essay on role of student in development of india

ROLE OF THE STUDENTS IN DEMOCRACY ESSAY WRITING

ROLE OF THE STUDENTS IN DEMOCRACY

Demos is a Greek word for the people. Thus democracy is a government of the people. Students form a considerable part of the population of a country. Students symbolizes the youth of the nation. There has been a trend among the teachers and parents to advise students to remain away from politics. It is a partial view. If the young students do not share their responsibility it will fall on the decaying shoulders of the older generation. The older generation has its limitations. It succumbs to pressures and stands for status quo. Both of these go against the interests of the nation. It may remain under the sway of undesirable elements within the nation or surrender before the wishes of the progressive nations.

essay on role of student in development of india

Democracy is not a stale affair like monarchy, nor is it a reign of terror like a dictatorship. It is poles apart from extreme socialism that reduces man to nothing before the authority of the state. Democracy stands for permanent everlasting ripples in the body politic of the nation. It requires active watchfulness. A little of slumber may reduce it to a play thing of a dictator. Selfish over enthusiasm may give birth to indiscipline reducing democracy to anarchy. It may result in disintegration of the nation falling prey to the ambitions of a foreign power. It is only the youth; the youth students can provide the unselfish vigilance. It is only they who keep the nation united and strong enough to face the onslaught of a foreign power with iron hand. The fort of democracy is rather built on the strength of the young.

ROLE OF THE STUDENTS IN Indian Democracy

Progress in a democratic set up requires innovation in all spheres of human life and innovation is the prerogative of the educated young. Democracy requires not only the vigilance but change too. The social and economic institutions develop in a successful democracy as they have in the USA and Japan. Efforts are to be made through the government agencies too. Thus it is essential for the young students to play an active role in the democratic set up.

Social equality, individual liberty, freedom of thought, fraternity and a spirit of tolerance are the virtues on which the citadel of democracy rests. The old become a little conservative. In a country like India they stick to the caste barriers not allowing thousands of castes get mixed up. It is the young who are more large hearted. It is they who lay stress upon freedom of thought and individual liberty. Let them be the essential part of the political setup to make the democracy a real success.

New Speech Topics on ABUSE OF INDIAN CHILD

ABUSE OF INDIAN CHILD

There has been open abuse of children in a number of ways in India. Girls in early teens in Hyderabad and Kerala are married to Sheikhs from Arab countries. It went to such an extent that the Waqf Board had to ask the Moulvis to bring such pending marriages to the notice of the board before solemnizing them. The abuse of girls on the border of Maharashtra and Karnataka where girl child is offered to the temple of goddess Yellamma as Devadasi is nothing less than throwing her to the flesh market. The harassment of both male and female child in the bonded labor market is well known. Both are sexually assaulted by the employer and contractor. Same is the story of girls in the tribal belt where the child is a prey for the forest employees, contractors and even government servants.

The condition of children is worse in city slums, footpath dwellings and Indian Jails. They are sexually exploited by the slum dadas-even neighbors in the slums and on foot paths in metropolitan cities. Since there are not many juvenile jails in India most of the child convicts are kept in regular jails. Sexual abuse is a regular feature. Hard core convicts and jail staff satisfy their sexual lust on these children. Eighties saw a new type of child abuse. There was a spree of child adoption by foreigners from developed countries on humanitarian grounds. In due course it was also found that in many cases these children had to work as household servants. Where can one find such a cheap commodity? In some cases it was also found that the children became sexual targets of their adopters. Government of India and the Mission of charity had to put many restrictions on this adopting business.

Nineties began with the most ignoble type of abuse. Even child abuse has taken a sophisticated turn in this age of sophistication. One can have or transmit the most sophisticated knowledge on latest inventions and technology across the world in milliseconds through Cyberspace and internet-information systems. There are a large number of files on the computer based bulletin board information system. It is in operation in all developed countries. A farmer, a scientist or a musician, even a housewife can secure information from a file in the bulletin network on the computer and can have its printout on a laser writer or any other printer one has access to. It is just like having a photocopy as you have of a reservation ticket or a computerized article.

This useful and most beneficial system has been now used for the satisfaction of the basest pleasure- the sexual vision and perception not indulgence of course. Paedophiles have introduced their own files in these bulletins. If a number of the files is known any one can have the meanest enjoyment of child pornography on their sets and can acquire the prints too. There is a network of paedophiles in the under developed countries. They would take the photographs or films of children who have been forced to indulge in sex with other children or even adults. These are transmitted to the bulletin files. This abuse was formerly arranged with small children in Sri Lanka. Beautiful beaches there are the happy hunting grounds for western paedophiles. The same has been done by these mean people in Thailand Philippines. Now it is the turn of India on a very large scale.

The biggest centre of these activities is Copenhagen, a beautiful port in Denmark. There pornography is legal. There are checks only on sexual abuse below age of consent. The age of consent is 15. Thus pornographic pictures and films of children of Denmark above 15 are not illegal. But in the case of children of undeveloped countries there are no norms. Their pornographic pictures are shown and enjoyed openly. The moral malady is expected to spread in other European countries too. India being a poor country anyone can be exploited here. Poor Indian children are easy prey to the evil designs of the paedophiles. When and how they manage to have the pornographic materials is yet to be traced. The government does not seem inclined to do anything in this respect in the modern atmosphere of liberalisation.

Short Essay Writing on A WEEKLY MARKET DAY

A WEEKLY MARKET DAY

Don’t rush. Drive slow. See the baby crossing the road, cried my sister. The driver slowed down the jeep. We were on the highway from Ranchi to Raigarh. But now at Patratoli the highway was overflowing with human beings of all ages- men, women, old and young –little children running on the road as if it was the courtyard of their house; and little babies trying to jump out of the laps of their mothers. I had seen weekly markets at different places. But the one at Patratoli- about half a kilometer long –as is a big regular market had come down to the roadside to be at the reach of the Vanvasis.

Toys and toys and toys- all indigenous toys of wood, paper machine bamboo and even of stones. A three-wheel walkie for the kid to learn walking-a bird that would whirl in the atmosphere on a string- small wood toys- a whole platoon of soldiers with guns, a complete bands for the occasion of the marriage of your doll. The whole transport system- buses, trains, jeeps, cars, aeroplanes, ships and boats all are there to suit everyone’s pocket. At a little distance you will find an enthusiastic young man exhibiting some mechanized toys too. A three bogie Calcutta Express moves fast on a railway track. All would enjoy the show. But the prices are prohibitive. They would buy the wooden ones only.

Turn to the left in the middle of the roadside market. You have a sub market, but a big one vegetables and vegetables- cheap as well as costly. People buy them for a week- for they’ll have them next Thursday only. What about cooking media. Don’t worry. There’s another small market of about 30 shops- all temporary ones. You’ll have oil, vegetable ghee, and refined oil-no desi ghee. Who will purchase these more than hundred rupees a kilo in this area? But pulses, rice, gram, peas- all are available.

Don’t get disheartened if you are a non-vegetarian. Mutton is there. But the most hankered after is the poultry- a lot of it- a bit prohibitive for the poor. But then they can have fish- most of them are small frying variety brought by the tribal themselves from their village ponds. The trade of mahua too is among the tribal only- some selling- others purchasing.

Snacks! – Of course you can have these too. There is a row of sweet meat sellers. Of course, one can have sophisticated biscuits and toffee for children once in a while. Fruits may be considered a rare thing. But bananas and mangoes are there in small baskets and carts.

You can have rest under a tree where free water is available before going for the ready-made clothes. Three-fourth of the market is occupied by these cloth merchants of all shades. Yes you can have a sari for your mother or sister. See that young man purchasing a fantastic one for his newlywed partner. You can have lunges and underwear of all shades and colors- no, no, no sophistication here- all bright and fast colors.

Require utensils! Available in plenty- brass, copper, stainless steel and many in plastic too. Crockery too is there. But make haste for the evening is approaching. The vendors have already started winding their business- putting the things back in the boxes. Within half an hour the road will be left bare for your jeep to rush to your destination.

A VISIT TO A HISTORICAL MONUMENT- THE TAJ

A VISIT TO A HISTORICAL MONUMENT- THE TAJ

One has to attune one’s mind while passing from spiritual faith to mortal love. Holy Haridwar and Rhishikesh, the abodes of Saints were left miles and miles behind. I was sailing on the clouds of fancy. My soul was pining to see the monument that has immortalized the love between Shajahan and Mumtaz Beghum. My impatience changed into curiosity when I came across the board ‘Taj View’. On the other side of the Jamuna the ‘Dream in Marble’ appeared at a distance and was gone in a minute. An hour and we would be face to face with this seventeenth century monument. Entering the huge red stone gate you reach a platform, and the whole panorama of Taj complex is before you. A few stairs down-the canal leads you to the glamorous building. It is flanked by Cyprus trees. There are fountains in the middle. But they do no sprout as those of the Vrindavan Gardens do. They are the serene symbols of a tomb.

The Taj stands on a raised platform. The octagonal shining white building has a perfect symmetry. In the big hall Shajahan enjoys eternal sleep with his wife Mumtaz. The two graves are surrounded with a beautiful marble lattice. There is a corridor of rooms around the hall. Everything is superb and graceful. On the four corners of the platform are four minarets standing lie four sentries in sparkling white robes. River Yamuna washes its feet on the other side.

The majesty stuck me. It was a dream realized. But dreams are dreams after all. I was lost in the beauty and height of the dome when someone put his hand on my shoulders. ‘Isn’t it beautiful? The man asked. ‘Oh! It’s marvelous’ I replied.

“But its marvel lies not in being a tomb but a temple,” he said taking me to another side. There was a full length copy of the shining metal structure above the dome. It comprised of a trident, a sacred coco-nut, two mango leaves, a’Kalash’ and the moon as on the forehead of Lord Shiva. He took me to other buildings. All the borders were cut or engraved with the figures of ‘trishul’ and snakes, the symbols of Lord Shiva. The middle aged man told me that two American Archaeologists took two pieces of marble from the main building. After latest chemical process they have proved that Taj was built in the 12th century and no the seventeenth. It is the fifth Shiva Temple of Agra built by King Parmardi Dev. He gave me a pamphlet having 42 reasons and left.

I was rather stunned. The dream was lost in confusion. I just thought the Government does not explode the myth only because the Taj is the source of one third of the total tourist income of the country. A temple won’t attract these crowds and we do not want to displease a community.

I was rather thankful to Shajahan for not destroying the building. He only removed the Shiva Linga from the centre of the inner hall and replaced it with the grave of his beloved Mumtaz Beghum. Back home I turned the pages of history and found that Mumtaz Begham had died in a city in Maharashtra. There is a tomb of the queen there. How her body was brought to Agra more than a thousand miles. Moreover was her body exhumed which is considered a sin among Muslims.

It brought to my mind the controversy of Babri Masjid at Ayodhya, Krishna Janma Bhumi at Mathura where mosques were built over the temples of Ram lala and Bal Krishna. It also reminded me of the mosque at Varanasi where half of the temple of Lord Shiva has been changed into a mosque. Well I could not forget the temple of 64 yoginis at Jabalpur and 365 devis at Viramgam in Gujarat whose breasts, nose and ears were cut. This all is rather a farce in this country just to appease a certain community. People and Non government organizations should raise their voice against this national humiliation.

Short Essay on A MORNING SCENE IN MY TOWN

A MORNING SCENE IN MY TOWN

The soul of William Wordsworth experiences bliss when he looks at London from the West minister Bridge. His lips brimming with joy move in the appreciation of

The beauty of the morning: silent, bare,

       Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie

       Open unto the fields’ and to the sky

All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.

That is what the city was to the great bard of nature on September 3, 1802. The industrial revolution had not yet made the city dirty. The poet still saw the glimpses of the nature in the flow of father Tames when at the end of the sonnet he says.

The river glided at his own sweet will:

Dear God! The very houses seem asleep;

And all that mighty heart is lying still!

That is what I too feel when from the roof of my house I look at the houses in the lanes and bye lanes – all leading to the roads. Peace and tranquility reigns supreme. The lanes look like small streams flowing to meet the river of the main road. The roads lead to the high way- they are not yet awake, the eye lids have yet to open. The dawn has all the more made them numb. The roads move in their stillness. Only a few hours later they will be crushed under the heavy feet of the mad traffic. They will themselves rush with sped.

Before the sun rises to its shining glamour let me enjoy the dreaming tenure of the cross at the church. The temple bells have started ringing. Lord Shiva is awake. The songs in his praise are moving the very soul of the people-men, women, boys and girls who just want to have a glimpse of the Lord to begin the day with a good omen.

Although there are not many pranks in my city. They come to life in the early hours. See the old couple moving slowly to enjoy fresh air. The young are in the lawns-some for brisk exercise- the others for yoga sans. Some young ladies run after the tiny kids who are running after butterflies. The birds too are awake and are twittering to the little human beings who have yet to learn how to walk. As the trees lengthen their shadows with the rising sun the park is left alone to prepare itself for its evening rush.

The street lights withdraw as the sunrays spread all over. The restaurant at the road crossing brims with life –a few minutes more and you will have a hot drink of your choice- a tea or coffee, vadas, idlis or dosha. The north Indian restaurant in the other lane offers jalebis and samosas.

It’s half past six. Half of the city is awake. Housewives are out with their kids armed with Tiffin box and water bottles waiting for the school bus or rickshaw. The young ones are more anxiously waiting for they have to bear the heavy burden of their bags and kits. They are disciplined chaps standing in a queue unlike their elders who would push one another after some hours to enter the bus for their office.

Now it’s time for me too to leave the glamour of my city where

Never did sun more beautiful steep

Never saw I, never felt, calm so deep!