Speech by Bernie Sanders …

Speech by Bernie Sanders … A few hours ago on the floor of the Senate, Bernie Sanders torched billionaires, scorched Trump, and burned every shred of political cowardice in his path. Here is his fiery speech, word for word: Mr. President, In the last couple of weeks, I've had the opportunity to travel in many parts of our country. And I have been able to talk to folks in Nebraska, in Iowa, Wisconsin, Michigan, Nevada, Colorado, and Arizona. And what I am hearing from in all of these states and in fact all over the country is that our nation right now faces enormous crises, unprecedented crises in the modern history of our country. And how right now at this moment we respond to these crises will not only impact our lives, it will impact the lives of our kids and future generations. And in terms of climate change, the well-being of the entire planet. And Mr. President, what I have to tell you is that the American people are angry at what is happening here in Washington, DC and they are prepared to stand up and fight back. In my view and what I have heard from many, many people is that they will not accept an oligarchic form of society where a handful of billionaires control our government, where the wealthiest person on Earth, Mr. Musk, is running all over Washington, DC slashing the Social Security Administration so that our elderly people today are finding it extremely difficult to access the benefits that they paid into. Where Mr. Musk and his friends are slashing the Veterans Administration so that people who put their lives on the line to defend us will not be able to get the health care that they are entitled to or get the benefits that they are owed in a timely manner. Slashing the Department of Education. Slashing USAID. And why is all of this slashing taking place? It is taking place so that the wealthiest people in this country can receive over $1 trillion dollars in tax breaks. Now, I don't care if you are a Democrat, a Republican, or an Independent. There are very few people in this country who think that you slash programs that working families desperately need in order to give tax breaks to billionaires. Mr. President, I am the former chair of the U.S. Senate Committee on Veterans’ Affairs, and I have had the honor of meeting with veterans in my own state of Vermont—all over Vermont—but all over the country. These are the men and women who put the uniform of this country on and have been prepared to die to defend our nation and American democracy. And these veterans and Americans all over our nation will not accept an authoritarian form of society with a president who undermines our Constitution every day. Every day there's something else out there where he's undermining our Constitution and threatening the very foundations of American democracy. That is not what people fought and died to allow to happen. Mr. President, I am not a historian, but I do know that the founding fathers of this country were no dummies. They were really smart guys. And in the 1780s, they wrote a Constitution and established a form of government with a separation of powers. A separation of powers—with an executive branch, the president; a legislative branch, the Congress; and a judicial branch. These revolutionaries in the 1780s had just fought a war against the imperial rule of the King of England who was an absolute dictator, the most powerful person on Earth. And these revolutionaries here in America forming a new government wanted to make absolutely sure that no one person in this brand new country that they were forming would have unlimited powers. And that is why we have a separation of powers. That is why we have a judiciary, a Congress, and an executive branch. In other words, way back in the 1780s, they wrote a Constitution to prevent exactly what Donald Trump is trying to do today. So, let us be clear about what is going on. Donald Trump is attacking our First Amendment and is trying to intimidate the media and those who speak out against him in an absolutely unprecedented way. Mr. President, he has sued ABC, CBS, Meta, the Des Moines Register. His FCC is now threatening to investigate NPR and PBS. He has called CNN and MSNBC “illegal.” In other words, the leader—or the so-called leader—of the free world is afraid of freedom. He doesn't like criticism. Well, guess what? None of us like criticism. But you don't get elected to the Senate, you don't get elected to the House, you don't become a governor, you don't become a president of the United States unless you are prepared to deal with that criticism. And the response to that criticism in a democracy is not to sue the media, is not to intimidate the media. It's to respond in the way you think best. But Mr. President, it is not just the media that Trump is going after. He is going after the constitutional responsibilities that this body, the United States Congress, has. And I will say it amazes me, it really does, how easily my Republican colleagues here in the Senate and in the House are willing to surrender their constitutional responsibilities. Give it over to the president. Trump has illegally and unconstitutionally withheld funds that Congress has appropriated. You can't do that. Congress has the power of the purse. We make a decision. We argue about it here. Big debates, vote-aras, the whole thing. Make that decision. That money goes out. The president does not have the right to withhold funds that Congress has appropriated. Trump has illegally and unconstitutionally decimated agencies that can only be changed or reformed by Congress. You don't like the Department of Education, you don't like USAID, fine. Come to the Congress. Tell us what reforms you want to see. You do not have the right to unilaterally do away with these agencies. Trump has fired members of independent agencies and inspectors general that he does not have the authority to do. But Mr. President, it is not just the media that he is trying to intimidate. It is not just the powers of Congress that he wants. Now, in an absolutely outrageous, unconstitutional and extraordinarily dangerous way, he is going after the judiciary. His view is that if you don't like a decision that a judge renders, you get rid of that judge. You try to impeach that judge. You intimidate judges so that you get the decisions that you want. You know, I'm thinking back now as someone who is not a supporter of the Roberts court, and I'm thinking about one of the worst Supreme Court decisions that has ever been rendered—that is Citizens United. I'll say more about that in a moment. And I'm thinking about the Supreme Court's decision to overturn Roe v. Wade, taking away American women's right to control their own bodies. In my view, these were outrageous decisions, unpopular decisions. But it never occurred to me, because maybe I'm old-fashioned and conservative, and I believe that you live by the rule of law, to say, “Hey, look at the decision Roberts made. We're going to impeach him.” No, we try to elect a new president who's going to appoint new Supreme Court justices. That is the system that people have fought and died to defend. But it's not just the movement toward oligarchy, which is outraging millions of Americans—Democrats and Republicans, by the way—and it's not just the movement toward authoritarianism that we are seeing. The American people, especially with Mr. Musk and 13 billionaires in the Trump administration running agency after agency... The American people are saying as loudly as they can that they will not accept a society of massive economic and wealth inequalities, where the very richest people in our country are becoming much richer while working families are struggling to put food on the table. Having gone all over this country, I can tell you that the American people are sick and tired of these inequalities and they want an economy that works for all of us—not just the 1%. You know, Mr. President, we deal with a whole lot of stuff here in the Congress, and you know, virtually all of it is important in one way or another. But let's do something, you know, fairly radical today. Let's try to tell the truth—the real truth—about what is going on in our society today. Something that we don't talk about too much here in the Senate. We don't talk about it too much in the House. We don't talk about it too much in the corporate media. But the reality is that today we have two Americas. Two very, very different Americas. And in one of those Americas, the wealthiest people have never ever had it so good. In the whole history of our country, the people on top have never ever had it so good as they have it today. Today, we have more income and wealth inequality than there has ever been in the history of America. Now, I know we don't discuss it. You don't see it much on TV. You don't hear it talked about here at all. But the American people do not believe that it is appropriate that three people—one, two, three—Mr. Musk, Mr. Bezos, and Mr. Zuckerberg, three Americans, own more wealth than the bottom half of American society. 170 million people. Really? Three people own more wealth than 170 million people? Anybody here think that is vaguely appropriate? And by the way, those very same three people—the three richest people in America—were right there at Trump’s inaugural, standing right behind the president. So, you want to know what oligarchy is? I know there's some confusion out there. What is oligarchy? Well, it starts off when you have the three wealthiest people in the country standing right behind the president when he gets inaugurated. The top 1% in our country now own more wealth than the bottom 90%. CEOs make 300 times more than their average worker. And unbelievably—real inflation-accounted-for wages today—the average American worker, if you can believe it, despite a massive increase in worker productivity, is lower today than it was 52 years ago. And during that period, there was a $75 trillion transfer of wealth that went from the bottom 90% to the top 1%. That is the reality of the American economy today. And you know what? Maybe we might want to be talking about that. And in our America today, in that top America, that one America, the 1% are completely separate and isolated from the rest of the country. You think they get on a subway to get to work? Think they sit in a traffic jam for an hour trying to get to work? Not the case. They fly around in the jets and the helicopters that they own. They live in their mansions all over the world in their gated communities. They have nannies taking care of their babies. They don't worry about the cost of child care. And they send their kids to the best private schools and colleges. Sometimes they vacation not in a Motel 6, not in a national park, but on the very own islands that they have. And on occasion, for the very very richest—just to have for a kick, have a little bit of fun—maybe they'll spend a few million dollars flying off into space in one of their own spaceships. Sounds like fun. But it is not just massive income and wealth inequality that we're dealing with today. We have more concentration of ownership than ever before. While the profits on Wall Street and corporate America soar, a handful of giant corporations dominate sector after sector—whether it's agriculture, transportation, media, financial services, etc., etc. Small number of huge corporations—international corporations—dominating sector after sector. And as a result of that concentration of ownership, they are able to charge the American people outrageously high prices for the goods and services we need. Mr. President, we don't talk about it too much. Maybe we should. But there are three Wall Street firms—BlackRock, Vanguard, and State Street—that combined are the major stockholders in 95% of our corporations. Got that? Three Wall Street firms—three—are the major stockholders in 95% of American corporations. So, Mr. President, that is one America. People on top doing phenomenally well. Not only do they have economic power, they have enormous political power. That’s what’s going on there. They live like kings. That’s one America. But there is another America. And in that other America, 60% of our people are living paycheck to paycheck. And millions of workers from one end of this country to the other are trying to survive on starvation wages. And unlike Donald Trump, I grew up in a family that lived paycheck to paycheck. And I know the anxieties that my mom and dad had, living in a rent-controlled apartment. Can we afford to buy this? Why did you buy that? And that’s the story taking place all over America. What does living paycheck to paycheck mean? It means that every single day, millions of Americans worry about how they're going to pay their rent or their mortgage. All over the country, rents are skyrocketing. And people are wondering: What happens—what happens to me and my kids if rent goes up by 20% and I can't afford it? Where do I live? Do I have to take my kid out of school? Where do I put my kid? In worst case scenario, do I live in my car? Let’s be clear. There are many people who are working today who are living in the back of their cars. How do I pay for child care? I talked to a cop, a guy the other day—a police officer—spending $20,000 a year for child care. How do I buy decent food for my kids when the price of groceries is off the charts? What happens if I get sick or my kid gets sick or my mother gets sick and I got a $12,000 deductible and I can’t afford to go to the doctor? How, at the end of the month, am I going to pay my credit card bill—even though I am being charged 20 or 30% interest rates by the usurious credit card companies? People are worrying about simple things. What happens if my car breaks down and the guy at the repair shop says it’s going to cost $1,000 and I don’t have $1,000 in the bank? And if I don’t have a car, how do I get to work? And if I don’t get to work, how do I have an income? And if I don’t have an income, how do I take care of my family? Those are the crises that millions of Americans are experiencing today. But it’s not just working-age Americans. Today, in our country, half of older workers—older workers—have nothing in the bank as they face retirement. And they’re watching TV and they’re saying, “Mr. Musk is firing Social Security workers,” and actually worrying whether Social Security will be there for them. And it’s not just older workers with nothing in the bank wondering what happens when they retire. Twenty-two percent of seniors are trying to survive on $15,000 a year. I dare anybody in this country—let alone somebody who’s old, who needs health care, needs to keep the house warm—try to survive on $15,000 a year. And there are people here, by the way, talking about cutting Social Security. Mr. President, it is not just about income and wealth inequality. It is about a health care system which everyone in the nation understands is broken, is dysfunctional, and is outrageously expensive. I hear my Republican friends—you know, I don’t know where they are today—wanting to destroy the ACA. And my Democratic friends say, “Oh, we got to defend the ACA.” ACA is broken. It doesn’t work. In my state, the cost of health care is going up 10, 15%. In America today, you got 85 million people uninsured or underinsured. Function of the health care system today is not to do what a sane society would do—guarantee health care to all people in a cost-effective way—something which, by the way, every other major nation on Earth manages to do. The function of our health care system, as everybody knows, is to make billions of dollars in profits for the insurance companies and the drug companies. So I say to my Democratic friends: It’s not good enough to defend the Affordable Care Act. It’s a broken system. You got to have the guts to stand up and allow us to do what every other major nation does—guarantee health care to all people as a human right—not allow the drug companies and the insurance companies to make massive profits every year. And Mr. President, I want to touch on an issue that gets virtually no discussion, but I think it is enormously important—and it says a hell of a lot about what’s going on in our society today. In America, according to international studies, our life expectancy—how long we live as a people—is about four years lower than other countries. Most European countries—people there live longer lives. Japan—they live even more longer lives than in Europe. So, question number one: Why is that happening? We spend $14,000 a year per person on health care—almost double what any other country spends. And yet people around the world are living, on average, four years longer than we do. But here is the really ugly fact—even worse than that. And that is that in this country, on average, if you are a working-class person, you will live seven years shorter lives than if you're in the top 1%. If you’re a working-class person, your life will be seven years shorter than if you are wealthy. In other words, being poor or working-class in America today amounts to a death sentence. Mr. President, it's not only a broken health care system. We have got to ask ourselves a simple question—and the Biden administration began a little bit of movement in this direction—and that is: Why are we living in a nation where one out of four people can't even afford the prescription drugs their doctors prescribe? Why are we in some cases paying ten times more than our neighbors in Canada or in Europe? How does that happen? And the answer of course has to do with the greed of the pharmaceutical industry and their power right here—all of the campaign contributions that they make—which has prevented us from negotiating prices. But it’s not just health care or prescription drugs. When we look at what’s going on in America—in Vermont and throughout this country—we have a major housing crisis. Here we are, the richest country on Earth: 800,000 people sleeping out on the streets, and 20 million people are spending more than 50% of their limited incomes on housing. Can you imagine that? You’re a working person, spending 50% of your income on housing. How do you have money to do anything else? And the cost of housing is soaring. Do not tell me, Mr. President, that in a nation which could spend a trillion dollars on the military—a nation that gives massive tax breaks to the rich—that we cannot build the millions of units of housing that we desperately need. So, Mr. President, why is all of this happening? Why do we have a health care system that is broken? Prescription drugs that are the most expensive in the world? A housing system? Education in deep trouble? Talked to educators in Vermont, all over the country. Talked to a principal the other day from Vermont. Their starting salary at a public school? $32,000 a year. But don’t worry—they can’t afford to even bring people in because they can’t afford the housing in the community. Why have we let education sink to the level that it has? So I think the bottom line of all this is: The American people, I think, are catching on. And Mr. Musk—I must thank him—because he has made it very clear we are living in an oligarchic form of society. If anybody out there thinks that Mr. Musk is running around out of the goodness of his heart trying to make our government more efficient, you have not a clue as to what is going on. What these guys want to do is destroy virtually every federal program that impacts the well-being of working people—Social Security, Medicare, postal service, public education, you name it—so they can get huge tax breaks for the rich and eventually make government so inefficient that they will have the ability, as large corporations, to come in and privatize everything that is going on. So, Mr. President, this is a pivotal moment in American history. And I sense that the American people have had it up to here. They are prepared to fight back. They do not want a government run by billionaires who have it all—whose greed is uncontrollable. You know, we have in Vermont—and I think a lot of this country—serious problems with addiction, with drugs. People drinking too much alcohol. People smoking too many cigarettes. But the worst form of addiction that this country now faces is the greed of the oligarchy. You might think that if you had 10, 20 billion dollars, it would be enough. You know—kind of enough to let your family live for the next 20 generations. But it’s not. For whatever reason—whatever compulsive reason they have—these guys want more and more and more, and they are prepared to destroy Social Security, Medicare, nutrition programs for hungry people in order to get even more. That, to me, is disgusting. So, Mr. President, we are at a pivotal moment in American history. But having been all over this country—or many parts of this country—I am absolutely confident that the American people (and I'm not just talking about Democrats, who are as complicit in the problems that we have right now as our Republicans, because we got a two-party system which is basically corrupt)... You got Mr. Musk over on the Republican side saying to any Republican who dares to stand up and defy the Trump agenda, we are going to primary you. And on the Democratic side, you got AIPAC and you got other super PACs saying, you stand up for working people—you’re in trouble as well. We got a corrupt campaign finance system in which billionaires are able to buy elections. And that’s why all over this country, people are not happy with our two-party system—the Republicans and the Democrats. So, Mr. President, this is a pivotal moment in American history. But we have had difficult moments before. And I am confident, from the bottom of my heart, that if we stand together, and we do not allow some right-wing extremists to divide us up by the color of our skin, or our religion, or where we were born, or our sexual orientation... If we stand together, we can save this country. We can defeat oligarchy. We can defeat the movement toward authoritarianism. And in fact, we can create an economy and a government that works for all—not just a few.

Overcome Addiction to Sweet and Salt

https://www.dailypioneer.com/2025/columnists/overcoming-our-addiction-to-sugar-and-salt.html

*You think YOUR plans didn’t work out?*

*You think YOUR plans didn’t work out?* Sunita Williams and Barry Wilmore thought they were going to space for 8 days. They ended up being stuck for 286 days. They were LITERALLY stranded in space. Imagine this: 👉🏾 You pack for a short trip, but instead, you’re gone for almost a year. 👉🏾 No fresh air. No real food. No way out—just waiting in the void of space. 👉🏾 No clear answer to when (or even if) you’ll make it back home. And here we are, losing patience when: - A 10-minute traffic jam ruins our day. - A deal gets delayed by a few months. - A rejection email makes us want to quit. Perspective. These astronauts had no control over their situation. They couldn’t just book a return flight. They had to adapt, stay calm, and trust the process for 286 days of uncertainty. And they made it. If THAT isn’t the ultimate lesson in patience, endurance, and problem-solving—I don’t know what is. Hats off to these legends for not just surviving, but making history. Next time life throws unexpected delays at us… let’s remember: At least we’re not stranded in space. Life will throw curveballs. Your plans will go sideways. Things will take WAY longer than expected. But if these astronauts can survive nine months in space instead of eight days, you and I can handle a few detours in life. Forwarded as received👍👍

IT'S AMERICAN.

🙏🏽 GOOD MORNING 🌞 I think this is hilarious ! I NEVER HEARD CREATION EXPLAINED THIS WAY BEFORE !!! IT'S AMERICAN. In the beginning, God created the Heavens and the Earth and populated the Earth with broccoli, cauliflower and spinach, green and yellow, and red vegetables of all kinds, so Man and Woman would live long and healthy lives. Then using God's great gifts, Satan created Ben and Jerry's Ice Cream and Krispy Creme Donuts. And Satan said, "You want chocolate with that ?" And Man said, "Yes !" and Woman said, "and as long as you're at it, add some sprinkles." And they gained 10 pounds. And Satan smiled. And God created the healthful yogurt that Woman might keep the figure that Man found so fair. And Satan brought forth white flour from the wheat, and sugar from the cane and combined them. And Woman went from size 6 to size 14. So God said, "Try my fresh green salad." And Satan presented Thousand-Island Dressing, buttery croutons and garlic toast on the side. And Man and Woman unfastened their belts following the feast!!! God then said, "I have sent you heart healthy vegetables and olive oil in which to cook them." And Satan brought forth deep fried fish and chicken-fried steak so big it needed its own platter. And Man gained more weight and his cholesterol went through the roof. God then created a light, fluffy white cake, named it "Angel Food Cake," and said, "It is good." Satan then created chocolate cake and named it "Devil's Food." God then brought forth running shoes so that His children might lose those extra pounds. And Satan gave cable TV with a remote control so Man would not have to toil changing the channels. And Man and Woman laughed and cried before the flickering blue light and gained pounds. Then God brought forth the potato, naturally low in fat and brimming with nutrition. And Satan peeled off the healthful skin and sliced the starchy center into chips and deep-fried them. And Man gained pounds. God then gave lean beef so that Man might consume fewer calories and still satisfy his appetite. And Satan created McDonald's and its 99-cent double cheeseburger. Then said, "You want fries with that ?" And Man replied, "Yes ! And super size them !" And Satan said, "It is good." And Man went into cardiac arrest. God sighed and created quadruple bypass surgery. Then Satan created private medical insurance !!! HAVE A GREAT DAY

Gurudev Sri Sri Ravi Shankar

What a single glance can convey, a thousand conversations cannot. And what a moment of deep silence can convey, even a thousand glances cannot

The *paradox of tolerance*

The *paradox of tolerance*, articulated by philosopher Karl Popper, suggests that *a society that extends unlimited tolerance to all viewpoints, including those that are intolerant, risks losing its capacity for tolerance itself because the intolerant will eventually suppress it.

*Meet the man with 27,500 daughters* That’s why they call him – Appa.

*Meet the man with 27,500 daughters* That’s why they call him – Appa. His real name? KP Ramaswamy. Owner of KPR Mills, Coimbatore. A textile baron by profession. A father figure by choice. While corporate honchos talk about employee retention, cost-cutting, and bottom lines, this man is busy transforming lives. How? By turning mill workers into graduates. By making education their stepping stone to a better life. It all started with a simple request. A young girl at his mill once told him – "Appa, I want to study. My parents pulled me out of school because of poverty, but I want to study further." That one sentence changed everything. Instead of giving his workers just a paycheck, he decided to give them a future. He set up a full-fledged education system – right inside the mill. 📌 Four-hour classes after an eight-hour shift. 📌 Classrooms, teachers, a principal, even a yoga course. 📌 All fully funded. No strings attached. And the result? 🚀 24,536 women have earned their 10th, 12th, UG, and PG degrees. 🚀 Many are now nurses, teachers, police officers. 🚀 20 gold medallists from Tamil Nadu Open University this year alone. Now, you’d expect a businessman to worry about attrition. What if these women leave? What about workforce stability? Here’s what KP Ramaswamy says – "I don’t want to keep them in the mill and waste their potential. They are here because of poverty, not by choice. My job is to give them a future, not a cage." And that’s exactly what he does…. They leave. They build careers. And then? They send more girls from their villages to the mill. The cycle continues. This isn’t just a CSR initiative. This is Human Resource Development in its truest sense. At a recent convocation, 350 women received their degrees. And KP Ramaswamy made an unusual request – "If you or your friends can hire them, it will give other girls the hope to study further." Think about it. A man running a multi-crore empire isn’t asking for business. He’s asking for jobs – for his workers. How often do we see this? This story isn’t just about KPR Mills. It’s a lesson in leadership, in corporate ethics, in nation-building. B-Schools should teach this. HR professionals should study this. And the world needs to know this. A story worth spreading.

Chapter 14 In Rugged Rajasthan - A Story of Faith and Miracles

Chapter 14 In Rugged Rajasthan So, on the appointed day my family and I hopped on to a metre gauge train to Bikaner for me to take up my new posting. Tragically for my family, I was again in an inebriated state and a nuisance at the Sarai Rohilla station from where we boarded. Bikaner is located in the north western part of Rajasthan which has extreme climes. During summers the weather is scorching and sapping, though evenings are generally tolerable. As the sun sinks in the sands of the deserts and shadows lengthen, nights turn very cold touching zero and sub-zero temperatures, especially during winters. The control office (or Railway ops room as per the military personnel) once again came into the news. As the Sr DOM, Bikaner Division, I was to interact with Indian armed forces in a major operation which was quite reminiscent of my tenure at MILRAIL. This was when the temple of Indian democracy, the Parliament of India was attacked by dreaded ultras (LET and JEM) from across the border. It was a crisp and chilly morning of December 13, 2001 in Delhi, when a blood thirsty cell of five armed men attacked the Parliament of India by breaching the security cordon at Gate 12. The five men killed seven security people before being eliminated by the Indian security forces. On 20th December, despite calls from the United States, Russia, and the United Nations to exercise restraint, India mobilised and deployed its troops to Kashmir, Punjab and Rajasthan in what became India’s largest military mobilisation since the 1971 conflict. India codenamed this massive mobilisation as Operation Parakram. Following Operation Parakram, the Railway Board recognised the untiring efforts of Bikaner, Jodhpur, Ferozepur and Alipurduar control offices. These control Offices were awarded with the Member (Traffic), Railway Board Award for seamless movement of military specials (VPs, SPs, ammunition, ordinance material, tanks and those of the air force too). In those trying conditions under the influence of alcohol, I braced up to the challenge and marshalled my troops consisting of all the railway control staff, and other operating staff at stations and terminals who were in turn ably supported by other departments of railways to handle military specials. Today, I recall those wintry weekends of Bikaner, when I hit the bottle after performing a part of my official duties where I was in charge of passenger and freight operations and overseeing the military movement. It was a strange fixation with the drink. I vomited only to drink more. One could call it drinking bulimia. As darkness spread across the deserts of Rajasthan, shadows lengthened in our railway bungalow, I was trying to handle the second bottle of gin. As a routine, it became one and a half bottles of gin on weekdays and over the weekends there were two bottles. This was nothing to trumpet about. I continued to lead or rather exist in a wretched life. Whenever we were invited for lunches or dinners, my wife was absolutely petrified as a drunk and now an evidently boorish and aggressive person accompanied the family. This was the scenario every weekend and holiday. My mind was always desperately pining for that bottle of gin. Why was it Blue Riband Gin? Somehow in the cranny corner of my mind I thought gin did not stink. Gin is euphemistically referred to as a lady’s drink, but the stuff has almost forty per cent alcohol in it. By divine grace the official establishment seemed to tolerate my aberrations. My wife’s patience was now running thin with our constant sparring over things minor to something more vexed. At this juncture my octogenarian grandmother suggested we pay obeisance at Hanuman temple at Salasar and Radhaji’s temple at Merta Road. My grandmother remained a queen all her life with long ears studded with diamonds who advised me to religiously recite Hanuman Chalisa with immense devotion to overcome negative thoughts, combat the demons in my mind and eschew drinking. For once, I listened to some sagacious advice and kept a copy of Hanuman Chalisa and began reading it seriously. Occasionally, the family ventured out to watch Bollywood block busters like Lagan, and a series of Bhagat Singh movies which hit the screen to whip up patriotic hysteria as war clouds once again gathered in the wake of Operation Parakram. While I was smirked and scorned at by my colleagues and by “friends” for compulsive drinking, they were taken aback when Anil Sharma and Tinu Verma (makers of the block buster Gadar) sauntered into my chamber with their customary filmy swagger to work out the logistics of filming the climax scene of the Sunny Deol- Amisha Patel starrer which was shot on Lalgarh – Kolayat section of Bikaner division. Angels who are neatly perched in the Elysian fields treated me and my family kindly despite my alcoholism and the family was to maintain some element of tenderness and togetherness. We were to visit some exotic places and attempt to nurture a bond. The first pit stop was Gajner, which is located on the shores of Lake Gajner and in proximity to the wildlife sanctuary barely thirty kilometres away from Bikaner. This exotic property is built in red sandstone. My wife and children particularly relished the famous Rajasthani thaali, gatte ki sabzi, Bikaneri bhujiya and massive rasgullas. Those were some brief moments when my parents, grand mother and wife were happy that I was not consuming alcohol and spending time with the family. Next on the agenda was the famous Junagarh Fort, an old bastion of Rajput kings of the city. Despite the visits to Salasar and Merta Road, my mind was only centred around the control office monitoring running of trains and being fixated on quotidian drinking. Eventually, my quotidian drinking took a toll on the physical body of my wife as she suffered an attack of jaundice and was to take adequate rest to recover. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx A few months later the duo of my wife and daughter happened to watch some melodious bhajans rendered by a group of bright looking faces, shimmering with serenity. They were buoyed with the energy on display. My daughter danced with gay abandon to the rhythmic beat of the bhajan, “Gori gori gayan, gore gore gwaal, beech mein mere madan gopal, Ghas khaye gaiyya, doodh peeye gwaal, maakhaan khaye mero madan gopal.” The songs had an electrifying impact on everyone in the family as we all tapped our feet in unison. There was a magical quality about the bhajan which enraptured us. Unknown to us, this was the second time we were exposed to the Art of Living, for it was only much later that we learnt that the satang we had so enjoyed was conducted by the Art of Living. “So, there is a vast space in life and enjoyment which needs to be explored other than looking after the needs of a drunken husband,” my wife mused and attempted to uplift her sagging spirits. My mother spent considerable time practising Vipassana, Pranic Healing and Siddha Healing processes which she had learned. She practised them unflinchingly as it provided her succour and armed with the techniques she passed on curative and positive energy on me through distance healing. These breathing and other holistic techniques had cured my mother and it was her deep faith that the Universe and the superior intelligence would one day cure me of the ailment of alcoholism. She was to tell me, “Goenkaji an Indian based in Burma used to have severe attacks of migraine which he countered by using opium injections. However, through the technique of Vipassana he overcame the medical problem.” “What exactly is Vipassana?” was my question next. “Vipassana, which means to see things as they really are, is one of India's most ancient techniques of meditation. It was taught in India more than 2,500 years ago as a universal remedy for all ills. One just has to observe the breath and upon completion of the ten-day course radical changes happen in the mind and body and several physical ailments get cured through the power of breath. “Over the years I have realised that not only faith but even breath can move mountains. It is a robust power house about which we are not aware,” she added. She suggested that I undertake the ten-day Vipassana course to combat the problem of alcoholism. However, on account of Operation Parakram, we could not leave our place of work and had to be confined to the control office. For me this was a mere ruse to continue with my drinking. Meanwhile, my father once had a very unusual experience at Bikaner. One evening during his customary walk, from nowhere appeared a stranger who tapped his shoulder and remarked, “Ask your son to enrol for the Art of Living course and learn the unique rhythmic breathing technique of Sudarshan Kriya. He will recover from the problem of alcoholism.” This was something inexplicable… And my father was in a state of daze after his encounter with this stranger. This was the only encounter my father had with the stranger. Who was he? Where did he surface from? How was he aware about my vice? All these questions tormented the scientific and logical mind of my father. “What is Art of Living? And what is Sudarshan Kriya?” my father was to ask my mother and wife who expressed their ignorance. We were not quite so accustomed to Uncle Google back then and hence could obtain little information about the technique. As spring had set in and Bikaner had warmed up considerably my parents were now leaving back to Hyderabad. “This is our last visit to Bikaner, Lakshmi. If Ravi continues to drink this way, we will never visit you,” my mother firmly conveyed the message to my wife. Providential transfer to Jaipur The troops after a year’s stay at the frontiers returned back to their barracks and semblance of normalcy returned between the two warring countries. Meanwhile at the stroke of midnight hour, Indian Railways underwent some substantial changes. Overnight Bikaner became a part of North Western Railway and our umbilical cord with Northern Railway was snapped. Not that this affected my drinking. Anyway, for the better or the worse I was transferred to Jaipur. My wife recalled the chance encounter between my father and the stranger at Bikaner and registered my name for the Part 1 course of the Art of Living at Jaipur which was organized very near our house. The die was cast and she was hopeful that something positive would emerge. She appeared to have immense faith that a miracle may occur. This was something inexplicable and venturing into an unknown turf as my wife remembered the number of times, we had had encounters with the name Art of Living in one way or another. The family was on a learning curve on an unchartered territory. We live in a world that hails superheroes like Super Man, Bat Man, Spider-Man, and thus, often society end up taking women and their strength for granted. Across times there have been superwomen. Shiva drew his power from Shakti. If Lord Rama is worshipped across Hindu pantheon, so is Durga. Women generally have longer the life-expectancy, they are blessed with greater survival skill sets, they are known to manage handle pain better and are also emotionally and mentally stronger and more robust. My wife was no different as she drove a somnolent and languorous man to attend the Part 1 course of Art of Living and picked me up every morning after dropping the children at their school. It was a challenging task, but she followed the regimen unflinchingly. I did not know it at that time but that was to be the first day of the rest of my life. I was extremely fidgety, sweating in the cold winter of Jaipur in the month of November stinking of cigarettes and liquor. The teacher and guide scanned through my form and gave me a warm smile. I was to see a large portrait of a bearded person, who looked beatific and sported an impish smile which could disarm anyone, perched on a mantelpiece as mellifluous music played in the background. We all were asked to sway to the music and I was quite unsteady on my feet much to the discomfiture of other participants. It was tough undergoing the course and there were times I wanted to quit it. But the teacher encouraged me gently to continue with the course and so did my wife who goaded me not to abandon the ship midway. And then came the earth-shattering moment when we were to learn the unique rhythmic breathing technique called Sudarshan Kriya. Zillions of toxins were expatriated from my body and tension which had accumulated in trillions of cells in my very being were expunge as I inhaled and exhaled to the syllable of SOHAM (I AM THAT) which was played from a cassette recorder. It was paced as slow, medium and fast rhythmic breathing successively, but each breath entered each and every single cell of my being. The participants were to listen to the sounds of shrieking, moaning, groaning and crying as we inhaled and exhaled to the syllable SOHAM. “What was the sound – a mantra, a syllable, a sound ….,” we just could not fathom but continued inhaling and exhaling rhythmically. It was a blast as the entire body ached and finally collapsed as I shed copious tears and slept like Rip Van Winkle. This technique was taught over two days and when I met my boss who was quite sceptical about babas, gurus, rishis, sadhus, swamis and spiritual masters, he remarked, “Hey you look so fresh. Looks like you have not drunk over the last two days. Quite a feat young man,” he added. But that was not true, I had drunk like a fish, but the breathing technique of Sudarshan Kriya was so overpowering that it eclipsed all negativity and my skin was shining like a star in the firmament. For once I lived up to my name - Ravi. Upon completion of the course that Sunday, I rang up my mother and could discern palpable happiness and gratitude in her voice. After years, her son had spoken in a sober condition over a weekend. It is essential that a participant who undergoes the Part 1 course (now called the Happiness Programme) should necessarily attend the weekly follow up of Long Sudarshan Kriya apart from practicing the short Sudarshan Kriya every day without fail to derive full benefits of the programme. The participant should also attend various programmes from the bouquet of courses designed by Gurudev Sri Sri Ravi Shankar and imparted by the Art of Living Foundation. Unfortunately, I did neither. And this was a major folly on my part. An Advanced Meditation Course had been planned and had I attended the course right then in 2003, my life would have been so different.

Chapter 13 Operation Buddha Smiles Again - A Story of Faith and Miracles

Chapter 13 Operation Buddha Smiles Again The year Buddha smiled once again (Pokhran 2); and the celestials which populated the Zions interceded and opened the doors for me. Apart from receiving the Chief of Army Staff Commendation Medal and quite contrary to my expectations (and despite my inherent weakness in mathematics) I managed to pass the Common Admission Test (CAT) and qualified from the quota allotted to the Ministry of Railways along with some other officers for the National Management Programme (Executive MBA) at the well-acclaimed Management Development Institute (MDI), Gurgaon. I had won the Derby and imperiously displayed the COAS medal within the family and to colleagues at the management institute as a convenient shield to overcome my weakness for alcohol. The elite batch consisted of officers from the Civil Services, public sector undertakings and the private sector to hone their skills in public administration and management over a 15-month programme. This was the time my parents, grandmother and wife were hopeful that I would ATLEAST NOW TURN THE CORNER, regain my sobriety, reengineer myself and reorient my thoughts and life. But the very first day at the institute, along with my neighbour who was from a prestigious private sector company, I embarked to have a drink. And with that the quotidian, unabated drinking continued. This inappropriate behaviour began to adversely impact my mother’s health. My hare-brained behaviour was extremely traumatic for her and she became a victim of regular Paroxysmal Atrial Tachycardia (PAT) attacks. I saw my mother suffering from this condition on several occasions and being admitted to the ICU. It was a distressing and disturbing sight. While it is not a life-threatening affliction, it certainly disorients the psychology and attitudes of the patient. During her suffering we saw her clutching on to her rosary as a life saver, while we prayed fervently for her recovery. I had an internal monologue with my inner voice praying for her recovery. She was administered medication but it worked only to an extent. But for her the real help came in the form of a pentagon-shaped talisman which included Siddha Healing, Pranic Healing, the ten-day Vipassana Course and the Part 1 and Part 2 of the Art of Living courses. The unique, amazing and scientific power of the breath revived her and brought back the mojo in her life. But this was much later in life. Days turned into weeks, weeks into months and soon monsoon got converted into autumn and into winter. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx “Why don’t you join the Alcoholics Anonymous meetings?” my uncle, who regained sobriety through the fellowship of AA suggested when he was in Delhi. I did attend a couple of the meetings organised at YWCA and YMCA, but there was no respite from my drinking bouts. Fifteen months at the Management Development Institute had elapsed. Acquiring esoteric knowledge in management which should have been a game changer in my life did not improve my condition. My addiction only worsened; a once-upon-time social drinker was now a confirmed alcoholic. My bugbear with numbers continued as I could hardly understand probability, financial management and cost accountancy and was to pen a few lines on alcoholism while being in a state of stupor. Needless to mention, it was my wife who coached me in all the numerical papers. And she was the one who used to drive me all the way from Civil Lines to MDI, Gurgaon every Saturday to pick me up and drop me back on Monday mornings so that I could attend the classes in time. When I look back, I am only amazed at her patience and attitude in life which very few can possess. At MDI, Gurgaon the fancy for Satras continued. But this time I was not the only guilty one, even the studious amongst us participated in this favourite pastime as we grappled with the theories of micro and macroeconomics besides marketing and strategic management. So, the know-all Dr Sunny’s well-founded theories on Satras which were postulated way back in late 1980s seemed still relevant. Upon completion of the course, I was back to serve Northern Railway now accoutred with a degree and a prestigious medal conferred by the Ministry of Defence. I was posted in the Commercial branch of headquarters and soon the proverbial five-year period of stay at a place terminated and fresh orders were issued to don the mantle as Senior Divisional Operations Manager (Sr DOM), Bikaner. My parents and grandmother were pinning their hope, with faith and belief that I would perhaps upend the pyramid. While my more practical wife was sceptical about any drastic change but was happy for me that I was to be in charge of freight and passenger operations of a division as she wistfully packed the cassette of Shivoham and my Puja material.

CHAPTER 12 Homeward Bound - A Story of Faith and Miracles

CHAPTER 12 Homeward Bound Soon I received an official communique that I had been appointed as the Deputy Director General (Rail Movement) in the MILRAIL (Military Rail) in the Movement Directorate at Army Headquarters, Sena Bhavan. The basic job entailed monitoring running of military specials, defence specials (code named VPs) for personnel and SPs (stores specials), movement of defence cargo, military ambulance specials, getting familiar with the ORMP (Operations Rail Move Plan), releasing of defence quota, looking after all defence owned railway stock and coordination with the Railway Board at the headquarters level and all zones for movement of military trains. I hurriedly packed my bags, thanked my unwitting benefactor and continued to have swigs of gin and tonic. I was absolutely sozzled as I boarded Prayagraj Express bound for New Delhi as I listened to Simon and Garfunkel’s Homeward Bound on my Walkman. The trappings of government postings include a decent accommodation, a vehicle and a bungalow peon. I continued to be deprived of majority of these at MILRAIL too. As usual my parents were my ministering angels and helped me out by sending their vehicle, a Fiat, from Hyderabad to Delhi. They had settled down at Hyderabad once my mother sought voluntary retirement. This was indeed a generous act and the vehicle stayed with us. Fortuitously, my parents’ former driver, always known as Sardarji was reappointed. My father stayed with us and worked for a missionary organisation as my mother was quite disturbed with my quotidian drinking and decided to spend some time in solitude in the United States with my sister and her family at Boston. I thanked my stars as the major problem of transportation was solved and made commuting from Civil Lines to Sena Bhavan easy as I did not have to depend on DTC buses or autorickshaws. My grandmother with her entire paraphernalia of religious texts joined us at Civil Lines, as she had lost the alcazar at Chennai (yes, it was no longer Madras). The final piece of jigsaw puzzle was resolved when my maternal aunt (married in to a North Indian Khatri family in Delhi) helped us identify the much-needed domestic help. So, everything seemed picture perfect at the surface. However, at the subterranean level was an alcoholic scuffling with life. Now I could gird up my loins to face the battery of seasoned army officials who were battle scarred defending our frontiers and the railway administration on the other side in our day to day working. My junior and I were to hear gut wrenching stories replete with valorous acts performed by the men wearing battle fatigues. Those of us from the railways had divided loyalties. One was towards the Railway Board and the other for the defence officers at the Movement Directorate. It required all skills to navigate this thin line as railways and defence were (and are still) working for a common purpose to safeguard our boundary and territory. The ADG (Move) an officer of the rank of a Major General (Movement Dte) used to get ballistic almost like an errant missile when railway codes, manuals and procedures were quoted during our daily morning conference, for he felt slighted and opined that we were deliberately torpedoing his plans. As per the hierarchy, he was assisted by two Deputy Director Generals – one from the army and the other from railways. The former was a genial brigadier who was a paratrooper and had waged several battles during insurgency plagued minacious terrain of Jammu and Kashmir and the North East. His designation was Deputy Director General (Movement), while I was referred to as Deputy Director General (Rail Movement), a rather pompous sounding title. But the appellation was rather short-lived as the espionage network of ADG (Move) and the armed forces discovered that I was still in the JAG and in no manner could have held the coveted position of DDG (RM). Soon I was stripped off my rank rather unceremoniously and was designated as Joint Director (MILRAIL). Fortuitously the humiliation remained short-lived as I was elevated to the selection grade and to my delight the prefix of Joint was deleted and I became Director (MILRAIL). I let the matters cool down and did not wish to scrimmage to be called Deputy Director General more importantly, “what’s in the name after all,” I conjectured. As government servants we proudly sport an identity card, which allows us certain privileges and access to various corridors of power. But the identity card of the Ministry of Defence and Army Headquarters provided us the ingress to places which an ordinary citizen or even a government employee would not gain access to, such as the security check area of the international airport, all Ministries of GOI, important clubs and the list went on much to my delight. Not that I was visiting all these places, but I regained the feeling of power and prestige. The new found power embedded in the nametag made me heady and often in an inebriated state and, I had to unleash my ripped muscle even caught on the wrong side of law as my vehicle was caught by the cops for jumping signals. But the policemen, seeing the Ministry of Defence name tag let me off lightly. This was nothing but sheer supercilious attitude on my part. The flip side of the posting was an easy and inexpensive access to liquor in the army canteen. My wife was certainly not pleased with my easy access to the army canteen. A bottle of Rosy Pelican was just Rs 8/-, Blue Riband Gin hardly cost Rs 25/-, whisky and rum too were well within my budget. It was not Kosher. But a trade-off took place, I was assured of liquor supplies and return, defence personnel had an access to emergency quota by trains. This was over and above the normal Defence Quota they were entitled to. Double Engine – Double Delight – A coveted Prize IRTS like other government services provide a wide vista to perform at national scale which is extremely satisfying. The 11th and the 13th of May,1998 were momentous days which gladdened zillions of Indian hearts. India conducted a total of seven nuclear explosions over those two days. This was executed in the perspective of threat in an environment where our neighbours had acquired nuclear weapons. The famous Prime Minister with remarkable oratorial skills parried international opprobrium and India found a place in the nuclear club. Once India had detonated the nuclear bombs, we were involved in a major task of mobilising troops to beef up our borders. Suffice to mention the challenging work was taken up by the Movement Dte. by both the army and railways with all earnestness and following the tenets laid down in the Operation Rail Movement Plan (ORMP). This was a highly classified document which provided the bulwark and strategy to run the defence specials across the country to secure our borders. Then began the mobilisation of troops with vigour and fervour to seal our frontiers. Tasks Assigned and Accomplished Now the distance between Guwahati and New Delhi is 2,030 kilometres and generally the arduous journey is traversed in forty-one hours and seventeen minutes. The ADG laid a task before Director, Movement, (a Colonel who served in the IPKF operations in Sri Lanka, apart from other theatres of war), and me to ensure that a troops special consisting of army personnel returning from Eastern border clock the journey precisely within that time frame. “Why cannot a troops train run on this path like any other mail or express train? Are people serving in the defence forces second class citizens? We guard our borders at the cost of our lives,” he remonstrated at the top of his voice. This was well-nigh impossible as all military specials get detained inordinately for a variety of reasons like availability of path on already choked paths, detentions caused by army personnel themselves, change of traction, supply of food to the men in battle fatigues to name just a few. I had expressed my apprehension, but Director, Movement goaded me to achieve this impossible task. I took up the challenge armed with adequate liquor supplies, cigarette packets, Pan Parag and was awake for most of 41h and 17 minutes. We crossed the Rubicon and I was reliving my days as an operating officer sitting in a control office. The Major General, a veteran of three wars twirled his moustache with glee and thumped the table with enormous jollity as the troops special reached Delhi within the targeted time. We were feted for achieving this herculean task. Seldom are civilians honoured with the coveted military honours. But I was decorated with the Chief of Army Staff (COAS) Commendation medal for my contribution and so was the Director Movement. All three branches of the defence service issue Commendation Cards, which are badges awarded for individual acts of gallantry or distinguished service or devotion to duty performed either in operation or non-operational areas. I caroused upon receiving the award and to an extent that I fell from the chair and badly bruised my right hand which was in plaster for some time. Silver Lining Those were dark and gloomy times, where life hurtled towards an abyss and our family was enveloped by darkness, with little to be cheery about with my drinking. One day my wife was indulging in her favourite past time of window-shopping and was attracted to a cassette called Shivoham. She found the music extremely soothing and mellifluous. My wife was not aware about the singers, nor the band or the organisation which had produced the bhajan. She just found the lyrics and music extremely soulful and eloquent. The lyrics were those of the spellbinding Nirvana Shatakam composed by Adi Shankaracharya. The song was sung by a group of foreigners and proclaimed it to be an Art of Living production, under the guidance of Sri Sri Ravi Shankar, on the banks of the Ganges. This was a much-required balm for her frayed nerves. Little did she know this was merely our first encounter with the Art of Living. Years ago, my parents were suffused with joy when they heard the soulful singing by Swamiji. My mother realised the therapeutic powers of bhajans. Meanwhile cold and icy winds of North India, swept across Delhi. There was a sharp shower in Delhi and temperatures plummeted. It was 27th November and the year 1997 and my wife was in labour. She was suffering with severe pain and rushed to the Central Hospital of Northern Railway. Some years back, I was admitted to the ICU of this very hospital after the episode in Saharanpur. In 1993 our son arrived on planet earth in this very hospital and now in 1997 my wife was wheeled in to the hospital. The next day as a baby was born, the general refrain was “Family complete ho gayi, family complete ho gayi”. So, the quartet comprising of me, my wife, son and daughter were all Sagittarians. Quite coincidental and certainly never planned to be this way.

CHAPTER 12 Homeward Bound - A Story of Faith and Miracles

CHAPTER 12 Homeward Bound Soon I received an official communique that I had been appointed as the Deputy Director General (Rail Movement) in the MILRAIL (Military Rail) in the Movement Directorate at Army Headquarters, Sena Bhavan. The basic job entailed monitoring running of military specials, defence specials (code named VPs) for personnel and SPs (stores specials), movement of defence cargo, military ambulance specials, getting familiar with the ORMP (Operations Rail Move Plan), releasing of defence quota, looking after all defence owned railway stock and coordination with the Railway Board at the headquarters level and all zones for movement of military trains. I hurriedly packed my bags, thanked my unwitting benefactor and continued to have swigs of gin and tonic. I was absolutely sozzled as I boarded Prayagraj Express bound for New Delhi as I listened to Simon and Garfunkel’s Homeward Bound on my Walkman. The trappings of government postings include a decent accommodation, a vehicle and a bungalow peon. I continued to be deprived of majority of these at MILRAIL too. As usual my parents were my ministering angels and helped me out by sending their vehicle, a Fiat, from Hyderabad to Delhi. They had settled down at Hyderabad once my mother sought voluntary retirement. This was indeed a generous act and the vehicle stayed with us. Fortuitously, my parents’ former driver, always known as Sardarji was reappointed. My father stayed with us and worked for a missionary organisation as my mother was quite disturbed with my quotidian drinking and decided to spend some time in solitude in the United States with my sister and her family at Boston. I thanked my stars as the major problem of transportation was solved and made commuting from Civil Lines to Sena Bhavan easy as I did not have to depend on DTC buses or autorickshaws. My grandmother with her entire paraphernalia of religious texts joined us at Civil Lines, as she had lost the alcazar at Chennai (yes, it was no longer Madras). The final piece of jigsaw puzzle was resolved when my maternal aunt (married in to a North Indian Khatri family in Delhi) helped us identify the much-needed domestic help. So, everything seemed picture perfect at the surface. However, at the subterranean level was an alcoholic scuffling with life. Now I could gird up my loins to face the battery of seasoned army officials who were battle scarred defending our frontiers and the railway administration on the other side in our day to day working. My junior and I were to hear gut wrenching stories replete with valorous acts performed by the men wearing battle fatigues. Those of us from the railways had divided loyalties. One was towards the Railway Board and the other for the defence officers at the Movement Directorate. It required all skills to navigate this thin line as railways and defence were (and are still) working for a common purpose to safeguard our boundary and territory. The ADG (Move) an officer of the rank of a Major General (Movement Dte) used to get ballistic almost like an errant missile when railway codes, manuals and procedures were quoted during our daily morning conference, for he felt slighted and opined that we were deliberately torpedoing his plans. As per the hierarchy, he was assisted by two Deputy Director Generals – one from the army and the other from railways. The former was a genial brigadier who was a paratrooper and had waged several battles during insurgency plagued minacious terrain of Jammu and Kashmir and the North East. His designation was Deputy Director General (Movement), while I was referred to as Deputy Director General (Rail Movement), a rather pompous sounding title. But the appellation was rather short-lived as the espionage network of ADG (Move) and the armed forces discovered that I was still in the JAG and in no manner could have held the coveted position of DDG (RM). Soon I was stripped off my rank rather unceremoniously and was designated as Joint Director (MILRAIL). Fortuitously the humiliation remained short-lived as I was elevated to the selection grade and to my delight the prefix of Joint was deleted and I became Director (MILRAIL). I let the matters cool down and did not wish to scrimmage to be called Deputy Director General more importantly, “what’s in the name after all,” I conjectured. As government servants we proudly sport an identity card, which allows us certain privileges and access to various corridors of power. But the identity card of the Ministry of Defence and Army Headquarters provided us the ingress to places which an ordinary citizen or even a government employee would not gain access to, such as the security check area of the international airport, all Ministries of GOI, important clubs and the list went on much to my delight. Not that I was visiting all these places, but I regained the feeling of power and prestige. The new found power embedded in the nametag made me heady and often in an inebriated state and, I had to unleash my ripped muscle even caught on the wrong side of law as my vehicle was caught by the cops for jumping signals. But the policemen, seeing the Ministry of Defence name tag let me off lightly. This was nothing but sheer supercilious attitude on my part. The flip side of the posting was an easy and inexpensive access to liquor in the army canteen. My wife was certainly not pleased with my easy access to the army canteen. A bottle of Rosy Pelican was just Rs 8/-, Blue Riband Gin hardly cost Rs 25/-, whisky and rum too were well within my budget. It was not Kosher. But a trade-off took place, I was assured of liquor supplies and return, defence personnel had an access to emergency quota by trains. This was over and above the normal Defence Quota they were entitled to. Double Engine – Double Delight – A coveted Prize IRTS like other government services provide a wide vista to perform at national scale which is extremely satisfying. The 11th and the 13th of May,1998 were momentous days which gladdened zillions of Indian hearts. India conducted a total of seven nuclear explosions over those two days. This was executed in the perspective of threat in an environment where our neighbours had acquired nuclear weapons. The famous Prime Minister with remarkable oratorial skills parried international opprobrium and India found a place in the nuclear club. Once India had detonated the nuclear bombs, we were involved in a major task of mobilising troops to beef up our borders. Suffice to mention the challenging work was taken up by the Movement Dte. by both the army and railways with all earnestness and following the tenets laid down in the Operation Rail Movement Plan (ORMP). This was a highly classified document which provided the bulwark and strategy to run the defence specials across the country to secure our borders. Then began the mobilisation of troops with vigour and fervour to seal our frontiers. Tasks Assigned and Accomplished Now the distance between Guwahati and New Delhi is 2,030 kilometres and generally the arduous journey is traversed in forty-one hours and seventeen minutes. The ADG laid a task before Director, Movement, (a Colonel who served in the IPKF operations in Sri Lanka, apart from other theatres of war), and me to ensure that a troops special consisting of army personnel returning from Eastern border clock the journey precisely within that time frame. “Why cannot a troops train run on this path like any other mail or express train? Are people serving in the defence forces second class citizens? We guard our borders at the cost of our lives,” he remonstrated at the top of his voice. This was well-nigh impossible as all military specials get detained inordinately for a variety of reasons like availability of path on already choked paths, detentions caused by army personnel themselves, change of traction, supply of food to the men in battle fatigues to name just a few. I had expressed my apprehension, but Director, Movement goaded me to achieve this impossible task. I took up the challenge armed with adequate liquor supplies, cigarette packets, Pan Parag and was awake for most of 41h and 17 minutes. We crossed the Rubicon and I was reliving my days as an operating officer sitting in a control office. The Major General, a veteran of three wars twirled his moustache with glee and thumped the table with enormous jollity as the troops special reached Delhi within the targeted time. We were feted for achieving this herculean task. Seldom are civilians honoured with the coveted military honours. But I was decorated with the Chief of Army Staff (COAS) Commendation medal for my contribution and so was the Director Movement. All three branches of the defence service issue Commendation Cards, which are badges awarded for individual acts of gallantry or distinguished service or devotion to duty performed either in operation or non-operational areas. I caroused upon receiving the award and to an extent that I fell from the chair and badly bruised my right hand which was in plaster for some time. Silver Lining Those were dark and gloomy times, where life hurtled towards an abyss and our family was enveloped by darkness, with little to be cheery about with my drinking. One day my wife was indulging in her favourite past time of window-shopping and was attracted to a cassette called Shivoham. She found the music extremely soothing and mellifluous. My wife was not aware about the singers, nor the band or the organisation which had produced the bhajan. She just found the lyrics and music extremely soulful and eloquent. The lyrics were those of the spellbinding Nirvana Shatakam composed by Adi Shankaracharya. The song was sung by a group of foreigners and proclaimed it to be an Art of Living production, under the guidance of Sri Sri Ravi Shankar, on the banks of the Ganges. This was a much-required balm for her frayed nerves. Little did she know this was merely our first encounter with the Art of Living. Years ago, my parents were suffused with joy when they heard the soulful singing by Swamiji. My mother realised the therapeutic powers of bhajans. Meanwhile cold and icy winds of North India, swept across Delhi. There was a sharp shower in Delhi and temperatures plummeted. It was 27th November and the year 1997 and my wife was in labour. She was suffering with severe pain and rushed to the Central Hospital of Northern Railway. Some years back, I was admitted to the ICU of this very hospital after the episode in Saharanpur. In 1993 our son arrived on planet earth in this very hospital and now in 1997 my wife was wheeled in to the hospital. The next day as a baby was born, the general refrain was “Family complete ho gayi, family complete ho gayi”. So, the quartet comprising of me, my wife, son and daughter were all Sagittarians. Quite coincidental and certainly never planned to be this way.

CHAPTER 11 A Roller Coaster Ride- A Story of Faith and Miracles

CHAPTER 11 A Roller Coaster Ride “We need a fresh face as Area Manager, Queens Road to perform a miracle and erase the lackadaisical performance. There have been widespread complaints regarding the sluggish running of prestigious trains like Palace on Wheels, and Fairy Queen. Loading of Maruti vehicles at Gurgaon and transhipment at Shakurbasti is also hit,” was the missive from Railway Board to the Chief Operations Manager, COM for short (in the earlier avatar referred to as the Chief Operating Superintendent) of Northern Railway. “Does the voice of Universe speak with living beings in its womb? Do transmigratory souls transmit information about our past, present and future,” I mused. Did I receive signals that unexpected events would take place in life while still in the womb…? From mundane jobs, transfers, postings, achievements, marriage and children, where do we finally go? In fact, where do we even come from?” I thought aloud. Meanwhile, all IRTS officers who were hitherto Superintendents became Managers overnight, though there was not an iota of difference in job profile. This new designation of IRTS officers confounded and irked none other than Chaudhary Devi Lal (the Tau of Indian politics) who considered the new title nothing more than unadorned bank managers. The Tau fancied the title Superintendent as in the feudal world this appellation struck a chord with the potentate and servile masses and could awe and shock them. Quite like the five-year plans of the country, I worked for five years, before I was finally moved on as Area Manager at Queens Road in Delhi, though technically this post was a part of Bikaner Division. Like other metros, if one gets posted to Delhi at a young age, the trappings of city life make a person stick like glue for as long as possible. The proximity to the power centre put me on the radar and I was frequently summoned by top honchos of Baroda House and Railway Board. Delhi is a curious animal. One can make it a pet or become a prey. And this is what the popular Prime Minister who stormed to power in 2014 refers to as the power brokers of Luytens’ Delhi and with a missionary zeal has been trying to dismantle the system. This is where all decisions are made, it is populated with all the ministries and those with right connections manage to stay on in Delhi for years together, in all kinds of posts. They move out of Delhi only to serve in the coveted posts such as DRMs and GMs. As once, a former boss while I was posted at Jaipur was candid enough to say, “There are only two posts in railways … be a DRM or a GM.” As Area Manager Queens Road I had to frequently visit Gurgaon to oversee the loading of Maruti vehicles. Apart from this I had to receive and see-off important functionaries who were travelling by various luxury trains that departed from Delhi Cantt. Unfortunately for the family, after seeing off important travellers like Victor Banerjee, Krutika Desai, prominent bureaucrats of Rajasthan and Gujarat government apart from Railway Board officials I would gulp down several pegs of gin and be in my world of delusion, anger and arrogance. Blessed with enormous patience my wife attempted to reason out with me but it fell on deaf ears. And likewise, I ignored the fervent pleas of my parents and grandmother. I was fighting a battle from within and without with no victories and Bacchus seemed to be winning the battle. On a couple of occasions my mother asked the pandits of Hanuman Temple at Kingsway Camp to perform the Rudra Puja to invoke the blessings of munificent Lord Shiva. The chanting and puja do have a therapeutic impact on the human mind, but I was yet to realise. The short, eventful stint as Area Manager, Queens Road, Bikaner Division was sandwiched by a cricket match and an explosion in the skies near Charkhi Dadri. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx On 12th November 1996, Saudia Flight 763, a Boeing 747 from Delhi to Saudi Arabia, and Kazakhstan Airlines Flight 1907, enroute to Delhi from Kazakhstan, collided over the village of Charkhi Dadri. The crash killed all 349 people on board both planes, making it the world's deadliest mid-air collision and the deadliest aviation accident to occur in India. The collision took place about 100 kilometres west of Delhi. I was given directions from the big leaguers of Delhi and the leadership of Bikaner to rush to the spot as the fireball had descended near the railway track. Providentially the passengers of Rewari – Hissar passenger train escaped the falling wreckage. Or else it would have been catastrophic as fusillade from the aircraft would have scorched the hapless train passengers. xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx A Little Earlier All cricket buffs headed to home to watch the World Cup Semi-final between India and Sri Lanka at Eden Gardens, Calcutta. Cricket pundits were unanimous in their decision that Azharuddin committed a fatal flaw in opting to bowl first on an underprepared wicket. Thankfully they did not blame his faith for the ill-fated choice. The rambunctious crowds at the fall of the eighth Indian wicket, threw their water bottles in disgust apart from fruits. Eventually they set on fire parts of the stadium and the match by default was awarded to Sri Lanka as India was tottering at 120/8. But more importantly my wife and my kid who could barely ride a small cycle watched me in astonishment as I had consumed a bottle and half of gin all alone and using the choicest abuse against the Indian cricket team. Cricket was our religion and we could not afford to capitulate. My wife was not a typical religious or ritualistic type who would resort to temple hopping but as an expression of some faith and belief she would visit Lord Krishna’s temple during Janmashtami along with our young son and pray for my recovery. On account of the negative thoughts in my mind and my fears, my wife was compelled to turn down the offer of being employed at Tata McGraw Hill as I expressed my inability to look after our son on account of my work schedule and we could not leave the child without adequate supervision. Tragically, my wife lost an opportunity on account of my selfish attitude and had to settle for a job at a play school where my son studied in the Civil Lines area of Delhi. The house that we lived in was an architectural marvel, and situated in the Civil Lines area neatly nestled amidst greenery, and a stone’s throw from the ridge (paradise for lovers of Delhi University) and on the banks of Yamuna River. In the evenings, my wife and I took walks and stretched our limbs, but that was followed by a drinking session and eating greasy butter chicken, kebabs or Chinese fare from the popular joints Moet’s or Moti Mahal, which were practically next door. The year was 1997 and I got promoted to the Junior Administrative Grade (JAG) and posted as Deputy Chief Operations Manager (Dy. COM) Goods 2, Northern Railway. Usually, seasoned officers with considerable operating experience get slotted for this position. It was a tough ask as I had barely worked in two divisions of Northern Railway (Ambala and Bikaner), yet I took up the challenge. But I was stripped of all pelf, power, with no vehicle or bungalow peon at my disposal. I was bestowed with all responsibilities but precious else. The comfort of travelling by a sarkari Ambassador was replaced by wading my way from Civil Lines to Baroda House and back either by an autorickshaw or a DTC bus. One was reminded of school and college days and this led to further remorse and criticism of my bosses and the service conditions and in turn to additional consumption of alcohol. It was a vicious circle where I was broken and found solace only in drinking as my wife and child looked at me with only despair in their forlorn eyes. For some inexplicable reason my boss who was instrumental in my transfer as Dy. COM did not permit me the use of an official vehicle. I cursed him. But the bitterness did not end there. I imprecated all those who were responsible for me joining the IRTS including the entire Valluri menage. I was reduced to a humble servant, a typical sarkari babu and bemoaned my fate and destiny as I was to see my compatriots in the IAS, IPS and other services travelling by a vehicle. Wringing her hands helplessly, my wife hoped that almighty God and the supreme power / intelligence would intervene and our lives would get metamorphosed. Happiness, Bombshell and Border It was during this period my wife was again in the family way which was a welcome news. But I was rattled by another information, the news about my transfer to Allahabad as the Senior Divisional Safety Officer (Sr DSO) as I had to pave way for a senior officer who had returned from a training stint in Australia. I protested with the higher echelons about the injustice and the fact that my wife was in the family way only to be told, “Jo tumen karna tha kar diya ab to tumhari wife ko karna hai. Allahabad jao Sr DSO ban kar.” I was both devastated and disgusted hearing this from a Joint Secretary level officer. “How could they use such language?” I wondered. But here I was scorching in arrogance, anger, hubris and unmindfully scoring self-goals, inflicting wounds of my body and soul. I was wallowing in self-pity as I prepared to take up the fresh assignment at Allahabad. My mind was obfuscated; vision and thought process blurred as I began consuming alcohol in a much larger quantity in melancholic solitude at the ORH (Officer’s Rest House) where I was housed. Instead of visiting the historical sites in Allahabad and appreciating the city’s culture and basking in its glory, I was drinking. As drinking was positively assuming a quotidian shape, my son and wife arrived to spend a few days at the city of Sangam. Four lives were now closeted in the rest house next to the railway station. Unfortunately, my wife was often awakened from her well-deserved rest by the fumes of the stove, and the noxious substance which emanated through my incessant smoking, the rattling and screeching and grinding halts of freight and passenger trains. Willy-nilly I ended up tormenting and torturing my wife, the child to be born and my young son which was to only reflect my inconsiderate attitude. Various art forms reflect the prevalent socio-political milieu of society. Bollywood was not insulated from the nationalistic paranoia which gripped the nation and various films depicting the valour of Indian defence forces dominated the silver screen. Among them was the Sunny Deol starrer Border. My son wore battle fatigues and was fully armed with toy guns and grenades to participate in the hardihood displayed on the screen. He was to ape Sunny Deol and Jackie Shroff animatedly as were the hysterical crowds who kept whistling and sloganeering, Bharat Mata ki Jai with gay abandon. As I took swigs from a bottle of Coke spiked with vodka my son indulged in shadow boxing with an imaginary enemy in the Battle of Longewala. Life was certainly not hunky dory and I was desperate to get back to Delhi. In this Mission Delhi exercise, I was ably assisted by a batchmate who felt threatened by my presence at Allahabad as he was desperate to continue working there and has diligently served the Indian Railways for twenty-five odd years at the city. There was one post and two suitors -me and him. He was still to be confirmed in the Junior Administrative Grade. In this atypical Swayamvar – Draupadi could choose either Karan or Arjun. In a state of stupor, impersonating as a senior official, which terrified my batchmate-competitor, I threatened him with a transfer to a godforsaken place in the coal fields of Eastern Railway or tea gardens of North East Frontier Railway. The traumatised batchmate who never intended to leave city went in to an overdrive to facilitate my transfer back to Delhi And so, it was not too long before my sentinel ensured the transfer back to Delhi on a deputation to a position in MILRAIL (Army Headquarters) where I was the conduit between the railways and the defence forces.

Was it possible for Arjuna to defeat Jarasandha in archery?

Was it possible for Arjuna to defeat Jarasandha in archery? Arjuna would be able to cut his bows, but won't be able to defeat him in battle of weapons. Jarasandha is invulnerable to weapons and can only be defeated in a physical duel. But after the immediate cause of fear was removed (by the death of Kansa), Jarasandha, his father-in-law, took up arms. Ourselves consisting of the eighteen younger branches of the Yadavas arrived at the conclusion that even if we struck our enemies continually with excellent weapons capable of taking the lives of the foes, we should still be unable to do anything unto him even in three hundred years. It's possible in a physical combat. Jarasandha won't be able to break Arjuna's bow because it's indestructible, however he could cut it's strings like Drona, Karna and Ashwathama did. If Arjuna fights with a normal bow, It would be a draw or Jarasandha might even win this, strictly archery that is,..

“80-Year-Old Wall”

Psychiatrist Hideki Wada published a book called “80-Year-Old Wall” in March this year. As soon as the book was released, sales exceeded 500,000 copies, becoming the best-selling book at the moment. If it continues at this rate, sales of this book will exceed 1 million copies, making it the best-selling book in Japan this year. Dr. Wada, 61, is a doctor specializing in mental illnesses in the elderly. In the past 35 years, he has treated about 6,000 patients. To sum up the book “80-Year-Old Wall” in one sentence, it is “an ode to 80-year-olds.” Specifically, this book tells 80-year-olds how to live to 100 in good health in the context of the “100-year-old” era. Currently, the “average healthy life expectancy” (the age at which one is physically and mentally independent and healthy) of Japanese men is 72.68 years old and that of women is 75.38 years old. In terms of “average life expectancy”, Japanese men are 81.64 years old and women are 87.74 years old. Subtracting “average healthy life expectancy” from “average life expectancy”, men have about 9 years and women have about 12 years of “time requiring care from others”. How to minimize this time is the core content of Dr. Wada’s masterpiece. According to this point of view, the elderly do not need to take sleeping pills frequently. It is a natural phenomenon that sleep time decreases with age, and no one will die from insomnia. 24 hours a day, sleep when you want to sleep, wake up when you want to wake up, this is the privilege of the elderly. In addition, the cholesterol level that the elderly generally worry about is not a big deal even if it is high to a certain extent. Because cholesterol is the raw material for the human body to produce immune cells. The more immune cells there are, the lower the risk of cancer in the elderly. In addition, part of male hormones is also composed of cholesterol. If the cholesterol level is too low, the physical and mental health of men will be unsustainable. Similarly, it doesn’t matter if the blood pressure is high. More than 50 years ago, humans were generally malnourished. Therefore, when the blood pressure reaches about 150, the blood vessels will rupture. But now few people are malnourished, so even if the blood pressure exceeds 200, it will not cause blood vessels to rupture. Dr. Wada summarized the secrets of 80-year-olds to become “lucky people” into “44 sentences”, as follows : 1. Keep walking 2. Take a deep breath when you feel irritated 3. Exercise to the extent that your body does not feel stiff 4. Drink more water when using the air conditioner in summer 5. “Diapers” are very helpful for increasing mobility 6. The more times you chew, the more energetic your body and brain will be 7. Memory loss is not due to aging, but to long-term disuse of the brain 8. There is no need to take a lot of medicine 9. There is no need to deliberately lower blood pressure and blood sugar levels 10. Being alone does not mean loneliness, but enjoying a relaxing time 11. Being lazy is not a shameful thing 12. No need to pay for a driver’s license (considering that it is more dangerous for the elderly to drive a motor vehicle, Japan has quietly started a movement to “ask the elderly to pay for their driver’s license”) 13. Do only what you like, not what you hate 14. You can still have all natural desires when you are old 15. No matter what, don’t stay at home all the time 16. Eat whatever you want, a slightly plump figure is just right 17. Do everything carefully 18. Don’t deal with people you hate 19. Don’t watch TV all the time 20. Instead of fighting the disease to the end, it is better to coexist with it 21. “There will always be a way out when the car reaches the mountain” is the magic spell that makes the elderly happy 22. Eat fresh fruits and salad 23. Keep the bath time within 10 minutes 24. Don’t force yourself if you can’t sleep 25. Doing happy things is most conducive to improving brain activity 26. Say whatever you want to say, don’t worry too much 27.Find a “family doctor” as soon as possible 28. Don’t be too patient or force yourself, there’s nothing wrong with being a “bad old man” 29. Sometimes it’s okay to change your words 30. Dementia in the last stage of life is a gift from God 31. Stop learning and you will get old 32. Don’t be greedy for glory, everything you have now is good enough 33. Innocence is the privilege of the elderly 34. The more troublesome things are, the more interesting they are 35. Sunbathing makes people happy 36. Do things that are good for others 37. Live leisurely today 38. Desire is the source of longevity 39. Live in an optimistic state 40. Breathe easily 41. The rules of life are in your own hands 42. Accept everything calmly 43. People with cheerful personalities are very popular 44. A smile brings good luck Japanese, Chinese or other races may have different views on the above tips. But we have to admit that there are many suggestions worth considering Most importantly, the new word “lucky age” is really great! Even if there is no gain, I am sure that there will not be any pain. Please share with all Elders

*The Veteran’s Predicament: A Case of PFSD*

By Gen. VK Singh *The Veteran’s Predicament: A Case of PFSD* *Post-retirement life was supposed to be peaceful—morning tea, newspaper in hand, and a well-earned break from years of military service* . But as many veterans discovered, an unspoken challenge awaited them: *Post-Fifty Plus Stress Disorder (PFSD).* *The Polarization Predicament* One of the earliest signs of PFSD was a *sudden surge in admiration for beauty. Every woman—whether a neighbor, a shopkeeper, or even the doctor at the clinic* —seemed to radiate elegance. And with that admiration came the uncontrollable greeting reflex. “ *Ah, Miss Beautiful, looking absolutely graceful today!* ” The first time it happened, there was a polite smile. The second time, a slight nod. By the third time, the smile had faded. By the fourth, there was only a hurried exit. “ *Strange,* ” he thought. “ *Compliments were once appreciated. Why does everyone walk away now?”* Of course, in his mind, he still had the charm of a young officer in uniform. The world, however, saw a 50-plus man enthusiastically handing out compliments like a political candidate before elections. *The ‘When’ Syndrome* Another major symptom of PFSD was the When Syndrome. Conversations no longer started with “How are you?” but with: “ *When I was leading my company* …” “ *When we were in Kargil* …” “ *When discipline actually meant something…* ” At first, listeners showed interest, even admiration. But over time, responses followed a pattern: *The sippy fake smile – a polite but vacant nod.* The discreet glance at the phone – as if checking for urgent messages. The *“Excuse me for a second* ” – *a strategic withdrawal.* The complete disappearance. By the time the fifth ‘when’ was uttered, he was usually speaking to an empty room. *The Perception Disorder* PFSD also affected how people were seen—or rather, how one believed they were seen. For some reason, he felt people should be eager to spend time with him. After all, he had a lifetime of stories to tell, wisdom to share, and more free time than he knew what to do with. But reality was different. Phone calls went unanswered. Meetings were always postponed. The old comrades he tried to gather for drinks had suddenly developed urgent family functions every evening. One day, at a local café, he spotted a fellow veteran and waved. The other man hesitated for a fraction of a second—then suddenly became deeply fascinated by a ‘50% Discount on Pastries’ sign and quickly walked away. *The Last Stand at Home* Realizing that the world had moved on, he decided that at least home should follow some discipline. “ *From now on, dinner will be at 1930 hours sharp. No latecomers. No excuses* .” The response was immediate. “ *And who exactly is in command here?” came the sharp reply from across the table* . He hesitated. *He had faced enemy fire, led troops through storms, but this—this was a different battlefield.* Within seconds, *his rank crumbled. Command was swiftly reassigned* . By the end of the week, he found himself not issuing orders, but following them—mostly in the kitchen. *Mission Abort* One evening, as he lay in bed, staring at the ceiling, he sighed. The mind was still in battle mode, but life had declared a ceasefire. Just then, his wife patted his shoulder. *“You don’t have to keep fighting,” she said softly. “Enjoy the peace.”* *And for the first time in years, he smiled.* Maybe PFSD wasn’t something to defeat. Maybe it was just another mission—learning how to stand down with dignity. *Some battles are meant to be won. Others* ? *Well, sometimes you just need to surrender—gracefully.*

*You think your plans didn’t work out?*

*You think your plans didn’t work out?* Sunita Williams and Barry Wilmore thought they were going to space only for 8 days. They ended up being there for 286 days. They were LITERALLY stranded in space. Imagine this: 👉🏾 You pack for a short trip, but instead, you’re gone for almost a year. 👉🏾 No fresh air. No real food. No way out, just waiting in the void of space. 👉🏾 No clear answer to when (or even if) you’ll make it back home. And here we are, losing patience when: - A 10-minute traffic jam ruins our day. - A deal gets delayed by a few days/ months. - A rejection email makes us want to quit. Those astronauts had no control over their situation. They couldn’t just book a return flight. They had to accept, adapt, stay calm and trust the process for 286 days of uncertainty. And they made it. If THAT isn’t the ultimate lesson of Patience, Endurance, and Problem-solving, I don’t know what it is. Hats-off to these legends for not just surviving but making history. Next time life throws unexpected delays at us, let’s remember: At least we’re not stranded in space. Life will throw curveballs. Your plans will go Haywire, things will take WAY longer than expected. But if these astronauts can survive nine months in space instead of eight days, you and I can surely handle a few detours here & there in life. God is Great!!!!!

Sita to Abhaya - Have Things Changed

https://epaper.thedailyguardian.com/view/2188/the-daily-guardian/15

*Today is Madras Day*

*Today is Madras Day* Some details on Madras (Chennai): *Chennai - MADRAS* Chennai is the only city in India which will have 3 international ports, Chennai port, Ennore port, 3rd one coming up at Kaattupalli. Chennai is the only city where ROYAL ENFIELD Bikes are manufactured, in the World. Chennai has the Longest Beach in india, 12 kms urban beach, 2nd Longest in the World. Chennai is the only city which houses a National Park within city limits. The Guindy National Park. Chennai is the only city which has three rivers flowing through it, Adai aaru (Adayar), Coovum Aaru, Kottralai (Kosasthalai) Aaru. Aaru — river. Chennai's OMR - Old Mahabalipuram Road is the Single Largest IT corridor in India. Chennai is the Single Largest Automobile Manufacturer in Asia. Fondly called the Detroit of Asia. Chennai is the 2nd city in the world to become a Municipal corporation next to London, in the year 1688. Chennai houses the Largest Bus Terminus in Asia at Koyambedu. Chennai is the birth place of Chicken 65, Hotel Buhari. Chennai has the Largest Library in Asia, Aringnar Anna Centenary Library. Chennai's Vandalur Zoo is the Largest Zoo in India. Chennai's Guindy Engineering college, the Oldest in India, 1794. 2 of the Top Ten Engineering Colleges in India located in a single road, IIT Madras, CEG(College of Engineering — Guindy / Guindy Engineering College), at Sardar Patel Road, Chennai. Chennai houses the Oldest Shopping Mall in India, Spencer plaza, 1863. Oldest Human Habitat, in the world found at Athirambakkam, Chennai The Madras High Court is the World's second Largest Court Complex. Chennai is the only Indian city attacked during World War. Chennai, City of Flyovers, Largest number of Flyovers in India. Kathipara Flyover, is the Largest Clover Leaf Flyover in Asia. Chennai is the Indian city with most number of Foreign Visitors Annually. Chennai is the Health Capital of India, with most number of foreign and domestic foot falls. Chennai has the Highest number of Grand Masters in chess. Royapuram railway station, is the Oldest Functioning Railway station in India. Integral Coach Factory(ICF), Chennai is the World's Largest Rail Coach Manufacturer. Madras Medical college, the Oldest Medical College and Oldest Hospital in India, 1664. The first ever flight in Asia flew in and around Chennai, 1910. Oragadam is the Largest Automobile hub in South Asia, with 22 Fortune 500 Companies. Chennai has the Highest number of Cinema Theatres in india. Quite obvious, Tamil Film industry has given 4 Chief Ministers to the State. Chennai has the Oldest race tracks in India, both Horse Race and Motor Race (obviously, being the Auto capital of Asia). Madras School of Art is the Oldest Fine Arts Institute in India(1850). Higginbothams, Mount Road, Chennai is the Oldest Book Store in India (1844). EID Parry, Chennai is the Oldest company in India (1780). MRF, Chennai is the largest Tyre Manufacturer in India. Madras Regiment is the Oldest Infantry Regiment of Indian Army(1750). AVM Studio is the oldest surviving Film Production house in India. St. George's Anglo Indian Higher Secondary School is the oldest School in India (1715). ❤️ CHENNAI 🌹

In Pursuit of Happiness

The pursuit of happiness is the nature of every living being - it is ingrained in your subconscious. However, the complexity of our mind has made it so difficult that one is embroiled in unhappiness. Time and again taking a break, getting back to your simplicity, and doing things which are useful for others would make a big difference. Simply logon to the Sattva App - www.sattva.life

NO MORE STRUGGLE…….

Good Morning!!! God grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change; Courage to change the things I can; and Wisdom to know the difference. Thy will, not mine, be done. *~*~*~*~*^Daily Reflections^*~*~*~*~* March 22, 2025 NO MORE STRUGGLE……. And we have ceased fighting anything or anyone- even alcohol. ALCOHOLICS ANONYMOUS, p.84 When AA found me, I thought I was in for a struggle, and that AA might provide me the strength I needed to beat alcohol. Victorious in that fight, who knows what other battles I could win. I would need to be strong, though. All my previous experience with life proved that. Today I do not have to struggle or exert my will. If I take those Twelve Steps and let my Higher Power do the real work, my alcohol problem disappears all by itself. My living problems also cease to be struggles. I just have to ask whether acceptance- or change-is required. It is not my will, but his, that needs doing *************************************************** Clearing a Channel During the day, we can pause where situations must be met and decisions made, and renew the simple request "Thy will, not mine, be done." If at these points our emotional disturbance happens to be great, we will more surely keep our balance provided we remember, and repeat to ourselves, a particular prayer or phrase that has appealed to us in our reading or meditation. Just saying it over and over will often enable us to clear a channel choked up with anger, fear, frustration, or misunderstanding, and permit us to return to the surest help of all– our search for God’s will, not our own, in the moment of stress. 12 & 12, pp. 102-103

THE BEATITUDES

Good Morning!!! THE BEATITUDES Around the Year with Emmet Fox March 22 The Sermon on the Mount opens with the eight Beatitudes. They are actually a prose poem in eight verses and constitute a general summary of the Christian teaching. A general summing up, such as this is highly characteristic of the old Oriental mode of approach to a religious and philosophical teaching, and it naturally recalls the Eightfold Path of Buddhism, the Ten Commandments of Moses, and other such compact groupings of ideas. Jesus concerned himself exclusively with the teaching of general principles, and these general principles always had to do with mental states, for he knew that if one's mental states are right, everything else might be right too. Unlike the other great religious teachers, he gives us no derailed instructions about what we are to do or are not to do. “. . . the hour cometh, when ye shalt neither in this mountain, nor yet at Jerusalem, worship the Father.” “. . . the hour cometh, and now is, when the true worshippers shall worship the Father in spirit and in truth: for the Father seeketh such to worship him.” “God is a Spirit: and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth”