December 29, 2016

AFTER TWENTY YEARS BY O HENRY

**********

AFTER TWENTY YEARS BY O HENRY


The policeman on the beat moved up the avenue impressively. The impressiveness was habitual and not for show, for spectators were few. The time was barely 10 o'clock at night, but chilly gusts of wind with a taste of rain in them had well nigh de-peopled the streets. 

Trying doors as he went, twirling his club with many intricate and artful movements, turning now and then to cast his watchful eye adown the pacific thoroughfare, the officer, with his stalwart form and slight swagger, made a fine picture of a guardian of the peace. The vicinity was one that kept early hours. Now and then you might see the lights of a cigar store or of an all-night lunch counter; but the majority of the doors belonged to business places that had long since been closed. 

When about midway of a certain block the policeman suddenly slowed his walk. In the doorway of a darkened hardware store a man leaned, with an unlighted cigar in his mouth. As the policeman walked up to him the man spoke up quickly. 

"It's all right, officer," he said, reassuringly. "I'm just waiting for a friend. It's an appointment made twenty years ago. Sounds a little funny to you, doesn't it? Well, I'll explain if you'd like to make certain it's all straight. About that long ago there used to be a restaurant where this store stands--'Big Joe' Brady's restaurant." 

"Until five years ago," said the policeman. "It was torn down then." 

The man in the doorway struck a match and lit his cigar. The light showed a pale, square-jawed face with keen eyes, and a little white scar near his right eyebrow. His scarfpin was a large diamond, oddly set. 

"Twenty years ago to-night," said the man, "I dined here at 'Big Joe' Brady's with Jimmy Wells, my best chum, and the finest chap in the world. He and I were raised here in New York, just like two brothers, together. I was eighteen and Jimmy was twenty. The next morning I was to start for the West to make my fortune. You couldn't have dragged Jimmy out of New York; he thought it was the only place on earth. Well, we agreed that night that we would meet here again exactly twenty years from that date and time, no matter what our conditions might be or from what distance we might have to come. We figured that in twenty years each of us ought to have our destiny worked out and our fortunes made, whatever they were going to be." 

"It sounds pretty interesting," said the policeman. "Rather a long time between meets, though, it seems to me. Haven't you heard from your friend since you left?"

"Well, yes, for a time we corresponded," said the other. "But after a year or two we lost track of each other. You see, the West is a pretty big proposition, and I kept hustling around over it pretty lively. But I know Jimmy will meet me here if he's alive, for he always was the truest, stanchest old chap in the world. He'll never forget. I came a thousand miles to stand in this door to-night, and it's worth it if my old partner turns up."

The waiting man pulled out a handsome watch, the lids of it set with small diamonds. 

"Three minutes to ten," he announced. "It was exactly ten o'clock when we parted here at the restaurant door." 

"Did pretty well out West, didn't you?" asked the policeman. 

"You bet! I hope Jimmy has done half as well. He was a kind of plodder, though, good fellow as he was. I've had to compete with some of the sharpest wits going to get my pile. A man gets in a groove in New York. It takes the West to put a razor-edge on him." 

The policeman twirled his club and took a step or two. 

"I'll be on my way. Hope your friend comes around all right. Going to call time on him sharp?" 

"I should say not!" said the other. "I'll give him half an hour at least. If Jimmy is alive on earth he'll be here by that time. So long, officer." 

"Good-night, sir," said the policeman, passing on along his beat, trying doors as he went. 

There was now a fine, cold drizzle falling, and the wind had risen from its uncertain puffs into a steady blow. The few foot passengers astir in that quarter hurried dismally and silently along with coat collars turned high and pocketed hands. And in the door of the hardware store the man who had come a thousand miles to fill an appointment, uncertain almost to absurdity, with the friend of his youth, smoked his cigar and waited. 

About twenty minutes he waited, and then a tall man in a long overcoat, with collar turned up to his ears, hurried across from the opposite side of the street. He went directly to the waiting man. 

"Is that you, Bob?" he asked, doubtfully. 

"Is that you, Jimmy Wells?" cried the man in the door. 

"Bless my heart!" exclaimed the new arrival, grasping both the other's hands with his own. "It's Bob, sure as fate. I was certain I'd find you here if you were still in existence. Well, well, well!--twenty years is a long time. The old restaurant's gone, Bob; I wish it had lasted, so we could have had another dinner there. How has the West treated you, old man?" 

"Bully; it has given me everything I asked it for. You've changed lots, Jimmy. I never thought you were so tall by two or three inches." 

"Oh, I grew a bit after I was twenty." 

"Doing well in New York, Jimmy?" 

"Moderately. I have a position in one of the city departments. Come on, Bob; we'll go around to a place I know of, and have a good long talk about old times." 

The two men started up the street, arm in arm. The man from the West, his egotism enlarged by success, was beginning to outline the history of his career. The other, submerged in his overcoat, listened with interest. 

At the corner stood a drug store, brilliant with electric lights. When they came into this glare each of them turned simultaneously to gaze upon the other's face. 

The man from the West stopped suddenly and released his arm. 

"You're not Jimmy Wells," he snapped. "Twenty years is a long time, but not long enough to change a man's nose from a Roman to a pug." 

"It sometimes changes a good man into a bad one," said the tall man. "You've been under arrest for ten minutes, 'Silky' Bob. Chicago thinks you may have dropped over our way and wires us she wants to have a chat with you. Going quietly, are you? That's sensible. Now, before we go on to the station here's a note I was asked to hand you. You may read it here at the window. It's from Patrolman Wells." 

The man from the West unfolded the little piece of paper handed him. His hand was steady when he began to read, but it trembled a little by the time he had finished. The note was rather short. 

"Bob: I was at the appointed place on time. When you struck the match to light your cigar I saw it was the face of the man wanted in Chicago. Somehow I couldn't do it myself, so I went around and got a plain clothes man to do the job. JIMMY."

December 26, 2016

THE HINDI ACADEMY: ONE DAY DIST. LEVEL HINDI WORK SHOP

THE HINDI ACADEMY: ONE DAY DIST. LEVEL HINDI WORK SHOP: ONE DAY DIST. LEVEL HINDI WORK SHOP  (PARTICIPATED 10 COLLEGES) ON FUNCTIONAL HINDI, LETTER WRITING & TRANSLATION CONDUCTED ON 14/12/...

November 19, 2016

IQBAL AS A POET

IQBAL AS A POET

PREMCHAND'S SHORT STORIES

PREMCHAND'S SHORT STORIES

PREMCHAND'S NOVELS

PREMCHAND'S NOVELS

PREMCHAND : AN INTRODUCTION

PREMCHAND : AN INTRODUCTION

MUKTIBODH AS A POET OF COMMITMENT

MUKTIBODH AS A POET OF COMMITMENT

CONTEMPORARY HINDI WRITING

CONTEMPORARY HINDI WRITING

POST INDEPENDENCE HINDI NOVEL

POST INDEPENDENCE HINDI NOVEL

POST INDEPENDENCE HINDI SHORT FICTION

POST INDEPENDENCE HINDI SHORT FICTION

PREMCHAND'S AFTERLIFE : GROWING RELEVANCE

PREMCHAND'S AFTERLIFE : GROWING RELEVANCE

CLASSICS OF AMERICAN FICTION-II

CLASSICS OF AMERICAN FICTION-II

CLASSICS OF AMERICAN FICTION

CLASSICS OF AMERICAN FICTION

" AS YOU LIKE IT : SHAKESPEARE'S ROMANTIC VISION"

" AS YOU LIKE IT : SHAKESPEARE'S ROMANTIC VISION"

WILLIAM CONGREVE : THE WAY OF THE WORLD

WILLIAM CONGREVE : THE WAY OF THE WORLD

MULTICULTURALISM

MULTICULTURALISM

THE SHAKESPEAREAN STAGE

THE SHAKESPEAREAN STAGE

September 27, 2016

FIRE AND ICE BY ROBERT FROST








FIRE AND ICE BY ROBERT FROST


Some say the world will end in fire, 

Some say in ice. 

From what I've tasted of desire 

I hold with those who favor fire. 

But if it had to perish twice, 

I think I know enough of hate 

To say that for destruction ice 

Is also great 

And would suffice. 


INVICTUS BY WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY


INVICTUS BY WILLIAM ERNEST HENLEY


Out of the night that covers me, 

Black as the Pit from pole to pole, 

I thank whatever gods may be 

For my unconquerable soul. 

In the fell clutch of circumstance 

I have not winced nor cried aloud. 

Under the bludgeoning of chance 

My head is bloody, but unbowed. 

Beyond this place of wrath and tears 

Looms but the Horror of the shade, 

And yet the menace of the years 

Finds, and shall find, me unafraid. 

It matters not how strait the gate, 

How charged with punishments the scroll. 

I am the master of my fate: 

I am the captain of my soul.

I DO NOT LOVE YOU EXCEPT BECAUSE I LOVE YOU BY PABLO NERUDA



I DO NOT LOVE YOU EXCEPT BECAUSE I LOVE YOU BY PABLO NERUDA


I do not love you except because I love you; 

I go from loving to not loving you, 

From waiting to not waiting for you 

My heart moves from cold to fire. 

I love you only because it's you the one I love; 

I hate you deeply, and hating you 

Bend to you, and the measure of my changing love for you 

Is that I do not see you but love you blindly. 

Maybe January light will consume 

My heart with its cruel 

Ray, stealing my key to true calm. 

In this part of the story I am the one who 

Dies, the only one, and I will die of love because I love you, 

Because I love you, Love, in fire and blood.


“IF” BY RUDYARD KIPLING

“IF” BY RUDYARD KIPLING


If you can keep your head when all about you 

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you; 

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, 

But make allowance for their doubting too: 

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting, 

Or, being lied about, don't deal in lies, 

Or being hated don't give way to hating, 

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise; 


If you can dream.... and not make dreams your master; 

If you can think... and not make thoughts your aim, 

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster 

And treat those two impostors just the same:. 

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken 

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools, 

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken, 

And stoop and build'em up with worn-out tools; 


If you can make one heap of all your winnings 

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss, 

And lose, and start again at your beginnings, 

And never breathe a word about your loss: 

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew 

To serve your turn long after they are gone, 

And so hold on when there is nothing in you 

Except the Will which says to them: "Hold on!" 


If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue, 

Or walk with Kings nor lose the common touch, 

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you, 

If all men count with you, but none too much: 

If you can fill the unforgiving minute 

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run, 

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it, 

And which is more you'll be a Man, my son! 

STOPPING BY WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING BY ROBERT FROST


STOPPING BY WOODS ON A SNOWY EVENING BY ROBERT FROST



Whose woods these are I think I know. 

His house is in the village, though; 

He will not see me stopping here 

To watch his woods fill up with snow. 


My little horse must think it queer 

To stop without a farmhouse near 

Between the woods and frozen lake 

The darkest evening of the year. 


He gives his harness bells a shake 

To ask if there is some mistake. 

The only other sound's the sweep 

Of easy wind and downy flake. 


The woods are lovely, dark, and deep, 

But I have promises to keep, 

And miles to go before I sleep, 

And miles to go before I sleep.



ANNABEL LEE BY EDGAR ALLAN POE


ANNABEL LEE BY EDGAR ALLAN POE


It was many and many a year ago, 

In a kingdom by the sea, 

That a maiden there lived whom you may know 

By the name of ANNABEL LEE; 

And this maiden she lived with no other thought 

Than to love and be loved by me. 


I was a child and she was a child, 

In this kingdom by the sea; 

But we loved with a love that was more than love- 

I and my Annabel Lee; 

With a love that the winged seraphs of heaven 

Coveted her and me. 


And this was the reason that, long ago, 

In this kingdom by the sea, 

A wind blew out of a cloud, chilling 

My beautiful Annabel Lee; 

So that her highborn kinsman came 

And bore her away from me, 

To shut her up in a sepulcher 

In this kingdom by the sea. 


The angels, not half so happy in heaven, 

Went envying her and me- 

Yes!- that was the reason (as all men know, 

In this kingdom by the sea) 

That the wind came out of the cloud by night, 

Chilling and killing my Annabel Lee. 


But our love it was stronger by far than the love 

Of those who were older than we- 

Of many far wiser than we- 

And neither the angels in heaven above, 

Nor the demons down under the sea, 

Can ever dissever my soul from the soul 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee. 


For the moon never beams without bringing me dreams 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; 

And the stars never rise but I feel the bright eyes 

Of the beautiful Annabel Lee; 

And so, all the night-tide, I lie down by the side 

Of my darling- my darling- my life and my bride, 

In the sepulcher there by the sea, 

In her tomb by the sounding sea. 





Dreams By Langston Hughes

Dreams By Langston Hughes


Hold fast to dreams 

For if dreams die 

Life is a broken-winged bird 

That cannot fly. 

Hold fast to dreams 

For when dreams go 

Life is a barren field 

Frozen with snow.

September 26, 2016

THE ROAD NOT TAKEN BY ROBERT FROST




THE ROAD NOT TAKEN BY ROBERT FROST 


Two roads diverged in a yellow wood, 

And sorry I could not travel both 

And be one traveler, long I stood 

And looked down one as far as I could 

To where it bent in the undergrowth; 

Then took the other, as just as fair, 

And having perhaps the better claim, 

Because it was grassy and wanted wear; 

Though as for that the passing there 

Had worn them really about the same, 


And both that morning equally lay 

In leaves no step had trodden black. 

Oh, I kept the first for another day! 

Yet knowing how way leads on to way, 

I doubted if I should ever come back. 

I shall be telling this with a sigh 

Somewhere ages and ages hence: 

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I 

I took the one less traveled by, 

And that has made all the difference. 

STILL I RISE BY MAYA ANGELOU



STILL I RISE BY MAYA ANGELOU


You may write me down in history 

With your bitter, twisted lies, 

You may trod me in the very dirt 

But still, like dust, I'll rise. 


Does my sassiness upset you? 

Why are you beset with gloom? 

'Cause I walk like I've got oil wells 

Pumping in my living room. 


Just like moons and like suns, 

With the certainty of tides, 

Just like hopes springing high, 

Still I'll rise. 


Did you want to see me broken? 

Bowed head and lowered eyes? 

Shoulders falling down like teardrops. 

Weakened by my soulful cries. 

Does my haughtiness offend you? 

Don't you take it awful hard 

'Cause I laugh like I've got gold mines 

Diggin' in my own back yard. 

You may shoot me with your words, 

You may cut me with your eyes, 

You may kill me with your hatefulness, 

But still, like air, I'll rise. 

Does my sexiness upset you? 

Does it come as a surprise 

That I dance like I've got diamonds 

At the meeting of my thighs? 

Out of the huts of history's shame 

I rise 

Up from a past that's rooted in pain 

I rise 

I'm a black ocean, leaping and wide, 

Welling and swelling I bear in the tide. 

Leaving behind nights of terror and fear 

I rise 

Into a daybreak that's wondrously clear 

I rise 

Bringing the gifts that my ancestors gave, 

I am the dream and the hope of the slave. 

I rise 

I rise 

I rise. 

PHENOMENAL WOMAN BY MAYA ANGELOU


PHENOMENAL WOMAN By MAYA ANGELOU 


Pretty women wonder where my secret lies. 

I'm not cute or built to suit a fashion model's size 

But when I start to tell them, 

They think I'm telling lies. 

I say, 

It's in the reach of my arms 

The span of my hips, 

The stride of my step, 

The curl of my lips. 

I'm a woman 

Phenomenally. 

Phenomenal woman, 

That's me. 

I walk into a room 

Just as cool as you please, 

And to a man, 

The fellows stand or 

Fall down on their knees. 

Then they swarm around me, 

A hive of honey bees. 

I say, 

It's the fire in my eyes, 

And the flash of my teeth, 

The swing in my waist, 

And the joy in my feet. 

I'm a woman 

Phenomenally. 

Phenomenal woman, 

That's me. 

Men themselves have wondered 

What they see in me. 

They try so much 

But they can't touch 

My inner mystery. 

When I try to show them 

They say they still can't see. 

I say, 

It's in the arch of my back, 

The sun of my smile, 

The ride of my breasts, 

The grace of my style. 

I'm a woman 

Phenomenally. 

Phenomenal woman, 

That's me. 

Now you understand 

Just why my head's not bowed. 

I don't shout or jump about 

Or have to talk real loud. 

When you see me passing 

It ought to make you proud. 

I say, 

It's in the click of my heels, 

The bend of my hair, 

the palm of my hand, 

The need of my care, 

'Cause I'm a woman 

Phenomenally. 

Phenomenal woman, 

That's me. 

If You Forget Me By Pablo Neruda


If You Forget Me 
By Pablo Neruda



I want you to know

one thing.


You know how this is:

if I look

at the crystal moon, at the red branch

of the slow autumn at my window,

if I touch

near the fire

the impalpable ash

or the wrinkled body of the log,

everything carries me to you,

as if everything that exists,

aromas, light, metals,

were little boats

that sail

toward those isles of yours that wait for me.


Well, now,

if little by little you stop loving me

I shall stop loving you little by little.


If suddenly

you forget me

do not look for me,

for I shall already have forgotten you.


If you think it long and mad,

the wind of banners

that passes through my life,

and you decide

to leave me at the shore

of the heart where I have roots,

remember

that on that day,

at that hour,

I shall lift my arms

and my roots will set off

to seek another land.


But

if each day,

each hour,

you feel that you are destined for me

with implacable sweetness,

if each day a flower

climbs up to your lips to seek me,

ah my love, ah my own,

in me all that fire is repeated,

in me nothing is extinguished or forgotten,

my love feeds on your love, beloved,

and as long as you live it will be in your arms

without leaving mine.

I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings By Maya Angelou


I Know Why The Caged Bird Sings
By Maya Angelou 


The free bird leaps 

on the back of the wind 

and floats downstream 

till the current ends 

and dips his wings 

in the orange sun rays 

and dares to claim the sky. 

But a bird that stalks 

down his narrow cage 

can seldom see through 

his bars of rage 

his wings are clipped and 

his feet are tied 

so he opens his throat to sing. 

The caged bird sings 

with fearful trill 

of the things unknown 

but longed for still 

and his tune is heard 

on the distant hill 

for the caged bird 

sings of freedom 

The free bird thinks of another breeze 

an the trade winds soft through the sighing trees 

and the fat worms waiting on a dawn-bright lawn 

and he names the sky his own. 

But a caged bird stands on the grave of dreams 

his shadow shouts on a nightmare scream 

his wings are clipped and his feet are tied 

so he opens his throat to sing 

The caged bird sings 

with a fearful trill 

of things unknown 

but longed for still 

and his tune is heard 

on the distant hill 

for the caged bird 

sings of freedom. 

A Dream within A Dream By Edgar Allan Poe


A Dream within A Dream By Edgar Allan Poe 


Take this kiss upon the brow! 

And, in parting from you now, 

Thus much let me avow- 

You are not wrong, who deem 

That my days have been a dream; 

Yet if hope has flown away 

In a night, or in a day, 

In a vision, or in none, 

Is it therefore the less gone? 

All that we see or seem 

Is but a dream within a dream. 


I stand amid the roar 

Of a surf-tormented shore, 

And I hold within my hand 

Grains of the golden sand- 

How few! yet how they creep 

Through my fingers to the deep, 

While I weep- while I weep! 

O God! can I not grasp 

Them with a tighter clasp? 

O God! can I not save 

One from the pitiless wave? 

Is all that we see or seem 

But a dream within a dream? 

Alone By Edgar Allan Poe



Alone By Edgar Allan Poe

From childhood's hour I have not been 

As others were; I have not seen 

As others saw; I could not bring 

My passions from a common spring. 

From the same source I have not taken 

My sorrow; I could not awaken 

My heart to joy at the same tone; 

And all I loved, I loved alone. 

Then- in my childhood, in the dawn 

Of a most stormy life- was drawn 

From every depth of good and ill 

The mystery which binds me still: 

From the torrent, or the fountain, 

From the red cliff of the mountain, 

From the sun that round me rolled 

In its autumn tint of gold, 

From the lightning in the sky 

As it passed me flying by, 

From the thunder and the storm, 

And the cloud that took the form 

(When the rest of Heaven was blue) 

Of a demon in my view. 



August 18, 2016

Raksha Bandhan

A very happy Raksha Bandhan to all those who have amazing Sisters and Brothers 


June 15, 2016

ALBERT EINSTEIN AT SCHOOL BY PATRICK PRINGLE

EIGHT COUSINS OR ONE BROTHER? | D. BALA SUBRAMANIAN | ENGLISH |



The essay ' Eight Cousins or One Brother ? " written by D. Balasubrahmanyam, a specialist in biophysical chemistry . In this lesson writer explains how nature strangely plays a vital role in making species lose their self - interest. The writer wonders why this self - interest opposes Darwin's theory. Strangely, every living own survival lost in natural selection which is selfish as it works towards its…………………

HOW TO LIVE TO BE 200 BY STEPHEN LEACOCK




HOW TO LIVE TO BE 200 BY STEPHEN LEACOCK 


How To Be To Live 200 by Stephen Leacock is a satirically humorous essay and the writer has used the technique of exaggeration for that. The title itself is greatly an exaggeration of facts. Even the man who gets a long, long life to live today does not have a life of 200 years. Those a few persons who get an age above 100 are very rarely to be found in any country. So the writer has used exaggeration in the use of figure 200 in title………….

MOTHER'S DAY: ONE - ACT PLAY BY J.B.PRIESTLEY



MOTHER'S DAY: ONE - ACT PLAY BY J.B.PRIESTLEY 


The following play is a humorous portrayal of the status of the mother in a family. Let’s read on to see how Mrs. Pearson’s family reacts when she tries to stand up for her own rights. 

CHARACTERS : 

MRS ANNIE PEARSON 

GEORGE PEARSON 

DORIS PEARSON 

CYRIL PEARSON 

MRS FITZGERALD 

Scene: The living-room of the Pearson family. Afternoon. It is a comfortably furnished, much lived-in room in a small suburban semi-detached villa. If necessary only one door need be used, but it is better with two — one up left leading to the front door and the stairs and the other in the right wall leading to the kitchen and the back door. There can be a muslin covered window in the left wall and possibly one in the right wall, too. The fireplace is assumed to be in the fourth wall. There is a settee up right, an armchair down left and one down right. A small table with two chairs on either side of it stands at the centre. 

When the curtain rises it is an afternoon in early autumn and the stage can be well lit. Mrs. Pearson at right, and Mrs. Fitzgerald at left, are sitting opposite each other at the small table, on which are two tea-cups and saucers and the cards with which Mrs. Fitzgerald has been telling Mrs. Pearson’s fortune. Mrs. Pearson is a pleasant but worried-looking woman in her forties. Mrs. Fitzgerald is older, heavier and a strong and sinister personality. She is smoking. It is very important that these two should have sharply contrasting voices —Mrs. Pearson speaking in a light, flurried sort of tone, with a touch of suburban Cockney perhaps; and Mrs. Fitzgerald with a deep voice, rather Irish perhaps. 

MRS FITZGERALD: [collecting up the cards] And that’s all I can tell you, Mrs Pearson. Could be a good fortune. Could be a bad one. All depends on yourself now. Make up your mind—and there it is. 

MRS PEARSON: Yes, thank you, Mrs Fitzgerald. I’m much obliged, I’m sure. It’s wonderful having real fortune-teller living next door. Did you learn that out East, too? 

MRS FITZGERALD: I did. Twelve years I had of it, with my old man rising to be Lieutenant Quartermaster. He learnt a lot, and I learnt a lot more. But will you make up your mind now, Mrs. Pearson dear? Put your foot down, once an’ for all, an’ be the mistress of your own house an’ the boss of your own family. 

MRS PEARSON: [smiling apologetically] that’s easier said than done. Besides I’m so fond of them even if they are so thoughtless and selfish. They don’t mean to be... 

MRS FITZGERALD: [cutting in] maybe not. But it’ud be better for them if they learnt to treat you properly... 

MRS PEARSON: Yes, I suppose it would, in a way. 

MRS FITZGERALD: No doubt about it at all. Who’s the better for being spoil - grown man, lad or girl? Nobody. You think it does ’em good when you run after them all the time, take their orders as if you were the servant in the house, stay at home every night while they go out enjoying themselves? Never in all your life. It’s the ruin of them as well as you. Husbands, sons, daughters should be taking notice of wives an’ mothers, not giving ’em orders an’ treating ’em like dirt. An’ don’t tell me you don’t know what I mean, for I know more than you’ve told me. 

MRS PEARSON: [dubiously] I—keep dropping a hint... 

MRS FITZGERALD: Hint? It’s more than hints your family needs, Mrs Pearson. 

MRS PEARSON: [dubiously] I suppose it is. But I do hate any unpleasantness. And it’s so hard to know where to start. I keep making up my mind to have it out with them but somehow I don’t know how to begin. [She glances at her watch or at a clock ] Oh —good gracious! Look at the time. Nothing ready and they’ll be home any minute and probably all in a hurry to go out again. 

[As she is about to rise, Mrs Fitzgerald reaches out across the table and pulls her down.] 

MRS FITZGERALD: Let ’em wait or look after themselves for once.This is where your foot goes down. Start now. 

[She lights a cigarette from the one she has just finished.] 

MRS PEARSON: [embarrassed] Mrs Fitzgerald —I know you mean well —in fact, I agree with you—but I just can’t—and it’s no use you trying to make me. If I promise you I’d really have it out with them, I know I wouldn’t be able to keep my promise. 

MRS FITZGERALD: Then let me do it. 

MRS PEARSON: [ flustered] Oh no- thank you very much, Mrs Fitzgerald - but that wouldn’t do at all. It couldn’t possibly be somebody else - they’d resent it at once and wouldn’t listen - and really I couldn’t blame them. I know I ought to do it— but you see how it is? [She looks apologetically across the table, smiling rather miserably.] 

MRS FITZGERALD: [coolly] You haven’t got the idea. 

MRS PEARSON: [bewildered] Oh —I’m sorry—I thought you asked me to let you do it. 

MRS FITZGERALD: I did. But not as me - as you. 

MRS PEARSON: But—I don’t understand. You couldn’t be me. 

MRS FITZGERALD: [coolly] We change places. Or really - bodies. You look like me. I look like you. 

MRS PEARSON: But that’s impossible. 

MRS FITZGERALD: How do you know? Ever tried it? 

MRS PEARSON: No, of course not... 

MRS FITZGERALD: [coolly] I have. Not for some time but it still ought to work. Won’t last long, but long enough for what we want to do. Learnt it out East, of course, where they’re up to all these tricks. [She holds her hand out across the table, keeping the cigarette in her mouth] Gimme your hands, dear. 

MRS PEARSON: [dubiously] Well - I don’t know - is it right? 

MRS FITZGERALD: It’s your only chance. Give me your hands an’ keep quiet a minute. Just don’t think about anything. [Taking her hands] Now look at me. [They stare at each other. Muttering] Arshtatta dum- arshtatta lam- arshtatta lamdumbona... 

[This little scene should be acted very carefully. We are to assume that the personalities change bodies. After the spell has been spoken, both women, still grasping hands, go lax, as if the life were out of them. Then both come to life, but with the personality of the other. Each must try to adopt the voice and mannerisms of the other. So now Mrs Pearson is bold and dominating and Mrs Fitzgerald is nervous and fluttering.] 

MRS PEARSON: [now with Mrs Fitzgerald’s personality] See what I mean, dear? [She notices the cigarette] Here- you don’t want that. [She snatches it and puts it in her own mouth, puffing contentedly.] 

[Mrs Fitzgerald, now with Mrs Pearson’s personality, looks down at herself and sees that her body has changed and gives a scream of fright.] 

MRS FITZGERALD: [with Mrs Pearson’s personality] Oh - it’s happened. 

MRS PEARSON: [complacently] Of course it’s happened. Very neat. Didn’t know I had it in me. 

MRS FITZGERALD: [alarmed] But whatever shall I do, Mrs Fitzgerald? George and the children can’t see me like this. 

MRS PEARSON: [grimly] They aren’t going to — that’s the point. They’ll have me to deal with – only they won’t know it. 

MRS FITZGERALD: [still alarmed] But what if we can’t change back? It’ud be terrible. 

MRS PEARSON: Here- steady, Mrs. Pearson - if you had to live my life it wouldn’t be so bad. You’d have more fun as me than you’ve had as you. 

MRS FITZGERALD: Yes-but I don’t want to be anybody else... 

MRS PEARSON: Now -stop worrying. It’s easier changing back - I can do it any time we want... 

MRS FITZGERALD: Well - do it now..............................................................................


(Mrs. Fitzgerald exits left and the family cluster round Mother as - the curtain falls.) 

RESPOND INSTEAD OF REACTING BY AZIM PREMJI

****


RESPOND INSTEAD OF REACTING BY AZIM PREMJI 


Respond instead of reacting is a thought of provoking essay by Azem Premji chaimpan of Wipro technology. This is an extract form his speech given as part of the shaping young program. 

*I am very happy to be here with you. It is always wonderful to be with young people. The funny thing about life is that you realize the value of something only when it begins to leave you. As my hair turned from black, to salt and pepper and finally salt without the pepper, I have begun to realize the importance of youth. At the same time, I have begun to truly appreciate some of the lessons I have learnt along the way. I hope you will find them useful when you plan your own career and life......... 

*The writer emphasizes to build their strength rather than worry about their weakness. Once the innate abilities are identified and natured one can work on one's weakness and overcome them.The writer shares that hard-work and self-work alone can give one’s more satisfaction than gifted. Premji stress the importance of humility and gratitude. He tells that we should be grateful for all the blessings we have received in life. Premji teaches us that we must strive for excellence. Excellence cannot be imposed from outside. The need for it should be from within. Every one achieve success in whatever way you define it and what gives you the maximum happiness in life. Remember, those who win are those who believe they can. 

Finally the writer describes the importance of self-confidence............