Teenage Conundrum

[Around 10 pm,  28th November] When I woke up today, I had a list of things to do written on a flimsy sheet of paper with not so flimsy determination from the night before. As of tonight, I haven't crossed off one thing from that list. And here I am. Have you ever sat on a roof top, breathing easy and looked up taking in the immensity of the sky ( a sky taking a new birth with every sunrise, a sky vanquishing the dreary day with every sunset, a sky full of stars that commands the curiosity of artists, scientists, philosophers, preachers and all human kind alike) simply delved in the questions not really seeking answers ? Nothing like the cosmic perspective to shy away from the mundane.  So, my grand plan was to watch the night sky to derive inspiration except it's really scary to be on the terrace at this hour and I chickened out. Don't laugh. Try doing the same , you 'll know. xp [Around 11:30 am, 29th November] One month left in 2016, going t

The grey lines on the tar road whizzed while racing along with darker grey wheels of the college bus. We were travelling on a flyover, in a giant metal contraption controlled by a circle and a few foot buttons. Approximately fourty odd lives at the mercy of one bus driver.   There was a brief talk about a change of principal. A buzz that surfaces every now and then only to be doused by the perpetual presence of that short , skinny man in an ill fitted suit  ( my friends like to call him Rat – Face) . He was appointed  princi during the inception of our great institution (or so some would claim ) in 2001.  15 years a Principal. 15 years a dictator. See what I did there ? :p Noo? Poor joke? Okay. Anyway , I stayed immune to all this seated by a window. Immersed in the last few pages of The God of Small Things by Arundathi Roy. We are all gods, clinging to the small things. And the big things as the narrator says ‘ever lurked inside’ I reached the last page , the last wor

Our brain, it is this amusing, beautiful , complex organ. You are looking at your mobile or laptop screens and are able to read this text. Not just that you are able to comprehend what you are reading. None of this would be possible if not for our brains sending and receiving signals. The brain functions as a coordinating centre…of sensation , intellectual and nervous activity. Do you ever wonder if the brain gets tired ? Or think “Is my brain healthy?” That is where mental health comes into the picture. Mental health includes our emotional, psychological and social well being. It affects the way we think , feel and act. It also determines how we handle stress, relate to others and make choices. When I see a bird gliding in the clear blue skies, I wish that I could fly too. Someone else may take a picture of that bird and instagram it. If it were Newton observing the bird, he probably would ‘ve thought “Why is the bird not falling down due to gravity?” We are se

I waded through corridors looking for signposts to somewhere I belong. You held the one directing me back to myself. And there I found my peace. On one of those days when nothing made sense, the pettiness and futility of it all threatening to pull me down, You held me up. Plead with me to hold it together. And there I found my strength. With the lights turned off My thoughts turned on You lie next to me singing lullabies. And here I fall asleep. Through the fleeting glances and blurring images, You are a mosaic I always see. And here I paint my beautiful smile. You are Confidence. You are that part of me I confide in. Confide in confidence.

Feet buried in prickly sand, he sat. Waters of the sea stared back at him. They were his oldest friend, his warm comfort of familiarity. Until one day came the floods, wrecking his house to a pile of rubble, tearing apart his family. He returned of course, to meet again; Grey net held in a tight clasp. Being a fisherman was all he knew. It was all he was. Books with thick spine and emptied refills. For the longest time, her grades were how she measured herself. Today, she can’t help but laugh at herself. She looked up earnestly at the countless stars twinkling above. This new year she longed to wish her father first. ‘Martyred’ is the word they used. An eight year old might not have known what sense to make of it. And yet, as the tricolor wrapped coffin was lowered, the girl stood in front, tears rolling down soft cheeks, at attention, hands folded in a stiff salute. Cackling in merry, the baby held his finger, with two delicate hands. What mo