Wednesday, April 25, 2012

For all she left behind are memories...


"A child needs a grandparent, anybody's grandparent, to grow a little more securely into an unfamiliar world
I came across this quote when I was randomly searching  for something to make an interesting blog post and the truth of these simple words pierced through me.

There are a few people in our lives who are responsible for building up a definition of the person we become later. The most obvious choice for most of us would be parents, then siblings but in my case it would be my grandparents too, especially my grandmother.

I was one of those lucky kids who got the opportunity to grow up with her grandparents rather than visiting them every summer. And growing up with your grandparents means a mixture of all the things you can ever ask for. Hindu scriptures, interesting tales from my grandparent’s life, anecdotes about relatives, reminiscences about the old days, old black and white Telugu movies, B.R.Chopra’s Mahabharata, Ramanand Sagar’s Ramayana, learning alphabets on a black slate with white chalk, Telugu poems, Shlokas from Bhagwad Gita, songs praising the Lord, and books, endlessly books.

It was I think due to my grandparents that I along with my brother grew up with a blend of the values and culture of the old along with the modern thoughts of the current era.

And this is a post I write straight from my heart recounting a few memories that I treasure, memories that are priceless to me... because it is only memories that I have now…

This was when I was 3 or 4 years old. We had this separate Puja room in our house which had a grand wooden Mandir that my mother had hand painted. My grandmother used to take out all the idols once in a month or before any major Puja and wash them. On one such day, the little me strolled into our courtyard where my grandmother was sitting on a high stool and applying tamarind paste and surf to the small bronze and silver idols. I then expressed this urge to clean them to and just to amuse me, my grandmother gave me the Kalash with Ganga Jal to wash. She must have been surprised and pleased to see the effort I had put in that little task because after that, it became a routine.

Every time my grandmother used to plan the idol-cleaning process she would call me “Chanti (a sort of pet name she used to use. Telugu word for ‘small’ or ‘tiny’) we would be washing the Mandir tomorrow. Wake up early ok?”  I used to swell with pride at the ‘we’ in her sentence. My grandmother wanted ME to help her with her precious task! So I would get up early in the morning, bathe early, have my long hair washed by my grandmother and mother, sit on a little stool beside my grandmother, fold the frills of my frock demurely and start scrubbing the idols till they shone.

Later she used to tell everyone about how I did the job better than my aunt, or even my mother and I used to be elated with pride and happiness.

This was one of the most cherished times of my childhood, the hours we would spend together very early in the morning with my grandmother telling me stories, or saying something or the other, giving my mother instructions in the kitchen.

This continued till I came to class 1 when life got too busy for me with school and these cherished moments were reduced to memories…

Whenever I say I am sixteen and a class 12 pass-out, I am met with a lot of eyebrow rising. It is then I have to explain the weird double promotion I got when I went for admission in school for LKG. And Voila! I was in UKG before I even knew what had happened :P I call this weird because the story behind this is definitely out of the box, but I am saving that for some other time :P

So the thing was, I was a year ahead of my studies and I had this weird fear for teachers and not completing my homework though I was a sincere student. What happened was we got homework of writing 1 to 1000 in words in a just a single day. I came home freaked out; I couldn’t finish it in a single evening!
I cried so hard with tension that day that I caught a fever and my grandmother started calling the teacher names for subjecting her small, tiny granddaughter to such an impossible task. My parents got a lot a lot of scolding too, for getting me admitted in a school that had ‘gone to the dogs’ and which had cruel witches for teachers :P

But all this talk couldn’t soothe me and though my mother and brother tried to convince me that no one could probably finish it in one day and I won’t be scolded and I could even take the day off with my fever but the idiot I was, I wasn’t consoled. I started my homework between tears and continued pampering from my grandmother who was clearly instructing my mother to complete the homework in my place :P She suggested to write some of it herself, but I wouldn’t hear of it. Handwriting mattered too :P

My family still makes a laughing stock out of this incident- someone crying to fever over a silly thing such as homework is very rare. But all I remember of it is the love my family showed for their small Kirti that day, the sweet affection behind all the indignation of my grandmother who had gone as far as to suggesting she would do my homework out of love for me, just out of love for me...

Apart from telling us mythological stories, my grandmother also used to play indoor games with us. Carom, Ludo, Snakes and ladders, Business, Card games, and a game from her own childhood played with shells. She taught us some, others I and my brother had taught her. My grandmother had an amazingly sharp mind even for the limited education she had and I distinctly remember being beaten by her at carom; something I had taught her.

When I was in 3rd grade, we shifted to a larger house in a relatively lonely neighborhood where I had no children of my age. My brother was too busy playing cricket and football with his own friends so I had no one to play with. It was my grandmother who used to my playmate in those times and used to tell me so many enthralling things about my father, my aunt and her life in general. Stories of black magic, voodoo dolls that had really happened in their village, of the thefts in their house, of her first journey alone with her children when they were little with her ticket apparently a station before the destination.

I used to tell her stories of my own, mostly the stuff I used to learn at school-Science and social science and she was an amazingly bright student for me. She even learnt the Hindi alphabet just by watching my mother teach I and my brother and she could read the movie titles and serial titles on the TV with ease.
She was a part of my life that I had taken for granted- my short, white haired Grandma with a powerful, confident voice and soft, soft hands that used to oil my hair… but my fate didn’t allow me to keep her for more than 16 years of my life.

She left me, left me alone to the silence of the room we shared, to the neat bed beside my own that I can’t look at without getting a lump in my throat- reminding me of the countless times I had snuggled up with her in winters with an Enid Blyton. She left me taking away the securities of life I had in her presence; I would fight with a million boys in my class, get angry with hundreds of teachers in my school, get hurt by innumerable people, but I would come back home with my heart knowing that God had someone waiting there who loved me unconditionally, loved me despite my mistakes… of course children do need grandparents… oh how my life would have been incomplete without them!

But she has left me now and in the wounds of pain that come bare when I sit in the empty silence of my room, it is memories like these that act as a soothing balm. These memories cast a painless veil over the last image I have of her- lying on the hospital bed peacefully, her hand still warm, blood gushing out when the IV was taken out, but she won’t wake up when I shook her, she won’t call my name in that affectionate tone again… it was so hard to believe she had left me forever, still so hard to believe… 
Forever now, seems like too long a time…

But she had taught me to fight, taught me to walk and this lesson I mean to carry all my life, with memories like these as a proud talisman on my chest…
Image by Antara


This post is written for a contest at Blogadda in association with imlee.com


Tuesday, April 24, 2012

Just Friends

It was that night when she started talking to herself again. And doing that she fell in the sheer familiarity of the habit she had tried so desperately to leave behind. It started involuntarily, a mere continuation of the argument about authors she was having with a guy on Facebook followed by her internet connection blowing off. So, it was natural enough for her to continue that conversation in her head with herself. She did it quietly though; she didn’t want her parents alarmed with the possibility of her going back into depression.

“It wasn’t really a depression. More like, I no longer felt any attachment with the world around me. Brooding, thinking, moping seemed somehow more apt” she told herself thoughtfully. “I wonder how it started though. Everything had been so normal since the past few weeks. Maybe it has something to do with the exam pressure and me having a super sensitive imagination.” She brooded, despite knowing that the actual reason was something different.

She went to bed with a Poirot- Hercule Poirot’s Christmas intending to finish it before dozing off, she couldn’t possibly leave the interesting drama incomplete. It was past midnight when her parents called out from the other room to switch off the lights and she obediently relented before settling with a torch to finish the novel.

It hardly took her half an hour before she had yet another fantastic Christie to her credit. But, she admitted to herself as she lay down, the story was disappointing, none of the well-stressed characters had done the throat slitting job and the concept of a total stranger(with an unknown blood connection with the murdered man) doing the murder didn’t appeal to her, despite the motive.

“You don’t really like strangers creeping into your life at any point of time. Well, I don’t anyways. It’s a whole new tedious process of knowing and understanding the person and if doesn’t turn out the way you wanted, you face disappointment. And whatever tryst I have had with strangers has always turned out as complete fiasco. It’s so much easier to hang out with people I already know than start up an acquaintance with a total stranger. But then, it is really hard when someone you thought you knew turns out to be a total stranger.” 

Going towards a completely different line of thought she brooded “Now to think of it, most of the people I know are somewhat strangers. Not my closest friends, but others who I think are my friends but at some point of time, I discover something terrible about them. Apart from a few really close people, I am not intimate with all the people I talk with. They are just-friends I guess, nothing more. Though,” she thought punching her pillow to a more comfortable shape “I don’t know why I should bother myself with such people who don’t really affect me.”
There was a slight tone of defense in her voice as she muttered those words and it was with finality that she closed her eyes, as if to shut her mind and mouth from the apparent difficult lines her thoughts were taking her to. Her lids trembled for a while before they drooped finally, slowing down the furiously fast cog-wheels of her thought process.

And before she knew it, it was dawn and she was back at school. Everyone looked grave as she walked to her seat at the last bench beside Sahana and before she could enquire, her friend motioned her to keep silent and pointed in front of them. Just sitting two places ahead of them was… Rishabh. Her heart almost leapt to her throat in shock but the emotion that flooded inside her after the initial surprise was… relief. Powerful and numbing relief.

So he is saved after all… he is saved after all, was all she could think. She looked around to see all her classmates huddled over their side; the picture of Rishabh with his tall back bended over a Math notebook, solving sums intently was a very comforting sight. After all, the news of his suicide had disturbed them all. 

As she turned smiling towards Sahana, she saw her Math and English teacher standing at his place, asking him to explain the cause of his sudden and surprising act, saying that we all were curious to know about it.
Well, she was curious about it till last night, but now that he was back, she decided it didn’t matter anymore. Relief and happiness was all she felt at that moment.

Rishabh stood up and finally she got a full glimpse of his face. She was glad to see that he looked exactly the same; glad that reality had cast a shadow over the gruesome details that rumors had held. The only change was his left wrist covered with bright white bandage, so bright that it hurt her eyes and she couldn’t help thinking- I thought he had hanged himself. She turned confused to Sahana, but her expression said that she didn’t understand it any better either.

Rishabh started explaining something in his deep, gravelly voice, but she wasn’t paying any attention; the only thought in her mind was ‘at least he is in time for the ISI exam! Now he can fulfill his dreams!’ and a jubilant smile accompanied her thoughts. She had no idea why she was so overly excited but the faces around her said that she wasn’t alone in it. She felt a warm sensation fill her heart and felt genial and well-tempered towards everyone. 

The classes must have passed in a blur; all she remembered was looking back from time to time like they all did before- she, Geet, Avni as they teased Sahana that Rishabh couldn’t stop looking at her. She smiled as she remembered a certain graph they had drawn for the no. of time he looked vs. time; it had a surprisingly steep slope. She giggled softly, feeling like a young schoolgirl again and she was just about to poke Geet to remind her of that particular incident when she suddenly found herself in the school grounds, sharing Tiffin with her friends.

It was then that Rishabh came along, pausing where they were standing to talk to her “Ae Shruti” he said and handed her an eclairs. Looking at her gaze down to the packet in his hand, he laughed and handed her another toffee. It was promptly taken away by one of her friends and she shook her head in mock-sadness as they both started walking. They barely reached the basketball ground when she stopped and said the thing that had been haunting her head since the morning.

“You can’t imagine how relieved I am to see you back Rishabh” she said softly. Then holding out her hand she said “promise me that you’ll never do such a thing again. Promise me”. He looked at her for what seemed like a long time and then keeping his palm over hers said, “I promise”.

A wide smile broke out on her face and she squeezed his hand tightly before releasing it. At that moment she felt really happy. Everything was back to normal and the stuff she had been worrying to death about felt small and unimportant.

As they walked in the school ground eating fruit cake with her complaining about how everything in her lunch box that day was too sweet, she wondered why she was being able to talk to him so easily. It wasn’t as if they were the best of friends. But then, he had known of her deepest dreams since the day he had read her notebook, since the day they had shared that intimate conversation in the computer class about their futures, their dreams. Yes, it was true that they weren’t too intimate as friends, but he was a friend nevertheless, someone with whom she liked talking to; he was too practical for an imaginary soul like her and that fact helped her to remain grounded.

Yes, he definitely was her friend and the news of his suicide had disturbed her immensely… Attempt to suicide, she corrected herself as she glanced at his bandaged hand. She looked for a moment at the tall, lean frame, the long, mature face with unkempt hair and signs of stubble, the loud, booming, carefree laugh that issued at regular intervals when she said something really stupid.

With sudden warmth in her heart she thought ‘I don’t mind being really stupid if you would laugh like that again, because everything is alright now…  Everything is alright’. And back at a place she loved, her school, with what had seemed like a disturbing truth turned out as a horrible dream, everything was truly alright and nothing could be better. They were about to walk across the volleyball ground when someone called her from behind… maybe they wanted the ball…

“Shruti, Shruti! It’s NINE o’ clock!”

She woke up with a start, leaping into a sitting position as soon as she opened her eyes. For one whole minute, her mind couldn’t register her surroundings or her situation.

She stared confused at her bedroom walls, at the colorful posters she had stuck on them with her best friend, at the window streaming sunlight onto her bed almost cruelly, at her mother who told her to get up and left with a swish of the emerald green curtains, at the wall clock that said 9:05 with a mocking certainty… with a pang that almost brought tears to her eyes, she realized that it was a dream. Everything… was… just a… dream.

She stifled a sob as her hand automatically reached out for a brown leather bag on her bookshelf. She searched in it frantically till she found what she wanted- a small New Year card. It was the only printed ones she had kept with the other hand-made cards given to her by her closest friends, partly because she didn’t feel like throwing it away and partly because it was the only substantial memory she had from her 3rd grade.

And somehow, she loved the simple array of flowers on the cover- blue with a lovely shade of violet and a bit of pink and magenta thrown against a white background. It was a strange combination but it was a lovely picture and it had appealed to her color sense greatly. She opened it with trembling hands; on top of all the printed stuff written in a childish, loopy handwriting were the words- “To Shruti, From Rishabh”.
Tears rolled down her cheeks and smalls shards of sadness stabbed her yet again- things had been alright in her dream, but in reality everything was far from being fine.

It was strange for her to be crying weeks after he was gone, but as she looked at the strange pixels of color thrown together in the card she realized that it life was always strange. Little things that seem unimportant the time they happen trigger strange reactions, strange emotions.

She had thought of him as a just-friend of hers, but his absence had bothered her, bothered her to limits she hadn’t grasped herself.

They hadn’t been best of friends, but he was a friend nevertheless and she had lost him, lost a friend… forever…

Sunday, April 22, 2012

Everywhere, Everyone is judging you...

These days I don't even bother to hide my tears. Its pointless really, shirking away from the only escape you have. I don't write anymore; all my notebooks and diaries are stacked away neatly on the top of my cupboard. And when I do write, its things like this. At the end of the day, I don't have anything but a splitting headache and things I do to distract myself from it don't help, don't help at all...

Its hard to explain what I feel every passing moment, but I guess people don't care anyways. They don't care whether I cry, or laugh or get so depressed that even my dreams screw me, or that I'm trying to scream on their faces- I cant keep up with you and your expectations anymore. 
All they care about is me wasting time on my computer, or not preparing for yet ANOTHER exam, or pitching up against me when i say something out of the league, so much that i feel like running away.

Come to think of it, I feel like running away most of the times these days. Where I don't know, why don't ask me because if I give an honest answer to your questions, you will ignore me anyways.

Now I feel, people judge you wherever you go, whether it is your own parents, or relatives, or any virtual person or just a passerby. I have been judged by anyone and everyone ever since I came to realize about it- I am a good student because I get good marks, I am rude because I am short-tempered, I am polite because I say 'Namaste' to all elders, I am over sensitive because I cry for small things, I am childish because I search for Harry Potter photos, I am backward because I don't believe in teenage relationships... a 'closed heart'.

But guess what, I want none of your opinions about what kind of a person I am so WHY DON'T YOU SIMPLY STOP???

I am tired of people telling me I have 'potential' to do things WHEREVER I go. Why dont you understand that I dont WANT any of the things people want for me, people so easily judge is RIGHT for me.
I dont know what I want myself! When I say this, people judge me as a girl incapable about thinking of her future- "you have almost passed 12th and you dont KNOW what you want to do?" *incredulous looks*

No, I dont know what I want to do and it would really help if you stop pinning that fact on my head every time.
I am tired of hanging by a thread every single frickin moment. I am tired of having horrible, horrible dreams, tired of waiting for every moment to pass and bring about some other thing I am dreading. 
I am tired of exams, tired of messing up exams, tired of feeling like a loser with every other test I give, tired of trying to tell my parents that I CANT do it, tired of my brother having even more expectations on me than my parents, tired of him calling after every other exam and asking how many questions I have attempted, how many would go right, tired with worrying what my teachers would say when I dont make it to a decent college, tired to think of the things I would have to hear if that happens.

I am tired with people judging me with everything I do, everything I say, everything I write.

I wish someone would come and talk me out of this. 

It is times like this that I really miss Bhola. He was I think the only one who DIDNT judge me. Didnt make out an opinion about me when I cried, or talked to him, or just stood at my front gate with him lying at my feet. We used to be in complete harmony with each other, and truly, he was a better companion than the people around me sometimes.
I wish the dog-catchers had't taken him away. 
I miss Bhola, I really miss him.

People reading this, please dont judge me with what I write in this post. I am hanging in a time where I find it hard to be just myself, and my blog is the only place where I can do that.

These days I really dont bother to stop my tears, but sometimes even they dont help. I wish this would pass... I am tired of it all, tired of it all...

Exhausted with the attempt to pour my feelings out,
Kirti





Tuesday, April 17, 2012

A milestone? Or just another post? whichever

I have been delaying this post for a while, partly because I didn't know what should go in a special post and partly because my current mindset didn't allow me write anything that wasn't depressing.

I was afraid that this post would probably follow the series of mindless chatter too(the process has started I think :P) and so I have been delaying it since time immemorial.

I wont beat around the bush, or even try to be cheery and hyper-excited over this; I don't like pretense and after two screwed up competitive exams and plenty of shocks thrown in together I wonder if I can stop being blue in a long time.

Although every post I make on my blog is special in its own way to me, this post is extra special because its my 100th post.

I still don't have any idea how I make this memorable, so I just keep on typing with the hope that a brilliant idea will hit me like lightning on my head :P

Blogging for me started with an 8-liner on Facebook and a very encouraging cousin's insistence that I should find a better way of compiling my poems. And something that started as a simple way to share my poetry became a hobby, a passion.

Blogging has given me a space to express my thoughts, to share my feelings without being reproached, to learn with no boundaries and more importantly a whole new environment where I could see MYSELF growing- as a writer, as a person.

I still have along way to go, a lot more to discover, a lot more to experience with every poem I write, every story I pen down.
But I would take this opportunity to thank a few people who helped me come this long on the path on blogging-

My cousin, Anil who got me STARTED in this world. I cant ever thank him enough; it was like he showed me a place where I could breathe.

Antara, for being my most awesomest reader and friend, for editing my stories, for bearing with my rants, for being wonderful in general, for being someone I can tell anything(and I start again :P) You get the idea :P

Arpita for thinking I was some reincarnation of John Keats :P For telling everyone she meets that I own a blog, for the critique on my stories which is so much needed; I sway from reality such a lot. For being a great best friend and a hugely intelligent and sensible person :)

Sushmita for reading my blog even though she doesnt have a net connection in the place she has shifted to. For being my best friend and such a selfless, wonderful person. For keeping up with my OBSESSION Abhimanyu(I should include Antara and Sattu in this too :P) for not groaning at the insane way my stories would twist and for prodding me to complete whatever story I had left incomplete.

Satadipa(Sattu), for being a devoted reader though she doesn't comment :P for hearing out the plots of my stories and the rants I have to make about this or that all the time. Oh yes, also for being one of my most loved and loving friends. For being warm, supporting, funny, caring :)

Leo for helping me grow in poetry. For the interesting topics I got to write on and also for making me write Haiku(read believing I could write a Haiku :P) Oh and yes, for being such a wonderful Poet.

DS for being a dedicated reader of my blog, for loving my stories no matter what crap I write :P for being such a wonderful person and writer in general (btw, you havent written a poem yet) For all the support when  I am depressed and for the insistence to type my stories!

Indiblogger for giving such a wonderful platform for blogging and getting me so MANY talented and wonderful blogger friends :)

All my readers whose comment love keeps me going, gives me the enthusiasm to write. I could mention them all one by one, but that would make this post so long!

TF gave  this wonderful review for my blog which gave me pure pleasure to read. So I take this chance to thank him too :) you can read the review here



With this I end here, with the hope that I keep on blogging because it truly has become a part of me :) 

Tuesday, April 10, 2012

THE Trip Of My Life


Kendriya Vidyalaya IIT Kharagpur is where I have spent the better part of my school life and needless to say, it has given me some incredible memories to keep for the rest of my life.

One such incredible experience and memory was Youth Parliament. Youth Parliament is a mock parliamentary competition organized by the Ministry of Parliamentary affairs, Government of India that takes place amongst all the KV’s, Navodaya Vidyalayas and some Government colleges. And this is the recount of probably the most exciting journey of my life.

HOW IT HAPPENED TO ME

Our school started competing for the year 2006-07(I was in class 7 then and oblivious to the world around me :P) and my brother who was in class 9 was selected to take part as some minister from the ruling side.
Our school won at the regional level and went to the national level.

And then in the beginning of class 8, it happened to me too.
It was a chance, a coincidence or probably my twisted luck which maybe isn’t twisted as I believe it to be :P
I had gone to the gent’s staff room to get our water bottle filled because it was in the middle of summers and drinking water used to be finished even before the recess time.  Being a teacher’s favorite, I was the most obvious candidate for this task as they didn’t always allow us to get the icy cold water.

It was then that Purohit Sir, our Social science teacher for class 7 saw me and jabbered something excitedly to Kar sir, our vice principal and our present Social science teacher inOriya.
Kar sir broke excitedly too, wagging his arms till I got scared that I had done something horrendous. My worst fears got confirmed when they both asked me to assemble in the meeting hall in the last two periods.

After spending an entire hour in apprehension and fear, I was surprised to see my brother, his friends and all the high and mighty bhaiya's and didi's of classes 10, 11, 12 in that room ALONG with our Principal Madam. THEN I was informed that I was probably selected for Youth Parliament because they needed some new bali ka bakra to take the oath.
But as it turned out, I was given a better role of an MP with the opposition(they were probably impressed by my excellent Hindi speaking abilities :P :P) where I had to curse the railway minister during the question hour :P

And thus began my tryst with the the-then important elite group of my school :P

It is SO obvious that I was inflated with pride and happiness to be the YOUNGEST member in the team and I used to pose before my friends with killer dialogues of "Arre mujhe Youth Parliament ke practice pe jaane hai. I can’t possibly come and play an immaterial thing like BASKETBALL right now. Duh”:P :P

I never totally realized the importance of what I was getting, not even when our school stood first at the Nationals and we were taken to Delhi for a week to get the prize and also perform there.

That is how I went to my first trip without my parents, not that I missed them or something: P but going alone to DELHI was a huge thing then when i was like 12 or something :P And thus began my incredible journey towards responsibility and fun.

THE JOURNEY

Our train was scheduled at 5 in the morning on 14th August 2007. Needless to say, I was jittery with excitement which my parents probably mistook for my nervousness. I brushed my teeth for 5 whole minutes that morning; I remember it because that’s what I was ranting about the whole day. There were about 50 students accompanied by 5 teachers and our new Principal Sir; the dynamic R.S.Sharma. for the first time in my life, I had a whole new travelling bag for my own which I had packed myself. I declined my father’s offer of helping me carry it and I almost missed the train cuz I couldn’t run fast enough with the heavy bag :P so much for my pompous showing off :P

I forgot my parents as soon as the train took off from the Kharagpur station; I was too hyped up with the idea of going to DELHI all by myself, conveniently forgetting the fact that my brother was with me too :P The 24 hours in the train passed in the wink of an eye with much enjoyment and fun not to forget me being pampered by all bhaiya’s and didi’s and my favorite English teacher Ishaque Mam with loads and loads of goodies to a point I was stuffed.

I also scavenged the variety of mobiles and mp3 players since I didn’t have one with me and my brother so obviously had to be irritating there but not giving me his. The bhaiya’s and didi’s didn’t mind, and god knows how many games I played on their mobiles.

My favorite was Biswa bhaiya though, who was much admired, geeky 12th grader (of who I was in great awe OBVIOUSLY), who I think gave me the maximum no. of chocolates and whose mp3 was filled with Atif Aslam’s songs (on whom I instantly had a crush after listening to ‘Doorie’)  

Not to forget those exciting and interesting HARRY POTTER talks with Suguman Didi(my brother’s classmate and my favorite) for it was barely a month after the release of Deathly Hallows and it was so obvious I had to talk about it being a die-hard HP fan.

We reached Delhi on 15th august (I remember it so clearly because my radio was humming with patriotic songs!) and we had a delicious breakfast of chola-batura which my brother said was rare as we didn’t usually have anything except bread-jam for school trips like these.
It was all very exciting and new for me- mattresses on floor, the sponge pillows, so many people sleeping in the room, getting up at 3 in the morning for a bath for the bathrooms were booked for HOURS and then going back to sleep, having my hair tied (read weird hairdos:P)by one didi or the other and gossiping for late nights.

THE PARLIAMENT DAY

The silver lining of my Delhi trip was the proposed trip to the parliament. Needless to say, I was hyper excited about it, not to mention the endless brags I used to make about it back at school and home. I mean, come on, the PARLIAMENT, that too at the age of 12. It was enough to perk up any kid like me. The day dawned and in our best school dresses, we arrived to THE parliament. We waited in the lounge where I must mention, the foodies were extremely tasty and extremely CHEAP. So it was evident that our country’s political elite get the best of both worlds :P  
After a long wait, we were finally permitted to enter the Parliament where a Lok Sabha session was going on.
After intensive security checks and the prodding with metal detectors we made through the magnificent gateway. Since cameras weren’t allowed, I couldn’t capture the best moment of my life through lens. We saw P.Chidambaram and Pranab Mukherjee just as we were entering and it took every bit of brotherly control on my brother’s part to stop me from screaming in excitement. And exultation :P
Then Principal Sir winked at me and said “I wonder what your reaction would be when we go inside”. Well, the first thing I noticed or felt after entering the Lok Sabha was the blissful cool temperature after the bristling summer heat during our wait outside :P (yes, I am very na├»ve :P)
After we were seated in the gallery, the second thing I noticed was the chaos. Yes, Lok Sabha was every bit as chaotic as we see on TV :P some people in weird, orange robes were shouting something and waving leaflets. I barely saw Somnath Chatterjee at the speaker’s chair when Ipsita shouted excitedly “Look Lalu Prasad Yadav!” and needless to say, I nearly fell off my chair in excitement. We saw many other ministers too; people we get to see only on TV but there weren’t any signs of the Prime minister. We barely had time to sit comfortably when the session was adjourned abruptly and everyone left. And in that sudden, abrupt way, the most cherished moment of my life ended like they always do.
With parliament in the background


A SUPERHERO BROTHER

There was a canteen in the school were we had stayed and it offered delicious burgers, sandwiches and icy cold lemonade. Being the most pampered one, I think people used to treat me thrice a day with something or the other. So, it was the most natural thing for me to be down with a sore throat just before the big day of our show.
I was worried to death, as my voice had become very hoarse and I could hardly speak a word. And THEN, my loving brother, went to God knows what place in the middle of the night (that’s what I like to imagine :P) with most of the shops closed(apparently :P) in the middle of a storm(more of my imagination :P)  with trees falling left and right(aaah :P)and got me a cough syrup :P
My teachers were like- Oh such a nice brother and I am sure the girls of his class were pretty impressed too and I couldn’t help but gloat over the fact that I had such a caring brother. Yes, my brother was a superhero for me then!!

THE BIG DAY

The day came when we finally got the reward of our months of hard work. After performing our mock parliament we received the running shield and school shield along with individual prizes and certificates. Not to forget the best orators from our group who got 1st, 2nd and 3rd prizes for their excellent performance. Prize winners from other schools all over India had come too so it was an incredible experience with inter-school mingling.
We came back in the evening after a very delicious lunch and on the way back, we shouted ourselves hoarse in the bus and later a session of posing with the shield followed. My brother said our Principal Sir actually cried over our win-win but I obviously missed all that- I was fast asleep :P
Dont miss the Two shields. yeah, there were many of us :P

There are probably a hundred memories I have from my first trip beyond Kharagpur without any parental supervision, like the Connaught place, the Birla mandir we went to and the tasty pudina drink we had, the weird drama that unfolded one evening between Biswa bhaiya and ahemm :P but to recount all that here would take pages and pages. So maybe I would do that for ‘Random Memories’ on my blog.

I would like to thank Mahindra for giving me this wonderful opportunity to relive something from the hazy memories of the past. I was literally smiling as I typed my way through this incredible experience of mine.
And thanks to Indiblogger for bringing this opportunity to us in the first place.

You can promote my post on Indi here.

Monday, April 9, 2012

For the light came too late...

Photo from Here

Or maybe... it never came for some of us...

God is the one I look up to now.
Peace is all He can give us...
and maybe... a stronger heart...

This is in the remembrance of a GOOD guy. A strong person. A brilliant mind.
But even the strongest of us go under the cog wheels of life sometimes...

Atish,
you chose to leave us too soon, but you will be always remembered.

From the entire class 12 batch

Saturday, April 7, 2012

How long?

In this darkness
that doesn't seem to end,
below this sky
with my tiny hope spent;
My heart reclines
in the corner of a hole,
searching for stars
that once were its own.
Dreaming nights
with a lingering croon,
forging dreams
on the silvery moon...

But in the blue horizon
I lost the trace of my love,
lost the purpose of my fight;
How long do I search 
without a light,
my eyes become darkness
with sleeping in the dark...
How long do I wait
for the place I belong,
with all my nerves screaming-
I may not be so strong...
How long will I crouch, 
battling the unknown,
for in my heart
there are no corners,
just holes...
just...
holes...

I know this is a passing phase... I know this will end...
but the question is WHEN?
How long of these mood swings, this indecisiveness, this random feeling of guilt, regret, disappointment?
And the exams havent even started yet.
I guess I know the answer- June 7th when all my exams would finally end... but God.. that is so far... so.. far.

damn!
yet another depressing post :P
sorry people!

Sunday, April 1, 2012

Addicted

All I feel like doing these days is playing Tetris battle on Facebook.
Gone are my plans of writing a new short story, typing the one I have kept pending for what seems like ages, making the blog posts I have been planning since exams, watching a cart-load of movies, reading all my new novels and participating in BAT.

But, Tetris has spoiled all my plans(not that I complain) and all I do all day long is jog in the morning, solve a practice paper for WBJEE, read a bit of the novel and play Tetris or brood.

Despite this monotone, I feel depressed. And depressed like hell. it's not even something I feel like sharing; its one of those blue times when you would rather sit alone and think your life sucks.

The upcoming competitive exams are scaring the shit out of me. I don't even remember class 11 physics; I think i will probably end up doing just math and chemistry in every exam. I wish I weren't giving so many exams. It just gets me scared and depressed even more.

I cant write and this scares me. Drowning my pain in Tetris, that's what I am doing these days.
I dont even feel like talking to people anymore. Cooped up all day long- thats what i am doing these days.

Wish this phase would end. But even if it does, wont it start into something similar?
I wonder, I wonder very much.

Sigh. what a depressing post!
hoping to get well soon(cuz I am definitely sick of myself and my thoughts at present)

Kirti