A blog about STORIES, which should be passed from one generation to another. Stories which should be preserved, told to children. Stories which our grandmother used to tell us. Which used to enthrall us as a kid, transport us into a magical world.
Help me in passing them to the next generation, because one day you will realize - "Stories are all we have"
Stories are all we have..
Raconteur - One story everyday..
The Story of the World's Biggest Heist: Sourced from Wired.Com
Leonardo Notarbartolo strolls into the prison visiting room trailing a guard as if the guy were his personal assistant. The other convicts in this eastern Belgian prison turn to look. Notarbartolo nods and smiles faintly, the laugh lines crinkling around his blue eyes. Though he's an inmate and wears the requisite white prisoner jacket, Notarbartolo radiates a sunny Italian charm. A silver Rolex peeks out from under his cuff, and a vertical strip of white soul patch drops down from his lower lip like an exclamation mark.
In February 2003, Notarbartolo was arrested for heading a ring of Italian thieves. They were accused of breaking into a vault two floors beneath the Antwerp Diamond Center and making off with at least $100 million worth of loose diamonds, gold, jewelry, and other spoils. The vault was thought to be impenetrable. It was protected by 10 layers of security, including infrared heat detectors, Doppler radar, a magnetic field, a seismic sensor, and a lock with 100 million possible combinations. The robbery was called the heist of the century, and even now the police can't explain exactly how it was done.
The loot was never found, but based on circumstantial evidence, Notarbartolo was sentenced to 10 years. He has always denied having anything to do with the crime and has refused to discuss his case with journalists, preferring to remain silent for the past six years.
Until now.
Notarbartolo sits down across from me at one of the visiting room's two dozen small rectangular tables. He has an intimidating reputation. The Italian anti-Mafia police contend he is tied to the Sicilian mob, that his cousin was tapped to be the next capo dei capi—the head of the entire organization. Notarbartolo intends to set the record straight. He puts his hands on the table. He has had six years to think about what he is about to say.
"I may be a thief and a liar," he says in beguiling Italian-accented French. "But I am going to tell you a true story."
April the First- by Jude Masters
Old Mr. Oscar Ramirez sat at his desk with his morning cup of coffee, his hands trembling. The world as they knew, was going to end today; that's what the news headline said. The United States had just declared nuclear war on Russia after the long stand-off.
The world coming to a war was no surprise to Oscar, not really!! He has thought it of inevitable. However, he had simply hoped that the bombs would not be dropped in his lifetime. All that destruction was too wasteful in his opinion. Surely there were better things to do for the people than murder each other in the name of war. But now, in his sixty-fourth year, the world was going to end by the means of nuclear bombs. And all he could do about it was sit at his desk with his morning cup of coffee and wait for the skies to burn around him.
Oscar thought about the other people in his office. How scared they must be for their families. He knew Abigail the receptionist had a husband and two children at home. And Arnold the manager was a grandfather of twelve boys and girls. But by the end of today, they would almost certainly all be dead. Oscar had never had a family. He and Elena had married but Elena had not been able to conceive. Elena being too proud to adopt someone else's child, they remain childless. She died of heart attack three years ago. Now, at the end of the world, Oscar had no one left to worry about. Perhaps, it was better that way.
uMPiring - by Moti Nandy
Cricket has always excited the imagination of youngsters in India and this is as true in the rural areas as much as in the metropolitan cities. However, in this story, we have an unusual umpire who impacts the game in a most unexpected manner. In the annual village cricket match between Bakdeeghi and Atghara a visiting Member of Parliament (MP) is pressed into service to act as the umpire. At a critical moment in the game he is called upon to take a crucial decision and he does so, with much authority; his only problem is that he takes a decision which will not be challenged, even if wrong, because of his stature and rank, and this leads to an unexpected match result.
There was a time when half the city of Calcutta ran away to villages in Bengal in fear of the Japanese bomb. We, too, went to a place called Atghara. It was about seven miles from Tarakeshwar. We saw here the beginning of a great movement that has continued to the present day; the annual cricket match between Atghara and its neighbouring village, Bakdeeghi.
Bengal, at that time, still had a few zamindars left. The Sinhas reigned in Atghara; Bakdeeghi was ruled by the Mukherjees. It was said that the feud between the two started the day Lord Cornwallis introduced the zamindari system. However, over the years, the violence in their conflict has abated. Since the Second World War; they have been content to play only a cricket match every year to prove their individual might. It's always held during the Christmas week. The members of the two rival families begin to return to their own villages a week before the match is to be played.
After the war was over, it was decided that Ram, Lakhsman and Sita will return to Ayodhya on Pushpak, the flying chariot which was originally owned by Kuber but was acquired forcefully by Ravan. In this journey, Ram, Lakshman and Sita were accompanied by Vibhishana, Sarama, Mandodari and Trijata. They were also joined by Sugriva, Hanuman, Angada, Nala, Nila and Jambuvan.
On their way back, the entourage stopped several times. First at the tip of Jambudvipa, from which sprang the bridge to Lanka, where Ram and Sita offered prayers to Shiva, to Sampati and to Varuna, thanking them for their support during the war. After a brief halt at the caves of Swayamprabha, they passed over Kishkindha and Ram pointed to the clearing in the woods where he had killed Vali and the boulder by which he had met Hanuman. Sita recognized the trees and the riverbanks over which she had strewn her jewels. She thanked them for passing on her message to her Ram. Then they stopped at the ashramas of the rishis they had visited earlier: Agastya, Atri, Sharabhanga, Sutikshna and Bharadwaja. The birds and snakes had informed the tapasvis of Sita's plight and the rishis were glad she was safe again. Lopamudra told Sita to think of the future. Anasuya warned her against dwelling on the past.
Story of Rama's Atonement
Sourced from Sita: An illustrated retelling of the Ramayana. Authored by Devdutt Pattanaik
In a little district west of Washington Square the streets have run crazy and broken themselves into small strips called "places." These "places" make strange angles and curves. One Street crosses itself a time or two. An artist once discovered a valuable possibility in this street. Suppose a collector with a bill for paints, paper and canvas should, in traversing this route, suddenly meet himself coming back, without a cent having been paid on account!
So, to quaint old Greenwich Village the art people soon came prowling, hunting for north windows and eighteenth-century gables and Dutch attics and low rents. Then they imported some pewter mugs and a chafing dish or two from Sixth Avenue, and became a "colony."
At the top of a squatty, three-story brick Sue and Johnsy had their studio. "Johnsy" was familiar for Joanna. One was from Maine; the other from California. They had met at the table d'hôte of an Eighth Street "Delmonico's," and found their tastes in art, chicory salad and bishop sleeves so congenial that the joint studio resulted.
The Last Leaf - by O. Henry
THE stipulated period of twelve years was drawing to a close.
One day, a deer was rubbing itself against a poor brahmana's fire-kindling mortar and as it turned to go, the mortar got entangled in its horns and the affrighted animal fled wildly with it into the forest. "Alas! The deer is running away with my fire-kindler. How can I perform the fire sacrifice?" shouted the brahmana and rushed towards the Pandavas for help in his extremity. The Pandavas pursued the animal but the deer sped in great leaps and bounds, decoying the Pandavas far into the forest and then disappeared. Worn out by the futile chase, the Pandavas sat in great dejection under a banyan tree.
Nakula sighed: "We cannot render even this trifling service to the brahmana. How we have degenerated!" said he sadly. Bhima said: "Quite so. When Draupadi was dragged into the assembly, we should have killed those wretches. Is it not because we did not do so that we have had to suffer all these sorrows?" and he looked at Arjuna sadly. Arjuna agreed. "I bore in silence the vulgar and insulting brag of that son of the charioteer, doing nothing. So we have deservedly fallen into this pitiable state."
Yudhishthira noticed with sorrow that all of them had lost their cheerfulness and courage. He thought they would be more cheerful with something to do. He was tormented with thirst and so he said to Nakula: "Brother, climb that tree and see whether there is any pool or river nearby."Nakula climbed the tree, looked around and said: "At a little distance I see water plants and cranes. There must certainly be water there."Yudhishthira sent him to fetch some to drink.
Nakula was glad when he got to the place and saw there was a pool. He was very thirsty himself and so thought of quenching his thirst first before taking water in his quiver for his brother. But no sooner did he dip his hand in the transparent water than he heard a voice, which said:"Do not be rash. This pool belongs to me. O son of Madri, answer my questions and then drink the water."
The Enchanted Pool - C. Rajagopalachari
