Posts Tagged ‘mother’

When I was a kid, my mother used to read or narrate stories to me every mom_daughter2evening before bedtime. She once told me the story of Indian freedom fighter Vaa.Vu.Ce…..

Mom: “V. O. Chidambaram Pillai was called Vaa.Vu.Ce. He was a great freedom fighter. He was born in Tirunelveli.”

“You remember Tirunelveli – that place where Ravi mama saw us off?”

“Well, he was a good lawyer and he started an Indian shipping company. He didn’t see why only the Britishers should be having shipping companies, so he started an Indian one. He was soon hailed as “Kappalottiya Tamilan.”

“He was then arrested by the British and sentenced to life imprisonment. He spent so many years in prison. They tortured him a lot. When he came out he didn’t have any money. They say when he landed in the Chennai port only his dog was there to greet him, not the thousands who protested his arrest with “Vande Mataram.” He finally died a poor man. But he is always remembered for the great sacrifices he made. So what do we learn from his life?”

Me: “That dogs are the only loyal creatures on earth. Everyone forgot him, but not his dog. Mummy, can we have another dog?”

Mom: “Aiyoo! You missed the whole point. Now, listen to me carefully. The point of the story was that we should be patriotic and try to follow the footsteps of the great leaders of the country. No wonder you get such horrible marks in history….”

Me: “No, No..I listened to the story…Tell me another story, please, please, please!”

Mom: “Ok! But you have to listen properly”

Me: Yes, Yes, I listened. VOC was a great leader

Mom: His name is Vaa.Vu.Ce….Why don’t you listen

Me: Ok! Ok! Tell me the story, next.

Mom: “There was a class filled with little girls just like you. The science teacher wanted to show them an experiment that day. She brought two glasses and placed them on the table. She filled one with alcohol and one with water. She next put two insects in the two tumblers. After some time, the insect in the glass of alcohol died while the one in water survived.
The teacher next asks her students: What is the moral of the story?
A student replies: “If we drink alcohol all the insects in our tummy will die.”


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I was walking around in a Target store,

 when I saw a Cashier hand this little boy some money back .
The boy couldn’t have been more than 5 or 6 years old.
The Cashier said, “I’m sorry, but you don’t have enough money to buy
this doll.”

 Then the little boy turned to the old woman next to him: ”Granny,
are you sure I don’t have enough money?”

 The old lady replied: ”You know that you don’t have enough money to
buy this doll, my dear.”

 Then she asked him to stay there for just 5 minutes while she went
 to look around. She left quickly.

 The little boy was still holding the doll in his hand.

 Finally, I walked toward him and I asked him who he wished to give
 this doll to.

 “It’s the doll that my sister loved most and wanted so much for
Christmas. She was sure that Santa Claus would bring it to her.”

 I replied to him that maybe Santa Claus would bring it to her after
all, and not to worry.

 But he replied to me sadly. “No, Santa Claus can’t bring it to her
where she is now. I have to give the doll to my mommy so that she can
give it to my sister when she goes there.”

 His eyes were so sad while saying this.

 “My Sister has gone to be
with God. Daddy says that Mommy is going to see God very soon too, so
I  thought that she could take the doll with her to give it to my

 My heart nearly stopped.

 The little boy looked up at me and said: “I told daddy to tell mommy
not to go yet. I need her to wait until I come back from the mall.”

 Then he showed me a very nice photo of him where he was laughing. He
 then told me “I want mommy to take my picture with her so she
 won’t  forget me.”

 “I love my mommy and I wish she doesn’t have to leave me, but daddy
says that she has to go to be with my little sister.”

 Then he looked again at the doll with sad eyes, very quietly.

 I quickly reached for my wallet and said to the boy. “Suppose we
check again, just in case you do have enough money for the doll?”

“OK” he said, “I hope I do have enough.” I added some of my money to
his without him seeing and we started to count it. There was enough
for  the doll and even some spare money.

The little boy said: “Thank you God for giving me enough money!”

Then he looked at me and added, “I asked last night before I went to
sleep for God to make sure I had enough money to buy this doll, so
that mommy could give It to my sister…. He heard me!”

 “I also wanted to have enough money to buy a white rose for my
mommy, but I didn’t dare to ask God for too much. But He gave me
enough to buy the doll and a white rose.”

 “My mommy loves white roses.”

 A few minutes later, the old lady returned and I left with my

 I finished my shopping in a totally different state from when
 I started. I couldn’t get the little boy out of my mind.

 Then I remembered a local newspaper article two days ago, which
mentioned a drunk man in a truck, who hit a car occupied by a young
woman and a little girl.

The little girl died right away, and the mother was left in a
critical state. The family had to decide whether to pull the plug on
the  life-sustaining machine, because the young woman would not be able to
recover from the coma.

Was this the family of the little boy?

 Two days after this encounter with the little boy, I read in the
 newspaper that the young woman had passed away.

 I couldn’t stop myself as I bought a bunch of white roses and I went
to the funeral home  where the body of the young woman was exposed for
people to see and make last wishes before her burial.

 She was there, in her coffin, holding a beautiful white rose in her
hand with the photo of the little boy and the doll placed over
 her chest.

 I left the place, teary-eyed, feeling that my life had been changed
forever.. The love that the little boy had for his mother and his
sister  is still, to this day, hard to imagine. And in a fraction of a
a  drunk driver had taken all this away from him.

(Someone forwarded this story to me by mail. I’m guessing it must be another aspiring writer hard on his luck like me, who’s resorted to this way of getting his stories read. The story reminds me of The Gift of the Magpie) 

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