Love For My Country Vs Love For My Friend
A 10-year-old boy in the US, spent A his short term school break with his grandparents who had moved from India. One evening, watching the news with his grandfather, he found his grandpa crying. Plucking courage, he asked, "Grandpa, why are you crying?" The old man, wiping his eyes with a paper tissue, replied, "My child I have lost a friend. He was murdered, so says the news." "Are you referring to the marabout whom we heard just now?" Grandpa nodded in the silence of grief. The boy was still puzzled. "Grandpa, that man is a Pakistani leader, and you are an Indian, why do you weep?" Grandpa said, "He was my classmate and a friend." Seeing the frown on the child’s face, he thought for a moment. Then he said, "My dear child, history is made up of such stuff. We migrated from Sindh to Bharat, leaving behind everything-our homeland, our beloved sunlit sacred Sindh, our friends and other brothers, who could not join us. We left behind part of our roots, our culture of rejoicing the spiritual waters of River Sindhu. Why? For the love of our country, for freedom from British slavery, we made the ultimate sacrifice. My dear child we lost everything but we kept with us our love for those dear ones we left behind! Some day you will understand that love for the country is higher than the love for friends." The child, too young to tree grasp the dilemma of the partition, started wondering. He had never seen this beautiful side of grandpa. All that he knew about him was that he read Perry ason and laughed with Mark Twain in the afternoon. He joked with his newfound American friends across the lawn. Grandpa had subtly brought out the lessons of history. Here membered much later in life, and he shared these thoughts with his friends when he visited India. He would recount his grandpa's way of recollecting an apt proverb for everything and every situation in life, "Do not confront the storm. Turn your back to it for safety." Or "All love is Sufiyan, at least mine is." Or "Friends are for ever, keep them near your heart even in the autumn or winter" The young boy decided to find out more about the people, his ancestors, who advocated peace and carried love beyond boundaries and found the joy of living in other lands and among other people. But he had to wait till he was 18. Then one afternoon he landed in India. He saw the pain and trauma I eyes of many elderly people he met, they did not speak about it. Instead in dire conditions, they opened Theodor’s offering water and savouries. They carried the fragrance of their region and would shed tears for the friends here as well as all over the w Yes, they had lost their all but retained their Sufiana love and the spirit of Oneness. Heal so understowhy his grandpa said, and proudly, am an Indian American;" emphasises word Indian. Themost beautiful people are the who have known defeat, known surfing, struggle, loss, and found their These persons have an appreciation sensitivity, and an understanding that fills them with compassion,
DISCLAIMER:
The views expressed in the Article above are Aruna Jethwani views and kashmiribhatta.in is not in any way responsible for the opinions expressed in the above article. The article belongs to its respective owner or owners and this site does not claim any right over it.
Courtesy: Aruna Jethwani and Speaking Tree,Times of India
Love For My Country Vs Love For My Friend
A 10-year-old boy in the US, spent A his short term school break with his grandparents who had moved from India. One evening, watching the news with his grandfather, he found his grandpa crying. Plucking courage, he asked, "Grandpa, why are you crying?" The old man, wiping his eyes with a paper tissue, replied, "My child I have lost a friend. He was murdered, so says the news." "Are you referring to the marabout whom we heard just now?" Grandpa nodded in the silence of grief. The boy was still puzzled. "Grandpa, that man is a Pakistani leader, and you are an Indian, why do you weep?" Grandpa said, "He was my classmate and a friend." Seeing the frown on the child’s face, he thought for a moment. Then he said, "My dear child, history is made up of such stuff. We migrated from Sindh to Bharat, leaving behind everything-our homeland, our beloved sunlit sacred Sindh, our friends and other brothers, who could not join us. We left behind part of our roots, our culture of rejoicing the spiritual waters of River Sindhu. Why? For the love of our country, for freedom from British slavery, we made the ultimate sacrifice. My dear child we lost everything but we kept with us our love for those dear ones we left behind! Some day you will understand that love for the country is higher than the love for friends." The child, too young to tree grasp the dilemma of the partition, started wondering. He had never seen this beautiful side of grandpa. All that he knew about him was that he read Perry ason and laughed with Mark Twain in the afternoon. He joked with his newfound American friends across the lawn. Grandpa had subtly brought out the lessons of history. Here membered much later in life, and he shared these thoughts with his friends when he visited India. He would recount his grandpa's way of recollecting an apt proverb for everything and every situation in life, "Do not confront the storm. Turn your back to it for safety." Or "All love is Sufiyan, at least mine is." Or "Friends are for ever, keep them near your heart even in the autumn or winter" The young boy decided to find out more about the people, his ancestors, who advocated peace and carried love beyond boundaries and found the joy of living in other lands and among other people. But he had to wait till he was 18. Then one afternoon he landed in India. He saw the pain and trauma I eyes of many elderly people he met, they did not speak about it. Instead in dire conditions, they opened Theodor’s offering water and savouries. They carried the fragrance of their region and would shed tears for the friends here as well as all over the w Yes, they had lost their all but retained their Sufiana love and the spirit of Oneness. Heal so understowhy his grandpa said, and proudly, am an Indian American;" emphasises word Indian. Themost beautiful people are the who have known defeat, known surfing, struggle, loss, and found their These persons have an appreciation sensitivity, and an understanding that fills them with compassion,
DISCLAIMER:
The views expressed in the Article above are Aruna Jethwani views and kashmiribhatta.in is not in any way responsible for the opinions expressed in the above article. The article belongs to its respective owner or owners and this site does not claim any right over it.
Courtesy: Aruna Jethwani and Speaking Tree,Times of India