not?"

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"Ma'am, if the Army had to give out awards to everyone who has done what I did, they would soon run out of medals. "

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His answer stumped all of us. What we thought of as extraordinary bravery was in fact an everyday and routine affair for most Army personnel in Kashmir and other insurgency-hit areas. I sat quietly, reflecting on a real life example of selfless service.

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"What motivates you people?", asked one of my fellow passengers.

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"Love for our country, its people, and pride in being an Indian."

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This simple statement brought out the goose pimples on my arms. I remembered how as a child whenever we went to see a movie, the National Anthem played at the end, when we all stood up to attention. Independence Day and The Republic Day were never holidays meant to sit at home, but to go out and march and hoist the national flag. "Jai Jawan Jai Kisan", was the slogan that popped out almost everywhere, worshiping the two different kinds of people who protected and respected Mother Earth.

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We still need these two people, one to feed us and the other to protect us."

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by Smita Bhatnagar Sahay.

Hundred Dollar Story!

http://sigads.rediff.com/RealMedia/ads/click_nx.ads/www.rediffmail.com/signatureline.htm@Middle?
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An Indian tourist walks into a curio shop in San Francisco. Looking around at the exotica, he notices a very lifelike, Life-sized bronze statue of a rat. It has no price tag, But is so striking he decides he must have it. He takes it to the owner: "How much for the bronze rat?" "Twelve dollars for the rat, one hundred dollars for the Story," says the owner.

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The tourist gives the man twelve dollars. "I'll just take the rat,you can keep the story." As he walks down the street carrying his bronze rat, He notices that a few real rats crawl out of the alleys And sewers and begin following him down the street. This is disconcerting; he begins walking faster. But within a couple blocks, the herd of rats behind Him grows to hundreds, and they begin squealing. He begins to trot toward the Bay, looking around to see That the rats now numbered in the MILLIONS, and are still Squealing and coming toward him faster and faster. Concerned, even scared, he runs to the edge of the Bay And throws the bronze rat as far out into the Bay as he can. Amazingly, the millions of rats all jump into the Bay after it, and are all drowned.

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The man walks back to the curio shop. Ah ha,"says the owner," You have come back for the Story?" "No," says the man, "I came back to see if you have a statue of an Indian politician in bronze!!"

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Sent by: Maj Gen Pushpendra Singh

genpushpendra@gmail.com

How to dance in the rain - A Lovely Story

It was a busy morning, and raining. At about 8:30, when an elderly gentleman in his 80's arrived to have stitches removed from his thumb. He said he was in a hurry as he had an appointment at 9:00 am. I took his vital signs and had him take a seat, knowing it would be over an hour before someone would to able to see him. I saw him looking at his watch and decided, since I was not busy with another patient, I would evaluate his wound. On exam, it was well healed, so I talked to one of the doctors, got the needed supplies to remove his sutures and redress his wound. While taking care of his wound, I asked him if he had another doctor's appointment this morning, as he was in such a hurry. The gentleman told me no, that he needed to go tothe nursing home to eat breakfast with his wife.

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I inquired as to her health. He told me that she had been there for a while and that she was a victim of Alzheimer's Disease. As we talked, I asked if she would be upset if he was a bit late. He replied that she no longer knew who he was, that she had not recognized him in five years now. I was surprised, and asked him, and you still go every morning, even though she doesn't know who you are?

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He smiled as he patted my hand and said, She does not know me, but I still know who she is. I had to hold back tears as he left, I had goose bumps on my arm, and thought, 'That is the kind of love I want in my life. True love is neither physical, nor romantic. True love is an acceptance of all that is, has been, will be, and will not be. With all the jokes and fun that are in e-mails sometimes there is one that comes along that has an important message.

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This one I thought I could share with you. The happiest people don't necessarily have the best of everything; they just make the best of everything they have. I hope you share this with someone you care about. I just did.. Life isn't about how to survive the storm, But how to dance in the rain.

PAID IN FULL

One little boy came up to his mother in the kitchen one evening while she was fixing supper and he handed her a piece of paper that he had been writing on. After his mom dried her hands on an apron, she read it and this is what is said:

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For cutting grass $5.00

For cleaning up my room this week $1.00

For going to the store for you $0.50

Baby sitting my kid-brother while you went shopping $0.25

Taking out the garbage $1.00

For getting a good report card $5.00

For cleaning up the yard $2.00

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Total owed $14.75

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“Well,” his mother looked at him standing there expectantly, and the boy, could see the memories

flashing through her mind. So she picked up the pen, turned over the paper he’d written on and this is what she wrote:

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For the 9 months I carried you while you were growing inside me-no charge.

For all nights that I have sat up with you, doctored and prayed for you-no charge.

For all the crying times and all the tears that you’ve caused through the years there’s no charge.

When you add it all up, the cost of my love is--no charge.

For the toys, food, clothes and even wiping your nose, there’s no charge, son.

And when you add it all up, the full cost of real love is no charges as well.

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Friends, when our son finished reading what his mother had written, there were great big tears in his eyes. And he looked straight up at his mother and said, “Mom, I sure do love you.”

And then he took the pen and in great big letters he wrote: "Paid in full"