Good tips: How to e-mail a professor

Sometimes, it takes small extra effort to have good communication with professors. Some tips are mentioned on this link below.

How to e-mail a professor

Valuable read for every student who wish to gain every mileage on relationships with his/her professor.

Different kind of a CV on the Net

This guy posted his resume as a musical on the net and
he really got recognized by the Microsoft Graphics Team.
This is amazing stuff.....The man who prepared this CV
received job offers from 180 companies; More than
1,000,000 ppl have viewed this CV...

http://www.paradoxware.com/alstudio/cv/en.htm

SLOW DANCE

Have you ever watched kids on a merry-go-round?
Or listened to the rain slapping on the ground?
Ever followed a butterfly's erratic flight?
Or gazed at the sun into the fading night?
You better slow down don't dance so fast.
Time is short. The music won't last.

Do you run through each day on the fly?
When you ask how are you? do you hear the reply?
When the day is done do you lie in your bed
With the next hundred chores running through your head?
You'd better slow down don't dance so fast.
Time is short. The music won't last.

Ever told your child, we'll do it tomorrow?
And in your haste, not see his sorrow?
Ever lost touch, let a good friendship die
Cause you never had time to call and say,"Hi"
You'd better slow down don't dance so fast.
Time is short. The music won't last.

When you run so fast to get somewhere
You miss half the fun of getting there.
When you worry and hurry through your day,
It is like an unopened gift....thrown away.
Life is not a race. Do take it slower
Hear the music before the song is over.

----written by a little girl, who does not have much time to live.

Tie two ropes together...properly.

Found this on one blog site..

Different ways to make knots (with animation)

---

Tie two ropes together...properly. In Follow Up John Stalker, loyal reader and rock climber, writes in about our recent Sheetbend/Matt Damon gets Hitched post. Apparently, the sheet bend is not the knot of choice when joining two ropes. Stalker recommends instead using the "double fisherman". Follow the jump for a full explanation, a cool animated graphic and a humorous punchline to the story. John writes: The "double fisherman's" it a much better choice for joining two ropes. A straight rope has a breaking strength: adding tension along the axis will eventually break the rope. When a knot is added to the equation, the strength of the rope decreases. The double fisherman's decreases the strength of the rope(s) involved to 60-75% of the original strength. Sounds pretty bad; however, the sheet bend decreases the strength of the rope(s) to 48-58%!! Even worse is the reef knot, aka. the square knot (which looks much like the sheet bend) comes in at 43-47% of the original strength! In addition, John sent along a link to this double-fisherman graphic. As a final punchline, loyal reader Rick Lobrecht points out that the whole "rabbit out of the hole, around the tree and back into the hole" isn't how you tie a sheet bend. It's how you tie a bowline. Animated Knots

Call-by-Web

In VOIP Have you ever wanted a strange mechanical voice to call your friends? In addition to many developer tools, CDyne provides automated voice messaging services. In particular, it has a free-to-try web page where you can enter a phone number and a message to send. Quick update: Yes, you can "call" Canada as well as the US. Point your browser to the NotifyPhoneBasic page. To test the system, enter the number you wish to dial and the text you wish to say. Add your own phone number and name into the CallerID and CallerIDname fields. Choose a Voice ID between 1 and 10. (I like the masculine tones of number 4. Avoid the French lady who's number 7.) Finally, type 0 into the LicenceKey field and click Invoke. The screen will clear and a "Queued" notice will appear. CDyne will place the phone call for you. You may want to call your self a few times to get the hang of things before you try calling out. Notify Phone Basic [CDyne]

Mens in coats

Good fun show....

Supported in Windows Media Player or Winamp.

http://www.koreus.com/files/200505/men-in-coats.html

or

http://temp.koreus.com/men-in-coats.wmv

The great interview by Dhiraj Das (article from Assam Tribune)

On opening the envelope, I could make out that it was a call for an interview. In fact, my friends at the hostel were already aware of it. The interview date was still eight days away. That night I boarded the bus for my hometown at Guwahati. Accordingly, I booked a berth in the Kanchanjanga Express, scheduled to leave Guwahati at 10 pm. During the auspicious day of my proposed journey, I bade farewell to my well-wishers (parents included) and started towards the railway station. I was joined by my friend Tapan who was also on the same mission i.e. our destination was the same. As Tapan’s reservation was not confirmed, I volunteered to help him to adjust with me for the proposed night nap. However, it was only on reaching the station that we got a real shock. Our scheduled train was cancelled and we had to return. The real problem for us was the fact that only three days were left for the scheduled interview. We decided to go back to our respective homes and discuss our future strategy on the way. And thus it was decided that we would be leaving for Calcutta (now Kolkata) by bus. The strategy was simple – board a Siliguri bound bus early next morning, get down at Siliguri and board a “Rocket Service” to Calcutta from Siliguri.
Tapan and I got geared up for the next few days journey. We obtained two tickets for Siliguri. On the body of our scheduled bus was seen clearly written “Saha Travels, head office Gossaigaon, Assam”. The bus started its journey at 7.15 am. A glance at my fellow passengers revealed that most of them were from other states and some of them were probably passengers of the cancelled Kanchanjanga Express. I tried to survey the wayside environment as our bus gained momentum after crossing the Saraighat Bridge. Tapan was glancing through some pamphlets on “Pest Management of Tea”, perhaps brushing up his memory for the scheduled interview. The warm sunrays of the July month were gradually piercing in through the window panes of the bus. Most of the passengers were trying to take an early morning nap, perhaps to make up for the hours lost in preparation for the day’s journey. For a moment I too felt drowsy and as I was about to close my eyes the bus came to a grinding halt with a flat tyre. I got down from the bus and found out that the bus had barely crossed Patacharkuchi, bordering the Nalbari district of Assam, when the puncture occurred. In fact, there were still another ten minutes of time to reach Pathsala where we could have had taken our breakfast. As the process of changing the tyre was on, I slowly treaded a few steps from the site and gazed at the highway in the hope that I may come into contact with Pranab da, whose house was supposed to be located at Patacharkuchi. This was revealed by Pranab da during our hostel days. However, my search was futile and after around half an hour I could hear the roaring of our bus. I retraced my steps to my bus and boarded it. By 12.45 noon the bus halted at Barpeta Road for the passengers to take lunch. After having lunch, the bus again started to proceed towards its destination. Within a few hours we had reached Gossaigaon. The bus came to a halt exactly opposite a hoarding in front of a small house which read “Saha Travels, Gossaigaon.” I realised that this was the local office of the travel agency. After having a cup of tea, I returned to my seat, anticipating that the driver would soon follow. However, suddenly I heard a commotion outside. On inquiry it came to light that the present driver was unwilling to drive anymore because he had not received the monthly salary that was due to him. Even after much persuasion from the management, the driver refused to oblige. Finally, a new driver was arranged. The evening rays of the sun were touching the horizon when we arrived a few kilometres within the Srirampur gate i.e. the Assam-Bengal border. Gradually, lines of trucks alongside the highway came to our view. The traffic congestion, according to the handyman, was much more than usual. Since our bus had halted for more than the normal time, I ventured out to find the cause of the delay and the traffic jam.
Suddenly, an ambulance, along with three Army patrol jeeps, passed me. And then only I realised that something serious was happening. On enquiry, it was revealed that something had been happening on the other side of the border. It came to light that there had been a heavy exchange of fire between two tribal communities which, according to the locals, were Bodo and Santhals. Many casualties was reported. The Army and the paramilitary were trying to counter the rival groups. The Army was instrumental in escorting all vehicles to and from the state of Bengal. The reported firing had been going on along a narrow strip of around four kilometres that connects Srirampur with Bengal.
I had taken off my shoes and started to relax on a charpoy along with some other fellow passengers of our bus. It was good that Tapan had purchased some glucose back at Paltanbazar. A handful of glucose powder helped me to energise myself and to ward off the existing fatigue in the heat and dusty environment. Just as I was relaxing, I could identify our driver lecturing a crowd of people. I got off from the charpoy and moved towards the crowd. The driver was busy entertaining the crowd with tales of gang wars that had been going on in Assam. He was busy boasting how he had been manoeuvering his vehicle from the clutches of various terrorist groups back in Assam. His way of interpreting things had already created a fear psychosis among the listeners. All of these listeners who had assembled were from other states and none of them appeared to have a geographical idea about Assam. I approached the driver and asked him in Hindi, as if to enquire about things back in Assam. He shot back: “Aap to bahar ke admi hai, Assam ke bare mein aap kya jaantey hain, Assam mein to khali oolpha aur tribal aatankbadi ka raaj hein. Raatko to Guwahati mein bhi oolpha log haathiyar leke khooley aam ghoomtein hain. Assam to bhayanak ho gaya.” Little did the driver realise that he had been talking to one whose hometown was in Assam and that too in the capital city. Infact, the driver was trying to create an unnecessary misunderstanding about the state of affairs about Assam. Then I realised that this was one of the reasons why people of other states had a misconception about Assam and its people. The fear psychosis actually spreads everywhere. Pretending to be a helpless passenger, I patiently listened to this individual.
Gradually our vehicle was escorted by army men into the state of West Bengal. Barely had we traversed a few kilometres when all of a sudden, our bus once again developed a technical snag. The gear system of our great “Saha Travels” bus failed to work properly and hence we had to travel at a snail’s pace of around 20 kilometres per hour till finally we reached a place called Hassimara. The time on my watch read 7.25 pm and the hectic events of the day had already started to drain me of my energy. I had already forgotten about my scheduled interview. My fellow seat mate and friend Tapan had dozed off. His pamphlet on “Pest Management of Tea” was still there on his lap, I grasped it and scanned through the pages. However, I was in no mood to study and gave up the effort.
The technical snag was repaired and the bus once again started its journey from Hassimara. At around 10.45 at night we reached Siliguri. It had already been decided between me and Tapan that since by the time we reached Siliguri it would be practically impossible to expect a bus service to Calcutta, hence we would be halting for the night at Siliguri.
However, we saw a ray of hope in the wilderness when we came to know that a bus had been readied at the station, which would be plying to Malda. This bus also had a flat tyre problem and hence its journey had got delayed by a few hours. This was a blessing in disguise for us poor souls and immediately it was decided that instead of halting for the night (which would result in the draining of extra money and time) we would be moving then and there itself, knowing fully well that on reaching Malda (hopefully), we would still have to travel another six or seven hours before we could reach our ultimate destination i.e. Calcutta . Hence we settled for the bargain and boarded the Malda bound bus. Tapan had purchased a few bananas on the way. Fearing a probable stomach upset after eating wayside restaurant food, we had a fill of these ripe bananas along with a few sips of water and some glucose powder (may Tapan live long)! I tried to take a nap. The day’s hectic journey had already robbed us of our precious time and energy and I did not know when sleep overcame me.
The whistling sounds of some policemen awakened me from my slumber. Peeping through the window, I realised that our bus had halted in the middle of the highway. A policeman had already started checking the belongings of the passengers. And a passenger with contraband hasish was accosted before finally our bus was allowed to move on. We did not have any other problems and the next day by 6.45 am, we reached Malda. We disembarked from the bus and, after freshening up, enquired about the next available bus service to Calcutta. Thus we restarted our journey and in the evening, at around 5.40 pm, we reached the Calcutta bus terminus from where we hired a taxi to reach 8th Russel Street where we retired for the evening to face the interview the next day.

Learn Telephone Etiquette from Calvin

Unconditional Love

 A man came out of his home to admire his new truck.

To his puzzlement, his three-year-old son was happily hammering dents into the shiny paint of the truck.

The man ran to his son, knocked him away, hammered the little boy's hands into pulp as punishment.

When the father calmed down, he rushed his son to the hospital. Although the doctor tried desperately to save the crushed bones, he finally had to amputate the fingers from both the boy's hands.

When the boy woke up from the surgery & saw his bandaged stubs, he innocently said, " Daddy, I'm sorry about your truck." Then he asked, "but when are my fingers going to grow back?"

The father went home & committed suicide.

Think about this story the next time  someone steps on your feet or u wish to take revenge. Think first before u lose your patience with someone u love. Trucks can be repaired. Broken bones & hurt feelings often can't.

Too often we fail to recognise the difference between the person and the performance. We forget that forgiveness is greater than revenge.

People make mistakes. We are allowed to make mistakes. But the actions we take while in a rage will haunt us forever.

Pause and ponder. Think before you act. Be patient. Forgive & forget. Love one and all.

If you judge people, you have no time to love them. -- Mother Teresa

Earring

 A man is at work one day when he notices that his co-worker is wearing one
 earring.  This man knows his co-worker to be a normally conservative fellow,
 and is curious about his sudden change in "fashion sense".

 The man walks up to him and says, "I didn't know you were into earrings."

 "Don't make such a big deal, it's only an earring." he replies sheepishly.
 His friend falls silent for a few minutes, but then his curiosity prods him
 to say, "So, how long have you been wearing one?"

 His answer was, "Ever since my wife found it in my car."

Really Amazing Video

http://media.animal.discovery.com/fansites/petstar/videogallery/season3/ep309_winner.html

Experience earthquake on your Desktop

http://n.domaindlx.com/apnimails/earthquake.htm

Creative Film

http://www.epica-awards.com/assets/epica/2004/winners/film/flv/11071.htm

Motivation

how do u go to bathroom in space..........?

NASA Science News for February 10, 2005

How do you go to the bathroom in space? Amusing one-minute videos from
NASA answer some of the questions about space you were afraid to ask.

FULL STORY at http://science.nasa.gov/headlines/y2005/10feb_brainbites.htm?list1159173

[TheUnseperable] When Sun and Moon meet at a point.................

THIS PHOTO IS ABSOLUTELY BEAUTIFUL.
IT IS HISTORIC TOO AS THIS IS THE LAST MISSION FOR COLUMBIA.



The photograph attached was taken by the crew on board the Columbia
during its last mission, on a cloudless day.
The picture is of Europe and Africa when the sun is setting.
Half of the picture is in night. The bright dots you see are the cities' lights.

The top part of Africa is the Sahara Desert.

Note that the lights are already on in Holland, Paris, and Barcelona,
and that's it's still daylight in Dublin, London, Lisbon, and Madrid.

The sun is still shining on the Strait of Gibraltar. The Mediterranean Sea is
already in darkness.

In the middle of the Atlantic Ocean you can see the Azores Islands;
below them to the right are the Madeira Islands ; a bit below are the
Canary Islands; and further South, close to the farthest western point
of Africa , are the Cape Verde Islands.

Note that the Sahara is huge and can be seen clearly both during
day time and night time.

To the left, on top, is Greenland, totally frozen.

Around the corner, a vanished friend

Around the corner, a vanished friend Aroundthe corner I have a friend, In this great city that has no end, Yet the days go by and weeks rush on, And before I know it, a year is gone. And I never see my old friends face, For life is a swift and terrible race, He knows I like him just as well, As in the days when I rang his bell. And he rang mine but we were younger then, And now we are busy, tired men. Tired of playing a foolish game, Tired of trying to make a name. "Tomorrow" I say! "I will call on Jim Just to show that I'm thinking of him." But tomorrow comes and tomorrow goes, And distance between us grows and grows. Around the corner, yet miles away, "Here's a telegram sir," "Jim died today." And that's what we get and deserve in the end. Around the corner, a vanished friend.

No one deserves it more

No one deserves it more Today, upon a bus, I saw a very beautiful woman And wished I were as beautiful When suddenly she rose to leave, I saw her hobble down the aisle. She had one leg and wore a crutch. But as she passed, she passed a smile. Oh, God, forgive me when I whine. I have two legs; the world is mine. I stopped to buy some candy. The lad who sold it had such charm. I talked with him, he seemed so glad. If I were late, it'd do no harm. And as I left, he said to me, "I thank you, you've been so kind. It's nice to talk with folks like you. You see," he said, "I'm blind." Oh, God, forgive me when I whine. I have two eyes; the world is mine. Later while walking down the street, I saw a child I knew. He stood and watched the others play, but he did not know what to do. I stopped a moment and then I said, "Why don't you join them dear?" He looked ahead without a word. I forgot, he couldn't hear. Oh, God, forgive me when I whine. I have two ears; the world is mine. With feet to take me where I'd go. With eyes to see the sunset's glow. With ears to hear what I'd know. Oh, God, forgive me when I whine. I've been blessed indeed, the world is mine. This morning when I wakened And saw the sun above, I softly said, "Good morning, Lord, Bless everyone I love." And right away I thought of you And said a loving prayer, That He would bless you specially, And keep you free from care. I thought of all the happiness A day could hold in store, I wished it all for you because No one deserves it more.

Honorary Director at TIFAC - CORE ...

Honorary Director at TIFAC - CORE ... Master Chandra Sekar - Honorary Director at TIFAC - CORE ( Technology Information Forecasting and Assessment Council - Center of Relevance and Excellence ) Brief Resume of Master Chandra Sekar: - Born on 25th September, 1990 - Had his school education up to 8th std ( Double Promotion from 6th to 8th ) at Bell Matriculation School, Playamkottai, Tirunelveli district. - World's youngest Microsoft Certified professional (MCP) at the age of 9 - World's youngest Microsoft Certified Systems Engineer (MCSE) at the age of 10 - World's youngest CISCO certified Network Associate (CCNA) at the age of 11 - Completed First year of BCA ( Bachelor of Computer Application) degree program M S University in Tirunelveli. - Appointed as a Honorary Director at TIFAC - CORE ( Technology Information Forecasting and Assessment Council - Center of Relevance and Excellence ) Project on Networking, a Government of India Project under the Department of Science & Technology at the age of 11 by Dr. P. Chidambaram, Principal Scientific Advisor to Government of India. Associated with the research on Network Security. - Admitted in to Bachelor degree program of Engineering in Computer Science - BE(CSE) at the age of 11 by Anna University as a unique case after an exhaustive appraisal by a panel of experts to become the youngest Engineering Student. Presently pursuing IV semester engineering studies at A K College of Engineering, Krishnankoil, Srivilliputtur under the guidance his principal and mentor Dr. Thankaraj. - Student Member of the Computer Society of India - Student Member of the IEEE-CS ( Institute of Electrical and Electronics Engineers- Computer Society, USA ) For further details please visit our college website given below. http://www.akce.ac.in/chandrasekar.html

Insurance Claim - in lighter vein

Insurance Claim - in lighter vein Insurance Report Possibly the funniest story in a long while, this is a bricklayer's accident report, which was printed in the newsletter of the American Insurance Journal. This is a true story. Had this guy died, he'd have received a Darwin Award for sure. Dear Sir: "I am writing in response to your request for additional information in Block 3 of the accident report form. I put "poor planning" as the cause of my accident. You asked for a fuller explanation and I trust the following details will be sufficient. I was alone on the roof of a new six-story building. When I completed my work, I found that I had some bricks left over which, when weighed later, were found to be slightly more than 500 lbs. Rather than carry the bricks down by hand, I decided to lower them in a barrel by using a pulley, which was attached to the side of the building on the sixth floor. Securing the rope at ground level, I went up to the roof, swung the barrel out and loaded the bricks into it. Then I went down and untied the rope, holding it tightly to ensure a slow descent of the bricks. You will note in Block 11 of the accident report form, that I weigh 135 lbs. Due to my surprise at being jerked off the ground so suddenly, I lost my presence of mind and forgot to let go of the rope. Needless to say, I proceeded at a rapid rate up the side of the building. In the vicinity of the third floor, I met the barrel, which was now proceeding downward at an equally impressive speed. This explains the fractured skull, minor abrasions and the broken collarbone, as listed in section 3 of the accident report form. Slowed down slightly, I continued my rapid ascent, not stopping until the fingers on my right hand were two knuckles deep into the pulley. Fortunately by this time I had regained my presence of mind and was able to hold tightly to the rope, in spite of beginning to experience a great deal of pain. At approximately the same time,however,the barrel of bricks hit the ground and the bottom fell out of the barrel. Now devoid of the weight of the bricks, that barrel weighed approximately 50lbs. I refer you again to my weight. As you can imagine, I began a rapid descent,downthe side of the building. In the vicinity of the third floor, I met the barrel coming up. This accounts for the two fractured ankles, broken tooth and several lacerations of my legs and lower body. Here my luck began to change slightly. The encounter with the barrel seemed to slow me enough to lessen my injuries when I fell into the pile of bricks and fortunately, only three vertebrae were cracked. I am sorry to report,however,as I lay there on the pile of bricks, in pain, unable to move, I again lost my composure and presence of mind and let go of the rope and I lay there watching the empty barrel beginning its journey back down onto me. This explains the two broken legs. I hope this answers your questions. ….

A treat to watch

a treat to watch Check this out. this is too good for words! http://www.employees.org/~hshen/12371032.wmv This is a link to the "1000 Hands Buddha (Kwan-Inn) Dance" performed by the deaf & mute girls at the Chinese New Year Eve on a Beijing TV Station (almost 6 minutes).

GROWING OLDER IS MANDATORY. GROWING UP IS OPTIONAL

GROWING OLDER IS MANDATORY. GROWING UP IS OPTIONAL The first day of school our professor introduced himself and challenged us to get to know someone we didn't already know. I stood up to look around when a gentle hand touched my shoulder. I turned around to find a wrinkled, little old lady beaming up at me with a smile that lit up her entire being. She said, "Hi handsome. My name is Rose. I'm eighty-seven years old. Can I give you a hug?" I laughed and enthusiastically responded, "Of course you may!" and she gave me a giant squeeze. "Why are you in college at such a young, innocent age?" I asked. She jokingly replied, "I'm here to meet a rich husband, get married, and have a couple of kids..." "No seriously," I asked. I was curious what may have motivated her to be taking on this challenge at her age. "I always dreamed of having a college education and now I'm getting one!" she told me. After class we walked to the student union building and shared a chocolate milkshake. We became instant friends. Every day for the next three months we would leave class together and talk nonstop. I was always mesmerized listening to this "time machine" as she shared her wisdom and experience with me. Over the course of the year, Rose became a campus icon and she easily made friends wherever she went. She loved to dress up and she reveled in the attention bestowed upon her from the other students. She was living it up. At! the end of the semester we invited Rose to speak at our football banquet. I'll never forget what she taught us. She was introduced and stepped up to the podium. As she began to deliver her prepared speech, she dropped her three by five cards on the floor. Frustrated and a little embarrassed she leaned into the microphone and simply said, "I'm sorry I'm so jittery. I gave up beer for Lent and this whiskey is killing me! I'll never get my speech back in order so let me just tell you what I know." As we laughed she cleared her throat and began, "We do not stop playing because we are old; we grow old because we stop playing. There are only four secrets to staying young, being happy, and achieving success. You have to laugh and find humor every day. You've got to have a dream. When you lose your dreams, you die. We have so many people walking around who are dead and don't even know it! There is a huge difference between growing older and growing up. If you are nineteen years old and lie in bed for one full year and don't do one productive thing, you will turn twenty years old. If I am eighty-seven years old and stay in bed for a year and never do anything I will turn eighty-eight. Anybody can grow older. That doesn't take any talent or ability. The idea is to grow up by always finding opportunity in change. Have no regrets. The elderly usually don't have regrets for what we did, but rather for things we did not do. The only people who fear death are those with regrets." She concluded her speech by courageously singing "The Rose." She challenged each of us to study the lyrics and live them out in our daily lives. At the year's end Rose finished the college degree she had begun all those years ago. One week after graduation Rose died peacefully in her sleep. Over two thousand college students attended her funeral in tribute to the wonderful woman who taught by example that it's never too late to be all you can possibly be. When you finish reading this, please send this peaceful word of advice to your friends and family, they'll really enjoy it! These words have been passed along in loving memory of ROSE. REMEMBER, GROWING OLDER IS MANDATORY. GROWING UP IS OPTIONAL.

Human interest article describing the migration going on in China

Human interest article describing the migration going on in China http://online.wsj.com/article/0,,SB111818776639053518,00.html [$$ Subscription required] Min's Return A Migrant Worker Sees Rural Home In a New Light In China, Those Who Left Find City, Village Life Don't Mix; Showing Off Cellphones 'House Is All Messy and Cold' By LESLIE T. CHANG Staff Reporter of THE WALL STREET JOURNAL June 8, 2005; Page A1 DAJIN, China -- For the trip home, Lu Qingmin carried a down jacket, traditional medicine whose chief ingredient was donkey hide, a pink Dooney & Burke purse made by her factory, Nestlé milk powder and a heart-shaped box of candy. She also brought 1,000 yuan -- about $120, a month's pay that was worth half as much as her parents' annual cotton crop. These were gifts for her family. For herself, she brought a mobile phone, an MP3 player, and a makeup mirror she consulted from time to time. The bus crossed the Yangtze River on a February morning, one week before the Chinese New Year. It takes 22 hours -- three buses and an overnight train -- to get from the city of Dongguan to the Hubei countryside 700 miles away. Lu Qingmin, known as Min to her friends, was coming home for the first time since leaving her rural village two years ago to find factory work in the city. The bus turned off the highway and Min, 18 years old, spotted her mother. Chen Meirong, 42, was a handsome woman with deep-set brown eyes and prominent cheekbones, who smiled but said little. As they walked down the town's one street and hailed a motorcycle taxi home, Min did the talking. She wanted to buy a DVD player for the house. "Let's buy a hot-water dispenser," she said next. "That way it's more convenient." At home over bowls of noodles with liver, Min's mother put three eggs in her bowl in honor of her homecoming. Min's father said he wanted to buy a motorcycle. Min said that would cost 8,000 yuan, close to $1,000. Her father, 48, said he could buy one for a third of that price. "That's no good," said Min. "Do you want to spend all your time repairing it?" After lunch, the phone rang. It was a friend of Min's, calling from the city. "My mother is happy to death to see me," Min reported. "My mother and father have aged a lot. And the house is all messy and cold. You don't feel like doing anything but sleeping." China has 114 million migrant workers, the largest migration in human history. As the country moves to a market economy, young people who grew up in the countryside are leaving to work in the factories, restaurants, hair salons and construction sites of cities. Urban China offers them hard work and tough conditions but also adventure and opportunity. In a world without parents to guide them, young migrants rely on each other to find jobs and help navigate their new lives. Amid journeys to strange places and the looming unknown of the future, there is one fixed point: A farming village that is home. In the 40 days around the Lunar New Year holiday, 140 million people travel on China's trains -- more than three times the number of Europeans who emigrated to the U.S. over a century. Homecomings may be happy, but they also highlight the rapid changes in Chinese society that can lead to clashes and discord. In the countryside, a family eats and farms together and sleeps in one big bed. Older people, especially men, traditionally make decisions. The eldest children discipline younger ones, and younger ones obey. Guests visit unannounced and stay for days, easily absorbed into communal routines. There are no secrets in village life, and interactions between any two villagers are predetermined according to the kinship ties between them. In cities, this way of life is already dead. In the countryside, migration is putting an end to it. Young people return home with modern ideas and money -- and secrets from a city life their parents don't understand. They have lived among strangers, competed for jobs and promotions, and dated whom they pleased. The village can't easily take them back. Min spent her first days back at home on a modernization campaign. At meals, she lectured her father not to smoke and told him to rinse his mouth out with tea to keep his teeth from turning black. She plotted improvements to the house: indoor plumbing, a washing machine, a walk of poured concrete. (Min's migration to the city was the subject of a front-page article in The Wall Street Journal in November.) Lu Quingmin's parents, sister and brother in front of their home in a rural village in China's Hubei region. In village homes it is common to throw trash, put out cigarettes and spit on the floor. Every so often, someone sweeps up the mess and dumps it in the yard. Min put a plastic bag in the corner of the room and ordered her parents and three younger siblings to dispose of garbage there instead. The Lus' brick home had been the first two-story house in the village when Min's parents, both farmers, built it in 1986. The main room has a dinner table and ancestral shrine against the wall, with a bedroom on each side. Upstairs are storage areas for rice, kindling, pork and cured fish, and a room knee-deep in cotton balls -- this year's crop, as yet unsold. The house has cement floors and no plumbing or heating. In the winter, everyone wears coats and gloves inside and younger children's fingers often swell up from the cold. Her first afternoon home, the phone rang. It was Min's boyfriend, calling from the city. "I can't talk now. There are a lot of people here," she said. She had been dating 21-year-old Ah Jie for three months. He was from a province 300 miles from the Lus' village. To Min, that was just a bus or train ride away. But her mother objected, fearing a marriage to someone from that far away might mean she would never see her daughter again. She wanted Min to marry close to home, as she had. Min had told her mother she had broken off the relationship, but that was a lie. Every time the phone rang, it threatened to expose her secret. On her second day home, Min took her three younger siblings and two cousins to Wuxue, a city about an hour away by bus. The purpose was home improvement. She bought socks for her father, face towels, two bottles of shampoo. She bargained for a hot-water dispenser and got it for under $11. She picked up a hairdryer for $3.30. She bought disposable plastic cups, more sanitary than the porcelain cups the family shared and seldom washed. Min had last visited Wuxue two years ago, and it had diminished in her eyes since she had seen the cities of the coast. "This city is no good," she said. "It's not as developed as places outside." At an Internet café, they met up with Hu Tao, a high-school classmate of Min's who still lived at home. As they threaded through the streets, he asked Min about her factory. It makes handbags and employs 5,000 workers, Min told him. Workers make 700 or 800 yuan a month, between $84 and $96. He asked when she was going back. In two weeks, she said -- if she could get tickets out. Around the holiday, train tickets become a precious commodity. She made her bid. "You help us get tickets and leave with us," she said. "Our factory is still hiring workers." They parted. Min felt triumphant. "He'll get us the train tickets back to Dongguan," she said. He would use his local contacts to obtain the sought-after tickets and she would help him get a job. It was her second day home, and she had already figured out the most important thing: How to get out again. Seven generations of Lus have lived in Liemahuitou Village. Its 90 families, almost all surnamed Lu, grow rice, rape and cotton in the valleys and on blue-green terraced hills. Farm plots are less than an acre per family on average, and villagers mostly eat what they grow. In a small temple, the villagers burn incense to honor their ancestors, buried on a hill of pine trees above. "To live an entire life without making a long journey is good fortune" was a popular old saying. In the early 1990s, young married couples began leaving the village, drawn by jobs in fast-developing coastal cities. Within a few years, migration became the norm. Village children left during junior high or even elementary school. Many of Min's cousins had gone out to work when they were only 12 years old. Of the 27 kids in her elementary class, Min said, 10 migrated rather than continue with school. Min's village, Liemahuitou, in winter. Money sent home by migrants is the chief source of income in the village now. Min and her older sister, who had gone out to work before her, sent home a total of $600 last year, compared with $240 their parents expect to clear after selling the cotton crop. Young migrants home for the holiday dominate the life of the village. They go from house to house showing off mobile phones, comparing jobs and discussing boyfriends and girlfriends. Parents gossip about their children's salaries and marriage prospects. The young give cash to needy older relatives and do matchmaking for each other, tasks once the preserve of their elders. Min's family has five children -- four girls and a boy. This is uncommon but not unheard of in rural China, where the one-child rule of the cities is more loosely enforced. Min and her sisters are unusual in that all have gone to junior high or high school. "We treat our daughters as sons," said Min's mother, as she sat by her bedroom window one morning, sewing a velvet slipper. Both she and her husband are junior-high graduates, rare for country people of their generation. "A lot of people in the village disagree with me," she said. "They say daughters don't need to have much schooling since they will marry out anyway. But I believe to have knowledge is better than to have no knowledge." Min and her older sister commanded respect in the village because they had worked their way up to office jobs in the city. Others from the village, also seeking better opportunities, had traveled to places equally far away: Wenzhou, 22 hours by bus; Harbin, 30 hours by train. "That's our belief here," said Min. "The further away you go from home, the more splendid it is." Two days before the new year, Min angered her mother. One of Min's uncles had invited the family over for a reunion meal, a key event of the holiday. Then the phone rang with a better offer: A glamorous young aunt who ran a hair salon in the city of Wuxue invited Min to go shopping. Min was thrilled. Her mother wasn't. "Why go out when it's raining?" was all she said to Min. She considered it rude to turn down the uncle's invitation. Min did so anyway. "It's me that's offending my uncle, not my mother, so it should have nothing to do with her," she said. Her 25-year-old aunt, Huang Caixia, came by the house, dressed in a chic belted jacket and satin pants. The first thing she did was take out a crimson-colored mobile phone and pass it around to general admiration. On a bus to the city, Min told her aunt she was thinking of dyeing her hair and asked what color was best. She was also hoping to convince her father to build an indoor bathroom. "He could put a washing machine in there, and there would be a place to bathe," Min said. "They could even add some tile so it would be like a real shower." The aunt suggested a hot-water heater and figured the whole project would cost $600. "When you have lived in the city for a while, your thinking changes," the aunt said. "You are constantly thinking about how to improve life in the countryside." Min's aunt and her husband work in the city and rent an apartment there. Their 4-year-old daughter lives in the village with her grandmother, but they plan to bring the child to the city as soon as they have saved some money. Though the husband's parents still farm a third of an acre, the younger couple didn't request a farm plot from the village when they married. "The village is home," Min's aunt said. "But I don't feel comfortable there anymore." On the last day of the old year, Min's family walked up a mountain path to pay respects at the grave of Min's grandmother, who died two years earlier. A stone marked the graves of her great-grandparents. Her grandparents were buried about 15 feet away. The mountain is called Lu Forest Mountain. Min's family inside their home, which lacks heat and plumbing. Her brother, Lu Xuanqing, does his homework. The older generation presided at the ritual. Family members kowtowed at the graves while young men threaded fireworks in the bushes, like Christmas lights. Min's father burned paper money, set down bowls of dates and candy, and poured homemade liquor on the wet ground in front of the graves, all offerings for the deceased in the afterlife. Because the government is promoting cremation, families must pay a fine of several thousand yuan for every burial. Everyone in the village, no matter how poor, pays the fine when a relative passes away. On the first day of the new year, the custom among young people of the village is to meet at a Buddhist temple in the mountains. Min put money in a temple collection box and asked a middle-aged nun if she could pray for her good fortune in marriage. Min knelt and prayed that she would meet the person destined for her. The nun gave Min a red cloth that signified blessing and put her hand on Min's shoulder. "Earn some more money and find a good mate," she said. It was the first time Min had ever asked anything of Guanyin, the Buddhist goddess of mercy. She wasn't sure how much she believed but that didn't seem to matter. "Even if you don't believe it," she said, "you must respect it." After the new year, Min dropped her home-improvement projects. The plastic trash bag sat in the corner unnoticed, until one day it was gone. In another village, Min visited the house of a former classmate. The young woman wasn't home. Min learned that she had married a man twice her age and she was now caring for an infant daughter. A neighbor broadcast the details at top volume from her front door: "The husband is short. He is old and ugly. The parents did not approve of the marriage." For young migrant women, early marriage can spell an end to possibility. "She seemed to have such promise," Min said as she walked through the village. "I really thought she would go places." On the fifth day of the new year, Min left home. Her classmate Hu Tao had come through with the tickets: The slow train to Dongguan, 16 hours, no seats, but he had been lucky to get them in the post-New Year crush. At the local train station, the two joined a crowd waiting to pass through a narrow gate to the station platform. There was a tense expectancy in the air: The train would be packed and there would be fights to get on. Policemen marched up and down yelling at passengers not to push. As the train approached, people swarmed to it, but almost every door stayed shut. The crowd thronged to the one open door. Arms and legs reached out from the train into the crush of people; passengers were trying to prevent others from boarding. The police were nowhere to be seen. Min and Hu Tao spotted another open door and squeezed on. The next morning, the train arrived in Dongguan. It was warm in the south; Min complained of the heat, forgetting already how cold she had been the whole time she was home. She and Hu Tao caught a bus to her factory. She would shower and wash her hair at the factory dorm where she lived, things she had put off for days because there was no running water at home. She would take a long nap. On the bus packed with returning migrants, Min realized the city now felt like home to her, and home in the village faded away. "I don't think I will ever live in the village again," Min said. "Home is good, but you can only stay for a few days." Write to Leslie T. Chang at leslie.chang@wsj.com