Inspiring example of humility and expression of gratitude

This is about Mr. Zavere Poonawala who is a well-known industrialist in Pune. He had this driver named Ganga Datt with him for the last 30 years on his limousine.

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 for 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 for our success. This is the belief, we have been brought up with which made me do, what I did”.

The Tardy Bagpiper

As a bagpiper, I was asked by a funeral director to play at a graveside service for a homeless man who had no family or friends.

The funeral was to be held at a cemetery in the remote countryside and this man would be the first to be laid to rest there.

As I was not familiar with the backwoods area, I became lost and being a typical man, did not stop
for directions. I finally arrived an hour late. I saw the backhoe and the crew who were eating lunch but the
hearse was nowhere in sight.

I apologized to the workers for my tardiness and stepped to the side of the open grave where I saw the vault lid already in place.  I assured the workers I would not hold them up for long but this was the proper thing to do. The workers gathered around, still eating their lunch. I played out my heart and soul.

As I played the workers began to weep. I played and I played like I'd never played before, from 'Going
Home' and 'The Lord is My Shepherd' to 'Flowers of the Forest.' I closed the lengthy session with
'Amazing Grace' and walked to my car.

As I was opening the door and taking off my coat, I overheard one of the workers saying to another,
"Man, I never seen nothin' like that before and I've been putting in septic tanks for 20 years."

Be Loyal to What You Love...

Pain and Happiness

Pain and Happiness

Nobody can take away your pain;

so don't let anyone take away your happiness!

 

 

A Beautiful Story about a Father, a Daughter and a Dog

"Watch out! You nearly broad sided that car!" My father yelled at me. "Can't

you do anything right?"

Those words hurt worse than blows. I turned my head toward the elderly man
in the seat beside me, daring me to challenge him. A lump rose in my throat
as I averted my eyes. I wasn't prepared for another battle.

"I saw the car, Dad . Please don't yell at me when I'm driving.."

My voice was measured and steady, sounding far calmer than I really felt.

Dad glared at me, then turned away and settled back. At home I left Dad in
front of the television and went outside to collect my thoughts.... dark,
heavy clouds hung in the air with a promise of rain. The rumble of distant
thunder seemed to echo my inner turmoil. What could I do about him?

Dad had been a lumberjack in Washington and Oregon . He had enjoyed being
outdoors and had reveled in pitting his strength against the forces of
nature. He had entered grueling lumberjack competitions, and had placed
often. The shelves in his house were filled with trophies that attested to
his prowess.

The years marched on relentlessly. The first time he couldn't lift a heavy
log, he joked about it; but later that same day I saw him outside alone,
straining to lift it. He became irritable whenever anyone teased him about
his advancing age, or when he couldn't do something he had done as a younger
man.

Four days after his sixty-seventh birthday, he had a heart attack. An
ambulance sped him to the hospital while a paramedic administered CPR to
keep blood and oxygen flowing.

At the hospital, Dad was rushed into an operating room. He was lucky; he
survived. But something inside Dad died. His zest for life was gone. He
obstinately refused to follow doctor's orders. Suggestions and offers of
help were turned aside with sarcasm and insults. The number of visitors
thinned, then finally stopped altogether. Dad was left alone..

My husband, Dick, and I asked Dad to come live with us on our small farm. We
hoped the fresh air and rustic atmosphere would help him adjust.

Within a week after he moved in, I regretted the invitation. It seemed
nothing was satisfactory. He criticized everything I did. I became
frustrated and moody. Soon I was taking my pent-up anger out on Dick. We
began to bicker and argue.

Alarmed, Dick sought out our pastor and explained the situation. The
clergyman set up weekly counseling appointments for us. At the close of each
session he prayed, asking God to soothe Dad 's troubled mind.

But the months wore on and God was silent. Something had to be done and it
was up to me to do it.

The next day I sat down with the phone book and methodically called each of
the mental health clinics listed in the Yellow Pages. I explained my problem
to each of the sympathetic voices that answered in vain.

Just when I was giving up hope, one of the voices suddenly exclaimed, "I
just read something that might help you! Let me go get the article.."

I listened as she read. The article described a remarkable study done at a
nursing home. All of the patients were under treatment for chronic
depression. Yet their attitudes had improved dramatically when they were
given responsibility for a dog.

I drove to the animal shelter that afternoon.. After I filled out a
questionnaire, a uniformed officer led me to the kennels. The odor of
disinfectant stung my nostrils as I moved down the row of pens. Each
contained five to seven dogs. Long-haired dogs, curly-haired dogs, black
dogs, spotted dogs all jumped up, trying to reach me.

I studied each one but rejected one after the other for various reasons too
big, too small, too much hair. As I neared the last pen a dog in the shadows
of the far corner struggled to his feet, walked to the front of the run and
sat down. It was a pointer, one of the dog world's aristocrats. But this was
a caricature of the breed.

Years had etched his face and muzzle with shades of gray. His hip bones
jutted out in lopsided triangles. But it was his eyes that caught and held
my attention. Calm and clear, they beheld me unwaveringly.

I pointed to the dog. "Can you tell me about him?" The officer looked, then
shook his head in puzzlement. "He's a funny one. Appeared out of nowhere and
sat in front of the gate. We brought him in, figuring someone would be right
down to claim him. That was two weeks ago and we've heard nothing. His time
is up tomorrow." He gestured helplessly.

As the words sank in I turned to the man in horror.. "You mean you're going
to kill him?"

"Ma'am," he said gently, "that's our policy. We don't have room for every
unclaimed dog."

I looked at the pointer again. The calm brown eyes awaited my decision.
"I'll take him," I said. I drove home with the dog on the front seat beside
me.. When I reached the house I honked the horn twice. I was helping my
prize out of the car when Dad shuffled onto the front porch... "Ta-da! Look
what I got for you, Dad !" I said excitedly.

Dad looked, then wrinkled his face in disgust. "If I had wanted a dog I
would have gotten one. And I would have picked out a better specimen than
that bag of bones. Keep it! I don't want it" Dad waved his arm scornfully
and turned back toward the house.

Anger rose inside me. It squeezed together my throat muscles and pounded
into my temples. "You'd better get used to him, Dad . He's staying!"

Dad ignored me.. "Did you hear me, Dad ?" I screamed. At those words Dad
whirled angrily, his hands clenched at his sides, his eyes narrowed and
blazing with hate. We stood glaring at each other like duelists, when
suddenly the pointer pulled free from my grasp. He wobbled toward my dad and
sat down in front of him. Then slowly, carefully, he raised his paw..

Dad 's lower jaw trembled as he stared at the uplifted paw.  Confusion
replaced the anger in his eyes. The pointer waited patiently. Then Dad was
on his knees hugging the animal.

It was the beginning of a warm and intimate friendship. Dad named the
pointer Cheyenne . Together he and Cheyenne explored the community. They
spent long hours walking down dusty lanes. They spent reflective moments on
the banks of streams, angling for tasty trout. They even started to attend
Sunday services together, Dad sitting in a pew and Cheyenne lying quietly at
is feet.

Dad and Cheyenne were inseparable throughout the next three years.. Dad's
bitterness faded, and he and Cheyenne made many friends. Then late one night
I was startled to feel Cheyenne 's cold nose burrowing through our bed
covers. He had never before come into our bedroom at night. I woke Dick,
put on my robe and ran into my father's room. Dad lay in his bed, his face
serene. But his spirit had left quietly sometime during the night.

Two days later my shock and grief deepened when I discovered Cheyenne lying
dead beside Dad 's bed. I wrapped his still form in the rag rug he had slept
on. As Dick and I buried him near a favorite fishing hole, I silently
thanked the dog for the help he had given me in restoring Dad 's peace of
mind.

The morning of Dad 's funeral dawned overcast and dreary. This day looks
like the way I feel, I thought, as I walked down the aisle to the pews
reserved for family. I was surprised to see the many friends Dad and
Cheyenne had made filling the church. The pastor began his eulogy. It was a
tribute to both Dad and the dog who had changed his life.

And then the pastor turned to Hebrews 13:2. "Do not neglect to show
hospitality to strangers, for by this some have entertained angels without
knowing it."

"I've often thanked God for sending that angel," he said.

For me, the past dropped into place, completing a puzzle that I had not seen
before: the sympathetic voice that had just read the right article...
Cheyenne's unexpected appearance at the animal shelter. . ...his calm
acceptance and complete devotion to my father. . and the proximity of their
deaths. And suddenly I understood. I knew that God had answered my prayers
after all.

Life is too short for drama or petty things, so laugh hard, love truly and
forgive quickly. Live While You Are Alive. Forgive now those who made you
cry. You might not get a second time.

And if you don't send this to say, another person ---nobody cares? But do
share this with someone. Lost time can never be found.

God answers our prayers in His time........not ours...

A Story of Two Pebbles

Many years ago in a small Indian village, a farmer had the misfortune of owing a large sum of money to a village moneylender. The moneylender, who was old and ugly, fancied the farmer's beautiful daughter. So he proposed a bargain.

He said he would forgo the farmer's debt if he could marry his daughter. Both the farmer and his daughter were horrified by the proposal. So the cunning money-lender suggested that they let providence decide the matter. He told them that he would put a black pebble and a white pebble into an empty money bag. Then the girl would have to pick one pebble from the bag.

1) If she picked the black pebble, she would become his wife and her father's debt would be forgiven.

2) If she picked the white pebble she need not marry him and her father's debt would still be forgiven.

3) But if she refused to pick a pebble, her father would be thrown into jail.

They were standing on a pebble strewn path in the farmer's field. As they talked, the moneylender bent over to pick up two pebbles. As he picked them up, the sharp-eyed girl noticed that he had picked up two black pebbles and put them into the bag. He then asked the girl to pick a pebble from the bag.

Now, imagine that you were standing in the field. What would you have done if you were the girl? If you had to advise her, what would you have told her?

Careful analysis would produce three possibilities:

1. The girl should refuse to take a pebble.

2. The girl should show that there were two black pebbles in the bag and expose the money-lender as a cheat.

3. The girl should pick a black pebble and sacrifice herself in order to save her father from his debt and imprisonment.

Take a moment to ponder over the story. The above story is used with the hope that it will make us appreciate the difference between lateral and logical thinking. The girl's dilemma cannot be solved with traditional logical thinking. Think of the consequences if she chooses the above logical answers.

What would you recommend to the Girl to do?

Well, here is what she did ....

The girl put her hand into the moneybag and drew out a pebble. Without looking at it, she fumbled and let it fall onto the pebble-strewn path where it immediately became lost among all the other pebbles.

"Oh, how clumsy of me," she said. "But never mind, if you look into the bag for the one that is left, you will be able to tell which pebble I picked."

Since the remaining pebble is black, it must be assumed that she had picked the white one. And since the money-lender dared not admit his dishonesty, the girl changed what seemed an impossible situation into an extremely advantageous one.

MORAL OF THE STORY:

Most complex problems do have a solution. It is only that we don't attempt to think.

This is what you shall do...

 This is what you shall do...

"This is what you shall do. Love the earth and the sun and the animals, despise riches, give alms to every one that asks, stand up for the stupid and crazy, devote your income and labour to others, hate tyrants, argue not concerning god, have patience and indulgence toward the people, take off your hat to nothing known or unknown or to any man or number of men.

Go freely with powerful uneducated persons and with the young and with mothers of families. Read these leaves in the open air every season of every year of your life, re-examine all you have been told at school or church or in any book, dismiss whatever insults your own soul, and your very flesh shall be a great poem..."

- Walt Whitman