Student’s Quora

Toms + Every Mother Counts 

Why the Orange Rose?

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On Identifying Reliable Sources


An Open Letter

He was pruning the plants.. in the posh gardens of an International school, heat and dust didn’t seem to affect him.

Ganga Das, Principal Ma’am wants to see you — right now”…

The last two words of the peon had lots of emphasis on them, trying to make it sound like an urgency.

He quickly got up, washed and wiped his hands and headed towards the Principal’s chamber.

The walk from the garden to the office seemed never ending, his heart was almost jumping out of his chest…

he was trying all the permutation and combination, figuring out as to what has gone wrong that she wants to see him urgently..

He was a sincere worker and never shirked from his duties…

knock knock…
“Madam, you called me?”

“Come inside…” an authoritative voice laced with crispness made him further nervous…

Salt n pepper hair, tied neatly in a french knot, a designer sari-sober and very classic, glasses resting on the bridge of her nose…
She pointed out towards a paper kept on the table…
“Read this”…
“B..but Ma’am I am an illiterate person.

I can not read English.

Ma’am please forgive me if I have done anything wrong… give me another chance…

I am forever indebted to you for allowing my daughter to study in this school, free of cost… I could have never ever dreamt of such a life for my child..”

And he broke down almost trembling:

“Hold on, you assume a lot…we allowed your daughter because she is very bright and you have been our sincere worker.. Let me call a teacher in, she will read it out and translate it to you… this is written by your daughter and I want you to read this.

Soon enough the teacher was called and she started reading it, translating each line in Hindi…

It read-

“Today we are asked to write about Mother’s Day.

I belong to a village in Uttar Pradesh, to the east lies Bihar a tiny village where medical and education still seem like a far fetched dream. Many women die every now and the while giving birth. My mother was one of them too, she could not even hold me in her arms. My father was the first person to hold me.. or perhaps the only person.

Everyone was sad.. as I was a girl and I had “eaten up” my own mother, as the belief goes.

My dad was instantly asked to remarry but he refused.

My grandparents tried to reads with him by giving logical, illogical and emotional reasonings but he didn’t budge.

My grand parents wanted a grandson, they threatened him to remarry else he will be disowned…

He didn’t think twice… he left everything, his acres of land.. a good living, comfortable house, cattles and everything that counts for a good lifestyle in a village.

He came to this huge city with absolutely nothing — but me in his arms. Life was tough, he worked hard day and night.. raised me with tender love and utmost care.
Now I understand why suddenly he developed a dislike for things that I would love to eat when there was only one piece left on the plate…. he would say that he hates eating it and I would finish it thinking that he does not like it…. but as I grew older I realised the reason and what sacrifice is all about.
He comforts beyond his capacity.

This school gave him a shelter, respect and the biggest gift-an admission to his daughter…

If love and care defines a mother… then my father fits in there.
If compassion defines a mother, my father fits in well in that definition too…
If sacrifice defines a mother, my father dominates that definition.
So in nut shell.. if a mother is made of love, care sacrifice and compassion…
On Mother’s Day, I would like to wish my father for being the best parent on earth… I salute him and say it with pride that the hardworking gardener working in this school is my father.
I know I may fail this test after my teacher reads this — but this would be a very small price one would pay towards an ode to the selfless love of my father.

Thank You 🙏🏽

There was a deafening silence in the room… one could only hear the soft sobs of Ganga Das….

The harsh sun could not wet his clothes with sweat but soft words of his daughter had soaked his chest with tears…. he was standing there with hands folded..

He took the paper from teacher’s hands… held it close to his heart and sobbed.

The Principal got up.. offered him a chair, glass of water and said something… but, strangely the crispness of her voice was taken over by a surprising warmth and sweetness….

“Ganga Das.. your daughter has been given 10/10 for this essay… This is the best essay ever written about Mother’s Day in the history of this school. We are having A Mother’s Day Event tomorrow and the entire School Management has decided to invite you as the Chief Guest for the event…

This is to honour all the love and sacrifice a man can do to raise his children… to show that you do not have to be a woman to be the perfect parent…

And most importantly this is to reinforce, appreciate, acknowledge the strong belief of your daughter in you, to make her feel proud.. to make the entire school feel proud that we have the best parent on earth as stated by your daughter.”
“You are a ‘True Gardener’ who is not only looking after the gardens, but also nurturing the most precious flower of your life in such a beautiful way….”

“So Ganga Das, will you be our Chief Guest for the event?”

A young dad was walking with an older, more seasoned dad in the garden one day.

Feeling a bit insecure about what the God had in store for him to do, he asked the older dad for some advice.

The older dad walked up to a rosebush and handed the young dad a rosebud and told him to open it without tearing off any petals.

The young dad looked in disbelief at the older dad and was trying to figure out what a rosebud could possibly have to do with his wanting to know the will of the God for his life and legacy.

But, because of his great respect for the older dad, he proceeded to try to unfold the rose, while keeping every petal intact.

It wasn’t long before he realized how impossible this was to do.

Noticing the younger dad’s inability to unfold the rosebud without tearing it, the older dad began to recite the following poem…

It is only a tiny rosebud, 

A flower of HIS design;

But, I cannot unfold the petals

With these clumsy hands of mine.

The secret of unfolding flowers

Is not known to such as I.

HE opens this flower so easily,

But, in my hands they die.

If I cannot unfold a rosebud,

This flower of HIS design,

Then, how can I have the wisdom

To unfold this life of mine?

So, I’ll trust in HIM for leading

Each moment of my day.

I will look to HIM for guidance

In each step along the way.

The path that lies before me,

Only HE knows.

I’ll trust HIM to unfold the moments,

Just as HE unfolds the rose.

A Letter to Let Go…. and Let HIM Unfold your Life.


(Tweaked from True Purgatory Story)

A small town girl named Jean Marie once heard a story on Single Parents that made an indelible impression on her mind.

She was deeply moved by the thought of the intense and unceasing sufferings Single Parents endures, and she was horrified to see how cruelly they are neglected and forgotten.

Among other things the story stressed on the many Single Parents who are in reality near to their release — one talent might suffice to set them free — oftentimes long detained; may be for years, just because the last needful suffrage has been withheld or forgotten or neglected!

With her simple faith, Jeanne Marie resolved that, cost what it might, she would have 1 Talent taught to Single Parents every month, especially for the Parent nearest to Heaven. She earned little, and it was sometimes difficult to keep her promise, but she never failed.

On one occasion she took a city train and there fell ill, so that she was obliged to go to the hospital. Unfortunately, the illness proved to be a long one. When at last she was able to leave the hospital, all she had left of her scanty earnings was her talents!

What was she to do? Where to turn? Suddenly, a thought flashed across her mind that she had not had her usual monthly talent offered to Single Parents.

But she had only one talent! That was little enough to buy her food.

Yet her confidence that her talents to save Single Parents would not fail her triumphed.

She made her way to offer a Single Parent her talents. He consented to make use of, never dreaming that what was offered was the only gift the girl possessed. A wave of sadness clouded her face; she felt utterly bewildered as she left.

Touched by her evident distress, he asked her if she was in trouble and if he could help her. She told her story briefly, and ended by saying how much she desired to help Single Parents.

Somehow she felt consoled at the kind way in which the young man listened to what she said, and she fully recovered her confidence.

“I am delighted beyond measure, ” he said, “to help you. I know a lady who is even now looking for someone like you . Come with me. ” And so saying this he led her to a house not far in the distance and bade her ring the bell, assuring her that she would find use of her talents.

In answer to her ring, the lady of the house herself opened the door and inquired what Jeanne Marie required. “Madam, ” she said, “I have been told that you are looking for someone to teach talents. I have no work and should be glad to get the position.”

The lady was amazed and replied: “Who could have told you that I needed a Talent Teacher?

“The person who informed me that you required a Talent Teacher was a young gentleman. ”

“Impossible!” exclaimed the lady. “No young man, in fact no one at all, could have known that I needed a Talent Teacher. ”

“But Madam, ” the girl answered excitedly, pointing to a picture on the wall, “that is the young man who told me!”

“Why, child, that is my only son, who has been dead for more than a year!”

“Dead or not, ” asserted the girl with deep conviction in her voice, “it was he who told me to come to you, and he even led me to the door. See the scars; I would know him anywhere. ”

Then followed the full story of how, with her last talents, she had saved Single Parents, especially the one nearest to Heaven.
Convinced at last of the truth of what Jeanne Marie had told her, the lady received her with open arms. “Come, ” she said, “though not as my Talent Teacher, but as my dear daughter. You have sent my darling boy to Heaven. I have no doubt that it was he who brought you to me. ”

Shares by Uncle Edwin 😊

Reads and References :

(CC) 2017 Tysilyn Fernandes’s


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