I was excited when I read Sainath's article in "The Hindu" yesterday that "In 1963, the government of Maharashtra ended famine forever in the state". Wow ! I never knew that. Maybe because of the famous green revolution in India, I thought. I have read about it. I have read about Operation Flood. Maybe because of all that.
When I read further, I realized how they achieved this was far more brilliant than that! They did it actually by passing a legislation to remove the use of the word "famine" from all the laws of the state! You close your eyes, open it again and read this. It is true. What a wonderful way, what an out of the box thinking as the modern day management gurus and corporates would say, to remove a problem. Wish the problem away and the problem goes away? Are we watching Shrek, the movie, where there is a fairy godmother to do these tricks? Or are we seeing our legislators in action?
But who among us is going to cast the first stone? A lot of my friends across the world still believe the poor are poor because they choose to be poor. Many friends and leaders across the world have their own definition of democracy. I define democracy, therefore it shall. I remove the word famine, and goest forever famine. I declare that the beggars love begging and therefore the beggars do not want to come out of their wretched lives. I believe that Iraqi's love to fight more than they want what I have defined for them as democracy, and so woe unto them.
Who are we fooling? What happened to the metaphor of the ostrich dipping his head in the sand and the cat closing its eyes and drinking milk. We love our cocoons. It is comfortable. Cozy. No heat, no cold, it is wonderful in here. What if the worm in the cocoon thought that way? Where would the beautiful butterfly come out from?
Can we nurture the various cocoons around, so that we take care that the beautiful butterfly comes out of that? Don't kill the worms around because they are ugly. Don't wish away the real issues because they are inconvenient. Because they make our world different from the shining world we want it to be.
Let us ask Microsoft to come up with a new spellcheck and grammar check that removes all the inconvenient and ugly words? Why not delete the word 'conscience' from our hearts and minds? And then we shall live peacefully ever after.
Friday, August 27, 2010
Thursday, August 26, 2010
Called aside
Mark Ch 7 verse 33 says "And he took him aside from the multitude". When God calls you for a special service, he calls you aside from the multitude. To be a disciple, you have to be out of the crowd. If you are part of the crowd, your identity is merged with that of the crowd. You are part of the mass hysteria, where you will be surprised in hindsight (if you ever get an opportunity for the hindsight amidst your busy life), about your own actions and reactions. How could I ever do like that, you may think. But remember, that was because you were part of the crowd. The crowd says, "This is what we all do, so what's different about you". The crowd very dangerously reminds us that you are part of the billions of people on this earth. The crowd hates your individuality. The crowd hates differences. Cults hate differences.
In yesterday's "The Hindu", Naveen Chawla has written an essence of Mother Teresa's life on her birth centenary. He writes, "In 1948 (after almost 20 years of teaching in the convent in Calcutta), in an even more cataclysmic turn of events, again entirely of her own making, she left the convent doors behind her for a vision of the streets".
I like the way Naveen Chawla has unambiguously put it - 'entirely of her own making'. There was a conscious decision she had to take. One step of faith that was needed on her part, which God would then bless.
Naveen Chawla continues "She had realized that this was where her true vocation lay, and she pursued this goal with diligence, even obstinancy".
Again, I like the choice of his word - obstinancy. Her passion was obstinate. What a wonderful privilege for the word 'obstinate' to be used in the context of the passion of this saint!
Naveen Chawla writes on, "She called 'loneliness' the 'leprosy of the West'. When asked how she could touch a leprosy sufferer and clean his sores, she said she could do it because for her that man was the suffering Jesus. 'I would not clean him for all the money in the world' said an observer to her. 'Nor would I', Mother Teresa replied, 'but I would do it for love of Him'. Her hands were always full, but comforting one individual at a time was more important than getting lost in numbers. She said later 'As long as we remain committed to the poorest of the poor and do not end up serving the rich, the work (for the poor) will prosper".
Thank God we have been privileged to have been alive while this saint walked on the earth, and in our country.
In yesterday's "The Hindu", Naveen Chawla has written an essence of Mother Teresa's life on her birth centenary. He writes, "In 1948 (after almost 20 years of teaching in the convent in Calcutta), in an even more cataclysmic turn of events, again entirely of her own making, she left the convent doors behind her for a vision of the streets".
I like the way Naveen Chawla has unambiguously put it - 'entirely of her own making'. There was a conscious decision she had to take. One step of faith that was needed on her part, which God would then bless.
Naveen Chawla continues "She had realized that this was where her true vocation lay, and she pursued this goal with diligence, even obstinancy".
Again, I like the choice of his word - obstinancy. Her passion was obstinate. What a wonderful privilege for the word 'obstinate' to be used in the context of the passion of this saint!
Naveen Chawla writes on, "She called 'loneliness' the 'leprosy of the West'. When asked how she could touch a leprosy sufferer and clean his sores, she said she could do it because for her that man was the suffering Jesus. 'I would not clean him for all the money in the world' said an observer to her. 'Nor would I', Mother Teresa replied, 'but I would do it for love of Him'. Her hands were always full, but comforting one individual at a time was more important than getting lost in numbers. She said later 'As long as we remain committed to the poorest of the poor and do not end up serving the rich, the work (for the poor) will prosper".
Thank God we have been privileged to have been alive while this saint walked on the earth, and in our country.
Wednesday, August 25, 2010
Before the next rain falls
Oh the rain, it brings back memories
Takes you to the past, makes you refreshed
How you played in the rain, with paperboats downstream
Oh the rain, it brings back sweet memories.
What a wonderful rain, you thought
Sipping your coffee with a book in your hand
The beauty of its pouring, oh how marvellous
Oh I wish the rain will never end!
"Oh, when will this cursed rain end", she shouted
My roof of cloth is all soaked
I'm tired of draining out the buckets of water
I've run out of my vessels, but still it pours
It's flowing down from the upper road, like an avalanche
Destroying everything that's on its way
My books and clothes all drenched, when will they ever dry?
Will my tears ever dry?
The rain keeps pouring, it doesn't care
These drops bring tears of joy to some, sorrow to others
The rain of blessings, the rain of despair
The rain of hope, the rain which comes as the end!
Now the rain stops, and I'm done with my coffee
My book's unfinished! Oh why did it stop so fast!
Let me get back to myself, my life, my all
Wishing it will rain again for my joy
Now she gathers the roof, drips it dry
The children come back from school, "Mom, what fun we had getting back"
"Come and help me dry our house", she screamed
Hoping she'll have a better roof, before the next rain falls
Takes you to the past, makes you refreshed
How you played in the rain, with paperboats downstream
Oh the rain, it brings back sweet memories.
What a wonderful rain, you thought
Sipping your coffee with a book in your hand
The beauty of its pouring, oh how marvellous
Oh I wish the rain will never end!
"Oh, when will this cursed rain end", she shouted
My roof of cloth is all soaked
I'm tired of draining out the buckets of water
I've run out of my vessels, but still it pours
It's flowing down from the upper road, like an avalanche
Destroying everything that's on its way
My books and clothes all drenched, when will they ever dry?
Will my tears ever dry?
The rain keeps pouring, it doesn't care
These drops bring tears of joy to some, sorrow to others
The rain of blessings, the rain of despair
The rain of hope, the rain which comes as the end!
Now the rain stops, and I'm done with my coffee
My book's unfinished! Oh why did it stop so fast!
Let me get back to myself, my life, my all
Wishing it will rain again for my joy
Now she gathers the roof, drips it dry
The children come back from school, "Mom, what fun we had getting back"
"Come and help me dry our house", she screamed
Hoping she'll have a better roof, before the next rain falls
Tuesday, August 24, 2010
Acceptable Miracle?
"Sainthood for Mother Teresa awaits 'acceptable miracle'" - so the title of the newspaper article went about the Catholic church's stand on conferring sainthood to one of the greatest saints ever lived. Of course, let the Catholic church do its due diligence to search for the supernatural miracle. However, really, why do we have to look for evidence of a miracle in the life of a woman whose life itself was a miracle? Miracle is indeed what is improbable and what happened. And when a chain of the improbables happen which gives life to many, that is the most improbable of the most improbables. A miracle. A saint.
Her coming to India was a miracle. She was not an Indian.
Her leaving a reasonably comfortable convent teaching life was a miracle.
Her ability to touch and love the untouchables, the lepers, the beggars, the dying in filthy attires - that was a miracle.
Her ability to inspire many others to do the same as what she was doing was a miracle.
Her missionaries of charity organization getting set up near and far helping millions of the poor was a miracle.
Her ability to generate so much of funds collectively was a miracle.
Her simple ability to bring smiles on the faces of the hopeless was a miracle.
Her re-living the life of Jesus in His compassion and love was indeed a miracle.
Mother Teresa was herself a miracle, since even after her death, she is living through the many who are inspired by her and are continuing the work.
Let us praise and thank God for her life, while the church continues to search for the 'acceptable miracle'
Her coming to India was a miracle. She was not an Indian.
Her leaving a reasonably comfortable convent teaching life was a miracle.
Her ability to touch and love the untouchables, the lepers, the beggars, the dying in filthy attires - that was a miracle.
Her ability to inspire many others to do the same as what she was doing was a miracle.
Her missionaries of charity organization getting set up near and far helping millions of the poor was a miracle.
Her ability to generate so much of funds collectively was a miracle.
Her simple ability to bring smiles on the faces of the hopeless was a miracle.
Her re-living the life of Jesus in His compassion and love was indeed a miracle.
Mother Teresa was herself a miracle, since even after her death, she is living through the many who are inspired by her and are continuing the work.
Let us praise and thank God for her life, while the church continues to search for the 'acceptable miracle'
Monday, August 23, 2010
It's worth it - Let it take time !
In 1996, Madeline Albright, the then Ambassador from USA to UN, was asked about the effects of the air strikes in Iraq, which destroyed its fresh water supply, and resulted in the death of nearly half a million children which was much more than the number that died in Hirsohima, she replied saying the price is worth it for the cause of democracy. Whether she regreted the same later or not is the point. Neither is this blog an effort to demonize her. The whole point is about the perspective that any price is small to pay as long as it is someone else's children dying.
Development is worth it as long as someone else is losing their homes. Wider roads are fun to drive, and who cares whether trees had to be cut, and a few people had to move out to God knows where. A small price to pay for development.
War, is very unfortunate, but what other choice we had to put the nuclear bomb, to end the disastrous World War II. A small price to pay for peace ! And after all, didn't it help the Japanese to build up from the ashes? Maybe they should honour us!
Floods are overflowing. They say it is because of the trees we cut! Poor people. They are losing their homes. But what to do? It is a small price to pay for the dams that are giving us electricity. Let us collect donations and old clothes and send them. Thank God we are charitable!
After 14 years of Ms Albright's statement, and after 7 years of Iraqi invasion, after 1000 tonnes of depleted Uranium dumped in Iraq through US munitions (The Hindu, 23 Aug 2010), Paul Bremer III, the former Iraqi occupation administrator, said in an interview, "We can take a certain measure of satisfaction from the success in Iraq. It's not a complete success yet, obviously, but building democracy takes time". And we are satisified !
Building democracy takes time. Indeed it does.
As long as my children are safe, let it take time.
As long as I have my money coming in, let it take time.
As long as I live in mansions, let it take time.
After all, we need democracy, don't we? Let's not hurry it. Let it take time!
Development is worth it as long as someone else is losing their homes. Wider roads are fun to drive, and who cares whether trees had to be cut, and a few people had to move out to God knows where. A small price to pay for development.
War, is very unfortunate, but what other choice we had to put the nuclear bomb, to end the disastrous World War II. A small price to pay for peace ! And after all, didn't it help the Japanese to build up from the ashes? Maybe they should honour us!
Floods are overflowing. They say it is because of the trees we cut! Poor people. They are losing their homes. But what to do? It is a small price to pay for the dams that are giving us electricity. Let us collect donations and old clothes and send them. Thank God we are charitable!
After 14 years of Ms Albright's statement, and after 7 years of Iraqi invasion, after 1000 tonnes of depleted Uranium dumped in Iraq through US munitions (The Hindu, 23 Aug 2010), Paul Bremer III, the former Iraqi occupation administrator, said in an interview, "We can take a certain measure of satisfaction from the success in Iraq. It's not a complete success yet, obviously, but building democracy takes time". And we are satisified !
Building democracy takes time. Indeed it does.
As long as my children are safe, let it take time.
As long as I have my money coming in, let it take time.
As long as I live in mansions, let it take time.
After all, we need democracy, don't we? Let's not hurry it. Let it take time!
Friday, June 18, 2010
Beheaded
Jesus Christ is the head of the church, as written in the Bible. We are supposed to grow as per the head, which is Christ. The head gets the onus of the actions which the body does. If the body does not act in accordance with the head, then the body is not connected with the head. It is either a headless dead body, or a body which is connected to a different head, probably wearing the mask of the original head.
Jesus loved the sinners. He was accused by the priests and the pharisees as being the friend of drunkards, gluttons and sinners. He loved them. However, the modern day affluent church has no place for them.
Jesus lived among the poor and needy. They were part of his life. To the modern day church, the poor and needy are a means of charity, throwaway money, and at best a cheap ticket to heaven.
Jesus wept with those who wept. He wiped their tears. The church and Christians have no time for that. Or maybe, it is they who caused the tears.
Jesus spoke out against meaningless rituals in the temple of God. The church has become a repetitive ritualistic place, un-connecting to many who come there.
Jesus loved the little children. He told everyone to turn and become like little children. Children could be with Jesus. In the church, the children are the least. Who cares if the worship of God connects to them, makes sense to them! Who cares if the Sunday school is happening in very constrained setup, as long as the church is worshipping standing on the marble floor.
Jesus had no wealth. He never saved or accumulated. The church has wealth, for church building funds which can run to crores. When people around are homeless, the church buildings are mansions where no one lives.
Jesus lashed out the selling courts in the temple of God. He spoke out against power structures. The church has become the power structures themselves. Money, power, corruption - these are what you hear in many church echelons of power.
And yet we call Christ the head of the church?
Jesus loved the sinners. He was accused by the priests and the pharisees as being the friend of drunkards, gluttons and sinners. He loved them. However, the modern day affluent church has no place for them.
Jesus lived among the poor and needy. They were part of his life. To the modern day church, the poor and needy are a means of charity, throwaway money, and at best a cheap ticket to heaven.
Jesus wept with those who wept. He wiped their tears. The church and Christians have no time for that. Or maybe, it is they who caused the tears.
Jesus spoke out against meaningless rituals in the temple of God. The church has become a repetitive ritualistic place, un-connecting to many who come there.
Jesus loved the little children. He told everyone to turn and become like little children. Children could be with Jesus. In the church, the children are the least. Who cares if the worship of God connects to them, makes sense to them! Who cares if the Sunday school is happening in very constrained setup, as long as the church is worshipping standing on the marble floor.
Jesus had no wealth. He never saved or accumulated. The church has wealth, for church building funds which can run to crores. When people around are homeless, the church buildings are mansions where no one lives.
Jesus lashed out the selling courts in the temple of God. He spoke out against power structures. The church has become the power structures themselves. Money, power, corruption - these are what you hear in many church echelons of power.
And yet we call Christ the head of the church?
Thursday, May 27, 2010
Paradise Lost
She was born in the verdure of her home
Midst the tall trees and the running cascades
Longed for by her parents, attended by the midwives
She came crying, dignified in her arrival
Her nurture was rich, her mother's milk for growth
Darling of her parents, joy of all around
She grew up in the richness of nature
Among the birds & beasts who became her kin
She was a delight to all, got time and attention from all around
She knew nature, she knew colours, knew the language of all
Epitome of creation, admidst all creation
She grew up, in her garden of Eden
Came then the snake one day in a Pajero
With glittering gold on his hands, his neck, his teeth
He smiled, or did he? But she heard him talking
To her parents, about giving away this land.
The snake wanted to develop this land
Cutting trees, clearing the land, building a factory
Develop by destroying, she couldn't comprehend
Building something, when everything seems perfect
The snake promised the apple, work for her parents
Showed paper he said had value
Work and money, did they need it?
The child wondered, while the elders got sold
They gave the snake their land
Instead they got some toddy, lots of it
Then started work, which took her parents away
She lost their time, their nurture, their care
The factory came up, but gone were the trees
Gone were the birds and animals, her friends
Then one day snake told the elders they are too old
Get out of the land or else they will be mowed
On she went on that long journey
The journey with her parents, her elders, her tribe
The journey to the bustle of the city
To live on the road, and then in the dirty slums
From the luscious nature one day to the slum
Her life was smeared with dirt
No money, no food, she ran between cars at the lights
Begging for money, just to be shoved away
Her childhood lost, her nurture destroyed
She became now a street child
No hope for the future, no one who cares
None really tries to understand
No litigations to help, no court-stays in favour of her
No arguments, her tribal home had to be given up
For development of others, all others but her and her tribe
She lies crucified, so we may live
Midst the tall trees and the running cascades
Longed for by her parents, attended by the midwives
She came crying, dignified in her arrival
Her nurture was rich, her mother's milk for growth
Darling of her parents, joy of all around
She grew up in the richness of nature
Among the birds & beasts who became her kin
She was a delight to all, got time and attention from all around
She knew nature, she knew colours, knew the language of all
Epitome of creation, admidst all creation
She grew up, in her garden of Eden
Came then the snake one day in a Pajero
With glittering gold on his hands, his neck, his teeth
He smiled, or did he? But she heard him talking
To her parents, about giving away this land.
The snake wanted to develop this land
Cutting trees, clearing the land, building a factory
Develop by destroying, she couldn't comprehend
Building something, when everything seems perfect
The snake promised the apple, work for her parents
Showed paper he said had value
Work and money, did they need it?
The child wondered, while the elders got sold
They gave the snake their land
Instead they got some toddy, lots of it
Then started work, which took her parents away
She lost their time, their nurture, their care
The factory came up, but gone were the trees
Gone were the birds and animals, her friends
Then one day snake told the elders they are too old
Get out of the land or else they will be mowed
On she went on that long journey
The journey with her parents, her elders, her tribe
The journey to the bustle of the city
To live on the road, and then in the dirty slums
From the luscious nature one day to the slum
Her life was smeared with dirt
No money, no food, she ran between cars at the lights
Begging for money, just to be shoved away
Her childhood lost, her nurture destroyed
She became now a street child
No hope for the future, no one who cares
None really tries to understand
No litigations to help, no court-stays in favour of her
No arguments, her tribal home had to be given up
For development of others, all others but her and her tribe
She lies crucified, so we may live
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