Friday, February 24, 2006

Golda Meir... And The 25 Stephans!


In the book 'O Jerusalem' by Dominic Lapierre and Larry Collins, there is a portion called "GOLDA MEIR'S TWENTY-FIVE "STEPHANS". I tried many a times to get the entire extract from the web, but failed.

Each time i read the portion in the beat up copy of the book i have, I cannot help but cry. Yeah, yeah, yeah, men do cry too.

The portion details about how this lady came to New York with a broken coat on her back and $10 in her hand bag, entrusted with the job of finding 25 'Stephans' or $25 Million for buying arms to keep the enemies away.

Her pathetic dress ensured that she was referred to as a lady from the bible. She stood up and felt weak. And then, word became her and she touched an instant chord. By the end of it all, she had collected 50 Stephans where she was asked for 25.

She can rightly be called the 'Mother of modern Israel'.

I wish i knew her, if only to say that each time i read the speech, i feel its power -to move souls...

I wish i knew her, if only to say that i was honoured to share the same time span as she did...

I wish i knew her, if only to listen and learn about how to move the human soul by mere speech, like she so effotlessely did...

Thursday, February 23, 2006

My Lady D'Arbanville


Finding the lady is the least of ones problems, its the rest of it that is such a downer...

And then... the lyrics of a song that took me by storm these past few days and one that promises to stay with me for a long time to come...

My Lady D'Arbanville, Why do you sleep so still?
I'll wake you tomorrow
And you will be my fill, Yes you will be my fill

My Lady D'Arbanville, Why does it grieve me so?
But your heart seems so silent
Why do you breathe so low, Why do you breathe so low?

My Lady D'Arbanville, Why do you sleep so still?
I'll wake you tomorrow
And you will be my fill, Yes you will be my fill

My Lady D'Arbanville, You look so cold tonight
Your lips feel like winter
Your skin has turned to white, Your skin has turned to white

My Lady D'Arbanville, Why do you sleep so still?
I'll wake you tomorrow
And you will be my fill, Yes you will be my fill

La la la la la.....

My Lady D'Arbanville, Why do you grieve me so?
But your heart seems so silent
Why do you breathe so low, Why do you breathe so low?

I loved you my Lady, Though in your grave you lie
I'll always be with you
This rose will never die, This rose will never die

I loved you my Lady, Though in your grave you lie
I'll always be with you
This rose will never die, This rose will never die

What The Hell Am Me Doin Here?

Anywhere else, i would not have felt so much like a stranger. In my office, on Wednesday, i did and i could not help it. Anyone would feel strange if...

1. You are one of the only ones watching the Indian Football team's performance against Japan on TV and feel bad about the 6-0 loss.
2. Half the office population is cursing the game to get over while the other half is leering behind my back at my craze for the lost cause.
3. Everyone feels that football in India is lost and nothing good can be done about it...

I beg to differ from the view that the game is dead in India. I for one, will not take n for an answer and am gonna do everything in my power to see if something can be done.

I just wish to state here that i have an agenda, a time bound one. For people who still feel that i am not crazy, it will be revealed in time. If you forget that i had promised so, dont worry, i will remind you...

Saturday, February 18, 2006

Where Memories Sleep...




(This was written two years a go when the mother of my favourite teacher passed away. i got my directions wrong and went into a wrong cemetary, which ultimately helped me realize my littleness. i found the surroundings overwhelm me... a deep peace that only a cemetary can offer took over... differences mattered no more. the rich, poor, men, women, children, black, brown, white...everyone lay there, having six feet of earth common between them. i had to write this down then, before the words were lost on me, for ever...... and this is it, what my heart whispered and what the paper took it on itself.)



-“There is in all this cold and hollow world no fount of deep, strong deathless love, save that within a loving mothers heart”. -Tombstone, CSI cemetery, Sungam, Coimbatore, Tamil Nadu-

I walk amidst a lot of memories, laid to sleep. Memories older than me and my father and my grand father. The revv of the motor engines and the poisonous fumes of the outer polluted world seems an eternity away. The tranquillity and the peace I feel here, I feel nowhere else.

The once pure white solid marble angel weeps softly on the final resting place of Anthony Philomin Joseph, aged 81 days, 67 years a go. How would he have looked? I wonder silently, knowing that I would never ever know… I entered the resting place of so many souls, some young, some old, some forgotten, some not…

I feel the sadness, I feel the calm, I feel the wetness of the soil, and the wetness made of what? Tears? I don’t know. I walk forward. Amongst the graves, I find a bone and I see its human, still brown and fresh and teeming with ants, sucking away the last of the life sustaining bone marrow. I raise my eyes from the bones unto the heavens in despair and finally it comes to rest on the lighted lamp. Somebody had taken the pains to clean their loved ones final resting place. Four fresh red roses, with the dew still damp on them, sat atop the memory stone, in deep respect and mourning for the rested soul. I am touched; love is a feeling so eternal and pure…

I feel the push of the memories from all sides, as strong as a rushing river and as soft as the faintest rustle of leaves on the gravel path leading to the cemetery, Memories fresh as the morning soil dampened by the early morning dew and as old as the holy holy parchments. I feel the love and the care that has gone into each tomb and I see the souls deep below swell with the amount of love heaped upon them. it’s a special feeling to be loved, through time…through all eternity.

I feel the shades of the trees, protecting those asleep, from hard wind and rain and sunshine, and comforting them with the gentle music of their leaves. A lone yellow bird sings sadly to break the weight of the silence all around. I feel a million eyes and a million hearts, all around me, looking lovingly at me as a son, an uncle, a great grandson. I bow my head in deep respect for the sleeping…

I bow my head before love, before never dying ever lasting memories, before the power to move the toughest at heart, the power that makes you humbler than humble, the power of remembrance. I shed a silent tear to all those people resting here whom I have never known and will never know. But one thing I do not doubt, they were good people, good at heart and soul when they lived… To be here at this place where the memories rest, is proof enough.

I walk back, heart filled with sorrow and joy and humbleness. Sorrow at not knowing them, joy at knowing they are in safe hands and humbleness at the magnificence of it all.

Dear lord, make me a better human being that I too, when I die may be buried at a place of memories, where I will be remembered for my good deeds and not hated for my bad ones… amen.

(Written on the day of the funeral of my teachers mother, when I found time and peace on my side, to walk around and feel for myself the silent, powerful, moving gift, of the place where memories are laid to rest…)



{last, but not least, an entry at http://ramblersbloc.blogspot.com/ gave me the final push to put this up on this site. Thanks, lady, for pushing me enough...whoever you are, where ever you are...}