Expecto 'Potter'onum!

I was six when I discovered him. He was hiding inside the closet, on a bookshelf in the spare bedroom, sandwiched between two dark blue paper covers. I couldn't understand much of his story, what he was trying to tell me. But I held on. It would be romantic to think that I never gave up trying to know him because it was meant to be...but it was probably because I was a stubborn girl and I kept trying to read, even what I didn't understand.

I was seven when I actually fell in love with him, which is strange considering that a lot of things in his life came in sevens, and so did I.

He was eleven at that time, with black hair and wide, curious eyes, and that strange mark on his forehead we never understood...He lived with his family and remained unloved until a certain giant barged into the little house upon the rock and presented the little boy his birthday cake, and handed him a life-changing, fate-altering...envelope. (The envelope which I'm still waiting for...I mean come on, I can't be a muggle!) The envelope which took him to Diagon Alley and to King's Cross, which took him to his destiny.
That envelope must have been pretty proud of itself.

Destiny, in other words, means Hogwarts.....the School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. It's where he met Ron and Hermione and Ginny and Seamus and Dean and Snape and Draco and the-one-we-must-not-forget, Mrs. Norris the cat. Oh, and Voldemort too. Who tried to kill him like once, or twice, or a gazillion times. Voldy sure liked killing.

My love managed himself through all that. He managed himself through fights and betrayals and deaths and hormonal changes of adolescence. He grew into a brave, selfless man, a man the world loved.
That I loved.

By now you must have guessed my first love: Harry Potter.

Come on folks, come get to know him, come meet him, grow up with him, and love him, just like I do, just like I did, just like I always will...  

Y I Loved IAYP

IAYP (The International Award For Young People) is a program started in the UK to encourage youngsters (14-25) to take up various activities. The levels (or prizes) are bronze, silver, and gold. There are slightly different requirements for each of them. For the bronze award, for instance, we 9th graders have to do social service, play a sport, and practice a skill for a set number of weeks under a teacher. One of the other elements of IAYP is adventure. To complete this part, our school took us (with Woody Adventure) to Ramanagar (yes, where Sholay was filmed) for 2 days and 1 night. We did many adventure activities, and pretty much had one heck of a time.

These were my thoughts on it...

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

The Suicide Point. A light blue sky streaked with fierce strokes of gold. Fanta. Chocolate. A dog named Gabbar. A lamb who was often chased by Gabbar. More chocolate. Muthu. Papanna. Rocks, boulders, stones, and trees. Shrubs. Tent. Bonfire. A village. Clapping, gupshup. Bus. Friends. Smiles...

And chocolate.

This is what the IAYP trip meant to me. Two days that I will remember forever. The 7^th and 8^th of October in Ramanagara belonged primarily to my class, 9F.

We had activities of all sorts – an 8 km trek, rappelling, ziplining, cooking chitranna (during which a bunch of us sat doing absolutely nothing and enjoyed that fact), a village interaction, all sorts of games…

The activities were challenging, taking their toll on us, both physically and mentally. While the trek left us sweaty and drained, the village interaction left us feeling sorry, a bit broken, for having discovered the pitiable plight of the poor in India. And most of them smiled through nearly every obstacle.

Those 36-odd hours affected most of us personally too. We felt an intimate connection with nature, fear, happiness, freedom, calmness, peace.

Besides tiring us out completely, the trip helped us bond. It brought us together in a way nothing else could. And for that, I'd like to thank IAYP for coming up with the idea of an adventure trip.

What I will always remember is the way we laughed, the way my friends helped me up every single time I fell (which was the norm), the way our secrets came tumbling out, the way we were all aware of the growing closeness between our classmates.

We were a family for those two days: Our classmates, our guide Shalini ma'am, our other instructors, Muthu and Papanna, Gabbar. Even the lamb. 

I'll end this article by recalling one of the many memorable moments of the trip. It was an hour or so before we left. I was sitting on a large rock, overlooking the dorm, with my friends. We watched the boys play cricket. The sun shone, the breeze was soft, and there was a bitter-sweet feeling in the air. I remember, at that very instant, feeling happy for no particular reason. Life seemed perfect, though it was so clearly not. I felt happy, despite all odds, and that's the best kind of happiness there is.

Thanks IAYP. 

Muerte

I’m scared. I’m scared and insecure and bundled up in worries. I’m scared to death…of death. It’s really rather a morose thought: Death, but it’s always been there, always at the back of my mind. Unfortunately, it’s the ultimate truth, the final destination. If there’s one thing every single living thing has in common, it’s that they die.

Maybe it’s because of the way I think, of the constant plots that I work up. I don’t know, but whether characters in a story live or die, the narrator is always there, the creator is omnipresent, and infinite – always existing. So how is it, that I, or anyone for that matter, how can we disappear? We are the narrators of our own story, how can we…end?

It’s the most troubling question, and unfortunately, the most unanswerable one. The truth of death is, we don’t know what it is till we face it, and after that, there’s no going back. Literally.

I’ve driven myself to tears, to hysterics thinking about it. Panic swells and overwhelms me, and I have to fight it down. Force away a fear, a fear which may never leave.

I guess that’s why I read books. They’re my safe haven, my escape. I’ve passed half sleepless nights re-enacting parts of Harry Potter in my head, that’s the only thing that calms me. Harry Potter is my home and in ways I’ll never leave, because I’ve latched a part of my own being onto the hope that magic exists, and that goodness does too, and that one day goodness will prevail over evil. After all, as Richard Castle said, “The one reason to believe in magic is that if you don’t, you’ll never have even the slightest hope of finding it.” Or something close to that at any rate. But maybe there’s another reason I like fictional characters so much: thinking about them means not analyzing my own life, my own fears. And sometimes, thinking outside the self is a relief.

I’ve thought and thought again about writing this, and I decided too, because along with all the good and fun in this world, the bad, the dark cannot go unacknowledged.

I don’t really know what this is about. There’s no point…exactly. There are times when I imagine dying, and as scared as I am of the whole concept, the only thing I really want is to die happy. And that’s going to happen. I’ve got a great family, friends, so much beauty and love surrounding that I can’t really stay caught up thinking only of death. There are certain moments which make me smile wide and think, ‘this is what I want in life. And I have it.’ It’s a nice thought to have. It’s happy, and sweet, and hopeful.

Gone Viral

Dear Dr. Y. Rus,

It was on Wednesday, I caught the bug,
Downstairs, at the pool.
My throat hurt, but I gave a shrug,
This had happened before, I was cool.

It ached more than I'd like to admit,
Every time I swallowed.
Every morsel, every bit,
And a fiery pain then followed.

Through Thursday too, it persevered,
This aching throat of mine.
But it ebbed, as the night drew near,
And I hoped that I'd be fine.

Yet on Friday, we had school till 4,
I got a bundle of bad, bad luck.
Around 12, maybe a little before,
It was then that fever struck.

I trudged my way from class to class,
My head felt like it was on fire.
I must have looked one sorry lass,
Shivering, small, and tired.

At home, at seven, I hit the bed.
With a temperature of one oh two.
By Saturday morning, I must say, my head,
Was feeling too good to be true.

Saturday passed by passably well,
Today's Sunday, and my nose is blocked off.
And there's not a thing that I can smell,
And now I have a persistent cough.

But I know this virus will quickly leave,
I will not let it hover.
And with the relief that I receive,
I'll thank you for helping me recover.

From,
Priya.

*Response*

Dear Priya,

Thank you for your wonderful letter,
And your pleasureful rhyme.
I'm sorry to see you're getting better,
Oh well. Until next time!

Love from,
Dr. Y. Rus.

He Whodunit

He duct tapes himself onto a chair,
He doesn't like being called a kitty.
He lives in a stylish, sweet new place,
In the middle of New York City.

He's a 'catch', a dude - at home and work,
Coolness filled to the brim.
He's a dad, but here's the fact:
His daughter takes care of him!

He might call himself, a 'ladies' man',
Wedding bells have rung, of course.
Twice in fact, but the sad tale is,
Both ended in a divorce.

He might seem childish, immature,
But he's famous, now there's a twist...
He's got the talent, got the smarts,
He's a mystery novelist!

He shadows a very pretty cop,
In the station and on the streets.
The detective's name: Kate Beckett,
She was the muse for Nikki Heat.

At first, they totally hate each other,
Then a friendship slowly blossoms.
And then of course, it turns to love,
Their relationship is awesome!

This guy himself is pretty good,
He's paid to think like a villain.
And often, it's through his ideas,
They catch the guy behind the killin'

By now you would have geussed who he is,
He adds lots of humor to a hassle.
'Awesome' describes him fully,
He's Richard, Richard Castle.

 

Pigeoned out on Diwali

I’m grey and white; I live in a group,

On ledges and railings, I leave pieces of poop.

I’m the urban bird; I’m so very cool,

I eat what I want, and I drink from the pool.

I got all the strength; I got all the might,

I got no fears…except for them kites.

And the only other thing, which don’t make me so jolly,

It’s this time of year, during Diwali.

It’s not the poojas or the diyas, man,

I can deal with them, yes I can!

No it’s actually them evil ear attackers,

We call ‘em bombs, and you call ‘em crackers!

Whether it’s here at home, or out on the roads,

They’re so loud, my head explodes.

So when you folks start to burst them about,

Well, it’s natural that we freak out.

What starts with a BANG! And ends with a BOOM!

We’re sure these noises will lead to our doom.

So we do whatever we can,

To escape those wicked fireworks, man!

We fly away from the balconies thinking, ‘what the heck?’

And bury our heads deep into our neck.

Our behavior just gets stranger and stranger,

When we’re convinced we’re in mortal danger.

Then we’re no longer the cool flying dudes,

We’re scaredy cats, afraid to intrude,

In the joyous celebrations, the fiery weather,

We’d rather just sit here, and peck at our feathers.

BOOM! BANG! There's another one!
Later dude, I gotta run!

Social Service

Darkness. Born with darkness, living with darkness. Those of us who have been blessed with vision, no  matter how blurry, can’t really imagine how it must be to be blind. But the students I visit nearly every week at Samarthanam, have lived, and will live their entire life in darkness.

Samarthanam is a trust fund for the disabled, located in Jayanagar, Bangalore, very close to my house. I first got familiar with it last year, when I started recording audio books with my father for the blind students. It was easy, but time-consuming. Later, for the IAYP programme at school, I was required to do social service for one hour every week. So this July, I started volunteering at Samarthanam. I’ll be honest, it was a real burden for me. Whenever I went to Samarthanam with my mom or dad, lots of other volunteers would already be there. But finding available English-medium students wasn't very easy. Not all the students were quick learners, but the ones who were, surprised us time and again with their swift understanding and strong memory. It’s funny how we always talk of the poor in India, and never once stop to think of the disabled, and how hard it must be for them.

It’s hard for us too. We, their teachers or readers or guides. I’ll be completely truthful. I’m so much more comfortable in Samarthanam than before, and yet it’s something of a chore, because teaching isn’t easy. It’s not as simple as just going to that place, grabbing a book, and reading to the blind students…... It’s going to that place, taking the book the student wants to study from, sitting with them, and explaining – whether it’s Science or History or English. And this makes all the difference. Half the difficulties arise because of their blindness. How do you explain something like History to these students? It means nothing to them but dates and names and wars. They can’t imagine what could have happened; it’s not even applicable in their everyday lives. Don’t even get me started on diagrams and maps, they’re impossible to deal with!!

The other part is my own huge challenge - my inability to communicate properly in any Indian language. I speak to the students in a fragmented Kannada, a tortured, broken Hindi. After one hour of reading and explaining, my throat is parched, not just because I voiced out so many words, but because of the effort it takes to try to explain facts or complex topics or even other words, in languages I barely know. It’s exhausting, I’ll be completely upfront about it.

But I think that the biggest lesson I’ve learned through this all is that donating money for charity, is not the same as spending your time, pouring in your heart, giving your full 100% to doing some social service. There are times when I’m so frustrated with myself, I want to just drop this thing and walk away, but probably the only thing that stops me is that this is compulsory. And chatting with them, that’s my reward. Chatting is fun, it’s easy. But the last 15 minutes of chatting only comes after 45 minutes of teaching. That’s when I learn about them, when they become my friends, not my students.

So what’s the moral of the story? Well, there isn't one…exactly. I haven’t learned to love social service. I have learned to respect and like the differently-abled people, yes, but there’s been nothing life-altering. But maybe that’s it, maybe this social service will get me a good grade, and a few good friends…. 

Scent

What hit us before anything else was the sweet perfume of the house, as though it had become a war ground  for a bunch of deodorants.
"What the....oh..." Detective Duke stopped.
Inside there were candles. Everywhere. On the shelves, in the fridge, around the tub, on the ceiling. Everywhere. They were of every color, shape, and size possible.
Each candle also had it's own perfume, but put together, there existed a sickly, flowery smell that made the nose go numb.
"She had...." I started.
"A smelling addiction. To candles. I get it. Your murdered employer lived with candles, and died because of one. A poisoned one. What a life." Detective Massie said with a mixture of awe and distaste.
"Yes," I sighed.
"Who gave her that accursed candle?" Duke asked.
"She had admirers as well as haters. Some say it was Mr. Crenshaw. I-I don't know, really. I wish I did though." I said slowly, suddenly feeling exhausted. Tears pricked my eyes.
Duke looked at me oddly and opened his mouth to say something, when Massie cut him across.
"Give her a break, Duke. Poor thing, she was just a loving caretaker, and ever since the murder she's gone through so much."
A little fiercely, and much more quietly, she added, "Honestly, if it had been her, she would've been caught already! She's already been questioned God-knows-how-many-times!"
To me, she turned and nodded, "Thanks so much."
                                 They left in a hurry

*                                                                         *                                                             *

It was a clear night, and I was in the balcony away from the scents, though I knew I'd go back in soon enough. What most people didn't know was that, just like my employer, I too had a sniffing addiction.
Of course, it was her who got all the candles, love, admiration. I was just the servant, poorly treated.
'Make me a sandwich dearie, and you might get another candle!' she'd say. How I used to fall for that. Used to.
Hey, I couldn't help it.
She had had a life that anyone would have killed to have.
So that's exactly what I did.

How to make it big

There's a lot that we can learn,
From the life of Mr. Kumbhakarn,
Who never did anything at once,
Any action took months and months.
Half the year for food, the rest for slumber,
His BMI would have been a rather high number!
The big 'little' brother of Mr. Ravan,
I can only guess the kinda life he was havin'
Grandma says he was kinda smart,
A huge body with a rather large heart.
He asked Lord Ravan to compromise,
"Leave Sita alone", he would advice,
This proves that Kumbha was very nice!
But what to do? He had a rakshasa bro,
Ravan was mad, waged war, and so,
Kumbha HAD to participate,
And he too caused destruction great!
For though he had much weight to lose,
He put his mass to quite good use,
He had a rather...peculiar niche,
Many a soldiers he could squish!
He ate like a hog, slept like a sloth,
His attire was made of miles of cloth,
Didn't work out, wasn't the sharpest knife,
Yet he turned out 'larger-than-life'!

"Sigh"ence....

Not a love, a passion, a friendship, a bond,

Not even the weakest alliance,

It’s something of which I’m really not fond,

That treacherous subject of Science.

And someone must have been kidding themselves,

When they split science thrice,

However, a thought of ridding themselves,

Would have been rather nice.

Now I have Physics, and Bio and Chem,

Three’s an unlucky number,

I’m telling you I’ll get nowhere with them,

They just make me feel a lot dumber.

Physics. Oh, Physics! Yes, Physics, is the source,

It makes the simple so hard,

Take the example of motion and force,

Topics I want to discard.

And Chem’s not a subject that I want around,

It beats my brain to batter,

With so many elements and compounds,

And the 40 page chapters on matter.

Xylem and Phloem and Chlorophyll,

Really irritating, that Bio,

It makes me green, it makes me ill,

And want to moan “aiyy-aiyyo”.

You might think you know it well,

But then you start with “Tissues”,

That chapter, along with the “Cell”,

Will help you see the issues.

My pals hope to be doctors, engineers,

Types of scientists,

But, I cannot imagine my career,

With Science being a part of it.

If I could understand my science notes,

Well then, that would be fab!!

I could see myself, in a white coat,

Working in a lab.

Finally, I’ve had my time to vent,

Uh-oh! Papa’s come in for a look!!

And before it’s this poem that I resent,

I should get back to my books.

Mad World (Topic of Poetry Competition in SKCH - CBSE Literary Fest (senior)) 2013-14

I think we ought to be glad,
That we live in this world so mad.
Since we all have our weird tastes,
Craziness ain't out of place!
It's been induced in our DNA,
That's all I really have to say.
And I say this with a tone quite formal,
At heart, EVERYONE is abnormal!
For when they're in their comfort zone,
Acts up the craziness chromosome!
They'll start to do the weirdest things,
They'll act like monkeys, dance and sing!
And we must not exempt adults,
From our little crazy cult!
Just look at my family...oh, God!
There's never been a group as odd!
But that's what makes us all unique!
We all have our own flavor of freak!
And animals, we must not forget,
They've got their crazy standards set!
Pigeons turn round and round,
Pretty peacocks make ugly sounds.
Little monkeys cling to their mummies,
Some herbivores have four tummies!
In anemones, the mouth and butt are same,
The okapi has a funny name.
There's a deer which looks like a dog,
Or is it the other way around?
And apparently a four-tusked hog,
Is said to have been found!
Spider-crabs, beady-eyed lobsters,
They make darn scary sea mobsters!
Glowing jellyfish will give you a sting,
Seahorses swim with the help of fluttery things.
And if we were to move on to reptiles,
What's the diff. between gators and crocodiles?
And it's a fact that we all know,
The longest-living creatures (tortoises) are also darn slow.
And penguins, who swim with such absolute grace,
Well, their walking puts a grin on our face!
Ever heard of the cute blue-, and red-footed boobies?
Feet like sapphire socks, some red as rubies!
Though I could go on and on,
I know very well that you'll be gone!
So, I think in short, that we can say,
It's a crazy world we live in today!

Knitty-Gritty

When the little lady sits,
She whips out needles, yarn, she knits,
She makes her classic lovely sweaters,
Each of them keep getting better!
Sometimes coats, and sometimes frocks,
With checks, and dots, and lines, and blocks,
Of red, yellow, blue, and pink,
It's as though her hands can think.
Creating beauties at her fingertips,
We let our 'wow!'s escape our lips.
But what makes her creations especially nice,
Is that they come without a price!
'Love' is what holds the bonds,
She makes these for those of whom she's fond.
But sadly, she can knit no more,
It tires her out more than before.
But we'll always know her as the Knitting Lord,
With rainbow yarn and a needle sword!
Her sweaters always smell of home,
And warm us no matter where we roam,
This knitter -
                - Who's no quitter, is really none other,
Than my lovely GRAND-mother!

Yose-"mighty"

It's where the mountains kiss the clouds,
And the trees stand tall and proud.
We can see the rushing falls,
And hear the little songbirds' calls,
Where there's enough chill to cause a shiver,
White lapping waves create the river.
Where we can see blossoms of snow,
Rest upon leaves wherever we go.
And the mist crawls across the streets,
As billowing waves between our feet.
Where you can discover many a trail,
Catch a few raindrops, a bit of the hail.
Where the rocks stand sharp; straight and stiff,
To form the highest and grandest cliffs.
Where you listen to country in the car,
And you can see green wherever you are...
It's one of Nature's most beautiful cities,
Oh! The splendours of Yosemite.

At the heart of the ocean

'Titanic' they called her, the largest made,
A legend, a legacy, never to fade!
What a beauty she was! Luxurious, grand...
Looked heaven-sent, made by God's hand.
And they gave her a journey, only to suit,
London to New York, that was her route,
2,200, she was to take,
Safely across; never sink, never break...

Titanic, she was,
          So lovely, so strong,
Little did they know,
          She'd sing her last song.

Prepared to leave, all metal and glass,
She was ready to go, our pretty lass!
The passengers differed, but one thing was the same,
Everyone loved her, from her shape to her name.
She set off on 12th April, so lovely and fine,
Off to make history, earn some headlines.
For three days she cruised, the ocean's crown,
So close to the heavens, never to go down.

Titanic, she was,
          So lovely, so strong,
Little did they know,
          She'd sing her last song.

It was hidden in the sea, the menacing ice,
The berg which caused the sacrifice,
In came the water, flooding the ship,
The vessel would now never finish her trip!
Some people turned selfish, their hearts gripped with fear...
But others were selfless, though they too, shed a tear.
And so, in the freezing water, so blue,
She gave a shudder, a sigh, and broke into two.

Titanic, she was,
         So lovely, so strong,
Adored till the end,
        Till she sang her last song. 

Runs "Gayle"-ore

We just saw the best of T20,
It was a beaut, I tell you, the runs scored were plenty!
NINE records have been made...
This match's magic just won't fade!
I know that many fans like me,
Were cheering hard for RCB.
But honestly, the story was already told,
When Gayle stepped out in red and gold!
All he needed was his bat,
And everything just stopped at that!
With power and passion, he made 175,
RCB fans just danced and jived!
And of course I must add, of course I must tell -
The part Dilshan, Kohli, and AB played as well.
Together with the man in such a good form...
Gave rise to one of the largest Gayle storms!
But I must go now, to watch the second inning,
And to prove that nothing can stop us from winning!!
   

The SpooKEYS

My eyeballs have leapt right out of their sockets,
My finger bones have frozen in my back pockets.
My mouth hangs open, out lolls my tongue,
I appear to have only one functioning lung.
My heart tries to work me out of the shock,
But my feet stay rooted and my legs stay locked,
When others ask me what's wrong, I'll tell them the tale,
A story that will make them go deathly pale,
Of how when I was in a room, I'd seen a menacing flash,
They were fingers, and into something black and white they smashed,
No, I realized, it was NOT my face,
These fingers were attacking another place
And they created sounds so real, so intense,
They threatened to cut off my every sense,
I needed to hold it together, I could not lose it,
With a shock, I realized I was listening to music,
The melodies changed, up and down I heard them go,
So smoothly, so swiftly, the tunes just flowed!
As the music ebbed away, I came back in a daze,
I blinked a few times, feeling amazed.
Of a thick silence, I was suddenly aware,
In front of me was a grand piano... with nobody there...

To Sum It all up....

Earlier this morning, I sat with my dad trying to solve a mental ability question. Yes, you read that right. I’m studying during the holidays. But the fact is that everyone else is, as well. They’re all going for ACE or BASE. I (foolishly) told my parents, resolutely, that I had no plans to go for such coaching institutions. So here I am sitting at home, while all my friends are off learning about complex topics involving math, chemistry, and physics. Great...>.<

Anyway, with all the coaxing and encouragement, topped with my own guilt, I started looking through the questions. Some (ok…most) problems were not that easy for me. So naturally, my dad started helping. He is, in short, my personal math tutor and physics guru (I just like that word). And then he started explaining somewhat tougher concepts to me. And then I saw it.... This one expression on his face, which was the inspiration for this whole article. It was a wild thrill of happiness, my dad’s face was glowing, and he was very excited. All of a sudden, we’d switched roles; he was the young student exploring the world for the first time and I was the wise sage (who lacked a beard). That’s when I knew, I knew it, that no matter whatever else he is, he is a teacher. It’s not just what he actually does; it’s what he wants to do. And it’s also perfect for him. Math and Physics are, no doubt, his strong points. And we've discovered that he’s got a teacher’s heart. A man – a natural instructor- teaching what he loves, what could possibly be better?

And to be very honest, I, at least, am in great need of my dad and his mathiness. Math has never been my strong point. OK, it’s more than that, some of my mistakes are so atrocious that they make him and my mom gag. My mom. Another math buff. I remember one day, she’d been combing my hair when she asked me suddenly, “Which school assignment makes you excited?” I answered pretty quickly, “Creative writing assignments. Especially the ones which start with a sentence and we have to carry on. Why? What about you?” My mom looked at me and smiled, “Then that’s your future, Priya. For me it’s a tough math problem.” Then she got all dreamy, and probably started going over some complex geometry problems in her head. Being an architect, geometry is definitely her strong suit, which is good, since I have so much trouble sometimes. But even that slowly started to change.

In seventh grade, I had trouble with math. In the Asset Tests, my math score was always the lowest; it was usually English which saved me. For me it was simple, me and numbers weren't meant to be. But my dad had different ideas. “Change your attitude” he said. It was incredible what a difference this made. I did change my outlook towards math. I opened my mind and started enjoying math, not all topics, but it was definitely a change, and a good one.

I will probably never give the love and attention I have for words to numbers, but it doesn't matter. Math is important, and well…fun. The story of math in my life is more than just about solving problems. There’s a lot more to the equation. In the end, it was about subtracting negative thoughts, and adding a positive interest.  Simple, but it made all the difference. 

Picture Perfect

In my third and fourth grade in the US, we’d received yearbooks at the end of school, which contained photos of all the students and teachers of that year. Lately, I’ve been taking out these slim books, and I’ve been almost…well, studying them. I’ve been matching names to pictures, trying to find out the origin and culture of each student, finding resemblances between siblings, saying out loud unusual names I find there, over and over to myself – tasting and rolling them in my mouth as though they were gumballs, and generally just wondering what these people – half of whom I didn’t even know – are doing now. But these yearbooks have only two years worth of memories, and I wanted to go back. That’s why I ended up looking at my kindergarten, first grade, and second grade class pictures. I realized that I had had many classmates with whom I had later become friendly, but that year I had barely known them.
After examining these pictures, I took out two calendars which had been made with my baby photos. One thing led to another, and soon Amma, Sachin, and I were poring over a thick photo album that contained many of Sachin’s baby pictures. We saw my brother at birth and a few weeks later – a little infant with unblinking eyes and extreme expressions - shock, anger, or others of that sort! And I, as a jealous 3 year old, had invariably crept into each of his photos, either looking grumpy myself, or trying to cradle a grouchy brother. Sifting through the pages, we saw Sachin transform from a bald baby to the unforgettable, odd, but cute toddler.  I turned 5 and started going to school, which resulted in my old friends popping up more and more in the pictures.

Looking through photo albums is like looking at stills of a movie you’ve seen before, but have forgotten. You must rely on those single moments to be able to string them together to form the whole story.

I don’t remember much about my days back then. All I can say is that, looking at those wondrous eyes and real smiles, has left me with the feeling that life had been great then, maybe even picture perfect…..

The Watermelon Ways

Summer heat has a way of getting to you. Everything is so sticky, sweaty, so suffocating. It's almost impossible to go 5 minutes without the fan. The heat brings about irritation, frustration, and an incapacitation - it's too hot to do anything. Fortunately, Nature has brought about a balance during summer - a few delicacies which neutralize the heat, if only for a while. The best one, no doubt, is the watermelon. Hard as a coconut, flesh so light, it seems hollow, and that impossible, impossible green - a rain-forest tree's leaf-green. These are the key features of summer's best-loved fruit. Yet, even the exquisite exterior is nothing compared to what lies inside. A flash of a long, silver knife, and you are exposed to the best part of the fruit. Slices are made semi-circular, thin, but large. Every bite into the diluted red flesh is bliss. It's like being surrounded by water. Sweet, sticky, and cool, the red liquid floods your mouth with every bite and the flesh disintegrates immediately. There's never enough watermelon in the world, to satisfy our cravings during summer. After eating (well, it's more liking scraping clean, honestly) away the juicy insides, we are left with a smile-shaped shell, one, that honestly, only widens our own. 

Travelling...

Lately I've realised what an impact travelling has had on me. Not even travelling, but just the fact that we're going out of the country, leaves me with an excitement and anticipation like nothing else. New experiences have changed the way I look at countries; now, it feels as though every place is a new world – different cultures, different languages, and different people.

I think the best example of my feelings would be my emotions after the Singapore – Kuala Lampur trip that we took last October. To be honest, one place has merged with the other and I have lost sense of what actually happened where. Yet, this journey acted as a trigger and opened me up to a whole new part of the world. Suddenly, I have an irrational desire to know everything, everything, about the cultures of the countries which can be called 'Oriental'. China, Japan, Korea, there's not one place I don't want to learn about. Watching movies like The Karate Kid has only strengthened my wish. It's funny how two of my English chapters – one about Sadako Sasaki and the other about an old Chinese women – brought back a flood of memories of the trip (though somewhat jumbled). I've realised that small things around you – how the sky looks, or a topic you are learning about in school – can immediately transport you to a country you have previously visited (if only for a moment).

Now, almost four years after moving to India, and two years after our last trip, we are going back to the US again. Having lived there, that country crops up more in my thoughts and dreams than any other place. But the knowledge that we are going back, for two blissful weeks, is something I'm savoring. It has surprised even me, how much I have missed the US. Like how I always feel before a trip, my thirst for adventure has increased. Yet going back to the US is unlike visiting any other country, where most things remain unknown. There's a draw to my beloved America, a single, strong thread in my heart which connects me to the country halfway across the world. There are random times when I become nostalgic for all the friends and experiences I had ever had there. Like I have said before, that large country, those experiences and people are a part of me and always will be, though they may not be thought of everyday.

One thing that I have realised is that before any trip, my imagination starts running. My brain builds stories on stories, creating fantasies which I enjoy for days together. Of course, the trip is often nothing like my stories (which involve adventure and magic), but it manages to surprise me nonetheless. And after all, what's the harm in dreaming?

Summer Serenade

Music's the start,

To a whole new day,

It opens my heart,

In a whole new way,

For one long hour, we get the chance,

To soar, to glide, to flow, to dance.

My heart's a thrummer,

To the beat of the summer

Heaven, means the enticing pool,

Reflecting the sky so blue,

I'm engulfed by water cool,

Takes me to a world so new.

Being in water, is being with a friend,

Once the fun starts, the joy never ends.

My heart's a thrummer,

To the beat of summer

Sticky and sweet,

The ice cream drips,

A flavorful sheet,

Upon my lips,

Coolness under the sun so bright,

Small and sweet, the season's delights.

My heart's a thrummer,

To the beat of summer

No more cares, no more worries, for once,

It's time to be happy and free,

A bliss that lasts for two long months,

To enjoy being you and me,

Come join me, come taste a slice,

Of heaven on earth, it's paradise.

And I guarantee that your heart, like mine....

Will become a thrummer...

To the beat of summer

Testing Times

"Get to the books!" The teachers say,
"Study! Study!" They chant all day.
"Don't waste time, go do some work!"
My! All this talk drives me berserk!
"Do some yoga, it'll relieve the stress,
But remember, 12th grade is harder than the rest!"
Great. We're getting lectures, warnings, threats.
The pressure's building, and it's makin' us sweat!
Let's get serious! Stop acting cheesy!
Let me remind you, exams won't be easy!
Oh, dratted exams! Why are they there?
They make us study so hard, so much to prepare!
Moments of peace no longer exist,
Academics will hit you as hard as a fist.
Not the exam, but studying before,
Leaves me hating it more and more.
The greatest part of it all, when the exams are done and away...
That blissful, lazy holiday,
And we're back with a grin, feeling like the best,
When all of a sudden, oh no! Another surprise test!

The year that was

The year that was to be the end,

But, Thank God, December 22^nd came my friend,

The year that London hosted the games,

To many athletes, it brought them fame,

We watched Michael Phelps burn as bright as fire,

And watched his medal count keep getting higher,

As India, we achieved quite a feat,

They made us so proud, our athletes,

The year which was a repeat of before,

When Barack Obama won the elections once more,

The year in which I learnt to love,

 But hold steady in case I was given a shove,

When I realized not everyone was a God-sent,

Some people were enemies, others were friends,

The year I became strong, no longer that weak,

In the debate finals, I could easily speak,

The year after two which gave me a chance,

To open my heart and relearn how to dance,

The year that showed me I knew piano well,

As I slowly conquered Skyfall of Adele,

The year I finally became a teen,

And realized it wasn’t as easy as it seems,

The year I held myself when life would get me to shatter,

But I managed it all, and that’s all that matters,

The year I learnt to take it slow,

And learnt to never let loved ones go,

The year I became my father’s daughter,

In the sports world, I found myself in “water”,

The year I realized my father and mother,

Were the most important and no other,

Could’ve been loved more than my little brother,

The year that put me down but gave me some lifts,

Chances to display all my gifts,

I live, I love, I laugh, I write,

I act so stupid, but I can be bright,

But enough of me, I’ll go on no more,

I don’t want to prove myself a bore,

Just know it was an amazing year,

All great experiences brought me here,

I finally learnt to love myself,

What a year 2012!!!!

Akal Chakraane Laga

In my class, history is never boring. It very easily becomes intertwined with our opinions of how the British treated India. Let’s just say, that it is a good thing the colonial British and we live in different eras, and don’t have to meet each other.

Our first lesson of the second term dealt with English education. The chapter started with an introduction to William Jones, a talented linguist. I instantly felt a spark of familiarity with this man who knew English, French, Greek, Arabian, Persian, and Sanskrit. But the way, the anti-Orientalists criticized the culture and languages of India really angered me. It reminded me of my own tough history with Hindi, a language I’m leaving behind this year.

In 5^th grade, when we moved to India and I got to know that I had to learn Hindi, I didn’t know what to think. I literally only knew ‘doodh’ (milk) and ‘mera naam Priya hain’ (my name is Priya). We started that summer.

I learnt the alphabets within a week, which was good, as I had so much more to learn! I struggled at school. I would draw pictures of fruits next to the Hindi word of it (example – drawing an apple next to ‘seb’) while my classmates read ‘kavitayen’ (poems) which would give me headaches.

In terms of Hindi, my school-changing didn’t help much. The teacher wasn’t all that great in fifth grade. I still made mistakes – I would mess up the gender or the tense or the verb.

People would laugh. That was the worst bit of it all. They would roll their eyes – bringing tears to mine. They still do. They ridicule my language and my accent. But the fact I got this far is due to the tuitions I took in Delhi. Gosh, did that help! They transformed me from a pathetic weakling to a passably good Hindi speaker. I really started picking up and loving the language. Then, we moved to Bangalore. One more year of Hindi as second language, and I realized I couldn’t do it. I simply could not do Hindi as my second language in the 9^th or 10^th.  So I gave it up. It’s now my third language.

My mom still squirms and hisses when I make grammatical mistakes.

My friends still beg me to shut up.

My relatives still laugh.

But I? I’ll keep on learning, yaar! Agle saal se, main Hindi ki pariksha nahi doongi; par ab main Hindi ko behad pasand karti hoon. School me subject samaapth, magar meri zindagi mein uski shuruaath!!

[From next year, I will no longer give the Hindi exam. However, now I’ve really come to like the language. It has ended as a subject in school, but has just gotten started in my life.]