Dealing with a Tragedy

 

SHARED THOUGHTS – 18.09.2015

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Dealing with a Tragedy.

 

Happiness is the time interval between two sorrows, it’s said. Everyone wants to be happy all the time. All prayers are focused on to be happy  healthy and prosperous all the time. But does it really work that way? If the prayers are for happiness, then it is a recognition that tragedy is a part of life. The prayer is only to get the time interval extended to the maximum between two sorrows.

 

Everything starts small and then gets bigger…except for tragedy, which starts big then gets smaller.  And this is some reward from God to us. At some point in life, everyone deals with tragedy.. it’s just a question of when.

 

Normally when a tragedy occurs, it will create fear and sadness, regardless of what it may be. There is the tragedy of losing dear ones, loss of wealth, or loss of a person’s confidence or yet, a persisting tragedy we did not expect, even a misunderstanding with a loved one affecting cordial relationship is a tragedy of sorts, depending upon how close the relationship is.

 

We must deal with this type of life’s surprise with calmness and deep thought on how to get out of it with the least psychological and material losses. This can only happen with patience and by measuring all probabilities and reflecting on our life in all aspects.

 

But sadly the truth is that when struck with a tragedy, especially of a loss of someone held very dear, the senses of reason, patience, calmness, sobriety - happen to be the immediate casualties. The mind and body are seized of the tragedy that right thinking is the last thing to prevail. At some point of time, much later, maturity has to triumph over imprudence . This will prove to be the saving grace for the affected parties. When tragedy strikes, people give up hope that they can expect anything from life, whereas the real question is finding out what life expects from them. It’s the tragedy of loving… “you can’t love anything more that something you miss”.  

 

There are those who are living and it is for them then that our grief must give way to reason and love.

 

Tragedy of lesser proportions are to be immediately addressed in the interest of maintaining good relations. Where this becomes real tragedy is, when Ego and False Pride are given undue importance clouding the real issues, which may be so small, that one sitting would be adequate to iron out the differences, sans ego.

 

A single moment of misunderstanding is so poisonous, that it makes us forget the hundred lovable moments spent together, within a minute. If this happens, then this is a real tragedy within the living & loved ones. 

 

We are not angels that only say ideal things and only do good things. We are but humans who can err in our reactions to a situation.

 

When we meet real tragedy in life, we can react in two ways – either by losing hope and falling into self-destruction habits, or by using the challenge to find our inner strength. Thanks to the teachings of Buddha, I have been able to take this second way.

Dalai Lama.

 

The tragedy is the occurrence of what was not accounted for; against our aim, opposite to our wishes, and does not agree with our happiness and peace of mind.

It would be wise to remember that any tragedy occurs without warning, big or small. Our response or reaction to a tragedy will determine, if we are going to overcome and survive that phase. Human life is a combination of Tragedy and Comedy, they say.  Comedy if we can reduce the impact and where good sense prevail. Tragedy if we continue to or unable to escape the impact and face the change.

 

There are hundreds of prayers and books that teach us the importance of Acceptance. One such is the prayer of Serenity which is too very beautiful and applicable on all occasions where sincere recital of this prayer assures one of calm thinking. 

 

“Lord, Grant me the Serenity

To accept the things I cannot change,

The courage to change the things I can,

And the wisdom to know the difference.

 

There are tragedies that cannot be avoided or prevented such as losing loved ones and can be only dealt with in patience and nothing else, and the acceptance that whatever is gone will not return, regardless of what we say or cry, but days will heal us.

 

Yet, there are repercussions of tragedies (of lesser proportions) that can be controlled by steadying our steps and their expected impact, and the more realistic we are in running our lives affairs, the more balanced our reactions will be. 

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She was a poor woman - a widow who had braved many a calamity in the course of her life. Misfortune and tragedy had dogged her footsteps. And yet, she always wore a lovely smile on her face. Serenity seemed to envelop her presence; and peace dwelt in her heart.

 

Everyone who met her marvelled at her courage. How could she remain so calm and serene amidst the turbulence of her life? What was the secret of her inner peace?

 

To those who asked her these questions, she replied, "All the water in the sea cannot make a ship sink. But if the water gets inside the ship, it soon sinks without a trace. So it is with sorrow. Sorrow cannot drown you unless you allow it to get inside you!"

 

How true it is that we can float safely on the sea of life as long as we don't allow our sorrows and troubles to get inside us! For, if we do, we will surely drown in the depths of depression.

 

Thanks to Jimmy 

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Have a safe & peaceful week ahead.

 

MOHANDAS KIZHAKKE.

http://mohandas-sharedthoughts.blogspot.com/

Teachers Day. A tribute to teachers.

SHARED THOUGHTS – 05.09.2015

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Today is Teachers’ Day. A day to remember our good old teachers, whether they would listen to our memories of them, or if they are in memoriam. Each one of us can recall a teacher or two, favourites then at school or college, favourites since then. We may have talked about them to our friends since then, to our children and their friends and now to our grand children as well. Generations to follow would remember in awe the favourite teachers of an era.

 

Thus the longevity of a loved teacher far exceeds their life time and beyond that of any other profession. The recollections are steeped in awe, reverence, gratefulness, besides being perennially thankful for being a mentor.

 

In India, the place of a Teacher is above God and next only to Mother, Father. From the early stages, we are taught to venerate Mother Father Teacher and God in that order. I dedicate this dispatch to the honorable teachers I revere and also to the loved teachers within my family and friends circle.

 

Today, I read in the news, of a couple who raised seven daughters to become teachers. From the time of the first born, it was planned that she would become a teacher. That she did grow up to be one, speaks volumes of the parents unstinted support and guidance to achieve their dream.. now multiply this by seven.. and you have a sort of seven wonders of the world!!

 

In my own life, I owe an incredible debt to a pair of teachers who shaped me to be something I can myself live with.

One good teacher in a lifetime may sometimes change a delinquent into a solid citizen. ..Philip Wylie.

 

In tribute to their memory, I must name them here, loud and clear, no matter the zillion times my family and friends and children may have heard of them.

 

Late Satyanarayana drove the devil out of me that hated two plus two and beyond…and all of a sudden Mathematics became a friend … for life.

Late Gururaja Rao helped tame the nuances of a complex language English that today, I can think and talk better in English than my mother tongue.

 

The subtleties and intricacies of these two subjects can be comprehended by one only if there is a love for the subject instilled, rather than pumping down the throat all the formula that can only result in one big throw up of disgust and fear for the subjects that will stay for life. What they did was, they INVOLVED us in the teaching of the subject. They taught us less and allowed us to learn more. That’s the magic, missing today. Everything is being taught, with notes and guides, leaving no room to learn.

 

Tell me and I forget, teach me and I may remember, involve me and I learn. .. Benjamin Franklin.

 

A teacher is an inspiration without being inspired by the students. The students would really appreciate their teachers’ role in mentoring only much later in life. Today my respect to the teachers I hold dear is in relation to the quality of the teachers that I see now and their abysmally low level of commitment to the students. I feel privileged to admit that the exceptions are those who we hold dear in life, just about a handful that we can recall with affection and respect. 

 

In this context, I recall reading Heart of a Teacher, a treasury of inspiration, that’s made of stories about how teachers made a difference in the lives of their students.

 

Giving below, a beautiful story of Mark Eklund written by Sister Helen Mrosla. It’s one you won’t forget.

Mark Eklund. He was in the first third grade class I taught at Saint Mary's School in Morris, Minnesota. All 34 of my students were dear to me, but Mark Eklund was one in a million. Very neat in appearance, he had that happy-to-be-alive attitude that made even his occasional mischievousness delightful.

Mark talked incessantly. I had to remind him again and again that talking without permission was not acceptable. What impressed me so much, though, was his sincere response every time I had to correct him for misbehaving. "Thank you for correcting me, Sister!" I didn't know what to make of it at first, but before long I became accustomed to hearing it many times a day.

One morning my patience was growing thin when Mark talked once too often, and then I made a novice teacher's mistake. I looked at Mark and said, "If you say one more word, I am going to tape your mouth shut!" It wasn't ten seconds later when Chuck blurted out, "Mark is talking again." I hadn't asked any of the students to help me watch Mark, but since I had stated the punishment in front of the class, I had to act on it. I remember the scene as if it had occurred this morning. I walked to my desk, very deliberately opened my drawer and took out a roll of masking tape. Without saying a word, I proceeded to Mark's desk, tore off two pieces of tape and made a big X with them over his mouth. I then returned to the front of the room. As I glanced at Mark to see how he was doing, he winked at me. That did it! I started laughing. The class cheered as I walked back to Mark's desk, removed the tape, and shrugged my shoulders. His first words were, "Thank you for correcting me, Sister."

At the end of the year, I was asked to teach junior-high math. The years flew by, and before I knew it, Mark was in my classroom again. He was more handsome than ever and just as polite. Since he had to listen carefully to my instruction in the "new math," he did not talk as much in ninth grade as he had in third. One Friday, things just didn't feel right. We had worked hard on a new concept all week, and I sensed that the students were frowning, frustrated with themselves and edgy with one another. I had to stop this crankiness before it got out of hand. So I asked them to list the names of the other students in the room on two sheets of paper, leaving a space between each name. Then I told them to think of the nicest thing they could say about each of their classmates and write it down. It took the remainder of the class period to finish the assignment, and as the students left the room, each one handed me the papers. Charlie smiled. Mark said, "Thank you for teaching me, Sister. Have a good weekend." That Saturday, I wrote down the name of each student on a separate sheet of paper, and I listed what everyone else had said about that individual.

On Monday, I gave each student his or her list. Before long, the entire class was smiling. "Really?" I heard whispered. "I never knew that meant anything to anyone!" "I didn't know others liked me so much." No one ever mentioned those papers in class again. I never knew if they discussed them after class or with their parents, but it didn't matter. The exercise had accomplished its purpose. The students were happy with themselves and one another again.

That group of students moved on. Several years later, after I returned from vacation, my parents met me at the airport. As we were driving home, Mother asked me the usual questions about the trip, the weather, my experiences in general. There was a lull in the conversation. Mother gave Dad a sideways glance and simply said, "Dad?" My father cleared his throat as he usually did before saying something important.

"The Eklunds called last night," he began. "Really?" I said. "I haven't heard from them in years. I wonder how Mark is." Dad responded quietly. "Mark was killed in Vietnam," he said. "The funeral is tomorrow, and his parents would like it if you could attend." To this day I can still point to the exact spot on I-494 where Dad told me about Mark.

I had never seen a serviceman in a military coffin before. Mark looked so handsome, so mature. All I could think at that moment was, "Mark, I would give all the masking tape in the world if only you would talk to me." The church was packed with Mark's friends. Chuck's sister sang "The Battle Hymn of the Republic." Why did it have to rain on the day of the funeral? It was difficult enough at the graveside. The pastor said the usual prayers, and the bugler played taps. One by one those who loved Mark took a last walk by the coffin and sprinkled it with holy water. I was the last one to bless the coffin. As I stood there, one of the soldiers who acted as pallbearer came up to me. "Were you Mark's math teacher?" he asked. I nodded as I continued to stare at the coffin. "Mark talked about you a lot," he said.

After the funeral, most of Mark's former classmates headed to Chuck's farmhouse for lunch. Mark's mother and father were there, obviously waiting for me. "We want to show you something," his father said, taking a wallet out of his pocket. "They found this on Mark when he was killed. We thought you might recognize it." Opening the billfold, he carefully removed two worn pieces of notebook paper that had obviously been taped, folded and refolded many times. I knew without looking that the papers were the ones on which I had listed all the good things each of Mark's classmates had said about him. "Thank you so much for doing that," Mark's mother said. "As you can see, Mark treasured it." Mark's classmates started to gather around us. Charlie smiled rather sheepishly and said, "I still have my list. I keep it in the top drawer of my desk at home." Chuck's wife said, "Chuck asked me to put his in our wedding album." "I have mine too," Marilyn said. "It's in my diary." Then Vicki, another classmate, reached into her pocketbook, took out her wallet and showed her worn and frazzled list to the group. "I carry this with me at all times," Vicki said without batting an eyelash. "I think we all saved our lists." That's when I finally sat down and cried. I cried for Mark and for all his friends who would never see him again. 

The density of people in society is so thick that we forget that life will end one day. And we don't know when that one day will be. So please, tell the people you love and care for that they are special and important. Tell them, before it is too late.

 

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Moist eyes and quivering lips, for sure right now. Teachers know that year after year, batches of students pass out, but there are a few out of this passing out crowd that shine for years to follow, never to fade. For such students and teachers, that bond is special. I know for sure, that a whole bunch of pupils senior and junior to me in school are proud of some of the teachers whose memory will live in us forever.

 

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Have a safe & peaceful week ahead.

 

MOHANDAS KIZHAKKE.

http://mohandas-sharedthoughts.blogspot.com/