CULTURAL QA 03202424
Q1 What is an example of true love conquers all?
KR Another story all would have read but greener always.
The Gift of the Magi by O. Henry was the pen name of William Sydney Porter,
an American short story writer who is known for his tales about the life of
ordinary people, especially in New York.
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One dollar and eighty-seven cents. That was all. And sixty cents of it
was in pennies. Pennies saved one and two at a time by bulldozing the
grocer and the vegetable man and the butcher until one's cheeks burned with
the silent imputation of parsimony that such close dealing implied. Three
times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day
would be Christmas.
There was clearly nothing left to do but flop down on the shabby little
couch and howl. So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that
life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating.
While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage
to the second, take a look at the home. A furnished flat at $8 per week. It
did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the
look-out for the mendicancy squad.
In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and
an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring. Also
appertaining thereunto was a card bearing the name "Mr. James Dillingham
Young."
The "Dillingham" had been flung to the breeze during a former period of
prosperity when its possessor was being paid $30 per week. Now, when the
income was shrunk to $20, the letters of "Dillingham" looked blurred, as
though they were thinking seriously of contracting to a modest and
unassuming D. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young came home and reached
his flat above he was called "Jim" and greatly hugged by Mrs. James
Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very
good.
Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She
stood by the window and looked out dully at a grey cat walking a grey fence
in a grey backyard. To-morrow would be Christmas Day, and she had only
$1.87 with which to buy Jim a present. She had been saving every penny she
could for months, with this result. Twenty dollars a week doesn't go far.
Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Only
$1.87 to buy a present for Jim. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent
planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and
sterling–something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honour of
being owned by Jim.
There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. Perhaps you have
seen a pier-glass in an $8 Bat. A very thin and very agile person may, by
observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain
a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had
mastered the art.
Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes
were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its colour within twenty
seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full
length.
Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which
they both took a mighty pride. One was Jim's gold watch that had been his
father's and his grandfather's. The other was Della's hair. Had the Queen
of Sheba lived in the flat across the airshaft, Della would have let her
hair hang out of the window some day to dry just to depreciate Her
Majesty's jewels and gifts. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his
treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch
every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.
So now Della's beautiful hair fell about her, rippling and shining like a
cascade of brown waters. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a
garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once
she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on
the worn red carpet.
On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of
skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she cluttered out
of the door and down the stairs to the street.
Where she stopped the sign read: "Mme Sofronie. Hair Goods of All Kinds."
One Eight up Della ran, and collected herself, panting. Madame, large, too
white, chilly, hardly looked the "Sofronie."
"Will you buy my hair?" asked Della.
"I buy hair," said Madame. "Take yer hat off and let's have a sight at the
looks of it."
Down rippled the brown cascade.
"Twenty dollars," said Madame, lifting the mass with a practised hand.
"Give it to me quick" said Della.
Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed
metaphor. She was ransacking the stores for Jim's present.
She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else.
There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of
them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design,
properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious
ornamentation–as all good things should do. It was even worthy of The
Watch. As soon as she saw it she knew that it must be Jim's. It was like
him. Quietness and value–the description applied to both. Twenty-one
dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 78 cents.
With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time
in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the
sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.
When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and
reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work
repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a
tremendous task dear friends–a mammoth task.
Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that
made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her
reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically.
"If Jim doesn't kill me," she said to herself, "before he takes a second
look at me, he'll say I look like a Coney Island chorus girl. But what
could I do–oh! what could I do with a dollar and eighty-seven cents?"
At 7 o'clock the coffee was made and the frying-pan was on the back of the
stove hot and ready to cook the chops.
Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the
corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard
his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white
for just a moment. She had a habit of saying little silent prayers about
the simplest everyday things, and now she whispered: "Please, God, make him
think I am still pretty."
The door opened and Jim stepped in and closed it. He looked thin and very
serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two–and to be burdened with a
family! He needed a new overcoat and he was with out gloves.
Jim stepped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of
quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them
that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor
surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she
had been prepared for. He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar
expression on his face.
Della wriggled off the table and went for him.
"Jim, darling," she cried, "don't look at me that way. I had my hair cut
off and sold it because I couldn't have lived through Christmas without
giving you a present. It'll grow out again–you won't mind, will you? I just
had to do it. My hair grows awfully fast. Say 'Merry Christmas!' Jim, and
let's be happy. You don't know what a nice–what a beautiful, nice gift I've
got for you."
"You've cut off your hair?" asked Jim, laboriously, as if he had not
arrived at that patent fact yet, even after the hardest mental labour.
"Cut it off and sold it," said Della. "Don't you like me just as well,
anyhow? I'm me without my hair, ain't I?"
Jim looked about the room curiously.
"You say your hair is gone?" he said, with an air almost of idiocy.
"You needn't look for it," said Della. "It's sold, I tell you–sold and
gone, too. It's Christmas Eve, boy. Be good to me, for it went for you.
Maybe the hairs of my head were numbered," she went on with a sudden
serious sweetness, "but nobody could ever count my love for you. Shall I
put the chops on, Jim?"
Out of his trance Jim seemed quickly to wake. He enfolded his Della. For
ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential
object in the other direction. Eight dollars a week or a million a
year–what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the
wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them.
This dark assertion will be illuminated later on.
Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table.
"Don't make any mistake, Dell," he said, "about me. I don't think there's
anything in the way of a haircut or a shave or a shampoo that could make me
like my girl any less. But if you'll unwrap that package you may see why
you had me going a while at first."
White fingers and nimble tore at the string and paper. And then an ecstatic
scream of joy; and then, alas! a quick feminine change to hysterical tears
and wails, necessitating the immediate employment of all the comforting
powers of the lord of the flat.
For there lay The Combs–the set of combs, side and back, that Della had
worshipped for long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure
tortoise-shell, with jewelled rims–just the shade to wear in the beautiful
vanished hair. They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had
simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession.
And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the
coveted adornments were gone.
But she hugged them to her bosom, and at length she was able to look up
with dim eyes and a smile and say: "My hair grows so fast, Jim!"
And then Della leaped up like a little singed cat and cried, "Oh, oh!"
Jim had not yet seen his beautiful present. She held it out to him eagerly
upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a
reflection of her bright and ardent spirit.
"Isn't it a dandy, Jim? I hunted all over town to find it. You'll have to
look at the time a hundred times a day now. Give me your watch. I want to
see how it looks on it."
Instead of obeying, Jim tumbled down on the couch and put his hands under
the back of his head and smiled.
"Dell," said he, "let's put our Christmas presents away and keep 'em a
while. They're too nice to use just at present. I sold the watch to get the
money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on."
The magi, as you know, were wise men–wonderfully wise men–who brought gifts
to the Babe in the manger. They invented the art of giving Christmas
presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing
the privilege of exchange in case of duplication. And here I have lamely
related to you the uneventful chronicle of two foolish children in a flat
who most unwisely sacrificed for each other the greatest treasures of their
house. But in a last word to the wise of these days let it be said that of
all who give gifts these two were the wisest. Of all who give and receive
gifts, such as they are wisest. Everywhere they are wisest. They are the mag
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Q2 What is the biggest hypocrisy you have ever witnessed?
KR Why would I narrate the high hypocrisy portrayed by 3 people in
our group; all knew it; wantonly they will utter nonsenses; write sarcastic
comments; open wound jelly abuses; language problems; then where is
hypocrisy here? They do not know anything about but yet will comment as if
they knew all; that is the height of hypocrisy. Their names please. NO NO
All knew their names. And many of us have fun time with such idiots.
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Q5 What is one skill you have that you are most proud of?
G and Dr Tiny: The skill of listening. faintest criticism 50 meters away
but won’t enjoy a Beethoven or A.R.Rahman. Hearing is not akin to listening.
KR: Good to listen but no doctor toady has time, unless he sees only 10
patients a day. (99% doctors who are most successful do not do it; rather
they question; examine; lab tests are there; and diagnose.)
"Listening" and "hearing" are often used interchangeably, but they have
distinct meanings in the context of communication:
Hearing: Hearing refers to the physical process of perceiving sound waves
through the ears. It is a passive physiological process that occurs
automatically when sound waves reach the ear and are transmitted to the
brain for interpretation. Hearing is a natural ability possessed by most
living organisms with auditory systems.
Listening: Listening, on the other hand, is an active and conscious process
that involves paying attention to what is being said, interpreting the
meaning of the message, and making an effort to understand the speaker's
perspective. Listening requires not only hearing the words but also
processing and comprehending their significance. It involves focusing on
the speaker, understanding their message, and responding appropriately.
Sravanam: Sravanam refers to the act of listening or hearing. It involves
the attentive listening to the teachings of a spiritual teacher or the
scriptures. Through sravanam, one gains access to the wisdom contained in
the sacred texts and teachings, allowing for the absorption of spiritual
knowledge.
Mananam: Mananam is the stage of reflection or contemplation. After hearing
the teachings, one engages in mananam by reflecting deeply on the knowledge
acquired. This involves pondering over the teachings, questioning,
analyzing, and clarifying doubts. Through mananam, one assimilates the
knowledge at a deeper level, integrating it into one's understanding and
worldview.
ŚB 7.5.23-24
श्रीप्रह्राद उवाच
श्रवणं कीर्तनं विष्णो: स्मरणं पादसेवनम् ।
अर्चनं वन्दनं दास्यं सख्यमात्मनिवेदनम् ॥ २३ ॥
इति पुंसार्पिता विष्णौ भक्तिश्चेन्नवलक्षणा ।
क्रियेत भगवत्यद्धा तन्मन्येऽधीतमुत्तमम् ॥ २४ ॥
śrī-prahrāda uvāca
śravaṇaṁ kīrtanaṁ viṣṇoḥ
smaraṇaṁ pāda-sevanam
arcanaṁ vandanaṁ dāsyaṁ
sakhyam ātma-nivedanam
iti puṁsārpitā viṣṇau
bhaktiś cen nava-lakṣaṇā
kriyeta bhagavaty addhā
tan manye ’dhītam uttamam
Hearing and chanting about the transcendental holy name, form, qualities,
paraphernalia and pastimes of Lord Viṣṇu, remembering them, serving the
lotus feet of the Lord, offering the Lord respectful worship with sixteen
types of paraphernalia, offering prayers to the Lord, becoming His servant,
considering the Lord one’s best friend, and surrendering everything unto
Him (in other words, serving Him with the body, mind and words) — these
nine processes are accepted as pure devotional service. One who has
dedicated his life to the service of Kirshna through these nine methods
should be understood to be the most learned person, for he has acquired
complete knowledge.
Hearing is by mind; Shravanam is by heart. Shravanam is action to earn;
Hearing is for the bliss of the mind. However, hearing and listening are
substituted words. Court and legal judges hear cases; to do justice; if
they listen, heart will not decide for the justice. Every actor and film
world listen as they get money in crores. Music director listen to the
director; but his music is heard or forgotten. K Rajaram IRS 24324
---------- Forwarded message ---------
From: 'gopala krishnan' via Thatha_Patty <[email protected]>
Date: Sun, 24 Mar 2024 at 08:55
Subject: CULTURAL QA 03-2024-24
To: Patty Thatha <[email protected]>, Kerala Iyer <
[email protected]>, Iyer <[email protected]>
CULTURAL QA 03-2024-24
All the below QA are from QUORA DIGEST to me on 24-03-2024.
Selected Quora answers by scholars generally interesting are included. Still
they need not be 100% correct answers.One joke is included.
Compiled and posted by R Gopalakrishnan, 80, on 24-3-2024
*Q1 What is an example of true love conquers all?*
A1 Christy Schaefer,23h
A 6-year old boy was in the market with his 3-year old sister...
Suddenly the boy found that his sister was lagging behind.
He stopped and looked back - his sister was standing in front of a toy shop
and was watching something with great interest.
The boy went back to her and asked, "Do you want something?" The sister
pointed at the doll.
The boy held her hand and like a responsible elder brother, gave that doll
to her.The sister was very very happy...
The shopkeeper was watching everything and getting amused to see the
matured behaviour of the boy... the boy came to the counter and asked the
shopkeeper, "What is the cost of this doll Sir?"
The shopkeeper was a kind man and had experienced the odds of life.
So he asked the boy with a lot of love n affection, “Well, what can you
pay?"
The boy took out shells that he had collected from sea shore, from his
pocket and gave them to the shopkeeper.
The shopkeeper took the shells and started counting as if he were counting
the currency.
Then he looked at the boy.
The boy asked him worriedly, "Is it too little Sir?"
The shopkeeper said, "No, no... these are more than the cost. So I will
return the remaining."
Saying so, he kept only 4 shells and returned the remaining.
The boy, very happily put the shells back in his pocket and left with his
sister.
An employee was very surprised watching all this.
He asked the shopkeeper, "Sir, you gave away such a costly doll just for 4
shells?"
The shopkeeper said with a smile, "Well, for us these are mere shells, but
for that boy, these shells are very precious.
And at this age he does not understand what money is yet, but when he grows
up, he definitely will.
And then he would remember that he purchased a doll with shells instead of
money, and he will remember me and think that world is still full of good
and kind people.."
Credit to the Respectful Owner
*Q2 What is the biggest hypocrisy you have ever witnessed?*
A2 Vijaya Lakshmi, Retired Finance manager at Coal India Limited (A
Maharatna Company)Updated 5y
This happened a few decades ago.
One of my niece wanted to marry a boy who was not from our caste.
Her parents were dead-set against this marriage.
Her brother-in-law (elder sister’s husband) used to frequently visit us.
“See, these old people are very orthodox. They won’t marry her to the boy
she loves. So I will help her to marry the boy she loves. I will give full
support to her,” he would say.
Both, my husband and I, were very happy with his broad-mindedness.
He used to visit us every three to four days, and give us the updates about
the wedding plans.
He used to strongly criticize the mentality of her parents for not agreeing
to the marriage.
After a few days, he suddenly stopped visiting us.
We both were confused.
“What might have happened? Have the girl’s parents threatened that they
would commit suicide? Did he stop visiting us due to that?” we wondered.
There was no telephone to communicate in those days.
After waiting for 10–15 days, we went to his house to find out the reason.
“How are the wedding preparations going on?” my husband asked
“I am withdrawing myself from all these preparations,” he said with a
dejection in his voice.
“Why? What happened? Are the parents too rigid? Are they threatening you?”
“No, they agreed to the marriage,” he said angrily.
“They agreed? Then why is he angry? He was the person who was looking
forward to this marriage!” we wondered.
“You see, by agreeing to this marriage, they lost their respect in our
community, and I lost the opportunity of gaining a good name by doing a
social reform. No, this is not proper on their part. They should have stuck
to their original decision.”
So all he wanted was fame! Height of hypocrisy!
*Q3 you give me an example of British humour?*
A3 Allan Clark, Former Retired; Too Much Time on My Hands7h
A man walks into a pub on a Friday and orders two pints of beer; sits and
drinks from both alternately. He does this for a few weeks before the
curious landlord asks him why:
“A good drinking mate of mine - every Friday after work - has moved to
Australia, so we agreed that every Friday after work* we’d drink a toast to
each other.”
The lanlord thought that that was so touching, and told him so.
After a while the man comes in and orders a single pint, sits quietly and
finishes it. The landlord noticed of course, and said “I see you’re only
drinking one pint; I hope that doesn’t mean something’s happened to your
mate - he didn’t die or something?”
“Oh no, nothing like that, it’s just that I’ve become a teetotaler.”
*Q4 What do you eat daily for lunch and dinner?*
A4 Rama G, Lives in Bengaluru, Karnataka, India2h
I can tell about south Indian , Andhra meals.
What we prepare at home. This is one day lunch menu. Not all items. 4
minimum items, 6 maximum. Papad, powders, pickles etc. will be there always.
1.pappu( lentil) with any vegetables. Like tomato, mango, leafy vegetables,
cucumber, bottle gourd, ridge gourd etc.
2. Vegetable curry and one veg shallow fry.
Example. Indian broad beans curry, yam fry, dondakaya fry etc. Which I make
at my home. We consume curries more than fries.
3.Any vegetable chutney.
Like, tomato, gongura, coconut, mango, bottle gourd, ridge gourd, brinjal
cucumber etc.
4.Sambar or khadi or majjiga pulusu, or avial
Finally curd.
Menu changes daily. No roti for lunch. No rice for dinner.
Night pulka, roti, broken wheat kichidi with vegetables. Daal, sabji. (One
of them. Not all)
Since we are family of 8 members, these many items are needed. Because
everyone may not like every thing. So, atleast one favourite item will be
there for them.
I eat everything in lunch but with one cup of cooked rice. Sometimes
another 1/4 th cup is added. I have to walk more that day😄
Night time, one pulka with 1 bowl daal, one bowl sabji I have. Before 8 PM.
Small snacks in between meals are always fruits and water. Not exotic
fruits. Desi seasonal fruits.
Some times I cheat with ‘mirchi bajjis.’
Anything traditional, native, seasonal will appeal to me.
*Q5 What is one skill you have that you are most proud of?*
Tiny Nair, Cardiologist at PRS Hospital, Trivandrum 10 months
The skill of listening.
Case
She had a developed ‘new-onset’ breathlessness on walking. An angiogram
done at another hospital showed a block in the right coronary artery for
which she was advised an angioplasty. She came in for a second opinion. She
wanted me to study her angiogram reports in detail and give an opinion.
‘First tell me all about your illness’
I could sense that her son was becoming restless. They had come for an
opinion on the angiogram, and here I was wasting their time.
‘It all started after I travelled back to India from US after spending 6
months with my daughter.’
‘Ok. Tell me more about how it began’
‘Oh well I was upset leaving my daughter, unlike the excitement of going to
US and meeting her 6 months back’
‘I understand’
‘Return journey was bad. Flight was delayed. I had to spend 16 hours
sitting straight in the aircraft……’
‘ummm’
‘I never told my daughter or anyone about how bad the return journey was. I
had severe pain in my legs for a week on my return.’
‘Leg pain? Which part?’
‘Here – and then this breathlessness started.’
Classical history of Chronic Thromboembolic Pulmonary Hypertension.
I sent her for a CT PA (CT scan of pulmonary arteries) which as expected
revealed extensive bilateral thrombus (clot). D-dimer was elevated. Leg
vein doppler showed residual thrombus in deep veins.
It is a disease called ‘Chronic thromboembolic pulmonary hypertension’
where blood clots travel from legs to lungs. In chronic cases, showers of
clots go to the lungs in batches. The patient becomes more and more
breathless on effort.
The blocks in the angiogram were just ‘innocent bystanders’; a decoy.
Treated with blood thinners she improved.
Listening, is different from hearing.
It is pretty impressive that human ear can pick up sound from a broad range
of 20 hz to 20,000 hz. Don’t boast of it, even the docile 2-ton elephant
can pick up sounds as faint as 14 hz; so be careful when you talk bad about
the elephant in the zoo next time, he might just hear you.
Listening is paying attention to what you hear.
When I got into medical college and got interested in cardiology, they told
me that I should try to practice hearing softer sounds ‘with the
stethoscope’ to be a better cardiologist. Introduction of the 10,000 USD
echocardiogram machine took that charm out of me. In 5-minutes, it would
tell me about a valve disease far more accurately than my ear could ever
make out.
But listening is different. Listening carefully to what the patient says is
far more valuable in diagnosis. Unlike what most people believe, machines
don’t make a diagnosis. A provisional diagnosis is confirmed by a machine /
test. Most diagnostic machines, scanners and blood tests have a high
sensitivity to pick up pathology. But to know which pathology is creating
trouble for the patient, you need to choose your tools carefully. And to
decide which tool will confirm your hunch, you need to listen to the
patient. Hear all that the patient says and make sense of it, only then,
hearing turns to listening. Remember, a multi-slice CT scan of brain of a
dead patient looks normal. In contrast, a patient with an elevated blood
potassium level (seen in Chronic kidney disease) could simulate an acute
heart attack in the ECG, despite no heart disease.. Tests, unless
interpreted in proper perspective, could be deceptive. And that’s where the
importance of listening comes in.
faintest criticism 50 meters away but won’t enjoy a Beethoven or
A.R.Rahman. Hearing is not akin to listening.
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