Ebook International Trade Procedures and Documentation: Part 1

Ebook International Trade Procedures and Documentation: Part 1 presents the following content: Export Procedure and Documentation; Methods of Payment and Incoterms; EXIM Strategies; Export Marketing – Going Global; Methods of Financing Exporters and Business Risk Management; Custom Clearance of Import and Export Cargo;...Please refer to the documentation for more details. 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Chapter I n my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since ‘Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,’ he told me, ‘just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.’ He didn’t say any more but we’ve always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that In consequence I’m in- clined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men Most of the con- fidences were unsought—frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quiver- ing on the horizon—for the intimate revelations of young men or at least the terms in which they express them are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my fa- The Great Gatsby ther snobbish snobbishly repeat a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes but after a certain point I don’t care what it’s founded on When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I want- ed no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction—Gatsby who represented everything for which I have an unaffect- ed scorn If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away This responsiveness had nothing to with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the ‘creative temperament’— it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again No—Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily in the abortive sorrows and short- winded elations of men My family have been prominent, well-to-do people in this middle-western city for three generations The Car- Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com raways are something of a clan and we have a tradition that we’re descended from the Dukes of Buccleuch, but the ac- tual founder of my line was my grandfather’s brother who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil War and started the wholesale hardware business that my father car- ries on today I never saw this great-uncle but I’m supposed to look like him—with special reference to the rather hard-boiled painting that hangs in Father’s office I graduated from New Haven in 1915, just a quarter of a century after my father, and a little later I participated in that delayed Teutonic mi- gration known as the Great War I enjoyed the counter-raid so thoroughly that I came back restless Instead of being the warm center of the world the middle-west now seemed like the ragged edge of the universe—so I decided to go east and learn the bond business Everybody I knew was in the bond business so I supposed it could support one more single man All my aunts and uncles talked it over as if they were choosing a prep-school for me and finally said, ‘Why—ye- es’ with very grave, hesitant faces Father agreed to finance me for a year and after vario perma- nently, I thought, in the spring of twenty-two The practical thing was to find rooms in the city but it was a warm season and I had just left a country of wide lawns and friendly trees, so when a young man at the office sug- gested that we take a house together in a commuting town it sounded like a great idea He found the house, a weather beaten cardboard bungalow at eighty a month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Washington and I went The Great Gatsby out to the country alone I had a dog, at least I had him for a few days until he ran away, and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman who made my bed and cooked breakfast and mut- tered Finnish wisdom to herself over the electric stove It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road ‘How you get to West Egg village?’ he asked helpless- ly I told him And as I walked on I was lonely no longer I was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler He had casu- ally conferred on me the freedom of the neighborhood And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees—just as things grow in fast movies—I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer There was so much to read for one thing and so much fine health to be pulled down out of the young breath-giv- in volumes on banking and credit and investment securities and they stood on my shelf in red and gold like new money from the mint, promising to unfold the shining secrets that only Midas and Morgan and Mae- cenas knew And I had the high intention of reading many other books besides I was rather literary in college—one year I wrote a series of very solemn and obvious editorials for the ‘Yale News’—and now I was going to bring back all such things into my life and become again that most limited of all specialists, the ‘well-rounded man.’ This isn’t just an epigram—life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com It was a matter of chance that I should have rented a house in one of the strangest communities in North Ameri- ca It was on that slender riotous island which extends itself due east of New York and where there are, among other natural curiosities, two unusual formations of land Twenty miles from the city a pair of enormous eggs, identical in contour and separated only by a courtesy bay, jut out into the most domesticated body of salt water in the Western Hemisphere, the great wet barnyard of Long Island Sound They are not perfect ovals—like the egg in the Columbus story they are both crushed flat at the contact end—but their physical resemblance must be a source of perpetua that fly overhead To the wingless a more arresting phenomenon is their dissimilarity in every particular except shape and size I lived at West Egg, the—well, the less fashionable of the two, though this is a most superficial tag to express the bi- zarre and not a little sinister contrast between them My house was at the very tip of the egg, only fifty yards from the Sound, and squeezed between two huge places that rented for twelve or fifteen thousand a season The one on my right was a colossal affair by any standard—it was a factual imi- tation of some Hôtel de Ville in Normandy, with a tower on one side, spanking new under a thin beard of raw ivy, and a marble swimming pool and more than forty acres of lawn and garden It was Gatsby’s mansion Or rather, as I didn’t know Mr Gatsby it was a mansion inhabited by a gentle- man of that name My own house was an eye-sore, but it was a small eye-sore, and it had been overlooked, so I had a The Great Gatsby view of the water, a partial view of my neighbor’s lawn, and the consoling proximity of millionaires—all for eighty dol- lars a month Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable East Egg glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Tom Buchanans Daisy was my second cousin once removed and I’d know just after the war I spent two days with them in Chicago Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savors of anti-cli- max His family were enormously wealthy—even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach—but now he’d left Chicago and come east in a fashion that rather took your breath away: for instance he’d brought down a string of polo ponies from Lake Forest It was hard to real- ize that a man in my own generation was wealthy enough to that Why they came east I don’t know They had spent a year in France, for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich together This was a permanent move, said Daisy over the telephone, but I didn’t believe it—I had no sight into Daisy’s heart but I felt that Tom would drift on forever seek- ing a little wistfully for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com And so it happened that on a warm windy evening I drove over to East Egg to see two old friends whom I scarce- ly knew at all Their house was even more elaborate than I expected, a cheerful re Colonial man- sion overlooking the bay The lawn started at the beach and ran toward the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sun-dials and brick walks and burning gardens—final- ly when it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though from the momentum of its run The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold, and wide open to the warm windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with his legs apart on the front porch He had changed since his New Haven years Now he was a sturdy, straw haired man of thirty with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious manner Two shining, arrogant eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward Not even the effeminate swank of his riding clothes could hide the enormous power of that body—he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his thin coat It was a body capable of enor- mous leverage—a cruel body His speaking voice, a gruff husky tenor, added to the im- pression of fractiousness he conveyed There was a touch of paternal contempt in it, even toward people he liked—and there were men at New Haven who had hated his guts ‘Now, these matters is final,’ 10 The Great Gatsby he seemed to say, ‘just because I’m stronger and more of a man than you are.’ We were in the same Senior Society, and while we were never intimate I always had the impression that he approved of me and wanted me to like him with some harsh, defiant wistfulness of his own We talked for a few minutes on the sunny porch ‘I’ve got a nice place here,’ he said, his eyes flashing about restlessly Turning me around by one arm he moved a broad flat hand along the front vista, including in its sweep a sunken Italian garden, a half acre of deep pungent roses and a snub- nosed motor boat that bumped the tide off shore ‘It belonged to Demaine the oil man.’ He turned me around again, politely and abruptly ‘We’ll go inside.’ We walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy- colored space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding cake of the ceiling—and then rippled over the wine-colored rug, mak- ing a shadow on it as wind does on the sea The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which tw buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon They were both in white and their dresses were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house I must have stood for a few moments listening to     " # %"  "  %   - Edited by: Hitesh Jhanji Chapter I n my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since ‘Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,’ he told me, ‘just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.’ He didn’t say any more but we’ve always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that In consequence I’m in- clined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men Most of the con- fidences were unsought—frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quiver- ing on the horizon—for the intimate revelations of young men or at least the terms in which they express them are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my fa- The Great Gatsby ther snobbish snobbishly repeat a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes but after a certain point I don’t care what it’s founded on When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I want- ed no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction—Gatsby who represented everything for which I have an unaffect- ed scorn If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away This responsiveness had nothing to with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the ‘creative temperament’— it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again No—Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily in the abortive sorrows and short- winded elations of men My family have been prominent, well-to-do people in this middle-western city for three generations The Car- Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com raways are something of a clan and we have a tradition that we’re descended from the Dukes of Buccleuch, but the ac- tual founder of my line was my grandfather’s brother who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil War and started the wholesale hardware business that my father car- ries on today I never saw this great-uncle but I’m supposed to look like him—with special reference to the rather hard-boiled painting that hangs in Father’s office I graduated from New Haven in 1915, just a quarter of a century after my father, and a little later I participated in that delayed Teutonic mi- gration known as the Great War I enjoyed the counter-raid so thoroughly that I came back restless Instead of being the warm center of the world the middle-west now seemed like the ragged edge of the universe—so I decided to go east and learn the bond business Everybody I knew was in the bond business so I supposed it could support one more single man All my aunts and uncles talked it over as if they were choosing a prep-school for me and finally said, ‘Why—ye- es’ with very grave, hesitant faces Father agreed to finance me for a year and after vario perma- nently, I thought, in the spring of twenty-two The practical thing was to find rooms in the city but it was a warm season and I had just left a country of wide lawns and friendly trees, so when a young man at the office sug- gested that we take a house together in a commuting town it sounded like a great idea He found the house, a weather beaten cardboard bungalow at eighty a month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Washington and I went The Great Gatsby out to the country alone I had a dog, at least I had him for a few days until he ran away, and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman who made my bed and cooked breakfast and mut- tered Finnish wisdom to herself over the electric stove It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road ‘How you get to West Egg village?’ he asked helpless- ly I told him And as I walked on I was lonely no longer I was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler He had casu- ally conferred on me the freedom of the neighborhood And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees—just as things grow in fast movies—I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer There was so much to read for one thing and so much fine health to be pulled down out of the young breath-giv- in volumes on banking and credit and investment securities and they stood on my shelf in red and gold like new money from the mint, promising to unfold the shining secrets that only Midas and Morgan and Mae- cenas knew And I had the high intention of reading many other books besides I was rather literary in college—one year I wrote a series of very solemn and obvious editorials for the ‘Yale News’—and now I was going to bring back all such things into my life and become again that most limited of all specialists, the ‘well-rounded man.’ This isn’t just an epigram—life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com It was a matter of chance that I should have rented a house in one of the strangest communities in North Ameri- ca It was on that slender riotous island which extends itself due east of New York and where there are, among other natural curiosities, two unusual formations of land Twenty miles from the city a pair of enormous eggs, identical in contour and separated only by a courtesy bay, jut out into the most domesticated body of salt water in the Western Hemisphere, the great wet barnyard of Long Island Sound They are not perfect ovals—like the egg in the Columbus story they are both crushed flat at the contact end—but their physical resemblance must be a source of perpetua that fly overhead To the wingless a more arresting phenomenon is their dissimilarity in every particular except shape and size I lived at West Egg, the—well, the less fashionable of the two, though this is a most superficial tag to express the bi- zarre and not a little sinister contrast between them My house was at the very tip of the egg, only fifty yards from the Sound, and squeezed between two huge places that rented for twelve or fifteen thousand a season The one on my right was a colossal affair by any standard—it was a factual imi- tation of some Hôtel de Ville in Normandy, with a tower on one side, spanking new under a thin beard of raw ivy, and a marble swimming pool and more than forty acres of lawn and garden It was Gatsby’s mansion Or rather, as I didn’t know Mr Gatsby it was a mansion inhabited by a gentle- man of that name My own house was an eye-sore, but it was a small eye-sore, and it had been overlooked, so I had a The Great Gatsby view of the water, a partial view of my neighbor’s lawn, and the consoling proximity of millionaires—all for eighty dol- lars a month Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable East Egg glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Tom Buchanans Daisy was my second cousin once removed and I’d know just after the war I spent two days with them in Chicago Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savors of anti-cli- max His family were enormously wealthy—even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach—but now he’d left Chicago and come east in a fashion that rather took your breath away: for instance he’d brought down a string of polo ponies from Lake Forest It was hard to real- ize that a man in my own generation was wealthy enough to that Why they came east I don’t know They had spent a year in France, for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich together This was a permanent move, said Daisy over the telephone, but I didn’t believe it—I had no sight into Daisy’s heart but I felt that Tom would drift on forever seek- ing a little wistfully for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com And so it happened that on a warm windy evening I drove over to East Egg to see two old friends whom I scarce- ly knew at all Their house was even more elaborate than I expected, a cheerful re Colonial man- sion overlooking the bay The lawn started at the beach and ran toward the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sun-dials and brick walks and burning gardens—final- ly when it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though from the momentum of its run The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold, and wide open to the warm windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with his legs apart on the front porch He had changed since his New Haven years Now he was a sturdy, straw haired man of thirty with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious manner Two shining, arrogant eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward Not even the effeminate swank of his riding clothes could hide the enormous power of that body—he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his thin coat It was a body capable of enor- mous leverage—a cruel body His speaking voice, a gruff husky tenor, added to the im- pression of fractiousness he conveyed There was a touch of paternal contempt in it, even toward people he liked—and there were men at New Haven who had hated his guts ‘Now, these matters is final,’ 10 The Great Gatsby he seemed to say, ‘just because I’m stronger and more of a man than you are.’ We were in the same Senior Society, and while we were never intimate I always had the impression that he approved of me and wanted me to like him with some harsh, defiant wistfulness of his own We talked for a few minutes on the sunny porch ‘I’ve got a nice place here,’ he said, his eyes flashing about restlessly Turning me around by one arm he moved a broad flat hand along the front vista, including in its sweep a sunken Italian garden, a half acre of deep pungent roses and a snub- nosed motor boat that bumped the tide off shore ‘It belonged to Demaine the oil man.’ He turned me around again, politely and abruptly ‘We’ll go inside.’ We walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy- colored space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding cake of the ceiling—and then rippled over the wine-colored rug, mak- ing a shadow on it as wind does on the sea The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which tw buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon They were both in white and their dresses were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house I must have stood for a few moments listening to INTERNATIONAL TRADE PROCEDURES AND DOCUMENTATION Edited By Hitesh Jhanji Chapter I n my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since ‘Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,’ he told me, ‘just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.’ He didn’t say any more but we’ve always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that In consequence I’m in- clined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men Most of the con- fidences were unsought—frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quiver- ing on the horizon—for the intimate revelations of young men or at least the terms in which they express them are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my fa- The Great Gatsby ther snobbish snobbishly repeat a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes but after a certain point I don’t care what it’s founded on When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I want- ed no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction—Gatsby who represented everything for which I have an unaffect- ed scorn If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away This responsiveness had nothing to with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the ‘creative temperament’— it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again No—Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily in the abortive sorrows and short- winded elations of men My family have been prominent, well-to-do people in this middle-western city for three generations The Car- Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com raways are something of a clan and we have a tradition that we’re descended from the Dukes of Buccleuch, but the ac- tual founder of my line was my grandfather’s brother who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil War and started the wholesale hardware business that my father car- ries on today I never saw this great-uncle but I’m supposed to look like him—with special reference to the rather hard-boiled painting that hangs in Father’s office I graduated from New Haven in 1915, just a quarter of a century after my father, and a little later I participated in that delayed Teutonic mi- gration known as the Great War I enjoyed the counter-raid so thoroughly that I came back restless Instead of being the warm center of the world the middle-west now seemed like the ragged edge of the universe—so I decided to go east and learn the bond business Everybody I knew was in the bond business so I supposed it could support one more single man All my aunts and uncles talked it over as if they were choosing a prep-school for me and finally said, ‘Why—ye- es’ with very grave, hesitant faces Father agreed to finance me for a year and after vario perma- nently, I thought, in the spring of twenty-two The practical thing was to find rooms in the city but it was a warm season and I had just left a country of wide lawns and friendly trees, so when a young man at the office sug- gested that we take a house together in a commuting town it sounded like a great idea He found the house, a weather beaten cardboard bungalow at eighty a month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Washington and I went The Great Gatsby out to the country alone I had a dog, at least I had him for a few days until he ran away, and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman who made my bed and cooked breakfast and mut- tered Finnish wisdom to herself over the electric stove It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road ‘How you get to West Egg village?’ he asked helpless- ly I told him And as I walked on I was lonely no longer I was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler He had casu- ally conferred on me the freedom of the neighborhood And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees—just as things grow in fast movies—I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer There was so much to read for one thing and so much fine health to be pulled down out of the young breath-giv- in volumes on banking and credit and investment securities and they stood on my shelf in red and gold like new money from the mint, promising to unfold the shining secrets that only Midas and Morgan and Mae- cenas knew And I had the high intention of reading many other books besides I was rather literary in college—one year I wrote a series of very solemn and obvious editorials for the ‘Yale News’—and now I was going to bring back all such things into my life and become again that most limited of all specialists, the ‘well-rounded man.’ This isn’t just an epigram—life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com It was a matter of chance that I should have rented a house in one of the strangest communities in North Ameri- ca It was on that slender riotous island which extends itself due east of New York and where there are, among other natural curiosities, two unusual formations of land Twenty miles from the city a pair of enormous eggs, identical in contour and separated only by a courtesy bay, jut out into the most domesticated body of salt water in the Western Hemisphere, the great wet barnyard of Long Island Sound They are not perfect ovals—like the egg in the Columbus story they are both crushed flat at the contact end—but their physical resemblance must be a source of perpetua that fly overhead To the wingless a more arresting phenomenon is their dissimilarity in every particular except shape and size I lived at West Egg, the—well, the less fashionable of the two, though this is a most superficial tag to express the bi- zarre and not a little sinister contrast between them My house was at the very tip of the egg, only fifty yards from the Sound, and squeezed between two huge places that rented for twelve or fifteen thousand a season The one on my right was a colossal affair by any standard—it was a factual imi- tation of some Hôtel de Ville in Normandy, with a tower on one side, spanking new under a thin beard of raw ivy, and a marble swimming pool and more than forty acres of lawn and garden It was Gatsby’s mansion Or rather, as I didn’t know Mr Gatsby it was a mansion inhabited by a gentle- man of that name My own house was an eye-sore, but it was a small eye-sore, and it had been overlooked, so I had a The Great Gatsby view of the water, a partial view of my neighbor’s lawn, and the consoling proximity of millionaires—all for eighty dol- lars a month Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable East Egg glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Tom Buchanans Daisy was my second cousin once removed and I’d know just after the war I spent two days with them in Chicago Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savors of anti-cli- max His family were enormously wealthy—even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach—but now he’d left Chicago and come east in a fashion that rather took your breath away: for instance he’d brought down a string of polo ponies from Lake Forest It was hard to real- ize that a man in my own generation was wealthy enough to that Why they came east I don’t know They had spent a year in France, for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich together This was a permanent move, said Daisy over the telephone, but I didn’t believe it—I had no sight into Daisy’s heart but I felt that Tom would drift on forever seek- ing a little wistfully for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com And so it happened that on a warm windy evening I drove over to East Egg to see two old friends whom I scarce- ly knew at all Their house was even more elaborate than I expected, a cheerful re Colonial man- sion overlooking the bay The lawn started at the beach and ran toward the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sun-dials and brick walks and burning gardens—final- ly when it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though from the momentum of its run The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold, and wide open to the warm windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with his legs apart on the front porch He had changed since his New Haven years Now he was a sturdy, straw haired man of thirty with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious manner Two shining, arrogant eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward Not even the effeminate swank of his riding clothes could hide the enormous power of that body—he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his thin coat It was a body capable of enor- mous leverage—a cruel body His speaking voice, a gruff husky tenor, added to the im- pression of fractiousness he conveyed There was a touch of paternal contempt in it, even toward people he liked—and there were men at New Haven who had hated his guts ‘Now, these matters is final,’ 10 The Great Gatsby he seemed to say, ‘just because I’m stronger and more of a man than you are.’ We were in the same Senior Society, and while we were never intimate I always had the impression that he approved of me and wanted me to like him with some harsh, defiant wistfulness of his own We talked for a few minutes on the sunny porch ‘I’ve got a nice place here,’ he said, his eyes flashing about restlessly Turning me around by one arm he moved a broad flat hand along the front vista, including in its sweep a sunken Italian garden, a half acre of deep pungent roses and a snub- nosed motor boat that bumped the tide off shore ‘It belonged to Demaine the oil man.’ He turned me around again, politely and abruptly ‘We’ll go inside.’ We walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy- colored space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding cake of the ceiling—and then rippled over the wine-colored rug, mak- ing a shadow on it as wind does on the sea The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which tw buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon They were both in white and their dresses were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house I must have stood for a few moments listening to Printed by EXCEL BOOKS PRIVATE LIMITED A-45, Naraina, Phase-I, New Delhi-110028 for Lovely Professional University Phagwara Chapter I n my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since ‘Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,’ he told me, ‘just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.’ He didn’t say any more but we’ve always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that In consequence I’m in- clined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men Most of the con- fidences were unsought—frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quiver- ing on the horizon—for the intimate revelations of young men or at least the terms in which they express them are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my fa- The Great Gatsby ther snobbish snobbishly repeat a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes but after a certain point I don’t care what it’s founded on When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I want- ed no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction—Gatsby who represented everything for which I have an unaffect- ed scorn If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away This responsiveness had nothing to with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the ‘creative temperament’— it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again No—Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily in the abortive sorrows and short- winded elations of men My family have been prominent, well-to-do people in this middle-western city for three generations The Car- Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com raways are something of a clan and we have a tradition that we’re descended from the Dukes of Buccleuch, but the ac- tual founder of my line was my grandfather’s brother who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil War and started the wholesale hardware business that my father car- ries on today I never saw this great-uncle but I’m supposed to look like him—with special reference to the rather hard-boiled painting that hangs in Father’s office I graduated from New Haven in 1915, just a quarter of a century after my father, and a little later I participated in that delayed Teutonic mi- gration known as the Great War I enjoyed the counter-raid so thoroughly that I came back restless Instead of being the warm center of the world the middle-west now seemed like the ragged edge of the universe—so I decided to go east and learn the bond business Everybody I knew was in the bond business so I supposed it could support one more single man All my aunts and uncles talked it over as if they were choosing a prep-school for me and finally said, ‘Why—ye- es’ with very grave, hesitant faces Father agreed to finance me for a year and after vario perma- nently, I thought, in the spring of twenty-two The practical thing was to find rooms in the city but it was a warm season and I had just left a country of wide lawns and friendly trees, so when a young man at the office sug- gested that we take a house together in a commuting town it sounded like a great idea He found the house, a weather beaten cardboard bungalow at eighty a month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Washington and I went The Great Gatsby out to the country alone I had a dog, at least I had him for a few days until he ran away, and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman who made my bed and cooked breakfast and mut- tered Finnish wisdom to herself over the electric stove It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road ‘How you get to West Egg village?’ he asked helpless- ly I told him And as I walked on I was lonely no longer I was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler He had casu- ally conferred on me the freedom of the neighborhood And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees—just as things grow in fast movies—I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer There was so much to read for one thing and so much fine health to be pulled down out of the young breath-giv- in volumes on banking and credit and investment securities and they stood on my shelf in red and gold like new money from the mint, promising to unfold the shining secrets that only Midas and Morgan and Mae- cenas knew And I had the high intention of reading many other books besides I was rather literary in college—one year I wrote a series of very solemn and obvious editorials for the ‘Yale News’—and now I was going to bring back all such things into my life and become again that most limited of all specialists, the ‘well-rounded man.’ This isn’t just an epigram—life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com It was a matter of chance that I should have rented a house in one of the strangest communities in North Ameri- ca It was on that slender riotous island which extends itself due east of New York and where there are, among other natural curiosities, two unusual formations of land Twenty miles from the city a pair of enormous eggs, identical in contour and separated only by a courtesy bay, jut out into the most domesticated body of salt water in the Western Hemisphere, the great wet barnyard of Long Island Sound They are not perfect ovals—like the egg in the Columbus story they are both crushed flat at the contact end—but their physical resemblance must be a source of perpetua that fly overhead To the wingless a more arresting phenomenon is their dissimilarity in every particular except shape and size I lived at West Egg, the—well, the less fashionable of the two, though this is a most superficial tag to express the bi- zarre and not a little sinister contrast between them My house was at the very tip of the egg, only fifty yards from the Sound, and squeezed between two huge places that rented for twelve or fifteen thousand a season The one on my right was a colossal affair by any standard—it was a factual imi- tation of some Hôtel de Ville in Normandy, with a tower on one side, spanking new under a thin beard of raw ivy, and a marble swimming pool and more than forty acres of lawn and garden It was Gatsby’s mansion Or rather, as I didn’t know Mr Gatsby it was a mansion inhabited by a gentle- man of that name My own house was an eye-sore, but it was a small eye-sore, and it had been overlooked, so I had a The Great Gatsby view of the water, a partial view of my neighbor’s lawn, and the consoling proximity of millionaires—all for eighty dol- lars a month Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable East Egg glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Tom Buchanans Daisy was my second cousin once removed and I’d know just after the war I spent two days with them in Chicago Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savors of anti-cli- max His family were enormously wealthy—even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach—but now he’d left Chicago and come east in a fashion that rather took your breath away: for instance he’d brought down a string of polo ponies from Lake Forest It was hard to real- ize that a man in my own generation was wealthy enough to that Why they came east I don’t know They had spent a year in France, for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich together This was a permanent move, said Daisy over the telephone, but I didn’t believe it—I had no sight into Daisy’s heart but I felt that Tom would drift on forever seek- ing a little wistfully for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com And so it happened that on a warm windy evening I drove over to East Egg to see two old friends whom I scarce- ly knew at all Their house was even more elaborate than I expected, a cheerful re SYLLABUS Colonial man- sion overlooking the bay The lawn started at the beach and ran toward the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sun-dials and brick walks and burning gardens—final- ly when it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though from the momentum of its run The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold, and wide open to the warm windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with his legs apart on the front porch He had changed since his New Haven years Now he was a sturdy, straw haired man of thirty with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious manner Two shining, arrogant eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward Not even the effeminate swank of his riding clothes could hide the enormous power of that body—he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his thin coat It was a body capable of enor- mous leverage—a cruel body His speaking voice, a gruff husky tenor, added to the im- pression of fractiousness he conveyed There was a touch of paternal contempt in it, even toward people he liked—and there were men at New Haven who had hated his guts ‘Now, these matters is final,’ 10 The Great Gatsby he seemed to say, ‘just because I’m stronger and more of a man than you are.’ We were in the same Senior Society, and while we were never intimate I always had the impression that he approved of me and wanted me to like him with some harsh, defiant wistfulness of his own We talked for a few minutes on the sunny porch ‘I’ve got a nice place here,’ he said, his eyes flashing about restlessly Turning me around by one arm he moved a broad flat hand along the front vista, including in its sweep a sunken Italian garden, a half acre of deep pungent roses and a snub- nosed motor boat that bumped the tide off shore ‘It belonged to Demaine the oil man.’ He turned me around again, politely and abruptly ‘We’ll go inside.’ We walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy- colored space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding cake of the ceiling—and then rippled over the wine-colored rug, mak- ing a shadow on it as wind does on the sea The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which tw buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon They were both in white and their dresses were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house I must have stood for a few moments listening to International Trade Procedures and Documentation Objectives: The objective of the couse is to make students learn the complete mechanism of export and various documents required for exports S No Description Export Procedures and Documents: The Search for an overseas buyer, Processing an Export Order, Negotiation of Documents, Role of Banks in Export-Import Transactions Methods of Payments and INCO Terms: Methods of Payment, Financing Exporters and Importers, Instruments of Payment EXIM Strategies and Export Marketing: EXIM Business Plan and Strategy, Export Strategy Formulation, Export Financing, Import Strategy (Souring Strategy), International Marketing, Export Marketing – Going Global, Different Forms of International Trade Methods of Financing Exporters and Business Risk Management: Pre-Shipment Finance, Post Shipment Export Advance, Factoring and Insurance, Types of Risks, Quality and Pre Shipment Inspection Custom Clearance of Import and Export Cargo: Clearance of Import Cargo, Clearance of Export cargo, Custom Valuation, The Harmonized System, Carnets, New Developments in Custom Clearance Procedure Logistics and Characteristics of Modes of Transportation: Planning Physical Distribution, Benefits of Efficient Logistics System, Concept of Marketing Logistics System, Critical Elements of a Logistics System, International Transport System Characteristics of Shipping Industries: History of Shipping Industry, Characteristics of Shipping Industry, Role of Intermediaries in Shipping Industry, Latest Trends in Logistics Operations, Ocean Freight Structure Containerization and Leasing Practices: Containerization – Concept and Operation, History of Containerization, Types of Containers, Benefits of Containerization, Global Trade and containerization, Container Leasing Practices and Inland Container Depots Export Incentive Schemes: Duty Exemption Scheme, Duty Remission Scheme, Export Promotion Capital Goods Scheme, Special Economic Zones 10 Information Technology in International Business: Electronic Procurement, Electronic Marketing, Electronic Logistics Chapter I n my younger and more vulnerable years my father gave me some advice that I’ve been turning over in my mind ever since ‘Whenever you feel like criticizing any one,’ he told me, ‘just remember that all the people in this world haven’t had the advantages that you’ve had.’ He didn’t say any more but we’ve always been unusually communicative in a reserved way, and I understood that he meant a great deal more than that In consequence I’m in- clined to reserve all judgments, a habit that has opened up many curious natures to me and also made me the victim of not a few veteran bores The abnormal mind is quick to detect and attach itself to this quality when it appears in a normal person, and so it came about that in college I was unjustly accused of being a politician, because I was privy to the secret griefs of wild, unknown men Most of the con- fidences were unsought—frequently I have feigned sleep, preoccupation, or a hostile levity when I realized by some unmistakable sign that an intimate revelation was quiver- ing on the horizon—for the intimate revelations of young men or at least the terms in which they express them are usually plagiaristic and marred by obvious suppressions Reserving judgments is a matter of infinite hope I am still a little afraid of missing something if I forget that, as my fa- The Great Gatsby ther snobbish snobbishly repeat a sense of the fundamental decencies is parcelled out unequally at birth And, after boasting this way of my tolerance, I come to the admission that it has a limit Conduct may be founded on the hard rock or the wet marshes but after a certain point I don’t care what it’s founded on When I came back from the East last autumn I felt that I wanted the world to be in uniform and at a sort of moral attention forever; I want- ed no more riotous excursions with privileged glimpses into the human heart Only Gatsby, the man who gives his name to this book, was exempt from my reaction—Gatsby who represented everything for which I have an unaffect- ed scorn If personality is an unbroken series of successful gestures, then there was something gorgeous about him, some heightened sensitivity to the promises of life, as if he were related to one of those intricate machines that register earthquakes ten thousand miles away This responsiveness had nothing to with that flabby impressionability which is dignified under the name of the ‘creative temperament’— it was an extraordinary gift for hope, a romantic readiness such as I have never found in any other person and which it is not likely I shall ever find again No—Gatsby turned out all right at the end; it is what preyed on Gatsby, what foul dust floated in the wake of his dreams that temporarily in the abortive sorrows and short- winded elations of men My family have been prominent, well-to-do people in this middle-western city for three generations The Car- Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com raways are something of a clan and we have a tradition that we’re descended from the Dukes of Buccleuch, but the ac- tual founder of my line was my grandfather’s brother who came here in fifty-one, sent a substitute to the Civil War and started the wholesale hardware business that my father car- ries on today I never saw this great-uncle but I’m supposed to look like him—with special reference to the rather hard-boiled painting that hangs in Father’s office I graduated from New Haven in 1915, just a quarter of a century after my father, and a little later I participated in that delayed Teutonic mi- gration known as the Great War I enjoyed the counter-raid so thoroughly that I came back restless Instead of being the warm center of the world the middle-west now seemed like the ragged edge of the universe—so I decided to go east and learn the bond business Everybody I knew was in the bond business so I supposed it could support one more single man All my aunts and uncles talked it over as if they were choosing a prep-school for me and finally said, ‘Why—ye- es’ with very grave, hesitant faces Father agreed to finance me for a year and after vario perma- nently, I thought, in the spring of twenty-two The practical thing was to find rooms in the city but it was a warm season and I had just left a country of wide lawns and friendly trees, so when a young man at the office sug- gested that we take a house together in a commuting town it sounded like a great idea He found the house, a weather beaten cardboard bungalow at eighty a month, but at the last minute the firm ordered him to Washington and I went The Great Gatsby out to the country alone I had a dog, at least I had him for a few days until he ran away, and an old Dodge and a Finnish woman who made my bed and cooked breakfast and mut- tered Finnish wisdom to herself over the electric stove It was lonely for a day or so until one morning some man, more recently arrived than I, stopped me on the road ‘How you get to West Egg village?’ he asked helpless- ly I told him And as I walked on I was lonely no longer I was a guide, a pathfinder, an original settler He had casu- ally conferred on me the freedom of the neighborhood And so with the sunshine and the great bursts of leaves growing on the trees—just as things grow in fast movies—I had that familiar conviction that life was beginning over again with the summer There was so much to read for one thing and so much fine health to be pulled down out of the young breath-giv- in volumes on banking and credit and investment securities and they stood on my shelf in red and gold like new money from the mint, promising to unfold the shining secrets that only Midas and Morgan and Mae- cenas knew And I had the high intention of reading many other books besides I was rather literary in college—one year I wrote a series of very solemn and obvious editorials for the ‘Yale News’—and now I was going to bring back all such things into my life and become again that most limited of all specialists, the ‘well-rounded man.’ This isn’t just an epigram—life is much more successfully looked at from a single window, after all Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com It was a matter of chance that I should have rented a house in one of the strangest communities in North Ameri- ca It was on that slender riotous island which extends itself due east of New York and where there are, among other natural curiosities, two unusual formations of land Twenty miles from the city a pair of enormous eggs, identical in contour and separated only by a courtesy bay, jut out into the most domesticated body of salt water in the Western Hemisphere, the great wet barnyard of Long Island Sound They are not perfect ovals—like the egg in the Columbus story they are both crushed flat at the contact end—but their physical resemblance must be a source of perpetua that fly overhead To the wingless a more arresting phenomenon is their dissimilarity in every particular except shape and size I lived at West Egg, the—well, the less fashionable of the two, though this is a most superficial tag to express the bi- zarre and not a little sinister contrast between them My house was at the very tip of the egg, only fifty yards from the Sound, and squeezed between two huge places that rented for twelve or fifteen thousand a season The one on my right was a colossal affair by any standard—it was a factual imi- tation of some Hôtel de Ville in Normandy, with a tower on one side, spanking new under a thin beard of raw ivy, and a marble swimming pool and more than forty acres of lawn and garden It was Gatsby’s mansion Or rather, as I didn’t know Mr Gatsby it was a mansion inhabited by a gentle- man of that name My own house was an eye-sore, but it was a small eye-sore, and it had been overlooked, so I had a The Great Gatsby view of the water, a partial view of my neighbor’s lawn, and the consoling proximity of millionaires—all for eighty dol- lars a month Across the courtesy bay the white palaces of fashionable East Egg glittered along the water, and the history of the summer really begins on the evening I drove over there to have dinner with the Tom Buchanans Daisy was my second cousin once removed and I’d know just after the war I spent two days with them in Chicago Her husband, among various physical accomplishments, had been one of the most powerful ends that ever played football at New Haven—a national figure in a way, one of those men who reach such an acute limited excellence at twenty-one that everything afterward savors of anti-cli- max His family were enormously wealthy—even in college his freedom with money was a matter for reproach—but now he’d left Chicago and come east in a fashion that rather took your breath away: for instance he’d brought down a string of polo ponies from Lake Forest It was hard to real- ize that a man in my own generation was wealthy enough to that Why they came east I don’t know They had spent a year in France, for no particular reason, and then drifted here and there unrestfully wherever people played polo and were rich together This was a permanent move, said Daisy over the telephone, but I didn’t believe it—I had no sight into Daisy’s heart but I felt that Tom would drift on forever seek- ing a little wistfully for the dramatic turbulence of some irrecoverable football game Free eBooks at Planet eBook.com And so it happened that on a warm windy evening I drove over to East Egg to see two old friends whom I scarce- ly knew at all Their house was even more elaborate than I expected, a cheerful re CONTENT Colonial man- sion overlooking the bay The lawn started at the beach and ran toward the front door for a quarter of a mile, jumping over sun-dials and brick walks and burning gardens—final- ly when it reached the house drifting up the side in bright vines as though from the momentum of its run The front was broken by a line of French windows, glowing now with reflected gold, and wide open to the warm windy afternoon, and Tom Buchanan in riding clothes was standing with his legs apart on the front porch He had changed since his New Haven years Now he was a sturdy, straw haired man of thirty with a rather hard mouth and a supercilious manner Two shining, arrogant eyes had established dominance over his face and gave him the appearance of always leaning aggressively forward Not even the effeminate swank of his riding clothes could hide the enormous power of that body—he seemed to fill those glistening boots until he strained the top lacing and you could see a great pack of muscle shifting when his shoulder moved under his thin coat It was a body capable of enor- mous leverage—a cruel body His speaking voice, a gruff husky tenor, added to the im- pression of fractiousness he conveyed There was a touch of paternal contempt in it, even toward people he liked—and there were men at New Haven who had hated his guts ‘Now, these matters is final,’ 10 The Great Gatsby he seemed to say, ‘just because I’m stronger and more of a man than you are.’ We were in the same Senior Society, and while we were never intimate I always had the impression that he approved of me and wanted me to like him with some harsh, defiant wistfulness of his own We talked for a few minutes on the sunny porch ‘I’ve got a nice place here,’ he said, his eyes flashing about restlessly Turning me around by one arm he moved a broad flat hand along the front vista, including in its sweep a sunken Italian garden, a half acre of deep pungent roses and a snub- nosed motor boat that bumped the tide off shore ‘It belonged to Demaine the oil man.’ He turned me around again, politely and abruptly ‘We’ll go inside.’ We walked through a high hallway into a bright rosy- colored space, fragilely bound into the house by French windows at either end The windows were ajar and gleaming white against the fresh grass outside that seemed to grow a little way into the house A breeze blew through the room, blew curtains in at one end and out the other like pale flags, twisting them up toward the frosted wedding cake of the ceiling—and then rippled over the wine-colored rug, mak- ing a shadow on it as wind does on the sea The only completely stationary object in the room was an enormous couch on which tw buoyed up as though upon an anchored balloon They were both in white and their dresses were rippling and fluttering as if they had just been blown back in after a short flight around the house I must have stood for a few moments listening to Unit 1: Export Procedure and Documentation Anand Thakur, Lovely Professional University Unit 2: Methods of Payment and Incoterms 24 Hitesh Jhanji, Lovely Professional University Unit 3: EXIM Strategies 48 Ginni Nijhawan, Lovely Professional University Unit 4: Export Marketing – Going Global 70 Anand Thakur, Lovely Professional University Unit 5: Methods of Financing Exporters and Business Risk Management 90 Karan Arora, Lovely Professional University Unit 6: Custom Clearance of Import and Export Cargo 120 Anand Thakur, Lovely Professional University Unit 7: Logistics and Characteristics of Modes of Transportation 149 Hitesh Jhanji, Lovely Professional University Unit 8; International Transport System 174 Ginni Nijhawan, Lovely Professional University Unit 9: Characteristics of Shipping Industries 195 Hitesh Jhanji, Lovely Professional University Unit 10: Containerization and Leasing Practices 211 Neha Khosla, Lovely Professional University Unit 11: Inland Container Depots 236 Hitesh Jhanji, Lovely Professional University Unit 12: Export Incentives Schemes 249 Anand Thakur, Lovely Professional University Unit 13: Special Economic Zones 270 Neha Khosla, Lovely Professional University Unit 14: Information Technology in International Business Neetu Singh, Lovely Professional University 287