Si lucy j3l3k jir

Asli jijik bgt

Apa nama yt nyaa??

Sekarang udah ng3w3 bareng si dirt ya lucu, wkwkwk najis 🗿

who

okay, but let him do what he wanna do, bro. :/

sok tau lu haha

sorry, but i think oknum nya hanya beberapa or itu2 aja deh, jangan pakai kata2 kalian ya.. karena bawaan nya seolah2 banyak banget yang ngan dirt... aku liatnya disini malah banyak bngt yg support dirt. no feelings yaa aku cuman memberi tahu aja 🙂🙂

astaga ini apa miskah 😭

pliss panjang banget ga sanggup bacanya😭

A Decision Devika Rangachari Aruna took a long sip of her orange drink and sighed. "Tara, this is lovely," she said. "It is somehow tangier than the orange squash we buy." "Oh, that is Mummy`s secret!" grinned Tara. "I do not know when she gets the time to make it. But then," she added frankly, "you know me. I am too lazy to care." "She should send the recipe to a magazine or something," said Aruna, setting down her empty glass. "Oh, she is really talented," remarked Tara, trying ha

annoyance and jealousy at this. "My mother was a gold medallist in college," she said, wondering why she sounded so defiant. "She did English, you know. She is wonderful with quotations and grammar and all that." "Really?" Tara looked duly impressed but Aruna suddenly felt the desire to change the subject. The girls chatted about their school and friends. "It is quite boring this year, is it not?" said Aruna. "No new girls, same old teachers, same..." "Not same teachers," interrupted T

"No, but my mother always says that if a person is really good for the job, then other things do not matter. Tell her to try anyway." Aruna muttered something and walked home, her mind seething with thoughts. Her mother going to work? No, that was impossible! Who would look after her and Varun when they returned from school? What about the cooking and the homework and the maidservant and the keys and Aruna`s dance class and...? No, no. The w house would be thrown into confusion if

"I thought we were grown up—well, almost," muttered Tara to Aruna. Aloud she said, "Sister, I want to be a writer." "That is good," said Sister Angela. "Mind you, pay attention to your spelling and grammar then. And you, Aruna?" Aruna racked her in frantically, searching for an answer. "I...I think I want to be a teacher," she said at last. "I see," Sister Angela smiled. "Perhaps you will join your own school to teach then?" She passed on to the next girl without waiting for a rep

hand. When Aruna left for Tara`s place in the evening, mummy was preparing the dinner. `If I was in mummy`s place, I would feel so bored,` thought Aruna with a grimace. `Just cooking and cleaning and nothing else. What was the point in studying so and getting a medal then?` She felt a sudden pang of sympathy for her mother. Did she ever want to go out somewhere and do something by herself or...? She reached Tara`s place even before she realized it. Tara`s mother was there, having

the table for dinner. Aruna went up to her and asked, "Mummy, what did you want to be when you grew up?" "Why the sudden question?" laughed her mother. "Okay, let us see. I always wanted to teach." "Then why did you not?" Her mother shrugged her shoulders. "Well, I got married. Then you two came along. I suppose I just let go of the idea." Then she said in a brisker tone, "Papa will be back late today. He is eating out. So let us have our dinner now." After dinner, Aruna took out som

not know. Who would look after the home and...?" "Mummy, I am going to be fourteen," broke in Aruna, "why can`t I help out? And anyway, with a school job, you would be back in the afternoon. There is no problem if you want to, Mummy." She was touched to see the glow on her mother`s face though all she said was, "Let us see. I will have to discuss this with your father." Aruna turned away, satisfied. She knew her father would not object to the idea. In fact, he would be very pleased. Th

Dancing Like A Tree Swati attacharjee Sweat was running down her spine, making her dress stick to her. The bag of ghungroos banged against her back painfully as Minnie hurried on. "I am leaving at seven, exactly," Mayur had said. And Minnie knew Mayur would do just that. So what if it was Minnie`s first party. So what if she was planning for it for weeks. Mayur would float into the car and ride away to the party, leaving Minnie behind. Minnie bit her lip as she came to a crossing wh

discussed names for days before they had zeroed in on that one. As for Minnie, Mayur had told her sister, she was so scrawny that Mummy had called her `Minnie` without a moment`s thought. Minnie, like the mouse—the girlfriend of Mickey. At 13, Minnie knew she would have to live with a silly, funny name—a name that was not she at all, as she would have to live with her plain looks and curly hair. But today, she would borrow Mummy`s golden- yellow silk dupatta. She would wear it over her

As she peeled off her sweat-soaked dress, Minnie wondered what that feeling could be. Mayur, who never passed off a chance to rebuke her. Who would share nothing but guilty secrets. Who never let Minnie watch a TV channel of her choice. What could one possibly feel for that selfish oaf of a sister? "Yellow and maroon?" Mayur was standing at the door. Minnie looked down at her dress, then at the mirror. Suddenly, the combination that had looked so bright and cheerful, so right for a pa

her legs to carry her. She closed her eyes but the bright lights lit up the insides of her eyelids in a harsh, white glow. The music, rock, invaded her ears. "Hey! You sleeping or what?" Three boys and a girl stood before her, grinning. "Would you like a cot?" A buck-toothed boy raised an eyebrow. Minnie knew she was supposed to say something smart. Something funny. But her tongue formed no words. Her lips stretched to a smile. "This is a dance party, right? Why don`t you join th

"Oh great! You want to dance arata Natyam in a dance party?" the girl raised her eyebrows. Her eyelids were green with make up. "Why not?" said the buck-toothed boy. "Let us have some classical dance, yaar." "Oh yes, fusion art," another boy sneered. "Western music, Indian dance." "Yeah, yeah, yeah. Great idea!" laughed the girl. She suddenly turned and shouted, "Attention!" Someone turned off the music. The girl told the party that Minnie would show them some fusion art. Everyone t

Her ears, trained by years of riyaz, strained the beats out of the music. Beats that make up a rhythm, a taal. "A dancer responds to a taal as the river to the moon," Mrs Kutty had told her students. But the beats of rock were not like the gentle pull of the moon. They showered upon Minnie like hailstones, whirled around her like a storm, rumbled like thunder... Suddenly, Minnie became a tree. Like a tree after the parched summer months, she stretched her arms and absorbed the mu

broke out. Hands sought Minnie`s hands, eyes tried to meet her eye. Minnie shook hands, exchanged smiles, accepted admiring words. In the car, Minnie tried to find words for Mayur. But, as usual, Mayur was the first to speak. "Next time you slip out of your shoes, think of your toes first. Peeled off nail polish looks awful. And for God`s sake, use an anti perspirant. Sweaty armpits are absolutely ugh!" Minnie sighed, closed her eyes and leaned back. She could think of a thousand repli

Shame Vandna Khare "Meeta, look after the stall while I meet the manager," Mother said and left the shop in 13-year-old Meeta`s and Didi`s hands. "Of course!" Meeta jumped from the counter where she had been hanging paper fans from the ceiling. Their stall was so colourful and pretty with the fans fluttering in the wind. Didi was playing with the fans they had spent all summer in painting. Open-close. Open- close... phat phat phat phat...she went. Her mouth hung loose to one side as s

But Didi continued opening and shutting the fans, oblivious of the rude stares of the customers. Meeta turned away from her when one of the customers asked "How much for one?" "Ten rupees," Meeta answered the lady, spreading open a few more fans for the lady to choose from. The woman bargained "That is a lot for one. Give it for eight." "No," Meeta shook her head, "I cannot do that. The price is fixed." "It is only a small little fan, child, make it nine." The woman persisted. "No,

Though she was three years older than Meeta, they had initially been in the same class until Didi slipped back. The children in school laughed and teased her calling her buddhu or pagal, and Meeta was pagal ki bahen. Meeta would be close to tears but would turn away so that she was not tempted to retaliate. At times like these she wished Didi were not her sister. Then immediately she felt ashamed of her thoughts. `It was not right to feel that way about her sister,` she thought. Didi c

big trunk and rummaging through it, pulled out some more fans. She returned to the counter and spread them out for the lady to choose one that she liked. She could hear Didi telling someone, "Rupees ten for one." "Look at this one...isn`t it really pretty?" the woman held the fan up for her husband to see. "Meeta, take this money." Didi slid a ten rupee note into Meeta`s palm. Concentrating on her customers Meeta asked her, "For how many?" "For ten fans, Meeta! Ten fans!" Didi smiled

simplest sums... "Give me back the fans..." "Let me go!" the man tried to prise away Meeta`s fingers from his arm. Meeta was so angry, she clung to him, not letting go of his arm. Her fingers dug deeper until he cried out in pain but she held on, crying, "Are you not ashamed of yourself? Cheating us! You owe her a hundred rupees! Not ten! It is ten for one, not ten for ten, you cheat!" "Come now, aisaheb, enough is enough," the other customers at the stall intervened. "Don`t take ad

me. "You know the hair on the back of your neck? It curls just like some of the puppies` ls/` she said. "Really?" I retorted. Did my expression show I \^as taken aback? I do not know. My voice sounded deeper than usual and strange to my ears. The hair that she had spoken of seemed to be standing in sheer embarassment and the back of my neck felt warm. She really was an unusual girl. Over the next few weeks it began to seem that Aruna had always been part of our neighbourhood scene.

piece of metal and rubber to be more precious than its life?" she finally challenged Dr. Vasanth. The doctor scratched his cheek ruefully not expecting such a question just when he was heading out to work. "Well, if you would only teach it to distinguish between my car and old Mr. Naidu`s Fiat, I`ll be most grateful," was what he finally said and drove away. I rejoiced in Aruna`s victories as she related them to me. My own relationship with my neighbours had run a troublesome course—of

subjected to her brother, Aishek instead. When my cousin, Shyamala came over, we both went to call on Aruna and ask her if she would come walking to the beach. She came to the door, showed every sign of great pleasure at seeing Shyamala, but when my cousin asked, "Govind and I are going to the beach. Like to come?" she seemed to visibly retreat. In the next minute she had made her excuse—she was taking Aishek to her grandmother`s house, then going to her friend`s place. I said not

want to stop. I wanted to just reach home and eat my dinner which I could almost taste in extreme hunger. When I was parking my bike close to Aruna`s bedroom window, a voice suddenly spoke out of the shadows. "Govind? Did you get wet in the rain?" "Yes," I answered shortly, holding back a more elaborate and more sarcastic response. I shook my head to clear water out of my eyes and lifted my denim rucksack from the box on the side of my vehicle. "Lola and I have been looking at the st

I rd up the bike and drove, staring straight ahead, if I spied her on the road. The weeks were now leading faster and faster to my Board exams. Would my preparation ever be enough? I thought so, but my elders and betters did not. And then, the exams had already come and gone. For a few days it felt strange not to have the relentless reminders, the prayers and the pressure, then I began to look towards the future, even look forward to other milestone exams! My mother asked me to buy

to jump at me. Its shiny eyes were full of expression and its mouth was open, like in a grin. I accepted the little bundle. He felt warm and rubbery in my hands. My head was reeling with thoughts. `How was I going to look after this fellow? What if I had to go to hostel soon? Had Aruna already spoken to my mother about this? How could I give up something so beautiful, so playful and alive? And how could I keep it?` I finally tore my eyes away from him to look at Aruna. Even if she is a

A Question of Space Neera Kashyap Despite mainning a consistent rhythm, Vikrant found himself comply out of breath at the end of the 3.2 km jog. His head pounded with the effort and with thoughts of the pressure his parents were mounting on him to gear up for the medical entrance tests, still a year-and-a-half away? Both successful doctors themselves, his parents were anxious that Vikrant ready himself to cope with the intensely competitive environment that had to be scaled for

into his life like a new universe, right here on this jogging track. j was not just a person with dynamic ideas on photography, on the connectedness between human beings and all other living species; on self- improvement as a part of human evolution, on the cosmos. He had turned into a friend very quickly, a much older friend. While reading books borrowed from j and experimenting with j`s old Kodak camera, Vikrant knew that his parents had watched his new interests with growin

much later to make the stories alive visually." Then after a pause he said, "Is the pressure at home bad?" Vikrant tried to shrug, but nodded instead. "It seems to me that the pressure is worse for children of doctors, perhaps because medicine is considered the noblest among professions and gives prestige. But tell me, how do you react to pressure?" "Oh, I explain, I argue, I snap! Sometimes I even walk out. It is worse when I lose control." "Ya, but have you noticed how your body rea

habitual expressions. But the next step is to practice expressions when there are no feelings to be expressed. I know this sounds daft, but think, if you can express emotions without feeling them, you can also feel emotions without expressing them," said j. "Like how?" asked Vikrant. "Okay. Suppose you get news that you have won a free trip to the US, how would you react?" urged j. "The US? Wow!" exclaimed Vikrant, giving to his hands, body and face such an exaggerated expressi

turned your attention to investigating a coaching centre rather than spend time with junkies and irrelevant things," finished Vikrant`s father. Vikrant noticed that his father`s last remark sent a strong wave of heat through his otherwise weary body, galvanising him to leave the room without another word. Vikrant knew these conflicts were not getting him anywhere. It was not as if he felt Medicine was all wrong for him. He just did not want to be bulldozed like this. Bulldozed into wor

realized, would continue treating him like a child so long as he just chafed and reacted. "Don`t worry too much about change," advised j, noting Vikrant`s discouragement one evening. "You cannot really change anything till things are ready for change. Just do your part." "Ya...h, but it is not helping," said Vikrant with dejection. j thought for a long while. Then he spoke, "If you really want to get control over a situation, there are two more steps for you to practice. The mom

were pushing less, listening more. He noticed that instead of both of them speaking in one voice at points of control or friction, one spoke while the other refrained. This was leading to much more interaction except on the subject of j. "Ar e you still hobnobbing with that character...what is his name?" asked his mother at breakfast one morning. His father`s silence was expectant. Vikrant observed his temples en, his hunched shoulder s straighten out in confrontation, his puls

The Fairness Syndrome Thangam Krishnan Pavithra kicked off her shoes sending them flying under the rack. She then went straight into her room and fell on the bed with a thud. She was extremely upset. The girls , Deepa, Viji and Shahnaz went with her to the same school and lived in the same neighbourhood. That evening they had been playing throwball in the nearby ground as usual. Once when Pavithra had missed the ball, Shahnaz had snapped, "Hey! kali baingan (black brinjal), can yo

Pavithra was good in sports and games. She was clever in studies too, besides having an excellent voice. Inspite of all her talents, she could never understand how the colour of her skin was so important to some. "Amma, Pavithra is home," she could hear her younger brother, Saurab`s voice. "Let us have dinner. I am hungry." "Pavithra, come dear," called her mother. That helped her get rid of her blues. She got up for a wash. Her lovely eyes and silky skin were some of the assets of he

of the fact and arrogant because of it. "Eat properly, pet," coaxed her grandmother, "We have payasam for desert." Pavithra quickly finished her food and left the table. The sudden transition worried Granny. She followed Pavithra to her room. "What hapd, dear? You seem upset." "What is wrong with the colour of my skin, Granny?" tears stung her eyes. "Nothing." She hugged her little grand daughter consoling her as she cried. "How can anyone hurt you like this?" As Pavithra recover

"What is it, Pavithra? You look pale." "Nothing, Mother." "I have a hutch there is something." Unable to deny any further, Pavithra brought the cream and silently held it in front of her mother. "Come on, Pavithra," smiled her mother indulgently, "you do not have to impress anybody with the colour of your skin when you have so many other qualities. Do not develop a complex." `Easy to say,` thought Pavithra. However it was Naveen`s remark that made her abandon the : cream forever. Nav

other emotions and held sway over her. She pedalled her bike so only to land with a loud crash. She had not noticed the big stone lying on the way. "Shahnaz!" screamed the girls as they rushed to help her. But Pavithra and Naveen, the good athletes that they were, reached her side faster. Pavithra bent to pick Shahnaz, putting both hands under her arms, while Naveen lifted the cycle. The other girls too were there by now. "Do not touch me, kali baingan!" hissed Shahnaz, looking at

Draupadi would take a vow not to tie her long hair until the insult meted out to her by the Kauravas in the King`s court`was avenged. The Principal screened all the possible contenders and finally chose Pavithra. In the meantime Shahnaz, who had heard about the role, was very keen to do it. She loved acting and held secret ambitions of becoming an actress when she grew up. She did not want to miss the chance of enacting the great character from the classic. It would be a challenge. She

Shahnaz`s head reeled. She realized that in this case her fair skin was of no use to her. In fact, it had proved to be a handicap! Her pride and ego were punctured. On the final day everything went on smoothly. It was now time for Pavithra to come on stage. As the queen of the Pandavas she looked lovely, dressed in a blue sari with long, silver earrings, necklaces, anklets and a silver waist band. Her long hair was open. When she delivered her lines with blazing eyes and walked round t

Sandy (short for Sandhya) got off the train gingerly and looked around, uncern whether she would like what her eyes saw. She did not. The tidy little village station was a scene out of a picture-postcard. But that was not what Sandy saw. What Sandy saw was the lack of people, the lack of sounds and activity. This place was dead! Sandy could see the few people there were staring at her. Mom had warned her she would draw attention in her stretch jeans and sunny T-shirt, but

attention in her stretch jeans and sunny T-shirt, but there was no way she was going to travel in a solwar- kameez. So she chose to ignore the stares. Her eyes were on the familiar face just a dozen steps away. She remembered the straight spine she would piggy- back on and the face which smiled a welcome everytime it saw her—like it was doing now. Sandy was struck by how he had aged in the two years since she had last seen him. His face had new lines, his hair had turned all white and...h

strong as ever! She started walking , then ran into her Dadaji`s bear hug. "Well! Well! How my Guddi has grown!" The two of them made their way out of the station with Dadaji insisting on handling both her bag and suitcase. They passed the station master who raised his hand in a half-salute to Dadaji but his eyes were on Sandy—her short, blunt cut hair, her hep outfit and her fashionable boots. Sandy sighed. In spite of her dismissing Mom`s requests for conservative dressing, she alrea

"Did you have company on the train? What is that you are wearing? How are your parents? When can they come?" Dadaji`s many questions distracted her. There was no point in answering the first part so she said, "They can`t make it right now because of their year-end job commitments. I ly see them at home myself! It is going to be this way for the entire summer hols, which is why they thought I should spend some time in Palgarh with you." "Absolutely right. How old are you now? Fourt

rattled all the way to their huge, two-storeyed mansion. Everything was the same and yet everything was different. There was no sound of Dadi in the kitchen, scolding her for eating too much raw imli—she was now a photo on the wall, its garland of mogra now dried. Everything looked old-worldly with no special thought given to decor or appearance—even the ancient egg-shaped fan whirled lethargically. The sunlight filtering through the grill of the courtyard failed to lift Sandy`s spirit

away from her favourite music (no pop in P^lgarh, Mom`s orders), away from her favourite^T.V. channel s (Dadaji didn`t even have a cable connection) and away even from her favourite clothes! Mom had packed her suitcase with long skirts and salzvars—includung dupattas, of course! The days passed—dragging on at a snail`s pace. The caretaker was Kishen Kaka and his wife, Shuadra Bai did the cooking. She pampered Sandy with home-made ered rotis, farm fresh vegetables, thick kheers an

So she started going out with Minu, Kishen Kaka`s giggling, mischievous, little daughter. Minu was quite a tomboy, the same age as Sandy but petite in build. She would wear a pink lehenga with a yellow top and look like a mismatched neon light. She laughed gregariously, ran around barefoot, climbed trees like a toddy tapper and was as devoted to Dadaji as her parents. She thought Sandy was a hoity-toity city ser, but never showed it. Minu chaperoned her Sandhya didi and even got h

enjoy herself. At the back of her mind she often wondered what her friends would have to say if they saw her adjusting her dupatta, listening to Dadaji explain the harvest schedule while clinging to the rear seat of a bullock cart with Minu for company! Ugh! Then one fine morning Dadaji gave her a cardboard box. What could it be? "I chose this for your birthday, Sandhya. It is tomorrow, isn`t it? You could wear this for the special early morning puja at the Ganesh temple." `Puja? Gane

Sandhya has so far put up with abject boredom. She had been deprived of all the things she considered fun. No party. No eating out. And now this! What a birthday! So lost was she in self pity that she only said a quiet thank you to Dadaji and slipped away. She went out to the garden and let Minu "ooh!" and "aah!" over the `super` outfit. Her mood sank lower still and she left to sulk alone. Sandy lay in bed feeling trapped. Why could she not just have some plain, crazy fun? Why was she

"I am sorry," she began sincerely. "I did not. "She did not know I had taken it," Minu chimed in from behind. Sure enough the box was with her! "I am terribly sorry, Bade Saheb. I could not resist it. I will never do something like this again," and Minu hung her head in shame. Dadaji glowered at her and gave Sandy an apologetic hug, "I am sorry I lost my temper. You can change now. I will be in the car." Too relieved to speak up, Sandy chased Minu to her room. "Why did you take the bla

pop hits. She turned round to find dear old Dadaji leaning by the door with a smile that lit up the room. "Now my beti will not get bored here, no?" he said with a knowing twinkle in his eyes. "Oh, Dadajil Thank you so much! But I think I am going to need it only after I go back to the city!" n m ... i y

Back Home Scharada Bail They came in flocks in July and Shaila was used to their annual appearances—brightly coloured relatives from New Jersey, Los Angeles and Washington. Since she was a small girl losing her front teeth, then getting large new ones, she had taken their visits for granted, with the chocolates and clothes and trinkets they brought in their wake. Their arrivals and departures were inevitable and unremarkable, like the overseas birds flying overhead, on their way to V

breakfast one morning that Shiv Kelladi, son of her father`s cousin, Jaya and Dr. Manohar Kelladi, was coming to spend a month with them to "know India and his people in India better", Shaila was indignant. "Why here? Why can he not stay at Aunt Yamuna`s house?" she asked, referring to her father`s sister. "Because you know Apoorva is appearing for his Board exam this year. Their hands are already full," said her mother. "And you expect me to give up my room for him, don`t you?" said

of children whose hearing was impaired. "Be pleasant about this, Shaila/` she warned, "he`s just a year younger to you. It might be fun." But Shaila doubted it very much. She waited for her mother to get out of earshot, then exclaimed to her grandmother, "You know how much I hate those American kids, Dhodamma! I do not even know what to say to them. Why did Papa and Amma have to agree to this?" "Do not worry, Shaila, he will probably be a wonderful chap. Even if he is `American`, as yo

built small for fourteen, and he ly spoke. His mother, Jaya Kelladi, an executive with a multinational company, had always seemed a larger than life character to Shaila. She had a different hairstyle on each visit to India, this time it was a frizzy perm that made her look vaguely poodle-like. She was spending a few days with Shaila`s family before flying off to Bangalore, Mumbai, Delhi, and finally back home to California. Shaila spent the time in a state of utter fascination with

"They are acrylic ones. She gets them fitted at the salon and they last a few months, I think. When they break, you get new ones filled. My mother couldn`t have nails like that of her own. She used to bite them till recently." "Acrylic nails!" exclaimed Shaila. "How cool! I would love something like that." "Oh, it is not so great," said Shiv, "my friend, Howie once found one of his mother`s nails in the potato salad he was eating. It was really gross you know." "I suppose so," said Sh

doorway of her room. "Shaila," he called in an urgent whisper, "please come. There is a...a man out here." "Wha t does he look like," asked Shaila, unconcerned. She knew it had to be one of the familiar characters used to ringing their doorbell for various purposes. "He is.. .he is very dark," said Shiv, screwing up his face, as if regretting making such a comment. "And he smells of liquor," he finished delicately. "Oh, Muniyandi!" said Shaila, getting up. She went to the door and smi

tell us that it is good for the environment." "Oh," was all Shiv said. He looked thoughtful. The next day, he od the door to Vellaichamy, the fruit vendor. Looking down at a basket of fresh corn, papaya, guavas, bananas and the last of the mangoes, Shiv asked, "Is this stuff organically grown?" "It is stuffed to bursting with pesticide," said Shaila, ignoring a warning look from her father, reading the paper nearby. "We know it will kill us, but we buy it anyway, because the money

frame was thin and stooping and his balding hair quite grey. He had the kindest face and eyes. Shaila thought it criminal that such a senior member of Shiv`s family should make the effort to come from Mangalore to Chennai just to see Shiv, since His Highness was not going to Mangalore. Uncle Jagan sat in their drawing room with Shiv next to him. Between mouthfuls of vangi at and coffee, he patted Shiv on the shoulder. "Will you sing for me?" he asked at length. "I have heard you sing

rupees worth of fruit. Vellaichamy was delighted and bowed himself out with folded hands, his basket now as light as his heart. Shaila looked at the mounn of fruit and regretted her sarcastic words. How was she to know the American was so tender-hearted? They had exhausted Chennai`s delights for the benefit of their guest. Shaila`s family had taken Shiv to temples and the beach, the billiards parlour and the video games arcade. They had eaten South Indian meals, Chinese food and Ame

"You are all happy people," said Rajiv, sadly. "There is no point in being a Cinderella..." Clara came to Aunt Linda`s rescue, "What do you mean?" "Today is a one-day affair of merrymaking. Just a dream." Rajiv added solemnly. "Tomorrow I walk back into the miserable life once again..." Aunt Linda led Rajiv to the dining-table. It was spread with goodies and cakes. "Help yourself,"

Aunt Linda said generously. Even the disabled boy was smiling with joy as the spirit of Christmas filled Aunt Linda`s warm home. After the feast was over, Clara took Rajiv`s hand. She led him to a sofa. Aunt Linda walked up to the mantelpiece. She lit a pair of candles and placed them next to a photograph. "She mentioned Uncle George, didn`t she?" Rajiv asked Clara. "Why is`nt he present at today`s merry gathering?" "That is him...in that photo." And Cl

"That is him...in that photo." And Clara led Rajiv to the wedding photo now lit up by candles. "Uncle George and Aunt Linda loved each other from the time they were teenagers. Uncle died in action during the second world war only weeks into his marriage with Aunt Linda." "You mean to say Aunt Linda is smiling through all this sadness?" Rajiv said, unbelievingly. "That is not all," added Clara, sedately, "Un

"That is not all," added Clara, sedately, "Uncle George died in action on Christmas Day..." Rajiv was overcome with grief. He felt sorry for Aunt Linda. "And I thought she was the happiest person in the world?" Rajiv was struck with guilt. "We must find happiness within ourselves," Clara reminded Rajiv. Rajiv agreed fully. "I was so selfish. I thought I was so miserable... I even envied you for having

the tiny houses in the distant hill-tops and wondered where Clara lived. As the kids left, one after another, some accompanied by parents, Rajiv held Aunt Linda`s warm hands. "Aunty, may the spirit of Christmas always be with you... You have showed me today how to smile through sadness..." There was a twinkle of joy in her kind eyes. "George and I remember our therness through

love my parents and take care of them like I`ve never done before." Clara smiled, "Surely the spirit of Christmas has taught you a wonderful lesson or two." "Yes, thanks to Aunt Linda and you, Clara," Rajiv forced a shy smile, "and that poor, lame kid who seemed to be ever-smiling..." The clock struck six in the evening. "I am sorry I have to leave now," said Clara. She kissed the children and bade Aunt Linda goodbye. Rajiv was so touched that he forgot to ask Clara her address. When

women streamed the winding road below, singing carols to the Lord. Aunt Linda seemed to loose her cheerfulness this one time. She pursed her thick lips, then muttered, "Clara is an orphan, Rajiv. She has no family." Then she raised her hand, pointing to a convent. "Clara lives there.. .finding happiness in

"George and I remember our therness through all the children," said Aunt Linda. Then quickly burying her sadness, she added, "Rajiv, don`t think I will not send you on errands from tomorrow!" Light-hearted Rajiv, like a conscious teenager, felt he had almost fallen in love with a beautiful person, Clara. He hesitated, then asked Aunt Linda coyly, "Can you tell me where Clara lives?" The church bells chimed. Joyous young men and

The evening sky changed hues like a chameleon. From orange-red to a dark grey, casting dark shadows upon the football field. The tired referee limped along and blew the long whistle which sounded like a railway guard welcoming a chugging train home. From one corner of the wide, lush green field I watched with care as the young teenage boy sank, untying his football shoelaces and then lazily stringing his boots over his shoulders like a fisherman`s catch. He looked around and saw me. I

around and saw me. I waved at him frantically. With casual steps he approached me, homeward bound. A group of teenage boys rushed upto him, smothering his shoulders with affectionate hands. He jerked them off like a lazy cow driving away flies with its l. He looked up at them, shook hands with a few of the red-and-blue outfit bunch, his opponent team, then reached me without

He looked the other way. It was a question he was tired of listening to. "Yes...I scored the winning goal/` he spoke routinely. "Didn`t you watch me score?" He sounded rough. "Sorry, Son," I apologized for the umpteenth time, "I arrived late from office." "Again?" He sounded cold. "Everytime I score, you are late?" We did not speak to each other till we reached home. I was afraid to open my mouth. My son did not communicate because he felt it was useless talking to an ignorant man.

pariah. My son raised his eyes and ignored me. I served his meal hot. With his favourite sauce. "You must be hungry, dear..." I spread a smile, hoping it would echo. Depayan did not even thank me for it. Maybe a son does not need to thank his father after all. He ate quietly, dodging the little bits and pieces of school topics I had held out to him. He left the dining table silently, not even waiting for me to finish my dinner. Ten o`clock. I creakily od his bedroom door and saw h

the lively photograph upon the patio. I retraced my steps and stood byit, in our sitting-room. "Supriya," I whispered, and a silent tear rolled down my cheek, "You must return, for Depayan`s sake... Will you not forgive me?" I carelessly held her photo between my palms. I heard a c and looked towards Depayan`s room. Two eyes were watching me. I nervously placed `Supriya` down. Then I briskly walke

placed `Supriya` down. Then I briskly walked towards my room and went to sleep. Parent-Teachers` meeting. I looked like a passer- by. Mr Chapman enthusiastically smiled, drawing me close with his kind words. "Congratulations, Mr. Chatterji...your son has swept all the honours," he looked mighty pleased with Depayan. I grinned like an ignorant shepherd. "He has not only topped Class IX with merit,"

emphasized Mr. Chapman, his class teacher, "he has stood First in the school debate, individual quiz and elocution too! He led his school cricket team to victory and his football skills..." Mr. Chapman`s words fell upon my ears and his words drowned in the noisy traffic. Within myself I knew I had contributed nothing towards my son`s success. It was Supriya, his mother, who had always worked towards his all-round achievements. Mr. Chapman stumped my inattentiveness.

"Mr. Chatterji, you are Depayan`s father, are you not?" "Yes.. .yes/` I assured him, "his tutor is brilliant. And of course, Depayan works very , as you know." Stung, shamed and humiliated I drove home and shied away from my son. "Congratulations...! I never knew you had done so well on your own." He did not answer me. He walked up and switched on the music player. Then he swung his limbs upon the sofa and covered his face from my

"Well she loves you too!" He raised his voice, as if in desperation. I charged after him, anxious to know more about Supriya. Depayan did not continue, leaving my thoughts suspended. The next morning, he asked me for the customary monthly tuition fees for his private tutor. "Bring home your tutor one day," I told my son. "After all, he really guided you well." Depayan nodded his head in agreement. I cleverly slipped in, "Know where Mum lives?"

"I should be asking you that/` he quipped smartly. Then he left for school. My son had become a hero of sorts in school. I was a proud father, a father only in name. I wished to guide my son in every step of his teenage life. But I found no beginning and no end. My monotonous life dragged on without Supriya. When I got promoted in my job, letters poured in to congratulate me. How I longed for Supriya to be back and share my joy with Depayan. But I did not tell anyone. Like a crocodile,

The message touched my heart. It moved me. I always knew Depayan to be a mama`s boy. Now life without his mum had brought about a change in his sensitive teen-life, I thought. I strolled into his room. It was empty. He had always taken special care of all the things his mum had given him from childhood. Even the brown teddy bear, the dinky car and the table cricket game occupied pride of place in his bookcase. There

slipped into the routine cooking and later tucked my son intdbed. Sunday, my birthday, would have been dull like any other day. But believe me, Depayan changed my life with a bouquet of flowers. There was also a card tucked away beside my pillow: "I love you Dad for all that you gave me... and for all that you could not give. Love Depayan." The message touched my heart. It moved me.

okay?" she winked. "Now come and celete the spirit of Christmas with of all us." Clara played with the kids, laughing and cheering them in their games. Aunt Linda joined in the fun too. "Let us play blind man`s buff," suggested Aunt

Christmas party. "Clara, you are lucky to have wonderful parents yourself," emphasized Rajiv, "my parents even dislike my listening to rap music, watching videos or driving around with friends..." "Maybe you are right," sighed Clara. "Probably you are not as lucky as I am." Aunt Linda clapped her chubby hands and disrupted the conversation. "Hey Rajiv and Clara...dating afterwards,

items his factory had mfactured and supplied) were held up because a defect had come to light, and he was finding it difficult to keep going. The mfacturing process had to be looked into and fresh supplies made. Labour had to be paid or they would go on strike. He did not share his worries with his family because he did not want them to think that his business was collapsing. Hemant did not ask his father for more money

Hemant did not ask his father for more money for an entire month, but Mr Khanna did not give much thought to that. Mrs Khanna, on the other hand, was not going to let go of her crystal that easily. She began keeping track of the number of pieces she had and made sure she arranged them in such a way that even one empty space would be noticed. Hemant did not have a chance to pinch any more of his mother`s collection to acquire spending money for himself. "Let us go for the Daler Mehndi s

"Let us go for the Daler Mehndi show next Saturday," suggested Akash and Arjun, when the gang was ther. They were confident Hemant would, as usual, manage to get the expensive tickets for them. Rohit`s eyes shone at the thought. He fancied himself as a singer and wanted to become another Daler himself! Gaurav shook his head. "No, I cannot come. My parents will not allow me to go for a late night show like that." Hemant did not say anything. He had a sinking

ruffle up the money for the tickets. Gaurav saw the look on Hemant`s face and suddenly recalled the conversation he overheard between his parents a couple of nights ago. "Arrey," replied Akash. "Hemant` s father always gets such things for us. He can afford it. What is a couple of thousands for him?" Hemant glared at Gaurav. "Yes, spending on tickets and such stuff is chicken feed. If you ask for return tickets to the U.S. then he might think twice..." He walked away and Gaurav ran aft

"Hemant, wait!" He waited for them to be out of earshot of the others, then he spoke rapidly. "I know things are not good at the factory, Hemant. You can always tell the others to pay for their own tickets. You do not have to treat them." "Why don`t you mind your own business?" Hemant snapped. He headed home, putting Gaurav`s words firmly out of his mind and concentrating on a way to get some money. Ma`s crystal was out of the question. The silver was not. He went straight to the side-

board and od the drawer where the six heavy, silver mugs lay. He dumped them in his backpack and headed for the lane of silver shops his mother often visited. He did not know that Gaurav was on his trail, determined to reason with him. When Hemant dumped the silver mugs on the jller`s counter, Gaurav rushed into the shop

and confronted his friend. "Do your parents know what you are doing, Hemant?" he asked. "Get lost!" snarled Hemant, pushing Gaurav away. "What is this? What are you boys up to?" asked the shopkeeper, pressing an alarm under his table. A siren went off and an armed guard rushed in. Hemant panicked. He left the mugs on the counter and ran into the market-place with Gaurav close on his heels. When they were at a safe distance, Hemant stopped and turned on Gaurav. "Why did you interfere? N

"Why did you interfere? Now look what has hapd! I don`t have the silver and I don`t have the money for it either!" "You can get the silver back," said Gaurav. "Oh sure. I just walk back to the sweet, helpful jller and tell him that it was all a mistake and that I want the mugs back," "Well, not exactly. You may not be able to pull it off on your own, but if you got your father or your

on your own, but if you got your father or your mother to go with you..." "Brilliant!" growled Hemant. "I may as well handcuff myself and go to the cops." "I will come with you," persisted Gaurav. "You don`t have to face your parents alone. I will tell them how it is in our group. How everyone expects you to pay for everything..." Hemant shoved Gaurav aside. "You have done enough damage for one day. Just stay away from

silver mugs and just hope that his mother did not think of using them. She had not taken them out in months anyway. But luck was against him. That very evening, when his mother`s chacha, Prem, came over, she insisted that lassi be served in the silver mugs. Hemant cringed in his chair, waiting for the uproar when the drawer was found empty. But there was none. When at last he found the courage to look up, Uncle Prem and his wife, Papa and Ma, were all

Clara turned and discovered a boy of about sixteen, a stubble on his chin, wearing a leather jacket with a pair of blue denims. As Clara introduced herself, Rajiv steered on the conversation. "Is this your first party at Aunt Linda`s?" It was Rajiv`s first ever Christmas party. "You are new here?" asked Clara softly. "My dad`s in the army..." the teenaged boy spoke

me that bunch of flowers chacha brought!" Hemant picked the bouquet that was lying on the coffee table and went to his mother. His legs trembled and he felt sick. She didn`t say anything but took the flowers from him and began to arrange them in her tall, crystal vase. `Wait a minute. The tall vase? That was the one he had sold! How did it get back into the house?`

Clara walked out of the confectionery shop. In her hand she held a cardboard box. It was a chocolate cake. A little gift of love for Aunt Linda. She walked down the winding road, pausing momentarily in the chilly, wintry air. To her left, majestic conifers rose to dizzy heights. Clara now followed a forest path. She gingerly climbed up the hillock. Like gems, dainty orchids were strewn upon the tall, green, grass. Finally, she stopped in front of a wooden bungalow with a red roof, pant

foolish aims he had! Trying to buy friendship with his father`s money and robbing his own parents to do it! "Gaurav told me everything," Mrs Khanna said, "but I was waiting for you to talk to me." Hemant wiped his eyes and as he did so, he saw his father`s feet next to him. He waited fearfully for the blow to fall on him, but nothing hapd. "I should have taken you into confidence, Hemant," his father said, "but I was always far too busy. I did not credit you with the ability to un

helping themselves to their favourite drink—from the silver mugs! Hemant looked at the tray as if it was going to bite him. `How? How did the mugs get back into the house? Who brought them?` He looked at his mother. `What was she hiding behind that smile? And Papa? What would he do to him when they were alone?` Hemant sat like a robot until Uncle Prem left. Then he tried to move away, unobstrusively, but

"Merry Christmas, Aunt Linda!" Clara kissed the ageing cheeks that blushed pink with the warmth of love. She held out her gift which Aunt Linda accepted with a gracious smile. Then, with a big hug, she led Clara to the Christmas party. There were children of all ages. Tall and strong, lean and weak; even a little boy who hobbled about on one foot. Clara admired the Christmas tree which was a pine bough richly decorated with colourful streamers, bells and holly. At the top of the tree w

Hemant looked around wildly. The ashtray was back, and also the three-cornered bowl! It was too much for him. He crumpled on the floor and began to cry. "I am sorry, Ma, I`m sorry. I`ll never do it again." Mrs Khanna bent down and smoothed Hemant`s hair back from his forehead. "Why, Son?" she asked, "why did you do it?" Hemant sobbed out the tale of his friends and the money all of them had needed to have fun ther. As he tried to explain, he heard himself for the first time. How l

okay?" she winked. "Now come and celete the spirit of Christmas with of all us." Clara played with the kids, laughing and cheering them in their games. Aunt Linda joined in the fun too. "Let us play blind man`s buff," suggested Aunt

Since then I have been running errands for her." "That is wonderful," encouraged Clara, "helping people...old people, specially, is one of the finest service we teenagers can do. Your parents must be really lovely human beings to..." "Don`t talk about them," Rajiv interrupted, "I hate them!" Clara was taken aback by Rajiv`s verbal attack on his parents. "Come on, Rajiv, your parents love you deeply," she smiled. "Parents always wish well for their children." Clara realized that she h

Christmas party. "Clara, you are lucky to have wonderful parents yourself," emphasized Rajiv, "my parents even dislike my listening to rap music, watching videos or driving around with friends..." "Maybe you are right," sighed Clara. "Probably you are not as lucky as I am." Aunt Linda clapped her chubby hands and disrupted the conversation. "Hey Rajiv and Clara...dating afterwards,

early this year and I do not have to go to school. As for Pa, he lives in his own world. He still thinks Rukmini is doing the cooking and on more than one occasion has said, "Namita, you must tell Rukmini that today`s curry was delicious." Ma and I look at each other and burst out laughing. We seem to be doing a lot of that nowadays, where earlier we did not have much to say to each other. October 28: It is tough to find time to write regularly. There seems to be something that needs

enjoy trying out new dishes for Ma and Papa. And do you know, in spite of being so involved with food, I seem to have lost weight. Ma said so, my mirror told me so, and my old jeans proved it! And recently, at least three people commented on my resemblance to Ma. Can you beat that? What is more, Ma and Papa and I all seem to have the same idea for the first time in years. Maybe I ought to go into the catering vocation. Papa suggested it after he finally realized that it was I who was p

it not amazing? I cannot believe this is the same mother who was so exacting and so strict about my marks. I feel so happy inside that I do not even mind studying all this gibberish because I know it won`t be for very long. I am looking forward to the next few years...

It all started about a year ago when Ma began those Aerobics classes at the local Gym run by Aunt Gulshan. Eight months into Ma`s fitness fad, Naina, the second instructor, left Kolkata to join her husband on his ship, and Aunt Gulshan bullied Ma into substituting for Naina. Her decision came as a shock to the three of us. Until then, Ma was a normal Ma. You know, the type who woke us in the morning, hurried us for school, got our tiffins ready and so on. Now she had to be at the Gym f

along with each batch of exercisers. It was strenuous work. Sometimes she overslept in the morning—which meant that all of us did too—and then there was a mad rush to get out of the house on time. Ma had to prepare the lunch and dinner before she left and she no longer had time to lay out our school uniforms or polish our shoes if we forgot to

do that the night before. Torn shirts, crushed collars, no tie—for the first month it seemed that my kid sister, Sumita and I were getting hauled up by the Dress Capns almost every day. Tiffin became a packet of chips or a jam bun. Once in a way, as a special treat, we got a toasted sandwich. That, when we were used to parathas and sabzi, noodles or fried rice, or even a piece of

Papa did not know what had hit him. He came home on more than one occasion to find Sumi and me fighting like two starving predators over the last bit of cheese in the fridge. The bread was often mouldy. Obviously someone had forgotten to put it in the fridge—and the same someone had not bought fresh bread. It took us two or three months to get ourselves into functioning order. Ma was cool. "Time you learnt to darn your clothes," she said to me, as she handed over a needle and thread.

moved away dolefully, muttering to myself that I wished I had a Ma who was always at home, like my friend Bishu`s. Bishu did not have to darn his clothes, that was for sure! "And Shekhar," Ma added, "you are fourteen now and old enough to take on some responsibility around the house. See that you buy the bread daily and if it gets over faster than expected, fill up the bread box again." In time, Sumi and I got accustomed to doing our

bit and so did Pa. Our house began to look like a home again and there were more smiles than snarls till a second bombshell was dropped on us. Aunt Gulshan rang up one day to say that, as in the previous years, the second instructor from the Gym would have to go along for a children`s Summer Camp at Ranchi. "But it is holiday time, Gul," Ma protested. "Amit is on tour and I cannot leave the kids alone." "Let them fend for themselves," Aunty Gul bellowed and Ma, as usual, gave in to her

launched. Sumi and I had been bundled off to Papa`s sister, Aparna, in Meghalaya. She was the only one among our relatives who was not going anywhere that summer. Like two waifs, we landed in Shillong where she met us and drove us off in her jeep. We travelled for half a day before we reached her house in the wilds. Aunt Aparna did not talk a lot or try very to be nice. It put us at ease. Her cottage nestled in the hillside and as I looked

the scenery around, I understood why Aunt Aparna had not needed to go away for the summer. The place was awesome! We stopped and got out of the jeep and Aunt Aparna said, "Relax today. Tomorrow we will do some spelunking." "Spello-whatting?" I asked, wondering whether

Aunty expected us to play some kind of spelling game indoors! "We will go exploring the caves," she replied. "It is called spelunking and you will like it." "Wow!" Sumi and I exclaimed in one breath. We started to walk into the house but found ourselves in the middle of a commotion of massive proportions. A huge German Shepherd launched itself at Aunt Aparna. A slightly smaller one wagged its tall from the corner of the covered verandah, but would not move as it was surrounded by litt

were apparently its puppies. Sumi and I froze. We were not used to animals around the house. Ma would not have them and we had not really wanted them either. To face a family of them suddenly, was a bit too much! Aunt Aparna saw our faces and realized what was happening. She made sure that the big guy she called Romeo only sniffed us. We hurried away from the mother—Juliet— and the rest of the clan. The next morning I was awake really early, so I

The next morning I was awake really early, so I wandered off on my own. A short distance away from Aunt Aparna`s house, I spotted a cave. I headed towards it and was almost there when I sort of felt a presence behind me. I spun around and saw Romeo. He had a forbidding expression on his face as if to say, `Look friend, you better check with me before you wander in my territory,` but I refused to be bullied.

"Shoo!" I said as convincingly as I could given his size and the sight of his teeth as he bared them at me. I walked on, vely. Romeo suddenly caught hold of my pant and tugged. "Hey!" I cried in panic, "Let go!" But Romeo was in no mood to listen. I tugged, so did he. There was a ripping sound and my knee pocket was left between Romeo`s teeth as I backed off. Five strides and I tumbled headlong into a steep- sided gully. It must have been about fifty-feet deep but luckily, I got stu

looked up and there was Romeo, looking down, my pocket still dangling in his mouth. "Don`t just stand there!" I gasped, as the bush seemed to give way. "Get help!" Romeo turned silently and disappeared. I had no way of knowing whether he had understood. I tried to twist and work my way up, but the bush appeared unsteady and I was forced to keep still

and cling on. At last I heard voices. "I am here!" I yelled, "get me out fast!" Sumi`s anxious face peered at me and I must admit that never before have I been more happy to see the pesky little thing. "aiya!` she cried, "hang on!" I heard a scrambling sound and mud and pebbles began to fall around me. Then Sumi was suspended

beside me and she managed to fasten a thick length of rope round my chest without pushing me down. Within moments, both of us were hauled up. As I lay panting on the ground, Romeo began to my face. I was so relieved to be safe that, without thinking, I hugged him! "Romeo brought your pocket to me," Sumi said, "and I knew something had hapd to you." "Thanks, Pal!" I whispered to Romeo, now absolutely sure that he could understand every word I said. After all, he had got me safe

"You are very lucky," commented Aunt Aparna, "that bush broke your fall, or you could have hurt yourself badly." "Romeo tried to warn me," I muttered, "but I thought he was attacking me..." I looked down at him and saw a hurt expression in his eyes. "Sorry," I said, "I will never doubt you again." I did not. In the days that followed, Romeo accompanied us everywhere, even to the longest cave in Asia, which was a couple of hour`s drive from Aunty`s house. We spent the rest of our time

We spent the rest of our time climbing the hills around Aunt Aparna`s cottage and exploring the caves nearby. As usual, Sumi and I found something to fight over—Juliet`s puppies. And as we put them on our beds and rolled about with them, we were really thankful to Aunt Gulshan for"You are very lucky," commented Aunt Aparna, "that bush broke your fall, or you could have hurt yourself badly." "Romeo tried to warn me," I muttered, "but I thought he was attacking me..." I looked down at hi

Remember, Thankachi, you were ly twelve when you got married. Are you not happy with Mani? Such a nice man. Who chose him for you? Our parents. I think choosing the bride or the bridegroom is our right. Further, Shanti and Arumugham are cousins. And they are made for each other, muraipenn and muraipillai," Arumugham`s father laid down his case. "Mama!" Shanti was happy that Arumugham had already talked to his parents about her view. "Yes, my dear," the old man gave her the nod. "I

enough she knows how to keep a happy home, cook well, look after the children when they arrive..." Arumugham`s mother scowled. "Amma. Days have changed. Appa was always with you. I will be posted at non-family stations often. Shanti will have to be on her own. She is right, Amma, let her complete her graduation. Then we will marry. Till then..." "Till then?" "Till then we remain engaged," Arumugham said firmly. Next day, when he ran into Shanti near the cluster of bamboos she was bub

"Has Priya not come home as yet?" Surya asked, depositing his bag in the cramped drawing-cum- dining-room of his tiny two bedroom flat. He had just returned from work. He was a cashier in the State Bank of Hyderabad, while his wife, Sharada, a lab assistant in Reddy College for Women. Their daughter, Priya, was a Class X student in Saint Anne`s School. They lived in Vidyanagar, while Priya` s school was in Tarnaka around six kilometres away. There was a direct bus from Priya`s school to

"She should have been here by 4.30. It is 5.30 now and she still has not come," Sharada replied. Sharada`s college closed at 3.00 and she was usually back home by 4.00 p.m. "Yesterday too she was late." "In fact, since the last few weeks she has been coming home late." / "Did you ask her?" "Yes, I did, last week." 20

"What did she say?" "She mumbled something about spending time with her best friend, then she kept quiet. You know she is not very forthcoming. If I ask her too many questions she just clams up or bursts into tears. Sometimes when I talk to her I get the impression I am conversing with a stranger, not my own daughter." "I know she is a difficult child. But should we at least not know what she is up to? I...I hope it has nothing to do with some boy... You know at this age..." "No, I d

Priya was to appear for the Class X examination in April the next year. This was the month of July and her studies had started in real earnest. Morning six to eight she went for Maths and Physics tuition, and in the evening seven to eight for Chemistry. The next day, Surya hapd to discuss Priya`s strange behaviour with his colleague, Durga, who too had a teenaged daughter. Durga was a despatch assistant in the same bank. "Surya, you should not take it so lightly. With teenagers on

shell. I am worried what her reaction will be if she knows that we are even remotely suspicious of her activities. With so many youngsters running away from home at the smallest pretext and news of teenaged suicides appearing in the newspapers almost everyday, frankly, I am scared. You know, with both of us working, Priya is left alone in the house quite a bit. What goes on in her mind only she knows. I would not like to probe too deeply and upset her. All we know she may just be going

Surya kept silent for a while, finally he spoke. "I think it is a good idea. How do we get started?" "I will talk to my brother and let you know." Two days later, on Monday, `Operation Shadow` had begun. Surya took Ajay to Saint Anne`s and showed Priya to him from a distance. Ajay promised he would have the required information in a day or two. On Wednesday, Surya got a call in the office. "Hello! Surya? This is Ajay?" "Yes, Ajay. Any news?" "Plenty. Can you come to Arts College at 4.

will explain when we meet." Sharp at 4.30, Surya parked his scooter in front of the Arts College Building. It was an imposing stone structure which formed the nucleus of the sprawling Osmania University Campus. Ajay was waiting for him. "Come with me," he said and started walking briskly with Surya keeping pace with him. They went behind the building and took a path which led to a small Hman Temple. The temple, under a huge banyan tree, was surrounded by a cluster of trees and boul

from behind a boulder. As Surya looked, he saw Priya sitting in the small courtyard in front of the temple. There was a canvas in front of her and she was busy painting. A few paint bottles, brushes and drawing sheets were lying around. "What do you think you are doing?" They heard a male voice and turned round. A tall, well-built man of around sixty years was standing there. He was clad in a dhoti and his chest was bare except for an angvastram. "We...I...I am that girl`s father and h

He took them down a narrow path that led to a small house behind the temple. "This is my humble abode. I am sorry I cannot offer you chairs," the pujari said, spreading a mat in the tiny verandah. "You must be surprised to find Priya here." "Yes... I.. .had no idea that she was coming here. Only when my friend, Ajay, followed her..." "So you had to take the help of a detective to know what is in your daughter`s mind," the pujari said with a chuckle. Stung by the remark, Surya started

Priya. She had come once with a friend of hers. She was fascinated with the peace and calm here. "Is it always so serene here," Thaatha?" she had asked me. "Yes, my child," I replied to her. "There is always peace and calm in the Lord`s abode." "Thaatha, can I come here every day?" "Why not, my child. But don`t you think you are too young to spend your evenings praying in the temple?" "Thaatha, I do not want to come here to pray. I want to come here to paint." "To paint?" I asked in

"No, Thaatha. My parents will not allow me." "Why?" "They consider painting a waste of time. They want me to study Physics, Chemistry, Maths, Biology, and become an engineer or a doctor. They believe painting cannot guarantee a person his bread and er but engineering or medicine can." "Child, don`t you think they are right?" "But I do not want to become an engineer or a doctor. I want to become a painter. I do not mind struggling, even starving to realize my dream. Is it really th

the canvas home, she has been keeping them in my house. Come inside and take a look." They went into the one-room house. In one corner were several canvases. As the pujari spread them out one by one, Surya was stuck by the beauty, the raw energy, of his daughter`s art. "Beautiful," he heard Ajay mumbling. "Surya, I know Ramji Jain, the owner of an art gallery. Can I take these paintings to him? I think Priya is really talented. I am hopeful Ramji might give Priya some guidance," Ajay s

The next three months were hectic for both Priya and Surya. Ramji Jain was impressed with Priya`s talent. He agreed to sponser a solo exhibition of Priya`s paintings and explained to Surya the groundwork that needed to be done to make the exhibition a success. While Priya got busy creating magic on her canvas, Surya ran around helping with the arrangements. Finally, on October 25, the exhibition was inaugurated. Priya was

hailed as the youngest and the brightest star on the art firmament of the city. The painting which drew the greates t appreciation was a simple one. It showed a tall and well-built pujari praying to Lord Hman with a fifteen-year-old girl sitting beside him. The

that I see reflected there is really me. That person is some mistake. The real me is beautiful. Like Ma. Younger. Even better. That thing in the mirror is just a chrysalis. Inside is the gorgeous erfly that will one day open its wings and soar happily into the world and never be discontented again. Success comes easily to Ma. When she was my age, she was already studying medicine and taking part in athletics and basketball. You name it, she did it. And did it well. After she qualifi

back. Last November she was named Business- woman of the Year, and I know she did it all alone. Papa, as you may have guessed by now, is no businessman. His first love is, of all things, the ancient world. He was an Archaeology student and had no interest in the family industry that was left to him to manage. After a couple of years, he was happy to let Ma take over and he returned to the study of old ruins. Ma and Papa make a fine pair. He admires her business-sense and her wit, and sh

laurels too. I am expected to bring credit to the two of them, but I am just a mediocre student. Something of a plodder. I even had to repeat a class way back, when I was a kid. Now, here I am in the tenth, still struggling and at a loss with the syllabus. What is worse, I do not know yet what I want to do after school. The only thing I am sure about is that I do not want anything that involves memorizing. But will I have the freedom to choose? Knowing Ma`s managerial ways, I will prob

slammed her new diary and pushed it under the pile of books lying on her desk. Divya, her best friend, had presented the diary to her on Friendship Day, but Sunaina had not started writing in it until now. "Are you ready?" asked her mother putting her head round the door. "Yes," said Sunaina. Hastily, she picked up her books and followed Mrs Murthy out of the house. `Boring tuitions!` she thought as she got into the

"She should have been here by 4.30. It is 5.30 now and she still has not come," Sharada replied. Sharada`s college closed at 3.00 and she was usually back home by 4.00 p.m. "Yesterday too she was late." "In fact, since the last few weeks she has been coming home late." / "Did you ask her?" "Yes, I did, last week." 20

"Has Priya not come home as yet?" Surya asked, depositing his bag in the cramped drawing-cum- dining-room of his tiny two bedroom flat. He had just returned from work. He was a cashier in the State Bank of Hyderabad, while his wife, Sharada, a lab assistant in Reddy College for Women. Their daughter, Priya, was a Class X student in Saint Anne`s School. They lived in Vidyanagar, while Priya` s school was in Tarnaka around six kilometres away. There was a direct bus from Priya`s school to

enough she knows how to keep a happy home, cook well, look after the children when they arrive..." Arumugham`s mother scowled. "Amma. Days have changed. Appa was always with you. I will be posted at non-family stations often. Shanti will have to be on her own. She is right, Amma, let her complete her graduation. Then we will marry. Till then..." "Till then?" "Till then we remain engaged," Arumugham said firmly. Next day, when he ran into Shanti near the cluster of bamboos she was bub

Remember, Thankachi, you were ly twelve when you got married. Are you not happy with Mani? Such a nice man. Who chose him for you? Our parents. I think choosing the bride or the bridegroom is our right. Further, Shanti and Arumugham are cousins. And they are made for each other, muraipenn and muraipillai," Arumugham`s father laid down his case. "Mama!" Shanti was happy that Arumugham had already talked to his parents about her view. "Yes, my dear," the old man gave her the nod. "I

"Ah, Aaru, did you meet Shanti? Poor girl, she doesn`t know that her days of freedom are over, that you have come to tie the mangalsutra on her neck and take her away with you. We let her have all the fun till you came on leave." The old man had a big smile on his face. "You should have taken her into confidence," Arumugham mumbled. "We, the elders, decide what is good for you. You are children. What do you know?" his father was stern. "But, Appa, Shanti doesn`t want to marry now," A

English is essential for many second language learners, yet it is to grasp. Of course, in some cases we would find that many language learners feel difficult to master English in various contexts. The really serious matter we find in the context is that they are lack of knowing enough vocabulary they need. It is therefore English would be difficult at this stage since as common sense, vocabulary is the fundamental language content that learners must study before they attend other sali

`Life is / I tell myself, as I stand before the mirror and watch acne, that dreaded scum of a disease, playing havoc with my face. I wish I could drive the pimples out with a wave of the hand. Then I tell myself that acne is a temporary ravage that makes life a little less comfortable for a teenager. But it is a sure sign of a child moulting into an adult. `Life is tough/1 turn away from the mirror, when it strikes me like a bolt of lightning. My voice has turned rough, almost rauc

down with a dangerous cold, one that could kill! They force me into bed, send for the doctor who pumps all sorts of medicines into my system. They pray to all the gods and goddesses—according to our religious texts we have thirty-three crores of them—to cure me quickly and set apart money for donating to the gods, once I am back on my feet. That is what I do in a day or two, none the worse for the temporary cold. When I tease them for being over-protective, they grunt, "How would you k

apart by me, would get reunited; bits and pieces of crayons that dot the floor would go into the bin; the dust would be swept off the table and the room would gain a fresh look. How I hate her now when she does that! I have put up a warning on the door: Knock Before You Enter Beneath the above instruction is a warning: My Room! Love It Or Hate It! Amma sees the notice, but behaves as if it is Greek or Latin. She continues to step into my room, unmindful of my privacy. How can I make

Is that why, at times, he makes extra efforts to be overtly affectionate! I do not know. May be he tries to kill the fear in him by treating me with caution. He finds safety in treating me as a child. He runs his fingers through my thick, curly hair, holds my head close to his chest and pats me. I would not say I hate him for doing that. But I am not able to enjoy it as I used to. Once, I would give the w world for being held lovingly by Appa. Now I feel as if it is not what Appa s

That raises my hackles. I stamp my feet, shout at her, "I am old enough, Amma. Old enough to be on my own. I will not allow myself to be treated like a kid!" She gives me a stern look and asserts firmly, "My decision is final. No party for you. Not today. Not ever. I do not want you to end up as a wild colt." She has her way. I miss the party. But it does not endear her. I sulk. I do not talk to her for a w day. She coaxes me, placates me till I succumb to her molly-coddling. Then

Appa walks in. Amma warms up to his presence with a gentle nod, then tells me, "Samir, everything takes time. A flower take s time to turn into a fruit. It takes a year for you to go from one class to the next" she grins. Appa caresses my arm and says. "I know you have your fears. We have ours. We must fight our fears ther. You must understand our concerns. There are so many temptations to which a youth is drawn. I do not want to list them. You knowr them now. Come to us, talk to

Shanti swung the satchel lightly and made the instrument box which conned the protractor, the divider and other assorted items that one needs to draw geometrical figures, sing to her. The notes it produced were the beats she needed to provide the orchestra for the gentle notes produced by the breeze that ran into a dancing cluster of bamboos. "Hi! Shanti," she heard the shriek of kes biting into the tyres. She turned quickly and noticed her cousin, Arumugham, tilting the bicycle

win laurels in elocution competitions. Hari Shastri, the village priest, hailed her every time she came to the temple and recited verses: "Vagdevi resides on your tongue," he would say. Yet, she was speechless in the presence of Arumugham. He was not a stranger to her. He was her maternal uncle`s son. Four years older to her. They had grown up ther. Played ther. Fought ther. All that ended once she atned the age of maturity and the family dropped the hint that in a few