The Cracked Pot

Thought of putting this one in my blog. Its a beautiful story I read somewhere...probably in of those chain mail forwards. Nevertheless the story is a good one and here it goes.....

An elderly Chinese woman had two large pots, each hung on the ends of a pole, which she carried across her neck. One of the pots had a crack in it while the other pot was perfect and always delivered a full portion of water, at the end of the long walk from the stream to the house, the cracked pot arrived only half full.

For a full two years this went on daily, with the woman bringing home only one and a half pots of water. Of course, the perfect pot was proud of its accomplishments. But the poor cracked pot was ashamed of its own imperfection, and miserable that it could only do half of what it had been made to do.

After 2 years of what it perceived to be a bitter failure, it spoke to the water bearer one day by the stream "I am ashamed of myself, and I want to apologize to you. I have been able to deliver only half my load because this crack in my side causes water to leak out all the way back to your house. Because of my flaws, you have to do all of this work, and you don't get full value from your efforts" the pot said.

The old woman smiled, “Did you notice that there are flowers on your side of the path, but not on the other pot’s side?” “That’s because I have always known about your flaw, so I planted flower seeds on your side of the path, and every day while we walk back, you water them. For two years I have been able to pick these beautiful flowers to decorate the table. Without you being just the way you are, there would not be this beauty to grace the house.”

Moral: Each of us has our own unique flaws. We're all cracked pots. But it's the cracks and flaws we each have that make our lives together so very interesting and rewarding.

Embarrassment & Stuck Zipper

Wifey gone on business trip to US and the initial euphoria of returned bachelorhood gone...life is pretty drab these days....except for one interesting thing which happened recently.

I live in a noveu rich locality with several gated society buildings all around. Somewhere very near to this place is a building which acts as hostel for foreign exchange students mostly from sub -saharan Africa or south east Asia occasionally a Brit or American can be seen also....

There is one department store near our place and everyone comes over here for purchasing daily needs. I being a lazy dumb ass, walked into  the department store in my shorts and Tee one fine Sunday morning to get a pack of mother cow's juices.....

Normally, I care a damn for low fat/skimmed/toned/double toned/quadra zillion million toned milk.....seriously its too damn confusing....for me as long as its white and liquid...its milk.

I picked on a carton of milk and was just coming out of the aisle when I nearly collided with a rather well-dressed, well endowed, tall, slim British-ish woman in a comely lavender dress.

Comprehensive eye make-up was spotted. I am no expert, but I think it was a one-shoulder floor-length dress with a slanted empire waist. Classy indeed.

Unfortunately my milk carton had fallen down and the British-ish lady picked it up for me. “There you go,” she said, handing over the milk carton.

I barely managed a Thank U.........I was using small words because I was holding my stomach in.

She turned around and was about to walk away, when she turned back and said if I could help for a second.

“O… K…” I said struggling due to lack of oxygen.

I am not making the rest up.

“Can you zip me up please. I think it is stuck.” She looked tremendously embarassed

But my embarrassment was making her embarrassment look like an amateurish embarrassment who practised being embarrassed only for occasional office embarrassment tournaments.

I noticed, the offending zipper was a tiny one stuck halfway between her waist and her under-arm, leaving a few inches of her dress open on the side.

I sheepishly pulled up the zipper a couple of times. Nothing happened. And then I held the dress and she pulled the zipper.

Nothing.

Then I pulled down on the zipper in order to do the old “rezip with momentum” trick. Which is when I realised that the zipper went all the way down.

At this point of time my embarrassment would have probably made George Bush Jr.'s embarrassment at not finding WMD with Saddam look puny....

kept at it for another 5 mins. The bloody thing would run smoothly to a apoint and then simply get stuck.

Eventually we realized that our relationship was going nowhere.

"Maybe I should go find a woman to help me…” she said, opening a whole new can of mental worms.

“I am sorry I am so bad at this…” I said.

And then we parted on amicable terms. I turned around and ran out of the store clutching my milk carton and gasping for air.

Moral of the Story -  Should have been a little thinner so that I could hold my breath for some more time :)

Wifey Flying

Wifey flying to onsite and yes that means US of A on Sunday i.e. 26 June 2011. Am not sure, whether I should feel happy or sad. I guess am happy-sad or sad-happy.
I am happy-sad because I am happy for her to get the opportunity to travel onsite and I am sad because that means I am going to be all alone for the next half year. :) :(

I am sad-happy because she will be sad once the initial euphoria fades out and she will have to slog it out and I am happy as I will be able to relive my bachelorhood again for 6 months. :( :)

That Time Of The Year

Its that time of the year....which makes every Indian wonder...No not about the date of arrival of the rain laden monsoon clouds....Well we Indians are an agrarian society so we do think about the monsoons. But this time there's something else coinciding with the thoughts of the approaching rain. Its the rain of money......Yes...u heard right...money....... the time of the year has finally arrived when every Indian dreams that he will be washed with this rain of money....free money at it.....On Second thoughts, well not completely free, the damn government will take 30% of it....but that still leaves enough.....for them to become the next rich man/woman.

You can feel the buzz in small town India like the distant rumble of thunder marking the onset of the monsoons. KBC and Big B are coming back on Television.  Yes, KBC is coming soon and the lines have opened for the initial round of questions which need to be answered by SMS. The last year was especially good for KBC with Big B coming back after a hiatus. The show was catapulted with stratospheric ratings. The sight of the common man coming into the show with nothing and going back rich became an all too common site. Big B with his baritone and the ubiquitous Computer ji won everyone heart. One episode that remains stuck in my mind had a young marwari stapling of a boy who had come on the show last year. He had taken a loan of 17000 bucks from his uncle so that he would spend it all on sending SMS's to the show. Before Big B had even asked the first question, the boy had said, I am a marwari and I will make a profit on my investment of 17000 bucks. Profit, he did make a handsome profit by earning 25,00,000 bucks. The boy, I can say in a way showed the way to play the game show.

Last year, I had been lucky in a way because I had taken ill and had been hospitalized when the show, KBC, began. This meant I was bedridden and with no other work, got to see all the episodes of KBC. I had been an avid quizzer all throughout my life, including un-disputed champion of university for 3 straight years. My wifey had been very busy those days, what with office as well as all household chores. But she did find time to watch the show on some of the nights. She was mighty impressed with me when I used to answer the questions asked during the show. But I had forgotten my wifey is a Sindhi and Sindhi's are second only to Marwari's when it comes to money acumen. She has taken the onus of sending me to KBC this time around and this means she stays awake till midnight everyday to listen to the daily question of KBC qualifier which comes sometime around midnight everyday. This despite, she has to wake up at 7:00 AM in the morning to go for office. This a big and by big, I mean really BIG deal because my wifey loves her sleep. She waits patiently for the question and then after deciding on the correct answer begins with her ritual. Yes, a ritual, every day 10 SMS's are sent from my mobile numbers in response to the questions put forth by Big B for the KBC qualifiers. This means my phone bill increases by 50 bucks daily for each SMS costs 5 bucks. I am a relative low user of mobiles (many of my friends would vouch for this... ;-) ) that means my phone bills are shooting off the roof these past few days......

I am sure, the white collared IIM boys on the payroll of Mr. Sunil Mittal while performing the month on month graphical analysis of my mobile phone bill this month would be very happy. I shudder to think, if wifey had watched the episode of the Marwari boy who had taken the loan to send SMS's, what my bill would have been ......

Fags.....Cigarette......Bayinsi....Dhala Bayinsi......Smoke

Smoking....Oh! it would surely make me appear cool...in my otherwise nonentity status....that’s what I had thought as I had dragged on my first puff.  I had seen the other cool guys from school chewing tobacco and even boozing and they sure were deemed cool and the girls too were attracted to them. Me, I was the inconspicuous guy..the quintessential looser, who was average in studies but lacked in sports and extracurricular activities. Extracurricular activities for me, meant loaning another novel from the school library and reading it. Oh!! How much I wanted to emulate the success of these other chaps at school. I mean who wouldn't mind a girl or two in your arms during lunch breaks...lolz....Teenage is the age when I guess we try extra hard to appear cool...and this is the same trap I fell into....

I still remember that day or night I should say. We were returning from Mr. Dinakar's tuition at Tulsipur in a cold wintry evening when I was in class 10 and was all of 16 years old. I had a friend from SCB Medical School, named Chandra and both of us had been debating about the pros and cons of fags for over a month. Although we knew that the cons weighed more than the pro's we still headed for the pro...i.e. the decision to take a fag in our own hands. I guess, both of us had already made the decision in our minds. So that evening both of us were hardly paying attention in the tuition classes. We were just waiting for the clock to strike 8:30 PM...so that we could run out. Run we did...and Chandra took 5 bucks from me to purchase two fags and we headed to the secluded Indoor Stadium area. Without further ado, we lighted our fags and after the initial bout of coughing, tried out different styles of holding the fags...and blowing out the smoke....Satisfied that we had scaled the Mount Everest and were the two latest studs of our batches in our respective schools we returned home..... Maybe I was the nice guy, I don't know what…..but I refrained from smoking again...or may be with the paltry pocket money I got, I thought it wiser to spend on novels....Nevertheless my good boy behavior did not last for long. College came and with it came more peer pressure along with the freedom. Left, right and Center, everyone was smoking.....and that was too much to see. After all I had grown up now and I was in college and surely a fag or two won't do much bad to me. On the contrary a cigg in my hand would make it easier for me to jump from boyhood to manhood..... That’s what I thought....So soon enough, I picked back up the cool stick or "Bayinsi" or "Dhala Bayinsi" as it was called then as a code word. (Bayinsi stands for flute and Dhala stands for White).

It’s been 15 years since I first had a fag and it has stood by me through thick and thin. I have been through ups and downs of life and my fag has given me the company....Starting off with Wills Filter Navy Cut and progressing to Classic Regular/Marlboro, my brands have grown along with my status in life......But now everyone seems to be ganging up against the both of us, i.e me and my fag and trying to persuade me to stop sucking on it. Then, some dumbass scientist discovered Cancer and second hand smoke and ruined all the fun. Damn!! I don't want to leave my fags.....I mean why does the only thing which gives me instant happiness have to be so bad. But now I know, it’s not going to be easy to leave the habit. It’s now ingrained inside me, my body will revolt if I leave my fag. Like a spurned lover, my fag will cause my body to revolt against me..... I will feel ill and nauseated.....I will become fatter as I will crave for more food......But now I have decided to curb my habit.....But just that my lover understands, I am not going to entirely ditch her. I will smoke, but within limits....and only on occasions.....Let’s see if this World No Tobacco Day....I can kick off my fag.........

Encouragement and Its Wonders

This is a story from the times of World War II.

Two men, both seriously wounded in the battle fields of Normandy, occupied the same hospital room. The first man had broken his spine while Para-dropping from a plane over the battle field that would paralyze him for the rest of his life, while the second man had many grievous wounds caused by shrapnel’s. The second man was allowed to sit up in his bed for an hour each afternoon to help drain the fluid from his lungs. His bed was next to the rooms only window claimed the man to his new room partner, the first man. The first man had to spend all his time flat on his back due to his spinal injury. The men struck a friendship and talked for hours on end. They spoke of their wives and families, their homes, their jobs, their involvement in the military service, where they had been on vacation.

Every afternoon when the man in the bed by the window could sit up, he would pass the time by describing to his roommate all the things he could see outside the window. The man in the other bed began to live for those one hour periods where his world would be broadened and enlivened by all the activity and color of the world outside.

The window overlooked a park with a lovely lake. Ducks and swans played on the water while children sailed their model boats. Young lovers walked arm in arm amidst flowers of every color and a fine view of the city skyline could be seen in the distance. As the man by the window described all this in exquisite detail, the man on the other side of the room would close his eyes and imagine the picturesque scene. This motivated him to concentrate on recovering and gaining control of his paralyzed body.

One warm afternoon the man by the window described a military band parade passing by. Although the other man couldn’t hear the band – he could see it in his mind’s eye as the gentleman by the window portrayed it with descriptive words.

Days and weeks passed.

One morning, the day nurse arrived to bring water for their baths only to find the lifeless body of the man by the window, who had died peacefully in his sleep. She was saddened and called the hospital attendants to take the body away.

As soon as it seemed appropriate, the other man asked if he could be moved to the bed where his erstwhile friend slept. The nurse was happy to make the switch, and after making sure he was comfortable, she left him alone.

Summoning all his willpower and strength he slowly, painfully, propped himself up on one elbow to take his first look at the real beautiful world outside that his friend used to describe. To his utter amazement, he found that he faced a blank wall. When the doctors and the nurses saw him moving, they declared it a miracle of sorts. But the man appeared distraught and sad. The man finally asked the nurse what could have compelled his deceased roommate to lie and described such wonderful things outside this window

The nurse responded that the man was blind and could not even see the wall.

She said, "Perhaps he just wanted to encourage you."

Moral: A word of encouragement during a failure is worth more than an hour of praise after success

Hospitals and Fantasies

Before you begin..lemme confess this is an A rated story...so read on at your own discretion..... :)

Hospitals and Fantasies.....might sound strange but to me they sound perfectly normal...lolz.....Hospitals scare the shit out of me.... I had my fair share of Hospital visits during my 20 something years of life.....but never for myself.....no wait..i had been once for a surgery as a kid...but thats another blog post....I had had many visits to the hospital, courtesy ailing grandparents and cousins of the extended family producing babies at the rate which was scary.....but that was all... I had never myself slept on a hospital bed....nor had I been checked upon by a doctor ever...apart from Dad...My Dad was the marvel of the family....the only doctor among 5 other siblings all of whom turned out to be engineers.... Dad being a marvel...meant he was the family Dentist/Obstetrician/Surgeon/Pathologist/Neuro Surgeon/Dermatologist/Psychiatrist/Urologist/Oncologist/Gastroentrologist.....but primarily a Dentist. He was the all in all doctor for the whole family.....while teeth were his forte, he could dish out advice for any ailment under the sun...from cures to pimples for cousins in line for marriage to aunties having stomachaches to be confirmed later as yet another case of pregnancy.....lolz

Last year, I moved to Chennai and after the relative gorging on Chicken the favorite non-veg of north India, I got a chance to gorge myself on sea food in South India. Gorge I did....a little too much I guess.... I suffered from a viral/bacterial/fungal infection (Doctors couldn’t pinpoint it)....which soon threatened to become life threatening....When fevers of 105.....did not subside for 3 days.....I had to be admitted to a Hospital.....Hospital!!! I got the heebi jeebies when I learnt from wifey that she was taking me there......I was too weak to say no and became unconscious....I woke up when the damn doctor stabbed my arm with a syringe.....Damn you doctors and damn your weapons of choice...the bloody syringes.....I mean the soldiers and come to think of it even the terrorists are better off death masters....they have impressive weaponry to boast off and you can at least see your death approaching with AK 47’s, Beretta’s, Bazooka’s, Grenades, Rocket Launchers....but doctors with their tiny syringes...Nah!! Never!!! Not!!!

I had to be there for over 7 days.....but the damn syringes, the bloody blood/platelet transfusion and the colorless IV fluids did start to take effect and my fever subsided.....Hospitals are  places of miracles and their halls are frequented by Gods who snatch life from the jaws of death everyday.....but nevertheless they also form the background for many a child's fantasy.....Yeah! U heard me right....erotic fantasy.....lolz......Don't fret and start passing judgements on me.....I mean come'on where else do you get to see girls....wearing short skirts in India....and especially in a more conservative place like Orissa......Thank God...Dad was a doctor and that meant I got more opportunities to go to hospitals....lolz.....But in my case the hospital being in Chennai.....none of the nurses were the pretty girls I had been dreaming off....Of course....my libido was working fine...for God's sake....I was unwel...but my loins still stirred ;-) but alas!!!! my fantasies of frolicking with nurses was going to remain a fantasy...lolz...

PS: The day wifey reads this line...she's gonna kill me.....because when I myself had started thinking about heavens and the apsaras and angels...she was the one who stood beside me steadfastly, took care of me and brought me back on my feet.....

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