Thursday, 22 March 2012

My father ...a guest author on my blog.

Nirja, here's a poem I wrote many years ago in praise of the Indian housewife.

We had never met before but when I
proposed, you consented to be mine.

We had to spend a lifetime together and you
knew me not but, you consented to take the

You were among strangers when I got
you home, yet you consented to hang on.
I could not arrange a honey moon for us, but you consented to remain home to share your personal space with us, the family.

My folks wanted me for themselves, they exluded you, yet you gladly consented to be part of us. 

You have no demands, no needs,
and have consented to be mine forever and
ever in this and many more lives - oh!
thank you my love, I'm so grateful.

In return I pray to God to choose you and
you alone always and every time in our after
life. I can only hope that you will consent
when he asks of you.  

My husband, My hero, My friend

Author: Elizabeth Spoor

Found this lovely poem on the net. As an Air Force wife can't help but identify with it. 

i sit here and think of you day after day
trying to find the right words to say

i know things are hard, i know things are rough
when duty calls, times on our family are tough

its so hard to comfort you so far away
when it feels like our lives are in such disarray

it kills me to watch you walk out the door
knowing your going to a far distant shore

i fear for your safety, i fear for your life
guess that's part of being an army wife

just a bit selfish i may seem to be
but all i want is you home with me

you provide for our family, you keep us from harm
risking your own life, your weapon in arm

you never have any concern for yourself
putting you own fears aside on a shelf

you fight for our country, our freedom, our lives
while still making sure that our family thrives

you always call home every chance that you can
just to make sure that the kids understand

that daddy may have to be away
but that you think of them night and day

even though miles may keep us apart
just remember to carry us deep in your heart

and on those days when you feel all alone
just remember your family is waiting at home

my love is pure and true to the end
you're more than my husband, you're my hero, my friend


I have very few friends, blame it on my upbringing, or the fact that my father was in the Air Force and we never stayed in one place long enough to make many friends.

We have always been a close knit family preferring to keep to ourselves, thus the lack of ability to make long lasting friends. This lack of ability has always nagged me and I have tried to go the extra mile for people I liked. That of course is another topic altogether.

My search for my best friend ended when I met my husband. I talk to him about everything, sharing my innermost sometimes even what may be considered shameful secrets, thoughts and troubles. I am the most comfortable when I am with him and we have a great relationship. He has been a guide and a teacher. He has encouraged me especially through the dark and hopeless times.

He has always been there for me through the thick and thin of it all, through all the travails of life, putting me above all else. I am not the easiest person to live with and like a true friend he has many-a-times advised me on letting my hair down and not create stress all around.

Can a husband really be a wife’s best friend? You may ask. In most cases I treat him like a friend and not a husband when it suits my purpose, especially when I want to talk to him about his family. And above all I forget that he is my husband and I cannot treat him like a human punching bag expecting him to do everything my way. I take him for granted too most of the time as any other friend would and when he does the same to me, I can’t stand it. I am a mass of contradictions and expect him to treat me like a Queen while not reciprocating in kind.

They say marrying your best friend is the secret to a successful marriage. In our case we became best friends after we got married. My husband is my best friend!

Thank you for everything you have done for me dear best friend.

Wednesday, 21 March 2012


As a parent struggling with the challenges of parenthood, this story is truly inspiring. I have always believed that hitting children can never teach them what is good and what is bad. Violence is always a short cut resorted to by most of us to lighten the onerous but very satisfying task of parenting. On the other hand shouting and screaming is also a violent method of controlling children and that is one thing I as a parent have not been able to control. Being firm and shouting at the kids are two very different things. This incident yet again proves that I have so much to learn as a parent.

Dr. Arun Gandhi, grandson of Mahatma Gandhi and founder of the M.K. Gandhi Institute for Non-violence, in his June 9 lecture at the University of Puerto Rico , shared the following story as an example of "non-violence in parenting": 

"I was 16 years old and living with my parents at the institute my grandfather had founded 18 miles outside of Durban , South Africa , in the middle of the sugar plantations. We were deep in the country and had no neighbors, so my two sisters and I would always look forward to going to town to visit friends or go to the movies.

One day, my father asked me to drive him to town for an all-day conference, and I jumped at the chance. Since I was going to town, my mother gave me a list of groceries she needed and, since I had all day in town, my father ask me to take care of several pending chores, such as getting the car serviced. When I dropped my father off that morning, he said, ' I will meet you here at 5:00 p.m., and we will go home together. ' 

After hurriedly completing my chores, I went straight to the nearest movie theatre. I got so engrossed in a John Wayne double-feature that I forgot the time. It was 5:30 before I remembered. By the time I ran to the garage and got the car and hurried to where my father was waiting for me, it was almost 6:00. 

He anxiously asked me, ' Why were you late? ' I was so ashamed of telling him I was watching a John Wayne western movie that I said, ' The car wasn ' t ready, so I had to wait, ' not realizing that he had already called the garage. When he caught me in the lie, he said: ' There ' s something wrong in the way I brought you up that didn ' t give you the confidence to tell me the truth. In order to figure out where I went wrong with you, I ' m going to walk home 18 miles and think about it. ' 

So, dressed in his suit and dress shoes, he began to walk home in the dark on mostly unpaved, unlit roads. I couldn ' t leave him, so for five-and-a-half hours I drove behind him, watching my father go through this agony for a stupid lie that I uttered. I decided then and there that I was never going to lie again. 

I often think about that episode and wonder, if he had punished me the way we punish our children, whether I would have learned a lesson at all. I don ' t think so. I would have suffered the punishment and gone on doing the same thing. But this single non-violent action was so powerful that it is still as if it happened yesterday. That is the power of non-violence. " 

"Forgiveness is giving up my right to hate you for hurting me."