Flamingo. NCERT/CBSE class 12 English book Flamingo. contents final. NCERT/ CBSE class 12 English book Flamingo. Chap final. NCERT/CBSE class Download Study Material for preparation of 12th for free. NCERT BOOKS IN PDF : English(Flamingo) was published in The file is available in PDF format. (i). Flamingo. Textbook in English for Class XII. (Core Course). –20 This book is sold subject to the condition that it shall not, by way of trade, be lent.
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NCERT Books For Class 12 English Flamingo Free PDF Download (). New NCERT Books on latest syllabus has been published by National Council of . For all the schools affiliated to CBSE Prescribed book for Chapter 7 The Interview is NCERT for Class 12 English Flamingo. NCERT solutions for Class Greater Flamingos Phoenicopterus roseus at El Goléa, Algeria by Samraoui Boudjéma. Back cover Russel Friedman Books: Halfway House, South. Africa .
Although all flamingos are filter feeders, the three smaller species Lesser, James and Andean have deeply keeled bills with very fine lamellae, and they feed on microscopic algae.
The Phoenicopterus species have shallower-keeled bills lined with coarser lamellae, and their diet is mainly composed of a wide range of small or minute invertebrates which they collect either as benthos or in suspension in the water. This book is concerned with only the Old World subspecies, the Greater Flamingo, referred to here afterwards only as flamingo, but mention is made, where appropriate, of the other species.
Their adult coloration and size make them easy to recognise, even to the inexperienced eye. Their necks and legs are longer, relative to The flamingos 23 body size, than those of any other group of birds.
No other species has a bill quite like the flamingos, and this feature alone will confirm identification of birds still in juvenile plumage. The shape and functioning of the bill and tongue, which have been described in detail by Jenkin and Zweers et al. Flamingos feed by walking in water from just a few millimetres to 80 cm in depth. They can also swim buoyantly. They obtain their food from either the water column or the mud, which they may have to stir up.
They have four toes and their webbed feet enable them, when necessary, to dabble like ducks and swans in order to reach the benthos. The neck is composed of 17 elongated cervical vertebrae, giving it a segmented appearance when curved. When flamingos lower their heads to feed, the bill is held pointing backwards and is practically upside down. The flamingo has the longest absorptive part of the alimentary canal, called the Meikels tract, of all birds Ridley It also has a nictitating membrane which protects the cornea when the bird is feeding in muddy water Daicker et al.
Greater Flamingos have 12 primary feathers, the outer one being very small, 27 secondaries and 14 tail feathers. There is a popular belief that the habit of standing on one leg when at rest is something only flamingos do, although this is not true.
Many species retract one leg when resting, but because they do so when concealed, or have shorter legs than flamingos, the posture may be less conspicuous.
Birds do this just as much in hot weather as in cold, so this habit does not seem to have any thermoregulatory function, as some have suggested.
Flamingos differ from other birds exhibiting this behaviour by having to jerk their leg and lock it in this position, which is often achieved only after several attempts. They also occasionally rest on their tarsi, young birds tending to do so more than adults. When the bird is sleeping, the neck is coiled around and the bill tucked between the scapulars. Like a few other waterbirds, such as Scarlet Ibis and Roseate Spoonbill, flamingos of all species have the capacity for biochemical oxidation of conventional plant carotenoids, the dominant being canthaxanthin.
They also find important sources of carotenoid in their crustacean prey. These compounds colour not only the feathers and naked skin of the legs and face but also the blood and liver Fox et al. Flamingos are particularly efficient at oxidising beta-carotene to form phoenicoxanthin and astaxanthin which are deposited in skin and plumage. A complete description of the role of carotenoids in the pigmentation of flamingos is provided by Fox The pink coloration of adult flamingos may be of cryptic value.
This is particularly true over long distances in the vast playas where the species breeds, and where the light is often bright and hazy.
Chicks in their grey down may be more conspicuous than adults, but the dense crches which the chicks form during the day resemble from a distance an island rather than a flock of birds, at least to the human eye. Plumage development in flamingos had not been studied in detail in the field until recently. Birds banded as chicks in the Camargue, and therefore of known age and origin, were observed throughout the Mediterranean region over a period of 12 years.
Coloration of plumage and bare parts was noted, primarily by the same observer, whenever the banded birds were seen at close range and in good light. Over 4, banded birds were assigned to the appropriate category whenever a change of plumage was observed, and observations were continued until several cohorts of banded birds acquired full plumage.
Also included in the dataset were ringed flamingos which died during a cold spell in southern France in January Flamingos acquire their definitive adult appearance only after going through a sequence of juvenile and immature plumages Plate 4. There is some individual variation in plumage coloration, especially in immature or sub-adult plumages.
These differences, however, are so slight and insignificant that only the nine most frequently encountered plumages are illustrated and described in Table 1 from Johnson et al. Even after going through the sequence of plumages described, not all individuals manifest a very pronounced pink coloration. This coloration is not a prerequisite for breeding, but probably reflects an individuals capacity to assimilate carotenoids as pigmentation.
Bright coloration, in particular of the head and neck, seems to be restricted to certain individuals. It is not necessarily linked to age since brightly coloured birds have been seen with the characteristic dark leg joints of immatures. In the Camargue, birds in bright plumage are most obvious in autumn and winter, after they have moulted and are beginning to display.
English - Download - Marigold - Raindrops. English - Download Marigold Raindrops - download. Hindi - Download Vasant Durva Mahabharat. Hindi - Download Vasant Durva Bharat ki khoj. Sanskrit - Download Shemushi Vyakaranavithi.
Urdu Download - Nai Awaz Dhanak. Supplementary Reading material in Business Studies Class English - Download Flamingo Vistas Kaliedoscope.
Urdu Download - Khayaban-e-Urdu. Hindi Download - Abhivyakti Aur Madhyam. Have you ever changed your opinion about someone or something that you had earlier liked or disliked? Narrate what led you to change your mind. Things to do 1. Find out about the following You may go to the internet, interview people, consult reference books or visit a library.
Given below is a survey form. Talk to at least five of your classmates and fill in the information you get in the form.
One session of forty minutes is likely to be enough for one section of the unit. Pupils can read each section silently and discuss the answers in pairs. The questions at the end of the unit are inferential. There could be a follow-up discussion on parts for which students need explanation. This shall help pupils think of issues that relate to the realities of the society they live in.
Gives scope for developing speaking skills in the English language on varied issues. Fluency development. Social and political awareness. She received her education in Hyderabad and in the United States of America.
Her parents were both writers. Anees Jung began her career as a writer in India. She has been an editor and columnist for major newspapers in India and abroad, and has authored several books. Here she analyses the grinding poverty and traditions which condemn these children to a life of exploitation. Infer their meaning from the context. Saheb left his home long ago. Set amidst the green fields of Dhaka, his home is not even a distant memory.
There were many storms that swept away their fields and homes, his mother tells him. When they build one, I will go.
A few days later I see him running up to me. But promises like mine abound in every corner of his bleak world. After months of knowing him, I ask him his name. He does not know what it means. If he knew its meaning — lord of the universe — he would have a hard time believing it. Unaware of what his name represents, he roams the streets with his friends, an army of barefoot boys who appear like the morning birds and disappear at noon.
Over the months, I have come to recognise each of them. When I comment on it, he shuffles his feet and says nothing. Travelling across the country I have seen children walking barefoot, in cities, on village roads. It is not lack of money but a tradition to stay barefoot, is one explanation. I wonder. I remember a story a man from Udipi once told me. As a young boy he would go to school past an old temple, where his father was a priest. He would stop briefly at the temple and pray for a pair of shoes.
Thirty years later I visited his town and the temple, which was now drowned in an air of desolation. In the backyard, where lived the new priest, there were red and white plastic chairs. A young boy dressed in a grey uniform, wearing socks and shoes, arrived panting and threw his school bag on a folding bed. Young boys like the son of the priest now wore shoes. But many others like the ragpickers in my neighbourhood remain shoeless. My acquaintance with the barefoot ragpickers leads me to Seemapuri, a place on the periphery of Delhi yet miles away from it, metaphorically.
Those who live here are squatters who came from Bangladesh back in Seemapuri was then a wilderness. It still is, but it is no longer empty. In structures of mud, with roofs of tin and tarpaulin, devoid of sewage, drainage or running water, live 10, ragpickers.
Food is more important for survival than an identity. Wherever they find food, they pitch their tents that become transit homes. Children grow up in them, becoming partners in survival.
And survival in Seemapuri means rag-picking. Through the years, it has acquired the proportions of a fine art. Garbage to them is gold. It is their daily bread, a roof over their heads, even if it is a leaking roof. But for a child it is even more. It seems that for children, garbage has a meaning different from what it means to their parents.
For the children it is wrapped in wonder, for the elders it is a means of survival. One winter morning I see Saheb standing by the fenced gate of the neighbourhood club, watching two young men dressed in white, playing tennis. The fact that they are discarded shoes of some rich boy, who perhaps refused to wear them because of a hole in one of them, does not bother him.
For one who has walked barefoot, even shoes with a hole is a dream come true. But the game he is watching so intently is out of his reach. This morning, Saheb is on his way to the milk booth. In his hand is a steel canister. I ask. His face, I see, has lost the carefree look. The steel canister seems heavier than the plastic bag he would carry so lightly.
The bag was his. The canister belongs to the man who owns the tea shop. What is Saheb looking for in the Saheb is no longer his own garbage dumps? Where is he master! Is Saheb happy working at the Mukesh insists on being his tea-stall? His dream looms like a mirage amidst the dust of streets that fill his town Firozabad, famous for its bangles.
Every other family in Firozabad is engaged in making bangles. None of them know that it is illegal for children like him to work in the glass furnaces with high temperatures, in dingy cells without air and light; that the law, if enforced, could get him and all those 20, children out of the hot furnaces where they slog their daylight hours, often losing the brightness of their eyes.
We walk down stinking lanes choked with garbage, past homes that remain hovels with crumbling walls, wobbly doors, no windows, crowded with families of humans and animals coexisting in a primeval state.
He stops at the door of one such house, bangs a wobbly iron door with his foot, and pushes it open. We enter a half-built shack.
In one part of it, thatched with dead grass, is a firewood stove over which sits a large vessel of sizzling spinach leaves. On the ground, in large aluminium platters, are more chopped vegetables. A frail young woman is cooking the evening meal for the whole family. Through eyes filled with smoke she smiles. She is the wife of.
Not much older in years, she has begun to command respect as the bahu, the daughter-in- law of the house, already in charge of three men — her husband, Mukesh and their father. When the older man enters, she gently withdraws behind the broken wall and brings her veil closer to her face.
As custom demands, daughters-in-law must veil their faces before male elders. In this case the elder is an impoverished bangle maker. Despite long years of hard labour, first as a tailor, then a bangle maker, he has failed to renovate a house, send his two sons to school. All he has managed to do is teach them what he knows — the art of making bangles. Born in the caste of bangle makers, they have seen nothing but bangles — in the house, in the yard, in every other house, every other yard, every street in Firozabad.
Spirals of bangles — sunny gold, paddy green, royal blue, pink, purple, every colour born out of the seven colours of the rainbow — lie in mounds in unkempt yards, are piled on four -wheeled handcarts, pushed by young men along the narrow lanes of the shanty town. And in dark hutments, next to lines of flames of flickering oil lamps, sit boys and girls with their fathers and mothers, welding pieces of coloured glass into circles of bangles.
Their eyes are more adjusted to the dark than to the light outside. That is why they often end up losing their eyesight before they become adults. Savita, a young girl in a drab pink dress, sits alongside an elderly woman, soldering pieces of glass. As her hands move mechanically like the tongs of a machine, I wonder if she knows the sanctity of the bangles she helps make. It will dawn on her suddenly one day when her head is draped with a red veil, her hands dyed red with henna, and red bangles rolled onto her wrists.
She will then become a bride. Like the old woman beside her who became one many years ago. She still has bangles on her.
All I have done is make a house for the family to live in. He has a roof over his head! The cry of not having money to do anything except carry on the business of making bangles, not even enough to eat, rings in every home.
The young men echo the lament of their elders. Little has moved with time, it seems, in Firozabad. Years of mind-numbing toil have killed all initiative and the ability to dream. There is no leader among them, no one who could help them see things differently. Their fathers are as tired as they are. They talk endlessly in a spiral that moves from poverty to apathy to greed and to injustice.
Listening to them, I see two distinct worlds — one of the family, caught in a web of poverty, burdened. What makes the city of Firozabad famous? Mention the hazards of working and the politicians. Together they in the glass bangles industry? To do anything else would mean to dare. And daring is not part of his growing up.
When I sense a flash of it in Mukesh I am cheered. He will go to a garage and learn. But the garage is a long way from his home. In his small murmur there is an embarrassment that has not yet turned into regret. He is content to dream of cars that he sees hurtling down the streets of his town. Few airplanes fly over Firozabad. Understanding the text 1. What could be some of the reasons for the migration of people from villages to cities?
Would you agree that promises made to poor children are rarely kept? Why do you think this happens in the incidents narrated in the text? What forces conspire to keep the workers in the bangle industry of Firozabad in poverty?
How, in your opinion, can Mukesh realise his dream? Mention the hazards of working in the glass bangles industry. Why should child labour be eliminated and how? How does it do so? Here are some literary devices: The road was a ribbon of light. As white as snow. Carefully read the following phrases and sentences taken from the text. Can you identify the literary device in each example? Saheb-e-Alam which means the lord of the universe is directly in contrast to what Saheb is in reality.
Drowned in an air of desolation. Seemapuri, a place on the periphery of Delhi yet miles away from it, metaphorically. For the children it is wrapped in wonder; for the elders it is a means of survival. She still has bangles on her wrist, but not light in her eyes. Web of poverty. Scrounging for gold. The steel canister seems heavier than the plastic bag he would carry so lightly over his shoulders. This paradox is also found in some other situations, for example, those who work in gold and diamond mines, or carpet weaving factories, and the products of their labour, the lives of construction workers, and the buildings they build.
You can start by making notes. Here is an example of how one such paragraph may begin: You never see the poor in this town. By day they toil, working cranes and earthmovers, squirreling deep into the hot sand to lay the foundations of chrome.
By night they are banished to bleak labour camps at the outskirts of the city Thinking on socio-economic issues as a take-off from the text.
After graduating with a Bachelors of Arts in English and Economics, he spent two years teaching high school in Yakima. However, he got tired of this and decided to pursue a legal career. He met Franklin D. Roosevelt at Yale and became an adviser and friend to the President. Douglas was a leading advocate of individual rights. He retired in with a term lasting thirty-six years and remains the longest-serving Justice in the history of the court.
It reveals how as a young boy William Douglas nearly drowned in a swimming pool. In this essay he talks about his fear of water and thereafter, how he finally overcame it. Notice how the autobiographical part of the selection is used to support his discussion of fear. Notice these words and expressions in the text.
It had happened when I was ten or eleven years old. I had decided to learn to swim. There was a pool at the Y. The Yakima River was treacherous. Mother continually warned against it, and kept fresh in my mind the details of each drowning in the river.
But the Y. It was only two or three feet deep at the shallow end; and while it was nine feet deep at the other, the drop was gradual. I got a pair of water wings and went to the pool. The state is named after the indigenous Yakama people. But I subdued my pride and did it. From the beginning, however, I had an aversion to the water when I was in it. This started when I was three or four years old and father took me to the beach in California. He and I stood together in the surf.
I hung on to him, yet the waves knocked me down and swept over me. I was buried in water. My breath was gone. I was frightened. Father laughed, but there was terror in my heart at the overpowering force of the waves. My introduction to the Y. But in a little while I gathered confidence. I paddled with my new water wings, watching the other boys and trying to learn by aping them.
I did this two or three times on different days and was just beginning to feel at ease in the water when the misadventure happened.
I went to the pool when no one else was there. The place was quiet. The water was still, and the tiled bottom was as white and clean as a bathtub. I was timid about going in alone, so I sat on the side of the pool to wait for others. I had not been there long when in came a big bruiser of a boy, probably eighteen years old. He had thick hair on his chest. He was a beautiful physical specimen, with legs and arms that showed rippling muscles. I landed in a sitting position, swallowed water, and went at once to the bottom.
I was frightened, but not yet frightened out of my wits. On the way down I planned: When my feet hit the bottom, I would make a big jump, come to the surface, lie flat on it, and paddle to the edge of the pool.
It seemed a long way down. Those nine feet were more like ninety, and before I touched bottom my lungs were ready to burst. But when my feet hit bottom I summoned all my strength and made what I thought was a great spring upwards. I imagined I would bob to the surface like a cork. Instead, I came up slowly. I opened my eyes and saw nothing. I grew panicky. I reached up as if to grab a rope and my hands clutched only at water. I was suffocating. I tried to yell but no sound came out.
Then my eyes and nose came out of the water — but not my mouth. I flailed at the surface of the water, swallowed and choked. I tried to bring my legs up, but they hung as dead weights, paralysed and rigid. A great force was pulling me under. I screamed, but only the water heard me.
I had started on the long journey back to the bottom of the pool. I struck at the water as I went down, expending my strength as one in a nightmare fights an irresistible force. I had lost all my breath. My lungs ached, my head throbbed. I was getting dizzy. But I remembered the strategy — I would spring from the bottom of the pool and come like a cork to the surface.
I would lie flat on the water, strike out with my arms, and thrash with my legs. Then I would get to the edge of the pool and be safe. I went down, down, endlessly. I opened my eyes. Nothing but water with a yellow glow — dark water that one could not see through. And then sheer, stark terror seized me, terror that knows no understanding, terror that knows no control, terror that no one can understand who has not experienced it. I was shrieking under water. I was paralysed under water — stiff, rigid with fear.
Even the screams in my throat were frozen. Only my heart, and the pounding in my head, said that I was still alive. And then in the midst of the terror came a touch of reason.
I must remember to jump when I hit the bottom. At last I felt the tiles under me. My toes reached out as if to grab them.
I jumped with everything I had. But the jump made no difference. The water was still around me. I looked for ropes, ladders, water wings. Nothing but water. A mass of yellow water held me. Stark terror took an even deeper hold on me, like a great charge of electricity. I shook and trembled with fright.
I tried to call for help, to call for mother. Nothing happened. I was coming out of the awful yellow water. At least my eyes were. My nose was almost out too. Then I started down a third time.
I sucked for air and got water. The yellowish light was going out. Then all effort ceased. I relaxed. Even my legs felt limp; and a blackness swept over my brain. It wiped out fear; it wiped out terror.
There was no more panic. It was quiet and peaceful. Nothing to be afraid of. This is nice I crossed to oblivion, and the curtain of life fell. The next I remember I was lying on my stomach beside the 1.
The chap that threw William Douglas speaks about? Be all right now. What plans did he carry him to the locker room. Several hours later, I walked 3. How did this experience affect home. I was weak and trembling. I shook and cried when I lay on my bed. For days a haunting fear was in my heart.
The slightest exertion upset me, making me wobbly in the knees and sick to my stomach. I never went back to the pool. I feared water. I avoided it whenever I could. A few years later when I came to know the waters of the Cascades, I wanted to get into them. And whenever I did — whether I was wading the Tieton or Bumping River or bathing in Warm Lake of the Goat Rocks — the terror that had seized me in the pool would come back. It would take possession of me completely.
My legs would become paralysed. Icy horror would grab my heart. This handicap stayed with me as the years rolled by. In canoes on Maine lakes fishing for landlocked salmon,. It ruined my fishing trips; deprived me of the joy of canoeing, boating, and swimming. I used every way I knew to overcome this fear, but it held me firmly in its grip. Finally, one October, I decided to get an instructor and learn to swim. I went to a pool and practiced five days a week, an hour each day.
The instructor put a belt around me.
A rope attached to the belt went through a pulley that ran on an overhead cable. He held on to the end of the rope, and we went back and forth, back and forth across the pool, hour after hour, day after day, week after week. On each trip across the pool a bit of the panic seized me. Each time the instructor relaxed his hold on the rope and I went under, some of the old terror returned and my legs froze. It was three months before the tension began to slack.
Then he taught me to put my face under water and exhale, and to raise my nose and inhale. I repeated the exercise hundreds of times. Bit by bit I shed part of the panic that seized me when my head went under water.
Next he held me at the side of the pool and had me kick with my legs. For weeks I did just that. At first my legs refused to work. But they gradually relaxed; and finally I could command them. Thus, piece by piece, he built a swimmer. And when he had perfected each piece, he put them together into an integrated whole. Dive off and swim the length of the pool, crawl stroke.
The instructor was finished. But I was not finished. I still wondered if I would be terror-stricken when I was alone in the pool. I tried it. I swam the length up and down.
Tiny vestiges of the old terror would return. This went on until July. But I was still not satisfied. I was not sure that all the terror had left. So I went to Lake. I swam the crawl, breast stroke, side stroke, and back stroke. Only once did the terror return.
When I was in the middle of the lake, I put my face under and saw nothing but bottomless water. The old sensation returned in miniature. Yet I had residual doubts. The next morning I stripped, dived into the lake, and swam across to the other shore and back — just as Doug Corpron used to do. I shouted with joy, and Gilbert Peak returned the echo.
I had conquered my fear of water. The experience had a deep meaning for me, as only those who have known stark terror and conquered it can appreciate.
In death there is peace. Why was Douglas determined to that fear of it can produce, the get over his fear of water? At last I felt released — free 3. How did Douglas make sure that to walk the trails and climb the he conquered the old terror? How does Douglas make clear to the reader the sense of panic that gripped him as he almost drowned? Describe the details that have made the description vivid. How did Douglas overcome his fear of water?
Why does Douglas as an adult recount a childhood experience of terror and his conquering of it? What larger meaning does he draw from this experience?
Have you ever had a fear that you have now overcome? Share your experience with your partner. Find and narrate other stories about conquest of fear and what people have said about courage. Write out a sample paragraph or paragraphs from this text from the point of view of a third person or observer, to find out which style of narration would you consider to be more effective?
Doing well in any activity, for example a sport, music, dance or painting, riding a motorcycle or a car, involves a great deal of struggle. Most of us are very nervous to begin with until gradually we overcome our fears and perform well. Write an essay of about five paragraphs recounting such an experience. Try to recollect minute details of what caused the fear, your feelings, the encouragement you got from others or the criticism.
Write a short letter to someone you know about your having learnt to do something new. Things to do Are there any water sports in India?
Find out about the areas or places which are known for water sports. Selma Lagerlof was a Swedish writer whose stories have been translated into many languages.