Trip through Grace History

It is a wonderful experience to go through the Grace History of each one from time to time; unfortunately after the initial stages of formation at religious life, most of us do not revisit our Grace Histories; some of us may be fortunate to revisit them when we attend some sort of refresher courses. But luckily our Grace History continues in wondrous and mysterious ways, sometimes we may not even pause to take stock of the ways how we are led by God. We are sure to find the footprints of God in every Grace History, and therefore every Grace History is sacred, not only to the persons concerned, but to everyone, who believe in God. It is part of the Universal Heritage that we leave for generations after us.

Maybe I should explain what I mean by Grace History. This is a ‘narrative’ of each one’s journey in faith, how we had been led by the powerful hand of God through thick and thin, and to realize that we are safe under his wings, to borrow a phrase from the Psalmist. Thus every one’s life story is a Grace-story, and we can be proud of our stories, with all the joyful and sorrowful moments. If we look at the most important and significant moments of our life’s journey, we will realize that there had always been an invisible, powerful hand protecting us from all the dangers we had been subjected to, by our own follies or by the vile plans of others. Grace History in other words shows us our road map, the path we had trodden, and that gives us strength to walk forward.

I wish we get more opportunities to visit our Grace Histories more often, not necessarily to find fault with the people who make our life miserable, nor to blame ourselves for the opportunities we missed, nor to regret for commissions and omissions. I remember some years ago we had begun in our Province, what was called ‘live-in’ meetings, and these were wonderful moments for us. Similar age-group men met together for a heart-to-heart conversation; as we reviewed our journeys, we realized that many of our paths intersected at several points, and we felt deeply moved by the histories of several of our friends, and that brought us closer to one another.

I remember there were times, when some of our friends were sharing their Grace History they were on the verge of breaking down. Narrating our Grace Histories is also cathartic (remember the Greek notion of Catharsis, meaning purging), and it purges us of the impurities, short-sightedness, and help us to remove the dust out of our bright spots, and let the light shine. However it is painstaking to enter into a serious and sincere narration of our Grace Histories, because it involves our own failures and successes, pain and agonies, joys and ecstasies, the role of self and others in the course of the journey. Therefore my Grace History is a tiny bit of the history of this world, history of humanity.

Often in life, we have a tendency to only look at the dark spots of life, and refuse to take note of the bright spots, the spots which had been giving light to our journey forward. Though the dark spots are integral to our journey, they alone cannot make our journey; the light and the shadows together make our Grace History. The dark spots may show to us our action, and the bright spots the action of God, and that is sure to help us realize that we are led forward according to a divine plan, and not merely by chance, as agnostics and atheists might claim. It is a great consolation to realize that I have a Grace History that I can share with others, and that our histories intersect, helping us to walk forward hand in hand.

Dreams, Sweet Dreams!

There were great men and women in the annals of world history, who had great dreams for the world and for their nation; some of the speeches of great men reiterating their dreams have become models of public speech. But unfortunately not all can dream the kind of dream they should dream; there are limitations all around them; their blissful dreams are rudely cut short by hardcore reality, which drags them to confront the misery, despair and hardship they had been trying hard to forget. But that is just one kind of dream that we often hear about, the dreams which shape and mould human beings, and civilizations. For now however I would turn my attention to commonplace dreams.

Is there anyone who does not get dreams while sleeping? All of us, big or small, men or women, Hindu or Muslim, all of us dream, and most often we have no control over what we dream. In other words, we cannot pre-plan and program our minds in such a way that we should get only one kind of dreams. Luckily human beings have not managed to enter into that part of the brain, which controls every one of our dreams. Thank God for them, we are able to get a glimpse of our unconscious and subconscious mind, and are awestruck at the way our dreams project our personality traits, our orientations and our choices. Ultimately our dreams are truly our true selves.

Psychoanalysts and psychiatrists depend a lot on dreams to get to know the mind of their clients; though we cannot swear by analysis of our dreams and their implications in our daily living, one thing is for sure, they have certain layers of our personality which is not known to anyone, living or dead. Sigmund Freud and his disciple Carl Jung had tried to understand dreams, and Freud’s interpretation of dreams is still considered a masterpiece. But what happens when we get up early in the morning with our minds not able to remember the dreams we had lived so vividly a few hours ago? Some say that often there would be a particular pattern in our dreams, which may offer significant clue to our personality.

When a person enters into the alpha stage of sleep, what we may call the deep sleep, then the body, mind and spirit are in unison, and that is the moment when many of the deep-seated traits and elements of our being surface from our un/sub conscious. When we move from that deep sleep to shallow sleep, the dreams part, and we may sometimes have only traces or tailpieces of those dreams. For one thing, we cannot force ourselves to remember and recollect the dreams we had in the morning, and there is no mechanism to cultivate our minds to recapture our dreams. Maybe in the future, scientists will be able to do that, but for now, we have no way of finding it.

Recently one of our senior fathers had narrated some of the most beautiful dreams he had, while undergoing treatment for typhoid; when I asked him if he had dreams, he told me that he did not dream, but re-lived those glorious moments of the past. There was a sweet glow around him, as he began to narrate them (several times) to me. I am trying to recapture one or two of my past events, which can become the tonic for my soul, so that when I am down and unable to cope with reality around me, I can look up to them and draw consolation and solace. I know some of the seemingly insignificant events of my life, but were shaping moments, will one day pop up during sleep and carve a niche in my self, to show light to my path!

Marichjhanpi

Probably I will never forget this name, and there are still more than a thousand men and women who too will never forget this name. The massacre of hundreds of men and women of this lonely island in the Sundarbans in 1979 may not find much mention in the history book of West Bengal, but if we go slow going through the history of Bengal in that year, we may be shocked to know that the voiceless men and women who could be dispensed just because they received the patronage of an opposition party, which was not in power. Police joined the vile tactics of a political leader who has his name in the Guinness Book of records as the longest surviving chief minister in the world. Did the people deserve such a gruesome treatment just because they were refugees?

What can power do to a person is so very conspicuous in the story of Marichjhanpi; human beings are pawns who can be bought and sold, made use of to reach one’s selfish gains. If this game on the lives of people were to continue, there may be hardly enough people to inhabit this world. What the guru had done about 30 years ago, that is what precisely his faithful disciple tried to do in Singur, Nandigram. But if the chief minister was an opportunist, who wanted to remain in the seats of power at the expense of the people, the opposition leader was no different; with her sentimentality going beyond all reasonable limits, she too was trying to sell the sweats and blood of the peasants to get into ministerial berth in Delhi.

The world we live in today seems to be so corrupt that no one can be easily spared; each one of the leaders we have today have a dream which is sure to put the lives of the speechless, voiceless and sightless people into danger. The leaders of today have no hearts; all they have in front of their eyes is power, prestige, and wealth. They would do anything in order to get their dreams fulfilled. It may be hard to find a leader who is prepared to shed his/her sweat, leave alone the blood, for the sake of the people they work for. In that case, I take my hats off for such people’s leader as Medha Patkar, who may sit in hot sun with voiceless people, to stand by the peasants and farmers.

One great consolation in the whole process is that there had been some leaders at the ground, who were prepared to face gun firing, lathi charge, teargas in order to get justice done to the people. They may not have succeeded in reaching their dreams; they may still have lots of grudge against the political systems of today and yesteryears, but one thing is true, their indomitable hope and trust had probably given the much needed stamina for people to face all opposition. These men and women are like stars who brighten up our lives, and thank God there are still men and women of such stature, and it is their sweat and blood which is the vital link between life in its fullness and our lives.

The dark pages of history cannot be easily burnt and be forgotten; they will have to be embraced with all their sweat and blood; it may be too hard for the people who had gone through those bone-chilling days and incidents, and still we have no option. We may only wish that history does not repeat in the case of our future generations. We need to open the dark chapters of each of our histories, full of tear and blood, and relive our past, because out of these pages may emerge phoenix, with new vigor and energy, and that may be enough to change the world. We each one then will have a greater responsibility to fulfill.

The Twelfth Hour Virgins

There are some people who cannot foresee things, and would love to keep things pending until the last hour, and when the hour has come, they get so worried that they either get stomach ache [a psychosomatic disease], or head ache [result of tension in the body and mind], and so would have to be relieved. Yesterday when one of my friends told me that she was wanted to help out a companion of hers to organize the inauguration of a new Formation House, and today my friend said that there were far too many things left undone, kept for the last hour. If my friend had not gone to help her companion, then probably many of the important works would have remained undone. We cannot blame the people who cannot plan out things well ahead of time, and execute them one by one; they may have their own limitations, but we also need to look at the other side of the spectrum.

It may sound judgmental if I were to say that if people who keep important things for the last hour are perpetual procrastinators, a definite sign of disorder in their personal life. This may also imply a tendency to distrust companions and co-staff, to delegate the works that need to be accomplished. Ultimately such people may find enough and more excuses to say why they were not able to complete some of the important works on time, one of the most common and vital is what is known in psychology as the ‘blame game’. They may blame everyone on earth, not sparing even God and nature, the wind and rain.

There is another group of people who prefer to give their best shot when they are kept under pressure. If they are given a month to complete a particular job, probably they may not be able to do it, or their output may not be as satisfactory as when they are given just three days to complete the work. How and why this happens is simple psychology: when they are given a month to complete a job, their energy is diffused and so is also their attention and concentration. When they have just three days to finish the job, then their energy is concentrated on the job, and thus they are able to do a better job. I find myself under this category, and that is not to say that I can work only under such pressure. There are certain jobs which may require on-going monitoring and supervision, which cannot be asked to be done within a few days.

Those who wait for the last minute to get things done, can be very well compared to the five foolish virgins, who had taken their lamps but not the oil, and they realize this only when the hour has come. This parable of Jesus has a lot to teach us. If we had to complete a work or two, because of sheer ignorance or circumstances, it is understandable, and at such circumstances people may not find excuses to justify their failure to do the job. Whatever be the logic or rationale that the people who keep things for the last hour give, we cannot forget the fact that the order and discipline that people have in their personal lives is reflected in their social and community life.

It is said that one of the main reasons for people to keep things pending until the eleventh hour is because they starting addressing a particular task or work from ground zero, and what may bring out better result is when they begin to start from the final result and start working from the end backward. That is what is so very obvious in God’s creation of the world and the history/mystery of salvation. Keeping the end in mind always [and keeping a visual representation of the end in some form or other at a place where the eyes will fall on several times a day, such as in front of the study table or beside the bed,] can be highly rewarding. That may also give the person satisfaction that the end is slowly taking shape, and that itself maybe enough reason for him/her to hasten the completion of the work.

His-story Her-story

Don’t know why, from very young age, I did not like studying history; never paused at any time to think why I had an in-born aversion to history, so much so, when I wrote my first government examination, which included among other subjects history, I was frightened I might fail in history. But God saved me, and I passed with 57 marks out of 100, the least mark in any subject in that examination. And I made up my mind then that I would not venture into the study of history in future, and I had kept my word. I don’t feel drawn to the historical events that have shaped the present world or the nation.

I like story-telling, and had been fond of listening to, paraphrasing and adapting stories from my younger days, and it gives me great joy to weave a story, even if it is just a cock and bull story. While re-telling the story of someone else, I had tried to fabricate my own twists and turns, and that had made the story interesting; sometimes giving credit to some unknown author, I had presented my own story brilliantly and no one doubted the authenticity of the story. I know story-writing and story-telling are not the same thing; they are two different art forms.

By breaking up the word history, one gets the so-called HIS and STORY, and the modern day feminists seem to be arguing why it should be his story and not hers; but my concern is not the sex, whether it is male or female, but about story. History basically is a story told from a particular angle, sometimes from the angle of the victors and sometimes of the vanquished. But it is a story, and all stories have certain truth in them, though the per cent of truth may vary from person to person. History tells a series of stories, oriented towards a particular goal.

In the recent years I begin to understand that history is not a subject which is boring and meaningless; if studied with interest and inquisitiveness, we can gain a lot out of history. I do agree those who forget their history are condemned to repeat it, and if nations and the world at large keep repeating the same mistake committed for ages, it is because people do not take time to study their history, to mark the significant moments which have made their present. If only we look at history as objectively as it is, then much of the problems in the world may find adequate solution.

But can history be objective through and through? We human beings have our own perspectives and leanings, supported by our own ideologies and political and social class we belong to. History often turns out to be like ten blind men touching different parts of an elephant and concluding that elephant is an animal with that particular aspect they had touched and felt; seldom do we come across a narration of history which is all comprehensive, devoid of any subjective leanings. But is it impossible to write such a history? No, it all depends what is the purpose of my presentation of history; if I want to present the history as objectively as possible, then I would make sure that my subjective views are kept at bay. It is a task that I need to embark upon, before it is too late for me to even think of entering into the limitless ocean of history, entwined with time and space.

So What?

The man who made history during the last Olympics in Beijing for the maximum number of gold medals for swimming is in trouble. Michael Phelps from the United States of America has been banned in his home nation for three months for photos which showed him smoking a marijuana pipe. Glory and honor are the greatest enemies of humanity; the more one climbs up the ladder, the lower they go in appreciation of the gifts of life and a sense of gratitude to the human family for paving way for them to reach their heights. Phelps was no humble man as he gathered the gold medals and walked out of the podium; at least he didn’t seem to be so. There was a ray of pride and arrogance, that he is on the top of the world was so very evident in each of his facial expressions. The fact that he had beaten his own record during the previous Olympics put him on a higher pedestal. But that is Phelps.

But the fact is the world has its own share of Phelps, and if we look carefully we may find a dozen of them around us, with different names, shapes, goals in life, and identities. There are people who struggle hard to reach certain heights in life, but once they reach the heights, they look down upon the path they had trodden, and the many people who had pushed him up inch by inch. Every one may become irrelevant and immaterial for them, because they have achieved what they wanted, and they think they are the masters of their situations; but unfortunately nature has its own dynamics to bring down the mighty and haughty, at the same pace they had climbed up. If only the high and mighty realize that life is a not a static moment, but a continuum, where we are pushed and pulled according to different currents, and sometimes we might find ourselves helpless victims of circumstances.

Achievement is a curse on humanity; we tend to attribute every good thing that is happening in our lives to personal achievement, to our sweat and blood. Think of the boy who after doing a short errand, gave a slip to his mother, which said she owed one dollar for the errands; and at the end of the day, the mother made a slip for her son, which enlisted the moments she had carried him in her womb, nursed him in his childhood, keeping awake when he was sick, and after adding up the enormous sum, wrote underneath, Paid in full! We tend to look at ourselves, and not beyond our nose, as it were. Behind every personal achievement, we would notice the sweat and toil of many men and women, the sacrifice of several nameless, faceless persons. In fact, it may be right to say that we do not achieve anything to merit. We are given so graciously that we often fail to take them into account.

Giving due credit to the persons who have groomed and shaped us, and even pruned us in time, is no more in practice in this world of competition. If I were to take a sheet of paper and start putting down the names of all the persons who have made my day today, then probably, I need to go in for several sheets of paper. There is an army of persons involved in my wellbeing. It is because the farmers toil in rain and shine, that I am able to enjoy the fruits of their labor in the bread that eat, not to mention the men and women of the bakery who toil to serve afresh at the table. The sales persons who dare the rain and cold winter to reach it in front of my doorstep. It is an endless list that I will end with. Just think of the shirt I wear, how many people are involved in clothing me properly; but have I ever thought of these people, or have I said to myself I bought it for a price, and I don’t need to think of anyone else!

Today I take a few minutes for myself. From the moment when my parents came together and decided to give life to me up to this moment when I am a grown adult, I would like to think of the different persons who have shaped my life, and groomed me. Many of them are no more, and several others have faded away in my memory. But I do remember many of them, who are still afresh. Let me call each one by name, recollect their face, give an offering of smile, and whisper in their ears, Thank you, you have made me. It is true, a good many of the people who are at the disposal of the world, doing all sorts of odd jobs, so that we may enjoy our days, do not even expect us to be grateful; they do not even look for a nod of approval. But should it make me feel indifferent towards their valuable contribution in my life? At our every stepping stone, we can see the toil and sweat of many, and they are the bread and butter of our every success, achievement. I would like to close my eyes and stand in deep respect and gratitude to the world and her glorious children who have made me what I am. (Brussels)

His-tory

I would like to tell a story, one that is a miniscule fragment of the story of the universe. My story, you will soon realize, is part of the story of every human being, past or present or future. In fact, there is only one story that can be told, and every other story is either an adaptation of that one story, or a re-telling of the same. How can there be more than one story, wherein every human beings appear and disappear at their appointed time and space. You may be surprised to know that my story has no beginning and has no end; it begins abruptly and ends so. Are you wondering why it is so? You may ask the universe, which is the story-teller, and every creature on earth is just a character. If I look at my particular role in the story, I may not get either the head or the tail, because I am part of the whole, and have no existence on my own.

You should pardon me if my role in some way coincides with yours or some one else’s; know that I am not to be blamed for that. You cannot think that is an oversight by the dramatist or the playwright; it is not so. It is intended to be so. You may hear the same songs, same characters, and you may even see the same scenes enacted, re-enacted time and again. You may even be bored to death, and may wish to run away from the hall. But hang on a minute. What you think is a frozen moment at the play is in fact a progressive moment. It may benefit you if you were to drop down you wrist watch at the dustbin over there, and forget for a while the concept of time and space as you are known. Because we are in a different kind of plain, where time is not linear, but cyclical. Here you will see that characters go round in concentric circles, and their movement may be imperceptible to your naked eyes, but remember that they do move ahead. Where do they go? You may never find a satisfactory answer to this question, even as your life comes to an end. That is how the universe moves.

I am the ever old and I am the ever new; how would you define the water of a stream or a river? Is the water fresh or old? Is the water of the sea old or new? We are all flowing with the current of the stream, and we know not with which stream we may join hands. We take along all those whom we may find on the way, the simple, the weak, the selfish, the arrogant, the haughty, the cruel – everyone will have a place in our stream, and that is what gives fresh vigor and strength to the current. Do they spoil and pollute the stream? They have no power to do so, because it is beyond their power to contaminate the waters, because they can only contaminate themselves with the waters, and cannot do so to the waters. There are some who recognize me, and there are many who do not recognize me, and I have no regret towards them. I am no one to condemn or judge them. They will be their own judges in the days to come.

But where is my story? Why have I not begun my story? If you look attentively, you may realize that my story has begun already, though I might sound beating around the bush, without coming to the core of the story. You may wonder, where is the plot - the beginning, the middle and the end! Where are the Aristotelian conflict and the dénouement. I would not be surprised if you find the language of this story complex to you, and the language alien. We are used to stories, which are told from the point of view of the human persons, but here is the story told from the perspective of the universe, and the whole of human race. It is no harm if you do not get the core of the story, and are left in the middle, unable to guess what is happening to the characters. There will be a time, when you will be called to play your part, and then you may leave.

Many are the streams that have joined me over the years, and I bear all of them in my heart; there are the weak and the fragile, the haughty and the proud, the simple and the humble, I bear all of them in my heart, and they will be with me so long there is breath in me. Every time I touch someone, he or she becomes part of me, an extension of myself; I flow into that person, and that person flows into me. There is a mutual flow, enriching each other. Life flows that way; it is never one way. As it moves forward, it also retracts to take along the people she had given birth to. That is why life may seem never progressing, but if you look at from the concentric circles she encircles, you will know that she is on the move. After centuries, you may realize that she is still on the circles, because the circle never comes to an end. Life too may never see an end! (Rome)

Beyond Black and White

Today is a very significant day to every American citizen; the day that needs to be carved with golden letters in the annals of not only American history, but the history of the world. On this day, Barrack Obama ascends to the presidential chair of the United States of America, and this is something that is amazing, significant and noteworthy. Times have changed, and the socio-cultural and political situations around the globe has changed considerably; but some of the deep-seated ideologies and prejudices about certain races and colors have continued to persist, even after centuries. What has been the fate of the Afro-Americans has been the fate of the dalits of the India; though there had been prophets championing the causes of the underdogs (we may as well include the “slumdogs” of the recent film Slumdog Millionaire), the result had not been altogether encouraging. Today as Obama makes history taking reins of perhaps the most powerful nation on earth, we look forward to brighter days ahead.

It is not often that people who are on the fringes of the society rise up to occupy the most prominent chairs in society; there are in-built mechanism in most of the societies to dethrone the people who do not necessarily fit into the pre-fabricated systems. Though victories of these underdogs ascending to top-most posts of the government may be short-lived, due to two opposing poles of attraction : on the one side is the feeling that these men and women may experience, an awkward feeling that they are just misfits in the system, and therefore would be compelled to walk out of the scene themselves; on the other side are the people whose sincere efforts to bring order and discipline in the system may end up with cold shoulders; there may be imperceptible resistance from the people who matter, and those in authority may be turned to blind alleys. Even as they contemplate quitting the scene, they may find themselves outside the system too soon. We are yet to see how Obama perseveres in his battle against the races.

It is obvious that every time a person from the lower rungs of the society climbs up the ladder, there are many who raise their eyebrows, and wonder if it is a mistake; some cannot even believe their eyes and ears. But history is known to reverse the fates of many a men and women, who considered themselves indispensable to history. It is hard for a single man or woman to fight a fierce battle against races, who are soaked in centuries of dominion over the natives. Unfortunately there are many in our society who know only how to be served; they cannot think of themselves as serving others. That is why when it comes to the question of extending an arm of cooperation and collaboration, they feel shattered, and their world crumbles. Today is the day that proves that the Black too have equal rights and opportunities to lead the Whites. What we would very much love to see is a society that goes beyond all sorts of discrimination, on the basis of color or caste, social status or stratification, religion or culture.

There are several men and women who have changed the face of the earth by their sheer grit, and thanks to their tireless service and selfless dedication, today we have a world that still yearns for peace and harmony, strength and stability. It is wrong time for us to enter into a debate about the personal credentials of the leader who is going to occupy the presidential chair; we would not also enter into arguments as to the means by which he had ascended to this position. There are camps for and against, and we would spare them for more volatile debates in schools and colleges, but for now, it shall suffice to look at the traditions the leader brings in to the presidency. Certain aspects of traditions live longer than our breath, and we betray the traditions we behold every time we present ourselves in public. Our speech, mannerism, facial expressions, face-cut, bodily features, smile, everything are here to betray our identity, good or bad. Here then we stand not to condemn anyone or anything, but to behold and ennoble them.

I may not be wrong if I were to say that the universe gets the leaders she deserves. History has seen umpteen leaders, good and bad, selfish and selfless, introvert and extravert; each time phase in history begot her own leaders. Today we pause for a while to bring to mind all the leaders who in some way or other control my life and existence, and to whom I am accountable. There are leaderships at every sphere of my life, religious, cultural, social, political and economic. At the other side of the spectrum, I can see myself in leadership roles, controlling the life and destiny of the people under my care. Sometimes I have the power to care or condemn people, and sadly some of them are under my mercy, and my whims and fancies determine their fate. Today let me reflect for a while, what sort of leader am I, and what do I wish to achieve through this leadership quality that had been bestowed on me. If at any time, I am able to lay down my life, or at least my personal priorities, for the people, then I can be proud to be their leader! (Rome)

Flowing with History

Going through the ancient city of Rome, with all her glory and grandeur, cannot be a mere tourist attraction for a person who looks for life in the midst of lifeless memorabilia of the past. The river Tiber that runs her course almost kissing the everlasting city of Vatican’s St Peter’s Basilica, and the numerous circus (read sports place) of the Roman kings, and the unforgettable catacombs – all these tell one story : story of humanity that lives about 18 centuries back, but whose memory can contribute a lot to the modern generation. Every stone that had gone into the making of these monuments, which today we treasure as opening up vistas in history and archeology, today bear witness to the fact, humanity is here to stay; I am no God to predict that no one can really destroy humanity, but once thing is for sure that the memory of humanity is deeply carved into the heart of the earth, and no season or reason can ever wipe these memories.

Romans have contributed so much to the flowering of human civilization about two millennia ago, and everywhere we go in Rome, we can see it, touch and feel it. We can feel in our bones how history flows into our lives, even when we are quite oblivious of it. Its currents flow high and low, touching the lives of all, people from all walks of life, even those who do not want to be counted part of the pages of history. While going through the catacombs of St Calisto, I was told by the Australian guide that sometimes the catacombs were places where all the underdogs of the society were buried: among those would be victims of infanticide, robbers, barbarians, slaves, hardcore criminals, and the list is virtually endless. All of them found place in the narrow corridors of the secret tombs, and were even remembered by their people; their names were carved on the slabs that sealed their tombs in symbols, and cryptic language. Today it may be hard for us to decipher their identities and know who they really were, except the period of their burial, and in some cases their names; and nothing else. Many of them are for us nameless, faceless individuals, who still belong to the history of our times.

Standing at the magnificent St Peter’s Basilica square for the Pope’s Angelus at 12 noon also gives the similar feeling. More than about ten thousand people thronged at the square, just for a darshan of the pontiff, and to receive his blessings. As he read out his message and greeted the congregation in five different languages, and waved his hands and imparted his blessings on them, what would be these people to him, but tiny dots, assembled far below his bungalow. While I tried to zoom in my digital still camera, it refused to go after a distance, and with the handicam, I could go a little further, but far short of capturing his face, and freeze them to know what he expresses about these crowds which assemble each day, with the hope of having a glance of the man who represents Christ. Nameless, faceless persons still matter to the leaders of the nations, to politicians, and to everyone who think he/she is an asset to this universe.

In fact, everyone who enters into this vast universe and thinks s/he is an indispensable part of the planet or the Milky Way is merely a spec in the ocean; our memories may soon be marred by the tides of time and space. But what part of us lives day after day, year after year, even several centuries after we are gone? Good works? It is hard to say that we may be remembered for our good works after years. We may be imagining too much, if we were to think so. I may then ask myself, what is the role and function of my life in this universe? If my life is but a spec in the vast ocean of time and space, how do I leave my footprints behind? There are people in the society, who move frantically from pillar to post, to find ways and means of leaving their footprints behind in the pages of history; though some succeed to do so, many fail miserably.

Today I would like to bring to my mind all the great men and women who have shaped the world we live in, and take my hats off for them, for making it truly livable. I would also like to remember those simple and ordinary people who in their own way contributed to the world that I behold today – the many people whose name I may not remember, or I might know them only as names and may not have seen them, and pay my humble tribute to them, in the name of the entire universe. Each of them is responsible for the kind of world we enjoy today; if not for them, the world would be quite different. Time holds me today in her hands, and it is my responsibility to make it a better place for those who would come after me to live and cherish every moment they may live in this world. I may be too ambitious if I were to hope to create a beautiful world, without pain and misery, sorrow and despair; that may exist only in the realm of dreams, but it is for me to keep the world as I live today. (Rome)