Back to the past-2

I arrived near a cave. Its appearance was as ordinary as any other cave, it was made of grey stones and covered with weeds and creepers, but there was certainly something extraordinary about it. I couldn’t point out, but there was something unique about it.

I entered the cave. It was pitch dark inside the cave. The darkness made the surrounding eerie and scary. There was almost a feeling of fear in my heart. The wind was twirling and making stormy sounds. Each creeper and weed appeared like an arm, which wanted to grab me and push me further inside the cave. Although the atmosphere was ghostly, and my mind told me to move out of this cave, my heart didn’t allow me to do so. I was scared and unsure about what I was doing. Still, somehow I couldn’t stop myself from going inside. I wanted to discover more. Stepping into the cave was almost like entering into a pool of unwanted yet wanted desires.

I started moving inside. I could hear something that appeared like a mild whisper of a feminine voice. It was in Persian though. As a lover of Mughal history, I ought to understand Persian. The whisper was mild, and I couldn’t really decipher the saying, but I knew for certain that it was in Persian. My heart skipped a beat after hearing the whisper. I couldn’t understand what was going on. I had no control of my senses.

I don’t know how I gathered up the courage to move further inside the cave, which was shrouded in darkness. The whisper became louder with each step. I was really scared. My mind was fired up with the feeling of fear. Still, somehow, I kept walking further into the cave.

Soon, I could decipher what the whisper said. It welcomed me into this world of Mughals. The Voice had something extraordinary about it, it seemed to be full of pride and sounded almost like that of an empress.

My emotions of fear were overpowered by the strong commands of my senses. My body was controlled by a mind that wasn’t my own. The Voice was getting louder and louder and heart was beating faster and faster. The adrenaline was rushing.

But what I saw was nothing compared to what I heard. As I reached the end of the cave, I saw a translucent vision of a woman who unmistakably was a Mughal empress.

She was clad in a pair of wide-legged pants and a loose tunic with a V-shaped neck. All over her hands and feet were intricate designs made with the fragrant mehendi. Her hair was elaborately dressed in plaits at the nape, and was decorated with attractive flowers. Her well-sculpted face was decorated extensively. Her eyebrows appeared symmetrical, and her eyes had a decent amount of kajal. Her lips looked like they had been dyed using a betel leaf. She adorned every single ornament one could think of. Armlets, anklets, necklaces, bracelets, ear rings, the signature ring in the right thumb and her maang tika, all added to her otherwise made-up appearance. She had something that appeared like a tiara or crown.

My heart sank. But my body didn’t let me collapse. My senses ditched me yet again. I couldn’t believe that I opened my mouth and actually spoke to the vision!

“Who are you?” I asked confidently in Persian.

Back to the past-1

Here’s my latest story, hope you all enjoy it. It will be having 3 parts.

History is a journey, a journey to the past. It is journey that is embarked upon to discover new lands, new people, new ideologies and new stories. It is a journey into the golden times of the world, as well as a journey into the black times. Sometimes, the journey is fruitful but at other times, it is something we would never even think about.  I am Abha, a historian. My encounter with history cost me much more than what I thought it would.

I am a tall and fair youth from Pune. My bob-cut silky hair trickles down my neck and shines bright brown. I have a dusky complexion with freckles all over my face. My natural and makeup-less face might be a bit too plain for others, but for me, it is a representation of myself and the ideals I follow. I am simple and unique, unlike most of the others. My experience with struggle has taught me lots about how life is lived. My search for happiness has been one with a goal, but without a road. I have had to build this road with my blood and sweat.

I come from an orthodox Hindu family, where women are perceived as good only for household work. I was born and brought up in Ahmednagar, a village near Pune.  Though I come from an orthodox family, I was sent to a school, much to the disapproval of my devout grandmother.

I started studying and really enjoyed Hindi, Marathi, and Social Science. Without these subjects, I would be like a lifeless corpse. Social Science especially was oxygen to my lungs, mirchi to my Kolhapuri bhaaji, the extra 3 yards to my usual 6 yards saree and as good as any sweet that I used to be treated with during festivals. Unfortunately, I was taught household work from an early age, and Social Science was a pleasure that I would get very rarely. I was removed from school after 10^th grade. My marriage was fixed with a boy from my caste.

But I ran away. I felt choked with all the customs and traditions and I just couldn’t live my life freely. I had saved some money, and on the day before my marriage, I ran away. I took a bus to Pune.

It wasn’t easy to settle down in Pune. It was not just physical trauma, but I also faced mental trauma. My thoughts kept going back to how my family would be treated by the society. But I stood strong and continued to struggle to chase my dreams. I got a job as domestic help in the house of a Punjabi family. I lived as their caretaker and took care of their 1 year old child. My mistress was a really nice lady, and she sponsored my education. I gave my 12^th Board exams soon. I passed with flying colors.

I took up Humanities with the subjects History, Economics, Political Science and Psychology. I worked and went to college simultaneously. My days were tiring but it was worth it. I graduated from a Government college with an excellent percentage. I did my post-graduation from Fergusson College. I got a job in the Archeological Survey of India. I left my home and shifted to Delhi.

I shifted my base to the Government quarters in Delhi. I had grown quite attached to Pune and hence found it tough to shift to Delhi. Unlike Pune, Delhi was a very polluted and populated city. The language and food were also different. I found it difficult, but ultimately I settled well in Delhi.

I was hired as an archeologist. My happiness knew no bounds. I had got my dream job and excited to be a part of this new experience and hoped that it would be worth my hard work.

 My first job was to visit Agra and research on the mystery of the Black Taj Mahal. I had read up quite a bit on the Mughal era, and it continued to fascinate me. The aura of the Mughal era is unmatchable.

It is said that after Shah Jahan had built the Taj Mahal, he had decided to build a Black Taj for himself. According to theories, he had laid the foundation for this monument but wasn’t able to complete it as he was captured by his son and successor, Aurangzeb. My research has led me to believe that Black Taj couldn’t have existed as according to the Islamic code, a body has to be buried facing towards Mecca (in the west direction). This wouldn’t have been possible if Shah Jahan’s body was buried in this Black Taj. Recently, some black segments had been found near the Taj, and I had been asked to investigate. So, I went to Agra.

It was on my trip to Agra that I first encountered history. My arrival in Agra was sudden. I was informed in the morning that I had to leave for Agra in the afternoon.

Agra is a beautiful city. Agra is known for two things- the ethereal Taj Mahal and the sumptuous petha. Both these white wonders make Agra a place worth visiting. This was the first time I was visiting the Taj. I didn’t really have much time, and could only catch a glimpse of it. The Taj is a really incredible monument! Its beauty is truly marvelous. I didn’t see much of it, but even a choti nazar of the Taj got my adrenaline rushing and my heart beating fast.

I was sent in a group and since it was my first assignment, I was mostly kept in the dark about what was happening. So, I decided to venture out on my own. We were at our site of research and instead of scattering and examining different places; we were all concentrated to only one part of the site.

I started moving in the left direction. I don’t know what had happened to me, but I just felt attracted towards the left. Some unknown force was attracting me. I had no control over my senses.

As I was walking towards my unknown force, I noticed that it had started to get dark. I glanced at my watch and realized that it was late evening. I had been moving in this direction for the past 1 hour, and it was pretty late. I tried to move back, but the force didn’t let me.

I arrived near a cave. Its appearance was as ordinary as any other cave, it was made of grey stones and covered with weeds and creepers, but there was certainly something extraordinary about it. I couldn’t point out, but there was something unique about it. 

The Tower of New

Firstly, I would like to apologize for such a late post. I have been working on 2 stories which I would be posting soon. I also had my exams for the last two weeks which didn’t really allow me to post. I wrote this poem today and thought of posting it. Here you go:

The Tower of Gloom stood tall,

Unlit and somber,

Covered with weeds of melancholy,

And a smoke of gloomy unimaginativeness .

The Tower was lonely,

Just like the girl who inhabited it.

She sat idle all day,

Looking out of the window,

At a scenery so cheerless,

That it wore out her smile.

She wore black,

Saw black,

And felt black.

The cloak of dullness hid the soul of cheerfulness.

She was stuck in the Tower,

For she thought that there was no way out.

But she was wrong.

An ordinary day arrived with an extraordinary twist,

And brightened up her life.

A cylindrical blue object came floating into the cracked window of the crooked Tower,

It had a smoothly cornered and flat-bottomed nib,

With a sharp tip.

It shone Golden.

It seemed familiar.

But she quivered.

What would this unknown yet attractive object bring to her?

How would it drift her out of this cheerless existence?

But negativity lost the battle.

Her hand slowly drifted towards the strange object,

And she felt a strange sensation.

Her feet rose above the ground,

And she levitated.

The strange object carried her.

She was amused,

But she trusted this unknown entity.

She didn’t let go.

The strange object carried her out of the tower,

Through her window.

Then she noticed something she hadn’t noticed before.

Another Tower that stood right across the Tower of Gloom.

The object carried her towards it,

And all she could do was stare at it with a feeling of awe.

She felt a sensation that she had hardly felt before,

Joy, it was called.

They reached the new Tower,

The Tower that bloomed,

With flowers of liveliness and rays of sunshine.

To the Tower which had no place for desolation

This poem basically reflects my love for writing. I am the girl from the poem. The tower is my boring routine life, the strange object is a pen and the new Tower is a reflection of my life after I got introduced to writing. I would like to dedicate this poem to my English teacher, Amit Sir who has always encouraged me to write and express my thoughts using ideas which are out-of-box.

The tall and elegant lady

I had the opportunity to deliver a speech on the auspicious occasion of Teacher’s Day at school. I had a wonderful day. I’ll be sharing my Teacher’s day experience this weekend. For now, here’s the speech:

In the month of April in the year 2013, a timid girl entered the school campus. She was reluctant to come to school at first, for this school had snatched away all her friends from her previous school, where she had been studying for 7 blissful years. Yet, she had to sacrifice it all. She looked around and felt as if she didn’t belong here. She felt like an alien, who had entered this new planet and had no knowledge of how it worked. But she wasn’t left alone. A tall woman, who wore an elegant purple cotton sari approached her, and asked her not to worry, for she was there for her. Slowly, the girl made friends. She had difficulties and problems, but the tall and elegant woman came to her rescue every time. She has now developed into a confident and outspoken 10^th grader and is standing before you today, and she gives the credit for her success to the tall, elegant woman. This tall, elegant woman is a very familiar character. She is a teacher.

Each time I see a teacher, I am reminded of Aamir Khan from Dangal. Even though we aren’t their biological children, they treat us as more than that.  They fight with the world for us, they care about us much more than we care about ourselves, they scold us because they care for us, not because they want to torture us. They love us and they openly express it. Teachers mould all the Geetas and Babitas and make them good human beings.  

Just think of your life without a teacher. This is my last year in school, and I just can’t express how much I would miss my teachers. Your old friends can be replaced by new ones, but your teachers can never be replaced.  The bond that I have formed with every single teacher who has taught me is extremely special and can’t be described through words. I am sure every single one of you sitting there has a special equation with your teachers.

Meera ma’am (my school principal)  is my idol. She has been my idol since I joined the school. On this auspicious day, I have the golden opportunity to represent ma’am (we got the opportunity to be teachers for a day). But let me tell you that me or any student sitting here, cannot match ever one small inch of what our teachers do. What they do isn’t just extremely difficult, but also emotionally straining at times. 

We need to give the respect that the teachers deserve. We need to start recognizing their contribution in making our life successful. We need to realize that Teacher’s day isn’t the only day on which we need to respect our teachers. Lets make it a point it respect our teachers in each and every second of our lives and try to do at least something for them in return for what they are doing for us. Wishing a very happy Teachers’ Day to all my lovely teachers.

The rusted box

It was dark,

It was eerie.

It was a graveyard.

The sky and the earth were as dark as the jet black soot.

There was not a soul to be seen,

The dark, leafless tress appeared like extensions of the lifeless and forgotten that lay beneath.

The owls hooted and the wolves howled.

The light of the moon was overshadowed by the darkness of the spectral location.

I stood near a grave.

It had my name.

There was a stone on the grave,

It said “the forgotten childhood of mine”

The date inscribed was that of my 15^th birthday.

I grew anxious,

And decided to dig the grave.

I failed to understand what the stone meant.

I kept digging, and found an old, worn out iron box.

The box had gathered dust,

And had all rust.

It appeared as if it had had a bright colour at some point in time,

But that the chains of time had imprisoned its liveliness.

But great difficulty, I opened the box.

What drifted out was unexpected.

A bright, golden, translucent wave of thoughts rushed out,

All my memories of childhood enshrined in it.

It started to spread light in this otherwise lifeless atmosphere.

The darkness was outshined by this speck of light.

Soon, liveliness spread.

The black light turned golden.

And the sad times turned cheerful.

This poem represents how we forget the pleasures of our childhood as we grow up and how our lives have becoming boring and dark without these lively and forgotten memories our ours.

Real Independence

5.45 a.m.: I have been having really weird dreams for the past few days. I’ve been dancing with my favourite actor Akshay Kumar in my classroom! Though I don’t like dancing, I wouldn't mind any kind of dance or song or sport or activity with AKSHAY KUMAR!  For him, I could even quit eating my beloved khakhras and theplas! I am having the same dream at this moment, but my dream is interrupted by maa’s voice which says that it’s time for school. I use the good old ‘two-minutes more’ trick and stay in bed for the next 15 minutes.

6.00 a.m.: I reluctantly open my eyes and finally wake up. The scrappy sister has my soft and  mulayam rajai on her body. I grin at her and proceed to brush. My mind is so filled with Akshay Kumar thoughts that I even see him in the mirror while brushing. All of a sudden, he vanishes. It is at this moment that I recall that we have a physics test today. I do my usual uff and just get out of the bathroom which is putting these study thoughts in my mind.

6.30 a.m.: After having a long, care-free bath, I am sitting at the dining table, with a bowl of Cornflakes in my hand. I am eating and simultaneously putting on all the ‘accessories’ that I put on with my school uniform. I leave for school.

7.00 a.m.: I am sitting in the bus, doing stupid things with my dearest Srija. We are forcing an innocent guy from our bus, whom we call ‘Bella’ to do a Hawaiin dance, which he does in a really hilarious way. We blurt out laughing like lunatics and the whole bus just stares at us as if we are Shahrukh Khan and Amitabh Bachchan. It just seems surprising that we have all forgotten about the physics test.

7.30 a.m.: I reach school and do my daily duty which is a part of my responsibilities as School Captain. I really enjoy this duty, though it is nothing more than asking kids to move in a line. I have a regular set of people who say ‘Good Morning Didi’ to me every day. Some call me ‘ma’am’. I just don’t understand how you can call a person ‘ma’am’ when she is standing sakshat in front of you in the same uniform as you!

8.00 a.m.: I reach the class and meet and dear bunch of mad friends. Tina smiles at me as usual. Shruti gives me an awkward smirk. Tanaya and Dibya are talking (I give them the usual glare as I know that they are trying to crack some stupid joke).Ketaki looks at me in her usual gangster expression. I also look at Meena, a person who was the most important to me at a time, but has just changed so much that she just doesn’t converse with me. The ‘hum juda’ music plays in my mind.

8.15 a.m.: Our dearest Bhagyashree ma’am enters the class. We all stand up to wish her. Today is a Wednesday, and we have something called a ‘Quality Circle Time’ in which we discuss our ideas and views about different topics. Since Independence Day is arriving soon, ma’am asks us to discuss the importance of Independence Day. I immediately hear people say things like ‘urgh, why Independence Day?’. I also see all the frustrated faces. The discussion starts and everyone expresses their views. People mainly talk about how Independence Day invokes the feeling of nationalism. I talk about how I move into flashback and think about what this day would have been 70 years back. Suddenly, a boy stands up and says that the reality is that Independence Day is just another holiday for us.

Though it’s really sad to hear, it is the reality. We find the tricolor flags in our hands on 15^th August, but on the roads on the next day. We don’t even take part in the proceedings and often plan trips. We don’t even wear a kurta on this occasion! We don’t think about the sacrifices made by our ancestors, but we keep cribbing about how the nation isn’t developing. We say that since we are going to shift to America, we don’t really need to celebrate this day. Independence Day programs are hosted in English!

What kind of independence is this? If we wear English clothes, use English language during cultural proceedings, and if we dream of shifting out of country in the future, how are we independent from the English? If we throw our flags to the ground, do we even deserve to be a part of this prestigious nation? If we can’t be proud to wear our national or traditional dresses on such a day, then what kind of Indians are we? Are we really independent?

Change starts with us. The British left us long back. But their views have now left us yet. We just don’t give enough respect to our country. I personally admit it. I think my country deserves more than what I, or we give it. We can start by changing on this Independence Day. We can start this Tuesday.