City of wonderful scenes, abode of deities, the land of Kerala is indeed a natures paradise. Harmony blends purely with its air granting men liberation like no other state however, oh the fury of nature! They have fates in twisted ways. Sudden wrath struck the placid land, water pours until the sea explodes unleashing agony on human ignorance to the source of abundance. Beaches where we rode the waves, now floats the devastation. Houses, schools, cattle’s fallen to the storm, doomed to the might of something o-so-strong! Many died, all of them cried, weeping for lovers, calling help from others. No shelter to be found, and no morsel to call our own, yes, Temples, churches, Mosques all drowned, yet United the nation stands . There Preyaers for aid didn’t go unheard. The tragedy ridden souls beg for assistance! From all of us came supplies. Everyone did good, nation -wide, food, clothing, the necessities, despite the difference, O for their country companies. Sights of relief, breathed the people. When the sea took back it’s water, suffers yelled – Hallelujah! Outgrowing the destruction Kerala manages towards recovery. Traumatised, thought, they be willd by strength to stand again and holding against odds of hope, the sun shines once again regally enough, gleaming constantly, showering gratitude to those hands of contribution Kerala does grow again!

Yesterday, I was sitting in window and enjoying Rain. I was thinking about what can I do? At that time suddenly my brother came and he suggested to play PUBG. I was like… Are you kidding? How could girls play PUBG? On that sentence he delivered me a whole lecture. He said there is no age limit to play any game… Blah.. Blah.. Blah.. But I was not interested & he also know that didi was not going to show any intrest . So he went on his friends house and continued his work. At that time, I was thinking where is the future of these people? Really they don’t have anything to do apart from playing games 🤔.. Actually, I am not against of games. But there is word called “Limits” If we are spending our whole day with headphones & smartphones then this is wrong. I respect those gamers who choose their careers in this field. But what about that people who are spending their whole day in this. According to me, games are just for Entairnment purpose. So we should play it only for Entairnment. I want to tell you one case related this, in our colony there is one boy who is just in 5th standard. But he is totally addicted to PUBG. His mom beat him very badly everyday but no effect. He used to spend his whole day in PUBG. One day his father decided to take his smartphone and his parents took his smartphone & also they decided not to use smartphones. After 2 days he was completely psychologically disordered. He was breaking everything, running anywhere & making horrible faces and many things. He was completely mentally retarded so now he is in hospital. After taking whole treatment he is returning home. So I kindly request you all people who are addicted towards games like this please be aware & save your future as well as life.

Twelve-year-old Gwenyth has dark brown eyes and a fierce desire to change people’s negative perception of sharks. She attends West Oaks French Immersion school in Ontario, where she and about a dozen other kids who test as gifted, spend three days every other month exploring topics outside their usual curriculum. Most recently, they studied forensics, searching for clues, avoiding red herrings, and learning how scientists test for DNA evidence.

But it’s sharks that fascinate her. She’s determined to be a marine biologist some day and has given considerable thought to what she’ll need to achieve this. Her teacher, Mrs Ensing, who is optimistic about Gwenyth’s prospects, routinely tells her elite group that they can be anything they want to be.

Gwenyth likes her teacher but is troubled by this philosophy. ‘You can’t be anything,’ she says, ‘if you don’t manage to get the marks good enough, or if you have the wrong idea about it. There was a guy on YouTube who wanted to be a veterinarian and they made him watch a video of something happening to an animal and he fainted, so he didn’t get the job.’

Her skepticism is well-founded. A 2012 LinkedIn survey showed that roughly one in three adults are working at their ‘dream job’, which means that two in three are not. Gallup’s most recent State of the American Workplace poll came up with similar results when it concluded that 30 per cent of employees are ‘engaged’ in their work, while 52 per cent are ‘not engaged’ and 18 per cent are ‘actively disengaged’.

‘When you tell somebody: You can be anything,’ says Jean Twenge, professor of psychology at San Diego State University and author of Generation Me (2014), ‘that “anything” they’re thinking of is rarely a plumber or an accountant.’

Indeed, a 2011 survey of more than 5,000 children around the world revealed that while almost half of children in developing countries dreamed of becoming doctors and teachers, more than a quarter of American children aspire to such careers as professional athletes, singers and actors. When a grown‑up asks the inevitable: What do you want to be when you grow up?, most kids have an answer: video‑game developer; astronaut; back-up dancer for Rihanna. And many grown-ups will congratulate them for dreaming big, assuring them that, with hard work and a can-do attitude, they can be anything they want.

When your child is four or five, barring intellectual disabilities or severe behavioural diagnoses, anything does seem possible. A child shows an interest in art and we imagine his work eventually hanging in galleries. A talented runner, we think, might make the Olympics. Kids who love science are given microscopes and we begin to wonder if we should start saving up for college fees at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology. Backing our hopes and theirs are the culture’s cheerleaders, led by viral convocation speeches and a steady stream of ‘overnight’ successes unveiled on reality shows and YouTube, all urging us to dream big and never give up.

Consider Steve Jobs’s commencement address to Stanford graduates in 2005. He was, of course, talking to the high achievers who had already earned a degree from a prestigious university. But with more than 22 million views on YouTube, his advice – ‘find what you love… Don’t settle’ – has resonated with the masses. Oprah Winfrey, whose own rags-to-riches tale gives her moral authority, insists that if we follow our passion, achievement will follow. Even Dr Seuss left us with Oh, the Places You’ll Go! (1990), which has become the go-to graduation gift for millions, assuring kids that their imminent success is ‘98 and ¾ per cent guaranteed’.

MUSIC🎶nurtures us even more than food does. The lyrics may hurt us, may hurt our soul, or fill us up. Listening to music can be like melting your body and your spirit into one, pampering your senses, exploring, touching and caressing yourself with the same urgency of two unbridled lovers.Music is with us when our words fade away. When we can’t seem to explain joy or sadness, when our emotions block us off and when we have something to celebrate. It doesn’t abandon us in the storm or the calm. It helps us heal our emotional wounds, grow and cleanse our interior. As Oscar Wilde said, it’s the art that’s closest to tears and memories.Music tunes to our moods within secondsMusic helps us be alone with our thoughts. It transports us to a magic world, to a place where everything becomes more tolerable. A place where we can cry until we dry up or smile until we’re sore.Music is to the soul what gym is to the body. It’s the fast lane towards tuning in with our interior. It seems to allow us to exist, to awaken our senses and to be infinite.When we have a problem, when we’re blocked or when everything upsets us, the melody of a song arrives and becomes our favorite for a while. In some way, when it arrives it becomes a seal of identity, our warrior cry. It becomes our connect and disconnect button.flowers coming out of tubaIf there’s music in your soul, it will be heard around the world It doesn’t matter how many years go by, when good music touches your heart, it never leaves. Music is our best time machine. A precious whim that sweetens and intoxicates our heart, making us hold our breath.I believe in music as a place in which we can all find ourselves. It helps us all during our worse moments and has the ability to fill the best moments of our lives with colors. We can forget a word, a face or a date, but we can never forget a melody and its moment. Because it transported us to a world of sensations to explore, which managed to set free a part of us that we didn’t know before.piano in the oceanWho has never thought “this song was made for me”? We have all felt that music was ours, as if someone had come into our body and put our soul into notes.There are melodies that cause our emotions to return to their purest state. And our feelings and realities become songs. In fact, if someone asked us what song we felt was about us, we would find it very difficult to pick just one.Through music we can be transported back into our memories. Our senses can be blown. Someone once said that without music life would be a mistake and an eternal sorrow in a world full of misunderstood people.They say that music is the most direct form of art, it enters through the ears and goes directly to our hearts. Because love and music can’t see each other, but the feel and enjoy each other like nothing else can.Fill your life with music, pack the scenery with melodies and enjoy the pleasure of feeling the bumping rhythms invade you. Because what you feel thanks to music is not only the magic of being alive, but the freedom that surrounds you.

Dear dad, Firstly Happy father’s Day! Do you remember the first time you laid eyes on me? I saw you warm,gentle smile and i knew it was meant to be. On that day I.e.19/01/2002 god chose you to be my dad. You have held my hands,showed me love and for you I am glad. There is no one else i had,rather climb on,share my thoughts with and did too much dramebazzi🤪so ,this fathers day i honor you and say a big Thank You! Thanks for supporting me.i know I don’t get to say how much I love you everyday #Nevertless ,i am proud daughter I wouldn’t be where I am today if not because of u. Thanks for everything.i may not have told you but I want you to know that I am the luckiest person to have you as a father. And I know sometimes I am too much aggressive but you know how much short tempered I am. Sorry for that. “Rehene ko hai pairon ke niche ye jameen par mere liye mera Aasmaan aap ho✨Love u so much ❤.

According to rabindranath Tagore “Women is god’s best creation”.she adds beauty, grace and charm to every aspect of life. Sadly enough, she has been neglected and her virtues glossed over by the predominant male society. Prejudice against women occupying positions of leadership are fast disappearing and their traditional role of gender objects are being rejected. The male dominated milieu whether social or political, is no longer gratifying. It is plagued with bloodshed, vengeance, envy and immorality. Communalism, fundamentalism violence and tensions have made peace and harmony with the things of the past. The world is permeated by chaos today. Only the benign and elevating presence of women on the top can bring in semblance of order in the present situation. Emotional, Afficianate, caring and yet firm, a woman is the perennial source of inspiration for man, in his Odyssey of life. She can definitely free the present world of its ugliness. Women like golda mir, indira Gandhi, Margaret Thatcher and others like them have left a permanent imprint on the history of the present and the last century. In the past, women like joan of arc and lakshmi bai have proved the strength of their convictions. They are no longer frail and untrustworthy and have risen far above from the drudgery. Today’s empowered women remind me of Lord Byron, who onces said “there is a tide in the affairs of women God knows nowhere”! That takes off point has been reached now, the point where they should express and assert their identity and actively be allowed to participate in all sphere . Once this is done the world will certainly be a better place to live in.

A lone traveler was passing through a desert on a hot day. He was tired, feeling thirsty and hungry too.At least, he needed a shady spot to rest for a while. A big leafy tree came into view at some distance away. He felt glad and said to himself, “Had I water to drink, now.” Yes, he found a tumbler full of cold water on the ground right in front of him. He sat down there and started sipping the water. Then, he wished “Had I something to eat, right here.” Immediately, a variety of dishes appeared before him. He was under the shade of Kalpa – Vriksha – a magical tree. That was the wishing tree.Whoever was under it would have whatever he wished for! The traveler enjoyed the delicious food. He felt drowsy. He wished for a nice bedstead. It was granted. He stretched himself comfortably on the soft mattress. His legs ached, as he had walked a long distance. He hoped that someone would massage his feet. Yes, a young lady appeared near his feel. She started massaging his feet and legs. He soon fell asleep. After a long time he woke up.The lady was still sitting beside him. He now started thinking differently. “How can things happen like this? Can I have things, I wished for, by merely asking for them?” Is it some kind of a trick played by a magical demon” he doubted. Oh, a true demon appeared in place of the nice lady! The demon was laughing mischievously at him. The traveler said to himself, “Is he going to eat me up?” Within no time the demon started leaping at him, with his mouth wide open. The frightened traveler took to his heels and ran away.He ran and ran for long. When he looked back there was no demon. “What is all this? Did things really happen? Or was it all mere a dream?” the traveler started wondering. “Perhaps, almighty grants what one has in mind.” He resumed his journey.

MY aunt will be down presently, Mr. Nuttel,” said a very self-possessed young lady of fifteen; “in the meantime you must try and put up with me.”Framton Nuttel endeavoured to say the correct something which should duly flatter the niece of the moment without unduly discounting the aunt that was to come. Privately he doubted more than ever whether these formal visits on a succession of total strangers would do much towards helping the nerve cure which he was supposed to be undergoing.”I know how it will be,” his sister had said when he was preparing to migrate to this rural retreat; “you will bury yourself down there and not speak to a living soul, and your nerves will be worse than ever from moping. I shall just give you letters of introduction to all the people I know there. Some of them, as far as I can remember, were quite nice.”Framton wondered whether Mrs. Sappleton, the lady to whom he was presenting one of the letters of introduction, came into the nice division.”Do you know many of the people round here?” asked the niece, when she judged that they had had sufficient silent communion.”Hardly a soul,” said Framton. “My sister was staying here, at the rectory, you know, some four years ago, and she gave me letters of introduction to some of the people here.”He made the last statement in a tone of distinct regret.”Then you know practically nothing about my aunt?” pursued the self-possessed young lady.”Only her name and address,” admitted the caller. He was wondering whether Mrs. Sappleton was in the married or widowed state. An undefinable something about the room seemed to suggest masculine habitation. “Her great tragedy happened just three years ago,” said the child; “that would be since your sister’s time.””Her tragedy?” asked Framton; somehow in this restful country spot tragedies seemed out of place.”You may wonder why we keep that window wide open on an October afternoon,” said the niece, indicating a large French window that opened on to a lawn.”It is quite warm for the time of the year,” said Framton; “but has that window got anything to do with the tragedy?””Out through that window, three years ago to a day, her husband and her two young brothers went off for their day’s shooting. They never came back. In crossing the moor to their favourite snipe-shooting ground they were all three engulfed in a treacherous piece of bog. It had been that dreadful wet summer, you know, and places that were safe in other years gave way suddenly without warning. Their bodies were never recovered. That was the dreadful part of it.” Here the child’s voice lost its self-possessed note and became falteringly human. “Poor aunt always thinks that they will come back some day, they and the little brown spaniel that was lost with them, and walk in at that window just as they used to do. That is why the window is kept open every evening till it is quite dusk. Poor dear aunt, she has often told me how they went out, her husband with his white waterproof coat over his arm, and Ronnie, her youngest brother, singing ‘Bertie, why do you bound?’ as he always did to tease her, because she said it got on her nerves. Do you know, sometimes on still, quiet evenings like this, I almost get a creepy feeling that they will all walk in through that window—”She broke off with a little shudder. It was a relief to Framton when the aunt bustled into the room with a whirl of apologies for being late in making her appearance.”I hope Vera has been amusing you?” she said.”She has been very interesting,” said Framton.”I hope you don’t mind the open window,” said Mrs. Sappleton briskly; “my husband and brothers will be home directly from shooting, and they always come in this way. They’ve been out for snipe in the marshes to-day, so they’ll make a fine mess over my poor carpets. So like you men-folk, isn’t it?”She rattled on cheerfully about the shooting and the scarcity of birds, and the prospects for duck in the winter. To Framton it was all purely horrible. He made a desperate but only partially successful effort to turn the talk on to a less ghastly topic; he was conscious that his hostess was giving him only a fragment of her attention, and her eyes were constantly straying past him to the open window and the lawn beyond. It was certainly an unfortunate coincidence that he should have paid his visit on this tragic anniversary.”The doctors agree in ordering me complete rest, an absence of mental excitement, and avoidance of anything in the nature of violent physical exercise,” announced Framton, who laboured under the tolerably wide-spread delusion that total strangers and chance acquaintances are hungry for the least detail of one’s ailments and infirmities, their cause and cure. “On the matter of diet they are not so much in agreement,” he continued. “No?” said Mrs. Sappleton, in a voice which only replaced a yawn at the last moment. Then she suddenly brightened into alert attention—but not to what Framton was saying.”Here they are at last!” she cried. “Just in time for tea, and don’t they look as if they were muddy up to the eyes!”Framton shivered slightly and turned towards the niece with a look intended to convey sympathetic comprehension. The child was staring out through the open window with dazed horror in her eyes. In a chill shock of nameless fear Framton swung round in his seat and looked in the same direction.In the deepening twilight three figures were walking across the lawn towards the window; they all carried guns under their arms, and one of them was additionally burdened with a white coat hung over his shoulders. A tired brown spaniel kept close at their heels. Noiselessly they neared the house, and then a hoarse young voice chanted out of the dusk: “I said, Bertie, why do you bound?”Framton grabbed wildly at his stick and hat; the hall-door, the gravel-drive, and the front gate were dimly-noted stages in his headlong retreat. A cyclist coming along the road had to run into the hedge to avoid an imminent collision.”Here we are, my dear,” said the bearer of the white mackintosh, coming in through the window; “fairly muddy, but most of it’s dry. Who was that who bolted out as we came up?””A most extraordinary man, a Mr. Nuttel,” said Mrs. Sappleton; “could only talk about his illnesses, and dashed off without a word of good-bye or apology when you arrived. One would think he had seen a ghost.””I expect it was the spaniel,” said the niece calmly; “he told me he had a horror of dogs. He was once hunted into a cemetery somewhere on the banks of the Ganges by a pack of pariah dogs, and had to spend the night in a newly dug grave with the creatures snarling and grinning and foaming just above him. Enough to make anyone lose their nerve.”Romance at short notice was her speciality.

Naturally beautiful, blessed by the Almighty,
The Royal paradise of the world
Was a panorama my heart looked out for.
It took me years to explore and feed my heart
By running through the lanes of heaven
It was and called the symbol of grandeur.
And now a devastated no mans land.
Overpowered by men with huge guns, tanks and bombs. Who stand in ranks and squadrons
Pouring blood all over the nirvana.
Now that, every house had become the arkham
Where each heart burst with the feeling of falling into jhelum.
Every mind crawls to the end of madness
Every soul fears to be lost, lost, lost in the deep dark icy woods.
Every eye tears the death of its loved ones.
Every lip wails in the pain
Every hairs straightns when it feels the speed of the bullet over.
Every hand, THEN, goes onto shake with the evils hand then comes devastation again.
Because there is no Mt. sinai to be a ray of hope in this idyll so this is the end.
Hold your breath and count till ten feel the earth moving then 1,2,3,4…..