“Owning things is human, sharing them is divine”.

You have heard or giants in stories haven’t you? What makes someone a giant? Are they real or unreal? Do giants really have to be tall? They are all large and strong. Some are good, and some are bad. Oscar Wilde’s story is a beautiful parable of what makes people bad, and what makes them change.

Every afternoon, the children went and played in the Giant’s garden. It was a large and lovely garden with soft green grass and trees. After seven years. The Giant came back. He had been away, visiting his friend, the Cornish ogre. He saw the children playing in his garden. “How can they play in my garden?” he was wondering.
So he built a wall all around it. He was indeed a very selfish giant. Now the poor children had nowhere to play. They tried to play on the road: but the road was very dusty and full of hard stones. They became unhappy. Then the spring came and an over the country there were little blossoms and little birds; but in the garden of the selfish giant it was still winter.

One morning the giant was lying awake in bed when he heard some lovely music. It sounded very sweet to his ears. It was only a linnet singing outside the window. “I think the spring has come at last” said the giant; and he jumped out of his bed and looked out. There, he saw the most wonderful sight.

Though a little hole in the wall the children had crept in; and they were sitting in the branches of the trees. In every tree that he could see there was a little child, and the trees were so glad to have the children back again that they had covered themselves with blossoms. It was a lovely scene.

But in one corner there was still winter. A little boy was standing under the tree. As he could not reach up to the branches, he was crying bitterly. And the giant’s heart melted as he looked out. “How selfish I have been”, he said. Now I know why the spring could not come here. I will that poor little boy on the top on the tree. Then I will knock down the wall and my garden shall be the children’s playground forever.”

So he opened the door and crept downstairs. But when the children saw him, they were so frightened that they all ran away and the garden became winter once again. But the little boy did not run because his eyes were full of tears. He did not see the giant coming. And the giant stole up behind him and took him gently in his hands and put him up into the tree.

And at once the tree broke into blossom and the birds came and sang on it. The little boy stretched out his two arms and flung them around the giant’s neck and kissed him. The other children saw that the giant was no longer wicked and came back; and with them came the spring. “It is your garden now, little children” said the giant and he took a big and knocked down the wall. All day long they played and in the evening they came to the giant to bid him goodbye.

The giant loved the little boy the best because he had kissed him. Every afternoon when the school was over, he children came and played in the garden. The little boy whom the giant loved was not to be seen. The giant loved all the children but longed for the little child, and often spoke of him.

Years went on; the giant grew very old and feeble. He could not play about anymore; co he sat on an arm chair and watched the children at their games and admired his garden. “I have many beautiful flowers”, he said “but the children are the most beautiful flowers of all”.

One winter morning he looked out of his window as he was dressing. Suddenly he rubbed his eyes in wonder and looked out again. It certainly was a marvelous sight! In the farthest corn or of the garden was tree quite covered with lovely white blossoms? Its branches were golden and silver fruit were hanging down from them; and underneath stood the little boy whom he had loved so much. The giant ran downstairs in great joy and out into the garden, till he came near the child.

The child smiled and said to the giant. “You let me play once in your garden. Today you shall come with me to my garden, which is paradise”. And when the children ran in that afternoon, they found the giant lying dead under the tree, all covered with white blossoms.

A GIFT OF CHAPPALS – Children story

Smiling Rukku Manni threw open the door. Ravi and Meena rushed out, and Ravi pulled Mridu into the house. “Wait, let me take off my slippers,” protested Mridu. She set them out neatly near pair of large black ones. Those were grey, actually, with dust. You could see the clear mark of every toe on the front part of each slipper. The marks for the two big toes were long and scrawny.

Mrddu didn’t have much time to wonder about whose slippers they were, because Ravi dragged to the backyard, behind a thick bitter – berry bush. There, inside a torn football lined with sacking and filled with sand, lay a very small kitten, lapping up milk from a coconut half-shell. We” found him outside the gate this morning he was mewing and mewing, poor thing,” said Meena. “It’s a secret. Amma says Paati will leave for our Paddu Mama’s house if she knows we have a cat.”
“people are always telling us to be king to animals, but when we are, they scream, “Ooh, don’t bring that dirty creature here!” said Ravi. “Do you know how hard it is just to get a little milk from the kitchen? Paati saw me with a glass in my hand just now. I( told her I’m very hungry, I want to drink it, but the way she looked atme! I want to dring it, but they way she looked at me! I had to drink most of it to throw her off the scent. Then she wanted the tumbler back.’Paati, paaati, I’ll wash it myself, why should I put you to trouble’, I told her. I had to run and pour the milk into this coconut shell and then run back and wash the tumbler and put it back before she got really suspicious. Now we have to think of some other way to fed Mahendran”.

“Mahendran? This little Kitty’s name is Mahendran?” Mridu was impressed! It was a real name – not just a cute kitty –cat name.

“Actually his full name is Mahendravarma Pallava Poonai .M.P. Poonai for short if you like. He’s fine breed of cat. Just look at his fur. Like a lion’smane! And you know what the emblems of the ancient Pallava kings was, don’t you?” he looked expectantly at Mridu.

Mridu giggled.

“Think I’m joking? Well, just wait. I’ll show you sometime. It’s clear you don’t know a thing about history. Haven’t been to Mahabalipuram, have you?” he said mysteriously. “well, when our class went to Mahabalipuram, I saw a status of his thatha’s thatha’s thatha’s thatha’s thatha’s ……… etcetera, etcetera….Fact is, Maherndran here is d ascended from that very same ancient cat. A close relative, scientifically lion, emblem of the Pallava dynasty!” Ravi went on, walking around the bitter- berry bush waving a twing up and down, his eyes sparkling “this cat is a descendant of none other than the Mahabalipuram Rishi – Cat! And if I may Just remind you, they worshipped cats in ancient Egypt!:

How he loved the sound of his own voice! Meena and Mridu exchanged looks.

“What dos those have to do with anything?” Mridu demanded.

“Huh! I’m telling you this cat is escended… from the Egyptian cat – god…. No, goddess! bastet! ya! Tahat’s it!”


“well, one of the descend ants of that cat-goddess was a stowaway in one of the Pallava ships, and his descendant was the mahabalipuram Rishi –Cat, whose descendant is – “Ravi flourished his twig at Mahennran”-M.P. Poonai here… whoop EEK!” he shrieked, very pleased with himself.

Mahendran looked up, alarmed. He had just been sharpening his claws on the edge of the coconut shell. But worse that Ravi’s awful whoop EEK was a ‘Kreech….1’ from the window. What a weird sound?! If Mridu was startled, M.P. Poonai was frightened out of his wits. Hair standing on end, he bounced up and scurried towards a bamboo tray of red chillies that had been set out to dry. Trying to hide beneath it, he tipped a few chillies over himself.

“Mi – a-aw! He howled miserably.

The ‘Kreeching’ went on and on, “what’s that noise?” said Mridu.

“That’s Lalli learning to play the violin. “Grunted Ravi.

“She’ll never learn a thing. The music-maser just goes on playing like a taint whizzing on and on, while lalli’s all the time derailing! Going completely off track!”

Mridu crept up to the Window. Lalli was sitting a little distance away, awkwardly holding her violin and bowstring, her elbows jutting out and her eyes glazed with concentration. In front of her, with most of his back to the window, was the bony figure of the music – master. He had a mostly bald head with a fringe of oiled black hair falling around his ears and an old-fashioned tuft .A gold chain gleamed around his leathery neck, and a diamond ring glittered on his hand as it glided up and down the stem of the violin. A large foot stuck out from beneath his gold – bordered veshti edge, and he was beating time on the floor with the scrawny big toe.

He played a few notes. Lalli stumbled behind him on her violin, which looked quite helpless and unhappy in her hands. What a difference! The music – master’s notes seemed to floated up and settle perfectly in to the invisible tracks of the melody. It was like the wheels of a train fitting smoothly into the rails and whizzing along, as Ravi said. Mridu started at that huge, Be ringed hand moving effortlessly up the violin’s stem, making lovely music.
Squawk! There was Lalli derailing again!

“Amma” came a wail from the gate.”Amma – oh!”
“Ravi sends that beggar away!” cried his mother from the back verandah, where she was chatting with tapi. “He has been coming here every day for the past week, and it’s time he found another house to beg from!”Paati explained to Tapi.
Mridu and Meena followed Ravi out. The beggar was already in the garden, making himself quite at home. He had spread his upper cloth under the neem tree, and was leaning against its trunk, apparently prepared to take a little an ooze while he waited for the alms to appear.” Go away said Ravi sternly.”My Paati says it’s time you found another house to beg from!”
The beggar opened his eyes very wide and gazed at each of the children one by one. “The ladies of this house,” he said, at last, in a voice choked with feeling,” are very kind souls. I have kept my body and soul together on their generosity for a whole week. I cannot believe the they would turn me away.” He raised his voice “Amma! Amma – oh!” Sad his wail might, but it certainly wasn’t feeble. It began in a deep, strong rumble somewhere in his withered belly, and came booming out of his mouth, with its few remaining teeth stained brown with betel – chewing.

Ravi, tell him there’s nothing left in the Kitchen!” called Rukku Manni. “and he’s not to come again- tell him that!” .And he’s not to come again – tell him that!”She sounded fed up.

Ravi didn’t have to repeat it all to the beggar. What his mother said had been easy for them all to hear, there under the neem tree. The beggar sat up and sighed.

“I’LL go, I”II go!” he said wearily. “Only let me have a rest here under this tree. Then sun is so hot, the tar has melted on the road. My feet are already blistered. He stretched out his feet to show large, pink, peeling blisters on the soles of his bare feet.

“I suppose he doesn’t have the money to buy Chap pals,” or I’d have given them to him,” And his feet were larger than Mridu’s and Meena’s.

The beggar was shaking out his upper cloth and tightening his dhoti. He raised his eyes and looked fearfully at the road, gleaming in the afternoon heat.

“He needs something on his feet!” Meena said, Her big eyes filling, “It’s not fair!”

“Ssh!” said Ravi. “I’m thinking aboutit1 blubbering, ’It’s not fair, it’s not fair’ isn’t going to help. In two minutes he’ll be frying his feet on that road. What he needs is a pair of chappals. So where do we get them? Come, let’s search the house,” He pushed Mridu and Meena into the house.

Just as she stepped into the verandah, Mridu’s eyes fell on the odd-looking chappals she had noticed when she arrived.
“Ravi!” she whispered to him.”Whose are those?”

Ravi turned and glanced at the shabby-looking, but stubby old slippers. He beamed and nodded.”These are just the right size,” he said, picking them up. Mridu and Meena followed him nervously back into the garden.
“Here!” sais Ravi to the beggar, dropping the slippers in front of the old man. “wear these and don’t come back!” The beggar stared at the slippers, hurriedly flung his towel over his shoulder, pushed his feet into them and left, muttering a blessing to the children. Ina minute he had vanished around the corner of the street.

The music – master came out of the hues and took an unappreciative look at the three of them sitting quietly under the tree, playing marbles. Then he searched for his chappals in the verandah, where he had put them.

“Lilli!” he called, after a few moments. She hurried up to him. “Have you seen My chappals, my dear? I remember having kept them here!”

Ravi, Mridu, and Meena silently watched Lalli and the music – master search every corner of the verandah. He scurried around, looking over the railing and crouching near the flower pots to look between them. “Brand new, they were! Went al the way to mount Road to buy them!” he went on saying. “They cost a whole month’s fees, do you know?”
Soon Lalli went in to tell her mother. Rukku Mani appeared, looking harassed, with Paati following her.
“Where could they be? It’s really quite upsetting to think someone might have stolem them. So many vendors come to the door,” worried Paati.

Rukku Manni caught sight of Ravi, Mridu, and Meena sitting under the tree, “Have you children…” she began, and then, seeing they were curiously quiet, went on more slowly, “seen anyone lurking around the verandah?” A sharp V-shaped line had formed between her eyebrows. Another straight, tighter one appeared in place of her usually soft, pleasant mouth. Rukku Manni was angry! Thought Mridu with a shilver. She wouldn’t be so upset if she knew about the poor beggar with sores on his feet, she tried to tell herself.

Taking a deep breath, she cried, “Rukku manni, there was a beggar here. Poor thing, he had such boils on his feet!”

“So?” said Rukku Manni grimly, turning to Ravi.”You gave the music –master’s chappals to that old beggar who turns up here?”
“Children these days….!” Groaned Paati.

“Amma, didn’t you tell me about Karna who gave away everything he had, even his gold earrings, he ws so king and generous?”
“Silly!” snapped Rukku Manni. “Karna didn’t give away other people’s things; he only gave away his own”.
“But my chappals wouldn’t have fitted the beggar’s feet…” Ravi rushed brashly on, “And Amma, if they did fit, would you really not have minded?”

“Ravi!” said Rukku Manni, very angry now.”Go inside this minute.”

She hurried indoors and brought out Gopu Mama’s hardly worn, new chappals. “These should fit you, Sir, Please put these on. I am so sorry. My son has been vestry naughty.” The music – maser’s eyes lit up. He put them on, trying not to look too happy. “Well, I suppose these will have to do.. These days children have no respect for elders, what to do? A hanuman incarnate… only Rama can save such a naughty fellow!” Rukku Manni’s eyes flashed. She didn’t seem to like Ravi being called a monkey, even a holy monkey. She stood stiff and straight by the front door. It was clear she wanted him to leave quickly.

When he had clattered off in his new chappals, she said,”Mridu, come in and have some Tiffin. Honestly, how do you children think of such things? Thank God your Gopu Mama doesn’t wear his chappals to work…” As she walked towards the kitchen with Mridu and Meena, she suddenly began to laugh. “But he’s always In such a hurry to throw off his shoes and socks and get into his chappals as soon as th comes home. What’s your Mama going to say this evening when I tell him I gave his chappals to the music – master?”

Speech from Gopala Krishna Gokhale

Gopala Krishna Gokhale was a great freedom fighter of our country. He delivered a speech in response to the address presented to him by students. On 25th July 1911 at an open air public meeting near Victoria Hall, Mumbai.

My first duty on rising is to tender my most sincere and grateful thanks to the students of Madras for their address which they have just now presented to me…. There is no doubt whatever in my mind that if I could now go back once again to the days of my student hood, I would do so at once with pleasure. The life of a student is comparatively speaking, a sheltered life. There are, of course, certain responsibilities; they are definite and they are assigned to you by those who are willing to take care of you and there is not much need to be constantly exercising your own judgments. You know that in later life the position is reversed; instead of others helping you, you have in the first place to help yourself… Gentlemen, because this is the happy part of your life, there are certain responsibilities attached to it which must be well discharged by you, because no privilege in life is worth having, unless it is attended by corresponding duties and there are certain duties, which those who placed you in your present privileged position expect our to perform.

I will consider these duties under four heads. First of all, the duty which you owe to yourselves; then there is the duty which you owe you fellow- students; the third duty is the which you owe to those in authority over you, and the last duty is a duty which you owe to those who are around you, not students, but people of the wider world.

Duty to yourselves

The duty to you is twofold. You have first of all to lay by a stock of knowledge that will suffice you not sincerely for your examinations but will be helpful to you in later life. Knowledge is an exacting mistress; she needs devotion, whole- hearted, on the part of the person who seeks her. Such whole0 hearted devotion is possible only in the days of student hood. Therefore, the first part of the duty towards yourselves is to take the utmost advantage of your present position, to lay by a stock of knowledge that will be useful to you in later life.

Importance of character

But it is not merely knowledge that will help any class of human beings by itself. Along with that knowledge there is another requisite that you must secure and that is character. It is almost a truism to say that more depends for success in life on character than on knowledge. It is an invidious thing to distinguish between comparative values of knowledge and character. But since both are indispensable, I would urge on you that you should attach as much importance to character as to knowledge. This character must show itself in earnestness, in energy of action and in high and generous sentiments being brought to bear upon the discharge of your duties and in recognizing what is due to yourselves. You have to acquire a character which will raise the whole life of the people amidst whom you move and for whom you are expected to work.

As character will naturally have to act on those around you, the stronger, the firmer and nobler it is, the better work you will do for the country. Even if you acquire a fairly high character while you are at school or college; it may not always be easy to retain that character in the struggles of later life, because you are sure to be acted upon by those who are around you. But if you begin by acquiring a strong character for yourselves and when you in course of time, occupy the place of the present seniors, then the students or the younger men of the succeeding generation will find that the forces that act on them are more helpful for retaining a good character than possibly what you may be able to find today. This is the twofold duty which you owe to yourselves – the acquiring of knowledge (I use ‘ knowledge ‘ in its widest sense) not only knowledge from every quarter which will be useful to you in later life- and acquiring character which will enable you to achieve success in whatever work you may take on hand. That, in brief, is the duty to you.


An old priest told me this story when I was very young. I have since wondered many times where it came from. No one has been able to tell me.

Centuries ago a great artist was engaged to paint a mural for the cathedral in a Sicilian town. The subject was the life of Jesus. For many years the artist labored diligently and finally the painting was finished except for the two most important figures; the Child Jesus and Judas Iscariot. He searched far and wide
for models for those two figures.

One day while walking in an old part of the city he came upon some children playing in the street. Among them was a twelve year old boy whose face stirred the painter’s heart. It was the face of an angel-a very dirty one perhaps, but the face he needed. The artist took the child home with him, and day the boy sat patiently until the fact of the Child Jesus was finished. But the painter still found no one to serve as model for the portrait of Judas. For years, haunted by the fear that his masterpiece would remain unfinished, he continued his search.

The story of the unfinished masterpiece spread afar, and many men fancying themselves of wicked countenance, offered to pose as models for the face of Judas, but in vain. The old painter looked for a face that would serve to show Judas as he had envisioned him: a man warped by life, enfeebled by surrender to greed and lust.

Then one afternoon, as he sat in the tavern over his daily glass of wine, a gaunt and tattered figure staggered across the threshold and fell upon the floor. Wine, wine, ‘he begged. The painter lifted him up, and looked into a face that startled him. It seemed to bear the marks of every sin of mankind.

Greatly excited, the old painter helped the profligate to his feet.‘Come with me,’ he said,’ and I will give you mine, and food and clothing.” here at last was the model for Judas. For many days and part of many nights the painter worked feverishly to complete his masterpiece. As the work went on, a change came over the model. A strange tension replaced the stuporous languor and his bloodshot eyes were fixed with horror on the painted likeness of himself.

One day, perceiving his subject’s agitation, the painter paused in his work. ‘My son, I’d like to help you’. He said. ‘What troubles you so?’

The model sobbed and buried his face in his hands. After a long moment the lifted pleading eyes to he old painter’s face.

‘Do you not then remember me? Years ago I was your model for the Child Jesus.’

The Falling Man

“The Falling Man” is a nickname given to a man who fell from the North Tower of the World trade Center during the September 11 attacks in New York City, and is also the title of a photograph, magazine story and documentary film about the incident. The photo was taken by Richard Drew at 9:: 41:15 a.m on September 11, 2001. The story written by Tom Junod, appeared in the September 2003 issue of Esquire magazine, and was Slater made into a film.

The subject of the image – whose identity remains uncertain, although attempts have been made to identify him- was one of the people trapped on the upper floors of the skyscraper who apparently chose to jump rather than die from the fire and smoke, while the buildings collapsed. As many as 200 people jumped to their deaths; there was no time to recover or identify those who jumped prior to that. Officially , all deaths in the attacks except those of the hijackers were ruled to be homicides (as opposed to suicides), and the New York city Medical Examiner’s Office stated that it does not classify the people who fell to their deaths on September 11 as “ jumpers”. (“A ‘jumper ‘is somebody who goes to the office to the morning prepared to commit suicide…) These people were forced out by smoke and flames or blown out.”

This picture is somewhat deceptive; it gives the impression that the man is falling straight down. In reality, this is just one of a dozen photographs of his fall. In the other photos, it is evident that he is tumbling through the air out of control.

Five years after the attacks, Jonathan Briley, a 43 – year-old employee of the Windows on the World restaurant, was identified by chef Michael Lomonaco as The Falling Man. Brilley was a sound engineer who lived in Mount Vernon. New York and worked in the North Tower restaurant. According to the film, the victim was initially identified by his brother in the morgue by the victim’s hands and shoes. Lomonaco claims that he was able to identify Briley by his clothes and body- type. In one of the pictures. The Falling Man’s Clothes were blown away, revealing an orange undershirt similar to the shirt that Briley wore to work almost every day. His older sister, Gwendolyn, asserted he was wearing that shirt on the day of the attack. However, the identity of The Falling Man has never been officially confirmed.


Dr. karl Paulnack , pianist and director of the music division at the Boston Conservatory, gave this fantastic welcome address to the parents of incoming students at The Boston on September 1, 2004:

“One of my parents’ deepest fears, I suspect, is that society would not properly value me as a musician, that I wouldn’t be appreciated. I had very good grades in high school, I was good in science and math, and they imagined that as doctor or a research chemist or an engineer, I might be more appreciated than I would be as a musician. I still remember my mother’s remark when I announced my decision to apply to music school. She said, “You’re wasting your SAT scores!” On some level, I think, my parents were not sure what the value of music was, what its purpose was. And they loved music: they listened to classical music all the time. They just weren’t really clear about its function. So let me talk about that a little bit, because we live in a society that puts music in the “arts and entertainment” section of the newspaper. Serious music, the kind your kids are about to engage in, has absolutely nothing whatsoever to do with entertainment, in fact it’s the opposite of entertainment. Let me talk a little bit about music, and how it works.

One of the first cultures to articulate how music really works was that of the ancient Greeks. And this is going to fascinate you: the Greeks said that music and astronomy were two sides of the same coin. Astronomy was seen as the study of relationships between observable, permanent, external objects, and music was seen as the study of relationships between invisible, internal, hidden objects.

Music has a way of finding the big, invisible moving pieces inside our hearts and souls and helping us figure out the position of things inside us. Let me give you some examples of how this works

One of the most profound musical compositions of all time is the “Quartet for the End of Time” written by a France composer Olivier Messiaen in 1940. Messiaen was 31 years old when France entered the war against Nazi Germany. He was captured by the Germans in June of 1940 and imprisoned in a prisoner – of –war camp.

He was fortunate to find a sympathetic prison guard who gave him paper and a place to compose, and was fortunate to have musician colleagues in the camp a cellist, a violinist and a clarinetist. Messiaen wrote his quartet with these specific players in mind. It was performed in January 1941 for four thousand prisoners and guards in the prison camp. Today it is one of the most famous masterworks in the repertoire.

Given what we have since learned about life in the Nazi camps, why would anyone in his right mind waster time and energy writing or playing music? There was barely enough energy on a good day to find food and water, to avoid a beating, to stay warm, to escape torture- why would anyone bother with music? And yet- even from the concentration camps, we have poetry, we have music, we have visual art; it wasn’t just this one fanatic Messiaen; many, many people created art. Why? Well, in a place where people are only focused on survival, on the bare necessities, the obvious conclusion is that art must be, somehow, essential for life. The camps were without money, without hope, without commerce. Without recreation, without basic respect, but they were not without art. Art is part of survival; art is part of the human spirit, an unquenchable expression of who we are. Art is one of the ways in which we say, “I am alive, and my life has meaning”.

In September of 2001 I was a resident of Manhattan; on the morning of September 12, 2001 I reached a new understanding of my art and its relationship to the world. I sat down at the piano that morning at 10 a.m to practice as was my daily routine; I did it by force of habit, without thinking about it. I lifted the cover on the keyboard, and opened my music, and put my hands on the keys and just as soon took my hands off it. And I sat there and though, do this even matter? Isn’t this completely irrelevant? Playing the piano right now, given what happened in this city yesterday, seems silly, absurd, irreverent, and pointless. Why am I here? What place has a musician in this moment in time? Who needs a piano player right now? I was completely lost. And then I, along with the rest of New York, went through the journey of getting through that week. I did not play the piano that day, and in fact I contemplated briefly whether I would ever want to play the piano again. And then I observed how we got through the day.


It was a chilly, rainy, orning; terrible weather for summer.

School was out, but I couldn’t go outside and play because mom said I would get sick.

So, I put on my jacket and went out on the front porch, and that’s where I found this blond Labrador with a hurt paw.
“Gee, what happened to you?” asked as k knelt down beside him.

He whined and put his head down on his good paw.

There wasn’t a collar, so I didn’t know who he belonged to or what I should do.

It seemed kind of mean to call the dogcatcher on a hurt animal.

“Mom!” I shouted as I ran inside the house. But mom was gone. I’d forgotten that w\she had to go to the store.
Oh we, I went to my room and got out my first aid kit.

It wasn’t a real one. Just the one I played doctor and patient wit, but it had stuff from mighty mom’s real one, like iodine, bandages, stuff like that.

After carrying medical supplies out on the porch, I bent down to the dog again, “what’s your name, huh?” the dog only whined.
“guess I’ll call you godly” I told him,” since you’re gold.”

I nursed the dog’s paw as best as I could, then sat down next to him and patted his head because he seemed kind of sad. Questions circled through my mind, like, how did he get hurt? Who did he along to? Where did he live? How did he get lost? Goldy and I sat go tether unit mom came home.

“Can I keep him, Mon?”

She knelt down withes and patted the dog’s head to. “He probably beings to someone, Shelly. He must have somehow got separated from his master. We need to find his owner” my heart sank. I knew she was going to say that.
“But if the owner doesn’t show up, I guess he’s ours.”

So mom put a notice in the paper, and we waited. It was the longest wait of my life. Goldy was a good dog, and mended more every day. At first he couldn’t walk on his paw at all, but then little by little it healed.

The days went by with no one showing up to claim the dong. When god was feeling a all better, we played Frisbee and football in the year. He was a very smart dog and knew commands like “sit”, “stay”, and “come”.

“Someone must have trained him”, mom said sadly. “That means he has an owner”. But still no onecam.secretly,I was glad. I wanted goldy to beamy dog Momevenput his picture in the paper, and still no one came.

“Guess he’s you r dog now, steely,” she dad one day, as they brought home a new chew toy for Godly to play with. “yey!” I yelled jumping up and down.

Goldy was even beginning to act like my dog. He followed dme to schoolman nod waited all day untilled came out. He even walked beside me, and on the outside of the sidewalk to get between me and the traffic.

Then one day when we got home from school, a strange van was in the driveway, and there was a lady with dark sunglasses and a white cane on our front porch talking to Mom. A man was with her. Godly started barking and ran up to the blind lady.
“Sam!”The lady laughed, and godly ran into her arms. Goldy whined with love, licking all over the lady’s face. I looked at Mom. She didn’t have to tell me what was going on godly wasn’t really godly. He was Sam. and he was her Sam. Her guide dog. my heart sank.

The lady began to cry, and so did Sam, by the sound of him. They looked so happy to be reunited. I started to cry too, but for a different reason. I was going to lose my new best friend.

“Thank you, Shelly”, the lady said holding her hand out for me to shake, “for taking care of Sam. We were in a traffic accident, and somehow we got separated when went to the hospital. I guess he lost his collar and harness too”. I looked at their hand, I don’t want to give godly up, but I could see that it was this lady the really belonged to. not me. I was just temporary.

She needed him, and he needed her. He was a trained working dog with an important job to do. They were happy together. And I definitely wanted Sam to be happy.
I did what I knew was right, and shook Diane’s hand.

“You’re welcome”, I told her. It was hard letting him go, but it would have been harder keeping him from his rightful owner. “You can come visit him anytime you lime,”diance offered.

That put a big smile on my face. “Thank you”. I said and watched the car with the two happy souls disappear round the driveway.

Appearances are deceptive – Moral story

•Hughie was wonderfully good looking with his crisp brown hair, his clear cut profile and his grey eyes. He was as popular with men as he was with women, and he had every accomplishment except that of making money. He had tried everything. But he became nothing, a delightful, ineffectual young man with a perfect profile and to profession.

•Hughie wanted to marry Laura Merton, the daughter of a retired colonel. The colonel was very fond of Hughie but would not hear of any engagement. “Come to me my boy, when you have got ten thousand pounds of your own and we will see about it,” he said. Hughie looked very glum and he cursed himself for his inability to fulfill the condition.

• One morning as he was on his way to Holland Park, he dropped in to see a great friend of his, Alan Trevor. Trevor was a painter. He was a strange rough fellow with a freckled face and a red ragged beard.

•When he took up the brush, he was a real master and his pictures were eagerly sought after.

• When Hughie came in, he found Trevor painting the finishing touches to a wonderful life size picture of a beggar man. The beggar himself was standing on a platform in a corner of the studio. He was a wizened old man with a face like wrinkled parchment and a most piteous expression. Over his shoulders was flung a coarse brown cloak, all tears and tatters; his thick boots were patched and cobbled and with one hand he leant on a rough stick while with the other he held out his battered hat for alms.

•“What an amazing model!” whispered Hughie, as he shook hands with his friend?

“An amazing model?” shouted Trevor at the top of his voice. “I should think so! Such beggars as he are not to be met with every day”.

•“Certainly you don’t want a beggar to look happy, do you?”

•“How much does a model aged for sitting?” asked Hughie.

•“A shilling an hour”.

•“And how much do you get for your picture, Alan?”

•“Oh! For this I get two thousand pounds.”

• After sometime, the servant came in and told Trevor that the frame maker wanted to speak to him. “Don’t run away Hughie” he said, as he went out, “I’ll be back in a moment”, the old beggar took advantage of Trevor’s absence to rest for a moment on a wooden bench. He looked so forlorn that Hughie could not help pitying him. All he could find was a sovereign and some coppers. “Poor old fellow”, he to himself and slipped the sovereign into the beggar’s hand. The old man said, “thank You sir”. Then Trevor arrived and Hughie took his leave.

God heavens! I gave him a sovereign!” and he sank into an armchair. “Gave him a sovereign!” shouted Trevor and he burst into a roar of laughter.

• “What will he think of me?” said Hughie. “Oh, my God! I could not make out why he was so interested to know all about you; but I see it all now. He will invest your sovereign for you, Hughie, pay you the interest every six months and have a capital story to tell after dinner”, commented Trevor.

The next morning as he was at breakfast, the servant brought him a card on which was written baron hauusberg and Hughie told the servant to show the visitor up, an old gentleman came into the room. “I have come from baron hausberg”, he continued. “I beg sir, that you will offer him my apologies.” Statemered Hughie.

“the baron”, said the old gentleman with a smile, “has commissioned me to bring you this letter”, and he extended a sealed envelope, on which was written “A wedding present to Hugh Erskine – Hughie and Laura – from an ‘old beggar” and inside was a cheuqe for ten thousand pounds.

“Millionaire models” remarked Alan, “are rare enough, but by Joe! Model millionaires are rarer still!”

Hilsa Fish – Story for children

Gopal was a clever and witty jester. He lived in a small kingdom, ruled by a king called raja Krishna Chandra. The Raja often turned to Gopal to help him out of difficult situations or solve a difficult problem.

In Gopal’s city, Hilsa fish was a very popular fish. Hilsa fish being available only once a year, never failed to grab everyone’s attention and interest. When it was Hilsa season, housewives exchanged recipes; shopkeepers discussed the latest price of Hilsa. Fishermen talked about catching the biggest Hilsa of the season.

The king Raja Krishna was surprised to see even his courtiers discussing Hilsa fish rather than more important state matters. Finally, unable to bear this anymore he decided to put an end to all this talk about the fish. He thought he would be at peace even if people would stop talking about it for a few minutes. He announced a reward of fifty gold coins to anyone who could bring to the palace a big Hilsa fish from the market. But he also said that while bringing the fish to the palace no passerby must talk about the fish.

Even after week no one succeeded in this challenge. Simple as the task seemed many tried to attempt it but the look of Hilsa fish did not fail to excite remarks from onlookers. After a week Gopal decided to take up the challenge.

He woke up one morning, shaved off half of his beard, put mud all over his face and hair, put on old clothes and wore his shirt backwards. His wife when she looked at him demanded to know where he was going dressed like that. “To get the biggest Hilsa fish available.” So saying he left her and headed to the market. There he bought a big Hilsa fish; he started walking towards the palace making very little effort to hide the fish.

On the way people who were shocked at Gopal’s appearance. They wondered if he had finally gone mad. With mud on his face and his beard half-shaven he did look strange. Some others feared that Gopal had lost his memory. When Gopal reached the palace gates the guards hardly recognized him and wouldn’t let him inside. One guard went inside to inform the king, the king, the king summoned Gopal inside. He took one look at Gopal and was shocked to see his best advisor looking like a tramp. He demanded Gopal to explain himself. Gopal merely laughed and replied that he had won the challenge and the king owed him fifty gold coins. The king looked confused. He wanted to know what challenge Gopal was talking about. Gopal unwrapped a big. Hilsa fish from under his arms and showed it to the king. No one who had met him had spoken anything about the fish. In fact no one had noticed the fish, and Gopal’s looks had distracted them. The king praised Gopal’s cleverness and gave him fifty gold coins, but told him to go home at once and clean himself. Gopal went home happier and richer.

The Emperor’s New Clothes – English story for children

Storyteller: As all good stories go,

This too happened long, long ago.

Exactly when, I do not know,

But my dear grandma told me so,

That in the palace, built on the plain,

Lived the Emperor who was very, very vain.

He dressed at dawn, he dressed at night,

He dressed as often as he might.

He dressed for breakfast, he dressed for tea,

He dressed, whenever it pleased him, you see.

For affairs of State he couldn’t care less,

No wonder his empire was in a sorry mess.

Ah! Here he comes, all clad in green,

Watch him strut, watch him preen.

Emperor: “How far have you progressed, worthy gentlemen? I can hardly wait for the dress to be finished. I absolutely must, have a glimpse of your handiwork.”

First Dressmaker: “you have come in good time. Your majesty. The dress is almost complete. All that remain is the Jewel studded royal train. Come, take a look”.

(He leads the Emperor to a corner, where there is an empty loom).

Second Dressmaker: (running his hands thought the air)” Ah, do you see the embroidery at the neck? This peacock, studded with three jewels, isn’t it marvelous?  And look at this diamond studded waistband. If you have ever seen anything more wonderful than this, why, we are willing to eat our shoes!”

Emperor: (under his breath) “My Lord! I can’t see a thing! Can it be that I, the Emperor of such a vast empire, am actually stupid? Well, if I am, then I must be careful, not to show it.”

Emperor: (walks towards the loom and exclaims aloud) “it’s unbelievable! Marvelous. Simply marvelous! And yes, the peacock looks real. I can’t tell you how happy you have made me. In fact, I can’t wait to wear it.”

First Dressmaker:  “just one hour more. You’re Majesty and the dress will be ready for you to wear.”

Scene 3

Storyteller: Exclaiming over an invisible dress.

The foolish Emperor hides his distress.

The minister says, shaking his head, “What a dress!”

Though he can’t see a thread.

The courtiers, all too eager to please.

Is all praise of the invisible piece?

Each wondering as he prepares to lie,

“When the other can see it, why can’t l?

While all exclaim over the dress’s beauty.”

The dressmakers run away with their booty.

Now there’s the Emperor in the town square.

Wearing a dress that just isn’t there.

(The Emperor is taking a state ride through the town to show off his wonderful new dress to his admiring subjects. Though none of them can see the dress, all of them pretend to admire it, for fear that they would otherwise be considered fools)

First Townsman: “well, I ‘m sure we haven’t seen anything like this in all our lives. How majestic our Emperor looks in his wonderful robe.”

Second Townsman: “Yes, indeed. They say that he gave those clever dressmakers some of the finest jewels in his treasury. And why not? They have made for him a dress, fit for the very Gods!”

Third Townsman: “What colours! What designs! It has the colours of a rainbow”.

A child in a Woman’s Arms: “Mama! But I can’t see any clothes. He is wearing only his underwear and nothing else!”

Woman: “Hush, my child. Not so loud. Don’t listen to the child.”

First Townsman: “Did you hear what that child said? To tell you the truth, I too can’t see any clothes on the Emperor, except his undergarments”

Second Townsman: “The child is right. The Emperor does not seem to have any clothes on”.

(Soon there is a Buzz in the crowd. Slowly word reaches the Prime Minister that nobody can see the Emperor’s new clothes.)

Prime Minister: “you’re Majesty, er… Well … er…”

Emperor: “out with it! What is it? Have you found some new Marvels in this dress?”

Prime Minister: “Er.., well. Your Majesty, you see, I have just heard that nobody can see your new dress.

I can’t too. I …. I do think we have been Duped. Your Majesty, pardon me for saying this, but you are not wearing any clothes and everyone can see that you are wearing only your undergarments.”

(This moved the Emperor deeply, for it seemed to him that the people were right. The emperor waited to hear no more. But he felt that he must continue with the procession. The ministers continued to hold on to the train which was not there at all.)

Storyteller: The Emperor vowed that never again would he be so silly and vain. And here, story ends.