Trees That Wood

Once there were three trees on a hill in the woods. They were discussing their hopes and dreams when the first tree said, "Someday I hope to be a treasure chest. I could be filled with gold, silver and precious gems. I could be decorated with intricate carving and everyone would see the beauty."

Then the second tree said, "Someday I will be a mighty ship. I will take kings and queens across the waters and sail to the corners of the world. Everyone will feel safe in me because of the strength of my hull."

Finally the third tree said, "I want to grow to be the tallest and straightest tree in the forest. People will see me on top of the hill and look up to my branches, and think of the heavens and God and how close to them I am reaching. I will be the greatest tree of all time and people will always remember me."

After a few years of praying that their dreams would come true, a group of woodsmen came upon the trees. When one came to the first tree he said, "This looks like a strong tree, I think I should be able to sell the wood to a carpenter" ... and he began cutting it down. The tree was happy, because he knew that the carpenter would make him into a treasure chest.

At the second tree a woodsman said, "This looks like a strong tree, I should be able to sell it to the shipyard." The second tree was happy because he knew he was on his way to becoming a mighty ship.

When the woodsmen came upon the third tree, the tree was frightened because he knew that if they cut him down his dreams would not come true. One of the woodsmen said, "I don't need anything special from my tree so I'll take this one", and he cut it down.

When the first tree arrived at the carpenters, he was made into a feed box for animals. He was then placed in a barn and filled with hay. This was not at all what he had prayed for. The second tree was cut and made into a small fishing boat. His dreams of being a mighty ship and carrying kings had come to an end. The third tree was cut into large pieces and left alone in the dark. The years went by, and the trees forgot about their dreams.

Then one day, a man and woman came to the barn. She gave birth and they placed the baby in the hay in the feed box that was made from the first tree. The man wished that he could have made a crib for the baby, but this manger would have to do. The tree could feel the importance of this event and knew that it had held the greatest treasure of all time. Years later, a group of men got in the fishing boat made from the second tree. One of them was tired and went to sleep. While they were out on the water, a great storm arose and the tree didn't think it was strong enough to keep the men safe. The men woke the sleeping man, and he stood and said "Peace" and the storm stopped. At this time, the tree knew that it had carried the King of Kings in its boat.

Finally, someone came and got the third tree. It was carried through the streets as the people mocked the man who was carrying it. When they came to a stop, the man was nailed to the tree and raised in the air to die at the top of a hill. When Sunday came, the tree came to realize that it was strong enough to stand at the top of the hill and be as close to God as was possible, because Jesus had been crucified on it.

The moral of this story is that when things don't seem to be going your way, always know that God has a plan for you. If you place your trust in Him, He will give you great gifts. Each of the trees got what they wanted, just not in the way they had imagined. We don't always know what God's plans are for us. We just know that His ways are not our ways, but His ways are always best.

My Pink Bicycle

‘Ha! My cute pink coloured bicycle.’

I think about it with excitement as I bought it myself and the experience was partially funny and partially heart warming, it also taught me something profound.

In Japan cars are very expensive to keep due to the most expensive parking space. And because my husband had an accident and couldn’t buy the groceries anymore. I needed a way to commute and I decided to buy a bicycle.

‘Hmm, but I don’t know Japanese. How will I explain him things’ I told my husband seriously.
‘Well you need to go. I can’t come along I have an injury’ he replied.

I started from my house like a warrior already sure of loosing the battle evaluating all pros and cons, how will I communicate? Language barrier is too big to break. It’s not US or UK where I can flaunt my English and get the work done. Whoof ! Of all the places in the world I had to come to Japan, that too to buy a bicycle. I felt like going back home. Then thought may be this was my destiny. I walked with baby steps thinking not about the colours of the bicycle to buy but ways to communicate my need. I thought to use my time in preparation till I reach the place which was fifteen minutes away by walk.

I was about to reach there when I saw two girls riding Pink bicycles.
‘Wow! So cute’ I thought.
The heart of the little girl inside me felt attracted towards the stereotypical clichéd girly colour ‘Pink’.

Just then I had a street to cross before I actually start fighting the war and cutting the language barrier with my sword and win the bicycle in booty. I entered the shop and bowed in front of an elderly person at the workshop, thankfully he was in uniform and I could make out that he was the one who had to deal with me.

‘Sorry for the bad day I am going to give you. Uncle!’ I whispered to myself.
I felt sorry for him. Somehow in India everybody at the shops become uncles for us. May be because we still do not relate this word to our family the way it should be. We still feel close to our relatives only when we call our Chachas as Chachu and Mamas as Mama Ji. So, automatically every outsider becomes uncle or sometimes Bhaiya which works more as a safety tactic for us.

‘I’ll take a whole day to explain him what I wanted’ I thought

And what about, ‘how much was it for? And which colour and how should I make the payment?’ These questions were lying untouched still…
‘Does it need so many questions to buy a thing? ’ I thought sadly.

The guy in the green uniform was looking like a father of two, a little flabby and short. He had a working tool in his left hand which he was using to fix up someone’s loose screw in the bicycle’s handle, the customer gave him a coin and left. I thought if I don’t explain him well he’ll use it to fix my screw too. And I pictured him tightening the screw of my left temple. But, he had soft expressions in his eyes which made me comfortable. But, what do I do with the comfort? I had to start.

Suddenly, I thought I should tell him that I am a foreigner and I don’t know Japanese. ‘What an idea Sir Ji?’
But, at the same time I thought that my face very well explains that I am one.
‘What a fool I am?’

Say something…

I looked around and found some bicycles lying at my back with price tags. I had to buy a maximum of a 12,000 yen worth. With sparkling eyes I pointed out to the place. As if telling him I want one of those. He got confused as I got to know later from my husband that Japanese people usually get confused once you ask too many questions or don’t explain yourself clearly. Moreover, they somehow feel shy in front of foreigners because they don’t understand English which they do learn in school. But can only say ‘My name is Yousuke’. And when they see us learning just a few basic Japanese words in two or three months they feel that we have achieved something big and they appreciate in wonder. (Please note: these people are too polite to make fun of anybody. Conversely, just imagine a Japanese girl caught up in the same situation in India.)

So, the confused father of two, I mean the bicycle seller looked at me and said something really fast. I thought I wish I could tell him that first I don’t know the language and second please stop embarrassing me and understand that these words that you are saying won’t help. I thought why is it that even when we know that the other person can not understand our language we still keep talking, as if speaking to ourselves. To tell you the truth it is very frustrating.

I went towards the place where the bicycles were kept for sale I looked around and I selected two of them one silver and the other pink. The rates were written large on them so I knew which ones were under my range.

I called him with a gesture of my hand which is considered quite impolite here, but I had no option as I had to go home on the bicycle. He came to me and I pointed at those two, simultaneously thinking of ways of explaining him that I wanted to know the differences between the two I liked.

‘What a task!!!’ I thought.

Just then intelligently though, may be he understood that one girl alone can not come to buy two bicycles so, he sat down to explain me with his hand gestures that the tyre of one was thicker than the other and the rim was bigger than the other. And he made it clear by making his right thumb erect in a ‘thumbs-up’ way that the pink one was better for girls.

I was relieved that even after not knowing the language I compared the two and I am buying the better one. I took the Pink bicycle to the counter thereby signaling that I wanted that one. I managed to hold the bicycle with one hand and give him money with the other.

To my surprise he said something to me and took away the bicycle also refused the money. I got confused.
I thought ‘what a day! I already am confused about the deal. Why are more confusions popping in?’

He constantly spoke to me for a minute without bothering about my expressions of total incomprehension. I thought I wish I knew his language I would have told him.
‘Can’t you see I am a foreigner and I don’t get a single word of what you are saying???’

‘Huh! What does he want? I am paying him, I have selected the bicycle even then this person is not letting me take it.’

I was lost in my reverie and it broke when somebody in the shop came and took the bicycle and disappeared. I thought to myself that may be that day was not meant to get the bicycle and I didn’t want one, I was feeling nettled from constant teasers that were coming my way. After so much hassle I did not have energy enough to go and buy it from somewhere else. Instead of being happy about buying the bicycle I was anxious and stressed. I thought I should leave the place. I felt totally helpless.

I turned my back and started to leave. Suddenly, he called me from the back; I felt frustrated to the core and wanted to blast off at him. And with very sad, angry, irked, irritated expressions(all in one) I turned back and saw that he stood with the bicycle and had a childlike smile on his face, as if he was much more happy selling the bicycle to me than I was for buying it.

Ooooo, then I realized. He took the bicycle inside to check it and then after going through the checks he delivered it to me. I gave him the money which he very gracefully accepted. He then very lightly put a pat on the seat of the bicycle, signaling me to sit. I sat on it with a very bright face and he pushed me from the back. There I went with speed on the pavement on my booty of the battle I won, I looked back only to find him looking at me with a smile and waving a good bye. How elated I was to see that fatherly touch of happiness in his twinkling eyes. I smiled back at him acknowledging his patience. I felt bad for misunderstanding him in the hurry of understanding him or may be in annoyance of being unable to make myself understood.

Then I realized that I was wrong in thinking that language is too big a barrier to break. All world is a family and all states and countries but different towns like Chandini Chowk and Cannaught Place are to Delhi, all parts of one single whole. There is something that connects us all and elevates us from all barriers, which is our humanity, our feelings which remain the same everywhere, every person feels angry when insulted and happy when loved and respected.

Rightly said, ‘All World is One Family’.

‘Vasudhev Kutumbakam’

Tangy Nostalgia

Lazily going in the kitchen and thinking what to make here in Tokyo I suddenly feel an urge to eat Sindhi Kari, my mouth watered when I went back in time thinking about those sunny afternoons when I, with my three sisters used to gorge upon the tangy Kari poured on a heap of rice. Sitting on the floor in the middle of our big verandah we fought for every potato slice in the curry as we all loved them the same. My mother used to serve us one by one knowing which veggies each of us liked. Me and my eldest sister were given more Imli ka pani to pour in it as we liked the Kari to be more tangy. Yummm I go thinking about it.

I remember how I used to come back from school and excitedly ask my mother about the lunch, knowing that Mushrooms were what I hated I got embittered and didn’t talk to my mother the whole day. The next day my mother would make me the tangiest ever Sindhi Kari as if compensating for the previous day’s loss. My Dadi Maa lovingly made it for me on days she would know she needs to pamper me.

My eyes water thinking about those golden days. Today, when I stand in my kitchen, all alone in the house wanting to get pampered as did, I get an inspiration to taste those sunny afternoons in the mouth full of Kari. I excitedly cut all veggies one by one; potatoes, drum sticks, lady fingers, cauliflower and collect some green peas. I put some Imli in water to use it later. I decide to put my pressure cooker on flame and proudly put some oil and mustard seeds thinking how I still remember the recipe so well from the days I observed my mother making my favourite meal. Putting gram flower and stirring it, the wonderful fragrance again takes me back again to my mother’s kitchen with me sitting on the kitchen slab and chatting with her asking `how brown the gram flour should be?` And my mother telling me, `dark brown but not black. You need to be careful.` Just when I come back to my dish and see the perfect colour to add spices and water and veggies to let it boil with all Imli water. Waiting to taste it thinking how nostalgia would taste and which other memories will it bring with it?

Thinking to myself about `The great Indian kitchens` and there fragrances. How we relate every beautiful moment with perfect dishes, different for each occasion, each festival. The food itself creates the festive mood. Holi approaching I really look forward to making my favourite Gujia and Jalebi with Rabri. What a present in the present! Well, I think even present has two facets, one that you live in and one that you relate your past to. The later one can sometimes be totally beautiful when you live in nostalgia. Doing the same thing today, but, living the beautiful moments of past. How beautiful is that. Lost in my reverie I hear a door bell and startled go to unlock, I see my husband’s soft face. With a smile, I wait to serve him my favourite dish but today on the floor.

Independence Re-Defined.

Shortly after my wedding when I landed in Tokyo I thought it will never be the same. I went on with my life like a housewife doing all my chores without realising what the world outside had for me to offer. I went out for buying stuff on my cute pink coloured bicycle, returned home to cook and clean. Proudly announcing it to my kin that I am handling everything myself. My parents in India, my husband who knew me well, were shocked thinking how come I was handling everything myself? Even I was astounded at myself. How was it that I woke up early doing everything perfectly, I didn’t crib, I walked long distances, washed clothes. All seemed no job at all, still got time for myself, my family, my husband and even got loads of free time for reading my favourite authors. Well. it all confused me when I thought how in India I always needed a car to commute, someone to hangout with, never wanted to lift a cup even, infact used to clutter my house with trash.

Suddenly, what has changed in me? Is it something intrinsic or extrinsic, may be responsibilities have changed me and made me more self reliant and mature. Or is it the post marital outcome? Does everyone do it this way? The confusion went on and so did the responsible wifely role.

One day when I heard about a nice friend of mine, an Indian who separated from her husband because she couldn’t settle in and she had to do the household work which made her feel like a maid, I got a bit unnerved. I always thought girls should marry at the right age but she was 28 herself and she being a mature girl made me conclude that it was her personal choice and being a liberal myself I thought everybody had one. Her words ringed in my ears where she constantly stressed that why should she cook all the time? Is this what she is born to do? She was not used to all that, she said. This stifles her freedom and high time she wanted to be independent.

But then I thought that did our mother’s made a grave error in making our lives easy and sheltered as now that however deeply someone might care we always find it less or is there something terribly wrong with the way we define independence and look at things around us. I thought why is it that doing everything myself here in a foreign land I don’t feel disgusted? Why in India doing the household work seems low profile? Well, do we not eat? Then, why afraid of cleaning up ? Do we not run on the treadmill every morning then why fear walking? Why are we so restricted, so terrified of loosing this facade that we call freedom and independence? Weren’t we dependent on our mother’s and we thought we were independent then? Why do we judge everything and everyone so harshly on our own terms?

We as modern girls, liberal and educated feel that independence is something outside us and we need to achieve it? Whereas, here in Tokyo where labour is expensive, life still seems easy where everything is dependent on us, we still feel independent where everything takes strength to create we still create. How is it that we born in India find it easy to judge before performing?

All these whys have made one thing crystal clear in my mind that when we see everybody around us doing something even the most difficult tasks become easy and when we see that the world around us doing the easiest task we do it too. Well, its human nature to feel safe but we take so much of time in becoming like the herd that we forget that we are just a part of it and there is something within us which is much stronger and larger than life itself which reaches its destination even before we reach, which is ’Our Self’, ’Our Own Independent Self’. And, this self awakens with a realisation that each one of us is independent in our own ways and responsibilities strengthen that independence. And this experience of living a life of responsibilities happily, has made me re-define my own definition of the word ’independence’ and now my livable belief is that independence is when we are indispensable in the lives of people as one might forget our face or words but will always remember how we made them feel. We depend on nothing else to define us but... Our good work, independence is when we can shoulder responsibilities and discharge them according to our capacities.

Independence is when everything depends on us and waits for us to act before anyone else does.