Black And White...And Grey.

Twenty five years ago
Twenty five years ago, around 1980s, the world was a different place. India was a different place. We all know this, have read about it, heard about it, seen it with our own eyes. The tremendous change that India has undergone is commendable. Progress, development are a step away. Change has become the breath of India's existence. Every day, every second, things are changing rapidly.

Along with Technological changes, there are also social changes. Changes in the society, in the way things work. Changes in the way people think. And the rapidness of all this change, has made the effects of the generation gaps tenfold.

Gurukul
Gurukul is a school that has noted this change, and incorporated it. They say that their school is different, because the system is more open, because the teachers are more open with students and parents, because students are given more freedom. Because teachers involve themselves with the students.

Yet, why are the students still dissatisfied? Why do the students still complain about this wonderfully open school? The responsible adult would answer - because they've grown up in a background where they get everything they want anyway. Because they take things for granted. Because they don't value what they get. Irresponsible, good-for-nothing students.

Let's look into the truth.

But that's it. It ends there.
Yeah, we know the teachers involve themselves. We know that we get freedom to voice our opinions. But that's it. It ends there. What about the consequences? Ever mention those? What about the fact that voicing our opinions might mean that we're eternally written in the teacher's bad books? That once you voice your opinion, you don't have much scope for proving its right? That whether your opinion is right or wrong, voiced or not, at the end, you're going to have to listen to the teacher's statement? And then suffer for the rest of the year, labelled as the 'black sheep'? That yes, we're given the freedom to voice our opinions, but we still have to bear a sentence in jail for it?

Illusions.
Illusions. Its the illusion of freedom. They say it, but don't incorporate it. Black and white. There is no grey. This is wrong, this is right. Any deviation, will not be tolerated. If you don't agree to Black and White, then you're history, then you're the rotten apple. Look around you people. The world is changing. India is changing. Try and keep up.

We're teenagers.
We're teenagers. Yes, we tend to be ruled by our passion, emotions. But that doesn't mean we don't have minds or our own. That we don't have value systems, limits, self-control. We are not kids any more. We're on our way to adulthood, to facing the changed world, and we need to adjust ourselves thus. Just like you, we don't like being herded like cattle. We want to be in charge of our own lives, to a certain extent. We can understand that there is a need for us to be micromanaged, but all we ask for, is that we're given the freedom to have our own opinions.

There are some things, that adults can't do, however much they're convinced that they can.
Yes, the school teachers involve themselves with students. It was an experiment that the principal of our school decided to try out. Her hopes were that the students and teachers share a healthy relationship. And maybe it would have worked. Except not all teachers are like her. There are some things, that adults can't do, however much they're convinced that they can. Logically, the generation gap is such, that after a certain age difference, it's practically impossible to relate with each other. We understand that. They don't.

You cannot just barge into a person's life, dictate their thinking, their actions, rule their life the way you want, and then expect them to thank you for it.
If you want to involve yourself in a person's life, you need to understand the person's problems, understand their situation, their mindset and take in account the change that has undergone since you were in their place. You cannot just barge into a person's life, dictate their thinking, their actions, rule their life the way you want, and then expect them to thank you for it. It doesn't work that way. If the school wanted their teachers and students to share a healthy relationship, then they should've trained the teachers, to give up their black and white ways, because now, the world has accepted the colour grey.

The effects of the above? Disastrous.
The effects of the above? Disastrous. What the teachers have in their rigid picture of life: The students need guidance. Their life is completely messed up. We interfere. Yes, we have to be harsh, but its for their own good. They may hate us, but they'll thank us later, of course, once they realise how we fixed their life for them, by interfering and incorporating our black and white way, to a world of grey. They are teenagers, and we are the adults. So naturally, we are right.

Teenagers I know spend every night crying in their room hating the fact that they have their own opinions
The reality: Students need guidance. Their life is generally not as messed up as everyone is convinced. They manage on their own to a certain extent. The teachers interfere. They are harsh, they are not understanding, they undermine our intelligence, creativity, and scorn our opinions. They whip us into doing what they think is right. They dismiss our problems as utterly disgusting. We hate them for it. Our life is more screwed up than it would have been, if the teachers had not interfered at all. Teenagers I know spend every night crying in their room, worried about what the teacher will do next, asking themselves where they've gone wrong, hating the fact that they have their own opinions, and dreading going to school on Monday. Why? Because the teachers involved themselves.

Now, we might have a slight idea
Now, we might have a slight idea why the students wish their school wasn't special. Why the students and teachers don not share a healthy relationship after the age of 13. Why the teenager crying in her room wishes she had gone to a convent, where her life would have been so much easier.

They think they're removing our distractions. Well, they're creating it.

Maybe because these teachers are willing to consider grey, and hence the students are willing to consider black and white
But then, there are some teachers, who the students don't despise. These are the teachers to whom students actually listen to. The ones, who if they tell the students they are wrong, the students actually listen to. Why do they listen? Maybe because there is mutual giving of respect for each other's opinions. Maybe because these teachers are willing to consider grey, and hence the students are willing to consider black and white. Sure, the other teachers may say - 'hey, you like them because they do not scold you. We, who scold you for your own good, are the ones who have to suffer.' Consider it again. Consider why, even if they do scold us, we listen to them, we heed their words, we are ready to follow their instructions. Because they did not barge into our life and dictate our way, but tried to understand our problems, did not dismiss them as barbaric, and took into account, the change that has undergone. And the effort makes the battle half won.

This is the biggest challenge India is facing. Life has evolved completely, and the old ways need to slowly be changed. But that can only happen, if there is a willingness to do so. Of course, you might say, why don't you give this whole lecture to the teachers of your school, instead of complaining behind their backs? Well, I'm rather fond of my life, and I kind of want to be able to get whatever enjoyment I can from my last 50 days of school.

The Adventures of Namrata and the Fly

Behold, look and see

see the fly buzz

see the fly, see!

see what it does!

It flies over here

it flies over there

the fly shows no fear

the fly doesn't care

I watch the fly fly

I watch it go zoom

I watch the fly try

to do tricks in my room

it leaps with a bound

it somersaults too

it carthweels around

see what it can do!

It's showing off now

it's boasting as well

it's showing me how

it can fly so well.

I don't like that fly

don't like it at all

it knows if I try

to fly, I will fall.

I don't mean to gripe

but it's looking so smug

I think I will wipe

that grin off that bug.

I creep up behind it

and lift up a book

Smack! Bam! I grind it

and triumphantly look...

...where did it go?!?

I look up to see

the fly at the window

laughing at me.

I crack a few knuckles

I ball up my fists

I snap a few buckles

I rotate my wrists.

The fly rolls it's eye

and does a few flips,

"prepare to die!"

are the words on my lips.

With the textbook poised up

I give a war cry

My mom screams "Shut up!"

while I chase the fly.

At last! I smash it

peek under and see

A nice, direct hit!

Now it won't bother me.

I go back all smug

then cry out as I see

two more flies on the rug

waiting for me...

Pink Propaganda

NOTE: Stupid conlcusion, because I couldn't come up with anything. I know, I know, This happened like a month and a half ago, but I didn't get time to complete it. Enjoy, all of you who I haven't already narrated it to.

"She's here!!"

Before I could retort with a sarcastic Yes-I-Am, or, for that matter, catch enough breath to make the effort, I was ambushed by a teenage just-turned-fourteen. Gagging, and trying to keep my just-washed hair in place, I submitted to the headlock I was in, which ultimately dragged me into the house. Ears half smothered, I could hear a vague turmoil of voices screaming inside.

"Oh thank goodness you're here."

I couldn't miss the satisfaction, tremendous relief and touch of hysteria associated with the words, spoken by another familiar voice. Peeking a bit to see the speaker, all I could make out was a purple blob. I was going to protest and tell my ambusher to let me go, but she managed to beat me to it, and let my head resurface for breath. Then she grabbed my arms and squealed.

"You're finally here! We've been waiting for you for ages!"

I laughed a bit. "Yeah, I'm here Aboli."

Her face shining, she scampered into the hall to scream a bit at her other guests. I glanced at the side to see the purple blob grinning at me. I grinned back.

"Seriously, I'm actually glad you're here," Nidhi repeated, looking enormously relieved. "This is just scary. Very cute, and very ninth grade, but scary.

"It couldn't have been that bad, could it?" I asked as we stepped into the living room. Ninth grade birthday had me remembering Saee's movie party or else Nidhi's bowling bash. It didn't seem too bad. We weren't that out of touch.

I almost took back what I said. Almost.

All the chairs had been occupied by boys - looking very awkward, bored and out-of-place. The sofas, on the other hand, had been stretched to their maximum capacity with girls sitting daintily side-by-side. Another thing I noticed, was that a majority of them, including the birthday girl, had worn one very pretty looking assortments of dresses; black halternecks, yellow poofy-sleeves, grey strap sundresses...the works. Suddenly, I felt suitable underdressed, in my year-old jeans, red turtleneck sweater and leather jacket. Nidhi was, of course, not much better with her purple top and blue jeans.

I looked helplessly at her, and she shrugged.

Aboli was all hyped up. "Come on and sit! We're playing a game!"

"What game?"

Just then, I spotted a nicely wrapped object sitting lifelessly in somebody's lap, and that somebody didn't look too pleased about it.

I looked up in surprise. "Passing the parcel?"

"Turth-n-dare passing the parcel," Nidhi grimaced. I looked back at the parcel. Well, this would be fun.

"I'm not playing," I declared. Nobody really cared, so I shrugged and analised my options for a seat. My eyes fell on a person sitting on a chair, more so because Aboli was very plainly pointing at him and grinning.

"You!!" I shreiked, drawing the attention of the entire lot of people. "You! I....you...my....you!"

He laughed in a kind of was-expecting-this-reaction way, and held up his hands in surrender. "Yeah, I know, calm down."

"You're dating my tuition teacher!" I screeched, "And you expect me to calm down? WHO are you? I thought I knew before!"

This exchange, of course, had Aboli cracking up completely, and Nidhi cringing at the pitch of my voice. I took no notice and pointed unwaveringly and a bit threateningly at his nose.

He laguhed some more. "How did you find out? Aboli told you right? About how I checked your biology paper?"

"Yes, she did!"

"So why're u worried? You got really good marks you know. She talks about you a lot."

In my haze of confusion and pure astonishment, I managed to find a few seconds to beam at him. Nidhi rolled her eyes and snorted.

Then I went back into hyper-mode.

"I can't believe this! I totally didn't expect Ma'am to date you. In fact, forget you, I didn't expect Ma'am to date at all! She looks so...so...."

"So...?" He was thoroughly enjoying this.

"So good girl." I finished lamely. Which was true. She wasn't old, only in her mid-twenties or something, but she looked purely angel. The type who must have been the teacher's pet, and the sweet-liked-by-all one. The Science student type. The I'll-wait-till-marriage type. A Good Girl.

Apparently not.

"Ha ha, how many good girls do we know who have dated behind their parent's backs?" Nidhi guffawed.

I ignored. Ok, so I knew many. Completely off point.

"How long have you been dating her?"

"About two or three years now," He replied.

"I met her you know," Aboli said excitedly, "She looks very sweet."

"Tell me, I'm dying to know, what's she like as a teacher?" He leaned forward, a look of curious interest on his face.

I pondered for a second. "Let me ask you something. Is she always so...the-world-is-beautiful? Bubbly? Brimming with bubblegum happiness?"

"Um...yeah, kind of."

Having found a common topic of interest, the 'older gang', as we called ourselves, induldged in very secret, important talks.

That was, until the food came.

'Tomato soup...with bread crumbs."

"You like bread crumbs?"

"You don't? Here, let me have yours..."

I smacked Nidhi's hand. "Get you hands off my bread crumbs. I was hoping you didn't like them."

Nidhi snorted. "Are you kidding me?"

We were on the sofa, inhaling our soup after having exhausted all our energy, precision and intense concentration on passing out soup bowls without spilling them. It was like a game of hot potatoes; Aboli would unnoticingly pass the bowl to me before I could prtoest, I'd quickly hand ot over to Nidhi before I could bring any harm to it or the carpet, who in turn would 'gah!' and try to balance the bowl properly, which at the end would be snatched out of her hands by a disapproving Chaitanya or Disha, who seemed to have qualified a PhD in hand-eye-coordination. Having made such tremendous efforts, and deeming it reward-worthy that we hadn't spilled anything, we had claimed our soup trophy and decided to try and fulfill another equally difficult but more amusing mission - to get the boys into anti-cootie mode.

Maybe Nidhi and I weren't the best candidates for that, but at least we had some experience in getting boys to talk. Not that we had reaped remarkable fruits; it took a year for the boys in question to really start talking. But anyhow, the boys at this party were playing with Omkar's action figures, so we thought they might be getting a tad bit bored.

"It would be easier if 'our' boys were here," Nidhi muttered. I imagined narrating this to them. They'd laugh of course, and immediately develop a whole oh-they're-such-ninth-graders-remember-when-we-were-like-that-? outlook on the situation.

"Hello?" I offered. The three boys who were thoroughly engrossed with their toy looked up blankly and stared. Out of the three, the over-friendly Chinmay Jha smiled and waved. In relief, I waved back at him enthusiastically.

"So...what's up?" Nidhi ventured. The other two boys muttered dully back. One was Sukrut, who had been in our van for a year, and the only time we'd ever hear his voice was when he'd bellow at Nidhi ever so often to shut up. The other, I was clueless about. This would be harder than I thought.

Meanwhile, the girls were amusing themselves by gossipping, fighting, and randomly giggling at nothing in particular. Seeing that we didn't have much scope for their gossip, Nidhi, me, Aboli's dad and he-who-is-dating-my-tuition-teacher indulged in our own more-mature yet equally amusing grown-up talks, out of which one topic was the apparent levels of madness one could reach within humanity.

Half an hour later, the girl who seemed to be the only one close to my level of understanding, had to leave. Preparing myself for a very girlish ordeal, I followed Aboli and her gang into her room to open presents.

Her first gift was a somewhat poofy red shirt. With matching earings. And banlges. WHich of course, Aboli tried on, after a lot of squeezing-through-the-hand.

"Oh they're gorgeous! I love it! And thanks for the bangles too, I didn't have red ones on any of my dresses!"

Sweet.

The next present was comparatively a let-dwon (for the other girls maybe, but not our Aboli). A book from Nidhi and myself. Followed by tons of Crossword gift vouchers from tons of people, and many cute cards to go with it.

Disha's present was the perfect example of my idea of what Aboli would get for her fourteenth birthday. A pink pearl bracelet with a bow on it, pink nailpolish and pink lipgloss.

Aboli held up the lip gloss to her eyes and scrutinised it. "I have the exact same lipgloss!"

She grabbed a similar tube from her table and held it up. "Oh...no, it's a different shade of pink. Thanks Disha! I love it!"

Dish beamed.

Aboli bent over it, trying to pry it open. "It's not opening."

"Here, let me do that," Dish offered. Aboli tossed it to her, and grabbed her next present. The girls started squealing as Aboli pulled out more gorgeous stuff. Dish remained oblivious to it, as she tried to patiently uncover the gloss.

I decided to observe her very closely, as a form of self-entertainment.

She had a look of intense concentration on her face. Very carefull, with all the elegance she could muster, she picked at the plastic wrapper. Her nose srunching up slightly, she picked a little harder. Letting out a flustered sigh, she started picking more, and bending over the lip gloss. I leaned in closer, drawn in by the suspense of the moment.

Moments later, she emerged, a look of pure horror on her face. This was followed by a horrific scream, which made me blink and stare at her some more.

She held up a finer in disbeleif. "I chipped a nail!"

This seemed to invoke some kind of internal girl-pity, because everyone was suddenly swarming around her like she'd just cut herself. Ira, sitting next to me, looked bored.

Dish, on the other hand, looked completely shaken, and stared open-mouthed at her finger. "It's chipped! Right here, see?"

By now I had leaned in so close that I might have fallen off the chair if I had gone any further. Her nail looked perfectly fine to me, in fact, it was the most gloriously done-up nail for a schoolgirl. Some minute corner of her nail had been slightly chizzled out though, and this, I concluded, was the reason for the mass distress. Odd.

Finally losing her patience, and giving up her I'm-such-a-girl act, Aboli snapped back to her aboli-ish self and grabbed the lipgloss out of Disha's lap, clawing at it to try and get the plastic off.

"My nail is chipped Aboli!" Disha stuck her finger in Aboli's face.

Aboli eyed it. She sniffed. "Oh," she said, completely unperturbed.

This wasn't the reaction Disha was hoping for, so she turned to mother hen Chaitanya for consolance and fell with a dramatic cry in her arms. Aboli, still thoroughly unperturbed, went back to peeling off plastic. I had burst into uncontrolable peals of laughter. Sure, she could keep up the girliness for sometime, but she was genetically one of us. Sad, she was born a year late.

Anyhow, I had to leave a little later, after the girls started getting in slumberparty mode and closed the door in a flourish of flying nightdresses and hair brushes. I managed to amuse myself with Asterix, before Aboli's dad volunteered to drop me off, and I had a nice refreshing, completely random conversation with him.

Aboli's birthday was kind of like the birthday I never had - typical and spruced up with girl. Not that I want such a party, though I had fun getting in touch with my feminine side. It was fun though, and provided me with a nice laughter-inducing memory for that evening. I can't wait though, till Aboli grows older, and then we can laugh it out together. Aboli, little kid, you're getting there. Enjoy it while it lasts, and have a blast being a girl. Most of all, whether you like being a girl or not, be yourself. That's what matters.

Bittersweet Blues

A sudden spasm electifies me

I'm good, I'm great, I'm happy, I'm free

Twirling around, humming to me

The sun is so bright, I ponder in glee

I sniff all the flowers, take in the scene

everything's glowing, it's got some weird sheen

Life is so gorgeous, I love being a teen

I step in the study, and then I careen

Or maybe I hear, some words, or just one

that suddenly drain the joy and the fun

quite unrelated, no connection, none,

but somehow they vacuumed my internal sun,

I'm crying, I'm drowning, I'm screaming at life

I moan and I groan over sorrow and strife

The world kicks me out, the blade of a knife,

the kind that is used by the butcher's wife

I lie on the bed, stare up at the wall,

swimming in misery, in depression I fall,

I then get a mail, or sometimes a call,

and suddenly I'm not that depressed at all.

I'm solemn, I'm serious, I feel fifty-two,

I introspect on why the sky's blue,

I see a future where hardwork will do,

I face reality, I try to speak true,

And out of the blue, I song I will hear,

a movie I'll see; a change in gear

where I feel like I'm drunk on rum and/or beer

I giggle, I laugh, I feel no fear,

I sway unstably, I trip, I hurt,

I laugh, I snort, I play in the dirt,

I feel suicidal, I feel alert

I wear my favourite jacket and shirt,

and suddenly I'm humming, singing amen,

I pick up a book, I pick up a pen,

I write all this down, like write now, and then,

the hormonal cycle, begins again.

Four Elements of Friendship

NOTE: This is a modified version of the poem I gave to a friend of mine. By the way, you have no idea how good it is to be back....even if what I'm writing isn't all the good a comeback. The poem I've written is based on my experience of friendship.

Of all the wonders that roam the earth

the greatest marvel of them all

is the interdependence

and bonds

that together hold the great forces of the earth

the four elements

starting with wind

ever quiet, never speaking

and only whispers

into unaware ears

clear, almost invisible

a good listener, hearing what is said

hearing everything, though the speaker remains unaware

of the wind's presence.

Peaceful,

but whose dissatisfaction

can be felt by all,

it's whip of anger

blowing and roaring,

though otherwise unnoticed,

taken for granted as the air we breathe

yet is necessary for survival

calm, blending into the background

unlike fire

whose fury can be heard and felt

from miles away

whose heat can burn those who touch it's core

it's ego,

whose warmth draws all to it in spite of themselves

who can provide comfort to the cold

whose never ending crackling and chatter

must be heard by those who sit near it

whether they desire it or not

who's fiery rebellious nature

can blind with independent glory

who can turn even the strongest of men

to ashes at it's desire

whose brilliant light influences all

hot, fire,

unlike water

who's rippling surface can easily be disturbed

by the slightest touch

whose waves glide forward smoothly

and provide cool calmness to those it touches

yet whose wrath

can drown many

all feel the thirst for it's cool drops

water has a clear surface

but past the clarity

is a deep, deep heart

a world of it's own, created separate from reality

where one could easily get lost

with a temperament that changes

from high tide to low tide

without apparent reason

unstable, easily pulled by the gravity

of any situation

easily carried away, emphatic,

unlike earth

strong, hard, firm

rooted to the solid rocky surface

grounded, down-to-earth

cannot be shaken,

but can do the shaking

the one that provides a base,

a gravitational pull

that keep all elements

together and stable on it's surface

the one that can destroy mankind

but yet carries the minutest of living things

on its varying face.

The support system of all,

the go-getter, the mother,

the one that can do-it-all

the wise one,

sensible, logical,

independent, ambitious,

earth.

Is it not a miracle?

That these so very diverse,

so completely different elements

work together in harmony

to wield the hands of time

and create something special,

something so wonderful to behold.

Is it not then,

a marvelous example

of the simplicity, complexity,

beauty, terror,

the utter miracle

of friendship?

My Own Personal Angel-Devil

NOTE: Ignore the random dots in between some of the paras.
.
I sat in the corner of the room, fuming.

The whole class was shouting noisily around me, throwing things at each other, doing graffiti on the blackboard, gossiping, flirting, all the works.

I was sitting in the very corner of the class, sulking.

Mihika sat unhappily beside me, ever so often glaring in my direction. The rest of the girls were huddled over one desk, whispering, giggling and pointing madly at the boys. The boys, completely oblivious to this, were talking about cars and Pokemon.

I took out a notebook and decided to start doing my homework. Silly girls, wasting their time. Why don't they do something constructive? They could read the textbook.

Yes, in sixth grade, I was that bad.

I have heard that the teachers would patronize Apoorva Zarkar by saying that she should look up to me and Aishwarya as role models.

Don't say it. Please. Just ask the others.

But you have to cut me some slack. I was the new kid, hated by all and hated all. Being the new kid...sucked. I had just moved from the US, I was completely new to this stuff, and to top it all, I had a wonderfully posh american accent that Aishwarya claims I still haven't completely shaken off.

So anyway, my life pretty much sucked. I would go home everyday and cry in bed. And Mihika sitting beside me and glaring in my direction did not help my mood.

None of the girls in my class looked at me twice. I was some stupid annoying idiot to them. They didn't like me, and I thought them as 'ghatti'. You see, I didn't have much of choice amongst friends either. We were only five, not including me. Here were my options:

Mihika - puh-lease. She is one of my really really close friends now, but she knows as well as I do, what a horrible pain she was. Believe it or not, she made me cry (she stole me eraser ok? And that eraser meant a lot to me). Well, I was a crybaby, always have been, except now I'm a little more careful when it comes to the sensitive, emotional side of me. It still dominates my life though.

Sanjana - was actually one of the only ones who bothered to talk to me. She was always very nice and polite, but she was also the most popular girls in school, so I didn't stand a chance.

*This is just a short summary of the girl politics in sixth grade. The most popular girl (believe it or not) was Shristi. Her best friend was Sanjana. So Shristi and Sanjana were the most popular among girls and guys alike and their group included two girls - Nichita and Girija. Vaishnavi was the class prankster so she was well loved too, and the rest of them just follwed behind those five girls like puppies.

Vaishnavi - very boisterous and...picky about people. I was never one for violence, so I never understood the need to shove people out of your way, especially when they already are. She is a generally good person, but like ninety per cent of the girls, not one for 'newbies'.

Apoorva Chitnis - I don't think I ever heard her speak.

Apporva Zarkar - Do I need to explain?

So basically, the options were limited. And as for the boys...lets say that Namdeo class boys were still firm girl-haters and immature brats.

I wasn't the only new kid though. There was Padmanabh and Maloji too. Which made my day so much better.

And so I sat on the only available seat in the class; next to Mihika.

I felt my eyes water up like the leaky taps they are and immediately started rubbing them. Crying would not do, not here, where the girls would scoff and the boys would laugh and the teachers would patronize. God, I pleaded, joining my hands together in prayer, God, please send in a new girl. Please please please.

Of course, the chances of that were pretty slim, seeing that it was already July and we were a month into the academic year. But the situation I was in was so depressing, that I felt it was worth a shot.

And, just as if God had actually heard me, there came my own personal angel.

Ok, so she was the last person you can call an angel; in fact, she was the very incarnation of the devil himself. Cute and small, with a bob of short, wild black hair framing her chubby, dimpled face, an eleven year old girl was being herded inside our class by our class teacher. She looked sullen (the girl I mean), and very very unhappy. Glaring defiantly at everyone, which was more than I could do, she stood in front of the class, next to the teacher.

Madhubala Aunty smiled and her glasses slipped down her nose. "Class, we have an unexpected new girl in our class. I'd like you to meet..."

I didn't hear the rest. Dumbstruck, I rubbed my eyes, to check if they were defected.

God had answered my prayers. On the very day I had wished it, he had granted it.

My mind started working in overdrive. I could not, no, would not let any other girl in our class talk to her. I could not lose this opportunity. I would never forgive myself if she became their friend.

I glared at all the girls in our class, who looked downright bored. I had a claim over her. God had sent her here for me.

~

.

Furious with myself for not having been able to talk to her the previous day, I ran to the classroom, huffing and puffing on the way. I walked into the class, where everybody had already settled in. My eyes automatically skimmed to my usual seat at the back of the room next to Mihika.

.

I froze.

.

My seat was occupied by the new girl.

.

This was not what made me angry, how could she have known it was my seat? No, I was seriously pissed with Mihika for letting her sit there in the first place. I had managed to let someone steal my only potential friend from me. Mihika, without having a need for a new friend, without doing any work, had managed to secure a seat next to the new girl.

.

Life was so unfair!

.

Angry, hurt, and furious with myself, I dragged my feet despairingly towards the other end of the class. A desk over there was empty, but it was cornered by other desks, which were crowded by boys. The nervous, hyperventilating side of me took over. I was going to have to sit all alone next to boys. I had never really been popular among boys. The witty, outgoing girls like Shristi, Sanjana and Vaishnavi were. Not unattractive, shy girls like me.

.

Ameya Gokhale raised his eyebrow as I nervously placed my bag beside the table. He may have just been in sixth grade, but he was still Ameya Gokhale. A smile twitched on his face and he whispered something into Rugved's ear. They both burst out laughing, hitching their thumbs over to my desk. I glared at them, turning a brilliant red, and yanked the chair back for me to sit. Boys.

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"Um....can I sit here?"

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I looked up in wonder to see the new girl standing awkwardly beside the table, chewing her lip and shifting her weight from one foot to another.

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I started vibrating with excitement. I could not let this opportunity go.

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I beamed at her. "Of course you can sit here!"

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She gave me a weird look before sitting beside me. Thrilled to finally have the new girl to myself, I jumped up and down beside her. "Do you need help?"

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She blinked at me. "Uh..."

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"Here," I yanked open her bag before she could stop me and started pulling out her books.

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"What the f...!"

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I ignored the use of bad language (I had, and still do, have a thing against swearing) and started arranging her books in the pigeon hole. "Here is were the science notebooks go....maths is above that and history and geography to the side. The Hindi and Sanskrit book are on that shelf. Give me your textbooks, they have to be kept in that cupboard and we have to take them out whenever we need them. You can keep them in your desk if you like, but I doubt there's enough space. Lunch time is at twelve thirty and we have to go downstairs near the dining area. Do you have an ink pen? Yeah, ball pens are not allowed so you better have one. I have an extra if you need one..."

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I paused to take a breath. The girl stared at me with wide, awe-inspired eyes that told me I can't believe she's being so nice! They were actually wide and horrified and said Who the hell is this freak?

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I beamed at her, hugging her English notebook to my chest. "My name is Namrata, by the way. I just moved too, a month ago from the US..."

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Before I could launch into a history of that (which, trust me, bugged the hell out of her later on), the girl interrupted, "Right, okay."

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"What's your name?" I asked politely.

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The girl leaned back and gave me a good look, as if to see if I was really worth the trouble. What she saw was a short, chubby girl with two geeky ponytails tied as high upon the head as humanly possible, round, out of perspective glasses, big socks drawn up to her knees, her arms cradling an English notebook, a huge, nose-twitchy, stupid smile on her childish face.

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She groaned, as if asking God why he didn't give her anyone 'cooler'. And then, taking a deep breath, as if bracing herself then and there, for the next four years of her life that I have bugged her, she finally seemed to accept that I was not about to let her go. And surely enough, to this day, I haven't. Except now, neither can she (Of course, if you ask her, she'll deny it).

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The girl made a face, a face that all who know her now are so fondly familiar with. The very face that greets you early in the morning, accompanied with an equally earsplitting yell and an authoritative finger that can only come from having a deputy head-girl badge.

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"My name is Aishwarya."