Today Rasbehari mentioned that he is not very proud of his English or something similar. Sit with a dictionary and a grammar book, you can find a thousand mistakes in writings of most people. Continuous usage gives us a certain degree of ease, but does not guarantee perfection. Hence, Rasbehari, you are just one of us and should not feel alone here!!
Here is something I found out for you!
I remember having read this one in either the Indian Express or the Times about two decades ago.
I was visiting Delhi in August last year when I decided to check out the Rail Museum. It indeed is a surprise package in Delhi and one can see many a historical iron horse tethered in their stables. Before I left from there I purchased this 48 page booklet 'A Guide to National Rail Museum', from the sales counter. The booklet is very informative and it is here that I found the text of this letter, of which I had all but a vague memory. I have reproduced the text ditto with all the funny spells and mistakes. In doing so, I need not assert that no offence is intended.
The text goes as under:
Dear Sir,
I am arrive by passenger train at Ahmedpur Station and my belly is too much swelling with jackfruit. I am therefore went to privy. Just I doing the nuisance the guard making whistle blow for train to go off and I am running with 'lotah' in one hand and 'Dhoti' in teh next when I am fall over and expose all my shockings to man and female women on platform. I am got leaved at Ahmedpur Station This too much bad, if passenger go to make dung that dam guard not wait train five minutes for him. I am therefore pray you honour to make big fine on that guard for public sake. Otherwise I am making big report to papers.
Yours faithful servant
Okhil Ch. Sen
Note: This letter was written in 1909 to Divisional Office, Sahebgunj, West Bengal, after which, train compartments of 'Ordinary Class' came to have attached toilet system.
You see friend, the point is not how brilliant our people have been or are. The point is also not how good or backward the other people had been at different points of time. It is simple enough. There will always be migrations towards places of excellence. This migration could be by way of war or peace. India was attacked by outsiders for its wealth in many areas. The effects of such attacks are still there to be seen. One cannot say that India was weak or not united etc. Could the Americans prevent 9/11 in spite of all the technological advance? That is what I mean when I say that all civilisations go through ups and downs. A thousand years may not be long enough and a couple of centuries could change the fate of a group of people.
Where was China a hundred years ago? Look at them now! Where were the Americans five hundred years ago?
Things will change with everyone. Time taken is long or short with different people for different reasons.
Things will look much simpler if we accept that it was always the pockets that led the world. If the US is leading now (I think so!), They may not do it for long. If India has fallen behind, say for a thousand years (I do not think so) she may not do so in the coming century.
Things will go on this way only, till we blow ourselves up.
Meanwhile, it is not impossible to gloat about the achievements in pockets and pock fun at people who are not doing so well at the moment.
There is another angle to look at the whole civilisation itself. Do you think that what Man has achieved in the past say 10000 to 12000 years is any big? Do you think that the battle against nature has led him to any higher level of welfare in the true sense? Don't you think that he will soon run out of fuel, food, water, air etc to feed himself or keep himself alive? Of course, 'soon' could be anything between a couple of centuries to few thousand years.
Don't you wish at least sometimes that you could be in entirely pristine living conditions where nature is bountiful?
Yes, I feel that you do think about such plentiful times. In this regard, the entire advance of Mankind would seem meaningless. Today Man can just destroy himself in a matter of minutes. Future may not even be a dream.
Under these conditions, I do not think that poking a joke at a group about lack of performance or low performance which alternately shows oneself to be of a superior stock, is no good at all. It is no use in blowing own trumpet.
i WAS ALWAYS REMEMBERING THIS STORY WHICH i READ WHILE AT HIGH SCHOOL. SURE ENOUGH, MANY OF YOU WOULD HAVE READ THIS TOO!
The Man Who Knew Too Much
I first met Private Quelch at the training depot. A man is liable to acquire in his first week of Army life-- together with his uniform, rifle and equipment -- a nickname. Anyone who saw Private Quelch, lanky, stooping, frowning through horn-rimmed spectacles, understood why he was known as the Professor. Those who had any doubts on the subject lost them after five minutes' conversation with him.
I remember the first lesson we had in musketry. We stood in an attentive circle while a sergeant, a man as dark and sun-dried as raisins, wearing North-West Frontier ribbons, described the mechanism of a Service rifle.
'The muzzle velocity, or speed at which the bullet leaves the rifle', he told us, 'is well over two thousand feet per second.'
A voice interrupted. 'Two thousand, four hundred and forty feet per second.' It was the Professor.
'That's right', the sergeant said without enthusiasm, and went on lecturing. When he had finished, he put questions to us; and, perhaps in the hope of revenge, he turned with his questions again and again to the Professor. The only result was to enhance the Professor's glory. Technical definitions, the parts of the rifle, its use and care, he had them all by heart.
The sergeant asked, 'You had any training before?'
The Professor answered with a phrase that was to become familiar to all of us. 'No, Sergeant. It's all a matter of intelligent reading.'
That was our introduction to him. We soon learned more about him. He saw to that. He meant to get on, he told us. He had brains. He was sure to get a commission, before long. As a first step, he meant to get a stripe.
In pursuit of his ambition he worked hard. We had to give him credit for that. He borrowed training manuals and stayed up late at nights reading them. He badgered the instructors with questions. He drilled with enthusiasm, and on route marches he was not only miraculously tireless but infuriated us all with his horrible heartiness. 'What about a song, chaps?' is not greeted politely at the end of thirty miles. His salute at the pay table was a model to behold. When officers were in sight he would swing his skinny arms and march to the canteen like a Guardsman.
And day in and day out, he lectured to us in his droning, remorseless voice on every aspect of human knowledge. At first we had a certain respect for him, but soon we lived in terror of his approach. We tried to hit back at him with clumsy sarcasms and practical jokes. The Professor scarcely noticed; he was too busy working for his stripe.
Each time one of us made a mistake the Professor would publicly correct him. Whenever one of us shone, the Professor outshone him. When, after a hard morning's work cleaning out our hut, we listened in silence to the Orderly Officer's praise, the Professor would break out with a ringing, dutifully beaming, 'Thank you, sir!' And how superior, how condescending he was! It was always, 'Let me show you, fellow', or, 'No, you'll ruin your rifle that way, old man.'
We used to pride ourselves on aircraft recognition. Once, out for a walk, we heard the drone of a plane flying high overhead. None of us could even see it in the glare of the sun. Without even a glance upward the Professor announced, 'That, of course, is a North American Harvard Trainer. It can be unmistakably identified by the harsh, engine note, due to the high tip speed of the airscrew.'
What could a gang of louts like us do with a man like that?
None of us will ever forget the drowsy summer afternoon which was such a turning-point in the Professor's life.
We were sprawling contentedly on the warm grass while Corporal Turnbull was taking a lesson on the hand grenade.
Corporal Turnbull was a young man, but he was not a man to be trifled with. He had come back from Dunkirk with all his equipment correct and accounted for and his pet kitten in his pocket. He was our hero, and we used to tell each other that he was so tough that you could hammer nails into him without his noticing it.
'The outside of a grenade, as you can see,' Corporal Turnbull was saying, 'is divided up into a large number of fragments to assist segmentation-'
'Forty-four.'
'What's that?' The Corporal looked over his shoulder.
'Forty-four segments.' The Professor beamed at him.
The Corporal said nothing, but his brow tightened. He opened his mouth to resume.
'And by the way, Corporal.' We were all thunder-struck. The Professor was speaking again. 'Shouldn't you have started off with the five characteristics of the grenade? Our instructor at the other camp always used to, you know.'
In the silence that followed, a dark flush stained the tan of the Corporal's face. 'Here,' he said at last, 'you give this lecture!' As if afraid to say any more, he tossed the grenade to the Professor. Quite unabashed, Private Quelch climbed to his feet and with the air of a man coming into his birthright gave us an unexceptionable lecture on the grenade.
The squad listened in a cowed, horrified kind of silence. Corporal Turnbull stood and watched, impassive except for a searching intentness of gaze. When the lecture was finished he said, 'Thank you, Private Quelch. Fall in with the others now.' He did not speak again until we had fallen in and were waiting to be dismissed. Then he addressed us.
'As some of you may have heard,' he began deliberately, 'the platoon officer has asked me to nominate one of you for-' He paused and looked lingeringly up and down the ranks as if seeking final confirmation of a decision.
So this was the great moment! Most of us could not help glancing at Private Quelch, who stood rigidly to attention and stared straight in front of him with an expression of self-conscious innocence.
'-for permanent cookhouse duties. I've decided that Private Quelch is just the man for the job.'
Of course, it was a joke for days afterwards; a joke and joy to all of us.
I remember, though...
My friend Trower and I were talking about it a few days later. We were returning from the canteen to our own hut.
Through the open door we could see the three cooks standing against the wall as if at bay; and from within came the monotonous beat of a familiar voice.
'Really, I must protest against this abominably unscientific and unhygienic method of peeling potatoes. I need only draw your attention to the sheer waste of vitamin values...'
Now, this one is a practical thing which I played on a State Transport Bus Conductor while traveling to SKD, the place where I used to work.
It could have happened in 99-2000. On one of the Monday mornings, when I was in the lowest of my spirits to go to work, I boarded the usual bus to the town of P, which goes via the smaller towns of S, J, N and L. I used to get down at L to catch another bus to SKD.
Once I sat down in my seat I settled down with my book. The Conductor also did not seem to like his Monday morning! When he asked me to purchase the ticket, I produced a Rs.500.00 note and said one L please. The Conductor got annoyed and started shouting by saying how I could expect to get change for a Rs. 500.00 note so early in the morning. I answered that he could pay me once he has issued tickets to all and others have paid. Then the Conductor said that they did not accept Rs.500.00 notes on ST(for fear of accepting counterfeit notes). I told him that he should keep a list of numbers of the notes (generally made available by the concerned Dept) which were not to be accepted. He scowled at me and issued a ticket.
Even as the bus was climbing the hills, the Conductor had issued tickets to all the passengers and I noticed that he was returning the change to everyone. He was also accepting Rs.500.00 notes. I asked him to return my change. He said that he would return the money when I got down, implying, I would be paid my money back only at L. I was afraid of forgetting to ask the money back while getting down at L which was a good two hours drive away.
I started to think to find out ways to get my money back, without getting into a fight. As the bus was approaching S an idea occurred to me.
Quite a few people got down at S. The bus was half empty. When the last passenger for S got down, I too picked up my bag and got down. The Conductor asked me why I was getting down at S even when my ticket was up to L. I told him that I remembered an urgent work at a S and had to get down. I also asked for my money back. Grudgingly he paid my balance amount back. Even as he put the last coin in my palm, I held on to the supporting bar and climbed inside. The Conductor was surprised, got annoyed. He asked me why I was returning to the bus. I told him that I had changed my mind. He turned red when he realized that he was tricked. The fellow passengers had a hearty laugh.
I was so worked up by my ‘daring coup’ that I could not enjoy the joke. I felt the gaze of people on me and quietly sat down on an available seat. I did send a silent apology to the conductor in my heart and told myself that I did not mean to humiliate him, even though what I did amounted to that. It was only one of those lazy Monday mornings. I was immensely sorry for the Conductor, who like myself, was not liking his Monday morning!
This is genius. He may never have to come on IFF to claim that he has an IQ of 150. He may not have to flaunt his degree or his reading. His genius is not given by the English nor by any of the West or East. He is himself, a product of human excellance that has no class nor creed.He may not need to abuse people and countries to claim his advantages. For, he neither knows nor is unaware that if he has to, or did this, he becomes ordinary. The fuller vessel never makes noise and the half wits claim achievements in many ways, some loud and gaudy, others smooth talking and subtle. And they change their colour at will, sometimes trying to contradict what they said a moment ago.
A 'country, who has immensely benefited from these geniuses (in spite of the dollars) need not be overtly grateful. But the lesser wits over there may do a little thinking before they abuse these people.......
CHENNAI: Two years ago, at 15, S Chandrasekar was the youngest engineering graduate in the country. On July 25, he will be the youngest postgraduate from IIT-Madras when he receives his degree at the convocation. The teenager has also topped his class.
Born on September 25, 1990, Chandrasekar was a precocious child, according to his parents. "His teachers used to complain that he would finish his work quickly and disturb other children, so we asked them to give him some books to read after he finishes work so he doesn't trouble the other children," says Chandrasekar's father R Subramanian, an auditor.
A family friend, who noticed that the boy was inquisitive and picking up things very quickly, thought it would be interesting to put him in an international certificate programme.
That is how Chandrasekar became the youngest Microsoft Certified Systems Engineer and Cisco Certified Network Associate at 11 years.
Chandrasekar was appointed an honorary director of the Technology Information Forecasting and Assessment Council – Center of Relevance and Excellence in network engineering in August 2002.
In 2002, an Anna University committee, headed by the then vice-chancellor Dr Balaguruswamy, assessed the boy's capabilities and decided to admit him into the BE programme, which he cleared when he was 15.
He then took the Graduate Aptitude Test in Engineering and scored 99.32 percentile, which left no room for academics at IIT-M to have second thoughts about admitting him into the MTech course.
"The best thing about him is his consistent performance. When he is interested in something, he pursues it with great commitment and purpose," says Subramanian.
"BE was academically not very hard. In the first semester the environment was new, so I had a little difficulty both academically and psychologically. But Dr Thangaraj, now vice-chancellor of Kalasa-lingam University, gave me a nice home-like atmosphere, and after the first four or five months there was never a problem," says Sekar, as his close acquaintances call him.
Prof Pandurangan of IIT, under whose guidance Sekar works, says, "It's a pleasure to teach and do research with him. He has showed mastery and mathematical maturity ahead of his age."
Sekar attributes his success to Bell's Matriculation School in Tirunelveli, which never put any academic pressure on him and allowed him to grow in his own time, Covansys, Dr Thangaraj of Kalasalingam University, Anna University, which bent rules to accommodate his genius, and TCS for extending its resources for his development.
"I want to continue as a researcher in TCS RMD in Chennai for some more time. I would also like to get a management degree at some point in my career so I won't just have theoretical knowledge. Best of both worlds, you know," Chandrasekar says.
It is painful to lose people. Particularly the nearest. The nearest are not always the relations. Yes, the numbed heart refuses to accept things. The alert mind whispers to forget. But the numbed heart wants to play dumb as well. It is sad to lose people.
Memory of the loved will be pleasant, yet brings more pain as the loved is not near about. Yes, the heart wants nearness, physical nearness. Or is it really the heart? I often confuse here. Sometimes the heart parties with the body, otherwise why the heart wants physical nearness? I am not sure. For, I have lost people too. And I have longed them back. Yet I am not sure what is it that I longed for??
Loss is painful. Its memory even more so.
Yet, if and only if, we get back what the heart longs for, will the heart be happy? Can we be the same persons again? Aren't we different now, from what we were then?
Sometimes it helps to listen to the mind. But, mind is not the 'I'. and we don't listen to him. Heart definitely is more of the 'I'.
But sometimes the heart is in error. And not all errors are wrong!!
Love is pleasant in union, painful in separation, diminishing in a companionship and often not so pleasant in reunion. Only a very balanced mind can help maintain the commitments made during periods of ardent love. Love may not endure as love as it was on the first day of love. Love may last longer as commitment and compassion. This is possible when the heart listens to the wisdom of the mind.
If I can open a new corner in a man's own heart to him I have not lived in vain. Life itself is the thing, not joy or pain or happiness or unhappiness. To hate is as good as to love - an enemy may be as good as a friend. Live for yourself - live your life. Then you are most truly the friend of man. - I am different every day - and when I am eighty, I shall still be experimenting and changing. Work that I have done no longer concerns me - it is past. I have too much on hand in life itself. (Gibran's words quoted from Mary Haskell's journal dated 25th December 1912)
Jul 10, 2008 10:22 pm Mood: copy paste and very very pious, 245 Views
The expense of spirit in a waste of shame Is lust in action: and till action, lust Is perjured, murderous, bloody, full of blame, Savage, extreme, rude, cruel, not to trust; Enjoyed no sooner but despised straight; Past reason hunted; and no sooner had, Past reason hated, as a swallowed bait, On purpose laid to make the taker mad. Mad in pursuit and in possession so; Had, having, and in quest to have extreme; A bliss in proof, and proved, a very woe; Before, a joy proposed; behind a dream. All this the world well knows; yet none knows well To shun the heaven that leads men to this hell.
My child was playing in the kitchen. I was sitting at the computer and listening to ‘tere bare mein jab sochcha nahi tha by Jagjit Singh’ I was immersed in the lyrics and music and the pathos. Suddenly there was a loud clatter of falling utensils from the kitchen. My wife was busy with some paper work. I just bent from where I was sitting and looked at the child. He was trying to hold a plate above a vessel with the help of a ‘pakkad’(forceps). The plate had slipped and fallen on the vessel resulting in the clatter. Even as I bent and warned him, he just turned and smiled. It was the same smile he gave us on the very first day. ( We adopted him) I could not resist a smile. He smiled even more eagerly, got up and came running to me shouting Baba, Baba (daddy)! I just spread my arms and took him. I wondered what made him run towards me so happily even as I was scolding him. I was moved deeply. I found myself in tears. The child sat in my lap and as he was looking at the Real One Player playing and the image of ‘annabelle the sheep’ dancing to the tune of Jagjit Singh. He just bent towards the screen and kissed the sheep’s image, not once twice, thrice and more. He too must have felt the silent love in the air. Oh God! you come in many ways, many times, and in many colours. The moment was pure bliss. This sharing is even better. Thanks.
