Heritage

Did you know this?

HMV Company had once published a pamphlet giving the history of
gramophone record. Gramophone was invented by Thomas Alva Edison in the
19th century. Edison, who had invented many other gadgets like electric
light and the motion picture camera, had become a legend even in his
own time.

When He invented the gramophone record, which could record human voice
for posterity, he wanted to record the voice of an eminent scholar
on his first piece. For that he chose Prof. Max Muller of Germany,
another great personality of the 19th century. He wrote to Max Muller
saying, "I want to meet you and record your voice. When should I come?"
Max Muller who had great respect for Edison asked him to come on a
suitable time when most of the scholars of the Europe would be
gathering in England.

Accordingly, Edison took a ship and went to England. He was introduced
to the audience. All cheered Edison’s presence. Later at the request of
Edison, Max Muller came on the stage and spoke in front of the
instrument. Then Edison went back to his laboratory and by afternoon
came back with a disc. He played the gramophone disc from his
instrument. The audience was thrilled to hear the voice of Max Muller
from the instrument. They were glad that voices of great persons like
Max Muller could be stored for the benefit of posterity.

After several rounds of applause and congratulations to Thomas
Alva Edison, Max Muller came to the stage and addressed the scholars
and asked them, "You heard my original voice in the morning. Then
you heard the same voice coming out from this instrument in
the afternoon. Did you understand what I said in the morning or what
you heard this afternoon?"

The audience fell silent because they could not understand the language
in which Max Muller had spoken. It was `Greek and Latin' to them as
they say. But had it been Greek or Latin, they would have definitely
understood because they were from various parts of Europe. It was in a
language which the European scholars had never heard.

Max Muller then explained what he had spoken. He said that the language
he spoke was Sanskrit and it was the first sloka of Rig Veda, which
says "Agni Meele Purohitam." This was the first recorded public version
on the gramophone plate.

Why did Max Muller choose this? Addressing the audience he said, "Vedas
are the oldest text of the human race. And Agni Meele Purohitam is the
first verse of Rig Veda. In the most primordial time, when the people
did not know how even to cover their bodies and lived by hunting and
housed in caves, Indians had attained high civilization and they gave
the world universal philosophies in the form of the Vedas.”

Such is the illustrious legacy of our country!

When “Agni Meele Purohitam” was replayed the entire audience stood up
in silence as a mark of respect for the ancient Hindu sages.

This verse means:

"Oh Agni, You who gleam in the darkness, To You we come day by day,
with devotion and bearing homage. So be of easy access to us, Agni, as
a father to his son, abide with us for our well being."

Humility

Saint Narada is most known for creating mischief and quarrels between people (although the quarrels always lead to good things and makes everyone happy). Apart from his mischief making, however, Narada is also well known for his supreme musical talents - according to Hindu mythology, he introduced people to the gift of music. Narada always appears with a Veena in his hands and constantly chants the name of Lord Narayana. Even today, In India, when a religious discourse or a Yakshagana (a type of dance-drama or an opera) is held, the programs begin after invoking the name of Narada.

Saint Narada, wasn't without flaws, however. He was proud of his musical skills, but looked down on others who were less skilled than he was. Once he went to the kingdom of Lord Krishna. Krishna knew of Narada's arrogance and wanted to teach him a lesson on modesty and respect for others. Krishna asked Narada to play his Veena before an assembled audience in his court. Narada played the Veena brilliantly and delighted the audience with his music. At the end of his performance, Narada turned to Krishna and waited for the God to express his appreciation of Narada's music. Krishna, instead, turned to Hanuman, the monkey God, who was sitting in the audience, and asked him what he thought of Narada's music. Narada, unaware of Hanuman's divine status, was very unhappy that Krishna, instead of expressing his appreciation, sought the opinion of a mere monkey. "What does a monkey know about music?" Narada thought.


Krishna reading the mind of Narada said, "Oh Narada, I understand your concern, but first, let us find out if this monkey really knows anything about music. Give him your Veena and let him play it." Narada became even angrier because musicians consider their musical instruments sacred. Narada didn't want to share his Veena with anyone, especially not a monkey. He couldn't refuse Krishna's request however, and reluctantly handed the Veena to Hanuman. Hanuman began to play the Veena and sang beautiful hymns in praise of Lord Rama. The Monkey God's singing and playing was so sincere and so devoted that the entire audience was mesmerized. Even the great musical genius Narada was compelled to appreciate Hanuman's music. Being a person of enormous wisdom, Narada began to realize the lesson that Krishna was teaching him. Narada asked Krishna's forgiveness for not respecting the greatness of Hanuman and for underestimating Hanuman because he was a monkey.

Porcelain Gods

Singapore girl wins Commonwealth essay prize!


A 15-YEAR-OLD Singaporean, competing against 16-> 18-year-olds, has
won the top prize in a writing contest that drew 5,300 entries from 52
countries...

In the annual Commonwealth Essay Competition, Amanda Chong of
Raffles Girls' School (Secondary) chose to compete in the older category and
won with a piece on the restlessness of modern life.

Her short story, titled What The Modern Woman Wants, focused on the
conflict in values between an old lady and her independent-minded daughter.

'Through my story, I attempted to convey the unique East-vs-West
struggles and generation gaps that I felt were characteristic of young people
in my country,' said Amanda, who likes drama, history and literature and wants
to become a lawyer and a politician.

Chief examiner Charles Kemp called her piece a 'powerfully moving
and ironical critique of modern restlessness and its potentially cruel
consequences'.

The writing is fluent and assured, with excellent use of dialogue.
Amanda gets (S$1,590). A Singaporean last won the top prize in
2000, said Britain 's Royal Commonwealth Society, which has been organising
the competition since 1883. Singaporeans also came in second in the 14 to
15-year-old category, and fourth in the under-12s. Other winners included
students from Australia , Canada and South Africa

===================================================


What the Modern Woman Wants... By Amanda Chong Wei-Zhen

The old woman sat in the backseat of the magenta convertible as it
careened down the highway, clutching tightly to the plastic bag on her lap,
afraid it may be kidnapped by the wind. She was not used to such speed, with
trembling hands she pulled the seat belt tighter but was careful not to touch
the patent leather seats with her callused fingers, her daughter had warned
her not to dirty it, 'Fingerprints show very clearly on white, Ma.'

Her daughter, Bee Choo, was driving and talking on her sleek silver
mobile phone using big words the old woman could barely understand.
'Finance', 'Liquidation', 'Assets', 'Investments'... Her voice was crisp and
important and had an unfamiliar lilt to it.

Her Bee Choo sounded like one of those foreign girls on television.
She was speaking in an American accent.
The old lady clucked her tongue in disapproval..... 'I absolutely
cannot have this. We have to sell!' Her daughter exclaimed agitatedly as
she stepped on the accelerator; her perfectly manicured fingernails gripping
onto the steering wheel in irritation.

'I can't DEAL with this anymore!' she yelled as she clicked the
phone shut and hurled it angrily toward the backseat. The mobile phone hit
the old woman on the forehead and nestled soundlessly into her lap. She
calmly picked it up and handed it to her daughter.

'Sorry, Ma,' she said, losing the American pretence and switching
to Mandarin. 'I have a big client in America . There have been a lot of
problems.'

The old lady nodded knowingly. Her daughter was big and
important.

Bee Choo stared at her mother from the rear view window, wondering
what she was thinking. Her mother's wrinkled countenance always carried the
same cryptic look. The phone began to ring again, an artificially cheerful
digital tune, which broke the awkward silence.

'Hello, Beatrice! Yes, this is Elaine.' Elaine. The old woman
cringed. I didn't name her Elaine. She remembered her daughter telling
her, how an English name was very important for 'networking', Chinese ones
being easily forgotten.

'Oh no, I can't see you for lunch today. I have to take the
ancient relic to the temple for her weird daily prayer ritual.'
Ancient Relic. The old woman understood perfectly it was
referring to her. Her daughter always assumed that her mother's silence
meant she did not comprehend.

'Yes, I know! My car seats will be reeking of joss sticks!' The
old woman pursed her lips tightly, her hands gripping her plastic bag in
defence.

The car curved smoothly into the temple courtyard. It looked
almost garish next to the dull sheen of the ageing temple's roof. The old
woman got out of the back seat, and made her unhurried way to the main hall.
Her daughter stepped out of the car in her business suit and
stilettos and reapplied her lipstick as she made her brisk way to her mother's
side.

'Ma, I'll wait outside. I have an important phone call to make,'
she said, not bothering to hide her disgust at the pungent fumes of incense.
The old lady hobbled into the temple hall and lit a joss stick, she
knelt down solemnly and whispered her now familiar daily prayer to the Gods.
Thank you God of the Sky, you have given my daughter luck all these
years. Everything I prayed for, you have given her. She has everything a
young woman in this world could possibly want. She has a big house with a
swimming pool, a maid to help her, as she is too clumsy to sew or cook. Her
love life has been blessed; she is engaged to a rich and handsome angmoh man.
Her company is now the top financial firm and even men listen to what she
says.. She lives the perfect life. You have given her everything except
happiness. I ask that the gods be merciful to her even if she has lost her
roots while reaping the harvest of success.

What you see is not true, she is a filial daughter to me. She
gives me a room in her big house and provides well for me. She is rude to me
only because I affect her happiness.. A young woman does not want to be
hindered by her old mother. It is my fault.

The old lady prayed so hard that tears welled up in her eyes.
Finally, with her head bowed in reverence she planted the half-burnt joss
stick into an urn of smoldering ashes.

She bowed once more. The old woman had been praying for her
daughter for thirty-two years. When her stomach was round like a melon, she
came to the temple and prayed that it was a son.
Then the time was ripe and the baby slipped out of her womb,
bawling and adorable with fat thighs and pink cheeks, but unmistakably, a
girl. Her husband had ticked and punched her for producing a useless baby
who could not work or carry the family name.

Still, the woman returned to the temple with her new-born girl tied
to her waist in a sarong and prayed that her daughter would grow up and have
everything she ever wanted.

Her husband left her and she prayed that her daughter would never
have to depend on a man. She prayed every day that her daughter would be a
great woman, the woman that she, meek and uneducated, could never become. A
woman with nengkan; the ability to do anything she set her mind to. A woman
who commanded respect in the hearts of men. When she opened her mouth to
speak, precious pearls would fall out and men would listen. She will not be
like me, the woman prayed as she watched her daughter grow up and drift away
from her, speaking a language she scarcely understood.

She watched her daughter transform from a quiet girl to one who
openly defied her, calling her laotu, old fashioned.... She wanted her
mother to be 'modern', a word so new there was no Chinese word for it.
Now her daughter was too clever for her and the old woman wondered
why she had prayed like that. The Gods had been faithful to her persistent
prayer, but the wealth and success that poured forth so richly had buried the
girl's roots and now she stood faceless with no identity, bound to the soil of
her ancestors by only a string of origami banknotes.

Her daughter had forgotten her mother's value. Her wants were so
ephemeral, that of a modern woman. Power, wealth, access to the best fashion
boutiques and yet her daughter had not found true happiness.
The old woman knew that you could find happiness with much less.
When her daughter left the earth, everything she had would count for
nothing. People would look to her legacy and say that she was a great woman
but she would be forgotten once the wind blows over, like the ashes of burnt
paper convertibles and mansions.

The old woman wished she could go back and erase all her big hopes
and prayers for her daughter now that she had looked out of the temple gates.
She saw her daughter speaking on the phone, her brow furrowed with anger and
worry. Being at the top is not good, the woman thought, there is only one
way to go from there – down.

The old woman carefully unfolded the plastic bag and spread out a
packet of beehoon in front of the altar. Her daughter often mocked her for
worshipping porcelain Gods. How could she pray to them so faithfully and
expect pieces of ceramic to fly to her aid? But her daughter had her own
gods too, idols of wealth, success and power that she enslaved to and
worshipped every day of her life.

Every day was a quest for the idols, and the idols she worshipped
counted for nothing in eternity. All the wants her daughter had would slowly
suck the life out of her and leave her, an empty souless shell at the altar.
The old woman watched the joss stick. The dull heat had left a
teetering grey stem that was on the danger of collapsing.

Modern woman nowadays, the old lady signed in resignation, as she
bowed to the east bone final time to end her ritual. Modern woman nowadays
want so much that they lose their souls and wonder whey they cannot find it.
Her joss stick disintegrated into a soft grey powder. She met her
daughter outside the temple, the same look of worry and frustration was etched
on her daughter's face.

An empty expression, as if she was ploughing through the soil of
her wants looking for the one thing that would sown the seeds of happiness.
They climbed into the convertible in silence and her daughter drove
along the highway, this time not to fast as she had done before.
‘Ma,’ Bee Choo finally said. "I don't know how to put this.
Mark and I have been talking about it and we plan to move out of the big
house. The property market is good now, and we managed to get a buyer
willing to pay us seven million for it. We decided we'd prefer a cosier
penthouse apartment instead. We found a perfect one in Orchard Road . Once
we move into our apartment, we plan to get rid of the maid, so we can have
more space to ourselves...."

The old woman nodded knowingly. Bee Choo swallowed hard. "We'd
get someone to come in to do the housework and we can eat out – but once the
maid is gone, there won't be anyone to look after you. You will be awfully
lonely at home and, besides that the apartment is rather small. There won't
be space. We thought about it for a long time, and we decided the best thing
for you is if you moved to a Home. There's one near Hougang – it's a
Christian home and a very nice one."

The old woman did not raise an eyebrow. I"ve been there, the
matron is willing to take you in. It's beautiful with gardens and lots of
old people to keep you company! Hardly have time for you, you'd be happier
there." "You'd be happier there, really." her daughter repeated as if to
affirm herself.

This time the old woman had no plastic bag of food offering to
cling tightly to, she bit her lip and fastened her seat belt, as if it would
protect her from a daughter who did not want her anymore. She sunk deep into
the leather seat, letting her shoulders sag and her fingers trace the white
seat.

Ma, her daughter asked, searching the rear view window for her
mother. "Is everything okay?

What had to be done, had to be done. "Yes" she said firmly,
louder than she intended, 'if it will make you happy,' she added more
quietly.

‘It's for you, Ma! You will be happier there. You can move
there tomorrow, I already got the maid to pack your things.' Elaine said
triumphantly, mentally ticking yet another item off her agenda.
'I knew everything would be fine.' Elaine smiled widely; she felt
liberated. Perhaps getting rid of her mother would make her happier. She
had thought about it. It seemed the only hindrance in her pursuit of
happiness. She was happy now. She had everything a modern woman ever
wanted; money, status, career, love, power and now freedom without her mother
and her old-fashioned ways to weigh her down......

Yes she was free. Her phone butted urgently, she picked it up and
read the message, still beaming from ear to ear. "Stock 10% increase."
Yes, things were definitely beginning to look up for her and while
searching for the meaning of life in the luminance of her hand phone screen,
the old woman in the backseat became invisible and she did not see her in
tears.

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So fellow friends, save enough for your old age and don't try to rely on your children.

Your responsibility is to give them the necessary education/training and life after that is theirs.

If they chose to look after you, it is a bonus and thank the gods for it.