CUET English: Verbal AbilityPassage. Free, no login required.

I was completely charmed by Madhava Rao's antiquarian bookshop in Basavanagudi, Bengaluru. The stock was not chock-a-block with rarities, first or expensive editions. Its charm lay in stocking well-preserved old editions, some genuinely antiquarian, many out of print, all gathered fetchingly in one room full of gilt-edged spines, the smell of ageing leather creating an enchanting atmosphere. Rao's meticulous care and presentation made every copy desirable.When I had finished slavering over the books restored, I insisted upon writing about his book shop. But Rao forbade it, relying solely on word of mouth to attract a select customer base. As I got ready to leave his bookshop, he stopped me. "I might speak a little piece of him after all. He made me promise that I would not write anything. But then 'When can I write about your bookshop?', I asked. He replied, "When I finally close the bookshop."That moment came in March 2013, when he passed away from cancer at 78. Even on his final day, he completed book transactions before turning to his restoration work. A self-taught bibliophile and a perfectionist, Rao restored broken editions to exceptional condition, ensuring his customers held something truly valuable. Despite his passion, he kept a low profile, preferring solitude to study and restore his "antiquarian loot."Before his death, he quietly sold his collection to a longstanding customer, ensuring the books were preserved. His legacy lives on in the hands of collectors who cherish his devotion to the art of antiquarian book-selling.

No matter one’s nationality, sex, age, or religion, everyone seeks happiness. President Timothy Dwight defined it as: “The happiest person is the person who thinks the most interesting thoughts.” This definition places happiness within, not dependent on external circumstances. Like virtue, happiness should come from an inner standard, not exterior factors or material possessions.Virtue is not situational; it involves resisting all temptations, regardless of size. For example, if a man refuses a Rs.500 bribe but hesitates at a Rs.1,00,000 offer, his virtue is questionable. Virtue is consistent, unchanging, and independent of temptation. Similarly, happiness should not rely on circumstances or others’ actions. Some people carry their happiness like a purse, easily stolen by ill winds, malicious words, or random accidents. Allowing others to control one’s peace of mind gives them undue power over one’s emotions. Instead, negativity should be treated with humour, and happiness should remain self-determined.True happiness, like virtue, is resilient and should come from within. While it is impossible to feel exuberantly happy all the time, a sound philosophy can provide an invincible source of joy. Days of anguish caused by ill health, worry, or grief may come, but these should not permanently destroy happiness. Rising above pain is possible through inner strength and thinking interesting thoughts.Happiness, like virtue, requires consistency and inner discipline. By maintaining a mindset of resilience, focusing on meaningful thoughts, and refusing to be controlled by external forces, one can rise above life’s hardships and maintain lasting peace and joy.

No matter one’s nationality, sex, age, or religion, everyone seeks happiness. President Timothy Dwight defined it as: “The happiest person is the person who thinks the most interesting thoughts.” This definition places happiness within, not dependent on external circumstances. Like virtue, happiness should come from an inner standard, not exterior factors or material possessions.Virtue is not situational; it involves resisting all temptations, regardless of size. For example, if a man refuses a Rs.500 bribe but hesitates at a Rs.1,00,000 offer, his virtue is questionable. Virtue is consistent, unchanging, and independent of temptation. Similarly, happiness should not rely on circumstances or others’ actions. Some people carry their happiness like a purse, easily stolen by ill winds, malicious words, or random accidents. Allowing others to control one’s peace of mind gives them undue power over one’s emotions. Instead, negativity should be treated with humour, and happiness should remain self-determined.True happiness, like virtue, is resilient and should come from within. While it is impossible to feel exuberantly happy all the time, a sound philosophy can provide an invincible source of joy. Days of anguish caused by ill health, worry, or grief may come, but these should not permanently destroy happiness. Rising above pain is possible through inner strength and thinking interesting thoughts.Happiness, like virtue, requires consistency and inner discipline. By maintaining a mindset of resilience, focusing on meaningful thoughts, and refusing to be controlled by external forces, one can rise above life’s hardships and maintain lasting peace and joy.

No matter one’s nationality, sex, age, or religion, everyone seeks happiness. President Timothy Dwight defined it as: “The happiest person is the person who thinks the most interesting thoughts.” This definition places happiness within, not dependent on external circumstances. Like virtue, happiness should come from an inner standard, not exterior factors or material possessions.Virtue is not situational; it involves resisting all temptations, regardless of size. For example, if a man refuses a Rs.500 bribe but hesitates at a Rs.1,00,000 offer, his virtue is questionable. Virtue is consistent, unchanging, and independent of temptation. Similarly, happiness should not rely on circumstances or others’ actions. Some people carry their happiness like a purse, easily stolen by ill winds, malicious words, or random accidents. Allowing others to control one’s peace of mind gives them undue power over one’s emotions. Instead, negativity should be treated with humour, and happiness should remain self-determined.True happiness, like virtue, is resilient and should come from within. While it is impossible to feel exuberantly happy all the time, a sound philosophy can provide an invincible source of joy. Days of anguish caused by ill health, worry, or grief may come, but these should not permanently destroy happiness. Rising above pain is possible through inner strength and thinking interesting thoughts.Happiness, like virtue, requires consistency and inner discipline. By maintaining a mindset of resilience, focusing on meaningful thoughts, and refusing to be controlled by external forces, one can rise above life’s hardships and maintain lasting peace and joy.

No matter one’s nationality, sex, age, or religion, everyone seeks happiness. President Timothy Dwight defined it as: “The happiest person is the person who thinks the most interesting thoughts.” This definition places happiness within, not dependent on external circumstances. Like virtue, happiness should come from an inner standard, not exterior factors or material possessions.Virtue is not situational; it involves resisting all temptations, regardless of size. For example, if a man refuses a Rs.500 bribe but hesitates at a Rs.1,00,000 offer, his virtue is questionable. Virtue is consistent, unchanging, and independent of temptation. Similarly, happiness should not rely on circumstances or others’ actions. Some people carry their happiness like a purse, easily stolen by ill winds, malicious words, or random accidents. Allowing others to control one’s peace of mind gives them undue power over one’s emotions. Instead, negativity should be treated with humour, and happiness should remain self-determined.True happiness, like virtue, is resilient and should come from within. While it is impossible to feel exuberantly happy all the time, a sound philosophy can provide an invincible source of joy. Days of anguish caused by ill health, worry, or grief may come, but these should not permanently destroy happiness. Rising above pain is possible through inner strength and thinking interesting thoughts.Happiness, like virtue, requires consistency and inner discipline. By maintaining a mindset of resilience, focusing on meaningful thoughts, and refusing to be controlled by external forces, one can rise above life’s hardships and maintain lasting peace and joy.

The next stage of the visit began as Mrs. Broadwith brought in a cup of tea and the rest of the animals were let out of the kitchen. It was the usual scenario for the many cups of tea I had drunk with Miss Stubbs under the little card which dangled above her bed.

"How are you today?" I asked.

"Oh! much better," she replied and immediately changed the subject.

Mostly she liked to talk about her pets and the ones she had known right back to her childhood. She spoke a lot too, about the days her family was alive. She loved to describe the escapades of her three brothers and today she showed me a photograph which Mrs. Broadwith had found.

"Oh, they were young rips!" she exclaimed. She laughed and for a moment her face was radiant, by her memories.

The things I had heard in the village came back to me: about the prosperous father and his family who lived in the big house now. Then the heartbrokenness crashed and the sudden change in circumstances. When the old father died, he was almost penniless, one old man said. "There is not much brass there now."

Probably just enough brass to keep Miss Stubbs and her animals alive and pay Mrs. Broadwith. And, sitting there, I felt as I had often - a bit ashamed of the responsibility I had. The one thing which brought some light into the life of the brave old woman was the devotion of this shaggy bunch whose eyes were never far from her face.

The next stage of the visit began as Mrs. Broadwith brought in a cup of tea and the rest of the animals were let out of the kitchen. It was the usual scenario for the many cups of tea I had drunk with Miss Stubbs under the little card which dangled above her bed.

"How are you today?" I asked.

"Oh! much better," she replied and immediately changed the subject.

Mostly she liked to talk about her pets and the ones she had known right back to her childhood. She spoke a lot too, about the days her family was alive. She loved to describe the escapades of her three brothers and today she showed me a photograph which Mrs. Broadwith had found.

"Oh, they were young rips!" she exclaimed. She laughed and for a moment her face was radiant, by her memories.

The things I had heard in the village came back to me: about the prosperous father and his family who lived in the big house now. Then the heartbrokenness crashed and the sudden change in circumstances. When the old father died, he was almost penniless, one old man said. "There is not much brass there now."

Probably just enough brass to keep Miss Stubbs and her animals alive and pay Mrs. Broadwith. And, sitting there, I felt as I had often - a bit ashamed of the responsibility I had. The one thing which brought some light into the life of the brave old woman was the devotion of this shaggy bunch whose eyes were never far from her face.

The next stage of the visit began as Mrs. Broadwith brought in a cup of tea and the rest of the animals were let out of the kitchen. It was the usual scenario for the many cups of tea I had drunk with Miss Stubbs under the little card which dangled above her bed.

"How are you today?" I asked.

"Oh! much better," she replied and immediately changed the subject.

Mostly she liked to talk about her pets and the ones she had known right back to her childhood. She spoke a lot too, about the days her family was alive. She loved to describe the escapades of her three brothers and today she showed me a photograph which Mrs. Broadwith had found.

"Oh, they were young rips!" she exclaimed. She laughed and for a moment her face was radiant, by her memories.

The things I had heard in the village came back to me: about the prosperous father and his family who lived in the big house now. Then the heartbrokenness crashed and the sudden change in circumstances. When the old father died, he was almost penniless, one old man said. "There is not much brass there now."

Probably just enough brass to keep Miss Stubbs and her animals alive and pay Mrs. Broadwith. And, sitting there, I felt as I had often - a bit ashamed of the responsibility I had. The one thing which brought some light into the life of the brave old woman was the devotion of this shaggy bunch whose eyes were never far from her face.

The next stage of the visit began as Mrs. Broadwith brought in a cup of tea and the rest of the animals were let out of the kitchen. It was the usual scenario for the many cups of tea I had drunk with Miss Stubbs under the little card which dangled above her bed.

"How are you today?" I asked.

"Oh! much better," she replied and immediately changed the subject.

Mostly she liked to talk about her pets and the ones she had known right back to her childhood. She spoke a lot too, about the days her family was alive. She loved to describe the escapades of her three brothers and today she showed me a photograph which Mrs. Broadwith had found.

"Oh, they were young rips!" she exclaimed. She laughed and for a moment her face was radiant, by her memories.

The things I had heard in the village came back to me: about the prosperous father and his family who lived in the big house now. Then the heartbrokenness crashed and the sudden change in circumstances. When the old father died, he was almost penniless, one old man said. "There is not much brass there now."

Probably just enough brass to keep Miss Stubbs and her animals alive and pay Mrs. Broadwith. And, sitting there, I felt as I had often - a bit ashamed of the responsibility I had. The one thing which brought some light into the life of the brave old woman was the devotion of this shaggy bunch whose eyes were never far from her face.

If my younger self could see me now, she would be incredulous. That I work in the field of dance or decipher and translate dance for my own comprehension, call it choreography if you wish, would have been unbelievable. In this respect, I am particularly envious of dancers who claim that they are 'born to dance', implying that it was clearly laid out for them from the beginning. I must say, I find this assertion dubious; it is rarely that easy. 'To dance' means to 'struggle'.

In all truth, as a child, I never did want to dance. It was forced upon me by a doting mother and a silent father. My father probably kept his peace to avoid argument. From the beginning, my lessons took place under trying conditions, though I believe that the conditions were more trying for my mother than for me. She travelled in local, over-crowded trains to the dance class with an unwilling child, hired from a whole day at school.

Interestingly, when I was seven, we went to see a movie starring Mumtaz Ali, who did a lead number in the film. When we arrived home, I began prancing around the house imitating the film actor and my mother, who was quietly watching, was the one who said, 'Kumudini, you are born to dance.' Ironically, I have no recollection of this story; it was my mother who saw this innate ability in me.

If my younger self could see me now, she would be incredulous. That I work in the field of dance or decipher and translate dance for my own comprehension, call it choreography if you wish, would have been unbelievable. In this respect, I am particularly envious of dancers who claim that they are 'born to dance', implying that it was clearly laid out for them from the beginning. I must say, I find this assertion dubious; it is rarely that easy. 'To dance' means to 'struggle'.

In all truth, as a child, I never did want to dance. It was forced upon me by a doting mother and a silent father. My father probably kept his peace to avoid argument. From the beginning, my lessons took place under trying conditions, though I believe that the conditions were more trying for my mother than for me. She travelled in local, over-crowded trains to the dance class with an unwilling child, hired from a whole day at school.

Interestingly, when I was seven, we went to see a movie starring Mumtaz Ali, who did a lead number in the film. When we arrived home, I began prancing around the house imitating the film actor and my mother, who was quietly watching, was the one who said, 'Kumudini, you are born to dance.' Ironically, I have no recollection of this story; it was my mother who saw this innate ability in me.

If my younger self could see me now, she would be incredulous. That I work in the field of dance or decipher and translate dance for my own comprehension, call it choreography if you wish, would have been unbelievable. In this respect, I am particularly envious of dancers who claim that they are 'born to dance', implying that it was clearly laid out for them from the beginning. I must say, I find this assertion dubious; it is rarely that easy. 'To dance' means to 'struggle'.

In all truth, as a child, I never did want to dance. It was forced upon me by a doting mother and a silent father. My father probably kept his peace to avoid argument. From the beginning, my lessons took place under trying conditions, though I believe that the conditions were more trying for my mother than for me. She travelled in local, over-crowded trains to the dance class with an unwilling child, hired from a whole day at school.

Interestingly, when I was seven, we went to see a movie starring Mumtaz Ali, who did a lead number in the film. When we arrived home, I began prancing around the house imitating the film actor and my mother, who was quietly watching, was the one who said, 'Kumudini, you are born to dance.' Ironically, I have no recollection of this story; it was my mother who saw this innate ability in me.

If my younger self could see me now, she would be incredulous. That I work in the field of dance or decipher and translate dance for my own comprehension, call it choreography if you wish, would have been unbelievable. In this respect, I am particularly envious of dancers who claim that they are 'born to dance', implying that it was clearly laid out for them from the beginning. I must say, I find this assertion dubious; it is rarely that easy. 'To dance' means to 'struggle'.

In all truth, as a child, I never did want to dance. It was forced upon me by a doting mother and a silent father. My father probably kept his peace to avoid argument. From the beginning, my lessons took place under trying conditions, though I believe that the conditions were more trying for my mother than for me. She travelled in local, over-crowded trains to the dance class with an unwilling child, hired from a whole day at school.

Interestingly, when I was seven, we went to see a movie starring Mumtaz Ali, who did a lead number in the film. When we arrived home, I began prancing around the house imitating the film actor and my mother, who was quietly watching, was the one who said, 'Kumudini, you are born to dance.' Ironically, I have no recollection of this story; it was my mother who saw this innate ability in me.

The State of Food Security and Nutrition in the World report (2024) revealed that 733 million people faced malnutrition in 2023— an increase of 152 million since 2019.

This trend is linked to food price dynamics. In 2022, the World Bank estimated that a 1% rise in global food prices could push 10 million people into extreme poverty. Rising food costs and inequality have intensified "hidden hunger," affecting at least 2.8 billion people in 2022 alone.

Hidden hunger is a deficiency of essential micronutrients like zinc, iodine, and iron. The signs of this form of malnutrition are hidden as individuals may appear healthy while suffering severe health impacts. Clinical signs emerge only in extreme cases. Traditionally linked to caloric deficiency, hunger is now recognized to include micronutrient inadequacy, which can harm health even when caloric intake isn't severely affected.

The Food Security and Nutrition report highlights that while it may seem intuitive that food-insecure individuals are less likely to maintain a healthy diet, the relationship is complex, shaped by factors like food environments, consumer behaviour, and the affordability of nutritious foods.

In some cases, food insecurity is linked to lower consumption of all food types and a higher reliance on staple foods for dietary energy. In others, it can be associated with reduced intake of nutritious foods and increased consumption of energy-dense foods high in unhealthy fats, sugars, and salt. As a result, food insecurity and "hidden hunger" can result not only in undernutrition but can also lead to overweight and obesity.

The State of Food Security and Nutrition in the World report (2024) revealed that 733 million people faced malnutrition in 2023— an increase of 152 million since 2019.

This trend is linked to food price dynamics. In 2022, the World Bank estimated that a 1% rise in global food prices could push 10 million people into extreme poverty. Rising food costs and inequality have intensified "hidden hunger," affecting at least 2.8 billion people in 2022 alone.

Hidden hunger is a deficiency of essential micronutrients like zinc, iodine, and iron. The signs of this form of malnutrition are hidden as individuals may appear healthy while suffering severe health impacts. Clinical signs emerge only in extreme cases. Traditionally linked to caloric deficiency, hunger is now recognized to include micronutrient inadequacy, which can harm health even when caloric intake isn't severely affected.

The Food Security and Nutrition report highlights that while it may seem intuitive that food-insecure individuals are less likely to maintain a healthy diet, the relationship is complex, shaped by factors like food environments, consumer behaviour, and the affordability of nutritious foods.

In some cases, food insecurity is linked to lower consumption of all food types and a higher reliance on staple foods for dietary energy. In others, it can be associated with reduced intake of nutritious foods and increased consumption of energy-dense foods high in unhealthy fats, sugars, and salt. As a result, food insecurity and "hidden hunger" can result not only in undernutrition but can also lead to overweight and obesity.

The State of Food Security and Nutrition in the World report (2024) revealed that 733 million people faced malnutrition in 2023— an increase of 152 million since 2019.

This trend is linked to food price dynamics. In 2022, the World Bank estimated that a 1% rise in global food prices could push 10 million people into extreme poverty. Rising food costs and inequality have intensified "hidden hunger," affecting at least 2.8 billion people in 2022 alone.

Hidden hunger is a deficiency of essential micronutrients like zinc, iodine, and iron. The signs of this form of malnutrition are hidden as individuals may appear healthy while suffering severe health impacts. Clinical signs emerge only in extreme cases. Traditionally linked to caloric deficiency, hunger is now recognized to include micronutrient inadequacy, which can harm health even when caloric intake isn't severely affected.

The Food Security and Nutrition report highlights that while it may seem intuitive that food-insecure individuals are less likely to maintain a healthy diet, the relationship is complex, shaped by factors like food environments, consumer behaviour, and the affordability of nutritious foods.

In some cases, food insecurity is linked to lower consumption of all food types and a higher reliance on staple foods for dietary energy. In others, it can be associated with reduced intake of nutritious foods and increased consumption of energy-dense foods high in unhealthy fats, sugars, and salt. As a result, food insecurity and "hidden hunger" can result not only in undernutrition but can also lead to overweight and obesity.

The State of Food Security and Nutrition in the World report (2024) revealed that 733 million people faced malnutrition in 2023— an increase of 152 million since 2019.

This trend is linked to food price dynamics. In 2022, the World Bank estimated that a 1% rise in global food prices could push 10 million people into extreme poverty. Rising food costs and inequality have intensified "hidden hunger," affecting at least 2.8 billion people in 2022 alone.

Hidden hunger is a deficiency of essential micronutrients like zinc, iodine, and iron. The signs of this form of malnutrition are hidden as individuals may appear healthy while suffering severe health impacts. Clinical signs emerge only in extreme cases. Traditionally linked to caloric deficiency, hunger is now recognized to include micronutrient inadequacy, which can harm health even when caloric intake isn't severely affected.

The Food Security and Nutrition report highlights that while it may seem intuitive that food-insecure individuals are less likely to maintain a healthy diet, the relationship is complex, shaped by factors like food environments, consumer behaviour, and the affordability of nutritious foods.

In some cases, food insecurity is linked to lower consumption of all food types and a higher reliance on staple foods for dietary energy. In others, it can be associated with reduced intake of nutritious foods and increased consumption of energy-dense foods high in unhealthy fats, sugars, and salt. As a result, food insecurity and "hidden hunger" can result not only in undernutrition but can also lead to overweight and obesity.

When I was in my late teens and still undecided about which language I should write in, he told me that the language one is born into, one's mother tongue, can be the only possible medium of creative expression.

For most of his life, my father, Sripat Rai, had been a Hindi editor and critic. Off and on, he translated writings into English from Hindi. He was fond of saying that a failed writer becomes a critic. The weight of his literary expectation came, eventually, to rest on me. He seemed happy that I was showing an inclination for writing. "She will go far," he told my mother after reading the first story that I sent him from Melbourne.

My father's pronouncement on the mother tongue stayed with me when I later started writing fiction in Hindi. Another thing that I barely acknowledged even to myself was that I felt something like shame whenever I thought of writing in English. It seemed wrong for a granddaughter of Premchand even to be thinking so. Our family had a certain linguistic pride. I knew that Premchand was famous, but I had not at that time realised the extent of his popularity

The fact that I was the granddaughter of Premchand, followed me everywhere. Everyone had a story to tell about their personal engagement with his fiction -the shopkeeper, the long time cook in my father's Delhi house, a tea vendor, etc. The list was long, for there was practically no one who had not read something by him that had moved them. However, it was this very ubiquity, the reverence and love that he inspired in people, that made of him something too large for me to comprehend in the early years of my life. It led also to the strange feeling that, without having read him and just by being related to him, I had somehow inhaled his writing. The reading happened much later.

When I was in my late teens and still undecided about which language I should write in, he told me that the language one is born into, one's mother tongue, can be the only possible medium of creative expression.

For most of his life, my father, Sripat Rai, had been a Hindi editor and critic. Off and on, he translated writings into English from Hindi. He was fond of saying that a failed writer becomes a critic. The weight of his literary expectation came, eventually, to rest on me. He seemed happy that I was showing an inclination for writing. "She will go far," he told my mother after reading the first story that I sent him from Melbourne.

My father's pronouncement on the mother tongue stayed with me when I later started writing fiction in Hindi. Another thing that I barely acknowledged even to myself was that I felt something like shame whenever I thought of writing in English. It seemed wrong for a granddaughter of Premchand even to be thinking so. Our family had a certain linguistic pride. I knew that Premchand was famous, but I had not at that time realised the extent of his popularity

The fact that I was the granddaughter of Premchand, followed me everywhere. Everyone had a story to tell about their personal engagement with his fiction -the shopkeeper, the long time cook in my father's Delhi house, a tea vendor, etc. The list was long, for there was practically no one who had not read something by him that had moved them. However, it was this very ubiquity, the reverence and love that he inspired in people, that made of him something too large for me to comprehend in the early years of my life. It led also to the strange feeling that, without having read him and just by being related to him, I had somehow inhaled his writing. The reading happened much later.

When I was in my late teens and still undecided about which language I should write in, he told me that the language one is born into, one's mother tongue, can be the only possible medium of creative expression.

For most of his life, my father, Sripat Rai, had been a Hindi editor and critic. Off and on, he translated writings into English from Hindi. He was fond of saying that a failed writer becomes a critic. The weight of his literary expectation came, eventually, to rest on me. He seemed happy that I was showing an inclination for writing. "She will go far," he told my mother after reading the first story that I sent him from Melbourne.

My father's pronouncement on the mother tongue stayed with me when I later started writing fiction in Hindi. Another thing that I barely acknowledged even to myself was that I felt something like shame whenever I thought of writing in English. It seemed wrong for a granddaughter of Premchand even to be thinking so. Our family had a certain linguistic pride. I knew that Premchand was famous, but I had not at that time realised the extent of his popularity

The fact that I was the granddaughter of Premchand, followed me everywhere. Everyone had a story to tell about their personal engagement with his fiction -the shopkeeper, the long time cook in my father's Delhi house, a tea vendor, etc. The list was long, for there was practically no one who had not read something by him that had moved them. However, it was this very ubiquity, the reverence and love that he inspired in people, that made of him something too large for me to comprehend in the early years of my life. It led also to the strange feeling that, without having read him and just by being related to him, I had somehow inhaled his writing. The reading happened much later.

When I was in my late teens and still undecided about which language I should write in, he told me that the language one is born into, one's mother tongue, can be the only possible medium of creative expression.

For most of his life, my father, Sripat Rai, had been a Hindi editor and critic. Off and on, he translated writings into English from Hindi. He was fond of saying that a failed writer becomes a critic. The weight of his literary expectation came, eventually, to rest on me. He seemed happy that I was showing an inclination for writing. "She will go far," he told my mother after reading the first story that I sent him from Melbourne.

My father's pronouncement on the mother tongue stayed with me when I later started writing fiction in Hindi. Another thing that I barely acknowledged even to myself was that I felt something like shame whenever I thought of writing in English. It seemed wrong for a granddaughter of Premchand even to be thinking so. Our family had a certain linguistic pride. I knew that Premchand was famous, but I had not at that time realised the extent of his popularity

The fact that I was the granddaughter of Premchand, followed me everywhere. Everyone had a story to tell about their personal engagement with his fiction -the shopkeeper, the long time cook in my father's Delhi house, a tea vendor, etc. The list was long, for there was practically no one who had not read something by him that had moved them. However, it was this very ubiquity, the reverence and love that he inspired in people, that made of him something too large for me to comprehend in the early years of my life. It led also to the strange feeling that, without having read him and just by being related to him, I had somehow inhaled his writing. The reading happened much later.

When I was in my late teens and still undecided about which language I should write in, he told me that the language one is born into, one's mother tongue, can be the only possible medium of creative expression.

For most of his life, my father, Sripat Rai, had been a Hindi editor and critic. Off and on, he translated writings into English from Hindi. He was fond of saying that a failed writer becomes a critic. The weight of his literary expectation came, eventually, to rest on me. He seemed happy that I was showing an inclination for writing. "She will go far," he told my mother after reading the first story that I sent him from Melbourne.

My father's pronouncement on the mother tongue stayed with me when I later started writing fiction in Hindi. Another thing that I barely acknowledged even to myself was that I felt something like shame whenever I thought of writing in English. It seemed wrong for a granddaughter of Premchand even to be thinking so. Our family had a certain linguistic pride. I knew that Premchand was famous, but I had not at that time realised the extent of his popularity

The fact that I was the granddaughter of Premchand, followed me everywhere. Everyone had a story to tell about their personal engagement with his fiction -the shopkeeper, the long time cook in my father's Delhi house, a tea vendor, etc. The list was long, for there was practically no one who had not read something by him that had moved them. However, it was this very ubiquity, the reverence and love that he inspired in people, that made of him something too large for me to comprehend in the early years of my life. It led also to the strange feeling that, without having read him and just by being related to him, I had somehow inhaled his writing. The reading happened much later.

When I was in my late teens and still undecided about which language I should write in, he told me that the language one is born into, one's mother tongue, can be the only possible medium of creative expression.

For most of his life, my father, Sripat Rai, had been a Hindi editor and critic. Off and on, he translated writings into English from Hindi. He was fond of saying that a failed writer becomes a critic. The weight of his literary expectation came, eventually, to rest on me. He seemed happy that I was showing an inclination for writing. "She will go far," he told my mother after reading the first story that I sent him from Melbourne.

My father's pronouncement on the mother tongue stayed with me when I later started writing fiction in Hindi. Another thing that I barely acknowledged even to myself was that I felt something like shame whenever I thought of writing in English. It seemed wrong for a granddaughter of Premchand even to be thinking so. Our family had a certain linguistic pride. I knew that Premchand was famous, but I had not at that time realised the extent of his popularity

The fact that I was the granddaughter of Premchand, followed me everywhere. Everyone had a story to tell about their personal engagement with his fiction -the shopkeeper, the long time cook in my father's Delhi house, a tea vendor, etc. The list was long, for there was practically no one who had not read something by him that had moved them. However, it was this very ubiquity, the reverence and love that he inspired in people, that made of him something too large for me to comprehend in the early years of my life. It led also to the strange feeling that, without having read him and just by being related to him, I had somehow inhaled his writing. The reading happened much later.

Free will is the ability to decide and act free from any influence of past events or environment. It implies complete freedom to make any choice absolutely. We clearly don't have free will. Our decisions and actions are never divorced from our past.

We have a conditioned mind. Our memories, past impressions and experiences bias and shape our thoughts and actions in the present. It is our karmic imprint. Not just what we are born with, but also what we accumulate while living. We can consider it as the result of our genetic code, upbringing and environment. It's our backstory. The only way to experience free will is to get rid of all such conditioning, to neutralise our karmic imprint; to be independent of our psychological coding. That's possible only if we can purify our mind by letting go of all our ego, attachments and fixed beliefs. Then we can reside in the truth of our being.

The above is an exacting definition of free will. What we commonly mean by free will is that we have a choice in most situations like, who you choose to marry, what profession you pursue or how you react to someone's aggression. Sounds reasonable. But here's the catch. Our ability to make that choice too is significantly restricted, dictated by our predispositions.

This applies even to our ability to bring about change within ourselves. Despite a strong resolve to be calmer, kinder or less anxious, our ability to manifest that change depends, partly on our emotional and mental wiring. That's why some people succeed in such efforts more than the others.

If you wish to expand the scope of your agency explore ways to engage in sustained inner work, deepen your self-awareness, examine and reform your conditioned beliefs. But then, I wonder if your inclination to embark on that journey too depende on your current karmic coding.

Free will is the ability to decide and act free from any influence of past events or environment. It implies complete freedom to make any choice absolutely. We clearly don't have free will. Our decisions and actions are never divorced from our past.

We have a conditioned mind. Our memories, past impressions and experiences bias and shape our thoughts and actions in the present. It is our karmic imprint. Not just what we are born with, but also what we accumulate while living. We can consider it as the result of our genetic code, upbringing and environment. It's our backstory. The only way to experience free will is to get rid of all such conditioning, to neutralise our karmic imprint; to be independent of our psychological coding. That's possible only if we can purify our mind by letting go of all our ego, attachments and fixed beliefs. Then we can reside in the truth of our being.

The above is an exacting definition of free will. What we commonly mean by free will is that we have a choice in most situations like, who you choose to marry, what profession you pursue or how you react to someone's aggression. Sounds reasonable. But here's the catch. Our ability to make that choice too is significantly restricted, dictated by our predispositions.

This applies even to our ability to bring about change within ourselves. Despite a strong resolve to be calmer, kinder or less anxious, our ability to manifest that change depends, partly on our emotional and mental wiring. That's why some people succeed in such efforts more than the others.

If you wish to expand the scope of your agency explore ways to engage in sustained inner work, deepen your self-awareness, examine and reform your conditioned beliefs. But then, I wonder if your inclination to embark on that journey too depende on your current karmic coding.

Free will is the ability to decide and act free from any influence of past events or environment. It implies complete freedom to make any choice absolutely. We clearly don't have free will. Our decisions and actions are never divorced from our past.

We have a conditioned mind. Our memories, past impressions and experiences bias and shape our thoughts and actions in the present. It is our karmic imprint. Not just what we are born with, but also what we accumulate while living. We can consider it as the result of our genetic code, upbringing and environment. It's our backstory. The only way to experience free will is to get rid of all such conditioning, to neutralise our karmic imprint; to be independent of our psychological coding. That's possible only if we can purify our mind by letting go of all our ego, attachments and fixed beliefs. Then we can reside in the truth of our being.

The above is an exacting definition of free will. What we commonly mean by free will is that we have a choice in most situations like, who you choose to marry, what profession you pursue or how you react to someone's aggression. Sounds reasonable. But here's the catch. Our ability to make that choice too is significantly restricted, dictated by our predispositions.

This applies even to our ability to bring about change within ourselves. Despite a strong resolve to be calmer, kinder or less anxious, our ability to manifest that change depends, partly on our emotional and mental wiring. That's why some people succeed in such efforts more than the others.

If you wish to expand the scope of your agency explore ways to engage in sustained inner work, deepen your self-awareness, examine and reform your conditioned beliefs. But then, I wonder if your inclination to embark on that journey too depende on your current karmic coding.

Free will is the ability to decide and act free from any influence of past events or environment. It implies complete freedom to make any choice absolutely. We clearly don't have free will. Our decisions and actions are never divorced from our past.

We have a conditioned mind. Our memories, past impressions and experiences bias and shape our thoughts and actions in the present. It is our karmic imprint. Not just what we are born with, but also what we accumulate while living. We can consider it as the result of our genetic code, upbringing and environment. It's our backstory. The only way to experience free will is to get rid of all such conditioning, to neutralise our karmic imprint; to be independent of our psychological coding. That's possible only if we can purify our mind by letting go of all our ego, attachments and fixed beliefs. Then we can reside in the truth of our being.

The above is an exacting definition of free will. What we commonly mean by free will is that we have a choice in most situations like, who you choose to marry, what profession you pursue or how you react to someone's aggression. Sounds reasonable. But here's the catch. Our ability to make that choice too is significantly restricted, dictated by our predispositions.

This applies even to our ability to bring about change within ourselves. Despite a strong resolve to be calmer, kinder or less anxious, our ability to manifest that change depends, partly on our emotional and mental wiring. That's why some people succeed in such efforts more than the others.

If you wish to expand the scope of your agency explore ways to engage in sustained inner work, deepen your self-awareness, examine and reform your conditioned beliefs. But then, I wonder if your inclination to embark on that journey too depende on your current karmic coding.

Free will is the ability to decide and act free from any influence of past events or environment. It implies complete freedom to make any choice absolutely. We clearly don't have free will. Our decisions and actions are never divorced from our past.

We have a conditioned mind. Our memories, past impressions and experiences bias and shape our thoughts and actions in the present. It is our karmic imprint. Not just what we are born with, but also what we accumulate while living. We can consider it as the result of our genetic code, upbringing and environment. It's our backstory. The only way to experience free will is to get rid of all such conditioning, to neutralise our karmic imprint; to be independent of our psychological coding. That's possible only if we can purify our mind by letting go of all our ego, attachments and fixed beliefs. Then we can reside in the truth of our being.

The above is an exacting definition of free will. What we commonly mean by free will is that we have a choice in most situations like, who you choose to marry, what profession you pursue or how you react to someone's aggression. Sounds reasonable. But here's the catch. Our ability to make that choice too is significantly restricted, dictated by our predispositions.

This applies even to our ability to bring about change within ourselves. Despite a strong resolve to be calmer, kinder or less anxious, our ability to manifest that change depends, partly on our emotional and mental wiring. That's why some people succeed in such efforts more than the others.

If you wish to expand the scope of your agency explore ways to engage in sustained inner work, deepen your self-awareness, examine and reform your conditioned beliefs. But then, I wonder if your inclination to embark on that journey too depende on your current karmic coding.

Free will is the ability to decide and act free from any influence of past events or environment. It implies complete freedom to make any choice absolutely. We clearly don't have free will. Our decisions and actions are never divorced from our past.

We have a conditioned mind. Our memories, past impressions and experiences bias and shape our thoughts and actions in the present. It is our karmic imprint. Not just what we are born with, but also what we accumulate while living. We can consider it as the result of our genetic code, upbringing and environment. It's our backstory. The only way to experience free will is to get rid of all such conditioning, to neutralise our karmic imprint; to be independent of our psychological coding. That's possible only if we can purify our mind by letting go of all our ego, attachments and fixed beliefs. Then we can reside in the truth of our being.

The above is an exacting definition of free will. What we commonly mean by free will is that we have a choice in most situations like, who you choose to marry, what profession you pursue or how you react to someone's aggression. Sounds reasonable. But here's the catch. Our ability to make that choice too is significantly restricted, dictated by our predispositions.

This applies even to our ability to bring about change within ourselves. Despite a strong resolve to be calmer, kinder or less anxious, our ability to manifest that change depends, partly on our emotional and mental wiring. That's why some people succeed in such efforts more than the others.

If you wish to expand the scope of your agency explore ways to engage in sustained inner work, deepen your self-awareness, examine and reform your conditioned beliefs. But then, I wonder if your inclination to embark on that journey too depende on your current karmic coding.

On a chilly winter evening, nothing warms you up better than a cup of hot cocoa. Chocolate was first consumed in liquid form by the Olmec people of northwestern Central America around 1500 BCE. It was even enjoyed by the Aztec Emperor Montezuma, and the Aztec word for it (xocolate, pronounced shoh-kwah-tl) evolved into the English word Chocolate.

But the Aztecs didn't serve their cocoa hot. And since sugar had not yet arrived from Europe, back then, the drink was often flavoured with peppers and spices. It may not have been quite as indulgent as today's version, but it was more palatable if you believed, as the Aztecs did, that chocolate was a gift from the Gods and had healing properties.

After the Spanish arrived in the Americas in the 1500s, liquid chocolate made its way across the pond, where wealthy Europeans added sugar and drank it warm. In Chocolate: History, Culture and Heritage, author Bertram Gordon says hot chocolate became "the beverage of the aristocracy," as sugar was still a luxury.

Soon enough, though, hot choclate caught on with the masses. Chocolate houses - a cross between cafes and casinos - started popping up around 17th-century Europe. In these lively places, hot chocolate was poured from gilded pots into elegant cups (for a posh experience, one can still find it today at the famed Parisian tearoom Angelina's, which is also in New York City). But by the end of the 18th century, chocolate houses had mostly died off, partly because the cost of chocolate was much higher than that of coffee or tea. Taking a tour of international cups of cocoa, Italians serve it like a thick pudding. Colombians serve it with a dollop of soft cheese while Mexicans punch it up with vanilla, chilli powder and cinnamon. And Filipinos serve it with mango chunks.