Oracle Book Club

Prejudiced ..yes !

posted by Unanchored Sails @ 4:51 PM 4 comments

Something about Cosmos, Evolution and Genes - 3 good books

My last 3 reads fall into the 'Science-for-Dummies' category.

The first one 'The Fabric of Cosmos', by Brian Greene is a brilliant book on physics. In this books, he tries to explain space, time and the theories behind their origin. I never understood relativity much - even during my graduation in physics -, but this books explains it in such a simple language, you will be forgiven if after reading, you believe you understood it. String theory was new to me. The examples he takes to explain various String theories are fascinating. My imagination failed me a lot of times in trying to visualize what is said. But, such is relativity.
'If you think you understood relativity, you didn't - Richard Feyman'.

The second one 'The Ancestor's Tale', by Richard Dawkins is a very interesting book on the origin of our species. This was the first time I read anything on biology [after my 10th std]. And, the book was captivating from the word go. He starts with our species and goes back in time tracing common ancestors with Chimps, Gorillas, Baboons and other species till the origin of life. Each chapter traces back a few million years to tell about an ancestor of us and in doing so, he throws in some interesting tales on various topics. In one topic, he explains logarithmic tables. Believe me, I didn't understand what logarithms were in all my school and college days. If only I knew this part during those times, I would have done so well in some of my maths. Sometimes it feels that my education was very inefficient in terms of money, effort and time. Probably, I would have done better had I tried to know things rather than learn them.
Dont miss his other book 'The God Delusion'.

The third one 'Genome', by Matt Ridley is a wonderful book. Wonderful, in its true sense, that each chapter fills you wonder. This is about the 23 chromosomes in a human body. Since the chromosome is too huge for a book and too complicated for a lay man, he gives a brief of 1 or 2 genes on each of the 23 chromosomes, and in doing so he explains so much about our life, health, diseases, intelligence, sex and what not. I am currently reading penultimate chapter, and am worried that the book is getting over too soon. Wish we had more chromosomes, so that he had more to write.

The common feature of all these 3 books, is the enthusiasm that these generate. After the first one, I thought I should have been an physicist, after the second, a Evolutionist and after the third, a Geneticist. I know,I cant be any of the above, but I thank each of the above authors for so graciously sharing such wonderful knowledge.

posted by am @ 7:38 PM 3 comments

Potter Mania! First 10 Chapters Leaked!

Check out the first 10 chapters of Harry Potter & The Deathly Hallows!



[Update] - The rumors seem to be true! Check out these photos on my blog.

Labels: Harry Potter

posted by Gautam Satpathy @ 11:56 PM 0 comments

Now, Subscribe to this blog by email !

Hi All,

I am glad to announce the rollout of a new feature at this blog : Email Subscription !


Salient features :

• Whenever a new post is published on the blog, you receive email about the new "feed"
  
• No updates => no emails. No daily emails. No spam mails.
  
• Subscribe to blog posts by email, at the subscription box available on the side bar.
  

Enjoy !

posted by Anshuman @ 4:18 PM 0 comments

A Short History of Nearly Everything - Bill Bryson

After a long time, I managed to spend some quality time on books. I picked this one in Walden, opp.KBR Park. I half expected it to be very much like 'A Brief History of Time', by Stephen Hawkings, which in itself is a fantastic book.

The book opens with a receipe to create an Universe. I thought it would follow the trail of 'Cosmos' by Carl Sagan. But this book did beat my expectations. This is not a science-for-dummies kind of book.

It touches on various aspects of science, Astro-physics, Quantum Physics, Geology, Paleantology, Genetics, Biology, Evolution etc., but doesn't explain any science it. Rather, it goes thru the history of each of these areas and narrates how science developed to its existing state. It starts with the myths before sceience arrived, explains how scientists concluded on theories, where they missed the facts, and how they managed to sort out their differences of opinion etc.

Though some topics last a little longer than interesting, it is a good first time read. And, probably you could go thru the pages at leisure again and again.

posted by am @ 12:56 PM 1 comments

Audiobooks

I recently acquired an iPod Nano, a gift from Dad. He bought it in the US during his visit to my sister and his.

I use it primarily for Audiobooks. Some music, mostly the artists that Padmaja (my wife) loves.

Anyway, back to Audiobooks. By the way, how do you spell Audiobooks? One word or two? I always spell it as one word but the spell check complaints about my spelling. Claims to know better :-)

Opps. Back to Audiobooks. I have a sizable collection now, about 10 DVDs worth. My collection can be classified into the following:

• Human read Audiobooks. These are long. An Agatha Christie novel will run into 4 hours of audio in this format. The readers are professionals and do a very good job. They use different intonations and change their pitch while reading. The end product, in most cases, is worth every minute.
• Radio Dramas. Mostly BBC Radio dramas from the 1920s and later. I love these. They are typically short; anything from a single 50 minute production (short stories mostly) to multiple episodes for longer novels. Full sound effects and professional voice artists. The end result is fantastic! You can hear the door creeaakkk open!
• Machine read Audiobooks. I don't like these. Mostly produced with AT&T's Natural Voice engine. Though the technology has matured it still cannot produce the same effect as human read Audiobooks.

Most Audiobooks are available in MP3 format. These have to be converted into AAC format before the iPod will recognize them as Audiobooks (remember last paused position etc). The actual conversion process is straightforward as iTunes handles the details. However there are a couple of manual steps, including configuring iTunes for the conversion. Once the file is converted, one has to edit the ID3 tags to help iPod. I typically use a volume boost, equalizer preset for "Spoken Voice", Audiobook genre and "Part of a Compilation" if the Audiobook is in multiple parts.

I am currently listening to a BBC Radio Dramatization of J. R. R. Tolkien's Hobbit. Next on the list is some P. G. Wodehouse, Agatha Christie, Wilbur Smith, Asimov, Clarke etc.

posted by Gautam Satpathy @ 4:34 PM 2 comments

ways to beat censorship ...

From an article in the Times Of India -


Fortunately, technology makes it easy to circumvent such ham-handed censorship. The methods fall into two categories. One, if your ISP goofed up and blocked the wrong site, what you want is to gingerly step around the block using a proxy. The simplest way to achieve this is with Torpark, a project that combines the Firefox browser and the Tor anonymous proxy service into a single point-andclick install for Windows users. Get it from http://torpark.nfshost.com.

Torpark behaves exactly like the Firefox and Internet Explorer browsers you are familiar with, but is unaffected by censorship. Tor operates a series of proxy routers around the world that pass your pages through at least three random routers before delivering them to you. This ensures that your ISP does not know what sites you are accessing, and hence cannot block them. The more people who use Tor, the more effective it becomes against wrongful censorship. You can read more about Tor at
http://tor.eff.org.

Two, go to http://www.shysurfer.com, type in the address of the site you want to access, and hit Browse. ShySurfer will load the page for you. If you want to follow any link on the page however, you will have to repeat the process. This is a cumbersome process you have to put up with for being on a restricted network.

--

posted by Anshuman @ 11:31 AM 0 comments

Is your ISP Blocking Blogspot?

Can you access this and other Blogspot blogs from your home computer? I cannot. That is because the idiots in the Govt have asked the ISPs to block some blogs that spread hate about India in an attempt to fight terrorism. My ISP has gone ahead and blocked all blogs on Blogspot. I haven't checked other blog hosts yet. I have this Photo blog on Blogger that hosts photos of my family etc and I can no longer access it from home!

You can read this from work because our office connection goes through a gateway that is routed through Japan (I think).

If your ISP is blocking web sites, do lodge a protest with the leading newspapers, the central Govt and other web sites. Don't let the idiots in Govt and at the ISPs win by default because we didn't raise our voice against their foolishness.

posted by Gautam Satpathy @ 9:59 AM 3 comments

The Undercover Economist- Tim Harford

‘Reading this book is like spending an ordinary day wearing X-ray goggles’ Davod Bodanis.

‘Only hitch being that with an ordinary mind you really wont be able to make much sense of what you would see through the X-ray goggles.’ Anuj

I loved Freakonomics and when I saw this book I was tempted to grab a copy as I expected it to be on the similar lines. I have always tried to read about economics whenever I have got a chance and ‘Required Reading’ right on top of the book by Levitt (Author of Freakonomics) himself was enough for me to grab a copy of it without even looking at the price Rs. 493.60 (Are you thinking its worth every paise that’s why I took pains to mention the price till the last decimal !!).

Incase you are thinking hated the book you are mistaken. Despite of how I sounded in the above paragraph I have to agree that the book was really good. Initially while reading the book it was tough to keep myself interested and I was loosing track of his logic and theories. I had to force myself at various places to continue reading it. I also left the book halfway in between and next time when I picked the book looked very different. I was loving it, I was able to follow it and it all made a lot more sense.

May be this happened because apart from this book I reading, Blink, and few other books all at the same time. May be I should have read only one book at a time.

He uses very nice examples and gives a lot of details on why the things are , the way we see them. In the first Chapter “Who pays for our coffee” it is interesting to see the pricing mechanism followed by them to make the most out of a wide spectrum of customers, those who can pay more and those who cant, without letting them know that the prices are targeted towards them.

He talks about the supermarkets and consumer behavior, which again is really interesting. How a simple thing like where an item is placed affects our buying pattern.

The one thing I did not like about the book was a lot of argument against “externalities” and how he argued about the suggested solutions to tackle problems like traffic congestion and global warming. He does make valid and interesting points but then the problem is so complex that after understanding the pros and cons of his approach you would think that even this is not going to work. May be he should have used some example for which he would have been able to give a convincing solution.

The most interesting part of the book is the later half. Here he talks about Globalization and gives some points in support and talks about why there are people who oppose it. He talks about Cameroon, and why the country is getting poor everyday instead of getting richer despite the “Political Stability” and why the people in Cameroon do not have an incentive to save at all.
And the book would have been incomplete without talking about India and China story, and he does talk about that. Though about China in much greater detail and I really did not know so much about China and history of its economic reforms so far. India gets a fleeting mention and he only explains how China benefited from its relationship with Taiwan, Hong Kong etc and how India did not have that advantage.

One of the really interesting arguments was about the “Sweat Shops” in the under developed and developing country. The author supports these sweat shops vehemently and argues that these working conditions and opportunities because of these sweat shops are much better than starving or not having any opportunities at all. He argues that in long term these sweat shops will make way for more opportunities, better health, higher salaries and a better future.

All in all if you are game for a little heavy reading grab a copy.

posted by Anuj @ 12:40 PM 0 comments

Two-thirds of the GameWorld Trilogy

The Simoquin Prophecies and The Manticore's Secret

- By Samit Basu

This story is the dream come true of every Indian fantasy reader who wants something closer to home. It pokes fun at the SFF clichés, while weaving a complex and gripping tale, with twists and turns and surprises on every page.

In GameWorld, nothing is what it seems; there are layers to every thread of the tale. Here you have chroniclers who create heroes, magicians who create movies and storks who create “pashans”. The author builds a delightful game of “find the hidden reference”, from Hindu Mythology to “The Mummy” to Feluda to Harry Potter! A Dark Lord who doesn’t like his tower, a heroine more heroic than the hero, and a deadly assassin who is a bunny rabbit. These are the characters that make the book “unputdownable”.

An evil power is on the rise and it has been prophesied that a hero will rise too, and vanquish this monster. But heroes are not born, they are made. Or some have heroism thrust upon them. The first book shows us the making of the hero and the rise of the arch-villain. And the second book shows us that there are always forces more powerful and mysterious at work. As for the third book, I can’t wait for it to be published!

My Rating -9/10

posted by Tanushree @ 4:22 PM 2 comments

"The Inscrutable Americans"... and the Indians!

Long time back I had promised (or maybe I was sedated ;) ) to put up a review of the book English August . That never happened ... yeah one of the many things I promise to myself and the world, which never happen anyways. But yesterday, I read yet another book, The Inscrutable Americans . And boy, a book it sure is. I mean, soemthing which can prompt ME (yess, the lazy mammoth me - uh i made up the mammoth part, I am more like a Giraffe, tall and thin) to write a review of this book AND the english august, is sure something.

Okay no more silly talk, lo behold, here is the first review -
The Inscrutable Americans

This is a story about a guy Gopal , who hails from a rural town called Jajau (what a name, I started chuckling the moment I tried to pronounce it). The book starts with Gopal in a flight to the dream country of US of A (note that the book was published in 1991, so thats the peak of brain drain and immigration I guess). And the first chapter of the book actually starts with a letter he writes to his brother - in his characteristic English, which smells of Jajau and hair oil.

Hair Oil ? Oh I forgot to tell you. Gopal has actually been living in Jajau and running his parental business of selling Hair Oil (as his dad says once - the thing that runs in our veins is not blood, its Hair Oil) And this guy, backed with his immense knowledge of the chemicals used in his factory, applied for MS in Chemical Engineering, ofcourse he gets an admit, that too a special 1 year course for him (due to your immense and extra ordinary knowledge and understanding of chemicals, as the college dean said later)

Once he lands in the US of A, starts his ordeal .. er.. journey ;) Now before I go ahead, there are 2 things in the book which can make you laugh till you feel your stomach churns, and your ribs are almost unable to hold your lungs from inflating - (1) the english this buddy speaks (no offences meant ofcourse, cause he tries his natural best, and does convey the meaning anyway)
(2) the way he interprets things

Scene 1 : in his letter to his brother, he writes -

.. and according to the intructions of respected grandmother and parents, I am strictly away from girls and non-veg food. I am only drinking 16 bottles of Coke in the flight, as I not know if the food is veg cooked by brahmin cooks...

.. the hostess in the flight is giving me looks as I ask for more coke...

.. I am landing in the airport, and I am walking out. The hostess gives me another can of Coke as I am getting out of the plane, and laughing with her hostess friends. I think they like me, and are very nice ...

.. the immigration officer, against whom my friend warned, is very friendly. He is asking me if I like nuts, and I am telling him i like them lot. First he asked about "how is it going", he is so concerned. I told him about the falling prices of Hair Oil in Jajau, and the problems we are facing. He is nodding saying 'Totally nuts'..

.. at the security, big man checked my bag, and said "move your ass". These americans are so advanced, how they know that we buy a donkey, that too 2 days before I came here ? Must be that they know all for those who coming to the US. But brother, if CIA asks me to come to Jajau as spy, I am killing myself for the motherland ..




Scene 2 : He is greeted by a student of his college at the airport , who is designated to help his settle down - (incidently his name is Randy, and gopal thought otherwise)


Randy - 'Hi, I am Randy '
Gopal (a bit wary) - But why ?
get the drift here? he takes it by the hindi name !

Randy - what do u mean why ? aren't there 'Randys' in India ?
Gopal (mutters) - yeah there are a few ... but ..

Next day morning, Randy comes up and knocks at Gopal's door

Gopal - who is there ?
Randy - I am Randy
Gopal (cautiously opens the door) - still Randy ?
Randy - what? You Indians change your name every night, or what ?
Gopal (relieved like anything) - Ohhh ... your name is Randy
Randy - yeah I told you , right ?
Gopal (nodding as things are clear now) - yes yes , but ofcourse


This book, The Inscrutable Americans, start on this very note - Gopal and his english, and his interpretations. Randy comes around as a very pleasant character, who is constantly trying to make Gopal feel at home. He takes him around, introduces his to people, and even takes him to parties and bars.
Ofcourse the first party that Gopal went to, was an experience in itself. (wont spill the beans, but yes, he had quite some experience).

Pretty soon, Randy realises that Gopal has not been much with girls, and actually resolves to .. ahem .. get his laid, before he goes back to India a year later. And there starts a series of efforts (comedies?) from Randy to fix up Gopal, and from Gopal to resist them with a "I dont want to", which Randy always responds to with a "I am on my way, be ready"

And yes, his proximity with some of the girls soon starts to show up, with those sudden pangs of emotions Gopal gets, often making him believe that he is in love .. almost. His journey continues as a highly educative one, more of him as a person than chemical engineering ;)

The first half of the book is a laugh riot. Somewhere towards the middle he starts to develop a certain understanding of the American way - the way they think, the way they do things .. its so unlike us .. its after all : American


Overall, a very nice read. My Rating - 9/10

---

English, August

I read this book a few months back, and the reason I am finally writing the review is cause of a connection i could see between this book, and The Inscrutable Americans. They are -
1) both the main characters are stuck in a world they cannot associate with
2) they found their environ inscrutinable, and react and understand in their own way to things around them


English August -
Revolves around the main character Agastya , who gets rechristened a "August", goes ahead and studies in Cambridge, and then crack the IAS. The son of the governer of Bengal, his ordeal starts when as part of the IAS training, he is posted in a remote town of Madna - a remote village in rural India, with its only claim to fame is the contention for the hottest place in India.

August finds himself in a place devoid of any signs of the city life he has been living all the way, no television to his horror, and all that he has for entertainment are his records in his room. To make matters worse, he does not know the local language!

Imagine a cambridge graduated pseudo american guy finally living at a place which gets electricity for a few hours, doesnt speak or understand the local language, has mosquitos for company and the searing heat to tolerate. The end result is that he spends long duration just staring lying prostate in his room, staring at the ceiling, recollecting old thoughts, imagining new ones, and , going for a jog well past midnight. The plight is palpable, although the author manages to write it with a sense of humour you just cant miss.


A nice book to read, has some intelligent humour thrown in, and its a revelation to see how August copes with his new life. The only hitch might be the language, which is replete with expletives, which does make you scorn once in a while. If you dont mind these words which are dispersed throughtout the narration, its a read worth it.


Overall, a very nice read (pardon me guys and (specially) girls if you read it on my recommendation and find it offending(. My Rating - 7/10

---

posted by Anshuman @ 12:50 PM 1 comments

Freakonomics

I recently read Freakonomics, amazing book!!! so here it goes....

The book is called Freakonomics because unlike most other economics books there is no underlying theme in the book. The author follows all the freakish ideas he gets and tries to explore the truth behind them, and thus the name Freakonomics. Also, if it was called micro conomics , i am sure I wouldnt have read it and you wouldnt be interested in knowing about it either.

The book is so interesting because of the questions the author asks and on investigating the answers which come up are equally amazing.

Some of the interesting facts he brings out are simple things based on that data which are astonishing for us.

E.g. swimming pools are more dangerous than the guns for children. The numbers prove it, if you compare the number of deaths of infants caused by swimming pool with those caused by guns you would get the answer.

It is also surprising to see how a law of abortion which was passed 20 years back had an effect on the crime rate in the country and left people confused as to what caused the dip in crime when everyone was predicting real bad days ahead.

Would you not be surprised that sumo wrestlers and teachers are similar in a way, that both of them would cheat ??? Well he does prove this with numbers too

he talks about why do drug sellers still stay with their moms ? Numbers tell simply because they do not make enough money to live on their own. Then why do they risk their lives and indulge in drugs ?? well the incentive is there for that

The most interesting one is about the real estate agents and ku klux clan , and how they were takig advantage of the information to which only they had an access, and how the access to the same information can defeat them at their own game.

Well these are just a few of the examples and there are many more interesting questions he aska and the answers to them are equally interesting.

This is one book which you would surely find very stimulating and interesting !!!

Go grab a copy and you would be happy you read it

posted by Anuj @ 1:37 PM 3 comments

My review on book 'Secrets of Software Success'

Review on book Secrets of Software Success by Detlev, Cyriac, Gert and Sandro published by Harvard University Press.

As we are all aware that software industry played significant role in creating millionaires, creating millions of jobs, improving economy of many countries and etc. Authors discussed the secrets, techniques behind the success of software industry. Authors surveyed more than 100 software companies worldwide to study the facts and methods followed by successful companies and top executives.

This book discusses the evolution of software as a separate business from hardware business and foundations for formation of early software companies like CUC, CSC and etc. Authors divided this evaluation into five eras viz., independent programming services, software products, enterprise solutions, packaged software for the masses and the software industry today (with internet).

I like the chapter ‘Exceptional software leaders are the rule’ in which authors presented comprehensive characteristics of great software leaders. Below are some of the characters of prominent software leaders,

• They are technology visionaries thriving on uncertainty.
• They are extreme risk takers and hope for immense returns.
• They aim high.
• They bet on multiple options.
• They are builders of highly dynamic organizations.
• They build extremely flat, team-based organizations.
• They create a culture that attracts and retains talent.

Authors discussed the recruiting and retaining techniques followed by top software firms. Based on their study individual work styles, stock options, strong corporate cultures are most important motivators of software workers.

In other chapters, authors discussed the reasons behind the failure of most of the software projects, top processes followed by top software companies, role of marketing in selling the products and importance of partners. Authors name software development phase as ‘Completing a Mission Impossible.’

In my view, it’s a good book. Your comments are welcome on this review.

Kiran

posted by Anonymous @ 8:08 AM 2 comments

Ten Tips on Writing for Blogs

Found good article on writing for living web. Author discusses various techniques to write for blogs effectively.

http://www.alistapart.com/stories/writeliving/

Kiran

posted by Anonymous @ 9:15 AM 2 comments

SPAMMED!!!

We are being spammed! I strolled over to read the comments to the last post (10 of them) only to discover that all, repeat all, of them were SPAM! Can we do something about this problem? Some setting in the Blogger control panel maybe? Blogger gurus, please dust off the toolbox and get cracking...

posted by Gautam Satpathy @ 7:55 PM 1 comments

Id-yeah!

This is just an idea inspired from the comment of pratima of the previous post.

Lets see, How about a lit-treasure hunt? The well-read folks can pump in the favorite phrases from the books they've read and what we've got to do is to guess the book from where that was taken.

Lets try omit the classic lines we already know

"going to the mattresses"
"being in love means never having to say you are sorry"

Whos taking this up first then?

Anyways, for the uninitiated, the first is from "godfather" and latter is from "love story"

posted by Anonymous @ 5:45 PM 0 comments

Is this blog dead?

I added a link to our book club blog on my personal blog page. I keep clicking it to see if there is anything new but go away disappointed. Is this blog dead?

If so, who is the murderer? Yes murderer. For we have a death and I have been reading too much Poirot for the last few weeks. And watching Poirot movies. Has become something of a passion...

Whoa... Back to the topic. Is this blog dead? Opps... I have started repeating myself like my wife, mother, mother-in-law, daughter... Okay okay all the women in my life... about how I should lose weight...

Sigh. Back to the topic. Have our book club members stopped reading? R12 too much for you? Too much HGrid persistence and browser back buttons? Relax! Tell your manager to take it and ... opps... better left unsaid as my manager might be reading this. Okay go get a life! Read a book! Okay the rest of the world might not agree with my notion of getting a life but what the hell! My idea of getting a life is to read a good book. So there! Do your worst!

Okay, back to the topic again... Who killed our book club blog? Any budding HPs out there?

posted by Gautam Satpathy @ 7:06 PM 1 comments

Testing a new idea ....

Hi All,


Just testing a new idea/setting, wherein, everytime someone will put up a post on the bookclub blog, an email will be sent over to the book club, having the contents of the post.


So buddies, get ready for a blog spree, coz everytime someone puts a sermon_on_stone, everyone shall feel the reverberations (ofcourse, provided it works :-D )



Njoy !

-- Anshu --

posted by Anshuman @ 2:59 PM 0 comments

Prologue of Chetan Bhagat's 2nd Book

posted by Avann @ 3:25 PM 2 comments

Looking outside the window ....

Click on the pic to view a clearer picture

posted by Anshuman @ 6:43 PM 0 comments

Rich Dad , Poor Dad ...

After many months, one fine weekend (which happens to be the last weekend), i decided to pick up a book to read. Its not that I don’t feel like reading, but i mostly keep myself into techie books (never quite took to devouring novels) This time, the (fortunate?) book was Rich Dad, Poor Dad

My few words about the book -
The book starts more like a story, about the author as a kid, who says in the initial few pages: I have 2 dads, a rich dad and a poor dad Now don’t be mislead by this statement ;-D His own dad is a highly educated government servant, whom he refers to as Poor Dad . And his Rich Dad is actually his friend's dad, who is a self-employed business man (runs a corporation spanning real estate, construction etc). The book revolves around numerous examples (often comparisons) about the mindset, ideology and the approach that is employed by his 2 dads to issues, basically monetary issues.

'Poor Dad' is highly educated, is in government service, has a respectable job ... and ... always under monetary constraints. 'Rich Dad' is not as educated, but lives a totally different professional life. He is the one who run his things. The major difference between the two (which is also the main driving point of the book) is the stark difference in approach both of them have towards money dealings.


Rich Dad tries to instill into the author what he coins as Financial Intelligence His view is that, however educated you might become, more often than not, schools and colleges fail to improve you on the financial insight department - his point being, they hardly teach you or help develop the financial genius in you. But he is also a staunch supporter of getting yourself educated. But of course he insists on using that education to improve your understanding of the finances. (encourages to attend seminars which enrich your financial understanding)


Another important aspect which the author discusses in the book is how much risk should you take? The risk being referred to is financial risks vis-a-vis your investments. How much of a risk taker are you - will you invest in equities? will you invest in business? if you don’t take a plunge into high return investments (also higher risk investment), you would always stick to the low-return-low-risk segment of investments (this is one of the view points)


There are a lot more fundas as well, but one thing which the book consistently talks about is - how to make your money work for you, rather than you working for your money The point being, invest to make your money yield more money for you.


That’s enough for a (p)review - to end off, here’s a question i encountered in the book : when can you say - I am Rich ? When in your life, what circumstances would finally make you say 'I am Rich'?
P.S : no answers like "when i am happy" etc etc

posted by Anshuman @ 11:37 AM 7 comments

The India it was ....

Lord McCauley in his speech of Feb 2, 1835, British Parliament

"I have traveled across the length and breadth of India and I have not seen one person who is a beggar, who is a thief. Such wealth I have seen in this country, such high moral values, people of such caliber,that I do not think we would ever conquer this country, unless we break the very backbone of this nation, which is her spiritual and cultural heritage, and, therefore, I propose that we replace her old and ancient education system, her culture, for if the Indians think that all that is foreign and English is good and greater than their own, they will lose their self-esteem,their native self-culture and they will become what we want them, a truly dominated nation".

Lets not FORGET this on this INDEPENDENCE DAY ....

posted by Anshuman @ 11:39 AM 2 comments

The Happy Prince - Oscar Wilde

High above the city, on a tall column, stood the statue of the Happy Prince. He was gilded all over with thin leaves of fine gold, for eyes he had two bright sapphires, and a large red ruby glowed on his sword-hilt.

He was very much admired indeed. "He is as beautiful as a weathercock," remarked one of the Town Councillors who wished to gain a reputation for having artistic tastes; "only not quite so useful," he added, fearing lest people should think him unpractical, which he really was not.

"Why can't you be like the Happy Prince?" asked a sensible mother of her little boy who was crying for the moon. "The Happy Prince never dreams of crying for anything."

"I am glad there is some one in the world who is quite happy," muttered a disappointed man as he gazed at the wonderful statue.

"He looks just like an angel," said the Charity Children as they came out of the cathedral in their bright scarlet cloaks and their clean white pinafores.

"How do you know?" said the Mathematical Master, "you have never seen one."

"Ah! but we have, in our dreams," answered the children; and the Mathematical Master frowned and looked very severe, for he did not approve of children dreaming.

One night there flew over the city a little Swallow. His friends had gone away to Egypt six weeks before, but he had stayed behind, for he was in love with the most beautiful Reed. He had met her early in the spring as he was flying down the river after a big yellow moth, and had been so attracted by her slender waist that he had stopped to talk to her.

"Shall I love you?" said the Swallow, who liked to come to the point at once, and the Reed made him a low bow. So he flew round and round her, touching the water with his wings, and making silver ripples. This was his courtship, and it lasted all through the summer.

"It is a ridiculous attachment," twittered the other Swallows; "she has no money, and far too many relations"; and indeed the river was quite full of Reeds. Then, when the autumn came they all flew away.

After they had gone he felt lonely, and began to tire of his lady- love. "She has no conversation," he said, "and I am afraid that she is a coquette, for she is always flirting with the wind." And certainly, whenever the wind blew, the Reed made the most graceful curtseys. "I admit that she is domestic," he continued, "but I love travelling, and my wife, consequently, should love travelling also."

"Will you come away with me?" he said finally to her; but the Reed shook her head, she was so attached to her home.

"You have been trifling with me," he cried. "I am off to the Pyramids. Good-bye!" and he flew away.

All day long he flew, and at night-time he arrived at the city. "Where shall I put up?" he said; "I hope the town has made preparations."

Then he saw the statue on the tall column.

"I will put up there," he cried; "it is a fine position, with plenty of fresh air." So he alighted just between the feet of the Happy Prince.

"I have a golden bedroom," he said softly to himself as he looked round, and he prepared to go to sleep; but just as he was putting his head under his wing a large drop of water fell on him. "What a curious thing!" he cried; "there is not a single cloud in the sky, the stars are quite clear and bright, and yet it is raining. The climate in the north of Europe is really dreadful. The Reed used to like the rain, but that was merely her selfishness."

Then another drop fell.

"What is the use of a statue if it cannot keep the rain off?" he said; "I must look for a good chimney-pot," and he determined to fly away.

But before he had opened his wings, a third drop fell, and he looked up, and saw - Ah! what did he see?

The eyes of the Happy Prince were filled with tears, and tears were running down his golden cheeks. His face was so beautiful in the moonlight that the little Swallow was filled with pity.

"Who are you?" he said.

"I am the Happy Prince."

"Why are you weeping then?" asked the Swallow; "you have quite drenched me."

"When I was alive and had a human heart," answered the statue, "I did not know what tears were, for I lived in the Palace of Sans- Souci, where sorrow is not allowed to enter. In the daytime I played with my companions in the garden, and in the evening I led the dance in the Great Hall. Round the garden ran a very lofty wall, but I never cared to ask what lay beyond it, everything about me was so beautiful. My courtiers called me the Happy Prince, and happy indeed I was, if pleasure be happiness. So I lived, and so I died. And now that I am dead they have set me up here so high that I can see all the ugliness and all the misery of my city, and though my heart is made of lead yet I cannot chose but weep."

"What! is he not solid gold?" said the Swallow to himself. He was too polite to make any personal remarks out loud.

"Far away," continued the statue in a low musical voice, "far away in a little street there is a poor house. One of the windows is open, and through it I can see a woman seated at a table. Her face is thin and worn, and she has coarse, red hands, all pricked by the needle, for she is a seamstress. She is embroidering passion- flowers on a satin gown for the loveliest of the Queen's maids-of- honour to wear at the next Court-ball. In a bed in the corner of the room her little boy is lying ill. He has a fever, and is asking for oranges. His mother has nothing to give him but river water, so he is crying. Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow, will you not bring her the ruby out of my sword-hilt? My feet are fastened to this pedestal and I cannot move."

"I am waited for in Egypt," said the Swallow. "My friends are flying up and down the Nile, and talking to the large lotus- flowers. Soon they will go to sleep in the tomb of the great King. The King is there himself in his painted coffin. He is wrapped in yellow linen, and embalmed with spices. Round his neck is a chain of pale green jade, and his hands are like withered leaves."

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "will you not stay with me for one night, and be my messenger? The boy is so thirsty, and the mother so sad."

"I don't think I like boys," answered the Swallow. "Last summer, when I was staying on the river, there were two rude boys, the miller's sons, who were always throwing stones at me. They never hit me, of course; we swallows fly far too well for that, and besides, I come of a family famous for its agility; but still, it was a mark of disrespect."

But the Happy Prince looked so sad that the little Swallow was sorry. "It is very cold here," he said; "but I will stay with you for one night, and be your messenger."

"Thank you, little Swallow," said the Prince.

So the Swallow picked out the great ruby from the Prince's sword, and flew away with it in his beak over the roofs of the town.

He passed by the cathedral tower, where the white marble angels were sculptured. He passed by the palace and heard the sound of dancing. A beautiful girl came out on the balcony with her lover. "How wonderful the stars are," he said to her, "and how wonderful is the power of love!"

"I hope my dress will be ready in time for the State-ball," she answered; "I have ordered passion-flowers to be embroidered on it; but the seamstresses are so lazy."

He passed over the river, and saw the lanterns hanging to the masts of the ships. He passed over the Ghetto, and saw the old Jews bargaining with each other, and weighing out money in copper scales. At last he came to the poor house and looked in. The boy was tossing feverishly on his bed, and the mother had fallen asleep, she was so tired. In he hopped, and laid the great ruby on the table beside the woman's thimble. Then he flew gently round the bed, fanning the boy's forehead with his wings. "How cool I feel," said the boy, "I must be getting better"; and he sank into a delicious slumber.

Then the Swallow flew back to the Happy Prince, and told him what he had done. "It is curious," he remarked, "but I feel quite warm now, although it is so cold."

"That is because you have done a good action," said the Prince. And the little Swallow began to think, and then he fell asleep. Thinking always made him sleepy.

When day broke he flew down to the river and had a bath. "What a remarkable phenomenon," said the Professor of Ornithology as he was passing over the bridge. "A swallow in winter!" And he wrote a long letter about it to the local newspaper. Every one quoted it, it was full of so many words that they could not understand.

"To-night I go to Egypt," said the Swallow, and he was in high spirits at the prospect. He visited all the public monuments, and sat a long time on top of the church steeple. Wherever he went the Sparrows chirruped, and said to each other, "What a distinguished stranger!" so he enjoyed himself very much.

When the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince. "Have you any commissions for Egypt?" he cried; "I am just starting."

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "will you not stay with me one night longer?"

"I am waited for in Egypt," answered the Swallow. "To-morrow my friends will fly up to the Second Cataract. The river-horse couches there among the bulrushes, and on a great granite throne sits the God Memnon. All night long he watches the stars, and when the morning star shines he utters one cry of joy, and then he is silent. At noon the yellow lions come down to the water's edge to drink. They have eyes like green beryls, and their roar is louder than the roar of the cataract.

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "far away across the city I see a young man in a garret. He is leaning over a desk covered with papers, and in a tumbler by his side there is a bunch of withered violets. His hair is brown and crisp, and his lips are red as a pomegranate, and he has large and dreamy eyes. He is trying to finish a play for the Director of the Theatre, but he is too cold to write any more. There is no fire in the grate, and hunger has made him faint."

"I will wait with you one night longer," said the Swallow, who really had a good heart. "Shall I take him another ruby?"

"Alas! I have no ruby now," said the Prince; "my eyes are all that I have left. They are made of rare sapphires, which were brought out of India a thousand years ago. Pluck out one of them and take it to him. He will sell it to the jeweller, and buy food and firewood, and finish his play."

"Dear Prince," said the Swallow, "I cannot do that"; and he began to weep.

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "do as I command you."

So the Swallow plucked out the Prince's eye, and flew away to the student's garret. It was easy enough to get in, as there was a hole in the roof. Through this he darted, and came into the room. The young man had his head buried in his hands, so he did not hear the flutter of the bird's wings, and when he looked up he found the beautiful sapphire lying on the withered violets.

"I am beginning to be appreciated," he cried; "this is from some great admirer. Now I can finish my play," and he looked quite happy.

The next day the Swallow flew down to the harbour. He sat on the mast of a large vessel and watched the sailors hauling big chests out of the hold with ropes. "Heave a-hoy!" they shouted as each chest came up. "I am going to Egypt"! cried the Swallow, but nobody minded, and when the moon rose he flew back to the Happy Prince.

"I am come to bid you good-bye," he cried.

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "will you not stay with me one night longer?"

"It is winter," answered the Swallow, "and the chill snow will soon be here. In Egypt the sun is warm on the green palm-trees, and the crocodiles lie in the mud and look lazily about them. My companions are building a nest in the Temple of Baalbec, and the pink and white doves are watching them, and cooing to each other. Dear Prince, I must leave you, but I will never forget you, and next spring I will bring you back two beautiful jewels in place of those you have given away. The ruby shall be redder than a red rose, and the sapphire shall be as blue as the great sea."

"In the square below," said the Happy Prince, "there stands a little match-girl. She has let her matches fall in the gutter, and they are all spoiled. Her father will beat her if she does not bring home some money, and she is crying. She has no shoes or stockings, and her little head is bare. Pluck out my other eye, and give it to her, and her father will not beat her."

"I will stay with you one night longer," said the Swallow, "but I cannot pluck out your eye. You would be quite blind then."

"Swallow, Swallow, little Swallow," said the Prince, "do as I command you."

So he plucked out the Prince's other eye, and darted down with it. He swooped past the match-girl, and slipped the jewel into the palm of her hand. "What a lovely bit of glass," cried the little girl; and she ran home, laughing.

Then the Swallow came back to the Prince. "You are blind now," he said, "so I will stay with you always."

"No, little Swallow," said the poor Prince, "you must go away to Egypt."

"I will stay with you always," said the Swallow, and he slept at the Prince's feet.

All the next day he sat on the Prince's shoulder, and told him stories of what he had seen in strange lands. He told him of the red ibises, who stand in long rows on the banks of the Nile, and catch gold-fish in their beaks; of the Sphinx, who is as old as the world itself, and lives in the desert, and knows everything; of the merchants, who walk slowly by the side of their camels, and carry amber beads in their hands; of the King of the Mountains of the Moon, who is as black as ebony, and worships a large crystal; of the great green snake that sleeps in a palm-tree, and has twenty priests to feed it with honey-cakes; and of the pygmies who sail over a big lake on large flat leaves, and are always at war with the butterflies.

"Dear little Swallow," said the Prince, "you tell me of marvellous things, but more marvellous than anything is the suffering of men and of women. There is no Mystery so great as Misery. Fly over my city, little Swallow, and tell me what you see there."

So the Swallow flew over the great city, and saw the rich making merry in their beautiful houses, while the beggars were sitting at the gates. He flew into dark lanes, and saw the white faces of starving children looking out listlessly at the black streets. Under the archway of a bridge two little boys were lying in one another's arms to try and keep themselves warm. "How hungry we are!" they said. "You must not lie here," shouted the Watchman, and they wandered out into the rain.

Then he flew back and told the Prince what he had seen.

"I am covered with fine gold," said the Prince, "you must take it off, leaf by leaf, and give it to my poor; the living always think that gold can make them happy."

Leaf after leaf of the fine gold the Swallow picked off, till the Happy Prince looked quite dull and grey. Leaf after leaf of the fine gold he brought to the poor, and the children's faces grew rosier, and they laughed and played games in the street. "We have bread now!" they cried.

Then the snow came, and after the snow came the frost. The streets looked as if they were made of silver, they were so bright and glistening; long icicles like crystal daggers hung down from the eaves of the houses, everybody went about in furs, and the little boys wore scarlet caps and skated on the ice.

The poor little Swallow grew colder and colder, but he would not leave the Prince, he loved him too well. He picked up crumbs outside the baker's door when the baker was not looking and tried to keep himself warm by flapping his wings.

But at last he knew that he was going to die. He had just strength to fly up to the Prince's shoulder once more. "Good-bye, dear Prince!" he murmured, "will you let me kiss your hand?"

"I am glad that you are going to Egypt at last, little Swallow," said the Prince, "you have stayed too long here; but you must kiss me on the lips, for I love you."

"It is not to Egypt that I am going," said the Swallow. "I am going to the House of Death. Death is the brother of Sleep, is he not?"

And he kissed the Happy Prince on the lips, and fell down dead at his feet.

At that moment a curious crack sounded inside the statue, as if something had broken. The fact is that the leaden heart had snapped right in two. It certainly was a dreadfully hard frost.

Early the next morning the Mayor was walking in the square below in company with the Town Councillors. As they passed the column he looked up at the statue: "Dear me! how shabby the Happy Prince looks!" he said.

"How shabby indeed!" cried the Town Councillors, who always agreed with the Mayor; and they went up to look at it.

"The ruby has fallen out of his sword, his eyes are gone, and he is golden no longer," said the Mayor in fact, "he is litttle beter than a beggar!"

"Little better than a beggar," said the Town Councillors.

"And here is actually a dead bird at his feet!" continued the Mayor. "We must really issue a proclamation that birds are not to be allowed to die here." And the Town Clerk made a note of the suggestion.

So they pulled down the statue of the Happy Prince. "As he is no longer beautiful he is no longer useful," said the Art Professor at the University.

Then they melted the statue in a furnace, and the Mayor held a meeting of the Corporation to decide what was to be done with the metal. "We must have another statue, of course," he said, "and it shall be a statue of myself."

"Of myself," said each of the Town Councillors, and they quarrelled. When I last heard of them they were quarrelling still.

"What a strange thing!" said the overseer of the workmen at the foundry. "This broken lead heart will not melt in the furnace. We must throw it away." So they threw it on a dust-heap where the dead Swallow was also lying.

"Bring me the two most precious things in the city," said God to one of His Angels; and the Angel brought Him the leaden heart and the dead bird.

"You have rightly chosen," said God, "for in my garden of Paradise this little bird shall sing for evermore, and in my city of gold the Happy Prince shall praise me."

posted by Anshuman @ 2:21 PM 0 comments

Completed Reading Harry Potter and the HBP

Hey Folks,

I completed this book a couple of week ago.

Expected too much after the Azkaban one .

The book wasnt as interesting as the 'Chamber of Secrets' (or) 'The Prisoner of Azbakan' .I should agree with Theja on that .

Well ,it seems in the recent days , like with every Harry Potter Book release ,one major character in the book has to pass away ;-) Sirius in the Previous book ,Now in this HBP also ,one major character has gone ! Just wondering who would be next to join this list ;-) (Hagrid ? :-o)

Just cant wait for HP7 :-D

About R.A.B .. Hmm .. Well , Cant guess anything as of now ..

But well,this book is worth a read :-)

Happy Reading Friends !
Anu

posted by Anonymous @ 4:46 PM 0 comments

How do u rate the Half-Blood Prince ?

Completed my Half-Blood Prince yesterday;picked up my copy at the Walden.

Those who have already finished it.. How do u rate it compared to other Harry Potter Books?
I personally feel 'prisoner of Azbakan' is the best of the lot.Then 'The chamber of secrets' and 'The Goblet of Fire' are equally poised to win the second slot.'Half-Blood Prince' follows and that leaves 5th and 1st books tailing behind.

And I can't wait to discuss about what may happen in HP7..Who could this mysterious R.A.B be ?

posted by Theja @ 4:17 PM 1 comments

Who is reading Half-Blood Prince ?

Who else in the Oracle Book Club is reading Harry Potter & The Half-Blood Prince ? I see Tanushree is. Who else? How far into the book are you? What surprised you the most? What did you hate the most? And what did you love about HBP?

No spoilers please :-D I am still reading the book. About 50% complete at this stage.

posted by Gautam Satpathy @ 4:14 PM 5 comments

Anyone Finished HBP???

Has anyone finished reading the book? I can't wait to start discussing/analysing every word (specially in the last couple of chapters)!

posted by Tanushree @ 11:35 AM 6 comments

A collaboration over too much coffee

When I was browsing through a local newspaper on Saturday, I found one interesting club related to writing activities in Hyderabad. Caferati is a group of writers in Hyderabad who usually meet once in a month to exchange their thoughts on writing, shared work, sharing books and get to know about each others. This is similar kind of group as Bombay Writers' Cafe. Their motto is "A collaboration over too much coffee".

http://www.caferati.com/
http://caferati.blogspot.com/

posted by Anonymous @ 9:32 AM 0 comments

Harry Potter HBP Spoiler Alert

If you are like me & cannot wait to find out who died.
Jump over to here.

posted by sriks7 @ 12:24 PM 0 comments

The NEW Sharing Info

Pardon me for this post, FYI.

--
Hi All,

Here is some info about sharinginfo_hyd@yahoogroups.com


(1) To subscribe , drop a mail from ANY email address u want to subscribe, to sharinginfo_hyd-subscribe@yahoogroups.com
The request will not be instant, it will be verified by the moderator(s)

(2) To post , send the mail to sharinginfo_hyd@yahoogroups.com


(3) For those of you who are members of the group using a yahoo email ID and want to change your email ID to an email ID of ur choice, please do the following :

* login to http://groups.yahoo.com/group/sharinginfo_hyd/ using your yahoo login, to which u r subscribed to
* go to "edit my membership" at top of the main group page
* In the email address option, please add your new email address


(4) Say u r subscribed with ABCD@XYZ.com, and want to change to EFGH@RST.com, do the following :-

* drop in a mail from ABCD@XYZ.com to sharinginfo_hyd-unsubscribe@yahoogroups.com (this will unsubscribe u from this email id )

* drop in a mail from EFGH@RST.com to sharinginfo_hyd-subscribe@yahoogroups.com (this will subscribe u with this email ID )

--

I hope this is of help to those who miss out of sharinginfo :-)


Thanks,
Anshuman

posted by Anshuman @ 5:10 PM 1 comments

Book Review: Life of Pi

Read this absolutely amazing book while coming from Delhi by train.
I had some 26 hrs to kill and since I've heard a lot about the book, I
kinda picked it in the local old-books market.

The book is about a 16 year guy who gets shipwrecked.
He is left with a zebra, a hyena, a chimpanzee and a 450 Kg tiger in a
lifeboat.
How he survives and makes it through is what the book is about.
The name of tiger is Richard Parker :-)

It is a book which explores into psychology in testing times.
It kinda tells to what heights a person will go; just to survive.
In a nutshell, this is a book of life. It highlights the jest for life.
It kinda shouts in your face - Life is short. Get on with living.

One of the images which keeps on flashing into my mind is that this 16
yr old boy Pi stumbling into another survivor.
However by that time both these survivors had gone blind.
The expected reaction at this time would be that these two survivors
will try to help each other and try to make it through.
I was stunned into disbelief when I realized that the other survivor was
trying to eat Pi as he had run out of his food supplies and cannot fish,
having gone blind.

The other vividly remembered portion of the book is when Pi's father( a
zoo keeper) is trying to explain to him why he should never disturb the
animals even though they look innocious. He takes him into cages of
lions which haven't been fed for 3 days.
Then he shows him how the lions react when a live sheep is brought in
front of them.
Surely a lesson Pi could never forget in his lifetime.

The book gets into the heads of the guy and the tiger.
It explains beautifully the concepts of how animals are territorial and
get upset and turn violent incase of even a slight change in their
environment.
It takes you through the world of oceans, and sharks, and tigers and
carnivoros islands.
It thrills and enthralls. Keeps you looking out for what is coming next.

An amazing read.

posted by Anonymous @ 3:28 PM 1 comments

Batman - The real hero ?

What makes Batman my favourite of super heros? What makes him stand out among the slew of other super heros - superman, spiderman, X-men ... what?

Razor sharp thinking - every super hero has it (uh, isnt that why (s)he can always be one step ahead of the villians?) So that doesnt really give him an edge, does it ?

A great wardrobe - nah, this one doesnt work either. Spidey has a cool 'uniform', and even superman has a cape (that too a bright red one :-D )

Anonimity - but then, each one of them is anonymous!


According to me, what scores for Batman is the fact that he is Human. Not that I am putting the other ones in the inhuman category, but are they really "human" ? aren't they more of ..er .. mutants ? Superman flies, spidey haas those magical spider prowess, and X-men are self-proclaimed mutants. What makes Batman special is the realness - the guy is all flesh and blood, the adventures are real life, he uses his quick silver mind to devise gadgets to help him out - he is the real human hero.

Cant recollect any other 'human' heroes ... Wot say ?



P.S : batman fans can now catch up with the all new batman series on cartoon network - every Sunday, 11:30 am.

posted by Anshuman @ 11:33 AM 2 comments

The Hyderabad Sky !

Click on the picture for a larger view :

posted by Anshuman @ 2:52 PM 3 comments

Blogger & JavaScript

So Blogger does accept JavaScript code though it throws up an error message if you try to embed JavaScript into a post!

I tried to post the Harry Potter & The Half-Bllod Prince count down counter and Blogger complained about the script tags. I hit the publish button anyway and viola, the post appears as it should.

Cool. I learnt something about Blogger today.

posted by Gautam Satpathy @ 7:11 PM 0 comments

posted by Gautam Satpathy @ 5:47 PM 2 comments

The DaVinci Code by Dan Brown - Review

Robert Langdon is a Professor at Harvard University specialized in religious Symbology. Once he went to Paris to give a speech and meet Jacques Sauniere, curator of Louvre. Unfortunately, Jacques is murdered in Louvre and the French Judicial Police suspect Langdon, takes him from his hotel to Louvre. Jacques left some clues of the keystone for which he was murdered. Bezu Fache, captain of French Judicial Police, believes Robert is the killer of Jacques.

Then enters Sophie Neveu, an agent from Department Cryptology and grand daughter of Jacques, believes Robert is innocent and the clues left behind were meant for her. She manages to escape from Louvre along with Robert. She analyzes that his grand father adjusted himself within a circle to imitate Leonardo Da Vinci's famous painting, 'The Vitruvian Man'. They decipher the clues and find the key left for her by her grand father.

Another story runs in parallel about Opus Dei, a Christian society in United States, who’s Bishop is looking for a keystone to unlock the secret of the Holy Grail. Bishop's disciple Silas is in search of keystone in Paris.

Sophie and Langdon found that Jacques was a member of secret society called the Priory of Sion, whose members included Isaac Newton, Botticelli, Victor Hugo and of course Da Vinci. Sophie and Langdon's race continues with deciphering clues, anagrams, a lot of analysis on Holy Grail. They continue to solve each puzzle they encounter. Finally they succeeded to trace the location of keystone. I'm not so impressed with the conclusion.

Dan Brown managed to keep the thrill and suspense throughout all the chapters of book. Mystery in this book is so fascinating. It's a wonderful fiction.

So, grab this book, have happy reading. You comments are welcome on this review.

Kiran

posted by Anonymous @ 10:38 AM 4 comments

Oscar Wilde and more ....

Hiya buddies !

Seems like Oscar Wilde has been pointed out as the only saviour ;-D

Well I do intend to put up more 'short stories'. Oscal Wilde made his debut on the blog coz that was the first collection I laid my hands on :-D


Till the next short story is put up, enjoy this pic (click on it for a larger pic) :




I call it : brooding ... what say ?

posted by Anshuman @ 4:23 PM 2 comments

Kya Ignorant Hai Hum

Do check this link out - the test is outrageous! :-)
http://ww1.mid-day.com/columns/mukul_sharma/2005/june/110852.htm

posted by pratima @ 7:50 PM 3 comments

The Truth behind Tragedies

When we learnt tragedies in Literature (Hamlet, Macbeth etc), we were asked to refer to the original commentaries on tragedy by Aristotle. According to Aristotle's Poetics, it is an art form that corresponds deeply with human life. http://www.cnr.edu/home/bmcmanus/poetics.html. To undergo a reversal (peripeteia), a character had to go through a complex plot (change of situation/fortunes) and achieve two phases: catharsis (cleansing) and anagnorisis (self-discovery or realization). Usually a tragic character starts out with a major flaw (eg: harmatia or pride) and then goes through the process of being cleansed of his flaw and achieves a degree of realization. That pattern arouses not only sympathy in us, but also admiration (every tragic hero is larger than life and a towering personality). In his magnified flaws, we see our own flaws. When he goes through the painful process of cleansing, we also identify with the terrors and horrors that he faces. According to all tragic critics, this is also supposed to bring about a catharsis in us (the audience). Finally, we share his revelations as much as we share his flaws and pain.
However this is theory.... to really experience why tragedy as an art form holds our attention, I recommend seeing Hamlet the movie starring Sir Lawrence Olivier (it's spectacular) and possibly seeing the drama version of Macbeth, Mayor of Casterbridge, King Lear or other greats. If well acted, they are really moving. I was spellbound when I saw Oedipus the play (in English) - it was unforgettable.....
Comedy is another art form which is quite deep, though it seems whimsical - does anyone want to discuss that?

posted by pratima @ 5:21 PM 1 comments

Misinformation through the blog

Hi all..
Under the section 'Contributors' I see 20 odd names listed. But going
through the entries I notice that Oscar Wilde is the only 'contributor'.
May be it's time to change the name of the section, huh? :)

Regards.
Subhash

posted by Anonymous @ 4:34 PM 0 comments

Blog by email !

Hey buddies ...

To post on the oracle book club blog via email, all you need to do is send your "post" as an email to ora_idc.bookclub@blogger.com , and voila, your post will be visible on the blog within no time !

Subject of email : subject of the post
Content of email : body of the post


Njoy !

posted by Anshuman @ 2:52 PM 0 comments

Tragedy kings and queens ....

What people like in tragic stories? Dont know myself, i stay miles away from tragic sagas ... well lemme think what goes thru those who *prefer* tragics .. a tragic story stirs the sympathy emotions is you . And maybe it gives you a "i m still better off" feeling - a kindof "you are not THAT poor, there are poorer people than you"

What else could be the reason ... hey where are the "tragedy kings and queens" ? Wot say ?

posted by Anshuman @ 2:48 PM 0 comments

Lovely Tragedies ?!

( Rather neat, this huh email blogging ?)
Hey ppl,
I was just wondering, why is it that we like reading tragedies ?
King Lear, Macbeth, Hard Times... The list is endless....
Well, none of us would want to be a King Lear himself/herself , yet what is
the human psychology behind appreciating tragic stories ?

Just a thought...
Your views ?

Rgds,
Kandarp

posted by Anonymous @ 9:21 PM 2 comments

The Canterville Ghost - Oscar Wilde (Part 4-7 of 7)

IV

The next day the ghost was very weak and tired. The terrible excitement of the last four weeks was beginning to have its effect. His nerves were completely shattered, and he started at the slightest noise. For five days he kept his room, and at last made up his mind to give up the point of the blood-stain on the library floor. If the Otis family did not want it, they clearly did not deserve it. They were evidently people on a low, material plane of existence, and quite incapable of appreciating the symbolic value of sensuous phenomena. The question of phantasmic apparitions, and the development of astral bodies, was of course quite a different matter, and really not under his control. It was his solemn duty to appear in the corridor once a week, and to gibber from the large oriel window on the first and third Wednesdays in every month, and he did not see how he could honourably escape from his obligations. It is quite true that his life had been very evil, but, upon the other hand, he was most conscientious in all things connected with the supernatural. For the next three Saturdays, accordingly, he traversed the corridor as usual between midnight and three o'clock, taking every possible precaution against being either heard or seen. He removed his boots, trod as lightly as possible on the old worm-eaten boards, wore a large black velvet cloak, and was careful to use the Rising Sun Lubricator for oiling his chains. I am bound to acknowledge that it was with a good deal of difficulty that he brought himself to adopt this last mode of protection. However, one night, while the family were at dinner, he slipped into Mr. Otis's bedroom and carried off the bottle. He felt a little humiliated at first, but afterwards was sensible enough to see that there was a great deal to be said for the invention, and, to a certain degree, it served his purpose. Still, in spite of everything, he was not left unmolested. Strings were continually being stretched across the corridor, over which he tripped in the dark, and on one occasion, while dressed for the part of 'Black Isaac, or the Huntsman of Hogley Woods,' he met with a severe fall, through treading on a butter-slide, which the twins had constructed from the entrance of the Tapestry Chamber to the top of the oak staircase. This last insult so enraged him, that he resolved to make one final effort to assert his dignity and social position, and determined to visit the insolent young Etonians the next night in his celebrated character of 'Reckless Rupert, or the Headless Earl.'

He had not appeared in this disguise for more than seventy years; in fact, not since he had so frightened pretty Lady Barbara Modish by means of it, that she suddenly broke off her engagement with the present Lord Canterville's grandfather, and ran away to Gretna Green with handsome Jack Castleton, declaring that nothing in the world would induce her to marry into a family that allowed such a horrible phantom to walk up and down the terrace at twilight. Poor Jack was afterwards shot in a duel by Lord Canterville on Wandsworth Common, and Lady Barbara died of a broken heart at Tunbridge Wells before the year was out, so, in every way, it had been a great success. It was, however, an extremely dimcult 'make-up,' if I may use such a theatrical expression in connection with one of the greatest mysteries of the supernatural, or, to employ a more scientific term, the higher-natural world, and it took him fully three hours to make his preparations. At last everything was ready, and he was very pleased with his appearance. The big leather riding-boots that went with the dress were just a little too large for him, and he could only find one of the two horse-pistols, but, on the whole, he was quite satisfied, and at a quarter past one he glided out of the wainscoting and crept down the corridor. On reaching the room occupied by the twins, which I should mention was called the Blue Bed Chamber, on account of the colour of its hangings, he found the door just ajar. Wishing to make an effective entrance, he flung it wide open, when a heavy jug of water fell right down on him, wetting him to the skin, and just missing his left shoulder by a couple of inches. At the same moment he heard stifled shrieks of laughter proceeding from the four-post bed. The shock to his nervous system was so great that he fled back to his room as hard as he could go, and the next day he was laid up with a severe cold. The only thing that at all consoled him in the whole affair was the fact that he had not brought his head with him, for, had he done so, the consequences might have been very serious.

He now gave up all hope of ever frightening this rude American family, and contented himself, as a rule, with creeping about the passages in list slippers, with a thick red muffler round his throat for fear of draughts, and a small arquebuse, in case he should be attacked by the twins. The final blow he received occurred on the 19th of September. He had gone downstairs to the great entrance-hall, feeling sure that there, at any rate, he would be quite unmolested, and was amusing himself by making satirical remarks on the large Saroni photographs of the United States Minister and his wife, which had now taken the place of the Canterville family pictures. He was simply but neatly clad in a long shroud, spotted with churchyard mould, had tied up his jaw with a strip of yellow linen, and carried a small lantern and a sexton's spade. In fact, he was dressed for the character of 'Jonas the Graveless, or the Corpse-Snatcher of Chertsey Barn,' one of his most remarkable impersonations, and one which the Cantervilles had every reason to remember, as it was the real origin of their quarrel with their neighbour, Lord Rufford. It was about a quarter past two o'clock in the morning, and, as far as he could ascertain, no one was stirring. As he was stroiling towards the library, however, to see if there were any traces left of the bloodstain, suddenly there leaped out on him from a dark corner two figures, who waved their arms wildly above their heads, and shrieked out 'BOO!' in his ear.

Seized with a panic, which, under the circumstances, was only natural, he rushed for the staircase, but found Washington Otis waiting for him there with the big garden-syringe; and being thus hemmed in by his enemies on every side, and driven almost to bay, he vanished into the great iron stove, which, fortunately for him, was not lit, and had to make his way home through the flues and chimneys, arriving at his own room in a terrible state of dirt, disorder, and despair.

After this he was not seen again on any nocturnal expedition. The twins lay in wait for him on several occasions, and strewed the passages with nutshells every night to the great annoyance of their parents and the servants, but it was of no avail. It was quite evident that his feelings were so wounded that he would not appear. Mr. Otis consequently resumed his great work on the history of the Democratic Party, on which he had been engaged for some years; Mrs. Otis organised a wonderful clam-bake, which amazed the whole county; the boys took to lacrosse, euchre, poker, and other American national games; and Virginia rode about the lanes on her pony, accompanied by the young Duke of Cheshire, who had come to spend the last week of his holidays at Canterville Chase. It was generally assumed that the ghost had gone away, and, in fact, Mr. Otis wrote a letter to that effect to Lord Canterville, who, in reply, expressed his great pleasure at the news, and sent his best congratulations to the Minister's worthy wife.

The Otises, however, were deceived, for the ghost was still in the house, and though now almost an invalid, was by no means ready to let matters rest, particularly as he heard that among the guests was the young Duke of Cheshire, whose grand-uncle, Lord Francis Stilton, had once bet a hundred guineas with Colonel Carbury that he would play dice with the Canterville ghost, and was found the next morning lying on the floor of the card-room in such a helpless paralytic state, that though he lived on to a great age, he was never able to say anything again but 'Double Sixes.' The story was well known at the time, though, of course, out of respect to the feelings of the two noble families, every attempt was made to hush it up; and a full account of all the circumstances connected with it will be found in the third volume of Lord Tattle's 'Recollections of the Prince Regent and his Friends'. The ghost, then, was naturally very anxious to show that he had not lost his influence over the Stiltons, with whom, indeed, he was distantly connected, his own first cousin having been married en secondes noces, the Sieur de Bulkeley, from whom, as every one knows, the Dukes of Cheshire are lineally descended. Accordingly, he made arrangements for appearing to Virginia's little lover in his celebrated impersonation of 'The Vampire Monk, or, the Bloodless Benedictine,' a performance so horrible that when old Lady Startup saw it, which she did on one fatal New Year's Eve, in the year 1764, she went off into the most piercing shrieks, which culminated in violent apoplexy, and died in three days, after disinheriting the Cantervilles, who were her nearest relations, and leaving all her money to her London apothecary. At the last moment, however, his terror of the twins prevented his leaving his room, and the little Duke slept in peace under the great feathered canopy in the Royal Bedchamber, and dreamed of Virginia.



V


A few days after this, Virginia and her curly-haired cavalier went out riding on Brockley meadows, where she tore her habit so badly in getting through a hedge, that, on their return home, she made up her mind to go up by the back staircase so as not to be seen. As she was running past the Tapestry Chamber, the door of which happened to be open, she fancied she saw some one inside, and thinking it was her mother's maid, who sometimes used to bring her work there, looked in to ask her to mend her habit. To her immense surprise, however, it was the Canterville Ghost himself! He was sitting by the window, watching the ruined gold of the yellowing trees fly through the air, and the red leaves dancing madly down the long avenue. His head was leaning on his hand, and his whole attitude was one of extreme depression. Indeed, so forlorn, and so much out of repair did he look, that little Virginia, whose first idea had been to run away and lock herself in her room, was filled with pity, and determined to try and comfort him. So light was her footfall, and so deep his melancholy, that he was not aware of her presence till she spoke to him.

'I am so sorry for you,' she said, 'but my brothers are going back to Eton tomorrow, and then, if you behave yourself, no one will annoy you.'

'It is absurd asking me to behave myself,' he answered, looking round in astonishment at the pretty little girl who had ventured to address him, quite absurd. I must rattle my chains, and groan through keyholes, and walk about at night, if that is what you mean. It is my only reason for existing.'

'It is no reason at all for existing, and you know you have been very wicked. Mrs. Umney told us, the first day we arrived here, that you had killed your wife.'

'Well, I quite admit it,' said the Ghost petulantly, 'but it was a purely family matter, and concerned no one else.'

'It is very wrong to kill any one,' said Virginia, who at times had a sweet Puritan gravity, caught from some old New England ancestor.

'Oh, I hate the cheap severity of abstract ethics! My wife was very plain, never had my ruffs properly starched, and knew nothing about cookery. Why, there was a buck I had shot in Hogley Woods, a magnificent pricket, and do you know how she had it sent up to table? However, it is no matter now, for it is all over, and I don't think it was very nice of her brothers to starve me to death, though I did kill her.'

'Starve you to death? Oh, Mr. Ghost, I mean Sir Simon, are you hungry? I have a sandwich in my case. Would you like it?'

'No, thank you, I never eat anything now; but it is very kind of you, all the same, and you are much nicer than the rest of your horrid, rude, vulgar, dishonest family.'

'Stop!' cried Virginia, stamping her foot, 'it is you who are rude, and horrid, and vulgar, and as for dishonesty, you know you stole the paints out of my box to try and furbish up that ridiculous blood-stain in the library. First you took all my reds, including the vermilion, and I couldn't do any more sunsets, then you took the emerald-green and the chrome-yellow, and finally I had nothing left but indigo and Chinese white, and could only do moonlight scenes, which are always depressing to look at, and not at all easy to paint. I never told on you, though I was very much annoyed, and it was most ridiculous, the whole thing; for who ever heard of emerald-green blood?'

'Well, really,' said the Ghost, rather meekly, 'what was I to do? It is a very difficult thing to get real blood nowadays, and, as your brother began it all with his Paragon Detergent, I certainly saw no reason why I should not have your paints. As for colour, that is always a matter of taste: the Cantervilles have blue blood, for instance, the very bluest in England; but I know you Americans don't care for things of this kind.'

'You know nothing about it, and the best thing you can do is to emigrate and improve your mind. My father will be only too happy to give you a free passage, and though there is a heavy duty on spirits of every kind, there will be no difficulty about the Custom House, as the officers are all Democrats. Once in New York, you are sure to be a great success. I know lots of people there who would give a hundred thousand dollars to have a grandfather, and much more than that to have a family ghost.'

'I don't think I should like America.'

'I suppose because we have no ruins and no curiosities,' said Virginia satirically.

'No ruins! no curiosities!' answered the Ghost, 'you have your navy and your manners.'

'Good evening; I will go and ask papa to get the twins an extra week's holiday.'

'Please don't go, Miss Virginia,' he cried; I am so lonely and so unhappy, and I really don't know what to do. I want to go to sleep and I cannot.'

'That's quite absurd! You have merely to go to bed and blow out the candle. It is very difficult sometimes to keep awake, especially at church, but there is no difficulty at all about sleeping. Why, even babies know how to do that, and they are not very clever.'

'I have not slept for three hundred years,' he said sadly, and Virginia's beautiful blue eyes opened in wonder; 'for three hundred years I have not slept, and I am so tired.'

Virginia grew quite grave, and her little lips trembled like rose-leaves. She came towards him, and kneeling down at his side, looked up into his old withered face.

'Poor, poor Ghost,' she murmured, 'have you no place where you can sleep?'

'Far away beyond the pine woods,' he answered, in a low dreamy voice, 'there is a little garden. There the grass grows long and deep, there are the great white stars of the hemlock flower, there the nightingale sings all night long. All night long he sings, and the cold, crystal moon looks down, and the yew-tree spreads out its giant arms over the sleepers.'

Virginia's eyes grew dim with tears, and she hid her face in her hands.

'You mean the Garden of Death,' she whispered.

'Yes, Death. Death must be so beautiful. To lie in the soft brown earth, with the grasses waving above one's head, and listen to silence. To have no yesterday, and no to-morrow. To forget time, to forgive life, to be at peace. You can help me. You can open for me the portals of Death's house, for Love is always with you, and Love is stronger than Death is.'

Virginia trembled, a cold shudder ran through her, and for a few moments there was silence. She felt as if she was in a terrible dream.

Then the Ghost spoke again, and his voice sounded like the sighing of the wind.

'Have you ever read the old prophecy on the library window?'

'Oh, often,' cried the little girl, looking up; 'I know it quite well. It is painted in curious black letters, and it is difficult to read. There are only six lines:

Whan a golden girl can win
Prayer from out the lips of sin,
When the barren almond bears,
And a little child give away its tears,
Then shall all the house be still
And peace come to Canterville.

But I don't know what they mean.'

'They mean,' he said sadly, 'that you must weep with me for my sins, because I have no tears, and pray with me for my soul, because I have no faith, and then, if you have always been sweet, and good, and gentle, the Angel of Death will have mercy on me. You will see fearful shapes in darkness, and wicked voices will whisper in your ear, but they will not harm you, for against the purity of a little child the powers of Hell cannot prevail.'

Virginia made no answer, and the Ghost wrung his hands in wild despair as he looked down at her bowed golden head. Suddenly she stood up, very pale, and with a strange light in her eyes. 'I am not afraid,' she said firmly, 'and I will ask the Angel to have mercy on you.'

He rose from his seat with a faint cry of joy, and taking her hand bent over it with old-fashioned grace and kissed it. His fingers were as cold as ice, and his lips burned like fire, but Virginia did not falter, as he led her across the dusky room. On the faded green tapestry were broidered little huntsmen. They blew their tasselled horns and with their tiny hands waved to her to go back. 'Go back! little Virginia,' they cried, 'go back!' but the Ghost clutched her hand more tightly, and she shut her eyes against them. Horrible animals with lizard tails, and goggle eyes, blinked at her from the carven chimney-piece, and murmured 'Beware! little Virginia, beware! we may never see you again,' but the Ghost glided on more swiftly, and Virginia did not listen.

When they reached the end of the room he stopped, and muttered some words she could not understand. She opened her eyes, and saw the wall slowly fading away like a mist, and a great black cavern in front of her. A bitter cold wind swept round them, and she felt something pulling at her dress. 'Quick, quick,' cried the Ghost, 'or it will be too late,' and, in a moment, the wainscoting had closed behind them, and the Tapestry Chamber was empty.



VI


About ten minutes later, the bell rang for tea, and, as Virginia did not come down, Mrs. Otis sent up one of the footmen to tell her. After a little time he returned and said that he could not find Miss Virginia anywhere. As she was in the habit of going out to the garden every evening to get flowers for the dinner-table, Mrs. Otis was not at all alarmed at first, but when six o'clock struck, and Virginia did not appear, she became really agitated, and sent the boys out to look for her, while she herself and Mr. Otis searched every room in the house. At half past six the boys came back and said that they could find no trace of their sister anywhere. They were all now in the greatest state of excitement, and did not know what to do, when Mr. Otis suddenly remembered that, some few days before, he had given a band of gipsies permission to camp in the park. He accordingly at once set off for Blackfell Hollow, where he knew they were, accompanied by his eldest son and two of the farm-servants. The little Duke of Cheshire, who was perfectly frantic with anxiety, begged hard to be allowed to go too, but Mr. Otis would not allow him, as he was afraid there might be a scuffle. On arriving at the spot, however, he found that the gipsies had gone, and it was evident that their departure had been rather sudden, as the fire was still burning, and some plates were lying on the grass. Having sent off Washington and the two men to scour the district, he ran home, and despatched telegrams to all the police inspectors in the county, telling them to look out for a little girl who had been kidnapped by tramps or gipsies. He then ordered his horse to be brought round, and, after insisting on his wife and the three boys sitting down to dinner, rode off down the Ascot road with a groom. He had hardly, however, gone a couple of miles, when he heard somebody galloping after him, and, looking round, saw the little Duke coming up on his pony, with his face very flushed and no hat. 'I'm awfully sorry, Mr. Otis,' gasped out the boy, 'but I can't eat any dinner as long as Virginia is lost. Please, don't be angry with me; if you had let us be engaged last year, there would never have been all this trouble. You won't send me back, will you? I can't go! I won't go!'

The Minister could not help smiling at the handsome young scapegrace, and was a good deal touched at his devotion to Virginia, so leaning down from his horse, he patted him kindly on the shoulders, and said, 'Well, Cecil, if you won't go back I suppose you must come with me, but I must get you a hat at Ascot.'

'Oh, bother my hat! I want Virginia!' cried the little Duke, laughing, and they galloped on to the railway station. There Mr. Otis inquired of the station-master if any one answering to the description of Virginia had been seen on the platform, but could get no news of her. The station-master, however, wired up and down the line, and assured him that a strict watch would be kept for her, and, after having bought a hat for the little Duke from a linen-draper, who was just putting up his shutters, Mr. Otis rode off to Bexley, a village about four miles away, which he was told was a well-known haunt of the gipsies, as there was a large common next to it. Here they roused up the rural policeman, but could get no information from him, and, after riding all over the common, they turned their horses' heads homewards, and reached the Chase about eleven o'clock, dead-tired and almost heartbroken. They found Washington and the twins waiting for them at the gate-house with lanterns, as the avenue was very dark. Not the slightest trace of Virginia had been discovered. The gipsies had been caught on Brockley meadows, but she was not with them, and they had explained their sudden departure by saying that they had mistaken the date of Chorton Fair, and had gone off in a hurry for fear they might be late. Indeed, they had been quite distressed at hearing of Virginia's disappearance, as they were very grateful to Mr. Otis for having allowed them to camp in his park, and four of their number had stayed behind to help in the search. The carp-pond had been dragged, and the whole Chase thoroughly gone over, but without any result. It was evident that, for that night at any rate, Virginia was lost to them; and it was in a state of the deepest depression that Mr. Otis and the boys walked up to the house, the groom following behind with the two horses and the pony.

In the hall they found a group of frightened servants, and lying on a sofa in the library was poor Mrs. Otis, almost out of her mind with terror and anxiety, and having her forehead bathed with eau-de-cologne by the old housekeeper. Mr. Otis at once insisted on her having something to eat, and ordered up supper for the whole party. It was a melancholy meal, as hardly any one spoke, and even the twins were awestruck and subdued, as they were very fond of their sister. When they had finished, Mr. Otis, in spite of the entreaties of the little Duke, ordered them all to bed, saying that nothing more could be done that night, and that he would telegraph in the morning to Scotland Yard for some detectives to be sent down immediately. Just as they were passing out of the dining-room, midnight began to boom from the clock tower, and when the last stroke sounded they heard a crash and a sudden shrill cry; a dreadful peal of thunder shook the house, a strain of unearthly music floated through the air, a panel at the top of the staircase flew back with a loud noise, and out on the landing, looking very pale and white, with a little casket in her hand, stepped Virginia. In a moment they had all rushed up to her. Mrs. Otis clasped her passionately in her arms, the Duke smothered her with violent kisses, and the twins executed a wild war-dance round the group.

'Good heavens! child, where have you been?' said Mr. Otis, rather angrily, thinking that she had been playing some foolish trick on them.'Cecil and I have been riding all over the country looking for you, and your mother has been frightened to death. You must never play these practical joks any more.'

'Except on the Ghost! except on the Ghost!' shrieked the twins, as they capered about.

'My own darling, thank God you are found; you must never leave my side again,' murmured Mrs. Otis, as she kissed the trembling child, and smoothed the tangled gold of her hair.

'Papa,' said Virginia quietly, 'I have been with the Ghost. He is dead, and you must come and see him. He had been very wicked, but he was really sorry for all that he had done, and he gave me this box of beautiful jewels before he died.'

The whole family gazed at her in mute amazement, but she was quite grave and serious; and, turning round, she led them through the opening in the wainscoting down a narrow secret corridor, Washington following with a lighted candle, which he had caught up from the table. Finally, they came to a great oak door, studded with rusty nails. When Virginia touched it, it swung back on its heavy hinges, and they found themselves in a little low room, with a vaulted ceiling, and one tiny grated window. Embedded in the wall was a huge iron ring, and chained to it was a gaunt skeleton, that was stretched out at full length on the stone floor, and seemed to be trying to grasp with its long fleshless fingers an old-fashioned trencher and ewer, that were placed just out of its reach. The jug had evidently been once filled with water, as it was covered inside with green mould. There was nothing on the trencher but a pile of dust. Virginia knelt down beside the skeleton, and, folding her little hands together, began to pray silently, while the rest of the party looked on in wonder at the terrible tragedy whose secret was now disclosed to them.'

'Hallo!' suddenly exclaimed one of the twins, who had been looking out of the window to try and discover in what wing of the house the room was situated. 'Hallo! the old withered almond tree has blossomed. I can see the flowers quite plainly in the moonlight.'

'God has forgiven him,' said Virginia gravely, as she rose to her feet, and a beautiful light seemed to illumine her face.

'What an angel you are!' cried the young Duke, and he put his arm round her neck, and kissed her.



VII


Four days after these curious incidents a funeral started from Canterville Chase at about eleven o'clock at night. The hearse was drawn by eight black horses, each of which carried on its head a great tuft of nodding ostrich-plumes, and the leaden coffin was covered by a rich purple pall, on which was embroidered in gold the Canterville coat-of-arms. By the side of the hearse and the coaches walked the servants with lighted torches, and the whole procession was wonderfully impressive. Lord Canterville was the chief mourner, having come up specially from Wales to attend the funeral, and sat in the first carriage along with little Virginia. Then came the United States Minister and his wife, then Washington and the three boys, and in the last carriage was Mrs. Umney. It was generally felt that, as she had been frightened by the ghost for more than fifty years of her life, she had a right to see the last of him. A deep grave had been dug in the corner of the churchyard, just under the old yew-tree, and the service was read in the most impressive manner by the Rev. Augustus Dampier. When the ceremony was over, the servants, according to an old custom observed in the Canterville family, extinguished their torches, and, as the coffin was being lowered into the grave, Virginia stepped forward, and laid on it a large cross made of white and pink almond-blossoms. As she did so, the moon came out from behind a cloud, and flooded with its silent silver the little churchyard, and from a distant copse a nightingale began to sing. She thought of the ghost's description of the Garden of Death, her eyes became dim with tears, and she hardly spoke a word during the drive home.

The next morning, before Lord Canterville went up to town, Mr. Otis had an interview with him on the subject of the jewels the ghost had given to Virginia. They were perfectly magnificent, especially a certain ruby necklace with old Venetian setting, which was really a superb specimen of sixteenth-century work, and their value was so great that Mr. Otis felt considerable scruples about allowing his daughter to accept them.

'My Lord,' he said,'I know that in this country mortmain is held to apply to trinkets as well as to land, and it is quite clear to me that these jewels are, or should be, heirlooms in your family. I must beg you, accordingly, to take them to London with you, and to regard them simply as a portion of your property which has been restored to you under certain strange conditions. As for my daughter, she is merely a child, and has as yet, I am glad to say, but little interest in such appurtenances of idle luxury. I am also informed by Mrs. Otis, who, I may say, is no mean authority upon Art - having had the privilege of spending several winters in Boston when she was a girl - that these gems are of great monetary worth, and if offered for sale would fetch a tall price. Under these circumstances, Lord Canterville, I feel sure that you will recognise how impossible it would be for me to allow them to remain in the possession of any member of my family; and, indeed, all such vain gauds and toys, however suitable or necessary to the dignity of the British aristocracy, would be completely out of place among those who have been brought up on the severe, and I believe immortal, principles of Republican simplicity. Perhaps I should mention that Virginia is very anxious that you should allow her to retain the box, as a memento of your unfortunate but misguided ancestor. As it is extremely old, and consequently a good deal out of repair, you may perhaps think fit to comply with her request. For my own part, I confess I am a good deal surprised to find a child of mine expressing sympathy with mediaevalism in any form, and can only account for it by the fact that Virginia was born in one of your London suburbs shortly after Mrs. Otis had returned from a trip to Athens.

Lord Canterville listened very gravely to the worthy Minister's speech, pulling his grey moustache now and then to hide an involuntary smile, and when Mr. Otis had ended, he shook him cordially by the hand, and said,'My dear sir, your charming little daughter rendered my unlucky ancestor, Sir Simon, a very important service, and I and my family are much indebted to her for her marvellous courage and pluck. The jewels are clearly hers, and, egad, I believe that if I were heartless enough to take them from her, the wicked old fellow would be out of his grave in a fortnight, leading me the devil of a life. As for their being heirlooms, nothing is an heirloom that is not so mentioned in a will or legal document, and the existence of these jewels has been quite unknown. I assure you I have no more claim on them than your butler, and when Miss Virginia grows up I daresay she will be pleased to have pretty things to wear. Besides, you forget, Mr. Otis, that you took the furniture and the ghost at a valuation, and anything that belonged to the ghost passed at once into your possession, as, whatever activity Sir Simon may have shown in the corridor at night, in point of law he was really dead, and you acquired his property by purchase.'

Mr. Otis was a good deal distressed at Lord Canterville's refusal, and begged him to reconsider his decision, but the good-natured peer was quite firm, and finally induced the Minister to allow his daughter to retain the present the ghost had given her, and when, in the spring of 1890, the young Duchess of Cheshire was presented at the Queen's first drawing-room on the occasion of her marriage, her jewels were the universal theme of admiration. For Virginia received the coronet, which is the reward of all good little American girls, and was married to her boy-lover as soon as he came of age. They were both so charming, and they loved each other so much, that every one was delighted at the match, except the old Marchioness of Dumbleton, who had tried to catch the Duke for one of her seven unmarried daughters, and had given no less than three expensive dinner-parties for that purpose, and, strange to say, Mr. Otis himself. Mr. Otis was extremely fond of the young Duke personally, but, theoretically, he objected to titles, and, to use his own words,'was not without apprehension lest, amid the enervating influences of a pleasure-loving aristocracy, the true principles of Republican simplicity should be forgotten.' His objections, however, were completely overruled, and I believe that when he walked up the aisle of St. George's, Hanover Square, with his daughter leaning on his arm, there was not a prouder man in the whole length and breadth of England.

The Duke and Duchess, after the honeymoon was over, went down to Canterville Chase, and on the day after their arrival they walked over in the afternoon to the lonely churchyard by the pine-woods. There had been a great deal of difficulty at first about the inscription on Sir Simon's tombstone, but finally it had been decided to engrave on it simply the initials of the old gentleman's name, and the verse from the library window. The Duchess had brought with her some lovely roses, which she strewed upon the grave, and after they had stood by it for some time they strolled into the ruined chancel of the old abbey. There the Duchess sat down on a fallen pillar, while her husband lay at her feet smoking a cigarette and looking up at her beautiful eyes. Suddenly he threw his cigarette away, took hold of her hand, and said to her,'Virginia, a wife should have no secrets from her husband.

'Dear Cecil! I have no secrets from you.'

'Yes, you have,' he answered, smiling, 'you have never told me what happened to you when you were locked up with the ghost.'

'I have never told any one, Cecil,' said Virginia gravely.

'I know that, but you might tell me.'

'Please don't ask me, Cecil, I cannot tell you. Poor Sir Simon! I owe him a great deal. Yes, don't laugh, Cecil, I really do. He made me see what Life is, and what Death signifies, and why Love is stronger than both.'

The Duke rose and kissed his wife lovingly.

'You can have your secret as long as I have your heart,' he murmured.

'You have always had that, Cecil.

'And you will tell our children some day, won't you?'

Virginia blushed.

posted by Anshuman @ 11:27 AM 0 comments