Shishukunj

Telecommunications- Let’s not forget the creative guy

Kanishka Tripathi, Class XI C

The day that Albert Einstein feared I think has finally arrived. He said, “I fear the day when technology will surpass all human interaction” and yes, the modern technology has invaded over the erstwhile orthodox practice of writing letters. You want to send your messages through the screen? Do that. But kindly do not be oblivious of the classic way of communication. It will really speak volumes about our urge to save our culture as people if we preserve the tradition that has been carried over for eons.

Whatsapp, Facebook, or any other feature of telecommunication for that matter has gained currency. Sheer convenience that it promises, is so handy and alluring that one can’t just escape the greed. Those of us who have been endorsing telecommunication as the technology of the day refute this very exhortion by reminding us that we start taking things for granted till they evolve into cliché. The biggest irony, example of the same is that humans cut trees, make paper out of it and write ’save trees’ on it. Yes, I agree that the modern ways of communication save tons of paper but what is the harm if you write a letter to the one you love once in a while? Why not do it as a tribute to the creative guy who came up with the idea of writing to distant people. Poor fellow didn’t have any gadgets to do away with his loneliness.

We are a product of our past. That’s exactly from where we’ve evolved. Respect the evolution, but go back in time. Adopt writing and not solely rely on cell-phones or computers. It’s an experience in itself. Let history resurrect. After all, a world is not a world until it has some element of past in it.

Faces – 2

By Ananya Khujneri, Class XI A

The Rain Song

By Saakshi Mittal, Class X B

(Inspired by The Song of the Rain by Khalil Gibran)

I am showered from heaven,

Remarked as God’s blessing.

God sends me on earth

Considering me as the epitome of

Faith and hope to spread

Some love

I cherish the earth and the nature

And the birds and the soil.

I’m the drink of God

I’m the ambrosia of the lords.

The soil assimilates me to

Appease its thirst

I’m its nectar.

My farewell is marked by the sun

It delights the world by

A seven coloured magic

I depart with spreading

Colours and love and joy

To the world.

I make the world more beautiful.

Priceless days!

By Arunima Rathi, Class XI-A

Alone I can say but together we can talk,

Alone I can smile but together we can laugh,

Alone I can enjoy but together we can celebrate.

This is what school life is all about!

It is the time when your ‘Camlin’ geometry box and ‘Natraj’ pencils are your prized possessions and the only holiday you took were to go to your grandparents’ or your cousin’s house. The wild imaginations, big dreams, the mixed emotions… and so much more!

It is the time when piling homework, projects and exhaustive exercises bring in nervousness, tension and sleepless nights. When the excitement of a new bag, smell of the pages of new books, new subjects, new seating plans are the most fascinating things in life. Experiences like the joy of standing first in class and the sorrow of losing a basketball match are some significant parts in the making of school life.

Life is all about learning. School life is a preparation to face the challenges that the bigger school, that is, the world is going to offer to us. School shapes our character, moulds our mental attitude and fashions the basic principles of life.

The very memories of school days certainly makes you feel nostalgic and makes you want to relive those golden years of your life!

Faces – 1

By Ananya Khujneri, Class XI A

India of My Dreams by Nandini Deodia, Class VI B

(Winning entry for the ‘India of My Dreams’ Poetry Competition)

A day will come

And soon one night

That no foreign country

Would dare to fight

There is a day

that will come again

And no Indian

will be in pain

My country would be

A messenger of peace

And all matters will

Be solved with ease

I had a dream

My country will be compared

With other nations

But it’s like chocolate cream

I know my country

Is not a coward

But is surely going

To keep moving forward

India of My Dreams by Vidhi Dev, Class VI A

(Winning entry for the ‘India of My Dreams’ Poetry Competition)

An India where every bud blooms,

An India where there is no gloom,

A place where everyone learns to forgive,

Is where I really want to live.

I have a different India in my dreams,

Where through every vicinity flows a miniature stream,

Where every house has a cornucopia of knowledge,

And where no girl is denied her right to go to college

Where students don’t misjudge austere teachers,

Where citizens don’t spoil physical features,

Where even men help in making scrumptious food,

Where children don’t disobey teachers in a bad mood

Where even taciturn people speak for themselves well,

Is the India where I want to dwell.

Eulogy for the Eloquent ‘Common Man’

By Anshul Shrivastava, Class XI F

Billions of people, running millions of errands and expressing thousands of emotions every second. But do they have anything in common? Yes. Aspiration. A lust to succeed in their errands. This lust gives birth to passion and with a little forethought, to an ‘artiste’.

Since everything is divided and categorized, let’s focus on the most common category – The Common Man. Among these billion people, 98% think of themselves as ‘common man’. R K Laxman decided to show his lust for his art. He became uncommon through the common man.

Had five brothers and a sister, born in 1921 on the soil of Karnataka, never knew one day would inspire hundreds of souls. The famous cartoonist’s most appreciated piece was ‘The Common Man’. A small blog of cartoon, which depicted the current political scenario, along with the ingredients of humour and art which always rendered it hilarious and inspiring.

Along with being a humble man, he was also a sensible socialist. Worked for the Times of India. His last day was January 26, 2015. But his work is immortal.

People come and go, generations change, trends and the world change but simple thoughts and perspectives are eternal.

Harry Potter?… Always!

By Tanvi Devpura, Class XI E

By writing Harry Potter, J.K. Rowling created nothing short of a revolution. It went on to shape an entire generation and created a fandom larger than one ever witnessed. By now there’s not much that can be said about the Harry Potter phenomenon that hasn’t already been said. Worshipped by kids, enjoyed by adults, this modern myth has become an accepted classic worldwide. Pull any copy of the series off a shelf anywhere in the world and you’re holding magic.

The magic potion Rowling herself concocts starts solidly with Harry, a remarkably unassuming kid who’s got ‘hero of mythical powers’ written all over him. He’s courageous, clever and resourceful. He’s got a special talent in the form of magical powers. He’s wounded, not just physically as evidenced by the scar on his forehead, but emotionally as well due to the death of his parents, not to mention a tortured upbringing by the uncaring relatives. Next into the potion goes a heavy dose of down-to-earth realism – the kind of stuff recognized by almost every kid in the world. The rest of the ingredients are just as high in quality, from the magical, mysterious yet somehow familiar Hogwarts to the friends that help Harry get through it all.

Rowling serves it all up with a deceptively simple and straight forward writing style that sparks a response deep in the subconscious, drawing the reader in. The truth is, this story is not just read, it is experienced and that’s the magic right there. Along with the magical fantasies and the unending thrills, Harry Potter also taught us a lot of lessons that changed our way of thinking and gave us newer, more magical loves altogether.

Here’s to one of the most influential series so many of us picked up as kids and one that will remain with us for eternity. So, no matter how the years grow on us, when we’re old and grey with a Harry Potter book in our wrinkled hands and someone asks us, “After all these years?”, the answer shall be, “Always.”!

That’s What You Are

By Ananya Agrawal, Class X B

“Mom, when are you going to be back?”

My parents were out of town for their usual business meeting and I was home alone for the first time. Usually, my brother used to be with me on such occasions. But he wasn’t here today and I missed him even more. He was not only my brother but my best friend, my protector. At times like this, we would play cards, watch movies and even try our hand at cooking. But it cannot be the same now.

My brother had died a few days back in a car accident. I was in the car with him. It was all my fault. If I had not insisted that he pick me up from the party, he would have been here with me tonight. I can never forgive myself.

“Sweetheart, calm down. We are on our way but I don’t think we will be able to reach before tomorrow morning.”

I switched off the television when the movie I was watching ended. I made my way towards the bedroom and plopped myself on the bed, falling into a deep slumber.

I suddenly felt cold air rushing past me. I extended my arm to grab my comforter but it met with something cold. I tried to open my eyes but my eyelids were really heavy. I fell asleep again.

Another gust of chilly wind woke me up. I curled into a ball and tried to sleep. But suddenly, I heard a loud crash. Bolting right up, I opened my eyes. I looked around taking in the surrounding. My vision was blurry due to the fog. Fog? I realised I was not in my room anymore. I was in a graveyard!

I had been here earlier. Memories started flooding as I recognised that my brother was buried here. But how did I reach here in the middle of the night? What am I doing here? Is that a hand on my shoulder?

I screamed at the top of my voice and ran like my life depended on it. I guess, it did. I ran to the gate of the graveyard but it was locked. I dared not go back. I turned around slowly and noticed that the fog had cleared. There was no one in sight but white tombstones.

I slowly made my way towards Rick’s tomb and the white tombstone caught my eyes ‘Rick William Richards, the most lovable son and an amazing brother. You will always live in our hearts.’ I was reading the epitaph when I heard someone whisper my name, “Riley”. I jumped at the voice. But then I realised that it was a voice that was very familiar. I knew it very well. It was the voice that I loved. The voice of my brother. I slowly turned around and saw him standing in front of me.

“Rick, I am so sorry, you had to die because of me!” Tears welled into my eyes.

“Riley, I don’t have much time so hear me out. You are not responsible for my death. It was an accident. I don’t want you to live in guilt. I died when my time came and you should not blame yourself. I love you Riles. Take care” he said as he placed something in my hand. I looked at my hand and then at him. He had turned and was walking away. I watched as his retreating figure faded in a crystal and diamond like ray. I felt dizzy and passed out.

Suddenly I woke up with a jolt. I could hear the doorbell. My parents must be back. So was it all a dream? That’s when I felt my hand balled into a fist. I slowly opened it to see a necklace with a pendant shaped like an angel. Behind the pendant was a carving that read “That’s what you are!”