Kid’s gallery.

Iban batuta pehen ke juta,
Nikal pade toofan me,
Thodi hawa naak me ghus gayi,
Thodi ghus gayi kaan me,
Kabhi naak ko,
Kabhi kaan ko,
Malte Iban Batuta,
Itne me hi nikal pada,
Unke pairon ka juta,
Udte-udte juta unka,
Ja pohuncha japan me,
Iban Batuta khade reh gaye,
Mochi ki dukaan me.

A poem that I enjoyed when I got it some five years back to use as a teaching aid, and a poem that I have used for the past three years now in various schools, with different set ups and the response is always the same.

Children love it, in the primary classes. They want to write it and read it at least once for over two weeks or so, they don’t get bored till the time they know each and every word.

I still enjoy the poem and well it has become a tool to discipline them, I need not shout to quietn them, all I need is to start Iban batuta or similar such poem and everything is in order. Wish the whole syllabus was this enjoyable… – Deepti

 

“ silent squeal of joy. i dont how i wud have reacted if i’ve been at any other place…

was going to my new office, we were talking on phone and she taking a little break from her teaching recited this to me. i asked her if the class could repeat it. and the joy, the pure spontaneous joy i heard on phone, in those children’s voices… as if a world of happiness descended upon my senses… truly unforgettable. this is how i heard ‘iban batuta’ first.

and wanted it to be here on akshar, for all of u to share. ” – Adi

on meeting Death, and then running away

from The Color Of Magic, by Terry Pratchett

It has been remarked before that those who are sensitive to radiations in the far octarine-the eighth color, the pigment of the Imagination-can see things that others cannot.

Thus it was that Rincewind, hurrying through the crowded, flare-lit evening bazaars of Morpork with the Luggage trundling behind him, jostled a tall dark figure, turned to deliver a few suitable curses, and beheld Death.

It had to be Death. No one else went around with empty eye sockets and, of course, the scythe over one shoulder was another clue. As Rincewind stared in horror a courting couple, laughing at some private joke,  walked straight through the apparition without appearing to notice it.

Death, insofar as it was possible in a face with no movable features, looked surprised.

RINCEWIND? Death said, in tones as deep and heavy as the slamming of leaden doors, far underground.

“Um,” said Rincewind, trying to back away from that eye-less stare.

BUT WHY ARE YOU HERE? (Boom, boom went crypt lids, in the worm haunted fastnesses under old mountains…)

“Um, why not?” said Rincewind. “Anyway, I’m sure you’ve got lots to do, so if you’ll just – “

I WAS SURPRISED THAT YOU JOSTLED ME, RINCEWIND, FOR I HAVE AN APPOINTMENT WITH THEE THIS VERY NIGHT.

“Oh no, not – “

OF COURSE, WHAT’S SO BLOODY VEXING ABOUT THE WHOLE BUSINESS IS THAT I WAS EXPECTING TO MEET THEE IN PSEPHOPOLOLIS.

“But that’s five hundred miles away!”

YOU DON’T HAVE TO TELL ME. THE WHOLE SYSTEM’S GOT SCREWED UP AGAIN, I CAN SEE THAT. LOOK, THERE’S NO CHANCE OF YOU - ?

Rincewind backed away, hands spread protectively in front of him. The dried fish salesman on a nearby stall watched this madman with interest.

“Not a chance!”

I COULD LEND YOU A VERY FAST HORSE.

“No!”

IT WON’T HURT A BIT.

“No!” Rincewing turned and ran. Death watched him go, and shrugged bitterly.

SOD YOU, THEN, Death said. He turned, and noticed the fish salesman. With a snarl Death reached out a bony finger and stopped the man’s heart, but He didn’t take much pride in it.

Then Death remembered what was due to happen later that night. It would not be true to say that Death smiled, because in any case His features were perforce frozen in a calcareous grin. But He hummed a little tune, cheery as a plague pit, and-pausing only to extract life from a passing mayfly, and one ninth of the lives from a cat cowering under the fish stall (all cats can see into the octarine)- Death turned on His heel and set off toward the Broken Drum.

Hmmm, the Color of Magic, i found it even more interesting than the Hitchiker’s Guide! and that’s a big deal. U might find a review on amazon or something like that, or wait for my attempt at reviewing this one. Which is as distinct a possibility as Death being cheerful.

By the way, i strongly recommend this book. If not for Rincewind the utmost failed wizard, or Twoflower the idiot tourist who happens to appoint Rincewind as his doomed guide or the hundred legged luggage that follows the tourist everywhere or the Discworld, a magical world riding back on the back of four giant elephants, riding on, well, the back of a giant turtle through the vast expanse of universe or the Color of Magic – Octarine itself, you should read this for Death Himself. My favourite character so far in the series.

Hope you meet Him soon. And then get to run away from…

an introduction to Marvin

In a deep well of darkness a crippled robot sat. It had been silent in its metallic darkness for some time. It was cold and damp, but being a robot it was supposed not to be able to notice these things. With an enormous effort of will, however, it did manage to notice them.

Its brain had been harnessed to the central intelligence core of the Krikkit War Computer. It wasn’t enjoying the experience, and neither was the central intelligence core of the Krikkit War Computer.

The Krikkit robots who had salvaged this pathetic metal creature from the swamps of Squornshellous Zeta had done so because they had recognized almost immediately its gigantic intelligence, and the use which this could be to them.

They hadn’t reckoned with the attendant personality disorders, which the coldness, the darkness, the dampness, the crampedness and the loneliness were doing nothing to decrease.

It was not happy with its task.

Apart from anything else, the mere coordination of an entire planet’s military strategy was taking up only a tiny part of his formidable mind, and the rest of it had become extremely bored. Having solved all the major mathematical, physical, chemical, biological, sociological, philosophical, etymological, meteorological and psychological problems of the Universe except his own, three times over, he was severely stuck for something to do, and had taken up composing short dolorous ditties of no tone, or indeed tune. The latest one was a lullaby.

‘Now the world has gone to bed,’ Marvin droned,

‘Darkness won’t engulf my head,

‘I can see by infra-red,

‘How I hate the night.’

He paused to gather the artistic and emotional strength to tackle the next verse.

‘Now I lay me down to sleep,

‘Try to count electric sheep,

‘Sweet dream wishes you can keep,

‘How I hate the night.’

 

This is Marvin. One of the most lovable characters i’ve ever come across ever in my reading adventures. From one of the most remarkable books i’ve read. ‘The Hitchhiker’s Guide To The Galaxy’. Those who haven’t read it are sure missing on something. And those who have, well, they always keep their towel at hand, just in case…