SMR : That leaves only one finalist. The US President Barack Obama.
(Gasp goes around the table)
KK5 : But what has he done for pees?
AV : Well, for starters, he hasn’t started a new war in 6 months of being president.
Chorus : Ja Ja Ja Ja Ja
IMY : Plus he shows a lot of potential
SMR : What potential?
AV : See I learnt in school that potential is measured as current into resistance. Now nobody can deny that he is current and faces a lot of resistance.
Chorus : Oui Oui Oui Oui Oui
TJ : But all he has done is make promises. Has ee kept any of ees promises?
SMR : Well, he did promise that he will bring in change.
AV : And…? Has he brought in change?
SMR : Not yet, but soon he will. By creating trillions of dollars, he has made sure that the dollar will become change. Small change.
This is what I do not believe reading to be for: bragging rights. Admiration of form. Stopping in the middle of narrative to admire a particularly unusual metaphor. Experimenting with style at the total cost of engagement. Being po-faced on purpose; putting on your Sunday clothes.
The aim of the Booker prize seems so simple – "to reward the best book of the year written in English". That sounds pleasingly straightforward and clear. Except, of course, the time restraints render it an impossibility, forcing the judges to discuss the merits of art without the help of critical distance.
We used to all love stories, when we were little. All children respond to stories and are delighted by them and they want to know what happens next. They have basic narrative desires. I think it’s a shame to lose that in a kind of academic snobbery. We forget that what matters are the plots that excite us or inspire us or frighten us and characters that we can relate to, and that’s really ancient.
Here’s what I see happening to book critics. As groups get smaller, they get more intense, speaking sociologically, and more paranoid, and they become more obsessed with their purity and their standards. That makes them shrink faster, sort of a black hole collapsing. There seems to be a rise in literary snobbery, making us more and more irrelevant. People read us less, so we become more snobby, so people read us less.
Chaz and I have lived for 20 years in a commodious Chicago house with three floors, a furnished basement apartment and an exercise room we built on the roof-top deck. This house is not empty…Chaz and I have added, I dunno, maybe 3,000 or 4,000 books, countless videos and CDs, lots of art, rows of photographs, rooms full of comfortable furniture, a Buddha from Thailand, two elephants from India, African chairs and statues, and who knows what else.
Of course I cannot do without a single one of these possessions, including more or else every book I have owned since I was seven, starting with Huckleberry Finn…
My books are a subject of much discussion. They pour from shelves onto tables, chairs and the floor, and Chaz observes that I haven't read many of them and I never will. You just never know. One day I may — need is the word I use — to read…
Other books I can't throw away because–well, they're books, and you can't throw away a book, can you?
We can be liberal, he said, but not vulgar, referring perhaps to the fact that some people other than politicians have actually made some money and worked hard, which must be anathema to the Congress Party.
This stinks. The government spends an obscene amount of money in Delhi just propping up people like Khursheed. He stays…in the heart of Lutyen's Delhi…let's just take the rental value – about Rs. 10 lakhs per month? Why not give it up, and go live in a house in Delhi that he OWNS, if he wants to be austere? Why foist his austerity on us, when it was his government's stupid policy…
it doesn't end there. We, the tax payers, pay for their servants, their transport, their security, their phone bills and of course the few crores they spend when they scream and rant and adjourn parliament because they want to do su-su.
Choices: a) we spend our money, or b) they spend our money. That decision, to me, is very easy.
A poem is someone close to tears
Or at any rate to some powerful feeling
A poem's the arrow that flies to pierce
The counting and scheming of human dealing.
It charges, then backs off as it nears
A spirit both mysterious and revealing
Through indirections a path it steers
And raises a rainbow house of meaning.
A poem speaks, but only because it hears
What we are from world and self concealing
A poem is the line that disappears
When its work is done of hurting and healing.
tissue salts are generally prescribed at dosages that are too low to have any detectable effect on the levels of the minerals and electrolytes involved. No peer reviewed scientific clinical trials have been conducted on tissue salts, and they are less well known to the public than some other complementary therapies.
Claims of homeopathy's efficacy beyond the placebo effect are unsupported by the collective weight of scientific and clinical evidence. While some studies have positive results, systematic reviews of all the published trials fail to conclusively demonstrate efficacy. Furthermore, higher quality trials tend to report less positive results, and most positive studies have not been replicated or show methodological problems that prevent them from being considered unambiguous evidence of homeopathy's efficacy.
Homeopathic remedies generally contain few or no pharmacologically active molecules, and for such remedies to have pharmacological effect would violate fundamental principles of science…The lack of convincing scientific evidence supporting homeopathy's efficacy and its use of remedies lacking active ingredients have caused homeopathy to be described as pseudoscience or quackery.
* Have specific dreams
* Brick walls are there for a reason
* Be good at something. It makes you valuable
* When you don’t get what you want, you get experience
* Most of what we learn, we learn indirectly
* It’s all about the fundamentals
* Have fun
* It’s not what you say, but how you say it
* You can have your cake and eat it too
* Hand the torch to somebody who can carry it forward
* Get somebody to be reflective
* Never lose the child-like Wonder
* There are moments that change your life
* Work and play well with others
* Apologize properly
* Never give up
* Do the right thing
* Get a feedback loop and listen to it
* Show gratitude
* Don’t complain. Just work harder.
* Find the best in everybody
* Be prepared
* If you lead your life the right way, your dreams will come to you
* Decide If You’re Tigger or Eeyore
I originally stumbled across Drucker while I was studying effective decision making techniques and I found that he was a wealth of insight in many other areas. Drucker had a crisp way of making his points and he challenged the status quo. I think what I liked most about Drucker was his ability to articulate things that you know to be true. While I never got to meet Drucker, I get to study his legacy in the form of several books and great quotes. This post is a walkthrough of the lessons I’ve learned as well as my favorite Drucker quotes.
साधो ये मुरदों का गांव
पीर मरे पैगम्बर मरिहैं
मरि हैं जिन्दा जोगी
राजा मरिहैं परजा मरिहै
मरिहैं बैद और रोगी…
नाम अनाम अनंत रहत है
दूजा तत्व न होइ
कहत कबीर सुनो भाई साधो
भटक मरो ना कोई
मोको कहां ढूँढे रे बन्दे
मैं तो तेरे पास में
ना तीरथ मे ना मूरत में
ना एकान्त निवास में
ना मंदिर में ना मस्जिद में
ना काबे कैलास में
मैं तो तेरे पास में बन्दे
मैं तो तेरे पास में
जिन ढूँढा तिन पाइयॉं, गहरे पानी पैठ।
मैं बपुरा बूडन डरा, रहा किनारे बैठ।।
बुरा जो देखन मैं चला, बुरा न मिलिया कोय।
जो मन खोजा अपना, मुझ-सा बुरा न कोय।।
सॉंच बराबर तप नहीं, झूठ बराबर पाप।
जाके हिरदै सॉंच है, ताके हिरदै आप।।
लहरों से डर कर नौका पार नहीं होती,
कोशिश करने वालों की कभी हार नहीं होती ।
नन्हीं चींटी जब दाना लेकर चलती है,
चढ़ती दीवारों पर, सौ बार फिसलती है ।
मन का विश्वास रगों में साहस भरता है,
चढ़कर गिरना, गिरकर चढ़ना न अखरता है ।
आख़िर उसकी मेहनत बेकार नहीं होती,
कोशिश करने वालों की कभी हार नहीं होती ।
ऊँचे पहाड़ पर,
पेड़ नहीं लगते,
पौधे नहीं उगते,
न घास ही जमती है।
धरती को बौनों की नहीं,
ऊँचे कद के इंसानों की जरूरत है।
इतने ऊँचे कि आसमान छू लें,
नये नक्षत्रों में प्रतिभा की बीज बो लें,
किन्तु इतने ऊँचे भी नहीं,
कि पाँव तले दूब ही न जमे,
कोई काँटा न चुभे,
कोई कली न खिले।
न वसंत हो, न पतझड़,
हो सिर्फ ऊँचाई का अंधड़,
मात्र अकेलेपन का सन्नाटा।
मुझे इतनी ऊँचाई कभी मत देना,
ग़ैरों को गले न लगा सकूँ,
इतनी रुखाई कभी मत देना।
तुम सभ्य तो हुए नहीं
नगर में बसना
भी तुम्हें नहीं आया।
एक बात पूछूँ–(उत्तर दोगे?)
तब कैसे सीखा डँसना–
विष कहाँ पाया?