Indianization of story


  • Indianisation of our country’s legal system is need of the hour, says CJI Ramana
  • CJI N V Ramana calls for ‘Indianisation’ of country’s legal system
  • India and indianization
  • India and Indianization 3. India and Indianization India, just as China, is not a country as much as a world unto itself. The first human settlements here go back at least 9, years; in the valley of the Indus River, the first organized states were established some 5, years ago. India has always surprised visitors with the enormous size of its population. There are more than two thousand separate ethnic groups here, often with their own language and customs.

    In addition, India is the origin of two world religions, Hinduism and Buddhism, and of smaller religions too, such as Jainism and Sikhism. By , it is estimated that India will overtake China as the country with the largest population in the world. From the third century BCE, China called itself an empire and although various dynasties replaced one another, it is possible to tell the history of China as a story of one specific political entity.

    In the case of India, there is no single political subject about which a story can be told. Instead, various states and empires have replaced each other in the course of the millennia.

    These different units have been independent of each other, often at war with each other, although there also have been periods when most, or at least much, of the subcontinent has been united. Today India is a country, but throughout most of its history, it would best be described as an international system.

    At the same time, it was an international system which was held together by a strong sense of shared identity — based above all on Hindu practices and beliefs. Another similarity with China is that India constantly has been menaced by invasions. The invaders have typically swept down from the northwest, across the mountain passes of what today are Afghanistan and Pakistan. The reason for the invasions was always the same: the extraordinary wealth of the Indian subcontinent.

    In India, everything grew in great abundance and in the fertile rice fields of the south, it was possible to gather two, sometimes three, harvests per year. The surplus which the agriculture produced paid for an elaborate hierarchy of social classes and for powerful states with rulers famous for their ostentatious displays of wealth.

    In the Classical period — roughly during the first millennium CE — India must have been the richest country in the world. In India, it was possible to find whatever one wanted and this was why everyone tried to get here. And those who had nothing to sell, like the invading armies coming from the northwest, took what they wanted by force.

    The Mughals were one of these invaders. During the following three hundred years, they were to rule next to all of the subcontinent. The Mughals were Muslims and their culture was to have a profound impact on Indian society.

    Yet Hindu traditions remained strong. Even the most powerful of foreign conquerors had to make compromises with Indian ways of life, and eventually, they blended in with the traditional culture.

    In addition, India has exercised a powerful influence over the rest of Asia, over Southeast Asia in particular. Starting in the first centuries CE, Indian cultural practices, and ideas regarding society and religious beliefs were disseminated all around the Indian Ocean, leading to new cultural combinations.

    The influence of Indian culture on non-Indians remains strong to this day — although the impact now is felt on a worldwide scale. Continue on to ….

    How much abundance may burst out of a small piece of text, describing a snippet of life? The classic short story, at its best, showcases what might happen in a single segment, at a certain interval. Right before Christmas Eve, Della and Jim, a young couple who live in happiness and in poor, wish to make each other happy with a gift for the holidays.

    Well, the road to hell is paved with good intentions, the wise used to say; and in this small, humane, moving story by O. Henry — one of the masters who shaped the genre of the modern short story — everything begins with simply one Dollar and eighty-seven cents.

    What could be the wingspan of a short tale? Perhaps love; missed opportunity; then, love. The road to the short story goes through O. That was all. And sixty cents of it was in pennies. Three times Della counted it. One dollar and eighty-seven cents. And the next day would be Christmas. There was clearly nothing to do but flop down on the shabby little couch and howl.

    So Della did it. Which instigates the moral reflection that life is made up of sobs, sniffles, and smiles, with sniffles predominating. While the mistress of the home is gradually subsiding from the first stage to the second, take a look at the home. It did not exactly beggar description, but it certainly had that word on the lookout for the mendicancy squad. In the vestibule below was a letter-box into which no letter would go, and an electric button from which no mortal finger could coax a ring.

    James Dillingham Young. But whenever Mr. James Dillingham Young, already introduced to you as Della. Which is all very good. Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag.

    She stood by the window and looked out dully at a grey cat walking a grey fence in a grey backyard. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling—something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honour of being owned by Jim.

    There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks.

    Della, being slender, had mastered the art. Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its colour within twenty seconds.

    Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length. Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride.

    Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy. It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet. On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat.

    With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street. Hair Goods of All Kinds. Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation—as all good things should do.

    It was even worthy of The Watch. It was like him. Quietness and value—the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents. With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company.

    Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain. When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love.

    Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends—a mammoth task. Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy. She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically. But what could I do—oh! Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered. Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment.

    He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two—and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves. Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail.

    His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her. It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for.

    He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face. Della wriggled off the table and went for him. I just had to do it.

    My hair grows awfully fast. Be good to me, for it went for you. Shall I put the chops on, Jim? He enfolded his Della. For ten seconds let us regard with discreet scrutiny some inconsequential object in the other direction.

    Eight dollars a week or a million a year—what is the difference? A mathematician or a wit would give you the wrong answer. The magi brought valuable gifts, but that was not among them.

    This dark assertion will be illuminated later on. Jim drew a package from his overcoat pocket and threw it upon the table. And then an ecstatic scream of joy; and then, alas! For there lay The Combs—the set of combs, side and back, that Della had worshipped long in a Broadway window. Beautiful combs, pure tortoise shell, with jewelled rims—just the shade to wear in the beautiful vanished hair.

    They were expensive combs, she knew, and her heart had simply craved and yearned over them without the least hope of possession. And now, they were hers, but the tresses that should have adorned the coveted adornments were gone.

    She held it out to him eagerly upon her open palm. The dull precious metal seemed to flash with a reflection of her bright and ardent spirit. I hunted all over town to find it.

    Give me your watch. I want to see how it looks on it. I sold the watch to get the money to buy your combs. And now suppose you put the chops on. They invented the art of giving Christmas presents. Being wise, their gifts were no doubt wise ones, possibly bearing the privilege of exchange in case of duplication.

    Indianisation of our country’s legal system is need of the hour, says CJI Ramana

    In the case of India, there is no single political subject about which a story can be told. Instead, various states and empires have replaced each other in the course of the millennia. These different units have been independent of each other, often at war with each other, although there also have been periods when most, or at least much, of the subcontinent has been united.

    Today India is a country, but throughout most of its history, it would best be described as an international system. At the same time, it was an international system which was held together by a strong sense of shared identity — based above all on Hindu practices and beliefs. Another similarity with China is that India constantly has been menaced by invasions.

    The invaders have typically swept down from the northwest, across the mountain passes of what today are Afghanistan and Pakistan. The reason for the invasions was always the same: the extraordinary wealth of the Indian subcontinent. In India, everything grew in great abundance and in the fertile rice fields of the south, it was possible to gather two, sometimes three, harvests per year. The surplus which the agriculture produced paid for an elaborate hierarchy of social classes and for powerful states with rulers famous for their ostentatious displays of wealth.

    In the Classical period — roughly during the first millennium CE — India must have been the richest country in the world. In India, it was possible to find whatever one wanted and this was why everyone tried to get here.

    CJI N V Ramana calls for ‘Indianisation’ of country’s legal system

    And those who had nothing to sell, like the invading armies coming from the northwest, took what they wanted by force. The Mughals were one of these invaders. During the following three hundred years, they were to rule next to all of the subcontinent.

    Della finished her cry and attended to her cheeks with the powder rag. She stood by the window and looked out dully at a grey cat walking a grey fence in a grey backyard. She had been saving every penny she could for months, with this result. Expenses had been greater than she had calculated. They always are. Her Jim. Many a happy hour she had spent planning for something nice for him. Something fine and rare and sterling—something just a little bit near to being worthy of the honour of being owned by Jim.

    There was a pier-glass between the windows of the room. A very thin and very agile person may, by observing his reflection in a rapid sequence of longitudinal strips, obtain a fairly accurate conception of his looks. Della, being slender, had mastered the art.

    Suddenly she whirled from the window and stood before the glass. Her eyes were shining brilliantly, but her face had lost its colour within twenty seconds. Rapidly she pulled down her hair and let it fall to its full length. Now, there were two possessions of the James Dillingham Youngs in which they both took a mighty pride. Had King Solomon been the janitor, with all his treasures piled up in the basement, Jim would have pulled out his watch every time he passed, just to see him pluck at his beard from envy.

    It reached below her knee and made itself almost a garment for her. And then she did it up again nervously and quickly. Once she faltered for a minute and stood still while a tear or two splashed on the worn red carpet. On went her old brown jacket; on went her old brown hat. With a whirl of skirts and with the brilliant sparkle still in her eyes, she fluttered out the door and down the stairs to the street.

    Hair Goods of All Kinds. Oh, and the next two hours tripped by on rosy wings. Forget the hashed metaphor. She found it at last. It surely had been made for Jim and no one else. There was no other like it in any of the stores, and she had turned all of them inside out. It was a platinum fob chain simple and chaste in design, properly proclaiming its value by substance alone and not by meretricious ornamentation—as all good things should do.

    It was even worthy of The Watch. It was like him. Quietness and value—the description applied to both. Twenty-one dollars they took from her for it, and she hurried home with the 87 cents.

    With that chain on his watch Jim might be properly anxious about the time in any company. Grand as the watch was, he sometimes looked at it on the sly on account of the old leather strap that he used in place of a chain.

    When Della reached home her intoxication gave way a little to prudence and reason. She got out her curling irons and lighted the gas and went to work repairing the ravages made by generosity added to love. Which is always a tremendous task, dear friends—a mammoth task. Within forty minutes her head was covered with tiny, close-lying curls that made her look wonderfully like a truant schoolboy.

    She looked at her reflection in the mirror long, carefully, and critically. But what could I do—oh! Jim was never late. Della doubled the fob chain in her hand and sat on the corner of the table near the door that he always entered.

    Then she heard his step on the stair away down on the first flight, and she turned white for just a moment. He looked thin and very serious. Poor fellow, he was only twenty-two—and to be burdened with a family! He needed a new overcoat and he was without gloves. Jim stopped inside the door, as immovable as a setter at the scent of quail. His eyes were fixed upon Della, and there was an expression in them that she could not read, and it terrified her.

    It was not anger, nor surprise, nor disapproval, nor horror, nor any of the sentiments that she had been prepared for.

    India and indianization

    He simply stared at her fixedly with that peculiar expression on his face. Della wriggled off the table and went for him. I just had to do it.


    thoughts on “Indianization of story

    • 16.09.2021 at 08:06
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      Reply
    • 20.09.2021 at 14:39
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      Reply
    • 21.09.2021 at 05:42
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      Reply
    • 22.09.2021 at 14:45
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      Bravo, what necessary phrase..., a magnificent idea

      Reply

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