Shishukunj

With Love From Me To You

By Akshina Bhargava, Class XII A

Sitting amidst the innumerable emotions of the world – hope, despair, love, joy, fear and anxiety, I was at utmost peace. Even the cool breeze in the hospital could not diminish the warmth I felt in my heart. Here, to bless my granddaughter on her 18^thbirthday I had finally found a reason for my existence.

Thoughts of the sorrowful past engulfed me as I sat outside the ICU. The very same ICU where the love of my life, had counted her last breaths years ago. Walking out of the hospital, I had waited for the lights to turn green. Even the screeching and honking of the cars could not help me escape my state of despair till a palm the size of a half grown pea pod had clutched my hand tightly. I could distinctly hear my baby boy whispering, “Will you leave me too?” I had replied in the negative. He had hugged me tightly and with tears streaming down, he had sobbed, “Nor will I papa, nor will I.”

Twenty five years later, the same ICU had witnessed me as a patient of paraplegia. Each day was swallowing a part of me. I was elated when I learnt that I was being discharged. As the nurse got the wheelchair, my son waved her off and picked me in his arms and carried me into the car.

My heart swelled with pride! As the door opened, freedom welcomed me with a shower of raindrops. Oh, how I missed my legs!

Our SUV sped like a racehorse. I felt at ease. Suddenly, we halted in front of the train station. Before I could express my inquisitiveness to my son, he picked me up and dumped me on the lower berth of the nearest waiting train.

I was dumbfounded as realization dawned upon me. He had left…

My heart cried but no words came out. I fumbled, stuttered in utter shock. What had I done to deserve this? It would have been better if my heart had got paralysed instead of my legs.

I was distracted by the squeaky chirp of a little angel, entering the compartment and simultaneously my broken heart, “Can I sit with you?” she asked and planted herself on my lap before I could react. Her constant chattering made me forget all my troubles till a voice intruded, “Ticket please.” Again the tension mounted within me and I broke down.

To my surprise, the father of the young girl, very generously took out his wallet and paid for me. I opened my mouth but I was cut off, “You don’t need to thank me sir, for you are the age of my father, and for me just the same.”

A conversation bloomed. I narrated my heart breaking truth to him, “Why don’t you stay with us?” he interrupted while I was playing peek-a-boo with the angel.

“Pa-rdon me?”

“Yes, you should stay with us. My family would be lucky to have you in.”

“Have me in? Lucky? Why would anybody want a rugged and torn piece of furniture in their house?”

But, where was I to go? I wasn’t even capable of jumping off a building. I was a waste to the world, the unwanted disgraceful pest to my son. I had no choice. I agreed to go to his house.

To my surprise, a wide smile welcomed me as I entered their house, no… our house. It was unbelievable. A decade has gone by. I was respected no less than a father. Loved, more than I deserved.

It was my princess’ birthday, she was turning 18. I couldn’t be happier. My heart was full of love, but my hands empty. For I had nothing to give her. Guilty, I remembered all her birthdays when she used to come to me and I… just lay there, on the bed with nothing to give her.

A couple of days before the big event, she collapsed.

I could hear the resonating siren of the ambulance fading with every breath I took. A cardiac failure, the doctors diagnosed. 72 hours to live. The only chance of survival was a heart transplant.

My thought process was broken by the voice of my son. Realizing it was time for my medicine, he had got a glass of water for me. The air in the waiting room had got warmer. I took the glass of water with my sweaty palms and exchanged it with an envelope.

I could see my son shaking with fear as I popped the pills in my mouth. His tired eyes were swollen with crying. They watched me with care as I blacked out.

My dearest son,

You have not only given me a dignified life, but immense love and joy. There is nothing more I can ask god for.

Today I would like to give you what we all desire the most.

The day I first met my lil angel was the very day I gave my heart to her, but today I show it to her in the truest sense.

God bless you all and bless my princess with a speedy recovery.

With love

From me to you.

वृक्ष की व्यथा

Contributed by आगम डाकोलिया, कक्षा ८ वीं D

पल पल जीवन का सृजन करते,

तीक्ष्ण ग्रीष्म में शीतल छाया धरते,

पत्र पुष्प फल से भरे लरजते,

अनगिन चिड़ियों के कलरव बसते |

हे मानव, फिर क्यों हम ही कटते?

तेरे बच्चे हमारी शाखा पर झूलते,

माई बाबा अपनी थकान मिटाते,

तेरी प्रिया के अरमान सजते,

तेरी सारी खुशियों को हम अपनाते,

हे मानव, फिर क्यों हम ही कटते?

Town and ship

Art by Rushank Jhanjaria, Class XI F

The House by the Lake

By Vyom Saraf, Class IX F

Harris needed to shift base immediately as he had been transferred to a remote village deep within the English countryside. The problem arose when he couldn’t find a house big enough to fit all his odds and ends, along with an ever increasing menagerie.

After days of continuous searching, he found his dream house. As it was a distress sale, Harris bought it for a pittance. The beautiful cottage by the wooded lake housed a family of black ducks. The interior of the house was even more beautiful.

As Harris settled in, he experienced some very peculiar happenings indeed! Whenever any local came to know that Harris owned the house by the lake, they flinched visibly and started avoiding him.

The problem started from the night of the full moon in August. The very one which is also called the Harvest moon. At midnight, Harris awoke to find himself in a small jail like structure with a low circular ceiling. How on earth was he to get out of a room without any door or window? To add to his shock, the wall of one side of the room shimmied away and opened into a cave.

It was frightfully cold as Harris moved cautiously into the cave. Harris felt as though he was exploring the caves of Northern Russia in deep winter. Suddenly, jagged stalactites and stalagmites started sprouting all over. He moved into its interior with alacrity trying to escape their sharp edges.

As he arrived at the exit of the cave, he moved out only to find himself at the very edge of the lake. Shocked, he closed his eyes and tried to regain his bearings. When he opened his eyes, he was surrounded by the fat black ducks staring at him.

All of a sudden, he heard a thundering of animals’ feet. He turned to see all his animals rampaging towards him. Naturally, all the ducks took to their wings. All of a sudden, the trees around him started swinging their aerial roots. One of the roots wrapped itself around him and threw him onto the roof of the house.

Upon landing, he felt tired, injured and shocked. As he painfully dragged himself to the edge of the roof and peered over the cornice, he saw strange things happening in the lake.

A dark inky shadow was rising from the lake. It had no light and was like a black hole, sucking all the light. The shadow started moving towards the house. It surrounded the house and started to engulf it. This sent shivers down Harris’ spine. Death seemed imminent to him.

Suddenly, from nowhere flew in his hawk and eagle carrying a wand. Using the magical wand, Harris burned the deadly shadow by torching out a magical flame. As the shadow disappeared, the surroundings and Harris seemed decidedly relieved. Harris came down to inspect the house. Everything inside seemed normal to him. All his animals were in place. He made himself a cup of hot chocolate and went to sleep.

The next day he searched the woods for evidence of events past so that he could verify ascertain what had happened. To his amazement, he did not find anything unusual except the fact that it was slightly cold in the woods. No trees swung wildly neither did any mist have its tendrils curling about. All seemed calm and normal.

The Christmas Eve…

By Asmi Chelawat, Class VII A

The eve of the Almighty,

The time for a party,

Is approaching ner,

Christmas is here.

The social gatherings of all,

With some gifts and dolls,

Under the lighted X-Mas tree,

You’re surely in for a treat.

Apples, plums and some berries,

Icecreams, candies and some flurries,

With champagne and wine,

It’s dinner time.

Leaving the house for a church visit,

Praying to God for a healthy life,

Asking for happiness,

Scaring away all sadness.

On my way I turn away,

I head towards the garden’s way.

To see the floating delight of light,

Anyone would love to see at night.

Now I return home again,

To a cozy sleep’s gain,

Waiting, for Santa’s blessing,

Who is in read and white dressing.

Morning I got up to see on my side,

A beautiful story book beside.

This was my routine,

On the lovely Christmas eve.

A small incident

By Vartika Saraswat, Class IX E

Pooja was coming out of her history class. She saw Ms. Mary in the corridor. Suddenly, two boys rushed in and asked Ms. Mary to come to the playground as fast as she could, something had gone wrong. Pooja also followed them to find out what had happened.

When Pooja reached the playground, she noticed Ms. Mary and some other students looking very upset. One of the students had tears in her eyes. Pooja asked one of the boys standing there what had happened. But he was also as clueless as Pooja.

Soon, the principal Mr. Shankar also arrived at the scene. The boys who had called Ms. Mary told Mr. Shankar that a squirrel had been hit by the ball while the boys were playing football and it had died. Mr. Shankar scolded the boys saying that it was just a small incident and that there was no need to create such confusion over a silly matter.

When Pooja heard Mr. Shankar saying this, she couldn’t help speaking up. She said, “Sir, aren’t we all a part of nature? If a speechless animal has been harmed, why shouldn’t we feel sad? Should we be sympathetic only towards human beings and not towards animals who have as much right to live as any of us?”

Mr. Shankar replied, “You are right my dear. It was a mistake. Sometimes even we adults need these reminders. Thank you.”

Pooja got some of her friends together and with the school’s support, they installed a small fountain near the playground for birds and squirrels. She decided to become an animal activist when she grows up.

Catnip

By Zahabiya Ali, Class XI C

I reached home at 2 ‘O Clock. I couldn’t contain my joy thinking that my wait of two months had ended. I got ready and went downstairs when Hussain and Fatema called me, “It’s all set, the basket is decorated and stuffed with cushions. A cup of milk is ready. We’ll be waiting,” they said. I grinned and left for my drawing class.

My art teacher is the kindest soul and an animal lover. About six months ago, a cat took shelter in her house. Though a street cat, she soon became a pet.

We sit in the workshop, behind her porch, amidst hundreds of paintings, murals, sketches, colours, brushes. The cat would each day survey the class. She would sniff every student’s chair and finally, she’d rest beside my chair.

I have a long and deep love for cats. When I was in Class III, I had bagged the second position in a bookmark making competition and I was awarded a book titled ‘Why cats do that’. That’s when I fell in love with them.

I loved her honey and black fur, I loved her greenish grey, keen, big and dark eyes, I loved the way she’d purr, I loved her steady and measured steps. Somehow I felt that she too loved me.

Once, for a few days she didn’t turn up in the class. When I inquired, my teacher told me, ‘She is a mother now. She gave birth to three kittens’ and added, ‘I won’t be able to take care of all of them. I would be happy if someone adopts them’. I jumped off the chair in excitement. I would certainly give anything to adopt one of them.

But the kittens needed to be fed by their mother. So, I had to wait for two months. I spent this time mostly in convincing my family members. To tell them how much I loved cats was to try and explain them what water tasted like. My dad did agree to an extent. He was okay if I kept the kitten for a day or two. But mom wasn’t so easy to convince.

‘Zahabiya, can you live without me?’

‘No mom. Never. Not at all.’

‘You need me all the time, don’t you?’

‘Yes, mom. You are my mother.’

‘Then how do you expect that little animal to live without its mother?’

‘I’ll be her mother’, I said. End of conversation. Everyone was against me even on the day she was supposed to be brought home. Except of course, my brother and sister, Hussain and Fatema. They too were waiting in earnest to welcome to kitten.

It was 3:50 pm. 10 minutes and the class would be over. But a problem arose. How would I take her home all by myself on a two-wheeler? This problem was solved in no time. My teacher put the kitten in a rattrap, placed it in a bag, handed it to me and offered to come home with me carrying the package in her hand.

At home, my grandma, my aunt and my mom glared at me. But when they saw the kitten, even they couldn’t help but sigh and admire her. I felt relieved. We named her Oreo. Oreo was very scared and kept searching for places to hide. She would not even sit in her basket. We made a tent for her on our balcony.

Everyone was gone, but I stayed there the whole evening to look after her. When she had had a little milk and a biscuit, I was relieved and thought that she was beginning to accept me. She fell asleep and I left with my friends. I returned home at 8 ‘O clock. As I rushed upstairs to meet Oreo, my mother stopped me, ‘Return her back, right now.’

I ran to my room, locked myself in and cried. Tears rolled down my cheeks. My face was red. It was dreadful. They banged at my door. I don’t remember what they were saying, I did not pay heed to any of it. Meanwhile, my dad found the kitten and put her in a tub. He called me and spoke to me. He asked me to accompany him to my teacher’s house with the kitten.

Oreo rushed over to its mother and they both started licking each other. Immense love. They looked at me in despair. Finally, she picked Oreo in her mouth and soon was gone. I felt helpless, shameful, guilty and lonely at the same time.

I know in my heart that if Oreo had been at my home for a few days, it might have worked. On the other hand, I felt that it wasn’t right to separate the kitten from its mother. Today, I only have memories and a photograph of her. I wish I was a catnip, so that she loved me and would have stayed with me forever.

Created by man to destroy man

By Palash Hassanandani, Class X A

What effect do nuclear weapons and bio-weapons have on the world? Yes, they can decimate millions and millions of people.They can destroy cities, states, countries, continents…. the entire world. And yet, every country seems to be proud to possess these.

Man indeed is a selfish creature. Nature has given us so much to relish and what do we give in return? Innocent children, mute animals, life-giving plants, all vulnerable to the whim of man. Even at a small scale, look at all the chemicals that are tested on harmless animals. I say, these chemicals should be tested on those who insult women and kill children.

If we have to take a stand about something, let this be the one. Legends tell us that if something can kill billions, it can also unite billions. Things which divide us can unite us.

Wabi Sabi

By Prachi Palod, Class XI C

There was something about photographs that had fascinated her. She’d go through her collection of photographs, reminiscing her childhood and teenage quite often. Maybe that was why it didn’t come off as a surprise when she finally pursued photography and became a closet photographer, shying away from sharing her work. Being labeled as her best friend, almost everyone wondered and voiced if I had seen her work. I had, of course. It came under the perks of being her best friend. She’d show me pictures of people mourning in seclusion, girls with zits and freckles, men gazing into the void. The pictures screamed for themselves, depicting emotions, a wide range of emotions.

With time, curiosity had gained the best of me. On a particularly cloudy day, we decided to go to a nearby café. It wasn’t easy, still isn’t, for me to go through a day, enduring the lousy human kind without a cup of coffee.

The manager directed us towards the table near the window. Making ourselves comfortable, I placed my order after she had, to the young waiter.

Soaking in the vintage environment that the café had wanted to create, I asked her, “Why is it that you never showcase your talents? You must already know that your photography will earn you fame and money. People are curious to know what hides inside that fancy camera of yours.” I had not meant to sound shallow and worldly, but I had never been the think-before-you-speak person. She looked out of the window, observing people and replied, “You know, back when I was a kid, my mother had written this article on Wabi Sabi.”

I gave her a blank look.

She continued, “It’s a Japanese word understood as ‘a way of living that focuses on finding beauty within the imperfections of life and accepting peacefully the natural cycle of growth and decay.’ She had gotten hold on to this word through some book. I never bothered to know which. But, I swear I tried to unravel the mystery that the word held for me, you can bet, to no avail. I never wanted to be the girl with that ugly pimple or the girl with no parents. I wanted to attain perfection, never realizing that my criteria of perfection just included people’s perspectives and judgments about me. Does that make sense?” She frowned, looking at the window intensely, as if it had all the answers to her questions.

Never bothering for a reply or confirmation, she carried on. “But people like to hang out with pretty people. One can’t ignore the fact that they’ll always befriend beautiful people. That’s the thing, yeah? Marks on a test, likes on your Facebook profile picture, brand tags in your wardrobe, these things don’t define you; what you do does. The books you read, the people you meet, the music you listen to, the goals you have, these things define you as a person. And you aren’t always going to associate with people who love the same popular song that you do. There are always going to be a handful of people who detest it. To them, your choice will be categorized as flawed. And at the same time, these people will find belongingness and peace when with each other because their choices match.

I am yet to fully comprehend this theory of mine and that’s why I click pictures, to capture the imperfect yet flawless moments, to freeze time, to hold on to love and to restore my faith in humanity. And till the time these photographs don’t convince me, how can I convince the world that imperfection is after all beautiful? That it’s okay to stand out, to be different? I want my photography to make people shed off their masks and be who they are. I want them to take receipt of mortality, to adapt to changes and I want the abstract ideas to leave an imprint on their souls.

But I am afraid if I can’t do that for myself, people won’t be able to either. We’re all cowards, aren’t we? Scared of being judged too harshly, battling loneliness and experiencing the feeling of not being pretty enough, smart enough, witty enough. I want my pictures to make people wear their flaws and opinions on their sleeves. And I don’t want to be led down.”

Her voice held passion and eyes, a glint.

It started to rain, the pellets slapping themselves against the window and gradually sliding down. It was then and there that I realized why I was friends with her. Her imperfections blended well with mine. And sometimes that’s just what someone wants to realize. To know that they are not as alone as they might think they are.