hi

An android

An android is a robot[1] or synthetic organism[2] designed to look and act human. The word derives from ανδρός, the genitive of theGreek ανήρ anēr, meaning “man”, and the suffix -eides, used to mean “of the species; alike” (from eidos, “species”). Though the word derives from a gender-specific root, its usage in English is usually gender neutral. The term was first mentioned by St. Albertus Magnus in 1270[3] and was popularized by the French writer Villiersin his 1886 novel L’Ève future, although the term “android” appears in US patents as early as 1863 in reference to miniature humanlike toy automations.[4]
Thus far, androids have largely remained within the domain ofscience fiction, frequently seen in film and television. However, somehumanoid robots now exist.
The term “droid” – invented by George Lucas in Star Wars (1977) but now used widely within science fiction -=2 0although originally an abbreviation of “android”, has been used (by Lucas and others) to 

RAPE OF TIBET

THE RAPE OF TIBET
K.P. SUKUMARAN

“Indu, we are going to Sheila aunty’s house. We will be back by 9 O’clock. Can you manage alone?”
“Sure, Mom. I will do my homework, watch TV for an hour and then read my new book of fairy tales, we bought from the book store.”
“If you are hungry, get some milk and cookies. We will have dinner, after we return from Sheila’s house. You know aunt Sheila’s number?”
“Yes. I will call you if there is any need.”
“It is snowing heavily outside. So don’t try to go out. It will soon be dark. Take care, good bye Indu.”
Her father also gave her a loving peck on her cheeks before going out..
After her parents had left, Indu locked the front door and went to her room. She watched the landscape outside. Snow flakes were drifting down and the snow had piled up on the driveway. Housetops were covered with snow and nature seemed to have put a white woolen shawl around its shoulders, to withstand the biting cold. Smoke was curling up from the chimneys of neighbouring houses. Soon she could see lights coming on, in the nearby houses. The street lights were also switched on.

Lord Padmasambhava

After finishing her homework Indu had some snacks. She snuggled into bed and kept her brown teddy bear near her and started reading the illustrated book about India and Tibet her father had bought for her. Indu was born in New York, but her parents were from Arunachal Pradesh in India and had now settled down in America.

Indu opened her new book and flipped through the pages. There were stories about the Himalayas, the Buddhist monks there and their strange customs.There were lamas (Buddhist priests) belonging to different sects. Some wore the red hat and others the yellow hat. She was enchanted by the pictures of the monks doing the dragon dance. It really looked as if a real dragon was dancing to the beat of drums. Some monks in their dark red robes were beating on huge drums, a few others were blowing horns and some clashing the cymbals vigorously. A few young monks were rotating the prayer wheel. On top of the hills could be be seen the big monastery of Chinlayi Rabgyai, the Head Lama. His picture in the book was life like. Indu thought that the Head Lama was looking at her and smiling, beckoning her to come to him.

Indu was surprised to see a huge clock on a tower in front of the palace of the Lamas. She was feeling drowsy with sleep, but suddenly noticed that the two needles of the giant clock were moving backwards.

The whole place became misty. She had to strain her eyes, to see what was going on there. In front of her eyes, things were changing fast. The dancing dragons had vanished. People were running hither and thither. The mists from the mountains again swept down and she couldn’t see anymore. But suddenly the picture became clear, it was getting dark, but she could make out a large number of monks, and yaks loaded with goods, slowly going down, the mountain pass.
The clock on the tower was slowly but steadily rotating backwards. She suddenly realized that she was moving backwards in time and what she was seeing were things which happened many years ago.

The whole place was full of snow and ice and there were no more any humans there. She could see yaks moving in herds.
Suddenly she felt someone catching hold of her hands and pulling her gently. “Come my child, it is not safe to remain here. Come to our dwelling place. There will be fire to warm you and food to eat. Do not fear.”

Indu looked up and saw the gentle wrinkled face of a Tibetan woman, wrapped in a cloak made of yak skin, asking her to follow. She had a small prayer wheel in her hand. They walked with difficulty through the knee deep snow and soon reached the entrance of a cave. The old woman led her inside. Soon they entered spacious rooms, carved out from solid rock. There were hundred of oil lamps on the walls and floor and the place was quite bright. The old lady took Indu inside a room and asked her to sit down on a wooden chair. The place was warm and comfortable. The old woman saw Indu looking at her prayer wheel, in her hand. She told Indu, that anyone who rotates the prayer wheel and chants ‘Om Mani Padme Hum’ will get the blessings of Buddha.

The old woman clapped her hands again and this time two young girls came in. The old woman said, “They want you to change your dress and wear some new clothes that will keep you warm. Leave your old clothes here.” The young girls changed Indu’s dress and then put a red hat on her head. They put a beautiful golden necklace, studded with gems on her neck. Her gown glittered as if it were made of golden threads.The old woman laughed, “Now you look like a Tibetan girl!”

Indu also liked her dress. The kind old lady told her,
“You will soon meet the Holy Lama, of the Red Hat buddhists, who is our ruler and head priest. He is Lord Karmapa of the Kagyu sect who is planning to flee to India to seek shelter there. He is the true disciple of Lord Padmasambhava whom we call, Lord Rinpoche. We are being attacked by our enemies, who are more powerful than us. We need help, Indu.”

“How is it that you are able to speak to me in my own language?”
“No my child I do not know your language. I am speaking to you in the ancient Tibetan language. But the Holy Lama has blessed you with the power to understand our language. Similarly we understand the language you are speaking. This is possible because you are good, innocent and pure.”

Soon she was led into a large hall. There were many lamas there wearing red robes and red hats. They were seated cross legged on the carpeted floor. Hundreds of small lamps in the hall made the place look bright and warm. There was a throne and a foot stool, at the end of the hall. Soon a gong was struck. It startled Indu. There was a procession of lamas and at the end of the line was a lean, old man, draped in a rich red robe and with a Red Hat on his head. He looked gentle and kind. He sat on the throne.

Indu in Tibet

“Om Mani Padme Hum”. First it was a low pitched sound, soon it became louder and louder. When the Head Lama raised his hands, the chanting stopped. He smiled at Indu and asked her to come near him. She was given a small stool, with a velvet cushion, to sit down. She folded her hand and bowed her head. Indu’s mother had taught her that in their native land of India, that was how older and holy people were greeted. The Head Lama appeared pleased. His eyes glittered like two diamonds.

“My child! You are very beautiful and intelligent. You have come from a far off land, in the West. But your forefathers were from the East and in their blood is the culture of these ancient lands, were Buddha lived and preached. Do you know who the Buddha was?”

“Not really. But I have read something about him. He was a prince but left his palace to become a holy man. He was kind and gentle and believed in non violence.”
“Yes, that is the essence of the thing.” said the Head Lama, “But he was also called the Enlightened One. It will be too difficult for you to understand it now. But you will, when you grow up. Learn about his teachings. Do you know what we are chanting? Om Mani Padme Hum, means Oh! Jewel in the lotus – it means the Buddha. We fear our enemies. They do not know we are hiding here in these mountain caves. When you get back to your country, tell them we are in danger of being killed, by people who dislike our religion and our love for peace

Indu did not fully understand what the Lama said. She asked,“Why do these people wan’t to hurt the gentle people living here?”

“ They want our land. They do not like the teachings of Lord Buddha, if we do not obey them they will kill us – men, women and children. Only if the countries of the world help us, can we survive. When you go home talk to your father and mother. I will give you something precious by which, you and you alone, will be able to show them what is actually going on here.”

“But Holy Lama, Sir, nobody will believe my story. How can I convince the people in my country?” Indu asked.
“I will give you a special gift. It will help you and the people close to you, see what is actually going on here in the snowclad Tibet. Your father is a high official in the government and close to President Hussain Amabo. He is young, kind and decent. He will help us. He will see the genocide taking place in Tibet through the magic crystal ball.”
The Lama clapped his hands. A box covered in red velvet was brought to him. He removed the cloth and opened the box, which had fine engravings on it. Inside was a shining crystal ball. The Lama asked her to come near and place her hands on it. She did, and suddenly felt as if a small electric current was flowing through her body. She instinctively pulled back her hand. But the Lama told her not to do so.

She kept her hand on the crystal ball and soon could see people, cities, oceans and rivers in it. She saw large number of the tibetans, including children, women and men walking through heavy snow, with their possessions tied on the back of the yaks. They were crying out loudly. She could suddenly see Chinese soldiers coming near them and shooting them. She thought she saw the blood soaked hand of a little child lying in the snow.
She thought that the child was cryng and asking for help. The white snow turned red with the blood of the dying children.Many children and women fell down dead, in the snow. Tears flowed down Indu’s cheeks.
The Lama told Indu,”My child this crystal bowl will help you to see the future. Now you are seeing what is going to happen to us.Take the magic crystal ball with you. But it will work only if you are a good and noble person. Others can see things only if you permit them. You can also, use it to see things which are far away. Would you now like to see your own home in America?” Indu was delighted,”Yes, please.”
The crystal became clouded for a minute and then cleared up. She could see her house clearly. The small patch of forest land behind her house, the driveway and the houses and roads enveloped in a sheet of snow –everything could be seen clearly. She could see the headlights of a car approaching her house in Westford a distant suburb of Boston.

“Oh! No. That must be my Dad and Mom” Indu cried out. “I must get back home.”
The Lama said,” Go my child. Take the crystal ball with you. Use it only for good purpose. When you grow up, learn about the Buddha and his message of peace. I think your country and the whole world need it badly. Tell your people we need their help to survive.”
He raised his hands and blessed Indu, chanting,”Om Mani Padme Hum.”
Suddenly Indu found herself outside the monastery. She was alone. The huge clock was still there. But suddenly it stopped for a moment. The hands of the clock, showing the hour and minutes, started rotating forward like a normal clock. Soon it started rotating faster and faster. Time was flying. She was moving from the past to the present.

Hearing the loud sound of knocking, Indu woke up from her sleep. She did not know when she had dropped off into deep slumber. The story book with lots of pictures was lying nearby. The teddy bear was also, lying next to her, on her warm bed and its beady eyes were looking at her, as if in surprise. Her favourite black kitten had rolled itsself into a ball and was sound asleep in a corner of the room. Indu ran to the front door and opened it for her Dad and Mom.
“What took you so long?” Indu’s father asked.
“Oh! I just fell asleep, reading that wonderful book you gave me.”
“OK. I will get your dinner ready in a minute.” Mom said hurrying off to the kitchen.

Indu ran back to her room. She put on her favourite cardigan and was about to close the door when she found a strange box on her table. She slowly walked towards the table and gently lifted the cover of the box. Inside it, was a beautiful shining crystal ball

A JOURNALISM TEACHER’S NIGHTMARE

A JOURNALISM TEACHER’S NIGHTMARE

BY

kalisharan

Many friends ask me why I stopped taking classes for journalism students. The fact is that I am thoroughly confused and dejected.

When Late K.P. Nair, the former bureau chief of the Hindu invited me to deliver a guest lecture in the Press Club for journalism students, I gladly accepted. I was armed with a first class diploma in Journalism from a prestigious University and was a special correspondent for a newspaper which was older than the Indian Express. A local business magazine from Kochi also made me their Trivandrum correspondent and I had many cover stories to my credit.

My special subject was writing and occasionally I took classes for reporting. I was sure that my brilliant lectures must have inspired the young ‘would be journalists’. Two things happened which gave me a jolt. A leading malayalam newspaper’s research wing, did an informal study about the teachers of journalism in Kerala and ranked them. When I heard the news I discretely asked one of the editors of the newspaper, whether I was one of the top ranked guys in the list. The editor was pretty rude. In between chewing pan masala and smoking a cigarette, he rummaged through a sheaf of papers and finally announced the result. “No, I can’t find your name in this list. Are you sure that you are teaching journalism somewhere.”

“Of course! Otherwise why should I ask you whether I am one of the top rated teachers of jounalism, ahead of stalwarts like K.P.Nair, P.C. Sukumaran Nair, K.C.John and N.R.S. Babu.?” This editor said,”There are some notes by the research team. We had asked them to give their reasons for ranking a person or rejecting him outright.”

“What did they say about me?”

“Well they have said that you lecture, to impress the students. You do not teach them anything. You do not express yourself very well.”

I was jolted. It is said that lightning never strikes the same place twice. But I was foolish enough to go and ask the clerk in the journalism institute what the children thought about my lectures.

His answer was in chaste Tamil which I cannot reproduce, as it is. Anyhow the gist of it was that my lectures were just great.

I breathed a sigh of relief and relaxed. Then came the lightning bolt. “Your lectures are marvellous sir. But the children do not understand anything.”

My murderous instincts were awakened but I desisted from killing my clerk because he was a brahmin and my parents had told me that killing a brahmin was one of the worst forms of sins a person could commit. These terrible brahmins, even when they are killed, do not accept defeat and scoot. They roam about creating more havoc in the form of ‘brahma rakshas’.

I went to my club and ordered the strongest liquid nourishments that I could possibly get. The waiter asked me whether something was wrong. I shooed him away and wanted to wallow in my misery, alone. I thought for quite some time to get an answer to the problem. The truth dawned on me, after a bit of the nourishment started coursing through my veins and arteries, like liquid fire. I knew how dear old Buddha must have felt when wisdom dawned on him after sitting for a long time under the Bodhi tree.

The truth was that, I was lecturing to my students in classical English which Shakespeare, Milton, Vikram Seth, Arundati Roy and Aravind Adiga would stand up and applaud. I was also enjoying the mesmerising effect it had on the students who sat there as if they were stunned. It was only later that I realised that the vacant expression on their face was due to non comprehension of the cascade of words that flowed from my mouth.

I had prepared my notes, after referring to many of the best lectures and books of great teachers from Columbia, Yale, Washington and Lee University, University of Richmond, Allegheny College , Hillsdale College and Cardiff and Sheffield Universities in the U.K. I had also picked up some useful points from the lecture notes of teachers from Mascom, Asian College of Journalism, Mudra Institute and others. I handed over these excellent notes to my beloved students hoping that they will appreciate the herculean efforts I had taken. The sad fact was that 90 percent of the students did not understand what was written in my notes and the entire class was unable to reproduce any or part of it in answering examination questions. Their standard of English was dismal. But there were exceptions. The fact was that the majority of the students were unable to express themselves well in English.

There were a few students who joined the course after passing the M.A examination in English literature. One of  them was Dr Lalitha who later settled down in Australia. She was a petite girl, with high cheek bones. Her Ph.D thesis was on Harold Pinter who later went on to win the Nobel prize for literature. I learnt the meaning of the word ‘onomatopoeia’ from her! G.Mahadevan who joined the Hindu is now a senior reporter there specialising in news about education and academic affairs. He had a post graduate degree in English. After constantly following up stories about self financing colleges and hearing the brilliant arguments of the minister for education, I heard that he had to take rest for some time to avoid a nervous breakdown. I am very proud of him. Dr.B. Mohanan joined the course after taking his Ph.D in political science. He is a professor in Gandhigram University.

One of my students, Sasishekhar, came to me asking for an introduction letter to the News Editor of Indian Express, who promised to take him as an intern. I refused. I told him that his command of the English language was poor and I cannot recommend him. Later the News Editor from Indian Express called me and told me that there were many people in IE who were proficient in English language but did not know how to gather news. He had a gut feeling that Sasi will be a good news gatherer. I gave the introduction letter. Sasi’s story about the notorious ‘Ward No.9’ in the Trivandrum General hospital, were destitutes and beggars are dumped, won him awards and great recognition. Later on he joined Mathrubhumi as a reporter. It was Govindan Kutty who once scolded me in front of my students in the class for reporting. He asked me what the hell was I trying to teach the students for one whole year. He said, “The best way to learn reporting is to go out and start reporting.” The best way to learn swimming is to jump into the swimming pool and thrash about, of course, after getting a few tips from the instructor.

K.P.Nair asked me once to evaluate the answers and give marks in the final examination for the paper on ‘reporting’. Since I was not very familiar with academic matters, my evaluation was pretty tough. Half the students failed. an exasperated Nair called me to his office and said that I should be a bit more liberal. He asked me,” Let us for a moment imagine that you are a professor in Kerala University. There is a question – how many legs have a cow got? If the answer is 3, what is the mark you will give.”

I laughed,”Sir, the answer is absurd. I will give him a big zero.”

Nair also had the bad habit of chewing pan. He looked at me for a moment. Before replying he spat out the red fluid from his mouth. A bit of it spattered on the window sill. He said,” A professor in Kerala University will have no hesitation in giving 75 marks for the answer. If the answer was 4 legs then the boy gets 100 marks, if the answer is 3 he gets 75 marks because he is 75% correct. So now go back and take a second look at the answer sheets.” One of the beneficiaries of this revaluation was a person who now holds a high office in Manorama.

I had always told my students that the two best journalists in Trivandrum were K.P.Nair of the Hindu and K.Govindan Kutty of the Indian Express. Both of them were bureau chiefs then. Nair was a staunch devotee of K.Karunakaran. We all hoped that one day K.Karunakaran will get for him a Rajya Sabha seat. But it was not to be . Nair died while still serving the Hindu as its bureau chief. In his reports, there was no bias. It was objective reporting and balanced perfectly. His language was simple, straightforward and easily understandable.

Govindan Kutty was a maverick. He was from Kunnamkulam. He had a photographic memory. He used to attend major politcal rallies and meetings without a writing pad, pen, paper or pencil. He listened very attentively. I remember an important political rally of Rajiv Gandhi in the Shankumughom beach. There was a massive turnout. Govindan Kutty who was a former assistant news editor of All India Radio decided not to go to the Beach. A few other senior journalist and Govindankutty went to AIR and we could hear the talk live there. All of us were frantically jotting down the points. GK stood there like a statue not taking down any notes. At the end of the talk there was a general discussion what the lead should be.

Next day I made it a point to read the reports that appeared in all the important Malayalam and English newspapers. The best report was that of Govindan Kutty. I asked him how he did it. “Are you not afraid that if you do not jot down the points you will miss some important statements? “

The answer was typical of GK. He said,” My mind is like a sieve. Some things remain on the sieve but a lot passes through the sieve. Whatever passes through the sieve is not worth reporting.”

Another eccentric habit of his was that he used to type pretty fast. Typewriters were still in vogue and the computer age had not set in. Messages were transmitted to Kochi by telex. If in the last para of his report he commits a spelling mistake he would tear off the paper from the typewriter, throw it into the waste paper basket and start afresh.

He was a miniature version of Arun Shourie whom he admired a lot. Once they latched on to an issue they wouldn’t let go. Both of them used to keep writing about it ‘ad nauseum’, whether it is Bofors, Reliance, Mandal commission report, Keltron or scandal in the Kerala forest department. Even if the reader is bored stiff the articles will keep coming. Mr Veerendra Kumar, who was an MLA at that time told me sadly, sipping a cup of coffee in the MLA canteen in the old secretariat annexe, that it was Govindan Kutty’s article that led to his resignation as a minister after holding office for a day or two. GK had written an exclusive scoop mentioning that Veerendra Kumar did not have a majority within his own party. He has now retired and spends his time shuttling between Virginia,USA and Bangalore where his son Karthikeyan and daughter Karthyani are staying. His book ‘Vararuchi’s children’ is a collection of articles he wrote in the Indian Express under the caption ‘Overview’. I suggested that he edit it and publish it in book form. It is a classic. You will enjoy reading it if you don’t mind his use of archaic, pedantic and bombastic language. I heard about the word ‘adumbrate’ from one of his articles. But he had a razor sharp intellect.

Another journalist whom I admired and invited to be a guest lecturer in the Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan Trivandrum was P.Rajan. He was an Asst. Editor in Mathrubhumi, Trivandrum. Due to some difference of opinion with the management he had to leave. In the market place, news paper barons will fight with one another for circulation, advertisements and getting scoops. But they do have some understanding between them. After Rajan left Mathrubhumi, he has not been employed by any leading newspaper in Kerala. Now I see his handsome face, with silvery hair, on the TV as an expert commentator. God created man from a bit of clay. He breathed life into it and it became a man. Probably God now repents his foolish act. It was Rajan who picked a handful of clay called A.K.Antony and transformed him into a great leader. The image building was done so perfectly that we all believed that Antony was a man of great integrity, a born leader and destined to be one day, President of India. I first heard about Antony after the famous One Anna agitation in Kochi. He is a poor speaker and mimicry artists are fond of imitating his style of speaking with his teeth gritted together. Rajan removed the warts and wrinkles and painted him in glorious colours, as a great leader.

We have a talented breed of young reporters now. But the tsunami of elctronic revolution that is sweepinga across all countries will have its impact in the style of reporting and news coverage. We will talk about blogs, the internet revolution, You Tube and Word Press in another article.

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( Kalisharan is the ‘nom de plume’ of the writer. He was formerly the correspondent of Nagpur Times and Dhanam, Kochi. He was a faculty member for 11 years in the journalism department of Bharatiya Vidya Bhavan, Trivandrum and also had a short stint at Press club, Trivandrum where he was a guest lecturer and course coordinator.)

 

A CHINESE STORY

A long time ago in China, alone in the mountains stood a little village. There was something special about this village: they carried on a system of exchange the world had long abandoned. The blacksmith would pay the carpenter with some utensils for his help, the potter would pay the priest with some pots for any spiritual favors and so on.  The doctor too was paid, but not for treating any illness. Villagers would pay him in kind, but only if they had NOT fallen ill that year!

TRIBAL HEALTH INITIATIVE

THE  SAGA  OF  SITTILANGI

DR LALITHA AND DR REGI

Vanitha magazine Woman of the Year 2008  award for Lalitha

Dr Lalitha and Dr Regi

Tribal Health Initiative is a registered charitable trust established in the small village of Sittilingi in DharmpuriDistrict, Tamil Nadu.Fifteen years ago, in Sittilingi, one out of five babies died before they became a year old and many mothers died in childbirth.  The nearest hospital was 48 kilometres away and to find one with surgical facilities meant a journey of over 100 kilometres.  The area is remote and badly served by public transport.  Buses at that time would run four times a day but even getting to a bus can involve a walk across fields lasting several hours. 

 

Happy mother and child

 

Anu teaching kids

 

Sittilingi valley and the surrounding Kalvarayan and Sitteri Hills, are inhabited primarily by tribal peoples, “Malayalis” or “Hill People” who eke out a living through sustenance or “rain fed” agriculture.  About fifty thousand people live here.

                                                   

The beginning

 

 

It was here that Regi and Lalitha , two young doctors, established Tribal Health Initiative in 1993.  It started with a small Out Patients’ unit in a thatched hut.  Three years later, mostly thanks to the support of friends and grant giving agencies, they had built a ten bedded hospital with an rudimentary operation theatre, labour room, neonatal care, emergency room and laboratory.

                                                   

For more details contact:www.tribalhealth.org. Email:thisittilingi@gmail.com, regilalitha@gmail.com

Neo natal care

children of the tribal god

 

 

 

Today, Tribal Health Initiative runs a full-fledged 24 bed primary care hospital and has extended its services to conduct education programmes and outreach clinics in the 21 villages situated in the area.   The impact has been dramatic.

The proportion of pregnant mothers coming for antenantal check-ups has increased from 11 per cent to 90 per cent since the outreach clinics began.  Newborn deaths have dropped by 50 per cent and the proportion of underweight five year olds has also dropped by 30 per cent over the same period. There has been no mothers dying in child birth for the last 4 years.

Following the impact evaluation done after 10 years, the team decided to have one to one discussions with the villagers of the 21 villages covered by THI. A significant outcome was our conclusion that our work, based on our vision of health, should encompass areas such as education, livlihoods and basic community needs, which we will be trying our best to achieve in the coming years.

   

mother and child

 

 

 

 

 

 

A FITTING PUNISHMENT FOR ELAINE

A FITTING PUNISHMENT FOR ELAINE

By  PUJA  HARIKUMAR

Elaine was a very sneaky little girl. She often tricked people and was mean to them, but she did not care. She just liked to get what she wanted.

One day, Elaine saw an old lady holding a brown basket going out of her home.  Elaine took a deep breath and got the aroma of a delicious rich chocolate cake from inside the old lady’s  house.  Elaine’s  mouth watered. She wanted to eat the cake. She crept behind the old lady slyly and started yelling.  The old lady thought that someone was hurt and was crying out for help. She hurried away to see how she could help.  Elaine quickly entered the old lady’s  house and sank her teeth into the chocolate cake she found there. Soon Elaine had eaten up the whole cake. Then Elaine wiped the chocolate from her mouth. She knew that if the old lady found out the truth she would be very angry. Elaine was just about to go home when someone suddenly cuffed her ears. Elaine was surprised to find that it was the old lady, who had returned unexpectedly.

“I will have to punish you for eating my cake.” The old lady shouted at Elaine, who started crying in fear.  Elaine then begged for mercy. the  old lady felt sorry for  the  little girl. She let Elaine go and told her,” You must not be sly again.  If you want anything, ask for it.”

Elaine promised to behave properly and she never did  anything slyly again.

(This story was published in ‘MAGIC  POT”  September, 2007.   Magic Pot is the largest  selling  children’s  magazine in India. It caters to children in the age group of 5 -10.  Puja Harikumar is just 10 years old and is studying in Boston, USA)

A N G E R

I am angry!

I’m chewing on my lip.

I feel like I want to kick something.

My face is flaming hot red.

 

ARRRRGH!

I snatch my pencils and draw a picture

that expresses myself

I want to destroy the world

I’m shouting nasty things to myself

I crawl into a corner and cry a little bit.

 

I’m angry at everybody.

It’s not fair I think to myself.

My stuffed animals get bashed against the wall

as I throw them.

 

One two three four five six seven eight nine ten…

 

Puja Harikumar

Boston, U.S.A 

MIRIAM AND ELIZA

short story

MIRIAM  AND  ELIZA

puja  harikumar

Once upon a time, there lived two girls called Eliza and Miriam, in a village. They were twins. But their nature was quite different. Miriam, was sweet and gentle. She had a soft corner for those in need of help.

Eliza, was short tempered and mean. She just did not care for others and was in the habit of ordering everybody else, what to do. No one liked her. If she didn’t get what she wanted she used to scream and scream, frightening everyone.

One day Miriam, went to pick raspberries in the nearby forest. She had with her a small basket full of buns and pies, which she bought from the village bakery. She was planning to make some raspberry jam, with her mother’s help. Suddenly she was surprised to see a handsome little boy sitting alone and crying,”Waa Waa Waa.

She went near the boy and asked him what he was doing in the forest alone. He said that he was an orphan and his cruel uncle had left him there. He said he was hungry and frightened and that was why he was crying. He begged Miriam to give him some food. She put down her basket containing bread and pies near him and told him to eat something. She continued to pick raspberries and when her bag was full, came back to the orphan boy. She was surprised to find that the little boy had eaten the whole lot of buns and pies. There was nothing left for her and her family. She was afraid that Eliza would start screaming bloody murder, if she returned without her favourite pie and croissants.

Still, Miriam did not get angry. She told the little boy with a smile,”You must have been really hungry to eat the whole lot. I wonder what I will tell my sister Eliza and mother.” The little boy smiled and told Miriam,” You are a kind girl. Let me repay your kindness.”

Before Miriam could answer, she found that suddenly her little shopping basket was full to the brim with buns, bread, croissants, pies and fruit cakes. She was surprised. The little boy burst out laughing and said,” Miriam, I am the ‘fairy of the forest’. I was just testing you. Now I am rewarding you for your kindness. Go home and give my presents to your mother and sister.”

Miriam ran home and told her story to her sister and mother. Eliza shouted at her sister,”You are a stupid girl. You should have asked for much more from the fairy of the forest. Tomorrow I will go and meet him.”

Miriam was not sure it was a good idea. But kept quiet. Her mother also did not say anything. Early next morning, Eliza went to the forest with a basket full of stale bread and rotten cookies.

She saw the fairy of the forest sitting on a rock, smiling sweetly at her. She told him,”If you are hungry you can eat the bread and cookies.” The fairy took the bread and cookies and ate the whole lot. He did not complain. Eliza caught hold of the little fairy and shouted,”You are a greedy pig. I want lots of goodies from you. You can’t fool me easily.”

The little fairy asked her,”What do you want?”

“Well I wan’t cakes, apple pies, cookies, lots of chocolates, peaches, apples, almonds, pistachios and crunchy nuts. Yes, a whole basket full, if you don’t mind.”

“OK” said the fairy,”If I do what you asked, will you please let me go?”

“Yes” said Eliza.

Suddenly she found her basket filled to the brim with tasty goodies. She let go the fairy’s hand and wanted to go home. She turned to say,”Good bye” but found that she could not open her mouth. She was terrified and started crying.

The little fairy told her,” You are cruel and rude. You gave me stale bread to eat, but you wanted from me the best and most delicious cakes and buns. You shouted at me for no fault of mine. Foul words only come out of your mouth, so I thought it will be better to keep it shut.”

Tears rolled down her face. She could only stutter and stammer. No words came out from her mouth.

“Because your sister was kind to me I will pardon you once. Your mouth will open a little, every time you do a kind deed. In course of time you will once again be able to speak. Till then, keep your mouth shut. You won’t be able to eat any of these delicious things in your basket. That is your punishment.”

Eliza walked home, sadder and wiser. She realized that good deeds and kind words will get you rich rewards. If you are rude and cruel, you should also expect people, to behave with you likewise.

PUJA HARIKUMAR

IIIrd standardMiddle School, Boston  ,U.S.A.