The Dividing Line

A speech that launched four million views,  Where ‘likes’ were strewn copiously, As a bed of  leaves after a storm; When the world woke up to listen, To the clarion call at the Oxford Union; The call for action and reparations. In elation, the Indian media rose up To applaud this Voice and his skill, To take on the British, while questioning The wisdom of their indescribable crimes. The majority of Indians, spoke in one voice, The voice of the magnanimous Nation! Copyright - Sheeba Thattil - 2015 http://www.amazon.com/gp/product/0692581383

And yet as Judy Brady says in " Why I Want a Wife"-- "My God, who wouldn't want a wife?"-In India "…I want a wife who will take care of my physical needs.I want a wife who will keep my house clean...I want a wife who cooks the meals, a wife who is a good cook.I want a wife who will plan the menus,do the necessary grocery shopping, prepare the meals, serve them pleasantly,and then do the cleaning up...  ….. I want a wife who is sensitive to my sexual needs, a wife who makes love passionately and eagerly when I feel like it, a wife who makes sure that I am satisfied. And, of course, I want a wife who will not demand sexual attention when I am not in the mood for it. I want a wife who assumes the complete responsibility for birth control, because I do not want more children. I want a wife who will remain sexually faithful to me so that I do not have to clutter up my intellectual life with jealousies. And I want a wife who understands that my sexual

WOLF'S RUN is one of the finest books in English Literature. The theme of the book is historical yet contemporary. The brutal violence of 1969, perpetrated by the Ku Klux Klan is not one which can be confined to the limited framework of the 1960's but transcends time and place to evolve into the 21st century, with the new name tag--"terrorist organizations." The book signals change and hope for all the communities and nations in the world, if they would abolish hatred and work to unite into a single entity, based on tolerance and love. Louis Hillary Park's debut novel WOLF'S RUN should unquestionably be listed for the Booker Prize.

NEGLIGENCE - The price you would pay for your own negligence.    Robert Gregory Browne's "NEGLIGENCE" is like boarding a long distance bullet train. The events move at blinding speed. An absolute identification with the characters makes you encounter the thrill of adventure and mystery. The author explores and exposes the misadventure, death and murder of teenagers in an educational Academy. The steady degeneration of communication within families and neglect of children are cited as some of the root causes. After reading "NEGLIGENCE" you would be forced to embark on another journey, a slow one this time. An introspective journey into your own mind, analyzing what you did do/what you did not do /what you could have done /what you can do for your children. It's never too late to save your child from a disaster! It's more importantly a book for teenagers who throw caution to the winds and devastate their lives. http://www.amazon.com/Negligenc

"This House believes that Britain owes reparations to its former colonies ". "A speech that launched four million views,unleashing affirmative thoughts, in the minds of friend and foe;where ‘likes’ were strewn copiously, as leaves after a storm;when the world woke up to listen, to the clarion call at Oxford; the call for action and reparations." The speech went viral;the Indian social media rose up to applaud Dr. Tharoor and his skill to take on the British, while questioning the wisdom of their indescribable crimes.On hearing this speech, the majority of Indians spoke in a single voice, the voice of a magnanimous Nation! The motion for which he argued in the affirmative was: “This house believes Britain owes reparations to her former colonies.” Each of the statements he made was compelling. His argument was coated in wit. His rhetoric unsurpassed. With his uncommon gift of eloquence he crushed claims that colonialism was a blessing in disguise

An amazing story, Kanishk Tharoor’s 'Elephant at Sea' is the journey of an elephant - a gift for the princess of Morocco - from Kozhikode, Kerala to Rabat in Morocco. As the story advances, it transforms into a journey through the psyche of the elephant. It deals with the bigger issue, of relocation of the animal, from its natural habitat and its country; of loneliness, its love for water and the dream of lowering itself into mud at the end of the day. Nevertheless the animal adapts to its new environment, without protest. The consciousness of the loss of individuality does not daunt the elephant, which surrenders readily and ambitiously to a new lifestyle and a new identity. The love of water translates into a bigger dream - the mahout’s dream. The elephant on seeing its reflection in the pond yearns for the sea. Towards the end of the story, the mahout whispers to the elephant, to stop dreaming of home or of him… “dream of the sea, my life, dream of the sea”. When th

Bread and bombs Scale down with force Competing in vain Through Eastern skies; Strange companions Partners in crime On diverse missions Together in flight. The baskets are filled With bread and bombs The will to live Yet lingers on; Swept by the current The baskets float Through oceans of hate To distant shores. Copyright :2001 Sheeba Thattil.

It was caning day at school. We stood in neat rows in the school hall awaiting our turn. My report card carried the red mark. I was sure to be a victim of assault. The principal stood there flourishing the cane in her hand like a banner in a protest march. Trembling from head to foot, we walked one by one up to the stage. Panic seized me as the dreaded moment arrived. It rained down on me like strokes of lightening from a darkened sky. As the blows came down I vowed that a day would come ……… I met her thirty years later and was surprised to see that she had not relinquished her cane. She still held it in her hand, but a thicker one this time. Delicately balancing her whole body on it she moved towards me. She stared at me as if into nowhere…not recognizing, not realizing. I stood there for a moment,…. then walked away slowly…I turned back to have one last glimpse of her…She stood unmoving holding her walking stick irresolutely in her frail hand, looking beyond me into the emptiness

I have raced through life, always walking forward but thinking backward of the day, when I came into a world which was made up of trees with lavender blossoms, orange trees which shed their fruit, the glowing redness of the apples and the plums in their luxurious ripeness, the blue valleys with the cool breeze blowing on my face and the pleasant sunshine. I stood near the window looking out into the garden with pride. I was safe inside a shell, blissfully unaware that it would break open any moment. Life has changed over the years .The shell broke open leaving me cold and exposed in a world that threatened my very existence. I crawled out of my shell but the predators were all around-hovering at a distance. Sensing the danger I decided to crawl back into the safety of my shell. But soon realized that the shell was no more. Now it is freezing. I search for warmth that I may never find.

My dearest child. There is none in this world whom I love as much as you. For you are not of this world. My precious gift. . . . I treasure you in my heart. Your joys were mine while we lived through it. Now your sorrows are mine too…. only mine. I find strength in you….your love unconditional…..your affection eternal. When you look up at my face and smile your toothless smile, I see in you another face……the face of the one, who gifted me you. My dearest child... my love….

Mr. Bullmore, the tall, hefty, formidable man was the Proprietor, Principal and Teacher of the School. 'Bullmore's School' was always the 'first and best' when it came to a choice of schools. My first day at school was filled with sweets, toys and nursery rhymes. It was a day of colour, a day of new found love. Mrs. Bullmore was always there to keep the show going with her affected, maternal ways. The initial excitement wore off as the days passed. I was gradually initiated into the world of alphabets and numbers. My tiny hands fondly held the black slate on which the strange markings appeared and disappeared. I was fascinated beyond measure with my first slate, so fragile yet strong. This 'Black Beauty' was my treasure, my 'First Love'. I had committed myself to something greater than my little hands could contain. It was to last a life- time and there was no turning back……..

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