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.
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.
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.
"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.
.
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.
.
"Um....can I sit here?"
.
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.
.
I started vibrating with excitement. I could not let this opportunity go.
.
I beamed at her. "Of course you can sit here!"
.
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?"
.
She blinked at me. "Uh..."
.
"Here," I yanked open her bag before she could stop me and started pulling out her books.
.
"What the f...!"
.
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..."
.
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?
.
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..."
.
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."
.
"What's your name?" I asked politely.
.
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.
.
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).
.
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.
.
"My name is Aishwarya."
Memories
These incidents are very true. Ask my personal witness Ajinkya if you like (though I don't think you'll get much out of him....he'd be laughing too hard).
INCIDENT 1: THE PLASTIC BUNNIES.
There was only so much you could do to a plastic bunny.
I mean, they were cute, normal looking plastic bunnies about the size of a table-tennis ball. They were coated with colourful furs of every baby colour imaginable. Baby pink, baby blue, baby green, baby yellow. Baby, baby, baby. Cute, cute, cute.
I mean seriously, What's the most one could do to them? Rip off their ears? Break off their toes? Peel off their eyes? Drown them in apple sauce??
Think of the absolute worst form of torture options available to an aspiring plastic bunny.
Ajinkya and I though of something ten times worse.
We gathered the plastic bunnies and sat on the cold kitchen floor. We were three, for crying out loud. Plastic bunnies were a popular attraction. The parents were completely unaware of us. From their point of view, we were two toddlers playing bunnies-go-to-Lalaland. What could two toddlers do with a few plastic bunnies?
Never underestimate psychopathic three-year-olds. Especially if their name happens to be Ajinkya Joshi.
Ok, so it wasn't all his fault. For those of you who have met him, I congratulate you for having survived the experience and assume that you know that hanging around Ajinkya for more than half an hour could lead to deep trouble. For those of you who have not met him (thank goodness for you), here's a little insight:
Alright, Ajinkya is my very old childhood friend. I've known him for...thirteen years now I believe? Anyway, it was usually me, Ajinkya, Goonjan (yes, the one and only) and a quiet boy called Aneesh who would wreck havoc everywhere. Ajinkya and I, mainly. Well Tanay wasn't any better....
but that's a different story.
Where was I? Yes, so Ajinkya is what we call a 'special case'. I'm three months older than him (it so totally shows) but mentally, it could be three years or so. He looks at the world, frankly, as one big colossal joke. He laughs at mildly disturbing things or things that aren't even remotely close to jokes. He makes pjs out of pjs. He does crazy, impulsive, exasperating stuff. He tends to annoy the hell out of me and laugh for no reason whatsoever. He used to take two hours to finish his dinner. He broke Goonjan's vase once.
He is Ajinkya. full stop.
At age three, were hadn't yet developed the sense of what was 'good' and what was 'bad'. We only knew the basic facts of life.
Number one, Santa Clause does exist.
Number two, it was universally known and accepted that bunnies are white.
Which is the thought that we shared through mutual understanding and nonsensical baby talk. We agreed that colouring them up in pink, blue and green was totally unacceptable and was a crime that required our attention immediately. It was one of those driving obsessions. I have to find out who she is. I must have that candy bar.
Bunnies have got to be white!
Having thought the problem through, analyzed the situation and assessed our resources, we proceeded in taking the most appropriate course of action. Very solemnly, we carried out the task that could shake the very foundations of the toddler world.
Having been silent for more than fifteen minutes, suspicion began to worm its way into the parental minds. Yet, they didn't bother to check what we were up to.
That is, until Aneesh came home, peeked into the kitchen, and let out a loud, bloodcurdling scream.
Bracing themselves for something unpleasant, they scouted their way towards our little kitchen club. They didn't brace themselves enough. They stood in horror and shocked silence as two wide-eyed toddlers started up at them. Aneesh sobbed violently and was more than ready to murder us. Still screaming, he lunged at me and Ajinkya.
It took a lot of consoling and prying to get Aneesh's little hands off of our necks. Completely harrowed by this unexpected reaction, Ajinkya and I stared at each other in confusion. What had we done wrong? We were only doing our duty by following one of nature's most important laws. Bunnies are white. It wasn't like we poked out their eyes, or broke their toes, or ripped off their ears.
We only peeled of their lush, baby coloured fur. We only clawed at their skin and tore it off their bodies, leaving them plain, plastic and white and also leaving behind a gory mess in the kitchen in their wake.
Sigh...that's what we did, Ajinkya and I.
INCIDENT 2: THE CANDY CANE
Me and Goonjan (I hope you aren't getting tired of her, but she's essentially my bad luck charm) stared in horror at the gigantic plastic candy cane in both our hands. It wasn't necessarily the enormousness of it that had our mouths hanging. No, the fact that half of it was in my hands and the other half in hers was what made our day.
There was a complete silence that followed the cracking that had echoed through the house.
To say that we were warned to be careful with it would be downright lying. We had been screamed at over and over again that we were not to bring harm to it; not a scratch or a stain.
To say we had breached that rule would also be a lie.
Goonjan and I stared at it stupidly, both halves of the hollow candy cane hanging limply in our arms.
It was Ajinkya who broke the silence.
To say that he chuckled would not do justice to the crime he committed. He burst into peals of infectious Ajinkya-snort-laughts that, at the moment, held no charm for anyone. Personally, I didn't see what was so funny in this situation. Bu then, Ajinkya's sense of humour wasn't normal. Well, Ajinkya wasn't normal.
Mihir's reply was more suitable, eloquent and simple. "Shit."
Ameya, who until now was typing on his computer, whirled around to see what we "kids" were up to. He let loose a string of profanities that would have made his great-grandmother role over in her grave. Mihir winced at the cussing and Ajinkya's laugh hitched up and octave.
"What the hell did you do?!?" Ameya screamed. For a sixteen year old boy, his vocabulary was pretty dirty. My sarcasm wanted to answer with a 'gee, I dunno, what does it look like we're doing?' but I don't think that would've boosted our chances of survival.
Goonjan started hyperventilating and muttering to herself. I passed the time glaring venomously at Ajinkya, who was perched on top of the bunk bed, his neck beyond reach of my hands. He grinned at me gleefully. Obviously, he was having fun.
Luckily Aditi hadn't found out yet. I really don't understand her obvious attachment to a plastic candy cane, but Aditi was kind of weird that way.
Just then, right on cue, Aditi walked in. At first, she didn't notice anything amiss. And then she saw the broken candy cane and her brother's purple face.
I swear she was going to pass out. With and agonized scream, she pointed a shaky finger towards us.
"She did it!" Goonjan cried and shoved her half of the candy cane at me.
"I did not!" I cried in outrage. This was so typical Goonjan. Blame it on me. Dang it, why couldn't I have thought of that?
"Namrata?" Aditi cried.
"I didn't!" I protested, pointing at Goonjan, "She's framing me!"
"Yeah right!"
"Seriously! I was holding your candy cane and she grabbed it out of my hands. That's how it broke. Back me up you guys."
Mihir remained stubbornly silent. Ajinkya snorted with laughter. It was obviously not the most convincing reply in the world. I threw them another I'm-gonna-kill-you look.
"Sure Namrata," Goonjan scoffed, "Stop lying. I had the candy cane in my hands. You pulled it out."
"What the hell?!?"
"It's true." Goonjan turned her wide Bambi eyes on Aditi. "I would never break your stuff. Namrata's the head of that department."
Rats. She was good. Nobody could deny that I was definitely the clumsiest one in the room. My record for breaking stuff surpassed all. I glared at Goonjan with obvious hatred. That girl really could lie.
Aditi buried her face in her hands and sank to the ground. Her shoulders were heaving from crying.
Great. Now look what you did. I glared silently at Goonjan.
She glared back. Look what I did?!? YOU'RE the one who broke it.
Har har. I think Pinocchio's nose grew a wee bit longer.
Goonjan threw me a withering look. Save it for someone who'd believe you.
Some 'best friend'.
Aditi's red face emerged from her hands. "You're going to have to fix it. I don't care how, but I want it in one piece by today before you leave."
We started to protest but fell cold when we saw Ameya's murderous glare. Holding Aditi's shoulders, he promptly exited the room with her.
Ajinkya howled with laughter. I saw Mihir's lips twitch upward in a smile. Oh very funny, I wanted to snap at him.
Goonjan pouted. "Great. Just great. How are we going to fix a stupid plastic candy cane."
I shrugged. "What's the deal with it anyway? I mean, I bet you get one of these in Wall mart."
"Her grandmother gave it to her or something." Mihir replied. He was smart for a guy who was two years younger than me.
I snorted. "Who gives their grandchild a giant toy candy cane?"
"Aditi's grandmother." Ajinkya grinned and then burst into laughter. Smart Ajinkya, very smart.
"So how do we fix this?" I sighed. Searching for an idea, I sat down next to Goonjan and we sighed in synchronization. We were on the same side. Temporarily. As my eyes roved Ameya's study desk, they fell on a bottle of Elmer's.
I have an unwavering faith in Elmer's. Ever since it fixed my china tea pot (it didn't even leak anymore) I have used it for all material things I break. Of course, toy candy canes were pretty heavy, but given time, I was sure it would stay. Unless you played Star Wars with it or something.
We sat there, Goonjan and I, trying to piece it back together. Fitting it again was no problem. The problem was keeping it that way until the glue set. Of course, being the two of us, we tried various different ways of holding it together but none of them were that successful.
Finally we gave up.
Goonjan looked at me. I looked at Goonjan.
"You thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Pretty much, yeah."
Mihir's brow furrowed. "What are you thinking?"
I grabbed my sweater as Goonjan slipped into her winter coat. "Methinks it's time for a quick getaway."
Luckily, we'd be on the next continent by the time Aditi was back.
INCIDENT 3: WITCHES AND PIGS
When I was eight years old, I was a wimp.
I mean completely. Those who know me now know that I'm not that bad a coward. Like I don't get freaked out by the dark. Bugs are creepy, but I can handle them (better than Nidhi anyway). Scary movies don't have me crying at night. I might get twitchy, but I definitely sleep in my own room.
But at age eight...I was a different person.
It was Ajinkya and me at his grandmother's house. We were playing with his toy animals, well, at least that's what we were doing. Then he started telling me a story.
Believe me, this story haunted me for the next three months.
I should not have listened to it in the first place. It was a scary story that I snort at now, but back then, when my imagination ran wild, I was a real believer in those crappy stories. And the fact that for once in his life, Ajinkya looked dead serious when he told it, didn't help either.
So anyway, it was broad daylight while he narrated the story but it still creeped me out.
"And then the campers came back and saw the tent shaking. And when they went inside, they saw nothing but the inside of the camp covered in blood and heard Blair Witch laughing in the night."
I shivered. '...covered in blood.' The phrase played around in my head.
Ajinkya watched me steadily, assessing my reaction. I looked away out the window. It was dull and rainy and grey outside. It kinda creeped me out. What if Blair witch came right now in this room....
Stop it Namrata. I scolded myself. There were no such things as witches.
Ajinkya leaned forward, smirking. "Scared?"
I glared hatefully at him. "No."
He leaned back, still smirking. I ignored him and returned to our toys, arranging them around me.
"Did you like the story?"
I shrugged and changed the topic. "Help me put them up here will you?"
He immediately got to his knees, obviously disappointed at my lack of reaction. We worked silently, me dwelling on the story he had told me. '...covered in blood.' I shook my head. Cut it out I told myself.
I paused and frowned. Where was the pig? I had kept it here just a minute ago...
"Where's the pig?"
Ajinkya's head snapped up and he frowned. "You can't find the pig...?"
"It was here when we were playing. Before you told me the story..." I shivered again. Ajinkya didn't notice, but instead he sprawled out on the ground to look under the bed. I overturned the pillows to check where it was. Nope.
After searching the whole room, we returned back to the bed with empty hands. I couldn't think where the pig could possibly have gone. I was positive that I had kept it right in that corner...
"Where did it go?"
It was more of a rhetorical question, but Ajinkya wasn't one for brains. His head snapped up and a weird look crossed his face.
"What?" I asked wearily.
"Could it be...?" He muttered softly to himself. Then he shook his head.
"What?" I repeated.
He looked past me out the window, his eyes unfocused and almost anxious. I waited impatiently for him to explain. Slowly, he turned his head towards me and looked into my eyes.
"Do you think....she took it?"
"Who took it?" I asked nervously.
His eyes never left mine and I could hear the tremor in his voice. "Blair Witch."
The name did wonders to me. I suddenly felt clammy and my heart raced with fear. "Don't be stupid."
He looked dead serious. "I'm not kidding."
I got up angrily and walked to sit by the window. The view outside didn't help much. Like I said, it was grayish outside, the second best setting for a scary story. I imagined her, with her blood-red eyes and evil smile, sitting on her broom. I imagined her breathing down my neck and snatching it....the toy pig.
The absurdity of the fact that the object in question that was missing was a toy pig snapped me out of my dream world. I mean, of all things sacred, why would Blair Witch steal a toy pig??
I realised that Ajinkya was watching me carefully. I turned around and glared at him.
Suddenly, he jumped to his feet and let out a soft scream.
I whirled around, jumping to my feet as well. Nothing moved. I put a hand to my chest. My heart was beating wildly.
Ajinkya's eyes were wide. "I saw her. Right behind you. She was there."
"She did not steal the pig!" I squealed. But I could hear the doubt heavy in my own voice.
He was practically whispering. "Then where did it go Namrata?"
I shivered at the eeriness. He had a point. What other explanation could there be for the missing pig...? I stepped forward, squinting to the rain outside. Was that black dot in the distance a bird? Or could it be...?
I swear I could hear the evil laughter.
"Boo."
Suddenly, I felt a hands grab my shoulder.
I swear I must have broken all the windows in the house with that single, earsplitting scream. I whipped around, my heart nearly exploding form the sudden heart attack.
It took me a moment to focus on what was happening. When I did, I saw Ajinkya's grandmother staring at me from the doorway and Ajinkya lying on the bed, howling with laughter.
Ajinkya's grandmother looked at my disheveled self in worry. "What happened honey?"
"Toy...pig....lost...witch stole it..." I tried to breath. Ajinkya's laughter rang in my ear.
His grandmother stared at me. "Wha-at?"
Ajinkya got up then, tears streaming from his eyes. "She doesn't know what she's saying."
I glared at him in hysteria. "Then where's the pig? It must have been her, how else can you explain the pig...!"
"The pig is with me!"
Ajinkya drew his hand out from under him. I stepped forward in disbelief. He uncurled his fist, fighting off a grin. There, lying perfectly safe in his clammy hands was the toy pig.
"I couldn't help myself. You totally fell for it, Namrata!"
(I never quite forgave him for that one. I took me three months to be able to go into a dark room all by myself.)
INCIDENT 4: A DAY AT TANAY'S (This one doesn't have Ajinkya in it but an equally annoying friend of mine has conveniently filled in his place.)
Tanay was really short.
Though he was a year older than me, he was about a head shorter. Kind of chubby, fair, with glasses, but not the geeky type. In fact, I'd consider him the most wanted guy in the class. Suave, smooth and funny. And in my case, extremely annoying. Ok, I don't know about the rest of the girls, but I definitely didn't fall for his charms. Sure, I enjoyed his company but some of his stupid jokes had me raising my eyebrow.
His sister Pooja was witty, outgoing and ambitious. She was about...five years older than me? Or maybe six. I don't know. She was pretty short too, and fair. And had glasses. But she was pretty in a kind of soft way.
A day in their house was like a live T.V. show. Fun, crazy and had you tangled up in one of Tanay's homemade land mines.
Going to the park with Tanay was risky business. He was the world's biggest prat; showing off whenever he got a chance. We started playing basketball (he showed off by shooting a three-pointer backwards with his eyes closed) and ended up playing catch with his tennis ball. Actually, it ended up with me playing fetch.
"Aaaand this is the winning ball....if she catches it, India is sure to win the match...."
That's Tanay's commentary in the background. Arms hanging uselessly at my sides, I gawked and squinted up at the tiny ball that flew ten storeys high above my head. This could take some time to return to Earth.
"Will she take the wicket? Will India win the match?!?"
It was pretty high up, as you might have guessed, and the fact that it was speeding very rapidly towards me didn't help much. Catching it would ensure that it burned a hole right through my hands. The sun glinted in my eyes, blinding me momentarily.
"And oh.....India lost. Pity."
I glared at him with pure hatred. Show off.
I grit my teeth. Here we go with the Australian accent again.
"As we quietly aproach a thicket, we happen to glimpse something in the distance. And oh! A rare species of large South Asian mud worm. Watch it revel in its naturaly muddy habitat. Smell it? Ah...the horrific smell of these mud worms are it's killer advantage. Oh! It's moving now. See the way it's large, shallow eyes seem to pierce us. If looks could kill! What's that noise? It snorting! What a fascinating sound! Is it calling to it's mate...? Oh dear, it has seen us! It's coming! Run for your lives people...!"
Oh you better run Tanay.
(I'm gonna add more you know. We did lots of crazy, crazy stuff)
INCIDENT 1: THE PLASTIC BUNNIES.
There was only so much you could do to a plastic bunny.
I mean, they were cute, normal looking plastic bunnies about the size of a table-tennis ball. They were coated with colourful furs of every baby colour imaginable. Baby pink, baby blue, baby green, baby yellow. Baby, baby, baby. Cute, cute, cute.
I mean seriously, What's the most one could do to them? Rip off their ears? Break off their toes? Peel off their eyes? Drown them in apple sauce??
Think of the absolute worst form of torture options available to an aspiring plastic bunny.
Ajinkya and I though of something ten times worse.
We gathered the plastic bunnies and sat on the cold kitchen floor. We were three, for crying out loud. Plastic bunnies were a popular attraction. The parents were completely unaware of us. From their point of view, we were two toddlers playing bunnies-go-to-Lalaland. What could two toddlers do with a few plastic bunnies?
Never underestimate psychopathic three-year-olds. Especially if their name happens to be Ajinkya Joshi.
Ok, so it wasn't all his fault. For those of you who have met him, I congratulate you for having survived the experience and assume that you know that hanging around Ajinkya for more than half an hour could lead to deep trouble. For those of you who have not met him (thank goodness for you), here's a little insight:
Alright, Ajinkya is my very old childhood friend. I've known him for...thirteen years now I believe? Anyway, it was usually me, Ajinkya, Goonjan (yes, the one and only) and a quiet boy called Aneesh who would wreck havoc everywhere. Ajinkya and I, mainly. Well Tanay wasn't any better....
but that's a different story.
Where was I? Yes, so Ajinkya is what we call a 'special case'. I'm three months older than him (it so totally shows) but mentally, it could be three years or so. He looks at the world, frankly, as one big colossal joke. He laughs at mildly disturbing things or things that aren't even remotely close to jokes. He makes pjs out of pjs. He does crazy, impulsive, exasperating stuff. He tends to annoy the hell out of me and laugh for no reason whatsoever. He used to take two hours to finish his dinner. He broke Goonjan's vase once.
He is Ajinkya. full stop.
At age three, were hadn't yet developed the sense of what was 'good' and what was 'bad'. We only knew the basic facts of life.
Number one, Santa Clause does exist.
Number two, it was universally known and accepted that bunnies are white.
Which is the thought that we shared through mutual understanding and nonsensical baby talk. We agreed that colouring them up in pink, blue and green was totally unacceptable and was a crime that required our attention immediately. It was one of those driving obsessions. I have to find out who she is. I must have that candy bar.
Bunnies have got to be white!
Having thought the problem through, analyzed the situation and assessed our resources, we proceeded in taking the most appropriate course of action. Very solemnly, we carried out the task that could shake the very foundations of the toddler world.
~
Having been silent for more than fifteen minutes, suspicion began to worm its way into the parental minds. Yet, they didn't bother to check what we were up to.
That is, until Aneesh came home, peeked into the kitchen, and let out a loud, bloodcurdling scream.
Bracing themselves for something unpleasant, they scouted their way towards our little kitchen club. They didn't brace themselves enough. They stood in horror and shocked silence as two wide-eyed toddlers started up at them. Aneesh sobbed violently and was more than ready to murder us. Still screaming, he lunged at me and Ajinkya.
It took a lot of consoling and prying to get Aneesh's little hands off of our necks. Completely harrowed by this unexpected reaction, Ajinkya and I stared at each other in confusion. What had we done wrong? We were only doing our duty by following one of nature's most important laws. Bunnies are white. It wasn't like we poked out their eyes, or broke their toes, or ripped off their ears.
We only peeled of their lush, baby coloured fur. We only clawed at their skin and tore it off their bodies, leaving them plain, plastic and white and also leaving behind a gory mess in the kitchen in their wake.
Sigh...that's what we did, Ajinkya and I.
INCIDENT 2: THE CANDY CANE
Me and Goonjan (I hope you aren't getting tired of her, but she's essentially my bad luck charm) stared in horror at the gigantic plastic candy cane in both our hands. It wasn't necessarily the enormousness of it that had our mouths hanging. No, the fact that half of it was in my hands and the other half in hers was what made our day.
There was a complete silence that followed the cracking that had echoed through the house.
To say that we were warned to be careful with it would be downright lying. We had been screamed at over and over again that we were not to bring harm to it; not a scratch or a stain.
To say we had breached that rule would also be a lie.
Goonjan and I stared at it stupidly, both halves of the hollow candy cane hanging limply in our arms.
It was Ajinkya who broke the silence.
To say that he chuckled would not do justice to the crime he committed. He burst into peals of infectious Ajinkya-snort-laughts that, at the moment, held no charm for anyone. Personally, I didn't see what was so funny in this situation. Bu then, Ajinkya's sense of humour wasn't normal. Well, Ajinkya wasn't normal.
Mihir's reply was more suitable, eloquent and simple. "Shit."
Ameya, who until now was typing on his computer, whirled around to see what we "kids" were up to. He let loose a string of profanities that would have made his great-grandmother role over in her grave. Mihir winced at the cussing and Ajinkya's laugh hitched up and octave.
"What the hell did you do?!?" Ameya screamed. For a sixteen year old boy, his vocabulary was pretty dirty. My sarcasm wanted to answer with a 'gee, I dunno, what does it look like we're doing?' but I don't think that would've boosted our chances of survival.
Goonjan started hyperventilating and muttering to herself. I passed the time glaring venomously at Ajinkya, who was perched on top of the bunk bed, his neck beyond reach of my hands. He grinned at me gleefully. Obviously, he was having fun.
Luckily Aditi hadn't found out yet. I really don't understand her obvious attachment to a plastic candy cane, but Aditi was kind of weird that way.
Just then, right on cue, Aditi walked in. At first, she didn't notice anything amiss. And then she saw the broken candy cane and her brother's purple face.
I swear she was going to pass out. With and agonized scream, she pointed a shaky finger towards us.
"She did it!" Goonjan cried and shoved her half of the candy cane at me.
"I did not!" I cried in outrage. This was so typical Goonjan. Blame it on me. Dang it, why couldn't I have thought of that?
"Namrata?" Aditi cried.
"I didn't!" I protested, pointing at Goonjan, "She's framing me!"
"Yeah right!"
"Seriously! I was holding your candy cane and she grabbed it out of my hands. That's how it broke. Back me up you guys."
Mihir remained stubbornly silent. Ajinkya snorted with laughter. It was obviously not the most convincing reply in the world. I threw them another I'm-gonna-kill-you look.
"Sure Namrata," Goonjan scoffed, "Stop lying. I had the candy cane in my hands. You pulled it out."
"What the hell?!?"
"It's true." Goonjan turned her wide Bambi eyes on Aditi. "I would never break your stuff. Namrata's the head of that department."
Rats. She was good. Nobody could deny that I was definitely the clumsiest one in the room. My record for breaking stuff surpassed all. I glared at Goonjan with obvious hatred. That girl really could lie.
Aditi buried her face in her hands and sank to the ground. Her shoulders were heaving from crying.
Great. Now look what you did. I glared silently at Goonjan.
She glared back. Look what I did?!? YOU'RE the one who broke it.
Har har. I think Pinocchio's nose grew a wee bit longer.
Goonjan threw me a withering look. Save it for someone who'd believe you.
Some 'best friend'.
Aditi's red face emerged from her hands. "You're going to have to fix it. I don't care how, but I want it in one piece by today before you leave."
We started to protest but fell cold when we saw Ameya's murderous glare. Holding Aditi's shoulders, he promptly exited the room with her.
Ajinkya howled with laughter. I saw Mihir's lips twitch upward in a smile. Oh very funny, I wanted to snap at him.
Goonjan pouted. "Great. Just great. How are we going to fix a stupid plastic candy cane."
I shrugged. "What's the deal with it anyway? I mean, I bet you get one of these in Wall mart."
"Her grandmother gave it to her or something." Mihir replied. He was smart for a guy who was two years younger than me.
I snorted. "Who gives their grandchild a giant toy candy cane?"
"Aditi's grandmother." Ajinkya grinned and then burst into laughter. Smart Ajinkya, very smart.
"So how do we fix this?" I sighed. Searching for an idea, I sat down next to Goonjan and we sighed in synchronization. We were on the same side. Temporarily. As my eyes roved Ameya's study desk, they fell on a bottle of Elmer's.
I have an unwavering faith in Elmer's. Ever since it fixed my china tea pot (it didn't even leak anymore) I have used it for all material things I break. Of course, toy candy canes were pretty heavy, but given time, I was sure it would stay. Unless you played Star Wars with it or something.
We sat there, Goonjan and I, trying to piece it back together. Fitting it again was no problem. The problem was keeping it that way until the glue set. Of course, being the two of us, we tried various different ways of holding it together but none of them were that successful.
Finally we gave up.
Goonjan looked at me. I looked at Goonjan.
"You thinking what I'm thinking?"
"Pretty much, yeah."
Mihir's brow furrowed. "What are you thinking?"
I grabbed my sweater as Goonjan slipped into her winter coat. "Methinks it's time for a quick getaway."
Luckily, we'd be on the next continent by the time Aditi was back.
INCIDENT 3: WITCHES AND PIGS
When I was eight years old, I was a wimp.
I mean completely. Those who know me now know that I'm not that bad a coward. Like I don't get freaked out by the dark. Bugs are creepy, but I can handle them (better than Nidhi anyway). Scary movies don't have me crying at night. I might get twitchy, but I definitely sleep in my own room.
But at age eight...I was a different person.
It was Ajinkya and me at his grandmother's house. We were playing with his toy animals, well, at least that's what we were doing. Then he started telling me a story.
Believe me, this story haunted me for the next three months.
I should not have listened to it in the first place. It was a scary story that I snort at now, but back then, when my imagination ran wild, I was a real believer in those crappy stories. And the fact that for once in his life, Ajinkya looked dead serious when he told it, didn't help either.
So anyway, it was broad daylight while he narrated the story but it still creeped me out.
"And then the campers came back and saw the tent shaking. And when they went inside, they saw nothing but the inside of the camp covered in blood and heard Blair Witch laughing in the night."
I shivered. '...covered in blood.' The phrase played around in my head.
Ajinkya watched me steadily, assessing my reaction. I looked away out the window. It was dull and rainy and grey outside. It kinda creeped me out. What if Blair witch came right now in this room....
Stop it Namrata. I scolded myself. There were no such things as witches.
Ajinkya leaned forward, smirking. "Scared?"
I glared hatefully at him. "No."
He leaned back, still smirking. I ignored him and returned to our toys, arranging them around me.
"Did you like the story?"
I shrugged and changed the topic. "Help me put them up here will you?"
He immediately got to his knees, obviously disappointed at my lack of reaction. We worked silently, me dwelling on the story he had told me. '...covered in blood.' I shook my head. Cut it out I told myself.
I paused and frowned. Where was the pig? I had kept it here just a minute ago...
"Where's the pig?"
Ajinkya's head snapped up and he frowned. "You can't find the pig...?"
"It was here when we were playing. Before you told me the story..." I shivered again. Ajinkya didn't notice, but instead he sprawled out on the ground to look under the bed. I overturned the pillows to check where it was. Nope.
After searching the whole room, we returned back to the bed with empty hands. I couldn't think where the pig could possibly have gone. I was positive that I had kept it right in that corner...
"Where did it go?"
It was more of a rhetorical question, but Ajinkya wasn't one for brains. His head snapped up and a weird look crossed his face.
"What?" I asked wearily.
"Could it be...?" He muttered softly to himself. Then he shook his head.
"What?" I repeated.
He looked past me out the window, his eyes unfocused and almost anxious. I waited impatiently for him to explain. Slowly, he turned his head towards me and looked into my eyes.
"Do you think....she took it?"
"Who took it?" I asked nervously.
His eyes never left mine and I could hear the tremor in his voice. "Blair Witch."
The name did wonders to me. I suddenly felt clammy and my heart raced with fear. "Don't be stupid."
He looked dead serious. "I'm not kidding."
I got up angrily and walked to sit by the window. The view outside didn't help much. Like I said, it was grayish outside, the second best setting for a scary story. I imagined her, with her blood-red eyes and evil smile, sitting on her broom. I imagined her breathing down my neck and snatching it....the toy pig.
The absurdity of the fact that the object in question that was missing was a toy pig snapped me out of my dream world. I mean, of all things sacred, why would Blair Witch steal a toy pig??
I realised that Ajinkya was watching me carefully. I turned around and glared at him.
Suddenly, he jumped to his feet and let out a soft scream.
I whirled around, jumping to my feet as well. Nothing moved. I put a hand to my chest. My heart was beating wildly.
Ajinkya's eyes were wide. "I saw her. Right behind you. She was there."
"She did not steal the pig!" I squealed. But I could hear the doubt heavy in my own voice.
He was practically whispering. "Then where did it go Namrata?"
I shivered at the eeriness. He had a point. What other explanation could there be for the missing pig...? I stepped forward, squinting to the rain outside. Was that black dot in the distance a bird? Or could it be...?
I swear I could hear the evil laughter.
"Boo."
Suddenly, I felt a hands grab my shoulder.
I swear I must have broken all the windows in the house with that single, earsplitting scream. I whipped around, my heart nearly exploding form the sudden heart attack.
It took me a moment to focus on what was happening. When I did, I saw Ajinkya's grandmother staring at me from the doorway and Ajinkya lying on the bed, howling with laughter.
Ajinkya's grandmother looked at my disheveled self in worry. "What happened honey?"
"Toy...pig....lost...witch stole it..." I tried to breath. Ajinkya's laughter rang in my ear.
His grandmother stared at me. "Wha-at?"
Ajinkya got up then, tears streaming from his eyes. "She doesn't know what she's saying."
I glared at him in hysteria. "Then where's the pig? It must have been her, how else can you explain the pig...!"
"The pig is with me!"
Ajinkya drew his hand out from under him. I stepped forward in disbelief. He uncurled his fist, fighting off a grin. There, lying perfectly safe in his clammy hands was the toy pig.
"I couldn't help myself. You totally fell for it, Namrata!"
(I never quite forgave him for that one. I took me three months to be able to go into a dark room all by myself.)
INCIDENT 4: A DAY AT TANAY'S (This one doesn't have Ajinkya in it but an equally annoying friend of mine has conveniently filled in his place.)
Tanay was really short.
Though he was a year older than me, he was about a head shorter. Kind of chubby, fair, with glasses, but not the geeky type. In fact, I'd consider him the most wanted guy in the class. Suave, smooth and funny. And in my case, extremely annoying. Ok, I don't know about the rest of the girls, but I definitely didn't fall for his charms. Sure, I enjoyed his company but some of his stupid jokes had me raising my eyebrow.
His sister Pooja was witty, outgoing and ambitious. She was about...five years older than me? Or maybe six. I don't know. She was pretty short too, and fair. And had glasses. But she was pretty in a kind of soft way.
A day in their house was like a live T.V. show. Fun, crazy and had you tangled up in one of Tanay's homemade land mines.
Going to the park with Tanay was risky business. He was the world's biggest prat; showing off whenever he got a chance. We started playing basketball (he showed off by shooting a three-pointer backwards with his eyes closed) and ended up playing catch with his tennis ball. Actually, it ended up with me playing fetch.
"Aaaand this is the winning ball....if she catches it, India is sure to win the match...."
That's Tanay's commentary in the background. Arms hanging uselessly at my sides, I gawked and squinted up at the tiny ball that flew ten storeys high above my head. This could take some time to return to Earth.
"Will she take the wicket? Will India win the match?!?"
It was pretty high up, as you might have guessed, and the fact that it was speeding very rapidly towards me didn't help much. Catching it would ensure that it burned a hole right through my hands. The sun glinted in my eyes, blinding me momentarily.
"And oh.....India lost. Pity."
I glared at him with pure hatred. Show off.
~
I sat corss-legged on Pooja's bed, reading the Half Blood Prince. Pooja, to my surprise, wasn't monitoring us in her room but had left Tanay and me to behave. I guess she trusted that I would be able to control her younger brother.
Speaking of which, Tanay was curled up in the bean bag chair next to the bed, fiddling with his camera. He was obviously very bored and pretty annoyed with me, but he didn't show it.
I turned the page, too lost in my world to notice him. Why did James and Lily have to die? It would've been cool if they had actually escaped. Naw, them dead just...fits. But then...
I frowned. "Hey Tanay, you've read Harry Potter right?"
"Yeah." He pressed something on his camera and it clicked.
"You know how Voldemort came to kill the Potters right? So then, why didn't they just diapparate with Harry? isn't that like possible?"
"Uh huh...and how do you feel about that?"
My eyes still glued to the book, I frowned at the question. "How do I feel about that? Nothing in particular of course."
"And how do you feel about that?" came his gentle, understanding voice.
Huh?
My head snapped up to see what he was doing and I groaned in frustration. He had held his camera to his mouth like a mike, his face the picture of innocence and concern. I saw the gleam in his eyes.
"Buzz off..." I rolled my eyes and went back to reading.
There was silence. And then another click.
"Here we are, in the wild jungles of Pooja's bedroom. It's a crazy place out here, one should be very careful indeed..."
I grit my teeth. Here we go with the Australian accent again.
"As we quietly aproach a thicket, we happen to glimpse something in the distance. And oh! A rare species of large South Asian mud worm. Watch it revel in its naturaly muddy habitat. Smell it? Ah...the horrific smell of these mud worms are it's killer advantage. Oh! It's moving now. See the way it's large, shallow eyes seem to pierce us. If looks could kill! What's that noise? It snorting! What a fascinating sound! Is it calling to it's mate...? Oh dear, it has seen us! It's coming! Run for your lives people...!"
Oh you better run Tanay.
~
"Tanay, don't you have homework?"
That was Pooja. She said it loud enough for her mom to hear. She liked getting Tanay in trouble. I don't blame her really. At the moment, we were sitting on the couch, eating pizza. Tanay was literally buried behind his mom's cell, playing some stupid game on it. Pooja threw another glare at him.
"Don't you have homework?"
"I do," came his muffled reply.
"So shouldn't you be doing it?" Pooja rolled her eyes. You have to ask Tanay direct questions, or else you can't expect a complete answer.
"I am doing it."
I snorted. Wonder how he's going to worm his way out of this one.
Tanay's mom didn't even look up. "Tanay, do your homework."
"What homework does he have?" I asked.
"Math."
"Tanay!" Pooja cried in exasperation.
"I'm doing it!" came his reply.
"Right, because mom's cellular poker game is a part of your Math ciriculum." Pooja said sarcastically. I snorted.
Tanay grinned and winked. "Chapter 8. Statistics."
"Tanay," his mom sighed, "Go do your homework."
Tanay, Tanay, Tanay. What do we do with you?
~
"You done yet?"
I was on the computer while Tanay was sprawled on the gorund doing his homework.
"I'm doing Maths," came his muffled reply.
"Hurry up. What question are you on?"
"17," He grinned.
"How many questions are there?" I sighed wearily. Hang out with Tanay, and you realise that question like these are vital.
"75," he laughed. I groaned and started vibrating my leg.
"That'll take ages!" I sighed, "They give you a lot of homework huh?"
"Yeah...I have to stay uptil two at night sometimes."
I felt sorry for him. "Poor you."
He sighed dramatically and put up and expression of woe. "I know. Life is so demanding."
"I understand. You must be tired. It'll take some time huh?"
"Naw, I'll finish in ten minutes."
I looked at him skeptically. "58 questions in ten minutes?"
"We only have to do till question 50."
I glanced at him with irritation as he grinned cheekily. There was nothing I could prove that he had done to annoy me, but that was Tanay's way of doing it. "Anything else you'd like to tell me before I start sympathizing with you again?"
"Not really."
I glared at him silently. Never make the mistake of sympathizing with Tanay unless you have proof of his statements.
"So how long will you take?"
"Hmmm...ten minutes."
"Ten minutes for 33 questions?"
He started laughing. "We only have to do the odd numbered ones."
~
It was a nice dream. I was floating in the clouds, jumping here and there, the warm sun lighting my skin. I sighed and turned my face up to the sky. It was a clear blue sky, birds twittered and squirrells chirped. A nice, normal dream. Pleasant.
I pranced along the biscuit road to the cand house at the far end. It was a pleasant walk. I carefully pushed open the cookie door and crumbles fell to the gorund. A nice pleasant smell wafted to my nose. The room was dimly lit, but I could see from the light of the fireplace, where a warm fire crackled.
I closed my eyes and took it all in.
"Ahoy matie. Arouse from slumber or I'll chop off your neck!"
My eyes flew open. I screamed.
In front of me was a wild looking pirate. He was standing over me, his feet planted on either side, trapping me in bed. He had a large black hat that covered half his face, an eyepatch and a golden tooth glittered at my face. Shaking, I crossed my eyes to look at my nose, where a gleaming sword point touched it lgihtly.
The pirate growled. "Get up, the waves are a calling! We have raided your maiden and the loot has been bagged! Fight for your honour, you swag!"
I gaped at him. He fiddled with something at his utility belt, cursing slightly. Finally, he drew out another flimsy plastic sword and tossed it to me. I fumbed with it and then caught it in my shaking hands.
I stared at him. "Tanay...?"
"I am not Tanay, but Captain Gold Beard, and I challenge you to a dule!" He roared.
I groaned, throwing the sword at him and buried my face in my pillow. "Go away Tanay."
I felt something poke my back. "Get up you coward, and fight like a man!"
Candy house, candy house, candy house...I kept chanting to myself. Tanay's plastic sword poked me harder. "Get up I say!"
Blue skies, green trees, blue birds, red pirates...NO....parrots....red parrots...
"Awaken, scurvy scallawag, and cross sowrds with me! Avenge thy crewmates!"
I knew he was obsessed with pirates. But this was complete madness.
There was a russling over me and then I heard his voice near my ear. "Plus, mom has made pancakes."
Then, giggling madly, he jumped off my bed and ran noisliy down the stairs.
With a groan, I threw my pillow at the wall. I couldn't wake up the normal way. I don't get an alarm clock or a rooster to wake me up. No, I get a stupid plastic sword in my face.
Well, what did I expect really? This was Tanay's house after all.
(I'm gonna add more you know. We did lots of crazy, crazy stuff)
Tongs.....or Forks?
Warning: do NOT read if you are in a good, carefree mood and want to stay that way.
Life. Such a small word for such a vast topic. What is life? What do we do in life? Whatever we do, why do we do it? We live, eat, drink, sleep, breathe, watch TV, laugh, cry, watch some more TV, read books, talk....there are lots of things we do. But some of them are necessities. Some are not.
Is our life predestined? Whatever we do, do we do it from our own personal choice? Or has it been written, somewhere, in God's personal logbook?
If we assume that our choices are our own, we come to a problem. A double branched problem. A pair of tongs, you may call it. We come to a path in our relatively smooth road of life, that bifurcates into two ways. Either way we look, we see clear horizons. We see where it's headed, but we don't know where it will end. What may start out as a patch of flowers, may end up with barren land. Two paths, two alternate futures.
Which one?
I, along with all the people of my age, all my friends, have unknowingly reached this division of roads. Some of them just keep driving, wherever their horses take them, not really thinking about it. Their path is easy, simple. They see only what they want to see, not really caring. Life hasn't changed for them. Blind folded. But I can see it, this division. The two ways to go.
And then I stopped. Stopped right there in the middle of the path, my past looming behind me, forever lost, never to be tread on again. And in front of me lay two futures.
Both futures have ups and downs, twists and turns.
This is the reality I, and many people face today. On one hand, you have school. Studies, books, reading, getting good marks, it's all in the same box. On the other hand, you have what I call, the j.o.l.s. Joys-of-life. In cruel, hard, opposing perspective words- distractions.
I look to my right (does the fact that it's on my right symbolise anything?) and see a road full of bumps. An unpleasant road, but far out I see a very promising future. Golden skies, green fields. Till the horizon.
This is the path which our parents prefer, want us to take. It is the path of hard work, meticulous studies, tough breaks and total dedication. It is a life that can last four, eight, maybe ten years. But the rest of the fifty that will come as the fruits of success will be far more rewarding.
I look to my left, and see a bright, sunny path. Small, inconspicuous bumps. But as I look further, I see more. A rough, unbalanced life. Difficult times lie ahead, the road is not easy, and there is no going back. The final destination is unpredictable and not very promising for some, yet extremely so for another. But yet, it is full of small things, happy moments, beautiful memories and plenty of laughs.
Is it worth it?
Which one is?
I stood, struggling with indecision, as the rest of the people pause, only for a flick of second, maybe in surprise, and then follow their chosen roads with nonchalant shrugs. I admire those who travel to my right, while I envy the influx on my left. Once here once there, my hesitant steps bring me closer and closer to the division, because no matter how much I try to stall, time always goes on and someday, I will have to choose.
That time is coming close.
I weigh my options. On one hand, I have the dedicated path. The path which I, and my parents who insist I follow the right, know I am capable of doing. Half the people who travel on my left, know they cannot go to their right, no matter how much they want to. They were not born to pass the test to follow it, or else they grew up having made to believe so.
But I do have that capability, and I can go to my right. I want to go there, to be able to deserve the promising fruits, to feel good about myself. Because I know if I go to my left, I will regret. And I would never be able to live with the regret of knowing that I could have gone there, done so much better, stretched my capabilites to the limit, been so much more respected by others and myself, if I had gone on my right. Simple enough.
But can I do it?
Can I give up all the wonderful things of life, the small joys or "distractions" that are a part of everybody's teenage days? Do I have the will, focus and toughness to be able to steer myself? Because I know I will never regret doing that, going on my right. I will never regret it. And it is only for a few years. Only a few hard years, and then I can enjoy as many joys of life as possible.
But I want to enjoy now, while I still can. I want to be able to grow up and live with the sweet memories of today.
So to answer the previous asked question: Am I strong enough to give it all up?
No, I'm not.
I realise what my problem is.
The path to my right is my destiny. The path to my left is my regret.
Yet, the desire for both is equal.
I look straight ahead, and notice for the first time, a thin, faint line. A small dusty path. I had not noticed before. As I stare at it, it becomes relatively clear, and I realise then, what I had been blind to. To my amazement, there are a few people, so strong, so focused who walk straight ahead, onto that thin strand in the middle.
The middle option. The essence of both. The balance.
I watch, as these strong minded people step up to the base, their arms outstretched on either side of them. They wobble slightly, and then regain lost balance. And slowly, steadily, with practice, they step forward. And then they are gone, amongst the hazy mist of indecision and unknown, unpredictable choices, that obscures the future from us, watchers.
The middle path, no, the middle rope, the balance. Because that's what it is, a tightrope. A think rod in the middle, too small for stopping, to risky for the uncertain. As it reaches towards the horizon, I see the people look around, while enjoying the beauty on the left, they share the difficulty of the people on the right. Burden of both, benefits of both. But only half of each. An equal share.
Is it possible that the tongs could actually be...a fork?
A balance, but a very delicate one. One that can topple you over with the slightest push, with the slightest slip of the foot, or concentration. Yes, I watch in pain and horror, as a few followers of the rope start to loose footing, fumble with the set rhythm, and fall. Simply fall. Most do not get up, but those who do, don't try to get back on.
Yet, I can see the joys of following it. I could walk down the middle, where I can see both paths. Enjoy both dreams. Live both lives. What I had always wanted, I was given the chance to have. And I know, the price is hard, and it would be tremendously difficult.
But then I realise that I still might regret not going completely on my right, where I could have achieved the greatest height while in the middle, I achieved only three-fourths of what I am capable of doing. Of course, even three-fourths will be enough, will be beyond expectations. And that thought makes me imagine where hundred percent would get me.
But is staying content with second best very wrong?
Why can't I achieve second best of my capabilities, while still embracing the joys of life? Why can't I then look back, when I have finally reached my destination, and smile at my achievements, regretting yet not regretting. Thinking of the right, but happy with the left. A balance of both.
But can I keep my own? Will I be able to focus on keeping my eyes to the right, when the time comes, without giving in to the temptation of glancing to my left? Because one glance is all it will take to loose balance. The pattern is set, when to look left, when to look right. Will I be able to stick to it?
Will everyone understand? Everyone who believed that I would go to my right, everyone who pleaded me to got to the left, will they accept? Will they stand with me, beside me on their respective roads and hold my hand while I tread the rope? Will they help me? Or will their disappointment and disapproval make me regret my choice more that I could have regretted any other?
Because no matter what, I will regret my choice. Not as much as if I had gone to me left, but a twinge of it will always remain, though snubbed my the flame of joyful memories of my left. Is it worth it?
Questions swirl in my head. I take a deep breath. One questions glares out at me.
Can I walk the tightrope?
But it will be difficult. More difficult than any other road. Very difficult. I will need strength, mental strength and focus.
Yet I think it will be worth it.
I look up and realise that the bells are chiming. Everyone waits expectantly - my family, freinds, admirers. I look ahead at the fork. My time has finally come.
And, holding hands with my awe-inspiring believers of the right, and my enviable preachers of my left, I step up to the thin strand of joyful pain and painful joy, waiting for the unexpected and walking to the unknown, each balanced step at a time.
Life. Such a small word for such a vast topic. What is life? What do we do in life? Whatever we do, why do we do it? We live, eat, drink, sleep, breathe, watch TV, laugh, cry, watch some more TV, read books, talk....there are lots of things we do. But some of them are necessities. Some are not.
Is our life predestined? Whatever we do, do we do it from our own personal choice? Or has it been written, somewhere, in God's personal logbook?
If we assume that our choices are our own, we come to a problem. A double branched problem. A pair of tongs, you may call it. We come to a path in our relatively smooth road of life, that bifurcates into two ways. Either way we look, we see clear horizons. We see where it's headed, but we don't know where it will end. What may start out as a patch of flowers, may end up with barren land. Two paths, two alternate futures.
Which one?
I, along with all the people of my age, all my friends, have unknowingly reached this division of roads. Some of them just keep driving, wherever their horses take them, not really thinking about it. Their path is easy, simple. They see only what they want to see, not really caring. Life hasn't changed for them. Blind folded. But I can see it, this division. The two ways to go.
And then I stopped. Stopped right there in the middle of the path, my past looming behind me, forever lost, never to be tread on again. And in front of me lay two futures.
Both futures have ups and downs, twists and turns.
This is the reality I, and many people face today. On one hand, you have school. Studies, books, reading, getting good marks, it's all in the same box. On the other hand, you have what I call, the j.o.l.s. Joys-of-life. In cruel, hard, opposing perspective words- distractions.
I look to my right (does the fact that it's on my right symbolise anything?) and see a road full of bumps. An unpleasant road, but far out I see a very promising future. Golden skies, green fields. Till the horizon.
This is the path which our parents prefer, want us to take. It is the path of hard work, meticulous studies, tough breaks and total dedication. It is a life that can last four, eight, maybe ten years. But the rest of the fifty that will come as the fruits of success will be far more rewarding.
I look to my left, and see a bright, sunny path. Small, inconspicuous bumps. But as I look further, I see more. A rough, unbalanced life. Difficult times lie ahead, the road is not easy, and there is no going back. The final destination is unpredictable and not very promising for some, yet extremely so for another. But yet, it is full of small things, happy moments, beautiful memories and plenty of laughs.
Is it worth it?
Which one is?
I stood, struggling with indecision, as the rest of the people pause, only for a flick of second, maybe in surprise, and then follow their chosen roads with nonchalant shrugs. I admire those who travel to my right, while I envy the influx on my left. Once here once there, my hesitant steps bring me closer and closer to the division, because no matter how much I try to stall, time always goes on and someday, I will have to choose.
That time is coming close.
I weigh my options. On one hand, I have the dedicated path. The path which I, and my parents who insist I follow the right, know I am capable of doing. Half the people who travel on my left, know they cannot go to their right, no matter how much they want to. They were not born to pass the test to follow it, or else they grew up having made to believe so.
But I do have that capability, and I can go to my right. I want to go there, to be able to deserve the promising fruits, to feel good about myself. Because I know if I go to my left, I will regret. And I would never be able to live with the regret of knowing that I could have gone there, done so much better, stretched my capabilites to the limit, been so much more respected by others and myself, if I had gone on my right. Simple enough.
But can I do it?
Can I give up all the wonderful things of life, the small joys or "distractions" that are a part of everybody's teenage days? Do I have the will, focus and toughness to be able to steer myself? Because I know I will never regret doing that, going on my right. I will never regret it. And it is only for a few years. Only a few hard years, and then I can enjoy as many joys of life as possible.
But I want to enjoy now, while I still can. I want to be able to grow up and live with the sweet memories of today.
So to answer the previous asked question: Am I strong enough to give it all up?
No, I'm not.
I realise what my problem is.
The path to my right is my destiny. The path to my left is my regret.
Yet, the desire for both is equal.
I look straight ahead, and notice for the first time, a thin, faint line. A small dusty path. I had not noticed before. As I stare at it, it becomes relatively clear, and I realise then, what I had been blind to. To my amazement, there are a few people, so strong, so focused who walk straight ahead, onto that thin strand in the middle.
The middle option. The essence of both. The balance.
I watch, as these strong minded people step up to the base, their arms outstretched on either side of them. They wobble slightly, and then regain lost balance. And slowly, steadily, with practice, they step forward. And then they are gone, amongst the hazy mist of indecision and unknown, unpredictable choices, that obscures the future from us, watchers.
The middle path, no, the middle rope, the balance. Because that's what it is, a tightrope. A think rod in the middle, too small for stopping, to risky for the uncertain. As it reaches towards the horizon, I see the people look around, while enjoying the beauty on the left, they share the difficulty of the people on the right. Burden of both, benefits of both. But only half of each. An equal share.
Is it possible that the tongs could actually be...a fork?
A balance, but a very delicate one. One that can topple you over with the slightest push, with the slightest slip of the foot, or concentration. Yes, I watch in pain and horror, as a few followers of the rope start to loose footing, fumble with the set rhythm, and fall. Simply fall. Most do not get up, but those who do, don't try to get back on.
Yet, I can see the joys of following it. I could walk down the middle, where I can see both paths. Enjoy both dreams. Live both lives. What I had always wanted, I was given the chance to have. And I know, the price is hard, and it would be tremendously difficult.
But then I realise that I still might regret not going completely on my right, where I could have achieved the greatest height while in the middle, I achieved only three-fourths of what I am capable of doing. Of course, even three-fourths will be enough, will be beyond expectations. And that thought makes me imagine where hundred percent would get me.
But is staying content with second best very wrong?
Why can't I achieve second best of my capabilities, while still embracing the joys of life? Why can't I then look back, when I have finally reached my destination, and smile at my achievements, regretting yet not regretting. Thinking of the right, but happy with the left. A balance of both.
But can I keep my own? Will I be able to focus on keeping my eyes to the right, when the time comes, without giving in to the temptation of glancing to my left? Because one glance is all it will take to loose balance. The pattern is set, when to look left, when to look right. Will I be able to stick to it?
Will everyone understand? Everyone who believed that I would go to my right, everyone who pleaded me to got to the left, will they accept? Will they stand with me, beside me on their respective roads and hold my hand while I tread the rope? Will they help me? Or will their disappointment and disapproval make me regret my choice more that I could have regretted any other?
Because no matter what, I will regret my choice. Not as much as if I had gone to me left, but a twinge of it will always remain, though snubbed my the flame of joyful memories of my left. Is it worth it?
Questions swirl in my head. I take a deep breath. One questions glares out at me.
Can I walk the tightrope?
But it will be difficult. More difficult than any other road. Very difficult. I will need strength, mental strength and focus.
Yet I think it will be worth it.
I look up and realise that the bells are chiming. Everyone waits expectantly - my family, freinds, admirers. I look ahead at the fork. My time has finally come.
And, holding hands with my awe-inspiring believers of the right, and my enviable preachers of my left, I step up to the thin strand of joyful pain and painful joy, waiting for the unexpected and walking to the unknown, each balanced step at a time.
Scientific Forestry With Krutu
"Bleeeaaargh."
I looked up to find my sister staring at me with her gigantic Bambi eyes.
"What?"
She blinked. "Why did you make that noise?"
I groaned. There I was sprawled spectacularly on my bed, on a nice bright Saturday evening, studying History. History. And guess which chapter.
Something about scientific forestry. See? How am I going to remember the notes of chapter, when I can't even remember its name??
"Bleeeaaargh." I repeated. I looked at my textbook, then at Krutu, then at the textbook.
Then suddenly, an idea stuck me.
By now you should know what that means.
"Hey Krutu," I said casually, "Come over here will you?"
Krutu clambered on the bed and plopped down next to me. "Yes?"
"I'm gonna tell you a story. How about it?"
Krutu smiled so brightly that I though my wall mirror would crack. "Ok."
I sighed. "Right. So now once upon a time, the British people came to India."
"British people were bad right?"
"Ummm...yeah...ok..."
"RIGHT?"
"Yes yes, so these british people told everyone to cut down trees ok? They wanted to plant...stuff."
"ok."
"...and they felt that people were not using the trees properly. So they called in a German specialist. What was his name?"
"um..."
"Dietrich BRANdis."
"Datrich Bandiz."
"Good. So what did he set up?"
"uh...."
"The Imperial Forest Research Institute. Reapeat."
"Impeyal...."
"Imperial Forest Research Institute."
"Imperi-al Fores.....Instooot."
"Imperial forest RESEARCH Institute."
"Imperi-al Fores resa...um"
"Institute Krutu...Institute."
"Institewt."
"Imperial Forest..."
"I'M SAYING IT...Impe-rial Forezz Resuch Insti...Insti.."
"...tute."
"Toot. Institoot."
"Good job. Now go tell it to mummy."
"MUMMY!"
My mom poked her head in. "Yes?"
"Impe...wat was it again?"
"Imperial..."
"HAH...Imperia Forezz Resa Intooit."
"Right." My mother walked out of the room.
"Good job Krut!" I smiled. "Now I'll call you during the exam and you have to tell me this answer ok?"
"What answer?"
"Imperial Forest Research Institute...?"
"Ok."
"I'll continue the story ok?"
"Ok."
"So these baaad Britishers put up The Imperial Forest Research Institute In Dehradun. What did they put up?"
"The Imperiyal...um.."
"Nevermind. So over there, they taught Scientific Forestry. ok?"
"Ok."
"They cut down trees..."
"Why?"
"Um...well...they made trains with it."
"Trains?"
"Yes....erm....trains. And so, they stopped villagers from cutting down trees. But villagers needed trees."
"Why?"
"Um...to..."
"To make trains?"
"NO! No, no, um....they needed fruits for eating and wood....to burn....for cooking."
"They ate wood?"
"No Krutu. You know how we have a gas to put our pans over?"
"Yes..."
"So they used to burn wood and then with the fire they used to cook food."
"Oh."
"So why did the British want to cut trees?"
"For cooking!"
"For making trains Krutu..."
"Oh."
"Ok, so the villagers also used to plant stuff. And they used Swidden agriculture. What did they use?"
"Sweeden agriculture."
"Good. Some local names for swidden agriculture are podu, milpa..."
"Podu..." Krutu giggled maniacly.
"Podu, milpa..."
"Podu," Krutu repeated, and then burst into giggles.
"Yes Krutu, podu. Right. So what was Swidden agriculture. Ok, you see, the people used to plant trees and then burn them..."
"For cooking?"
"No Krutu, no. They used to burn the trees and then plant more trees in the ashes."
"Oh. Why?"
"Because...they felt like it."
"Why?"
"Krutu! So anyways...we'll now move on to the next section. Hunting."
"Oooohh...."
"Now, the villagers used to hunt ok? But the Britishers stopped them from hunting."
"Why...?"
"Does it matter?? The British used to hunt animals like lions and wolves..."
"And deers?"
"Yes, deers too."
"Even the bambies?"
"The who??"
"The bambies. The baby deers."
"Uh...no. They only hunted the mama deers."
"Just like in Bambi!"
"Yes, just like in Bambi."
"And the papa deers? Did they hunt papa deers?"
"Yes, papa deers too."
"But then what if the papa deers died?"
"Then they'd hunt the mama deers."
"What if the mama deers died? Then whould they hunt the baby deers?"
"No they wouldn't. They don't hunt baby deers Krutu."
"Why?"
"Because...!"
"So what about baby wolves?"
I looked up to find my sister staring at me with her gigantic Bambi eyes.
"What?"
She blinked. "Why did you make that noise?"
I groaned. There I was sprawled spectacularly on my bed, on a nice bright Saturday evening, studying History. History. And guess which chapter.
Something about scientific forestry. See? How am I going to remember the notes of chapter, when I can't even remember its name??
"Bleeeaaargh." I repeated. I looked at my textbook, then at Krutu, then at the textbook.
Then suddenly, an idea stuck me.
By now you should know what that means.
"Hey Krutu," I said casually, "Come over here will you?"
Krutu clambered on the bed and plopped down next to me. "Yes?"
"I'm gonna tell you a story. How about it?"
Krutu smiled so brightly that I though my wall mirror would crack. "Ok."
I sighed. "Right. So now once upon a time, the British people came to India."
"British people were bad right?"
"Ummm...yeah...ok..."
"RIGHT?"
"Yes yes, so these british people told everyone to cut down trees ok? They wanted to plant...stuff."
"ok."
"...and they felt that people were not using the trees properly. So they called in a German specialist. What was his name?"
"um..."
"Dietrich BRANdis."
"Datrich Bandiz."
"Good. So what did he set up?"
"uh...."
"The Imperial Forest Research Institute. Reapeat."
"Impeyal...."
"Imperial Forest Research Institute."
"Imperi-al Fores.....Instooot."
"Imperial forest RESEARCH Institute."
"Imperi-al Fores resa...um"
"Institute Krutu...Institute."
"Institewt."
"Imperial Forest..."
"I'M SAYING IT...Impe-rial Forezz Resuch Insti...Insti.."
"...tute."
"Toot. Institoot."
"Good job. Now go tell it to mummy."
"MUMMY!"
My mom poked her head in. "Yes?"
"Impe...wat was it again?"
"Imperial..."
"HAH...Imperia Forezz Resa Intooit."
"Right." My mother walked out of the room.
"Good job Krut!" I smiled. "Now I'll call you during the exam and you have to tell me this answer ok?"
"What answer?"
"Imperial Forest Research Institute...?"
"Ok."
"I'll continue the story ok?"
"Ok."
"So these baaad Britishers put up The Imperial Forest Research Institute In Dehradun. What did they put up?"
"The Imperiyal...um.."
"Nevermind. So over there, they taught Scientific Forestry. ok?"
"Ok."
"They cut down trees..."
"Why?"
"Um...well...they made trains with it."
"Trains?"
"Yes....erm....trains. And so, they stopped villagers from cutting down trees. But villagers needed trees."
"Why?"
"Um...to..."
"To make trains?"
"NO! No, no, um....they needed fruits for eating and wood....to burn....for cooking."
"They ate wood?"
"No Krutu. You know how we have a gas to put our pans over?"
"Yes..."
"So they used to burn wood and then with the fire they used to cook food."
"Oh."
"So why did the British want to cut trees?"
"For cooking!"
"For making trains Krutu..."
"Oh."
"Ok, so the villagers also used to plant stuff. And they used Swidden agriculture. What did they use?"
"Sweeden agriculture."
"Good. Some local names for swidden agriculture are podu, milpa..."
"Podu..." Krutu giggled maniacly.
"Podu, milpa..."
"Podu," Krutu repeated, and then burst into giggles.
"Yes Krutu, podu. Right. So what was Swidden agriculture. Ok, you see, the people used to plant trees and then burn them..."
"For cooking?"
"No Krutu, no. They used to burn the trees and then plant more trees in the ashes."
"Oh. Why?"
"Because...they felt like it."
"Why?"
"Krutu! So anyways...we'll now move on to the next section. Hunting."
"Oooohh...."
"Now, the villagers used to hunt ok? But the Britishers stopped them from hunting."
"Why...?"
"Does it matter?? The British used to hunt animals like lions and wolves..."
"And deers?"
"Yes, deers too."
"Even the bambies?"
"The who??"
"The bambies. The baby deers."
"Uh...no. They only hunted the mama deers."
"Just like in Bambi!"
"Yes, just like in Bambi."
"And the papa deers? Did they hunt papa deers?"
"Yes, papa deers too."
"But then what if the papa deers died?"
"Then they'd hunt the mama deers."
"What if the mama deers died? Then whould they hunt the baby deers?"
"No they wouldn't. They don't hunt baby deers Krutu."
"Why?"
"Because...!"
"So what about baby wolves?"
At the point, I had my head in my hands. "Krutu, do you want to know the rest of the story or not?"
"I want to know."
"Alright. So then the nomadic people who used to hunt for a living, had to...well...stop hunting. They started collecting stuff and selling it to the British traders."
"Really?"
"Yes really. One such nomadic tribe was called the Mundurucu."
"Moondoocu."
"Good girl. Now listen carefully, when I call u during the exam, you have to tell me this answer ok?"
"Ok."
"Alright, that's enough for today. Did you have fun?"
"Yes."
"Good."
"Didi?"
"Mmm?"
" I love you."
"I love you too."
"Didi?"
"Mmm?"
"Can you tell me another story?"
NOTE: The paragraphs in italics are extracts from the Da Vinci Code. The other reference near the bottom is from our ninth standard History textbook. I'm not pointing fingers at anyone here, but you know very well who I am talking about. If you're not in the mood to read sentimental stuff, don't bother to continue. Ignore spelling errors. Will think of title later.
The Catholic Inquisition published the book that arguably could be called the most blood-soaked publication in human history. Malleus Maleficarum - or the Witches' Hammer - indoctrinated the world to 'the dangers of freethinking women' and instructed the clergy how to locate, torture and destroy them. Those who deemed 'witches' by the Church included all female scholars, priestesses, gypsies, mystics, nature lovers, herb gatherers and any woman 'suspiciously attuned to the natural world'. Midwives also were killed for their heretical practice of using medical knowledge to ease the pain of childbirth - a suffering, the Church claimed, that was God's rightful punishment for Eve's partaking of the Apple of Knowledge, thus giving birth to the idea of Original Sin. During three hundred years of witch hunts, the Church burned at the stake and astounding five million women.
Five million women. Five million women were killed for thinking, for trying to be free. For living. If this doesn't effect you, if you feel nothing after reading this, then I would assume you heartless. This cruel ruthless killing of women is nothing short of slaughter. It is cruel, cold-blooded and downright disgusting. It this the grossest form of murder possible. Think about it. How can they have done this?? Forget how, try to think of why??
As a women, yes a woman, it hurts me to read this. I'm far past tears, as Nidhi puts it, it just hurts. Deep down inside. It's sad, that's what it is. It hurts you to read it and pains you to know the pain that woman went through - and still does.
Women, once celebrated as an essential half of spiritual enlightenment, had been banished from the temples of the world. There were no female Orthodox rabbis, Catholic priests, nor Islamic clerics. The once hallowed act of Hieros Gamos - the natural sexual union between man and woman through which each became spiritually whole - had been recast as a shameful act. Holy men who had once required sexual union with their female counterparts t commune with God now feared their natural sexual urges as the work of the devil, collaborating with his favorite accomplice...woman.
This is it. This is what woman is considered as now. The devil's accomplice. To those of you who think this is funny, it isn't. It is cruel and hurtful and wrong. How dare they label us as the accomplice of devils? Women, without whom man wouldn't even be alive. If not girls like me, wouldn't it hurt you to call your own mother - a devil's accomplice? And for what, giving birth? Something that was once considered a gift.
Not even the feminine association with the left-hand side could escape the Church's defamation. In France and Italy, the words for 'left' - guache and sinistra - came to have deeply negative overtones, while their right-hand counterparts rang of righteousness, dexterity and correctness. To this day, radical thought was considered left wind, irrational thought was left brain, and anything evil, sinister.
Discrimination, inferior treatment, it all starts at school. Teasing a girl my seem like a lot of fun, but put yourself in her shoes for a minute. There is a limit to teasing. Making fun of her body, of other more private things, hurts her to extents that you cannot imagine. It is downright sick. That's all it is. And boys who do that deserve to be called as the devil's accomplice.
Do you think this injustice is right? Do you feel that women are not equal to men? Do you feel that they must be burnt for easing the pain of bearing a child, that, no doubt, the man wanted to have? It is easy for the men to say that the women deserve it, but I don' think there is a single man who could give birth to a child and live through the pain.
The days of the goddess were over. The pendulum had swung. Mother Earth had become man's world, and the gods of destruction and war were taking their toll. The male ego had spent two millennium running unchecked by its female counterpart. The Priory of Sion believed that it was this obliteration of the sacred feminine in modern life that had caused what the Hopi Native Americans called koyanisquatis 0 'life out of balance' - and unstable situation marked by testosterone-fuelled wars, a plethora of misogynistic societies and a growing disrespect for the Mother Earth.
In 1793, the Jacobin politician Chaumette sought to justify the closure of women’s clubs on the following grounds:
‘Has Nature entrusted domestic duties to men? Has she given us breasts to nurture babies?
No
She said to Man:
Be a man. Hunting, agriculture, political duties…that is your kingdom.
She said to Woman:
Be a woman…the things of the household, the sweet duties of motherhood – those are your tasks.
Shameless are those women, who wish to become men. Have not duties been fairly distributed?
The arguments that follow were put forth by a certain Chaumette. These words are said by a true man; egoistic and blinded for power. As a woman, I believe it my duty to fight on the behalf of all the ‘daughters of Eve’ and children (as are men) of God.
Monsieur Chaumette has asked:
‘Has Nature entrusted domestic duties to men?’
Nature has not entrusted duties to anyone. Both men and women are equal in terms of duties and thus should be treated equally. Women have not been marked with domestic responsibility as men have not been marked with war related ones. This is a mindset created by man, human being, and not Nature. Men have always sought to be dominant and females have always quietly accepted, only because man’s ego is difficult to harbor.
His reply was:
‘Has she given us breasts to nurture babies?’
Nature has given women the power of reproduction and it is from her womb that the very first man was born. Thus this power should not be interpreted as a sign that women should stay at home. A woman nurtures her child only because she has breasts and man does not. It can be said that she is the one because of whom man is what he is, a powerful warrior. But does she not nurture a daughter the same way? Every child, irrelevant of sex is given the same amount of love, respect and opportunity. So why should that change with time?
He claims that:
‘She said to Man:
Be a man. Hunting, agriculture, political duties…that is your kingdom.’
What is hunting but a search for food? Can a woman not do this task? Does she not do it already? What is agriculture? The raising of crops, of life. Does not a woman raise children? Aren’t children, after all, lives? What is the difference; the amount of commitment, the labor? I think not! What is politics but a game invented by man, no doubt by women as well! How could Nature create man so he could command something that he invents?
Monsieur Chaumette unabashedly replies:
‘She said to Woman:
Be a woman…the things of the household, the sweet duties of motherhood – those are your tasks.’
The “sweet duties of motherhood” that all women are entitled to are not tasks. They are works of nature that have nothing to do with duties such as war, agriculture, politics. How do these motherly “duties” entitle her to household tasks? Why must she stay at home only because she can give birth to a child? God gave man and woman the same hands. Then why is there a difference in what these hands can do?
His final blow is:
‘Shameless are those women, who wish to become men. Have not duties been fairly distributed?’
Women are not in the least trying to be men. What is man? Hard work? Politics? The ability to fight? Not true! Woman can be all these things as well. Women are not trying to be men, they are trying to prove their worth! And shameless are those men who force them to sit at home. The duties have NOT been fairly distributed; in fact, they have not been distributed at all!
These are the answers to your questions, Monsieur Chaumette. Too long has woman been but inferior. Too long has she toiled away only to be suppressed by man. The time for women has come, and your kingdom of elite men will crumble before her rage for all your mothers, sisters and daughters fight for this cause and even the strongest of men, and even, you Monsieur Chaumette, cannot prevent the forthcoming Revolution.
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