When winning does not count!

Honesty V/S Victory

Spanish runner Iván Fernández Anaya encourages Olympic bronze medallist Abel Mutai of Kenya across the finish line during a cross-country running event in Spain last December. Mutai slowed as he neared the finish line, believing he’d won when he was still several meters from the tape. Realizing his competitor’s mistake, Anaya approached Mutai from behind and motioned him to the proper finishing line. 

Pic courtesy -  http://www.globalpost.com

When I, me, mine is all that matters in this world, incidents such as these come as a breath of fresh air.

The question that comes to my mind is: what would have I done if I was in Ivan Fernandez Ananya’s shoes? Surely, I would have made the most of this godsend opportunity and ran as fast as I could and clinch the Gold Medal for myself. After all, it’s my rival Mutai’s fault, I would think. “How could he commit such a big blunder on an international stage?”

Obviously, when you are losing, when life seems to be at the end of your tether, you give two hoots to values, such as “honesty” and “loyalty.” All that matters is winning. "Do or Die," mindset prevails over.

 But see what Ananya did! Only a man with a golden heart could've managed to make such a magnificent sacrifice. And Ananya obviously had one. It’s a saintly act! Don't you agree? And this is what he had to say after the event: “I didn’t deserve to win it.” “I did what I had to do. He was the rightful winner. He created a gap that I couldn’t have closed if he hadn’t made a mistake.”  

However, Martin Fiz, Anaya’s coach was not happy with his student. He said, “The gesture, undoubtedly, has made him a better person, but not a better athlete and further added: “He has wasted an occasion. Winning always makes you more of an athlete. You have to go out to win.”   

Most of us might agree with coach’s way of thinking. Isn’t it? Anyway, in case Anaya had reached the finishing line first, would that Gold medal mattered to him much?

  

A classic case of God proposing and a man disposing. Hope, the same God bestows him with his choicest blessings.

Hail Fernández Anaya's Honest Spirit   

Jini Maxin

Prayer time huh???

When Worship Becomes Work!

 

                              My prayer time is precariously perched on a high hill;

                          A gust of worldly wind and it gets toppled down with a heavy thud.

But, I  push myself and I  push myself hard(exaggeration);

to pray a little more, to pray a little longer.

But the mental sounds of my mind are too strong,

What about the unattended tasks at hand?

Do I've enough time in hand, to waste my time on God?

Now, my prayer time comes under serious threat.

So, unless I turn my prayers into a "must-do task", I figure, it would be least/or never attended to at all.

Prayer time! Hardly time! So, I've chosen the most pathetic time to pray (and, I 'm pretty stingy at that, just 15min). When half the world is in deep slumber and when I too am groggy with sleep, its time to turn my attention to God.

I kneel down. My knees give away.  My mental and physical stamina has exhausted. So, with one hand on the bed, and the other precariously holding the prayer book, I push myself on my knees, try to retain somewhat of my physical and mental balance; and I start reciting my prayers with great reluctance.

"Why am I punishing and pushing myself to pray?" you might wonder.  Simply because prayers keep me sane.

A Prayer:

Keeps me sane,

Keeps me grounded,

Makes me more human,

Makes me generous,

Makes me charitable,

Makes me kind,

Makes me humble,      

Makes me prudent,

It's a medicine to my misery

But, in the recent years, my prayers have lost intensity. But believe me, I don’t blame myself for this. When you are a busy-body - a full-time employee, a part-time mother cum tutor, a some-time wife, and anytime reader - how on earth do I find some meaningful time for my daily prayers.

Prayers are a gateway to heaven, people say. Granted. It gives peace to mind. Agreed. But where's the time? Half way through the rosary at night and I am not sure whether I am sleeping or praying. My 15 min of prayers start and end in a jiffy. Half of my Lord's Prayers and Hail Mary’s go unsaid. The ones said are lost half way. At the end of it, I ruminate about the emptiness of this whole exercise. But 15 min means 15 min for me - b’coz my heart is willing, but flesh is weak.I hope God will understand. He forgives and forgets, and so he is called God, the Almighty

But, I fear his wrath. For I believe - no prayers, no blessings. Don’t you think a life bereft of blessings will be a curse? I already have a list of must-have blessings in place. I know, only through soulful prayers I could convey them to God.

But where's the time to pray? Only if God understands.

Without a doubt, only a marathon prayer session is a way towards blessings - this is my belief, many might not concur with the same philosophy.  For most, prayer is helping the poor.  For most, prayer is visiting the sick. For most, prayer is all about adopting an orphan and giving a new life. For most, prayer is spending time with the old...the list goes on and on and on. But tell me one thing, from where to we get this mindset from? This humble, generous mindset. I believe it's through prayers. No, no, one's doesn't have to follow a strict schedule for that. Just remembering his name is a prayer in itself.

But for me prayer time is self-analysis, soul-searching, meditation time and all. A time to dwell on my behavior and to better myself.  And, I missing on it big time.   

Keep Praying,
Jini Maxin

  

The Pelican Brief

Title: The Pelican Brief
Author: John Grisham 
Pages: 450
Source: Personal
Last Word - An Engaging Read

After reading Grisham back to back – The King of Torts, The Testament, and The Confession - I thought that Grisham writes with an overwhelming spiritual bend, but The Pelican brief made me think otherwise. This legal thriller turned out to be very different for me. An engaging one though.

The chemistry between Darby Shaw, the protagonist and a law student, and Thomas Callahan, her professor, is pretty interesting. Shaw is a potent combination of beauty and brains. Killer Khamel’s portrayal as a cool, consummate murderer catches your attention. Then there are other characters that come and go by, adding their teeny-weeny bit to the story. As you keep turning the pages of the book you realize it’s a complete filmy masala – yes, a film adaptation of the book was released in 1993 starring Julia Roberts and Denzel Washington. The pace of the book is perfect. The plot is pulling. You don't have to do much to get get drawn into the story.

The assassination of two Supreme Court Justices - Rosenberg and Jensen- shakes the entire country. The President is clueless. The FBI is clueless. The judiciary is clueless. The CIA has begun a wild goose chase. No one knows anything. Anyone and everyone of some social standing is trying hard to nail the culprit. But nothing seems to fall in place. But Shaw, after some thorough research, seems to have found a lead and comes up with a brilliant brief. The brief, called the ‘Pelican brief,’ seems to point fingers at none but President’s close associate and oil tycoon Victor Mattiece. The killers get a wind of what Derby was up to and now she is on their radar. They have already killed her lover Callahan and his friend Verheek. Now it’s her turn. Shaw is on the run. She changes her appearance, her look, her hair, her hotels. But the killers are trailing her. She’s been stalked every day because the killer wants to destroy her - the creator of Pelican brief.

The turning point in the story comes when she pairs up with a Washington Post journalist Grantham Gray to nail the real murderers.

Overall a great read. And, of course, the story about the endangered Pelicans of Louisiana is intriguing, which sets you thinking whether the Pelicans are really facing extinction. This calls for some R & D rightaway.

Countdown for Holi 2014 has begun for me and Aryan!!!

Holi is one helluvafestival that Aryan enjoys to the hilt - of course, apart from Christmas. It's one festival where he gets to brandish his gun and fire at his friends at the same time. Rest of the days, he  stays satisfied playing alone; sometimes holding his black gun and staring at the ceiling or the TV absentmindedly.

Regardless, he was on an unstoppable firing spree on Holi day, which was thankfully a holiday for him. Covered in a splash of colours, he's was the cynosure of all eyes - or should I say, I had my eyes only for him? His chubby cheeks, dimple chin simply made me swoon over him, helplessly.  

With his semester exams round the corner, the festival came as a real stress buster. He wanted me to join him, but, I was too lazy too play along.

Aryan brandishing his blue water gun & threatening his friends

Surrounded by society uncles

All excited and running around

"Come on, mummy, be a sport," Aryan requested, pleaded, and begged. But his mother turned deaf ears. This disappointed him a little.

Yes, I go a little over the edge when it comes to colors. Even the sight of those ghastly colours gives me goose bumps, let alone the idea of having them all over my body.

I was happy to see him play from the sidelines.

He and his grandfather had the time of their lives drenching themselves in water colours.

For me 2013 Holi went away without a trace. Hope, 2014 Holi comes soon. Why? Because, I've promised Aryan that'll play, alongside him. I've promised to share his excitement from now on, because I know down the years he'll have his own gang of friends to hang around, and he won't need me anymore.

Sharing a fun moment with his grandpa

Better late than never.  Yes! The countdown for Holi 2014 has begun for me. 

Hitler Mom!

Recently, I was pillion riding my son to school. Just half-way through, he blurted out, "Mummy, you are Hitler." I was too stunned to respond. Kept quite for sometime and let that accusation sink in.

Aryan is just seven. Maybe he had heard of Hitler on National Geography channel. Maybe he simply blurted out with no rhyme or reason. Maybe he's heard me, call my father Hitler. Where did get this name from? I wondered.

Of course, there's was no question of dropping this matter.

Without taxing my brain any further I decided to question him. "What makes you call me Hitler?" I asked Aryan. 

Hesitation. Obviously, Aryan was absolutely clueless. In other words, "he didn't have answer." He had simply blurted out, but with good reason. Reasons, I was very well aware of. Yes, It was no big deal, piecing this puzzle together; but regardless, his spontaneous blame had hit the right spot on my heart. Aryan may have zero or little knowledge of the Fuehrer, but he knows his mother in and out.

I figure, somewhere in his subconscious level he had started forming negative notions about his mother.

Notions that stem from my constant nagging and bickering. 

Aryan's ruthless mother losing steam!

"Aryan, did you complete your homework?" "Aryan, why haven't finished your classwork?" "Aryan, why can't you write legibly?" "Aryan, why don't you pay attention in the class?" "Aryan, eat less, you're gaining weight?" Aryan, stop watching TV".  The list goes on and on, followed by a chain of slaps and shouts. 

If I was in Norway, I realize i would have been put behind bars for putting my child under so much of pressure.

After those grueling study sessions with my son, I always feel like chopping my hands off. But does that matter now?  Isn't the damage already done?

There is no shortcut to success, they say. Blood, sweat, tears, time, and heart are the recipes for success. So, without wanting, I make Aryan follow his study schedule, strictly. Any detour, and he gets his dose.

But is aggression only way to make your child do what he is supposed to do?

I've promised him that I won't hit him. Then, there is another slap. And he reminds me, I've broken my promise, once again.   

Oh! Lord help me. Help me not to raise my hand on my innocent son, once again.

"When a child hits a child, we call it aggression. When a child hits an adult, we call it hostility. When an adult hits an adult, we call it assault. When an adult hits a child, we call it discipline." — Haim G. Ginot

Cute little Aryan

I just wish I had two of him

I have a cute little son who means the world to me. He fills my days and nights, and every breath I take. Thank you Jesus, thank you so much for this beautiful gift. I just wish I had two of him. So much more to love and care for.

A Lesson in Lies!

Aryan's toothless grin

The other day, Aryan lost his Maths classwork. Naturally, i panicked. His exams were approaching and his teacher might have given him important notes to learn. As always, i was at the school next day, and fortunately bumped into his class teacher right at the school gate. I shared my grievance with her. Thankfully, Kinjal Ma'am promised to help me find the book.

When I dashed home from the office (I always to do that, always in a hurry to reach home), the first thing I asked Aryan was did he find the book. With a sweet, toothless grin on his face and a twinkle in his eyes he waved the notebook at me. I heaved a sigh of relief. Thank God, I said.

On flipping through the pages of the book I realized that this was not his book. It was of some other kid or probably an ex-student's book. More than anything, the writing was pretty good and clear. Aryan scribbles, he doesn't write.

 I told Aryan, "Beta, this book is not yours" .

 "Oh! I told the teacher this is my book. Now what to do? You just copy all the relevant stuff and I'll give the book back," said cute, little Aryan, his face brimming with innocence .

"Who's going to copy all this?" I screamed. "There is so much to write and I don't have time, you know that. Keep this book. In case the teacher gets a wind of it and asks for the book, we'll return it," I added without a second thought.

Whoops!!!The matter was taken care of, I thought.

But on the dinner table, these were 7-year-old Aryan's innocent observations: " I never knew telling lies had its merits and I am repeatedly told not to lie. Why so?" All eyes were on Aryan. Mine, my husband and my in-laws. He's was sitting right at the center of the dining table with a questionable look in his eyes. I tried to explain...but does that matter now? The damage was already done.

Tweaking moral values to suit life situations...Ah...life...life!!!