Dearest Jui,
I realise, of course, that now that you are free to know and see so many things, you will probably not be checking your Facebook page (and is there a computer in the afterlife?), but my concept of death is that once you cross that point, you just KNOW things. But I'm still gonna go ahead and say some stuff that's all bottled up inside because I really need to let it out.
First off, you shocked everyone. My first reaction was that that you had no business just dying on us like that because it was too soon. Because you had so much left to do: turn 20 and then 21 and … well you get the point, get that boyfriend, recruit more people to AISEC, get your degree … Because you had your whole life ahead of you. Because I just assumed you would get better and be here to giggle on forever. Because. Just because.
But I knew before I got the final call.
I still can’t believe I didn’t meet you during your ordeal. I don’t even know how to feel about it: whether I should feel bad that I couldn’t be there to show you my love and support, or relieved that I only have happy memories of you and didn’t see you suffer.
But I know you did. And I’m glad you’re no longer in pain. I just wish there was a way for that to be true and for you to be with us.
But I’m not going to bind you here. You have a lot to do now as well … like always.
You know that it is human nature to move on. Time is a good healer. Some things do leave scars though. And perhaps a few years down the line, we will get used to this. But you must know that we will still always love you.
I still remember one of your birthday parties when we were in primary school and how we were all fighting for a seat on that swing you had then in your balcony. And how you were giggling ALL the time. Seriously! ALL. THE. TIME. And how we would share a joke and giggle (see!) and only you would get caught for your explosive laughter. And how we would count the seconds of tuition torture left until freedom. And ‘Fuzzy Duck!’ And … the memories just keep coming. And only happy ones.
Know always that we will miss you more than it is possible to convey through words. Who will share the only vegetarian dish with me at the table now? And fight with Anupama like you’re an old married couple? And constantly tell Miti to chill? And call up Kruttika and insist on everyone meeting? And cheer Pooja on with undying enthusiasm? And click one million photos? And … so many things, Jui, so many things. Our group hug will never be complete without you. (That’s why I’m sure you’ll be with us in spirit at least, whenever we meet.)
I only hope you are happy and at peace now. And that you’ve met your dad.
Love you always.
Until we meet again (because we WILL. You WILL have to be reborn someday, you know. And when one of us has an uncontrollably giggly kid, we’ll know it’s you.),
Take care
And keep smiling as always.
Loads of love
And one tight squeeze,
Amrita
PS: I’m leaving this letter open so that anyone who wants to add something can do so. I like to believe that you’re sitting somewhere above us at a heavenly computer, reading all of this, and smiling.
Wednesday, July 28, 2010
Sunday, October 19, 2008
Okay so I got all reminiscent about jr college recently, and although its not the norm, here's a couple of pages from my diary, right at the beginning of the eleventh grade when all I wanted was to stay in school and not shift to what I considered the saddest college on the surface of the earth.
Saturday, 22nd July, 2006
Just 2 DAYS of college has driven me insane! What have I gotten myself into?!!??
Optimism can doob marofy in a chullu bhar of pani, because THERE’S NO BRIGHT SIDE FOR ME TO LOOK ON!!!
Apart from being subjected to the constant company of Malvika (some %#@$* i couldn't tolerate for longer than 1/2 a second but get along okay with now) during college hours, I am also a victim of the worst lecturers on the planet! Let me explain.
Our English syllabus is insultingly childish. As if it’s not humiliating enough to have a textbook that explains the meaning of every second word in a sentence, we also have a teacher who treats us like six-year-old cretins.
Worse than her is the woman who is supposed to teach us Hindi. I say ‘supposed to’ just to convey the fact that that is exactly what she does not do! She spends most of the 40-minute lecture shooting sly/creepy grins at just about everyone in the class and reading from the book at lightning speed. Moreover, her tone of reading and explanation is exactly the same, so what with keeping up with her superhuman pace and trying to look meek when she throws you a scheming sneer, its impossible to tell just what is happening in the chapter.
The man who teaches us Physics I obviously loves his job, but for all the wrong reasons. Its crystal clear that he thinks Physics is too mundane to deserve his attention (a sentiment I share 100% but unfortunately cannot afford to translate into action) and prefers to invest his time in (1) cracking really sad jokes and (2) flirting with all female human beings within a range of 10 metres.
The Physics II guy isn’t a jerk, even though he started teaching on the very first day. Too bad nobody cares about electrostatics.
The Chemistry I lecturer is competition to the word ‘boring’. If he didn’t have such funny pronunciation (e.g. ‘peryaps’ for ‘perhaps’, a word he uses as often as normal people breathe), somebody would definitely have started snoring within the very first minute of his lecture.
The Chemistry II guy is just as bad. He makes about 50 rough sketches in mid air before writing on the board, wears a bag-strap for a belt, calls an atom an ‘item’ and yells into his cell-phone while its still ringing!
The Biology I lecturer is just plain mean. He expects you to have learnt everything beforehand and throws you out of class if you can’t answer, because, apparently, you’re unfit to attend it. (No, I did not get kicked out; it was some other unfortunate, sleepy soul.)
The Biology II lecturer, Mrs Basu (name changed simply because I don't legally have the permission to use her name), is the only saving grace in this college. She’s humorous, knowledgeable, jolly and respectable all at once and is the only lecturer whose class has ever had full attendance, both mentally as well as physically.
The woman who teaches us Math I is in the same league as the Biology I guy. She looks like she swallowed her own jaw and seems to derive sadistic pleasure out of torturing us with questions that stump even the biggest Math geeks of the class.
And for the grand finale, we have the worst one of the lot. The small, mean, shrivelled-up Mr Alok Nayar (name changed again ... though his real name HAS been mentioned by mansi on her blog!), who ‘teaches’ Math II. Of course, he doesn’t really teach anything— that’s just his excuse to jabber about trains, his achievements, the degrading state of teenagers, the length of Sania Mirza's skirt, Aishwarya Rai and several other topics completely unrelated to Math, until the bell rings and he remembers what he gets paid for and hurriedly solves a solitary sum at such top speed that even the aforementioned Math geeks are left gaping.
To add to all that, the teachers regularly explain things in Marathi!!! Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against the language except the fact that I don’t understand head or tail of it!
Why, God, WHY???
Saturday, 22nd July, 2006
Just 2 DAYS of college has driven me insane! What have I gotten myself into?!!??
Optimism can doob marofy in a chullu bhar of pani, because THERE’S NO BRIGHT SIDE FOR ME TO LOOK ON!!!
Apart from being subjected to the constant company of Malvika (some %#@$* i couldn't tolerate for longer than 1/2 a second but get along okay with now) during college hours, I am also a victim of the worst lecturers on the planet! Let me explain.
Our English syllabus is insultingly childish. As if it’s not humiliating enough to have a textbook that explains the meaning of every second word in a sentence, we also have a teacher who treats us like six-year-old cretins.
Worse than her is the woman who is supposed to teach us Hindi. I say ‘supposed to’ just to convey the fact that that is exactly what she does not do! She spends most of the 40-minute lecture shooting sly/creepy grins at just about everyone in the class and reading from the book at lightning speed. Moreover, her tone of reading and explanation is exactly the same, so what with keeping up with her superhuman pace and trying to look meek when she throws you a scheming sneer, its impossible to tell just what is happening in the chapter.
The man who teaches us Physics I obviously loves his job, but for all the wrong reasons. Its crystal clear that he thinks Physics is too mundane to deserve his attention (a sentiment I share 100% but unfortunately cannot afford to translate into action) and prefers to invest his time in (1) cracking really sad jokes and (2) flirting with all female human beings within a range of 10 metres.
The Physics II guy isn’t a jerk, even though he started teaching on the very first day. Too bad nobody cares about electrostatics.
The Chemistry I lecturer is competition to the word ‘boring’. If he didn’t have such funny pronunciation (e.g. ‘peryaps’ for ‘perhaps’, a word he uses as often as normal people breathe), somebody would definitely have started snoring within the very first minute of his lecture.
The Chemistry II guy is just as bad. He makes about 50 rough sketches in mid air before writing on the board, wears a bag-strap for a belt, calls an atom an ‘item’ and yells into his cell-phone while its still ringing!
The Biology I lecturer is just plain mean. He expects you to have learnt everything beforehand and throws you out of class if you can’t answer, because, apparently, you’re unfit to attend it. (No, I did not get kicked out; it was some other unfortunate, sleepy soul.)
The Biology II lecturer, Mrs Basu (name changed simply because I don't legally have the permission to use her name), is the only saving grace in this college. She’s humorous, knowledgeable, jolly and respectable all at once and is the only lecturer whose class has ever had full attendance, both mentally as well as physically.
The woman who teaches us Math I is in the same league as the Biology I guy. She looks like she swallowed her own jaw and seems to derive sadistic pleasure out of torturing us with questions that stump even the biggest Math geeks of the class.
And for the grand finale, we have the worst one of the lot. The small, mean, shrivelled-up Mr Alok Nayar (name changed again ... though his real name HAS been mentioned by mansi on her blog!), who ‘teaches’ Math II. Of course, he doesn’t really teach anything— that’s just his excuse to jabber about trains, his achievements, the degrading state of teenagers, the length of Sania Mirza's skirt, Aishwarya Rai and several other topics completely unrelated to Math, until the bell rings and he remembers what he gets paid for and hurriedly solves a solitary sum at such top speed that even the aforementioned Math geeks are left gaping.
To add to all that, the teachers regularly explain things in Marathi!!! Don’t get me wrong. I have nothing against the language except the fact that I don’t understand head or tail of it!
Why, God, WHY???
Tuesday, July 15, 2008
Penalty at Panchgani
“This isn’t a resort!” I scoffed, as our car pulled into the driveway of an unbelievably dilapidated structure right next to a cemetery, whose signboard proudly proclaimed that it was ‘MTDC’s Five Hills Resort, Panchgani’. “It’s an ancient haunted mansion!”
As it turned out, it was a resort— one in which we had booked a suite for three nights through MTDC’s well-known website.
Owing to the holiday rush, our chances of obtaining accommodation elsewhere were practically nil, so we resigned to our fate and entered the moss-covered edifice.
On procuring the keys from the confused receptionist, we traipsed up to our suite, hoping that it was more welcoming than the exterior of the ‘resort’.
Careful inspection of the two-roomed area revealed several exclusive characteristics.
The tiny outer room was devoid of a fan but housed one bed and a rotting shoe-rack that smelled as though something had died inside it numerous centuries ago.
The inner room was crammed with three beds, an ancient television set with 37 channels, a minute cabinet that had been passed off as a wardrobe and a bedside drawer that refused to yield to any amount of yanking. A small chit above an old telephone proclaimed that the extension 9 would connect us to the ‘opreter’. The whole room was lit by a single tube-light which flickered feebly for about 20 minutes after being switched on.
The miniscule bathroom had a leaking tap (which refused to produce remotely warm water even half an hour after switching on the geyser), an uncovered drain, a detachable shower handle and a fairly normal basin that housed what looked like a cross between a grasshopper and a cockroach. Moreover, the commode, seated below a dirty flush-tank dangling off a single screw, bore a web-like crack, presumably administered by the faucet lying at the bottom.
However, nothing matched the sight that met our eyes on the unceremonious opening of those smelly curtains to let some fresh air into the suffocating room— a filthy, mustard-coloured VIP Frenchie hanging on window-sill for everyone in the courtyard to see!
Needless to say, internet-booking isn’t something we’re likely to try again!
(Terrible experience, but I'm thankful for it, because this one too was printed ... in HT Cafe!)
As it turned out, it was a resort— one in which we had booked a suite for three nights through MTDC’s well-known website.
Owing to the holiday rush, our chances of obtaining accommodation elsewhere were practically nil, so we resigned to our fate and entered the moss-covered edifice.
On procuring the keys from the confused receptionist, we traipsed up to our suite, hoping that it was more welcoming than the exterior of the ‘resort’.
Careful inspection of the two-roomed area revealed several exclusive characteristics.
The tiny outer room was devoid of a fan but housed one bed and a rotting shoe-rack that smelled as though something had died inside it numerous centuries ago.
The inner room was crammed with three beds, an ancient television set with 37 channels, a minute cabinet that had been passed off as a wardrobe and a bedside drawer that refused to yield to any amount of yanking. A small chit above an old telephone proclaimed that the extension 9 would connect us to the ‘opreter’. The whole room was lit by a single tube-light which flickered feebly for about 20 minutes after being switched on.
The miniscule bathroom had a leaking tap (which refused to produce remotely warm water even half an hour after switching on the geyser), an uncovered drain, a detachable shower handle and a fairly normal basin that housed what looked like a cross between a grasshopper and a cockroach. Moreover, the commode, seated below a dirty flush-tank dangling off a single screw, bore a web-like crack, presumably administered by the faucet lying at the bottom.
However, nothing matched the sight that met our eyes on the unceremonious opening of those smelly curtains to let some fresh air into the suffocating room— a filthy, mustard-coloured VIP Frenchie hanging on window-sill for everyone in the courtyard to see!
Needless to say, internet-booking isn’t something we’re likely to try again!
(Terrible experience, but I'm thankful for it, because this one too was printed ... in HT Cafe!)
A Day In The Life Of A College Student
WARNING: This article is not to be read by the overly sentimental or the faint-hearted. Owing to the disturbing nature of this bracing reality check, parental discretion is advised.
My blissful dream comes to an abrupt end as I am woken up by an inconsiderate alarm-clock. I unwillingly set off to attend some soporific early-morning class only to be put back to sleep by a living sleeping-pill. After two hours of discreet napping, I gladly leave my second bedroom and make way for my rather larger and more interesting third one, where, along with a variety of those living sleeping-pills *shudder*, I have friends and the option to stay awake by leaving before another mind-numbing sleeping-pill arrives to sing me a different boring lullaby.
I am the college student and this is a day of my life.
I arrive at college, curse the concept of such embarrassment of students by making them display their worst photographs so prominently on their identity-cards (without which entry onto the campus is denied) and plod off towards my class. My sullenness immediately vanishes at the sight of that smiling person I so desperately long for … and returns with full force when I see his horrible girlfriend close by. My disposition now even worse than before, I stomp into class only to be angered further by the fact that the first lecture is being taken by everyone’s least favourite lecturer, and bang my books around moodily while my crush cosies up to his girlfriend at the back.
I then endure forty minutes of mixed emotions as I try (1) not to laugh at the lecturer’s hilarious hairstyle, (2) to stay awake despite his monotonous drone and (3) to resist the urge to claw out the eyes of the object of affection of the object of my affection.
Eventually, my least favourite people in the room (that ever-smug math lecturer and my crush’s girlfriend) leave for the day. *Cue the celebrations*
I then accompany my friends to the canteen to avoid the next forty minutes of slightly different sleep induction. These precious minutes pass in a flash (though certain moments shine out clearly: like when my crush and I share a joke and laugh until our stomachs hurt) and we return to class for our favourite lecture— Biology, which, however, is ruined by the news that we will be dissecting cockroaches this evening at practicals. I spend the rest of that lecture torn between awe at the wonders of the human body and disgust at being forced to peek into a cockroach’s instead.
The much-awaited lunch break arrives, and I enjoy myself with my friends until I remember that I have yet to complete my Biology journal for this evening’s practicals and resort to the tedious job. The moment I finish, I hear that familiar, unwelcome sound— the ringing of the bell indicating the end of the lunch hour.
I cram a sandwich into my mouth, doing my best to avoid looking like a starved monkey when I’m in full view of that adorable boy standing an arm’s length away from me, but fail miserably when I leap into the air and pull at my hair at the realisation that I’ve forgotten my lab coat.
My first five minutes in the Biology lab are wasted being ticked off for my forgetfulness by the nasty lab assistant, after which I am sent off to my seat to try to keep that sandwich down as a drugged cockroach is placed in front of me. Disinclined to fail Biology, I begin the repugnant dissection. When I’m done, I glance at my crush across the lab, am delighted when he catches my eye and instantaneously beam at him. In all my ecstasy, I squash my cockroach and have to go through that nauseating dissection again so as to sketch out the insides of that creepy insect.
Finally, the bell rings and I join my friends to leave college for the day. I enjoy myself thoroughly for the next half-hour, as our entire group hangs out at our usual ‘headquarters’ on the footpath outside college, laughing and joking, until we hurriedly disperse at the sight of the mean, I-card obsessed supervisor who holds an old grudge against us for ‘creating an unholy racket’ in the lunch hour.
Disappointed at that hurried and unexpected exodus (though my crush did say a personal goodbye!), I return home to tackle that mounting pile of impending homework before an hour of leisure in front of the T.V.
And, finally, the hectic day draws to a close. I send my crush a quick goodnight message, smile at the instant reply, snap the lights off and shut my eyes to be engulfed in the world of dreams once more …
(NOTE: As this is an unending cycle, go back to beginning and read through all over again when you reach this point for a more realistic account.)
(This is one of my personal favourites. It was also printed in JLT in 2007. I was so thrilled to get paid for doing what I love!)
My blissful dream comes to an abrupt end as I am woken up by an inconsiderate alarm-clock. I unwillingly set off to attend some soporific early-morning class only to be put back to sleep by a living sleeping-pill. After two hours of discreet napping, I gladly leave my second bedroom and make way for my rather larger and more interesting third one, where, along with a variety of those living sleeping-pills *shudder*, I have friends and the option to stay awake by leaving before another mind-numbing sleeping-pill arrives to sing me a different boring lullaby.
I am the college student and this is a day of my life.
I arrive at college, curse the concept of such embarrassment of students by making them display their worst photographs so prominently on their identity-cards (without which entry onto the campus is denied) and plod off towards my class. My sullenness immediately vanishes at the sight of that smiling person I so desperately long for … and returns with full force when I see his horrible girlfriend close by. My disposition now even worse than before, I stomp into class only to be angered further by the fact that the first lecture is being taken by everyone’s least favourite lecturer, and bang my books around moodily while my crush cosies up to his girlfriend at the back.
I then endure forty minutes of mixed emotions as I try (1) not to laugh at the lecturer’s hilarious hairstyle, (2) to stay awake despite his monotonous drone and (3) to resist the urge to claw out the eyes of the object of affection of the object of my affection.
Eventually, my least favourite people in the room (that ever-smug math lecturer and my crush’s girlfriend) leave for the day. *Cue the celebrations*
I then accompany my friends to the canteen to avoid the next forty minutes of slightly different sleep induction. These precious minutes pass in a flash (though certain moments shine out clearly: like when my crush and I share a joke and laugh until our stomachs hurt) and we return to class for our favourite lecture— Biology, which, however, is ruined by the news that we will be dissecting cockroaches this evening at practicals. I spend the rest of that lecture torn between awe at the wonders of the human body and disgust at being forced to peek into a cockroach’s instead.
The much-awaited lunch break arrives, and I enjoy myself with my friends until I remember that I have yet to complete my Biology journal for this evening’s practicals and resort to the tedious job. The moment I finish, I hear that familiar, unwelcome sound— the ringing of the bell indicating the end of the lunch hour.
I cram a sandwich into my mouth, doing my best to avoid looking like a starved monkey when I’m in full view of that adorable boy standing an arm’s length away from me, but fail miserably when I leap into the air and pull at my hair at the realisation that I’ve forgotten my lab coat.
My first five minutes in the Biology lab are wasted being ticked off for my forgetfulness by the nasty lab assistant, after which I am sent off to my seat to try to keep that sandwich down as a drugged cockroach is placed in front of me. Disinclined to fail Biology, I begin the repugnant dissection. When I’m done, I glance at my crush across the lab, am delighted when he catches my eye and instantaneously beam at him. In all my ecstasy, I squash my cockroach and have to go through that nauseating dissection again so as to sketch out the insides of that creepy insect.
Finally, the bell rings and I join my friends to leave college for the day. I enjoy myself thoroughly for the next half-hour, as our entire group hangs out at our usual ‘headquarters’ on the footpath outside college, laughing and joking, until we hurriedly disperse at the sight of the mean, I-card obsessed supervisor who holds an old grudge against us for ‘creating an unholy racket’ in the lunch hour.
Disappointed at that hurried and unexpected exodus (though my crush did say a personal goodbye!), I return home to tackle that mounting pile of impending homework before an hour of leisure in front of the T.V.
And, finally, the hectic day draws to a close. I send my crush a quick goodnight message, smile at the instant reply, snap the lights off and shut my eyes to be engulfed in the world of dreams once more …
(NOTE: As this is an unending cycle, go back to beginning and read through all over again when you reach this point for a more realistic account.)
(This is one of my personal favourites. It was also printed in JLT in 2007. I was so thrilled to get paid for doing what I love!)
A Teenager's Tantrum
“I was a teenager too, you know, so I understand exactly how you feel.” Okay. You adults were teenagers. We know that’s a fact, but that doesn’t make it any less incredible. But you understand exactly how we feel? I don’t think so! You ask why? Well, *suspenseful drum-roll* I have a whole damn list! So, adults, sample just some of the things a normal teenager has to put up with:
1. Curtains being thrown open at 7 a.m. to an apparently ‘good’ morning.
2. “Get up, its morning.”
3. “GET UP or you’ll be late for school/college!”
4. “That’s it!” Cold-blooded removal of the bed-sheets consequentially occurs.
5. “Hurry up; or you won’t make it to school/college this millennium!”
6. Being given the ‘my-kid-the-idiot look’ when you say that’s just what you’re aiming at.
7. Having your only tuition-free day ruined with the news of the like: “Oh by the way, Professor Kumar called last night; you’ve got an extra class with him today evening.”
8. When you’re done hyperventilating, and take to glaring in silent protest, being told, “Don’t look like that, he’s only trying to help!”
9. Drinking milk. That too, twice a day, because ‘it’s good for health.’
10. Being told to be good, polite and all of that … EVERYDAY!
11. Being plagued with pimples all year round.
12. Getting teased about them.
13. Worse, receiving unsolicited (not to mention useless) advice on how to get rid of them.
14. Not being allowed to watch adult movies when you already know *EVERYTHING*.
15. Having your time reading, watching T.V., surfing the net, listening to music, playing or doing anything that involves fun curbed and ruthlessly slashed down to a negligible amount.
16. Studying about different successively less intriguing laws, facts, formulae and processes that will in no way contribute to your well-being.
17. Worse, having to mug them up and vomit them onto the answer sheet in a stuffy and overcrowded examination hall with a teacher breathing down your neck all the time.
18. Worst, gaining only half the marks you deserve for all your efforts to actually even read that load of rubbish.
19. “Don’t lie to me!” (What makes it worse: you’re telling the truth.)
20. Getting grounded when you really want to go somewhere.
21. Having to tolerate partiality amongst teachers/professors.
22. Having your computer hang right when you’re in the middle of something really important.
23. Being told that the world doesn’t revolve around the fate of Harry Potter.
24. Being told that the newspaper contains more important things than celeb gossip.
25. Being told that your study table soft board should have study related things on it, not ‘distractions’ (i.e. posters of the most drool-worthy hotties).
26. Being laughed at when you say you’re in love.
27. Worse, being told that it’s ‘puppy love’ and you’ll grow out of it.
28. Having to endure watching your peers purposely flirting with the object of your affection without being able to claw his/her eyes out.
29. Experiencing heartbreak when your crush hooks up with someone else or turns you down in a really mean manner.
30. Worse, if possible, being told to get a grip and get over him/her because life is like that and it anyway was ‘just a crush.’
31. Being interrupted in the middle of something you really look forward to doing (e.g. playing the keyboard or guitar) to be given a dreary task like helping in the kitchen
32. Being told to (and later forced to) clean you room.
33. Being told to baby-sit your younger sibling while your parents go out to watch an adult movie. (Refer to no. 14.)
34. Having a curfew.
35. “I never thought my child could be so irresponsible!” (You’ve made just one, teeny-weeny mistake.)
36. Having to endure adults going back on their word and not being able to tell them that it’s not fair to promise something they don’t mean without getting grounded. (Refer to no. 20).
37. Getting limited (not to mention meagre) amounts of pocket money!
38. Being told that the music you listen to is ‘noise’ and real music was that of The Bee-Gees and the like.
39. “Stop that right now!” (‘That’ corresponds to some extremely enjoyable activity.)
40. “What are you doing?” (Hint: you’re not doing anything you shouldn’t be doing.)
41. “How dare you talk to me like that?” (Well, I thought it was a free country …)
42. Having the T.V. switched off when the movie you’re watching has reached an adrenaline-charged climax because “You should be studying!” or “It’s way past your bedtime. Get into bed this instant!”
43. Having the lights turned out when you’re reading a suspense novel because “It’s way past your bedtime. Go to sleep now.”
44. “I’m sorry, that’s the rule!” … all the time! TOO MANY RULES!!!
45. And the worst of the lot, “You don’t understand. You’re just a kid!”
And those are just SOME of our woes.
The bottom-line is, you were teenagers once; we are teenagers now. You have about as much chance of understanding exactly what we feel as I have of being declared a national treasure for writing this. So next time, don’t even try to use your standard favourite line of understanding exactly what we feel— because you know and I know and everyone knows that you don’t!
(This article was printed in JLT in September 2006 ... its special because its the first one I got paid for!)
1. Curtains being thrown open at 7 a.m. to an apparently ‘good’ morning.
2. “Get up, its morning.”
3. “GET UP or you’ll be late for school/college!”
4. “That’s it!” Cold-blooded removal of the bed-sheets consequentially occurs.
5. “Hurry up; or you won’t make it to school/college this millennium!”
6. Being given the ‘my-kid-the-idiot look’ when you say that’s just what you’re aiming at.
7. Having your only tuition-free day ruined with the news of the like: “Oh by the way, Professor Kumar called last night; you’ve got an extra class with him today evening.”
8. When you’re done hyperventilating, and take to glaring in silent protest, being told, “Don’t look like that, he’s only trying to help!”
9. Drinking milk. That too, twice a day, because ‘it’s good for health.’
10. Being told to be good, polite and all of that … EVERYDAY!
11. Being plagued with pimples all year round.
12. Getting teased about them.
13. Worse, receiving unsolicited (not to mention useless) advice on how to get rid of them.
14. Not being allowed to watch adult movies when you already know *EVERYTHING*.
15. Having your time reading, watching T.V., surfing the net, listening to music, playing or doing anything that involves fun curbed and ruthlessly slashed down to a negligible amount.
16. Studying about different successively less intriguing laws, facts, formulae and processes that will in no way contribute to your well-being.
17. Worse, having to mug them up and vomit them onto the answer sheet in a stuffy and overcrowded examination hall with a teacher breathing down your neck all the time.
18. Worst, gaining only half the marks you deserve for all your efforts to actually even read that load of rubbish.
19. “Don’t lie to me!” (What makes it worse: you’re telling the truth.)
20. Getting grounded when you really want to go somewhere.
21. Having to tolerate partiality amongst teachers/professors.
22. Having your computer hang right when you’re in the middle of something really important.
23. Being told that the world doesn’t revolve around the fate of Harry Potter.
24. Being told that the newspaper contains more important things than celeb gossip.
25. Being told that your study table soft board should have study related things on it, not ‘distractions’ (i.e. posters of the most drool-worthy hotties).
26. Being laughed at when you say you’re in love.
27. Worse, being told that it’s ‘puppy love’ and you’ll grow out of it.
28. Having to endure watching your peers purposely flirting with the object of your affection without being able to claw his/her eyes out.
29. Experiencing heartbreak when your crush hooks up with someone else or turns you down in a really mean manner.
30. Worse, if possible, being told to get a grip and get over him/her because life is like that and it anyway was ‘just a crush.’
31. Being interrupted in the middle of something you really look forward to doing (e.g. playing the keyboard or guitar) to be given a dreary task like helping in the kitchen
32. Being told to (and later forced to) clean you room.
33. Being told to baby-sit your younger sibling while your parents go out to watch an adult movie. (Refer to no. 14.)
34. Having a curfew.
35. “I never thought my child could be so irresponsible!” (You’ve made just one, teeny-weeny mistake.)
36. Having to endure adults going back on their word and not being able to tell them that it’s not fair to promise something they don’t mean without getting grounded. (Refer to no. 20).
37. Getting limited (not to mention meagre) amounts of pocket money!
38. Being told that the music you listen to is ‘noise’ and real music was that of The Bee-Gees and the like.
39. “Stop that right now!” (‘That’ corresponds to some extremely enjoyable activity.)
40. “What are you doing?” (Hint: you’re not doing anything you shouldn’t be doing.)
41. “How dare you talk to me like that?” (Well, I thought it was a free country …)
42. Having the T.V. switched off when the movie you’re watching has reached an adrenaline-charged climax because “You should be studying!” or “It’s way past your bedtime. Get into bed this instant!”
43. Having the lights turned out when you’re reading a suspense novel because “It’s way past your bedtime. Go to sleep now.”
44. “I’m sorry, that’s the rule!” … all the time! TOO MANY RULES!!!
45. And the worst of the lot, “You don’t understand. You’re just a kid!”
And those are just SOME of our woes.
The bottom-line is, you were teenagers once; we are teenagers now. You have about as much chance of understanding exactly what we feel as I have of being declared a national treasure for writing this. So next time, don’t even try to use your standard favourite line of understanding exactly what we feel— because you know and I know and everyone knows that you don’t!
(This article was printed in JLT in September 2006 ... its special because its the first one I got paid for!)
Can You Hear What I'm Not Saying?
Several layers cover up the real me.
I put on pretences to hide how I feel.
Because I care deeply for other people’s opinions,
I lose touch with my own emotions.
And despite this baseless, everlasting fear,
I desperately seek comfort for my tears
Even though I know that I am praying
For someone who can hear what I’m not saying.
I put on pretences to hide how I feel.
Because I care deeply for other people’s opinions,
I lose touch with my own emotions.
And despite this baseless, everlasting fear,
I desperately seek comfort for my tears
Even though I know that I am praying
For someone who can hear what I’m not saying.
Love
In this world of corruption and crime
One emotion remains powerful and divine:
Peace is professed by the pure white dove,
But who understands that peace is love?
We pray for peace to the heavens above,
Not grasping that it is a synonym of love.
But I, for one, thank you, O Lord above,
For creating such a wonderful thing as love.
(Inspiration: My first YES course space meditation)
One emotion remains powerful and divine:
Peace is professed by the pure white dove,
But who understands that peace is love?
We pray for peace to the heavens above,
Not grasping that it is a synonym of love.
But I, for one, thank you, O Lord above,
For creating such a wonderful thing as love.
(Inspiration: My first YES course space meditation)
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