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Authors: A P J Abdul Kalam
Tags: Non-Fiction
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back from the upper floors of the Grand Mosque after offering prayers. The pilgrims had to walk down the stairs as the escalators had been halted to avoid accidents. But walking down the stairs was not easy with people moving close together. The grandson was forced against the wall by the jostling of the crowd. He could not breathe properly and was struggling. Suddenly he felt the pressure ease up and there was more space around him. Seeing him struggling a pilgrim from Africa with a well-built body had moved in front to protect him from the surging crowd. By the time they reached the ground floor, the pilgrim had moved away not even giving him the chance to thank him.
The second incident is even more heartening. After completing the prayers in Arafat, they were returning to Mina. All the five million pilgrims have to travel back on that 15 km stretch the same day. Their vehicle’s air conditioner broke down and there was the immense heat of the desert. My brother refused to take water or food and continued to pray along the way. The vehicle inched forward every half-hour and they had been travelling for about eight hours. The driver finally suggested they walk the remaining distance to their destination, about a half-hour away on foot. My brother decided to take up the suggestion. My grandson helped him into the wheelchair despite his reluctance and started to help him along. They reached a place where they had to cross a small fissure in the road. My brother had to get down from the wheelchair and cross the fissure. Two pilgrims who saw this signalled to my brother to remain seated. Even before his grandson could say anything, they just lifted my brother with the wheelchair and placed him across the fissure. This time also they didn’t wait for someone to thank them.
In a place called Muzdalifa, they had to spend the night in the open. It was a cold desert night and they slept on the ground with only a mat underneath them. As they wore only very light clothing, this offered little protection against the cold. Early in the morning there was a huge queue for the washrooms. All the people who would otherwise have fought for their turn back home were standing in patient silence. In one of the queues, a lady had been waiting for her turn for almost one hour. A young girl came up to the queue and asked the woman to allow her to go out of turn.
the others in the queue let the woman decide. She let the young girl go. As it happened, after some time an old woman came and she too asked to be allowed to go first. This time all the onlookers thought after waiting for so long she would not allow the old lady to precede her. But to their surprise she made way for the old lady instantly. One has to remember that they did not know each other’s language and relied on signs. But the episodes show how even small gestures transform our lives in big ways.
Given the opportunity, love towards our fellow human beings flows like an uninhibited river, washing away all differences, was what I gathered from the narration by my brother’s daughter Nazima and grandson Gulam K. Moinudeen.
Field Marshal Sam Manekshaw
There was a call at Rashtrapati Bhavan from the Field Marshal when I was visiting Coimbatore in 2006. When I was informed of it I said, I must visit the Army Hospital in Wellington and see him. Let me recount my first meeting with him.
During the 1990s, one day I was travelling on an Indian Airlines flight and found myself next to Field Marshal S.H.F.J. ‘Sam’ Manekshaw. I introduced myself as the scientific adviser to RM (Raksha Mantri, that is, defence minister). When I told him this, he asked me, ‘Is he a good guy?’ The next question he asked me was, ‘How old are you?’ I said I am sixty-nine. He said, ‘You are a bachcha (child)’! I never thought I would meet the field marshal as a supreme commanderof the armed forces. As soon as I entered his room, he told everybody to go out. He asked me to sit close to him and
The second incident is even more heartening. After completing the prayers in Arafat, they were returning to Mina. All the five million pilgrims have to travel back on that 15 km stretch the same day. Their vehicle’s air conditioner broke down and there was the immense heat of the desert. My brother refused to take water or food and continued to pray along the way. The vehicle inched forward every half-hour and they had been travelling for about eight hours. The driver finally suggested they walk the remaining distance to their destination, about a half-hour away on foot. My brother decided to take up the suggestion. My grandson helped him into the wheelchair despite his reluctance and started to help him along. They reached a place where they had to cross a small fissure in the road. My brother had to get down from the wheelchair and cross the fissure. Two pilgrims who saw this signalled to my brother to remain seated. Even before his grandson could say anything, they just lifted my brother with the wheelchair and placed him across the fissure. This time also they didn’t wait for someone to thank them.
In a place called Muzdalifa, they had to spend the night in the open. It was a cold desert night and they slept on the ground with only a mat underneath them. As they wore only very light clothing, this offered little protection against the cold. Early in the morning there was a huge queue for the washrooms. All the people who would otherwise have fought for their turn back home were standing in patient silence. In one of the queues, a lady had been waiting for her turn for almost one hour. A young girl came up to the queue and asked the woman to allow her to go out of turn.
the others in the queue let the woman decide. She let the young girl go. As it happened, after some time an old woman came and she too asked to be allowed to go first. This time all the onlookers thought after waiting for so long she would not allow the old lady to precede her. But to their surprise she made way for the old lady instantly. One has to remember that they did not know each other’s language and relied on signs. But the episodes show how even small gestures transform our lives in big ways.
Given the opportunity, love towards our fellow human beings flows like an uninhibited river, washing away all differences, was what I gathered from the narration by my brother’s daughter Nazima and grandson Gulam K. Moinudeen.
Field Marshal Sam Manekshaw
There was a call at Rashtrapati Bhavan from the Field Marshal when I was visiting Coimbatore in 2006. When I was informed of it I said, I must visit the Army Hospital in Wellington and see him. Let me recount my first meeting with him.
During the 1990s, one day I was travelling on an Indian Airlines flight and found myself next to Field Marshal S.H.F.J. ‘Sam’ Manekshaw. I introduced myself as the scientific adviser to RM (Raksha Mantri, that is, defence minister). When I told him this, he asked me, ‘Is he a good guy?’ The next question he asked me was, ‘How old are you?’ I said I am sixty-nine. He said, ‘You are a bachcha (child)’! I never thought I would meet the field marshal as a supreme commanderof the armed forces. As soon as I entered his room, he told everybody to go out. He asked me to sit close to him and
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