Chapter's summary : Text and Summary of Prose and Poem

Summary | Not for Sale | Anon

2021-02-08T17:54:00.005+05:30

Summary

'Not for Sale' by an anonymous writer is a heart touching story of a young couple madly in love who overcome all obstacles for the sake of their love and togetherness. The author was on a vacation when he came across a painting of a young woman. The painting was extraordinary and very expressive. He wished to buy it. But the woman in charge of the shop denied saying that the painting belonged to the owner of the shop and he did not wish to sell it. However, the painting was so touching that it kept haunting the author. Whenever he got a chance, he would drive all the way through Taos and to the gallery and see the painting. Finally, the woman shopkeeper told him the story behind the painting. Two young students, a man and a woman, fell madly in love while they studied painting and arts in New York, far from their homes. They decided to get married and have a promising career in painting.

However, just a few weeks before the wedding, the woman fell sick. She was diagnosed with a rare blood disease which was incurable. She just had six months to a year to survive. The woman was devastated. She didn't want to brother her lover with her illness. So she wrote a letter to him saying she didn't love him anymore and returned to her home, without informing about the real cause of her return. The lover was a man of strong character. He followed her to her home and discovered the true reason.

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They got married. The man denied the fact that his wife would die. He loved her unconditionally and had faith that she would survive. And though in poor health, the woman survived and gradually became normal. They started painting once again and opened an exhibition gallery. That particular painting was made by the man while they were studying. And the woman in the painting was none other than his lover and now his wife and who was now also in charge of that gallery. The story moved the author.

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Why did the author become a regular visitor to the art gallery?

The story 'Not for Sale' is about two people whose deep love and faith worked a miracle. It revolves around a painting that is 'Not for Sale.'

One summer the author drove into the quaint little town of Taos, New Mexico, where many exhibitions were being held. In one small shop his eye was caught by a lovely painting of a young woman of perhaps nineteen or twenty. The narrator thought that the painting was extraordinary. There were many portraits of that kind, but that particular one attracted him. He thought it's composing was good, and it had a certain feeling of warmth and affection that touched him. He wanted to buy it, but was informed that it was not for sale. He had to leave without buying it; however, the painting continued to haunt him. So he returned many times to look at the painting and thus became a regular visitor to the art gallery.

"Faith can often work miracles". Explain.

Yes, faith can often work miracles. This fact is brought out very poignantly in the story 'Not for Sale.' This is a love story of two people who defined all odds and came out winners.

The two young artists met and fell in love in New York City. They decided to get married. But a few days before the wedding, the girl discovered that she had a fatal blood disease which would let her live for six months or at most a year. On learning this, she decided to leave her fiancé. She did so. However, the young man also found out the true reason for her leaving him. He immediately followed her and insisted on marrying her. He was confident that their deep love and faith would overcome even the Damocles' sword of death hanging over their heads. The two young people got married. The young girl was quite ill for a few years, but eventually got over her illness. She herself narrates her love story to the author. The author, therefore, feels that 'Faith can often work miracles.'

Not for Sale | Anon | Part - 2

2021-02-04T18:48:00.002+05:30

Not for Sale

Please Read the Part-1 of 'Not for Sale'.

She therefore decided to return home at once. She wrote the young man a long letter which she left in his room. In the letter, the young woman mentioned nothing about her health; she simply said that she had discovered that she was not really in love with him and that she had decided not to get married. Under the circumstances, she wrote, the best thing for her to do was to return home. And she did. After she did. After she had left, the young man found the letter in his room.

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The woman at the shop, who had been telling me the story, stopped at this point. I waited for a moment, then remarked, "But you haven't said anything about the painting. Where does that come into the story?"

She remained silent for a moment. "The painting is simply a study of the young girl by the young boy while they were both students and so deeply in love. Perhaps for that reason the picture has a certain warmth and feeling. You yourself once remarked about this."

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"Yes, I did," I said, looking again toward the picture on the wall and then back again at the woman in the shop. Suddenly, then there occurred to me something that I had never noticed before. For the first time, I saw a resemblance between the girl in the picture and the woman in the shop. I looked again from one to the other. "You'll excuse me," I said, "but you are, by any chance, the girl in the picture? It seems to me that I see a definite resemblance there."

"Yes," she said smiling. "I am the girl. And she said that you have followed my story very well."

"But I still don't understand one or two things," I said.

"The ending is very simple. A few weeks after the young woman left New York, the young man, by one means or another, learned the real truth about her condition. Immediately, he himself then left New York and followed her to Taos. Being a person of very strong character, he insisted on marrying her - and did so."

"But what about the young girl's health?" I asked. "Or rather your health?" The doctors had said that you had only a short time to live.

"My husband refused to believe in the decision of the doctors. He said that our love was too strong to permit any such difficulties. For several years, it is true, I was in very poor health, and we remained in the Southwest. But my husband's faith never weakened, and faith, as you know, often works miracles. Later, we opened this gallery and we both began painting again. Things were not always easy for us, but we've really been happy these past twenty years."

Not for Sale | Anon | Part - 1

2021-01-31T12:10:00.019+05:30

Not for Sale

When I take vacations, I enjoy going around different towns in the Southwestern part of the United States. I am particularly interested in the many art galleries and shops in the part of the country. These shops often exhibit paintings of young artists who have not yet won much attention. If one has a good eye for such things and chooses carefully, one can sometimes pick up some real bargains. At least it has been my experience in the past that I can find paintings which later prove to be true works of art. In fact, several of these now hang on the walls of my apartment and give me pleasure each time I look at them. They give me pleasure, first, because I was able to pick them up at a low price and, second, because I had the good sense to recognize the work of a young artist who later became famous.

Thus, it happened that one summer I drove into the quaint little town of Taos, New Mexico, where many exhibitions were being held. In one small shop my eye caught a lovely painting of a young woman of perhaps nineteen to twenty. The painting was extraordinary. Although there are many portraits of this kind, this particular one especially attracted me. The composing was good, and it had a certain feeling of warmth and affection that touched me. A woman, who was about thirty-five years old was in charge of the shop and I asked her the price of the painting.

"Oh," she said, "that particular painting is not for sale."

"But it's out here with the rest of the exhibits." I replied sadly.

"That painting belongs to the owner of the store," she explained, "and he doesn't want it sold. Perhaps I can interest you in one of the other works of our local artists?"

"No," I said, "Not today, thank you." I looked around her shop a bit longer and them left.

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I drove to several other towns on that vacation, but kept thinking about the young woman in the portrait. I headed back toward Los Angeles and drove through Taos once again. I went to the same gallery and asked about the same painting. The woman remembered me at once.

"No," she said, "That painting's still not for sale. I'm afraid it never will be. It belongs to the owner of the store, as I told you, and he seems to value it highly."

The last remark interested me. I tried not to appear too curious, but nonetheless asked her if there was some story behind the picture. "Perhaps the owner is waiting for a really high price," I said as an opening move. "Who was the artist?"

"The owner of the shop painted it himself," she said. "It was done years ago, but he has always kept it. Do you really think it's so good?"

"It's not bad."

Please Read the Part - 2 of 'Not for Sale'.

Two other customers came into the shop at that moment, and the woman left to attend to them. Nothing more was said about the painting by either of us on this visit, but after that I fell into the habit of driving through Taos and going to that little gallery every chance I had. Over the years, I got to know the woman better, and one day she told me the whole story.

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It seems that the owner of the store - some twenty years ago - had gone to New York in order to complete his art studies. While living and painting in Greenwich Village, an area of New York City where many artists work and study, he met a young woman from New Mexico. She, too, was an art student. They had a lot in common and soon fell deeply in love. New York is a wonderful place for young people in love; they were very happy. They decided to get married. They set a date and invited all their student friends to the wedding. They planned to continue painting and to encourage each other's careers.

Then a few weeks before the wedding, the young woman fell sick. She did not have to go into the hospital; she did not even appear ill; but she had sudden attacks of fainting which left her weak and shaking.

She did not wish to alarm her fiance, so she told him nothing of her sickness. She hoped that it was a passing condition. But the attacks continued. Finally, she went to a doctor, who, in turn, sent her to two specialists. She was told that she had a rare blood disease and that there was no cure. She had six months to live, they told her a year at most.

It is not difficult to imagine the emotions of the young woman. She was, of course, concerned about herself, but she was equally concerned about the situation of her lover. If he learnt the truth about her condition, he might insist on marrying her - simply out of a feeling of obligation. She did not want this to happen. It would not be fair to him. He had talent as a young painter, and she wanted him to go on with his studies instead of foolishly sacrificing his life for hers.

Breeze In The Old Building | Dr. Bina Biswas | Part - 2

2021-01-27T18:17:00.000+05:30

Breeze in the Old Building

"I even learned one day while blowing through the Ministry Office building that they have their territories marked in the air too. If someone crosses these by mistake and goes over to the other's then they start their fights. And these are not ordinary fights, like I do with Miss Air sometimes, these are gun battles. They kill each other and settle their scores. I refused to touch such flags on the wars fields that the winners hoist after the war is won, over the strewn dead bodies. I wanted to tear such pieces of colourful cloth to shreds."

"Yes, dear Ms Breeze, i know all about this. Last time, decades ago, my brother Storm Beaten had gone out once when he met Tornado and Gale. They were so very angry with these humans that they destroyed whatever came on their way. Storm Beaten was also blown off his feet but he somehow managed to cling onto a tree, without food and water, like those devastated humans before finally managing to come back home. He was so disturbed with Tornado's and Gale's behaviour that he never stepped out of the building after that." Saying this Mrs. Windy wiped teardrops from her eyes.

Breeze, then, with sorrowful eyes bid Mrs. Windy good day and moved on to meet all the others whom she had not met before. She tiptoed out of the building to the lush green lawn to meet the west wind, They call him Zephyr. He was, sitting at the culvert, over a small puddle. Seeing Breeze approaching he shivered a bit and then filled himself with the momentous dread about her.

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The sky was already turning a greyish colour. Zephyr held the wooden rail with his little first and with the other hand tried to play on his lyre. But no music came out but he frantically played on his harp. Breeze stood there frightened and moved away slowly without uttering a word.

A little farther away she found the gentle wind blowing over the tulips in the garden. Breeze immediately ran toward her and cried, "O my friend Gentle Wind! I was so petrified to see Zephyr sitting over there in a frustrated mood that I came away running to you."

"Yes, such obstinate moods come over him sometimes, then he fiddles with his harp and broods like tragic heroes from Greek mythology," replied Gentle Wind with a twinkle in her eyes.

"But why does he look so cheerless and depressed?"

"Last winter he visited a village which lay by the shore of a river in a misshapen land. There was an inn, and the sound of violins was often heard there. Young, stylish people sat in the garden and talked and danced and made merry, while on the other shore were cloudlike mountains."

"But then Zephyr became uptight and got up with a furry face, stepped onto the lawn behind the counter, broke the snow-covered brush wood, and buzzed into one of those ladies" ear saying. "I'm a Greek god, I confess to it now."

"The pretty woman unable to make out anything from this just mopped her brow with her kerchief and moved away with her partner. SInce that day Zephyr is sad at being unable to prove his godliness to her," said Gentle Wind, while brushing her long white skirt briskly.

Breeze thanked her profusely and hurried back home. She stood gazing at the dilapidated old building now. The walkway leading up to the house was cracked. Weeds and dandelions poked out from these cracks. Red roses grew wildly in thick batches by the gate. The house looked fit for Zephyr, she thought. But then why did he live outside in the garden, Breeze wondered.

The door resentfully creaked open as Breeze walked in. A mildewed clammy odour crept into her nose. The house was dead silent except for the irregular squeaks and sighs of the wind that passed through the open windows. She quietly entered the dark living room. She noticed windows were with soot and dirt, the tranquil moonlight struggled through the darkness in thin thread-rays. Ghoulish shadows roamed about the room. The sofas and beds revealed deep grooves in the places where once the dwellers used to sit and lay down. A great jagged hole dug through the wall stood gawking. Picture frames hung muted. A cobweb-covered grand bookcase was at the corner of the room appearing dishevelled.

Breeze made her way back into the hallway; a glimmer of light came from behind a door. The single window was broken; through it a flood of light flowed into the room. Dust swirled around her as she made her way inside. The only sound to be heard was the drip of the faucet in the sink, as if someone never bothered to repair it.

Breeze arrived at the foot of the staircase that leads up to the terrace. A cry echoed all over the house. It was time to leave, she told herself. She closed the door behind and carefully walked down the stairs. She had to breathe more deeply. She saw the light short steps of Mr. Air coming toward her growing shorter and shorter. His strong double chin bulged over the firm high collar of his coat; from under his shaggy-haired eyebrows his black eyes flitted fresh and stabbing glances at her; his one time ruffled white hair had been combed flat on either side of an immaculate and cautious precise parting. This scared Breeze out of her wits. She was already beginning to feel out of breath, just as in her struggle outside the factory when her lungs had not seemed very trustworthy.

As she careened along, trying to concentrate on running while hardly able to keep her eyes open; in her shaken state she could not even think of any other getaway than simply moving forward. She almost forgot that the walls were not obstacles to her. The walls in this room were adorned with finely carved pieces of mahogany wood furniture, showcases, now looked old and faded - suddenly something lightly flung from somewhere landed close to her. It was a hot breath thrown at her. With her last alert look she saw the door of the room being thrown open and Zephyr rushing out ahead of Gentle Wind. She at once understood that the old building would not house either them or her anymore. The inhabitants of the old building had learned politics and division from the specters of the humans that once lived there.

Breeze returned to her hut by the side of a river where ducks swam in the still, supple water following their own reflection, wet clouds poured over the grass of meadows, and exotic bushes grew at their whims where the village sank deeper and deeper under the shade of rain-clouds. Tree trunks threw shadows during the mid day on the road across the pavement. The shadows lay twisted and bent, as if chopped and broken. Breeze knew now that she had to be everywhere; she could not be at one place only and thinking that she fell asleep on the grassland by the river.

Breeze In The Old Building | Dr. Bina Biswas | Part - 1

2021-01-23T12:24:00.003+05:30

Breeze in the Old Building

Breeze stood near the gate of the old building and asked the gatekeeper in a low voice,

"Will you let me in please?"

The gatekeeper hugged her and said, "Yes dear! By all means!"

After touching the doorman's tossing mane and tartar beard slightly, Breeze flew inside the building and was greeted by her friends who were trapped in there for years together. They sighed in relief as if they had got a breather when Breezer had steeped in. The rugged pillar on the veranda grimaced seeing Breeze corning in and emitted a steamy breath. She went from hall to hall, from one room to another and stopped at the attic. The oldish upcountry putrid air glowered at her from the ceiling and said,

"What brings you here, Breeze after so many years?"

"It is terrible there, outside, uncle Storm-Beaten! I almost suffocated myself to death with poison all around me."

"So please tell me about all this, Breeze. I have not gone out to this house now for a long time," said Storm Beaten with an exasperated sigh.

"Yes uncle Storm Beaten! I will narrate the entire story to you, but first let me go and meet all the others," yelled Breeze while going out of the room.

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Most of the old buildings, shrouded by haze and mystery, were sparsely stacked up with lonely rooms and very few inhabitants. Black and brown mould dotted the ceiling in clusters, evident of rain seeping through the roof. Some rooms were small with pitched ceilings and ancient adornments and a basement, by the side of a river. It took at least a day on a horse-carriage to get there from the nearest town. Forlorn trails, wolves that streak past like silver shooting star, little rivulets that appear from nowhere and whoosh through the terrains, hilly grass that sway their heads in silence, trees that stood alone on hilltops, birds that glide miles above during the day and owl hoots covered in darkness could be found on the way. The moonlight cast a grisly glow on the house. Vines formed a twisted labyrinth around the side of the house, reaching their tentacles towards the roof. The walls of the house showed the black decay of neglect. Splotches of original paint hinted at the house's former opulence. Cobwebs covered the corners of the doors while tiny black spiders threaded towards their prey.

Breeze walked at a brisk pace on her way down the staircase. She raised her head and stiffened her body, and gazing silently at her friends, stopped. Mrs. Windy had lost all her charm, her youth and vigour had given way to a wrinkly body and drooping eyelids. She was so blown away in her young days that Tornadoes and Storms used to fear her sometimes. Now she sat in a gloomy corner of a room and brooded eternally. Breeze was so happy to have come into the old building that she almost forgot her miserable days outside the bungalow.

She remembered her visit to the rainforest as if it were a distant dream. Great, indifferent mountains by the river with rocks rolling against the water had looked stunning. Breeze was thrilled and had pleaded, "O great mountains! Grass, bush, flowers, sky, birds and river, I am Breeze; I've come here to meet you all. Please give me some room to breathe."

At this, instantly the nearby mountains began to move in hurried surrender, and then withdrew behind a screen of fog. Laden clouds drifted about in the sky and small birds on the far-away scrawny bushes appeared fidgety. There lay a heavy wet cloud with graceful clear edges in front of the sun while everything else was lost in the pristine outline in the mist. She was flying everywhere, walking and dancing like a butterfly on the flowers and leaves. Breeze steeped into the bushes, and then walked through the wet sand to finally sink into the muddy swamp. Her body sparkled and the water swished around her chin while the evening sun's oblique rays broke forth from behind the rims of uncertain clouds and illuminated the hills as far as the eye could see. Then she bowed slowly in the direction of the flowing water and was carried down the river like a bunch of wild flowers that had been cast into the river and she sailed along on the reflection of the rain clouds.

Some wild birds rose shrieking and mounting suddenly into the sky. The anxious sun casting a scraggy shadow on Breeze staggered over the small pebbles on either side of the river and vanished behind the high tousled pine-weed. The light of the falcate moon suddenly appeared from beyond the restive bushes and spread over the hills. Breeze stood still with sleepy eyes and was overcome by extreme stupor. Her sleep was intense and dreamless. She was awakened by a rain bird that sprang up from nowhere and a great bunch of leaves rose rustling into the air. Swallows sat on the stones by the river, a tiny bird with stretched wings flew straight through brushwood that bordered the river. Ripe fruits fell from the trees onto the ground and Breeze blinked at the sky which was of an unusually promising turquoise color. The landscape disturbed her thoughts.

Mrs. Windy blinked at Breeze and tried to give her a warm smile. Her lips quivered a little and a toothless smile appeared on them. Breeze hugged her tight and said, "Mrs. Windy, how are you my dear aunt?"

"I am doing well, my child. What about you?"

"I came here to see you all. Outside life has become too difficult. The animals that call themselves humans are chopping off the trees mindlessly and building big high-rises for themselves. The factories emit toxic gases. I almost choked myself to death once. I went and met the trees that are left there in the concrete jungle and they refuse to give oxygen to these animals. Birds are disappearing, animals are getting smothered and becoming extinct, the snow-draped mountains are melting down in anger and the rivers do not know what to do with the water that inundates them now."

Tomorrow’s Citizens | Dr. A.P.J. Abdul Kalam | Part - 2

2021-01-19T18:57:00.030+05:30

Tomorrow’s Citizens

Knowledge-Sweat-Perseverance

One cannot stop at thinking and asking questions. There is a need to act to solve the problems and that requires hard work and perseverance.

As President and earlier as a scientist, life has taught me the importance of three qualities; knowledge, sweat and perseverance.

Our country has a very bright future and all of us, especially the children. who will be the leaders of tomorrow have to work hard. The vision of a Developed India will not come on its own. It will not be gifted to us by someone but we have to work and work hard to achieve the goals which we have set for ourselves. It is only through sweat and toil that we will be able to make India stand proudly among the community of developed nations. If India is to become developed by 2020, it will do so only by riding on the shoulders of the young.

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Role of Students

A "Developed India" is no more a vision. The largest beneficiary of this dream when realized will be the young. Hence it is important that you contribute in its initial stages of realization and shape it to the best of your abilities within your academic and family confines. The biggest concern of the parents and the children in your age group is the job prospect after you complete your education. Without worrying about minor variations in the subjects of your pursuit, your opportunities and future will be brighter if you excel in whatever subject you undertake to study. At the frontier there are no borders.

The Employment opportunities of many, but when a person becomes very selective and wants only a government job, then there are tremendous constraints. If you open up your thoughts to entrepreneurship, design, industry, direct participation in agriculture with innovative ideas, making IT products, etc., the opportunities are unlimited. The most important thing for the young generation is to make up its mind to contribute in all sectors through the tools of knowledge and physical contribution.

One of the important indications of a developed nation is the literacy level. Educating a nation of a billion people is not a small task. It requires the participation of all the stakeholders starting from the young. Many of you are fortunate enough to attend good schools for a quality education. But many of your brothers and sisters are not that fortunate, particularly those from the villages.

A good sign of a developed nation is that “people who have” worked hard to bridge the divide between themselves and “those who have not.” One way of doing this is for your school to adopt a village near you. Each one of you could visit on holidays and contribute to the removal of illiteracy of a t least two people and light the quest for knowledge in them.

Further, children can plant at least ten trees either in the school campus or in their houses.

Himalayas, when I see the biodiversity of the North East and our islands and when I feel the warmth of the Western desert. I hear the voice of the youth asking. “When can I sing the song of India?” What can be the answer?

If the youth have to sing the song of India, India should become a developed country which is free from poverty, illiteracy and unemployment and is buoyant with economic prosperity, national security and internal harmony.

During the last four years. I have interacted with thousands of school children. Some of my friends had launched a website in my name, through which I exchange views, particularly with the young within the country and abroad. I had put forth two points on the website for the young to share their thoughts. The first point was: India has been a developing country for more than half a century, what will you do to make it a “Developed India?”

The second point was: When can I sing a song of India? There were some important suggestions that I received in response. One student from Meghalaya had responded, “I will become a teacher (rather a Professor of Engineering) since I am good at it, as well as enjoy teaching, and I believe that one of the best ways in which to serve any nation is to be either a professor or a soldier among many other professions.” “What a noble thoughts! Such beautiful thoughts can come only from a beautiful place like Meghalaya."

Another young girl from Kerala said, “A single flower makes no garland. I will make my countrymen develop love for the nation and work for making a garland of developed India.” A twenty-year-old boy from Goa responded, “I would become an electron and like an electron in the orbit I will work ceaselessly for my country from now onwards.”

With reference to the second point I had put forth, a young man from Atlanta says, “When India builds the capability to put sanction against any country if needed, then I will sing a song of India.” What the young man meant was that economic strength brings prosperity, accompanied by national strength.

The cross-section of the people of this young age group has an inspired mind to make the nation great. It is important to recognize that India has a population of 540 million young people. This is a big force. Creating a powerful vision for the nation which brings the force and energy of the young into action.

The Song of Youth

As a young citizen of India,

Armed with technology, knowledge

And love for my nation,

I realize, small aim is a crime.

I will work and sweat for a great vision,

The vision of transforming India

Into a developed nation,

I am one of the citizen of a billion,

Only the vision will ignite the billion souls.

It has entered into me,

The ignited soul compared to any resource

Is the most powerful resource

On the earth, above the earth and under the earth.

I will keep the lamp of knowledge burning

To achieve the vision - Developed India.

If we work and sweat for the great vision with ignited minds, the transformation leading to the birth of a vibrant developed India will take place. This song, when sung in our own beautiful languages, will unite our minds and hearts.

Tomorrow’s Citizens | Dr. A.P.J. Abdul Kalam | Part - 1

2021-01-15T19:19:00.001+05:30

Tomorrow's Citizens

Our Greatest Wealth

India is poised in the mission of transforming itself into a developed nation and by the year 2020. The prime resource through which this transformation is possible is the 540 million youth who are below the age of twenty-five.

Children and youth are the picture of a nation's future. They are our hope for tomorrow. The youth in India constitute a sizable, vibrant and resourceful segment of our society which has a burning desire to scale greater heights. If their energies are properly channeled, they will unleash a momentum that would propel the nation on the fast track to development. We need to carefully nurture this vast and precious human capital by making it a focal point of our planning and development process. Encompassing the needs. rights and the expectations of youth to the central stage of development should be our priority.

Children are our greatest wealth. Every child born in the nation should be allowed to blossom. It is particularly important to provide extra care and facilities to the children including those who are not fortunate to have their families to look after them. This noble service should be promoted by all individuals and government organizations, leading to the development of enlightened citizens who will become an asset for national development.

My interaction with children in India and In other Nations revealed that aspiration of the the young Aadi team that is so live in a peaceful prosperous and Secure Nation all of them are looking for challenging missions good role models and leaders who can be their guiding spirit a combination of knowledge, enthusiasm and hard work of the youth is a create dynamic fire for the for transforming the Nations.

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Education is the Right of Every Child

Education is the most important element for growth and prosperity of a nation.

We have 350 million people who need to be made literate. Children who belong to the weaker sections of our society are undernourished, and only a small percentage of them manage to complete eight years of satisfactory education. We need to think specially for them. Education is indeed a fundamental right of every Indian child. Can we allow the situation to continue in which millions of children are forced into lifelong poverty?

An important area of concern is the unequal access to educational resources, which still exist after almost six decades of Independence. For example, I have seen in our village three types of families. The fortunate ones, who due to their economic well-being, realise the importance of educating the young ones at any cost, guide them at all critical stages. Then there are those families who might realise the importance of education, but are not aware of the opportunities in time, nor of the procedures and ways to realise these opportunities for their children. There is a third category of families who are economically weak and do not realise the value of education and hence for generations together their children are neglected and continue to live in poverty. It is essential that we enlighten them and create widespread awareness of education among all sections of society particularly in rural areas and among the urban poor.

It is reported that 39% of children drop out from school after studying upto 5th class and 55% drop out after studying up to the 8th class. This situation needs remedial action, especially since assent has been accorded for the 86th Constitutional Amendment Act, Right to Education Bill for children between the age group of 5 and 14 years. But an act alone cannot achieve the goal unless the education is delivered in a manner relevant to the people to whom it is addressed.

Dream-Thought-Action

The challenge in the mission of Developed India calls for an important, cohesive and focused effort of the young. A nation is focused effort of the young. A nation is great because of the way its people think, Particularly the young population of India must have a big aim; small aim is a crime.

Though the present academic system may give students a lot of workload, it should not prevent them from dreaming. It doesn't prevent them from working hard to acquire knowledge. Hard work and perseverance are beautiful angels who will support you.

In the 1960 Prof. Vikram Sarabhai, the visionary of our space Programme, put forth the vision that India should design and develop its own communication satellites, remote-sensing satellites and launch them in polar orbits from the Indian soil for mapping Indian national resources. Today his dream has become true. The nation is capable of developing any type of space system.

Dream, dream, dream,

Your dreams will transform into thoughts,

The thoughts will result in actions.

And you will succeed.

Encourage all children to dream for themselves. Unless they have dreams they will not be motivated to attain them. Slowly, you will find that, with proper effort, dreams will transform into the thoughts and with effort and labour, these thoughts can be transformed into actions. Success is possible only when we have a commitment to action. This “dream-thought-action” philosophy is what I would like it to be inculcated in each and every one of the students.

It is not a disgrace to not reach the stars, but it is a disgrace to have no stars to reach for.

Summary | Tomorrow’s Citizens | Dr. A.P.J. Abdul Kalam

2021-01-11T12:12:00.018+05:30

Summary

The lesson is a message by Dr. A.P.J. Abdul Kalam the great scientist who had a vision for India. He was also the 11th President of India. Dr. Kalam who had recognized the untapped talent and strength of youth and children has voiced his feelings for bringing it out. By transforming the 540 million youth and bringing out their potential, we can transform India into a developed nation. He insists for extending education in the rural areas and to the underprivileged. He has focused on the freedom of children to question and to keep thinking. He focused on the role of students in this crucial era.

How, according to Dr. APJ Abdul Kalam, do the youth of India constitute a resourceful segment of our society?

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Dr. A.P.J. Kalam, a born scientist, was hailed as the missile man of India. He was earnestly proud of India and its people. His mission was to transform India into a developed nation by the year 2020, below the age of twenty five are awakened. Children and youth are the picture of a nation’s future. They are the hope of our tomorrow. The youth constitute a sizable, vibrant and resourceful segment of our society which has the burning desire to scale greater heights. If their energies are properly channelized, they will unleash a momentum that would propel the nation on the fast track of development. We need to nurture this vast and precious human capital by making it a focal point of our planning and development process. Encompassing the needs, rights and expectations of youth to the Centre stage of development should be our priority. Every child in our country should be allowed to blossom, especially those who are not fortunate. If we achieve this target, then every child will become an asset for national development.

Why is it essential to enlighten the third category of families in our villages?

India has a vast population that can be divided into three categories. The first, the fortunate ones who are economically sound and realize the importance of good education. The second category is the one who realizes the importance of education but does not have adequate sources. Adequate knowledge to tap their intelligence at the right time and the third category who are economically weak and do not realize the value of education and hence for generations their children are neglected and live in poverty. According to Dr. Kalam, a majority of India’s population falls under this category from the rural areas and from the urban poor. It is essential they are enlightened and given an opportunity to come out from their shackles and prove themselves to the world their capability. Unfortunately, there is about 35% drop out after 5th class and 55% after 8th class. This situation has to be changed.

Summary | Breeze In The Old Building | Dr. Bina Biswas

2021-01-07T20:21:00.001+05:30

Summary

Breeze comes to an isolated house in the outskirts of the city. No one lived there only the gatekeeper who kept a over the house. It was all shut and smelt musty. It seemed the companions of breeze did not want her in. They felt jealous of her as she seemed to be cheerful and happy outside the house. The house was old and had become a home to many birds. Being far from the main road, it seemed forlorn and out of the sight of human beings.

Breeze recalls her happy days. Her comrades rise to meet her but she refused. She was not a welcome in the deserted house, Her conversation with wind told of the pathetic condition of the house. Soon after going around the house she decided to leave. She was scared of the air. The description of the house tells it was once a well kept house. But now the occupants could not allow anyone to enter their privacy. The old occupants have no say in it and have to leave?

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Give an account of the interior and exterior of the old building.

The house was an isolated one outside the city. Most of the old buildings were shrouded by haze and mystery. Very few inhabitants lived there. Most of the inmates had deserted the house and gone elsewhere. A lone watchman kept guard of the house. The ceiling had black and brown mould in clusters which indicated that rain had seeped through the roof. Some rooms were small with pitched ceilings, ancient adornments and a basement by the side of a river. It was far away from the nearest town. From outside it was frightening. There were forlorn trails wolves streaking past like shooting stars. Little rivulets appeared from nowhere and flowed down the terrain and hilly grass.

There were tall trees on the hilltops with birds and owls nestling there. The house, in the moonlight showed the vines forming a twisted labyrinth around the side of the house with their tentacles reaching the roof. The walls of the house showed the black decay of neglect. Splotches of paint told that the house was once luxuriously maintained. Cobwebs and spiders had made their homes in the dark house.

What made Breeze come back to the old building?

Dr. Bina Biswas a fiction writer, editor and multilinguistic, is a professor of English Communications and Language. She had beautifully given voice to Breeze and made it express itself. Breeze lived outside the bungalow but life had become miserable for her because of the polluted atmosphere.

The air outside was poisonous because of the factories and industries. People had left the place and gone. Trees were cut down and stormy winds blew all over. Poor breeze had no place for shelter. So it decided to come to the old building and meet her friends. She hoped to find a more comfortable place in this bungalow as it was a place she had been staying earlier.

'Breeze knew now that she had to be everywhere'. Explain

Breeze had seen the outside world and the inside of the deserted house. She could not find a suitable place for herself. She returned to her hut by the side of a river where ducks swam in the still, where the village sank under the rain clouds and trees let their shade on the pavement. The shadows were twisted and bent as if chopped and broken. Seeing all this, she realized she should be every where and not confined to one place. The author tries to convey that there in no place on this polluted earth for gentle folks. Such folks need to be everywhere to spread the message of revitalizing the earth with their presence as the Breeze who realized her importance.

Pegasus : The Winged Horse

2021-01-03T18:49:00.002+05:30

Pegasus : The Winged Horse

Some of you may have heard that 'Pegasus' was a snow-white steed with beautiful silvery wings who spent most of his time on the top of a mountain. He was as wild and as swift in his flight through the air as any eagle and seemed hardly to be a creature of the earth.

Whenever he was seen up very high above people's heads, with the sunshine on his silvery wings, you would have thought that he belonged to the sky, and that, skimming a little - too low he had gone astray among our mists and vapors, and was seeking his way back. It was very pretty to behold him plunge into the fleecy bosom of a white cloud, and be lost in it for a moment or two, and then break forth on the other side. Or, in a sullen rain-storm, when there was a grey pavement of clouds over the whole sky, it would sometimes happen that the winged horse descended right through it and the glad light of the upper region would gleam after him. Anyone who was fortunate enough to see this wondrous spectacle felt cheerful the whole day afterwards. In the summer time, and in the finest weather, Pegasus often alighted on the solid earth; and, closing his silvery wings, would gallop over hill and dale for pastime, as fast as the wind.

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Pegasus and Bellerophon

When the airy rush of the winged horse had brought the prince once more within a short distance, the monster gave a spring, flung its huge carcass right upon poor Pegasus, clung round him with might and main, and tied its snaky tail into a knot ! Up flew the steed, higher, higher, higher, higher above the mountain peaks, above the clouds, and almost out of sight of the solid earth; while Bellerophon could only avoid being scorched to death or bitten right in twain, by holding up his shield.

But the monster was so mad and wild with pain, that it did not guard itself well; and in its efforts to stick its horrible iron claws into its enemy, the creature left its own breast quite exposed. Seeing this, Bellerophon at once drove his sword up to the hilt into its cruel heart.

Immediately the snaky tail untied its knot. The monster let go its hold of Pegasus, and fell from that vast height downward; while the first that always glowed within its bosom, instead of being put out, burned fiercer than ever, and quickly began to consume the dead carcass. Thus it fell out of the sky, all aflame; and, since night had fallen before it reached the earth, it was mistaken for a shooting star or a comet.

Summary | Bhuto | Satyajit Ray

2020-12-31T13:36:00.019+05:30

Summary

Naveen Munshi, a college dropout was hugely interested in Magic. He once chanced upon a show on Ventriloquism by Akrur Choudhary. Fascinated by this new art form wherein the performer spoke in different voices and that too without the movement of lips, he was determined to learn it from the great maestro himself. But Akrur Babu humiliated and refused him. Angered Naveen learnt and mastered the art on his own. Encouraged by the response he got from his uncle and close friend he decided to do it the professional way. He needed a puppet. Naveen based his puppet's looks on Akrur Babu. The puppet was named Bhutnath or Bhuto for short. He became an instant hit and went on to give several memorable performances.

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Akrur Babu paid him a visit and told him that he had begun to receive cat calls when he had been on stage because of Naveen's puppet and that it was now difficult for him to earn a decent living. Naveen felt a sense of unease in the presence of Akrur Babu and the way he looked at Bhuto. Akrur Babu went on to tell him that he knew other forms of magic which he had not used on stage to earn a living as promised to his Guru who lived in the Himalayas. Although he was impressed to his Guru who lived in the Himalayas. Although he was impressed by Naveen's dedication he was upset with the designing of his puppet. He brought to his notice the grey hair on the puppet and left. Stunned Naveen observed Bhuto and did not remember seeing the grey strands earlier.

Soon strange things began to occur; Bhuto seemed to have acquired a life of his own and had gone onto to mouth dialogues which Naveen never said on stage. It seemed like his puppet's appearance had begun to change, dark circles grew under his eyes, he greyed a little more, a mole had appeared on the forehead. Naveen felt a dilemma, he was convinced that Bhuto was only an inert, lifeless puppet in his hands, but there seemed to be some kind of supernatural magical force which had taken control of Bhuto. Naveen believed that the same changes had begun to affect Akrur Babu.

Naveen would converse with Bhuto often and during one such talk Naveen was startled to hear the puppet say that all this was happening because of his 'Karma!' That night he heard someone cough in his room and found Bhuto slouching with his arm on the chest. Naveen convinced himself that nothing was wrong and that unnatural things like this did not occur in the twentieth century.

Now he began to taste failure, at a show he was unable to mimic Bhuto's voice and throw it across the hall, strangely he could talk. He returned home feeling sick. Again, that night he observed that Bhuto looked ill, he had lost the freshness on his face. He was sweating, his eyes were red and Bhuto's chest seemed to rise and fall! It rose and fell; his breathing could be heard! Naveen called out the puppet's name and was stunned to hear the puppet reply that it was not Bhuto but Akrur Chowdhury! By the time he got a hold over his senses, Naveen noticed that the puppet's breathing was getting fainter and finally stopped breathing. When he tried to move the puppet, the mechanical parts were jammed and when he tried harder, the head fell off the body.

The next morning, he ran into his landlord who asked him to show some of his magic. Naveen replied that he had given it all up now. To this the landlord replied that one of his fellow performers had died of a heart attack the previous night, his name was Akrur Chowdhury. Naveen thought to himself that if anyone had asked for the time of death, they would discover that it was ten minutes past midnight.

To a Butterfly | William Wordsworth

2020-12-29T18:58:00.001+05:30

About the Poem

A butterfly is a thing of beauty and therefore a source of joy for ever. How captivating its colors and how intricate the patterns on its tiny wings are!

About the Poet

William Wordsworth(1770 - 1885) is the high priest of nature, who calls himself 'a worshipper of nature which teaches us more for man and of a moral evil and of a good than all the sages can.' The poem is addressed to a butterfly. He observes it sucking honey; then he invites it to come to his orchard and sit near him and then they will talk about the days of youth which are no more. Coleridge and he jointly published the 'Lyrical Ballads' which inaugurated the English Romantic Age.

To a Butterfly

I've watched you now a full half-hour,
Self-poised upon that yellow flower;
And, little Butterfly ! indeed
I know not if you sleep or feed.

How motionless ! - not frozen seas
More motionless ! and then
What joy awaits you, when the breeze
Hath found you out among the trees,

And calls you forth again !
This plot of orchard-ground is ours;
My trees they are, my Sister's flowers;
Here rest your wings when they are weary;

Here lodge as in a sanctuary !
Come often to us, fear no wrong;
Sit near us on the bough !
We'll talk of sunshine and of song,

And summer days, when we were young;
Sweet childish days, that were as long
As twenty days are now.

The Conjurer's Revenge | Stephen Leacock

2020-12-27T11:24:00.001+05:30

The Conjurer's Revenge

"Now, ladies and gentlemen," said the conjurer, "having shown you that the cloth is absolutely empty, I will proceed to take from it a bowl of goldfish. Presto !"

All around the hall people were saying "Oh, how wonderful? How does he do it?"

But the Quick Man on the front seat said in a big whisper to the people near him, "He-had-it-up-his-sleeve."

Then the people nodded brightly at the Quick Man and said, "Oh, of course;" and everybody whispered round the hall, "He-had-it-up-his-sleeve."

"My next trick," said the conjurer, "is the famous Hindustani rings. You will notice that the rings are apparently separate; at a blow they all join (clang, clang, clang)-Presto!"

There was a general buzz of stupefaction till the Quick Man was heard to whisper, "He must have had another lot up his sleeve."

Again everybody nodded and whispered, The-rings-were-up-his-sleeve."

The brow of the conjurer was clouded with a gathering frown.

"I will now," he continued, "show you a most amusing trick by which I am enabled to take any number of eggs from a hat. Will some gentlemen kindly lend me his hat? Ah, thank you - Presto!"

He extracted seventeen eggs, and for thirty-five seconds the audience began to think that he was wonderful. Then the Quick Man whispered along the front bench, "He has a hen up his sleeve." and all the people whispered it on. "He has a lot of hens up his sleeve."

The egg trick was ruined.

It went on like that all through. It transpired from the whispers of the Quick Man that the conjurer must have concealed up his sleeve, in addition to the rings, hens, and fish, several packs of cards, a loaf of bread, a doll's cradle, a live guinea-pig, a fifty-cent piece, and a rocking-chair.

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The reputation of the conjurer was rapidly sinking below zero. At the close of the evening he rallied for a final effort.

"Ladies and gentlemen," he said, "I will present to you, in conclusion, the famous Japanese trick recently invented by the natives of Tipperary." "Will you sir," he continued, turning toward the Quick Man, "will you kindly hand me your gold watch?"

It was passed to him.

"Have I your permission to put it into this mortar and pound it to pieces?" he asked savagely.

The Quick Man nodded and smiled.

The conjurer threw the watch into the mortar and grasped a sledge hammer from the table. There was a sound of violent smashing, "He's-slipped-it-up-his-sleeve," whispered the Quick Man.

"Now, sir," continued the conjurer, "will you allow me to take your handkerchief and punch holes in it? Thank you. You see, ladies and gentlemen, there is no deception; the holes are visible to the eye."

The face of the Quick man beamed. This time the real mystery of the thing fascinated him.

"And now, sir, will you kindly pass me your silk hat and allow me to dance on it? Thank you."

The conjurer made a few rapid passes with his feet and exhibited the hat crushed beyond recognition.

"And will you now, sir, take off your celluloid collar and permit me to burn it in the candle? Thank you, sir. And will you allow me to smash your spectacles for you with my hammer? Thank you."

By this time the features of the Quick Man were assuming a puzzled expression. "This thing beats me," he whispered, "I don't see through it a bit."

There was a great hush upon the audience. Then the conjurer drew himself up to his full height and, with a withering look at the Quick Man, he concluded.

"Ladies and gentlemen, you will observe that I have, with the gentleman's permission, broken his watch, burnt his collar, smashed his spectacles, and danced to his hat. If he will give me further permission to paint green stripes on his overcoat, or to tie his suspenders in a knot, I shall be delighted to entertain you. If not, the performance is at an end."

And amid a glorious burst of music from the orchestra the curtain fell, and the audience dispersed, convinced that there are some tricks, at any rate, that are not done up the conjurer's sleeve.

The Highwayman | Alfred Noyes

2020-12-25T11:45:00.009+05:30

The Highwayman

The wind was a torrent of darkness among the gusty trees,

The moon was a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,

The road was a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,

And the highwayman came riding--

Riding--riding--

The highwayman came riding, up to the old inn-door.

He'd a French cocked-hat on his forehead, a bunch of lace at his chin,

A coat of the claret velvet, and breeches of brown doe-skin;

They fitted with never a wrinkle: his boots were up to the thigh.

And he rode with a jeweled twinkle,

His pistol butts a-twinkle,

His rapier hilt a-twinkle, under the jeweled sky.

Over the cobbles he clattered and clashed in the dark inn-yard,

He tapped with his whip on the shutters, but all was locked and barred;

He whistled a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there

But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,

Bess, the landlord's daughter,

Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

And dark in the dark old inn-yard a stable-wicket creaked

Where Tim the ostler listened; his face was white and peaked;

His eyes were hollows of madness, his hair like moldy hay,

But he loved the landlord's daughter,

The landlord's red-lipped daughter,

Dumb as a dog he listened, and he heard the robber say--

"One kiss, mu bonny sweetheart, I'm after a prize tonight

But I shall be back with the yellow gold before the morning light;

Yet, if they press me sharply, and harry me through the day,

Then look for me by moonlight,

Watch for me by moonlight,

I'll come to thee by moonlight, through hell should bar the way."

He rose upright in the stirrups, he scarce could reach her hand,

But she loosened her hair in the casement. His face burnt like a brand

As the black cascade of perfume came tumbling over his breast;

And he kissed its waves in the moonlight,

(Oh, sweet black waves in the moonlight!)

Then he tugged at his rein in the moonlight, and galloped away to the West.

He did not come in the dawning; he did not come at noon;

And out of the tawny sunset, before the rise of the moon,

When the road was a gypsy's ribbon, looping the purple moor,

A red-coat troop came marching--

Marching--marching--

King George's men came marching, up to the old inn-door.

They said no word to the landlord, they drank his ale instead,

But they gagged his daughter and bound her to the foot of her narrow bed;

Two of them knelt at her casement, with muskets at their side.

There was death at every window;

And hell at one dark window;

For Bess could see, through her casement, the road that he would ride.

They had tied her up to attention, with many a sniggering jest.

They had bound a musket beside her, with the barrel beneath her breast.

"Now keep good watch!" and they kissed her. She heard the doomed man say--

Look for me by moonlight;

Watch for me by moonlight;

I'll come to thee by moonlight, though hell should bar the way!

She twisted her hands behind her; but all the knots held good.

She writhed her hands till her fingers were wet with sweat or blood.

They stretched and strained in the darkness, and the hours crawled by like years,

Till, now, on the stroke of midnight,

Cold, on the stroke of midnight,

The tip of one finger touched it! The trigger at least was hers!

The tip of one finger touched it. She strove no more for the rest.

Up, she stood up to attention, with the muzzle beneath her breast.

She would not risk their hearing, she would not strive again;

For the road lay bare in the moonlight;

Blank and bare in the moonlight;

And the blood of her veins, in the moonlight, throbbed to her love's refrain.

Tlot-tlot; tlot-tlot! Had they heard it? The horse-hoofs ringing clear;

Tlot-tlot, tlot-tlot, in the distance? Were they deaf that they did not hear?

Down the ribbon of moonlight, over the brow of the hill,

The highwayman came riding,

Riding, riding!

The red-coats looked to their priming! She stood up, straight and still!

Tlot-tlot, in the frosty silence! Tlot-tlot, in the echoing night!

Nearer he came and nearer! Her face was like a light!

Her eyes grew wide for a moment; she drew one last deep breath,

Then her finger moved in the moonlight,

Her musket shattered the moonlight,

Shattered her breast in the moonlight and warned him-with her death.

He turned; he spurred to the west; he did not know who stood

Bowed, with her head o'er the musket, drenched with her own red blood.

Not till the dawn he heard it, his face grew gray to hear

How Bess, the landlord's daughter,

The landlord's black-eyed daughter,

Had watched for her love in the moonlight, and died in the darkness there.

Back, he spurred like a madman, shouting a curse to the sky,

With the white road smoking behind him and his rapier brandished high!

Blood-red were his spurs in the golden noon; wine-red was his velvet coat,

When they shot him, down on the highway,

Down like a dog on the highway,

And he lay in his blood on the highway, with the bunch of lace at his throat.

And still of a winter's night, they say, when the wind is in the trees,

When the moon is a ghostly galleon tossed upon cloudy seas,

When the road is a ribbon of moonlight over the purple moor,

A highwayman comes riding--

Riding-riding--

A highwayman comes riding, up to the old inn-door.

Over the cobbles he clatters and clangs in the dark inn-yard;

He taps with his whip on the shutters, but all is locked and barred;

He whistles a tune to the window, and who should be waiting there

But the landlord's black-eyed daughter,

Bess, the landlord's daughter,

Plaiting a dark red love-knot into her long black hair.

A River | A.K. Ramanujan

2020-12-23T19:40:00.001+05:30

About the Poem:

The poem "A River" is written by A.K. Ramanujan. In this poem, the poet has compared and contrasted the attitudes of the old poets and those of the new posts to human suffering. He has come to the conclusion that both the groups of the poets are indifferent to human sorrow and suffering. Their poetry does not reflect the miseries of the human beings. He has proved this point in thr present poem.

About the Poet:

Attipate Krishna swami Ramanujan (16 March 1929 - 13 July 1993) also known as A.K. Ramanujan was an Indian poet and scholar of Indian literature who wrote in both English and Kannada. Ramanujan was a poet, scholar, a philologist, folklorist, translator, and playwright. His academic research ranged across five languages: English, Kannada, Tamil, Telugu, and Sanskrit. He published works on both classical and modern variants of this literature and argued strongly for giving local, non-standard dialects their due. Though he wrote widely and in a number of genres, Ramanujan's poems are remembered as enigmatic works of startling originality, sophistication and moving artistry. He was awarded the Sahitya Akademi Award post humously in 1999 for his collection of poems.

A River

In Madurai,

city of temples and poets,

who sang of cities and temples,

every summer

a river dries to a trickle

in the sand,

baring the sand ribs,

straw and women's hair

clogging the Watergates

at the rusty bars

under the bridges with patches

of repair all over them

the wet stones glistening like sleepy

crocodiles, the dry ones

shaven water-buffaloes lounging in the sun

The poets only sang of the floods.

He was there for a day

when they had the floods.

People everywhere talked

of the inches rising,

of the precise number of cobbled steps

run over by the water, rising

on the bathing places,

and the way it carried off three village houses,

one pregnant woman

and a couple of cows

names Gopi and Brinda as usual.

The new poets still quoted

the old poets, but no one spoke

in verse

of the pregnant woman

drowned, with perhaps twins in her,

kicking at blank walls

even before birth.

He said:

the river has water enough

to be poetic

about only once a year

and then

it carries away

in the first half-hour

three village houses,

a couple of cows

named Gopi and Brinda

and one pregnant woman

expecting identical twins

with no moles on their bodies,

with different coloured diapers

to tell them apart.

Speech: "All the World's a Stage" | William Shakespeare

2020-12-21T13:06:00.004+05:30

Speech: "All the World's a Stage"

All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women merely players;
They have their exits and their entrances;
And one man in his time plays many parts,

His acts being seven ages. At first the infant,
Mewling and puking in the nurse' arms;
And then the whining school-boy, with his satchel
And shining morning face, creeping like snail

Unwillingly to school. And then the lover,
Sighing like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow. Then a soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,

Jealous in honour, sudden and quick in quarrel,
Seeking the bubble reputation
Even in the cannon's mouth. And then the justice,
In fair round belly with good capon lin'd,

With eyes severe and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances;
And so he plays his part. The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon,

With spectacles on nose and pouch on side;
His youthful hose, well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes

And whistles in his sound. Last scene of all,
That ends this strange eventful history,
Is second childishness and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything.

My Eccentric Guests | Ruskin Bond

2020-12-11T16:28:00.002+05:30

My Eccentric Guests

When mist fills the Himalaya valleys and heavy monsoon rain sweeps across the hills, it is natural for wild creatures to seek shelter. And sometimes my cottage in the forest is the most convenient refuge.

There is no doubt I make things easier for all concerned by leaving most of my windows open, I like plenty of fresh air indoors and if a few birds, beasts and insects come in too, they're welcome provided they don't make too much of a nuisance of themselves.

I must confess I did lose patience with a bamboo beetle who blundered in the other night and fell into the water jug. I rescued him and pushed him out of the window. A few seconds later he came whirring in again, and with unerring accuracy landed with a plop in the same jug. I fished him out once more and offered him the freedom of the night. But attracted no doubt by the light and warmth of my small sitting room, he came buzzing back, circling the room like a helicopter looking for a place to land. Quickly, I covered the water jug. He landed in a bowl of wild dahlias and I allowed him to retain there comfortably curled up in the hollow of a flower.

Sometimes during the day a bird visits me - a deep blue whistling thrush, hopping about on long, dainty legs, too nervous to sing. She perches on the window sill, looking out at the rain. She does not permit any familiarity. But if I sit quietly in my chair she will sit quietly on her window-sill glancing quickly at me now and then just to make sure I am keeping my distance. When the rain stops she glides away, and it is only then confident in her freedom that she bursts into full throated song, her broken but haunting melody echoing down the ravine.

A squirrel comes sometimes when his home in the oak tree gets waterlogged. Apparently he is a bachelor anyway, he lives alone. He knows me well, this squirrel, and is bold enough to climb on to the dinning table looking for tidbits which he always finds because I leave them there deliberately. Had I met him when he was a youngster, he would have learnt to eat from my hand; but I have only been here a few months. I like it this way. I am not looking for pets; these are simply guests.

Last week, as I was sitting down at my desk to write a long deferred article, I was startled to see an emerald-green paving mantis sitting on my writing pad. He peered up at me with his protuberant glass bead eyes, and I started down at him through my glasses. When I gave him a prod he moved off in a leisurely way. Later I found him examing the binding of Whitman's Leaves of Grass; perhaps he had found a succulent bookworm. He disappeared for a couple of days and then I found him on the dressing table preening himself before the mirror.

Out in the garden, I spotted another mantis, perched on the jasmine bush. Its arms were raised like a boxer's. Perhaps they are a pair I thought, and went indoors, fetched my mantis and placed him on the jasmine bush opposite his fellow insect. He did not like what he saw - no comparison with his own image! - and made off in a hurry.

My most interesting visitor comes a night when the lights are still burning - a tiny bat who prefers to fly in through the open door, and will use the window only if there is no alternative. His object is to snap up the moths who cluster around the lamps.

The Louse and the Mosquito | Vikram Seth

2020-12-09T09:52:00.001+05:30

About the Poet

Vikram Seth (1952), born in India and educated at Oxford, Stanford and Nanjing Universities, is a trained economist. But he is known more as a writer: novelist, poet, translator, biographer and travel writer. His most important work so far is 'A Suitable Boy' (1993), considered the longest modern novel. It created quite a sensation when it was published, both for its literary novelty and for the huge sum of royalty it received from the publishers. It won him the WH Smith Literary Award and the Commonwealth Writers Prize. His other works include The Golden Gate: A Novel in Verse; From Haven Lake: Travels through Sinkiang and Tibet and four volumes of poetry. An Equal Music (1999) is his most recent novel.

Vikram Seth's latest work is Two Lives (2005). A memoir of the marriage of his great uncle and aunt.

The Louse and the Mosquito

In the King's bed, Creep the louse

Lived in her ancestral house.

They had dwelt here as of right

For three decades, and each night

She and her enormous brood

Drank the King's blood for their food.

Once the signal came from Creep

That the King was fast asleep,

Quietly, discreetly, they

Nipped and sipped and drank away.

Sons and grandsons, sisters, brothers,

Great-granddaughters, great-grandmothers,

Second cousins and their wives

Thus pursued their gentle lives

Lives of undisturbed delight

Growing plump and smooth and white.

One day a mosquito flew

Through the window. As he drew

Closer to the velvet bed

Canopied with gold, he said:

"Lovely! Just the place for me.

Ah, what perfume let me see-

Rose no, jasmine. And the quilt

Smooth as banks of Ganges silt!

Let me test the bedsprings now."

So he jumped up and somehow,

In a parabolic leap,

Landed not too far from Creep.

"Sir Mosquito, flap your wings.

Leave at once. This bed's the King's."

"Who may you be, Lady Louse?"

"I'm the guardian of this house."

"House?" "This quilt, It's mine," said Creep;

"There's no place for you, Sir Leap."

"Let me sleep here for one night

And I'll catch the morning flight."

Thus the sad mosquito pleaded,

And at last his prayers were heeded

For the tender-hearted Creep

Could not bear to watch him weep.

"Well, come in," she said at last,

"But tonight you'll have to fast,

For on no account may you

Bite him, as we're trained to do.

We can drink and cause no pain,

Loss of royal sleep, or stain.

You, I fear, would cause all three.

I can't risk my family."

But the glib mosquito cried:

"Now you've let me come inside,

Lady Louse, how can you be

Cold in hospitality?

Just one bite I ask no more

For I've learned from learned lore

That the royal blood contains

Remedies for aches and pains

Ginger, honey, sugar, spice,

Cardamom, and all things nice.

Save me. I'm in broken health.

Let me bite him once by stealth.

He won't even shift or sigh.

Cross my heart and hope to die."

Finally the louse agreed.

"Right!" she said, "but pay close heed.

Wait till wine, fatigue, or deep

Dream-enriched, unbroken sleep

Has enveloped him. Then go:

Lightly nip his little toe."

"Yes, yes, yes. That's all old hat."

Said Sir Leap: "I know all that.

Keep your stale advice." He smiled:

"Seriously I'm not a child."

It was only afternoon

Fairly early, fairly soon

When the King came for a snooze,

Doffed his crown and shirt and shoes,

Lay down on the bed, and sighed.

The mosquito almost died

From excitement, shock, and sweat.

"No!" the louse cried: "No! Not yet!"

But too late! The self-willed bumbler

Oh, if only he'd been humbler

Rushing to the rash attack,

Leapt upon the royal back,

And with fierce and fiery sting

Deeply dirked the dozing king.

"Help! a scorpion! a snake!"

Screamed the King, at once awake.

"I've been bitten! Search the bed!

Find and strike the creature dead!"

When they made a close inspection

The mosquito foiled detection,

Hidden in the canopy;

But the louse clan could not flee.

All were killed without ado.

Meanwhile, the mosquito flew,

Looking out for further prey,

Humming mildly on his way.

Sonnet 25 | William Shakespeare

2020-12-07T19:11:00.002+05:30

About the Author

William Shakespeare (1564-1616) is undoubtedly one of the most gifted writers in the world, known for his all-time great plays. The sonnets of Shakespeare are no less famous. They are 154 in number and are divided into two groups. The first 126 sonnets are supposed to be addressed to a gentlemen friend of the poet, for whom the poet had great affection. The dispute about the identity of the poet's friend is unsettled. The other sonnets are addressed to a dark lady of charming beauty. However, all these poems reveal different moods of the poet and explore the intricacies of human relationship. Sonnet 25 comes under the first group of sonnets.

Sonnet XXV

Let those who are in favour with their stars

Of public honour and proud titles boast,

Whilst I, whom fortune of such triumph bars,

Unlook'd for joy in that I honour most.

Great princes' favourites their fair leaves spread

But as the marigold at the sun's eye.

And in themselves their pride lies buried,

For at a frown they in their glory die.

The painful warrior famoused for fight,

After a thousand victories once foil'd,

Is from the book of honour razed quite,

And all the rest forgot for which he toil'd:

Then happy I, that love and am beloved

Where I may not remove nor be removed.

Do you think English should be learnt from a very young age?

2020-11-29T19:32:00.006+05:30

Do you Remember learning your mother tongue? How did that experience suffer from your efforts to learn second language?

Mother tongue is the in-born language, which a baby has already familiarized even in the gestation of mother before it was born. The first language is the language which a child acquires either through schooling or socialization, such as family.

We cannot learn very quick second language it may takes some time and probably it depends upon human knowledge some can learn early and few slowly. "Learning a second language, after the critical period for language learning has ended, is more difficult because as use age the more our native language comes to dominate linguistic map space and the second language finds it’s hard to compete." Main things are motivation, attitude, age, intelligence, aptitude, cognitive style, and personality are considered as factors that greatly influence someone in the process of his or her second language acquisition.

Learning second language put simply, it’s hard because it challenges both your mind (your brain has to construct new cognitive frame works). But there more to it than that. The first language is like an instinct which is triggered by birth and developed with the experience of being exposed to it. A second language is always fixed by the person, and it is a personal choice of a person. There are many alternatives to a second language. A person or community can choose a second language among other language.

At what age did you learn English? Do you think English should be learnt from a very young age?

At the age of VI, He/I started to learn English but the actual study of English begins after 7-8 years of age and in additional to games, songs and poems, children begin to master of words and expressions, learn grammar, transcription and language vocabulary, one of the main benefits of learning a second language at an early age is that children learn languages faster and easier. They have more time to learn, less to learn, few intuitions, and a brain designed for language at a early age is much easier than trying to learn later because the language center of the brain is skill developing.

Research shows that learning a second language boost problem-solving, critical thinking and listening skills, in addition to improving memory, concentration and ability to do multiple art.

Summary | On Fear | Alfred George Gardiner

2020-11-27T13:02:00.001+05:30

Summary | On Fear

A.G. Gardiner in his essay "On Fear" talks about fear as an essential component of life. There is no person who is without it. Some experience it every moment, some know how to handle it and others just ignore it. It depends in which category one falls. Gardiner has beautifully discussed about fear with a number of examples from the life of a great men. People want to do risky things just to experience what fear is? Sometimes fear makes us act immediately without reasoning. This may be fatal at times. People with practical thinking feel less while people will imaginatively mind fear no more for the mind keeps thinking on it again and again till it become a seeded fear in the mind.

Is taking risk always advisable? Explain from Swinburne's experience.

A.G. Gardiner, a British journalist and essayist, wrote a number of essays which are uniformly elegant, graceful and humorous. His uniqueness lay in his ability to portray the basic truths of life in an easy and amusing manner. In this essay, he has touched upon a basic human quality that is fear. Experiencing fear is the best way to overcome it. But it is not always safe. Sometimes in our over enthusiasm we might risk our own life. When a child is taught to dread the fire, he is made to experience it. But if precaution is not taken, it could become tragic. In the care for Swinburne's decision to climb Culver Cliff without telling even his parents was risky. If something untoward would have been clueless. It is not, therefore, advisable to take risks. If one wants to do so, it should be done with proper precaution.

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According to A.G. Gardiner, how can fear be mastered?

A.G. Gardiner, a British journalist and essayist, wrote a number of essays which are uniformly elegant, graceful and humorous. His uniqueness lay in his ability to portray the basic truths of life in an easy and amusing manner. In this essay, he has touched upon a basic human quality that is fear. In his essay, Gardiner gives us to the cue to master fear. According to him, it is the imaginative people who suffer most from fear. Only a hint of peril is enough to make their mind explore the whole circumstances of disastrous consequences. He says it is better to be dull and unimaginative for it will make one's life more comfortable. He quotes the example Don Quixote who showed his wisdom. In the romantic theatre of his mind, perils rose like giants on every horizon; but there was always Sancho Panza on his donkey, ready to prick the bubbles of his master with broad word of his incomparable stupidity.

Wisdom of Don Quixote.

Don Quixote is a middle-aged gentleman from the region of La Mancha in Central Spain. Sancho Panza his companion helps Don Quixote to distinguish between reality and the pictures in his head.

Don Quixote lives in a dream world and has weird ideas cropping up in the romantic theatre of his mind's peril. These rose like giants on every horizon. But fortunately, Sancho was always there on his donkey to prick the bubbles of his master with the broad word of his incomparable stupidity. Don Quixote would been a lost character without the constant support of his so-called squire Sancho Panza. The support of another person when we have not learnt the art to discipline the mind will help us get out of difficult situations in life.

On Fear | Alfred George Gardiner | Part - 2

2020-11-25T12:48:00.005+05:30

"Of course," he said, "she wanted to know why I had done such a thing, and when I told her, she laughed a short sweet laugh, most satisfactory to the younger ear, and said, "Nobody ever thought you were a coward, my boy." I said that was all very well, but how could I tell till I tried? "But you won't do it again? she said. I replied, "Of course not-where would be the fun?"

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It was not that he had no fear: it was that he wanted to convince himself that he was able to master his fear when the emergency came. Having discovered that he had fear under his control there was no sense in taking risks for the mere sake of taking them.

Most fears are purely subjective, the phantoms of a too vivid mind. I was looking over a deserted house situated in large grounds in the country the other day. It had been emptying since the beginning of the war. up to then it had been occupied by a man in the shipping trade. On the day that war was declared he rushed into the house and cried, "We have declared war on Germany; I am ruined." Then he went out and shot himself. Had his mind been disciplined against panic, he would have mastered his fears, and would have discovered that he had the luck to be in a trade which has benefited by the war more, perhaps, than any other.

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In this case it was the sudden impact of fear that overthrew reason from its balance, but in other cases fear is a maggot in the brain that grows by brooding. There is a story of Maupassant's, which illustrates how a man who is not a coward may literally die of fright, by dwelling upon fear. He had resented the conduct of a man in a restaurant, who has stared insolently at the lady who was with him. His action led to a challenge from the offender, and an arrangement to meet next morning. When he got home, instead of going to bed, he began to wonder who his foe was, to hunt for his name in directories, to recall the cold assurance of his challenge, and to invest him with all sorts of terrors as a marksman. As the night advanced, he passed through all the stages from anxious curiosity to panic, and when his valet called him at dawn, he found a corpse. Like the ship owner, he had shot himself to escape the terrors of his mind.

It is the imaginative people who suffer most from fear. Give them only a hint of peril, and their minds will explore the whole circumference of disastrous consequence. It is not a bad thing in this world to be born a little dull and unimaginative. You will have a much more comfortable time. And if you have not taken that precaution, you will do well to a prosaic person handy to correct your fantasies. Therein Don Quixote showed his wisdom. In the romantic theatre of his mind perils rose like giants on every horizon; but there was always Sancho Panza on his donkey, ready to prick the bubbles of his master with the broad word of his incomparable stupidity.

On Fear | Alfred George Gardiner | Part - 1

2020-11-23T12:31:00.043+05:30

I am disposed to agree with Captain Dolbey that the man who knows no fear exists only in the imagination of the lady novelist or those who fight their battles at the base. He is invented because these naïve people suppose that a hero who is conscious of fear ceases to be a hero. But the truth surely is that there would be no merit in being brave if you had no fear. The real victory of the hero is not over outward circumstance, but over himself. One of the bravest men of our time is a man who was born timid and nervous and suffered tortures of apprehension, and who set himself to the deliberate conquest of his fears by challenging every danger that crossed his path and even going out of his way to meet the things he dreaded. By sheer will he beat down the enemy within, and to the external world he seemed like a man who knew no fear. But the very essence of his heroism was that he had fought fear and won.

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It is time we got rid of the notion that there is anything discreditable in knowing fear. You might as well say that there is something discrete table in being tempted to tell a falsehood. The virtue is not in having no temptation to lie, but in being tempted to lie and yet telling the truth. And the more you are tempted the more splendid is the resistance. Without temptation you may make a plaster saint, but not a human hero. That is why the familiar story of Nelson when a boy- "Fear! grandmother, I never saw fear. What is it?" - is so essentially false. Nelson did some of the bravest things ever done by man. There were brave to the brink of the recklessness the whole episode of the battle of Copenhagen was a breathless challenge to all the dictates of Prudence. On the facts one would be compelled to admit that it was an act of uncalculatingly recklessness, except for one incident which flashes a sudden light on the mind of Nelson and reveals his astonishing command of himself and of circumstance. When the issue was trembling in the balance on every moment lost might mean disaster, he prepared his audacious message of terms to the Crown Prince ashore. It was a magnificent piece of what, in these days, we should call camouflage. When he had written it, a wafer was given to him, but he ordered a candle to be brought from the cockpit and sealed the letter with wax, affixing a larger seal than he ordinarily used. "This," said he, "is not time to appear hurried and informal." With such triumphant self-possession could he trample on fear when he had a great end in view. But when there was nothing at stake he could be as fearful as anybody, as in the accident to his carriage, recorded, I think, in Southey's "Life of Nelson."

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That incident of young Swinburne's climb of Culver Cliff, in the Isle of Wight, expresses the common sense of the matter very well. At the age of seventeen he wanted to be a cavalry officer, and he decided to climb Culver Cliff, which was believed to be impregnable, "as a chance of testing my nerve in the face of death which could not be surpassed." He performed the feat, and then confessed his hardihood to his mother.

Summary | Start Where You Stand | Berton Braley

2020-11-21T17:52:00.004+05:30

Summary | Start Where You Stand

The poem 'Start Where you Stand' is a motivational poem. The poet inspires us to forget the past as it will pose a hindrance in making a new start. He asks people to close that chapter of the book of life and make a new start that will pave the way for a better future. He reiterates the need to stop looking back and to start a fresh from where one is standing now. He assures that if we make a new start and get success the world will not care about our defeats. Time is fast paced and there is much to do, so we need to start acting and not keep brooding over the woes and despairs of the past. The poet encourages by saying that the future for one who does and dares. Failures of the past will not stop but triumphs of the past will help. So he wants everyone to gear up and get into the fight and face it boldly. The past should be left as ancient history, for yesterday is dead and today is alive. He concludes advising people to be courageous and start all over again from very he is at the present moment.

For Whole Poem and M.C.Q., Please click the below Link

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To whom does the poet address this poem and why?

The poet Berton Braley was an American poet who was a prolific writer. Most of his books were collections of poems. The poem 'Start Where You Stand' is a motivational poem to keep moving ahead in life without brooding over the past. The poet addresses this poem to those who have experienced failure in life in some form or the other. He does so to tell them it is never too late to rise. Once courage is built, success will follow and the past will be forgotten.

How do people react to the defeats of others?

The poet Berton Braley was an American poet who was a prolific writer. Most of his books were collections of poems. The poem 'Start Where You Stand' is a motivational poem to keep moving ahead in life without brooding over the past. People talk about others defeat as long as they do not prove themselves. But if they take courage and start a fresh the world will soon forget their defeats and praise them for their achievements.

Comment on the appropriateness of the title of the poem 'Start Where You Stand'.

The poet Berton Braley was an American poet was a prolific writer. Most of his books were a collections of poems. The poem 'Start Where You Stand' is a motivational poem to keep moving ahead in life without brooding over the past. The poem is about the past, present and future of man.

According to the poet, the past is a closed chapter and the future is not known for it is based on the present. So, all that we have to think upon and work about our present. We need to focus on the present so that we can enjoy the fruit of it in the future. The poet 'Start Where You Stand' is an apt title for the poem as where we are standing now is the present moment and everything around is linked to this present state.

Start Where You Stand | Berton Braley | M.C.Q.

2020-11-19T15:27:00.003+05:30

About the Poet:

Berton Braley (1882 - 1966) was an American poet. He was a prolific writer who wrote about twenty books and most of them were collections of poems. Some of his major works include Sonnets of a Freshman, Sonnets of a Suffragette, Songs of the Workaday World, Things As They Are and The World's One Thousand Best Poems. In 1934, Braley published the autobiographical Pegasus Pulls a Hack Memoirs of a Modern Minstrel.

About the Poem:

Start Where You Stand is a motivational poem. The poet believes that we cannot let past events hold us back from achieving what we want today and in future.

For the Summary of 'Start Where You Stand', please click the below link

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Start Where You Stand

Start where you stand and never mind the past,

The past won't help you in beginning new,

If you have left it all behind at last

Why, that's enough, you're done with it, you're through;

This is another chapter in the book,

This is another race that you have planned,

Don't give the vanished days a backward look,

Start where you stand.

The world won't care about your old defeats

If you can start a new and win success,

The future is your time, and time is fleet

And there is much of work and strain and stress;

Forget the buried woes and dead despairs,

Here is a brand-new trial right at hand,

The future is for him who does and dares,

Start where you stand.

Old failures will not halt, old triumphs aid,

To-day's the thing, to-morrow soon will be;

Get in the fight and face it unafraid,

And leave the past to ancient history

What has been, has been; Yesterday is dead

And by it you are neither blessed nor banned.

Take courage, man, be brave and drive ahead,

Start where you stand.

Multiple Choice Question

1. The poet wants us to start without minding the ..

(a) Present

(b) Past

(d) None of these

Ans. (b) past

2. You’re done with it, you’re through. The figure of speech in the line is ..

(a) Repetition

(b) Tautology

(d) Metaphor

Ans. (b) Tautology

3. This is another chapter in the book. 'This' in the above line refers to ..

(a) a new beginning

(b) the past

(d) the closed chapter

Ans. (a) a new beginning

4. The poet wants us to forget our .. and ..

(a) joys and happiness

(b) joys and sorrow

(d) woes and joys

Ans. (c) woes and despair

5. 'Time is fleet' means time is ..

(a) money

(b) slow paced

(d) very precious

Ans. (c) fast paced

6. The future is for him who ..

(a) sits and stares

(b) walks and learns

(d) sleeps and relaxes

Ans. (c) does and dares

7. The poet wants us to be alerted in the ..

(a) past

(b) present

(d) sleeps and relaxes

Ans. (b) present

8. Surging ahead in life needs ..

(a) power

(b) strength

(d) courage

Ans. (d) courage

9. According to the poet, our life is of .. chapters.

(a) one

(b) two

(d) several

Ans. (c) three

10. The poet wants the reader to realise that clinging to the past is ..

(a) important

(b) helpful

(d) an asset

Ans. (c) futile

11. The poem is ..

(a) humorous

(b) romantic

(d) motivational

Ans. (d) motivational

12. Our past should be ..

(a) an open chapter

(b) a shut chapter

(d) an elongated chapter

Ans. (b) a shut chapter

13. The time start where you stand means:

(a) Choose the place where you stand for a fresh start

(b) Choose the time of the past for a fresh start

(d) Choose any time of your life for a fresh start

Ans. (c) Choose the time of the present for a fresh start