Inscribed to a dear child, from Rime and Reason, by Lewis Carroll. Rime or Reason Inscribed to a dear child, in memory of golden summer hours and whispers of a summer sea. Gert with a boyish garb for boyish task, eager she wields her spade, yet loves as well rest on a friendly knee, intent to ask the tale one loves to tell. Roots, gopher of the seething out of strife, are meep to read her pure and simple sprite, deem if they wilt, such hours a waste of life, empty of all delight. Chat on, sweet maid, and rescue from annoy hearts that by wiser talk are unbeguiled, are happy he who owns that tenderest joy, the heart-love of a child. Away form thoughts and vex my soul no more, work claims my wakeful nights my busy days, albeit bright memories of that sunlit shore yet haunt my dreaming gaze, end of inscribed to a dear child. Phantasmogoria, from Rime and Reason, by Lewis Carroll. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recorded by Michael Max. Phantasmogoria. Canto one, The Tristing. One winter night, at half-past nine, cold, tired, and cross some muddy, I had come home too late to dine, and supper with cigars and wine was waiting in the study. There was a strangeness in the room, and something white and wavy was standing near me in the gloom. I took it for a carpet broom left by that careless slavy. But presently the thing began to shiver and to sneeze, on which I said, Come, come, my man, that's a most inconsiderate plant, less noise there, if you please. I've caught a cold. The thing replies, out there upon the landing. I turned to look in some surprise, and there, before my very eyes, a little ghost was standing. He trembled when he caught my eye, and got behind a chair. How came you here, I said, and why? I never saw a thing so shy. Come out, don't shiver there. He said, I'd gladly tell you how, I'd also tell you why, but here he gave a little bow.  And as to being in a fright, allow me to remark that ghosts have just a good a right in every way to fear the light, as men to fear the dark. No pleas, said I, can well excuse such cowardice in you, for ghosts can visit when they choose, whereas we humans can't refuse to grant the interview. He said, A flutter of alarm is not a natural, is it? I really feared you meant some harm. But now I see that you are calm, let me explain my visit. Houses are classed, I beg to state according to the number of ghosts that they accommodate. The tenant merely counts as weight with coals another lumber. This is a one-ghost house, and you, when you arrive last summer, may have remarked a specter who was doing all the ghosts can do to welcome the newcomer. In villas, this is always done, however cheaply rented, for though, of course, there's lesser fun when there is only room for one, ghosts have to be contented. That specter left you on the third, since then you've not been haunted. For, as he never sent us word, it is quite by accident we heard that anyone was wanted. A specter has first choice by right in filling up a vacancy, then phantom, goblin, elf, and sprite. If all these fail them, they invite the nicest ghoul that they can see. The specter said the place was low and that you kept bad wine, so as a phantom had to go, and I was first, of course, you know, I couldn't well decline. No doubt, said I, they settled who was fittest to be sent, yet still to choose a brat like you to haunt a man of forty-two was no great compliment. I'm not so young, sir, he replied, as you might think. The fact is, in caverns by the water-side, and other places that I've tried, I've had a lot of practice, but I have never taken yet a strict domestic part, and in my flurry I forget the five good rules of etiquette we have to know by heart. My sympathies were warming fast towards the little fellow. He was so utterly aghast at having found a man at last, and looked so scared and yellow. At least, I said, I'm glad to find a ghost is not a dumb thing, but pray, sit down, you're feeling climbed, if like myself you have not dined, to take a snack of something, though certainly you don't appear a thing to offer food to, and then I shall be glad to hear if you will say them loud and clear the rules that you elude to. Thanks, you shall hear them by and by, this is a piece of luck. What may I offer you, said I? Well, since you are so kind, I'll try a little bit of duck. One slice, and may I ask you for another drop of gravy? I sat and looked at him in awe, for certainly I never saw a thing so white and wavy. And still he seemed to grow more white, more vapoury and wavier, seen in the dim and flickering light, as he proceeded to recite his maxims of behaviour. Canto two, his five rules.  And here you must on no pretense make the first observation. Wait for the victim to commence, no ghost of any common sense begins a conversation. If he should say, how cabe you here, the way that you began, sir? In such a case your course is clear. On the bat's back, my little dear, is the appropriate answer. If after this he says no more, you best perhaps curtail your exertions and go shake the door, and then if he begins to snore you'll know the things of failure. By day if he should be alone at home or on a walk, you merely give a hollow groan to indicate the kind of tone by which you mean to talk. But if you find him with his friends the thing is rather harder. In such a case success depends on picking up some candle ends or butter in the larder. With this you make a kind of slide. It answers best with suede, on which you must contrive to glide and swing yourself from side to side. One soon learns how to do it. The second tells us what is right. In ceremonious calls first burn a blue or crimson light, a thing I quite forgot tonight, then scratch the door all walls. I said, you'll visit here no more if you attempt the guy, I'll have no bonfires on my floor, and as for scratching up the door I'd like to see you try. The third was written to protect the interests of the victim and tells us as I recollect, to treat him with a grave respect and not to contradict him. That's plain, said I, as tear and tread to any comprehension. I only wish some ghosts I've met would not so constantly forget the maxim that you mention. Perhaps, he said, you first transgress the laws of hospitality. All ghosts instinctively detest the man that fails to treat his guest with proper cordiality. If you address a ghost as thing, or strike him with a hatchet, he is permitted by the king to drop all formal parleying, and then you're sure to catch it. The fourth prohibits trespassing where other ghosts are quartered, and those convicted of the thing, unless, when pardoned by the king, must instantly be slaughtered. That simply means be cut up small. Ghosts soon unite anew. The process ghastly hurts at all, not more than when you're what you call cut up by a review. The fifth is one you may prefer that I should quote entire. The king must be addressed as sir. This from a simple courtier is all the laws require. But should you wish to do the thing without a knight per lightness, accost him as my goblin king, and always use in answering the phrase your royal whiteness. I'm getting rather horsey fear after so much reciting, so if you don't object, my dear, we'll try a glass of bitter beer I think it looks inviting. Canto III Scum-Oaches And did you really walk, said I, on such a wretched night? I always fancied ghosts could fly, if not exactly in the sky, yet at a fairish height. It is very well, he said, for kings to soar above the earth, but phantoms often find that wings like many other pleasant things cost more than they are worth. Spectres, of course, are rich, and so can buy them from the elves, but we prefer to keep below.  For though they claim to be exempt from pride, they treat a phantom as something quite beneath contempt, just as no turkey ever dreamt of noticing a bantam. They seemed too proud, said I, to go to houses such as mine. Pray, how did they contrive to know so quickly that the place was low and that I kept bad wine? Inspector Cobbled came to you, the little ghost began. Here I broke in. Inspector who? Inspecting ghosts is something new. Explain yourself, my man. His name is Cobbled, said my guest, one of the Spectre order. You'll very often see him dressed in yellow gown, a crimson vest, and a night-cap with a border. He tried the brocken business first, but caught a sort of chill. So came to England to be nursed, and here it took the form of thirst which he complains of still. Port wine, he says, when rich and sound warms his old bones like nectar, and as the inns where it is found are his special hunting-ground we call him the Inspector. I bore it, bore it like a man this agonising witticism, and nothing could be sweeter than my temper till the ghost began some most provoking criticism. Cooks need not be indulged in waste, yet still you better teach them dishes should have some sort of taste. Pray, why are all the crewits placed when nobody can reach them? That man of yours will never earn his living as a waiter. Is that queer thing supposed to burn? It's far too dismal a concern to call a moderator. The duck was tender, but the peas were very much too old, and just remember, if you please, the next time you have toasted cheese don't let them send it cold. You'll find the bread improved, I think, by getting better flour, and have you anything to drink that looks a little less like ink and isn't quite so sour? Then, peering round with curious eyes, he muttered, goodness gracious, and so went on to criticise. Your room's an inconvenient size, it's neither snug nor spacious. That narrow window, I expect, serves but to let the duskin. But please, said I, to recollect, was fashioned by an architect who pinned his face on Ruskin. I don't care who he was, sir, or on whom he pinned his face, constructed by whatever law so poor a job I never saw as I'm a living wraith. What a remarkable cigar! How much are they a dozen? I growled. No matter what they are, you're getting as familiar as if you were my cousin. Now that's a thing I will not stand, and so I tell you flat. Aha! said he, we're getting grand. Taking a bottle in his hand, I'll soon arrange for that. And here he took a careful aim and gaily cried, here goes. I tried to dodge it as it came, but somehow caught it all the same exactly on my nose. And I remember nothing more than I can clearly fix, till I was sitting on the floor, repeating two and five are four but five and two are six. What really passed I never learned, nor guessed. I only know that when at last my sense returned the lamp neglected, dimly burned, the fire was getting low. Through driving mists I seem to see a thing that smirked and smiled, and found that he was giving me a lesson in biography as if I were a child. Kanto for his nourriture. Oh! when I was a little ghost a merry time had we each seated on his favourite post we jumped and chored the buttered toast they gave us for our tea. That story is in print, I cried. Don't say it's not, because it's known as well as Bradshaw's guide. The ghost uneasily replied he hardly thought it was. It's not in nursery rhymes, and yet I almost think it is. Three little ghostesses were set on postesses, you know, and let their buttered toastesses. I have the book, so if you doubt it. I turned to search the shelf. Don't stir, he cried, we'll do without it. I now remember all about it. I wrote the thing myself. It came out in a monthly awe, at least my agent said it did. Some literary swell who saw it thought it seemed adapted for the magazine he edited. My father was a brownie, sir. My mother was a fairy. The notion had occurred to her the children would be happier if they were taught to vary. The notions soon became a craze, and when it once began she brought us out in different ways. One was a pixie, two were phase, another was a banshee. The fetch and kelpie went to school and gave a lot of trouble. Next came a poltergeist and ghoul, and then two trolls, which broke the rule, a goblin and a double. If that's the snuff-box on the shelf, he added with a yawn, I'll take a pinch. Next came an elf, and then a phantom, that's myself, and last a leprechaun. One day some spectres chanced to call dressed in the usual white. I stood and watched them in the hall, and couldn't make them out at all. They seemed so strange a sight. I wondered what on earth they were that looked all head and sack.  Since then I've often wished that I had been a spectre-born. But what's the use? he heaved aside. They are the ghost nobility and look on us with scorn. My phantom life was soon begun. When I was barely six I went out with an older one, and just at first I thought it fun and learned a lot of tricks. I've haunted dungeons, castles, towers, wherever I was sent. I've often sat and held for hours, drenched to the skin with driving showers upon a battlement. It's quite old-fashioned now to groan when you begin to speak. This is the newest thing in tone. And here it chilled me to the bone. He gave an awful squeak. Perhaps, he added, to your ear that sounds an easy thing. Try it yourself, my little dear. It took me something like a year with constant practising. And when you've learnt to squeak, my man, and caught the double sob, you're pretty much where you began. Just try and jibber, if you can. That's something like a job. I've tried it, and can only say I'm sure you couldn't do it, even if you practised night and day, unless you have a turn that way, a natural ingenuity. Shakespeare, I think it is who treats of ghosts in days of old who jibbered in the Roman streets, dressed, if you recollect, in sheets. They must have found it cold. I've often spent ten pounds on stuff in dressing as a double, but though it answers as a puff, it never has effect enough to make it worth the trouble. Long bills soon quench the little thirst I have for being funny. The setting up is always worst. Such heaps of things you want at first one must be made of money. For instance, take a haunted tower with skull, crossbones, and sheet. Blue lights to burn, say, to an hour, condensing lens of extra power and set of chains complete. What with the things you have to hire, the fitting on the robe, and testing all the coloured fire, the outfit of itself would tire the patience of a job. And then they're so fast-stidious, the haunted house committee. I've often known the Maker Fuss because a ghost was French or Russ or even from the city. Some dialects are objected to. For one, the Irish Brogues. And then for all you have to do one pound a week they offer you and find yourself in bogies. Canto 5, Bigamant. Don't they consult the victims, though, I said. They should by rights give them the chance because you know the tastes of people differ so especially in sprites. The phantom shook his head and smiled. Consult them, not a bit, to a beer job to drive one wild to satisfy one single child there be no end to it. Of course you can't leave children free, said I, to pick and choose. But in the case of men like me I think my host might fairly be allowed to state his views. He said, it wouldn't really pay.  And though we don't consult my host before the things arranged, still if he often quits his post or is not a well-mannered ghost then you can have him changed. But if the hosts are men like you, I mean a man of sense, and if the house is not too new, why, what has that I said to do with ghosts' convenience? A new house does not suit you, no, it's such a job to trim it. But after twenty years or so the wainscottings begin to go so twenty is the limit. To trim was not a phrase I could remember having heard. Perhaps, I said, you'll be so good as tell me what is understood exactly by that word. It means the loosening all the doors, the ghost replied, and laughed. It means the drilling holes by scores in all the skirting-boards and floors to make a thorough draft. You'll sometimes find that one or two are all you really need to let the wind come whistling through. But here there'll be a lot to do. I faintly gasped. Indeed, if I'd been rather later I'll be bound, I added, trying most unsuccessfully to smile. You'd have been busy all this while trimming and beautifying. Why, no, said he. Perhaps I should have stayed another minute, but still no ghosts as any good without an introduction would have ventured to begin it. The proper thing, as you were late, was certainly to go. But with the roads in such a state I got the nightmares leave to wait for half an hour or so. Who's the nightmare? I cried. Instead of answering my question, well, if you don't know that, he said, either you never go to bed or you've a grand digestion. He goes about and sits on folk that eat too much at night. His duties are to pinch and poke and squeeze them till they nearly choke. I said it serves them right. And folk that supple things like these, he muttered, eggs and bacon, lobster and duck and toasted cheese. If they don't get an awful squeeze, I'm very much mistaken. He is immensely fat and so well suits the occupation. In point of fact, if you must know, we used to call him, years ago, the Mayor and Corporation. The day he was elected Mayor, I know that every sprite meant to vote for me, but did not dare, he was so frantic with despair and furious with excitement. When it was over for a whim, he ran to tell the King, and being the reverse of slim, a two-mile trot was not for him a very easy thing. So, to reward him for his run, as it was baking hot and he was over twenty stone, the King proceeded half-in-fun to knight him on the spot. "'Twas a great liberty to take,' I fired up like a rocket. He did it just for punning's sake. The man,' says Johnson, that would make a pun, would pick a pocket. A man said he is not a king. I argued for a while and did my best to prove the thing, the phantom merely listening with a contemptuous smile.  Stung by his cold and snaky eye I roused myself at length to say, at least I do defy the various skeptic to deny that Union is strength. That's true enough, said he, yet stay. I listened all in meekness. Union is strength I'm bound to say. In fact, the things as clear as day, but onions are a weakness. Canto 6. Discomfiture. As one who strives a hill to climb who never climbed before, who finds it in a little time grows every moment less sublime and votes the thing a bore. Yet having once begun to try dares not desert his quest, but climbing ever keeps his eye on one small hut against the sky wherein he hopes to rest, who climbs till nerve and force are spent with many a puff and pant, who still, as rises the ascent in language, grows more violent although in breath more scant, who climbing gains at length a pace that crans the upward track, and entering with unsteady pace receives a buffet in the face that lands him on his back, and feels himself like one in sleep guides swiftly down again, a helpless weight from steep to steep, till with a headlong giddy sweep he drops upon the plane. So I, that had resolved to bring conviction to a ghost, and found it quite a differencing from any human arguing, yet dared not quit my post. But keeping still the end in view to which I hoped to come, I strove to prove the matter true by putting everything I knew into an axiom, commencing every single phrase with therefore or because I blindly reeled a hundred ways about the syllogistic maze unconscious where I was.  You're like a man I used to meet, who got one day so furious in arguing the simple heat scorched both the slippers off his feet. I said, that's very curious. Well, it is curious, I agree, and sounds perhaps like fibs, but still it's true as true can be as sure as your name's tibs, said he. I said, my name's not tibs. Not tibs, he cried, his tone became a shade or two less hearty. I know, said I, my proper name is Tibbets. Tibbets, I the same. Why then, you're not the party. With that he struck the board a blow that shivered half the glasses. Why couldn't you have told me so three quarters of an hour ago, you prince of all the asses? To walk four miles through mud and rain to spend the night in smoking, and then to find that it's in vain and I've to do it all again, it's really too provoking. Don't talk, he cried as I began to mutter some excuse.  To keep me waiting here instead of telling me at once that this was not the house, he said. There, that'll do, be off to bed. Don't gape like that, you dunce. It's very fine to throw the blame on me in such a fashion. Why didn't you inquire my name the very minute that you came, I answered in a passion. Of course it worries you a bit to come so far on foot. But how was I to blame for it? Well, well, said he, I must admit that isn't badly put. And certainly you've given me the best of wine and vittle. Excuse my violence, said he, but accidents like this you see they put one out a little. It was my fault after all I find. Shake hands or turnip top? The name was hardly to my mind, but as no doubt he meant it kind I let the matter drop. Good night, odd turnip top, good night. When I am gone perhaps they'll send you some inferior sprite who will keep you in a constant fright and spoil your soundest naps. Tell him you'll stand no sort of trick, then if he leers and chuckles you'll just be handy with a stick, mind that is pretty hard and sick, and wrap him on the knuckles. Then carelessly remark old Coon perhaps you'll not aware that if you don't behave you'll soon be chuckling to another tune and so you best take care. That's the right way to cure a sprite of such like goings on, but gracious me it's getting light. Good night, old turnip top, good night. A nod and he was gone. Canto 7 said Souvenance What's this I pondered? Have I slept or can I have been drinking? But soon a gentler feeling crept upon me and I sat and wept an hour or so like winking. No need for bones to hurry so, I sobbed. In fact I doubt if it was worth his well to go, and who is Tips I'd like to know to make such work about? If Tips is anything like me it's possible, I said. He won't be over pleased to be dropped in upon at huff-pass three after he's snug in bed. And if Bones plagues him any house, squeaking and all the rest of it, as he was doing here just now, I prophesy there'll be a row and Tips will have the best of it. Then as my tears could never bring the friendly phantom back, it seemed to me the proper thing to mix another glass and sing the following Koranak. And art thou gone, beloved ghost, best of familiars, nay then farewell, my duckling roast, farewell, farewell, my tea and toast, my mere shawlman cigars. The hues of life are dull and grey, the sweets of life insipid, when thou my charmer art away, old brick, or rather let me say, old parallela pipid. Instead of singing verse the third I ceased, abruptly rather, but after such a splendid word I felt that it would be absurd to try it any farther. So with a yawn I went my way to seek the welcome downy, and slept and dreamed till break of day of poltergeist and fetch and fey and leprechaun and brownie. For years I've not been visited by any kind of sprite, yet still they echo in my head those parting words so kindly said, old turnip-top, good night, end of Phantasmagoria. Echos from Rhyman Reason by Lewis Carroll. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Recorded by Michael Maggs. Echos. The Lady Clara Veer de Veer was eight years old, she said. A free ringlet, lightly shaken, ran itself in golden thread. She took a little porridge of me, she shall not win renown, for the baseness of its nature shall have the strength to drag her down.  Kind words are more than coronets, she said, and wondering looked at me. It is the dead and happy night, and I must hurry home to tea. End of Echos. A Sea-Durge from Rhyman Reason by Lewis Carroll. This Libravox recording is in the public domain. Recorded by Michael Maggs. A Sea-Durge.  Pour some salt water over the floor. Ugly, I'm sure you'll allow it to be. Suppose it extended a mile or more. That's very like the sea. Beat a dog till it howls, I tried. Cruel, but all very well for a spree. Suppose that he did so day and night. That would be like the sea. I had a vision of nursery-maids, tens of thousands passed by me, all leading children with wooden spades, and this was by the sea. Who invented those spades of wood? Who was it who cut them out of the tree?  It is pleasant and dreamy, no doubt, to float with thoughts as boundless and souls as free. But suppose you are very unwell in the boat. How do you like the sea? There is an insect that people avoid, whence is derived the verb to flee. Where have you been by it most annoyed, in lodgings by the sea? If you like your coffee with sand for dregs, a decided hint of salt in your tea, and a fishy taste in the very eggs, by all means, choose the sea. And if, with these dainties to drink and eat, you prefer not a vestige of grass or tree, and a chronic state of wet in your feet, then, I recommend the sea. For I have friends who dwell by the coast, pleasant friends they are to me. It is when I am with them I wonder most that anyone likes the sea. They take me a walk, though tired and stiff to climb the heights I madly agree, and after a tumble or so from the cliff they kindly suggest the sea. I try the rocks, and I think it cool that they laugh with such an excessive glee as I heavily slip into every pool that skirts the cold, cold sea. End of A Sea-Durge The Carpet Night From Rhymon Reason by Lewis Carroll This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Michael Maggs The Carpet Night I have a horse, a right good horse. Nay, do I envy those who scour the plain in headlong course till sudden on their nose they light with unexpected force. It is a horse of clothes. I have a saddle, sayst I so, with stirrup's night to boot? I said not that, I answer, no, it lacketh such, I would. It is a mutton saddle, though, but of the fleecy brute. I have a bit, a right good bit, as shall be seen in time. The jaws of horse it will not fit. Its use is more sublime. Fessa, how dim as thou of it, it is this bit of rhyme. End of The Carpet Night High Author's Photographing From Rhymon Reason by Lewis Carroll This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Michael Maggs In an age of imitation I can claim no special merit for this slight attempt at doing what is known to be so easy. Any fairly practised writer with the slightest earforism could compose for hours together in the easy running meter of the Song of Hiawatha. Having then distinctly stated that I challenge no attention in the following little poem to its merely verbal jingle, I must beg the candid reader to confine his criticism to its treatment of the subject. From his shoulder Hiawatha took the camera of Rosewood, made of sliding, folding Rosewood, neatly put it all together. In its case it lay compactly folded into nearly nothing, but he impened out the hinges, pushed and pulled the joints and hinges, till it looked all squares and oblongs like a complicated figure in the second book of Euclid. This he perched upon a tripod, crouched beneath its dusky cover, stretched his hand, enforcing silence, said, Be motionless, I beg you! Mystic awful was the process. All the family in order sat before him for their pictures. Each in turn, as he was taken, volunteered his own suggestions, his ingenious suggestions. First the governor, the father, he suggested velvet curtains looped about a massy pillar, and the corner of a table, of a Rosewood dining-table. He would hold a scroll of something, hold it firmly in his left hand. He would keep his right hand buried, like Napoleon, in his waistcoat. He would contemplate the distance with a look of pensive meaning, as of ducks that die in tempests. Grand heroic was the notion. Yet the picture failed entirely, failed because he moved a little, moved because he couldn't help it. Next his better half took courage. She would have her picture taken. She came dressed beyond description, dressed in jewels and in satin, far too gorgeous for an empress. Gracefully she sat down sideways, with a simper, scarcely human, holding in her hand a bouquet rather larger than a cabbage. All the while that she was sitting still the lady chattered, chattered like a monkey in the forest. Am I sitting still, she asked him, is my face enough in profile? Shall I hold the bouquet higher? Will it come into the picture? And the picture failed completely. Next the sun, the stunning cantabre. He suggested curves of beauty, curves pervading all his figure, which the eye might follow onward till they centred in the breastpin, centred in the golden breastpin. He had learnt it all from Ruskin, author of The Stones of Venice, Seven Lamps of Architecture, Modern Painters, and some others, and perhaps he had not fully understood his author's meaning. But whatever was the reason, all was fruitless, as the picture ended in an utter failure. Next to him the eldest daughter. She suggested very little, only asked if he would take her with a look of passive beauty. Her idea of passive beauty was a squinting of the left eye, was a drooping of the right eye, was a smile that went up sideways to the corner of the nostrils. Hiawatha, when she asked him, took no notice of the question, looked as if he hadn't heard it. But when pointedly appealed to, smiled, in his peculiar manner, coughed and said, It didn't matter, bit his lip and chained the subject. Nor in this was he mistaken, as the picture failed completely. So, in turn, the other sisters. Last the youngest son was taken. Very rough and sick his hair was, very round and red his face was, very dusty was his jacket, very fidgety his manner.  And so awful was the picture, in comparison the others seemed to once bewildered fancy to have partially succeeded. Finally my Hiawatha tumbled all the tribe together. Grouped is not the right expression, and as happy chance would have it did, at last obtain a picture where the faces all succeeded. Each came out a perfect likeness.  Giving one such strange expressions.  Really, any one would take us, any one that did not know us, for the most unpleasant people. Hiawatha seemed to think so, seemed to think it not unlikely. All together rang their voices, angry, loud, discordant voices as of dogs that howling concert, as of cats that wail in chorus. But my Hiawatha's patience, his politeness and his patience unaccountably had vanished, and he left that happy party. Neither did he leave them slowly, with the calm deliberation, the intense deliberation of a photographic artist. But he left them in a hurry, left them in a mighty hurry stating that he would not stand it. Stating in emphatic language what he'd be before he'd stand it. Hurriedly he packed his boxes, hurriedly the porter trundled on a barrow all his boxes, hurriedly he took his ticket, hurriedly the train received him, thus departed Hiawatha. End of Hiawatha's photographing. Mellon Colletta from Rhymen's Reason by Lewis Carroll. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Michael Max. Mellon Colletta. With saddest music all day long, she soothed her secret sorrow. At night she sighed, I fear it was wrong such chiff words to borrow. Dearest, a sweeter, sadder song I'll sing to thee to-morrow. I thanked her, but I could not say that I was glad to hear it. I left the house at break of day and did not venture near it till time, I hoped, had worn away her grief, for naught could cheer it. My dismal sister, couldst thou know the wretched home thou keepest? Thy brother, drowned in daily woe, is thankful when thou sleepest, for if I laugh, however low, when thou art awake, thou weepest.  I asked three gay young dogs from town to join us in our folly, whose mirth, I thought, might serve to drown my sister's Mellon Collie, the lively Jones, the sportive Brown, and Robinson the Jolly. The maid announced the meal in tones that I myself had taught her, meant to allay my sister's moans like oil on troubled water. I rushed to Jones, the lively Jones, and begged him to escort her. Vainly he strove with ready wit to joke about the weather, to ventilate the last on-dit, to quote the price of leather. She groaned, here I and sorrow sit, let us lament together.  My heart is wasted with my woe, there is no rest in Venice on the bridge of size, she quoted low from Byron and from Tennyson. I need not tell of soup and fish in solemn silence swallowed, the sobs that ushered in each dish and its departure followed, nor yet my suicidal wish to be the cheese I hollowed. Some desperate attempts were made to start a conversation. Madam, the sportive Brown assayed, which kind of recreation, hunting or fishing, have you made your special occupation? Her lips curved downwards instantly as if of India rubber. Hounds in full cry, I like, said she. Oh, how I longed to snub her.  The night's performance was King John. It's dull, she wept, and so so. And while I let her tears flow on, she said they soothed her woe so. At length the curtain rose upon Bombaste's Furioso. In vain we roared, in vain we tried to rouse her into laughter. Her pensive glances wandered wide from orchestra to rafter. Tear upon tear, she said, and sighed. And silence followed after. End of Melancholetta. A Valentine. From Rhymen's Reason by Lewis Carroll. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Michael Maggs. A Valentine. Sent to a friend who had complained that I was glad enough to see him when he came, but didn't seem to miss him if he stayed away. And cannot pleasures, while they last, be actual, unless, when past, they leave a shuddering and aghast with anguish smarting. And cannot friends be firm and fast, and yet bear parting? And must I then, at friendship's call, calmly resign the little all, trifling I granted is, and small I have of gladness, and lend my being to the thrall of gloom and sadness?  At other times be sour and glum and daily thinner. Must he then only live to weep who proved his friendship true and deep? By day a lonely shadow creep at night-time languish, oft raising in his broken sleep the moan of anguish. The lover, if for certain days his fair one be denied his gaze, sinks not in grief and wild amaze, but, wiser wooer, he spends the time in writing laze and posts them to her. And if the verse flow free and fast till even the poet is aghast, a touching valentine at last the post shall carry, when thirteen days are gone and past of February. Fair well, dear friend, and when we meet in desert waste or crowded street, perhaps before this week shall fleet, perhaps to-morrow. I trust to find your heart the seat of wasting sorrow, end of a valentine. The Three Voices from Rhymandry's and by Lewis Carroll. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Michael Maggs. The Three Voices. The first voice. He'd trilled a carol, fresh and free, he'd laughed aloud for very glee. There came a breeze from off the sea. It passed a thwart, the glooming flat. It fanned his forehead as he sat. It lightly bore away his hat. All to the feet of one who stood like maid enchanted in a wood, frowning as darkly as she could. With huge umbrella, lank and brown, unairingly she pinned it down right through the centre of the crown. Then, with an aspect cold and grim, regardless of its battered rim, she took it up and gave it him. A while like one in dreams he stood, then faltered forth his gratitude, in words just short of being rude. For it had lost its shape and shine, and it had cost him four and nine, and he was going out to dine. To dine, she sneered, in acid tone, to bend thy being to a bone clothed in a radiance not its own. The teardrop trickled to his chin. There was a meaning in her grin that made him feel on fire within. Termit not radiance, said he, to solid nutriment to me. Dinner is dinner, tea is tea. And she, yea so, yet wherefore cease, let thy scant knowledge find increase, say, men are men, and geese are geese. He moaned. He knew not what to say, the thought, that I could get away strove with the thought. But I must stay. To dine, she shrieked in dragon-roth, to swallow wines all foam and froth, to simp her at a table cloth. Say, can thy noble spirit stoop to join the gormandising troupe who find a solace in the soup? Can't thy desire or pie or puff? Thy well-bred manners were enough without such gross material stuff. Yet well-bred men, he faintly said, are not unwilling to be fed, nor are they well without the bread. Her visage scorched him, air she spoke. There are, she said, a kind of folk who have no horror of a joke. Such wretches live. They take their share of common earth and common air. We come across them here and there. We grant them. There is no escape, a sort of semi-human shape suggestive of the manlike ape. Of all such theories, said he, one fixed exception there must be that is the present company. Baffled, she gave a wolfish bark. He, aiming blindly in the dark with random shaft, had pierced the mark. She felt that her defeat was plain, yet madly strove with might and maim to get the upper hand again. Fixing her eyes upon the beach as though unconscious of his speech, she said, each gives to more than each. He could not answer ye or nay. He felt that gifts may pass away, yet knew not what he meant to say. If that be so, she straight replied each heart with each doth coincide. What boots it? For the world is wide. But the world is but a thought, said he. The vast unfathomable sea is but a notion unto me.  Like half a hundred weight of lead, the good and great must ever shun that reckless, and abandon one who stoops to perpetrate our pun. The man that smokes, that reads the times, that goes to Christmas pantomimes, is capable of any crimes. He felt it was his turn to speak, and, with ashamed and crimson cheek moaned, this is harder than bzique. But when she asked him, wherefore so, he felt his very whiskers glow, and frankly, and I do not know. While like broad waves of golden grain or sunlit hues on cloistered pain, his colour came and went again. Pitying his obvious distress, yet with a tinge of bitterness, she said, the more exceeds the less. A truth of such undoubted weight, he urged, and so extreme in date it were superfluous to state. Roused into sudden passion, she in tone of cold malignity, to others yea, but not to thee. But when she saw him quail and quake, and when he urged for pity's sake, once more in gentle tones she spake, thought in the mind doth still abide, that is by intellect supplied, and within that idea doth hide, and he that yearns the truth to know still further inwardly may go, and find idea from notion flow, and thus the chain that sages sought is to a glorious circle wrought, for notion hath its source in thought. So pass they on with even pace, yet gradually one might trace a shadow growing on his face, the second voice. They walked beside the wave-worn beach, her tongue was very apt to teach, and now and then he did beseech she would abate her dulcet tone, because the talk was all her own, and he was dull as any drone. She urged, no cheese is made of chalk, and ceaseless flowed her dreary talk, tuned to the footfall of a walk. Her voice was very full and rich, and when at last she asked him which, it mounted to its highest pitch. He, a bewildered answer gave, drowned in the sullen, moaning wave lost in the echoes of the cave. He answered her he knew not what, like shaft from bow at random shot he spoke, but she regarded not. She waited not for his reply, but with a downward led an eye went on, as if he were not by. Signed argument and grave defence, strange questions raised on why, and whence, and wildly tangled evidence. When he, with wracked and whirling brain, feebly implored her to explain, she simply said it all again. Wretched with an agony, intense he spake, neglecting sound and sense and careless of all consequence. Mind, I believe, is essence, ent, abstract, that is, an accident which we, that is to say, I meant. When, with quick breath and cheeks all flushed at length, his speech was somewhat hushed, she looked at him, and he was crushed. It needed not her calm reply, she fixed him with a stony eye, and he could neither fight nor fly, while she dissected, word by word, his speech, half guestat, and half heard as might a cat, a little bird. Then, having wholly overthrown his views, and stripped them to the bone, proceeded to unfold her own. Shall man be man, and shall he miss of other thoughts no thought but this harmonious deus of sober bliss? What boots it? Shall his fevered eye through tearing nothingness decry the grisly phantom hurry by?  The meadows breathing amber light, the darkness toppling from the height the feathery train of granite night. Shall he, grown gray among his peers through the thick curtain of his tears, catch glimpses of his earlier years, and hear the sands he knew of your old shufflings on the sanded floor, old knuckles tapping at the door? Yet still before him, as he flies one pallid form shall ever rise, and, bodying forth in glassy eyes, the vision of a vanished good low peering through the tangled wood shall freeze the current of his blood. Still, from each fact with skill uncouth and savage rapture, like a tooth she wrenched some slow reluctant truth, till, like a silent watermill when summer suns have dried the rail, she reached a full stop, and was still. Dead calm succeeded to the fuss, as when a loaded omnibus has reached the railway terminus, when, for the tumult of the street is heard the engine stifled beat, the velvet tread of Porter's feet. With glance that ever sought the ground, she moved her lips without a sound, and every now and then she friend. He gazed upon the sleeping sea and joyed in its tranquility and in that silence dead, but she'd amuse a little space did seem, then, like the echo of a dream harped back upon her threadbare seam. Still an attentive ear he lent, but could not fathom what she meant. She was not deep, nor eloquent. He marked the ripple on the sand, the even swaying of her hand was all that he could understand. He saw in dreams a drawing-room where thirteen wretches sat in bloom waiting. He thought he knew for whom. He saw them drooping here and there, each feebly huddled on a chair in attitudes of blank despair. Oysters were not more mute than they, for all their brains were pumped away, and they had nothing more to say.  The vision passed. The ghosts were fled. He saw once more that woman dread. He heard once more the words she said. He left her, and he turned aside. He sat and watched the coming tide across the shores, so newly dried. He wondered at the waters clear, the breeze that whispered in his ear, the billows heaving far and near, and why he had so long preferred to hang upon her every word. In truth, he said, it was absurd, the third voice. Not long this transport held its place. Within a little moment's space quick tears were raining down his face. His heart stood still, aghast with fear, a wordless voice, nor far nor near, he seemed to hear and not to hear. Tears kindle not the doubtful spark? If so, why not? Of this remark the bearings are profoundly dark. Her speech, he said, hath caused this pain. Easier I count it to explain the jargon of the howling mane, or stretched beside some babbling brook to con with inexpressive look an unintelligible book. Lowe spake the voice within his head. In words imagined more than said, sandless as ghosts intended tread. If thou art duller than before, why quittets thou the voice of law? Why not endure, expecting more? Rather than that, he groaned aghast, I'd writhe in depths of cavern vast some loathly vampires rich repast. To a hard, it answered, themes immense to coop within the narrow fence that rings thy scant intelligence. Not so, he urged, nor once alone, but there was something in her tone that chilled me to the very bone. Her style was anything but clear, and most unpleasantly severe. Her epithets were very queer. And yet, so grand were her replies, I could not choose but deem her wise, I did not dare to criticise. Nor did I leave her till she went so deep entangled argument that all my powers of thought were spent. A little whisper inly slid, yet truth is truth, you know you did. A little wink beneath the lid. And sickened with excess of dread, prone to the dust he bent his head and lay like one three quarters dead. The whisper left him, like a breeze lost in the depths of leafy trees, left him by no means at his ease. Once more he weltered in despair with hands through denser matted hair, more tightly clenched than they were. When, bathed in dawn of living red majestic frown to the mountain-head, tell me my fault, was all he said. When, at high noon the blazing sky scorched in his head each haggard eye, then keenest rose his weary cry. And when at eve the unpitting sun smelt grimly on the solemn fun. Alack, he sighed, what have I done? But saddest, darkest was the sight when the cold grasp of leaden night dashed him to earth and held him tight. Tortured, unaided, and alone thunders were silenced to his groan, bagpipe sweet music to his tone. What, ever thus in dismal round shall pain and mystery profound pursue me like a sleepless hand, with crimson dust and eager jaws, me, still in ignorance of the cause, unknowing what I broke of laws? The whisper to his ear did seem like echoed flow of silent stream or shadow of forgotten dream. The whisper trembling in the wind, her fate with thine was intertwined, so spake it in his inner mind. Each orbed on each a baleful star, each proved the other's blight and bar. Each unto each were best, most far. Yea, each to each was worse than foe, thou, a scared dullard, jibbering low and she, an avalanche of woe. End of The Three Voices Tamar Converazioni from Rhymen's Reason by Lewis Carroll This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Michael Maggs Tamar Converazioni Why is it that poetry has never yet been subjected to that process of dilution, which has proved so advantageous to her sister art, music, that diluta gives us first a few notes of some well-known air, and then a dozen bars of his own, then a few more notes of the air, and so on, alternately. Thus saving the listener, if not from all risk of recognizing the melody at all, at least from the two exciting transports which it might produce in a more concentrated form. The process is termed setting by composers, and anyone that has ever experienced the emotion of being unexpectedly set down in a heap of mortar will recognize the truthfulness of this happy phrase. For truly, just as the genuine epicure lingers lovingly over a morsel of supreme venison, whose every fibre seems to murmur excelsior, yet swallows air returning to the toothsome dainty great mouthfuls of oatmeal porridge and winkles, and just as the perfect connoisseur in Claret permits himself one delicate sip, and then tosses off a pint or more of boarding-school beer. So, also, I never loved a dear gazelle, nor anything that cost me much. High prices profit those who sell, but why should I be fond of such?  My son comes trotting home from school.  But when he came to know me well, he kicked me out, her testy sire, and when I stained my hair that bell might note the change, and thus admire. And love me it was sure to die. A muddy green or staring blue, whilst one might trace with half an eye the still triumphant carrot through.  Five rosy girls in years from ten to six, sitting down to lessons, no more time for tricks. Five growing girls from fifteen to eleven, music, drawing, languages, and food enough for seven. Five winsome girls from twenty to sixteen, each young man that calls I say, Now tell me which you mean. Five dashing girls, the youngest twenty-one, but if nobody proposes, what is there to be done? Five showy girls, but thirty is an age when girls may be engaging, but they don't somehow engage. Five dressy girls of thirty-one or more, so gracious to the shy young men they snubbed so much before. Five passe girls their age, well, never mind, we jog along together like the rest of humankind, but the quantum careless bachelor begins to think he knows the answer to that ancient problem, how the money goes. End of A Game of Fives Poeta fit no nascitur from Rime and Reason by Lewis Carroll. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Michael Maggs. Poeta fit no nascitur. How shall I be a poet? How shall I write in Rime?  The old man smiled to see him to hear his sudden sally. He liked the lad to speak his mind enthusiastically, and thought, there's no humdrum in him, nor any shilly shally. And would you be a poet before you've been to school?  First, learn to be spasmodic, a very simple rule. For first you write a sentence, and then you chop it small, then mix the bits, and sort them out just as they chance to fall. The order of the phrases makes no difference at all. Then, if you'd be impressive, remember what I say. That abstract qualities begin with capitals all-way. The true, the good, the beautiful. Those are the things that pay. Next, when you are describing a shape or sound or tint, don't state the matter plainly, but put it in a hint, and learn to look at all things with a sort of mental squint. For instance, if I wished, sir, of mutton pies to tell, should I say dreams of fleecy flocks pent in a wheaten cell? Why, yes, the old man said, that phrase would answer very well. Then, fourthly, there are epithets that suit with any word, as well as Harvey's redding sauce with fish or flesh or bird. Of these wild, lonely, weary, strange, are much to be preferred. And will it do, oh, will it do, to take them in a lump, as the wild man went his weary way to a strange and lonely pump? Nay, nay, you must not haste to lead to such conclusions, jump. Such epithets, like pepper, give zest to what you write, and if you strew them sparely they wet the appetite, but if you lay them on too thick, you spoil the matter quite. Last, as to the arrangement. Your reader, you should show him, must take what information he can get, and look for no immature disclosure of the drift and purpose of your poem. Therefore, to test his patience how much he can endure, mention no place's names or dates, and evermore be sure throughout the poem to be found consistently obscure. First fix upon the limit to which it shall extend, then fill it up with padding, beg some of any friend, your great sensation stanza you place towards the end. And what is a sensation, grandfather, tell me, pray, I think I never heard that word so used before to-day. Be kind enough to mention one, exempli grozier. And the old man, looking sadly across the garden lawn, were here and there a dew-drop, yet glittered in the dawn, said, go to the Adelphi and see the Colleen-born. The word is due to Boceco the theory is his, where life becomes a spasm and history a whiz. If that is not sensation, I don't know what it is. Now try your hand, ere fancy have lost its present glow, and then, his grandson added, we'll publish it, you know, green cloth, gold-lettered at the back in duodecimo.  End of poet a fit, no nascitur.


From VOA Learning English, this is education in special English. Teachers say the digital age has been both a good and bad influence on this generation of American teenagers. More than 2,000 middle and high school teachers took an online survey. Researchers also spoke with teachers in focus groups. Three-fourths of the teachers said the internet and digital search tools have had a mostly positive effect on their students' research habits and skills. But 87% agreed that these technologies are creating an easily distracted generation with short attention spans. And 64% said the technologies do more to distract students than to help them academically. Many students think doing research now means just doing a quick search on Google. The Pew Internet Project did the survey with the College Board and the National Writing Project. A majority of the teachers came from advanced placement classes which provide college-level work for high school students. Judy Buchanan is with the National Writing Project and a co-author of the report. She says digital research tools are helping students learn more and learn faster. But one problem the survey found is that many students are lacking in digital literacy. In other words, they trust too much of the information they find on the internet. Judy Buchanan says these students have not developed the skills they need to judge the quality or credibility of online information. They also say being able to quickly find information online hurts their students' ability to work hard, to find answers. Many teachers are also concerned that the internet makes it easy for students to copy work done by others instead of using their own abilities. For VOA Learning English, I'm Carolyn Presuti.


Okay, so there's one comment from Pingali Venkat from on YouTube. He's saying one challenge I see is data goes through non-SQL channels, environment tends to be complex, so we need more mechanisms. Do you want to talk about that non-structured data bit? Yes, this is definitely a challenge, right? And I think Venkat is probably a more experienced person than I am in this stuff, but I think machine learning pipelines are pretty new, relatively, given the competitive data warehouse and databases, and there is a different beast and we definitely have to figure out how we can answer these same questions in the machine learning pipelines or the lifecycle that data goes through machine learning pipe cycles as well, right? So this is, again, this is a pretty new field, definitely need better solutions there and we definitely should discuss it, right? I personally don't have any experience with this stuff, right? Like I'm not an expert in machine learning pipelines. I guess we'll get Venkat to share in a second, he'll use this next time. Yeah, exactly. We should just get him over here and just have him talk about it. Anyone else who wants to bring anything? Devakna, do you want to come and step in and talk about some of the tools that you mentioned while we were discussing how to host these meetups? Sure, Srinivas. So just before I go there, I think I'll just sort of address the question that was posed just now on tracking the unstructured data. So my role largely is in that space being a data scientist and one of the things that we have actually started looking at is even when we are working with unstructured data, it is not that the that there is no kind of cadence around what data are we using for, say, a model building, right? So at any given point in time, you are creating certain snapshot of data. Now, when we talk about and Rajat was mentioning this earlier, right, data lineage becomes quite important in order to trace what kind of a life cycle is your data going through and what changes have been made, who has been using it, etc. So using a similar pattern to the unstructured databases or data sets, what one could actually do is look at what snapshots in time are you creating for a part of this data set. So for instance, if you're training a model, you are not perhaps using the entire data set, but rather a sample of it, right? And that's a sample becomes a snapshot of your data at any given point of time. So in terms of maintaining data lineage, would you would you version that sample somewhere for future reference? Model versioning code versioning data versioning is still is still something that a lot of machine learning engineers are actually dealing with these days. And it's sort of not a very mature field. But in some of the projects that I'm involved in, we are definitely looking at how do we bring in data lineage with respect to not just individual data, but data sets that are being used for model training and for other purpose. I don't know if that answers the question that was posed on YouTube. So I think another way to say it is that the questions are similar, but I think the way we find these answers is going to be different, right, between unstructured and structured data. Exactly, yeah. The foundations of it remains the same, right? So if you're talking about it in the context of data lineage, the foundation of data lineage still remains the same. The goals of data lineage still remains the same. It's rather the implementation of how would you implement, say, data lineage for unstructured, non-sequel databases? Right. I think Venkat says it's good enough answer. Anyone else here wants to raise anything, bring up your own stories of what you're doing within your setup. I think it's just open for anyone to just come up. It's a meetup style thing and we're just trying to learn from each other. This is the first session. So I'm going to be asking you to just come up with any questions that you have or just any stories, just feel free to chip in. So I think the other, something else that I've been involved in, but I didn't get into when I was, the talk is data obfuscation, right? So you have PII data. You don't want to give access to everyone, but you don't want to give access to some of the columns or some of the attributes of those datasets, but not to the sensitive columns, right? And how do you do that? There are a couple of ways you can hide the data. If you have a pretty sophisticated system, what you can do is you can hide the columns that have sensitive data to people who are not supposed to see it. Or you can throw a gibberish, right? You can hash it and throw it out so that they don't see what the actual data is and so on and so forth, right? If you're not sophisticated, then you pretty much have to make a copy of the sensitive data, remove all the sensitive data and make a complete copy of the table, right? And make a complete copy of all the tables that you want, right? It is surprising how many people take the latter approach, right? They use a big hammer to say, hey, now I'm going to make a copy of all my tables and just remove the dataset, right? And this had so much operational overhead, so much, also increases costs, right? Because you have suddenly have another copy of beta bytes of data that you want, right? That's another big, big space, which, like, you know, which we need to have, which we need to figure out good solutions for. Rajat, I think Venkat raised an interesting point on YouTube saying that how do we figure out the economics of doing this, considering it might require a lot of skilling and who's going to pay for it and how can organizations, say, adopt this insight, like you worked on some of these organizations, right? Where data governance policies that were set up, how was this implemented on ground? Yeah, yeah, this, like, I can give my experience, right? But it will also be nice to hear from the other people out there who worked on these projects, right? So I think this whole area is considered a cost center, right? So this is, this is not something that creates value for you, but saves money for you, right? And the way it saves money is by not breaking laws or not by, like, or not by having the data breach, right? There are studies out there that, like, you know, put a number of about, like, you know, $3 million for data breach, right? So let's say a bank has a data breach, the cost of that is about a few million dollars, right? And the, like, there's a whole process about how they figure it out and so on and so forth, right?  Be it EU or in the US and maybe in the near future, even in India as well, right? So that, are you trying to not spend money, right? So it's considered a cost center. So you need to have the fear of laws or the fear, like all the repercussions of data breach to put these systems in place, right? That's at a high level. Like, you would love to hear what others have to say about this stuff as well, right? If their experience is similar or not? Like, I think this kind of came up in a close discussion that we had a couple of days ago. So I would just add to that. I think that's a great point, Rajat. And I think even in my experience, I've always seen this to be looked at as a cost center rather than anything else. And hence, it always sort of becomes an afterthought or rather a second priority. And however, I think I would say the blame is perhaps on us, on the data community to some extent, because the examples of how this is important and shouldn't be looked at as just a cost center, those examples are not available right now. Those concrete examples are missing from the whole discourse. So for instance, some of this, so the conversation around or rather the implications of having poor data governance feeds into something like, you know, your data quality and data quality has a direct implication on the products that are built on that data and the services that organization is providing on top of that data. And that's a real implication in terms of, you know, say, dollar values that is, you know, perhaps always the first consideration. And that narrative around how does data governance feed into poor data governance feed into poor data quality and poor downstream downstream systems is actually not complete. They're not enough examples. And hence, I feel like every time the conversation happens, it all becomes a matter of, you know, adhering to responsible data practices. It sort of becomes an individual effort, rather than something that the organization should look at as a first class citizen. Right. This is just like tech debt, right? Where until it hits, until your engineering team hits a wall, you don't realize how bad your tech debt is, right? Because it kind of creeps upon you. And I think data quality is similar, right? Until you start seeing bad results from your machine learning algorithms or from your reports, that's when you kind of wake up and say, hey, you know, where did, you know, how did we go so wrong? And then it's a rush to kind of get things fixed. I have Mohan on YouTube asking me when we talk about compliance requirements of GDPR and right to delete my data. It's very difficult to implement, especially in large enterprises, when you really don't know where data is being stored. Any pointers and recommendations or tools that one can use, even in commercial domain? That's how I want to take this question. Yeah, I can talk from my experience as well, but I'm assuming others have more experience. If you've worked on GDPR, if any of you worked on GDPR complex inside your firms, I think please step in. I mean, I can talk about it just as, like I personally haven't worked on, right to forget, though I have been part of discussions just because, you know, like I have deep experience on the internals of databases and how do you go about dealing data from Mahadoop Data Lake, right? So I think the first step is to be frank to get to know where your data is and kind of address that topic. Let's assume that someone's data is stored in different data systems. I think the hard part over here is that some databases allow you to delete and some databases don't even have the capability to delete, right? So if you have data sitting in MySQL, it's not very hard to, like if you know which tables the data is stored in, it's not like it's not that hard to kind of go and run a delete command and figure it out, right? Like and get it done, right? And the problem occurs when you're storing data in your data lake either in HDFS or something like cloud storage, which don't really give you good operations to go about deleting a single row, right? And it's pretty hard. You have to, like there are a few techniques that I have seen or I have discussed where, you know, what it comes down to is that you shouldn't process these people's roles in, like in subsequent marketing campaigns or add the data into your subsequent reports and analytics and machine learning and so on and so forth, right? So people just obfuscate the data. Like, you know, you put a delete marker there saying that, you know, this data should not be used for processing anymore, that's one way to do it. And then eventually, when you get an opportunity, kind of rewrite that whole data set to actually delete the loads once a month and so on and so forth, right? So there's like, I think just stepping back a bit, like, you know, there are easy, easy solutions for some databases, hard solutions for the database, and sometimes you have to use the hammer of a rewrite, right, to be able to delete it. But I think some companies are struggling even in the prior step, right, where you don't even know where the data is, right? And you have to go and use sticks like scanning and data lineage to be able to figure that out. Yeah, just adding to that as well. The other question would be, should we have such tools? Because it's a regulation, right? And there are certain criteria to adhere to these regulations and compliance. And everyone's data is different. Every organization's data, the way they're storing it, the way they're using it, the way they are managing it is quite different. So I haven't come across like sort of a single, you know, a single short solution for GDPR, even in the projects that I've been part of, or some of my colleagues have been part of, but definitely what helps is to break down what kind of compliance are you looking at. And that would largely also depend on whether you are looking at a Greenfield project or is it a legacy system? Employing GDPR compliance in legacy systems is much, much harder at least in our experience. And it is a multi-year journey. A lot of organizations which are working on legacy systems and making them compliant to GDPR are mostly looking at proving intent rather than a solution because it is that hard. It is much easier to sort of, you know, set up the right checklist, the right cadence when we are initiating Greenfield projects. So what typically I've seen helping is when we look at everything that GDPR covers, breaking that down into what are going to be the primary concerns for us, what are going to be the secondary concerns and what are going to be tertiary concerns, and then looking at what tools and technologies and methodologies exist around tackling each of those concerns. So open source system, open source world is quite rich in terms of looking at these specific concerns under GDPR and similar regulations and helping with that. So for instance, if data lineage is one of the concerns, then the open source ecosystem is quite rich in order to sort of provide you with tools and technologies to data lineage, data cataloging, etc. So it does require to take that first effort in creating the blueprint and then breaking it down into what you need solving and what is available for that right now. Also, it becomes easier to identify datasets when we have a single source of data source, but bigger companies, as you mentioned, since the data leaves one source and goes, percolates down to many different microservices, and they have their own ecosystem where then they use their data. And out of that, if it goes outside my boundary of the organization to something like a fintech world where we have to work with a lot of fintech partners outside that org, and to maintain the lineage of that data becomes extremely difficult. And for that, I believe one of the major things that a lot of companies apply is the user consent, which a user has to give consent to the organization that he is educated in a way that his data will be going outside that boundary as well. That becomes paramount. Otherwise, even the user may not know if the leak or the data which is getting outside that boundary is somewhere else. And my credentials or my PI data is leaked, he may not be knowing about it. So giving that consent and that education to the user also becomes very important. So a lot of this is kind of compliance requirement that actually happens when there are actually codified requirements. And because the say India's data production law is just at a draft stage, do you think even some of these practices can be codified? Like, for example, we may or may not have right to be forgotten. That's to be decided by the parliament. But classification of data, for example, is something which can be done right away, right? Because you know what is sensitive data and what's not sensitive data, because sensitive data is mostly personal data or business data for the industry. Do you think there are any guides that one could adopt while doing this, at least in terms of classifying data? So for at least in my experience, I've seen a few folks who have started late in the journey. It becomes very difficult to do discovery, data discovery. And I've been part of one such journey in my company where it was a year long program management exercise to figure out the data sources and not sources, the placement of data where exactly the data is lying and what kind of sensitive data is around the places. The security principles and the boundary will differ in every source, but then to get the entire discovery that was extremely difficult. So it became like an exercise to, you know, year long exercise for us to do that and post that to arrive at a world where, you know, we get compliant toward right to forget kind of a thing where a user with a click of a button, we have to delete data from all these places. It becomes extremely important to restructure a lot of these architectural decisions that we have made in the past and to, you know, commit a place where one system can understand all the inventory of these data sources and can send the signals to all these data sources. So it becomes a huge exercise. And the sooner the better is what I believe. Just to add on top of that, I think, you know, as you asked, the data classification can be qualified. I think it depends on the business kind of business you're running. And the only thing what we have is basically the guidelines, you know, like some of the thing is very common like this PII. I think all around the world, the definition is slightly different because, you know, because of the government regulation, but most of the part are common. The thing is basically the business, the identifying sensitive business data is the challenge. And that is there. I think, you know, somebody has to, I mean, at the central tool, we cannot, you know, codify that because, you know, even for the identifying PII, most of the tools fails to identify Indian or South Asian country data because they fail to identify phone number structures, right, stuff like this. I think that is going to be a challenge in my opinion. So also there's that. And then there's the other aspect, which is around whether, so what, what do we classify as sensitive, whether this is sensitive on the face of it, or could it be actually de-anonymized by joining up different datasets? And this was, I think, Rajit was sharing a great example earlier around the cab services in the Bay Area. So one of the things that I have seen working out, and this has been a very rare situation where it has happened, is when you, when we start looking at just beyond technical teams to classify data, to help classify data sensitive, private, and perfectly fair to share. I have seen that sometimes what was missing is, is the whole user research activity around it. For instance, we could look at a direct PII data, like phone numbers, addresses, names, etc, and classify that. However, different cultures have different contexts in terms of sensitivity. So for instance, if we were to look at North America, perhaps the, not just the exact address, but just the locality itself could go, could give away which economic background you belong to, which racial background you belong to. It will not be the same culture context that will be applicable in India, but you know, you might have other considerations over here. So for instance, even if you have your surnames, and your surnames will not give your actual identity, but they might just sort of become a very strong proxy for something like religion, which is sensitive. So there is a user research angle to it, there's a cultural research angle to it that often goes missing, and it becomes a purely technical exercise, which actually ends up making it hard as well. So in one instance, in one instance, I have actually seen that bringing in that aspect actually really helps to make this exercise much more better and much more efficient. I think we should do one of those exercises sometime in one of the meetups. Yeah, that's a great idea. Yeah, I think this is really a new area, I think, over the wrong animation. I think not many companies follow that. I think that would something will be, you know, easing the classification exercise for this specific business. So at some level, a lot of these designs need to be included when you are initiating the project cycle itself. And most of the people who have been advocating this was primarily the security folks, right? Whenever you had a security team, they always used to consider this part of the life cycle, I think now you need to additionally have compliance team who are also going to be looking at all of this since the design cycle of the product starts, of any new product that starts. But I don't see them emerging until the compliance requirement is made mandatory by a regulator. Let's just hope that companies realize this and probably work on it. It's better to do it from the start than retrofitting it after your product is up because it increases your costs. Yes. And actually there's another problem to that. In my experience, wherever I've seen data governance committees and Steve Watts being appointed, they are given responsibilities, but what often is missing is what kind of accountability do they have? So if something were to go wrong, who would be accountable? Because I think dealing with the money loss question is probably the easiest one. We have seen enough examples wherein there are major data reaches that have happened, but those organizations are still sustaining and thriving. Maybe it was a couple of millions of dollars losses, but then it didn't shut down the entire organization. However, who gets affected is the user. And if something were to be leaked out, they are the ones who get impacted, but then there's no accountability per se on who was responsible for it. So I think one of the need of the hour is to also look at data governance not just as convenience, but actually to point it in almost like a legal structure. So if something were to go wrong, the people who are responsible for ensuring data governance within the organization have very clear responsibilities defined and very clear accountability defined around their role. We are almost at the end of the time. If anyone has any closing comments such as anyone else, let's just do it and we can end it with this session. I think the hope is that we have more of this. Yeah, that's my closing comment, right? So there was one last question from Venkat on what timelines are we looking for PDP. I think it's somewhere going to come end of the year, maybe if it gets if the parliament sits, but with COVID, there is no clarity on that front. But we're looking at least something which is going to come out or get operationalized in 2021, at least later part of the 2021. So companies probably got a year or two to look at this. Okay. Thank you all for joining us today. We are going to actually continue these conversations through a telegram group. We'll send you an invite through your emails, which you have registered. You can join the group and we can do this post the meetup as well. And we will have some focused discussions over every meetup. I don't know if we're going to do it once every month or say by weekly, but it will be depending upon the activity and how much people want to participate. I think budget can help you with that. Yeah, there's also poll, right? We'd love to know what other people want to hear as well. So we have a poll on how the event was happening. So let me just launch that. So yes, so the poll is up. Just let us know what do you think of this and so that we can improve these sessions and ensure that they are focused and suited for your requirements. Yeah, I'll send us feedback on Twitter or LinkedIn, right? For those people who are not on who don't have access to this poll, I'm guessing people on YouTube and so on. Yeah. So just let us know, even in the telegram group, we'll send you the links on what you feel and what is missing probably in the space or what needs to be recovered.