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Phobia of being the ''Richie rich'’

You might be surprised at what might this imply. Well, it means as it is written. Some people fail to understand as when and how they became so rich, say for example, the lottery winners or perhaps the winners in various competitions. These people would never have imagined that they would be the so-called 'Richie' in a few moments. Here's a few tips on how to tell if you have too much money or not. Though I bet this is a problem none of us would mind having.

For instance:
You start losing your mobile phones: the to-be very rich lose it within minutes of buying it.
You start saying your prayers (actually more than five times a day).

Luck suddenly starts favoring you for example you win a bet (which seemed impossible a few days back).

Most importantly, you start eating a lot. You ate a bowl of fruits at 12 and at 1230 you say,''I can eat a whole fried chicken- I am so hungry, just imagine''

You start losing your possessions (perhaps in hope of getting more of them). For instance, leaving behind your sandals in the mosques especially on Friday.

Daydreaming (Oh! how can I possibly forget that because that's what I'm doing these days a lot- attracting pretty much attention actually)- Aaah those ever expensive Duplex there it goes-the escalator, of course, to my room (so imaginative).

Feeling happy for no good reason? That actually is the next symptom.

Fancy and flashy (undoubtedly) objects tend to attract your attention these days a lot for example a beautiful Barbie doll (even if you are a boy).The attraction is so intense that you cannot even resist this temptation.

Last but not the least you feel that you are the luckiest person in this world (despite being just a beggar) perhaps because you just do not know what is coming ahead.

If you are laughing at all these then you are just smiling at your own ill-fate.

By Shifat Nazmee

Lines on the desert

The Nazca lines are geometric line clearings in the Peruvian desert. They were made by the Nazca people, who flourished between 200 BCE and 600 CE along rivers and streams that flow from the Andes. The area of the Nazca art is called the Pampa Colorada (Red Plain). It is 15 miles wide and runs some 37 miles parallel to the Andes and the sea. Dark red surface stones and soil have been cleared away, exposing the lighter-colored subsoil, creating the "lines". There is no sand in this desert. From the air, the "lines" include not only lines and geometric shapes, but also depictions of animals and plants in stylized forms. Some of the forms, including images of humans, grace the steep hillsides at the edge of the desert.

The Nazca lines are communal. Their creation took hundreds of years and required a large number of people working on the project. Their size and their purpose have led some to speculate that visitors from another planet either created or directed the project. Some think that the Nazca lines formed an airfield for alien spacecraft. However, it is unlikely spacecraft could have landed in the area without disturbing some of the artwork or the soil. There is no evidence of such disturbance. The Nazca probably used grids for their giant geoglyphs, as their weavers did for their elaborate designs and patterns. The most difficult part of the project would have been moving all the stones and earth to reveal the lighter subsoil. Why did the Nazca engage in such a project involving so many people for so many years?

Some people think that the lines were used for running footraces and others think they are the parts of a giant calendar. Was this a site for worship? Was this a place of pilgrimage for the Nazca? Were the images part of rituals aimed at appeasing the gods or asking for help with the fertility of the people and the crops, or with the weather or with a good supply of water? These are some of the many questions which come to a person's mind when they see these beautiful lines. Whatever the reason might have been, the Nazca Lines are still a mystery and a visual treat.

By Nishita Aurnab
Resources: The Skeptics Dictionary

"This was my village, you know”

The dazzling sun spread its light into every corner of the village, making it look bright and pleasant. It was very peaceful and the villagers were all busy with their own jobs. The inhabitants were all kind and down-to-earth people. They kept the place clean and attractive. The air smelt of honey and sugar (probably because I was standing outside a pastry shop) and the sky was clear blue.

I remembered how I used to come to this bakery everyday. The baker would always give me some bread for no charge. I always thought his bread was the best food I had ever tasted. I still come everyday and he gives me bread but it's not the same. Two weeks ago, I was a resident of this village. Now, I was just "one of those city folks."

Recently, my father got a job at an office in the city and we moved there in just two days after he was employed. My parents did not even bother to ask how I felt about moving, about leaving my home and my village. I still visited "my village of dreams" everyday, to reminisce about the golden memories of my childhood. But it was not the same anymore.

I walked down the quiet village road. It was very beautiful with flowers and trees. It was so much better than the bustle of the polluted city where thieves lurked behind every corner. During the thirteen years that I spent here I have never heard of any thefts or robberies.

As I walked along, I saw the village lake ahead, glittering in the sun. I always thought it was a magical lake because whenever I saw it, I felt happy and was thankful for everything I had on earth. I went and sat on the grass next to it and suddenly I was flooded with memories.

I remembered taking my first steps beside the lake and how the first word I spoke was "magic”. Then I recalled riding my bicycle and my father pushing me forward (and how scared I was when he let go). Then, how I broke by leg playing catch with my brother and how he started laughing. I thought of all the picnics we had under the shade of the apple trees. I remembered how my parents had a surprise party for my twelfth birthday there. I remembered the meetings of our book club that we held on these banks and how we all ended up gossiping instead of talking about books. My childhood revolved around the village and the lake. All these golden memories were the substance of my life in the village.

Then, I remembered something from about a year ago. At that time, I had no real friends and I felt alone in the world. I thought that no one cared about me and I was called the lonely girl. Nobody wanted to be my friend and I felt hopeless and uncared for. I never knew why. I was always nice to others and never affronted anyone. But people just looked down upon me. One day, a new girl called Lima moved to the village. As she was a "newbie," no one talked to her. When I saw her sitting alone under the tree, I felt sorry and went to talk to her. We had a hearty conversation and since then we are the best of friends.

The only good thing about the city is that Lima has moved there too. We always have each other's backs and are together almost all the time. I remembered how much fun Lima and I had in the village. We walked to the lake everyday and stopped to greet many people like the baker and the old woman. I remember how I fell and started crying and she picked me up (however heavy I was) and carried me back home. I remember how we made a vow to be best friends forever no matter what. She was always there for me when I needed her. I felt really sad, as we would never enjoy these emotional moments in the village anymore.

While I was sitting under the tree, thinking of life at the village, Mr. Ahmed the police officer came towards me. "I'm sure you like coming to the village but you have to go. You don't live here. No one except us can come through the gates. You city folk are just trouble. Go home, kid," He said.

"But, but. This was my village, you know, it was my home. My dreams and memories belong here." I said, heavy heartedly.

"Sorry Missie, I don't have time for dreams. But it's a rule that no one except the villagers are allowed here. And you're a city person. You don't belong here. So go away. You're not allowed here without the permission of our new mayor."

"Fine then, I'll go. But you tell your mayor that his stupid rules have not made any improvements; only broken hearts." I shouted, angrily. I turned around and ran down the road back to the city. But nothing was "fine" as I said. Everything was terrible. I cried bitterly on the way back home but tears made no difference. This was my village two weeks ago. It was my home. But not anymore

By Numaya Shahriar

Myth Box:

Gilded Men

In parts of Mexico, Central and South America, people whisper the myths of El Dorado, a mysterious country somewhere on the continent whose cities were paved with gold. The land was named “El Dorado”, or gilded man, after its fabled priest-kings who were said to be covered from head to toe with gold dust. They and their country have eluded explorers for centuries. Although later adopted by the Aztec, Mayan and especially Incan culture, the El Dorado Myth probably originated among the Chibcha Indians who inhabited the highlands around present day Bogota, Columbia.

According to the story, El Dorado is such a wealthy country that not only are its streets paved with gold, but all the buildings in each of the cities are encrusted precious stones. In spite of their wealth however, the people of El Dorado are a spiritual people and each new warrior who becomes the priest-king has to follow a strict traditional daily ritual. Every morning the king's attendants anoint their ruler by smearing his body with resin and then blowing gold dust all over him through a tube. In the evening, the king's attendants take him out on a fantastically decorated raft to the middle of sacred Lake Guatavita, where he dives into the water and washes off the gold as an offering to the gods. Meanwhile all of the people lined up on the shore throw their own offerings of gold and gems into the water.

The Spanish, who conquered the rich cities of the Incas and the Aztecs in the sixteenth century, became obsessed with the legend of El Dorado and went to great lengths to find the country and its gilded rulers. Many of the Spanish conquistadors spent years cutting through the pathless jungles and fevered swamps of the Amazon River valley in a vain search. In 1569, a Spanish conquistador named Gonzalo Quesada found what he believed to be the fabled Lake Guatavita in the mountain highlands of Columbia. He tortured several local Chibcha chieftains over a slow fire to find out where they were hiding their gilded priest-king but to no success. Since then, countless explorers of every possible nationality have searched not only South America but also Central America, Mexico and southwestern United States for the legendary land of El Dorado

By Nishita Aurnab
(Source: Great Heroes of Mythology)





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