The Pleiades

Just after sunset, look to the west. The brightest object in the sky is Venus and right below it, with a pair of binoculars you'll be able to see the Pleiades. :)

DREAM CATCHER

I made a dream catcher for a friend! :)

I don't have the skill or the cultural knowledge to make one like the Native Americans do but this is just a tribute to their incredibly fascinating philosophy and way of life. It's a beautiful thought that such a thing as a dream catcher has been invented and that it catches bad dreams in its web which disappear at daybreak and the good dreams filter through, slipping down the feathers to the person dreaming below. 

Dreams are the most intriguing part of our minds and I hope this gives its recipient many happy ones. 

Jane Austen's PRIDE AND PREJUDICE

Jane Austen’s most popular novel, ‘Pride and Prejudice’ deals with the theme of love and marriage in the rigid social structure in England in the early 19^th century.  It tells the story of Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy, two of the most timeless and popular characters of literature.  Austen sets the theme of the novel in the very first sentence, “It is a truth universally acknowledged, that a single man in possession of a good fortune, must be in want of a wife.”

We are first introduced to witty and passive Mr. Bennet and his comical and garrulous wife.  Mrs. Bennet constantly complains of the condition of her poor nerves as she has five daughters to marry off.  Jane always sees the good in people, Elizabeth is sensible with a quick wit and their father loves them both.  Their younger sisters, Mary, Kitty and Lydia bring out much of Jane Austen’s humour.

Mr. Bingley and his friend, Mr. Darcy enter this sleepy neighbourhood and set the story in motion.  Austen brings out the troubles faced by women due to the inheritance laws at the time.  They were forced to marry wealthy men in order to secure their future.  On the death of Mr. Bennet, his property would pass to his cousin Mr. Collins as he has no male heirs.  Thus, there was no room for love or choice in making a match.  Women had to settle for what they could.  Thus, when Elizabeth rejects Mr. Collins’ proposal, we see that she is unlike other women of her time.  She refuses to compromise on her belief that nothing but the deepest love would make her marry a man.  However, her friend Charlotte is more practical and being the eldest among many siblings, she accepts Mr. Collins.

In the mean time, Elizabeth develops much hatred for Mr. Darcy as she thinks he is arrogant.  Mr. Wickham tells her more lies about Darcy that adds to her prejudice against him.  The class structure in England led land owners like Mr. Darcy to believe they were superior.  However we learn later in the novel that both the protagonists were under false first impressions of each other and the people around them.  Elizabeth was proud of her judgment of character but in her prejudice she had not noticed that Mr. Darcy was in fact a kind and generous man who was only looking after the best interests of his friend while Wickham was sly and unreliable.

When Lydia elopes with Wickham, Elizabeth and Darcy are finally brought together and they manage to overcome their pride and prejudices.  In portraying Lydia’s situation, Austen also subtly criticizes the society that condemns an entire family for the foolishness of one sister.  Austen’s quiet humour in dealing with characters like Mr. Collins, Lady Catherine and Miss Bingley serves to provoke change in society.

The beauty of ‘Pride and Prejudice’ is in the way Austen has shaped her characters, especially the two protagonists.  They seem to grow through the novel.  They overcome their faults and they are dynamic and multi-layered.  Both Darcy and Elizabeth refuse to compromise on their convictions and Elizabeth is unlike any woman of her time.  She is willing to risk everything for what she truly believes in, at a time when women were helpless and dependent.  She has strong opinions and the wit and sharpness to express them even in the face of spiteful remarks.  Mr. Darcy is proud but as Charlotte says, he has the right to be so.  Like Mr. Collins, Darcy’s first proposal is condescending and Lizzy rejects him like she did with Mr. Collins.  However Mr. Darcy manages to change and amend his actions and Elizabeth sees him for what he truly is.

Thus Jane Austen melds together her criticism of society and her skilful use of language and humour to create memorable characters.  With each reading, the novel seems to grow with oneself and that is what makes Pride and Prejudice a classic.

Planetary Alignment

In the maddening crowd of Crawford Market, I suddenly chanced upon a sight I had been waiting for but had completely forgotten about... A delicate silver crescent hung in the sky. And above it, in a perfectly straight line were Venus and Jupiter shining silently in the blue evening twilight.

For that single moment, heaven was right above my head.

For further information: http://science.nasa.gov/science-news/science-at-nasa/2012/17feb_winterplanets/

Better than Santa Claus

The best part about birthday parties when we were kids wasn't the cake or the games or the streamers. It was the presents. And the one thing I really regret about growing up is that we no longer have return presents at birthday parties.

On my trip to Mountain View to meet my brother, I met someone who has the coolest job in the world. My aunt has started a business of novelty party favours. She has the most creative, most fascinating collection of gift items and it's tempting enough to convince anyone that you're never too grown up to use stuff that's just so much fun. What I really liked was that all her gift ideas are useful.

I wish I could be a kid again if only just to give this stuff out as return presents at my birthday and see everyone using it at school the next day :)

http://www.flickr.com/photos/sellerstation

THE SKY IS A SHADECARD

Every day a new sunset appears outside my window. And it changes with each passing moment... while I sit in an air conditioned office with the blinds drawn, waiting for darkness. And no one around me realises we're missing the show.

THE SLAVE'S DREAM by H.W. Longfellow

Beside the ungathered rice he lay,

His sickle in his hand;

His breast was bare, his matted hair

Was buried in the sand.

Again, in the mist and shadow of sleep,

He saw his Native Land.

Wide through the landscape of his dreams

The lordly Niger flowed;

Beneath the palm-trees on the plain

Once more a king he strode;

And heard the tinkling caravans

Descend the mountain-road.

He saw once more his dark-eyed queen

Among her children stand;

They clasped his neck, they kissed his cheeks,

They held him by the hand!--

A tear burst from the sleeper's lids

And fell into the sand.

And then at furious speed he rode

Along the Niger's bank;

His bridle-reins were golden chains,

And, with a martial clank,

At each leap he could feel his scabbard of steel

Smiting his stallion's flank.

Before him, like a blood-red flag,

The bright-flamingoes flew;

From morn till night he followed their flight,

O'er plains where the tamarind grew,

Till he saw the roofs of Caffre huts,

And the ocean rose to view.

At night he heard the lion roar,

And the hyena scream,

And the river-horse, as he crushed the reeds

Beside some hidden stream;

And it passed, like a glorious roll of drums,

Through the triumph of his dream.

The forests, with their myriad tongues,

Shouted of liberty;

And the Blast of the Desert cried aloud,

With a voice so wild and free,

That he started in his sleep and smiled,

At their tempestuous glee.

He did not feel the driver's whip,

Nor the burning heat of day;

For Death had illumined the Land of Sleep.

And his lifeless body lay

A worn out fetter, that the soul

Had broken and thrown away!

Probably the best loved of American poets the world over is Henry Wadsworth Longfellow. He was born on February 27^th 1807 in Portland, Maine. At the age of 22 he was launched into his career as a college professor. In 1834, he was appointed to a professorship at Havard. Upon the death of his first wife, he came to Cambridge and to the new professorship. He was given honourary degrees at the great universities of Oxford and Cambridge, invited to Windsor by Queen Victoria and called by request upon the Prince of Wales. He died on March 24^th 1882.

”Of all the suns of the New England morning,” says

Van Wyck Brooks, “he was the largest in his golden sweetness.”

A slave is one who is owned by another, and deprived of all rights and freedoms. The slave is dependant on the whim of the owner, who may generally force him to service and in principle, may usually dispose of his life.

The slaves in southern U.S. were forbidden by law to receive any education or acquire property and thus could rarely attain on their own, the means to buy their freedom.

Aside from domestic work, slaves were also instruments of production on farms, in mines and in factories owned by the master. The master provided them food and clothing. Punishments for misdemeanour were common.

The Slave’s Dream by H.W. Longfellow is a poem about one such slave who escaped despite the odds. The poem begins with the Slave lying on bare earth. Too exhausted to continue his work of gathering rice, the Slave was in the dreamy swoon of sleep, bare-chested, his tangled, unkempt hair buried in the sand, still clutching his sickle. In the mysterious shadow of sleep, he dreams of Africa, his home, his Native Land.

In his dream the slave sees the river Niger flow with all its majesty. He sees himself as the king he was. One can imagine a valiant warrior king striding through the plain, beneath priest like palm trees, listening to the distant tinkling of caravans down a mountain road.

In his dream, his mind wanders to his wife, the dark eyed queen of his land, standing amongst their children. He sees his children embrace him, kiss his cheeks, their little fingers clasping his hands. He does not know where they are, dead or alive, or whether he will ever see them again. His worry and longing for his family makes a tear drop from his eyes onto the sand.

He dreams of how he used to ride along the banks of the Niger with the wind on his face; the rich king of his land with golden bridle reins clanking as though he were going to war. Each time his horse would leap, he could feel his sword’s steel sheath strike the horse’s hide. Then, he was the one holding the chains, now he is bound by them.

Before him the flamingos like a blood red flag soared through the air. He followed them from dawn to dusk along the course of the Niger, over plains where the tamarind grew. He continued his hunt till he reached a village of caffre huts, where the Niger emptied into the ocean.

He dreams of how he heard the lion roar over its prey at night, the hyena scream and the sound of a river horse trampling reeds by an unseen stream. These familiar yet distant sounds passed through his mind like a great drumroll heralding a victorious king.

The forests were not bound by the will of another and the innumerable voices of the forest shouted of liberty. The Desert was its own master, untamed and free and when he hears it cry in its wild voice he starts in his sleep. In his sleep, he smiles at their exaltation, almost as though he is going to join them in their ecstatic delight.

The driver, a merciless superior in-charge, whips him for being asleep when he is supposed to work and the sun beats down ruthlessly upon him. But he is stolid towards the pain for Death had brightened up and beckoned him into the Land of eternal Sleep. His soul had left the confines of his body.

I love this poem for its simplicity. There is no judgment, no protest, no criticism. Whatever Africa may have been and whatever it may have became today, it will always have an unspoiled beauty and Longfellow has captured it in this poem.