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Where has the youth gone?

I loved the passage given for the reading comprehension this time by CBSE for class 12.  It’s about youth and values.  It begins thus: “Too many parents these days can’t say no.”  It goes on to argue why saying ‘no’ to children is important.  Giving in to all the demands of children is paving the way of their ruin.  It creates a generation of people who are never satisfied with anything they get, because they’ve been getting it all too easily. Easy availability is a dangerous thing.  It makes you feel that you deserve the best.  If you don’t get it, you will grab it by hook or by crook.  That’s the kind of generation we have created, says the passage. “Today’s parents aren’t equipped to deal with the problem,” goes on the passage.  “Many of them, raised in the 1960s and 70s” went through hard days.  They were whipped at school and at home.  They are the people, like me, whose parents went to the school and told the teachers, “Whip my child as much as you like.  Make him/h

How truth catches up

“ Satyameva jayate ” is India’s national motto.   That may be one of the many ironies in a county steeped in corruption of all sorts.  Truth and falsehood go hand in hand in India.  That’s why we, Indians, never had the concept of the devil in our mythology.  We never polarised the good and the evil into watertight compartments.  Our gods were a queer mixture of both good and evil.  That’s one of the best things about our civilisation. Neither truth nor falsehood is absolute except in the pure sciences.  In actual life, they mingle obscenely.  Narendra Modi’s admission that he has a wife is a recent glaring manifestation of that mingling.  Why did he admit it now in the nomination papers submitted by him at Vadodara?  Is it any indication that the truth is catching up with Modi?  I don’t think so.  Modi is more shrewd than Chanakya, Goebbels, or Machiavelli.  Modi must be having some trick up his sleeve by disclosing his marital status at this point of time, the cynic in

The Queen of Spades

  Fiction Only heroic people can absorb constant failures with nonchalance.  Sanjay was no hero and grew increasingly desperate with each failure.  He had tried out a number of ventures in business and failed in each one of them without exception.  It’s not true to say that he was an utter failure;  he always managed to break even.  Recently he developed the habit of visiting the casino in the city with the hope of learning the secret of winning at gambling.  There seemed to be no secret in it, he concluded after many weeks of keen observation.  You win or lose without any pattern.  Winning and losing are haphazard whether in business or gambling, Sanjay muttered to himself morosely.  It is then he overheard a conversation in the casino.  Somebody was telling a group of listeners a story about Lakshmi Lalwani, the aged widow of the renowned industrialist of the last century.  In their younger days, when Lakshmi and her husband were in Paris, the lady had indulged herself with

Sarayu’s Sorrow

 Fiction He sat down on the bank of the Sarayu with a heavy heart.  The palace of Ayodhya stood silhouetted against the setting sun.  He could hear a cry rising beyond the scarlet horizon like the subdued rumble of a reluctant thunder. He wanted her, to be with him till the end of his life, to be his life’s ultimate meaning.  But she had refused to undergo yet another fire test.  “How many fire tests will be required before my husband can trust my fidelity?”  There was fire in her eyes as she asked that question.  But it was a subdued fire.  Like the fire inside a volcano. “It’s not I who suspect your fidelity,” he explained.  “You know the people of Ayodhya.  They think any woman who has spent even a single night in the abode of another man is sullied.  And you know how many nights you spent in the abode of a rakshas.” He was torn between conflicting desires.  He wanted her, body and soul.  His subjects loved him, no doubt.  Some of them even adored him.  Such lo