It is believed a funny story is an interesting reading material that can help the learners achieve comprehension.
class. The implication is the use of funny stories could motivate the
students to read and improve their comprehension. proportions than
listening, speaking and writing do
What makes a classroom fun?
Make it interactive
– If you want your students to be interested in what you are teaching
them, you must make it interactive. Incorporate mystery into your
lessons – Learning is the most fun when it's surprising. ... Share your
passion with students – Show students how you have fun. Passion is
contagious..
How are stories used in the classroom?
Tips to create memorable stories
Commit yourself to the story and to your audience.
Use voice modulation and dramatize.
Tell your stories with gestures, body language and movement.
Create mental images through descriptions made with all the senses.
Use metaphors.
6-Make eye contact with each of your students to emphasize what is important.
Encourage interaction through questions.
Keep a journal and write down all the stories that come your way.
Integrate a group of storytellers to make constructive criticism.
The 4 wives:
There was a rich
merchant who had 4 wives. He loved the 4th wife the most and adorned her
with rich robes and treated her to delicacies. He took great care of
her and gave her nothing but the best.
He also loved the
3rd wife very much. He's very proud of her and always wanted to show off
her to his friends. However, the merchant is always in great fear that
she might run away with some other men.
He too, loved his
2nd wife. She is a very considerate person, always patient and in fact
is the merchant's confidante. Whenever the merchant faced some problems,
he always turned to his 2nd wife and she would always help him out and
tide him through difficult times.
Now, the merchant's
1st wife is a very loyal partner and has made great contributions in
maintaining his wealth and business as well as taking care of the
household. However, the merchant did not love the first wife and
although she loved him deeply, he hardly took notice of her.
One day, the
merchant fell ill. Before long, he knew that he was going to die soon.
He thought of his luxurious life and told himself, "Now I have 4 wives
with me. But when I die, I'll be alone. How lonely I'll be!"
Thus, he asked the
4th wife, "I loved you most, endowed you with the finest clothing and
showered great care over you. Now that I'm dying, will you follow me and
keep me company?" "No way!" replied the 4th wife and she walked away
without another word.
The answer cut like
a sharp knife right into the merchant's heart. The sad merchant then
asked the 3rd wife, "I have loved you so much for all my life. Now that
I'm dying, will you follow me and keep me company?" "No!" replied the
3rd wife. "Life is so good over here! I'm going to remarry when you
die!" The merchant's heart sank and turned cold.
He then asked the
2nd wife, "I always turned to you for help and you've always helped me
out. Now I need your help again. When I die, will you follow me and keep
me company?" "I'm sorry, I can't help you out this time!" replied the
2nd wife. "At the very most, I can only send you to your grave." The
answer came like a bolt of thunder and the merchant was devastated.
Then a voice called
out : "I'll leave with you. I'll follow you no matter where you go."
The merchant looked up and there was his first wife. She was so skinny,
almost like she suffered from malnutrition. Greatly grieved, the
merchant said, "I should have taken much better care of you while I
could have !"
Actually, we all have 4 wives in our lives
a. The 4th wife is our body. No matter how much time and effort we lavish in making it look good, it'll leave us when we die.
b. Our 3rd wife ? Our possessions, status and wealth. When we die, they all go to others.
c. The 2nd wife is
our family and friends. No matter how close they had been there for us
when we're alive, the furthest they can stay by us is up to the grave.
d. The 1st wife is in fact our soul, often neglected in our pursuit of material, wealth and sensual pleasure
He paid the price:
r is devastated, she is howling with pain, yelling all she can in that dark and dingy corner of her four by four kholi.
There was nobody to hear her yell and not a soul to pacify her, because
outside her shack is a long winding lonely road. There was no existence
of mankind for miles and miles ahead. The wind was at rest, the leaves
didn’t rustle and no resonance of a barking dog, silence filled the air.
Loneliness was already killing her, but no one knows what made her cry?
Losing
something you love with all your heart isn’t really the grief you can
ever overcome. Radha lost her baby. Her only means to live. She saw her
child getting crushed under a car in front of her own eyes. Blood was
all over and the accident was terrible. One lonely night, she was
walking down the street t get a breath of fresh air with her child
cuddled tight in her arms. She walked a long time s till she saw the
face of mankind (in the evilest form).
The
whole time she walked with her child in her arms the only thing that
worried her was Aryans (her son’s) future. What kind of a person will he
be? Will he make me proud? How much light is life going to bring in his
existence? She was imagining and feeling every day of the Child's
growth, and what she had in store for him. But who knows what’s in store
for us tomorrow, life can change in the splits of a second. Talk about
destiny, all those dreams hopes and expectations were snatched away from
her in an instant. Her smiles were frowns and her faith just crumbled,
like a deal soul in a living, rather breathing body.
This
is how it happened…. On that abandoned road, were a few streetlights
barely sufficient? There was this one light that was visible from a
distance, but as it came closer it got brighter and brighter. That light
changed radha’s life into darkness forever. A speeding car came down
that road, as if the driver had jammed the accelerator, cutting across
the wind. He came at a speed of 110 kmph throwing beer bottles out of
his half open window. He was definitely drunk, the speed took everything
in its path. Just then, there was a loud cry, and silence set in
again. The cry of a baby and no sight of a child.
Ironically
the mother wasn’t hurt, not a scratch on a body, not a bruise on her
arm. She opened her eyes and didn’t she Aryan, her vision was blur.
After a few minutes when her sight cleared up she looked all over
frantically for her baby, but alas! There was nothing. Just then she
noticed something about then feet away it was blood draining into the
gutter’s, and pieces of minced flesh, laying there saying so much
without saying anything at all. The blood of her baby, the child who hadn’t even seen life.
He paid the price for another man’s folly. The same little child whose future was just being planned.
Simple, don’t drink and drive. You could take a life, but kill a number of people.
A Haunted House
Virginia Woolf
Whatever hour you woke
there was a door shutting. From room to room they went, hand in hand,
lifting here, opening there, making sure--a ghostly couple.
"Here we left it," she
said. And he added, "Oh, but here tool" "It's upstairs," she murmured.
"And in the garden," he whispered. "Quietly," they said, "or we shall
wake them."
But it wasn't that you
woke us. Oh, no. "They're looking for it; they're drawing the curtain,"
one might say, and so read on a page or two. "Now they've found it,' one
would be certain, stopping the pencil on the margin. And then, tired of
reading, one might rise and see for oneself, the house all empty, the
doors standing open, only the wood pigeons bubbling with content and the
hum of the threshing machine sounding from the farm. "What did I come
in here for? What did I want to find?" My hands were empty. "Perhaps its
upstairs then?" The apples were in the loft. And so down again, the
garden still as ever, only the book had slipped into the grass.
But they had found it in
the drawing room. Not that one could ever see them. The windowpanes
reflected apples, reflected roses; all the leaves were green in the
glass. If they moved in the drawing room, the apple only turned its
yellow side. Yet, the moment after, if the door was opened, spread about
the floor, hung upon the walls, pendant from the ceiling--what? My
hands were empty. The shadow of a thrush crossed the carpet; from the
deepest wells of silence the wood pigeon drew its bubble of sound.
"Safe, safe, safe" the pulse of the house beat softly. "The treasure
buried; the room . . ." the pulse stopped short. Oh, was that the buried
treasure?
A moment later the light
had faded. Out in the garden then? But the trees spun darkness for a
wandering beam of sun. So fine, so rare, coolly sunk beneath the surface
the beam I sought always burned behind the glass. Death was the glass;
death was between us, coming to the woman first, hundreds of years ago,
leaving the house, sealing all the windows; the rooms were darkened. He
left it, left her, went North, went East, saw the stars turned in the
Southern sky; sought the house, found it dropped beneath the Downs.
"Safe, safe, safe," the pulse of the house beat gladly. 'The Treasure
yours."
The wind roars up the
avenue. Trees stoop and bend this way and that. Moonbeams splash and
spill wildly in the rain. But the beam of the lamp falls straight from
the window. The candle burns stiff and still. Wandering through the
house, opening the windows, whispering not to wake us, the ghostly
couple seek their joy.
"Here we slept," she
says. And he adds, "Kisses without number." "Waking in the morning--"
"Silver between the trees--" "Upstairs--" 'In the garden--" "When summer
came--" 'In winter snow ime--" "The doors go shutting far in the
distance, gently knocking like the pulse of a heart.
Nearer they come, cease
at the doorway. The wind falls, the rain slides silver down the glass.
Our eyes darken, we hear no steps beside us; we see no lady spread her
ghostly cloak. His hands shield the lantern. "Look," he breathes. "Sound
asleep. Love upon their lips."
Stooping, holding their
silver lamp above us, long they look and deeply. Long they pause. The
wind drives straightly; the flame stoops slightly. Wild beams of
moonlight cross both floor and wall, and, meeting, stain the faces bent;
the faces pondering; the faces that search the sleepers and seek their
hidden joy.
"Safe, safe, safe," the
heart of the house beats proudly. "Long years--" he sighs. "Again you
found me." "Here," she murmurs, "sleeping; in the garden reading;
laughing, rolling apples in the loft. Here we left our treasure--"
Stooping, their light lifts the lids upon my eyes. "Safe! safe! safe!"
the pulse of the house beats wildly. Waking, I cry "Oh, is this your
buried treasure? The light in the heart."