Inspirational stories

[rekhasmriti]

Why we have always inspiration stories......how about some real life stuff.....real Life Experiences

I remember in my very initial days of career .....I was trying to impress some Sr Mgmt Person during some review .......discussion reached to Aim/Ambition/Idol .....
Meine bhi kissi female biz leader ka naam liya with absolute details of her achievements .......

He smiled at me and said look around ( he meant people you know ....you meet...you seek advice .....you share your opinions with etc) Pick One and trust It is much Simple . Why your Generation want to make things Complicated ....Simple is Decent Enough .

[rajpaldular]

(Heart Touching Old story)

When I was quite young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remember well the polished old case fastened to the wall. The shiny receiver hung on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother used to talk to it.Then I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person – her name was Information Please and there was nothing she did not know. Information Please could supply anybody’s number and the correct time. My first personal experience with this genie-in-the-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there didn’t seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway – The telephone! Quickly I ran for the footstool in the parlor and dragged it to the landing. Climbing up I unhooked the receiver in the parlor and held it to my ear. Information Please I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear. “Information.” “I hurt my finger. . .” I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience. “Isn’t your mother home?” came the question. “Nobody’s home but me.” I blubbered. “Are you bleeding?” “No,” I replied. “I hit my finger with the hammer and it hurts.” “Can you open your icebox?” she asked. I said I could. “Then chip off a little piece of ice and hold it to your finger.” After that I called Information Please for everything. I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math, and she told me my pet chipmunk I had caught in the park just the day before would eat fruits and nuts.And there was the time that Petey, our pet canary died. I called Information Please and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual things grown-ups say to soothe a child. But I was unconsoled. Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers, feet up on the bottom of a cage? She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, “Paul, always remember that there are other worlds to sing in.” Somehow I felt better. Another day I was on the telephone. “Information Please.””Information,” said the now familiar voice. “How do you spell fix?” I asked. All this took place in a small town in the pacific Northwest. Then when I was 9 years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. Information Please belonged in that old wooden box back home, and I somehow never thought of trying the tall, shiny new phone that sat on the hall table.Yet as I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me; often in moments of doubt and perplexity I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding, and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy. A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half an hour or so between plane, and I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there now. Then without thinking what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, “Information Please”. Miraculously, I heard again the small, clear voice I knew so well, “Information.” I hadn’t planned this but I heard myself saying, “Could you tell me please how-to spell fix?’ There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, “I guess that your finger must have healed by now.” I laughed, “So it’s really still you, I said. “I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time.” “I wonder, she said, if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children, and I used to look forward to your calls.” I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and I asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.”Please do, just ask for Sally.”Just three months later I was back in Seattle. . .A different voice answered Information and I asked for Sally. “Are you a friend?” “Yes, a very old friend.” “Then I’m sorry to have to tell you. Sally has been working part-time the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago.” But before I could hang up she said, “Wait a minute. Did you say your name was Paul?” “Yes.” “Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down, Here it is I’ll read it ‘Tell him I still say there are other worlds to sing in. He’ll know what I mean’.” I thanked her and hung up. I did know what Sally meant. And do you know that now in life , I strive for one thing and one thing only. To be remembered as someone like Sally was.A kind word with a compassionate voice is sometimes all it takes to change someone’s life forever. (सौजन्य : अज्ञात)

[agodara]

Hi Guys,
There are many stories of people achieving fame & fortune even without a formal education....Well, here's one such that brings to light what enterprise & enthusiasm can achieve.....
A church in London had rules that it would not employ anyone, without formal high school education. However the benign old pastor employed Alfred Dunhill who lacked formal education to clean the pews, sweep the floor and keep the podium spic and span.Once the old pastor retired, he was replaced by a younger pastor who followed the rule book & issued a notice to resign.
Dunhill knew that he had no option & started out his afternoon stroll in deep thought and got into Bond Street.Suddenly, he felt an urge to smoke & could not find a single tobacco shop on the entire street. He walked further down into a side street where he could purchase his cigarette.
He then realized that a small cigarette shop in the street would be a sound business.He resigned at the church and started a small shop on Bond Street which prospered way beyond his expectations. He noticed that many of his customers were coming from the other side of the street.He started another shop on that side of Bond Street. The two shops multiplied to four and then sixteen in three years,Alfred Dunhill Co. by then was a leading tobacconist in England.
He started machine-rolling cigarettes and introduced his own brand of Dunhill cigarettes. In five years, he was a millionaire many times over.To ensure a consistent supply of tobacco, he entered into an annual purchase agreement with a couple of American tobacco farmers and went across to America to meet them.
It was a big boost for the American tobacco farmers and the contract signing ceremony was converted into a media circus, with a Senator and Governor participating.
When the contracts were finally signed, Dunhill affixed his thumb impression because he had not learnt to sign his name.
The Governor was impressed and said, “Well Sir! This is awesome. Even without a formal education you have achieved so much, just imagine what you would’ve become if you had a formal education!”Dunhill’s characteristic often repeated reply was…

“If I knew how to read and write, I would still be sweeping the church!”*