CBSE Affiliation No. 1031254 Mandatory Public DisclosureJhalaria Campus North Campus
CBSE Affiliation No. 1031254

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!”

Darkness is Rising


By Manasv Nandeshwar, Class IX C

Call it greenhouse effect of whatever,
It just doesn’t rain like it used to.
That sparkle in the eyes,
Those faces with smiles,
Those mouth-watering fries,
Where is all that?
Is this a phase of life?
Well, Shakespeare missed it in his lines.
What has happened to us, our face?
Is it just another side effect of the race?
What is wrong with us?
“Oh Almighty! Oh! Guide your children.
Darkness is rising, show us the path.”
Says I, even though I know the reply,
“Oh my child, dear child, you know
Where the darkness lies!”
Yes, in my heart, in my brain, in my body, my soul…
Darkness is just a devil,
Risen from the bad and the evil,
Don’t worry my friend, he is inside temporary…
Just increase the rent,
And you won’t know when it fled,
I used to like standing in the rain,
So that no one can see me crying,
But now? Nothing. My tears are drying, my tears are drying.

Star Spangled Samosa: the Story of How an American Boy goes Indian (Part 2)

By Anshay Saboo, Class VII A 


(Part 2)
                Time flew by until the first day of school in India. Two things about schools here. First, we have an extremely strict school uniforms. Apart from uniform pants and shirt, we have uniform socks, shoes, and backpacks. Second, we have no cubbies. We have to bring all of our books and notebooks to school every day! It was terrible! [Stop laughing Dan. It’s worse than it sounds].
                Fifth grade here was not what I had expected. If I were back in the US I would be studying about vacuoles and xylems, whatever those are. [Okay, Dan; A part of a cell and a tube used to transport water; thanks for the science lesson; why don’t we do History next?]. When I came here the first thing we studied was the life cycle of a plant and the parts of a seed. I think I remember doing that lesson in first grade.
                So anyway, when I first walked into the school, my first thought was – look at the size of this school. Including the building and grass fields, this school was easily four times as big as my school back home. When I first came here, I was going into the fifth grade. The second I walked into my classroom, thirty-five kids swarmed around me, welcoming me and peppering (more like bombarding) me with questions. My teachers were all really nice to me, although Indian class [FINE Dan; HINDI Class; Gosh, I don’t think I’m going to survive this] was kind of a roadblock.
                For the first few periods, I was as curious as… [Come on Dan, help me! What’s curious? Uh… Oh! Wait – I got it! I was as curious as George! Haven’t you seen Curious George? Wow, Dan. Sometimes I think that you’ve never experienced being a kid]. I was as curious as George about what was going on in the class. But then I started getting the hang of Hindi [See, Dan. I can learn!] and was able to participate in the classes.
                As it turns out, I’m not alone. Around halfway through the fifth grade I met Ayush Baweja, another kid who came from the United States of America. He was actually an Easterner [NEW YORK! Jeez, Dan; Don’t you know slang?] and had this STUPID idea that Westerners [Yes, Dan; like me] always say ‘howdy.’ Apparently he thinks of us like cowboys (The Wild, Wild, West? Get it?)
                 It was hardest to adapt to the food. For lunch at school in the US of A, we could choose between a variety of juices, sandwiches, salads, and snacks including pizza and pasta and burgers and hot dogs and macaroni for our lunch. Here, all we get is rice and dal [Don’t look at me like that, Dan. It means lentils] and roti and sabji [That means Indian bread with cooked vegetables]. The only choice we have is to either eat it or eat it [I’m serious, Dan. We don’t even get an option to beat it. Get it? Man, you have no sense of humor.].
                Somehow, I made it through the fifth grade and passed my exams with flying colors [I’ll show you my report card, Dan. Then you can laugh at my A+’s]. Now I was onto the sixth grade. I was in middle school.
                In the senior wing, we could play on the field after lunch and play inside during short break. In short, we had more freedom. We started getting these new handouts called E2sheets [It stands for ‘exhaustive exercises’, Dan.] There is one E2 for every chapter we do in almost all subjects. The basic rule is that after we finish the chapter in school, we get the E2 and a deadline for which we have to submit the notebook.        
                And then there’s the third language option. We have to choose to study French or Sanskrit as part of our grade. I guess you can figure out what I chose. [Wow, Dan! You figured it out! There’s a big chance that a person who barely knows Hindi will choose Sanskrit! Sometimes I regret hiring you, Dan.] French actually was very fun. Our teacher was really nice and I already had a head start from French tutoring in the States [YES, I mean the United States, Dan. How much did you get in Geography?].
                Day by day, I battled my way through the sixth grade and eventually won the war. Seventh grade, here comes the American.
                Seventh grade was around 90% like the sixth grade (No need for in-depth descriptions here). The only differences were the teachers and lessons we studied. Also, I was dealing with a whole new batch of classmates. Until now, my class had the same children in it. Now over half of my former classmates were switched out and new ones were brought in.
                Now I’m around halfway through the seventh grade. There’s not much more to record now, so I’m stopping this recording. But I guarantee you; this story is FAR from done.

Star Spangled Samosa: the Story of How an American Boy goes Indian (Part 1)

By Anshay Saboo, Class VII A

[Part 1]
Letter from the Author –

Dear Reader

This is the recorded story of Anshay Saboo, transcribed onto paper for you to read. I, the agent, have included all of his recorded comments in this copy. I have used [ ] to mark these comments. But be careful, text in () parenthesis are actually part of the recording – they are not comments.  I have also written ‘– reply – ‘to show the time when I am responding to him or pointing out mistakes. I have not included what I was saying to him, for my own sake. There may be many spelling and grammar errors as this is coming from a child. Please do not mind these. I have already corrected the major mistakes.

This is extremely classified and making this copy available to you has been an extreme risk. My client would go nuts if he found out that this was being sent to someone. Please go through it with care. He will surprise you.

Best,

Dan Real
                                ———————————————————————————
                I don’t think it’s possible to be extremely depressed on the last day of school. Well, apparently I was wrong. As I sat in the backseat of a Super Shuttle, I tried to soak in the last sights of the place I had called home for ten years. I was depressed because we were moving halfway across the world for no apparent reason [Okay, Dan; Maybe it had something to do with business and family]. To make a long story short, we were moving from the US of A to the I-N-D-I-A – from Uncle Sam to Mahatma Gandhi – from America to India.
                The news was a bolt from the blue. One day I was walking home from Alderwood Basics Plus School with my buddies, and when I got home, I found out about how we were supposedly moving to Indore, India from Irvine, California. I had the biggest shock a ten-year-old kid could ever have. I had a heart attack and had to be carried off to the hospital where I went into a coma for a week and when I awoke, I needed a brain transplant and had to be brainwashed of the memory of the news. [Be quiet, Dan! I want to make this thing more dramatic!].
                Life was great in Irvine, California. I actually LIKED school there. We could wear anything we wanted there [Yes, Dan; That includes tuxedos, swimsuits, pajamas, body blankies, and baby slings; out here we can’t get away with a missing belt.] We had two twenty minute breaks and one forty – minute lunch period. I had plenty of friends and had a lot of fun classes to go to. Also, I’ve been studying American history for six academic years. What was I going to do when we started studying about Jawhairlal Naeru [Okay, Dan; Jawaharlal Nehru; Happy?] I didn’t even know how to speak, read, or write Indian![Fine, Dan; HIindi, not Indian]
                Back to the present. On our way to the airport, I tried to absorb all of the last parts of the States. I was about to cry looking out at the skyline of Los Angeles International Airport (LAX). I looked out until it was time to board. Now it was time to go London-Bombay-Indore.  
                We landed in India around 30 hours after we left. The first thing that came to my mind when I landed in India was –What a place! Indore (the city I landed in) was a city filled with stray animals and dust. There were almost no roadside plants or greenery. Almost all of the roads here were made of dust or stone. Haven’t they heard of tar here?
                Adapting to India was harder than expected [Stop snickering Dan; I have HIGH expectations]. The climate was the hardest. The nights are extremely hot in summer. I couldn’t sleep properly for the first month or so. But then I discovered air conditioners and the problem was solved [Shut up, Dan! Some agent you turned out to be! Do you know how much I’m paying you for this? – reply – So what if it’s only a dollar? I can take it away too!] 

[Click here to read Part 2]

Celebrate Each Moment

By Hiya Aidasani, Class VI B

There are 365 days in a year and every year has twelve months, 24 hours are there in a day, every week has 7 days. Every day, every moment passes and soon one reaches the end of another year. But the end of a year brings us to a new goal named The New Year. The moment we hear about the new year arriving, we are filled with excitement about the goals that we have to achieve in that year. We prepare its outline and then we make efforts in that direction.

When we bless each other with our wishes on New Year, does that actually attract bliss in our life? Yes, indeed, if we have wished someone deeply from our heart, it does bring peace and happiness in our lives and in our heart. The one whom we wished also feels happiness.

When this goodness overflows, it fills each moment of our life, each day, every week, every month, 365 days and thus the entire year. When we wake up every morning, it will be a New Year for us.