BEAUTIFUL INSIDE

SIR PAUL SCOTT HOLMES

Sir Paul Scott Holmes (29 April 1950 – 1 February

2013), was a New Zealand broadcaster who gained
national recognition through his high-
profile radio and television journalism.

Holmes career included several notable hosting slots

and a short-lived weekly show on Prime Television in
2005 and two stints as the anchor of This Is Your Life.
From 2009 until his retirement in 2012, he hosted
the Sunday morning political talk shows.

Due to his high-profile appearances and controversial manner, Holmes was also
credited for bringing AIDS awareness to New Holmes. He underwent treatment
for cancer in 1999 and a heart surgery in 2012. He died at his Hawkes Bay home.

Appearances can be deceptive,

And to the superficial gaze
The outside seems dull and grey
Plain looking in
many ways,
Yet, when a crack causes
Water to seep slowly through,
A Geode can split to reveal
A dazzling sight to view!
Piles of purple crystals
Sparkling in the light,
Such wonderful inner beauty
Now apparent for our delight.

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Have you noticed how some people,
Like a Geode, may seem plain as plain can be?
Yet, if we take time to peer deeper,
Then, what gems would we see?
Perhaps a beautiful heart
We never thought was there,
Where an aching generosity
Is waiting its time to share?
Yes, a warm, glowing inner beauty
Will emerge before your eyes,
A newly discovered Treasure
For you to cherish, and to prize!

GLOSSARY

1.Appearances - Outer look or Form

2.Deceptive - Misleading

3.Gaze - Look steadily

4.Geode - A small cavity in rock

5.Dazzling - Extremely bright

6.Crystals - Solid

7.Sparkling - Shining brightly with flashes of light

THINK IT OUT

1.How does the poet define beauty?

2.Why are appearances deceptive?

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3.When are we able to see the dazzling crystals in a geode?

FIGURE OF SPEECH

Alliteration is the repetition of consonants which appear in the beginning of the words.

Eg : "Yet , when a crack causes

Water to seep slowly through"

Read the extract given below and answer the questions that follow:

i) “Appearances can be deceptive

And to the superficial gaze

The outside seems dull and grey

Plain looking in many ways”

1) How does Geode look on the outside?

2) Why is appearance deceptive?
3) Pick out the words in these lines which are associated with the word
a) see b) light

ii) “ Yet, when a crack causes

Water to seep slowly through,
A Geode can split to reveal
A dazzling sight to view”

1) What do you mean by “Geode”

2) When are we able to see the dazzling crystals in a Geode?
3) Pick out the alliterations?

iii) “Have you notices how some people,

Like a Geode, may seem plain as plain can be?
Yet, we take time to peer deeper,
Then, what gems would we see?”

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1) Why does the poet compare some people to a Geode?
2) What are the gems?
3) What is plain looking?

iv) “Yes a warm glowing inner beauty

Will emerge before your eyes,
A newly discovered Treasure
For you to cherish, and to prize!
1) When can we see the ‘inner beauty’ in a human being?
2) What is meant by ‘cherish’?
3) Which is called as treasure?

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THE NECKLACE
GUY DE MAUPASSANT

Henri Rene Albert Guy de Maupassant was

born in France on 5th August 1850 and died on
6th July 1893 at his age of 42 in France. He is
well known as a short story writer and a
Naturalist. He wrote 300 short stories, 6
novels, 3 travelogues and a volume of verse.
Maupassant is considered as the father of
modern short stories. The story “The
Necklace” or “The Diamond Necklace” is well
known for its ironic ending and was published on 17th February1884.

The girl was one of those pretty and charming young creatures who sometimes are
born, as if by a slip of fate, into a family of clerks. She had no dowry, no expectations, no
way of being known, understood, loved, married by any rich and distinguished man; so she
let herself be married to a little clerk of the Ministry of Public Instruction.

She dressed plainly because she could not dress well, but she was unhappy as if she had
really fallen from a higher station; since with women there is neither caste nor rank, for
beauty, grace and charm take the place of family and birth. Natural ingenuity, instinct for
what is elegant, a supple mind are their sole hierarchy, and often make of women of the
people the equals of the very greatest ladies.

Mathilde suffered ceaselessly, feeling herself born to enjoy all delicacies and all luxuries. She
was distressed at the poverty of her dwelling, at the bareness of the walls, at the shabby
chairs, the ugliness of the curtains. All those things, of which another woman of her rank
would never even have been conscious, tortured her and made her angry. The sight of the
little Breton peasant who did her humble housework aroused in her despairing regrets and
bewildering dreams. She thought of silent antechambers hung with Oriental tapestry,
illumined by tall bronze candelabra, and of two great footmen in knee breeches who sleep in
the big armchairs, made drowsy by the oppressive heat of the stove. She thought of long
reception halls hung with ancient silk, of the dainty cabinets containing priceless curiosities
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and of the little coquettish perfumed reception rooms made for chatting at five o'clock with
intimate friends, with men famous and sought after, whom all women envy and whose
attention they all desire.

When she sat down to dinner, before the round table covered with a tablecloth in use three
days, opposite her husband, who uncovered the soup tureen and declared with a delighted air,
"Ah, the good soup! I don't know anything better than that," she thought of dainty dinners, of
shining silverware, of tapestry that peopled the walls with ancient personages and with
strange birds flying in the midst of a fairy forest; and she thought of delicious dishes served
on marvellous plates and of the whispered gallantries to which you listen with a sphinxlike
smile while you are eating the pink meat of a trout or the wings of a quail.

She had no gowns, no jewels, nothing. And she loved nothing but that. She felt made for that.
She would have liked so much to please, to be envied, to be charming, to be sought after.

She had a friend, a former schoolmate at the convent, who was rich, and whom she did not
like to go to see any more because she felt so sad when she came home.

But one evening her husband reached home with a triumphant air and holding a large
envelope in his hand.

"There," said he, "there is something for you."

She tore the paper quickly and drew out a printed card which bore these words:

The Minister of Public Instruction and Madame Georges Ramponneau request the honor of
M. and Madame Loisel's company at the palace of the Ministry on Monday evening, January
18th.

Instead of being delighted, as her husband had hoped, she threw the invitation on the table
crossly, muttering:

"What do you wish me to do with that?"

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"Why, my dear, I thought you would be glad. You never go out, and this is such a fine
opportunity. I had great trouble to get it. Everyone wants to go; it is very select, and they are
not giving many invitations to clerks. The whole official world will be there."

She looked at him with an irritated glance and said impatiently:

"And what do you wish me to put on my back?"

He had not thought of that. He stammered:

"Why, the gown you go to the theatre in. It looks very well to me."

He stopped, distracted, seeing that his wife was weeping. Two great tears ran slowly from the
corners of her eyes toward the corners of her mouth.

"What's the matter? What's the matter?" he answered.

By a violent effort she conquered her grief and replied in a calm voice, while she wiped her
wet cheeks:

"Nothing. Only I have no gown, and, therefore, I can't go to this ball. Give your card to some
colleague whose wife is better equipped than I am."

He was in despair. He resumed:

"Come, let us see, Mathilde. How much would it cost, a suitable gown, which you could use
on other occasions--something very simple?"

She reflected several seconds, making her calculations and wondering also what sum she
could ask without drawing on herself an immediate refusal and a frightened exclamation from
the economical clerk.

Finally, she replied hesitating:

"I don't know exactly, but I think I could manage it with four hundred francs."

He grew a little pale, because he was laying aside just that amount to buy a gun and treat
himself to a little shooting next summer on the plain of Nanterre, with several friends who
went to shoot larks there of a Sunday.

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But he said:

"Very well. I will give you four hundred francs. And try to have a pretty gown."

The day of the ball drew near and Madame Loisel seemed sad, uneasy, anxious. Her frock
was ready, however. Her husband said to her one evening:

What is the matter? Come, you have seemed very queer these last three days."

And she answered:

"It annoys me not to have a single piece of jewelry, not a single ornament, nothing to put on.
I shall look poverty-stricken. I would almost
rather not go at all."

"You might wear natural flowers," said her

husband. "They're very stylish at this time of
year. For ten francs you can get two or three
magnificent roses."

She was not convinced.

"No; there's nothing more humiliating than to

look poor among other women who are rich."

"How stupid you are!" her husband cried. "Go

look up your friend, Madame Forestier, and ask her to lend you some jewels. You're intimate
enough with her to do that."

She uttered a cry of joy:

"True! I never thought of it."

The next day she went to her friend and told her of her distress.

Madame Forestier went to a wardrobe with a mirror, took out a large jewel box, brought it
back, opened it and said to Madame Loisel:

"Choose, my dear."

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She saw first some bracelets, then a pearl necklace, then a Venetian gold cross set with
precious stones, of admirable workmanship. She tried on the ornaments before the mirror,
hesitated and could not make up her mind to part with them, to give them back. She kept
asking:

"Haven't you anymore?"

"Why, yes. Look further; I don't know what you like."

Suddenly she discovered, in a black satin box, a superb diamond necklace, and her heart
throbbed with an immoderate desire. Her hands trembled as she took it. She fastened it round
her throat, outside her high-necked waist, and was lost in ecstasy at her reflection in the
mirror.

Then she asked, hesitating, filled with anxious doubt:

"Will you lend me this, only this?"

"Why, yes, certainly."

She threw her arms round her friend's neck, kissed her passionately, then fled with her
treasure.

The night of the ball arrived. Madame Loisel was a great success. She was prettier than any
other woman present, elegant, graceful, smiling and wild with joy. All the men looked at her,
asked her name, sought to be introduced. All the attaches of the Cabinet wished to waltz with
her. She was remarked by the minister himself.

She danced with rapture, with passion, intoxicated by pleasure, forgetting all in the triumph
of her beauty, in the glory of her success, in a sort of cloud of happiness comprised of all this
homage, admiration, these awakened desires and of that sense of triumph which is so sweet to
woman's heart.

She left the ball about four o'clock in the morning. Her husband had been sleeping since
midnight in a little deserted anteroom with three other gentlemen whose wives were enjoying
the ball.

He threw over her shoulders the wraps he had brought, the modest wraps of common life, the
poverty of which contrasted with the elegance of the ball dress. She felt this and wished to

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escape so as not to be remarked by the other women, who were enveloping themselves in
costly furs.

Loisel held her back, saying: "Wait a bit. You will catch cold outside. I will call a cab."

But she did not listen to him and rapidly descended the stairs. When they reached the street,
they could not find a carriage and began to look for one, shouting after the cabmen passing at
a distance.

They went toward the Seine in despair, shivering with cold. At last they found on the quay
one of those ancient night cabs which, as though they were ashamed to show their shabbiness
during the day, are never seen round Paris until after dark.

It took them to their dwelling in the Rue des Martyrs, and sadly they mounted the stairs to
their flat. All was ended for her. As to him, he reflected that he must be at the ministry at ten
o'clock that morning.

She removed her wraps before the glass so as to see herself once more in all her glory. But
suddenly she uttered a cry. She no longer had the necklace around her neck!

"What is the matter with you?" demanded her husband, already half undressed.

She turned distractedly toward him.

"I have--I have--I've lost Madame Forestier's necklace," she cried.

He stood up, bewildered.

"What!--how? Impossible!"

They looked among the folds of her skirt, of her cloak, in her pockets, everywhere, but did
not find it.

"You're sure you had it on when you left the ball?" he asked.

"Yes, I felt it in the vestibule of the minister's house."

"But if you had lost it in the street we should have heard it fall. It must be in the cab."

"Yes, probably. Did you take his number?"

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"No. And you--didn't you notice it?"

"No."

They looked, thunderstruck, at each other. At last Loisel put on his clothes.

"I shall go back on foot," said he, "over the whole route, to see whether I can find it."

He went out. She sat waiting on a chair in her ball dress, without strength to go to bed,
overwhelmed, without any fire, without a thought.

Her husband returned about seven o'clock. He had found nothing.

He went to police headquarters, to the newspaper offices to offer a reward; he went to the cab
companies--everywhere, in fact, whither he was urged by the least spark of hope.

She waited all day, in the same condition of mad fear before this terrible calamity.

Loisel returned at night with a hollow, pale face. He had discovered nothing.

"You must write to your friend," said he, "that you have broken the clasp of her necklace and
that you are having it mended. That will give us time to turn round”.

She wrote at his dictation.

At the end of a week they had lost all hope. Loisel, who had aged five years, declared:

"We must consider how to replace that ornament."

The next day they took the box that had contained it and went to the jeweler whose name was
found within. He consulted his books.

"It was not I, madame, who sold that necklace; I must simply have furnished the case."

Then they went from jeweler to jeweler, searching for a necklace like the other, trying to
recall it, both sick with chagrin and grief.

They found, in a shop at the Palais Royal, a string of diamonds that seemed to them exactly
like the one they had lost. It was worth forty thousand francs. They could have it for thirty-
six.

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So, they begged the jeweler not to sell it for three days yet. And they made a bargain that he
should buy it back for thirty-four thousand francs, in case they should find the lost necklace
before the end of February.

Loisel possessed eighteen thousand francs which his father had left him. He would borrow
the rest.

He did borrow, asking a thousand francs of one, five hundred of another, five louis here, three
louis there. He gave notes, took up ruinous obligations, dealt with usurers and all the race of
lenders. He compromised all the rest of his life, risked signing a note without even knowing
whether he could meet it; and, frightened by the trouble yet to come, by the black misery that
was about to fall upon him, by the prospect of all the physical privations and moral tortures
that he was to suffer, he went to get the new necklace, laying upon the jeweler's counter
thirty-six thousand francs.

When Madame Loisel took back the necklace Madame Forestier said to her with a chilly
manner:

"You should have returned it sooner; I might have needed it."

She did not open the case, as her friend had so much feared. If she had detected the
substitution, what would she have thought, what would she have said? Would she not have
taken Madame Loisel for a thief?

Thereafter Madame Loisel knew the horrible existence of the needy. She bore her part,
however, with sudden heroism. That dreadful debt must be paid. She would pay it. They
dismissed their servant; they changed their lodgings; they rented a garret under the roof.

She came to know what heavy housework meant and the odious cares of the kitchen. She
washed the dishes, using her dainty fingers and rosy nails on greasy pots and pans. She
washed the soiled linen, the shirts and the dishcloths, which she dried upon a line; she carried
the slops down to the street every morning and carried up the water, stopping for breath at
every landing. And dressed like a woman of the people, she went to the fruiterer, the grocer,
the butcher, a basket on her arm, bargaining, meeting with impertinence, defending her
miserable money, sou by sou.

Every month they had to meet some notes, renew others, obtain more time.

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Her husband worked evenings, making up a tradesman's accounts, and late at night he often
copied manuscript for five sous a page.

This life lasted ten years.

At the end of ten years they had paid everything, everything, with the rates of usury and the
accumulations of the compound interest.

Madame Loisel looked old now. She had become the woman of impoverished households--
strong and hard and rough. With frowsy hair, skirts askew and red hands, she talked loud
while washing the floor with great swishes of water. But sometimes, when her husband was
at the office, she sat down near the window and she thought of that gay evening of long ago,
of that ball where she had been so beautiful and so admired.

What would have happened if she had not lost that necklace? Who knows? who knows? How
strange and changeful is life! How small a thing is needed to make or ruin us!

But one Sunday, having gone to take a walk in the Champs Elysees to refresh herself after the
labors of the week, she suddenly perceived a woman who was leading a child. It was
Madame Forestier, still young, still beautiful, still charming.

Madame Loisel felt moved. Should she speak to her? Yes, certainly. And now that she had
paid, she would tell her all about it. Why not?

She went up.

"Good-day, Jeanne."

The other, astonished to be familiarly addressed by this plain good-wife, did not recognize
her at all and stammered:

"But--madame! --I do not know---- You must have mistaken."

"No. I am Mathilde Loisel."

Her friend uttered a cry.

"Oh, my poor Mathilde! How you are changed!"

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"Yes, I have had a pretty hard life, since I last saw you, and great poverty--and that because
of you!"

"Of me! How so?"

"Do you remember that diamond necklace you lent me to wear at the ministerial ball?"

"Yes. Well?"

"Well, I lost it."

"What do you mean? You brought it back."

"I brought you back another exactly like it. And it has taken us ten years to pay for it. You
can understand that it was not easy for us, for us who had nothing. At last it is ended, and I
am very glad."

Madame Forestier had stopped.

"You say that you bought a necklace of diamonds to replace mine?"

"Yes. You never noticed it, then! They were very similar."

And she smiled with a joy that was at once proud and ingenuous.

Madame Forestier, deeply moved, took her hands.

"Oh, my poor Mathilde! Why, my necklace was paste! It was worth at most only five
hundred francs!"

GLOSSARY

1. Delicacy: elegance or weakness

2. Breton: an inhabitant of Brittany, a region of France

3. Tureen: dish

4. Midst: in the middle of something

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 5. Usurer: a person who lends money at unreasonably high rate of interest

6. Stupefied: astonished or shocked

THINK IT OUT

1. In what ways is Mathilde Loisel responsible for her own downfall?

2. In which country does "The Necklace" takes place?

3. Explain in detail how Loisel came to possess 18,000 francs?

4. On what does Mathilde spend much of her time fantasizing about at the beginning of
the story?

5. Did Mathilde Loisel deserve the punishment she received? Discuss from your point of
view.

WRITING SKILL

Picture Comprehension:

Analyse the picture and answer the questions that follow:

1) How does Mme.Loisel dream of a lifestyle?

2) What upsets her?

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1) Why is Mrs. Loisel not satisfied?
2) What does she borrow from her wealthy friend?

1) What happens at the ball?

2) How do she and her husband replace the necklace?
3) How many years does it takes to pay it off?

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 1) What do the couple do to pay off all their debts?

1) What is the name of the woman who gave the necklace to Mme.Loisel?
2) What does Mme. Loisel decide to do?

17
 1) What message does this picture convey?

LIFE SKILL

What do you perceive from the term “beautiful inside”? Explain

it with an example.

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WE ARE FAMILY
MICHAEL J. BURT

A Poet and an author, Michael J. Burt was born on 1st July,

1985 in Washington, DC. He was raised in Prince George's
County, Maryland, where he currently resides. Burt studies
psychology at Frostburg State University in Western
Maryland. In 2005, Burt’s first volume of poetry entitled
“Experience Is Impossible Without a Chance: A Collection of
Poems”. Burt fulfilled a dream by opening for poet Nikki
Giovanni and also had the privilege of being booked to open for
Def Poet J. Ivy. He is a contributor to multiple thought
provoking African American-experience books including “Not In My Family: AIDS in
the African American Community”.
“Love Changes: Poems” is Michael J. Burt’s sophomore effort that will be released
officially February 5,2007 by Xpress Yourself Publishing.

we are family,
although we do not resemble
although i am black and you are white
although you are rich and i am poor

we are family,
even though i am democrat, and you are republican
even though your ancestors are from Iraq, and mine are from Africa
even though you teach the class i'm enrolled in

we are family,
although i'm a poet and you are a singer
although you are old and i am young
although i'm a gentleman and you a lady

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we are family,
even though you praise Allah and I praise Jesus Christ
even though i love football and you play soccer
even though you are a Sagittarius and i'm a Cancer

we are family,
although i prefer rhythm and blues and you love blue grass
even though you have a car and i have a bus…to ride
although i have love and you are alone
even though you dress one way, and i dress the other
although my family loves me and yours does not know of you

we are family,
you and i are family,
me and you are family,
no matter what the difference is
family we are, forever
because we are here, and here is earth
and earth is our home
so here, we will live,
we are family.

GLOSSARY

1.Resemble: Similar Appearance

2.Democrat: An Advocate

3.Republican: Constitution

4.Ancestors: Forefathers

5.Sagittarius: Zodiac sign

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 THINK IT OUT

1.Whom does the poet mean a family in this poem?

2.What are the differences used by the poet?

3.What does the theme the poet speak about?

FIGURE OF SPEECH

Anaphora is a technique where several phrases begin with the same word or words.

Eg : "although we do not resemble

although i am black and you are white

although you are rich and i am poor"

Read the extract given below and answer the questions that follow:

i. “we are family,

even though you praise Allah and I praise Jesus Christ
even though I love football and you play soccer
even though you are a Sagittarius and I’m a Cancer”

1) What concept the poet uses here?

2) What does the poet mean by saying football and soccer?
3) Bring out the concept of religion used by the poet?

ii. “although I have love and you are alone

even though you dress one way, and I dress the other
although my family loves me and yours does not know of you”

1) What message the poet gives to the readers?

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 2) What does the poet talks about ‘love’?
3) What is the comparison between love and family?

iii. “and here is earth

and earth is our home

so here, we will live,

we are family.

1) How does the poet treat the world?

2) What does earth refer to?
3) Why does the poet calls ‘we are family’?

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THE LAST LEAF
O. HENRY

William Sidney Porter was born on 11th

September 1862 in America and died on 5th
June 1910 in New York City at his age of 47.
He was famous for his short stories under his
pen name O. Henry. His stories are well
known for its surprise ending. The O. Henry
Award is a prestigious annual prize named
after him and given to the outstanding short
stories.

Many artists lived in the Greenwich Village area of New York. Two young women
named Sue and Johnsy shared a studio apartment at the top of a three-story building. Johnsy's
real name was Joanna.

In November, a cold, unseen stranger came to visit the city. This disease, pneumonia, killed
many people. Johnsy lay on her bed, hardly moving. She looked through the small window.
She could see the side of the brick house next to her building.

One morning, a doctor examined Johnsy and took her temperature. Then he spoke with Sue
in another room.

"She has one chance in -- let us say ten," he said. "And that chance is for her to want to live.
Your friend has made up her mind that she is not going to get well. Has she anything on her
mind?"

"She -- she wanted to paint the Bay of Naples in Italy someday," said Sue.

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"Paint?" said the doctor. "Bosh! Has she anything on her mind worth thinking twice -- a man
for example?"

"A man?" said Sue. "Is a man worth -- but, no, doctor; there is nothing of the kind."

"I will do all that science can do," said the doctor. "But whenever my patient begins to count
the carriages at her funeral, I take away fifty percent from the curative power of medicines."

After the doctor had gone, Sue went into the workroom and cried. Then she went to Johnsy's
room with her drawing board, whistling ragtime.

Johnsy lay with her face toward the window. Sue stopped whistling, thinking she was asleep.
She began making a pen and ink drawing for a story in a magazine. Young artists must work
their way to "Art" by making pictures for magazine stories. Sue heard a low sound, several
times repeated. She went quickly to the bedside.

Johnsy's eyes were open wide. She was looking out the window and counting -- counting
backward. "Twelve," she said, and a little later "eleven"; and then "ten" and "nine;" and then
"eight" and "seven," almost together.

Sue looked out the window. What was there to count? There was only an empty yard and the
blank side of the house seven meters away. An old ivy vine, going bad at the roots, climbed
half way up the wall. The cold breath of autumn had stricken leaves from the plant until its
branches, almost bare, hung on the bricks.

"What is it, dear?" asked Sue.

"Six," said Johnsy, quietly. "They're falling faster now. Three days ago there were almost a
hundred. It made my head hurt to count them. But now it's easy. There goes another one.
There are only five left now."

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"Five what, dear?" asked Sue. "Leaves. On the plant. When the last one falls I must go, too.
I've known that for three days. Didn't the doctor tell you?"

"Oh, I never heard of such a thing," said Sue. "What have old ivy leaves to do with your
getting well? And you used to love that vine. Don't be silly. Why, the doctor told me this
morning that your chances for getting well real soon were -- let's see exactly what he said –
he said the chances were ten to one! Try to eat some soup now. And, let me go back to my
drawing, so I can sell it to the magazine and buy food and wine for us."

"You needn't get any more wine," said Johnsy, keeping

her eyes fixed out the window. "There goes another one.
No, I don't want any soup. That leaves just four. I want to
see the last one fall before it gets dark. Then I'll go, too."

"Johnsy, dear," said Sue, "will you promise me to keep

your eyes closed, and not look out the window until I am
done working? I must hand those drawings in by
tomorrow."

"Tell me as soon as you have finished," said Johnsy, closing her eyes and lying white and still
as a fallen statue. "I want to see the last one fall. I'm tired of waiting. I'm tired of thinking. I
want to turn loose my hold on everything, and go sailing down, down, just like one of those
poor, tired leaves."

."Try to sleep," said Sue. "I must call Mister Behrman up to be my model for my drawing of
an old miner. Don't try to move until I come back."

Old Behrman was a painter who lived on the ground floor of the apartment building.
Behrman was a failure in art. For years, he had always been planning to paint a work of art,
but had never yet begun it. He earned a little money by serving as a model to artists who
could not pay for a professional model. He was a fierce, little, old man who protected the two
young women in the studio apartment above him.

25
Sue found Behrman in his room. In one area was a blank canvas that had been waiting
twenty-five years for the first line of paint. Sue told him about Johnsy and how she feared
that her friend would float away like a leaf.

Old Behrman was angered at such an idea. "Are there people in the world with the
foolishness to die because leaves drop off a vine? Why do you let that silly business come in
her brain?"

"She is very sick and weak," said Sue, "and the disease has left her mind full of strange
ideas."

"This is not any place in which one so good as Miss Johnsy shall lie sick," yelled Behrman.
"Some day I will paint a masterpiece, and we shall all go away."

Johnsy was sleeping when they went upstairs. Sue pulled the shade down to cover the
window. She and Behrman went into the other room. They looked out a window fearfully at
the ivy vine. Then they looked at each other without speaking. A cold rain was falling, mixed
with snow. Behrman sat and posed as the miner.

The next morning, Sue awoke after an hour's sleep. She found Johnsy with wide-open eyes
staring at the covered window.

"Pull up the shade; I want to see," she ordered, quietly.

Sue obeyed.

After the beating rain and fierce wind that blew through the night, there yet stood against the
wall one ivy leaf. It was the last one on the vine. It was still dark green at the center. But its
edges were colored with the yellow. It hung bravely from the branch about seven meters
above the ground.

"It is the last one," said Johnsy. "I thought it would surely fall during the night. I heard the
wind. It will fall today and I shall die at the same time."

26
"Dear, dear!" said Sue, leaning her worn face down toward the bed. "Think of me, if you
won't think of yourself. What would I do?" But Johnsy did not answer.

The next morning, when it was light, Johnsy demanded that the window shade be raised. The
ivy leaf was still there. Johnsy lay for a long time, looking at it. And then she called to Sue,
who was preparing chicken soup.

"I've been a bad girl," said Johnsy. "Something has made that last leaf stay there to show me
how bad I was. It is wrong to want to die. You may bring me a little soup now."

An hour later she said: "Someday I hope to paint the Bay of Naples."

Later in the day, the doctor came, and Sue talked to him in the hallway.

"Even chances," said the doctor. "With good care, you'll win. And now I must see another
case I have in your building. Behrman, his name is -- some kind of an artist, I believe.
Pneumonia, too. He is an old, weak man and his case is severe. There is no hope for him; but
he goes to the hospital today to ease his pain."

The next day, the doctor said to Sue: "She's out of danger. You won. Nutrition and care now -
- that's all."

Later that day, Sue came to the bed where Johnsy lay, and put one arm around her.

"I have something to tell you, white mouse," she said. "Mister Behrman died of pneumonia
today in the hospital. He was sick only two days. They found him the morning of the first day
in his room downstairs helpless with pain. His shoes and clothing were completely wet and
icy cold. They could not imagine where he had been on such a terrible night.

And then they found a lantern, still lighted. And they found a ladder that had been moved
from its place. And art supplies and a painting board with green and yellow colors mixed on
it.

27
And look out the window, dear, at the last ivy leaf on the wall. Didn't you wonder why it
never moved when the wind blew? Ah, darling, it is Behrman's masterpiece – he painted it
there the night that the last leaf fell."

GLOSSARY

1. Traverse: to pass across, over or through something

2. Quaint: charmingly old – fashioned
3. Congenial: of a friendly disposition, sociable
4. Pneumonia: an acute or chronic disease caused by any viruses or bacteria characterized by
the inflammation of the lungs
5. Monocle: an eyeglass for one eye

THINK IT OUT

1. Describe the Doctor in “The Last Leaf”.

2. Analyze the friendship between Sue and Johnsy.
3. What are the symbols in “The Last Leaf”?

GRAMMAR

Definite Article

The definite article “the” in grammar is a determiner that introduces or refers to a specific
noun, or specifies the given noun.

Common Use of Definite Article:

• May I go to the school?

• I saw him in the school.

• The rose has beautiful smell.

28
•She is the brilliant student.

Exercise:

1. My grandmother likes _______ very much. (flowers)

2. I love ______ in your garden. (flowers)
3. See you on _______. (Wednesday)
4. I always listen to ______ in the morning. (radio)
5. Alex goes to work by _____.(bus)
6. Don’t be late for _____.(school)
7. Listen! Dennis is playing _____. (trumpet)
8. We often see our cousins over _____. (Easter)
9. _____ has run away. (thief)
10. _____ is blown by wind. (sand)

WRITING SKILL

MIND MAP

Frame a mind map based on the story you read recently.

29
 LIFE SKILL

Imagine that you are in a situation to give hope or motivation

to your friend. How will you bring confidence in them?

30
THE MIGRATION OF DARKNESS
PETER PAYACK

Peter Payack was the first poet populist of Cambridge

Massachusetts. His innovations, phone-a-poem,the
Cambridge and Boston poetry hotline along with his
work achieved success in Library in the Woodberry
poetry room. His poem,” THE MIGRATION OF
DARKNESS” won the 1980 Rhysling Award, signifying
the best poem in science fiction poetry.

Each evening, shortly after sunset,

darkness covers the land.
Having mystified thinkers for millennia,
the mechanism for this occurrence
has now been identified: migration.
Darkness, it has been found, is composed
of an almost infinite number of particles,
which roost and reproduce up north
where they have fewer natural enemies:
Forest fires, lampposts, lasers, blazing sunlight,
torches, candles, lighthouses, limelight, and electricity
are relatively rare in the polar regions.

These lightweight bits of darkness

flock together and fly south each evening
to more fertile land in a never-ending search
for an abundant food supply.

31
With the coming of the rising sun,
they return to their northern nesting grounds.
However, not all specks of darkness migrate.
Some that are less adventurous
or downright lazy
choose to stay behind.
These covey together, in varying numbers,
seeking shelter from the strong sunlight
by gathering under leafy trees, behind
large rocks, and underneath umbrellas;
hiding in alleys, between parked cars,
in caves, and inside empty pockets.
These clusters are perceived by us as shadows.
They have a somewhat shorter life span
than those which migrate.

GLOSSARY

1. Mystified: Utterly bewilder

2. Millennia: A period of thousand years
3. Abundant: Existing
4. Occurrence: An incident or event.
5. Adventurous: Willing to take risk.

THINK IT OUT

1.What message does the poem convey?

2.Why are the clusters perceived as shadows?

3.Where does the darkness migrate?

32
FIGURE OF SPEECH

An oxymoron is two contradictory terms used together.

Eg : "These lightweight bits of darkness"

Read the extract given below and answer the questions that follow:

1. Each evening, shortly after sunset,

darkness covers the land.

a. These lines are taken from the poem ___________.

b. Who is the speaker?
c. Find out the alliterated words in these lines.

2. Darkness, it has been found, is composed

of an almost infinite number of particles,
which roost and reproduce up north
where they have fewer natural enemies:

a. What is the main theme of this poem?

b. How is ‘darkness’ portrayed in these lines?
c. Find out the poetic dictions present in these lines of the poem.

3. These lightweight bits of darkness

flock together and fly south each evening
to more fertile land in a never-ending search
for an abundant food supply.

a. Explain the comparisons brought out with the darkness.

b. Is there any rhyme scheme implied on these lines?
(yes/ no)
c. whom does the poet is addressing?
d. What is the theme of the poem?
33
FAT FARM
ORSON SCOTT CARD

Orson Scott Card was born on August 24, 1951,

in Richland, Washington. Card was named after
his grandfather. Orson Scott Card is a
contemporary American fiction writer.
Additionally, he is a public speaker, columnist,
essayist and a critic. He has written a number of
genres but his forte remains science fiction. He is
credited for writing one of the epic sci-fi novels of
the generation, Ender’s Game (1985).

The receptionist was surprised that he was back so soon.

"Why, Mr. Barth, how glad I am to see you," she said.

"Surprised, you mean," Barth answered. His voice rumbled from the rolls of fat under
his chin.

"Delighted.

" "How long has it been?" Barth asked.

"Three years. How time flies.

" The receptionist smiled, but Barth saw the awe and revulsion on her face as she
glanced over his immense body. In her job she saw fat people every day. But Barth knew he
was unusual. He was proud of being unusual.

"Back to the fat farm," he said, laughing.

The effort of laughing made him short of breath, and he gasped for air as she pushed a
button and said, "Mr. Barth is back."

34
 He did not bother to look for a chair. No chair could hold him. He did lean against a
wall, however. Standing was a labor he preferred to avoid.

Yet it was not shortness of breath or exhaustion at the slightest effort that had brought
him back to Anderson's Fitness Center. He had often been fat before, and he rather relished
the sensation of bulk, the impression he made as crowds parted for him. He pitied those who
could only be slightly fat-- short people, who were not able to bear the weight. At well over
two meters, Barth could get gloriously fat, stunningly fat. He owned thirty wardrobes and
took delight in changing from one to another as his belly and buttocks and thighs grew. At
times he felt that if he grew large enough, he could take over the world, be the world. At the
dinner table he was a conqueror to rival Genghis Khan.

It was not his fatness, then, that had brought him in. It was that at last the fat was
interfering with his other pleasures. The girl he had been with the night before had tried and
tried, but he was incapable-- a sign that it was time to renew, refresh, reduce.

"I am a man of pleasure," he wheezed to the receptionist, whose name he never

bothered to learn. She smiled back.

"Mr. Anderson will be here in a moment."

"Isn't it ironic," he said, "that a man such as I, who is capable of fulfilling every one of
his desires, is never satisfied!" He gasped with laughter again. "Why haven't we ever slept
together?" he asked.

She looked at him, irritation crossing her face. "You always ask that, Mr. Barth, on
your way in. But you never ask it on your way out."

True enough. When he was on his way out of the Anderson Fitness Center, she never
seemed as attractive as she had on his way in.

Anderson came in, effusively handsome, gushingly warm, taking Barth's fleshy hand
in his and pumping it with enthusiasm.

"One of my best customers," he said.

"The usual," Barth said.

"Of course," Anderson answered. "But the price has gone up."

35
 "If you ever go out of business," Barth said, following Anderson into the inner rooms,
"give me plenty of warning. I only let myself go this much because I know you're here."

"Oh," Anderson chuckled. "We'll never go out of business."

"I have no doubt you could support your whole organization on what you charge me."

"You're paying for much more than the sitnple service we perform. You're also paying
for privacy. Our, shall we say, lack of government intervention."

"How many of the bastards do you bribe?"

"Very few, very few. Partly because so many high officials also need our service."

"No doubt."

"It isn't just weight gains that bring people to us, you know. It's cancer and aging and
accidental disfigurement. You'd be surprised to learn who has had our service."

Barth doubted that he would. The couch was ready for him, immense and soft and
angled so that it would be easy for him to get up again.

"Damn near got married this time," Barth said, by way of conversation.

Anderson turned to him in surprise.

"But you didn't?"

"Of course not. Started getting fat, and she couldn't cope."

"Did you tell her?"

"That I was getting fat? It was obvious."

"About us, I mean." "I'm not a fool."

Anderson looked relieved. "Can't have rumors getting around among the thin and
young, you know."

"Still, I think I'll look her up again, afterward. She did things to me a woman shouldn't
be able to do. And I thought I was jaded."

Anderson placed a tight-fitting rubber cap over Barth's head.

36
 "Think your key thought," Anderson reminded him. Key thought. At first that had
been such a comfort, to make sure that not one iota of his memory would be lost. Now it was
boring, almost juvenile. Key thought. Do you have your own Captain Aardvark secret
decoder ring? Be the first on your block. The only thing Barth had been the first on his block
to do was reach puberty. He had also been the first on his block to reach one hundred fifty
kilos.

How many times have I been here? he wondered as the tingling in his scalp began.
This is the eighth time. Eight times, and my fortune is larger than ever, the kind of wealth that
takes on a life on its own. I can keep this up forever, he thought, with relish. Forever at the
supper table with neither worries nor restraints.

"It's dangerous to gain so much weight," Lynette had said. "Heart attacks, you know."
But the only things that Barth worried about were hemorrhoids and impotence. The former
was a nuisance, but the latter made life unbearable and drove him back to Anderson.

Key thought. What else? Lynette, standing naked on the

edge of the cliff with the wind blowing. She was courting death,
and he admired her for it, almost hoped that she would find it.
She despised safety precautions. Like clothing, they were
restrictions to be cast aside. She had once talked him into
playing tag with her on a construction site, racing along the
girders in the darkness, until the police came and made them
leave. That had been when Barth was still thin from his last
time at Anderson's. But it was not Lynette on the girders that he
held in his mind. It was Lynette, fragile and beautiful Lynette,
daring the wind to snatch her from the cliff and break up her body on the rocks by the river.

Even that, Barth thought, would be a kind of pleasure. A new kind of pleasure, to taste
a grief so magnificently, so admirably earned.

And then the tingling in his head stopped. Anderson came back in.

"Already?" Birth asked.

"We've streamlined the process." Anderson carefully peeled the cap from Barth's
head, helped the immense man lift himself from the couch.

37
 "I can't understand why it's illegal," Barth said. "Such a simple thing."

"Oh, there are reasons. Population control, that sort of thing. This is a kind of
immortality, you know. But it's mostly the repugnance most people feel. They can't face the
thought. You're a man of rare courage.

" But it was not courage, Barth knew. It was pleasure.

He eagerly anticipated seeing, and they did not make him wait.

"Mr. Barth, meet Mr. Barth.

"It nearly broke his heart to see his own body young and strong and beautiful again, as
it never had been the first time through his life. It was unquestionably himself, however, that
they led into the room. Except that the belly was firm, the thighs well muscled but slender
enough that they did not meet, even at the crotch. They brought him in naked, of course.
Barth insisted on it.

He tried to remember the last time. Then he had been the one coming from the
leaming room, emerging to see the immense fat man that all his memories told him was
himself. Barth remembered that it had been a double pleasure, to see the mountain he had
made of himself, yet to view it from inside this beautiful young body.

"Come here," Barth said, his own voice arousing echoes of the last time, when it had
been the other Barth who had said it. And just as that other had done the last time, he touched
the naked young Barth, stroked the smooth and lovely skin, and finally embraced him.

And the young Barth embraced him back, for that was the way of it. No one loved
Barth as much as Barth did, thin or fat, young or old. Life was a celebration of Barth; the
sight of himself was his strongest nostalgia.

"What did I think of?" Barth asked.

The young Barth smiled into his eyes. "Lynette," he said. "Naked on a cliff. The wind
blowing. And the thought of her thrown to her death."

"Will you go back to her?" Barth asked his young seff eagerly.

"Perhaps. Or to someone like her." And Barth saw with delight that the mere thought
of it had aroused his young self more than a little.

38
 "He'll do," Barth said, and Anderson handed him the simple papers to sign-- papers
that would never be seen in a court of law. because they attested to Barth's own compliance
in and initiation of an act that was second only to murder in the lawbooks of every state.

"That's it, then," Anderson said, turning from the fat Barth to the young, thin one.
"You're Mr. Barth now, in control of his wealth and his life. Your clothing is in the next
room."

"I know where it is," the young Barth said with a smile, and his footsteps were
buoyant as he left the room. He would dress quickly and leave the Fitness Center briskly,
hardly noticing the rather plain-looking receptionist, except to take note of her wistful look
after him, a tall, slender, beautiful man who had, only moments before, been lying mindless
in storage, waiting to be given a mind and a memory, waiting for a fat man to move out of the
way so he could fill his space.

In the memory room Barth sat on the edge of the couch, looking at the door, and then
realized, with surprise, that he had no idea what came next.

"My memories run out here," Barth said to Anderson. "The agreement was-- what was
the agreement?"

"The agreement was tender care of you until you passed away."

"Ah, yes."

"The agreement isn't worth a damn thing," Anderson said, smiling.

Barth looked at him with surprise. "What do you mean?"

"There are two options, Barth. A needle within the next fifteen minutes. Or
employment."

"What are you talking about?"

"You didn't think we'd waste time and effort feeding you the ridiculous amounts of
food you require, did you?"

Barth felt himself sink inside. This was not what he had expected, though he had not
honestly expected anything. Barth was not the kind to anticipate trouble. Life had never given
him much trouble.

"A needle?"

39
 "Cyanide, if you insist, though we'd rather be able to vivisect you and get as many
useful body parts as we can. Your body's still fairly young. We can get incredible amounts of
money for your pelvis and your glands-- but they have to be taken from you alive."

"What are you talking about? This isn't what we agreed."

"I agreed to nothing with you, my friend," Anderson said, smiling. "I agreed with
Barth. And Barth just left the room."

"Call him back! I insist--"

"Barth doesn't give a damn what happens to you."

And he knew that it was true.

"You said something about employment."

"Indeed."

"What kind of employment?"

Anderson shook his head.

"It all depends," he said.

"On what?"

"On what kind of work turns up. There are several assignments every year that must
be performed by a living human being, for which no volunteer can be found. No person, not
even a criminal, can be compelled to do them."

"And I?"

"Will do them. Or one of them, rather, since you rarely get a second job."

"How can you do this? I'm a human being!"

Anderson shook his head. "The law says that there is only one possible Barth in all the
world. And you aren't it. You're just a number. And a letter. The letter H."

"Why H?"

"Because you're such a disgusting glutton, my friend. Even our first customers haven't
got past C yet."

40
 Anderson left then, and Barth was alone in the room. Why hadn't he anticipated this?
Of course, of course, he shouted to himself now. Of course, they wouldn't keep him
pleasantly alive. He wanted to get up and try to run. But walking was difficult for him;
running would be impossible. He sat there, his belly pressing heavily on his thighs, which
were spread wide by the fat. He stood, with great effort, and could only waddle because his
legs were so far apart, so constrained in their movement.

This has happened every time, Barth thought. Every damn time I've walked out of this
place, young and thin, I've left behind someone like me, and they've had their way, haven't
they? His hands trembled badly.

He wondered what he had decided before and knew immediately that there was no
decision to make at all. Some fat people might hate themselves and choose death for the sake
of having a thin version of themselves live on. But not Barth. Barth could never choose to
cause himself any pain. And to obliterate even an illegal, clandestine version of himself--
impossible. Whatever else he might be, he was still Barth. The man who walked out of the
memory room a few minutes before had not taken over Barth's identity. He had only
duplicated it. They've stolen my soul with mirrors, Barth told himself. I have to get it back.

"Anderson!" Barth shouted. "Anderson! I've made up my mind."

It was not Anderson who entered, of course. Barth would never see Anderson again. It
would have been too tempting to try to kill him.

***

"Get to work, H!" the old man shouted from the other side of the field.

Barth leaned on his hoe a moment more, then got back to work, scraping weeds from
between the potato plants. The calluses on his hands had long since shaped themselves to fit
the wooden handle, and his muscles knew how to perform the work without Barth's having to
think about it at all. Yet that made the labor no easier. When he first realized that they meant
him to be a potato farmer, he had asked, "Is this my assignment? Is this all?" And they had
laughed and told him no. "This just preparation," they said, "to get you in shape." So for two
years he had worked in the potato fields, and now he began to doubt that they would ever
come back, that the potatoes would ever end.

41
 The old man was watching, he knew. His gaze always burned worse than the sun. The
old man was watching, and if Barth rested too long or too often, the old man would come to
him, whip in hand, to scar him deeply, to hurt him, to the soul.

He dug into the ground, chopping at a stubborn plant whose root seemed to cling to
the foundation of the world. "Come up, damn you," he muttered. He thought his arms were
too weak to strike harder, but he struck harder anyway. The root split, and the impact
shattered him to the bone.

He was naked and brown to the point of blackness from the sun. The flesh hung
loosely on him in great folds, a memory of the mountain he had been. Under the loose skin,
however, he was tight and hard. It might have given him pleasure, for every muscle had been
earned by hard labor and the pain of the lash. But there was no pleasure in it. The price was
too high.

I'll kill myself, he often thought and thought again now with his arms trembling with
exhaustion. I'll kill myself so they can't use my body and can't use my soul.

But he would never kill himself. Even now, Barth was incapable of ending it.

The farm he worked on was unfenced, but the time he had gotten away he had walked
and walked and walked for three days and had not once seen any sign of human habitation
other than an occasional jeep track in the sagebrush-and-grass desert. Then they found him
and brought him back, weary and despairing, and forced him to finish a day's work in the
field before letting him rest. And even then the lash had bitten deep, the old man laying it on
with a relish that spoke of sadism or a deep, personal hatred.

But why should the old man hate me? Barth wondered. I don't know him. He finally
decided that it was because he had been so fat, so obviously soft, while the old man was wiry
to the point of being gaunt, his face pinched by years of exposure to the sunlight. Yet the old
man's hatred had not diminished as the months went by and the fat melted away in the sweat
and sunlight of the potato field.

A sharp sting across his back, the sound of slapping leather on skin, and then an
excruciating pain deep in his muscles. He had paused too long. The old man had come to
him.

42
 The old man said nothing, just raised the lash again, ready to strike. Barth lifted the
hoe out of the ground, to start work again. It occurred to him, as it had a hundred times
before, that the hoe could reach as far as the whip, with as good effect. But, as a hundred
times before, Barth looked into the old man's eyes, and what he saw there, while he did not
understand it, was enough to stop him. He could not strike back. He could only endure.

The lash did not fall again. Instead he and the old man just looked at each other.

The sun burned where blood was coming from his back.

Flies buzzed near him. He did not bother to brush them away.

Finally the old man broke the silence.

"H," he said.

Barth did not answer, just waited.

"They've come for you. First job," said the old man.

First job. It took Barth a moment to realize the implications. The end of the potato
fields. The end of the sunlight. The end of the old man with the whip. The end of the
loneliness or, at least, of the boredom.

"Thank God," Barth said. His throat was dry.

"Go wash," the old man said.

Barth carned the hoe back to the shed. He remembered how heavy the hoe had
seemed when he first arrived. How ten minutes in the sunlight had made him faint. Yet they
had revived him in the field, and the old man had said, "Carry it back." So he had carried
back the heavy, heavy hoe, feeling for all the world like Christ bearing his cross. Soon
enough the others had gone, and the old man and he bad been alone together, but the ritual
with the hoe never changed. They got to the shed, and the old man carefully took the hoe
from him and locked it away, so that Barth couldn't get it in the night and kill him with it.

And then into the house, where Barth bathed painfully and the old man put an
excruciating disinfectant on his back. Barth had long since given up on the idea of an
anesthetic. It wasn't in the old man's nature to use an anesthetic.

Clean clothes. A few minutes' wait. And then the helicopter. A young, businesslike
man emerged from it, looking unfamiliar in detail but very familiar in general. He was an

43
echo of all the businesslike young men and women who had dealt with him before. The
young man came to him, unsmilingly, and said, "H?"

Barth nodded. It was the only name they used for him.

"You have an assignment."

"What is it?" Barth asked.

The young man did not answer. The old man, behind him, whispered, "They'll tell you
soon enough. And then you'll wish you were back here, H. They'll tell you, and you'll pray
for the potato fields."

But Barth doubted it. In two years there had not been a moment's pleasure. The food
was hideous, and there was never enough. There were no women, and he was usually too
tired to amuse himself. Just pain and labor and loneliness, all excruciating. He would leave
that now. Anything would be better, anything at all.

"Whatever they assign you, though," the old man said, "it can't be any worse than my
assignment."

Barth would have asked him what his assignment had been, but there was nothing in
the old man's voice that invited the question, and there was nothing in their relationship in the
past that would allow the question to he asked. Instead, they stood in silence as the young,
man reached into the helicopter and helped a man get out. An immensely fat man, stark-
naked and white as the flesh of a potato, looking petrified. The old man strode purposefully
toward him.

"Hello, I," the old man said.

"My name's Barth," the fat man answered, petulantly. The old man struck him hard
across the mouth, hard enough that the tender lip split and blood dripped from where his teeth
had cut into the skin.

"I," said the old man. "Your name is I."

The fat man nodded pitiably, but Barth-- H-- felt no pity for him. Two years this time.
Only two damnable years and he was already in this condition. Barth could vaguely
remember being proud of the mountain he had made of himself. But now he felt only

44
contempt. Only a desire to go to the fat man, to scream in his face, "Why did you do it! Why
did you let it happen again!"

It would have meant nothing. To I, as to H, it was the first time, the first betrayal.
There had been no others in his memory.

Barth watched as the old man put a hoe in the fat man's hands and drove him out into
the field. Two more young men got out of the helicopter. Barth knew what they would do,
could almost see them helping the old man for a few days, until I finally learned the
hopelessness of resistance and delay.

But Barth did not get to watch the replay of his own torture of two years before. The
young man who had first emerged from the copter now led him to it, put him in a seat by a
window, and sat beside him. The pilot speeded up the engines, and the copter began to rise.

"The bastard," Barth said, looking out the window at the old man as he slapped I
across the face brutally.

The young man chuckled. Then he told Barth his assignment.

Barth clung to the window, looking out, feeling his life slip away from him even as
the ground receded slowly. "I can't do it."

"There are worse assignments," the young man said.

Barth did not believe it.

"If I live," he said, "if I live, I want to come back here."

"Love it that much?"

"To kill him."

The young man looked at him blankly.

"The old man," Barth explained, then realized that the young man was ultimately
uncapable of understanding anything. He looked back out the window. The old man looked
very small next to the huge lump of white flesh beside him. Barth felt a terrible loathing for I.
A terrible despair in knowing that nothing could possibly be learned, that again and again his
selves would replay this hideous scenario.

45
 Somewhere, the man who would be J was dancing, was playing polo, was seducing
and perverting and being delighted by every woman and boy and, God knows, sheep that he
could find; somewhere the man who would be J dined.

I bent immensely in the sunlight and tried, clumsily, to use the hoe. Then, losing his
balance, he fell over into the dirt, writhing. The old man raised his whip.

The helicopter turned then, so that Barth could see nothing but sky from his window.
He never saw the whip fall. But he imagined the whip falling, imagined and relished it,
longed to feel the heaviness of the blow flowing from his own arm. Hit him again! he cried
out inside himself. Hit him for me! And inside himself he made the whip fall a dozen times
more.

"What are you thinkmg?" the young man asked, smiling, as if he knew the punch line
of a joke.

"I was thinking," Barth said, "that the old man can't possibly hate him as much as I
do."

Apparently that was the punch line. The young man laughed uproariously. Barth did
not understand the joke, but somehow he was certain that he was the butt of it. He wanted to
strike out but dared not.

Perhaps the young man saw the tension in Barth's body, or perhaps he merely wanted
to explain. He stopped laughing but could not repress his smile, which penetrated Barth far
more deeply than the laugh.

"But don't you see?" the young man asked. "Don't you know who the old man is

Barth didn't know.

"What do you think we did with A?" And the young man laughed again.

There are worse assignments than mine, Barth realized. And the worst of all would be
to spend day after day, month after month, supervising that contemptible animal that he could
not deny was himself.

The scar on his back bled a little, and the blood stuck to the seat when it dried.

46
 GLOSSARY

1. Awe-a feeling of wonder

2. Gasped-catch one’s breath with an open mouth
3. Wheezed-breathing with a whistling sound in the chest
4. Immense-extremely large
5. Tingling-slight prickling or stringing sensation
6. Embraced-holding someone closely in the arms affectionately

THINK IT OUT

1. Who is the main character of the story?

2. What is the setting of the story?
3. Who is Mr. Anderson?

GRAMMAR

Verb Forms

Main verbs have three basic forms: the base form, the past form and the –ed form sometimes
called the past participle.

S.No. Base Form Past Form Past Participle Form

1. Accept accepted accepted

2. Ignore ignored ignored
3. Sing sang sung
4. Have had had

47
 5. Make made made
6. Do did done
7. Become became become
8. Bite bit bitten
9. Break broke broken
10. Bid bid bid

Complete the following sentences using an appropriate verb form:

1. He usually ……..(do)his homework in his room.

2. The doctor told him to stop ……… (smoke) and take a trip.
3. Could you …….. (help) me please?
4. I have decided ……. (study) more and improve my overall average.
5. Let me …….. (leave) the classroom please.
6. He wants Mary …….(do) the dishes.
7. She ………..(not/do) any bad thing yesterday, I ’m sure.
8. They……… (come) here next week to visit my new office.
9. Would you mind ………… (open) the window, please? It’s not here.
10. Had they………(leave) your husband before you came here?

WRITING SKILL

Letter Writing

What is a letter?

Letter is a written form of communication which specifically addresses a person or a firm. A

letter is very easy to write and the pattern of the letter is based on the relationship between a
writer and the receiver.

48
Types of letter

Formal Letter– these kinds of letters are short and precise and contains certain objective.
These letters can be an application or an official letter. It can be a letter to the editor or letter
to the organization. It follows business jargon.

Informal letter– these kinds of letters are written to friends or relatives. It is expressive,
emotional undertone and generally lengthy.

How to write a letter

Both formal and informal letter are crafted in a different manner. One should have the
knowledge and the ability to write a letter. To
learn how to write a letter one should know the
different parts of a letter.

In the case of an informed letter one should use

the right tone along with legible handwriting.

Different parts of the letter

Subject–one should write the subject at the top

of the letter. This will state the purpose of the
letter.

Address-At the top of the letter, it is mandatory

to mention one’s address. This will allow the
receiver to reply the letter to the mentioned address.

Date– Write the date after the address in the month day year format. For example, 25th
March 2018.

Inside Address– it is the address of the receiver. For example- in the formal letter, you need
to write the name of the recipient, company name, and its official address.

Salutation– It is represented as “Dear Madam/Sir” to whomsoever you are writing. It

addresses the individual to whom the letter is written.

Introductory Paragraph– a letter is written with a certain objective. The introductory

paragraph contains the reason, issue or purpose of the letter. It outlines the tone and intention
of the letter.

49
Body –a person can extend the concern of the letter in the body content. Informal letters
contain one or two body content paragraphs while formal letter can contain more than two
paragraphs.

Conclusion-In the conclusion one can sum up the whole issue or give suggestions.

Closing the letter- the letter should be closed with -Yours sincerely or faithfully or any
other similar synonym.

Examples of formal letters are— letter to the editor, application to the principal, business
letters and Letters to government officials.

Formal letter writing

Question 1:

Write a letter to the editor of ‘The Times of India’ complaining about the nuisance created by
the use of loudspeakers. You are Peeyush Sharma, a resident of Sector 15, Vasundhara
Enclave, New Delhi.

Sector 15,

Vasundhara Enclave,

New Delhi – 110096,

18th October, 20XX.

The Editor,

The Times of India,

New Delhi.

Subject Regarding the indiscriminate use of loudspeakers

Dear Sir,

I would like to draw the kind attention of the concerned authorities towards the indiscriminate
use of loudspeakers through the columns of your esteemed newspaper.

Now-a-days, the use of loudspeakers at religious places, political gatherings, marriages etc
has become a very common sight. The organisers of these events do not bother to turn off the

50
loudspeakers after the stipulated time. In a lot of cases, the use of loudspeakers continues till
late in the night. This creates a lot of nuisance and disturbance for a lot of people especially
students and senior citizens.

I would want the authorities to look into this matter and put stricter rules in place. They must
ensure that the use of loudspeakers does not continue after the stipulated time is over. Their
efforts in this regard would be much appreciated by one and all.

Yours truly,

(Sign)

Peeyush Sharma

Question 2:

You are Rohini Mittal, a student of Delhi Public School, Ghaziabad. Write an application to
your Principal asking him to sanction your medical leave for 2 weeks. Give reasons, why you
need the leave.

Question 3:

You are Sudhanshu Arora. You have passed out of DAV Public School, Rohtak. Write an
application to your Principal, requesting him to issue you a character certificate as you need
one for college admissions.

Question 4:

You are the Area Manager of your company. Write a letter to the Director of ICICI Bank-
One of your valuable clients, for the payment of pending arrears towards your company.

Question 5:

Write a letter to a wholesaler dealing in text books and story books for ordering of some
books that you require for your shop.

Question 6:

You are Sunil Kumar, a resident of B-168 Vijay Vihar. Write a letter to the Accounts
Manager of State Bank of India for opening a new savings account.

Question 7:

51
You are a resident of Nihal Vihar, Faridabad. There is too much traffic chaos in your locality.
The school children are the most vulnerable group as their safety is at stake. Write a letter to
the Area MLA to solve the problem.

Question 8:

You are Sudhanshu Arora. You have passed out of DAV Public School, Rohtak. Write an
application to your Principal, requesting him to issue you a character certificate as you need
one for college admissions.

Informal Letter writing

Question 1:

You are Meet. Write a letter to your friend asking him about his trip to Manali and also
inviting him for your birthday party.

262 Lake View Apartments

South Extension

New Delhi-110096

13th June, 20XX

Dear Joy,

How are you my friend? It has been some time since we met. How was your trip to Manali?
Hope you enjoyed in the mountains. I received all the postcar is which you had sent me from
there. Thanks a bunch! I loved each of them.

Hey! Guess what? My Aunt Meghna has organised an early birthday party for me and she has
asked me to invite all my friends. You know very well that no party of mine is complete
without you. So please be at my place this Sunday. The party doesn’t start till 4, but do come
early so, that we can go cyclihg. Bring Arun along with you too. Don’t he late.

Hope your parents are all right. Give them my regards. And wish you all the best for your
cricket match today. See you this Sunday.

Your loving friend

Meet

52
Question 2:

You are Rohit, residing at 56, Munirka Enclave, DDA Flats, New Delhi. Write a letter to
your friend Rahim, telling him about your new school. You can use the following

Hints Infrastructure-Nice, airy, big classrooms, Furniture-comfortable,sufficient, attractive

Playgrounds- big and grassy Education-able teachers, computer aided teaching, well
equipped labs Emphasis on-over all development of the child

Question 3:

Taking help from the information given below, write a letter to your younger brother advising
him to give up the bad company in which he seems to have fallen.

Hints

Letter from the Principal

Irregular in doing homework

Friendship with decent and intelligent children

Question 4:

Write a letter to your younger brother advising him to grow the habit of newspaper reading.

Question 5:

Write a letter to your friend giving him suggestions about the importance-of physical exercise
in our life.

Question 6:

Write a letter to your friend telling her how to use mobile phones for positive’ use.

Question 7:

Write a letter to your younger sister telling her the benefits of time- management.

Question 8:

Write a letter to a junior friend explaining him to avoid eating junk food. Use the following
hints:

(i) Leads to obesity. (ii) Increases risk of heart attack.

53
(iii) Waste of money. (iv) Eat healthy food instead.

LIFE SKILL

Imagine yourself as a novelist. What is the theme you would

select based on science fiction? Write a short story on it.

54
FREEDOM
RABINDRANATH TAGORE

Rabindranath Tagore (1861-1941) is considered to be

the greatest writer in modern Indian literature. He is a
Bengali poet, novelist, educator, song composer,he has
received Nobel Laureate for Literature (1913). Some of
his best works include Gitanjali, Manasi, Balaka,
Detective and Postmaster. Tagore composed the
National Anthem of India. He was also known as "the
bard of Bengal".

Freedom from fear is the freedom

I claim for you my motherland!
Freedom from the burden of the ages, bending your head,
breaking your back, blinding your eyes to the beckoning
call of the future;
Freedom from the shackles of slumber wherewith
you fasten yourself in night's stillness,
mistrusting the star that speaks of truth's adventurous paths;
freedom from the anarchy of destiny
whole sails are weakly yielded to the blind uncertain winds,
and the helm to a hand ever rigid and cold as death.
Freedom from the insult of dwelling in a puppet's world,
where movements are started through brainless wires,
repeated through mindless habits,
where figures wait with patience and obedience for the
master of show,
to be stirred into a mimicry of life.

55
 GLOSSARY

1. Beckoning - to move your hand or head in a way that tells someone to come nearer.
2. shackles - a pair of metal rings connected by a chain and fastened to a person's wrists or
the bottom of their legs to prevent them from escaping.
3. Slumber - sleep
4. Anarchy - a lack of control in a society because of no government.
5. Helm - the handle or wheel which controls the direction in which a ship or boat travels.
6. Puppet - a person or group whose actions are controlled by someone else.

THINK IT OUT

1. What kind of freedom does the poet desire for his country?
2. What is the theme of this poem?
3. What does the poet want the people to ask for?
4. What is the poem "Freedom" about?

FIGURE OF SPEECH

Assonance is the repetition of vowel sounds in words that are close together.
The sounds don't have to be at the beginning of the word.

Eg: "Freedom from the burden of the ages, bending your head." - 'e'

Read the extract given below and answer the questions that follow:

1. Freedom from fear is the freedom

I claim for you my motherland!

a. Who is the speaker of this poem?

b. For whom is the poet claiming freedom?

56
2. Freedom from the shackles of slumber wherewith
you fasten yourself in night's stillness,
mistrusting the star that speaks of truth's adventurous paths;

a. What does the ‘slumber’ mean?

b. Bring out the rhyme scheme for these lines.
c. Find out any one of the poetic dictions from these lines.

3. Freedom from the insult of dwelling in a puppet's world,

where movements are started through brainless wires,
repeated through mindless habits,
where figures wait with patience and obedience for the
master of show,
to be stirred into a mimicry of life.

a. What does the word ‘puppet’ refer to?

b. What are elements used to compare with freedom?
c. How is freedom connected to the mimicry of life?

57
THE HOME-COMING
RABINDRANATH TAGORE

Rabindranath Tagore, a Bengali was born on May

7, 1861, Calcutta which is now called Kolkata in
India. He was a poet, short-story
writer, song composer, playwright, essayist, and
painter who introduced new prose and verse forms
and the use of colloquial language into Bengali
literature, thereby freeing it from traditional
models based on classical Sanskrit. He was highly
influential in introducing Indian culture to the West
and vice versa, and he is generally regarded as the
outstanding creative artist of early 20th-
century India. In 1913 he became the first non-
European to receive the Nobel Prize for Literature.

Phatik Chakravorti was ringleader among the boys of the village. A new mischief got
into his head. There was a heavy log lying on the mud-flat of the river waiting to be shaped
into a mast for a boat. He decided that they should all work together to shift the log by main
force from its place and roll it away. The owner of the log would be angry and surprised, and
they would all enjoy the fun. Every one seconded the proposal, and it was carried
unanimously.

But just as the fun was about to begin, Makhan, Phatik's younger brother, sauntered up,
and sat down on the log in front of them all without a word. The boys were puzzled for a
moment. He was pushed, rather timidly, by one of the boys and told to get up but he remained
quite unconcerned. He appeared like a young philosopher meditating on the futility of games.
Phatik was furious. "Makhan," he cried, "if you don't get down this minute I'll thrash you!"

Makhan only moved to a more comfortable position.

Now, if Phatik was to keep his regal dignity before the public, it was clear he ought to
carry out his threat. But his courage failed him at the crisis. His fertile brain, however, rapidly

58
seized upon a new manoeuvre which would discomfit his brother and afford his followers an
added amusement. He gave the word of command to roll the log and Makhan over together.
Makhan heard the order, and made it a point of honour to stick on. But he overlooked the fact,
like those who attempt earthly fame in other matters, that there was peril in it.

The boys began to heave at the log with all their might, calling out, "One, two, three,
go," At the word "go" the log went; and with it went Makhan's philosophy, glory and all.

All the other boys shouted themselves hoarse with delight. But Phatik was a little
frightened. He knew what was coming. And, sure enough, Makhan rose from Mother Earth
blind as Fate and screaming like the Furies. He rushed at Phatik and scratched his face and beat
him and kicked him, and then went crying home. The first act of the drama was over.

Phatik wiped his face, and sat down on the edge of a sunken barge on the river bank,
and began to chew a piece of grass. A boat came up to the landing, and a middle-aged man,
with grey hair and dark moustache, stepped on shore. He saw the boy sitting there doing
nothing, and asked him where the Chakravortis lived. Phatik went on chewing the grass, and
said: "Over there," but it was quite impossible to tell where he pointed. The stranger asked him
again. He swung his legs to and fro on the side of the barge, and said; "Go and find out," and
continued to chew the grass as before.

But now a servant came down from the house, and told Phatik his mother wanted him.
Phatik refused to move. But the servant was the master on this occasion. He took Phatik up
roughly, and carried him, kicking and struggling in impotent rage.

When Phatik came into the house, his mother saw him. She called out angrily: "So you
have been hitting Makhan again?"

Phatik answered indignantly: "No, I haven't; who told you that?”

His mother shouted: "Don't tell lies! You have."

Phatik said suddenly: "I tell you, I haven't. You ask Makhan!" But Makhan thought it
best to stick to his previous statement. He said: "Yes, mother. Phatik did hit me."

Phatik's patience was already exhausted. He could not hear this injustice. He rushed at
Makban, and hammered him with blows: "Take that" he cried, "and that, and that, for telling
lies."

59
 His mother took Makhan's side in a moment, and pulled Phatik away, beating him with
her hands. When Phatik pushed her aside, she shouted out: "What I you little villain! Would
you hit your own mother?"

It was just at this critical juncture that the grey-haired stranger arrived. He asked what
the matter was. Phatik looked sheepish and ashamed.

But when his mother stepped back and looked at the stranger, her anger was changed
to surprise. For she recognised her brother, and cried: "Why, Dada! Where have you come
from? "As she said these words, she bowed to the ground
and touched his feet. Her brother had gone away soon
after she had married, and he had started business in
Bombay. His sister had lost her husband while he was in
Bombay. Bishamber had now come back to Calcutta, and
had at once made enquiries about his sister. He had then
hastened to see her as soon as he found out where she was.

The next few days were full of rejoicing. The

brother asked after the education of the two boys. He was
told by his sister that Phatik was a perpetual nuisance. He
was lazy, disobedient, and wild. But Makhan was as good
as gold, as quiet as a lamb, and very fond of reading,
Bishamber kindly offered to take Phatik off his sister's
hands, and educate him with his own children in Calcutta.
The widowed mother readily agreed. When his uncle asked Phatik if he would like to go to
Calcutta with him, his joy knew no bounds, and he said; "Oh, yes, uncle!” In a way that made
it quite clear that he meant it.

It was an immense relief to the mother to get rid of Phatik. She had a prejudice against
the boy, and no love was lost between the two brothers. She was in daily fear that he would
either drown Makhan some day in the river, or break his head in a fight, or run him into some
danger or other. At the same time she was somewhat distressed to see Phatik's extreme
eagerness to get away.

Phatik, as soon as all was settled, kept asking his uncle every minute when they were
to start. He was on pins and needles all day long with excitement, and lay awake most of 3 the

60
night. He bequeathed to Makhan, in perpetuity, his fishing-rod, his big kite and his marbles.
Indeed, at this time of departure his generosity towards Makhan was unbounded.

When they reached Calcutta, Phatik made the acquaintance of his aunt for the first time.
She was by no means pleased with this unnecessary addition to her family. She found her own
three boys quite enough to manage without taking any one else. And to bring a village lad of
fourteen into their midst was terribly upsetting. Bishamber should really have thought twice
before committing such an indiscretion.

In this world of human affairs there is no worse nuisance than a boy at the age of
fourteen. He is neither ornamental, nor useful. It is impossible to shower affection on him as
on a little boy; and he is always getting in the way. If he talks with a childish lisp he is called
a baby, and if he answers in a grown-up way he is called impertinent. In fact any talk at all
from him is resented. Then he is at the unattractive, growing age. He grows out of his clothes
with indecent haste; his voice grows hoarse and breaks and quavers; his face grows suddenly
angular and unsightly. It is easy to excuse the shortcomings of early childhood, but it is hard to
tolerate even unavoidable lapses in a boy of fourteen. The lad himself becomes painfully self-
conscious. When he talks with elderly people he is either unduly forward, or else so unduly shy
that he appears ashamed of his very existence.

Yet it is at this very age when in his heart of hearts a young lad most craves for
recognition and love; and he becomes the devoted slave of any one who shows him
consideration. But none dare openly love him, for that would be regarded as undue indulgence,
and therefore bad for the boy. So, what with scolding and chiding, he becomes very much like
a stray dog that has lost his master.

For a boy of fourteen his own home is the only Paradise. To live in a strange house with
strange people is little short of torture, while the height of bliss is to receive the kind looks of
women, and never to be slighted by them.

It was anguish to Phatik to be the unwelcome guest in his aunt's house, despised by this
elderly woman, and slighted, on every occasion. If she ever asked him to do anything for her,
he would be so overjoyed that he would overdo it; and then she would tell him not to be so
stupid, but to get on with his lessons.

The cramped atmosphere of neglect in his aunt's house oppressed Phatik so much that
he felt that he could hardly breathe. He wanted to go out into the open country and fill his lungs

61
and breathe freely. But there was no open country to go to. Surrounded on all sides by Calcutta
houses and walls, be would dream night after night of his village home, and long to be back
there. He remembered the glorious meadow where he used to fly his kite all day long; the broad
river-banks where he would wander about the livelong day singing and shouting for joy; the
narrow brook where he could go and dive and swim at any time he liked. He thought of his
band of boy companions over whom he was despot; and, above all, the memory of that tyrant
mother of his, who had such a prejudice against him, occupied him day and night. A kind of
physical love like that of animals; a longing to be in the presence of the one who is loved; an
inexpressible wistfulness during absence; a silent cry of the inmost heart for the mother, like
the lowing of a calf in the twilight;-this love, which was almost an animal instinct, agitated 4
the shy, nervous, lean, uncouth and ugly boy. No one could understand it, but it preyed upon
his mind continually.

There was no more backward boy in the whole school than Phatik. He gaped and
remained silent when the teacher asked him a question, and like an overladen ass patiently
suffered all the blows that came down on his back. When other boys were out at play, he stood
wistfully by the window and gazed at the roofs of the distant houses. And if by chance he espied
children playing on the open terrace of any roof, his heart would ache with longing.

One day he summoned up all his courage, and asked his uncle: "Uncle, when can I go
home?"

His uncle answered; "Wait till the holidays come.” But the holidays would not come
till November, and there was a long time still to wait. One day Phatik lost his lesson-book.
Even with the help of books he had found it very difficult indeed to prepare his lesson. Now it
was impossible. Day after day the teacher would cane him unmercifully. His condition became
so abjectly miserable that even his cousins were ashamed to own him. They began to jeer and
insult him more than the other boys. He went to his aunt at last, and told her that he bad lost
his book.

His aunt pursed her lips in contempt, and said: "You great clumsy, country lout. How
can I afford, with all my family, to buy you new books five times a month?"

That night, on his way back from school, Phatik had a bad headache with a fit of
shivering. He felt he was going to have an attack of malarial fever. His one great fear was that
he would be a nuisance to his aunt.

62
 The next morning Phatik was nowhere to be seen. All searches in the neighbourhood
proved futile. The rain had been pouring in torrents all night, and those who went out in search
of the boy got drenched through to the skin. At last Bisbamber asked help from the police.

At the end of the day a police van stopped at the door before the house. It was still
raining and the streets were all flooded. Two constables brought out Phatik in their arms and
placed him before Bishamber. He was wet through from head to foot, muddy all over, his face
and eyes flushed red with fever, and his limbs all trembling. Bishamber carried him in his arms,
and took him into the inner apartments. When his wife saw him, she exclaimed; "What a heap
of trouble this boy has given us. Hadn't you better send him home ?"

Phatik heard her words, and sobbed out loud: "Uncle, I was just going home; but they
dragged me back again,"

The fever rose very high, and all that night the boy was delirious. Bishamber brought
in a doctor. Phatik opened his eyes flushed with fever, and looked up to the ceiling, and said
vacantly: "Uncle, have the holidays come yet? May I go home?"

Bishamber wiped the tears from his own eyes, and took Phatik's lean and burning hands in his
own, and sat by him through the night. The boy began again to mutter. At last his voice
became excited: "Mother," he cried, "don't beat me like that! Mother! I am telling the truth!"

The next day Phatik became conscious for a short time. He turned his eyes about the room, as
if expecting some one to come. At last, with an air of disappointment, his head sank back on
the pillow. He turned his face to the wall with a deep sigh.

Bishamber knew his thoughts, and, bending down his head, whispered: "Phatik, I have sent
for your mother." The day went by. The doctor said in a troubled voice that the boy's
condition was very critical.

Phatik began to cry out; "By the mark! --three fathoms. By the mark-- four fathoms. By the
mark-." He had heard the sailor on the river- steamer calling out the mark on the plumb-line.
Now he was himself plumbing an unfathomable sea.

Later in the day Phatik's mother burst into the room like a whirlwind, and began to toss from
side to side and moan and cry in a loud voice.

Bishamber tried to calm her agitation, but she flung herself on the bed, and cried: "Phatik, my
darling, my darling."

63
Phatik stopped his restless movements for a moment. His hands ceased beating up and down.
He said: "Eh?"

The mother cried again: "Phatik, my darling, my darling."

Phatik very slowly turned his head and, without seeing anybody, said: "Mother, the holidays
have come”.

GLOSSARY

1. Mast - a tall upright post

2. Futility - pointless, useless
3. Barge - a long flat-bottomed boat
4. Impotent - unable to take effective action
5. Hastened - quick to do something
6. Bequeathed - pass on or leave to someone else
7. Anguish - extremely distressed
8. Lout - an aggressive man or boy

THINK IT OUT

1. What was the new mischief that got into Phatik’s head?
2. What did Phatik and his friends do to Makhan?
3. Why did Bishambar offer to take Phatik to Calcutta?

GRAMMAR

Clause

Definition

A clause is comprised of a group of words which includes a subject and a finite verb. A clause
contains only one subject and one verb. The subject of a clause can be mentioned or hidden,
but the verb must be apparent and distinguishable.

64
Example:
o I graduated last year. (One clause sentence)
o When I came here, I saw him. (Two clause sentence)
o When I came here, I saw him, and he greeted me. (Three clause sentence)

Types of Clause

Clauses are mainly of two types:

• Independent Clause
• Dependent Clause
Independent Clause
An independent clause functions on its own to make a meaningful sentence and looks much
like a regular sentence.
In a sentence two independent clauses can be connected by the coordinators: and, but, so, or,
nor, for*, yet*.

Example:
o He is a wise man.
o I like him.
o Can you do it?
o Do it please.
o I read the whole story.
I want to buy a phone, but I don’t have enough money. (Two independent clauses)
o He went to London and visited the Lords. (Subject of the second clause is ‘he,' so “he
visited the Lords” is an independent clause.)
o Alex smiles whenever he sees her. (One independent clause)

Dependent Clause
A dependent clause cannot function on its own because it leaves an idea or thought unfinished.
It is also called subordinate clause. Dependent clauses help the independent clauses complete
the sentence. A dependent clause alone cannot form a complete sentence.

65
The subordinators do the work of connecting the dependent clause to another clause to
complete the sentence. In each of the dependent clause, the first word
is a subordinator. Subordinators include relative pronouns,
subordinating conjunctions, and noun clause markers.

Example:
o When I was driving, I had an accident.
o I know the man who stole the watch.
o He bought a car which was too expensive.
o I know that he cannot do it.

Exercise: Identify the Clause

1. I went to the beach last Saturday.

2. I borrowed an old bathing suit from my friend.
3. I forgot to bring my own Pen.
4. My friends were waiting for me to join them.
5. They suddenly stopped talking and looked away
6. I abandoned my friends and ran into the water.
7. Some rude boys came up and began to make insulting remarks.
8. My friends invited me to play in the sand with them
9. A dog chased me down the beach
10. I got out the water

WRITING SKILL

Advertisement

Q 1. You are Mohan/Mohini, General Manager of PK Industries, Hyderabad. You need an

Accountant for your company. Draft, in not more than 50 words, an advertisement to be
published in 'The Hindu' classified columns.

66
Q 2. You are Ratan/Rani, General Manager of Hotel Green Park, Lucknow. You need a
receptionist for your hotel. Draft an advertisement in not more than 50 words to be published
in 'Hindustan Time Lucknow', calling for applications.

Q 3. Write an advertisement in not more than 50 words for the Lost and Found column of the
daily `National Herald', Lucknow stating the loss of your wallet containing a DD for Rs.
32500 and some cash, while traveling by bus from Hazratganj to Nerala Nagar in Lucknow.
You are Raman/Roopa, 22 A Hazratganj, Lucknow.

Q 4. You want to rent out your newly constructed flat in the heart of the city. Draft an
advertisement not exceeding 50 words to be published in 'The Deccan Herald', Bengaluru
under classified column Give all the necessary details. You are Mohan/Mahima of Jayanagar,
Bengaluru.

Q 5. You are a General Manager of EVL company which requires Posh bungalows on
company base, as guest houses. Draft an advertisement in not more than 50 words under
classified columns to be published in 'The New India Express'.

LIFE SKILL

What is ‘Freedom’ according to you as a student? Imagine yourself as Pathik and write

a short story describing how you will overcome the trauma

67
NIGHT OF THE SCORPION
NISSIM EZEKIEL

Nissim Ezekiel (1924 - 2004) is an Indian-born poet

of Jewish descent and is described as the “father of
post-independence Indian verse in English”. Night
of The Scorpion, The Professor, The Patriot and
Background, Casually are some of his well-known
and standard verses. He wrote plays, worked as a
broadcaster on Indian radio and contributed many
critical articles to the literary sections of magazines
and newspapers. Ezekiel received the Sahitya
Academy cultural award in 1983 and the Padma-
Shri, India's highest civilian honour, in 1988.

I remember the night my mother

was stung by a scorpion. Ten hours
of steady rain had driven him
to crawl beneath a sack of rice.

Parting with his poison - flash

of diabolic tail in the dark room -
he risked the rain again.

The peasants came like swarms of flies

and buzzed the name of God a hundred times
to paralyse the Evil One.

With candles and with lanterns

throwing giant scorpion shadows
on the mud-baked walls

68
they searched for him: he was not found.
They clicked their tongues.
With every movement that the scorpion made his
poison moved in Mother's blood, they said.

May he sit still, they said

May the sins of your previous birth
be burned away tonight, they said.
May your suffering decrease
the misfortunes of your next birth, they said.
May the sum of all evil
balanced in this unreal world

against the sum of good

become diminished by your pain.
May the poison purify your flesh

of desire, and your spirit of ambition,

they said, and they sat around
on the floor with my mother in the centre,
the peace of understanding on each face.
More candles, more lanterns, more neighbours,
more insects, and the endless rain.
My mother twisted through and through,
groaning on a mat.
My father, sceptic, rationalist,
trying every curse and blessing,
powder, mixture, herb and hybrid.
He even poured a little paraffin
upon the bitten toe and put a match to it.
I watched the flame feeding on my mother.
I watched the holy man perform his rites to tame the poison with an incantation.
After twenty hours
it lost its sting.

69
My mother only said
Thank God the scorpion picked on me
And spared my children.

GLOSSARY

1.Scorpion - a small creature similar to an insect that lives in hot, dry areas of the world and
has a long body and a curved tail with a poisonous sting.
2.Diabolic - evil or devil.
3.Lanterns - a light inside a container that has a handle for holding it.
4.Rationalist - someone whose actions and decisions are based on reason rather than
emotions.
5.Paraffin - a clear liquid with a strong smell that is made from coal or petroleum used as a
fuel.
6.Incantation - words that are believed to have a magical effect when spoken.

THINK IT OUT

1. How did the peasants search for the Scorpion?

2. Where did the scorpion hide in the night?

3. How did the peasants view the stinging in a positive manner?

4. What type of man was the poet’s father? How did he treat his wife?

5. How did the mother respond after the recovery?

6. Why did the poet’s father pour a little paraffin?

FIGURE OF SPEECH

Metaphor makes a comparison between two unlike things without using "like" or "as.

Eg : "Parting with his poison - flash

of diabolic tail in the dark room".

70
The tail is referred to be diabolic which means evil.

Read the extract given below and answer the questions that follow:

1. Parting with his poison - flash

of diabolic tail in the dark room -
he risked the rain again.

a. To whom is the poet addressing these lines?

b. Who is the hero of this poem?
c. Who was stung by the scorpion?

2. The peasants came like swarms of flies

and buzzed the name of God a hundred times
to paralyse the Evil One.

a. Who came in search of the scorpion?

b. How did the poet compare them?
c. What is the meaning of ‘paralyse’?

3. My father, sceptic, rationalist,

trying every curse and blessing,
powder, mixture, herb and hybrid.
He even poured a little paraffin
upon the bitten toe and put a match to it.

a. Who is told to be a rationalist in this poem?

b. What did the poet’s father pour on the bitten toe?
c. Bring out any two opposite words from these lines.

71
THE MARK OF VISHNU
KHUSHWANT SINGH

Khushwant Singh, one of the best -

known Indian writers of all times, was
born on 1915 in Hadali (now in
Pakistan). He was educated at
Government College, Lahore and at
King's College, Cambridge University,
and the Inner Temple in London. He
practiced law at the Lahore High Court
for several years before joining the
Indian Ministry of External Affairs in
1947. He began a distinguished career as a journalist with the All India Radio in 1951.
Since then he has been founder-editor of Yojana (1951-1953), editor of the Illustrated
weekly of India (1979-1980), chief editor of New Delhi (1979-1980), and editor of the
Hindustan times (1980-1983). His Saturday column "With Malice Towards One and
All" in the Hindustan times is by far one of the most popular columns of the day. He
died on 20th March 2014 in Delhi at his age of 99.

‘This is for the Kala Nag,’ said Gunga Ram, pouring the milk into the saucer. ’Every night I
leave it outside the hole near the wall and it’s gone by the morning.’

’Perhaps it is the cat,’ we youngsters suggested.

’Cat!’ said Gunga Ram with contempt. ’No cat goes near that hole. Kala Nag lives there. As
long as I give him milk, he will not bite anyone in this house. You can all go about with bare
feet and play where you like.’

We were not having any patronage from Gunga Ram.

‘You’re a stupid old Brahmin,’ I said. ‘Don’t you know snakes don’t drink milk? At
least one couldn’t drink a saucerful every day. The teacher told us that a snake eats only once
in several days. We saw a grass snake which had just swallowed a frog. It stuck like a blob in

72
its throat and took several days to dissolve and go down its tail. We’ve got dozens of them in
the lab in methylated spirit. Why, last month the teacher bought one from a snake charmer
which could run both ways. It had another head with a pair of eyes at the tail. You should have
seen the fun when it was put in the jar. There wasn’t an empty one in the lab. So the teacher
put it in one which had a Russell’s viper. He caught its two ends with a pair of forceps, dropped
it in the jar, and quickly put the lid on. There was an absolute storm as it went round and round
in the glass tearing the decayed viper into shreds.’

Gunga Ram shut his eyes in pious horror.

‘You will pay for it one day. Yes, you will.’

It was no use arguing with Gunga Ram. He, like all good Hindus, believed in the Trinity
of Brahma, Vishnu, and Siva – the creator, preserver, and destroyer. Of these he was most
devoted to Vishnu. Every morning he smeared his forehead with a V-mark in sandalwood paste
to honour the deity. Although a Brahmin, he was illiterate and full of superstition. To him, all
life was sacred, even if it was of a serpent or scorpion or centipede. Whenever he saw one he
quickly shoved it away lest we kill it. He picked up wasps we battered with our badminton
rackets and tended their damaged wings. Sometimes he got stung. It never seemed to shake his
faith. The more dangerous the animal, the more devoted Gunga Ram was its existence. Hence
the regard for snakes; above all, the cobra, who was the Kala Nag.

‘We will kill your Kala Nag if we see him.’

‘I won’t let you. It’s laid a hundred eggs and if you kill it all the eggs will become
cobras and the house will be full of them. Then what will you do?’

‘We’ll catch them alive and send them to Bombay. They milk them there for anti-snake-
bite serum. They pay two rupees for a live cobra. That makes two hundred rupees
straightaway.’

‘Your doctors must have udders. I never saw a snake have any. But don’t you dare
touch this one. It is a phannyar – it is hooded. I’ve seen it. It’s three hands long. As for its
hood!’ Gunga Ram opened the palms of his hands and his head swayed from side to side. ‘You
should see it basking on the lawn in the sunlight.’

‘That just proves what a liar you are. The phannyar is the male, so it couldn’t have laid
the hundred eggs. You must have laid the eggs yourself.’

73
 The party burst into peals of laughter.

‘Must be Gunga Ram’s eggs. We’ll soon have a hundred Gunga Rams.’

Gunga Ram was squashed. It was the lot of a servant to be constantly squashed. But
having the children of the household make fun of him was too much even for Gunga Ram.
They were constantly belittling him with their new-fangled ideas. They never read their
scriptures. Nor even what the Mahatma said about non-violence. It was just shotguns to kill
birds and the jars of methylated spirit to drown snakes. Gunga Ram would stick to his faith in
the sanctity of life. He would feel and protect snakes because snakes were the most vile of
God’s creatures on earth. If you could love them, instead of killing them, you proved your
point.

What the point was which Gunga Ram wanted to

prove was not clear. He just proved it by leaving the
saucerful of milk by the snake hole every night and
finding it gone in the morning.

One day we saw Kala Nag. The monsoons had

burst with all their fury and it had rained in the
night. The earth which had lain parched and dry
under the withering heat of the summer sun was
teeming with life. In little pools frogs croaked. The muddy ground was littered with crawling
worms, centipedes, and velvety ladybirds. Grass had begun to show and the banana leaves
glistened bright and glossy green. The rain had flooded Kala Nag’s hole. He sat in an open
patch on the lawn. His shiny black hood glistened in the sunlight. He was big – almost six feet
in length, and rounded and fleshy, as my wrist.

‘Looks like a King Cobra. Let’s get him.’

Kala Nag did not have much of a change. The ground was slippery and all the holes
and gutters were full of water. Gunga Ram was not at home to help.

Armed with long bamboo sticks, we surrounded Kala Nag before he even scented the
danger. When he saw us his eyes turned a fiery red and he hissed and spat on all sides. Then
like lightning Kala Nag made for the banana grove.

74
 The ground was too muddy and he slithered. He had hardly gone five yards when a
stick caught him in the middle and broke his back. A volley of blows reduced him to a squishy-
squashy pulp of black and white jelly, spattered with blood and mud. His head was still
undamaged.

‘Don’t damage the hood,’ yelled one of us. ‘We’ll take Kala Nag to school.’

‘So we slid a bamboo stick under the cobra’s belly and lifted him on the end of the pole.
We put him in a large biscuit tin and tied it up with string. We hid the tin under a bed.

At night I hung around Gunga Ram waiting for him to get his saucer of milk. ‘Aren’t
you going to take any milk for the Kala Nag tonight?’

‘Yes,’ answered Gunga Ram irritably. ‘You go to bed.’

He did not want any more argument on the subject.

‘He won’t need the milk any more.’

Gunga Ram paused.

‘Why?’

‘Oh, nothing. There are so many frogs about. They must taste better than your milk.
You never put any sugar in it anyway.’

The next morning Gunga Ram brought back the saucer with the milk still in it. He
looked sullen and suspicious.

‘I told you snakes like frogs better than milk.’

Whilst we changed and had breakfast Gunga Ram hung around us. The school bus
started came and we clambered into it with the tin. As the bus started we held out the tin to
Gunga Ram.

‘Here’s your Kala Nag. Safe in this box. We are going to put him in spirit.’

We left him standing speechless, staring at the departing bus.

There was great excitement in the school. We were a set of four brothers, known for
our toughness. We had proved it again.

‘A King Cobra.’

75
 ‘Six feet long.’

The tin was presented to the science teacher.

It was on the teacher’s table, and we waited for him to open it and admire our kill. The
teacher pretended to be indifferent and set us some problems to work on. With studied matter-
of-factness he fetches his forceps and a jar with a banded Krait lying curled in muddy
methylated spirit. He began to hum and untie the cord around the box.

As soon as the cord was loosened the lid flew into the air, just missing the teacher’s
nose. There was Kala Nag. His eyes burnt like embers and his hood was taut and undamaged.
With a loud hiss he went for the teacher’s face. The teacher pushed himself back on the chair
and toppled over. He fell on the floor and stared at the cobra, petrified with fear. The boys
stood up on their desks and yelled hysterically.

Kala Nag surveyed the scene with his bloodshot eyes. His forked tongue darted in and
out excitedly. He spat furiously and then made a bid for freedom. He fell out of the tin on to
the floor with a loud plop. His back was broken in several places and he dragged himself
painfully to the door. When he got to the threshold he drew himself up once again with his
hood outspread to face another danger.

Outside the classroom stood Gunga Ram with a saucer and a jug of milk. As soon as he
saw Kala Nag come up he went down on his knees. He poured the milk into the saucer and
placed it near the threshold. With hands folded in prayer he bowed his head to the ground
craving forgiveness. In desperate fury, the cobra hissed and spat and bit Gunga Ram all over
the head – the with great effort dragged himself into a gutter and wriggled out of view.

Gunga Ram collapsed with his hands covering his face. He groaned in agony. The
poison blinded him instantly. Within a few minutes he turned pale and blue and froth appeared
in his mouth. On his forehead were little drops of blood. These the teacher wiped with his
handkerchief. Underneath was the V-mark where the Kala Nag had dug his fangs.

76
 GLOSSARY

1. Saucer-a shallow dish on which a cup is placed

2. Contempt-the feeling that a person is worthless
3. Blob-a drop of thick liquid
4. Viper-a venomous snake
5. Centipede-a predatory invertebrate
6. Sullen- bad tempered

THINK IT OUT

1. Who is Gunga Ram?

2. What are the gods that Hindus worshipped with reference to the story?
3. How was Gunga Ram mocked by the children?

GRAMMAR

Tenses

Definition:

Tenses play a vital role in the English language. It denotes the time of an action, whether it
was in the past, in the present or in the future.

77
Past Tense
1) Simple Past Tense-
Indicates an action took place before the present moment and that has no real connection with
the present.
For example, "He danced in the function." (The action took place in the past, is finished and
is completely unrelated to the present)
"He flew to London yesterday."
Note
a. The verb 'flew' is an irregular verb which does not take 'ed' in the past tense like regular
verbs.
b. The form of Simple Past Tense is - verb + ed
2) Past Perfect Tense-
Indicates an action in the past that had been completed before another time or event in the
past.
For example, "He had arrived before it started to rain."
"He had slept before I came back from the market."
Note

78
a. The form of Past Perfect Tense is- had + verb (past participle form or the 3rd form of the
verb)
3) Past Continuous Tense-
Indicates an action going on at some time in the past or an action in the past that is longer in
duration than another action in the past.
For example, "It was getting darker."
"The light went out while they were reading."
Note
a. The form of Past Continuous Tense is- was/were + verb + ing

4) Past Perfect Continuous Tense-

Indicates an action in the past that took place before another time or event in the past and
continued during the second event/time point in the past.
For example, "At that time, he had been writing a novel for two months."
"He had been exercising when I called."
Note
a. The form of Past Perfect Continuous Tense is- had + been + verb + ing
Present Tense
1) Simple Present Tense-
Indicates an action that is generally true or habitual. That is, it took place in the past, continue
to take place in the present, and will take place in the future. This tense is used to denote
-a habitual action- for instance, "He walk to school."
-general truths- for instance, "The sun rises in the east", "Honesty is the best policy."
-a future event that is the part of a fixed timetable- for instance, "The match starts at 9 o'
clock."
Note
a. The form of Simple Present Tense is- verb (infinitive without 'to' and agreeable with the
subject)
2) Present Perfect Tense-
Indicates an action that has been completed sometime before the present moment, with a
result that affects the present situation.
For example, "He has finished the work."
"He has slept."
Note

79
a. The form of Present Perfect Tense is- has/have + verb (past participle form or 3rd form of
the verb)
3) Present Continuous Tense-
Indicates an action that is taking place at the moment of speaking.
For example, "She is walking."
"I am studying."
Note
a. the form of Present Continuous Tense is- is/am/are + verb + ing
4) Present Perfect Continuous Tense-
Indicates an action that started in the past and is continuing at the present time.
For example, "He has been sleeping for an hour."
Note
a. The form of Present Perfect Continuous Tense is- has/have + been + verb + ing

Future Tense
1) Simple Future Tense-
Indicates an action that will take place after the present time and that has no real connection
with the present time.
For example, "She will visit her ailing grandmother soon."
"He will walk home."
Note
a. the form of Simple Future Tense is- will/shall + verb
2) Future Perfect Tense-
Indicates an action in the future that will have been completed before another time or event in
the future.
For example, "By the time we arrive, he will have studied."

Note
a. The form of Future Perfect Tense is- will/shall have + verb(past participle form or 3rd
form of the verb)
3) Future Continuous Tense-
Indicates an action in the future that is longer in duration than another action in the future.
For example, "He will be walking when it starts to rain."

80
Note
a. The form of Future Continuous Tense is-will/shall be + verb + ing
4) Future Perfect Continuous Tense-
Indicates an action in the future that will have been continuing until another time or event in
the future.
For example, "He will have been exercising an hour at 2:00."
Note
a. The form of Future Perfect Continuous Tense is- will/shall have been + verb + ing.

Exercise

Choose the correct verb

a. The earth _____ round the sun. (move, moves, moved)

b. My friends _____ the film yesterday. (see, saw, have seen)

c. It started to rain while we _____ tennis. (are playing, had played, were playing)

d. I _____ English for five years. (have been studying, study, am studying)

e. The train _____ before we reach the station. (arrives, will have arrived, had arrived)

f. Don't disturb me. I _____ my work. (do, did, am doing)

g. Fortune _____ the brave. (is favouring, will favour, favours)

h. I _____ the letter before you arrived. (had written, wrote, will write)

i. He _____ us next week. (will have met, will have been meeting, will be meeting)

2. Correct the following sentences:

i. I lived in Calcutta since 1930.

ii. She died before her husband came.

iii. I have written a letter to her last Monday.

iv. I am reading Kalidasa for the last six days.

81
v. The new hotel has been opened last Saturday.

vi. He had gone to Madras last week.

vii. The train leave the station before I reached there.

viii. I wish my men had been coming quickly and find us.

ix. At the moment the baby sleep in the cradle.

x. He goes out for ten minutes.

Answers:

a. moves

b. saw

c. were playing

d. have been studying

e. will have arrived

f. am doing

g. favours

h. had written

i. will be meeting

2.
i. I have been living in Calcutta since 1930.

ii. She had died before her husband came.

iii.I wrote a letter to her last Monday.

iv. I have been reading Kalidasa for the last six days.

v. The new hotel opened last Saturday.

82
vi. He went to Madras last week.

vii. The train had left the station before I reached there.

viii. I wish my men came quickly and found us.

ix. At the moment the baby is sleeping in the cradle.

x. He has gone out for ten minutes

WRITING SKILL

Imaginative Essay

1. Create a story on your own about someone who woke up to find themselves to be
able to rule the world and explain how their morals and ideas are changed.
2. Describe a person who has had a significant influence on your life. You can choose
a public figure or someone you’ve
known on a personal level.
3. Talk about something that you can’t
live without. It can be your favorite
hobby or a device that you use daily.
4. Imagine that you had the chance to
choose a superpower. What would it
be and what would you do with that?
5. What if you were chosen to go on an expedition that aims to start life on another
planet? What would you pack from Planet Earth? What would you leave behind
and why?

LIFE SKILL

What is your view on superstitious belief that is still in

practice?

83
THE FAIRIES
WILLIAM ALLINGHAM

William Allingham was born on 19 March, 1824

and died on 18 November 1889. He was an Irish
poet, diarist and editor. He wrote several
volumes of lyric verse, and his poem ‘The
Faeries’ was much anthologized; but he is better
known for his posthumously published Diary, in
which he records his lively encounters with
Tennyson, Carlyle and other writers and artists.
His wife, Helen Allingham, was a well-known
watercolourist and illustrator.

Up the airy mountain,

Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl’s feather!

Down along the rocky shore

Some make their home,
They live on crispy pancakes
Of yellow tide-foam;
Some in the reeds
Of the black mountain-lake,
With frogs for their watchdogs,
All night awake.

84
High on the hill-top
The old King sits;
He is now so old and grey
He’s nigh lost his wits.
With a bridge of white mist
Columbkill he crosses,
On his stately journeys
From Slieveleague to Rosses;
Or going up with the music
On cold starry nights,
To sup with the Queen
Of the gay Northern Lights.

They stole little Bridget

For seven years long;
When she came down again
Her friends were all gone.
They took her lightly back,
Between the night and morrow,
They thought that she was fast asleep,
But she was dead with sorrow.
They have kept her ever since
Deep within the lake,
On a bed of fig-leaves,
Watching till she wake.By the craggy hillside,
Through the mosses bare,
They have planted thorn trees
For my pleasure, here and there.
Is any man so daring
As dig them up in spite,
He shall find their sharpest thorns
In his bed at night.

85
Up the airy mountain,
Down the rushy glen,
We daren’t go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl’s feather!

GLOSSARY

1. Glen - a narrow valley especially in Scotland or Ireland

2. Bridget - power, strength
3. Morrow - the following day
4. Craggy - rough and uneven
5. Daring – bold

THINK IT OUT
1. Who is referred as “he” in the poem?
2. Who is the narrator of the poem?
3. What is the main theme of the poem?

FIGURE OF SPEECH

Imagery is drawn upon the five senses which consist of taste, smell, touch, sight, and sound.
It helps in better imaginings of the artist's world in his work.

Eg : "Green jacket, red cap,

And white owl’s feather!"

86
Read the extract given below and answer the questions that follow:

1. “Up the airy mountain,

Down the rushy glen,
We daren't go a-hunting
For fear of little men;
Wee folk, good folk,
Trooping all together;
Green jacket, red cap,
And white owl's feather!”

a. What were they fear of in this poem?

b. What were the activities made together?

c. Mention the colors along with the things mentioned in the above lines?

2.“Some in the reeds

Of the black mountain lake,
With frogs for their watch-dogs,
All night awake.”

a. What was black in color?

b. What was awake all night?
c. Name the author?

3.”In our wee garden the rose unfolds,

With bachelor's-buttons and marigolds;
I'll tie no posies for dance or fair,
A willow-twig is for me to wear.”

a. What was filled in the garden?

b. What did the poet wear?

c. Mention the views of the poem?

87
4. Oh! light and false is a young man's kiss,
And a foolish girl gives her soul for this.
Oh! light and short is the young man's blame,

And a helpless girl has the grief and shame.

a. How was the young man’s kiss?

b. How was the girl described?

88
ALL SUMMER IN A DAY
RAY BRADBURY

Ray Douglas Bradbury was born on 22nd August 1920

in America and died on 5th June 2012 in California at
his age of 91. He wrote in various genres including
fantasy, science fiction, horror and mystery.
Bradbury was one of the most celebrated 20th – 21st
century American writer. Some of his famous works
are Fahrenheit 451, The Martian Chronicles,
Dandelion Wine and the fictional memoir Green
Shadows, White Whale.

"Ready ?" "Ready." "Now ?" "Soon." "Do the scientists really know? Will it happen today,
will it ?" "Look, look; see for yourself !" The children pressed to each other like so many
roses, so many weeds, intermixed, peering out for a look at the hidden sun. It rained. It had
been raining for seven years; thousands upon thousands of days compounded and filled from
one end to the other with rain, with the drum and gush of water, with the sweet crystal fall of
showers and the concussion of storms so heavy they were tidal waves come over the islands.
A thousand forests had been crushed under the rain and grown up a thousand times to be
crushed again. And this was the way life was forever on the planet Venus, and this was the
schoolroom of the children of the rocket men and women who had come to a raining world to
set up civilization and live out their lives. "It’s stopping, it’s stopping !" "Yes, yes !" Margot
stood apart from them, from these children who could ever remember a time when there
wasn’t rain and rain and rain. They were all nine years old, and if there had been a day, seven
years ago, when the sun came out for an hour and showed its face to the stunned world, they
could not recall. Sometimes, at night, she heard them stir, in remembrance, and she knew
they were dreaming and remembering gold or a yellow crayon or a coin large enough to buy
the world with. She knew they thought they remembered a warmness, like a blushing in the
face, in the body, in the arms and legs and trembling hands. But then they always awoke to

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the tatting drum, the endless shaking down of clear bead necklaces upon the roof, the walk,
the gardens, the forests, and their dreams were gone. All day yesterday they had read in class
about the sun. About how like a lemon it was, and how hot. And they had written small
stories or essays or poems about it:I think the sun is a flower,That blooms for just one hour.
That was Margot’s poem, read in a quiet voice in the still classroom while the rain was falling
outside. "Aw, you didn’t write that!" protested one of the boys. "I did," said Margot. "I did."
"William!" said the teacher. But that was yesterday. Now the rain was slackening, and the
children were crushed in the great thick windows. Where’s teacher ?" "She’ll be back."
"She’d better hurry, we’ll miss it !" They turned on themselves, like a feverish wheel, all
tumbling spokes. Margot stood alone. She was a very frail girl who looked as if she had been
lost in the rain for years and the rain had washed out the blue from her eyes and the red from
her mouth and the yellow from her hair. She was an old photograph dusted from an album,
whitened away, and if she spoke at all her voice would be a ghost. Now she stood, separate,
staring at the rain and the loud wet world beyond the huge glass. "What’re you looking at ?"
said William. Margot said nothing. "Speak when you’re spoken to." He gave her a shove. But
she did not move; rather she let herself be moved only by him and nothing else. They edged
away from her, they would not look at her. She felt them go away. And this was because she
would play no games with them in the echoing tunnels of the underground city. If they tagged
her and ran, she stood blinking after them and did not follow. When the class sang songs
about happiness and life and games her lips barely moved. Only when they sang about the
sun and the summer did her lips move as she watched the drenched windows. And then, of
course, the biggest crime of all was that she had come here only five years ago from Earth,
and she remembered the sun and the way the sun was and the sky was when she was four in
Ohio. And they, they had been on Venus all their lives, and they had been only two years old
when last the sun came out and had long since forgotten the color and heat of it and the way it
really was. But Margot remembered. "It’s like a penny," she said once, eyes closed. "No it’s
not!" the children cried. "It’s like a fire," she said, "in the stove." "You’re lying, you don’t
remember !" cried the children. But she remembered and stood quietly apart from all of them
and watched the patterning windows. And once, a month ago, she had refused to shower in
the school shower rooms, had clutched her hands to her ears and over her head, screaming the
water mustn’t touch her head. So after that, dimly, dimly, she sensed it, she was different and
they knew her difference and kept away. There was talk that her father and mother were
taking her back to Earth next year; it seemed vital to her that they do so, though it would
mean the loss of thousands of dollars to her family. And so, the children hated her for all

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these reasons of big and little consequence. They hated her pale snow face, her waiting
silence, her thinness, and her possible future. "Get away !" The boy gave her another push.
"What’re you waiting for?" Then, for the first time, she turned and looked at him. And what
she was waiting for was in her eyes. "Well, don’t wait around here !" cried the boy savagely.
"You won’t see nothing!" Her lips moved. "Nothing !" he cried. "It was all a joke, wasn’t it?"
He turned to the other children. "Nothing’s happening today. Is it ?" They all blinked at him
and then, understanding, laughed and shook their heads. "Nothing, nothing !" "Oh, but,"
Margot whispered, her eyes helpless.
"But this is the day, the scientists predict,
they say, they know, the sun…" "All a
joke !" said the boy, and seized her
roughly. "Hey, everyone, let’s put her in
a closet before the teacher comes !"
"No," said Margot, falling back. They
surged about her, caught her up and bore
her, protesting, and then pleading, and
then crying, back into a tunnel, a room, a
closet, where they slammed and locked
the door. They stood looking at the door
and saw it tremble from her beating and throwing herself against it. They heard her muffled
cries. Then, smiling, the turned and went out and back down the tunnel, just as the teacher
arrived. "Ready, children ?" She glanced at her watch. "Yes !" said everyone. "Are we all
here ?" "Yes !" The rain slacked still more. They crowded to the huge door. The rain stopped.
It was as if, in the midst of a film concerning an avalanche, a tornado, a hurricane, a volcanic
eruption, something had, first, gone wrong with the sound apparatus, thus muffling and
finally cutting off all noise, all of the blasts and repercussions and thunders, and then, second,
ripped the film from the projector and inserted in its place a beautiful tropical slide which did
not move or tremor. The world ground to a standstill. The silence was so immense and
unbelievable that you felt your ears had been stuffed or you had lost your hearing altogether.
The children put their hands to their ears. They stood apart. The door slid back and the smell
of the silent, waiting world came in to them. The sun came out. It was the color of flaming
bronze and it was very large. And the sky around it was a blazing blue tile color. And the
jungle burned with sunlight as the children, released from their spell, rushed out, yelling into
the springtime. "Now, don’t go too far," called the teacher after them. "You’ve only two

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hours, you know. You wouldn’t want to get caught out !" But they were running and turning
their faces up to the sky and feeling the sun on their cheeks like a warm iron; they were
taking off their jackets and letting the sun burn their arms. "Oh, it’s better than the sun lamps,
isn’t it ?" "Much, much better !" They stopped running and stood in the great jungle that
covered Venus, that grew and never stopped growing, tumultuously, even as you watched it.
It was a nest of octopi, clustering up great arms of fleshlike weed, wavering, flowering in this
brief spring. It was the color of rubber and ash, this jungle, from the many years without sun.
It was the color of stones and white cheeses and ink, and it was the color of the moon. The
children lay out, laughing, on the jungle mattress, and heard it sigh and squeak under them
resilient and alive. They ran among the trees, they slipped and fell, they pushed each other,
they played hideand-seek and tag, but most of all they squinted at the sun until the tears ran
down their faces; they put their hands up to that yellowness and that amazing blueness and
they breathed of the fresh, fresh air and listened and listened to the silence which suspended
them in a blessed sea of no sound and no motion. They looked at everything and savored
everything. Then, wildly, like animals escaped from their caves, they ran and ran in shouting
circles. They ran for an hour and did not stop running. And then - In the midst of their
running one of the girls wailed. Everyone stopped. The girl, standing in the open, held out her
hand. "Oh, look, look," she said, trembling. They came slowly to look at her opened palm. In
the center of it, cupped and huge, was a single raindrop. She began to cry, looking at it. They
glanced quietly at the sun. "Oh. Oh." A few cold drops fell on their noses and their cheeks
and their mouths. The sun faded behind a stir of mist. A wind blew cold around them. They
turned and started to walk back toward the underground house, their hands at their sides, their
smiles vanishing away. A boom of thunder startled them and like leaves before a new
hurricane, they tumbled upon each other and ran. Lightning struck ten miles away, five miles
away, a mile, a half mile. The sky darkened into midnight in a flash. They stood in the
doorway of the underground for a moment until it was raining hard. Then they closed the
door and heard the gigantic sound of the rain falling in tons and avalanches, everywhere and
forever. "Will it be seven more years ?" "Yes. Seven." Then one of them gave a little cry.
"Margot !" "What ?" "She’s still in the closet where we locked her." "Margot." They stood as
if someone had driven them, like so many stakes, into the floor. They looked at each other
and then looked away. They glanced out at the world that was raining now and raining and
raining steadily. They could not meet each other’s glances. Their faces were solemn and pale.
They looked at their hands and feet, their faces down. "Margot." One of the girls said,
"Well… ?" No one moved. "Go on," whispered the girl. They walked slowly down the hall in

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the sound of cold rain. They turned through the doorway to the room in the sound of the
storm and thunder, lightning on their faces, blue and terrible. They walked over to the closet
door slowly and stood by it. Behind the closet door was only silence. They unlocked the door,
even more slowly, and let Margot out.

GLOSSARY

1. Peer: looking carefully

2. Stunned: filled with the emotional impact of overwhelming surprise
3. Slacken: become slow or slower
4. Frail: weak
5. Vital: something necessary

THINK IT OUT

1. What are the themes in the story “All Summer in a Day”?

2. How did the geography of Venus change when the sun came out?
3. What is Margot’s point of view and how is it different from the other children?

GRAMMAR

Life beholds the source of connection from people to people through communication. Such
communications are connected with one another through linking ideas. Such linking bridge
between words or phrases are named conjunctions. Let us connect ourselves with those
connectors…….

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 CONJUNCTIONS

A Conjunction is a part of speech that connects words, phrases or sentences (to conjoin = unite,
join). Some common conjunctions are AND,
OR, BUT, FOR, NOR, AS, BECAUSE, SO,
THOUGH, YET, WHILE and SINCE.

Conjunctions are of four types in general,

This Photo by Unknown Author is licensed under CC BY
they are coordinating conjunctions, subordinating conjunctions, correlative conjunctions
and adverbial conjunctions.

Examples:

Bread and Butter.

Either Sara or Celina will bring chocolates.
Lenin plays well, but he is sick today.
Thank you so much for the wonderful gift.

Exercise: Pick out the correct conjunction and fill in the blanks.

1. Please forgive me ______ my careless mistake.

2. I’m getting good grades _________ I study every day.
3. Neither the black dress _______ the grey one looks right on me.
4. Tina suffered from fever________ she went to the hospital.
5. My brother brought a puppy __________ a kitten.
6. He was poor ______ honest.
7. I’m living here _______ 2001.
8. Saran slipped _________ he was climbing down the steps.
9. Maya left the station ________ the train left.

(and, as soon as, since, so, because, but, for, nor, while).

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 WRITING SKILL

Note Making

Sample:

Sixty years after independence, the caste question looms large in our consciousness.
Far from being abolished, the caste system is at the center of many debates of the day.
Whether it is the larger question of the importance of caste in electoral politics, reservations,
whether caste should be part of the census or not or the outrage over the panchayat’s actions,
it is clear that caste is an arena of contention even today.
A part of India which sees caste as an outdated institution
that needs to be erased from all our calculations. It sees
caste as a blight on modernity, a pathogen that infects us.
Caste binds us to a collective rooted in the past and
imposes on individuals a destiny that is not of their
making. Caste hierarchy makes our future contingent on
our birth, and those less fortunately born are condemned to
a life more ordinary. What makes this more complex is the
accelerated attempt to reverse history by the device of
reservations which allocate opportunities purposively to
the lower castes. This makes the distaste for caste even greater in the educated middle class,
who see it as an instrument created for use specifically against them. The advantages that
have accrued to this group have been internalized and neutralized and only the disadvantages
loom threateningly, particularly 1 as the lower castes accumulate political power.
It is interesting that the distaste for caste and its classification as a social evil has such wide
currency. If the underlying purpose, that of ensuring that birth does not determine destiny,
and that the individual must begin with a clean slate in building one’s life, were indeed that
important, then the idea of inheriting property should be seen as being equally unfair. After
all, in today’s world, nothing determines our life’s trajectory as much as money. The fact that
opponents of caste-based reservations are open to using economic criteria suggests that even
they accept the unfairness of birth-determined wealth. Why is caste such an anachronism and
inheritance such a modem idea?

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The idea is made to seem natural in the myth that markets create that everyone can aspire to
becoming wealthy, and uses as its poster children, the lucky few who have built empires from
scratch. We can admire them, but to argue that because some people are able to overcome
constraints imposed on them by circumstances, no attempt should be made to level the
playing field is not an argument that stands up to scrutiny. It would then seem that our
distaste for the past is selective. The class that protests caste but, celebrates inheritance is the
one that has nothing left to gain from caste and everything to lose if property rights are
reformed. Of course, the larger market discourse makes this selective discrimination seem
legitimate and modem.

Questions:
1. On the basis of your reading make notes on the above passage.
2. Write a summary of the passage in your own words.
Answers:
Notes:
1. Title: Caste and Inheritance: Case of Selective Discrimination

1. Resurgence of the caste system.

1. Caste question looms large
(a) Even after 60 years of independence
2. Centre of many debates
(a) Caste in electoral politics
(b) reservations
(c) census
(d) Panchayat’s actions
2. Distasteful for middle classes
1. seen as outdated institution
(a) needs to be erased
(b) blight on modernity
(c) pathogen infecting us
(d) Problem of accident of birth determining life
2. attempts of reverting history
(a) misuse of reservation for politics
(b) Lower caste accumulate political power

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 3. More distasteful for educated middle class
(a) instrument created against them
(b) Advantage to the group neutralized
3. Dual Mentality
1. Distaste for caste Vs openness towards inheritance of property
(a) Ambiguity of underlying purpose
(b) Determining destiny
(c) Should birth determine destiny?
(d) Openness to economic criteria for reservations
4. Selective discrimination
1. Creation of market myths
(a) Aspiration to be wealthy
(b) Wealthy as poster children
2. Making a level playing field
(a) Forget caste
(b) Remember inheritance
(c) legitimate selective discrimination

2. Summary
The country is haunted by the caste system even after sixty years of independence. The hiatus
between the upper caste people and the lower caste people is increasing day by day because
of the reservation policy of the state. Caste binds people to a collective rooted in the past and
imposes on individuals a destiny that is not of their making. The caste system must be
declared outdated and it must not be followed.

EXERCISE:

Passage 1:

Other animals go about the world as nature made them. Why then, did man start to
adorn himself by hanging things round his neck, arms, waist and legs or putting things on his
head? We can imagine many reasons. If an exceptionally strong or brave man succeeded in
killing an exceptionally large bear, might he not get the idea of boring a hole through one of
its teeth with a sharp flint and tying the tooth round his neck in order to remind himself of his
great achievement and to show his friends what a great man he was? Gradually it might

97
become the custom in that tribe for all strong and brave hunters to wear a bear’s tooth, and it
might be regarded as a disgrace not to wear one and a sign that one was weak or very young.
Another man might make an ornament of a colored shell or stone simply because he liked it
or because its shape reminded him of something. Then if he happened to escape from some
danger when he was wearing it he might think the ornament had something to do with it that
it had magic qualities. And his friends and relations would not be satisfied until they had an
ornament of the same kind.
People who wore ornaments would soon learn to arrange them in different ways according to
their size and color in order to make them more decorative and impressive. A necklace found
in Italy with the skeleton of a young man of the Stone Age was quite elaborate. It consisted of
stag’s teeth arranged at intervals with, between them, two upper rows made up of the
vertebrae of a fish and one row of shells.
Another reason why men might tie feathers, horns, skins and all kinds of other things to
themselves would be in order to make themselves look fierce and more terrifying to animals
or to the men of other tribes.
Objects that came from a distance and were therefore scarce—such as sea-shells to people
living far inland—would come in time to have a special value, and might be worn only by
chiefs and their families in order to show that they were particularly important people.
Primitive tribes living today often associate themselves with some particular animal or bird,
such as an angle or lion, or with a particular place, such as a mountain or river. Man may
have started doing this kind of thing very early in his history. Then, every member of a group
or family may have worn something such as feathers, claws or even a stone or wooden object
of a certain shape or color, to represent the animal or mountain or whatever it might be .that
they believed themselves to be connected with.

Passage 2:

Canada says its denial of visas to Indian security officials on grounds of human rights
violations, torture and espionage is a mistake.
India was hurt to the quick at the charges. The government issued an angry warning and said
it would take retaliatory measures if Canada did not take corrective measures. Now that it has
done so, the two countries could resume the pleasantries. But that wouldn’t alter the truth.
And the truth is that Indian security forces, like most other security forces in the world,
routinely commit human rights violations, certainly torture and seriously play at espionage.
Now, we can protest our innocence and act righteous. But we’d be deceiving ourselves. The

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security forces anywhere in the world will do all these. That is their job. But unlike the more
civilized west, our men are not accountable. Consider the high number of custodial deaths -
127 last year alone, according to NHRC, or any number of torture cases. This is a primitive
country and sees in violence a kind of catharsis. The recent baying for Kasab’s public
execution, preceded by chopping of limbs is a case in point.
So, instead of getting hot under the collar, the Indian authorities should be thanking Canada
for holding up a mirror to our ugly face. It is through such diplomatic slip-ups that we know
how we are really perceived in a world, at least a part of which is seriously giving a shot at
evolving ethically driven societies.
I suggest Canada take back its apology, and ask India to prove its credentials of civility. And
I suggest Indians stop flattering brainwashing themselves into thinking, no doubt with the
help of an embarrassingly patriotic media, that they have arrived. The truth, ah, comrade, is
we have just about started and it’s such a long way to go.

Passage 3:

It was bound in a rough, red cloth, now smoothened in places with the many caresses
it had received over the years. Its name boldly etched in gold over its hard cover. Its spine
still holding on firmly to the age-old pages, much thumbed, dog-eared, yellowing pages. Its
illustrations, lithographs by the author himself, and a frayed red ribbon placed between the
pages I had read the last time. That is my favorite book. .
That book startled me off on a journey that inevitably took me to the book alleys that still
make the three-hundred-year-old city proud. The fact that my lane meandered through several
by-lanes and reached the book alleys in less than fifteen minutes made my trips frequent and
my pocket-money meagre. The narrow lanes were lined with small shops with dusty shelves.
Their bespectacled shop-owners—bibliophiles in their own right—were always eager to help
me find treasures in all shapes and sizes, bound in cloth or leather, some new and some which
had changed several hands; others which had comers folded, many in tatters, a few boasting
of an autograph or a note written in attention of a loving reader. My prized possession in
those days was a book called Sita that was illustrated with paintings by the illustrious Raja
Ravi Verma.
Nothing gave me more pleasure than the feel of a cold spine against my palm, the weight of
the pages, their slight reluctance to open spontaneously, the faint crick at the turn of each
page, and the musty smell of the yellowing pages mixed with a slight whiff of the jet-black
ink that filled my nostrils as I brought the book close to my face.

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Passage 4:

Early automobiles were sometimes only “horseless carriages’ powered by gasoline or steam
engines. Some of them were so noisy that cities often made laws forbidding their use because
they frightened horses.
Many countries helped to develop the automobile. The internal-combustion engine was
invented in Austria and France was an early leader in automobile manufacturing. But it was
in the United States after 1900 that the automobile was improved most rapidly. As a large and
growing country, the United States needed cars and trucks to provide transportation in places
not served by trains.
Two brilliant ideas made possible the mass production of automobiles. An American inventor
named Eli Whitney thought one of them, which is known as ‘standardization of parts’. In an
effort to speed up production in his gun factory Whitney decided that each part of a gun could
be made by machines so that it would be exactly like all the others of its kind.
Another American, Henry Ford, developed the idea of the assembly line. Before Ford
introduced the assembly line, each car was built by hand. Such a process was, of course, very
slow. As a result, automobiles were so expensive that only rich people could afford them.
Ford proposed a system in which each worker would have only a portion of the wheels.
Another would place the wheels on the car. And still another would insert the bolts that held
the wheels to the car. Each worker needed to learn only one or two routine tasks.

Passage 5:

Why did the world’s most famous, and priciest, makers of writing instruments launch
a lakhpati pen in the name of a man famous for wearing nothing more than a handspun
loincloth? They did not honor Mahatma Gandhi because research turned up fascinating data
suggesting that the world’s millionaires had overnight converted into apostles of non-
violence and abandoned their T-bone steaks for goat’s milk. The reason was that its
marketing department identified India as their best growing market.
Modest ink pens used to be a staple of Indian stores, with stained-finger schoolchildren as
customers. The triumph of the ball pen has reduced that to a quaint memory. Having lost its
base, the pen showed astonishing powers of reinvention; it became upwardly mobile without
doing much more than it did in its populist avatar. Within the last decade, high-end pen shops
have moved from an occasional presence in Delhi’s five-star boutiques to high-rent markets
where the elite come to spend a thousand rupees for a hundred grams of cheese. If the price

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of these pens makes you stagger, just remember that cheesy millionaires do not stagger
easily.
Why have branded pens become such a hit with the Indian rich? Is it because the rich have
shifted their primary loyalty from the goddess Lakshmi to the goddess Saraswati? Have they
become so literary that, after a day rewriting balance sheets, they spend their evenings
stringing pearls of wisdom in variable verse? Alas, not true. The wheeler has not turned into a
dealer in poetic phrases. The demand for pricey pens has multiplied because it has risen from
the tarmac of legitimate need, lifted towards pocket-showoffs, and now rocketed into the
stratosphere of ruling class affectation. It has become a most desirable gift for those in power
because it comes attached with respectability. This is not considered a bribe, mind you. The
most expensive pen in history would be inadequate as substitute for cash for a minister on
closure of a deal. The pen, particularly one with contorted shapes on its head, is just right as a
gesture towards the new royalty in return for an audience, even if the new royals use it only
to scribble their initials. It is the kind of male jewellery that helps to keep a file moving. The
movement may or may not be in the right direction, but why risk immobility in mid-journey?
As happens so often, the pen-marketing chaps got the facts right and conclusions wrong.
Identifying India as the market was totally correct; making Gandhi the icon was silly. The
Indian who buys boutique pens dismiss Gandhi as a sermonising bore with crackpot theories,
the sort of hero safer dead than around, useful for street names but not for the boardroom or
indeed the Cabinet. A pencil might be more appropriately named after Gandhi, preferably one
sold in stub sizes.

LIFE SKILL

Write a short story describing your fantasy imagining

yourself as the protagonist.

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 STOPPING BY WOODS ON A SNOWY
EVENING
ROBERT FROST

Robert Lee Frost was born on March 26, 1874. He

was an American poet. His work was initially
published in England before it was published in
America. He is known for his realistic depictions of
rural life and his command on American colloquial
speech. Frost frequently wrote about settings from
rural life in New England in the early twentieth
century, using them to examine complex social and
philosophical themes. Frost is the only poet to receive
four Pulitzer Prizes for Poetry. He became one of America's rare "public literary
figures, almost an artistic institution." He was awarded the Congressional Gold Medal
in 1960 for his poetic works. On July 22, 1961, Frost was named poet laureate of
Vermont. He died on January 29, 1963.

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

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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.

GLOSSARY

1. Woods - an area of land smaller than a forest with trees

2. Queer - strange or odd
3. Harness - a set of fittings to a horse to control them by the horseman
4. Flake - a small flat thin piece of something

THINK IT OUT

1. Who is accompanying the narrator?

2. Whose house is in the village?
3. How are the woods described in the poem?

FIGURE OF SPEECH

Hyperbole uses exaggeration for emphasis or effect.

Eg : "To watch his woods fill up with snow."

Read the extract given below and answer the questions that follow:

1.”Whose woods these are I think I know.

His house is in the village, though;

He will not see me stopping here

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To watch his woods fill up with snow”.

Questions:

a. Where does the author stops himself?

b. Name the author mentioned in the poem?

c. What is the purpose for the author to get stopped?

2. 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.

a. Name the animal mentioned in the poem?

b. Between what were they stopped?
c. How was the evening in the poem?

3. 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.

a. How were the woods?

b. What does the term “Sleep” mean?
c. What was the promise made by the author?

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SECRET OF HAPPINESS (AN EXTRACT
FROM THE ALCHEMIST)
PAULO COELHO

Paulo Coelho de Souza was born on 24

August 1947 in Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. He is
a Brazilian lyricist and novelist, best known
for his novel The Alchemist. The short story
secret of happiness is am extract from “The
Alchemist”. In 1982, Coelho published his
first book, Hell Archives, which failed to
make a substantial impact. In 1986 he
contributed to the Practical Manual of
Vampirism, although he later tried to take it
off the shelves since he considered it “of bad quality.” After making the pilgrimage
to Santiago de Compostela in 1986, Coelho wrote The Pilgrimage, published in 1987. The
following year, Coelho wrote The Alchemist and published it through a small Brazilian
publishing house that made an initial print run of 900 copies and decided not to reprint
it. He subsequently found a bigger publishing house, and with the publication of his
next book Brida, The Alchemist took off. HarperCollins decided to publish the book in
1994. Later it became an international bestseller.

“A certain shopkeeper sent his son to learn about the secret of happiness from the
wisest man in the world. The lad wandered through the desert for forty days, and finally came
upon a beautiful castle, high atop a mountain. It was there that the wise man lived.

“Rather than finding a saintly man, though, our hero, on entering the main room of the castle,
saw a hive of activity: tradesmen came and went, people were conversing in the corners, a
small orchestra was playing soft music, and there was a table covered with platters of the
most delicious food in that part of the world. The wise man conversed with everyone, and the
boy had to wait for two hours before it was his turn to be given the man’s attention.

105
“The wise man listened attentively to the boy’s explanation of why he had come, but told him
that he didn’t have time just then to explain the secret of happiness. He suggested that the boy
look around the palace and return in two hours.

“‘Meanwhile, I want to ask you to do something,’ said the wise man, handing the boy a
teaspoon that held two drops of oil. ‘As you wander around, carry this spoon with you
without allowing the oil to spill.’

“The boy began climbing and descending the many stairways of the palace, keeping his eyes
fixed on the spoon. After two hours, he
returned to the room where the wise man
was.

“‘Well,’ asked the wise man, ‘did you see

the Persian tapestries that are hanging in
my dining hall? Did you see the garden
that it took the master gardener ten years to
create? Did you notice the beautiful parchments in my library?’

“The boy was embarrassed, and confessed that he had observed nothing. His only concern
had been not to spill the oil that the wise man had entrusted to him.

“‘Then go back and observe the marvels of my world,’ said the wise man. ‘You cannot trust a
man if you don’t know his house.’

“Relieved, the boy picked up the spoon and returned to his exploration of the palace, this time
observing all of the works of art on the ceilings and the walls. He saw the gardens, the
mountains all around him, the beauty of the flowers, and the taste with which everything had
been selected. Upon returning to the wise man, he related in detail everything he had seen.

“‘But where are the drops of oil I entrusted to you?’ asked the wise man.

“Looking down at the spoon he held, the boy saw that the oil was gone.

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“‘Well, there is only one piece of advice I can give you,’ said the wisest of wise men. ‘The
secret of happiness is to see all the marvels of the world, and never to forget the drops of
oil on the spoon.’”

GLOSSARY

1. Hive of activity – many activities happening at the same time.

2. Orchestra – a large instrumental ensemble typical of classical music, including bowed
instrument such as violin, viola and cello.
3. Platters – a large flat dish or plate for serving food.
4. Tapestry - a piece of thick textile fabric with pictures or designs formed by weaving
coloured weft threads or by embroidering on canvas, used as a wall hanging or soft
furnishing.
5. Parchment - a stiff, flat, thin material made from the prepared skin of an animal, usually a
sheep or goat, and used as a durable writing surface in ancient and medieval times.

THINK IT OUT
1. Who went to meet the wise man?
2. Explain the boy’s tour around the place of the wise man?
3. What is the wise man’s secret of happiness?

GRAMMAR

Modals

Modals or modal verbs are the type of auxiliary verbs that are used to express certain
qualities like ability, possibility, permission or obligation.

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Modal verbs are also classified into semi-modals. List of semi-modals:

Dare to
Ought to
Need to
Used to

Some characteristics of modal verbs are

➢ They never change their form. Unable to add "s", "ed", "ing”.
➢ They are always followed by an infinitive without "to" (the bare infinitive.)
➢ They are used to indicate modality and allow speakers to express certainty,
possibility, willingness, obligation, necessity and also ability.

Examples:

I can swim.

It could rain tomorrow.

The train may/might arrive now.

You ought to revise your lessons.

You must bring your textbooks tomorrow.

Tina should come to school.

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 Train yourself
1. I ________ speak a little Russian.
2. ________ I open the window?
3. Reena _______ lend you her book.
4. Tom _______ submit his essay tomorrow.
5. The teacher _________ conduct a surprise test today.
6. _______ I ask you a question?

Mishoe and Montogomery in their speech in America used three

modals. “I THOUGHT YOU MIGHT COULD HELP ME”.

WRITING SKILL

Comprehension Passages

Comprehension Passage, the word comprehension

means the ability to understand what you listen or what
you read. The stories, the poem, the questions, and
answers were unseen to you before you read them.
Similarly, in a comprehension test, you are given
a passage or a paragraph or two.

Example

The culture of nuclear families is in fashion. Parents are

often heard complaining about the difficulties in bringing up children these days. Too much
of freedom in demand, too much independence; overnight parties, excessive extravagance,
splurging pocket money; no time for studies and family all this is a common cry of such
families. Aren't parents, themselves, responsible for this pitiful state? The basic need of a
growing youth is the family, love, attention and bonding along with moral values. One should

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not forget that 'charity begins at home'. Independence and individuality both need to be
respected, in order to maintain the sanctity of family. Children today are to be handled with
tact in order to bridge the ever-widening generation gap. Only the reasonable demands need
to be fulfilled, as there are too many expenses to be met and top many social obligations to be
taken care of by the parents. Our forefathers lived happily in joint families. Children loved to
live with their cousins, learnt to adjust within means. There was perfect harmony between the
generations. There never existed the concept of old-age homes. There was deep respect for
the family elders and love, care and concern for the youngsters. Even the minor family
differences were solved amicably.

Questions:

1. Mention any two major common concerns of a nuclear family.

2. Who, according to the passage, are responsible for them?

3. Explain the expression 'charity begins at home'

4. Describe the atmosphere in joint families.

5. Which word in the passage means 'Holiness of life’?

Answers:

1. Too much independence and no time for studies and family

2. Parents themselves.

3. The parent should not forget that is in giving that one receives.

4. In joint families, children get a friendly atmosphere and they also learn to adjust

within means.

5. Sanctity

Passage -1

When we enter New York harbour the first thing we see is the Statue of Liberty. What
impresses us the most is its size and magnificence. Have you ever wondered how it came to
be there The Statue of Liberty was a gift from the people of France to mark the one-hundred-

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year anniversary of American Independence? In 1869, sculptor Frederic Auguste Bartholdi
began to plan his concept for the monument. Bartholdi chose the look of classic Greek and
Roman figures. He envisioned Liberty as a strong and proud figure, one who personified not
only the majestic Greek goddesses of the past, but also the working men and women of the
present. Finally, in 1884 the work was finished, and Liberty was packed into 214 crates and
sent to New York city. Only one problem stood in the way. While the French had raised a lot
of funds to build the statue, New York had not secured the funds to build its foundation. It
was not until a New York newspaper implored people for donations that money became
available Finally, on 28th October 1886, Americans celebrated the unveiling of the Statue of
Liberty.

Questions:

1. Why was the Statue of Liberty given as a gift to America by France?

2 What is the name of the sculptor of the monument the Statue of Liberty?

3. What did the sculptor imagine the Statue of Liberty to be?

4 How many years did take to unveil the Statue of Liberty?

5 Trace the word from the passage which means the same as "imagined".

Passage-2

Next to water, tea is the most commonly consumed beverage in the world. This is the good
news because tea offers important health benefits. Its benefits were first discovered by the
Chinese Emperor Shen Nung who declared that it gave one vigour of body, contentment of
mind and determination of purpose. Today there is ample proof that tea in its many farms
possesses a number of health benefits from supporting the immune, system to reducing the
risk of cancer, to helping prevent tooth decay.What makes tea such a healthy drink ? The star
compounds are called catechins. Those are antioxidants that help prevent cell damage by
harmful molecules called free radicals.Tea can be black, green and red and is derived from a
warm-weather evergreen tree known as Camelia Sinensis. The more processing, tea leaves
undergo, the darker they become. Green tea is the least processed tea. It is simply steamed
quickly and offers the maximum healing powers because it isn't fermented. It also helps
prevent tooth decay and aids weight loss.

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Questions:

1. The most commonly consumed beverage in the world...................

2 Benefits of tea were first discovered...................

3 Tea turns out to be a healthy drink due to the presence of ...................

4. Green tea leaves offer maximum healing powers because it is...................

5 The word to the last para which means the same as helps is....................

Passage-3

An elderly carpenter was ready to retire He told his employer of his plans to leave the house
building business and live a more leisurely life with his family. He would miss the pay
cheque, but he needed to retire. The employer was sorry to see his good worker go and asked
if he could build just one more house as a personal favour. The carpenter said 'yes', but in
time it was easy to see that his heart was not in his work. He resorted to shoddy workmanship
and used inferior material. It was an unfortunate way to end his career When the carpenter
finished his work, his employer handed over the key of the house to the carpenter— "This is
your house, my gift to you." What a shocki What a shame! If he had only known he was
building his own house, he would have done it all so differently! Now he had to live in a
poorly built house. So, it is with us. We build our lives, a day at a time, often putting less than
our best into the building. Then, with a shock, we realize we have to live in the house we
have built. If we could do it over, we would do it much differently. But you cannot go back.
You are the carpenter, and every day you hammer a nail, place a board, or erect a wall.
Someone once said, your attitude, and the choices you make today, help build the "house"
you will live in tomorrow Therefore, build wisely!

Questions:

1 What did the carpenter tell his employer?

2 What favour did his employer ask from the carpenter?

3 What surprise did the employer have for the carpenter?

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4 Why was the surprise a 'shame' for the carpenter?

5 Which word in the first paragraph means the same as 'art of skill of a workman'?

Passage-4

For the mobility—impaired, highly trained canines called 'service dogs' can pick up dropped
keys, open and close drawers, retrieve prepared meals, help a person in and out of bathtub,
dial 911, push and pull wheelchairs, help operate a car or van and pull off gloves, shoes,
socks and jackets Other dogs provide specific assistance to those who suffer seizures (sudden
attacks of illness) and require special medication. And, of course, the helping dogs provide
companionship, play and give unconditional love to the people they assist. It is thirty odd
years now since the placement of the first assistance dog But only in recent years, with the
rising independent movement among disabled people has the Idea begun to spread widely.
While most servicedogs are trained to work with people who rely on wheelchairs, other
categories of helping dogs include hearing-dogs who alert their owners to sounds, such as
doorbells, phones, cooking timers, alarm clocks, smoke alarms and seizure dogs which carry
medication in their packs and are trained to dial 911 on large keypad phones.

Questions:

Q1: The service-dogs were:

(a) paid highly (b) less in number (c) multiple taskers (d) employees

Q2: The idea of assistance dogs became popular due to the:

(a) independent movement among the disabled

(b) awareness by the hospitals

(c) independence of the country

(d) both (a) and (c)

Q3: The categories of helping-dogs are:

(a) domestic dogs, service dogs & seizure dogs

(b) service, hearing and seizure dogs

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(c) hunting and domestic dogs

(d) None of the above

Q4: There is a difference between:

(a) the service dogs and the helping dogs

(b) the serving dogs and canines

(c) the canines and ordinary dogs

(d) both (b) and (c)

Q5: Give the noun form of trained

(a) Train (b)trains (c)training (d)trainee

Passage-5

An owl is a bird. There are two basic types of owls: typical owls and bam owls. Owls live in
almost every country of the world. Owls are mostly nocturnal, meaning they are awake at
night. Owls are predators—they hunt the food that they eat Owls hunt for mice and other
small mammals, insects and even fish. Owls are well adapted for hunting. Their soft, fluffy
feathers make their flight nearly silent. They have very good hearing which helps them to
hunt well in the darkness. The sharp hooked beaks and claws of the owl makes it very easy to
tear apart their prey quickly, although owls also eat some prey whole. Owl's eyes are unusual.
Like most predators, both the eyes of the owl face front. The owl cannot move its eyes. Owls
are far—sighted, which means they can see very well far but they can't see dose very well at
all. Fortunately, their distant vision is what they use far hunting and they can see far away
even in low light. Owls have facial disks around their eyes, tufts of feathers in a circle around
each eye. These facial disks are thought to help the Owl's hearing. Owls can turn their heads
180 degrees. This makes look like they might be able to turn their heads all the way around,
but 180 degrees is all the owl needs to see what's going on all around its. Perhaps because of
the Owl's mysterious appearance, especially its round eyes and flexible neck, there are a lot
of myths and superstitions about owls. Many cultures believe that owls are unusually wise.
Because owls are nocturnal, some cultures associate owls with bad omens. The screech of the
bam owl is considered by many to sound eerily human, like a person screaming. However,
owls probably do not interact with the fates of humans at all. Infact, some owl species may
become extinct because of humans.

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Questions:

QI Which of the following is not true about owls ?

(a) Owls eat small animals

(b) Owls are able to fly silently

(c) Owls have the best hearing of all birds

(d) Owls have poor vision

Q2: The eyesight of the owl is used for.

(a) flying (b) hunting (c) sleeping (d) none of these

Q3: The purpose of this short article is...

(a) to entertain (b) to inform (c) to persuade (d)none of these

Q4: Title for this story can be.

(a) Owls hunt at night (b) Owls can fly silently (c) Owls are interesting animals (d) Owls

have flexible necks

Q5: Which of the following is true 7

(a) The facial disks of the owl help them to see.

(b) Owls have strong,bent beak.
(c) Most owls hunt for food during the day.
(d) Owls are dangerous to humans.

LIFE SKILL

What is happiness to you. Write a short paragraph on how will you make others happy when
they are sad.

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BABY TORTOISE
D. H. LAWRENCE

David Herbert Lawrence was born on 11

September 1885. He was an English writer
and poet. His collected works represent, an
extended reflection upon the dehumanising effects
of modernity and industrialisation. Some of the
issues Lawrence explores are sexuality, emotional
health, vitality, spontaneity, and instinct. His
famous works are “Sons and Lovers” and Woman
in Love. Baby Tortoise is an extract from Birds, Beasts and Flowers which is a collection
of poetry by D. H. Lawrence, first published in 1923. This poem comes under the
Reptiles division. These poems include some of Lawrence's finest reflections on the
'otherness' of the non-human world.

You know what it is to be born alone,

Baby tortoise!
The first day to heave your feet little by little
from the shell,
Not yet awake,
And remain lapsed on earth,
Not quite alive.

A tiny, fragile, half-animate bean.

To open your tiny beak-mouth, that looks as if

it would never open,
Like some iron door;
To lift the upper hawk-beak from the lower
base
And reach your skinny little neck

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And take your first bite at some dim bit of
herbage,
Alone, small insect,
Tiny bright-eye,
Slow one.

To take your first solitary bite

And move on your slow, solitary hunt.
Your bright, dark little eye,
Your eye of a dark disturbed night,
Under its slow lid, tiny baby tortoise,
So indomitable.

No one ever heard you complain.

You draw your head forward, slowly, from your

little wimple
And set forward, slow-dragging, on your four-
pinned toes,
Rowing slowly forward.
Wither away, small bird?

Rather like a baby working its limbs,

Except that you make slow, ageless progress
And a baby makes none.

The touch of sun excites you,

And the long ages, and the lingering chill
Make you pause to yawn,
Opening your impervious mouth,
Suddenly beak-shaped, and very wide, like some
Suddenly gaping pincers;
Soft red tongue, and hard thin gums,
Then close the wedge of your little mountain

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front,
Your face, baby tortoise.

Do you wonder at the world, as slowly you turn

your head in its wimple
And look with laconic, black eyes?
Or is sleep coming over you again,
The non-life?

You are so hard to wake.

Are you able to wonder?

Or is it just your indomitable will and pride of
the first life
Looking round
And slowly pitching itself against the inertia
Which had seemed invincible?

The vast inanimate,

And the fine brilliance of your so tiny eye.
Challenger.

Nay, tiny shell-bird,

What a huge vast inanimate it is, that you must
row against,
What an incalculable inertia.

Challenger,

Little Ulysses, fore-runner,

No bigger than my thumb-nail,
Buon viaggio.

All animate creation on your shoulder,

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Set forth, little Titan, under your battle-shield.

The ponderous, preponderate,

Inanimate universe;
And you are slowly moving, pioneer, you alone.

How vivid your travelling seems now, in the

troubled sunshine,
Stoic, Ulyssean atom;
Suddenly hasty, reckless, on high toes.

Voiceless little bird,

Resting your head half out of your wimple
In the slow dignity of your eternal pause.
Alone, with no sense of being alone,
And hence six times more solitary;
Fulfilled of the slow passion of pitching through
immemorial ages
Your little round house in the midst of chaos.

Over the garden earth,

Small bird,
Over the edge of all things.

Traveller,
With your tail tucked a little on one side
Like a gentleman in a long-skirted coat.

All life carried on your shoulder,

Invincible fore-runner.

The Cross, the Cross

Goes deeper in than we know,
Deeper into life;

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Right into the marrow
And through the bone.

GLOSSARY

1. Impervious – not allowing fluid to pass through

2. Pincers – a hand tool used to pinch, cut or pull an object
3. Laconic – a person, speech, or style of writing using very few words
4. Indomitable – impossible to subdue or defeat
5. Preponderate – be great in number, influence or importance
6. Reckless – heedless of danger or the consequence of one’s action

THINK IT OUT
1. Whom does the poet calls as born alone?
2. How is the baby tortoise described in the poem?
3. Find the alliteration in the poem?
4. How does the poet refer baby tortoise as?

FIGURE OF SPEECH

Repetition is a literary device that repeats the same words or phrases a few times to make an
idea clearer and more memorable.

Eg : "And the fine brilliance of your so tiny eye,

Challenger.

Nay, tiny shell-bird."

Read the extract given below and answer the questions that follow:

1. “You know what it is to be born alone,

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Baby tortoise!

The first day to heave your feet little by little from the shell”

a. What has been born alone?

b. What was it brought out of?
c. How did the baby Tortoise look?

2. “To open your tiny beak-mouth, that looks as if it would never open: Like some

Irondoor ;To lift the upper hawk-beak from the lower base

And reach your skinny neck”.

a. What looked as if never opened?

b. What does the term “hawk-beak” mean?
c. How did the neck look like?

3 .“ Do you wonder at the world, as slowly you turn your head in its wimple

And look with laconic, black eyes?

Or is sleep coming over you again,

The non-life? You are so hard to wake.”

a. What is the meaning of wimple?

b. How was the eyes of the tortoise?
c. How was the sleep of the tortoise?

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"HOW THE WHALE GOT HIS THROAT"
RUDYARD KIPLING

Joseph Rudyard Kipling (30 December

1865 – 18 January 1936) was an English
journalist, short-story writer, poet, and
novelist. He was born in India, which
inspired much of his work. Kipling's
works of fiction include The Jungle
Book (1894), Kim (1901). He is seen as
an innovator in the art of the short
story. In 1907, he was awarded
the Nobel Prize in Literature. Following
his death in 1936, his ashes were
interred at Poets' Corner, part of the
South Transept of Westminster Abbey.

“How the Whale got his tiny Throat” was first published in St. Nicholas Magazine,1891.
It is Collected in Just So Stories, 1902, illustrated by the author and followed by the
poem “When the cabin port-holes are dark and green”.

In the sea, once upon a time, O my Best Beloved, there was a Whale, and he ate
fishes. He ate the starfish and the garfish, and the crab and the dab, and the plaice and the
dace, and the skate and his mate, and the mackereel and the pickereel, and the really truly
twirly-whirly eel. All the fishes he could find in all the sea he ate with his mouth—so! Till at
last there was only one small fish left in all the sea, and he was a small ‘Stute Fish, and he
swam a little behind the Whale’s right ear, so as to be out of harm’s way. Then the Whale
stood up on his tail and said, ‘I’m hungry.’ And the small ‘Stute Fish said in a small ‘stute
voice, ‘Noble and generous Cetacean, have you ever tasted Man?’
‘No,’ said the Whale. ‘What is it like?’
‘Nice,’ said the small ‘Stute Fish. ‘Nice but nubbly.’

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‘Then fetch me some,’ said the Whale, and he made the sea froth up with his tail.

‘One at a time is enough,’ said the ‘Stute Fish. ‘If you swim to latitude Fifty North, longitude
Forty West (that is magic), you will find, sitting on a raft, in the middle of the sea, with
nothing on but a pair of blue canvas breeches, a pair of suspenders (you must not forget the
suspenders, Best Beloved), and a jack- knife, one ship-wrecked Mariner, who, it is only fair
to tell you, is a man of infinite-resource-and-sagacity.’
So the Whale swam and swam to latitude Fifty North, longitude Forty West, as fast as he
could swim, and on a raft, in the middle of the sea, with nothing to wear except a pair of blue
canvas breeches, a pair of suspenders (you must particularly remember the suspenders, Best
Beloved), and a jack-knife, he found one single, solitary shipwrecked Mariner, trailing his
toes in the water. (He had his mummy’s leave to paddle, or else he would never have done it,
because he was a man of infinite- resource-and-sagacity.)
Then the Whale opened his mouth back and back and back till it nearly touched his tail, and
he swallowed the shipwrecked Mariner, and the raft he was sitting on, and his blue canvas
breeches, and the suspenders (which you must not forget), and the jack-knife—He swallowed
them all down into his warm, dark, inside cup-boards, and then he smacked his lips—so, and
turned round three times on his tail.
But as soon as the Mariner, who was a man of infinite-resource- and-sagacity, found himself
truly inside the Whale’s warm, dark, inside cup-boards, he stumped and he jumped and he
thumped and he bumped, and he pranced and he danced, and he banged and he clanged, and
he hit and he bit, and he leaped and he creeped, and he prowled and he howled, and he
hopped and he dropped, and he cried and he sighed, and he crawled and he bawled, and he
stepped and he lepped, and he danced hornpipes where he shouldn’t, and the Whale felt most
unhappy indeed. (Have you forgotten the suspenders?)
So he said to the ‘Stute Fish, ‘This man is very nubbly, and besides he is making me
hiccough. What shall I do?’
‘Tell him to come out,’ said the ‘Stute Fish.
So the Whale called down his own throat to the shipwrecked Mariner, ‘Come out and behave
yourself. I’ve got the hiccoughs.’
‘Nay, nay!’ said the Mariner. ‘Not so, but far otherwise. Take me to my natal-shore and the
white-cliffs-of-Albion, and I’ll think about it.’ And he began to dance more than ever.
‘You had better take him home,’ said the ‘Stute Fish to the Whale. ‘I ought to have warned
you that he is a man of infinite-resource-and-sagacity.’

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So the Whale swam and swam and swam, with both flippers and his tail, as hard as he could
for the hiccoughs; and at last he saw the Mariner’s natal-shore and the white-cliffs-of-Albion,
and he rushed half-way up the beach, and opened his mouth wide and wide and wide, and
said, ‘Change here for Winchester, Ashuelot,
Nashua, Keene, and stations on the Fitchburg
Road;’ and just as he said ‘Fitch’ the Mariner
walked out of his mouth. But while the Whale had
been swimming, the Mariner, who was indeed a
person of infinite-resource-and-sagacity, had
taken his jack-knife and cut up the raft into a little
square grating all running criss- cross, and he had
tied it firm with his suspenders (now , you know
why you were not to forget the suspenders!), and
he dragged that grating good and tight into the
Whale’s throat, and there it stuck! Then he recited
the following Sloka , which, as you have not
heard it, I will now proceed to relate—
By means of a grating
I have stopped your ating.
For the Mariner he was also an Hi-ber-ni-an. And he stepped out on the shingle, and went
home to his mother, who had given him leave to trail his toes in the water; and he married
and lived happily ever afterward. So did the Whale. But from that day on, the grating in his
throat, which he could neither cough up nor swallow down, prevented him eating anything
except very, very small fish; and that is the reason why whales nowadays never eat men or
boys or little girls.
The small ‘Stute Fish went and hid himself in the mud under the Door-sills of the Equator.
He was afraid that the Whale might be angry with him.
The Sailor took the jack-knife home. He was wearing the blue canvas breeches when he
walked out on the shingle. The suspenders were left behind, you see, to tie the grating with;
and that is the end of that tale.

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 GLOSSARY

1. Cetacean - whales, dolphins – like marine mammal.

2. Froth - foam or bubbles

3. Sagacity - wisdom

4. Mariner - sailor

5. Clanged - to make a loud metallic ringing sound

6. Pranced - walked proudly or to walk in an energetic way

7. Steward - manager

8. Tureen - large bowl

THINK IT OUT
1. How a whale got his throat?
2. What is the Stute Fish's motivation?
3. What is the central idea of this passage how the whale got his throat?

GRAMMAR

Degrees of comparison

Most of the adjectives have three different forms to show degrees of comparison – the
positive, the comparative, and the superlative. The positive form is used to describe one
item, group or a person. The comparative form is used to describe two items, people or
groups. The superlative form is used to describe three or more items, groups or people mainly
to compare with one another.

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 ✓ Add -er or more to form the comparative of most one- and two- syllable
adjectives.
✓ More, most, less or least are added to adjectives of three or more syllables to
form the superlative.

Positive Comparative Superlative

Easy easier easiest
Delicious More delicious Most delicious
Good better best
Talented Less talented Least talented

Examples:

John is as smart as Robert.

Sara read Milton’s poem faster than Rosy did.

She is smarter, smaller and more beautiful than Kylie is.

Karen has the highest grade in the group.

Ram’s resume is clearer than Sham’s.

Some adjectives are often confused with each other

The little A little

Little
Less quantity Very less
no quantity
available quantity

Also, there are the few, A few and Few where they denote some but everything, some and
nothing respectively.

Exercise:

1. James is as ________ as his brother.

126
 a. Tall b. taller c. tall than
2. Alexander was one of _________ kings who ever lived.
a. Great b. the greatest c. the greater
3. Martin is ________ than any other boy in the class.
a. More industrious b. the more industrious c. the most industrious
4. Chennai is ________ than Mumbai.
a. Hot b. hotter c. hottest
5. Very few cities in Asia are as _________ as Hong Kong.
a. Big b. bigger c. biggest
6. This cathedral is the _______ in South India.
a. Big b. bigger c. biggest
7. An airplane flies ________ than birds.
a. More fast b. more faster c. faster
8. Kitchen appliances have made cooking __________
a. More easy b. more easier c. easier
9. Very few countries are as rich ________ America.
a. than b. as c. so

10. Some beans are at least ________ as meat.

a. More nutritious b. as nutritious c. nutritious

WRITING SKILL

Article Writing:

Sample:

Write an article in 200 words on ‘The increasing crime rate in today’s society and ways to
curb it’.
Answer:

The Increasing Crime Rate in Today’s Society

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Modern society has advanced in science, technology and information. Prosperity has
increased manifold. But progress and affluence have their negative aspect too. Crimes such as
burglary, kidnapping, robbery, violence, assault, sexual harassment, rapes, threats, verbal
abuse have become the bane of today’s society. Most of the deadly and dangerous crimes are
organized and executed by professional criminals. The lords of the underworld run a parallel
government. Government machinery and police are
ineffective against their machinations. They extort money
by coercion and suffer no qualms of conscience to kill a
victim if the demand is not fulfilled. On a lower-level, the
small-time urchins and pick-pockets grow up to be
henchmen of the bosses and indulge in crimes against
women and society. Despite the growth of private guards
and ever-increasing number of civil police, the rate of
crime is increasing day by day. This is quite a shocking
trend. Healthy and active cooperation of the people, police
and political leaders can control the situation. Political
leaders having finks with the underworld should be
identified and pressurized to yield to public opinion. In case, they do not redress the
grievances of the people, they should be forced to resign and not elected again. The police
must shake up its lethargy. Instead of harassing the person who lodges the F.I.R. (First
Information Report), steps should be taken to apprehend the criminal and curb the crime. The
general public needs enlightenment. The people should be conscious of their rights and
duties. Only by observing a civic code of conduct, the elders can inspire the youth to combat
crime.

EXERCISE:

1. Owning a car has become a status symbol these days. However, increase in the
number of cars has added to various types of pollution and other problems. Write an
article in not more than 200 words highlighting the urgent need for reducing these
man-made problems, giving suitable suggestions.

2. Your school has been invited to participate in an inter-school on-the-spot writing

competition, organized by the Lions Club of your area. Based on your past

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 performance in such competitions you once again get selected for this proposed
competition. The organizers of this competition have given only one topic to write
about: My Dreams of the Next Millennium. Write an article in about 200 words on
this topic.

3. Write an article for your school magazine justifying the need of education for girls in
the country for national development. (word limit: 200 words)

4. Write an article for the school bulletin about the mosquito menace and the ways to get
rid of it in not more than 200 words.

5. You have organized a ‘Drug Abuse Redly’ in your school in collaboration with
Rotaract Club. Write an article, not exceeding 200 words, about Drug Abuse for a
popular magazine.

LIFE SKILL

What is your favourite animal which you want to

speak to you in real life? Imagine a situation and
write a paragraph.

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MOTHER, A CRADLE TO HOLD ME
MAYA ANGELOU

MAYA ANGELOU( born Marguerite Annie

Johnson; April 4, 1928 – May 28, 2014) was an
American poet, singer, memoirist, and civil rights
activist. She published seven autobiographies, three
books of essays, several books of poetry, and is
credited with a list of plays, movies, and television
shows spanning over 50 years. She received dozens
of awards and more than 50 honorary
degrees. Angelou is best known for her series of
seven autobiographies, which focus on her childhood and early adult experiences. The
first, I Know Why the Caged Bird Sings (1969), tells of her life up to the age of 17 and
brought her international recognition and acclaim.

It is true
I was created in you.
It is also true
That you were created for me.
I owned your voice.
It was shaped and tuned to soothe me.
Your arms were molded
Into a cradle to hold me, to rock me.
The scent of your body was the air
Perfumed for me to breathe.
Mother,
During those early, dearest days
I did not dream that you had
A large life which included me,
For I had a life
Which was only you.

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Time passed steadily and drew us apart.
I was unwilling.
I feared if I let you go
You would leave me eternally.
You smiled at my fears, saying
I could not stay in your lap forever.
That one day you would have to stand
And where would I be?
You smiled again.
I did not.
Without warning you left me,
But you returned immediately.
You left again and returned,
I admit, quickly,
But relief did not rest with me easily.
You left again, but again returned.
You left again, but again returned.
Each time you reentered my world
You brought assurance.
Slowly I gained confidence.
You thought you know me,
But I did know you,
You thought you were watching me,
But I did hold you securely in my sight,
Recording every moment,
Memorizing your smiles, tracing your frowns.
In your absence
I rehearsed you,
The way you had of singing
On a breeze,
While a sob lay
At the root of your song.
The way you posed your head
So that the light could caress your face

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When you put your fingers on my hand
And your hand on my arm,
I was blessed with a sense of health,
Of strength and very good fortune.
You were always
the heart of happiness to me,
Bringing nougats of glee,
Sweets of open laughter.
I loved you even during the years
When you knew nothing
And I knew everything, I loved you still.
Condescendingly of course,
From my high perch
Of teenage wisdom.
I spoke sharply of you, often
Because you were slow to understand.
I grew older and
Was stunned to find
How much knowledge you had gleaned.
And so quickly.
Mother, I have learned enough now
To know I have learned nearly nothing.
On this day
When mothers are being honored,
Let me thank you
That my selfishness, ignorance, and mockery
Did not bring you to
Discard me like a broken doll
Which had lost its favor.
I thank you that
You still find something in me
To cherish, to admire and to love.
I thank you, Mother.
I love you.”

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 GLOSSARY

1. Soothe - feel calm or less worried

2. Eternally - lasting forever

3. Frown - to bring your eyebrows together so that there are lines on your face above your

eyes to show that you are annoyed or worried.

4. Condescending - treating someone as if you are more important or more intelligent than

them

5. Glean - to collect information in small amounts and often with difficulty

THINK IT OUT

1. Write few things about the author Maya Angelou?

2. Who is the speaker of the poem mother a cradle to hold me?

3. What is the message of the poem mother a cradle to hold me?

FIGURE OF SPEECH

A simile is a comparison between two unlike things using the words "like" or "as."

Eg : "Let me thank you

That my selfishness, ignorance, and mockery

Did not bring you to

Discard me like a broken doll"

Read the extract given below and answer the questions that follow:

1. “It is true
I was created in you.
133
It is also true
That you were created for me.
I owned your voice.
It was shaped and tuned to soothe me”. The scent of your body was the air
Perfumed for me to breathe.”

a. These are the words of?

b. Whose voice was tuned in the poem?

c. What was perfumed in air?

2. “Mother,

During those early, dearest days

I did not dream that you had

A large life which included me,

For I had a life

Which was only you.”

a. Name the period mentioned in the poem?

b. Whom does the poet spend time with?
c. How was the life?

3. “I loved you even during the years

When you knew nothing
And I knew everything, I loved you still.
Condescendingly of course,
From my high perch
Of teenage wisdom.
I spoke sharply of you, often
Because you were slow to understand.”

a. What does the word “condescendingly”mean?

b. How did the poet speak to her mother?

c. What was allowed to the poet?

134
DREAM CHILDREN – A REVERIE
CHARLES LAMB

Charles Lamb was born on 10 February 1775.

He was an English essayist, poet,
and antiquarian, best known for his Essays of
Elia and for the children's book Tales from
Shakespeare, co-authored with his
sister, Mary Lamb (1764–1847). ‘Dream-
Children ; A Reverie’, one of the Essays of
Elia by Charles Lamb published in 1822. He
died on 27 December 1834.

Children love to listen to stories about their elders, when they were children; to stretch
their imagination to the conception of a traditionary great-uncle or grandame, whom they
never saw. It was in this spirit that my little ones crept about me the other evening to hear
about their great-grandmother Field, who lived in a great house in Norfolk (a hundred times
bigger than that in which they and papa lived) which had been the scene—so at least it was
generally believed in that part of the country—of the tragic incidents which they had lately
become familiar with from the ballad of the Children in the Wood. Certain it is that the whole
story of the children and their cruel uncle was to be seen fairly carved out in wood upon the
chimney-piece of the great hall, the whole story down to the Robin Redbreasts, till a foolish
rich person pulled it down to set up a marble one of modern invention in its stead, with no
story upon it. Here Alice put out one of her dear mother’s looks, too tender to be called
upbraiding. Then I went on to say, how religious and how good their great-grandmother Field
was, how beloved and respected by everybody, though she was not indeed the mistress of this
great house, but had only the charge of it (and yet in some respects she might be said to be
the mistress of it too) committed to her by the owner, who preferred living in a newer and
more fashionable mansion which he had purchased somewhere in the adjoining county; but
still she lived in it in a manner as if it had been her own, and kept up the dignity of the great
house in a sort while she lived, which afterward came to decay, and was nearly pulled down,
and all its old ornaments stripped and carried away to the owner’s other house, where they
were set up, and looked as awkward as if someone were to carry away the old tombs they had

135
seen lately at the Abbey, and stick them up in Lady C.’s tawdry gilt drawing-room. Here John
smiled, as much as to say, “that would be foolish indeed.” And then I told how, when she
came to die, her funeral was attended by a concourse of all the poor, and some of the gentry
too, of the neighborhood for many miles round, to show their respect for her memory,
because she had been such a good and religious woman; so good indeed that she knew all the
Psaltery by heart, aye, and a great part of the Testament besides. Here little Alice spread her
hands. Then I told what a tall, upright, graceful person their great-grandmother Field once
was; and how in her youth she was esteemed the best dancer—here Alice’s little right foot
played an involuntary movement, till upon my looking grave, it desisted—the best dancer, I
was saying, in the county, till a cruel disease, called a cancer, came, and bowed her down
with pain; but it could never bend her good spirits, or make them stoop, but they were still
upright, because she was so good and religious. Then I told how she was used to sleep by
herself in a lone chamber of the great lone house; and how she believed that an apparition of
two infants was to be seen at midnight gliding up and down the great staircase near where she
slept, but she said “those innocents would do her no harm”; and how frightened I used to be,
though in those days I had my maid to sleep with me, because I was never half so good or
religious as she—and yet I never saw the infants. Here John expanded all his eyebrows and
tried to look courageous. Then I told how good she was to all her grand-children, having us to
the great house in the holidays, where I in particular used to spend many hours by myself, in
gazing upon the old busts of the Twelve Caesars, that had been Emperors of Rome, till the
old marble heads would seem to live again, or I to be turned into marble with them; how I
never could be tired with roaming about that huge mansion, with its vast empty rooms, with
their worn-out hangings, fluttering tapestry, and carved oaken panels, with the gilding almost
rubbed out—sometimes in the spacious old-fashioned gardens, which I had almost to myself,
unless when now and then a solitary gardening man would cross me—and how the nectarines
and peaches hung upon the walls, without my ever offering to pluck them, because they were
forbidden fruit, unless now and then,—and because I had more pleasure in strolling about
among the old melancholy-looking yew trees, or the firs, and picking up the red berries, and
the fir apples, which were good for nothing but to look at—or in lying about upon the fresh
grass, with all the fine garden smells around me—or basking in the orangery, till I could
almost fancy myself ripening, too, along with the oranges and the limes in that grateful
warmth—or in watching the dace that darted to and fro in the fish pond, at the bottom of the
garden, with here and there a great sulky pike hanging midway down the water in silent state,
as if it mocked at their impertinent friskings,—I had more pleasure in these busy-idle

136
diversions than in all the sweet flavors of peaches, nectarines, oranges, and such like common
baits of children. Here John slyly deposited back upon the plate a bunch of grapes, which, not
unobserved by Alice, he had mediated dividing with her, and both seemed willing to
relinquish them for the present as irrelevant. Then, in somewhat a more heightened tone, I
told how, though their great-grandmother Field loved all her grand-children, yet in an
especial manner she might be said to love their uncle, John L——, because he was so
handsome and spirited a youth, and a king to
the rest of us; and, instead of moping about in
solitary corners, like some of us, he would
mount the most mettlesome horse he could
get, when but an imp no bigger than
themselves, and make it carry him half over
the county in a morning, and join the hunters
when there were any out—and yet he loved
the old great house and gardens too, but had
too much spirit to be always pent up within
their boundaries —and how their uncle grew
up to man’s estate as brave as he was
handsome, to the admiration of everybody, but of their great-grandmother Field most
especially; and how he used to carry me upon his back when I was a lame-footed boy—for he
was a good bit older than me—many a mile when I could not walk for pain;—and how in
after life he became lame-footed too, and I did not always (I fear) make allowances enough
for him when he was impatient, and in pain, nor remember sufficiently how considerate he
had been to me when I was lame-footed; and how when he died, though he had not been dead
an hour, it seemed as if he had died a great while ago, such a distance there is betwixt life and
death; and how I bore his death as I thought pretty well at first, but afterward it haunted and
haunted me; and though I did not cry or take it to heart as some do, and as I think he would
have done if I had died, yet I missed him all day long, and knew not till then how much I had
loved him. I missed his kindness, and I missed his crossness, and wished him to be alive
again, to be quarreling with him (for we quarreled sometimes), rather than not have him
again, and was as uneasy without him, as he their poor uncle must have been when the doctor
took off his limb. Here the children fell a crying, and asked if their little mourning which they
had on was not for uncle John, and they looked up and prayed me not to go on about their
uncle, but to tell them some stories about their pretty, dead mother. Then I told them how for

137
seven long years, in hope sometimes, sometimes in despair, yet persisting ever, I courted the
fair Alice W——n; and, as much as children could understand, I explained to them what
coyness, and difficulty, and denial meant in maidens—when suddenly, turning to Alice, the
soul of the first Alice looked out at her eyes with such a reality of re-presentment, that I
became in doubt which of them stood there before me, or whose that bright hair was; and
while I stood gazing, both the children gradually grew fainter to my view, receding, and still
receding till nothing at last but two mournful features were seen in the uttermost distance,
which, without speech, strangely impressed upon me the effects of speech: “We are not of
Alice, nor of thee, nor are we children at all. The children of Alice call Bartrum father. We
are nothing; less than nothing, and dreams. We are only what might have been, and must wait
upon the tedious shores of Lethe millions of ages before we have existence, and a name”—
and immediately awaking, I found myself quietly seated in my bachelor armchair, where I
had fallen asleep, with the faithful Bridget unchanged by my side—but John L. (or James
Elia) was gone forever.

GLOSSARY

1. Psaltery – an ancient and medieval musical instrument

2. Oaken – made of timber from oak tree
3. Frisking – is a search of a person’s outer clothing
4. Relinquish – give up
5. Sulky – bad tempered
6. Pike – a long-bodied predatory freshwater fish with a pointed snout and large teeth.

THINK IT OUT

1. What is the name of Lamb’s dream children?

2. How can you tell that Charles lamb’s children are dream children?
3. What is the name of Lamb’s grandmother and brother?
4. What does he tell about his brother at the end of the essay?

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 GRAMMAR

Types of Sentences

A sentence is the basic grammatical unit. It contains a group of words and expresses a
complete thought. A sentence consists of a subject and a predicate.

For example, in the sentence "Bill writes good poems"

Bill is the subject of the sentence and writes good poems is the predicate.

There are four types of English sentence, classified by their purpose:

Form Function Example Final

sentence punctuation

1 Declarative Statement: It John likes .

tells something Mary.

2 Interrogative Question: It Does Mary like ?

asks us John?
something

3 Imperative Command: It Stop! Close the ! (Or) .

tells us to do door.
something

4 Exclamative Exclamation: What a funny !

It expresses story he told us!
surprise

Exercises 1:
Identify and label each sentence as declarative, interrogative,
imperative, or exclamatory:
1. My sister is a nurse. .........................

2. Supriya works at a supermarket. .........................

139
3. Where have you been since morning? .........................

4. Take this paper with you. .........................

5. How disgusting! .........................

6. Give me a piece of paper. .........................

7. What are you doing there? .........................

8. What is your name? .........................

9. I was surprised to hear the news. .........................

10. Our team may win the match. .........................

Exercise 2:

Identify and label each sentence as declarative, interrogative, imperative, or

exclamatory. Write the correct punctuation mark after each sentence:
1. This summer, my family will travel to Greece

2. I am so excited

3. Do you know where Greece is

4. Greece is home to many archaeological monuments

5. You should read Greek mythology 6. Greek mythology is full of adventures and legends

7. Hercules, Achilles, and Perseus are all heroes found in Greek mythology

8. Reading mythology will get you excited about traveling

9. Would you enjoy a trip to Greece

10. Come with us

WRITING SKILL

Developing Story

Sample:

Write a story in 150-200 words with the help of the following outline. Give it a suitable title
also.

140
Bunya was a foolish boy, who was an attention seeker. He was a woodcutter and would go
deep into the jungle to cut trees. One day he wanted to do an act of mischief. He shouted at
the top of his voice, “There’s a tiger, tiger, there’s a tiger … ….”

The False alarm

Bunya was a foolish boy, who was an attention seeker. He was a woodcutter and would go
deep into the jungle to cut trees. One day he wanted to do an act of mischief. He shouted at
the top of his voice, “There’s a tiger, tiger, there’s a tiger … ….” even when there was no
trace of it. The villagers came running hurriedly thinking that Bunya was in danger. Bunya’s
mother had tears in her eyes. The villagers came ready with their safety weapons and upon
reaching, they saw no tiger but just Bunya laughing on playing them. The villagers were hurt
and they started swearing out of disappointment. Bunya had no realization as to what he had
done and he continued laughing stealthily. A week passed by and everyone was ignoring
Bunya. One fine day, he and his friend went into the woods. Just like any other day, they
started doing their job while chatting with each other. Suddenly, they heard a roar nearby.
The tiger was towards his friend’s side of the jungle. Bhunya went running to the villagers
asking them for help. No one listened to him as they thought it was one of his pranks. He
cried for help, but no one trusted him. He ran towards the tea vendor and told him the entire
story. The tea vendor gave him the benefit of the doubt and went with him. Till the time they
reached there, his friend could be seen nowhere. They called
out his name and looked in the woods, but it was too late.
Bhunya realized and accepted that it was all his mistake.

Moral of the story is, “Truth doesn’t cost you anything but a
lie could cost you everything”

EXERCISE:

1. Write a story in 150-200 words with the help of the

following outline: It was raining heavily, the street
lights had gone off and I was returning….

2. Write a short story in 150 – 200 words, with the

help of the cues given below. Give a suitable title to
the story. It was Mohini’s first day at the new school. She was feeling very nervous.
She stood in a corner and watched the students who were laughing and talking
excitedly. When she saw four senior students advancing towards her, she…

141
 3. Write a short story in 150 – 200 words, with the help of the cues given below. Give a
suitable title to the story. Satish was standing on the balcony watching the last rays of
the Sun. Loud and angry voices in the street below distracted his attention. He ran
down the stairs to see what had happened…
4. Write a short story in 150 – 200 words, with the help of the cues given below. Give a
suitable title to the story. While you are going to Mumbai by train to attend the
marriage of a friend you got stuck in a traffic jam and reached the railway station late.
In a hurry you boarded a wrong train but realized it only after two hours.
5. Meena is a 12 years old girl. She is staying with her mother. No one was there for
their help. One day a stranger came to the Meena’s house. Her mom was not in the
house at that time. The man caught hold of Meena. She began to cry loudly. But no
one was there to hear her. Complete the story I about 150 to 200 words.

LIFE SKILL

Describe your family and your house which you

live in. Explain how you admire your parents

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NOTES

143
NOTES

144
NOTES

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