Shishukunj

My Bicycle

Raj Jhatia, Class X B

Last week, I went to the market on my bicycle to buy some books. I placed my bicycle outside the shop and went inside. I bought the books I needed and came out of the shop, but… I was horrified to see that my bicycle wasn’t there.

I enquired of people near the shop but it was of no use. No one knew anything about it. I searched everywhere near the shop but couldn’t find it. I was really upset. The bicycle was a gift from my father. I wanted to cry.

I went home after searching for some more time. When I reached home, I was astonished to see my bicycle parked where it usually is. When I entered the house, my brother started scolding me for leaving my bicycle unattended and unlocked. He had brought it home, thinking I had carelessly left it there. I was so relieved. I didn’t know whether to thank my brother or fight with him for once again taking something from me without informing me.

An Amusing Blunder

Vedant Neema, Class X G

Last week, I went to the market on my bicycle to buy some books. I placed my bicycle outside the shop and went in. It took me a while to search for the book I wanted. When I came out, I was shocked to see a man taking my bicycle away. I ran after him and even shouted at the top of my voice asking him to stop. He ignored me and sped away, as fast as he could.

I called my father right away and we went to the nearest police station. I even called the bookstore manager to check the CCTV footage for any evidence. I desperately wanted the thief to be caught and castigated. He had stolen a precious gift. When we were about the lodge the complaint, I received a call from the bookstore manager.

After what he conveyed, I felt so stupid about what I had done in haste. I was informed that my bicycle was still at the bookstore and the person I was chasing had the same bicycle as mine. I realized the blunder I had committed and the trouble I gave to all involved. I laughed with shame and went back with a learning – sometimes what and how you see something may still be untrue.

Dealing with Death

Gauransh Sharma, Class X G

Last week, I went to the market on my bicycle to buy some books. I placed my bicycle outside the shop which was situated at one of the oldest and most abandoned places of the city, perfect for a broody loner like me. It was a freezing evening in the middle of December. The complete darkness was only broken occasionally by the little man-made bonfires near the beggars sleeping on the cold barren pavement. The chilly wind was howling and therefore I entered the shop with my collars up and my jacket tightly sealed. I was welcomed by the beautiful note of the wind chime and the bibliopole who was standing at the counter with a friendly smile. He invited me towards the bookshelves which I often visited but today, I don’t know why, I moved towards the ‘L’ section.

I found the books neatly arranged except one book that looked dusty. I picked it up and patted it to remove the dust from the jacket. I read the title. ‘Grief Observed’ by C S Lewis. It was the blurb that brought tears of anger and grief. It read ‘deals with death’.

Honestly, I had never imagined I would be opening this leaf from the book of my life ever again. It was presumably buried deep beneath the thick misty veils of what everybody called memory. But there are some incidents that, at the sudden mention of certain words, shoot back as kaleidoscopes right in front of your eyes and the word ‘death’ has the same relation with me.

Three years ago, I was just eleven and never bothered much about my parents, my home, my school or the ice cream man at the gate. But June 03, 2015 (8:46 am) changed all of that as the first monsoon showers brought the muddy news of my mother’s death. I knew it was something bad but wasn’t aware of what it meant until I read her diary.

She had written ‘I leave my son with the most precious thing he needs. I have hidden it in his almirah somewhere in the bottom drawer’. I searched my almirah and found a box of chocolates, a bunch of straw, a toy heart and a letter. The letter read

‘Box of chocolates – be sweet to your enemy

Bunch of straw – make a lot of friends

Toy heart – Mom’

That moment shook me and I still curse death for that. I threw the book in a corner and ran towards the door. I rode my bicycle in the darkness and didn’t let the chilly wind blow my tears because I did need them now.

Ali Brothers

Ronit Banerjee, Class X B

The summer holidays had just begun and Shourya was already getting bored. He decided to change that. His solution was not the temporary escape of playing cricket.

His inspiration came from his brother. You see, Dhananjay, Shourya’s brother flourished as the local artistic Messiah.

Selling his art to the local boutique, Dhananjay was adored by all. Yet his fame, was his disgrace. Both brothers shared the same impractical view of the world. Why was fame a disgrace? The answer lies in the five-year-old newspaper with a critic’s remark. ‘Crowd Pleasar’, it said. What was his fault if he was taught art by a teacher and not emotions?

Shourya, inspired by his brother, told his brother about his sudden urge to paint. Dhananjay brought him a canvas and beginners’ acrylic paint. Dhananjay’s meticulous right hand and Shourya’s limitless left brain worked as a charm. The artistic epitomy they both reached was sent to the Telegraph and was duly appreciated. The box read, “A marvelous eye-candy by the Ali Brothers!”

Truly, days like those come rare.

The Spy

Soumya Tiwari, Class X B

Stephen walked fast. It was getting dark. He then realized that he had lost his way, yet again. Oh! It was so difficult to remember the way in the woods!

His heart was racing. He increased his speed, moving briskly, trying to hear for the stream flowing. He finally heard it, the soft chatter of the stream as it rolled down the rocky land. Stephen followed the noise and found the way. He walked slowly now, his ears cocked to hear footsteps if anyone was following him.

Stephen was a spy. He had been betrayed by his own companion. And now, the soldiers were following him. They wanted to kill him, of course! He had the ‘Top Secret File’ with him.

‘Crack’.

Stephen stopped. Someone was running towards him. Stephen quickly pulled out a blade from his shoe and threw it towards the man. He fell and moved no more. Stephen pressed the dial of his watch and a gun appeared. He really did not want to use it. But then, it was the demand of the circumstances. He aimed the gun at the other two soldiers who were advancing towards him, killing them. The others ran away. Stephen reached home safely and provided his government with the file. What was in there, and how he retrieved it, is another story.

The Mad Man

Akshat Tiwari, Class X B

Stephen walked fast. It was getting dark. He then realized that he had lost his way. He had no option but to look for a place to spend the night. But there was not a single human in sight. He shivered at the thought of spending the night alone in the jungle.

His thoughts were interrupted by a flicker of light at a distance. He moved closer and saw mad Bhuria. The villagers told scary stories about him and never went near him. Suddenly, it started raining heavily. Stephen, without pausing to think about the consequences of his action, went into mad Bhuria’s hut. He grew terrified as mad Bhuria followed him into the hut.

They stood facing each other. Mad Bhuria smiled at him and said, ‘Don’t be afraid. You can spend the night here with me. You will be safe.’

Bhuria offered Stephen milk and bread which he accepted readily. They spent the night talking and Stephen learnt the tragic story of Bhuria. He understood how the villagers had formed misconceptions about this harmless man.

The next morning, as he walked back towards his village, Stephen thought that it was the villagers who were crazy to think of Bhuria as a mad man because he wore old and tattered clothes.

We live in a world where appearances are the glasses through which others perceive us, he thought as he tried to save his clothes from the mud on the ground.

Knowing Too Much

Riddhi Singhania, Class XI D

Knowing ‘too much’ is never ‘too much’.

Until it’s the stars that you can touch.

The world is full of surprises

And discoveries play peek-a-boo

You are never ‘too knowledgeable’

Even if you’ve read a whole library through.

The world is full of people

Who pester the whole day,

They think they know ‘too much’

But all they do is to say.

Be a good person

Keep rooted to the ground.

‘Cause if you know ‘too much’

Then there is much more for you to learn.

Test of the Best

Amber Raghuwanshi, Class X A

Woody handed over his test paper to his mother, anxiously waiting for her to react. Woody was not a very bright student. Nine out of ten tests he would fail and in the tenth he would fail miserably.

But not this time. He had studied day and night for the test and was confident that he would score decent marks. When he got the sheet in class, he could hardly believe his eyes. He had got full marks! No student in class had ever got full marks in that subject. His teacher called him in front of the class and everybody applauded. But something very strange happened. Woody stopped everyone. When he had looked inside, he had realized that it was not his paper. The roll numbers had got mixed up. His sheet got exchanged with the test sheet of another student. The teacher made the correction, the other student was applauded and his classmates laughed at Woody.

What hurt him more was to see tears in his mother’s eyes. He asked her, “Mom, did I do wrong in telling everyone? Why are you crying?” His mother hugged him and said, “No my son, these are tears of joy and pride. More than the marks, your behaviour has shown that I’ve brought you up well.”

The Test Paper

Nandini Bohra, Class X E

Woody handed over his test paper to his mother, anxiously waiting for her to react. It was a class test of English, in which the students were required to write a story on a topic given to them.

Woody was never great at story writing but this time he had done a tremendous job. He scored a perfect ten-on-ten!

After his mother finished reading his story, she hugged Woody. Woody could see tears rolling down his mother’s cheeks. He consoled her and said, “Don’t cry, mumma. Everything is alright now.” His mother calmed herself and smiled.

What happened was that, the topic for the story Woody had to write was ‘An Accident’. Woody had sat staring at the paper for a long while. He had then mustered up courage to write about when he was just two years old and news had arrived that his father had met with a fatal accident. What had his mother not done to never let him feel the absence of his father!

When Woody’s teacher read the story, she was touched. That day, Woody and his mother did not speak to each other. They were lost in the past somewhere.

Teeth

Riddhi Singhania, Class XI D

Black, yellow or shining white

Teeth of every shape and size.

A toddler with small milk teeth smiles

Which fall off later in the childhood times.

Then grows the strong metal-like teeth

Which adorn a boy or a girl like a friend indeed.

Whether sweet, sour or spicy food

The incisors and molars work with relishing mood.

Keep your teeth safe from the folly of sugar, candies and sweatmeat,

Or else they’ll be false teeth that you’ll greet.

Author: shish_admin