SATegorically speaking.

Sara's vituperative speech which castigated her peers and seniors alike, was a callous one and it was only after she was indicted from her position as the Head of the Committee did she reveal that Mr.Ben had insinuated her to impugn the other members; a fact whose veracity was substantiated with evidence from Old Tom who revealed, not without bombastic ebullience, that Ben was a "vindictive toerag" and this lead to reconciliation only to some extent- for some affronted members were intransigent to the idea of exonerating her for her ignominy.

The obsequious sycophant that Tanya was, it was also the cheap chicanery behind the sanctimonious facade that led her peers to conclude that she was no better than Jennifer, who was the epitome of duplicitous dealings and supercilious belligerence.

Being Woman..

Every evening, Veena spent an hour at the park. A short and slightly plump woman of forty, Veena had been told that exercise and a balanced diet was the only way to cope with diabetes. The park was usually crowded in the evenings. Several ladies discussing domestic issues monopolized the walking track, middle aged men walked in a medium pace in clusters while techies jostled in-between these groups jogging spiritedly and occasionally children raced through the track, bumping their way through.

In such conditions, one inadvertently heard snatches of conversations that entertained the listener greatly. Young working women chatted about their workplace and the challenges of managing the household, middle aged ladies complaining about their husbands, children, in-laws, domestic helpers and generally everybody who disagreed with them while the grannies mostly hobbled around at a slow pace or discussed the achievements of their grandchildren in the comforts of a bench. The men on the other hand mostly discussed politics and cricket while some ranted about their wives.

One evening, as Veena was walking towards the park, three girls, probably in their pre-teens came out of the park. They appeared to be having a deep discussion. The girl in the middle looked confused and upset while the other two were doing the talking.

“Accept it, you were born a girl and will remain one all your life” said one of the two.

“Yeah, what makes you feel so bad about it? You can’t change things. Accept the fact” added the other.

The girl in between them remained silent but it was clear from her skeptical looks that she wasn’t convinced.

Veena smiled to herself as she heard this. It reminded her of her own search for an identity during her youth. 

Born in village near Bangalore, Veena, for most of her childhood had hated herself. It came as a consequence of the continual nagging of her family. Since she was born in a patriarchal family, Veena’s birth was heralded as “yet another bundle of expenses” and she had been looked down upon for the only reason that she was a girl. Initially it had surprised her innocent mind, but over time she grew accustomed to the ways of her family.

Her teenage years were tormented. She could no longer stand the snide remarks, the unwarranted chiding and longed for love and affection. What amazed her was that her detractors were mostly the female members of the family. Didn’t they realize that they were no different?

In her quest for love and appreciation, she participated in boys’ games and helped the men on the fields, hoping that she would finally gain acceptance in her family. She was mistaken. They had found another reason to castigate her. 

“Since you’ve had the misfortune of being born as a girl, at least behave like one! What’s all this tomboy behavior?” berated her grandmother. 

Veena had a miserable time during those years and had grown to consider being born a girl as a curse. Out of desperation and determination to get away from the wretched backwardness of her village, she left the village in the hope of a better life in Bangalore. 

Due to the kindness of a stranger, she found employment and consequently, a good income and an accommodation. Here, Veena was exposed to the changing times, the progression in women’s empowerment and the rapidly evolving society.

Over time, she met a man, who loved and cared for her, for who she was and Veena settled down happily. She continued to work post marriage and they lived a contented life. She had made no attempt to reunite with her family and neither had they succeeded in tracing her. She was happier than ever before, yet the scars of her childhood left her in self-doubt and demoralized her at times.

Things changed forever on 20^th September 1990, in a small room in a hospital, as she held her new born daughter in her hands. As she looked at the bundle of joy, tears brimmed in her eyes. She felt a strange, inexplicable sensation tingling in her; the beauty of Motherhood. She had never before felt so elated; despite the pain that seared through her, she felt at peace with herself. Motherhood had made her embrace the joy of being a woman.

She smiled to herself. She saw some similarity in the girl’s predicament. But she knew, a time would come, when the girl would feel ecstatic about what she probably regretted being today…

 A few days back, I heard the exact same conversation as I've mentioned in the story, as I was walking to the park.. And that set me thinking.. Probably "Over thinking" :P

Magical Munnar.

They were in the undulating hills of Munnar. There was green all around; a treat for those confined in concrete jungles. As the sun set behind the mist and mountains, darkness gently descended over Paradise on Earth.

Shruthi and Deepak sat in silence. It was Deepak’s idea to unwind over the weekend. But both knew the real reason: It was yet another attempt to mend the strains that had emerged. Incredible though it seemed, they had nothing to say except for idle comments on the scenery or the weather. 

They watched the bonfire until the embers died down and then made their way back to their room through the lantern-lit pathway that illuminated the enchanted surroundings.The air was heady with night queens blossoming among the bushes.It looked magical, but they were lost in their own world to notice the surreal beauty in their midst.

“Beautiful place…” said Deepak to no one in particular.

“Hmm. Good Night’” said Shruthi as she snuggled cozily in bed.

***

The next day they took a walk through the tea estate. Women worked in clusters, trimming the shrubs and cutting the leaves. The air had a whiff of tea wafting from the nearby refinery and the murmur of chatting workers echoed through the hills.

Deepak glanced at Shruthi, as she listlessly walked on. Where was the sparkle in her eye, the witty chatter and the spirit in her life that had captivated him? He wondered. Then, he realized that neither was he the solid rock of support for her anymore. With a twinge of guilt, he reminisced about the good old days, when he surprised her with gifts and flowers, when he was there for her as a shoulder to cry on, when their lives revolved around each other and nothing else…

“Roti curry or Rice rasam?” Shruthi asked him. They were in the resort restaurant. 

He woke up from his reverie. “Uh, Anything…I’ll have whatever you’re having.” he said. 

Shruthi arched her eyebrows but said nothing.

“Shruthi, there’s a Lake nearby with boating facility. Shall we go?” he asked tentatively as they progressed to the dessert.

She nodded affirmatively and returned to scrutinizing the table.

The car swerved gently as they ascended downhill, towards the town. The sky was overcast and grey. Shruthi sat humming to the Bollywood songs on the stereo. ‘Barso Re’ sang Shreya Ghoshal as big drops of water splashed on the windscreen. The air was now chilly and the wind howled through the hills.

Shruthi was enthralled. “Let’s get out!” she said excitedly to Deepak.

Deepak smiled. He saw traces of the old Shruthi surface from the depths of Time. He quickly stopped the car and they got out to soak in the drizzle. 

They stood there for a long time. As they got drenched in the rain, remorse and regret over the past washed over them and then was replaced by a new zeal and zest. 

Deepak placed a protective hand over Shruthi as they walked towards a bench, which seemed to be there just for them. She didn’t shirk away this time; she knew this was a transformation. Deepak too, was elated. He had forgotten how beautiful Shruthi was; her face shone with radiance and pure joy of rain and romance. 

They sat observing the scenery. They had nothing to say, the eyes said it all. Somewhere a bird chirped blithely. The trees glistened with raindrops hanging from the leaves like glittery diamonds. The hills looked greener and somewhat fresher after the shower. And they unconsciously added to the beauty of God’s creation, as they embraced.

Insomnaic Speaks

Yes, I'm proud to announce, that I'm nearly an insomnaic! I say nearly because, the probability of my drifting of to sleep at at any time less than 12 is still not zero. But, its a progress. A good progress too, I'll say.
Anyway, I should probably slow down on the stories I'm churning out. Not that I had any quality but merely Quantity does not qualify. Q much? :)

And by the way, I'm ultra happy. Yes Supremely happy with the Universe because, I'm taking SAT! January 28th :D XD You can't guess how euphoric I am. But that's probably not the right emotion to feel? Oh IDK.

And... I reread Mill On the Floss, read She's a Jolly Good Fellow by Sajita Nair- about women in the army. Doctors by Erich Segal- about Harvard Med School (sortof) and now I'm reading "Hitch hiker' guide to the galaxy" by Douglas Adams (totally zapped me out!).

Ciao.
<3

Old Man By The Shed..

Sanjay slowed down. As he proceeded to park his cycle outside the school, he glanced at the shed. There he was; the old man was as regular as the sun and the stars. He sat on a ragged mat and watched the children enter the hallowed portals of Vidya Niketan, one of the best schools in the city. He was unkempt and filthy but his crooked smile and twinkling eyes made you look beyond his disheveled appearance.

Sanjay had been seeing the Old Man By The Shed ever since he joined Vidya Niketan more than a decade ago. He neither liked nor disliked him. He was in his own world which consisted of gizmos, games, girls, good grades and little else. Yet, Sanjay always spared a quick nod and a hint of a smile for the old man, which he eagerly returned. Although they had never spoken till date, they shared a special bond.

Rain or shine, the old man was always there. The school authorities had been unsuccessful in evacuating him from the shed and since he was mostly a harmless soul, they left him in peace.

But one cold December morning, the shed wore a deserted look. The sole occupant was missing. Sanjay peeped into the dilapidated structure, that was his home, but it was empty. His belongings were scattered and strewn all over the floor. Something is wrong, he thought. He looked at his watch and considered the plan that was forming in his head. 

He hopped back onto his cycle and went to the eatery at the end of the street. The owner of ‘Priya Darshini’ was known to sponsor the Old Man’s meals for free. He approached one of the waiters who delivered his meals to his shed.

“Uncle, do you know where the old man near my school is?” he asked.

The waiter blinked. “Why are you so curious, boy?” he inquired. Sanjay shifted uncomfortably and said with a touch of asperity, “How does it matter? Do you know where he is or not?”

The waiter grinned and replied “Calm down, young man. I know where he is. Last night, a few men from a nearby slum tried to occupy his shed. They were a bit rough with him. But before they could do any serious damage to the old man, we rushed to his aid and chased those men away. They won’t come back again” he declared, with an air of finality.

“So where is he right now?” asked Sanjay.

“At DG hospital.” He replied.

Sanjay thanked him and walked away thinking deeply. He wasn’t satisfied. He wanted to see the Old Man for himself and be sure that he was alright.  “I’ll risk it” he said to himself and approached the front desk with some trepidation.

“I want to see the old man who was admitted last night.” Said Sanjay, ”He’s my friend”, he added a little peevishly in response to the receptionist’s surprised look. 

“Room 108. First floor.” She said, still looking at Sanjay curiously.

As Sanjay made his way through long labyrinths of sick and suffering patients, he wondered what on earth he was doing here. He was surprised that he cared for the old man. He had never really bothered about him all these years, but now; he realized he was probably wrong.

He entered the room and saw the Old Man lying limp and bandaged. For nearly a minute, boy and man looked at each other. The old man smiled and the scars on his face deepened. Sanjay was still appalled at the damage the rogues had inflicted on the poor man. The old man looked frail and weak. But Sanjay’s visit brightened his eyes and he beamed happily.

“It is very kind of you to visit me, son” said the old man in halting English. “I’ve been seeing you for nearly 10 years. You’re a good boy.” 

Sanjay smiled. He had no grandparents of his own. He was beginning to like this Old Man.

“What’s your name, Grandpa?” asked Sanjay.

“Karim Khan” said the old man with a chuckle. “You’ve seen me for so long and you never knew my name?” he asked incredulously. Sanjay smiled sheepishly.

As the days passed, Sanjay and Karim Khan forged a wonderful friendship and both of them looked forward to each other’s company. They exchanged stories and spent time analyzing every cricket match. Karim, Sanjay discovered, was quite a well-read man and enthralled him with stories of Wars and Battles that made history come alive.

One evening, nearly 2 years after the incident that brought them together, Sanjay contemplated about what a mammoth change Karim Khan had brought about in his life; it’s these things that make life beautiful, he thought.

True, Life is all about journey, rather than merely the destination. And it’s these experiences that make the journey worthwhile…

'Rao' Rambles.

1936. In the tiny hamlet of Hosur, Kamala and her husband Ramachandra Rao lived in a modest house. They were relatively well off, thanks to the good harvest. With four sons and a daughter, Kamala had a tough time managing the household in the early years. Ramachandra had completed his secondary school education and thus had the privilege of being an assistant to the District Collector. Thus, the family was respected by the village and they lead a comfortable life.

Years passed, and the village flourished; its fields were replenished by the Hemavathi. It was the period of War and Ramachandra, much to the chagrin of his wife, decided to participate in the Freedom Struggle. The boys considered this heroic and wholeheartedly supported their father and on 13^th June, 1943, he left the house, in spite of Kamala’s pleas, never to return alive.

Kamala was distraught. She controlled her grief to tackle the impending question: How was she going to raise four boys and a girl singlehandedly? She decided to work; something unheard of for a woman in those conservative days. Nevertheless, after much persuasion, she was offered her husband’s job. She appointed a helper to inspect the fields and ensured that they were not neglected.

Kamala was now an ambitious woman. Her dedication impressed the Collector and he recommended her for the Panchayat Committee. In a matter of months, she was appointed and her pay increased manifold. She now travelled by an ambassador and wielded much power in the district. After her tenure, which coincided with the graduation of her sons, she retired from politics, since they now produced handsome salaries.

The fields, however, were now literally in deep water. The Government proposed the construction of a dam across Hemavathi and this resulted in flooding of several acres of land. The compensation was meager and approaching the court was a long and arduous route. It was in this situation that her third son, Surya Narayan approached her with a request. Now Kamala always had a soft corner for Surya Narayan, her most ambitious son, with a desire to see the world. It reminded her of her younger days when she had dreams of travelling across the ocean to other countries.

She knew the reason for his approach. For long, he had nurtured the idea of studying in America. So it was no surprise, when he requested for financial assistance. She couldn’t refuse, but neither did she have the resources. 

Then, she remembered the Oak Chest. During her marriage, her mother gave her the ornate wooden Chest which contained antique gold jewelry. It had been passed down from generations and was now in Kamala’s possession. With a heavy heart, she gave the Chest to her son. Mother and son stood looking at the Chest; she, with a tinge of regret and he, with hope and happiness. He promised to buy it back for her and she nodded absently. Neither mother nor son mentioned this to anybody.

Surya Narayan did his MBA from Harvard University. After his graduation, he began working there. He was now accustomed to the American lifestyle and did not intend to return. Fate however, had decided otherwise.

Kamala was now aged and the old woman still stayed in Hosur, while her sons had migrated to Bangalore in search of better opportunities. She longed to look at her heirlooms before her death, but did not dare tell her sons about it. She prayed for Surya Narayan to return. Only, he heard her prayers a little too late.

When he returned after his prosperous stint in the US, it was for the occasion of Kamala’s funeral.  He was reminded of the promise he made, nearly a decade ago. As he scoured her room, he found a letter addressed to him.

“I know you will return. I only hope it is before I leave this world. My one wish is to see the Oak Chest. Please…”

Tears welled up as he remembered the forgotten promise…

The above story is partially true...The facts are true, I’ve embellished on the sentiments. Surya Narayan Rao happens to be my dad’s uncle.

She.

This is my "boldest" piece till date. Haha. I wrote it without anybody in mind. I think I like it.

 If you're gonna read any further, please ignore the fact that "I" am the author. Thanku.

She sat by the porch looking at the setting sun. The sky was now a faint tinge of orange interspersed in the blue. 

It brought back memories of the lost days. The years lost. Her youth, which was now a thing of the past, flashed before her. Those who knew about it were no more to tell the tale.

She grew up in a quaint village near the East coast. The sun, the sand and the sea; that was all her life revolved around. She wasn’t really academically inclined and in those days, it didn’t matter either, so she preferred going boating with Ajay or climbing trees with Arvind, or maybe just stargazing on a clear night with Vani and Varun. 

She was the black sheep in the house. Her siblings, accustomed to her wayward and lackadaisical lifestyle, didn’t chide her anymore, but regarded her as nothing more than a piece of furniture. Being the youngest in the family helped, and she was adored by her ageing father.

The years passed, and she grew up to be a young damsel. Her sisters, after completing their basic education, were now married into wealthy households. Her brothers too, were either studying or working in good positions. First, it was her grandmother, then an aunt, and a neighbor; all suggesting the same thing: she should be married soon. The time was ripe.

Only, she had no matrimonial inclinations. She did not wish to be tied down. She could not imagine such a life. The rendezvous under the trees, by the setting sun on the beach, inside the ruined temple on the hill; this was her life. 

She rebelled. She created a scandal of sorts by running away to “The big city” with the postman. It broke her father’s heart and he did not live to see her again.  The sleepy village did not hear about her until a few years later, when the schoolmaster’s son announced to all those who cared to listen, that She was now married to a wealthy politician and lived in a lavish bungalow. Although, it was unlike her, they were happy that she had finally “settled down”.

It was the year 1950. She returned. Well into her thirties, she was now a mother of two. She was no longer the dusky temptress. Age had mellowed her down, or so people thought. They proved to be wrong. She now lived in her childhood house. She was seen by the beach every evening. By the setting sun, she stood, looking into the distance. Was she waiting for her knight-in-shining-armor? 

The house had few visitors, most of whom preferred to make nocturnal visits. Her life was a mystery and try as they might; the simple villagers could not solve the enigma. For nearly 10 years, she lived there. Her children had none of her charm and grace and neither did they did not resemble her even remotely.

She left the village in 1960, never to set foot again. She relocated to Bombay. A sprawling mansion facing the Arabian Sea was her new residence. Her children now lived across the vast Ocean in another continent but she preferred her seaside villa. She was content with her evening walks by the shore. Here again, she had few acquaintances and fewer friends. She rarely ventured into the city. Visitors were a rare sight.

Age encumbered her strolls. Gone were the days of the maiden who broke many a heart. The deep dark circles were the only remnants of her striking eyes which mesmerized many men decades ago. The lustrous black hair was reduced to a grey crop and her face was wrinkled with time. Yet, her heart was young. She contented herself with gazing at the sea from her porch, with such longing in her eyes, that it wasn’t hard to know the reason for her ritual.

It was yet another day. Circa 1995. She sat by the porch looking at the setting sun. The sky was now a faint tinge of orange interspersed in the blue. Life, she thought, was a journey, and she had nearly reached her Destination.

Here lies the soul

Of a lady in love with the sea.

Neither by life nor by death

Shall the two lovers part.

Thus read her grave, just as she had desired.

And Life Goes On...(2)

The purpose of this post is simple

1. No matter, how terrible life is, no matter what your problem is, no matter how devastating things have turned, after a point, you cease to wallow in self pity but tend to look at it with a philosophical angle. And those dark moments actually enlighten you about the true nature of many a soul. And those who help you cross the Slough of Despondency are the ones you should be thankful to have met. 22 days on, I'm thankful for the friends I have (left). Yes, I had a particularly good day today, (I FINALLY managed to insult a deserving soul. Haha. Hippopotamus Amphibius much. :D )
2. Sometimes, you get shattered. Let me give an example. Imagine you were a friend of Gandhi with an affinity towards alcohol. Now, Gandhi, being a teetotaler, would somehow managed to convince you to quit drinking, and with great effort, you give up the forbidden drink. Now, what would you feel if, one day, you gave Gandhi a surprise visit and find him having a glass of wine??

Dreams From Another World.

She sat outside the hut, on the barren ground, with books scattered around her. They were meant for kindergarten kids, but she couldn't make any sense out of it.

Malli enjoyed looking at these picture books. She tried to decipher the words printed below the pictures, but they remained a mystery. This was her favorite pastime.

Although her parents were construction workers and could not afford to get her educated, 10-year old Malli had big dreams. She was unlike the other kids of her clan who had resigned to their fate. Malli seldom helped her parents in the constructions. She loved wandering through the streets, playing in the children's park and making new friends. Malli was a simple girl, but despite the tattered frock and unkempt hair, she had a beauty of her own. Her brown eyes sparkled with infinite joy and her short, wavy hair was carelessly plaited. She flitted in and out of the building like a colorful butterfly.

All her life, Malli moved from one place to another, building houses and moving on. 

"When are we going to build our own house?" she often asked her parents, but they looked away furtively and mumbled something incoherent.

Making friends came easily to Malli, irrespective of social status. However, when she came  to Bangalore, the swanky malls, high rise apartments and sophistication left her overawed initially. 

But soon, she made friends at the local park and often got the old books of these kids. Of course, some parents shooed her away, considering her to be a bad influence on their children, while some snobbish children were downright rude to her. But these were exceptions and Malli, with her radiant smile and pleasant chatter, managed to win over most people.

"I'm off to the park" Malli said to her mother and skipped her way to the park on a Sunday morning. Seeing a group of kids of her age, Malli sensed an opportunity to make new friends. 

"Can I join you?" she asked with a shy smile. The group exchanged surprised looks and were unsure of what to say. They appeared to be from affluent families.

"I'm Malli. I want to play with you" she said, venturing further.

The children didn't want to upset her, but they felt they couldn't include her either. Before they could say anything, the mother of one of the boys in the group, seeing Malli among the children, arrived there. 

She eyed Malli suspiciously and asked her sternly, "Who are you? What do you want with these kids?"

Malli was rather nervous, but said, with all the courage she could muster "I'm Malli. Can I play with them?".

"You want to play with them? she said scornfully. Malli was stunned and went pale. She had never felt so humiliated. She suddenly noticed that all the kids were dressed in clean clothes while she was clad in a worn out tunic. The five children looked away uncomfortably. 

One of them hesitantly said "Maybe.. she can play with us..".

"Anmol, No." said the mother firmly.

Malli did not want to hear anymore. She turned away, her eyes swimming with tears, and ran back to her hut and cried.

For the next few days, she she did not venture near the park. On her insistence, her parents made a Jhula out of thick rope. So she contented herself with swinging from a tree branch all day long.

Malli and her parents rose early and after a hard day's work, they went to bed early. Although they were busy and spent little time with Malli, they loved her more than anything else in the world and she knew this. She never complained or sulked about their poverty because she knew they worked hard for a living. Some nights there wouldn't be much to eat, but they made sure Malli never went to bed hungry, even if it meant they had to.

In the same street, there were several children, but they never came out to play. There were two boys of her age, three girls slightly older than her, a three year old boy and two college girls. She liked to observe them and imagined what their world would be like.

One day, one of the college girls smiled at her. Malli, after her experience with strangers, was a little wary. She returned a hesitant smile. But soon, she was at ease, for Aditi seemed to be a nice girl and they quickly became friends. Every afteernoon, Malli waited eagerly for Aditi and the two girls chattered about their lives; Malli about her lifestyle and Aditi about college and studies.

"Aditi, I want to read books. I want to learn to write. Will you teach me? Please" Malli asked her with such eagerness that Aditi was touched and readily agreed.  From that day, Aditi taught Malli for twenty minutes. Malli's dedication inspired Aditi and she was pleased with her pupil's progress.

As the days passed, Malli mastered the language under the tutelage of Aditi. One evening, when Malli, slowly, but confidently finished reading an article on Thomas Alva Edison, Aditi watched her student with quiet pride.

"Aditi, what does ambition mean?" asked Malli.

Aditi thought for a moment and then said "Ambition is something you want to achieve as an adult. For that you will have to work hard. What's your ambition Malli?"

Malli replied instantly, "I want to become Aditi".

Aditi was puzzled. "Explain", she said.

"Yes, I want to become like you when I grow up. I want to teach other girls like me to read and write. That's my ambition" she said with childlike innocence.

Aditi had no words. With tears of joy, she hugged her first student, who had taught her much more than she had.

So What's Cookin?

Hullo.

I'm very happy about the GK Blog. :) 

Reading Ruskin bond again. 

Books I've read recently:

So?

• To cut a long story short- Jeffrey Archer
• PG Wodehouse Omnibus
• Unaccustomed Earth- Jhumpa Lahiri
• A girl like me- Swati Kaushal
• Interpreter of maladies- Jhumpa Lahiri
• Dust in the mountains and other short stories- Ruskin Bond (In Progress)
• School Times- Ruskin Bond (Yet to commence)

Yesterday was good. I met Chandana ma'am. I went to Maiyya's and Sapna. :)

Studying Bio. Will start Chem soon. I can't get myself to do physics. :-/

Random obsessions:

• There's this girl who's parents are construction workers. They've tied a strong rope from the tree branch and she swings on her Jhula all day long.They live almost opposite our house in a make-shift structure. I'm seized by this random strong desire to teach her. To educate her. To make her write her name atleast. Pondering the possibilities.
•  I want to write a novel. A science fiction? I guess so. I'm having a few VAGUE plots in mind, so nothing concrete. Let's see.

 Ok Bai then.

Adversity.

It brings out true colors. With elan. Interesting to watch. Ha.

Biology. Cell.

I've no idea why I'm posting this. Anyhoo, read and understand.

Cell Structure

Cytology- study of cell and its structure and components as seen under the microscope

Cell biology-study of all aspects of cell-structure, biochemistry, development and physiology

Cytoplasm: living part of the cell lying outside the nucleus but within the cell membrane.

Cell structures:

·         Cell membrane (Nageli and Kramer) –membrane covering the protoplast

§  Structure: thin elastic skin like membrane covering the cell.

Biochemical composition
a) phospholipids

b) Proteins

c) Carbohydrates-provide specificity

       D) cholesterol-fluidity

§  Fluid Mosaic Model of plasma membrane –Singer and Nicholson
a)Arrangement of lipids- phospholipid bilayer

b) Arrangement of proteins-
extrinsic- found on outer and inner side of bilayer
intrinsic- found inserted within the bilayer.
c) Arrangement of carbohydrates-attached to either lipids or proteins on the external surface only

§  Function of plasma membrane:
 a)Functions of membrane carbohydrates
 b)Functions of membrane proteins

 c) Transport across Membranes
 d) Passive Transport
        a) Diffusion
       b)Osmosis

e) Active Transport
    a) Bulk transport
    b) Phagocytosis
    c) Pinocytosis

·         Endoplasmic Reticulum- (name given by Porter): Biosynthetic Factory
1. Structure:
        Composed of 3 types of units:
             a)Cisternae
             b)Vesicles
             c)Tubules
       2 types of ER:

o   Rough ER – With ribosomes and synthesizes proteins

o   Smooth ER–Without ribosomes and synthesizes steroids, lipids, carbohydrates and proteins

                

               2. Functions

§  Circulatory System of the cell

§  Protein Synthesis

§  Detoxification of drugs and other poisons

§  Membrane Factory

§  Storage of synthesized materials

§  Synthesis of molecules like bile acids, phospholipids, cholesterol and hormones

·         Golgi Apparatus-(Named after its discoverer Camillo Golgi) : Traffic Director

o   Function

§  Modification and packaging of proteins

§  Produces acrosome of sperm

§  Gives rise to lysosome

§  Helps in osmoregulation in one-celled fresh water animals via contractile vacuole

o   Structure

§  Group of flattened sacs placed one over another to form a pile/ stack.

§  Each stack is called a dictyosome

§  3 types of units in the Golgi Apparatus:

v  Cisternae

v  Tubules

v  Vacuole

·         Lysosomes- Discovered by Christian De Duve (Suicide Bags)

o   Found only in eukaryotic cells.

o   Contain hydrolytic enzymes/hydrolases

o   4 functional stages are observed:

§  Primary

§  Secondary

§  Auto lysosome

§  Residual body

o   Functions:

§  Intracellular digestion

§  Apoptosis

§  Acrosome

§  Absence of lysosomal enzymes may lead to Lysosomal storage diseases

·         Mitochondria – First seen by Kolliker (Powerhouses)

o   Structure:

§  2 membranes- inner is selectively permeable and is produced into a large number of folds called cristae

§  F₀F₁ Particles: stalked particles in cristae involved in ATP synthesis.

§  Mitochondrial Matrix

v  Mitochondrial DNA

v  Ribosomes

v  RNA

o   Functions:

§  Krebs Citric Acid Cycle

§  Electron Transport

·         Ribosomes (First seen by Albert Claude) ; RNA + Proteins= Ribosomes

o   Not found in : Mature RBC, mature sperm, sieve tube members of phloem in plants

o   S= Svedberg Unit or Sedimentation Coefficient

o   Prokaryotes: 70S

o   Eukaryotes: 80S

o   Mitochondrial Ribosomes: 55S to 80S

o   Chloroplast Ribosomes: 70S

o   Structure:

§  Composed of 2 units: Larger subunit and smaller subunit.

o   Functions: Protein Synthesis

§  Ribosomes attached to ER: Secretory proteins (mucus and digestive enzyme) synthesis

§  Free Ribosomes: Internal use proteins (chlorophyll, haemoglobin) synthesis

·         Centrioles

o   Found only in Animal Cell

o   Centrioles of a pair occurring at right angles to each other: Diplosome

o   Functions:

§  Microtubule organizing centre during cell division

§  In animal and lower plant cells, centrioles give rise to cilia and flagella. They’re called basal bodies.

·         Cytoskeleton

o   Microtubules

o   Microfilaments

o   Intermediate Filaments

·         Nucleus (Robert Brown) Master Organelle

o   Nuclear Envelope or Karyotheca

o   Nucleoplasm or Karyolymph

o   Chromatin (dispersed- -Eu, condensed –Hetero)

o   Nucleolus

o   Functions:

§  Responsible for the continuing of the life of the cell

§  Carries hereditary information in its chromosomes

§  Nucleolus: Ribosome Factory

Ultra structure of Plant Cell

§  Cell Wall

o   Middle Lamella- Calcium and Magnesium Pectate

o   Primary Wall-pectin and hemicellulose

o   Secondary Wall-High cellulose content

§  Plastids

o   Chloroplast

§  Stroma

§  Thylakoids

§  Stroma Lamellae

o   Leucoplast (Amylopast) : Formation and storage of starch grains

o   Chromoplast: Plastids responsible for yellow, red and orange color of many flowers and fruits

§  Vacuoles

o   Bubble like structure bound by a single membrane-Tonoplast

o   Contents of vacuole: Cell Sap

o   Functions:

§  Store organic compounds

§  Contain hydrolytic enzymes for macromolecule digestion

§  Store inorganic ions like K⁺ and Cl^-

§  Store anthocyanin responsible for red and blue color in flowers

§  Helps in increasing cell size

§  Ergastic Substances

o    Reserve Food Materials

o    Secretory products

The End