“Ambush is all you worry about. Can I construct a mountain road cocooned inside this Circuit House, by the army? Here’s where we’ll build the road.” Raj traces a finger over a wooded area. “Since it connects twenty villages, I’ll meet all twenty Gaonburas.”
“B-B…But the Nagas slaughtered the engineer before us in cold blood!” says the Officer.
“Relax! This is no close encounter with head hunters. They killed him when he tried to build the road in their territory employing outside labor,” admonishes Raj.
“So be it, Sir!” the Officer stomps off in a huff.
20 Naga Gaonburas meet Raj at the Circuit House. Placing their offerings at his feet, they walk backwards with respect.
“Dear friends,” Raj greets them as equals, “I’ve been sent to build a road that will benefit you all. Your state is so undeveloped because of no roads.”
“Sir,” replies the chief Gaonbura, “How can we simple folk build this road?”
“I have a plan,” says Raj. “You must build it yourself. We won’t thrust any outsider on you. I’ll walk alongside to show you the alignment and leave an engineer at each village to guide you.”
“We’ll cooperate, if you pay us Delhi rates, Sir,” insist the Gaonburas.
Raj submits to their demands. No seasoned laborer from Delhi can match the Nagas’ firm foothold in these rugged hills, he thinks.
“We’ll keep strict accounts-on a bamboo pole with cuts, Sir,” warn the Gaonburas.
“Hmmm,” agrees Raj eliminating all middlemen to work directly with the Nagas. This builds confidence and is cost effective. Teamwork is an intrinsic part of Naga traditions.
“First, we’ll scrutinize the cadastral map,” decides Raj, marking the road to be aligned. Raj treks 57 miles with his motley team of engineers and Gaonburas. With a sports champion’s stamina, Raj surges towards his goal, leaving an engineer with each village.
“We’ll make their basha (shelters) and supply all food,” the Gaonburas reassure him.
“Thank you,” says Raj.
The road alignment complete, Raj returns home without a convoy. “He’s a friend- not foe!” rings a bamboo whistle from hill to hill and Raj’s journey home is quick and safe.
Boom! Raj’s engineers blast the hillside to construct the road.
“Get going!” the Gaonburas mobilize their villagers.
“Where are the tools?”
“Pick axes, shovels, lathis, mamooty. Use anything.”
Hardy Naga folk dig up boulders, crack stones, and rig shelters, to work non stop at the site.
“We can do it!” From the Aos to the Zeliangs, all tribes work side by side. Pending for over two years, Nagaland now has 57 miles of strategic road within four months.
Villagers gather to celebrate, ” Fill us up with modhu (rice beer) guys!”
A hornbill feather, cowries, beads, beetle wings and boar tusks - each Naga is arrayed in their vibrant shawls adorned with powerful symbols defining their status in the tribe.
Drums pound, men grab Raj’s hands to sweep him into a victory dance. Dhum-dhula-dhum!
How can Raj say goodbye? The Nagas tie a ponytail of beads on Raj’s hair.
“You’re a son of Nagaland.”

“How did you do it?” ask the Press.
“I didn’t.” Raj corrects them. “They did.”

As a story writer, my job is to create characters with tough goals. Then put seemingly insurmountable blocks on those goals. I have to see that my character can overcome these blocks and achieve his goals for the story to come to a satisfying end.

Real life too is like this. When I write a biagraphy of a famous person, I see that this is exactly what happens to them. They have an inner strength that carries them through thick and thin to achieve their goals. Success is all about turning ‘I can’t’ into ‘I can’. being negative never helps. Its the person who is willing to fail and pick himself up each time, learning from his failures, who finally is successful.

I like emulate great folk around me. I try to take the good in them and ignore the bad - because they wouldn’t be human if they had no weaknesses. I notice something common in these great people - they have a goal and they go all out to reach it. Nothing deters them and that’s what brings success and makes them great.

Anyone can be great. Greatness is in the eyes of the beholder. I like to write about the everyday person who has her share of ups and downs, but is great because of the way she handles her problems. Her weaknesses get her into trouble and her strengths bring her out of it.

Look around you. Whom do you admire most and why? An uncle? Your Mom? your Dad? A movie star? An inventor? I started by looking at some great artists. Now let’s look at inventors and others whom the world looks up to because they’ve made it a better place in some way. I’ll bring you the main points in the life of some great folk.

When I first began painting in oils, I found that imitating a great artist helped me learn a lot. I initially found ‘Mona Lisa’ a bit boring, because I prefer vibrant, alive expressions and this seemed outdated. But when I got down to painting her skin tones, I learnt how Leonardo works in layers to achieve a luminous quality.

the artist behind the painting -
Leonardo Da Vinci is a high achiever from Florence - an inventor, scientist, mathematician engineer, sculptor, painter, architect, musician and writer who keeps a journal written in a mirror image cursive handwriting (he is left handed) that helps keep his ideas a secret.

I’ve done about 6 reproductions of different masters, but Vincent Van Gogh is one of my most favorite artists. I’m inspired by his dramatic individualistic strokes and use of contrasts in color. He has an informal style characteristic of one who defies convention. I did this one for Cafe Coffee Day at Bangalore many years ago.

the artist behind the painting
Vincent is the oppostite of Leonardo. An intense Dutch painter supported by his brother Theo, he makes a few false starts as a clerk in a bookstore, an art salesman and a preacher. Unfortunately, his fame as an artist is posthumous having sold only one painting during his life. Shooting himself in the head after partly recovering from fits of insanity, he brings his life to a tragic end.

© Jeyanthi Manokaran
Earth provides enough to satisfy every man’s need, but not every man’s greed. —Gandhi

Tutu turns towards the cluster of turtle eggs buried on the beach.
“I got here first!” squeals Aveek the fisher boy, digging in a fury as if for gold.
“MY eggs!” Shourav yanks him away.
Tutu dashes to the sandy mound where Olive’s eggs are buried, picks up a fallen palm leaf and rushes between the fighting boys.
“These are Olive’s eggs!” she repeats in a high pitched voice.
“Who’s Olive?” demands Aveek shoving her out of the way.
“My turtle. She was in the fishing net and I saved her.”
“Olive the Turtle? Ha! Ha!”

“I helped her nest. Did YOU watch her dig this pit for her eggs? Did YOU save
her from that vicious eagle that attacked? It had sharp talons. I took this palm leaf and
whacked it hard when it swooped down upon my turtle. You didn’t save her! I did. Olive is MY turtle. These are MY eggs.”

“Well we’ll just share them then. Fifty-fifty. We’re friends, aren’t we? Hyuk! Hyuk!” grins Aveek.
“Good idea,” agrees Shourav giving him a hard back slap, “next time we find some eggs, we’ll share them with you too.”
“Sir! Help!” Tutu pleads with the village elder passing by, “They’re stealing my turtle’s eggs.”
“Go away boys! And don’t you dare trouble her again!” scolds the village elder who is Pa’s friend.
The boys turn away with a backward glance. They sprint along calling to each other with nasty remarks about Olive the Turtle.
“Oh! Thank you, thank you, kind Sir!” Tutu quickly covers the eggs and the tell- tale turtle tracks leading to the beach.
“Those boys have nothing better to do,” mutters the village elder. “Child,
isn’t it time for you to help your Pa with the catch and Ma with the sorting?”
“Yes, Sir,” Tutu is too busy turning the sand and covering the precious clutch of eggs.

The village elder greets her Pa as he comes by to chat.
“Why didn’t you come to help me fish? This is crazy, Tutu!”
Pa can’t believe she plans to guard the eggs until they hatch. Hands on hips, he glowers down at Tutu who sits beside the sandy mound.
“But Pa, someone will steal the eggs and I want to save the baby turtles,” Tutu wrings her hands, digs her toes in the sand and stares at her precious mound.
“You’re our one and only child. You’re better ‘n all the boys in the village. No rugged fisher boy can throw the net the way you do! You have style. You have talent. You were born to be a fisher girl. God made you that way. That’s why I spent all my energy training you.” brags Pa.
“As soon as they hatch, I’ll fish with you and help Ma sort the catch.”
“Now, you better be good an’ ready to go fishing before dawn.”
Ma walks up, bone weary after sorting and selling her catch. She , throws down her empty basket to sit beside them. Quick as an eagle, Pa enlists her support. Ma is shocked.

“Child, are you out of your mind? These eggs will take two months to hatch. You
will NOT sleep here,”
“But Pa sleeps near his boat to guard it!” argues Tutu.
“Okay,” Pa gives in just a little. “I’ll sleep out here between the boat and the eggs
instead and guard both together.”
“Ma, will you guard them while I go fishing with Pa?” Tutu begs.
“Okay, silly child,” complains Ma. “Next month is the arribada and thousands of female
turtles will anyway return to nest here.”
The village elder, walks away with a smile.
“Maybe they’re right. Hatch quickly – baby turtles!” Tutu follows Ma to the hut.

At dawn, the next day, with a quick backward glance at the mound, Tutu
speeds to the wooden catamaran Pa pushes into the sea.
“Wait for me, Pa!” Surf on their skin, they row away. Tutu tastes the salt in the wave as she casts the fishing net with a powerful swing of her arm. Seagulls screech, sunrise kisses the rolling waves while they watch and wait.
Hours roll by. Tutu’s stomach rumbles. “Oh for some delicious fish! Some Mackerel would be good,” drools Tutu and tugs at her end of the fishing net. It seems heavy already. She can’t believe it. She looks down into the dark waters with a suspicious frown and tugs again. Heart thumping, she catches her breath, “Gosh! Pa! H-help me pull this up!”
“That was quick!” says Pa, the salt air is laden with excitement.
“Yay! I did it!” squeals Tutu hauling in the heavy net with Pa’s help. “My first bumper catch!”
Tossed by the sea, washed by the waves, their catamaran heads to Ma waiting at the beach. Tutu’s clear voice mingles with Pa’s deeper one while they row back with a steady rhythm chanting their boat song.
“You’re the best!” Ma hugs Tutu. Pa ruffles her hair.
“Ma, let’s sort the fish!” Tutu can’t wait for the next fishing trip at dawn. And the next. And the next. Two months fly by.

Tutu runs towards the mound every day. Today is different. There’s a song in the air as she sees tiny flipper marks that show baby turtle tracks leading to the beach. Wait! Something is moving there. Tutu speeds up to the tiny turtle making its way to the water. She blows a kiss on its shiny shell as it disappears into the waves.
“Olive’s babies! They’ve hatched!” she whispers. Braid dancing, skirt flying, Tutu skips along the beach her eyes glued to the waves that carry her last baby turtle. “Please return, Baby Olive!”
—————————————————————————————–
catamaran -small,light wooden fishing boat designed almost flat for waves to drain off
Note - The endangered Olive Ridley Turtle can grow up to 75 cm (2.5 feet) in length and is wonderfully adapted to life in the ocean, with front and rear evolved into flippers for swimming. the four limbs have 2 claws. The light, streamlined shell has a carapace thinner than other turtles, is olive colored and heartshaped. The male’s tail extends past the carapace while the female’s does not.
Sea turtles nest only at night and artificial lighting on beaches confuses the time of day. The female pulls herself all the way to the dry sand using her front flippers and carves a bottle shaped burrow where she lays 100 leathery round eggs like white ping pong balls. She covers them carefully and buries the pit and within an hour, struggles back to the ocean leaving behind a “tell-tale” trail in the sand. Now the young have to fend for themselves.
The predictable manner of laying her eggs, and her defenselessness on land, makes her vulnerable to hunters. Because of a homing instinct the turtles return to the beach where they were born.

Dino Doc
© Jeyanthi Manokaran

Dino Doc is on his way
Ready for a busy day
It’s his job to cure the sick
Helping dinos get well quick
Cera’s head makes him wail
Bronto’s ache is in the tail
Stego’s back is pretty sore!
Hang on Doc - There’s just one more!
Mother T Rex brings her egg
Baby pops out, watch her beg
His teeth are sharp to eat meat raw.
Dino Doc zips out the door!

© Centre for Learning Resources
Collages are such fun! You can use anything and everything! Its a mix of any media possible. I made this one with stuffed cloth on penwork in black ink. The hair is just wool.

Make a collage
First think of a theme. Is it Animals? Plants? Cars? You can make your collage with lightweight material if its on paper. Use pressed flowers, very small machine parts, old toothpaste tubes, rags, lentils. Place them lightly on a piece of thick chart paper and create a collage. Paste them all with fevicol - not glue. You can color or paint some things if you like.