The Sanctuary

At the epicentre of noise and distraction lies a Quiet. A place where thoughts find freedom, where words find meaning, where every second finds a purpose and every moment finds its place in the scheme of bigger things. Welcome to a consortium that will make you feel Alive. Welcome to a place that is 'Uniquely Yours'. Welcome to the Sanctuary...

Friday, September 28, 2007

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Monday, September 10, 2007

Lincoln’s letter to his son’s teacher

He will have to learn, I know, that all men are not just, all men are not true.

But teach him also that for every scoundrel there is a hero.
That for every selfish politician, there is a dedicated leader.
Teach him that for every enemy there is a friend.
Steer him away from envy, if you can.
Teach him the secret of quiet laughter.

Let him learn early that the bullies are the easiest to lick.
Teach him, if you can, the wonder of books.
But also give him quiet time to ponder the eternal mystery of birds in the sky,
bees in the sun, and the flowers on a green hillside.

In the school teach him it is far honorable to fail than to cheat.
Teach him to have faith in his own ideas even if everyone tells him they are wrong.
Teach him to be gentle with gentle people and tough with the tough.

Try to give my son the strength not to follow the crowd when everyone is getting on the band wagon.
Teach him to listen to all men.
But teach him also to filter all he hears on a screen of truth and take only the good that comes through.

Teach him if you can, how to laugh when he is sad.
Teach him there is no shame in tears.
Teach him to scoff at cynics and to beware of too much sweetness.
Teach him to sell his brawn and brain to the highest bidders but never to put a price-tag on his heart and soul.

Teach him to close his ears to a howling mob and to stand and fight if he thinks he’s right.
Treat him gently, but do not cuddle him because only the test of fire makes fine steel.

Let him have the courage to be impatient.
Let him have the patience to be brave.
Teach him always to have sublime faith in himself because then he will have sublime faith in mankind.

This is a big order, but see what you can do.
He is such a fine fellow, my son !



Sunday, July 15, 2007

I am mine!

The selfish, they're all standing in line
Faithin' and hopin' to buy themselves time
Me, I figure as each breath goes by
I only own my mind
The north is to south what the clock is to time
There's east and there's west and there's everywhere life
I know I was born and I know that I'll die
The inbetween is mine
I am Mine
And the feeling gets left behind
All the innocence, lost at one time
Significant behind the eyes
Theres no need to hide
We're safe tonight
The ocean is full cause everyone's crying
The full moon is looking for friends at high tide
The sorrow grows bigger when the sorrow's denied
I only know my mind
I Am Mine
And the meaning gets left behind
All the innocents, lost at one time
Significant behind the eyes
There's no need to hide
We're safe tonight
And the feelings get left behind
Oh the innocence, broken with life
Significance between the lines.
We may need to hide.
And the meanings get left behind
All the innocents, lost at one time
We're all different behind the eyes
There's no need to hide, yeah
yes this is a song...i think its a poem...its more true than most of the things i have ever read, seen or read it, post ur opinions pls :)
in Pride

Monday, July 02, 2007

The Paradox of our Age

Something i found in Goa, when we had gone there...seems to me to be something which is worth a reading...

The Paradox of our Age

We have bigger homes, but smaller families,

more conviencies, but less time.

We have more degrees, but less sense;

more knowledge, but less judgements;

more experts, but more problems;

more medicines, but less healthiness.

We've been all the way to the moon and back,

but have trouble crossing the street to meet our neighbour.

We build more computers

to hold more information,

to produce more copies than ever,

but have less communication.

We have become long on quantity,

but short on quality.

These are times of fast foods,

but slow digestion;

tall man, but short charecter;

steep profits, but shallow relationships.

It is a time when there is so much in the window,

but nothing in the room.

-His Holiness The XIV Dalai Lama

Friday, June 22, 2007

it is with deep grief and regret that somehow what started out with gung-ho enthusiasm and with great excitement has not turned out the way it was imagined to be. this blog is in no way to communicate that the disintegration of the sanctuary was the fault of any person/s individually or collectively, but just to bring out the fact that we stopped on our paths to development. this post is also to bring about to my knowledge and to others as to how many of us there even are aware to post or read what is posted here.

somehow all of us are in a way or another responsible for our disintegration, but what i would like to bring out is that atleast we can atleast take out the time to post something once in a while to show that somewhere we still respect what we started together and maybe in the future think of restarting it when we have the time to be able to do it.

maybe to some i might seem overly dramatic and to others it might seem as a lost cause but atleast to me it would give comfort to say that i did not give up on our idea. for those of you out there who feel that whatever little the sanctuary offered has brought about even atleast a menial change and who think that it is worth it to take the pain to once in a while post their ideas and views or even comment on what is happening in their lives, to teach a valuable experience to another or share their idea for someone elses benefit, please do so.

lastly i hope that this post may light the fire back in all of u and also i shall hope for a flurry of posts after this. i shall post too in hope that atleast some of you might read it sometime.

"For we must all never lose hope, for hope is a good thing"- The Shawshank Redemption


Sunday, March 18, 2007


I have a home,
Maybe someone out there is fighting for shelter.

I have food to eat,
Maybe there are children out there who go off to sleep while their mothers' cook rocks.

I have a mother who gave me birth,
Maybe there is a woman out there whose child was killed while it was still in her womb and her breasts cut off so that she may never give birth again.

I have clothes to wear,
Maybe there are people out there who are ready to take a life dor a pair of pants.

I have recieved education,
Maybe there are children out there who have'nt ever seen a text book.

I have pension benefits and insurance which can take care of me in my older years and from life threatening diseases,
Maybe there are people out there who die due to a common cold.

I have life saving drugs which i can get at a chemist's shop,
Maybe there are people out there who die for the lack of these same medicines.

I complain about rising inflation,
Maybe there are people out there who do not even get food grains.

I can dream of a Utopian world,
Maybe there are those who do not even have equipment to dig their brothers grave.

My city has five rats per citizen,
Maybe there are citizens, of another nation, who survive on rats.

My country has a problem of over-crowded skies,
Maybe somewhere else there are people who have never even seen a plane.

My country dreams of being global and making us global citizens,
Maybe there are people who are dying to get out of their village, but they can't, cuz they do not have the energy to walk.

I may despair,
Maybe there is a heart out there (somewhere), which shall always hope.

Maybe I say maybe for (maybe) we can change this...this reality...and make this look like a dream.

(Lost...) Pride.

Thursday, January 25, 2007

Tennyson for the deprived!
Donated by Marvin.

by Alfred Tennyson
It little profits that an idle king,
By this still hearth, among these barren crags,
Match'd with an aged wife, I mete and dole
Unequal laws unto a savage race,
That hoard, and sleep, and feed, and know not me.
I cannot rest from travel: I will drinkLife to the lees:
all times I have enjoy'dGreatly, have suffer'd greatly,
both with thoseThat loved me, and alone;
on shore, and whenThro' scudding drifts
the rainy HyadesVest the dim sea:
I am become a name;For always roaming with a hungry heart
Much have I seen and known; cities of men
And manners, climates, councils, governments,
Myself not least, but honour'd of them all;
And drunk delight of battle with my peers;
Far on the ringing plains of windy Troy.
I am part of all that I have met;
Yet all experience is an arch wherethro'
Gleams that untravell'd world, whose margin fades
For ever and for ever when I move.
How dull it is to pause, to make an end,
To rust unburnish'd, not to shine in use!
As tho' to breath were life. Life piled on life
Were all to little, and of one to meLittle remains:
but every hour is saved
From that eternal silence, something more,
A bringer of new things; and vile it were
For some three suns to store and hoard myself,
And this gray spirit yearning in desire
To follow knowledge like a sinking star,
Beyond the utmost bound of human thought.

This is my son, mine own Telemachus,
To whom I leave the sceptre and the isle-
Well-loved of me, discerning to fulfil
This labour, by slow prudence to make mild
A rugged people, and thro' soft degrees
Subdue them to the useful and the good.
Most blameless is he, centred in the sphere
Of common duties, decent not to fail
In offices of tenderness, and pay
Meet adoration to my household gods,When I am gone.
He works his work, I mine.
There lies the port; the vessel puffs her sail:
There gloom the dark broad seas. My mariners,
Souls that have toil'd, and wrought, and thought with me-
That ever with a frolic welcome took
The thunder and the sunshine, and opposed
Free hearts, free foreheads- you and I are old;
Old age had yet his honour and his toil;
Death closes all: but something ere the end,
Some work of noble note, may yet be done,
Not unbecoming men that strove with Gods.
The lights begin to twinkle from the rocks:
The long day wanes: the slow moon climbs: the deep
Moans round with many voices. Come, my friends,
'Tis not too late to seek a newer world.
Push off, and sitting well in order smite
The sounding furrows; for my purpose holds
To sail beyond the sunset, and the baths
Of all the western stars, until I die.
It may be that the gulfs will wash us down:
It may be we shall touch the Happy Isles,
And see the great Achilles, whom we knew.
Tho' much is taken, much abides; and tho'
We are not now that strength which in the old days
Moved earth and heaven; that which we are, we are;
One equal-temper of heroic hearts,
Made weak by time and fate, but strong in will
To strive, to seek, to find, and not to yield.

p.s. i want your take dodo!