ক্লাস 11 এর English গুরুত্বপূর্ন্ অংশ Project . আজ আলোচিত হল Class 11 English Project–এর একটি অংশ Autobiography. কি ভাবে লিখতে হবে পর পর দেখানো হল । দুটি অতিরিক্ত Autobiography শেষে দেওয়া হল ।
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Class 11 English Project Autobiography
ABC HIGH SCHOOL
A PROJECT REPORT
AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A TREE
[Submitted as partial fulfillment of the requirement of class –XI Final Examination – 2023]
WEST BENGAL COUNCIL OF HIGHER SECONDARY EDUCATION
Class : _______________________________
Roll : _______________________________
Registration No. :_______________________________
Date of submission : _______________________________
I convey my heartfelt gratitude to _____________________ ( Teacher-এর নাম) to whom I am indebted in every sense to enable me to accomplish the task of submitting this project with his invaluable suggestions. It is his encouragement that has kindled my faculties to submit this project after careful course of investigation. I shall never forget the sincere, careful and active support given by my Teacher-in charge, group-mates and my parents to accomplish this task successfully.
Date: _____________ ____________________________
BONA FIDE CERTIFICATE
This is to certify that this project report entitled ‘Autobiography Of a Tree’’ by______________________ Class XI, Roll ______________ , Reg. No. _____________________, year 2023, submitted in partial fulfillment to class XI English course during the present academic year is a bona fide record of work carried out under my guidance and supervision.
Signature of the project guide
Designation: Assistant Teacher
School: ABC High School (H.S)
2) What is Autobiography
3) Aim of the project
4) Learning aspect of the project
5) Steps to output the project
6) Out put of the project
Reading an autobiography or biography provides us with insight into the real-life experiences of great individuals. It also motivates us to pursue our goals in the actual world. A good autobiography also informs us about the milieu in which that individual lived. As a result, reading an autobiography is essential for us to gain a variety of practical lessons. Many times, a great person’s life is so loaded with rich details and interesting facts that it appears to be exciting and educational and motivational to us.
WHAT IS AUTOBIOGRAPHY
An autobiography is a self-written life story. An autobiography is a literary genre that is a self-written account of a person’s life. It is often written by people who are well recognised or well-renowned in an attempt to inform the reader of their thoughts and experiences, but they can be written by anyone.
AIM OF THE PROJECT
This project helps to develop the imaginative power, thoughts and ideas of the students in English literature. The students can write autobiographies on different objects like tree, river, road etc. in his their own way. The students can think of different situation in different background.
LEARNING ASPECT OF THE POJECT
* We should learn to develop the imaginative power, thoughts and ideas in English literature.
* We would be able to change situations constantly to make the story interesting.
* This project helps us to adopt a linking for English literature.
STEPS TO OUT PUT THE PROJECT
* Selection of Topic.
* Group discussion and final selection.
* Teacher’s information about autobiography.
* A rough draft of the autobiography prepared.
* Individual works produced.
* The final manuscript was written.
THE AUTOBIOGRAPHY OF A TREE
I am a banyan tree I am tall and imposing. I was sowed 200 years ago in a village of Debanandapur, Hooghly. All my neighbours call me old grandfather.
I have passed through many ups and downs in my life. Experienced a lot, but still survived so many years, with getting nervous and performing my duty well. I have also seen a huge spectrum of society, funny gesture of the people.
One day, a young lad of this village in his teens sowed my seed in front of his house. He used to water me every day. One fine morning, I sprouted out my head as a small sapling. The boy was overwhelmed and started taking care of me a lot. But unfortunately, he died after 50 years and could not see me growing more!
I have seen everything of the village. Whether be it a birth of a child or funeral processions of someone who is dead. The whole village respects me a lot and thinks of me as an elderly member of the family. All the decisions and meetings of the village ‘Baroari’ are held under my shade. And in each and every occasion they pay me offerings. I readily and happily offer shelter to all the animals and the hard working people who work in the field. I still remember the time when I was young, slim and trim my desire that one day I will grow and give shelter to everybody and today that desire of me has come true. I have out-stretched my powerful arms over many trees and cast its shadow across other small trees. When there was rain, I was in high spirits I use to feel fresh and after the rain when sun use to shine it was a pleasant sight I use enjoy it. Cows, goats and more animals rest under me. Birds make their nest on me. I feel very glad when they rest under me when they feed their cubs under my shadow in the afternoon. I feel very happy and then the cubs start playing and then they sleep under my shadow. I like all the animals and the people in the village for the care and concern they show me.
One afternoon a little boy was playing under me with his companions. They used to come almost every afternoon after their school. I merrily watched at their play. But on that eventful day everything went wrong. Suddenly I noticed a snake lay just a few yards from them. The ignorant children were busy at their play. I became restless. I could not understand what to do. I tried to make aware them by waving my branches. But that ill-fated boy suddenly trod the snake and got a fatal bite. In a few second the rosy skin turned blue. The incident made me very sad.
Then came the day of joy. The villagers put a two feet wall like boundary around my trunk. On month of ‘Baisakh’ they started to water me as ritual.
One thing I forgot to tell you all, about my life. When people come and sit on the platform around me, I also get a lot of information about man’s world. I hear scandals, I hear about murders, thefts and what all evils that exist in this man’s world. At times I also get to hear small children saying lovely words to their mothers and, seeing the mothers cajoling them, I feel what a beautiful life men have.
I too had lots of tree friends in this village but some wicked woodcutters cut them down with their axes. Some people say that they might cut me down as well but I don’t want that anything like that happens. Why should they cut me down when they regard me as the national tree of their country?
Each morning I pray to god had asked him to grant these humans with some sense. I pray that they may let us live and make this earth a healthier and more beautiful space for us and them to live in.
People think we trees don’t have any feelings but they don’t understand that we too feel happy and miserable at times. I don’t know how many days more I will survive but I know one thing that my village loves me a lot and they will go on respecting me as they do. I do know that I will not die a natural death. I have to prepare myself for the pain that I have to suffer at the hands of those who chop us down.
Thus to add to my experience of life, I have come to know a lot about human beings and their lives. Their lives are also full of pleasures and disappointments. It is not that men only enjoy as, most of us lesser beings seem to feel. Men also have their own problems. So, to add up I’d say my life is a pleasure and a rich experience.
The Autobiography of a Tree is a fine story. The project has completed within scheduled time limit. But demands it more time and effort to make it more and appealing.
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দুটি অতিরক্ত Autobiography দেওয়া হল পরপর
Autobiography of a Pen
I am an old fountain pen now finding my place in a dark corner of a cupboard of my master Sri Bireswar Chakraboty , who is no more. I belong to the family of ‘Black Birds’. I was manufactured in England 55 years ago. I was packed in a pretty box. Then I was put into a large box together with the other pens. We were happy together and spent a wonderful time talking to each other.
Then I was shipped to Madras for sale. ‘ Messrs Simpsons ’ on the Mount Road, Madras was our wholesale dealer. From there I was sent to ‘Pen Corner’ at Esplanade, Calcutta. I was taken out of my box and placed in the display tray along with other pens of different brands.I was on display for only a short period. Mr. Chakraborty then a young boy of 16 appearing for the matriculation examination, bought me for Rs. 3/-.
I felt happy that I got a new master, a brilliant young lad whom I am going to serve for some years. My color was black and my nib was gold-coated with a firm point. My writing was smooth and it was like sailing on calm waters. I preferred ‘Swan’ ink, blue or black. It was my master’s choice to select the ink. I enjoyed running over the soft and smooth pages of his diary, telling about all what he felt … made me cry sometimes, reading what he wrote. And that’s why I bled, and he went berserk at that because bleed is what good pens aren’t supposed to do, only if she understood why I bled!I loved being with him. “Lucky Pen” he used to call me and I was proud of that status.
My master first used me to take his matriculation examination. Whether it was due to his hand writing or my beautiful flow I cannot say, but he passed his examination with distinction. That helped me to gain the love of my master who then onwards considered me as a lucky possession. I was always his companion finding my place comfortably in the pocket of his neat shirts. We both developed an inseparable intimacy and he believed that his progress in education and getting a good executive job in government through direct recruitment as a Revenue Divisional Officer was all due to me.
Many pens costlier and more beautiful came his way. But I never lost my place of privilege on their account, from my master. They were also used. But for anything important or sacred, I was to be there for my master to write. I enjoyed the privilege of a Royal Queen.
Then came a change in the clan of pens. Ink pens gave place to ball point pens. Everyone preferred the new variety, as it avoids the need for frequent refilling with ink. As any other young man getting attracted to things new and fashionable, my master too preferred a ball point pen. Then he started ignoring me, which I never dreamt of. Still my attachment to my master was so sentimental that he never gave up my use altogether. On ceremonial occasions and personal matters, it was I who was preferred. It was I who wrote all his letters of love to his dear wife. It was I who wrote the news of his first born and still it was I who wrote the marriage invitations of his first boy. That was my great association with my master.
Time rolls on and the retirement of my boss and his exit from the beautiful world followed soon. With none to take care of me and none to recognize the important events in my life. I was pushed to the corner of my master’s cupboard. Here I am living, but dead already for all purposes.
Autobiography of a Rupee Coin
I had no life earlier. I was a metal. Some more metals like silver, zinc etc., were mixed and made into an alloy. I was born in Mint near Mumbai .I am twelve years old and I was sent to Kolkata from Mumbai.
The State mint gave me a shape, a life and a new name. I am a newly born one rupee coin and I joined the heap of my elder brothers minted earlier. Some more younger to me minted later joined me in the heap. All of us were glittering and shining, waiting without knowing our future.
One day the Manager of the mint moved us to the weighing machine. Weighing thousands of us at a time we were packed into boxes where we had no air to breathe. We were put into a train going Kolkata. After two days we reached Kolkata and got deposited in a grand building called the Reserve Bank of India. Here again it was all dark, protected on all sides with armed guards guarding us all the time. We talked to one another, how valuable we were. Boxes before us were going out at the rate of two or three every day. Then came the turn of our box. The box was lifted and handed over to the cash section. A beautiful place with a lot of light, air and sea breeze. That was the first happy day after our birth. All of us in the box stayed together all these days. But unfortunately the cashier is putting out tens and fives of us and giving to different people.
Ninety nine other brothers and I, fell into the hands of a pious businessman living in Saltlake. He took us to the prayer room, placed us before his deity, said his prayers and deposited us in his iron safe. There we found new companions – gold coins, nickel coins, copper coins, paper notes and gold and silver ornaments. It was a grand museum.
Another four of us and I were picked up on Deepavali day by our master. He gave me out to a vegetable seller all alone. My brothers were similarly given to others in exchange for other commodities. The vegetable seller gave me as an exchange. My new owner was a lady. She tied me up in a corner of her sari. She was so pleased with my new shape and brightness. Many of our clan came to her and left. But she never gave me away. In a way I can say that she fell in love with me. She carried me to market, to temple, to cinema, to beach and to all places. I was really enjoying her company seeing new men and new places.
One day when my lady boss was sleeping she lost grip over me. I was allowed to roll out of her room to be found by her naughty son. He became my new boss. He played with me hitting me up and down. Every time when I fell down, I cried with pain. My young boss laughed at my cries and repeated his acts. I was praying to God to get me out of his hands. One day he threw me into the air and I was dropped beside roadside. But one day a girl’s eyes fell on me. She took me in her hand and kept me in her pencil box. Her name was Smita. This new place was nice, cool, safe and better for me. I lived there very comfortably. I passed two to three days in this box . Whenever Smita used to open her pencil box she used to see me smiling. After seeing me she was thinking something in her mind. One day Smita got a five rupees coin. She kept the coin beside me. Now I had a friend; with whom I used to share my joys , good feelings , bad feelings and my experiences of my life. It was also very happy with me. You know , what happened , One day Smita dropped me on the way when she was in hurry to get up on school bus . Without seeing me she kept her leg on me I was crying with pain. When she removed her leg. I got some relief and took some breath . What bad day it was! There was also Smita’s brother ; Arun; who was naughty and never used to listen anyone .Arun took me in his hand and bought a candy and gave me to the shopkeeper. He kept me in the box. There was also coins like me. Again I got many friends and I was happy. I also told them my bad days that I spent. They were also sad and were weeping by hearing my sad story (Autobiography) while some were laughing at me. Some friends told me don’t mind at them. I was happy there but also missing my beautiful home
That day came soon when I was exchanged for an ice-cream. .The vendor became my new boss, who on his travel to Hyderabad took me with him. I was feeling happy that I was again travelling in a train. But midway another person who wanted change got me. He was a very rich person travelling from place to place on pilgrimage.
I was still bright and glittering. So my new master kept me with him for a month. I saw sacred places like Kalighat, Dakhsineswar, Tarakeswar and before I reached Puri along with my boss. From there I, along with my boss, I reached Allahabad where he wanted to have a dip in holy Prayag. I was happy that I was joining him in the holy dip. But alas! There I was left to sink down in the holy ‘Sangam’ where I still lay buried. I am still lying there unseen, unheard and unused. I will be there as long as Ganga and Jamuna flow.
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