SOME THINGS I LEARNT WHILE GIVING MY BOARD EXAMS

Boards were for some people a very tough period. For me it was a period of fascination and wonder because of the sheer changes it brought in my life. Here is a list of the things I learnt along with trigonometric ratios and co-ordinate geometry……….

THERE AREN’T ENOUGH VERSIONS OF “THANK YOU”:

10^th graders suddenly discover that the world is filled with well-wishers who have your success in the exam foremost in their minds. But the downside to this is that it all gets far too repetitive. I was amazed by the sheer number of people who called to say best of luck and the sheer number of times I said thank you in the merriest possible note. Disgusted by my own repetitiveness I checked the thesaurus for some versions of thank you. But when I started using ‘much obliged’, ‘many thanks’ and ‘much appreciated’, it sounded weird and ungracious even to my own self. In the end I stuck to ‘thank you’ ignoring how much I had come to detest those two words.

10^TH GRADERS HAVE THE RIGHT TO BE GRUMPY, IRRITABLE AND DEMANDING

I blame this particular phenomenon on the madness surrounding 10^th. Students start harbouring queer notions that scoring moderately in boards is an unpardonable crime and that being buried into a book for several consecutive hours is the key to cracking the exam. This makes them unpleasant to the extent that one starts understanding why scientists are said to be so temperamental and cranky. I always maintain that keep a drunkard and a 10^th grader side by side and you will be hard pressed to guess which is which for both mumble rubbish which no one can make sense out of, both go into a rage at the slightest provocation and both start believing that their wish should be everyone’s command.

SADISM:

Here is a story- I was in 8^th std. and was playing happily with my friends. Mr. Somebody no.1 who lived in my colony, was passing by the road. He smiled at us and asked, “In which std. are you all studying?” “8^th,” we all chorused enthusiastically. His smile turned into a wide beam and he said, “Two years are left for 10^th then.” We nodded politely and he left. When I was in 9^th once again playing happily with my friends, Mr. Somebody no.2 asked us, “In which std. are you all?” “9^th,” one of us replied. With a smirk Mr. Somebody no.2 said, “Is that so? Then a year is left for your 10^th” and went away. When I was in 10^th, coming home in the evening, tired and red-eyed from the 3hr class, Mr. Somebody no.3 smilingly approached me and enquired, “Sukanya, in which std. are you?” “10^th,” I replied with a forced smile. With uncontained relish he said, “My dear, now you have to study hard. Computer, playing, television abhi sab kam kardo.” On observing his obvious delight upon me being in 10^th, I came to know the meaning of sadism.

GRANDMOTHERS ACTUALLY WORK HARDER SOMETIMES:

From praying diligently to God every morning and evening, feeding the child badams, glucose, pistachios etc and staying awake till whatever nocturnal hours the child chooses, grandmothers indeed undertake a very grueling task. God suddenly finds his portrait garlanded every day instead of once in three days. The pharmacist’s profits are increased by the purchase of various tonics and intelligence enhancing oils. Where the child would have had to travel to the kitchen every time he wanted some tidbit, he would suddenly find everything placed right in front of him by the grandmother who has taken upon herself to be the most efficient delivery service.

BOARDIASIS- This is an unregistered disease that only affects mothers whose children are in 10^th. I would like every doctor to make a note of it because there is an urgent need for a cure to this disease. AIDS, cancer, leprosy, obesity can all wait as far as we 10^th graders are concerned.

If you see a mother with a frown on her face and an air of dejection about her sometime in the months of June, July, August, September, October, November, December, January, February, March ( and sometimes April and May) you can place a safe bet that she suffers from ‘Boardiasis.’ There are 3 stages to this particular disease. They are:

1) The advising stage: Mothers suddenly get it into their heads that their children are really very ignorant. Food habits, whether you keep your nails cut and cleaned, whether you wake up every morning at exactly 5 minutes to 6, can all affect performance so a lecture on each of these issues is absolutely essential.

2) The nagging stage: Mothers realize that all their advice is not being heeded to by their offspring. This considerably hurts their pride and they begin to irritate them. If you drink 9 and a half glasses of water instead of 10 then according to your mother you have committed a crime which cannot be ignored. The sweet, patient mother is replaced by an unrecognizable person who is constantly emitting high pitch and high energy sounds which aren’t really making much sense. The sounds all have beginnings which are variations of ‘Why won’t you listen to me??????’ This stage however lasts till the last week of March.

3) The scared-stiff stage: The symptom for this stage is when mothers start having various nightmares concerning the exams. Its either images of a certificate showing ‘FAIL’ in bold red letters, the child arriving late the venue or falling from a 20 storey building ( how the child has gotten on a 20 storey building is a mystery but not very important as far as she is concerned) or the child developing an as yet undiscovered disease. Poets who called mothers fearless, calm and composed might consider rethinking their opinions after seeing the mother in this stage.

Every little thing becomes a cause for worry. The height of this worry is when she scrutinizes the child’s breathing because it has become somewhat uneven since a few seconds back!
Don’t know if you will agree with me on all this but I sure observed all these points. Please feel free to mention any more things that may occur to you.

-the hobbit

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SOMETHING THAT REALLY HIT ME……….

It was early in the morning that day. We i.e. my mother and I were bidding my maternal uncle goodbye. He was scheduled to catch the 8.30 flight to Bangalore. We were just waiting for a taxi to turn up when a jogger passed by from the front of our house. As is my dog Snoopy’s custom, he kept staring at that jogger. For some unknown reason even we were staring at that jogger. That jogger looked at us and then turned his attention to Snoopy. The jogger’s face burst into a smile and he waved a friendly hand at Snoopy. Snoopy too gave a few enthusiastic barks. The jogger gave a short laugh and went his way.
So you might be wondering what is the point of this……..well, its true that there is nothing extraordinary about this. Even I, at that time did not find this incident to be of any special importance. Actually it’s what my uncle said after observing this that really hit me on the head. He said, “Look, that man greeted Snoopy knowing that he will get a better response from a dog.”
Isn’t it very true? Otherwise why would a man not greet another man but a dog? And this is not just the one time. I have to admit that Snoopy is more popular than anybody in our family. He attracts scores of people- children, teenagers, the elders, my colony people and so many strangers that it totally amazes me.
Before I used to frown with impatience looking at how people really pamper their dogs. But now the reason is becoming clearer to me. Unknowingly even I do the same with my dog, knowing that however he reacts, it will be true and sincere.
After my uncle went, I went to my room and remembered what many people had told me and I had come to believe, that man is a social animal. Now it seems like the biggest irony to me………………….


Note: let me assure you, this isn’t a tale I have made up. It actually happened with me. I hope after reading this you will realize that we have some serious thinking and reviewing to do.

- the hobbit

THE DOGGY DIARIES

NAME : Snoopy, the dog (not the famous one in Peanuts, but another simple dog).
Age: 7yrs, 8 months, 20 days, 5 hrs, 20 minutes, 4 seconds (preciseness is my life-long motto)
Breed: undetectable (it seems that I am a cross between a beagle, retriever, Alsatian and a Doberman, my parents being cross-breeds themselves. )
Subject: Few insights into my life as a dog.

August 20th, 2007
Last night my master’s bike got stolen. The mistress lays the blame on me knowing fully well that my indignant protestations don’t make sense to anybody. My master, never one to argue with the mistress, has agreed upon this. He remarks that when I seem to bark all day long at anything and everything that comes into my plane of vision, why didn’t even a whimper escape from my mouth at the time of the theft. This remark I feel is a distortion of truth. I don’t bark all day long. I only bark at any cat that ever existed, the milkman, the newspaper boy, the post-man, laundry man, the servant, any person who looks at me, any bird that sits on the fence and the occasional plant that rustles due to the breeze. That doesn’t constitute anything and everything! There are lots of things I don’t bark at like………..like……..like…well I cant think of anything offhand, but I am certain there are things that I don’t bark at. Returning to the present: how was I supposed to know that a theft would occur at the exact moment that I would shut my eyes from guard duty? Clearly being a dog is a 24/7 job.
August 31st, 2007
Today was quite a puzzling day for me. My mistress’s mother’s cousin’s husband’s sister’s daughter and her 5 month old son came to our house today. ( ‘ Blood is thicker than water’ is our family slogan.) Meena (the visitor) seemed to have come to invite our family to the wedding of her distant cousin’s aunt’s distant niece who was somehow related to my mistress in some distant way. After the initial pleasantries, Meena came towards me carrying her baby. Always eager to keep everybody happy, I smiled at them, putting into it all the warmth that I could muster. But the baby just took one look at me and instead of the expected chuckling and smiling that I feel makes them look quite comic, it burst into tears, bawling volubly. Even the mother had the look of one who had cut an especially fleshy and healthy looking fruit to find it rotten inside. After that, the mother only shot side glances at me, never looking at me directly. For the life of me, I cannot understand what went wrong.
September 8th ,2007
My guardian angel seems to have taken an ill-timed vacation, for the vet came to visit me today. I must admit that I have emerged out of this incident without a shred of dignity left. All I wish for right now is for a blanket which can keep me hidden till eternity.
I had decided before the vet’s arrival that I will fight unto death but I will not allow him to stick a needle into me. Strengthened by this new resolve, I, upon his arrival, barked and snarled at him with utmost vigor, with the most menacing expression on my face. But while all this might have made any layman scurry the way a man scurries when his wife is in full swing, my vet did not even raise his eyes to look at me. He just raised his voice a little and told my master, “I will finish this work as fast as possible. Your dog sounds frightened as it is.” This remark shocked me so much as to shut me up for 10 whole seconds. It took me some time to retaliate with a bark, but that bark seemed weak even to my own self. The vet had just taken the sting out of my attack. After that I was simply reduced to a few lame barks now and then. But the mistress remarked, “Poor Snoopy! Look at him whining.” After that I decided to just shut my mouth.
The vet finished his preparations and came towards me. I stared at him, resigned to my fate. “ cute puppy, sit still and please do not be naughty,” he crooned. I think the words ’ just sit still’ were the ones which really made me snap. Was I supposed to sit still while he embarrassed me in front of my family? What about my resolution to fight unto death? Thus, with ill-timed fervor, I abruptly rose from my sitting position and the needle which had been held just above, slipped out of the vet’s hand and etched a neat scratch on my rear portion. The deadliest nark that I had been planning turned into a most heart-rending yowl. From now on, my solemn advice to every being is to learn the lesson of good timing.
The vet, to my added indignantion remarked, “ It’s just a small scratch. It will heal soon enough. I will give him the injection anyway.” This time I did not move a muscle while he injected me and then I retreated into the darkest corner of the house.
My rear end has never felt so painful. I incite agonizing nerve signals from my brain and an amused laugh from my master every single time I try to sit and let out a whimper. My master says sadistically with the widest smile on his face,” This is the best lesson for you.” So much for ideal of sharing the joys as well as the sorrows of life. I am sure the trauma of this is going to last for ever long.
-the hobbit

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WHAT MAKES AGATHA CHRISTIE CLICK?

Robert Ludlum, Ken Follet, Robin Cook, Tom Clancy all come up with the most exciting and nail-biting books. They have dark, enigmatic and silent heroes, seemingly authentic plots, ruthless villains, assassinations, blood and everything that is alien to our sheltered existence. They have heroes from the enigmatic institutions like FBI, CBI, KGB, Fedayeen, Mossad and blah… blah…They make us yearn for a more dangerous and adventurous life. But still after reading so many of such books I seem to go back to my Agatha Christies-old-worldish, exciting to a certain degree and having nothing more exciting than the Scotland Yard.
Agatha Christie’s style of writing is not very remarkable. The plot is never too complicated and the crimes are never of a very big scale. The heroes and heroines too are never the trigger-happy and brooding types that catch our fancy. In spite of all this we find that once Agatha Christie was titled a Dame and was also tagged as the ‘Queen of Crime for her contribution to writing. Her books have sold over a billion copies in 44 different languages. She is also the author of the longest ever running play in history known as ‘The Mousetrap’.
So what makes her click? I would say that there are multiple reasons for it, one of which is her simple style of writing. There is nothing more irritating to a reader than having to open a dictionary while reading the climax of a book. Fortunately Agatha Christie seems to have realized just that, for her use of words is varied but at the same time lucid.
She also has the capability to showcase a murder in all its various forms. We were introduced to serial killing in ‘The A.B.C. murders’, a murder that occurred long years ago in ‘Death comes as the end’, a child psychopath in ‘The Crooked House’, a jealous lover and killer in ‘Towards Zero’. She has presented all of it with the same lucidity and elaborateness through which we have come to recognize her books.
Another point that I mentioned before but would like to do so again is that her plots are never of a very huge scale. Anyone who has read both Ludlum and Christie would be able to testify that in Agatha novels the villains are not fiends who have the power to collapse the entire world, nation or even a particular community. They are just assassinators limited to a certain household or family. Every household member is an individual character and in some or the other way, a part of the plot. She makes it such that everyone is under suspicion. Everyone is guilty until proven innocent.
But the most important aspect that I kept for the last is the curious detective with the egg-shaped head- Hercule Poirot. If Arthur Conan Doyle created the brilliant Sherlock Holmes then Agatha Christie created a very creditable Hercule Poirot. This is an egoistic but discerning man without the brooding nature and painful past that is synonymous to a hero. He has no training in defense or fighting to speak of and does possess even a trace of dare-devilry. It’s just him and his grey-cells filled head. With his pleasant demeanor and self-important air, he is the most unlikely detective ever but still a very popular one. In the beginning, I used to scorn at these books and compare them with the Micheal Crichtons and Alistair McLeans of this world. But I was lying to myself for I was always enticed by the unbelievable climax of ‘The Murder of Roger Ackroyd’, by the adventures of Hillary Craven in ‘Destination Unknown’ and the cold reasoning of Justice Wargrave in ‘And Then There Were None’. So I have come to accept that indeed, there is something in Agatha Christie that makes her click.

MY SCHOOL ESSAYS

1) SUCCESS COMES TO THOSE WHO DARE TO ACT

When the subject of success comes up, I am always reminded of two of my neighbours…………. One of them was an old lady who lived alone. Over the years, I had come to know her to be a pleasant, warm and generous lady. But then everyone started observing a sudden, unpleasant change come over her. She started becoming ill-tempered. I started to hear bangs and hysterical shrieks every time I passed her house. She became frail and weak and also had dark circles around her eyes. She only occasionally came out her house and on such occasions she would look so awful and ill that we would want her to go in again. Rumours floated around that she had gone mad. I asked my parents whether the rumours were true but they would only say,” She is going through very difficult times, dear.” But I never believed that. Instead I accepted the rumour. The shrieks and bangs continued but after six months or so, I started to notice that they had decreased. Though her body remained frail and her dark circles deepened, still her eyes had stopped moving to and fro in that mad manner. She seemed to have calmed down. A month later I saw my parents visit her and just weeks later, I got the news that the old lady had died. It was only years later that my parents told me that she had always kept a secret which she had only told my parents as they were close friends of hers. The old lady had once suffered a terrible accident whose pain and suffering had left her hooked to morphine. Only severe doses of morphine could alleviate her pain. But she had not liked that fact that she would have to take morphine for the rest of her life. She had revealed to my parents,” I will leave this world independent of everyone and everything. ” Thus, she had started giving up morphine. Just weeks before her death she had become successful in doing so and had called my parents to tell them.
…………………….Then I remember the other neighbour, a young man names Prashant. He had a good family, good education , sufficient income ……. everything. In his graduate days, it is said that he got into very bad company and spoilt his prospects for the future. And thus the boy who had shown so much promise before was now an unemployed person. He would sit in his house all day long, drunk, depressed and defeated, until one day he committed suicide and left behind heartbroken parents.
I was stumped by the old lady’s daring and decisiveness while saddened by the young man’s failure to rise. I cannot even begin to imagine the pain and the mad longing the old lady surely must have felt. Prashant had all the ingredients to begin anew. His youth, sufficient capabilities and also a supportive family. Still he chose to while away and whither. Thus, I have realized that success comes to those who dare to act.

2)………and I was really touched by his /her act.

I am an extrovert by nature. I am out-going, I enjoy social –dos and hate staying at home. In short, I like to be in the thick of things.
And that is the reason why, I was really annoyed on having to stay at a hospital just a day before New Year. I was down with measles and a temperature of 103 and I kept asking myself, ‘How can this happen to me?’…….
There was another woman next to my bed and as I had to pass the time some way or the other, I started talking to her. I am very good at making others talk and so I learnt quite a few things about her. She was a widow, had very few relatives, lived alone and liked it that way or so she said. I like talking to quiet people. I find them very interesting. I firmly believe that opposites attract and my belief has strengthened as both of us had become very good friends.
The next day I woke up to find many presents placed near my bed. My friends had sent me plenty of ‘get well soon cards.’ I was felling very happy when I noticed that the widow had not got any presents. She had not woken up yet as she had had a minor surgery last night. I finished opening the presents and again looked at the widow who was still asleep. I felt guilty. Then I looked at my presents. I was reluctant to give any of them to her. I defended my reluctance by telling myself that my friends would be really hurt if I gave any of them to her. And so I made myself forget her. My nurse came and told me that I had to go to sleep. Thus I had a long restful sleep and woke up in the afternoon to find that the widow had gone. She was not on her bed. Later on, I came to know that she had been discharged while I had been sleeping. I found a note written by her, next to my pillow. It said,
‘Dear friend,
Happy New Year. It was really nice talking to you yesterday.
You were asleep so I couldn’t personally tell you how stimulating
my conversation with you was.
I hope you get well soon.’
I was really touched by her sincerity and humbleness, but at the same time I felt very ashamed about the fact that I had been so selfish, that I hadn’t sacrificed even a single present out of the many that I had received to make a lonely and needy person happy.

3) INDIAN FESTIVALS

What would our life be, without the colour and heartiness of Holi, without the mouth- watering sweets of Diwali, without the merry days of Ganesh Chaturthi or without any of the Indian festivals that infuse variety and vibrancy in our daily routine existence?
Indian festivals are so many and so different from each other, each with a significance and story of its own. For instance, Onam, the principal festival of Kerala. The picturesque harvest festival brings with it ten days of colour, feasting, boat races, song and dance to the state. According to legend, Onam celebrates the golden age of King Mahabali, the mythical ruler Kerala. The festival is celebrated to welcome the spirit of this king. Then there is the Makar Sankranti which occurs on 14th January. Makar Sankranti marks the commencement of the sun’s journey to the northern hemisphere, signifying the onset of Uttarayana. On this day people take holy dips in the waters and worship the sun. or let us take the Id-ul-Fitr, Id-ul-Zuha and Id-i-Milal, some of the Muslim festivals that are celebrated with great enthusiasm all over our country.
Other than these, there is the Guru Nanak Jayanti of the Sikhs, Navaratri of the Gujaratis, Gukulashthami…………the list is endless. These festivals provide the change (and holidays) which one always looks forward to.
A very important aspect of Indian festivals is the food!!! Each morsel is prepared with such generous amounts of everything and with such care!!!!!! Just as a mother nurtures her child!
Today, many times Indian festivals are used to show off and are called the selling point of India. Television and movies portray them as extravagant events, full of grandeur and exaggerate to such an extent that it all seems a farce. In essence, Indian festivals are simple, their grandeur and richness being in the great message of togetherness that it gives to the world
-the hobbit

4)DISCIPLINE

Over the years, I have realized what discipline is by understanding what it is not. The frenzied scrambling for vada pavs that we see near the canteen is not an illustration of discipline. Nor is the constant talking on the cell phone during a concert or any public address. The ruthless fights to get a place in the local trains definitely cannot pass off as instances of discipline.

So, you may ask, what is discipline? Well, discipline, as a concept is not difficult to understand. Discipline is all about a controlled and coordinated way of doing things. It is about behaving in an organized and unfrivolous manner. It is a virtue few can boast of. to have control and enough discipline to not act the same as the disorderly person ahead shows a toughness of mind. A disciplined life also helps to escape the misery of chaos.

To not talk in the class while all the other children are talking, to not jump the line at the ticket counter, even if everyone does so, to not throw garbage on the road but patiently look around for a dustbin, are some of the simplest deeds that in reality demonstrate great discipline. A disciplined man generally embodies great virtues and is considered as a reliable human being.

So, how is discipline to be brought into the life of every person? Most evidences suggest that such a quality can be acquired only through realization and by exercising control. Enforcement of discipline is not advisable. As Marie Montessori, a famous Italian lady said, “Discipline must come through liberty. We do not consider an individual disciplined when he has been rendered as artificially silent as a mule and as immovable as a paralytic. He is an individual annihilated, not disciplined.”

Today, we are seeing a gradual lessening of discipline in our country. In our veins flows the blood of our ancestors who practiced extraordinary control during their penances. If we acquire even a fraction of that discipline, then the course of our nation could change drastically.

According to me the reason why we see a general slackening of discipline is because it is no longer considered a worthy quality today. Qualities like enterprise, shrewdness and resourcefulness are given much more importance. Discipline comes nowhere into the picture. We must realize that we all suffer either one of the two things: the pain of discipline or the pain of regret or disappointment. Now the choice is ours.

-the hobbit

5) LIVE AND LET LIVE

To be able to talk without the fear of creating a scandal, to be able to walk without staying on alert for thieves and kidnappers, to be able to read the headlines of newspapers boasting of victory and progress instead of terrorism and anarchy: These may look like very simple wishes but sadly, I could wish for countless pearls and diamonds and still get it, but if I ask for the freedom to wake up every morning to the sound of birds chirping, all I would get is an incredulous look.

This is what our life has degenerated to. And do get me right; I have no wish to portray myself as a hapless victim. All of us are responsible for what is happening today. We humans are like leeches, drinking up the resources of the earth and bloating up to gigantic proportions. And all because we have forgotten to live and let live.

We loudly proclaim, “We have grown, we have developed!” But into what? I would wager to say, ‘fiends.’ With great haste we have built our homes, our societies, our cities and in extension our world. Without a thought we have imposed ourselves on the various plants and animals. We were actually meant to live with them as one but we have very thoughtlessly told them to either comply or perish. And it’s not just them that we are hurting. We have not left even our own kith and kin. It is bad enough that we have designed a hundred different weapons that have been created for the sole purpose of taking lives, but that there are some monsters in this world who would not think twice before using them becomes a thought too difficult to bear. We peace – loving, unobtrusive people are also guilty of being a prey of sensationalisation. Don’t we all delight in the scandal and gossip that surrounds celebrities? We go through every magazine, newspaper and television channel just to know the latest tidbit pertaining to celebrities.

I think it is time we realize that every time we wear a leather belt or a shoe, the carcass of an animal lies dead somewhere, every time we waste sheets of paper, there is a pitiful stump of a tree somewhere in some forest, every time we overuse precious resources like water, there are people in Africa crying for a few drops of it.

Let us try to change our behaviour and our attitude. Let us try to make this planet greener and happier. Let us co-exist with every being in harmony. Let us live and let live.

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COLLECTION OF MY FAVOURITE POEMS - Part 2

A FAREWELL


Flow down, cold rivulet, to the sea,

Thy tribute wave deliver:

No more by thee my steps shall be,

For ever and for ever.

Flow, softly flow,

by lawn and lea,

A rivulet then a river;

No where by thee my steps shall be,

For ever and for ever.

But here will sigh thine alder tree,

And here thine aspen shiver;

And here by thee will hum the bee,

For ever and for ever.

A thousand suns will stream on thee,

A thousand moons will quiver;

But not by thee my steps shall be,
For ever and ever.

-ALFRED LORD TENNYSON

SOLITUDE

To sit on rocks, to muse o'er flood and fell

To slowly trace the forest's shady scene,

Where things that own not man's dominion dwell,

And mortal foot hath ne'er or rarely been;

To climb the trackless mountain all unseen,

With the wild flock that never needs a fold;

Alone o'er steeps and foaming falls to lean;

This is not solitude, 'tis but to hold

Converse with Nature's charms, and view her stores unrolled.

But midst the crowd, the hurry, the shock of men,

To hear, to see, to feel and to possess,

And roam alone, the world's tired denizen,

With none who bless us, none whom we can bless;

Minions of splendour shrinking from distress!

None that, with kindred consciousness endued,

If we were not, would seem to smile the less

Of all the flattered, followed, sought and sued;

This is to be alone; this, this is solitude!

-LORD BYRON

O SOLITUDE! IF I MUST DWELL WITH THEE…………

O Solitude! if I must with thee dwell,

Let it not be among the jumbled heap

Of murky buildings: climb with me the steep,

- Nature's observatory -whence the dell,

In flowery slopes, its river's crystal swell,

May seem a span; let me thy vigils keep

'Mongst boughs pavilioned,

where the deer's swift leap

Startles the wild bee from the foxglove bell.

But though I'll gladly trace these scenes with thee,

Yet the sweet converse of an innocent mind,

Whose words are images of thoughts refined,

Is my soul's pleasure; and it sure must be

Almost the highest bliss of human-kind,

When to thy haunts two kindred spirits flee.

-JOHN KEATS

COLLECTION OF MY FAVOURITE POEMS-part 1

LUCY

OFT I had heard of Lucy Gray:

And, when I crossed the wild,

I chanced to see at break of day

The solitary child.

No mate, no comrade Lucy knew;

She dwelt on a wide moor,

--The sweetest thing that ever grew

Beside a human door!

You yet may spy the fawn at play,

The hare upon the green;

But the sweet face of Lucy Gray

Will never more be seen.

"To-night will be a stormy night--

You to the town must go;

And take a lantern, Child, to light

Your mother through the snow."

"That, Father! will I gladly do:

'Tis scarcely afternoon--

The minster-clock has just struck two,

And yonder is the moon!"

At this the Father raised his hook,

And snapped a faggot-band;

He plied his work;--and Lucy took

The lantern in her hand.

Not blither is the mountain roe:

With many a wanton stroke

Her feet disperse the powdery snow,

That rises up like smoke.

The storm came on before its time:

She wandered up and down;

And many a hill did Lucy climb:

But never reached the town.

The wretched parents all that night

Went shouting far and wide;

But there was neither sound nor sight

To serve them for a guide.

At day-break on a hill they stood

That overlooked the moor;

And thence they saw the bridge of wood,

A furlong from their door.

They wept--and, turning homeward, cried,

"In heaven we all shall meet;"

--When in the snow the mother spied

The print of Lucy's feet.

Then downwards from the steep hill's edge

They tracked the footmarks small;

And through the broken hawthorn hedge,

And by the long stone-wall;

And then an open field they crossed:

The marks were still the same;

They tracked them on, nor ever lost;

And to the bridge they came.

They followed from the snowy bank

Those footmarks, one by one,

Into the middle of the plank;

And further there were none!

--Yet some maintain that to this day

She is a living child;

That you may see sweet Lucy Gray

Upon the lonesome wild.

O' er rough and smooth she trips along,

And never looks behind;

And sings a solitary song

That whistles in the wind.

*****WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

THE SAILOR'S MOTHER

One morning (raw it was and wet,

A foggy day in winter time)

A Woman in the road I met,

Not old, though something past her prime:

Majestic in her person, tall and straight;

And like a Roman matron's was her mien and gait.

The ancient Spirit is not dead;

Old times, thought I, are breathing there;

Proud was I that my country bred

Such strength, a dignity so fair:

She begg'd an alms, like one in poor estate;

I look'd at her again, nor did my pride abate.

When from these lofty thoughts I woke,

With the first word I had to spare

I said to her, "Beneath your Cloak

What's that which on your arm you bear?"

She answer'd soon as she the question heard,

"A simple burthen, Sir, a little Singing-bird."

And, thus continuing, she said,

"I had a Son, who many a day

Sail'd on the seas; but he is dead;

In Denmark he was cast away;

And I have been as far as Hull, to see

What clothes he might have left, or other property."

"The Bird and Cage they both were his;

'Twas my Son's Bird; and neat and trim

He kept it: many voyages

This Singing-bird hath gone with him;

When last he sail'd he left the Bird behind;

As it might be, perhaps, from bodings of his mind."

"He to a Fellow-lodger's care

Had left it, to be watch'd and fed,

Till he came back again; and there

I found it when my Son was dead;

And now, God help me for my little wit!

I trail it with me, Sir! he took so much delight in it."

*****WILLIAM WORDSWORTH

I WANDERED LONELY AS A CLOUD

I wandered lonely as a cloud
That floats on high o’er vales and hills,
When all at once I saw a crowd,
A host of golden daffodils;
Beside the lake, beneath the trees,
Fluttering and dancing in the breeze.

Continuous as the stars that shine
And twinkle on the Milky Way,
They stretched in a never-ending line
Along the margin of the bay:
Ten thousand saw I at a glance,
Tossing their heads in sprightly dance.

The waves beside them danced, but they
Out-did the sparkling waves in glee:-
A poet cannot but be gay,
In such a jocund company
I gazed- and gazed- but little thought
What wealth the show to me had brought:

For oft, when on my couch I lie
In vacant or in pensive mood,
They flash upon that inward eye
Which is the bliss of solitude;
And then my heart with pleasure fills,
And dances with the daffodils.

******William Wordsworth

HOME THEY BROUGHT THE WARRIOR DEAD

Home they brought the warrior dead
She nor swooned, nor uttered a cry
All her maidens, watching, said,
‘She must weep or she will die’.

Then they praised him; soft and low
Call’d him worthy to be loved,
Truest friend and noblest foe,
Yet she neither spoke nor moved.

Stole a maiden from her place,
Lightly to the warrior slept,
Took the face- cloth from the face,
Yet she neither moved nor wept.

Rose a nurse of ninety years,
Set his child upon her knee
Like summer tempest came her tears
‘Sweet my child, I live for thee.’

*****anonymous

THE BIGGEST EMBARASSMENT OF MY LIFE.

Never in my life (which is approximately 14 yrs) did I imagine that I would face so much embarrassment in front of so many people. The story goes this way…………….
13th May, the day of my birth, also the day when my father finds his wallet more pitiable than that of a beggar’s tin of alms. This was my thirteenth birthday, when I would enter the magical years of teenage (my thoughts when I was 12yrs old after which they have changed drastically). The preparations were at a high, the terrace above my house being the venue of the celebration. Though my mother was the whole and sole organizer (my father only sees himself as an ATM on such occasions), I knew quite a lot of things that were going to take place. First of all, this birthday bash was supposed to be a surprise for me (ha! what do they take me for?????). Secondly, I had come to know that at least 50 people had been invited. I also knew that the cake was about a foot long, with an icing of vanilla over a thick layer of chocolate. What I did not know was that the stage mom had set up (the stage on which I would stand and cut the cake) was faulty and could break quite easily on application of force.
I had spent the entire day pretending to be all innocent and happy. I also beamed when I received a beautiful dress from my mother (and here there wasn’t any pretending, it was truly beautiful). All the while I was thinking ,’oh come on! Spit it out!!!!!’ The afternoon came and still there was no mention of the impending birthday party. The time passed and along with it also my peace of mind. Was my mother going to blurt it out at the last minute??????? Didn’t she understand that I required some time to prepare and look nice???????? Life is but a cruel joke.
But my problems soon left me after my mum revealed about my supposedly secret bash at 5.30 (thank God! An hour before zero hour). I made all the right noises of surprise and delight (oh! how I wish there was an award for the Best Child Artist at the Oscars!!) after which I went to my room and started dressing up.
The guests started arriving and I, with my confident smile and fluent talk (if I may say so myself)did not fail to impress them. Finally, the time for cutting the cake arrived and I with all the panache I could muster, hoisted myself gracefully up the stage. At that time, I felt a faint vibration under my feet but I did not pay any attention to it for I was feeling blissfully happy with my life. I could sense Mrs. Patel thinking, ‘Oh! What a beautiful dress she is wearing!’ and I could also sense Mr. Khanna thinking, ‘she is indeed confident and intelligent for her age.’ And with such warm thoughts buzzing in my head, I stood at the centre of the stage (where the cake was kept), gave a cough (of the false variety) to catch everyone’s attention.
And I did catch it…
CRACK!!!!!!!!.............and the world around me dissolved into a series of colours out of which brown seemed to be the primary one. In that constricted position under the stage, with my body parts threatening to separate from each other, I was able to think clearly and ascertain that the stage had given out under my weight and that now I was going to be the biggest joke of the year.
I started praying that my life would end right there so that I wont have to face the cruel world ever again. But after some time when deliverance did not come and when I had had enough of being uncomfortable to the extreme, I ventured to pull myself out of the hole. This action of mine was accompanied by loads of screams and anguished cries for God which seemed to come from all around. The sensible thing for me to do in such a situation would have been to announce that everything was all right and that there wasn’t any need to worry. But sense (a word found in the dictionaries but nowhere else) avoided me and I decided that my uncomfortable position under the stage was better than this din and so went down again.
My father later told me that when I had disappeared under the stage the first time everyone had thought that it was a bad joke on my part. One person even went so far as to tell my dad that teenage is always like this and that he will have to be prepared to experience more of such things in the future. And when a vanilla and chocolate covered lump (my head) appeared out of the hole in the stage, the thin line between sanity and insanity was crossed and screams had resounded from everywhere.
After going down again, a loud cackle of laughter was heard amidst all the screaming. It was my dad. Trust him to laugh in a situation like this. He had realized what had happened. Still laughing, he came over and pulled me out. By this time my brain had given up thinking. Apparently even the guest’s brains had done so for there was a total silence as I emerged out of the ruins. Dad escorted me back to my room and instructed me to wash up, change and then come up again. Then my dad went upstairs. I heard him explain to the guests about what had actually happened. Everyone started laughing.
I cleaned myself, changed into something different and then locked my door. I planned to never emerge out of that room again.
-the hobbit

well this is a totally brainless poem i wrote when i saw my mother operating microsoft word.........it follows absolutely none of the rules of poem writing..............dont even know why i put it over here.........

MY COMPUTER AND MY MOTHER

My computer and my mother,
Totally dislike each other!
Whenever she works with it
Starts a war involving every byte and bit!!!!!!!!

Firstly, clicking at all the wrong places
she mutters like all those spastic cases...............

Just look at her shudder,
After her lovingly typed letter,
Has gone into the gutter,
When instead of shift-control,
She pressed shift-enter.

Aghast, she looks on and on
she's truly going to have a seizure,
While after sending that shrill beep,
The computer sits with sadistic pleasure.

Spreads her hands in utter confusion,
Then shakes her head in total resignation............

Her pleasant round face,
Contorts into a frown,
Finally she bellows and screams,
Like one about to drown!!!!!!!!!!!!
-the hobbit.

THIN SHEETS OF RAIN

18 year old Indira stared at the blue sky from the window of her house in the small village of Gokarn, in Karnataka. The clear, cloudless sky seemed to have done nothing to lift her receding spirits. In fact it only seemed to frustrate her more. After staring at the sky for some more time, she bit her lip in resignation and resumed her work of knitting, her thoughts in turmoil...............
Indira was the eldest daughter in the family of the Murthy’s, her father being Venkatesh and her mother, Lalita. Venkatesh Murthy was a hard working, honest man who valued every penny he earned. Sadly, the land of his heritage was not big enough. Thus he was able to provide only the essentials to his family. He owed Rs. 2000/- to a moneylender and hoped to pay it off with this season’s crop. A month ago he had been quite optimistic about the output. A month ago he had also realized that Indira had come of age and that she should be married off soon. But lately, his optimism had changed to apprehension as the monsoon did not show any signs of approaching...............
‘Oh, Parmatma! Why isn’t this rain coming?’ was what Indira was thinking while fidgeting with the threads of the blouse. Although nothing had been told to her, she knew that she had come of age and should get married soon. She knew well enough how it would reflect on her family if she stayed unmarried too long. She also knew how much depended on the arrival of the rains. She could easily picture the moneylender taking away the land of her ancestors, could easily picture the humiliation her family would have to face. It was the utter helplessness of the situation that was frustrating her. She got out from the chair and went back to the window thinking, ‘if only there was something that I could do’. The problem was that everything that could be done had already been done. The fields had been ploughed with extreme care, the seeds had been watered with absolute vigilance,the soil had been given the required fertilizers. Everything possible had been done, now all was left to the rain.

**********

Two weeks had passed and there wasn’t a hint of moisture in the air. Now, Indira had taken to praying silently every second of the day.

***********

Three weeks………….A cloud of gloom had come over her house, as her family became increasingly silent while Indira, had lost hope. She had been consoling herself everyday but today her will snapped and tears flowed out of her eyes. She was unable to sit there alone so she wandered here and there in the village. As she passed an old hut, she came across a banyan tree. Her childhood days came like a flash to her ………swinging with the help of the roots of the tree, resting under the shade against the harsh sun of summer, the picnics under the tree with her friends. A lot of happy memories were attached to that tree. But today it did not look right to Indira. There were black clouds patches over it. The aerial roots looked frail and brittle. The tree looked sick. Indira went into the old hut she had passed and called out to the lady who lived there. Soon an old, bent woman came out. She recognized Indira and exclaimed, “My dear child, how beautiful you have grown up to be! Pray child, why do you lessen your beauty by looking so forlorn? Indira looked at the lady and asked, “What has happened to that dear old banyan tree?”
“Is that the source of your sadness? Well, nothing can be done for it now, because soon it is going to die. It has got this rare disease due to which it requires lots of water. I thought the rains would come and relieve it of the disease, but the black clouds aren’t signaling their arrival,” said the old woman.
Indira’s eyes shone with a new resolve and she said,’ I must do whatever I can for that tree.” She went back to her own house, took a huge bucket and drew water out of the well. Actually, the well had very little water but now she was past caring. ‘ Might as well do some good work before the family is ruined’ she thought. She watered the tree religiously for a week and the tree slowly started showing signs of recovering.

****************

A few more days had passed and Indira’s parents were having a sad conversation. “ Lalita, I shall have to give this land to the moneylender,” said Venkatesh Murthy.
“ But isn’t there anything we can do?”
“ No my dear, perhaps the Parmatma wished this to happen. But that’s not all. I have another worry.”
“ Why, what is it?”
“ Have you noticed Indira lately? In spite of all this, she is certainly not looking sad. I hope this is not any new kind of madness.” Saying so he went to the window and looked out. His eyes went wide and he gasped, “Lalita, look………”

****************

A few rooms away, Indira was also looking out of her window. The clouds had turned black. She stood over there in pleasant anticipation, when sure enough, thin sheets of rain fell from the skies and tapped at her windowpane gently. A smile played at her lips, a relieved smile as her belief that ‘ every thing you do comes back to you' strengthened.
-the hobbit

@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@@

COMPARISON BETWEEN THE LORD OF THE RINGS(LOR) AND HARRY POTTER(HP).
If i would want to explain LOR in one sentence then i would say that this story is about a bunch of people who undergo great danger to steal an unremarkable ring and then again go through great danger to destroy it. But it would be a great injustice to do so.To all the people who have not read LOR i would suggest them to read 'The Hobbit' by the same author and then read LOR.
Harry Potter ,the boy who lived is the fascinating tale of the classic all time favourite of the wronged and vulnerable hero with the classic all time favourite hated and feared villain making this story a classic all time favourite saga.
To start with, i would say that what works LOR is the thrilling,nail-biting war sequences,the old-worldish,royal language and the superbly portrayed change of Frodo (the hero) from an insecure,overwhelmed boy to a resolute and brave man. The author's imagination seems limitless as he includes the traditional dwarves,elves,goblins with his own inventions like orcs,hobbits,tree beard,nasguls etc .
What wrks for HP is the the fascinating narrative style that takes the reader through all the emotions of laughter,happiness,tension,sadness,anger,relief,fear and many more.I always have a knot in my stomach as the end nears.Its speciality is that it can be read how many ever times one wants to read.
But now for the bad.LOR has not been edited as well as HP and contains unnecessary details.HP has a lot of uncontrolled magic while the magic in LOR is within limits.One finds mistakes in HP,for eg. if veritaserum is such a great truth potion then why isnt it used in all the wizengamot sessions?If felixis felicas is a goodluck potion then why doesnt Lord Voldemort (ya,you gotta respect him) use it every time? LOR is too long for no reason.It has more poems than required and is a bit too discriptive. While Lord Voldemort is described in great detail,Sauron(the villain in LOR) feels a bit incomplete.Sam,Frodo's sidekick seems a bit too devoted while Harry's sidekicks'ron and hermoine have the necessary human elements.LOR is more exciting than HP.LOR doesnt dissapoint when reaches its climax.
So why is HP more popular tan LOR??????????? It must be because Harry's world seems more real than Frodo's.The degree of attachment to Harry is more.(i wont be able to bear it if Harry dies in the 7th book).His problems and thoughts are similar to that of millions of teenagers.
Its really difficult to say which is better (though i have a small soft corner for LOR) and i think it will be wrong to voice one's verdict until the 7th book is published.

A SMILE !!!!!!!!!!!!

An expression that lightens up the mood,
that makes people cheerful,
that spreads happiness everywhere,
just a simple smile,simply beautiful.

Frown and be a pessimist,
the world is all dry and dreary,
the problems seem to magnify,
and the road ahead seems scary.

Smile and be an optimist,
eager for every new day,
twists and turns are nothing,
simply go smiling all the way!

A smile just transforms the face!
brings in fresh hope,
breaks the chain of dark despair,
gives a man, strenght to cope.

So smile and smile whenever you can,
Precious seconds are lost in sighing,
in this world of good and bad,
a smile will keep you striving.
- the hobbit