I am fed up. I've had a terrible row with Mum and Dad.
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So what? I'm always arguing with my parents.
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So am I!
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But this is serious. They want me to stop working on the project.
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You're joking. I don't believe it.
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Neither do I! You can't leave the project, Laura!
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They say I'm spending too much time on the project and neglecting
my school work.
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And are you?
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I don't think so. My marks have been OK this term.
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So have mine and I've spent hours and hours on the project.
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I tried to persuade them but I couldn't.
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Nor could I. I tried talking to them, too.
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This is a disaster! We need you, Laura!
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Absolutely! You're our computer expert. We can't do without you.
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Well, I'll try talking to them again.
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And so will I but I don't hold out much hope.
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Listen 5 times
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Conversation 2
How much time do you spend on your schoolwork, Jack?
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I spend loads of time on it. I'm always busy. I don't know about
you, but I get masses of homework.
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So do I. Far too much, in my opinion. I always have compositions
to write and presentations to prepare. And they expect us to do so
much reading.
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I know. It never stops. And on top of all that, there are tests
and exams. I spent all Sunday revising for a science test.
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Poor you. What's your worst subject?
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I don't know. I'm quite good at all of them. Except French. That's
hard. I have private lessons at home twice a week.
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Really? Extra lessons at home? How horrible! My worst subject is
maths. We've got a test tomorrow.
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Have you revised for it?
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Not really. I haven't had much time. I went to the shopping centre
with my mum this morning and then I watched TV. There was such a
good film on. Did you see it?
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No. I had to study for an English test tomorrow. I had to learn a
long poem by heart.
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You seem to spend all your free time doing homework.
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No, I do other things too. I go swimming a couple of times a week
and I've just taken up the guitar. I love music.
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So do I. I spend ages listening to my CDs, music and dancing,
that's what I like. Revising for maths tests, that's what I don't
like.
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Neither do I, but it's got to be done. There's no escape.
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Listen 5 times
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Reading
The HONEY-SELLER
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Climbing the Mango Trees is the autobiograghy of Madhur Jaffrey, a
well-known writer who was born and brought up in India.
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The autobiography tells of the author's childhood in Delhi, the
capital city.
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This episode recounts the preparation for exams and a visit from a
memorable salesman who came to the house one day during the study
period.
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As soon as I got home from school, hot and sweaty from cycling, my
mother would produce cold phirini from the refrigerator.
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This was a very light, cardamom-scented pudding made with coarsely
ground rice that my mother set in shallow terracotta bowls.
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I would slide the spoon in and begin eating.
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The sweet, cool, milky pudding, tasting of the cardamom and
pistachios with an earthy aroma of terracotta, went down
smoothly...
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There was no time to rest afterwards.
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May was the time for our annual exams and all of April had to be
spent doing revision...
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While I studied in my hot back room. my mother sat knitting for my
sisters in their frigid Himalayan convernt.
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In the superheated Delhi of April, I could hardly even look at
wool, let alone touch it.
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My mother just carried on heroically.
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Each examination was three hours long...
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On most days there were two exams with a break for lunch.
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Before I left early in the morning, armed with sharpened pencils,
pens freshly filled with ink, ink bottles, rulers and erasers, my
mother would appear with a plate containing two almond balls.
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My mother firmly believed that almonds were brain food and that
any child sent off to write two examination papers for six hours
unfortified with almond balls was surely suffering from the
grossest form of neglect...
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I would return home, ink-stained and exhausted, and immediately
begin studying for the next day's exams.
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My mother never asked me how I had fared. She always assumed I
would do well.
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Often she would try and distract me from my studies if she thought
I was working too hard.
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One afternoon, when the servants were off-duty, she called me
saying, "Come, come, there is a man here selling honey."
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By the time I came out, the man was well into his sales
pitch..."Purer honey than this you can never hope to find. Look at
its fine golden colour. See, see it still has pieces of honey-comb
suspended in the middle. Smell it. The odour of nature's
flowers..."
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My mother cut right to the chase, "But how do I know it is pure?
What proof do you have?" She was hoping she had stumped him.
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He turned out to be wilier than that."What proof, you want to
know? The oldest proof in the world. It has worked since the
beginning of time. First you catch a fly and then you throw it
into the honey. It will sink. If the hony is impure, it will keep
sinking and die. If the honey is pure, it will rise to the surface
and fly away."
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At that, he swung his hand in the air and caught a fly, flinging
it immediately into the honey. It sank.
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Then it started to rise, higher and higher until it reached the
surface and flew away.
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My mother was so impressed, she bought several jars and I went
back to my studies.
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That evening, when the cook returned from his afternoon break and
my mother recounted the honey story, he said, "Arey memsa'ab [Oh,
lady] you have been completely duped. I can do exactly same thing
with suger syrup."
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Our cook seemed as adept at catching flies with his hand as the
honey man.
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He caught one and threw it into a jar of sugar syrup that my
mother kept for sweetening our fresh lime juice.
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The fly sank, then rose to the top and flew away.
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We teased our mother mercilessly.
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from Climbing the Mango Trees by Madhur Jaffrey
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Glossary
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cardamom: a spice for giving a scented taste to food
