The Boy In The Striped Pyjamas

Today I read “The Boy In The Striped Pyjamas” by John Boyne. A story which will take you back to second world war and show you a relation between 2 nine year old boys.

The story revolves around Bruno and Shmuel.Bruno, who was a son of German military commandant and Shmuel was Jew boy in a concentration camp. The story starts when Bruno’s father is transferred to out-with camp and they had to leave their home at Berlin. And they were not to return to home until foreseeable future. This makes Bruno sad but he knows that his father is an important person and Fury has big things in mind for his father.

Bruno was sad to leave his friends and school. He loved Berlin, his home, his friends, busy saturdays down in his street. And more importantly he hated  the new place and new home.

The story moves on when Bruno starts his exploration to fence which he can see from his bedroom window. He finds a boy on the other side of fence. In writer’s words, first there was a dot, then in turned to speck and then to a person. Infact a boy.That was Shmuel.

People on the other side of the fence wears stripped pyjamas, it was a kind of uniform in the camp. Bruno and his elder sister Gretel, whom he calls hopeless case, discussed about the people on the otherside of the fence but comes to a conclusion that is a country side.

Bruno and Shmuel spends afternoons together discussing about their life, family, grandparents, how Poland and Berlin is. Shmuel came from Poland.

One year passes and Bruno’s mother doesn’t like it much in out-with camp. Her only friend Lieutenant Kotler got transferred somewhere else. Bruno was happy about it because he never liked him. Like any other boy he hated being called as “little man” and also never liked  being teased. And Kotler always did it.

Shmuel tells Bruno that his papa is missing since day before. Bruno decides to go to other side of fence to find him. Shmuel gets him a pair of striped pyjamas for Bruno. They go off to search Shmuel’s papa. Bruno does not like that place. He finds that there are only 2 kinds of people there. Happy, laughing soldiers and sad and crying people.

Bruno wants to go out from the camp as soon as possible. It was raining heavily.

Bruno and Shmuel were caught in a march. Shmuel informs Bruno that people who are in march never returns. Bruno tells him that he will tell the soldiers that he is son of the Commandant and they will escape from there. But the march reaches a room, a warm place, a air tight container. Bruno thinks that they will go out once the rain ceases. He tells Shmuel that his best friend is Shmuel. And holds his hands. He feels he should hold his hand like that.

Bruno’s mother decides not to move to Berlin until Bruno is found. Gretel misses Bruno very much.

They finally move to Berlin hoping that Bruno will reach there. Bruno’s father stays there to search for his son. After one year he finds the gap in the fence through which a boy can pass.

The story ends when Bruno’s father  is taken by some soldiers to somewhere.

A touching story with a sad ending. The story will leave your eyes wet…

INFORMATION PLEASE!!!

Today I just want to share a story with you My best friend mailed me this story. It really touched my heart.

Here it goes:

When I was young, my father had one of the first telephones in our neighborhood. I remembered well, the polished old case fastened to the wall and the shiny receiver on the side of the box. I was too little to reach the telephone, but used to listen with fascination when my mother would talk to it.

Then, I discovered that somewhere inside the wonderful device lived an amazing person and her name was “Information Please” and there was nothing she did not know. “Information Please” could supply anybody’s number and the correct time.

My first personal experience with this genie-in-a-bottle came one day while my mother was visiting a neighbor. Amusing myself at the tool bench in the basement, I whacked my finger with a hammer. The pain was terrible, but there didn’t seem to be any reason in crying because there was no one home to give me sympathy. I walked around the house sucking my throbbing finger, finally arriving at the stairway, at the telephone. Quickly, I ran to get the footstool from the parlor and placed it below the telephone so that I could reach the receiver. I grabbed the receiver and held it to my ear.

“Information Please” I said into the mouthpiece just above my head.
A click or two and a small clear voice spoke into my ear.

“Information.”
“I hurt my finger!” I wailed into the phone. The tears came readily enough now that I had an audience.
“Isn’t your mother home?” came the question.
“Nobody’s home but me,” I blubbered.
“Are you bleeding?” the voice asked.

“No,” I replied. “I hit my finger with a hammer and it hurts.”
“Can you open your icebox?” she asked. I said I could. “Then chip off a piece of ice and hold it to your finger,” said the voice.

That was my first conversation with “Information Please.” After that, I called “Information Please” for everything. I asked her for help with my geography and she told me where Philadelphia was. She helped me with my math. She told me that my pet chipmunk, which I had caught in the park just the day before, would eat fruit and nuts.

Then, there was the time that Petey, our pet canary died. I called “Information Please” and told her the sad story. She listened, then said the usual thing grown-ups say to soothe a child. But, it was inconsolable. I asked her, “Why is it that birds should sing so beautifully and bring such joy to all families, only to end up as a heap of feathers on the bottom of a cage?”

She must have sensed my deep concern, for she said quietly, “Paul, you must remember that there are other worlds to sing in.” Somehow, I felt better.
Another day I was on the telephone. “Information Please.”
“Information,” was the reply in her familiar voice.
“How do you spell fix?” She again gave me the answer I needed.

All of these years of conversation with “Information Please” took place in a small town in the Pacific Northwest.

When I was nine years old, we moved across the country to Boston. I missed my friend very much. “Information Please” belonged in that old wooden box back home and somehow I never thought of trying the tall, new shiny phone that sat on the table in the hall.

As I grew into my teens, the memories of those childhood conversations never really left me. Often, in moments of doubt and perplexity, I would recall the serene sense of security I had then. I appreciated now how patient, understanding and kind she was to have spent her time on a little boy.

A few years later, on my way west to college, my plane put down in Seattle. I had about half-an-hour or so between planes. I spent 15 minutes or so on the phone with my sister, who lived there then. Without thinking about what I was doing, I dialed my hometown operator and said, “Information Please.”

Miraculously, I heard the small clear voice I knew so well, “Information.”
I hadn’t planned this, but I heard myself saying, “Could you please tell me how to spell fix?”

There was a long pause. Then came the soft spoken answer, “I guess your finger must be healed by now.”
I laughed, “So, it’s really still you,” I said. “I wonder if you have any idea how much you meant to me during that time.”
“I wonder,” she said, “if you know how much your calls meant to me. I never had any children and I used to look forward to your calls.”
I told her how often I had thought of her over the years and asked if I could call her again when I came back to visit my sister.
“Please do,” she said. “Just ask for Sally.”
Three months later I was back in Seattle. A different voice answered, “Information.” I asked for Sally.
“Are you a friend?” she asked.
“Yes, a very old friend,” I answered.
“I’m sorry to have to tell you this,” she said. “Sally had been working part time in the last few years because she was sick. She died five weeks ago.”
Before I could hang up, she said, “Wait a minute. Are you Paul?”
“Yes.”
“Well, Sally left a message for you. She wrote it down in case you called. Let me read it to you.” The note said, “Tell him, ‘I still say there are other worlds to sing in’. He’ll know what I mean.”

I thanked her and hung up. I knew what Sally meant.

Never underestimate the impression you make on others!!!