A Quote by Dia Mirza

People worship and revere Ganga as a mother, and then throw away flowers in a plastic bag into the same river. — © Dia Mirza
People worship and revere Ganga as a mother, and then throw away flowers in a plastic bag into the same river.
Think about what happens on Earth when you throw up. You throw up and you have a bag of something horrible and then you throw it away, but if I have this bag, what am I going to do with it? This bag is going to stay with me in space for months, so we want a really good barf bag.
The Ganga, especially, is the river of India, beloved of her people, round which are intertwined her memories, her hopes and fears, her songs of triumph, her victories and her defeats. She has been a symbol of India's age-long culture and civilization, ever changing, ever flowing, and yet ever the same Ganga.
My worship is of a very strange kind. In this, Ganga water is not required. No special utensils are necessary. Even flowers are redundant. In this puja all gods have disappeared. And emptiness has emerged with euphoria.
I grew up in the same place as my mother, seeing the same trees my mother saw when she was at work; the flowers I picked were the flowers that my grandma planted. We have different styles; I wouldn't make the same clothes that my mum made, or my grandma, but we have the same taste.
And Man created the plastic bag and the tin and aluminum can and the cellophane wrapper and the paper plate, and this was good because Man could then take his automobile and buy all his food in one place and He could save that which was good to eat in the refrigerator and throw away that which had no further use. And soon the earth was covered with plastic bags and aluminum cans and paper plates and disposable bottles and there was nowhere to sit down or walk, and Man shook his head and cried: "Look at this Godawful mess.
There is Bengal, and Bihar, Barakor river is in the middle of them; so strange, so profound! No other river (not even Ganga) has cast so vast a spell on me.
With the Holy Mother as the centre of inspiration, a Math is to be established on the eastern bank of the Ganga. . . . On the other side of the Ganga a big plot of land will be acquired, where unmarried girls or Brahmacharini widows will live; devout married women will also be allowed to stay now and then. Men will have no concern with this Math.
Throw aside your scriptures in the Ganga and teach the people first the means of procuring their food and clothing, and then you will find time to read to them the scriptures.
Throw away holiness and wisdom, and people will be a hundred times happier. Throw away morality and justice, and people will do the right thing. Throw away industry and profit, and there won't be any thieves. If these three aren't enough, just stay at the center of the circle and let all things take their course.
A Birkin bag is a very good rain hat; just put everything else in a plastic bag.
The Ganga remains sacred from Gomukh, its source, to Ganga sagar, where it enters the ocean. It sanctifies the tributaries, which attain the very nature of Ganga. Similar is Sanskrit; sacred by itself, it sanctifies all that come into its contact.
I think women in Hollywood who don't do Botox and plastic surgery are revered. I revere them... My plan is to never go there. I'm too vain to get plastic surgery because I don't like how it looks, and I want to look my best.
Banning plastic bags so that people use paper bags or imported reusable bags that will end up in local landfills soon thereafter is not the only solution to our plastic bag challenge.
If people volunteered in the same way to construct schools or roads or even clear the river of plastic wrappers, by God, Pakistan would become a paradise within a year.
A long time ago, there were lovers that lived on the opposite ends of a river. They promised to meet when the camellia flowers bloomed. But it rained so much the boat couldn't cross the river. So the two couldn't meet, even though the camellia flowers had all bloomed. Lets meet again. Before the camellia flowers wilt.
Belief is like plastic flowers, which look like flowers from far away. Trust is real rose. It has roots, and roots go deep into your heart and into your being.
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