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Flamingo. NCERT/CBSE class 12 English book Flamingo. contents final. NCERT/ CBSE class 12 English book Flamingo. Chap final. NCERT/CBSE class NCERT Books For Class 12 English Flamingo Free PDF Download (). New NCERT Books on latest syllabus has been published by National Council of . (i). Flamingo. Textbook in English for Class XII. (Core Course). –20 OFFICES OF THE PUBLICATION DIVISION, NCERT. NCERT Campus. Sri Aurobindo.
She is now an active politician. Write out a sample paragraph or paragraphs from this text from the point of view of a third person or observer, to find out which style of narration would you consider to be more effective? Subbu is described as a many-sided genius. Primary schools were settlement of 25 per cent opened in six villages. Often he looked alone and 5.
Every other family in Firozabad is engaged in making bangles. None of them know that it is illegal for children like him to work in the glass furnaces with high temperatures, in dingy cells without air and light; that the law, if enforced, could get him and all those 20, children out of the hot furnaces where they slog their daylight hours, often losing the brightness of their eyes.
We walk down stinking lanes choked with garbage, past homes that remain hovels with crumbling walls, wobbly doors, no windows, crowded with families of humans and animals coexisting in a primeval state.
He stops at the door of one such house, bangs a wobbly iron door with his foot, and pushes it open. We enter a half-built shack. In one part of it, thatched with dead grass, is a firewood stove over which sits a large vessel of sizzling spinach leaves. On the ground, in large aluminium platters, are more chopped vegetables.
A frail young woman is cooking the evening meal for the whole family. Through eyes filled with smoke she smiles. She is the wife of. Not much older in years, she has begun to command respect as the bahu, the daughter-in- law of the house, already in charge of three men — her husband, Mukesh and their father. When the older man enters, she gently withdraws behind the broken wall and brings her veil closer to her face.
As custom demands, daughters-in-law must veil their faces before male elders. In this case the elder is an impoverished bangle maker. Despite long years of hard labour, first as a tailor, then a bangle maker, he has failed to renovate a house, send his two sons to school. All he has managed to do is teach them what he knows — the art of making bangles. Born in the caste of bangle makers, they have seen nothing but bangles — in the house, in the yard, in every other house, every other yard, every street in Firozabad.
Spirals of bangles — sunny gold, paddy green, royal blue, pink, purple, every colour born out of the seven colours of the rainbow — lie in mounds in unkempt yards, are piled on four -wheeled handcarts, pushed by young men along the narrow lanes of the shanty town.
And in dark hutments, next to lines of flames of flickering oil lamps, sit boys and girls with their fathers and mothers, welding pieces of coloured glass into circles of bangles. Their eyes are more adjusted to the dark than to the light outside.
That is why they often end up losing their eyesight before they become adults. Savita, a young girl in a drab pink dress, sits alongside an elderly woman, soldering pieces of glass. As her hands move mechanically like the tongs of a machine, I wonder if she knows the sanctity of the bangles she helps make. It will dawn on her suddenly one day when her head is draped with a red veil, her hands dyed red with henna, and red bangles rolled onto her wrists.
She will then become a bride.
Like the old woman beside her who became one many years ago. She still has bangles on her. All I have done is make a house for the family to live in.
He has a roof over his head! The cry of not having money to do anything except carry on the business of making bangles, not even enough to eat, rings in every home.
The young men echo the lament of their elders. Little has moved with time, it seems, in Firozabad. Years of mind-numbing toil have killed all initiative and the ability to dream.
There is no leader among them, no one who could help them see things differently. Their fathers are as tired as they are. They talk endlessly in a spiral that moves from poverty to apathy to greed and to injustice. Listening to them, I see two distinct worlds — one of the family, caught in a web of poverty, burdened. What makes the city of Firozabad famous?
Mention the hazards of working and the politicians. Together they in the glass bangles industry? To do anything else would mean to dare. And daring is not part of his growing up. When I sense a flash of it in Mukesh I am cheered. He will go to a garage and learn. But the garage is a long way from his home. In his small murmur there is an embarrassment that has not yet turned into regret. He is content to dream of cars that he sees hurtling down the streets of his town.
Few airplanes fly over Firozabad. Understanding the text 1. What could be some of the reasons for the migration of people from villages to cities? Would you agree that promises made to poor children are rarely kept? Why do you think this happens in the incidents narrated in the text?
What forces conspire to keep the workers in the bangle industry of Firozabad in poverty? How, in your opinion, can Mukesh realise his dream? Mention the hazards of working in the glass bangles industry. Why should child labour be eliminated and how? How does it do so? Here are some literary devices: The road was a ribbon of light. As white as snow. Carefully read the following phrases and sentences taken from the text. Can you identify the literary device in each example?
Saheb-e-Alam which means the lord of the universe is directly in contrast to what Saheb is in reality. Drowned in an air of desolation.
Seemapuri, a place on the periphery of Delhi yet miles away from it, metaphorically. For the children it is wrapped in wonder; for the elders it is a means of survival. She still has bangles on her wrist, but not light in her eyes. Web of poverty. Scrounging for gold. The steel canister seems heavier than the plastic bag he would carry so lightly over his shoulders. This paradox is also found in some other situations, for example, those who work in gold and diamond mines, or carpet weaving factories, and the products of their labour, the lives of construction workers, and the buildings they build.
You can start by making notes.
Here is an example of how one such paragraph may begin: You never see the poor in this town. By day they toil, working cranes and earthmovers, squirreling deep into the hot sand to lay the foundations of chrome.
By night they are banished to bleak labour camps at the outskirts of the city Thinking on socio-economic issues as a take-off from the text. After graduating with a Bachelors of Arts in English and Economics, he spent two years teaching high school in Yakima.
However, he got tired of this and decided to pursue a legal career. He met Franklin D. Roosevelt at Yale and became an adviser and friend to the President. Douglas was a leading advocate of individual rights. He retired in with a term lasting thirty-six years and remains the longest-serving Justice in the history of the court.
It reveals how as a young boy William Douglas nearly drowned in a swimming pool. In this essay he talks about his fear of water and thereafter, how he finally overcame it.
Notice how the autobiographical part of the selection is used to support his discussion of fear. Notice these words and expressions in the text.
It had happened when I was ten or eleven years old. I had decided to learn to swim. There was a pool at the Y. The Yakima River was treacherous. Mother continually warned against it, and kept fresh in my mind the details of each drowning in the river.
But the Y. It was only two or three feet deep at the shallow end; and while it was nine feet deep at the other, the drop was gradual. I got a pair of water wings and went to the pool. The state is named after the indigenous Yakama people. But I subdued my pride and did it. From the beginning, however, I had an aversion to the water when I was in it.
This started when I was three or four years old and father took me to the beach in California. He and I stood together in the surf. I hung on to him, yet the waves knocked me down and swept over me. I was buried in water. My breath was gone. I was frightened. Father laughed, but there was terror in my heart at the overpowering force of the waves. My introduction to the Y. But in a little while I gathered confidence.
I paddled with my new water wings, watching the other boys and trying to learn by aping them. I did this two or three times on different days and was just beginning to feel at ease in the water when the misadventure happened. I went to the pool when no one else was there. The place was quiet. The water was still, and the tiled bottom was as white and clean as a bathtub. I was timid about going in alone, so I sat on the side of the pool to wait for others.
I had not been there long when in came a big bruiser of a boy, probably eighteen years old. He had thick hair on his chest.
He was a beautiful physical specimen, with legs and arms that showed rippling muscles. I landed in a sitting position, swallowed water, and went at once to the bottom.
I was frightened, but not yet frightened out of my wits. On the way down I planned: When my feet hit the bottom, I would make a big jump, come to the surface, lie flat on it, and paddle to the edge of the pool.
It seemed a long way down. Those nine feet were more like ninety, and before I touched bottom my lungs were ready to burst. But when my feet hit bottom I summoned all my strength and made what I thought was a great spring upwards. I imagined I would bob to the surface like a cork. Instead, I came up slowly. I opened my eyes and saw nothing. I grew panicky. I reached up as if to grab a rope and my hands clutched only at water.
I was suffocating. I tried to yell but no sound came out. Then my eyes and nose came out of the water — but not my mouth. I flailed at the surface of the water, swallowed and choked. I tried to bring my legs up, but they hung as dead weights, paralysed and rigid. A great force was pulling me under. I screamed, but only the water heard me. I had started on the long journey back to the bottom of the pool.
I struck at the water as I went down, expending my strength as one in a nightmare fights an irresistible force. I had lost all my breath. My lungs ached, my head throbbed. I was getting dizzy. But I remembered the strategy — I would spring from the bottom of the pool and come like a cork to the surface.
I would lie flat on the water, strike out with my arms, and thrash with my legs. Then I would get to the edge of the pool and be safe. I went down, down, endlessly. I opened my eyes. Nothing but water with a yellow glow — dark water that one could not see through. And then sheer, stark terror seized me, terror that knows no understanding, terror that knows no control, terror that no one can understand who has not experienced it.
I was shrieking under water. I was paralysed under water — stiff, rigid with fear. Even the screams in my throat were frozen. Only my heart, and the pounding in my head, said that I was still alive. And then in the midst of the terror came a touch of reason.
I must remember to jump when I hit the bottom. At last I felt the tiles under me.
My toes reached out as if to grab them. I jumped with everything I had. But the jump made no difference. The water was still around me. I looked for ropes, ladders, water wings. Nothing but water. A mass of yellow water held me.
Stark terror took an even deeper hold on me, like a great charge of electricity. I shook and trembled with fright. I tried to call for help, to call for mother. Nothing happened. I was coming out of the awful yellow water. At least my eyes were. My nose was almost out too. Then I started down a third time.
I sucked for air and got water. The yellowish light was going out. Then all effort ceased. I relaxed. Even my legs felt limp; and a blackness swept over my brain. It wiped out fear; it wiped out terror. There was no more panic. It was quiet and peaceful.
Nothing to be afraid of. This is nice I crossed to oblivion, and the curtain of life fell. The next I remember I was lying on my stomach beside the 1. The chap that threw William Douglas speaks about? Be all right now. What plans did he carry him to the locker room. Several hours later, I walked 3. How did this experience affect home.
I was weak and trembling. I shook and cried when I lay on my bed. For days a haunting fear was in my heart. The slightest exertion upset me, making me wobbly in the knees and sick to my stomach. I never went back to the pool. I feared water. I avoided it whenever I could. A few years later when I came to know the waters of the Cascades, I wanted to get into them.
And whenever I did — whether I was wading the Tieton or Bumping River or bathing in Warm Lake of the Goat Rocks — the terror that had seized me in the pool would come back. It would take possession of me completely. My legs would become paralysed. Icy horror would grab my heart. This handicap stayed with me as the years rolled by.
In canoes on Maine lakes fishing for landlocked salmon,. It ruined my fishing trips; deprived me of the joy of canoeing, boating, and swimming. I used every way I knew to overcome this fear, but it held me firmly in its grip. Finally, one October, I decided to get an instructor and learn to swim. I went to a pool and practiced five days a week, an hour each day.
The instructor put a belt around me. A rope attached to the belt went through a pulley that ran on an overhead cable. He held on to the end of the rope, and we went back and forth, back and forth across the pool, hour after hour, day after day, week after week.
On each trip across the pool a bit of the panic seized me. Each time the instructor relaxed his hold on the rope and I went under, some of the old terror returned and my legs froze. It was three months before the tension began to slack. Then he taught me to put my face under water and exhale, and to raise my nose and inhale. I repeated the exercise hundreds of times. Bit by bit I shed part of the panic that seized me when my head went under water. Next he held me at the side of the pool and had me kick with my legs.
For weeks I did just that. At first my legs refused to work. But they gradually relaxed; and finally I could command them. Thus, piece by piece, he built a swimmer. And when he had perfected each piece, he put them together into an integrated whole.
Dive off and swim the length of the pool, crawl stroke. The instructor was finished. But I was not finished. I still wondered if I would be terror-stricken when I was alone in the pool.
I tried it. I swam the length up and down. Tiny vestiges of the old terror would return.
This went on until July. But I was still not satisfied. I was not sure that all the terror had left. So I went to Lake. I swam the crawl, breast stroke, side stroke, and back stroke. Only once did the terror return. When I was in the middle of the lake, I put my face under and saw nothing but bottomless water. The old sensation returned in miniature. Yet I had residual doubts. The next morning I stripped, dived into the lake, and swam across to the other shore and back — just as Doug Corpron used to do.
I shouted with joy, and Gilbert Peak returned the echo. I had conquered my fear of water. The experience had a deep meaning for me, as only those who have known stark terror and conquered it can appreciate.
In death there is peace. Why was Douglas determined to that fear of it can produce, the get over his fear of water? At last I felt released — free 3.
How did Douglas make sure that to walk the trails and climb the he conquered the old terror? How does Douglas make clear to the reader the sense of panic that gripped him as he almost drowned? Describe the details that have made the description vivid. How did Douglas overcome his fear of water? Why does Douglas as an adult recount a childhood experience of terror and his conquering of it?
What larger meaning does he draw from this experience? Have you ever had a fear that you have now overcome? Share your experience with your partner. Find and narrate other stories about conquest of fear and what people have said about courage.
Write out a sample paragraph or paragraphs from this text from the point of view of a third person or observer, to find out which style of narration would you consider to be more effective?
Doing well in any activity, for example a sport, music, dance or painting, riding a motorcycle or a car, involves a great deal of struggle. Most of us are very nervous to begin with until gradually we overcome our fears and perform well.
Write an essay of about five paragraphs recounting such an experience. Try to recollect minute details of what caused the fear, your feelings, the encouragement you got from others or the criticism.
Write a short letter to someone you know about your having learnt to do something new. Things to do Are there any water sports in India? Find out about the areas or places which are known for water sports. Selma Lagerlof was a Swedish writer whose stories have been translated into many languages.
A universal theme runs through all of them — a belief that the essential goodness in a human being can be awakened through understanding and love. This story is set amidst the mines of Sweden, rich in iron ore, which figure large in the history and legends of that country. The story is told somewhat in the manner of a fairy tale.
Once upon a time there was a man who went around selling small rattraps of wire.
He made them himself at odd moments, from the material he got by begging in the stores or at the big farms. But even so, the business was not especially profitable, so he had to resort to both begging and petty thievery to keep body and soul together. Even so, his clothes were in rags, his cheeks were sunken, and hunger gleamed in his eyes.
No one can imagine how sad and monotonous life can appear to such a vagabond, who plods along the road, left to his own meditations. But one day this man had fallen into a line of thought, which really seemed to him entertaining. It had never existed for any other purpose than to set baits for people. It offered riches and joys, shelter and food, heat and clothing, exactly as the rattrap offered cheese and pork, and as soon as anyone let himself be tempted to touch the bait, it closed in on him, and then everything came to an end.
The world had, of course, never been very kind to him, so it gave him unwonted joy to think ill of it in this way. It became a cherished pastime of his, during many dreary ploddings, to think of people he knew who had let themselves be caught in the dangerous snare, and of others who were still circling around the bait. One dark evening as he was trudging along the road he caught sight of a little gray cottage by the roadside, and he knocked on the door to ask shelter for the night.
Nor was he refused. Instead of the sour faces which ordinarily met him, the owner, who was an old man without wife or child, was happy to get someone to talk to in his loneliness. Finally he got out an old pack of cards and.. The old man was just as generous with his confidences as with his porridge and tobacco.
The guest was informed at once that in his days of prosperity his host had been a.. Now that he was no longer able to do day labour, it was his cow which supported him. Yes, that bossy was extraordinary. She could give milk for the creamery every day, and last month he had received all of thirty kronor in payment. The stranger must have seemed incredulous, for the old man got up and went to the window, took down a leather pouch which hung on a nail in the very window frame, and picked out three wrinkled ten-kronor bills.
These he held up before the eyes of his guest, nodding knowingly, and. The next day both men got up 1. From where did the peddler get in good season. The crofter was in the idea of the world being a a hurry to milk his cow, and the rattrap?
Why was he amused by this should not stay in bed when the idea? Did the peddler expect the kind They left the cottage at the same of hospitality that he received time. The crofter locked the door from the crofter? Why was the crofter so talkative and put the key in his pocket.
The and friendly with the peddler? Why did he show the thirty bye and thank you, and thereupon kroner to the peddler? Did the peddler respect the But half an hour later the confidence reposed in him by rattrap peddler stood again before the crofter? He did not try to get in, however. He only went up to the window, smashed a pane, stuck in his hand, and got hold of the pouch with the thirty kronor.
He took the money and thrust it into his own pocket. Then he hung the leather pouch very carefully back in its place and went away. As he walked along with the money in his pocket he felt quite pleased with his smartness. He realised, of course, that at first he dared not continue on the public highway, but must turn off the road, into the woods.
During the first hours this caused him no difficulty. Later in the day it became worse, for it was a big and confusing forest which he had gotten into. He tried, to be sure, to walk in a definite direction, but the paths twisted back and forth so strangely!
He walked and walked without coming to the end of the wood, and finally he realised that he had only been walking around in the same part of the forest. All at once he recalled his thoughts about the world and the rattrap. Now his own turn had come. He had let himself be fooled by a bait and had been caught. The whole forest, with its trunks and branches, its thickets and fallen logs, closed in upon him like an impenetrable prison from which he could never escape.
Darkness was already descending over the forest. This increased the danger, and increased also his gloom and despair. Finally he saw no way out, and he sank down on the ground, tired to death, thinking that his last moment had come. But just as he laid his head on the ground, he heard a sound—a hard regular thumping. There was no doubt as to what that was. He raised himself. He summoned all his strength, got up, and staggered in the direction of the sound.
The Ramsjo Ironworks, which are now closed down, were, not so long ago, a large plant, with smelter, rolling mill, and forge. In the summertime long lines of heavily loaded barges and scows slid down the canal, which led to a large inland lake, and in the wintertime the roads near the mill were black from all the coal dust which sifted down from the big charcoal crates.
During one of the long dark evenings just before Christmas, the master smith and his helper sat in the dark forge near the furnace waiting for the pig iron, which had been put in the fire, to be ready to put on the anvil. Every now and then one of them got up to stir the glowing mass with a long iron bar, returning in a few moments, dripping with perspiration, though, as was the custom, he wore nothing but a long shirt and a pair of wooden shoes.
All the time there were many sounds to be heard in the forge. The big bellows groaned and the burning coal cracked. The fire boy shovelled charcoal into the maw of the furnace with a great deal of clatter. Outside roared the waterfall, and a sharp north wind whipped the rain against the brick-tiled roof. It was probably on account of all this noise that the blacksmith did not notice that a man had opened the gate and entered the forge, until he stood close up to the furnace.
Surely it was nothing unusual for poor vagabonds without any better shelter for the night to be attracted to the forge by the glow of light which escaped through the sooty panes, and to come in to warm themselves in front of. The blacksmiths glanced only casually and indifferently at the intruder. He looked the way people of his type usually did, with a long beard, dirty, ragged, and with a bunch of rattraps dangling on his chest.
He asked permission to stay, and the master blacksmith nodded a haughty consent without honouring him with a single word. The tramp did not say anything, either. He had not come there to talk but only to warm himself and sleep. In those days the Ramsjo iron mill was owned by a very prominent ironmaster, whose greatest ambition was to ship out good iron to the market. He watched both night and day to see that the work was done as well as possible, and at this very moment he came into the forge on one of his nightly rounds of inspection.
Naturally the first thing he saw was the tall ragamuffin who had eased his way so close to the furnace that steam rose from his wet rags. The ironmaster did not follow the example of the blacksmiths, who had hardly deigned to look at the stranger.
He walked close up to him, looked him over very carefully, then tore off his slouch hat to get a better view of his face. But it occurred to him that if the fine gentleman thought he was an old acquaintance, he might perhaps throw him a couple of kronor. Therefore he did not want to undeceive him all at once. If only I had still been in the service at the time, it never would have happened. Well, now of course you will come home with me.
He thought of the thirty kronor. He only wanted a chance to sleep here in the forge and then sneak away as inconspicuously as possible. The ironmaster assumed that he felt embarrassed because of his miserable clothing.
My boys are abroad, and there is no one at home except my oldest daughter and myself. Now come along with me and help us make the Christmas food disappear a little faster. Why did the ironmaster speak to the master blacksmith, and kindly to the peddler and invite turned on his heel.
But he laughed to himself 3. Why did the peddler decline the as he went away, and the blacksmith, invitation? It was not more than half an hour before they heard the sound of carriage wheels outside the forge, and a new guest came in, but this time it was not the ironmaster. He had sent his daughter, apparently hoping that she would have better powers of persuasion than he himself.
She entered, followed by a valet, carrying on his arm a big fur coat. She was not at all pretty, but seemed modest and quite shy. In the forge everything was just as it had been earlier in the evening. The master blacksmith and his apprentice still sat on their bench, and iron and charcoal still glowed in the furnace. The stranger had. As soon as the young girl caught sight of him, she went up and lifted his hat. The man was evidently used to sleeping with one eye open.
He jumped up abruptly and seemed to be quite frightened. I am so sorry, Captain, that you are having such a hard time. Only please stay with us over Christmas Eve. But while he was riding up to the manor house he had evil forebodings.
Last night he was naturally embarrassed. The tramp manners will fall away from him with the tramp clothes. Yes, now he was truly clean and well dressed. The valet had bathed him, cut his hair, and shaved him. Moreover he was dressed in a good-looking suit of clothes which belonged to the ironmaster. He wore a white shirt and a starched collar and whole shoes. But although his guest was now so well groomed, the ironmaster did not seem pleased. He looked at him with puckered brow, and it was easy to understand that when he had seen the strange fellow in the uncertain reflection from the furnace he might have made a mistake, but that now, when he stood there in broad daylight, it was impossible to mistake him for an old acquaintance.
The stranger made no attempt to dissimulate. He saw at once that the splendour had come to an end. But no harm has been done. You must admit that, and I should not be surprised if the sheriff would like to have something to say in the matter.
All the good things that are offered to you are nothing but cheese rinds and bits of pork, set out to drag a poor fellow. And if the sheriff comes now and locks me up for this, then you, Mr Ironmaster, must remember that a day may come when you yourself may want to get a big piece of pork, and then you will get caught in the trap.
Perhaps we should let the sheriff alone on Christmas Eve. But now get out of here as fast as you can. The daughter stood there quite embarrassed and hardly knew what to answer. That morning she had felt so happy when she thought how homelike and Christmassy she was going to make things for the poor hungry wretch.
She could not get away from the idea all at once, and that was why she had interceded for the vagabond. Wherever he turns he is chased away. Always he is afraid of being arrested and cross-examined. I should like to have him enjoy a day of peace with us here — just one in the whole year.
He could not bring himself to oppose her. The man with the rattraps said not a word; he only sat down and helped himself to the food. Time after time. Why had she done it? What could the crazy idea be? After that, Christmas Eve at Ramsjo passed just as it always had.
The stranger did not cause any trouble because he did nothing but sleep. The whole forenoon he lay on the sofa in one of the guest rooms and slept at one stretch. At noon they woke him up so that he could have his share of the good Christmas fare, but after that he slept again.
It seemed as though for many years he had not been able to.. In the evening, when the Christmas tree was lighted, they woke him up again, and he stood for a while in the drawing room, blinking as though the candlelight hurt him, but after that he disappeared again. Two hours later he was aroused once more. He then had to go down into the dining room and eat the Christmas fish and porridge.
What doubts did Edla have he wanted to spend next about the peddler? Christmas Eve in a place where 3. When did the ironmaster he could rest in peace, and be realise his mistake? What did the peddler say in he would be welcomed back again. Why did Edla still entertain the peddler even after she The next morning the knew the truth about him? Their guest was still asleep, and they did not disturb him.
At church she had learned that one of the old crofters of the ironworks had been robbed by a man who went around selling rattraps. He added that he had heard at church that the man was a thief.
The valet answered that the fellow had gone and that he had not taken anything with him at all. On the contrary, he had left behind a little package which Miss Willmansson was to be kind enough to accept as a Christmas present. The young girl opened the package, which was so badly done up that the contents came into view at once. She gave a little cry of joy. She found a small rattrap, and in it lay three wrinkled ten kronor notes. But that was not all.
Why was Edla happy to see captain — for I do not want you the gift left by the peddler? Why did the peddler sign Christmas season by a thief; but himself as Captain von Stahle?
How does the peddler interpret the acts of kindness and hospitality shown by the crofter, the ironmaster and his daughter? What are the instances in the story that show that the character of the ironmaster is different from that of his daughter in many ways? Pick out instances of these surprises. What made the peddler finally change his ways? How does the metaphor of the rattrap serve to highlight the human predicament? The peddler comes out as a person with a subtle sense of humour.
How does this serve in lightening the seriousness of the theme of the story and also endear him to us? Talking about the text Discuss the following in groups of four.
Each group can deal with one topic. Present the views of your group to the whole class. Why is this so? Is the sympathy justified? The story also focuses on human loneliness and the need to bond with others.
The story is both entertaining and philosophical. Pick out all such references to him. What does each of these labels indicate of the context or the attitude of the people around him. You came across the words, plod, trudge, stagger in the story. These words indicate movement accompanied by weariness. Find five other such words with a similar meaning. He made them himself at odd moments. Thinking about language 1. Notice the words in bold in the following sentence. This is a phrase that is used in the specific context of an iron plant.
Pick out other such phrases and words from the story that are peculiar to the terminology of ironworks. Mjolis is a card game of Sweden. Name a few indoor games played in your region. A crofter is a person who rents or owns a small farm especially in Scotland. He served as a volunteer in the British Army between and He was also a member of the faculty at Princeton University.
The following is an excerpt from his book- The Life of Mahatma Gandhi. The book has been reviewed as one of the best books ever written on Gandhi by Times Educational Supplement. It was in There were 2, delegates and many visitors. It was in the foothills of the towering Himalayas, near the kingdom of Nepal. Under an ancient arrangement, the Champaran peasants were sharecroppers. Rajkumar Shukla was one of them. He was illiterate but resolute.
Shukla accompanied him everywhere. Then Gandhi returned to his ashram near Ahmedabad. Shukla followed him to the ashram. Come and meet me and take me from there. Shukla was sitting on his haunches at the appointed spot in Calcutta when Gandhi arrived; he waited till Gandhi 1. Strike out what is not true in was free. Then the two of them the following. Rajkumar Shukla was in Bihar. There Shukla led him to i a sharecropper. Rajendra Prasad who later became iii delegate.
President of the Congress party and b. Rajkumar Shukla was of India. Rajendra Prasad was out i poor. Shukla as a poor yeoman who iii illiterate. Why is Rajkumar Shukla indigo sharecroppers. Why do you think the companion, Gandhi, whom they took servants thought Gandhi to be to be another peasant. But Gandhi another peasant? Gandhi decided to go first to Muzzafarpur, which was en route to Champaran, to obtain more complete information about conditions than Shukla was capable of imparting.
He accordingly sent a telegram to Professor J. The train. Kripalani was waiting at the station with a large body of students.
Gandhi stayed there for two days in the home of Professor Malkani, a teacher in a government school. In smaller localities, the Indians were afraid to show sympathy for advocates of home-rule. Sharecroppers from Champaran began arriving on foot and by conveyance to see their champion.
Muzzafarpur lawyers called on Gandhi to brief him; they frequently represented peasant groups in court; they told him about their cases and reported the size of their fee. Gandhi chided the lawyers for collecting big fee from the sharecroppers. Taking such cases to the courts does litte good. Where the peasants are so crushed and fear-stricken, law courts are useless. The real relief for them is to be free from fear. The chief commercial crop was indigo.
The landlords compelled all tenants to plant three twentieths or 15 per cent of their holdings with indigo and surrender the entire indigo harvest as rent.
This was done by long-term contract. Presently, the landlords learned that Germany had developed synthetic indigo. They, thereupon, obtained agreements from the 1. List the places that Gandhi sharecroppers to pay them visited between his first compensation for being released meeting with Shukla and his from the 15 per cent arrangement. The sharecropping arrangement 2.
What did the peasants pay the was irksome to the peasants, and British landlords as rent? What did the British now want many signed willingly. Those who instead and why? What would resisted, engaged lawyers; the be the impact of synthetic landlords hired thugs. Meanwhile, indigo on the prices of natural the information about synthetic indigo?
At this point Gandhi arrived in Champaran. He began by trying to get the facts. The secretary told him that they could give no information to an outsider. Gandhi answered that he was no outsider.
Next, Gandhi called on the British official commissioner of the Tirhut division in which the Champaran district lay. Instead he proceeded to Motihari, the capital of Champaran. Several lawyers accompanied him. At the railway station, a vast multitude greeted Gandhi. He went to a house and, using it as headquarters, continued his investigations. A report came in that a peasant had been maltreated in a nearby village. Gandhi decided to go and see; the next morning he started out on the back of an elephant.
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