Quiet recently, I joined a small group of close friends on a trip to Tharparkar, Sindh. The three of us reached Karachi by air and went to Hyderabad by road, where two other group members joined us. The five of us started our journey to Tharparkar via Badin. Our first stop was at Mithi, the district headquarters, where we experienced the first taste of hospitality by a Hindu friend’s family, who despite being vegetarians had prepared meat for us with various other delicious vegetables. After enjoying the scrumptious meal, we continued our journey onwards to Nangarparkar. On our way to Nangarparkar we stopped at the Marvi well in Bhalwa. To our surprise, the road from Mithi to Nangarparkar was in a quite good condition. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] The road from Mithi to Nangarparkar was in a quite good condition.[/caption] The Culture Department under the Government of Sindh has renovated the Marvi well. To facilitate the tourists, a picnic point has also been created, where we enjoyed a cup of tea. There, I strongly felt there was a need for environmental protection initiatives because the surrounding view of the historical site was extremely unpleasant due to pollution. I believe the Sindh Government and the civil society organisations (CSOs) working in the area should focus on environmental protection and creating awareness. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] I believe the Sindh Government and the civil society organisations (CSOs) working in the area should focus on environmental protection and creating awareness.[/caption] [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] I strongly felt there was a need for environmental protection initiatives because the surrounding view of the historical site was extremely unpleasant due to pollution[/caption] We reached Nangarparkar late in the evening. Nangar, the short name used by the locals, is a fascinating place with plenty to see and enjoy about the Thari culture and hospitality. The next morning we started our journey to the Saldro temple, a holy place of the Hindu community, where there were a number of Hindus and Muslims as well. The mountains surrounding the Saldro temple were lovely and unique. There were a number of children at the Saldro temple who were begging instead of attending school. This is another matter the government should look into as it is important for residents of this area to obtain their right to education given to them. [caption id="" align="alignnone" width="600"] The next morning we started our journey to the Saldro temple[/caption] On our way back from Saldro, we visited the beautiful Jain temple of the Jain religion. There are no followers of Jain in the area anymore – a reason why the temple was in such a dilapidated condition, but the interior of the temple was striking and the art work snaking up on the walls was exquisitely inimitable. I thought to myself,

“What if this historical site was somewhere in Europe?”

“Tharparkar disproved the fact that poverty gives birth to crime. Poverty is very evident in Tharparkar, more than any other part of the country; yet, the crime rate is almost zero.”

“When there is a will, there is way.”

Doraemon (a Japanese manga anime dubbed in Hindi) is blamed for the corruption of our children’s own language as we continue to speak a mish-mash of Urdu, English and our respective regional languages. Doraemon has risen as the latest target of criticism. This is the time to honour our culture and language and the well-being of our children. It is heart-warming to see that big-shots in the parliament are concerned about the impact of our TV screens on the youngest of their constituents. However, one of their reasons, along with the ensuing public debates, has revealed the entrenched hypocrisy in us. The hypocrisy lies in our belief that Hindi would/will corrupt our children, yet constantly mixing English with Urdu. It lies in objectifying Hindi as threatening to our language but stereotyping Urdu; for example those who are well-spoken in Urdu must not be fluent in English, similarly, they may be old-fashioned. All stereotypes. Therefore, the real question is whether it is mother tongue versus foreign language, or mother tongue versus Hindi? The Zee TV generation (myself included) and their parents know that the arrival of cheap cable showered us with a variety of content on television. This included opportunities to learn English through Western shows as well as pick up Hindi words from Star Plus. Soon, Urdu was on the backburner as Ainaq Wala Jinn fizzled in thin air and children replaced Urdu words with Hindi in their daily speak. The honest answer is that even without Star Plus, Zee TV and now Doraemon, we have pitted Urdu and our regional languages against foreign languages. Parents complain that children are learning Hindi words from Doraemon. But the cartoon is not the only one to corrupt our language. Even 10 years ago, a student in my Urdu class was shocked to learn that ‘sehmat’ is a Hindi word for ‘ittefaaq’ in Urdu. Now over the same 10 years, parents have started using a combination of English and Urdu with their children in the hopes of developing bilingual skills to ensure academic strength.

“Beta, shoes pehen lo!” “Shirt kahan hai?” “Yeh table pe rakh do!”

“May I sit on the silla?” instead of, “May I sit on the chair?”

Once when I was six years old I sneaked out of my grandmother’s house in Lahore’s old Mozang neighbourhood and headed for the nearby Mozang Bazaar, a large market of red-brick shops over a hundred years old. The shops there fascinated me to no end and I was determined to discover kites – my main attraction – of every shape and size. Getting there was no problem as my grandmother’s laane ended in the bazaar itself. Once there though, I lost track of time and my curiosity led me to explore the entire bazaar. At some point I realised I was lost. After wandering around for a while and seeing nothing familiar, I started to cry. A vegetable vendor saw me and asked me what was wrong. On learning I was lost he asked me where I lived and I informed him that I was staying with my grandmother and did not know her address, other than that it was on Temple Road. He asked a passer-by to watch his cart for a while and led me to one shopkeeper after another, asking each if they were familiar with my grandmother. Finally one replied in the affirmative. On the vendor’s request the shopkeeper left the shop to his assistant, took my hand and led me to my grandmother’s house. On the way I saw my mother, aunt and grandmother walking hurriedly in our direction. Several scoldings and many hugs followed. The shopkeeper was thanked. I wish I knew his name and the name of the vendor. It seems important somehow. I wish I could thank them right now. During one of my clinical rotations at medical school in Karachi, a man brought his wife to the emergency room. She had Hepatitis C and suffered acute liver failure. He had taken her to the two major public hospitals in Karachi only to be turned away since he could not afford the charges required in advance for someone needing admission. We were a free teaching hospital but did not have any beds available in the critical care unit where she needed to be. The man started beseeching us for a bed and to save his wife’s life. He told us he was from Waziristan (an impoverished part of the Pashtun tribal belt), had three young children, dug roads (roads are dug for renovation with large pick mattocks in Pakistan) for a living and could not afford to take her anywhere else. Our medical director gave this some thought and after some discussion beds were moved around in the intensive care unit (a large single room with movable partitions) till ultimately room for another bed was created. The man’s wife died that night but both, the plight of the couple as well as what we had done in attempting to help them is as clear and emotionally raw in my mind as it was that day. For two years, before I moved to America, I worked at a free mental health clinic operated by the Pakistan Association of Mental Health. Never before or since then have I worked with a team possessing more compassion and dedication to help those afflicted with mental illness. The housekeeping staff included a Christian and a Hindu. For the last six months we had lunch together almost every working day, something that I will always cherish. The sense of shared purpose – helping people with mental illness who could not afford treatment – brought us all together in more ways than one. In those lunch hours, there was no Muslim, Shia, Sunni, Hindu, Christian, Punjabi, Sindhi, Mohajir, Baloch or Pashtun in the room. We were a team, doing something we passionately believed in for people that we deeply cared for. I have been a frequent critic of Pakistan’s leadership and aspects of her society and will continue to be. I believe however, that criticism alone is not going to fix anything. The singular stance of shaming, that many well-meaning writers and social activists have adopted, is achieving next to nothing. There is enough guilt and shame rampant in Pakistani society as it is. Both these emotions serve an important psychological function in making one more empathic and unlikely to be malicious to others, but in excess they merely entrench received beliefs and prejudices as people tend to escape them by seeking even more absolute answers to life. There has also been a recent surge of blogs and articles questioning the very existence of Pakistan and the wisdom of its creation. There is talk of a ‘united India’ that might have been or that one day could be. I respect the well-meaning intentions of such writers but I would remind them that there never was such a thing as a united India. Never in the history of the subcontinent has there been a unified or even loosely allied collection of peoples that identified as one. The closest thing to such an entity was under the yoke of colonialism. I have no doubt about the tremendous good that Pakistan and Pakistanis are capable of. I am aware that I experienced Pakistan as a member of the religious and ethnic majority – a Punjabi Sunni Muslim – from a middle class family, which is not the same reality that a religious or ethnic minority experiences. Yet, I also know that we are capable of transcending the divisions we have inherited and which have been imposed upon us. I have lived this, witnessed it and benefited from it. A nation can have both a healthy amount of pride as well as the ability to accept flaws and criticism. Allowing only one to the complete exclusion of the other only widens the gates to division, strife and violence under the tutelage of demagogues. Pakistan needs something to unify it. Something that everyone can agree on cherishing, protecting and developing. Enforced religiosity, jingoistic nationalism and military rule are not the answers and never will be. They in fact have been the chief instruments of destruction in the hands of our irredeemably corrupt and incompetent leadership. Perhaps two things can suffice if we recognise how precious they are and how inextricably connected with them we are: Pakistan and Pakistanis. We can and must learn to care more about each other and the country we so fervently profess to adore. Strip away the labels with which we alienate each other. Use code and creed to heal and reconcile, not to alienate and diminish. Tolerate differences, accept diversity of belief and opinion. Transmute these leaden grudges and antagonism into the gold of brotherhood we all believed in once. Once, when we were children. Once, when we had not yet been taught to hate. Once, when we were taught to love. Pakistan, I was lost and you found me. I have felt your pain and been taught by you that it can be mitigated. I can no more deny your presence in me than I can deny my own presence. I am off you, from you, and no matter where I am, inseparable from you.

Edmonton like many other metropolitan cities is an interesting blend of people of various nationalities, race, religion and creed. Walk around in the neighbourhood or enjoy the lazy summer sunshine in a park and you will be struck with a variety of people and languages you hear. The same exotic sampling of populations is present in schools, which gives children a wonderful opportunity to not only mingle or learn about various cultures but also to accept their differences and forge friendships out of their own communities at a very young age. It was a special day for the children of a small elementary school in Edmonton. They had been preparing for the event for quite some time and now it was time to appreciate their efforts and hard work. The event was a Cultural Festival organised by the local school to celebrate its multicultural and diverse community. The students made the decorations for the festival themselves. As a part of their Social Studies curriculum, teachers had been discussing their native countries, religion and languages. Thus, they encouraged their students to communicate in their native language at home rather than in English. The participants were asked to attend the event dressed in their traditional clothes and bring along their native cuisine to be sampled by others. Considering there are limited opportunities for him to showcase his native clothes in front of his school friends, my son was quite animated that day as he carefully chose a white kurta, a black vest and a matching cap that was embroidered with gold threads and embellished with small mirrors. The school grounds were adorned with giant marquees with each continent having its own booth manned by volunteer parents and students and decked up with student made garlands, flags and streamers. The Asian marquee had a Nepalese, Indian and Pakistan booth. We headed for the Pakistani booth and greeted our fellow countrymen with delight. Young boys were smartly dressed in kurtas, ladies in vibrant hues; everyone was flaunting our culture and it made me rather nostalgic about my life earlier when I lived in Pakistan. The aroma of chicken biryani wafted through the booth. Curious visitors kept coming to sample the delicacies; the biryani proved to be a hit and had vanished in no time. Amidst tending to the crowds of samplers, we exchanged pleasantries with one another and started conversations by asking,

 “Ap log kahan sa hain?” Where are you all from?

He replied, “It’s a kurta shalwar.” “Yeah, but what are you dressed up as?” She probed again.

“What is he dressed up as?” “What do you mean?” I asked.

“My son is dressed in our province’s traditional clothes, and those kids over there are in another province’s folk clothes; what is your son wearing?”

“He is just dressed as a Pakistani; not as Sindhi, Punjabi, Pakhtun or Balochi – or any other.”

“Nationalism, ideology based on the premise that the individual’s loyalty and devotion to the nation-state surpass other individual or group interests.”

There are times when one must write. The alternative is to burst – which would be messy. Because they came today, the rellies (relatives), while I was playing Scrabble on Facebook in a pleasant state of mindlessness. Have you ever played Scrabble? It can be exciting but right then the game was slow. I had just played ‘qi’ which, short as it is, often gets well over 30 points but this time I only got 22. Then my opponent somewhere in Australia played ‘hick’ which got him 18. Obviously he wasn’t having a good day either. Then I played ‘koi’ and he played – ackackack – no, that wasn’t his word; it was the rellies entering the door and that’s what they sounded like. Relatives are fun. Many of them. But this is a branch of the family in which each individual talks at the same time as the other; very loud, very fast, and very, very much. It’s fair to indulge in a spot of onomatopoeia to say that the general effect of any contact is the equivalent of an attack by an ‘ackack’ gun. This is also a branch of the family in which each person considers it a point of honour to prove that she (we’re talking about the shes now) is iller than anyone else in existence, ever, before or ever again till the end of time. I’m not sure if ‘iller’ is even a word, but you can judge the residual effects, they linger for a while; the effects that is – the rellies didn’t. Not beyond 56.5 long minutes. It could’ve been more, but for the grace of God. So they came in and settled down. After the initial greetings were over it had to be established who was worse off than the other, health wise, since they last met (a month ago). They all ‘have sugar’ so that was a no brainer, but one of them had an edge over the other with levels of 400 as opposed to 350. The third however won the day by describing the time she almost died when her levels dropped to 30 or something. She had obviously used the month to obtain an unfair advantage, I thought. The second bout consisted of a comparison of the state of individual ‘godas’ and ‘gittas’, one each on this leg, one each on that, three persons, so six godas and six gittas in all which makes 12. You might not know what godas and gittas are if you’re a Karachiite. I didn’t until I moved to Lahore, since when, to quote Mr Bennett when speaking of his wife’s nerves, I have developed the utmost respect for them because they have been my constant companions for the past 10 years and I have learnt not to bring them up, in conversation I mean, or suffer the consequences. I didn’t bring them up now either. With this lot it’s just a natural progression from salam to sugar to goda gittas. And I still haven’t explained what goda gittas are. Everyone has godas and gittas. They’re always mentioned together without the ‘and’, and always in capitals, which illustrates the reverence they command. It’s what knees and ankles are called in Punjabi, so we all have them. But the goda gittas of people in Lahore have a life of their own. They’re swollen, they’re red, they’re more painful than anyone else’s, and they shriek if they don’t get parathas. Okay, just kidding, but its close. It’s why Lahoris can’t walk. It’s why they don’t walk. It’s why five separate doctors told them not to walk, although it’s a moot point; which came first – the pain or the not walking. I have my suspicions but I try to keep them to myself. So anyway, sugar covered, goda gittas exposed and it having been established that each individual was worse off than any person living, now or before or ever again, and certainly drastically worse than any person in the room, the rellies settled down happily to not being able to eat any of the kebabs, cakes, samosas and cookies that had been served. Except this one time. It’s been a couple of hours since they left but I can’t bring myself to play Scrabble just yet, although I spot an ‘aargh’ on my stand but I don’t think that’s a word; though, it really should be.

It was Friday afternoon and I was holed up in my room, surfing through the internet when my nine-year-old sister entered. She had just gotten back home from school so she was still wearing her school uniform. She’s currently in the fourth grade at a well-known school. As I asked her about her day, she started telling me about her performance in a Sindhi class test. She said that the day before the Sindhi test, she was really exhausted and didn’t feel like studying for it. She had aced it anyway. But that wasn’t the point, I asked,

“How can you not prepare for a test? You’ll fail if you don’t.” “Don’t worry, Ada (brother), the test is not that important. They’re never included in our overall performance.” She replied. “What do you mean they aren’t included? They don’t include class tests? They only consider mid-terms and final examinations?”

“Ada, class tests matter in other subjects, but not for Sindhi. We don’t have mid-terms or final exams for Sindhi which is why they’re never considered in our overall performance.”

Muslims in the US and across the globe are condemning, in the strongest possible words, the US President-Elect Trump, for his anti-Islam rhetoric during the election campaign. And now that the British and American people have made the seemingly impossible possible, in the form of Brexit and Trump’s victory respectively, Muslims have every reason to be worried about a substantial increase in Islamophobia in the West. But while the concern for our Muslim brethren living abroad is completely legitimate, let us introspect and have an objective, impartial discussion about Pakistan’s own covert affair with bigotry. One of the reasons Pakistan was founded was for the Muslims to show the Hindus of India how they were supposed to treat the minority communities. In Pakistan, the Hindus, Christians, Sikhs and other marginalised groups would live side by side with the Muslims as equals. How we have failed in that pledge! A cursory glance at the treatment of our fellow countrymen, who have beliefs different from us, would suffice to demonstrate the layers of discrimination that unfortunately exist in the land of the pure. What is more shocking is that this unconscious prejudice has provincial and sectarian dimensions to it as well, meaning that even Muslim Pakistanis are not immune from such intolerant tendencies. Let us begin with the brand of racism that non-Muslims face in the Islamic Republic. If we see the status of Christians, we know very well that derogatory term used when referring to a Christian. They have been relegated to cleaning duties, working as sweepers in our homes, offices, and on the streets. Though our government has allotted a quota for the Christian community in educational institutions and for jobs, it has clearly not been enough. Just ask yourself, when was the last time you met a well-to-do Christian doctor, engineer or bureaucrat in Pakistan? The picture of the young boy, probably a university student, getting his celebratory picture taken at the scene of a mob attack, which was vandalised homes in Youhanabad, a Christian neighbourhood in Lahore, is indicative of the xenophobic mind-set some people have in our nation. Now let’s talk about the Hindus. Jinnah went out of his way to have a constituent assembly that represented the diversity of the country. That is why Jogendra Nath Mandal, a Hindu who chose to stay in Pakistan, was elected as the first Chairman of the Assembly. It is saddening to note that, disillusioned by the theological course Pakistani politics was taking, Mandal decided to leave Pakistan and relocate to India. The same practice was repeated in recent years, when scores of Sindhi Hindus, living in Pakistan for generations, left for India, because our state failed to protect them against the scourge of forced conversions. Muslims hardly ever interact with Hindus in Pakistan, let alone befriend them. As the majority, it was our collective responsibility to make them feel safe and secure. Instead, we maintained silence whenever such incidents occur, thereby validating our inner dislike for them. As pointed out, even Muslims face prejudice in Pakistan, unless of course you are a Sunni – the Pakistani equivalents of Caucasians in America. Take, for example, the plight of the Shia community. On social media, in books, in educational institutions, and even in mosques, our Shia brethren are ridiculed, denounced as ‘kafirs’ and verbally abused. What right does anyone have to label another kafir? We lie, cheat, womanise and accept bribes, but the moment it comes to calling Shias or Ismailis kafirs, suddenly we ‘find our faith’ and transform into the most zealous devotees of Islam. Allah is the Creator of everything in this universe; surely we can entrust Him to determine better who is or isn’t a Muslim. Having discussed our peoples’ racist attitudes from a religious context, let’s turn our attention to the provincial aspect of this intolerance. Ask the average Pakhtun, Sindhi, or Baloch what he thinks about Punjabis, and most likely you will receive an answer loaded with curses and utter loathing. Agreed, the Punjabi establishment – military, politicians and the bureaucracy – has wrongly maintained unchecked control over national resources at the expense of other provinces, but does that in turn justify such hatred against the entire population of Punjab? This is the very definition of racism. A somewhat similar situation exists in relation to the status of Muhajirs in Sindh. Muhajirs have been treated with contempt and disdain by the indigenous Sindhis, who think the Muhajirs – who left everything to come to Pakistan – are destroying their culture. All this, taken as whole, shows that rather than calling foul at the west for its discriminatory attitude towards Muslims, it is high time that we in Pakistan realise and stop our own bigoted failings, by treating our minorities equally, with the respect that they worthy of as our fellow Pakistanis. [poll id="707"]

The thorny issue of “Pakistan’s regional languages face looming extinction” has been projected to the forefront in an AFP report carried, among others, by The Express Tribune and Dawn.

‘“There is not a single newspaper or magazine published in Punjabi for the 60 million-plus Punjabi speakers,” wrote journalist Abbas Zaidi in an essay, despite it being the language of the nationally revered Sufi poet Bulleh Shah and the native-tongue of Prime Minister Nawaz Sharif.’

“… Advance and do not fear the thorns in the path, for they draw only corrupt blood.”

My twins are almost three-years-old and they can’t speak Urdu, my ‘mother tongue’. They hear it being spoken around the house, and occasionally I may try to converse with them in Urdu but truth be told, it doesn’t come naturally. As first-time parents, we did get the infamous lecture that we should only speak to our children in Urdu or else they will never be able to speak the language. People would say,

“Don’t worry, they will learn English at school but you must speak to them in Urdu.”

“If you talk to a man in a language he understands, that goes to his head. If you talk to him in his language, that goes to his heart.”

 “Only change is permanent.”

I am one of those lucky few who got to spend her childhood with her grandparents. My grandfather would tell me stories of the days of Partition. He was quite young at the time, but seemed to remember every single detail about how everyone in his village would prepare for the people coming to live in Sindh from across the border. He told me how the women would prepare and bring food to the railway platforms, and how some people would even vacate their homes to welcome the refugees. I would often ask him why they had to do this, and he always said,

“Because this is what Sindh is all about! We are Sindhis, and we always accommodate and love anyone who comes to us. They become our family.”

“Eww... Sindhi sounds gross!” “We don’t understand your language.”

“But it is your language too! You belong here. Sindhi is your language, just as much as Urdu.”

Mohammad Khalid Akhtar (1920-2002) was one of the greatest, albeit marginalised and neglected, Urdu satirists of the 20^th century. Despite hailing from Bahawalpur, he broke the monopoly of the so-called ‘Urdu-wallahs’ over literature and wrote some memorable novels, short-stories and sketches to join the immortal writers of Urdu literature. Hence, the short and sharp extract on the New Year presented below, taken from his longer, satirical Scientific Primer: For Slightly Older Adults, which forms part of his 1968 Adamjee Prize-winning essay collection ‘Khoya Hua Ufaq’ (The Lost Horizon), is not only the perfect way to celebrate the arrival of yet another New Year, but also ring in the centennial of this great writer. Though disguised as a ‘scientific primer’ for ‘slightly older adults’, it has a thinly-disguised parody of the writer himself (as a lazy good-for-nothing), as well as a very realistic reflection on the futility of New Year’s resolutions. Towards the end of these observations, Akhtar betrays his class consciousness as well when he satirises the contrasting manners of celebration of the new year by the elite and the wretched of the earth; as well as a tongue-in-cheek ‘question’ for students at the end, which is vintage Akhtar. [caption id="attachment_92544" align="alignnone" width="285"] Photo: Sang-e-Meel Publications, Lahore[/caption] This original translation of Akhtar’s satire, along-with my own dramatic rendition of his sparkling prose in the original Urdu, is presented here in the hope that it will ensnare more readers into the beguiling net of Akhtar’s lucid style, as we begin the celebrations of Akhtar’s centennial year.

“Aha, Hola, the new year has arrived. This year has arrived carrying new joys and new hopes in its wake. Every new year is blessed and happy; and every past year is cursed and bad. So many murders, earthquakes and famines occur in every past year that they cannot be even thought about. The omens of the advent of the latest new year have proved to be very blessed. In the very first week of the year, the news arrived that a few rebel riflemen targeted the president of Panama José Remón. When this incident occurred, the deceased along-with a few respectable ladies was watching a horse race. Before being elected the president, his honour was the beloved Chief of Police of Panama and had indeed become president on the basis of the police. The riflemen fired dhayen dhayen six to seven times and escaped in a car after making mincemeat of the colonel in addition to two to three ladies. Uncle Sam is of the opinion that all this is the deed of the communists, so I also have the same opinion, since I am his obedient nephew.

Every new year on the first day, people draw up new promises and new plans; these plans and promises are made for breaking them. Children! You must have made similar promises to yourselves. For example, that you will do your school work yourselves instead of your elder brother doing it; you will become a very good boy; you will always speak the truth, whether your father blow your testicle beating you up, etc, etc. Children! Do not worry even if you have not fulfilled a single of these promises; these promises are indeed made in order that they be broken.

Come, today I will tell you the story of a man who is naturally very lazy. At the start of every new year, this man promises with a true heart that now he will turn a new page of his life; he will rise early in the morning and with a stick in hand go strolling to the garden; he will fill his weak lungs completely with the morning breeze; and will smell every flower by bringing it near his nose; he will listen to the tongues of melodious birds; and will whistle too like a bird. He will become such a dutiful and obedient boy that the parents of other boys will present him as an example before their sons. He will never smoke cigarettes and the attempts of his friends to make him smoke will not the least affect him. He will complete at least one novel, ten scholarly articles and fifteen short stories in a year (This man considers himself to be a writer as well).

Now children! Consider it as the truth that this lazy man fulfilled not even one of his promises. He did not see a single morning of this year. He did not see a single morning of this year. He did not even go strolling in the garden; because he could not buy a stick. His parents are really complaining about him and present the sons of other parents as an example before him. Such is the state of writing that except the first two pages of the novel, he has not written a single sentence, although the editor is his friend, he publishes everything of his. This lazy and idle man smokes unlimited cigarettes everyday lying along the bank of a stream in the sunshine and lets the invaluable moments of life go waste; learn a lesson from this man.          

Rich people welcome the new year with great pomp and ceremony. Their photographs are published in our fashion magazines. Wearing dinner suits these great people gather in some grand hotel and dance with the pretty wives of other rich men there. When the first day of the new year dawns at 12, they call out Happy New Year to it with a cup of sparkling Scotch. This is indeed the true manner of celebrating the arrival of the new year. Those thousands of people who welcome the new year trembling in the cold on the stony beds of the footpaths insult the new year; that is why the new year becomes unhappy with them. For these people, actually the new year does not even dawn. Children! Perhaps even this year will not dawn for them. Do not ever become poor!

Questions: 2. Why is the new year blessed. What is the true and proper way of celebrating it? Write after looking at the pictures in ‘Mirror’ and ‘Spectator.’”