'

'

Five Women, unique, special, peerless, extraordinary ' and beautiful beyond compare'

'

Gangubai Hangal (1913-2009), the oldest of them, was 96 years. Coming from a fishermen family, she braved all odds to emerge as an outstanding Hindustani singer of the Kirana gharana'

'

D.K. Pattammmal (1919-2009), at age 90, was one of the brilliant exponents of Carnatic music. Though belonging to an orthodox family, she challenged the order of the times and also the male bastion of Raagam, Thaanam, Pallavi, with consummate ease'

'

Gayatri Devi (1920-2009) was verily the Beauty Queen, and acknowledged as such across the globe. She lived a life royale, and was even elected to the Lok Sabha three times with massive majorities'

'

Kamala Suraiyya (1934-2009) courted controversy all through her life, yet she lived it on her own terms. Her many literary works have been widely acclaimed for their sheer honesty and rare sensitivity'

'

Leela Naidu (1940-2009) was beauty, in all its dimensions, personified. After a stint in the films, she chose to enjoy life with her beloved. Along with Gayatri Devi, she was named among the ten most beautiful women in the world ' by Vogue'

'

Each of these women exemplified beauty in some form or other'

And we will miss them for long'

Photo courtesy: Internet

'

The Neem Tree

The heavy rains of the last couple of days and the constant drizzle since then have quenched the parched earth, or so it seems to me. The sun is playing hide and seek; the trees look fresh and green, as never before…

I look through the window and see outside the weather-beaten, old, neem tree; it took me almost two years to notice it, because it never stood demanding attention unlike the peepal right by its side, its glistening beautiful leaves dancing sensuously all the time. The neem tree looked worn out in comparison, its many hollows a none too endearing sight to behold…

Sometime in May, when I was all by myself at home for about two weeks, that’s when I paid some attention to the tree. I then spent hours watching it, and in the days hence, I came to know a lot more about it…

The crooked neem tree today is something special for me, its hollows no more an ungainly visage…

For me, the neem tree now is the world in miniature. I find life in its myriad dimensions acting itself out in its trunks and hollows…

A wide array of life’s forms finds refuge in the neem tree. I see many parrots, birds of varied hues, known and unknown species, butterflies, insects, flies and what not, spluttering about it. There are even two owls that have made the tree their home. Squirrels spring around, ants march everlastingly. The woodpecker comes often and marks its presence; the crows go caw-cawing…

The day starts early, even before the sun makes its grand entry in the eastern sky. Action continues right through the day, and well into the evening. As the sun goes to take rest, the tree’s hollows seek out their natives. There they share their stories of the day, their joys, their sorrows, may be, and the chattering continues well into the night. And then they call it a day…

As I sat watching them day after day, I developed a love for the tree and its residents, both. The birds were the first to notice me, lying in the sofa and looking at them intently. Initially, they were apprehensive, because they must have noticed that I had hardly paid any attention to them for two long years…

On the third or fourth day, the sparrows came and sat near the windowsill, and stared back at me, whispered to one another and flew away. They came later in the day again, and found me in the very same place, in the very same posture. Then they took courage and came inside, made themselves comfortable. When they left a little later, they chattered again…

In the next few days, they came up often, enquired how I was, chattered more, and flapped their colourful wings happily, as if to signal they had accepted me as one of their well-wishers. I was relieved and honoured, at once…

Life goes on in the neem tree at an amazing pace. So many of them find shelter there, and the tree is hospitality personified, come rain or shine. I find some occasional squabbles between them once in a while, some verbal duels, may be even a couple of friendly feuds. But at the end of the day, they are all over, and the neem tree takes them into its bosom, for rest and comfort. All is forgiven and forgotten in the warmth of its many hollow trunks. And life moves on…

The neem tree is no more crooked to me; it’s, after all, life giving, life sustaining: and in its many inhabitants, I find hope…

Is there anything that we can learn from the neem tree, I wonder, as I watch from my vantage seat…

Photo courtesy: Internet

FIELD MARSHAL SHFJ MANEKSHAW

1914-2008

All, in a Day!

"It's 720, and you are still sleeping as if you haven't had even a wink in the last one week".

Muzzeebatein pehle batake nahin aate!

"You better get up now" ' this is one wake-up call no husband could pretend he didn't hear. "You see, I went for a walk all by myself. Your colleague Mr. Sharma was walking with his wife".

"Why, did you expect him to walk with some one else's wife?"

"You sleep till 730 and then complain in the evening you are having pain in the neck, back and I don't know where else."

"Mein, aur mera saaya ' my pains will go with me only."

"OK, don't ask me in the night to put Volini and hot water bottle here and there".

Another day has broken in all its glory

"Accha, we are leaving, come and close the door". (For the uninitiated, Accha is dad in God's Own Language).

"Son?"

"Yes, I have taken the house key, I will call you when I am back from school, and I won't open the door for anybody: you don't have to repeat that".

"Good boy! But finish your homework when you return, rather than sit and watch Hungama channel."

"Accha, I think Delhi Daredevils are going to make it to the semifinals of IPL. Just see that sixer Sehwag hit! They couldn't even locate the ball! Bye".

What a ball, I say!

I don't have any option now, but to get out of the bed. You can trust the world, but not the robbers of Delhi who can give a run for one’s money for every run that the Daredevils may hit! What appropriate choice of Team name!

War-torn Kabul during the heydays of the Taliban would have looked more orderly than my house at this point of time. But I had left it more like the clean and orderly Frankfurt last night! You blame it on me: keeping order is a disorder with me ' of the obsessive, compulsive type.

Time for action: a quick look at the headlines to see if Bush had bombed what is left of Iraq, what is right and what is wrong in Pakistan, who killed whom, whether any `leader' had been caught in a sting operation, and if Federer had finally won the first tournament of the year. Oh, clothes have to be washed, so set the machine ' and bring some order in the house ' at least like Delhi's traffic; and wait for The Maid to come.

There's something great about The Capital's Maids. Mine knows that I have to leave necessarily at 930; so, she will make her grand appearance right at 858 when I am about to enter the bath. Well, maids have a choice, beggars don't!

All set to go, fans, lights, gas, all switched off. 928, my, my, the clothes are still in the washing machine. Daley Thompson of Olympic Decathlon fame will doff his hat to yours truly when I enter the car at 930 after finishing the mean machine business!

945, and I am in my room. First things first: before office starts, I have to check all my mails. I am sure the Interpol must be in mighty trouble these days, what with each world citizen having not less than five different IDs.

I open Sabeer Bhatia's Hotmail first. Vanitha says GM J Lycos, my oldest ID, comes next, followed by the two G-mails. In between, I respond to Vanitha's GM. "I am busy today, will try to catch up with you later in the evening". "No probs", says the good friend.

Hotmail, Lycos, and the two G-mails together remind me every morning of my favorite post "My Inbox Floweth Over". Rich widows of senior statesmen still want to share all their bounties with me; and I have won yet again the Euro/Spanish/British lotteries, all in one day, which would put me ahead of Laxmi Mittal in the Forbes' list. But Michelle from Madagascar still wants me to take treatment for erectile dysfunction; I still haven't been able to make out how she came to that conclusion sitting so far away in Madagascar!

The office ID, as usual, has steamy stuff about who is sleeping with whom, who filed a false LTC claim, who was sighted at the PVR Cinema during office hours and the like: nothing of "Breaking News" standard

My room has no windows, only glass panes. Birds of the chirping variety hang outside, and enquire once in a while whether things are going fine with me. From my seat, I can also see who has entered the complex and who has left!

"Lots of work to finish today, Sir", reminds PS at 1010 ' sadist: it is as if he derives some pleasure out of inflicting such pain on me. "Done", I say. "What if your friend Mr. Ranjan calls?" "Tell him, I am not in the room/busy in meeting/whatever you like".

Attendance Registers land at 1030. Mr. Verma, whom I saw enter the building just a few seconds ago, has put the time as 1002. If you look at Attendance Registers, all your apprehensions or misapprehensions about government servants will vanish in no time 'just like some stain removers. Every one comes in religiously at 10 and leaves dutifully at 6!

Files and files come one after the other. As I go to the loo, I find Mrs. Trivedi, all of 59 years, taking her regular walk through the air conditioned corridors; she smiles benignly at me. The big, fat, yet young Mr. Patnaik is behind the atrium talking to his girlfriend on his cell phone. When I return, he sees me and tries to hide the cell.  "How's your girlfriend?", I ask. Without blinking an eye, he says, "No Sir, that was my grandmother!"

PS announces that the draft brief for the VVIP has come, and gives it to me, adding that his office wanted it urgently. I open the file ' it carried the paternity leave application of an attendant, a file that should have been cleared at least five levels below. I demand PS to seek an explanation. An hour later, the VVIP brief comes with the file subject as paternity leave application of attendant!

It's 1240 and I see the steady stream out of the building ' going for lunch, talks, walks and what not. I ask for Mr. Arora when PS tells me, "Sir, today is Tuesday". I retort, I didn't ask for the day, I asked for Mr. Arora. Cool as cucumber, PS says, "Sir, Mr. Arora goes to Hanuman Mandir every Tuesday at 1215 PM." "What about Mr. Talwar?" "Oh, Sir, didn't you know that they have started a Bhajan Club in the office? They meet every day from 1245 to 2 PM". Whoever said India is a secular state!

115, and I walk down for a quick lunch. And then, it's Rediff time. Whatever happened to my `honest pardner' VT? Saakshee too is missing, even though iLand has proclaimed her as Blog O' Maniac! Could it be that the keen observer that she is, Saakshee didn't really like the `maniac' part and decided to migrate? KB is not to be seen too, PK Madhavan has become a rarity, The Ambrosia a celebrity. Indigo Iris, Ekantapadhika, Alakananda ' no news! TG, or is it TGIF, Moe M is still there J

It's 215: Guptaji, Sharmaji, Talwarji, Vermaji, and other assorted Ji's are still outside under the greenwood tree, discussing the latest rumors on the capital's grape wines or most probably the latest episode of `Waar Parivaar" on Sony Entertainment Television.

315: VVIP vest, oh, I mean, brief, has acquired some shape after repeated tailoring. PS peeps in to say friend Ranjan had called three times, and had threatened to call home later in the evening.

"Where is Mr. Nair?" "His Director says that Nairji will come late". "What does he mean, PS? It's already 340 PM!" How late can late be, I wonder

As I come out of the loo, Mrs. Trivedi is still on a stroll. "How many rounds do you take every day", I enquire innocently. "Six rounds is almost a km. So, I take eighteen rounds in all, in three shifts. After all, I have to be in good health if I have to work hard", she replies equally innocently. Now I know why this stinking rich woman doesn't take voluntary retirement. The roly-poly Mr. Patnaik is still clutching his mobile for his life's worth. "How's your grandma?" "No, Sir, I am talking to my girlfriend!" Double jeopardy, is it???

Finally, the VVIP brief has gone ' I hope it fits him fine J Several more papers need to be cleared, you know. I ask for Mr. Arora. PS tells me, "Sir, he has other programs in the evening; so, he leaves early". Not bad, Hanuman Seva in the afternoon, other `sevas' in the evening! 540, and the exit procession has already started. All of them who put 6 pm are trouping out one by one. PS walks in, "Sir, I am leaving". Et tu, Brute?

625 pm, and the table is almost clear ' phew! I check out Vanitha, chat for a few minutes about the weather, kids and old Malayalam songs. 700 pm, and time to leave

As I walk in, my son asks, "Accha, how come you are early? No work in office?" I stroke his hair. "Accha, is it true that the uncle next door is a much, much bigger officer than you, and that is why he has a blue beacon atop his car?" "True son, but who told you this?" "The maid". I thought I paid for the maid! "And Accha, why don't you carry a bag to office like other uncles do?" "Because I don't carry lunch, newspaper or Manohar Kahaniyaan to office". And I believed that the son-dad-duo Q/A series had come to an end when Karanjia stopped publishing The Blitz!

"Where is Amma, by the way?" "Oh, she is lying down; she has a swollen ankle waiting at the Gurgaon Toll Plaza for about 45 minutes". I never knew that you had to pay toll to get a pain in the leg!

"Son, I am going for a walk". The next three-quarter of an hour is my time with the nature. There is a cool breeze from the green belt; the small temple looks Godly in the glow of an earthen lamp. The few walkers on the road have replaced their spouses with dogs who make friendly or unfriendly exchanges as they pass one another, and very promptly mark stones to record the event. A colleague pretends he didn't see me, but his dog says `hello'. Thank you, I say, you are more civilized than your master! I, though, pretend I didn't see the neighborhood uncle, now walking without the blue beacon! My beacon too will come, I should tell my son J

I ring the bell and son promptly opens the door. "But why did you not first ask who it is?" "Why should I? Who else comes at exactly 45 minutes after he leaves?"

A quick shower does wonders. Wife is up and about, her toll paid swelling now showing for free. "Dinner is ready", she announces, which is repeated twice again at five-minute intervals. And then the final call

Friend Ranjan chooses that very moment to call. For the next twenty minutes, I had to listen to an overview of men, women, matters and material. The food had turned cold.

Wife retires for the night, but son hangs around for some more time. "Accha, how many times does she call Sanju in that life insurance advertisement? Your options are - A: 4; B: 6; C: 8; or D: Lost Count"

"Muzzeebatein pehle batake nahin aate! He was resting so comfortably at the end of a hard day's work, and she chose to exercise option D".

"Accha, I too am going to sleep". "Why, no IPL match today?" "Oh, all the fun has gone out with Bhajji being thrown out; if Bhajji is not there, there won't be any action, you see. Any way, if Gopumon Sreesanth gets slapped and starts crying, do wake me up, good night".

I open Set Max, and cheerleaders of different hues are going haywire. It's as if all unemployed young girls of different sizes and shapes from Estonia, Moldova and Kazakhstan have suddenly found greener pastures on Indian soil, thanks to the BCCI and Sharad Pawar. I suspect Rakhi Sawant's future is in serious trouble, though.

Time for some Gandhigiri and his experiments with his People and an Empire. 20 pages of font-size eight, and I have to bid adieu to the Father of the Nation.

The Kabul backyard needs to be brought back to the Frankfurt level, or else Herr Hitler can rise from the ashes; so, I get busy with my OCD.

1145 pm: I call it a day, or rather night! Every day has to end, and a new day will dawn. Till then, as my friend Hellz Angel always ends,  " peace !"

Fiction ' and Fact: Hues of Life

It is trite to say that life ' a fact ' is stranger than fiction. When one reads newspapers or watches television, and when events unfold, one notices that what the Hollywood or Bollywood shows pales into insignificance before reality: as they say, reel life as opposed to real life. Increasingly, one realizes that human life takes such twists and turns that facts are, more often than not, more unbelievable and incomprehensible than fiction.

Let me come to fiction first: I chanced to read two books by Khaled Hosseini, the Afghan writer settled in the United States of America, last week [please see www.khaledhosseini.com for more details.] The first was A Thousand Splendid Suns. In the publisher's own words, it is is "a breathtaking story set against the volatile events of Afghanistan's last thirty years?from the Soviet invasion to the reign of the Taliban to the post-Taliban rebuilding?that puts the violence, fear, hope, and faith of this country in intimate, human terms. It is a tale of two generations of characters brought jarringly together by the tragic sweep of war, where personal lives?the struggle to survive, raise a family, find happiness?are inextricable from the history playing out around them". To me, it was a devastating experience, to say the least, to read of the horrors that the Afghanis, especially the women and children, had to live through.

So, when Hosseini's The Kite Runner came my way, I was not too sure whether I should read it or not. The publisher described it as "the story of a young boy who juggles to establish a closer rapport with his father and cope with memories of a haunting childhood event. The novel is set in Afghanistan, from the fall of the monarchy until the collapse of the Taliban regime, and in the San Francisco Bay Area. Its many themes include ethnic tensions in Afghanistan, and the immigrant experiences of (the boy) and his father in the United States". The printed word has a charm of its own, and I am one who cannot resist temptation when a book beckons. Knowing full well that this could well be another depressing read, I still went ahead ' and I was not wrong.

Afghanistan baffles me ' not just me, but the world as a whole. It is as if it is the most fertile ground for invasion, and tragedy and trauma. Down the millennia, this land has been pillaged and ravaged by assorted invaders. Yet, it is a testimony to the will and spirit of the Afghanis that they have survived these catastrophe over the centuries, though badly battered and bruised in mind, body and soul.

Afghanistan and its people went through yet another traumatic period starting with the Soviet occupation, followed by the internecine fight among the rival war lords, and then the Taliban occupation. The abysmal depths of human tragedy which the Afghans were forced to descend have been poignantly portrayed by Khaled Hosseini in his works.

As in any other conflict, the worst victims of the Afghan imbroglio were children and women - all through the Soviet era, the warlords' time and the Taliban days. Of course, it reached a new low under the Taliban. No woman, even a girl child, could come out of the house unless accompanied by a male member of the family. If by any misfortune a woman was seen outside alone, she would have had to face extremely dire consequences. Hosseini narrates how thousands of children lost their parents ' and their childhood, forever. Some people would set up a shack as an orphanage; mothers who were lucky to have survived till then would send their kids there so that they could have at least a loaf of bread a day, which they could share with the many genuine orphans. Most of them were maimed, sick and vulnerable. And the Big Brother in the form of the Taliban was always watching ' intensely, and menacingly. The Kite Runner describes how the local Taliban leader would come regularly and randomly pick up small girls and boys of seven and eight years and take them to his house ' and the same Taliban would stone to death a woman or man for violating their moral code!

And the intense green eyes of The Afghan Girl (photo by Steve McCurry which appeared in the National Geographic) kept haunting me

The barbaric cruelty and the myriad miseries which the children and women were subjected to ' and which have been tellingly brought out by Khaled Hosseini ' make me wonder what we mean by `humanity' and `civilization'. To comfort myself, I thought, Hosseini, like all good stoory tellers, must have taken the liberty to narrate events in a more fictionalized manner ' may be more fiction than fact.

And let me now tell you The Fact

I completed Hosseini's books last week-end. Yesterday, I happened to meet a friend who had returned to India after spending three years in Afghanistan. Hosseini fresh in mind, I shared with him my apprehensions of Khaled's creativity having taken wings while describing the plight of children and women there. And to my utter dismay, he told me that Hosseini spoke truth only in part; what happened in Afghanistan was still worse, he asserted. Then, to prove his point my friend narrated an incident which actually happened during the high tide of Talibanism: Hosseini's stories were only a figment of imagination, now I am sure

As was often the case, this Afghan family was left with only three members ' and all women, including a nine-year-old girl child. They could not go out of their hutment because of the prevailing code which warranted that a male family member should be accompanying them. They were starving to death, and the child was suffering. Finally, the will to live made them courageous and they took the decision to send the kid out ' dressed as a boy! So, after some searching, she got work as child labour in a bakery along with several other kids ' and no one noticed that the kid was a girl.

Things were going fine under the circumstances, till the day the Taliban came calling to the bakery for kids. All children, including the boy-girl, were rounded up and taken, where else but to the orphanage. An octogenarian mullah was in charge, always at the beck and call of his Taliban masters who sent regular demands that select kids may be sent to them. Our girl was paranoid when she landed at the orphangae, and naturally so, in the midst of a hundred and more boys.

Since there was never any proper bathroom or lavatory facilities, all kids were forced to undress and take bath together ' that is, if and when water came. For several days, she escaped the ordeal by hiding, but her time had to come, and she was eventually caught one day. The Taliban are a very vengeful lot, more so when their writ and dictates are challenged, especially by women, even if the woman in question happens to be a child of nine years. And the Taliban never expected a girl child less than ten to hoodwink them: it doesn't matter to them that she did it to live to see another morning.

And so they decided to teach her the lesson of her life and also make her life a lesson to others who might venture to question their authority. They stripped this frightened girl in front of the whole crowd of kids and others, and hung her head down from a tree, and left her hanging there for further action. And then, the girl, to her own horror, started menstruating for the first time in her life. The poor child, already terrorized by all what was happening around her and to her, suddenly saw blood dripping down her body; her wailing was lost in the cacophony all around, and she fainted.

They pulled her down from the rope and dragged her to the Taliban office which was also the trial room. There was no one to comfort this child of nine, who was victim to many adversities ' and none of her own creation - in the few years that she had walked the earth. The darkest of fate awaited her as she lay crumpled in one corner, like dirty cloth left in a trash can.

And then the octogenarian mullah, who was in the good books of the Taliban, for the best reasons known to both of them, intervened. With a leer that belied his many years, he requested that the child may be spared; in return, he would restore her honour by marrying her. The child's fate was sealed

Now I know Khaled Hosseini was not letting his imagination and creativity take wings. Life in Afghanistan was ' and still is ' stranger than fiction.

PS: For those of us who felt comforted that things have improved in Afghanistan after the Taliban left, my friend has a message. He says, many Afghanis are praying that the Taliban should make a come-back!

Picture courtesy: Steve McCurry's "The Afghan Girl" from the Internet

Taare Zameen Par!

The Day has dawned, and the Year 2008 is before us!

It is winter here in Delhi, but as I look out of the window, the sun is bright, spreading warmth around. The parakeets are having fun, chattering away incessantly. The peepal tree stands majestically, its million leaves dancing sensuously in the gentle breeze. Flowers of many hues dot the garden below. The lone owl sits silently on its perch, probably oblivious of the unfolding day, and year.

A nice sunny day is what one looks forward to on a wintry morning ' certainly on the very first day of the year.

Another year has bid adieu, and life moves on into the New Year. The year past has had its ups and downs and highs and lows, and the coming year cannot be any different either. It is often said that life is a roller coaster ride; life is also what we want it to be. Obviously, it cannot be roses all the way; it is a truism that even roses come with thorns. One has to be down to earth and realistic about what is in store ' for oneself or for the nation.

Like the owl outside, one cannot be oblivious of one's surroundings, individuals and events that impact on one's day to day life. A thousand things influence our thoughts and deeds, whether we want it that way or not. Joys and sorrows will come our way, so will turbulence and tranquility. How well one can cope with all these will depend upon many factors, especially mental equanimity.

As a nation too, we will have to confront many issues ' internal and external, both. Like individuals, a nation also cannot afford to swing between extremes. Equanimity and poise are equally important for a nation as much as they are for its citizens. Over and above all these, we will need leaders with sagacity and statesmanship, leaders with a vision and farsightedness.

I read with keen interest dear friend PK Madhavan's post in iLand on `Indianness' http://pkmadhu.rediffiland.com. In his characteristically erudite style, PKM has made an informed analysis of what is `Indianness'. When we have such forceful posts, it is but natural that there will be informed comments also. While reading the post and the many comments thereon, I was greatly impressed by the different dimensions of `Indianness' that emerged on iLand.

On the very first day of the New Year, it is this `Indianness' which PKM and other friends in iLand delineated that gives me hope for India and its billion plus people. I see India as a continuum, a civilization which, through the millennia, has given birth to several major religions and which has assimilated the best of several other religious philosophies too in a substantive way. The passage of thousands of years has not diminished in any manner the idea and the ideal that is India.

It is not to suggest that India is a nation without spots and stains; yet, warts and all, we have survived as one people. We also have overcome many challenges and withstood many upheavals in the course of our long and chequered history. Time and again, we have proved Doubting Thomases and prophets of doom wrong. What stands out in India as a nation is its innate and inherent resilience: every day, through the centuries, we have faced the gravest of crises and every time, we have come out, a little scarred may be, but stronger than before. It is this resilience that sets India apart from other nations and peoples.

Today, India's is one of the fastest growing economies of the world, and we are acknowledged as a force to be reckoned with, albeit grudgingly by some. On the other hand, poverty and penury continue to visit millions of households in the country. Many children ' the nation's future ' go without food, shelter and clothing. For them, school is only a distant dream, and hard labour and drudgery, a reality. Inadequate healthcare, rampant unemployment, unbridled corruption, mafia politics and the cancer of communalism are certainly not aberrations; they are very much a threat to the largest working democracy in the world. If left unchecked, they will undermine the very edifice of a nation built on the blood, toil and tears of millions.

But hope springs from many quarters, including from the much-maligned political class. One can discern a new set of young leaders emerging in every major political party who think and act differently and positively. The higher judiciary has been a beacon in troubled times. A vigilant media too has been an asset in bringing to light the travails of the people and the omissions and commissions of the establishment. A new generation of Indians is growing up, exuding confidence and conviction. All of these, undoubtedly, augur well for the nation.

More than anything else, the emergence of a vibrant civil society has been a redeeming feature of the recent decades. A good number of conscientious voluntary organizations are working in different fields ' education, health care, women and child welfare, rural development, environmental cause, etc. The `functioning anarchy' as it was once reviled, India today is looking ahead with a radiant optimism, thanks to such non-governmental organizations which are indubitably the sentinels of our democracy.

Hope also wells up from public domains like iLand which, in spite of myriad limitations, provide a forum for productive interactions and meaningful exchange of views on a host of issues that need urgent attention and action. We come to know of laudable initiatives like Saaksham Kids http://sakshamkids.org of literacy missions, of agencies working for environmental protection, organizations involved in women's emancipation, healthcare schemes, forums against bonded labour and the like. A community portal like iLand offers ample scope, among other things, for purposive discussions and informed debates ' something which should be consciously nurtured by its users.

Let us hope the year ahead will lots bring of joy and happiness to all ' and more importantly peace.

Let us also hope that the twinkling stars will further brighten up this nation's future

Photo courtesy: Internet