Where teachers debate promotions and transfer
policies, or pay scales and working hours, and where students weigh grades with
fees for extra tuition classes, where corruption irks but does not surprise the
young - where romance has gone out of bonds between teachers and children,
where 'good moral character' is a medal universities give to the young who do
not trouble society with their talents and genius,
Where passion and dreams are regarded 'good but
impractical', where falling in love is a shopkeeper's scale for ratio of price
to worth - --
Where dreaminess is an abuse hurled at those who
think stars and walk milky ways..
Where these are the
pebbles of currency of the Big Spiritual Bazaar,
... this , my father, is what we have made of the
land that you bequeathed to me just a few decades ago.
Where have men -
gallant, honest and proud to be foolish in love - gone? - and women coy for
beauty and proud for compassion; shy of curves and forward with caring? Men and
women who could laugh like kids over foibles and stupidities their own, and
find a million reasons why others were less than good .
If you want to know why a society's fruit smells
foul of decay and decomposing, if you want to run its disease down to its seed,
look at the faces of teachers and students in its classrooms. A class room is
where dreams are born and given wings;but it is also where boys and girls are
taught to ape be-decked corpses, and walk as logs in deathless sleep. Youth and
childhood are the crevices where death enters into our soul. Youth and
childhood are also the doors flung open for spring to dance in. If you find
love in the eyes of teachers and their young, you are watching the greatest
heavens men can rise to. If love is a buyer''s instinct given an emotional
excuse, you are looking out on Heaven's exit route. If even he excuse is
missing, you are already in a cemetery.
Version Two:
Random
and quick update: Where politicians debate perks and reservations and cars and
escorts, or pay scales even as their salary remains the last source they need
as income, and where people measure stature of their leaders with favours they
can
get in return for a little slip or a gentle push of button on an electronic
device, where corruption irks but does not surprise the electors and the
elected alike - where romance has gone out of bonds between ideas and men ,
where teachers flaunt their honesty as an excuse for not working, no matter
where they be posted, and a vote is the a medal people give to leaders on the
first come first served basis - or, worse still, in return for most immediate
favours, ; where troubling society is taken as the only proof of one's
commitment and worth to society, ...
Where
passion and dreams are regarded 'good but impractical', where falling in love
is a shopkeeper's scale for ratio of price to worth - --
Where
'dreaminess' is a term of abuse hurled at those who think stars, breathe the
sky and walk milky ways..
Where
these are the pebbles of currency of the Big Spiritual Bazaar,
...
this , my father, is what we have made of the land that you bequeathed to me
just a few decades ago.
Where
have men - gallant, honest and proud to be foolish in love - gone? - and women
coy for beauty and proud for compassion; shy of curves and forward with caring?
Men and women who could laugh like kids over foibles and stupidities their own,
and find a million reasons why others were less than good .
Where
uncleanliness at the top is used as excuse for garbage at the bottom, where it
is taken for granted that if there is no honesty at the top, there is no need
for any at any other level, ...if you want to know why a society blames
everything but itself for the ills which only society has brought upon itself
and only society can fight...If you look at the polling booths, and the offices
of he political parties and leaders, and the loudspeakers in the hands of those
who should rather be wielding a spade, a plough, a wheel, a brush or a
scrubber.....If you want to know why a society's fruit smells foul of decay and
decomposing, if you want to run its disease down to its seed, look at the faces
of teachers and students in its classrooms. A class room is where dreams are
born and given wings;but it is also where boys and girls are taught to ape
be-decked corpses, and walk as logs in deathless sleep. Youth and childhood are
the crevices where death enters into our soul. Youth and childhood are also the
doors flung open for spring to dance in. If you find love in the eyes of
teachers and their young, you are watching the greatest heavens men can rise
to. If love is a buyer''s instinct given an emotional excuse, you are looking
out on Heaven's exit route. If even he excuse is missing, you are already in a
cemetery.
