Subject, Verb, Object For Hindi to English Translation

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The Axe by R K Narayan

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  The Axe  by  R.K. Narayan An astrologer passing through the village foretold that Velan would live in a three-storeyed house surrounded by many acres of garden. At this everybody gathered round young Velan and made fun of him. For Koppal did not have a more ragged and godforsaken family than Velan’s. His father had mortgaged every bit of property he had, and worked, with his whole family, on other people’s lands in return for a few annas a week . . . A three-storeyed house for Velan indeed! . . . But the scoffers would have congratulated the astrologer if they had seen Velan about thirty or forty years later. He became the sole occupant of Kumar Baugh—that palatial house on the outskirts of Malgudi town. When he was eighteen Velan left home. His father slapped his face one day for coming late with the midday-meal, and he did that in the presence of others in the field. Velan put down the basket, glared at his father and left the place. He just walked out of the village, and walke
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Uncle Podger Hangs a Picture by Jerome K. Jerome

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  Uncle Podger Hangs a Picture You never saw such a commotion up and down a house, in all your life, as when my Uncle Podger undertook to do a job. A picture would have come home from the frame-maker's, and be standing in the dining-room, waiting to be put up; and Aunt Podger would ask what was to be done with it, and Uncle Podger would say: "Oh, you leave that to me. Don't you, any of you, worry yourselves about that. I'll do all that." And then he would take off his coat, and begin. He would send the girl out for sixpenny worth of nails, and then one of the boys after her to tell her what size to get; and, from that, he would gradually work down, and start the whole house. "Now you go and get me my hammer, Will," he would shout; "and you bring me the rule, Tom; and I shall want the step-ladder, and I had better have a kitchen-chair, too; and, Jim! You run round to Mr. Goggles, and tell him, 'Pa's kind regards, and hopes his leg's
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My Financial Career by Stephen Leacock

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My Financial Career  by Stephen Leacock When  I go into a bank I get rattled. The clerks rattle me; the wickets rattle me; the sight of the money rattles me; everything rattles me.  The moment I cross the  threshold of a bank and attempt to transact business there, I become an irresponsible idiot.  I knew this beforehand, but my salary had been raised to fifty dollars a month and I felt that the bank was the only place for it.  So I shambled in and looked timidly round at the clerks. I had an idea that a person about to open an account must consult the manager. I went up to a wicket marked 'Accountant'. The accountant was a tall, cool  devil.  The very sight of him rattled me. My voice was sepulchral.  'Can I see the manager?' I said, and added solemnly, 'alone'. I don't know why I said 'alone',  'Certainly,' said the accountant and fetched him.  The manager was a grave, calm man. I held my fifty-six dollars clutched in a crumpled ball in my
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