Old But Gold – Day 20 #writing101

Today’s Prompt: Tell us the story of your most-prized possession.

Today’s Twist: We extolled the virtues of brevity back on day five, but now, let’s jump to the other side of the spectrum and turn to longform writing.

My most prized possession eh? Let me see…the book signed by Ruskin Bond…nah, my Bluetooth speaker…nope, my coin collection! …nada. Oh! Then it must be my life sized Stormtrooper statue!! (Waaait a minute…do I even have one?)

Though I love all that stuff, none of it can be branded as my most prized possession. In fact, I don’t even know if I can award this term to any of my possessions, because you see, I’m emotionally attached to a lot of junk that I collect.  But there is this one thing that I believe, has a somewhat greater value than the other stuff. Prepare to be surprised because it’s a Floppy-Disk Box.

Yup, a dull black, repulsively formal looking, and too-damn-hard-to-open floppy box. It’s a perfectly edged cuboid, which looks like a tiffin-box-gone-wrong, from a distance. To open the box up, you need to push its one side, and open the lid, which works exactly like a hoodie. The box’s utter blackness makes it difficult to locate the side which has to be pushed, thus causing a few cuts, while opening it. After you manage to open it, which may take a couple of minutes, you’ll find exactly six floppies inside it, still, jet black in colour. And…um..well, that’s it.

Well, to be frank, I have not the slightest idea of how this box came into my possession, nor do I have a clue of how long this has been in my evil clutches. *cold laugh* But the one thing that I can explain is why I love it so much.

It all started when one fine day, my piggy bank reached its water mark. Now, naturally, a normal person would break this treasure chest, use the money and buy a new money bank. But no! How could I have done that?! So, I started looking for a new place to store my money, which would also make it possible to use the money whenever possible. And then I found this. It was perfect! No one would suspect that this little piece of forgotten junk contains gold !

Now, there are only three sources from which this black box reflects a tint of silver. My birthday, any visiting relative that has been satisfied with his/her visit and the kabadiwala. Yes, the recycling-man. You see it has become somewhat of a tradition, whenever someone sells the newspapers or old books to the recycling man, the money comes to me… ;D So cool, right! =) Thus, I have the security of getting at least a hundred bucks once every two months.

Let’s just hop on to the main part of why this floppy box is so important to me. Now, once I had a thousand rupees in the box, I started to wonder how I should spend them…and well, nothing came to my mind. Absolutely nothing! I realized that everything I needed, and wanted, was already given to me by my parents, and I could think of nothing that I would buy with that money. Bummer! Then what?! I waited and waited and waited for the opportunity to arise but all in vain. Then, one fine October morning it struck me. It hit me like a walnut coming down with the acceleration of gravity! It really did hit me hard. Maybe I can buy my ma something on her birthday! That sounds about right. Or maybe I can surprise her with a present! Better still! I will surprise her with her favourite bouquet of roses, right in the morning! Nailed it!

So, on the eve of her birthday, I cycled to the nearest flower shop and booked a bouquet of red roses for the next morning. And when she finally received the flowers on her birthday, I could not differentiate what looked prettier, the scarlet red roses or the smile on her face… Best amount of money ever spent in my life! And then I did the same thing on my father’s birthday and their anniversary. Now I’ve moved on to books and movie night outs, but the aim still remains the same.

Eventually, my parents did find out about the floppy box and even figured out how to open it. Blimey! Now, even though it’s no secret anymore, everyone calls this floppy box, The Secret Money Box. Yup. Now whenever someone wants small change, or is looking for the easiest way to pay the press-waala bhaiya (Iron-Man) 😉 he knows exactly where I keep my floppy box.

But you know what, in the long run, I guess, it’s the small things that you do for each other that matter. Sure, who would not love you if you gift a Lamborghini to someone, but in the end, it’s the small things that really bring people close… : )

The Himalayan Tragedy – Day 19 #writing101

Today’s Prompt: Today is a free writing day. Write at least four-hundred words, and once you start typing, don’t stop.

Today’s Twist: No self-editing, no trash-talking, and no second guessing: just go. Bonus points if you tackle an idea you’ve been playing with but think is too silly to post about.

Okay, right. So I hope you all know about the earthquake that wrecked Nepal, a few days ago. Well, the aftershocks and tremors were felt here in Lucknow, Delhi and even Kolkata. I was in my school when the first aftershock waves hit, studying chemistry. Sitting on the second floor made the effect even worse. We were instantly evacuated from the building and sent home, with our bags still inside. The next day, same thing happened, although at that point I was in a complex. We made a run for open ground, yet again. This made the State government declare a two-day official holiday.

Nepal

Amidst all panic and fear, our normal classes resumed from yesterday. So the topic of discussion in my Wolf-Pack was naturally, the earthquake. Right, so let me give you a bit of background information. With the exception of the 1934 earthquake, there have been no major earthquakes (7.5 or above) for the past 700 years or so. Owing to this, a large amount of pressure has built up inside the earth, as it has had no vent to release the mounting energy. Thus there is a very high possibility of a super earthquake of magnitude 9.0 in the Himalayan region. To give an idea of how miserably destructive it is going to be, consider this, the intensity of an earthquake increases ten times for every whole number jump. And the force released increases by somewhat 30.5 times. It’s seriously too much.

Quake

Now there are two possibilities, either 30-60 earthquakes, similar to the one that took place in Nepal a few days back, will happen to release all the built-up pressure or a super earthquake of magnitude 9.0 (or higher). Which leads us to the discussion I had with my friends, if you were to choose a way to release all the built up pressure (because, let’s be practical, either of the two are going to happen), which one would you pray for, or in simpler words, which one of the two scenario’s is going to be the least destructive. The arguments in the favour of the 30-60 earthquakes of small magnitude said that such small earthquakes would occur in different regions of the Himalayas, and at different time-periods, thus making it not so devastating. But I’d say take into account the damage caused by this one earthquake to Nepal. The death poll may even rise to 10,000, which is a lot. Now multiply it by 60!

Nepal

The ones who were in the favour of the 9.0 superquake, said that if such an event took place then the Northern Ganga Plains would be able to absorb most of the pressure. But they did not take into account that if an earthquake of that magnitude took place, it will stretch right from Kashmir to Arunachal Pradesh, crossing Nepal, Tibet and Bangladesh. And is something that huge happened, it will almost completely shatter the Himalayas. No region would be able to survive such great power. And from what I fell, you can’t quake-proof a house to that kind of energy. And it will also deeply affect the Northern Plains, destroying many structures…

Well, I have no idea if such an event is going to take place, but if it does, it will within the next two years. Which one do you feel is less destructive, the innumerable smaller quakes or one large super quake?

Chocolate – Day 18 #writing101

Today’s Prompt: Write this story in first person, told by the twelve-year-old sitting on the stoop across the street.

Today’s twist: For those of you who want an extra challenge, think about more than simply writing in first-person point of view — build this twelve-year-old as a character. Reveal at least one personality quirk, for example, either through spoken dialogue or inner monologue.

The neighbourhood has seen better days, but Mrs. Pauley has lived there since before anyone can remember. She raised a family of six boys, who’ve all grown up and moved away. Since Mr. Pauley died three months ago, she’d had no income. She’s fallen behind in the rent. The landlord, accompanied by the police, has come to evict Mrs. Pauley from the house she’s lived in for forty years.

Oh! Poor Mrs. Pauley, I thought as I saw the sweet old lady reason with a bunch of policemen and her unethical landlord. She is a very caring human, but her landlord is not. He’s only interested in extracting the green paper out of Mrs. Pauley’s hollow figure. She’s such a nice lady yet the man troubles her so much. I remember when three months ago Mr. Pauley died. Almost everyone in the street had attended the funeral. The entire neighbourhood used to respect and admire him. Ah and he was a friendly fellow too! But after his passing, she seems to have become so thin and lean. It’s like all the marrow has been sucked out of her bones. And she’s grown so lonely too. I honestly feel bad for her. Oh I wish could do something for her, maybe save her from all this trouble. She’s been so nice to me all these years, and she always gives me the most number of candies on Halloween! Maybe I should help…but how? YES! Maybe I can ask Dad!! But…he’s out of town… OR I can ask Mom! But…I’m too scared to ask her…remember how she blurted out when I asked her if we could adopt the stray dog…No no! I’m not asking her again…. So, now what?! Let me check how much I have in my piggy bank…hm..but will it be enough to pay the rent of a two-storied, well-furnished independent house…I guess not. Oh God! Where have all the people gone who used to come stumbling down to Mr. Pauley when they needed any life-advice? Where have all those people gone who used to come begging to Mrs. Pauley when they faced a parenting crisis? Where are all those people now? Oh this world is a giddy place…when you’re all well and happy, people come flocking towards you, but no one bats an eye when they see you in your times of need… Oh I’ll just go and make some hot chocolate for Mrs. Pauley.

 

Oh, What A Life! – Day 17 #writing101

Today’s Prompt: We all have anxieties, worries, and fears. What are you scared of? Address one of your worst fears.

Today’s Twist: Write this post in a style distinct from your own.

Cockroaches! There, I said it! Phew… well, I don’t fear them as such, but I do find them filthy! Agh…the hairy legs, muddy flat body, that disgusting white ring diving the head and the abdomen, and  those two long gigantic tentacles…Ew! I feel that this hatred towards this species can be traced back to my childhood, when I was chased by a flying cockroach! No shit; It was nasty! And after that day, I was never the same again…

But there are things which I’m more afraid of than a puny cockroach (Mr. Cockroach, I mean you no disrespect, sir). The biggest of them all is disappointing my parents, and along the way, disappointing myself.

You see, I’m clumsily trudging at that point of my life where the path before me is covered in thick grey fog. So thick that even a searchlight can’t penetrate it. Its emptiness envelops me, thereby leaving me completely hopeless. It erases the barrier between cynicism and realism for me. It blurs the very road of optimism, which I used to think would lead me to a happy life.

The thing is, I have two more years of High School before me, then it’s, hopefully, a university in the States or UK. Therefore, according to the society, I must have a clear plan, or a very detailed blueprint, of my life with me. I must know the marks that I ought to be bringing in my exams, the university I’ll be getting into, the career I’ll be choosing, the company I’ll be working with and the salary I’ll be getting. But sadly, I have no damn idea of what I want to do. No clue what I want to study, where I want to study (maybe that’s a bit clear) or what I want to do with life after that.

It’s just that since I was a hairless, ever-curious child, I always wanted to do something different. Something unconventional. I did not want to end up like the herd; I wanted something more with my life. A nine to five job was the one thing that I never wanted. Even the idea of such a monotonous life made me creep out. But this is not the kind of stuff the society teaches you, right?

Society

And more than that, these are the most clichéd lines ever told in the world. Almost every adult says, ‘when I was a child of your age, I used to think that the whole world was in my pocket. But deary, when we grow up we have expectations to meet and promises to keep. I’m pretty sure one day you’ll end up slowly dying in front of computers…’ So clichéd, yet the bare truth.

Honestly speaking, nothing seems to be clear right now. After all those nights I’ve spent digging through the deepest alleys of Quora, I have found out that many people have made it large. They truly have lived their lives. They have quit their jobs, lost themselves in the coolest corners of the world only to find who they truly are. I’ve read about people stuck in the stickiest cobweb of other’s expectations, only to snap out of it and fulfill their own dreams. Sadly this does not help. I’m constantly on the curb of giving in to realism (or cynicism…I don’t know). My optimism is squished by the arguments of the society which sound surprisingly reasonable and safe! Therefore, the only thing I’m afraid of at this juncture of my life is that somehow ten years later, I’ll end up failing my younger self, who used to boast of making a difference. I don’t know what I want to do with my life. I don’t know if I will be able to walk the road not taken. I don’t know if I’ll lose the little spark of madness that is there in me.. I don’t know. I just don’t know…

One Last Time (Part Three) – Day 16 #writing101

Today’s Prompt: Imagine you had a job in which you had to sift through forgotten or lost belongings. Describe a day in which you come upon something peculiar, or tell a story about something interesting you find in a pile.

Today’s Twist: If you’d like to continue our serial challenge, also reflect on the theme of lost and found more generally in this post.

The first one in the series can be found here. The second one here, as well. And the third one here too. (You do realise that the last one will bring you here. Right? Good.

Well, I have no idea how this post adheres to today’s prompt or how this is the third installment in the serious. But since it says so in the topic, believe that it is. *smiles spookily*

To be honest, the new school experience was a bit eerie. New teachers, weird friends, boring environment and the monotonous classes, which focused only on academics. The school offered neither sport periods, nor any co-curricular activities. No competitions, whatsoever, were held. The only thing that qualified as a competition at this school was a mathematics Olympiad. It was nothing like my old school, where we had four games periods every week, and two hours of extra-curricular activity every Tuesday. Initially I hoped that someday the school will, miraculously, someday organise, or at least send us, for an inter-school quiz or something. But eventually, as the days passed, the workload grew like a bamboo and our minds dwindled from the level of our egos to the level of our IQs. Slowly, I lost all hope of shouting my voice out in a debate again, or being laughed at for giving a wrong answer in a quiz. It all became a distant memory.

Therefore, when the opportunity came, of digging through a pile of documents, containing details of some real competitions, I grabbed it instantaneously. The school had, unbelievably, decided to participate in any one inter-school competition and I, along with a prefect had to select the competition. My first thoughts were an MUN (Model United Nations), but the school said that its pattern was too tricky to follow. Okay, no problem. The next I chose was a literary competition in La Martiniere. Fortunately enough, it was accepted by the Board of Directors after scrutinizing it for endless hours. The competition spanned over three days and hosted events such as theatre, composition, photography, modeling, dance and music. Not much of a literary competition…eh? Anyways, I went for the photography one.

Well, this one got me a prize...surprisingly... :)
Well, this one got me a prize…surprisingly… 🙂

And believe it or not, but after that competition, my school started sending me out for more competitions…and MUNs too! And this year, I probably have a shot at becoming a school prefect too! =)

Anyhow, the one thing that I’ve learnt from the two years of High School spent in this alien place is that one should never lose hope. Frankly speaking, I hated my new school since the very first day. I hated how the entire school would easily fit into my previous school’s football field, still leaving space for parking! I hated how the only thing this hell focused on was academics, leaving no time for a teenager’s mind to grow or wander. I hated how everyone worked on as if they were puppets commanded by an inferior force. I hated the very fact that my classmates were more interested in what was taught inside the classroom rather than experiencing the teachings the world outside their little cocoon. What was even worse that after having been held captive by them for a few months, I was slowly turning like them. A soulless robot, who’s only aim was to follow the order and never question anything. At times, as dark as these, we usually tend to lose faith. We start believing that since our thinking is odd and unpopular, we are worthless. But only if we hold on to a single strand of hope, in such times; a weak, untrustworthy thread of faith, our lives will take a completely unexpected turn. Before this I had never participated in a photography competition, and after joining this school, I’ve won two out of the three I’ve been sent for. Before this school, I had only participated in debates, but after a few months here, I was able to be a part of the MUN workshop which was hosted by the real United Nations, in our school! And this all happened after me and a few friends constantly nagged our headmistress for sending us for more competitions. Had I given in to the system and had just gone with the flow, maybe I would have never created this blog, and would be found mugging up lessons, 24*7, without giving a damn for some real experience.

Ah! Well, MUNs.. ;)
Ah! Well, MUNs.. 😉

So I guess, not everything is worth losing yourself for.

Captain Carnival – Day 15 #writing101

Today’s Prompt: Think about an event you’ve attended and loved. Your hometown’s annual fair. That life-changing music festival. A conference that shifted your worldview. Imagine you’re told it will be cancelled forever or taken over by an evil corporate force.

Today’s Twist: While writing this post, focus again on your own voice. Pay attention to your word choice, tone, and rhythm. Read each sentence aloud multiple times, making edits as you read through. Before you hit “Publish,” read your entire piece out loud to ensure it sounds like you.

I gasped loudly as I read the dreadful words, buried deep in the Useless section of the morning daily. It had been in the news for quite a few days now. The evil Cult of the Nihilists was on the rise. They hated everything, everything. And somehow, they had managed to get a few members of the government under their control. Because of this, and the growing fear, the Cult had already banned a number of events, including the Annual Rock Festival, the Sewing Competition and the Tax Paying Month. So far, they had received mixed responses, but now everything was about to change. They had stepped on the most beloved tile of this cultural town. They had rattled the very heart of this artistic society. They had cancelled the Lucknow Literature Carnival, forever.

creativelucknowliteraturecarnival

I immediately got up and started shouting at my imaginary friend. “How can they do this? Are they nuts?! The Carnival is probably the best thing that has ever happened to this town! The authors, the speeches, the music, the workshops, the photography and the cars! How can one probably put an end to all this? That’s it! Tomorrow morning, I’m burning down their office, breaking the place into smithereens! I’m going to call all my friends and we will together put an end to this madness! They hate music right?! The first thing I’ll do is play Muse in front of their headquarters, so loud, soo loud, that the windows will all shatter to scar their faces! Agh! I’m going to call that person from GTA to bring me a few tanks so that I can blast their place up! Their malice will now face my revenge! I’m calling up my friends right now, and we’re going to form The Avengers!! WE’RE TAKING THOSE SCUMBAGS DOWN!!!

Five minutes later

*on the phone, with my friends*

“So it’s final then. Sunday, 10:45 AM, the show shall begin. I am repeating this again, we ought to leave no man behind. Every single person should be a part of this, and if you fail to accomplish this task, we shall never be able to watch them burn again…”

“Yeah, yeah Saksham. We’ll all be there on Sunday. No one is going to miss the Avengers : Age of Ultron, of course.”

“Good! 🙂 ”

An Open Letter To A Tourist – Day 14 #writing101

Today’s Prompt: Pick up the nearest book and flip to page 29. What’s the first word that jumps off the page? Use this word as your springboard for inspiration.

Today’s Twist: write the post in the form of a letter.

Okay, so I got the word ‘tourist’ from a Lonely Planet book (no kidding!). 😛

Dear Tourist,

I hope you’re doing great, you wild, narcissistic, observant flesh-ball. And I sure hope that you are consuming your vacations judiciously to not only visit places, but also travel them. And from what my agents have told me, you’re coming to visit me during the summer holidays. Honestly, I can’t be more scared right now.

Well, I must say that you’ve made a thoughtful choice. In fact, I should be rather glad than terrified of your cautiously planned visit. The period of your vacation corresponds with the arrival of monsoons, and if you’re lucky you can even witness a few heavy-monsoon showers. But alas! You are not here to cherish the monsoons, now are you? You are here to idly lay on the sandy beaches, undisturbed till your insides burn with the tan. Lovely plan, if you ask me, except it has one tiny loophole. I don’t have the sun during June. *Puff goes the dream*

Goa

Ahah! Now you must be wondering, puzzled tourist, what are you going to do here?! Your itinerary specifically covered the important beaches of the state, but lo and behold, now that piece of paper given by your travel-agent is nothing but worthless. What’s the fun in going to a place which is famous for its beaches and not being able to enjoy a single sun-bath? Well, I have a little plan for you, fellow globetrotter.

Dude, just GO GOA!
Dude, just GO GOA! Already!

Explore my insides, Mr. Vacationer. Oh! Don’t get nasty, already. What I mean to say is, leave that pre-defined notion of me being a beach state behind, and discover my off-beaten roads. I become quite the scenic beauty in the monsoons. The whole place turns green with sprouting rice. It is a unique experience to see me during the rains. The rivers overflow with blue water, dashing through the lush-green rolling hills of the state, to fall into the lap of the Arabian Sea. Oh! The ancient forts, damped in the colour of the dark sky, only add to the picturesque sight. Boy, I dare you to step out of your comfort zone and have a rendezvous with the exotic wildlife makes me as vibrant as your agent boasted me to be. I dare you to trek through the most animated greens just to appreciate the deep blue a little more. I dare you to break the stereotypes and learn from what the locals have in store for you. I dare you to listen more carefully to the legacy the stars have left behind for you…

One of the reasons I love Goa, it has the sea, the river and the hills! <3
One of the reasons I love Goa, it has the sea, the river and the hills! ❤

But there is just one thing I request in return; in the process, I want you to be responsible. Don’t act like a fathead and disrespect nature. Try not to litter on the streets, and honestly, please don’t damage flora of the area. Never trouble the wildlife of the state and try not to interfere with the cultures of the locals. Have an open-minded approach to philosophies of the natives and don’t take a leak in the sea. Just don’t.

So now fellow traveller, I hope I have established my point. All I can do at present is hope that you have a marvelous stay here. And I hope you go back a man with a changed perspective of things. (And I also hope that you just don’t pee in the sea!)

Yours enchantingly,

Goa

One Last Time (Part Two) – Day 13 #writing101

Today’s Prompt: write about finding something.

Today’s Twist: if you wrote day four’s post as the first in a series, use this one as the second installment — loosely defined.

The first part can be found here.

The air was fresh with the enthusiasm of optimistic students. The clicking of the hard polished shoes, which the boys carried with utmost zeal, echoed in the assembly hall. The crackling of newly ironed shirts was hard to ignore. Everyone beamed on the sight of an old friend, and some frowned on the sight of new teachers. The surroundings seemed abuzz with the school choir rehearsing in one corner and the prefects revising their speeches in the other. The students were busy forming groups, discussing their favourite football team and the side-effects of eating too much ice-cream, while the teachers were constantly trying to break them up. It was chaos all around, but that chaos was soothing. Maybe the new school wasn’t going to be as inhospitable as I had thought it to be…maybe.

Since I had no one to give the designation of a friend to, I mostly stayed alone, moving along the walls or sometimes stalking a stranger. After the morning assembly, I struggled my way to my classroom, through the frolicking bunch of people. Now, I need to admit, even though I did not feel hopeful about this school, the vibe made me somewhat peaceful.

This was for a photography competition, organised by the school... um..the assembly looks kinda creepy na...
This was for a photography competition, organised by the school…
um..the assembly looks kinda creepy na… IT IS!!

The classroom was strikingly different though. The warm wooden furniture was swapped by the cold, icky metal chairs and desks. There was an oddly placed stage at the front which was supposedly the throne of the teacher…yeah. Anyways, I approached the battlefield cautiously, for the teacher stood cross-handed, claiming her supremacy. Afraid, as I was, I quietly decide on a chair and sat down. Well, I had quite thoughtfully chosen the last bench, but then my class-teacher asked my name and ordered me to sit at the first-bench with a boy, who looked quite the nerd who always topped the class (and that he was…). Reluctantly, I left my chair and slowly walked towards the most hated bench of the class. Ah! The first-bench feeling was miserable.

Quite magically, over the next few days, I started liking the first-bench. I know right! Thankfully, I went back to being a third-bencher! *thank-god* But more importantly, me and the first-bencher struck a deep bond of friendship. We had mostly the same taste in movies, sports and book! Both of us enjoyed reading the newspaper, were extremely passionate about travelling and loved super-heroes! Now, even though we had a lot of similar interests, but still our opinions and differed in many scenarios. I love to explain ourselves like this, imagine the two of us as two different buildings. We are built upon the same foundation, but he turned out to be a corporate office and me, a Disneyland… But that is just the thing I love about us. We have so many topics to debate about, and I love debating!! It’s so amazing spending time, debating about topics that don’t really matter but are still worthy of a discussion. Like are light sabers better than guns, or whether banana’s float.

Even though I initially hated my new school, slowly it turned out that this new place wasn’t as horrible as I had wanted it to be. In fact, I started enjoying the activities of the school after a couple of months. But the best of all, I found a friend here with whom I shall travel till the other side of this life…

Great Minds Think Alike – Day 12 #writing101

Today’s Prompt: Write a post inspired by a real-world conversation.

Today’s twist: include an element of foreshadowing in the beginning of your post.

Great men are often born in the most unexpected places. They sometimes breathe, grow up, live and learn in the most regular situations. They may look similar to the common masses surrounding them, but boy, are they not different. Their level of thinking is so intense that it would even put Einstein to shame; their IQ so high, that we would need to triple the Burj Khalifa to match it. Their traits of brilliance so bright, that the diamond would demand a polish; and their tricks of camouflaging so perfect that even Houdini would need to brush up his tricks. Ah! Great men. Thankfully, I was blessed with the opportunity to meet two such people in my class, leaking of greatness, that I could not help but overhear their conversation.

“What are your plans for the future?”

“Me, I guess after cracking the JEE, I will plan for the IAS examination.”

*JEE is the entrance exam of the Indian Institute of Technology

*IAS exam is to get into the Indian Administrative Services

“Great, IAS has good money.”

“Right, anyways who wants to be an engineer when you can live your life on the bills of the government?!”

“No, engineering provides a ton of money. That is the sole purpose I’ve chosen this line for. Otherwise who wants to get into the rat-race?!”

“The rat-race exists because engineering gives money. But this is what my father told me, if there are ten engineers going in their Mercedes to visit a temple, they will not be given admission into the premises if an IAS has come to visit the temple. See, an IAS officer has an esteemed status in the society, which no engineer can ever achieve.”

“Yeah, right. But for that you need to burn the mid-night lamp too! And afterwards, all the services towards the society and improving the condition of India stuff. Nah! I’m not interested in that! Who cares about the poverty of a country when you are going to own a Lamborghini?!”

“You seriously think I’m going to do all that junk? The only funda you need to know now is, Money: It Gets Shit Done”

Great men, indeed.

Home, Sweet Home – Day 11 #writing101

Today’s Prompt: Where did you live when you were 12 years old?

Today’s twist: Pay attention to your sentence lengths and use short, medium, and long sentences.

I’ve been living in the same house for the past fifteen years. The same two-storied, beautifully gardened house, painted in a subtle white. It has been a witness to all my mischiefs and naughtiness and its giant framework has guarded me like a godparent. Over the years it has not changed, even slightly. Yes, there have been a few renovations here and there but its essence still remains the same. It is the same old white structure watching over me.

I live in Lucknow, at times the sultriest of all the places in India, and occasionally the most pleasant, but always the most appetizing of all. We have the coldest winters (but not snow…why not snow?!) and unkindest summers. And unfortunately, my room gets way too humid in the summers and becomes chilling in the winters. Whereas my parents’ room, which is just three meters away from mine, is pretty much the coziest.

Well, this was one hell of a rain..
Well, this was one hell of a rain..

I live with my papa, maa, grandfather and Jennifer (my Labrador). With the exception of Jenny, everyone in my family loves gardening. Therefore we have two lovely gardens, one in the front porch and the other in the terrace. And I can guarantee you one thing, if you ever come to my home, you won’t find a single day when the terrace isn’t blooming with flowers. 🙂

That's the garden in the porch
That’s the garden in the porch

Furthermore, me and my dad have a thing for pets. Owing to this, I have three fish tanks in my house, two of which contain one exotic fish each, while the third one has about eight fishes. Because of all the different types of fishes, we have one separate cupboard for fish and dog food! Funny, right?! Moreover, we have kept bird feeders at different parts of the house, and due to this, we have had at least three to four hatchlings in our house!! 😀

Oh I tell you! Squirrels are pure evil!!
Oh I tell you! Squirrels are pure evil!!

When I’m not feeding the fish or watering the plants, I will be usually found reading. But reading in your room is way mainstream, and everybody needs his secret spot. Well mine, although it’s not in any way mysterious, is the window by the kitchen. I mean come on?! These are the very two things a person can dream of! A place to read books, where you are constantly fed with the aroma of mouth-watering food, by a window which has a direct view of the road!! What more can anybody ask for?! 😛

Ah! But in two years college will be here, knocking on my door, stuffing me in its rucksack and flying me away. But you know what? Things have to change for the good…(and I’m sort of waiting for that day to come)  😉

The Family Curry – Day 10 #writing101

Today’s Prompt: Tell us something about your favorite childhood meal — the one that was always a treat, that meant “celebration,” or that comforted you and has deep roots in your memory.

Today’s twist: Tell the story in your own distinct voice.

I have grown up amidst relatives, a huge bunch of them, whom we proudly claim as family. And even though we live in nucleated families, scattered in different cities of India, we still have get-togethers. Now, don’t cater to the idea that everyone is present in a get-together. Nope. Even a gathering of a couple of people passes as a get-together, for us. So, anyways, the main attraction of a get-together is, and always should be, food. Now, among other affairs, we have this formal sort-of dinner, which requires each and every person to sit down at the dinner table and well, eat (and talk, if you want to. Otherwise, just eat).

So, whenever there is this formal dinner at our house, in Lucknow, my mom cooks up a devilishly beautiful dinner which honestly keeps our mind away from the talk. Her menu has changed over the years, but the only dish that has remained constant on the menu is gatte ki sabzi. (Pronunciation similar to David ‘Guetta’)

Gatte Ki Sabzi Source
Gatte Ki Sabzi
Source

So this gatte ki sabzi is basically gram flour dough fried, and chopped into nuggets sort of things. Then it is steeped and served in this thick, but not so spicy, gravy. This Rajasthani dish is so much more than a normal curry vegetable. The nuggets, soft as an angel’s wings, break in your mouth and combine again to form this dry, textured sensation that your mouth begs for something runny. And that feeling is delivered by the gravy, swirling in your mouth, mingling with the nuggets to take your taste buds on a beautiful journey. Ah! It is, not exactly God (because that would be the lasagna), but it is heaven. Pure heaven. And the best part is that the flavour keeps on getting better after every bite.

Now, the menu of our get-togethers is modified at almost every gathering, but the one thing that I never want to change is my mom and her hand-cooked gatte ki sabzi…

And guess what, I’m having one of those formal dinners pretty soon. So, if you want a bite of this heaven, you know where to come. 😉

 

  

Of Hopes And Miracles – Day 9 #writing101

Today’s Prompt: A man and a woman walk through the park together, holding hands. They pass an old woman sitting on a bench. The old woman is knitting a small, red sweater. The man begins to cry. Write this scene.

Today’s twist: write the scene from three different points of view: from the perspective of the man, then the woman, and finally the old woman.

The Man

The breeze was cool and the sun hidden behind puffs of limitless clouds. I walked through the vast expanse of green turf, feeling as void as the empty swings. Even the weather tried its best to somehow add to my gloominess. But I kept walking on. Walking on, hand in hand with the very staff of my life. The last few weeks had been tough on both of us. We were on the verge of losing something even more valuable to us than our lives. Our very little baby girl was lying in the hospital, critically ill with leukemia. Along with her life, our hopes were dangling by a worn out thread. Doctors said it was difficult for our six-month miracle to survive, but still we held on tight to that thread.

As I crossed the empty play-area, I saw an aged woman, sitting on a bench, knitting a small, red sweater. She seemed oblivious to the world around. Her dark black eyes reflected the threatening red of the tiny sweater she was knitting. Ah! The sweater. The woman had beautifully crafted the patterns that embellished the sweater. It had small opening for tiny, little arms, which could have only belonged to a human angel. As I stared at the sweater, I could feel its warmth. Feel the touch of soft fingers, clinging to my index finger. Feel the radiant smile of a baby, cleanse my soul. And as I felt this burst of emotions, I also sensed the severity of my baby’s condition. Maybe I would never be able to see her smile, maybe I’ll never be able to change her diapers, and maybe I’ll never be able to hold her to my heart…maybe I’ll never be able to breathe again…

As the old woman observed tears in my eyes, she spoke, “What is it, dear?” I was vulnerable, and ended up telling everything to the lady. After what seemed like an hour, she said, “Never stop believing in hope son, because miracles happen every day…”

As I thought of all the darkness in the world, it never occurred to me that probably I should search for a light of hope, no matter how small it may be, and cling to it.

The Wife

These last few days have been difficult on us, but he’s the one who has been the most affected by the recent events. I’ve never seen him this morose. It feels as if he’s lost all hope. I just hope we soon find something that foams his hollowness up with optimism.

Oh! What’s this? That’s a beautiful sweater! And how beautiful it will look on our baby girl! I’ll knit her an exactly similar piece. Maybe it will help her heal…maybe. But for all I know, it is worth a shot! I should tell him about this, probably this will cheer him up. Ah no! Why is he crying again?

“Never stop believing in hope son, because miracles happen every day”

I just hope this lifts him up. He really needed this.

The Old Woman

Oh no! Who are these weirdo’s again?! They are staring at me like I’m knitting a time-bomb! Oh gosh! His stare is driving me crazy!! Oh Lord, no! NO, NO, NO! He’s crying now!! God, I need a little help here! Maybe I should just say something before he starts out and hugs me!

“What is it, dear?”

I just hope this creeps him out and they run away. What?! He’s coming right here! Why’s he sitting down? Oh God no! He’s talking now! I don’t have time for another sad story, mine is fine enough! Why on earth would someone do something like this?! Crazy people walk the planet these days… Wait, why is this girl staring at my sweater as if she’s going to steal it! Someone save me from these people! Should I just shout help or wait for them to make their move?! God, their story is stressing me out. I need some air! Maybe I should go out to the park… Bummer! Oh oh oh! Their tale has ended! Well, why are you still sitting here young gentleman! He’s looking at me in anticipation. Does this mean anything? Why don’t you go already?! I guess, I should just say something…anything. Oh what was that quote that I read in that book? What was it, what was it, what was it?! Ah yes!

“Never stop believing in hope son, because miracles happen every day”

Guess Whom I Met Today?! – Day 8 #writing101

Today’s Prompt: Go to a local café, park, or public place and write a piece inspired by something you see. Get detailed: leave no nuance behind.

Today’s twist: write an adverb-free post.

Okay. So, today I went to a book-signing by the author of the Shiva-Trilogy, Amish!! It was organized in my city, and dude, did he not blow my mind away with his awesomeness. Even though he may not be as famous outside India, but he’s a pretty big deal here. Others describe him as ‘India’s First Literary Popstar’, while he introduces himself as a ‘Boring Banker, Turned Happy Author’.

Anyways, everything about the event was incredible. The venue, the books, my friend, the question-answer session, the signing, the selfies and there was even food! Everything was amazing, except the crowd. Now, there are a few things you ought to know, the first one being that this event was organized for a restricted audience therefore you needed a pass for an entry. The other one being that Amish’s book have a little religious touch in them. Not saying that he is some pundit propagating religion, rather he is a fictional writer who loves to write about Gods and their victory over evil. Um…consider him something like the Dan Brown or Paulo Coelho of India, though not quite. Thus, the crowd present there was not rude, offensive, discourteous or in any way uncivil, rather it was um…boring.

Up until the question-answer session, everything was as calm as the ocean. Except for a few microphone glitches, nothing unusual happened. But as soon as the session began, it was total mayhem. Chaos, everywhere. Old people started raising their hands from everywhere. My outstretched right had was buried in the waves of the constantly rising and falling old, withered hands. I don’t know why but they wanted to point out religious facts to him and ask him about his interpretation about certain religious things, which I did not give any attention to. They carried on talking for so long that it was hard to differentiate the question from their statement. And the mike was being juggled from one person to the other as if it was a football. And all the time I was like, “Dude! Calm down! Are your pants on fire buddy?!” To be honest, I don’t remember a word of what they asked him; all I remember is that it was not worth remembering.

I met Amish!!!! Yaay!!  That's me, on the right and him, on the left!! =D
I met Amish!!!! Yaay!! 😀 
That’s me, on the right and him, on the left!! =D

Alas! At the very sweet end, I got the opportunity to ask him a question, and that I did. And from what I can tell, he was quite pleased to answer a question which did not eat his brain up. : ) After the Q&A session, he signed books and attended to the needs of young- selfie addicted-blessed with a high pitched shrieking voice-fangirls. Yeah right! I learnt a lesson today, DON’T GET INTO THE WAY OF FANGIRLS! Agh!

But all in all, Amish was indeed a cool dude! His humility, even though he is a nation-wide celebrity, made him truly fascinating. All the while, he answered all the bizarre questions thrown at him with a patient demeanor. Whenever someone referred to him as ‘Sir’, he jumped and said to call him a pal. Moreover, he referred to me as ‘buddy’ when I asked him my question and went up to get my books signed. Guys, understand the graveness in my voice, you need to meet him, ASAP! His humbleness will make you want to hug him! ; )

Battle Of The Two Fanatics – Day 7 #writing101

Today’s Prompt: Write a post based on the contrast between two things — whether people, objects, emotions, places, or something else.

Today’s twist: write your post in the form of a dialogue.

Hey there anxious reader! I believe you have come here for a good read. But sadly, today I gift you something not short of monotonous. Ah! It’s just that these pills are making me all sleepy and drowsy and what not! And apparently, my doctor has warned me not to eat fish, chicken and mutton at the same time, ever again.

Imagine that the following convo is going on between a bunch of random people, in a bar, in Antarctica or someplace. 

Tennis Fanatic: “What do you have to say mate, is tennis the best sport ever?”

Badminton Fanatic: “Tennis?! No way, it’s badminton!”

Random-Stranger-We-Don’t-Really-Care-About: “But aren’t these two the same thing?”

Both of them in unison: “Same thing?! Are you Kim Kardashian or what?”

Tennis Guy: “The only similarity between the two sports is that both of them are played by racquets and humans.”

Badminton Guy: “Yeah, and you know what Kim, these two sports are exactly the opposite of each other! For instance, in tennis you are required to hit the ball with your shoulder, whereas in badminton you have to give the shuttle a run by your wrist. Correct me if I’m wrong Mr. Tennison!”

TG: “And in badminton you hit the shuttle, with all your force, like a brat, while in tennis you patiently learn to control the ball, like a gentleman. Right, Baddy?

Kim: “But, but, but if your motive is to force the ball on the other side of the court, then aren’t both of these sports the same?”

*they awkwardly stare at Kim*

TG: “Kim….”

Kim: “I’m not Kim.”

BG: “Kardashian…”

Kardashian: “I’m not a Kardashian either.”

TG: “Okay random stranger, just like in cricket and baseball, even though you hit a ball with a bat, you don’t say that they are the same, comparably, you don’t say that tennis and badminton are alike.”

BG: “Everything, right from the grip you hold to the way you dribble, varies.”

TG: “From the strength with which you play your shots to the way you move on the court, it’s all different! But in the end, all agree that the tennis supremacy cannot be beaten.”

BG: “Tut, tut. Here comes the I-am-the-best talk. Well, I dare you to ask ten people which one is better. And I’ll bet the answer will be tennis”

TG: “um…I just hope I find ten people who have actually heard the word ‘badminton’”

BG: “Seriously, you want to bring this up right now?!”

TG: “I guess I do, Baddy”

*they start rolling up their sleeves*

Random Stranger: “Well, um…we’re having a football match in a couple of minutes, want to join?”

*now, they start rolling up their pants*

“What are you waiting for?!”

*and they depart hand over the other’s shoulder*

*sigh*

O’ Captain, My Captain – Day 6 #writing101

Today’s Prompt: Who’s the most interesting person (or people) you’ve met this year?

Today’s twist: Turn your post into a character study.

“Good Morning, children! So, how’s life?” were his first words, as he entered our class of thirty-four. He stood in front of us with a soft smile, but gleaming from his eyes. Probably the only thing glowing more than his eyes was his head and he had a tendency of gently stroking his hands on his smooth crown. He was dressed in a checked shirt and, with a bulging top pocket. His pair of trousers went down to cover a part of his shoes. He looked at us with hopeful eyes as we pondered upon a question which no teacher had asked us before. As no one of us was able to answer his question, he moved on with his introduction. “Kids, I’m Sanjeev Pandey and I’ll teach you English. Don’t worry! I won’t bore you future engineers with my poems and sonnets…rather, to make things more interesting, we’ll not only talk about English but also touch subjects such as life. Now, as I call out your names, I want you to stand up, and give a small introduction about yourself. Speak out the things you love doing and also tell me the happiest moment of your life…” I don’t know if my classmates felt it, but I could feel his warmth embracing me. I felt secure in his presence. His eyes were a doorway to his heart, which was filled with innocence and wisdom.

As the class proceeded, I noticed that there was something unique about him, other than his double layered neck. It was his style of teaching that particularly swayed my teenage heart. He would rather help his students find their path rather than insist upon teaching what’s in the book. He rather enjoyed himself while teaching than rant about how troublesome our class can be. He seemed more interested in making us grow intellectually, than make our notebooks grow. He did not play by the rules. He made up his own game.

Sir even had a thing for stories. Good stories. Whenever the opportunity presented itself, he would share a story with us. And whenever we had a few more spare minutes, he would ask us to share stories. Not only stories, some used to sing, some mimic and some even told jokes. Almost every one of us enjoyed his classes to the fullest. Therefore whenever it came to his period, I tried to be the Hermione Granger of my class (I know the relation is weird to picturize, but it’s true). I used to finish all my homework, prepare my lessons and revise my jokes before his class. 😉

But unfortunately, good things don’t last forever. Sir taught us only for a year until English was removed from our coaching subjects. Now, knowing that there won’t be a bold, cheerful and shaven face to greet me when I get back to school, I fell a little sad. But nevertheless, he’ll always be there, ready to answer my doubts or talk about life, in a staff-room three doors to the right.

Mr. Parker – Day 5 #writing101

Today’s Prompt: You stumble upon a random letter on the path.You read it. It affects you deeply, and you wish it could be returned to the person to which it’s addressed. Write a story about this encounter.

Today’s twist: Approach this post in as few words as possible.

“Hello! Are you Theodore Parker?” I asked as a young man, dressed in a suit opened the door.

“Yes. And you are?”

“I’m Sam and well, I found a letter addressed to you on my way from the library.”

“Oh thanks!” Replied a jovial voice, as I handed the letter.

“Umm… I’m sorry but I couldn’t help reading it. It’s from your dad…” I added. Suddenly his face lost all expression. He just stood still, staring at me with empty eyes.

Next moment he started reading the letter. The writer of the letter had claimed that he was this man’s father. He further apologised for not being a part of his son’s life for the past twenty-five years. Lastly, along with giving proof that his claim was right, the writer also said that he now lived with his family and would love to meet his son.

Tears had now welled up in the corner of Parker’s eyes. He still said nothing but continued to stare at that piece of paper. He only reacted when his mother called him up for dinner.

“I think I should go now” I said as I started to turn, still expecting a reaction.

“Hmmm…”

I was halfway towards the gate when I heard his voice call me back.

“Can you take this back to the place where you found it?” He finally spoke, but with a hollow voice.

“Yes…sure. But why?”

“This man did not give me the childhood I deserved, and I will surely not let him ruin the future me and my mother have earned.”

One Last Time (Part One) – Day 4 #writing101

Today’s Prompt: Write about a loss: something (or someone) that was part of your life, and isn’t any more.

Today’s twist: Make today’s post the first in a three-post series.

I exhaled deeply as I stood there, staring at the rustic iron gates that led to my school. It was a warm, cloudless March morning but the breeze still carried the winter chill. The sun shone a faint white and everything seemed to have lit up to welcome the long-awaited summer. Everyone around me was filled with glee, everyone except me. I just stood there, trying to take in every single detail of this home.

The hair behind my neck rose as I took the first step towards the road that led to the main building. And as I passed through the enormous ashok trees, nostalgia gripped me. I was soon flooded with memories of the nine best years of my life. My friends and teachers through the years, school exhibitions, debates, quiz competitions, games periods, class bunks, school excursions, recess! It all came back to me with such a force that I almost drowned myself in the wave of the past. Thus, my journey from the school gates to the classroom was merely an empty walk, for my eyes were seeing nothing but the flashback of my school life and the only thing steering me into the right direction were my reflexes.

One of the first things that I remembered was my first stage performance. Now, if given a choice, I would never choose dancing as my act, but sadly, you can’t take decisions for yourself in kindergarten. Therefore, I was put into the dance group, which was to perform salsa on the school’s Annual Day function. I still don’t remember how I did it, but what I do remember is peeing my pants in front of my partner during the practice session.

Then as the flashback moved forward, I started thinking about class 3, when I bagged the role of a passer-by in an adaptation of Tom Sawyer. Huge feat for me I’d say! Then came class 5th, when I finally lived up to my parent’s (and the society’s) wishes and topped my class for the first time ever. It was also in that year that I became a computer exhibitor at my school’s annual exhibition. It was a lot of fun. Staying extra hours in school just to complete the PPTs and decorations of the room, and thus, in turn getting free snacks from the teachers! Moreover, you had complete access to every nook and corner of the school. Therefore, I used to spend hours roaming around the school with my friends, without getting caught!

Next came class 6, which I consider the best class ever. Oh boy! With all the best friend stuff, teacher-student gossip, pen-fights, uncalled library hours, reckless games periods, weird Hindi teachers, weekly movie afternoons and inter-class running marathons, it was certainly the best year ever. It was also the year in which I discovered that back-benches are the best seats ever!

umm...well, yeah! Guess what?! This is me, dressed up as Gandhi...
umm…well, yeah! Guess what?! This is me, dressed up as Gandhi…

What followed was the athletics’ meet (in which I failed miserably), my choir performance, me getting the lowest possible marks in music and Sanskrit, awkward swimming pool – changing room talks, me getting into a fight with someone I don’t recall and me playing Gandhi on the Annual Day. It was all so perfect…

But here I was, throwing it all away for a school that didn’t even have a decent field, any co-curricular activities or awesome annual functions. It was supposedly the best school in northern India. But for me, it was nothing more than a hostel which snatched my home away. I had grown up in this very school, which had witnessed my very first dance, first fight, first trophy, first debate…first everything! This school was my first love, but as I walked its threshold for the one last time, I could not help but feel a small pain in my chest…

Lose Yourself To The Music – Day 3 #writing101

Today’s Prompt: Write about the three most important songs in your life — what do they mean to you?

Today’s twist: You’ll commit to a writing practice.

Well, today’s assignment is nothing short of devilish. Selecting just three songs to write about?! This is really wicked… For a melophile like me, picking three songs was nothing short of naming the cutest breed of dogs…or or or, deciding which one is better, Star Wars or Star Trek?! (It’s Star Wars, by the way). See! So difficult!

Moving on; I have, however, picked three songs which are quite important to me. So, without any further delay (and boring geek talk), let me list them for you. *drumroll please*

The first one on my list is Words by Boyzone

Not only the song, but also the story behind it is worth listening. Now, as far as I can remember, I was a shy boy in middle school (still am, but not as much). So, I never actually participated in group activities which involved singing, dancing or mimicry. I used to make excuses such as ‘if I sing, then you all will run away’, ‘I can’t dance because I’m a flat foot’ , etc. etc. But then, one beautiful, warm, sunny, magical day, God introduced me to this song and made me a singer. And from that day onwards I have never looked back. #truestory Since Class 5th I have sung this very song, every time a teacher has asked me to sing something (group activities and stuff…). And call it coincidence or the universe, but I have been singing this song, in front of my class, since Grade 5 (every year!). *bro-five* I just hope that the streak continues for the next two years as well. 😉

Coming up next on the list is We Will Rock You by Queen

This song may seem a bit overused, but it has a very special place in my life. The first time I heard this song was at a New Year’s Party, when I was 8 or 9. All I could make out, at that time was its tune. Its catchy, quirky tune. The next time I heard this song was when my papa brought home a CD of Queen’s Greatest Hits. He is a huge Queen’s fan (and The Doors too). What next?! The song caught up so much on both of us that we sang it at a karaoke evening in front of complete stranger. 😀

Not only this, We Will Rock You was our anthem in class 8. My whole class used to bang the table to its rhythm. Our class was one of the most mischievous and if you heard this song being banged somewhere in the school, then the teachers knew exactly where to go.

The last one on my list is Fix You by Coldplay

Well, this one is my feel good song. Whenever I’m sad or low, it helps me rise from the negativity. Its lyrics are so innocent and relevant that I’m pretty sure, that anyone who gives this song a listen will relate to it. I’ve heard this song on replay for hours when I left my old school in class 8th. And I listen to this song every time I have to face something sad. (For example, exams). When I heard of my best friend’s transfer, I listened to this song. When feel I’ve lost my track, I listen to this song. When I sit with my dog and stare at the stars, I listen to this song. I was once hooked so bad to this song that I ended up doing this:

Lights

Well, so um…I guess that wraps up this post… 🙂

Queen Of The Hills – Day 2 #writing101

Today’s Prompt: If you could zoom through space in the speed of light, what place would you go to right now?

Today’s twist: organize your post around the description of a setting.

Lush green rolling hills, dotted with a speck of red rooftops; mysteriously rosy skies, donned by a scarlet setting sun; the surprisingly fresh breeze, soft as a mother’s love; the clatter and blatter of the local market, charming enough to lure you towards its eccentric shops; and the uncannily soothing silence, making you aware of your existence… Aye, that is the magic of the Himalayan foothills…that is the magic of the ‘Queen of the Himalayan Hills’…that is the magic of Mussoorie.

Give me a chance, and I’ll zap through time and tide, and everything in between, to visit this paradise once again. Mussoorie, is the ideal spot for getting lost, and then finding yourself again. Come here if you’re looking for a direction, and leave only when its wind has purified your soul enough to be driven by love. This little town has some of the most charming, happiest and caring people I’ve ever known; also it is the home of Ruskin Bond!

All of Mussoorie’s beauty is magnified by the presence of Ruskin Bond. Although you can meet him only on Saturdays, in a particular bookstore, but nevertheless, it is an incredible experience. He is one of the reasons why Mussoorie is so rich and crowded than other Himalayan hill-stations. Well, frankly speaking, you don’t get to shake hands with Mr. Bond, everywhere. 😉

Other than him, Mussoorie is enchanting in its own way. It overlooks the city of Dehradoon, a valley city. During the night time, the view of Dehra is so bewitching, that it almost feels as if an enormous mirror has been placed between two hills to mirror the star… It’s simply captivating.

Even though the main attraction of the city is its Mall Road, the main city may get a wee bit too noisy. Well, no problem for that because Mussoorie has the solution for everything. As you move a few kilometers up the main city, the landscape is covered with huge pointy pine trees and enormous oaks of Dhanolti; the picture perfect place to enjoy your morning coffee, with a book and the snow to lay your eyes upon.

Truly, Mussoorie is a beautiful blend of chaos and calm. Its markets would make you want to move around, whereas its wind would whisper you to stay still. Honestly, it is in times of such difficulty, that the mind sets on the path of finding true peace…

The Beginning – Day 1 #writing101

Let’s unlock the mind. Today, take twenty minutes to free write. And don’t think about what you’ll write. Just write.

And for your first twist? Publish this stream-of-consciousness post on your blog.

Okay, this feels weird… I have never free written anything. Never written down what I feel without thinking about it. (Well, there was this diary journal that I had a few years back but it doesn’t count, now does it?!)

Anyways, moving on, as I was going through other posts, I found out that they were rather amazing and if I want to be in the league then I would have to drop my usual gibberish. But then again, in order to follow the rules and learn something, I needed to get out of my comfort zone. So I’ll write what I’m thinking without thinking about the write!

Okay! So, a part of my consciousness is thinking about my tennis practice! Whooph! Is that game not exhausting! I have recently started my training and its draining me out. God! I need to drink some more water…

Another part of this mind is drifting towards Harry Potter. Well, I’m about to finish the third book now! Okay, I know what you’re thinking, “15 and has still not read Harry Potter?!” Believe me, I’m just as ashamed of myself as you are… *sigh*

Now, a different corner of this brain is wandering off into the woods, to attend the meetings of the Dead Poets Society. I watched the movie a few days back, and captain did it not blow my mind away?! It was honestly one of the most beautiful films that I’ve ever seen. And now, I’m hooked to poetry like bad!

Well, the remaining part of my conscience is scrolling between Passenger, MUNs, dogs, conserving water, life and pizza. Um… I guess it’s more inclined towards the pizza… ;P

Oh! I guess my times up…

*gathering courage to press the Publish button without editing*