I am not used to "My husband"

Even though we have celebrated our 2nd anniversary (to tell the truth, we forgot that its our anniversary that day;)), even though we have a baby boy who completed 1 year on our aniversary day, I find it strange to refer my husband as "My husband". When ever I have to introduce him to my friends or colleagues, I simply say "This is Shabu". But sometimes its inevitable and we have to add the phrase -"This is my husband". I have never, not even once, felt easy to do that. I feel some kind of strangeness towards Shabu at that time, as though I am introducing a person who is just an acquaintance. Intially I thought I will get used to it. But it looks like I will never get used to it :)

One of my favorite in "mail forwards". A lesson I am trying to master. I haven't made even 2% progress. But on the positive side I have not given up :-)

The Old Fisherman ~ Mary Bartels Bray

Our house was directly across the street from the clinic entrance of John Hopkins Hospital in Baltimore. We lived downstairs and rented the upstairs rooms to out-patients at the clinic. One summer evening as I was fixing supper, there was a knock at the door. I opened it to see a truly awful looking man. "Why, he's hardly taller than my eight-year-old," I thought as I stared at the stooped, shriveled body. But the appalling thing was his face - lopsided from swelling, red and raw.
Yet his voice was pleasant as he said, "Good evening. I've come to see if you've a room for just one night. I came for a treatment this morning from the eastern shore, and there's no bus 'til morning. "He told me he'd been hunting for a room since noon but with no success, no one seemed to have a room. "I guess it's my face... I know it looks terrible, but the doctor says with a few more treatments..."

For a moment I hesitated, but his next words convinced me: "I could sleep in this rocking chair on the porch. My bus leaves early in the morning."
I told him we would find him a bed, but to rest on the porch. I went inside and finished getting supper. When we were ready, I asked the old man if he would join us. "No thank you. I have plenty." And he held up a brown paper bag. When I had finished the dishes, I went out on the porch to talk with him a few minutes. It didn't take a long time to see that this old man had an oversized heart crowded into that tiny body. He told me he fished for a living to support his daughter, her five children, and her husband, who was hopelessly crippled from a back injury. He didn't tell it by way of complaint. In fact, every other sentence was prefaced with a thanks to God for a blessing. He was grateful that no pain accompanied his disease, which was apparently a form of skin cancer. He thanked God for giving him the strength to keep going.

At bedtime, we put a camp cot in the children's room for him. When I got up in the morning, the bed linens were neatly folded and the little man was out on the porch. He refused breakfast, but just before he left for his bus, haltingly, as if asking a great favor, he said, "Could I please come back and stay the next time I have a treatment? I won't put you out a bit. I can sleep fine in a chair." He paused a moment and then added, "Your children made me feel at home. Grownups are bothered by my face, but children don't seem to mind." I told him he was welcome to come again.

And on his next trip he arrived a little after seven in the morning. As a gift, he brought a big fish and a quart of the largest oysters I had ever seen. He said he had shucked them that morning before he left so that they'd be nice and fresh. I knew his bus left at 4:00 am, and wondered what time he had to get up in order to do this for us.

In the years he came to stay overnight with us there was never a time that he did not bring us fish or oysters or vegetables from his garden. Other times we received packages in the mail, always by special delivery; fish or oysters packed in a box of fresh young spinach or kale, every leaf carefully washed. Knowing that he must walk three miles to mail these, and knowing how little money he had made the gifts doubly precious.
When I received these little remembrances, I often thought of a comment our next-door neighbor made after he left that first morning. "Did you keep that awful looking man last night? I turned him away! You can lose roomers by putting up such people!" Maybe we did lose roomers once or twice. But oh! If only they could have known him, perhaps their illness would have been easier to bear. I know our family always will be grateful to have known him; from him we learned what it was to accept the bad without complaint and the good with gratitude to God.

Recently I was visiting a friend who has a greenhouse. As she showed me her flowers, we came to the most beautiful one of all, a golden chrysanthemum, bursting with blooms. But to my great surprise, it was growing in an old dented, rusty bucket. I thought to myself, "If this were my plant, I'd put it in the loveliest container I had!" My friend changed my mind. "I ran short of pots," she explained, "and knowing how beautiful this one would be, I thought it wouldn't mind starting out in this old pail. It's just for a little while, till I can put it out in the garden." She must have wondered why I laughed so delightedly, but I was imagining just such a scene in Heaven. "Here's an especially beautiful one," God might have said when he came to the soul of the sweet old fisherman. "He won't mind starting in this small body."
All this happened long ago - and now, in God's garden, how tall this lovely soul must stand.
Our Lives are not determined by what happened to us, but by how we react to what happens, not by what life brings us but by the attitude we bring to life. A positive attitude causes a chain reaction of positive thoughts, events, and outcomes. It is a catalyst, a spark that creates extraordinary results.

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Awesome :)

Gandhiji and some random thoughts

Today we had a discussion in our cubicle about Gandhiji, father of our nation. There is this "chulbuli" girl in our project who talks non stop about anything and everything. I don't remember how the topic turned to Gandhi, but suddenly she is abusing Gandhi for using Manu and Abha as his support sticks than using two guys in their place. She does not know their (Manu and Abhas) names, has not read any genuine article about Gandhi, still she is abusing Gandhi for his weakness for women. There is one more accusation, that Gandhiji was the reason for Bhagat Singhs death. If Gandhi had asked (begged) British people, they would have released Bhagat Singh. I guess her source of information is this. It pained me deeply. The fact that pained me more is not that she abused Gandhi, but she has very little knowledge about our freedom struggle and that too is maimed.
We Indians are generally biased about any kind of relationship between a man and a woman unless it is an authorized one ( like father - daughter, mother-son, brother-sister, husband -wife). We feel suspicious about any relationships which resides outside this boundry. It is pathetic and rididulous. During college days I had the same feeling as this girl in our project had. I couldn't accept the fact that there will be pure and platonic relationships which resides outside the society set boundaries. One important reason for this firm belief is my mom, who despised anything and everything about a guy-gal relationship. But after coming to bangalore and specially after marriage I have changed a lot. I have realized the truth in the proverb- "If you have jaundice you see everything in yellow" :-)
Coming back to Gandhiji, what right do we (our generation who has never faced a single hardship, other than few heart breaking love pangs ;)) have to abuse a man who is the epitome of all virtues. He could have saved Baghat Singh or not, is something I don't want to comment on because I don't know the facts. But one thing is for sure, had Gandhiji succeeded in saving Bhagat Singh from gallows, he (Bhagat Singh) would have lost his place from our history text books :). I din't try to change her views. There are certain things in life which we have to learn ourselves. But for the first time in my life, I felt ashamed that I am an Indian. Whats the use of being the citizen of a country, which is producing a bunch of robots, who know how to "enjoy" life but doesn't bother to know the price paid for their "enjoyment".
"Mokke Gandhi.." Thats what she called him. Well ofcourse he is stupid, otherwise he would not have cherished such wonderful dreams about this stupid country :)

Natural or UnNatural

There are many things in life which are quiet natural, but considered highly unnatural or disgusting. Best example is a three letter word. But I don't want to discuss it now as it is so much over hyped now a days. Let me stick to simple things :-)
When you are sleepy its natural that you yawn. But you are supposed to say sorry for that. When you are full with food you burp. But again you have to say sorry. The same applies to the other 'embaressing' sounds (;)) produced by our body. There are things which are highly unnatural, like a smile plastered on a nervous face, or the sound of high heeled footsteps or the stupid piercings on different parts of the body. But these doesn't require a tag of 'sorry' along with it. I don't know why we have to apologize for things which we are born with and not for the ones we added on later.