Tunes of life

Her fingers are small, white, and bony. They’re quick and alert and do all the things fingers can. They bend and fold and stuff like that. And still they’re special – they dance.

It’s amazing to see the way her fingers can prance and jump and hop over the black and white keys. It’s as if they have a mind of their own – they know where to go!

But the dance isn’t the main part; it’s what comes out of it. Her fingers create a world when they dance, a world not to see, nor feel, but to hear. Her fingers create music.

The area outside my school store was open. In other words, there was no roof, but otherwise it was closed on all four sides. One of the walls had 2 big carved-out circles – created to look good. There were two strong black rods between each circle. It came in handy when we were climbing through the circle. All the students used to climb in and out while playing games, but my friends and I had a different purpose.

We would seat ourselves down on the lower rod, and hold the upper one.  And then it would start. Our singing. We were singing buddies. And every lunch break we made it a point to sing our favorite. Alejandro.

My mom would hum the tune again and again. I would listen and try out, stumbling over keys until I found the right one. Sometimes I would keep going late into the night. If you were there, you would have seen a tiny black-haired girl on a piano next to a fireplace, slowly humming to herself. Sooner or later she would be playing a melody on the piano – one that matched the tune she was singing.

It was the only instrument I could get any noise out of. I was aiming for clarinet, or flute, or maybe even saxophone. I got stuck with the oboe.

Trust me, even when I nodded and agreed to join the school band, the only thing I was thinking of was how the instrument sounded like a waling baby.

My parents found the noise funny. My brother laughed too. I was angry too. It wasn’t THAT bad. But I was frustrated. I couldn’t get the ‘F’ note properly.

It took practice, and finally, finally, it worked. I got the note. And I performed. It was awesome.

Songs bring back memories. Memories of going down long smooth roads.  Memories of rushing to the car during chilly winters, because my hair had turned to ice after my swim class.

Before the lyrics come to me, the images do. Every single thing related to the song, and me.

When I thought I was leaving everything I had behind in U.S., I was wrong. These songs came with me, and along with them came my whole life. 

A friend in the speed - a short story by Priya Saraff

I met the man on the Metro.

He was gazing at me intently, so absorbed in his gaze that he didn’t even notice the reproachful looks I was giving him; either that, or he didn’t care. I wished someone would come and block me from his view, but nobody noticed that he was staring at me. 

He kept at the staring for so long; I started wondering why he didn’t get bored of it. And yet…there was something about the way he did it. He did it ever so carefully; an attempt to soak in all details of an image. It was more of an examination rather than ogling, I decided. He seemed to take his time in the whole process, and yet managed to take a whole body scan of me.

Suddenly the train stopped, an announcement was made and the man was gone.

The next day, my family and I met the man in the Metro again. This time he was observing a light-blue bag. Seeing the man at work, I realized how meticulously he did it. Curiosity bubbled in me. Why? Why did he inspect things like that? What was so special in a bag?

I leaned towards Mama, who was standing next to me, holding the same pole that I was grasping. “Why does that man observe things that way Mama? It’s as though he’s studying it!” Mama’s gaze followed my pointed finger. She tilted her head and gave a thoughtful, “Hmmm…”

As we got closer to our destination, the crowd in the train started clearing out. Papa, Mama, and I managed to grab a four-seater, and I had an empty seat next to me. “May I sit?” an extra polite voice asked. I looked up to see a tall, well-built man with chestnut colored skin, ruffled black hair and shocking, but cheerful green eyes. The staring man was in front of me!

“I…yeah…of course’ I replied, taken aback. The man’s eyes crinkled in amusement but he kept quiet. As he settled down, I saw he had wrinkles, but something made me feel that rather than old age, they were from experience.

For a while we traveled in silence, Mama, a very busy woman, was tapping away at her mobile, probably sending 1000 emails per minute; Papa was reading a book, my neighbor and I sat silently.

“Autumn!” Papa’s voice disrupted my thoughts. “Autumn, see this, isn’t it gorgeous?” he handed his book, a short hardcover, to me. “Turn to page 139” he said. I started flipping through the pages but stopped at 67, for there was a beautiful picture of a young girl, with a dangly earring looking at me. I stroked the picture. “What are trying to say?” I asked the girl in the picture softly, but continued turning the pages, until I arrived at 139. The book, I discovered, was one of paintings. Page 139 hosted Mona Lisa. Under the image was a small description of the painting and artist. I read the text, and looked at Papa, whose blue eyes were gleaming.

“I’ve seen this picture a lot of times, on all kinds of objects” I informed him. “Autumn! Yes, but isn’t it marvelous?” Papa asked eagerly, and took the book from my hand. I shrugged, “Looks the same” I replied. “Pshaw!” my father threw my opinion aside. I heard a chuckle from my neighbor, but he said nothing.

“You don’t see the beauty” Papa sighed. It was true; I didn’t care for art in the least, yet the girl on page 67 had somehow reached out to me…“Papa, wait!” I grabbed the book, and shuffled to page 67, “She’s amazing!” I declared. “Ah, yes…The girl with a pearl earring…Vermeer…It’s a classic.” he admired the artwork.

Papa turned to our neighbor, “And you? Do you enjoy art?” The man responded readily, “Oh yes, I’m a painter, but not by profession.” Papa applauded, “Lovely!” he exclaimed.

Through more probing we found out that the man’s name was John Creswell, and he was an engineer by profession. He was new to the city, and stayed with his family in a guest house. He used the Metro to get to his work and back.

Papa and I used the Metro to get to his job and my school. Due to our overlapping timings, we saw a lot of John. And we slowly became good friends.

Once, on my request, John brought a small oil-painting of his. It was a spring scene and it was simply gorgeous. I saw his true talent. 

John was a good observer, and kept bringing Papa and me small tales and events that he used to see, or be a part of.  It wasn’t until a particularly bright winter day, however, when things finally changed.

It was Friday. Papa and I met John on our way back home. John stood straighter and taller, and his eyes sparkled more that day. “I quit my job!” he exclaimed, “After a chat with a friend, I decided it was for the better. I’m going to have my own art studio and attend Art College.”

Papa smiled.

“I also plan to move from the guest house, though I don’t know where to. I need a peaceful place” the artist informed us.

“Are you thinking of an apartment or house?” Papa inquired.

“I want to buy a house” John replied. “Any suggestions?”

Papa gazed out the Metro window thoughtfully, while I tried to recall all serene neighborhoods that I could. Then it came to me, “How about Evergreen?” I asked, “The houses are really cozy, safe, and pretty large, and it’s in the suburbs with lots of greenery.”

Papa nodded, “Any empty houses?”

“Well, Kaylie’s neighbor moved out a week ago, and Brianna moved out a month ago, I think the house is still empty.” I told them.

“I know some brokers.” Papa said and whipped out his mobile, and started tapping in numbers. After a few calls he nodded, “It’s all set.” John didn't even get a chance to resist.

For the next few weeks, Papa and John went around with a few people, and though I couldn’t go along, Papa kept me informed. One day, he came in with happy news, “John’s bought Brianna’s old house!’

After settling down, John invited our family to his house, which was a beauty. We got to meet his gracious wife, Laila, his cute kids (7 year-old twins) Delia and Austin, and his gentle giant of a dog, Max. He showed us around his art studio, which was on the 2nd floor of the house. A huge room. From paintings of famous artists to quotes to art supplies, it seemed to have everything!

The one and major downside of the move, was that we wouldn’t be able to meet John on the Metro anymore. His college was on another line, and his art studio was at home. However, we managed to catch him once for a few minutes, when he thanked us all immensely.

It was the last time I ever saw him.

************************************************************************

‘World renowned artist breathes his last.’

The big, black letters stared at me, as I settled down for breakfast one morning. I drank my orange juice and blinked sleepily.

Years had gone by since I had last seen John. I was now married and had a three-year old daughter of my own, Lucie.

“That’s sad” my husband David remarked as he peered over my shoulder at the bold headline. He picked up the newspaper and read aloud, “John Creswell, 86, passed away yesterday due to a cardiac arrest. The artist, who had been staying at Seeker’s hotel during a tour, was rushed to Palls Hospital at 5:30 pm, he died 2½ hours later. Creswell, who is considered as one of the greatest artists of the 21st century, is known for his works like Fast Friends, Ball Gown, Lullaby, and others. He is known for his unique style and brush technique….."

But I didn’t hear the rest. John? One of the greatest artists? Why not?

The depressing truth was, the moment John had walked away from that Metro door so many years back, so did any love or interest I had ever had for art.

Life had gone back to normal with its quiet Metro rides.

The thought could be considered sad, and it was, but my focus went on to my friends and school. I prepared hard, did well, and I was successful. I was an engineer, the job John had never wanted.

“Honey, what about it?” David’s voice disrupted my thoughts.

“Sorry, what did you say?” I asked.

“There’s a John Creswell exhibition in Rainview Hall at 6:30 on Friday. I could book tickets online.” David listed out the details.

I checked my own calendar, “Fine. I’m free on Friday after 5:30.” I confirmed.

I heard a pitter-patter of steps, follower by a squeal, “Daddy! Good morning!”

“Cupcake!” David called, held out his arms, and in rushed Lucie.

I watched fondly as they tickled, hugged and cuddled each other.

“Cupcake, 6:30, on Friday evening, we’re going to go to an art exhibition.”

Lucie frowned. “Art ebiski-zibi-what?!”

David chuckled, “Exhibition. It means we get to see works of a great artist.”

“An artist. That’s what I’ll be!” Lucie declared.

David ruffled her hair, “Yes! Of course!”

Lucie had acquired an interest and love for art that neither David nor I had.

The next day, David came to me and told me that the tickets had been booked. Friday evening arrived very fast.

Before I knew it, the three of us were standing in a long but fast-moving line out side Rainview Hall. Soon enough a lady was collecting our velvety-red tickets. “Hope you enjoy!” she chirped.

Then we entered the hall. I had never seen Rainview, which hosted several exhibitions, as filled, with people or paintings.

Hoards of people crowded around the artworks, so we moved to a less congested area. 

We first saw Fast Friends. It was a water-colour of seven pals, running towards a fast-food restaurant. It was raining in the background and the seven were running over a cobbled road. I smiled at John’s quirky sense of humor.The three women and four guys all looked different, and when I leaned closer I saw a man with Papa’s round, blue eyes. Coincidence, or not, I wasn’t sure.

We then moved onto Ball Gown.

Here, the theme was a romantic dance, and the main couple shone in the spotlight. I thought I saw Laila and John in them. The lady, wearing a silky purple gown, had Mrs. Creswell’s silky brown hair, and the tuxedo-laden man had the artist’s jade-green eyes. The lady was falling back into a graceful swoon, and the man’s hand supported her. There were other couples in the background, and I believed one looked like Mama and Papa dancing, though I couldn’t be too sure.

Apart from these two, only three other paintings were on really large canvases.

The third was called Max, and was Lucie’s clear favorite. As I expected, it was a beautifully done portrait of the Creswell’s adorable black lab.“I like him, can I get a dog like him?” Lucie asked. David ruffled her hair and smiled, “Maybe Cupcake, I want one too.” 

The fourth painting was titled ‘Welcome home, visitor’, and was a gorgeous oil painting of a butterfly on a large lavender orchid that grew in the artist’s garden. “Wow” David said as he stared at the magnificent wings of the creature.

The last of the large canvases was supposedly John’s best, but was continuously being mobbed by viewers and fans, blocking it from our view. Lucie kept insisting on seeing it, and I too wanted to, so finally around 8:00 o’clock, when the crowds had started to depart, we squeezed through to get a glance at the painting. I held onto Lucie, and the three of us made our way to the front.

David, already next to me, stared at the painting, “Honey…”

I got a good look at the painting and dropped my bag in shock…

The setting was a train, a Metro to be precise. I recognized the wide windows, powerful doors, and the colorful seats of my day.

One seat, at the edge of the canvas, bore a sky-blue bag, the same that John had observed, oh so long ago. I could almost feel the folds of the fabric, as if it were actually there.

Nobody but a tall, lean, girl was in sight.

There was a silver pole off the center of the painting, and one of the girl's slim arms was circling it.

The girl had her head gently rested against the pole. Locks of wavy light brown hair, illuminated by rays of sunlight that was pouring in from a window behind her, fell on the girl’s shoulder. Some of her hair covered her face, but two almond-shaped amber eyes were visible, and they gazed downwards. The girl had fair skin, a slender nose, and a small mouth, which was gently closed. Her other arm hung loosely at her side, and her knees were slightly bent.

I could see the effort John had put in. Through neat brush strokes he got the whole picture, especially the fabric, to come alive. I could nearly feel the softness of the girl’s cotton top, and coziness of her well-worn jeans.

The startling thing was that I knew the girl. I used to see her when I looked at myself in the mirror in my school days. She was there in all my childhood photos. And here she was again. Waves of nostalgia hit me so hard, I nearly stumbled.

David put a hand on my shoulder, “Look at the name of the painting, honey.”

I looked up to see John’s bold, but loopy letters form a touching title.

A friend in the speed. 

BY: Priya Saraff 

Monday Morning Blues

I can hear my brother howl,

A warning quite apart,

It’s a way of alerting me,

That the week’s off to a start.

Then this thing comes over me,

My legs just sort of freeze,

I become deaf to the alarm,

And my mom’s “WAKE UP, PLEASE!”

It’ll take a thousand men,

To drag me from here to there,

Just dunk my head in water

If I start snoring anywhere.

I make various mistakes,

I’ll need someone to check

If the shoes are on my hands or feet,

Or if the belt’s around my neck!

We have to hurry to the bus,

We can’t be late today!

Prop me straight on to a seat,

I’ll start dozing right away.

I know it’s not just me alone,

I mean, take a look at you!

I guess both of us are suffering

The Monday Morning Blues!

Post Dinner Exhaustion Syndrome

Post Dinner Exhaustion Syndrome

Commonly known as the 'Sleepy Syndrome', this syndrome occurs just after night meals. The sufferer suddenly feels very full and is unable to eat any more, sometimes, even going without desserts!

SYMPTOMS  (All after dinner)
1) Heaving sighs
2) Yawns
3) Surprisingly large stomach
4) Instant tiredness 
5) Less appetite

CAUSES 
1) Over comsumption of water
2) Chomping food with open mouth
3) Gulping down of food

FACTS
Likely to occur 90% more in almost 12 year old girls named Priya.

For further inquiries please contact us at the comments below.

   

Haikus

Home, hearth, and fire
Tender, forgiving, and kind
Goddess Hestia

The God of the sea
Trident, earthquakes, and horses
The Lord Poseidon

God of the Heavens
The powerful lightning bolt
The great leader Zeus

Goddess of great love
Beautiful and admired
Oh! Aphrodite

Goddess of the Hunt
The moon, stags, and Huntresses
Goddess Artemis

Goddess of wisdom
Grey eyes, olive trees, and owls
Goddess Athena

Waves splash, dolphins leap
A cool breeze over the sea
A magical world

The moon shines above
Silver, bright, and with the stars
Girl of the night sky

Strong rain, rushing winds
Thunder rumbles, lightning strikes
Magnificent storms…

The moment

It was the moment; the moment that would go down in history, the moment that ended the 28 – year wait. It was the moment filled with grins and hugs and tears. It was the moment that was greeted with praises and compliments and congratulations; marked by the parties, the fireworks, and the champagne. A moment when the hopes and dreams were proved true, and everyone’s hearts were overflowing with happiness. A moment of childish joy and celebration, of dancing, and leaping, of nothing but pure triumph. It was the moment of victory. It was the moment that India seized the Cup. 

Passion

In the room all alone

The words spill out, on their own.

Curving letters in a handwriting neat,

Morph into words sticky-sweet

I can be who I’m not or who I want to be,

I can get away from the truth, get lost in fantasy.

I battle villains in the shower,

In the washroom I have every power!

I can change the world, sitting on my bed,

I befriend characters from a story I read.

Let’s get away form this world so cruel,

Discover Atlantis under a pool!

Do the impossible! Records to beat–ah!

Escape 2 Africa! Ride on a cheetah!

From so many topics I have to select,

With letters and words I am an architect.

I design and I style (and I cut and I scratch)

It may take a while (‘till we find the right match)

I’m not an engineer, cook, pilot, or fighter.

No, I have all the powers: I am a writer.

Cardboard boxes

It’s one of my last days here, 72 hours later I would be gone. I enter the house to see shrink wrap, tape, and boxes. The hall is empty of everything but these objects, and a bunch o f people. I set my bag and shoes down, I have nowhere to go. My parents are directing all the movers in and out of rooms, people are drilling, hammering, removing, and wrapping. I decide to see my room; so skipping alternate steps I come into an empty wooden-floored room, with nothing, absolutely nothing but some more boxes. The bathroom looks somewhat more realistic, probably because no one intended to pack the toilet and the bath. Thank God for that. However, the little shelf that had held some stuff before had disappeared. I exit the room and arrive at the landing, where the exercise equipment has been crudely packed with shrink wrap and orange tape. Usually, I adore popping the little bubbles of the shrink wrap, but now I’ll do anything to stay away from it. I don’t want to be anywhere near a cardboard box, so perhaps the only other options were staying locked up in the bathroom or to go outside in the scorching sun. I choose going outside. I leap down the steps and make my way out of the boxed up house. I feel a little guilty, remembering the promise I made to my parents, to help them whenever they needed it. But they are handling it well, and I am getting sick of those brown packages. I need nothing more to remind me of the limited time I have here.  So, I run to the front of my friend’s house to invite her outside, and to keep my mind of off those villainous cardboard boxes.

Lovely….

It is such a lovely name. It’s got such a lovely meaning too. The view of a grassy field. That’s all it was. But it spoke of peace, and simplicity. It spoke of loveliness.

Glenview was lovely.

The neighborhood where I used to live, Big Oak, was beautiful. It consisted of tall, friendly trees. The plants were gently cared for and nurtured, thus glowing many shades of green. It had that serenity and calmness, the closeness to nature, which simply charmed anybody who ever set foot there. It brought immediate trust and comfort. On the downside, it was quite lonely for any child. There were not many kids around, but you did have caring neighbors, and they made up for the loneliness.

My school was just as great. It contained an open and friendly atmosphere. I had some awesome teachers. I was in TREE (Technology Rich Educational Environment).I enjoyed that experience. I learned to present and speak confidently. I had friends who were very close to me. I confided a lot of things to them. They kept me cheerful and lively and eager to go to school every day.

I attended 3 after-school classes. Swimming, my favorite sport, which I had been learning (and loving) since I was seven. I wasn’t very good in it, I never DID exceed in any sport, but I took swimming seriously, and on top of everything I enjoyed it. I also tap-danced, and it was a great experience. There were 2 of 3 recitals I gave up foolishly because I didn’t like the dress. Nonetheless, I participated in the class, substituting for any absent person. The last recital was one in which I DID participate, having fun, and earning a pretty red dress just for it. The last and most recent class I had joined was a piano class. I had been taking an interest in piano, so I started to attend a class. It didn’t go on for very long, but it ended well with a small performance.

These 3 things kept my life full and happy. Of course, this didn’t mean life came free, and without problems. There were arguments, and fights, and tears, but somehow I felt that Gurgaon took more pain from me, than Glenview ever had. It’s odd to say for I lived in Glenview for7-8 years whereas I lived in Gurgaon for only 2 years, but I have a good reason for saying this. It was my age. By the time I had moved from US to India, I had started ‘growing up’. My emotions went deep and a bit wild. In Glenview, I was more innocent and quiet. My friends were growing up with me and things were very much age appropriate. I’m thankful that I stayed in US through my slightly more tender years because it nurtured me in the right way. By the time I had moved, I had enough experience to go a bit more hard-core.

To sum it up, I can only call life in US lovely, because that’s what it was. The right age in the right area with the right people. And the result can only be so much lovelier!

Journey...

There was a time when moving straight from U.S. to Bangalore was considered. And if that had happened, if all obstacles had been addressed and overcome, then life may have been easier. Initially, it would have been hard anyway, Bangalore or Gurgaon. But Bangalore has its own advantages, the wonderful weather, my many relatives, and besides it was home from the start. Delhi only had my uncle, aunt, and cousin (whom we very much needed),  but besides that...nothing. The weather was intense and horrible, not many relatives, and it wasn't a very familiar place.
Though I don't know how it would have been in Bangalore, I know that this place took a lot from me. There were tears, and fights, and heartbreaks, and lots of changes and pain to endure, and many new things to take in too. Bangalore may have not been very much different, but it has its own comforts.
Little did I know that soon enough I'd start calling this place as 'home'. I term these 2 years as some of the best in my life. It wasn't all fun and easy, actually it was quite the opposite. No one was as nice as people were in the U.S., but I never knew that playing outside could become one of the best parts of my life. And these 2 years were different from the ones in U.S. and I don't regret a moment.
I would have never imagined a 5 day trip to mountains, or para-sailing, or the fact that one day I would have known most parts of a cycle. Because of my school, I opened up, and started writing more and perhaps, better than ever. Till then, my work was just for my family, it was done so quietly, and suddenly, I was being called 'Ms. Poet'.
And I would never have known, had I gone straight to Bangalore, that one day, I would be ready to take a bullet for a friend. Here, in Gurgaon, I met 2 girls, Rajashree and Rhea, who changed my life (as of now!). I had never had a bond so strong with a friend that I would have been able to tell them EVERY SINGLE thing about myself. But these 2 girls know me from cover to cover.
We're like sisters, we argue, and quarrel, and tease and embarrass each other. But we would DIE for each other. It's rare and precious having such friendships, especially in trios. Yes, occasionally one of us may get left out, but not for long. These 2 girls made me happy to come to school each day. I love them.
I'm sad to leave, heart-broken, actually. But I'm glad to go now, where our friendship is so strong instead of 2 years later, when we may be falling apart.
Moving is never easy, it never was, and never will be. As humans, we have the ability to adapt to locations soon enough, and to fall in love with them. And leaving is always hard, but leaving from a place you love and don't want to leave, is always better than leaving a place that you hate.
I don't want to go. If I had an option I'd stay here forever. But since I HAVE to go, my parents couldn't have chosen a better time, because I'm happy and content at the moment and that leaves me with a clear mind to ponder about the future...

My daddy's scrambled egg

It's just so full, so rich, so cheesy
My tummy's always sayin' "I want some more pleasy!"
When I'm done, I'm feelin' so gladdy,
And no one can make it better that my daddy!
Just plain yellow, not much to be seen,
But you'll see in seconds, the plate licked clean.
The height of yumminess, savour the taste,
Eat every morsel, it's too good to waste!
And I'm not kidding or pulling your leg,
Just try out my daddy's wicked scrambled egg.

Fly

“It’s time”, the whisper reaches your ear. ‘Yes’, you agree, ‘it is’. As you close your eyes, memories flood into your mind; images of the injuries, the fall, the accident. ‘No’ you tell yourself, and you banish the thoughts. You open your eyes.

The wind touches you lightly, beckoning you. You answer with a soft call. You would do this. You HAD to. Inhaling deeply, you make your way out of the wavering shadows of the leaves to the edge of the branch.

The moment you step out of the darkness, the moonlight touches you, in a sort of encouraging, silver blessing. The moon smiles at you, like a gentle, glowing girl, and you feel more confident. You have a friend.

You gaze into the distance, into the future, into the past. The sky lies before you: deep, clear, and infinite. The pinprick stars, like jewels give a warm, welcoming light.

You breathe deeply. You stretch your wings out to feel the breeze blowing in, and fluttering your feathers. This was what had happened last time too, but it had not ended with good results. What were the guarantees this time? None. You were being foolish...

NO! You wouldn’t let that voice taunt you. Not if the fate of the world depended on it.

So now, with a rebellious, yet fearing, determination, you stretched your wings again, and concentrate. The breeze is more timid and hesitant this time, as if to fear you. ‘Come!’ you call sharply. Then, realizing your own fear and aggressiveness, you relax, and the breeze snakes around you lovingly. ‘Carry me’

The wind obliges and instantly the leaves are rustling harder and harder. You realize what is happening, and prepare for your next move. Feeling the helpful boost of air, you take off without second thoughts. You’ve done this before, yet, somehow, you’re nervous. But there’s nothing you can do about it now. You’re in the present.

The air relaxes slightly and all of a sudden, and you’re caught in a fall - unable to hold yourself, until you muster your courage for a risk, and with great determination, pull yourself out of the fall.

That was risky. And scary. But it was instinct. And your dive had been superb.

You try again, this time more carefully, and use your wings for support instead of the wind. Flapping, you go higher, and higher into the blue sky, until you are stable, before gliding. You are not as reckless, but somewhere in the middle, you forget and swoop into a fabulous dive. You are soaring into your hopes and dreams. This was the first time that you were flying for so long, and you absolutely adored it. This was amazing, and wonderful. Oh! It was just magic! You can’t hold your happiness anymore, so you let free of all your emotions. You fly, and fly, and fly.

But suddenly, time catches up and you’re feeling a little tired, just slightly, but tired nonetheless. So gasping, you lean in carefully downwards, until you are hovering right above your branch. And slowly, slowly you set your feet down.

You had had an adventure, such a blast!

And tomorrow would be another one.

But you could wait till then.

Step by step, you make your way back into the darkness, and into your dreams.

Connection

You get a special feeling, and it gets stronger with every word she says. She won’t ever know you, she’s a famous poet, and you’re just a normal girl, it’s not possible. But remember, great minds think alike! And that’s how you feel. You soak in every word of her’s, because you can share them as your own too. Her insights are as yours, in a different way. Her voice is like amazing, being able to change from a hooking melody to sassiness, or sarcasm. And that feeling tugs at you again. The feeling which is inspiring, and – and it’s a sort of bond that forms. Words that link you to another person across the world, because she loves them just as you do. Her words become music to you, because more than anything you can relate to them. You can relate to the understandings, since you, most of all, understand. And it’s such a wonderful thing!! And that’s exactly what she’s talking about right then. Relating and understanding. Finding a mind like your’s. Similarities.

Great happiness bubbles in you, for you’ve found a different type of artist, who you can relate to. The bond gets stronger and stronger. She doesn’t know you, but she doesn’t need to! You know her, and that’s enough!

You smile and hear her words over and over and over. You take in every minute you can. And you’re delighted, simply because you connected.

LAUGH

You can't stop,
Your sides are aching terribly and you're breathing hard,
But you can't stop.
The feelings around are sweet: cozy and friendly,
The voices fill the empty spaces in the room and the heart.
Slowly, slowly, you regain yourself through deep, heaving breaths,
You can't help but giggle, though.
Soon enough you're back to where you were before, voices ringing in the air.
You don't care about the pain,
You enjoy the merry moment while it lasts.
You enjoy your company,
You enjoy the joke,
And most of all, you enjoy the laughing!

Dance

You feel it,
You feel it as it plays.
The rhythm's at your feet,
The tune's at your voice,
And you have not a care in the world.
You're restless, all of a sudden,
So you start moving to the beat.
Soon enough, you have yourself dancing, carried away,
But you can't stop,
You don't want to.
Rocking yourself out,
Having a good time,
That's what you're doing,
And you love it.
The music becomes your world at that moment.
So you do what you have to,
You follow instinct,
You DANCE.

The ITCH

It makes me jump, it makes me twitch,
To know that I've developed an itch.
It starts at my head, tackles my hair,
My hand digs in to stop it there.
It misses my face, just to check,
I see that it has reached the neck.
Then I feel a sudden attack,
The Itch has pounced onto my back!
It slowly tingles down my spine,
What a terrible itch of mine!
It's at the hips, legs then feet,
I'm scratching at a certain beat.
A rhythm starts and I go wild,
Understand, this case ain't mild!
And as I scratched, it was odd rather,
Around me, people had started to gather.
I leaped and hopped, jumped about,
I twirled and swirled, ready to shout.
Finally, finally, the itch disappears,
I'm panting and sweating, but I jump up and cheer.
I see around, there's a crowd,
They hoot and clap, all aloud.
I am happy and they are too,
They applauded, and said "there's a good future for you!"
A future? Oh wait! Then I saw the chance,
What was my itch, others thought dance!

Parody : "No Air" (Actual by Jordin Sparks)

Listen up, girls and boys
Do you hear that hissing noise?
Thats the puncture voice
There's no air, no air
There's a gaping hole
And now my wheels won't roll
It's out of my control
No air, no air

Such sadness I feel
Just can't believe it's real
There's nothing in my wheel
No air, no air

Now feeling down in dumps
Can't even use the pump
Need to overcome this bump
No air, no air

We've replaced the valve
Now the wheels revolve
A problem we have solved
There's air
There's air!!!

 

The bliss.......

Relish the flavour
Savour it, remember it
The soft sweetness
The way it melts in your mouth
Uncomparable
Unreachable
Heaven on Earth
A true paradise
Ah! The bliss of chocolate.... 

It's a silly thing...

“It’s a silly thing” people would say, but you disagree. You took it in with commitment and dedication. And now it’s become a part of your life and soul, but suddenly you see it crashing down. The word ‘impossible’ is shoved in front of your face because that’s the type of problem that’s popped up. Nothing can be done about it. Suddenly your head starts pumping and the terrible truth starts dawning on you. “No,” is the only word you can utter. And you wish, and want more than anytime before. It was all going so well, like skipping through a merry field of daisies on a sunny day. You pick the flowers and put them merrily in the basket, but when you come home, you learn that the field’s been destroyed by a tornado, and it’s your favorite place on earth.

 Others can do no more than to pat you on the back and say, “I’m sorry, friend” They don’t care about it the way you do. They can’t understand, so feeling pity is the most that they can do.

And then you have to wait to get to know how bad it went, and you can’t take the wait. You just want to go back in time and push the problem away, but you can’t and that’s what makes your heart ache. You CAN’T, no matter how hard you try. You had put in so much of effort, but it goes wrong, and it can be fixed, but you don’t have the TIME either.  

So, you’ll have to make the best of it, but you don’t know the bare truth. You only know one part, so the world spins around between confusion and sadness.

Failure gets at people. It always did, and probably always will. But you can’t let it get the better of you. Yes, it’s ruined. I’m sorry. There has to be a solution. And you are missing the one important thing you need at such a time. Hope. You stare face to face with the problem, it’s a wall blocking you, you have to get past it, and you have to at least WANT to see the other side. It won’t be like it was before, but remember anything can be fixed if the right attitude is put towards it. But you should feel a positive note, because every cloud has a silver lining, even if it isn’t visible.

To be one

A little girl looked outside

To her, life is a joyful ride

But one day she sees the news,

That changes all her views.

Terrorism all around

Random massacres in random towns.

Just to prove that they are stronger

So many lives could have lasted longer

All around much havoc is caused

So many priceless lives are lost.

The little girl says, “To be one, we’ve learned.

Why has the world taken an opposite turn?”

Discrimination between,

Every single thing is seen

Why do people think that one is right?

Who cares if someone is black or white?

Why always be partial to one?

Why not daughter but to son?

 The little girl says, “To be one, we’ve learned.

Why has the world taken an opposite turn?”

Why do hurt that of our own race?

To cause pain on every innocent face.

Why is it power, people want to show?

If they do another way they can go.

Try to be peaceful and discourage fights,

Do the good, and show what’s right.

You see our main flaw is greed

To be the best is what we need.

To want more power than any other,

Is what prevents us from working together.

What we have to do, is show what’s right.

We should be one to make the world bright

And no one can defeat us if we hold hands.

We’d be one; United we’d stand.

So think about what you read today

We should all try to change our ways

And it does make a difference between you and me.

As Gandhiji said “be the change you want to see”

Big, Fat, Mouth

Big, Fat, Mouth

Just recently, I had expressed my opinion to my friend about herself. This was overheard by another person, he carried the news over, and it was plain disaster for my friend. I apologized, of course, it hadn’t even been a slip of a tongue, there was an over hearer, and then there was plain chaos.

There ARE times like that. You say something, and it is wrongly understood or made into a much bigger deal by an outsider and it is publicized… yaaa…. THAT makes you feel guilty, for sure. The biggest punishment (on top of the guilt) is probably only a day of angry silence between you and your friend.

Oh yes, I said ONLY.

Imagine: - you live in a kingdom ruled by a cruel tyrant. You express your opinion about the king, all honestly, of course. Your opinions might not have been outright positive (the word CRUEL is mentioned above), and your punishment isn’t an angry silence, your punishment is banishment, or death. Ahh…That’s no biggie…

And there’s a funeral going on, and the question bubbles up, how did this poor chap die? Well, we personally know the answer, don’t we? The poor chap SPOKE. A big fat mouth he had there!

That’s probably NOT the best way to die. And luckily, most kingdoms were in olden times, so no need to worry on expressing views. But freedom of speech is one of the best rights we get as a democracy. WE are the ones. WE are the ones who chose our leader; WE are the ones who give celebrities their fans; so WE have every right to judge our leaders, or celebrities.

In times of unjust rulers, fear reigned, more than humans. Why? There is a wicked king, with a powerful army by his side, under his very command. He has the power, so he decides what’s acceptable. He decides what’s right, and no disagreeing. And one of the most common things a ruler hated was criticism against him. (Hint for survival of the day: might wanna keep your big fat mouth shut in front of big angry royal men…)

So he would kill the person, or ban the source that held all such “lies”.

Now, however, it’s different. WE are the ones who chose our leaders. If someone wants to represent us, he better allow criticism, he should make the changes, so we DO chose him as a representative. He should be worthy of being a representative.

It doesn’t matter to me if the most powerful person in the world liked orange better than blue, I would always like blue more. I would say it too. THAT is the freedom of speech. Saying and expressing your views, freely.

We should watch our words, opinions shouldn’t become insults. If something is thought very bad about somebody, so better kept to yourself. Otherwise, the whole cycle of misunderstanding could start again.

I have the freedom of speech, but sometimes, I’d better keep my big, fat, mouth shut!!!

The meaning of 'shut up'

This phrase consists of 2 words, shut and up. 'Shut' means to block an entrance, prevent access to, or close an entrance to keep out a being. 'Up', easily said, means a higher position, or towards a higher position (upwards).
However, when these two words come together, they create an informal, and rather harsh phrase meaning, "stop talking".
This phrase is probably a shortened version of, 'shut your mouth up'.
As crude as it sounds, the basic meaning is to block an entrance by going towards a higher position. In other words, to close the mouth by pushing the lower jaw to a higher position (which evidently closes the mouth).
Though complicatedly composed, this is the basic meaning of the phrase.
As mentioned above, 'shut up' was probably a shorter way of saying, 'shut your mouth'. I believe that the word 'jaw', was loosely replaced by the word 'mouth'.
(Who would go around saying 'shut your jaw up?!' I mean when you are informal, or angry, no need to be so exact!)

So this,  is my understanding of what 'shut up' means.
Thank you.

Speak from your heart

How many of you are chatterboxes? How many of you are scared of speaking to public? How many are BOTH?
I am a chatterbox, and speaking to public wasn't THAT scary, I was growing to like presenting, but two events made me fall in love with speaking and sharing.
On December 31, and today, January 14 I (and 3 others) gave a presentation about our cycle project.
On December 30, Rajashree (my friend) called me up and asked if I was interested in giving a presentation on our project, the bicycle, to American project experts, at school (along with her). I immediately agreed.
I made notes on our project and went to school the next day.
I met up Rajashree, and Tamanna and Ishaan. Those 2 were representing 6-F, and we, 6-E.
Tamanna apparently had the right notes (mine were out of order) and preparing our lines, and notes, we went ready for the speech.
I had to present on history, working in the bike lab, and sketching of earlier models of cycles.
I only had one line in mind, about history : "We saw changes from no pedal to chain, from huge front wheel to huge back wheel, and from our no knowledge to sudden genius-ness."
We had to give 2 presentations, to different crowds.
We were shaky on the first one, messing up the lines. And after that we led the crowd through a small gallery walk, and answered questions.
We were much more confident on our second one, making no mistakes. My line made some people laugh (thank god!), and we had tremendous amount of fun answering the question: Is Gurgaon a bike friendly city?
 We made silly comparisons, and our examples of invention to innovations, were simply funny (steam engine to magnetised metro! Maruti 800 to Lamborghini!)
MAN! It was fun!
 Kanchan ma'am, Jayshree ma'am, and Preeti ma'am, then talked about our project and our eagerness to share showed in our restlessness. Finally we did answer questions and also got to sit in front while Mr. Levy ( our project expert) presented.
The whole experience : FUN!!!!
2 days ago, Mom got an email from ma'am requesting Rajashree and I to present again, with Ishaan and Tamanna to some principals of other schools. Remembering the last time, I readily agreed.
We were nervous to know that we were talking to so many principals, but the tension was broken by discussions of just about anything. (English accents, cures for cancer, singing pigs, you get the point.)
We did end up rehearsing, this time I also introduced. The teachers also wanted us to add some more lines.
We waited quite a while before presenting. I admit, with so much in my head to say, it got a little disorganised as I tried to cramp everything in.
But, while the people were taking the gallery walk we got many questions, which we answered whole-heartedly.
The 4 of us had a lot of fun, enjoying IMMENSELY.
I really want to thank Preeti ma'am, Jayshree ma'am, and Kanchan ma'am for giving us this chance.
So I learned through all this that I loved sharing. I guess the key wasn't in just confidence, but also the fact, I spoke from my heart.

Butterfly Dance

Flitting colours, Elegant wings,
Blues, blacks, yellows, and pinks,
Flying in every single way,
Today is the Butterfly Day.

Dragonflies, buzzing by,
Racing with the butterflies,
All around a flying craze,
Three, two, one, it's the Butterfly Chase

Flower to flower, leaf to leaf
Flying higher than we can see
Swirling, twirling, with every chance
Start the music for the Butterfly Dance

Elephant Poop- Cooky times of Khoj

OUR bathrooms were in tents, with no water, just sand,
From the gypsy I saw, elephants' bathroom-ed on LAND!
We counted 11 HAT-TRICKS, they're such hearty-POOPERS!!!!!!!!
I felt jealous of their freedom, they're big party poopers!

Magic Moms

I never liked ghost stories. The slightest freaked me out. But just to test my bravery, one night on a school trip, I sat to listen to ghost stories around a bonfire. That night in the tents all my friends slept soundly, but it took me, what I felt, as decades for me to sleep. The very next night I returned home, and though I did not admit it to anybody, I went to sleep next to my mother, and all my fears vanished.

At an age, “sticking to mommy” is no longer cool. You are older now, independent, and if you are blubbering out “mommy” in the middle of a horror movie or in a haunted house, well buddy, you are going to be called an s-c-a-r-e-d-y c-a-t, and that’s a name no one wants. 

However, even if the tongue can be held back then, it is more or less often the instinct that causes you to call for your mother in times of panic, pain, or discomfort.

There have been embarrassing times when I couldn’t open the lock of a bathroom, or the knot of a salwaar wouldn’t open, when I desperately needed to empty my bladder; that the word “amma” was blurted out. There were times when I was alone and stuck in a situation which I couldn’t handle, and “mom” was the first word at the tongue.

Once, two of my friends and I had jokingly been talking of what we would exclaim if we had fallen down from a cliff into a deep forest. I mentioned that I would shout, “hat trick” (an inside joke), my friend said he would exclaim, “Ouch” (naturally) while my other friend, said she would scream, “Mummy!” The first friend was surprised by this answer, while I could understand. We then started chatting about how in times of panic we automatically shout for our mom.

 That’s what it was, instinct.

Somehow, we always believed our mother was a sort of magician, able to solve any problem that we had, while it was sheer common sense. We came to her with a problem, which, we were convinced was IMPOSSIBLE to solve. We would wait, as she examined the problem and with a tap of her wand, a solution sprung up. Now when we think back, the solutions were so absurdly simple, we hadn’t even noticed it.

Yet perhaps our mothers do have a magic. When there is a problem, simply call them and they fix it. Perhaps it’s a wound; they simply seem to kiss away the pain. Though the pain exists, the thought that ‘mom’s there’ makes it feel better already.

My own relative, after an operation, half-conscious, in great pain, called “amma, amma”. His mother was very far away, and yet he called for her.

That incident is proof showing that calling for your mother at those kinds of moments is sheer instinct.

So even if the word “mamma” ever does slip from your mouth, don’t worry. Go ahead, don’t tell anyone, that’s your wish, but remember it’s not always a scared-y cat thing, its instinct. We’re used to the world of magic moms, moms who wipe our problems away.

The Alarm

Ringing to annoyance is its charm,
So much we want to cause it harm,
BLARING RED
"TREEP! TREEP!" It said
It's the power of The Great ALARM