Corruption-A fact of life in the indian society

Corruption: A fact of life in the Indian Society The consequences of corruption are well known. But, in India, these consequences are not well-realised. The public has not had an adequate realisation of the dangers of corruption. Corruption is Anti- national and Anti- economic development. We, as the inhabitants of this nation, have either given up hope of making our country less corrupt or, we have accepted corruption as a fact of life. It is not easy to define corruption. But in a narrow sense, corruption is mostly concerned with bribery and it takes several forms. Corruption has progressively increased and is now rampant in our society. Now, corruption is not only confined to politicians or the government alone. The fact is that most of the Indians are involved in corrupt practices in one way or the other, either due to greed or due to so called compulsion. There are not many causes of corruption. But amidst these few causes, there is one main cause. That one main cause is us, the people of India. Just so that our work becomes easy and fast going, we pay bribes and make sure our wanted work is done. The main cause is growing competition in this growing country. As the country grows, so does the corruption and blocks the growth. This is one of the reasons for India still being a less economically developed country. From small time clerks to the high profile politicians,

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You have been stranded on a desert island. Describe your first 24 hours alone on the island.

Hannah Greenslade Y10 Coursework Assignment 2 5/11/01 Option 3 Task; You have been stranded on a desert island. Describe your first 24 hours alone on the island. The first thing that hit me was the smell. Even before I opened my eyes, I knew where I was. The tantalizing scent of washed-up waves and bananas all rolled into one. I felt the millions of grains of sand, hot against my fingers and the cool breeze against my face, - a relief from the sweltering sun. I heard the sea crawling onto the sand and, further away, the same monster dashing against the rocks. As I opened my mouth to take in a gulp of air, I tasted salt in my throat. Not the same taste as on Brighton Pier, when you look over into the sea, but a fresh, clean one, as if taking in pure oxygen. Only then, when my four other senses had taken in their share of my surroundings, did I allow myself to open my eyes. I was amazed at how easily fantasy and reality intertwined at that moment. It was like continuing a dream after waking up. As I lifted my eyelids, as the barrier between my imagination and actuality was removed, the accuracy of my prediction astounded me. As I sat up and looked around, I realized that I must have been asleep for a long time, as my sopping wet clothes were completely dry. I could just see the island on which I had been staying, a strip of land on the contrasting horizon. The rubber

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Aftermath - creative writing.

Aftermath BANG! I woke. I opened my eyes but was unable to see. The dust had settled like concrete boulders into the corners of my eyes! Everything was deadly still. The wind fiercely gave a shout. A black cloud stood dominating the demolished town. I moved my hands to wipe my irritated eyes, boulders, brickwork, broken furniture and complete devastation stood before me. A ray of light appeared through cracks of the rubble. The boulders took on features like monsters and ogres - making my chest tighten with fear. I vociferated for help. No one was around. I was scared: Petrified. I managed to pull my achy bones out from the debris, the pain was horrific. I could feel the cold misty wind stroke my face. In the far distance I could hear low voices that became louder and louder: hysterical screams. I attempted to crawl my way towards the noise - in hope for help. Shards of glass dug into the palms of my hands. Warm blood trickled down my knees, my throat tightened with the dirty dense dust. I could taste the fear. Behind me I heard a crackle. I turned. The flames of fire danced before my eyes. The heat scorched my face like the hottest sauna could. The smoke was a ferocious lion ready to pounce. I moved as quickly as I could, using all the energy I had. Slowly crawling like a young baby. I felt hopeless: disconsolate! The further I crawled the louder the low voices

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A Foreboding Night. Ian sat on the curb, his hands buried deep inside the pocket of his jeans.

A Foreboding Night Ian sat on the curb, his hands buried deep inside the pocket of his jeans. Puddles of rain filled the gaps between the uneven concrete, reflecting the eerie glow of the streetlamps. The oppressive night air never failed to release its grasp on him. The hairs on his arm tingled as the chilling wind breathed into his face, whispering unnerving secrets into his ear. He glanced at his wristwatch. At last, with its headlights flashing, a taxi broke through the end of the street. Ian sprang up and waved frantically at the car. The tires screeched as it skidded to a halt. Ian opened the door and felt a rush of relief as he plopped himself onto the worn-out leather seat. A faint yellow glow emanated from the lights on the peeling ceiling. The taxi driver peered at him through the rearview mirror. His eyes were bloodshot, devoid of all emotions. "Where to?" he rasped. Ian glanced around uneasily. "Where do you want to go?" the driver repeated. The harshness of his tone struck Ian into silence. His throat felt tight as he struggled to think of a place. Sweat began to trickle down his neck. Something wasn't right. Trees, bushes, and streetlamps whirred by as the car sped along the streets, its headlights piercing through the wilderness of night like the eyes of a wolf. Spilling out its light onto the ribbon of slick concrete, the crescent moon followed the car and

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Contrast Between a place at Two different times

Antoine Tuesday 17th of November 2009 LaCour Contrast Essay 2nde4 The bright orange sun slowly rose above the horizon of the city of New Orleans. It was a special day, Mardi Gras day. The people had been preparing for weeks. They had multi-coloured costumes and massive, feather-covered floats parked in their garages or alleyways. At around 6 AM, the first New Orleanians were in the wide streets parading. They were throwing hundreds of bead necklaces which wrapped around the power lines and the branches of the blooming magnolia trees, reflecting the brilliant sunlight. It seemed that gold dust was falling from the trees. The dazzling paraders were beating on tambourines, playing trumpets, trombones, saxophones and drums. Many people were on their iron balconies cheering. The parade had started to grow and was now like a snake slithering through the streets of the French Quarter. The gigantic floats represented dragons or pirate ships. They were full of revellers throwing bead necklaces to the parade-goers. These were dressed in shiny, bright colours such as green, yellow or purple, the traditional colours of Mardi Gras. People drank 'Hurricanes' from colourful plastic cups. Then one of the many Indian bands passed. They were all dressed in Indian costumes but the chief was all in flashy colours such as yellow or pink and marched in Indian file

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Out to the sea. Hard rust flakes had replaced the hulls black paint in places. Sharp edged barnacles stuck fast to the shipside.

Top of Form OUT TO SEA We stood in the small bobbing boat, hanging on to the rail for dear life, and looked up at the ship's towering hull with trepidation. How were we ever going to climb that rope ladder hanging down the shipside? How foolish we had been to join our Dad's ship instead of enjoying a comfortable vacation at home! Hard rust flakes had replaced the hull's black paint in places. Sharp edged barnacles stuck fast to the shipside. A strong wind drove up spray every few minutes, which cut into our faces like a whip. The salt water dried partially on our clothes and felt sticky. The smell of the sea was everywhere: part fishy and part watery. The boat rolled mildly most of the time, but occasionally a big roll took our breath away, making us feel like spilling our guts out. I couldn't let those hardened sea dogs see me vomit. I stole a glance at my brother. Ashen faced, he was thinking the same thing. An anchored ship makes not a sound. The swell threw the boat about roughly, squeezing the rubber fenders against the shipside, causing a wailing sound. It stood out against a vast empty quietness, like a baby crying, sad and forlorn. There are other sounds too, if you care to listen. Some waves go off in wrong directions, hit against others and make low lapping sounds. Flags make fluttering sounds. Occasionally, the boatman starts up his engines with a growl that

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The final hour. There was rampant and piercing gunfire opened by the enemy; there was a forceful flow of lethal bullets.

The final hour The night was dark; I could barely see shadows moving through the trees. I chose a thick thorny bush, to entwine, in the pursuit to escape. It was a tryst between faith and me, who would survive. The thorny bush, the dried leaves and the entire battlefield was in the clutches of fire. This was a scene from hell. The relentless flames had ended not only peace and tranquility, but also the lives of many. It had changed the destiny of the generations to come. They would have had to live with the history of the time, where mankind had committed the most heinous crime. I shut my eyes, to detach myself from the massacre. I could not reach out to them, neither could they to me. Animals, we all were, savage and without ethics. Yet a tear rolled down, for my friends, but in joy, for they were free now, free from this hell. There was rampant and piercing gunfire opened by the enemy; there was a forceful flow of lethal bullets. The gunpowder smelt fresh out of a factory, and reeked of danger. The bullets were ripping through the air and were difficult to dodge. One bullet brushed past my shoulder sending a shiver down my spine, blood rushing down to my toes. Death was nearer than ever; I knew I would breathe my last. My palms were sweaty despite the cold; I could feel numbness all over. I bit my lip to awaken my senses. Was it just a few hours back that I was in my

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Travel and tourism letter for a school trip.

6/12/10 Dear Parents, Re: Travel and Tourism trip to The Tower of London Friday 10/12/10 Our first travel and tourism trip of the school year will be to the Tower of London this Friday. The purpose of the trip is to visit one of London's major tourist attractions. During the visit they will have the opportunity to look around the Tower of London and hopefully see the Crown Jewels. There will also be an education session led by one of the Tower of London staff on travel and tourism related issues such as customer service, guest care, marketing and so on. We will be travelling by bus and underground to Tower Hill. Programme. Timings will be approximate. 09:00 Leave school 0:15 Arrive at the Tower of London 0:30 Look around the Tower 2:00 Education talk 3:30 Lunch 4:00 Either continue the tour of the Tower or walk along the south bank to visit some other landmarks 5:45 Arrive back at Turn Pike Lane Students will need to wear uniform for this trip and will need to bring a packed lunch. If your son or daughter qualifies for a free school meal then please indicate this on the reply slip. I will be returning to school but it may be more convenient if your son/ daughter goes home from Turnpike Lane or another station enroute from Tower Hill. If you do not want your child to come back to school please tick the appropriate box on the reply

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Friendship And Kinship If someone asks me who is the most important person in my life, my answer will be: my family members and friends

Friendship And Kinship If someone asks me who is the most important person in my life, my answer will be: my family members and friends, because these two relationship have ever made me happy and taken care of me. In my mind, friendship involves recognition or familiarity with another's personality. Everyone has lots of friends around the world. Even though some people might think that the friendship and kinship are similar, I think there are some difference. We have an opportunity to choose someone to be a friend; however, we cannot choose family members. We can choose our friends who are loyal, cordial, friendly, or kind, who have a similar personality, who can share our lives, thoughts, feelings, and frustrations to each other. Also, this will be unlimited to choose. However, we do not have any chance to choose our relatives. Every member is predetermined when we were born. It is possible that we cannot find someone in our family who we really want to talk when we have problems. When we discuss a question, we might have a quarrel because we can't find common ideas. However, we like to talk to our friends, because they can understand us and we have common opinions. When we talk to our relatives, we have limited topics. In general, we would like to talk about learning, job, events of the world, weather or some family events. We have to be careful with our words when we

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First Time at Times Square

First Time at Times Square I never forget the first time when I visited the Times Square. The excitement I felt just as a small child may feel at an amusement park: excited, curious, and anxious to do and see absolutely everything. The first thing impressed me was the smell of the Times Square. The ever changing smells of Times Square amaze me. I take a few short strides along the side walk and the smells of freshly cooked shish'ka'bobs being sold by a street vendor fills the air with a sweet fragrance of barbeque chicken. Suddenly, after a few more strides along the same wide stretch of sidewalk packed full of tourist, vendors and street performers, the air is now full of the smell of roasted peanuts, almonds, and cashews. However, not all of the smells are mouth watering. Most of the street corners have either huge round sewage drains, or rectangular ones with bars. Through the gaps and holes of these sewage drains seep such a fowl smelling odor that you soon forget any of the pleasant ones surrounding it. As I walked over one of the old odorous drains, hot steam flew up and out of it, right up my nostrils and triggered my gag reflexes. As we walk along, I stop to admire one of the many street performers along Times Square. His skin is covered from head to toe in a metallic silver paint. He is wearing a tight suit, also the same color as his skin and he is

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