The story goes, a naughty little girl ( its always girls isn't it), who was warned never to open one box, the Pandora's box. Her curiosity, got the better off her.She opened it, and set upon the world, all the ills that prevail today. Along with illness, corruption, poverty and crimes out fluttered one tiny fairy called hope....
I loved this story as a child, although I did wonder why its always Eve or another of the female species that wrecks havoc over mankind. Its not the man in love with Helen who brought upon the destruction and war, not her evil husband, it was Helen. Yet to come back to the story, I loved the fact that though there is ruin and despair, this solitary, tiny fairy ( I imagined her as tinker bell of peter pan stories), flew around, bringing hope into hearts. She was just one, she was small, the troubles many, yet she was HOPE. She lives till date....
Today after years , I watched an old favourite film of mine...." The Shawshank Redemption". This is one of those films , that takes its own time to unfurl its story. It builds up characters and leads to a crescendo of a very satisfying end. It leaves behind a very good feeling. It leaves you with hope....
This film teaches you a lot of things. Persistence, practice, meticulous-ness, all pays off, in the end what pays off the most, is never letting circumstances getting the better of you. It shows you , it may take 19 long years , yet in the end, your Hope and working toward that hope will take you where you want to be....
I have, on several occasions, very nearly lost all hope.There were mornings I would wake up, not knowing why God kept me alive. I felt i was not needed by any one. I would read about people , who died, and whose bodies were not discovered for days. I wondered, if I would have a similar death. I would go out like a silent candle in the night, unnoticed....I could never , ever figure out, why I was born in the first place. My parent's family was complete. They had a son and a daughter. I was not needed even there. my son, could live with his father, after my demise, and gradually forget me. Mumbai, is a cold and lonely city, much like New York, for people, who are not right in the middle of a "happening life". People are always rushed, they are pressed for time. Couples need to make appointments to see each other. Friends here, are fly by nights. Lovers , forget you like used condoms...
Nights I would feel like this, I pulled out one of these books, " Gone With the Wind", "The Fountainhead", or "Kane and Abel". I would pour over them, drawing strengths from fictitious characters. I so wanted a " happy ending". I have several copies of these books.There are a lot of movies, I watched at such times too. The struggles of the protagonist, "Count of Monte Cristo" for one ( I just love both, the movie and the book), and I would think, if they could go through so much and survive it, if they can be successful after all that they've been through, why not me. This question always awoke something in me. I think, it was hope. She would be slumbering somewhere, and this magical sentence would wake her up. I made up a line for myself, during one of those phases," I'm not just a survivor, I'm a winner".
From then on, everything happened to me, happened to make my autobiography fatter. I stored all the good memories, to remember the days vividly, so that I would be able to narrate my story later and laugh about it. Every broken relationship, became a dalliance I would show off to my grand kids one day. Every day of penury, became the days, my clay was baked in the sun.
Hope,, she does that to you. She told the dreamer in me, the writer in me, one day, your journey will make a great story, till then, collect all the anecdotes you can.Hope whispered to me, one day people will want to know your story, young girls and boys will draw courage and think to themselves, if she could do it, so can I. Hope told me, she wanted me to be her friend. She stuck by me, in every hour of despair and she's been doing it for millions of years, now there is so much despair, she needs help. A few years later she whispered to me the names of people she had befriended, along her long stint, some of the new ones were Doreen Virtue, Louise Hay, she whispered some more. She asked me , if I too could help by being her friend. I said yes. Now I understand, that night too, she was just working some more of her magic.
Hope is a beautiful thing, she's also very real. If you ever feel, she's not around you, listen to her whispers, she will talk of impossible sounding things, she may drop names , she may mention places,she will take you to visit childhood dreams. She never does leave... after all like the dialogue goes..." hope is a beautiful thing, and beautiful thing never dies"
I loved this story as a child, although I did wonder why its always Eve or another of the female species that wrecks havoc over mankind. Its not the man in love with Helen who brought upon the destruction and war, not her evil husband, it was Helen. Yet to come back to the story, I loved the fact that though there is ruin and despair, this solitary, tiny fairy ( I imagined her as tinker bell of peter pan stories), flew around, bringing hope into hearts. She was just one, she was small, the troubles many, yet she was HOPE. She lives till date....
Today after years , I watched an old favourite film of mine...." The Shawshank Redemption". This is one of those films , that takes its own time to unfurl its story. It builds up characters and leads to a crescendo of a very satisfying end. It leaves behind a very good feeling. It leaves you with hope....
This film teaches you a lot of things. Persistence, practice, meticulous-ness, all pays off, in the end what pays off the most, is never letting circumstances getting the better of you. It shows you , it may take 19 long years , yet in the end, your Hope and working toward that hope will take you where you want to be....
I have, on several occasions, very nearly lost all hope.There were mornings I would wake up, not knowing why God kept me alive. I felt i was not needed by any one. I would read about people , who died, and whose bodies were not discovered for days. I wondered, if I would have a similar death. I would go out like a silent candle in the night, unnoticed....I could never , ever figure out, why I was born in the first place. My parent's family was complete. They had a son and a daughter. I was not needed even there. my son, could live with his father, after my demise, and gradually forget me. Mumbai, is a cold and lonely city, much like New York, for people, who are not right in the middle of a "happening life". People are always rushed, they are pressed for time. Couples need to make appointments to see each other. Friends here, are fly by nights. Lovers , forget you like used condoms...
Nights I would feel like this, I pulled out one of these books, " Gone With the Wind", "The Fountainhead", or "Kane and Abel". I would pour over them, drawing strengths from fictitious characters. I so wanted a " happy ending". I have several copies of these books.There are a lot of movies, I watched at such times too. The struggles of the protagonist, "Count of Monte Cristo" for one ( I just love both, the movie and the book), and I would think, if they could go through so much and survive it, if they can be successful after all that they've been through, why not me. This question always awoke something in me. I think, it was hope. She would be slumbering somewhere, and this magical sentence would wake her up. I made up a line for myself, during one of those phases," I'm not just a survivor, I'm a winner".
From then on, everything happened to me, happened to make my autobiography fatter. I stored all the good memories, to remember the days vividly, so that I would be able to narrate my story later and laugh about it. Every broken relationship, became a dalliance I would show off to my grand kids one day. Every day of penury, became the days, my clay was baked in the sun.
Hope,, she does that to you. She told the dreamer in me, the writer in me, one day, your journey will make a great story, till then, collect all the anecdotes you can.Hope whispered to me, one day people will want to know your story, young girls and boys will draw courage and think to themselves, if she could do it, so can I. Hope told me, she wanted me to be her friend. She stuck by me, in every hour of despair and she's been doing it for millions of years, now there is so much despair, she needs help. A few years later she whispered to me the names of people she had befriended, along her long stint, some of the new ones were Doreen Virtue, Louise Hay, she whispered some more. She asked me , if I too could help by being her friend. I said yes. Now I understand, that night too, she was just working some more of her magic.
Hope is a beautiful thing, she's also very real. If you ever feel, she's not around you, listen to her whispers, she will talk of impossible sounding things, she may drop names , she may mention places,she will take you to visit childhood dreams. She never does leave... after all like the dialogue goes..." hope is a beautiful thing, and beautiful thing never dies"
I too heard about the bird called hope so i set of into the jungle , with all the devices and contraptions that i could find, to trap that elusive bird called 'hope' ; keep it for myself and sell its off-springs ... i combed every part of the forest , in vain, lugging my heavy trapping devices, hoping to catch hope ... kept my eyes peeled scanned every branch and nest ... tired i stopped to rest and lo! behold i saw her in my dreams ... i abandoned my traps and went home ...
ReplyDelete... So as it is in the passage hope is the where even faith does not survive ... kudos