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" About my father.....
My father was a very simple person. When I was small I never understood why he is so simple actually I disliked it. He use to go to office and return late and have dinner with us. I use to think he never stood for me on anything. But he was the person who uses to take me to the market for Diwali shopping. He uses to give me 20 Rs to eat at school when he had only 30. He tried to fulfill all my wishes in his range. He uses to take me on his bicycle after school tuition and walk while making me sit on bicycle. He uses to scare away lizards for me. He uses to play with me. He was the one who told me to work hard when I failed. He never scolded me for studies but only when I killed an insect intentionally. He was the one who taught me physics and mathematics.
Once he found a wounded parrot on the road and he bought him home. He brought medicine for him and applied it on his wounds. Later on a cat took that parrot and he ran after her but the parrot died. He did not had proper food for three four days.
He spent each and every penny of his earning for our happiness and never forgot to return any pending amount. He use to talk to us but very less and joke sometimes. His style was very different, we use to tell him to use dye or color on his hairs but he always refused. And when he smiled and laughed he doesn’t stop. For every question he had one answer:-“TRUST GOD HE WILL DO EVERYTHING,HE IS THE ONE WHO DOES EVERYTHING”. He uses to discuss with us lot on Bhagwat Gita. Once he told me:- “ Bade prem se milna jag mae sabse aye insaan na jane kis vesh mae tujse mil jayen bhagwaan(meet each person with full love as you never know in which form god will come in front of you)”.To that I replied:-“ But according to Bhagwat gita this is kalyug and all will deceive you if you do that”. He never drunk alcohol or had non-veg.
His habits were like –“If he don’t want to do something he will not do it”. But later on he started consulting me (A foolish person like me).
I use to shout at him each time I was leaving home as he use to put my wallet at some secret safe place. And when he had not kept it even I use to say “you must have kept it”. He just kept quiet. But later I came to know about the place and it was always the same and I myself realized that why am I shouting at him. Once he said to me “ bache apne aap he sekhtae hain(Children learn by themselves)”. I daily use to woke up walk up to him and say something and then lie down beside him and sleep again. I had lot of fights with him and he was never angry on me. He was just realizing that I am becoming responsible son and we had lot of dreams together and we use to plan a lot.
His smile, his eyes, his habits, his innocence, his politeness , his sense of responsibility , his teachings , his knowledge ,his humble nature, his moral values, his love for humans and animals, being non arrogant , no anger, he was never hungry for money , his voice :-“ hello Sonu beta , theak ho ( My Son – Sonu , are you fine)” , his watch, his mobile case, his phone, his shoes, his specs , his laugh, his jokes and all the qualities that were infinite. "
― Amit Dixit
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" Are we, intellectual sirs, not actively or passively 'producing' more and more words, more books, more articles, ceaselessly refilling the pot-boiler of speech, gorging ourselves on it rather, seizing books and 'experiences', to metamorphose them as quickly as possible into other words, plugging us in here, being plugged in there, just like Mina on her blue squared oilcloth, extending the market and the trade in words of course, but also multiplying the chances of jouissance, scraping up intensities wherever possible, and never being sufficiently dead, for we too are required to go from forty to the hundred a day, and we will never play the whore enough, we will never be dead enough "
― Jean-François Lyotard , Libidinal Economy
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" The other day I happened to be reading a careful, interesting account of the state of British higher education. The government is a kind of market-oriented government and they came out with an official paper, a ‘White Paper’ saying that it is not the responsibility of the state to support any institution that can’t survive in the market. So, if Oxford is teaching philosophy, the arts, Greek history, medieval history, and so on, and they can’t sell it on the market, why should they be supported? Because life consists only of what you can sell in the market and get back, nothing else. That is a real pathology. "
― Noam Chomsky
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" Skill teachers are made scarce by the belief in the value of
licenses. Certification constitutes a form of market manipulation and is plausible only to a schooled mind.
Most teachers of arts and trades are less skillful, less inventive, and less communicative than the best craftsmen
and tradesmen. Most high-school teachers of Spanish or French do not speak the language as correctly as their
pupils might after half a year of competent drills. Experimentsconducted by Angel Quintero in Puerto Rico
suggest that many young teen-agers, if given the proper incentives, programs, and access to tools, are better than
most schoolteachers at introducing their peers to the scientific exploration of plants, stars, and matter, and to the
discovery of how and why a motor or a radio functions. "
― Ivan Illich , Deschooling Society
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" People walk the paths of the gardens below, and the wind sings anthems in the hedges, and the big old cedars at the entrance to the maze creak. Marie-Laure imagines the electromagnetic waves traveling into and out of Michel’s machine, bending around them, just as Etienne used to describe, except now a thousand times more crisscross the air than when he lived - maybe a million times more. Torrents of text conversations, tides of cell conversations, of televisions programs, of e-mails, vast networks of fiber and wire interlaced above and beneath the city, passing through buildings, arcing between transmitters in Metro tunnels, between antennas atop buildings, from lampposts with cellular transmitters in them, commercials for Carrefour and Evian and prebaked toaster pastries flashing into space and back to earth again, I am going to be late and Maybe we should get reservations? and Pick up avocados and What did he say? and ten thousand I miss yous, fifty thousand I love yous, hate mail and appointment reminders and market updates, jewelry ads, coffee ads, furniture ads flying invisibly over the warrens of Paris, over the battlefields and tombs, over the Ardennes, over the Rhine, over Belgium and Denmark, over the scarred and ever-shifting landscape we call nations. And is it so hard to believe that souls might also travel those paths? That her father and Etienne and Madame Manec and the German boy named Werner Pfennig might harry the sky in flocks, like egrets, like terns, like starlings? That great shuttles of souls might fly about, faded but audible if you listen closely enough? They flow above the chimneys, ride the sidewalks, slip through your jacket and shirt and breastbone and lungs, and pass out through the other side, the air a library and the record of every life lived, every sentence spoken, every word transmitted still reverberating within it.
Every hour, she thinks, someone for whom the war was memory falls out of the world.
We rise again in the grass. In the flowers. In songs. "
― Anthony Doerr , All the Light We Cannot See
