I Am What I Am

A whisper; a voice;
A light in the dark,
Turn here, turn there,
Searching, searching everywhere..
Only to find it's your patience wearing thin..

Dimmer and dimmer it glows each day,
However, always ashimmer, still leading the way..
One speck of light in a tunnel full of darkness,
Now, therein lies the game - keep your eye on the light,
Else you're a failure..

The Lord has his ways - Praise the Lord!
Never obstacle free,
Only the greatest men have all beaten him to it,
None left unscathed, mind..
But, they have something to show for it, so to say,
For what is a trial by fire, if it doesn't burn you,
If it doesn't purge you, maybe even haunt you after..

And years later when your son sees your scar,
And boasts of it to his friends,
He may not know much of it, or what lies beneath..
But this I can say,
A tear; some pride;
Your heart wells up, and you can say:
I am what I've seen,
I am what I've done,
I AM WHAT I AM.

Kya Kehna

Yeh shaam mastani,
Rote huey guzaari gayi hai,
Dil dhoondta sukoon tha,
Mile us hi ke tukde hain..

Akhiyaan bhar bhar aayein hain,
Sookhein aansoon ke nishaan,
Ab bhi paayein jaatein hain,
in taazein aansoon ke peechhe..

Ek dukhbhara gaana gaa liya,
Jo dil ko pyaara hai, usse chugli kar li,
Magar agli shaam aane tak,
Yeh dil phir tukde tukde ho jaata hai..

Do baar aansoon rok liye,
Teen lambe saans le liye,
Dil toh phir bhi rota hi hai,
Toh aansoon bhi rok ke rakhte,
Magar thode toh chhot hi jaatein hain..

Kisi se ab kya kehna,
Kisi se ab kya kehna,
Jo goonj hai iss dil ki,
Koi taal na duba paaya..

Fallin' & Flyin'

At long last, the windows open,
Perched precariously,
But ever so elegantly on the sill,
This bird finds its wings grown to size..

On the back of a long lesson in flight,
It arches it's head, raring to go,
Having learnt it's lessons of balance in life,
It finally really is ready to go..

There is now wind in its feathers,
Strength in it's talons,
But as life would have it,
As life should have it,
The winds are still to be waited patiently for..

You cannot swim against the current,
You cannot fly against the wind,
And why must you,
For when there is help to be had,
A push to set each of us off on our paths,
Why go against the flow?

My Most Memorable Rickshaw Ride

“Bhaiyya, Bandra?” I asked.

At five-thirty in the morning, it was the only rickshaw around. Being winter, it was still dark, the sun hadn’t come up. His rickshaw was different from the rest. Not in the blue-light/Himesh-on-the-radio/weird accessories way. Well, it did have blue lights on inside. And Himesh Reshammiya was booming away on the radio. And there were Madhuri Dixit and Sridevi posters on the insides of the rickshaw. There were pictures of different Gods stuck, all in a row, just above his windshield, and rosary beads hanging from his rearview mirror. But all this is very normal in Mumbai’s rickshaws.

He sat there in the backseat, a fully grown man, probably just into his forties. He was not wearing the brown or white uniform rickshaw drivers usually wear, but was adorned in what could only have been his best pair of clothes. One trousered leg hanging down, the other was folded up on the seat. He was completely engrossed in reading a thick book he was holding in one hand, while the other had found its way to his groin, scratching rather rhythmically.

“Rickshaw?!” I asked again, a little louder, thinking he hadn’t heard me. I was going to be very late today. And today was not a good day to be late.

My 12^th Board Exams were going on, and so far I had managed to be punctual, but today? Today was my history paper (my weakest subject), and I had woken up late today itself.

He finally reacted the second time. He clucked at me, irritated, looked me up and down, and went back into his deep study. He had a small white cup of steaming hot chai lying precariously balanced between his legs. Honestly, I was a little jealous. What better time for chai than early morning?

 Noticing that I wasn’t going away, he asked me where it was I wanted to go so desperately.

“Bandra? Arre pehle bolte na!”, I had really hoped he wouldn’t refuse. However the mention of Bandra (my centre was National College) seemed to make him happy. He picked up his chai, put his legs down, and leaned forward.

“Bandra mein kahaan?”

“National College.”

When I told him, he just smiled, jumped out of the rickhaw, and said, “Baitho.”

He gulped down the steaming chai, made a strange hissing sound, and threw cup into a gutter. Even the engine hadn’t started, before he started conversing with me about where, how and why I was going this early to National College. He seemed visibly buoyed by my destination. These things are normal when you’re travelling in Mumbai, so I told him.

I found out why he had agreed so easily to go to National College when suddenly at Santacruz we reached a signal. He said to me “So, name five military functions of the President.”, through all those broken teeth. I was flabbergasted. As the light turned green, he handed his text book to me. Mr. Bhimsingh (the name in the book) had just shocked the daylights out of me. “Achcha, name five disciplinary powers of President.”

“Achche se padho beta, sirf pass hona kaafi thodi hai!” The book he had been so focused on had been a copy of my History & Civics text book, BECAUSE HE WAS PREPARING FOR THE SAME EXAM AS ME!

WE SPENT THE WHOLE HALF HOUR EXCHANGING QUESTIONS ABOUT THE HITLER AND THE CONSTITUTION, WITH PEOPLE STARING IN AT US AS IF THE KALYUG ITSELF HAD COME!!

AS WE FINALLY REACHED, WE BOTH GOT OFF THE RICKSHAW, I PAID HIM, AND WE BOTH WALKED INTO THE EXAMINATION HALL – HIM SMILING, ME STILL REELING. AND I WON’T TELL YOU HOW MUCH I SCORED.

*the above piece is a work of fiction

Oh, God.

God. Who is God? Or what is God? The eternal question, is there even something such as a God? God, supposedly the Almighty, is an age-old belief, a blind faith, in our hearts. Don’t ask me where this belief came from. I wouldn’t know – nobody knows for sure, for that matter – where it came from. Some people believe God exists. Well, there’s the believers, the agnostics (confused), and the atheists (non-believers). Actually, most of us are hypocrites *WINK, WINK* We all say “I don’t believe in God”, and then visit mandirs and gurudwaras, and pray, hoping that some good will come of it.

God – whatever, or whoever it is – has all the power, supposedly. Everything we are, everything around us is His giving, He DEFINES us. He’s creative, seems to so enjoy complicating people’s lives, and makes sure there’s all the masala to go with anything you do. Let’s be fair, though, there is the fair share of niceties too.

Apparently, all the manuscripts – our rulebooks – say we need to “prove ourselves unto Him”. Hence, each one’s quota of drama. And if he has so much power, then why doesn’t he just “come forth” and end the whole confusion of his existence? If he has so much power, if the world really is His playing-field, then where is the problem? Why all the suffering, all the pain, the negativity, weakness, injustice, angst? Shouldn’t the obvious choice be to keep things simple? To make things easy, right, fair for all? If he is the Almighty, mustn’t He have known, planned, what was going to come? I’m not taking a stand against Him or for Him. I’m not saying to believe in His being, that isn’t my prerogative. And I’m not saying He, or She, or It, doesn’t exist. Everyone is entitled to their own opinions. Everyone has a right to believe in what they want. I’m just thinking out loud. I’m wondering. I’m ASKING, not QUESTIONING. Searching for answers. I want to know.

The definition of God:

“God is a deity in theistic and deistic religions and other belief systems, representing either the sole deity in monotheism, or a principal deity in polytheism.”

[P.s.: "Theism is the broadest sense is the belief in at least one deity."

          "Deism is a religious and philosophical belief that a supreme being created the universe, and that this can be determined using reason and observation of the natural world alone, without the need for either faith or organized religion."]

Thank you, Wikipedia. ;)

Belief, belief, belief. NOWHERE does it say that GOD exists. Then where did all this belief come from. Are we too afraid to “believe”, that WE make our lives? That WE influence them? That WE are the reasons behind everything? Is this belief in an Almighty, an escapist’s scheme? To say,” Que sera sera, whatever will be, will be”? Is it just an IDEOLOGY, stemming from a moment of cowardice, when man couldn’t blame himself? Or maybe when he finally couldn’t embrace the fact that he was everything - the reason, the means, and the end?

Do you remember the time when you really wanted something? And then you prayed to God, and actually got it? And then said “Thank you God, Thank you God.”?  Maybe your parents heard you through the door. Think about it.

Every Day, Friendship Day

Well, Sunday was Friendship Day, and I’ve always celebrated it just like everybody else – host a lunch, or go out somewhere and “PARTAYY”. This year too, I did the same, only this year I wasn’t celebrating just the one day. The last few months have been, without doubt, the hardest of my life so far.

But it is in times like these that your eyes truly open to your surroundings, to what your life really is, or has been, and you learn  to value what you’ve got, even what you haven’t.  I’ve still got some time to pull, but there’s a reason I’m writing this.

I’d like all my friends, all those who have been right there for me, who have seen whatever it is I’ve been going through, and chosen to jam that extra shoulder in, hold me up in a time when I couldn’t have made it through without – to know that this time, it wasn’t just about the one day. This time round, I’ve celebrated a consistently gobsmacking show of solidarity from all my friends.

If I couldn’t get out of bed, you didn’t hesitate to spend every alternate evening, coming home to keep me company. If I couldn’t talk, you sat there with me, and didn’t say anything, but you sat there. I’ve had so much time on my hands and not known what to do with it, and you’ve given me inspiration to wage a battle, to not sit back and give in to boredom, pain.

I’ve grumbled endlessly, going on and on, only ever mindful of my troubles, and you’ve always had an ear for it. If I’ve not looked or been normal, I was told it didn’t matter and that I would pay dearly if I let it bother me. I’ve hardly ever felt out of place, a result the constant affection and understanding I’ve been granted – all despite however I’ve looked, felt or behaved.

To sum it up, I’m here, happy, alive and kicking, and there’s a reason for it.

I’m grateful for all my friends and just want to say:

THANK YOU.

60 mgs of heartache

The prescription pad reads:

60mgs heartache 1-0-1
40mgs sore ass 1-0-1
30mgs frustration 1-1-1
75mgs pure suffering 1-1-1
DIGENE

They tell me, "There's a light at the end of the tunnel, boy, look!".
And I throw my swollen head back, and laugh heartily. Coz what they
don't know, is that what's on that pad is also a sure shot recipe for
blurred vision. It's true.

I think I've finally figured why faith and belief, patience and hope
are always associated with candles. To start with, when you light a
candle, you have to drop the wax and stick it in the ground. And then,
the flame. Darned thing keeps going out, doesn't it? They're hard
virtues to come by. Even harder to hold on to. It's true.

Darkness does descend. Frustration does reach a height where it fogs
your judgement. It does manage to cloud even the strongest of hearts.
Sometimes, you actually do hope, that when you close your eyes at
night, your "somewhere else" in the morning, and it's all just over.
Murkish, no? Well, it's true.

But life, is relentless. You're caged in, whether you like it or not.
You have to fight another day, every day. I guess you just gotta learn
to find it funny. I'm not there yet. It's true.

Have a Heart

Have you ever just sat in a chair, one leg crossed over the other, having donned the best set of clothes from your wardrobe, a single steaming cup of coffee lying untouched before you, and stared out through the glass window at the rain as it falls so elegantly out of the sky? if you have, you would have noticed the trees swaying, left to right, then back, and again, no say in the matter. And you would have noticed the many crows perched on building terraces, so still its almost creepy, their feathers getting drenched, sticking to their frail bodies. Then maybe you would notice the man scampering across the street, hands folded over his head, helplessly yelling at vehicles flying by, desperately trying to get a hold of SOME public transport to reach his destination on time - and if he's lucky enough - in a somewhat civil condition. 

Each one has his own story to tell. 

Each one has his own battle to fight.

And each one has no choice, no power, no say in what it's going to be. C'est la vie. Such is life.

Thats not to say life is all dirt'n'muck. See, life doesn't have an instruction manual. There's no rule book. It'll hit you where it wants, how it wants, when it wants, and how many ever times it wants. And it may not SEEM fair, But it is. It bloody well is. Most of us just don't have grit to face the truth. And there is only one truth. IF LIFE KNOCKS YOU DOWN, THERE'S ALWAYS, ALWAYS, A WAY TO GET UP. Nobody said it has to be easy, But its there. And aye, it may take another shot at you after that, for all its worth, but there will always be another way up.

Easier said than done, eh? Ask me about it. No, I haven't written six self-help books. Hell, i'm nineteen years old, diagnosed with what many would loosely call "a kidney problem", and a college dropout. So far, so good.

I'll tell you about life. It's not easy sitting at home everyday, knowing fully well that all of your friends WILL be busy morning, afternoon, and evening, because they have college, and classes. 

And they can eat and drink anything they want to, anytime they want, and how much ever they want. 

Knowing that they can party all night, everyday if they want to.

That they don't have to worry about picking up the teeniest bit of a bug from some godforsaken part of the city.

Knowing that i have swollen legs, and I have to put them up on five pillows for atleast three hours everyday, and that if I do go out then a minimum of six people will stare at me as if I'm from another dimension altogether.

To know that my face is also swollen, to add to all the absolute tripe that i'm going through anyway, and SOMEONE is going to laugh because its so darned round.

As if this weren't enough, I also have the added persistent niggle at the back of my mind - "Huh, have i taken my steroids for today?" If i miss it, screwdriver effect.

And if i take it, still screwdriver effect. because steroids have to have side-effects too, haven't they? And you don't, trust me, you don't want to know what they're like.

And then how do we know if i'm recovering or not? Reports! Which means blood and urine samples twice. Prick, prick, prick, hurrah!

WHY ME? BECAUSE MY HORMONES DECIDED TO FOOL AROUND, DARNED WHIMSICAL THINGS. NO FAULT OF MINE, I'M JUST ONE OF THOSE THOUSANDS OF LUCKY DUCKIES (aged 1-25) WHOSE HORMONES RANDOMLY DECIDE TO PLAY WITH OUR LIVES.

But i'll say this, LIFE GAVE ME A HEART, AND MY HEART IS STRONG. YES, I HURT. YES, I COMPLAIN. I HAVE MY DOWN DAYS. BUT MY ONE HEART IS ENOUGH. I WILL FIGHT, AGAIN, AND AGAIN, AND AGAIN. THATS LIFE.

Insomnia

Perched upon the window sill,
Eyes not so wide open,
Legs hanging loosely down below,
He becomes an amateur vision of a harrowed soul..
Not by any measure of desire, though, sir, no..
There is but an innocence to it.

The cool breeze of the deep, dark night envelops him,
Comforting him it would only seem,
With friendly nudges,
One from the left one from the right,
Then again from the left,
And he smiles.

Two drooping eyelids, no they will not darned shut,
How he longs for that calm, peaceful sleep that only all should have,
Its never bothered him before, this sleepless devil,
Then suddenly, a revelation, enlightenment,
He sees the light,
His dear devil had shown him the night,
And just like that,
He longed to sleep no more.
And just like that,
He awoke no more.

Music, the Life to Live

Well, it seems like only too many yesterdays since I've been back here. But, let bygones be bygones. TODAY, IT'S ALL ABOUT THE MUSICS AND THE LIFES.

Over the past month or two, I've been hit a by a few.... "epiphanies", you could say. One of them being that while I've been involved with music for almost about a decade now (ADVERTISEMENT: 9 years into the tabla, along with a short run with the keyboard, and currently a very serious follow-up on the guitar), there never has been a real understanding of precisely WHAT MUSIC IS. Not only me, there is a commonplace ignorance (not necessary intentional, per se) of the IDEA of what we so randomly and gleefully call "Music".

la musique, la crème de la vie. "Music, the Cream of Life." Ever seen how those girls in those cheesy Cafe Coffee Day ads moan, groan, cringe, twist, cramp up, and lick their lips as if they've finally ACHIEVED MOKSHA or something when they take that first sip of their coffee? Sounds cliched, yes, but that's music. 

Music is the sound of the fans go up when the whistle in a Liverpool-United soccer match goes off. 

Music is the sound of a three mynahs sitting perched on a verandah window-sill in Manali.

Music is the beep-and-click sound a camera makes when you've finally caught that sunrise you've been shooting at 6 a.m. every morning.

Music is the sound of the rhythmic breathing of sage doing his yoga in the forest.

Music is silence, silence is music.

Music is the sound of the court judge's hammerstroke.

Applause is music.

Tears are music.

Laughter is music.

Music is the beautiful words, the heart-wrenching story-line of the novel you're reading.

Music is the truth, however pretty or ugly.

Music is the *chuckchucking* of the incoming train.

Music is the new skirt you just bought.

Farting is music (don't say its not true).

The sound of a right-fisted punch bang in the nose is music.

Music is light, light is music.

Music is temple bells and an aarti.

Music is technology, and everything related to it.

Music is education, learning, teaching.

Guidance is music.

Appreciation is music.

Even nit-picking is music.

Blood, in all forms is music. (Look at Dexter.)

Humour is music, music is humour.

Music is birth.

Music is death.

Music is light.

Music is darkness.

Music is the beginning.

Music is the end.

Music is what comes in between.

MUSIC IS YOU.

YOU ARE LIFE.

MUSIC, IS LIFE.

Die Another Day

Standing atop the tower,
Wondering whether to dive,
21 floors high, the tower stands,
Cool winds blowing all around,
And he thinks of when he was five.

Only pushing him closer to the jump,
He shuts the flooding memories out,
A bead of sweat, a tear drops,
His inner mind screaming, "Stop, stop, stop!",

Then sights of a better day,
Family, friends, and even his dream to succeed,
They overwhelm him,
And he steps back on to the cold, solid ground,
To live to fight another day.


This is not just "some poem". It is a request, a piece of advice, to all those who give up on life so easily. Suicide, is an escapist's choice, someone who does not have the courage, the gall, to face the challenges life throws at him/her. God has given you a life, a mind, a body, for a reason. Life isn't all Apples (pun intended) and oranges (even Blackberrys, these days), and thank God for that, otherwise what would we be?? Don't be rash. Don't go and end your life because something big and greatly upsetting has happened. This world needs every mind it can have, even if your will to live, and live happily at that, isn't enough for it. Die Another Day.

DIWALI

DEEPAVALI




*BOOM*

*Wakes up with a start* “What happened?”

“Rassi Bomb. Good Morning, by the way.”



Well, only two days to go before Lord Ram touches home, but the little children in this country (or at least this city) care so much about him that they’ve started sending smoke signals to him, as to where his home lies. By smoke signals, I mean the miniature mushrooms of smoke that go floating into the sky every time they burn a cracker. Besides, it seems he won’t need the light or the smoke or anything to get home, because he can probably HEAR them anyway.

On a more serious note, Deepavali is one of our more beautiful festivals. Our celebrations of Deepavali though, are based on a huge misunderstanding. This festival is celebrated not only for the homecoming of Lord Ram, but is also a celebration of the victory of Good over Evil. Deepavali (which in Sanskrit means ‘Row of Lamps’, not ‘Earth-killing, noisy crackers’) was originally supposed to be celebrated by wearing new clothes, lighting a lamp filled with oil (to signify the victory of Good over Bad), distributing sweets among loved ones. Simply put, the light emanated from the diyas emphasised the true significance of the day – Victory over Evil, Spiritual Upliftment.

Even if we’re not as concerned about, or don’t understand what our mythology says, there is a very simple reason, lying in patient wait, as to why crackers should not be burnt. There is nothing good that they do for us or our planet, they pollute the air, they are a major source of noise pollution, they are basically slowly killing Mother Earth (which I’m pretty sure our God, Lord Ram wouldn’t want. There’s no point in ridding us of the evil if we’re going to die like this anyway). Think of it this way, if we don’t burst crackers, even those little children who are forced to work to make our crackers, wouldn’t be forced into child labour. All this I realized, when I was trying very hard to watch Mickey Rourke’s (my idol) interview on Inside The Actors Studio, and all I could hear was *BOOM* *PHOOF* *BAM* *DHEESH*.

Also, the crackers we burnt on Deepavali have become a huge question of social standing these day. Which cracker you burn, how many crackers you burn. The more you have the better. Like there is this family in my building, who have a fixation with bursting a huge number of ladis all together, after all their crackers are exhausted. This year they plan to have a round of 50,000 ladis. Hence, they’re cool.

All I’m trying to say is, when Deepavali is such a beautiful festival – the idea behind it, the ACTUAL way of celebrating it – then why are we hell-bent on turning it into a festival that does so much harm? There is a belief that the world can end in 2012. We’re only adding to it. Besides, lets maintain the beauty of this festival, huh guys? Lets do it simply, gracefully, and maintain the purpose of this festival.

HAIRCUT DAY

Today was “Hair-Cut Day” (signifying I’ve managed to push my mom’s patience quite far, by growing my hair longer than she thinks makes me look like a “good boy”). Every soul on Planet Earth definitely knows, and has experienced, what “Hair-Cut Day” is. This is one of the few special days, the mention of whose name brings out a different reaction from almost every other person.

Well, my personal reaction goes like………………………………”AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!!!!!”

Yes, I strongly despise the cutting of my hair. It’s like the Third Degree (to me), the only difference being that the pain and embarrassment is in much smaller measure (embarrassment toh is non-existent only, baal kaatne mein).

Today, mother dear finally coerced me into cutting my hair. Rather, she ordered and blackmailed me into it. Yes, that’s more like it.

So I pick up the phone, dial the number, and set an appointment for 3 o’clock at the salon.

Time flies by (as it always does when you least want it to, and vice versa) and it 2:45 p.m. the salon is close by, so I walk it down (making it all the more painful).

It is now five minutes to 3:00 p.m., and I’m standing right outside the door of the salon.

I look up at the skies (suddenly turning a tinge of dark purple), say “Waheguru Satnam”, and push the frosted glass door open. As the door swings open, a mighty gust of wind blows right into my face. Suddenly the sweeper is the size of the Empire State building, his eyes red (not to mention extremely oversized), his eyebrows in W-ish shape, his long black hair (on each of his ten heads) all over the place, and there is an extremely shrill voice to be heard riding on the wind. Well, no. Not really.

I push open the door, walk right into the salon, aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand I’m told by an anorexic woman with terrible hair (presumably the secretary) that there’s some waiting to be done. I can almost imagine Dharmendra say, “Tadpa tadpa ke maaroonga main!”

My insides are cringing, my heart calling to me, “Run, Forest, Run!”. But then, if I do, I’ve got another storm waiting at home. You know they should officially change the saying to “Hell hath no fury, like a MOTHER scorned.”

So I wait, and after about 15 minutes of me chuckling away to myself (the result of my imagining myself with an array of different hairstyles, all shapes, sizes, and colours), the call comes.

I lift my enormous backside, and head further into the salon, only to put it back down three chairs away.

 

The Haircut - A True Emotional Atyachar

As I seat myself there, I hear the “tchk-tchk” of the scissors that are going to raze my 4 weeks of defiance of my Mumma. Well, I manage to come through it. Through all 45 minutes of bucket-fulls of my hair being ripped (with blade), and snipped right off the top of my head.

I get up, and having given money to the barber for my torture (my mom’s supaari to him, a token of thanks for torturing me) I walk out the door violated. I walk out feeling like Julius Caesar (big, but with 23 knives in the back and front of his bosom and bowels). Thank you, barber, thank you, Mum.

PEN AND PAPER, IN THE NIGHT

The night has only just begun,

With me sitting on the window sill, night to the right, my room to the left,

I have no company,

But for the night, my pen and its paper.

The moon and the stars, seemingly smiling,

Of what cause, I wonder,

Perhaps it is the pen and paper,

Or perhaps, my posture is vulgar.

Many options lie before me, for the passing of my time,

Each more attractive,

But all that concerns me is my pen, its paper,

And the creature I keep looking for over my shoulder.

Pen is to paper, as food is to the mouth,

In this incident though,

Pen goes to the mouth,

Food is not involved, and blank remains the paper.

My aim for the night,

Was to write, and to write,

What to write about though, I wonder,

And I start to colour the paper.

All the interesting subjects,

Such as Dorian Gray, Black Beauty,

Julius Caesar, have already been taken,

By the likes of Oscar Wilde, Anna Sewell, and William Shakespeare.

Staring out, once again, into the night,

I ponder my subject,

Nothing strikes me, but for the cool wind that blows,

And I ponder again, only this time, the subject being the tearing out of my hair.

Seeing now, why the Moon and Stars ridiculed me,

I crawl to my bed,

Albeit submittingly,

That I would write something, someday, I swear.

First Day in Degree College

Most people, must, by now, have understood the great clutter of emotions that one experiences coming to the fore, on the first day of school, junior college, degree college, tuitions, workshops, jobs, and what not.


The night before the Big Day is one preoccupied with the thought of the new journey that he/she is about to begin. "What will it be like?" "Will I find people like myself?" "Will I have friends that can match up to the ones I've made in the past?" "What if I don't like it?" "What if the other students, or the teachers don't like me?" Such are the questions that arise in the mind.

Then, one goes to sleep, anxious...maybe even dubious about the success of the next day.
Some sleep deeply, as a result of depression. Others lose sleep, to the same cause.


The next morning, the clock strikes 7 a.m., at which time said individual's eyes pop open, earlier than ever before. Seriously so. Having awoken earlier than ever, one spends more time in the bath, and in front of the mirror, than one has ever done. After all, one needs to create the best impression possible. As they say, "First impression is the last impression."


As a result of having awoken earlier than usual, one has more time to pass than usual. To eat the breakfast one never does, to say the prayer one never does, and so on and so forth. But on this day, some don't want to eat that much, because after all, when you're nervous, you feel it in your tummy. Others, on the contrary, stuff their faces, as a result of anxiety, and maybe even a little fear. Once this is done with, one carries on to, as is customary in our religion, ask for and receive blessings from the elders in the house.


Then finally, when said individual is ready to leave, he/she presses the button for the lift....and guess what? Someone on another floor is holding it up. The usual reaction is "Let it be bachcha, it's not a good day to fight." This coming from Mumma. At long last, the lift does arrive, and one gets into it, and leaves.


Then one walks out of one's building/residential complex, and heads off to find a mode of transport. Being the first day, Mummy Dearest has already provided the rickshaw fair, for that day only. The rickshaw driver is probably smoking, one asks him to get rid of his 'beedi', and then we're off. There is no need to mention that Traffic has a cameo in the whole hustle and bustle of the first day.


When one reaches, the butterflies start flying around in the one's stomach, or the rats start running around, whichever way you would have it. One finds the classroom, and enters it, searching (sometimes in vain) for familiar faces. 
If one finds a familiar face, then the process becomes much easier.
Otherwise, its rrrrreally complicated. Some people approach every other person in class in the endeavour of finding SOMEONE to "hang out with". Others find one seat in the class, and wait for random persons to fill the seats around oneself. Eventually the seats get filled, one starts to converse, and (if i may) AAL IZZ WELL.

The teachers enter, introductions start, and one often gets lost in the whole flow of the FIRST DAY, not realising how one had already fit in!

Whatever one chooses to do, ultimately, there is a God above, and EVERYTHING gets sorted out.It always does.     


Just Remember, Aal Izz ALWAYS Well!!




:)

New Beginnings

Okay, so….here’s my first post ever. You can’t even begin to imagine how nervous I am. So I’m just going to write about the beginning of a “New Era”. Lol, rrright. The beginning of this blog, that’s what this is about.

When I was building my stage, that is this blog, it never really struck me that people may or may not read it. Now that I write my first article here, the questions are showering down upon me. “Who will read my blog?” “What if I don’t have enough followers?” “What if people laugh at me, for what I write?”

Come to think of it…you know what? I just can’t care enough. My aim is to build a stage for myself, where I can voice my joys, my pains, my opinions, my ideas, my likes and dislikes, etc. And that is what I’m doing. So there.

With this first post, I just want to say, that I HOPE everyone, that is, people I know, and don’t know, read and understand what I’m trying to say. And like it. It’s a bloody big word, Hope, innit? Apparently, there’s a God above.