Pro Bro

It's strange to know that you are not here,

No source of constant blab is near.

No questions, no requests for advice,

No justified replies for something not nice.

And the moment you see your parents' daughter,

No questions about Harry Potter!

About flying brooms, magic sticks,

Harry, Voldy, or Bellatrix!

No annoyance, no frustration,

No more fights, no irritations.

All is calm, yet not quite a joy,

For what's there to do without you, boy?

No one to fight with, no one to tease,

No questions to answer, when we both make peace!

No chatter or laughter, anymore...

Without you bro, it's quite a bore!

Yet it's something, that I'll never admit –

That I miss you, uh! I sound like a twit!

So I'll mask my joy with a face of sorrow,

When you return home, day after tomorrow! 

MONKEY BUSINESS

My mum was cooking, holding a pan,

And a hard ladle in her hand,

Just as the batter was becoming nice and fine,

My mum felt a chill go down her spine…

She felt like James Bond, she felt like a spy,

Discovered by the enemy’s watchful eye….

Slowly, by instinct, she turned around,

And caught the gaze of a creature, furry and brown.

At first she didn’t know what to think,

She rubbed her eyes, gave a blink,

Then she realized the situation wasn’t funky,

Sitting near the kitchen window was a monkey!

She shook her ladle, gave a heart-stopping scream,

Shaking her daughter out of a sweet daydream.

But the monkey did nothing but sit and stare,

While my mum responded with a ‘monkey, beware!’

 It took its own time, waddled over to the bottles,

And what it picked up, made us all chortle –

It was an empty peanut butter jar, with nothing to hide –

Yet the monkey tried to open it, to see if something was inside,

My mum tried to appear as a large scary threat,

But the monkey did nothing, the monkey didn’t fret.

And let me tell you, the monkey must love bread,

For it chose another bottle – this one of cheese spread.

My mum had had enough, she couldn’t take anymore –

She made her way, and opened the kitchen door.

‘Hyash! Hyash!’ She screamed and she shouted,

Now the monkey was startled a little, undoubted.

My mother shrieked in Monkenese, ‘DON’T YOU DARE COME HERE!’

The creature gave one frightful look, and then it disappeared.   

Happy Diwali!!

Upon the red stone floor I lie,

Watching marshmellowy clouds pass by,

Thinking of how, in the night,

The sky will remain just as bright.

Not becuase of the Sun, which lights up our world,

But because of US, normal boys and girls!

In the evenings we'll rush with matchsticks in our hands,

To turn this ordinary place into a fiery land!

With sparklers, and chakras, and flowerpots...

Enjoying whichever crackers we've got!

With friends and family, we'll admire,

The sky alight with colourful fire.

BOOM! BAM! The bombs will burst,

100! 1000! They'll keep getting worse,

But even THEY cannot scare us away from this place,

Even THEY cannot wipe the smiles off our face!

For this is the festival of lights, time of flaming glory -

Behind these moments, there's many a story!

All of them talk of change, a mass upheaval -

The world will be saved, good wins over evil.

Gods and Goddesses descend upon Earth,

In magnificent form, all of them take birth!

Bringing about miracles, just as a child -

They'll save Mother Earth from demons so wild!

And they'll defeat these monsters, with power and magic,

And this will avoid events which could've turned tragic.

All these tales come back to us today,

And we celebrate these triumphs in the above-mentioned way.

To scare off the danger, around us which lurks,

We burst and enjoy many fireworks!

And I'm so glad, it's come! I'm so glad it's here!

Diwali: My favourite festival of the year!

'Lah' at first sight

Only large dustbins have trash,
The Metro flits by in a flash,
Many apartments - house on house,
With no stray dogs and no stray cows,
But prowls and moos will be heard by you,
At the famous city zoo,
And the night safari, just next door,
Will leave you darkness to explore,
But it won't scare you in the least,
Wait....was that a beauty or a beast?
And while all restaurants do look good,
It's hard to get just veggie food,
But what they do have is nice,
Sweet and sour with a little spice,
And I can guarantee a moody sky,
Once a day the clouds will cry,
It falls uniform - straight and neat,
The drops themselves are sticky sweet,
Intense penalties will make sure,
All the people feel secure,
With the folks themselves, its fun to be friends,
They'll give you directions till no end,
But they don't say "yaar" and they don't say "da",
They have their own version and that is "lah",
And as much as the city's clean,
It does its best to stay very green,
All these things and so much more....
Make you fall in love with Singapore.

On a sugar overload

“OK, my daughter’s lost it”

My mom rolled her eyes and said,

“All the sugar that she’s eaten,

Has gone into her head”

“Let me tell you now,

Expect the unexpected,

There’s no telling what she’ll do,

This is hyper-ness perfected.”

“She may start to sing,

In odd voices of all sorts,

Or start to jump around,

Like a kangaroo grown short.”

“She could become a timid

Bunny who likes to bounce,

Or a fearsome puma,

Who on her prey she’ll pounce,

Sadly that is my husband,

And this goes unannounced!”

“And let us not forget,

There is always that chance,

She may think herself as a diva,

And she may start to dance.”

“She may become a gangsta,

She may start to rap,

But we would never get it,

There’s a big generation gap.”

“She could become a witch,

A part of Harry Potter,

Or a powerful demi-god,

Lord Apollo’s daughter!”

“But most likely, she will hear my words,

And then she’ll shout ‘I’ll show’em!’

She’ll grab a pencil, grab a paper,

And pen this silly poem!”

Thanks...

I often like seeing my audience and I marvel at the fact so many read my blog. Thanks so much!!! It really brightens my day! And what's more is that I have readers from all over the world, due to my mom's many friends on Facbook. However, recently we have noticed that there are some readers from Russia, and that's curious as none of us know anybody from over there.

Could you please let me know who you are?

And anyways, thank you all...!!!

Mosquitoes

All of man has one common foe -
And that is the horrifying mosquito
They suck blood, they're fast, they're black,
And size is what they really lack.
But that's the way they want to be,
They'll suck your blood when you can't see.
You'll happily be dancing into the night,
They'll sneak up on you and take a bite.
Or you'll be studying hard with all your books,
And they'll steal your blood, and you won't even look.
Preposterous creatures,
With unpleasant features,
Who can leave red bumps in all sorts of places,
Ruining the most beautiful faces.
This continues to happen all the time,
Shouldn't they be punishable for their crime?
Sometimes we get lucky when we swat -
We hit them right square, and leave them to rot.
But sometimes (most times) they escape, which is plain unfair -
But all I can say is: Near mosquitoes, one must BEWARE. 

"Check"-mate

She was weary, she was tired.
A long day of school, the sun burning hot, and life all mixed up.
Everything seemed so extreme now, like black and white.
Black and white. She smiled at the comparison. A chess game was what this was.
This fight, this ignoring, they were the white side, the angels of the game, but in truth, a pack of wolves.
She, on the other hand, was the black side. Black, because that's what they thought of her. Black because that's what she was. But black suited her perfectly fine, she liked the color. It represented the darker, rarer side of life, dark, but not necessarily bad. She played a one-man game. And she liked it that way.
White was the majority, black, the minority.
This comparison worked in so many ways.
They were the pawns, following one leader, protecting one leader - who had the importance of the king and the strength of the queen.
She was the pawns, and the king and the queen.
Neither of the sides were about to bow down to the other.
Not them, not she.
Her tired mind suddenly seemed alive, jumping with words, their comfort zone, and it poured out.

They ignore, no, they don't look my way.
It's a fight, and it's getting worse day by day.
Should I say sorry, and end this feud?
Or not? For then, it's me they'll exclude! 
I can get this friendship back, the type that doesn't break, 
But is that what I want? My dignity's at stake.
I can change the past - as if it never happened, 
Say the word 'sorry', I might again become the best friend.
But, if I don't, let's be honest, what have I to lose?
The so-called friends might take me back, but I have to choose -
If they are my real friends - well they wouldn't have chucked me out, 
They'd stand by me through good and bad, and now I start to doubt...
For they are playing "Simon Says"
They're following the leader's ways..
Or else they'll be next, I'm sure they're scared, 
They'd have taken the risk if they really cared.
The fight might end, I may go back, 
But my own mind is what I won't lack, 
I'll do what I KNOW is right, 
Even if it leads to another fight!
Friends again? Maybe, maybe not...
But a valuable lesson, I've been taught!

She laughed. It wasn't that easy, as saying sorry, and getting re-accepted. But she did feel better about herself.
As she read it out to her dad, he started to laugh.
"Well, at least something good came out of this fight!"
 


 

"Splash" dance

In soccer- it's the goal I won't get,
In volleyball -the ball doesn't get over the net!
In basketball - I can never reach...
When will I ever, EVER find my niche?
It's where I rush to after school,
A tiny, but lovely swimming pool.
I do it by myself all alone,
Not in the house, yet quite at home!
I'm not fast, oh no, not by far,
I'm not what you'd call a swimming star.
I want to cruise, I want to sail,
I want to compete - but I'm scared to fail,
I've never really been good at sports like the rest,
Yet I won't give up, dreaming one day I'll be best.
For, you see, I believe it's MY place,
It adds a twinkle to my eyes, and a smile to my face.
Inside me, a strong passion burns,
And that's actually what's helping me learn.
It's where I'm me, and this love gives me hope,
That inside I've got a spark, inside I've got some scope -
Maybe if I do exactly as told,
And practice, and practice, I may win that gold...
And though now I'm meeting my failures with a crash,
Later I'll be greeting my successes with a huge SPLASH!

Spectacular love

You know how much I need you...
A feeling so intense,
It's hard to describe.
I met you when I was 7,
Young, I know..
But that's the way it was meant to be...
I befriended you, I started to love you.
You changed when I changed -
And I was always eager to meet the new you, but I would always miss the old one...
You got hurt at my expense -
Badly scratched,
Limbs sometimes bent...
I can't live without you...
You've given me so much...
You've helped me understand,
I learnt all because of you!
One day, one sad day, I may say goodbye -
Only when I'm ready, though...
Only when I'm ready to see the world,
On my own, without you, my lovely full-framed glasses ...

A blog, a breakfast

If any of you ever wondered why I was suddenly writing so much (or at least, more than usual), it’s actually because my mom and I made a deal. She promised she would make an Indian breakfast for us; something she barely ever did. And in return for the dosas, and idlis, and akki rotis, I had to write a blog. Let me tell you, the system was good. Amma kept her side of the deal, and though it would never be a ‘Priya, go and write!’ exclaimed in a harsh voice, I would still get a guilty feeling every time I didn’t write a blog for a breakfast. So my mom’s silent way of pressurizing me paid off. I started to scramble and write to make up for the breakfasts. Actually, I’m still a little short. I think I have to write one or two more articles. To make things easier for me, Amma agreed to let a story be equal to TWO blog-posts. And now I realize I’ve never written about, well, writing, how I feel about it, and all that stuff. So here goes:

I started to write poems when I was six. Astronomy was my favorite topic back then. I still remember my mom used to read to me from this large book about space which I still have. And my brother, though he was only two back then, picked some things from the read-alouds too. And so, that’s what my first poem was all about… the solar system.

Planets of our Solar System

Without a Sun,

We won’t have any fun,

Mercury is the fastest one,

Venus is very hot,

Earth has life a lot,

Mars is a red ball,

Jupiter is the largest of all,

Saturn has rings that are wide,

Uranus rotates on its side,

Neptune is a blue gas ball,

Pluto is the farthest of all.

I can still somewhat recall the excitement I felt at the first line I made all by myself: ‘Without a Sun/We won’t have any fun.’ My mom helped me with ‘Planets of our Solar System.’ I distinctly remember that she gave the line ‘Earth has life a lot.’

That was one of the biggest turning points of my life.

For a long time, I aspired to be writer. I was hugely inspired by J.K Rowling, and at that time I used to live in that fantasy world of Harry Potter, a place I still like to visit sometimes. If anyone ever asked what I would be, “a writer”, I’d say. There was no other answer. Actually, it was kind of surprising considering how when I first started going to school in U.S, I had to learn English as a Second Language (ESL). But after I picked up with my writing, I started to do better and better in English, at one point being in the enrichment program.

It was, however, at the Heritage school in Gurgaon, that my interest was recognized, something I’m really glad they did. On my first Children’s Day there, I was named Ms. Poet. And because of that, I started to write more and more poems, for my projects, birthday parties, and for myself. At that time I was still sure, I would be a writer.

After the move to Bangalore, my interest dropped. My parents let it be, blaming the schoolwork and studies, but at one point I think we all realised I just didn’t want to write anymore. On the other hand, I started to pick up an interest in swimming again; an interest that still drives me to swim whenever I can. But being into swimming didn’t really compensate for my-not-writing, or what I called (wrongly, I guess) my writer’s block. Writing was the one thing I could do pretty effortlessly, the only thing I could do well. Why give it up? I didn’t know. I would always uneasily shrug it off, whenever my parents attacked that topic. I would write sometimes, but it became very, very, rare. Even my diary writing went down, and my poem-writing would’ve almost stopped if it weren’t for the many birthday and anniversary cards I had to make.

I don’t think I’m going to be a writer. I really don’t. But I don’t think I’ll actually give it up again (so long as Amma keeps making her delicious breakfasts)!!! Writing is a really great way of expressing your feelings. And there’s some honesty in it too. Amma is somehow always able to tell when my writing comes from the heart and when it’s just seeming kind of fake. And truth be told, I like expressing my feelings, I just can’t keep anything bottled up inside. And so no matter what I become, or what I do, I’ll have writing with me. It’s my tool, my way, of telling the world what I think, and how I feel. Someday, it might make a handy weapon, honed by all the good breakfasts made by my mom.    

A dose of reality

There’s a lot in this world to freak out about. A LOT. That’s probably because there are so many problems in this world. I mean, just look at it: starvation, discrimination, theft, murder, global warming, diseases, pollution… the list goes on and on. Sometimes when I start thinking about all these things, it overwhelms me so much I either a) start crying or b) start writing all my extremely mixed up feelings out, which is exactly what I’m doing now. Because, well, it’s scary, it’s really, really scary. I honestly don’t know what’s more terrifying, the people who have to face these problems in real life, or the others like us, who learn that their world is not-so-wonderful after all. You’d be like, duh, man! Those people out there facing those problems! But let me tell you, that having that sudden realization of all the flaws of this world just shocks you, real bad.

And yet the realization of these problems makes you realize that you’re not the only person in this world. It pulls you away from yourself and shows all the other people who have to go through things so much worse. And actually, that’s good; because only then can we start helping the others. I mean, look at beggars, they are grateful to those who give them a few rupees, and here I am moaning that I haven’t gotten my Rs. 100 allowance, for, like, ever. But does that matter? Does it really, really matter whether you’ve got the EXACT type of fighter-plane-toy you wanted for your birthday? Or that the Christmas lights are not so-Christmasy?

I’m sorry if you came to this blog hoping for something that might be funny or pleasing and all you get is this written sort of lecture about things you’ve been preached about a hundred times before. But the fact is life is this unfair, twisted sort of lane. I always found it unfair that people can’t get educated, can’t get that one thing they want in life because they were BORN to the wrong set of parents. Why do we have to let BIRTH separate us from what we want? And I’m not talking about candy or chocolates or presents, oh no, I’m talking goals, dreams, and ambitions! Why are the poorer, less out-spoken people, less recognized? Though there may be a genius amongst their midst, whose dreamed of things that we’ve never even thought of in our wildest dreams?

This world is wrong, scary, and haunting. It’s all the things that we’ve had nightmares of, and worse. But we still manage to be happy. A single gift, shirt, toy, or a chocolate can make our day. But let’s try and make our own day, by making someone else’s whole life. :D 

Memoir of Summer 2012

This summer has been unlike any other I’ve ever had. Not a boring summer, not in the least. Actually, it’s been very…eventful.

In the beginning, due to our joy about the fact that exams were over, and summer had started, my friends and I celebrated by swimming each afternoon, having sleepovers, and dinners together. We would meet up several times a day; in the morning for basketball; at 11:00 for cards; at 3:00 for swimming; and around 6:00 to play. This was our carefree, fun-filled routine for the first few days of our precious holidays, before people started leaving to go on trips.

Then, of course, my camps started. I’m sure that I was not the only person who was attending the Ranga Shankara theatre camps for the first time. And probably everyone was a “happy camper”, but I don’t know if anyone else fell in love with the place and classes like I did.

Sometimes, when everything in the world feels wrong, even a few hours in a different place, a different atmosphere is something to live for. Somehow, my camps always seemed to start right when I needed them, when I needed a break from the world I lived in. Or perhaps, it was my problems that popped up at the right moment!

As the summer progressed, the worries got heavier…... Between my grandmother’s surgery, my mom’s absence to be with her, my two-week long fight with my friends, and the only pal I seemed to have at that moment having gone to U.S, the camps and my morning swims became the only highlights of my days!! The camps kept me occupied in and out of Ranga Shankara, and the swims, served not only as exercise, but as a bright and fresh start to the day.

But maybe, there’s a limit to the number of problems a person can have at a time…. As my despair over the ending of the camps, and the shuffling of the classes in school mounted, my grandma slowly started to recover, my mom started staying at home more often, and the feud with my friends slowly faded away. 

Not just for me, but for everyone in my family, this summer has been curiously unusual – and not necessarily in a good way. However, in all our efforts to cope with life as it comes, we’ve had our share of new experiences, made new friends, and had our own little adventure in self-exploration.

The last picture

Images shot through his mind as he hurled around in troubled sleep. Images of his life. And yet somehow, even the earliest memories were perfectly clear. The interplay between shade and light was perfectly balanced. These images would have made beautiful photographs.

Photography - his one love, one passion, for as long as he could remember. As a child, the few photos he'd been allowed to take in each film would've been perfectly thought out. He'd plan each photo in his mind, and this resulted in lovely pictures. And then, the digital camera had come out. It had been such a prized, treasured possession, that his father never allowed anyone to touch it. The boy broke this rule, and used the camera many times behind the father's back. Of course, this had gotten him into big trouble, but after his pictures were seen, his parents admitted (rather grudgingly, however) that the boy had talent. After several conditions had been laid out, he'd been allowed to use the special device.

It was his 16th birthday when he finally got his own camera, after months of saving pocket and gifted money. It was a good quality point-and-shoot, and he shot to his heart's content.

His parents had always been firm on studies coming first, but they made an exception for the boy. Perhaps they were touched at seeing how he loved photography. They gave him half an hour every day to shoot, including exam days.

And so, with his camera, and lovely thirty minutes every day, he'd been a happy chap. He'd done well in all the exams he could ever remember and this kept his parents happy too.

That was until, the day that he'd announced that he would take photography as his main course in college.

"No way! Absolutely not! You will do engineering, or become a doctor! Do something sensible! For so long we have allowed you to pursue photography as a hobby, but only as a hobby. No photography!" These were his fathers immediate words.

Again and again he'd tried to talk to his father, to convince him that photography was sensible, but the answer was always the same. No.

So, that left the boy with only one option. He'd run away. He'd never be happy living a life without photography. He'd take his laptop, camera, tripod, mobile, and the chargers for all of them. He'd pack spare clothes, money, snacks, and maybe a book or two. Then bye-bye home.

Only his little sister knew. He hadn't told her by choice, he'd been forced to tell her when she had caught him booking tickets for buses and trains and filling applications for colleges specialising in photography. 

She'd begged him not to go, but had never told her parents in fear he'd leave sooner. He didn't change his mind. 

It was the day before he'd leave and he'd decided to take some photos of his house and family. He started by taking pictures of the views from the balconies, windows, and the terrace. He took photos of his mother in the kitchen and then doing the laundry. He shot pictures of his sister reading and painting, and one more, of his mother and sister hugging. He didn't shoot one of his father alone.

In the evening, he took all three of them, and the dog watching TV, and one of them eating dinner. No one found this unusual. He slipped away after dinner to charge his mobile, laptop, and camera. He packed his bags. At 1:30 am, he left. He'd heard the words, "Please don't!" from his sister's mouth, but didn't stop. He hadn't known if she was sleeping or awake.

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

    As the boy waited for the bus, he opened his laptop to look at the photos he'd taken earlier. He'd downloaded them all. He stopped at the one where the rest of his family and the dog were watching TV. It was a very good picture: sharp, clear, bright, and it told a story. Then he noticed something: his sister had been watching TV with slightly red eyes. she had been crying. And there was one unoccupied chair.

It struck him that something was wrong, something was missing.

Heart beating frantically, he made a decision.

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

The sister couldn't sleep. It was 2:30, one hour after her brother had left. She'd tried to stop him, but he didn't listen. She had woken her parents up instantly, and had told them what had happened. Her mother had started crying, and to her surprise, her father too.

He then revealed a dark secret: After school, he also, had taken photography in college. It was a very good international institution. But because of his nationality, the others in college used to tease, rag, and bully him, and yet he put up with it. It was the day that he believed that he would get his best picture, that he was pushed from the elevated area where he was standing, probably as prank to scare him. But it was much more serious than imagined. He suffered a terribly fall, a fall so bad that he had to stay in a wheelchair for the rest of his life.  

He didn't want his son to make the same mistake.

The sister sighed.

Moonlight was streaming in and fell on a large, grand chandelier. It would have made a great photo.

Just then, the doorbell rang. 

Once upon a shoot...

The director clapped and rubbed his hands together. “Alright! This is the main scene! Iske bina, phillum adhoori rehegi! Without this, we are nothing. So, come on! I want a top notch performance!”

‘And that’s what you’ll get’ thought actress Nidhi as she got ready for the scene. The director was a tubby, childish-looking man, who was good at heart, but proud. This showed in two ways, his tried (but failed) attempt to act like a sophisticated director, and again another failed attempt to fit into tight pants and force a belt on – though this was obviously more for the show.

But this time, she didn’t blame the director for acting this way. This was the crucial part of the film, the one that bound the whole thing together. The one she was about to mess up. She had tried hard not to face the fact, but there was no way of getting around it. She melted from the inside just by looking at the famous actor. Aditya was his name. A simple name that spoke of brilliance. And it was this very brilliance that caused him to be a heartthrob for girls all over the nation. She couldn’t do this. She wouldn’t be able to. Of course, she had ample time for this scene, the director, Mr. Roy, had set a whole day apart for it. But this fact didn’t help, it just added pressure.

Mr. Roy had been kind, but firm: This was the film that would be the turning point in his career. If it wasn’t a hit, his career, his dream, as a director would be over. So, for this mega-important movie, he had gone searching for the best actors and actresses – Aditya, the already loved heartthrob, and Nidhi, a new, but extremely talented, and promising pick. The idea behind the movie was simple. Preeta (Nidhi Joshi) and Armaan (Aditya Arvind) were childhood friends. Armaan’s father was a policeman, who taught both his son and Preeta about fire-arms and how to use them. Their friendship faded when Preeta moved away. Many a years later, due to a riot which occurred, they met again, but not as friends, as enemies. They were leaders of two large angry groups with opposing opinions over the riot. It got especially complicated as it had involved Armaan’s father. For a long time they communicated angrily with each other, not knowing who the leader of the other group was; however when they met face to face for a fight, things changed…they fell in love. It was a love story. ‘But that’s all it is!’ Nidhi reminded herself angrily, ‘a story! I can’t actually fall in love with the actor!’ Somehow, that never stayed in her head.

She had worked with Aditya in other scenes, but with other people, not just them alone. There was another problem, Aditya, whom directors praised to be a pleasure to work with, had become moody. He was just completely uninterested in the film.

“Chalo, Nidhi! Let’s go! Stop dreaming!” Mr. Roy shouted. The pretty girl nodded, sighed and went to the place of action.  

“3,2,1 Action!”

Aditya said his dialogues in a convincing, yet somewhat dull manner. He wanted to get this over with. Nidhi inhaled deeply, waiting for her chance, any moment now… But when the time came, she froze. ‘Look at his face, at his face!’ she told herself, but to no avail. She stared fixedly at his feet.

“CUT!” Mr. Roy sighed, “Focus! Focus!”

Nidhi nodded. She had repeated these lines to herself all morning, she just had to rattle it all out, with some feeling. She had to convince herself that she loved Aditya. ‘That’s not hard’ she thought, and smiled to herself.

“Lights, Camera, Action!”

The bored actor repeated his lines, while Nidhi secretly admired his posture, muscles and cool hairstyle. When it was her turn, she spoke her lines with all her feeling (which was not much, at the moment), but focused the whole time on the handsome actor’s ankles!!

“No! NO! NAHIN! Nidhi! Look into his eyes! You love him! Tum usse pyaar karthi ho! PLEASE!” Mr. Roy bellowed.

Nidhi looked down sheepishly. She tried her best the next time, and concentrated on Aditya’s nose, but got caught anyway. In the fourth take, she looked above his head, but that was noticed as well.

Before the fifth attempt, the plump director got off his chair and lumbered towards Nidhi. He was shorter than her, but looked at her with an air of superiority. “Nidhi, tumhe kya ho raha hain? What is happening to you? You’ve always gotten it right in the first take, panch toh bhool jao (forget five)! Just because I said we had the whole day, doesn’t mean it has to take that long! Look into his eyes, how hard is that?!”

Aditya, who had had experiences feeling nervous while acting, teased, “I’m not so ugly, you know.” But the stressed Mr. Roy took the joke seriously, “Exactly! He’s not ugly! Sundar hain voh! He is beautiful! That is why he is loved! He’s good-looking, a great actor! It is an honour to work with him for a debut movie!” Aditya realized his joke had fallen flat, “Sir, please relax! It happens sometimes! She’ll get it right this time.” But he looked at Nidhi while saying this, making it clear that he too, was getting slightly weary at repeating his lines.

Finally, the actors took their places.

“Blah..blah..blah..Action!”

Aditya repeated his lines slowly with more enthusiasm and emotion, giving time for Nidhi to prepare. ‘His eyes, his eyes’ she thought. And slowly forced her eyes to meet his. And then it was all gone, all forgotten. It was as though she had never prepared, like it was her first time. She got lost within his eyes. Somewhere down, she realized that it was over, her career. She couldn’t even TALK in front of this actor, on or off screen. She would never be able to do any other film. She had just signed her ticket back home. She had wasted a good opportunity.

It felt like they stood there forever. Nidhi forced her eyes down, so that Aditya wouldn’t see her glistening eyes. Why? Why her? Why now? After the tears had cleared, she looked back up at the actor, waiting for his reaction. He nodded slightly, indicating she could still say her lines. She inhaled deeply, she’d give it a try. But just as she had parted her lips to start, it hit, with force. Laughter, waves and waves of it. Both hero and heroine, were chortling away with absolutely no reason. It went on and on. “Oh-oh, my God!” Aditya exclaimed after he got a slight hold of himself, “your look…” But he was hardly able to finish his sentence for they collapsed into another fit of giggles.

They had no idea that they were being recorded the whole time. The first bewildered Mr. Roy turned into a pleased one, and was exclaiming, “Beautiful! That was natural. More natural than the lovey-dovey dialogue!!” When the actors finally got over their giggle fit, it was their turn to be surprised…

After some discussion between everyone, certain things were decided and changed. At the end of the day everyone came out grinning, Nidhi had a slight bounce in her step, and Aditya couldn’t stop chuckling to himself at random times.

Of the year, only one film seemed to get exceptionally good reviews.

“Mohabbat Ka Yudh is a delight to watch, a great mix of comedy, drama, and love…well done!”

“…A wonderful experience watching it….it got my full attention, and I ended up slopping all my cold coffee down my best t-shirt, without realizing, for I feared that Preeta would not get well in time…”

“…Just shows that Girish Roy has a lot more potential than let on…Plus, the amazing chemistry between the two actors just caused the whole film to click together, they must truly be good friends..’

And they were .

  

  

On emoticons

For ages, art has been one of the main methods through which people can express their feelings, themselves. Every brushstroke, every scribble of a pencil, adds a new emotion. One instance that can speak a thousand words.

It can be as simple as a smiling face to show that someone’s happy, to dark colors thrown in an abstract way to show their deep confusion.

As technologies improve, there has been yet another way to express yourself through pictures….. Emoticons.

My first experience with these curious faces and pictures was when I got my first email account. I was so fascinated by those faces that I add them unnecessarily to every email that I sent.

Then of course, I joined Facebook. People may say that Facebook is a waste of time, that it rots your brains, maybe so, but it definitely helps you learn your emoticons.

For my first few chats it would be the basic happy face [ :)] or sad face [:(]. But my dear friends taught me many more faces and pictures, from hearts [ <3 ], to sharks [ (^^^) ], to penguins [ <(“)  ], from devils [ 3:) ] to angels [ O:) ] ….

I had a great time in the beginning, pestering whoever I could to show me more emoticons and how to make them.

However, at that time it was limited only to Facebook, and Gmail. Now, you can see a number of these familiar faces in my diary as well.

Adults are also getting into the practice, with my mom exploring them a little, herself (as she now proudly tells me!)

It’s just a surprise how small things like these, impact our every day lives, and just add a smile to our faces :).

Artist in you!

‘Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist once we grow up.’

                                                       - Pablo Picasso

Pablo Picasso, renowned artist, quoted these wise words, which could not have been truer. Children, open-minded, bring new ideas to the world, new ways of looking at things, that otherwise wouldn’t have existed. These thoughts get muffled as they grow older, for there are older, supposedly wiser influences, who teach one proper way of looking at things.

I recently attended a camp in the theatre/auditorium Ranga Shankara. It lasted for barely six days, and only two hours daily, that too. But I can’t deny that I haven’t learnt anything new. It was titled ‘Dreams and Drama’ and well-known director, Padmavati Rao, alias Pinty Akka, was our instructor.

The first day started out with a slight case of jitters. But we started getting comfortable when we got the chance to walk around, greet random people, and shout out our names loudly with ‘full josh’! We were partnered that day, and had to enact our own stories of times when we didn’t get what we wanted.

Sadly, all the feedback my partner and I received was not necessarily that great. On the other hand, I learned the sense of acute observation the audience carried.

We decided to explore the ‘Magic in me’ through writing and questioning. What is it that makes me special? Why can I do the things I can? How do I bring it out more?

The last question was answered. We used theatre as a medium to express our dreams, our desires.

The final play my group (we had to work in groups of 5), was pretty crazy. Two monkeys wanting to go to space got their dream by drinking Redbull that was dropped by a drunken astronaut in space. In the end, it turned out to be more like an ad for Redbull. However, it definitely brought out the ‘Magic in us’.

The play may have been completely irrelevant, but to come up with an idea like that is not done by mere Muggles. (Non-magic people)

I know I certainly could not have thought of a wacky idea like that on my own!

When Pablo Picasso talked of artists, he didn’t just mean the brushing, painting one. He meant the writing, singing, dancing, swimming, playing ones. Pretty much, EVERYONE.

And though, you may be an adult, you never stop growing up, so it’s never too late to grasp the artist in you!

When...

When the world comes down, down, down
You are struggling to get up
Show your strength
And don't give up

When you're way too far
Seems like you can't win
Show your grit
And don't give in

When you're on the brink
Losing all you know
Show your faith
And don't let go

When it's tears, and fears
Such a long while
Show your courage
And try to smile

Capture - Between me and my camera

Capture the beauty of all things alive
Capture the passion - for which we strive
Capture the colours, the sea and the sky
Capture the dreams, and then you will fly