He was taking a stroll along the path that ran around the trees and the shrubs of the open grounds in Teen Murti, the official residence of the Prime Minister. Then he heard the cry of a baby. Where did it come from? Nehru stopped, looked all around. His eyes focused on a baby of two months, howling at its top. Nehru went closer. Where was the mother? She was nowhere around. Nehru guessed that the baby's mother must be working on the grounds. She must be a member of the team of gardeners who worked at Teen Murti. She must have put the baby to sleep and gone to the work spot. More he went on with the guessing game, louder and louder became the cry of the baby. Nehru decided to play mother to the child. He walked close to where the child lay, bent, picked the baby in his arms and rocked it gently. The child's wails ebbed and petered off. A toothless smile lit up its lips. That was a smile that cheered Pandit Nehru. He played with the baby, tickled it, had fun time till the baby's mother, covered with dust and sweat ran in. She could not believe her eyes. Her beloved child was in Pandit Nehru's arms. And he was having fun time in its company. For the mother, it was her proudest moment ever. Her baby had been rocked and soothed by none else but the Prime Minister of India.
Grateful thanks to creative.sulekha.com.
Interesting
Anecdote from Mahatma Gandhi’s Life from
'An
Autobiography or The Story of My Experiments with Truth'
“Two other incidents belonging to the same
period have always clung to my memory. As a rule I had a distaste for any
reading beyond my school books. The daily lessons had to be done, because I
disliked being taken to task by my teacher as much as I disliked deceiving him.
Therefore I would do the lessons, but often without my mind in them. Thus when
even the lessons could not be done properly, there was of course no question of
any extra reading. But somehow my eyes fell on a book purchased by my father. It
was Shravana Pitribhakti Nataka (a play about Shravana's devotion to his
parents). I read it with intense interest. There came to our place about the
same time itinerant showmen. One of the pictures I was shown was of Shravana
carrying, by means of slings fitted for his shoulders, his blind parents on a
pilgrimage. The book and the picture left an indelible impression on my mind.
'Here is an example for you to copy,' I said to myself. The agonized lament of
the parents over Shravana's death is still fresh in my memory. The melting tune
moved me deeply, and I played it on a concertina which my father had purchased
for me.
There
was a similar incident connected with another play. Just about this time, I had
secured my father's permission to see a play performed by a certain dramatic
company. This play Harishchandra- captured my heart. I could never be tired of
seeing it. But how often should I be permitted to go? It haunted me and I must
have acted Harishchandra to myself times without number. 'Why should not all be
truthful like Harishchandra?' was the question I asked myself day and night. To
follow truth and to go through all the ordeals Harishchandra went through was
the one ideal it inspired in me. I literally believed in the story of
Harishchandra. The thought of it all often made me weep. My commonsense tells
me today that Harishchandra could not have been a historical character. Still
both Harishchandra and Shravana are living realities for me, and I am sure I
should be moved as before if I were to read those plays again today.”
—Mahatma
Gandhi, An Autobiography or The Story of My Experiments with Truth.
A
DREAM OF DEATH
"I do not know if the sacrifice of Mr. Ganesh
Shankar Vidyarthi has gone in vain. His spirit always inspired me. I envy his
sacrifice. Is it not shocking that this country hasnot produced another Ganesh
Shankar? None after him came to fill the gap. Ganesh Shankar's Ahimsa was
perfect Ahimsa. My Ahimsa will also be perfect if I could die similarly
peacefully with axe blows on my head. I have always been dreaming of such a
death, and I wish to treasure this dream. How noble that death will be,—a
daggar attack on me from one side; an axe blow from another; a lathi wound
administered from yet another direction and kicks and abuses from all sides and
if in the midst of these I could rise to the occasion and remain non-violent
and peaceful and could ask others to act and behave likewise, and finally I
could die with cheer on my face and smile on my lips, then and then alone my
Ahimsa will be perfect and true. I am hankering after such an opportunity and also wish Congressmen to remain in search
of such an opportunity."
— Message sent by Mahatma Gandhi on the occasion of
the celebration of the anniversary of the martyrdom of Shri Ganesh Shankar
Vidyarthi,
Every morning in Africa,
a gazelle wakes up.
It knows it must outrun
the fastest lion
Or it will be killed.
Every morning in Africa,
a lion wakes up.
It knows it must run
faster than the slowest gazelle
Or it will starve.
It does not matter whether
You are a lion or a gazelle.
When the sun comes up,
you would better be running.
Isaac Asimov, one of the great science story writers, once wrote, “In 1939, at the age of 19, I wrote my first robot story. I had changed the world and I did not know it. In 1950, someone took my first nine robot stories and put them together in a book. A gentleman named, Joseph Engel Berger, read and was inspired with a life long desire to build robots. He has since become world’s leading manufacturer, installer and maintainer of these machines and he makes millions – He gives me all the credit but keeps the money.
Courtesy : Science Express
