Shishukunj

Omen

Ronit Banerjee, Class IX B

29th February, a day that I can never forget, but as per the laws of nature it haunts its recurring memories back in my heart.

It was the day when my grandparents were involved in a horrific car accident, which managed to take the innocent soul of my grandfather, and shattered it to bloody and maroon pieces. The train of thoughts about this day, is one I wish I had the power to delay, but as the helplessness kicks in, the lush and silent forest of experiences, turns into a raging forest fire of memories.

The loss for my grandmother is one that I cannot compare my loss to. I could redeem memories, but all she could do, was to raise her cheekbones to smile, but actually with the intention to not allow the tears in her eyes to slide and blister her mourning face. She told me that she had stitched a handkerchief for him, which he showcased in his flawless tuxedo, even if childish it may seem. After the crash, in order to stop the pouring crimson stream out of his chest, she used the same handkerchief. But after an hour of no response, alone in a dark forest road, the fearful woman stopped trying and accepted crying instead, near the breathless lungs of her husband.

After the sun rose above, the authorities showed up. And respectfully did the needful for that cripple, who was my fountain of youth and joy. The police cleared up the scene, which included the handkerchief too.

We were informed that the police needed the piece of cloth for examination. But after two months, they showed up on the porch. The inspector told in a stern voice, “We are here to return the belongings to Mrs. Swati”, although I could clearly hear a mumble, an aching evidence to the numerous times I irritated them at the police station in hopes of retrieving that piece of cloth. I still remember it was a pleasant Sunday morning, with a cheerful and adorable memory in the form of a cloth. I was excited, I could hardly wait to break the news to my grandmother, to show it again to her, I left the house to take the handkerchief from the policeman. But there awaited a shock.

It still possessed the stains of the blood of the man whose warmth I felt even in the veil of scars of my grandmother. So I cleaned it, washed the blood off, certainly the way I wish I could wash my pains. And she was so happy, when she caressed the cloth, which once was a possession of her mate.

It may be a bouquet of memories with an addicting scent for my grandmother, but it will remain a haunting omen of the devil for me.

Special

Sneha Jain, Class X F

I tried calling him, but he didn’t pick up. Resignedly, I trailed behind Arthur as he walked across the platform, absorbing every detail he could.

‘Indian railway stations are amazing’, he commented, staring ahead at nothing in particular, ‘terribly humid and a little dirty, but nevertheless, amazing.’

Arthur was my friend and colleague. When I had mentioned that I was visiting my parents in my homeland, he had expressed his desire to accompany me. Indian had always fascinated him, and so there we were.

‘Really? What’s so great here?’

While clicking photos of the tracks, he replied, ‘I don’t really know myself. The chirping of crickets? We never get to hear that back in Manchester. And this atmosphere – it’s so bubbly and bright.’

‘That’s just the travelling effect. Everybody likes the entire world, except the place they live. There’s nothing special here, trust me.’

‘True,’ he replied with a wry grin, ‘but you’re wrong. This place – every place is special.’

I took a seat on a bench and so did he. ‘Really? How so?’

‘Through this railway station, thousands of people travel, do business, meet loved ones. Just think, how can this place not be special?’

‘That applies to almost every place.’

‘And therefore,’ he said, ‘every place is special. Heck, we are beings made of carbon – very difficult to find free in the universe – making new discoveries and surviving regardless of the probability that we shouldn’t. Everything, everybody, is special.’

And to this day, I can see him smile and say that line worthy of belonging to a philosopher, teaching me a great lesson of life at a remote railway station.

Then of course, he got up and tripped over his shoelaces, but maybe it was his blush after that, that made the line so much more human.

My Mind

Mansi Choudhary, Class XI

My mind is a monkey

All day, it orders me to play

People ask me, ‘Hey!

Don’t you have any work for today?’

But my mind is a monkey

Keeps twerking all the way.

My mind is a bee

Keeps buzzing all the time

I keep roaming on all different ways

As if they’re mine.

My mind is a frog

It loves staying in the misty fog

It wants to jump into the lake

And never wants to wake.

My mind is a butterfly

It flutters all day

It can’t manage on a single flower

It wants the whole world to play.

From a Dream to Reality

Soumya Tiwari, Class IX B

It was a pleasant Sunday morning and I was as excited as could be. I could not wait to break the news to my grandmother. I left the house and drove to my grandmother’s place. I could hardly contain my excitement. I got out of the car and opened the gate. I remembered how we had started it: my grandmother and I used to sit together after school and dream about a city where children did not think of studies as a burden, where everything could be easily understood by everyone. And now….

‘Saira, is that you?’ my grandmother’s soft voice broke the chain of my thoughts. ‘Yes grandma, it’s me!’ I answered and walked towards her. There she was, sitting on the couch, poring over a book.

‘Grandma, do you remember, when I was a kid, we used to sit together and think about new ways of schooling?’

‘Yes dear, they were such beautiful days,’ she said, remembering our talks which used to continue for hours.

‘Grandma, I have made our dream come true,’ I said, in a serious tone.

There was a shocked silence. My grandma sat there, motionless, still unable to believe it.

‘Come on, I can’t wait to show it to you!’ I said.

Grandma got up and we drove to the beach, there we got into a traditional boat and were ferried across the water, to an island. My grandmother was playing with the sea water by the time we reached there. ‘There it is’, I said.

She looked up. Lying ahead was one of the most beautiful islands in the sea. We landed on the shore and got off the boat. We were the first to step on that island after it was completed.

I took my grandma inside. A spectrum of flowers greeted us. Signboards pointed at them, telling what species they were. A little ahead was a roller coaster ride. My grandmother and I got into it and rushed upwards. We stopped at various places and a speaker blared, telling us about the different layers of the atmosphere. My grandmother was extremely excited. We then went into a cave and saw three entrances labeled – History of India, India’s Architecture and Foreign Revolutions. We visited each of the entrances. In there were animations, models and games for making 3D models of important places. Next we visited a building and we were given markers and dusters. Three doors representing three levels opened. We went into the first level and were shown visual representation of math formulae. After we saw it, a portal opened and we entered into a room full of white boards. We solved sums on them. Still my grandmother did not speak. I took her to the building where we saw chemical experiments, a garden where we learnt about plants and experienced how scientists constructed theories. There were rooms full of art supplies and instruments.

When we had completed the tour, my grandma finally spoke, with tears in her eyes.

“It was the most beautiful day of my life, dear. I hope it isn’t a dream!”

After years of hard work in silence, these words were the best reward I could get.

A Day Out in the Forest

Selvi Kataria, Class XI E

One fine day

On my bed I lay

Gazing at the deep blue sky

Thinking of the mountains high

Floated across my mind some scenes

About life in the forest’s greens

Oh! Life is so very carefree

In the care of the gigantic tree

Covered in leaves, a tribal kid

To the old farmland, goodbye he bid

I couldn’t’ tell what they said

Maybe to get me some bread

Or ‘You disturbed our nap’

Or ‘Just kill her!’ perhaps

Next were children with untidy hair

Crossing a river with utmost care

Taking careful steps on the strong branch

To reach across to the cattle ranch

Near a pond was a group of ten

Among whom, two resembled fishermen

Forever seemed to extend their wai

Unless a fish got attracted to their bait

No grief of school or office work

The relief showed in their relaxed smirk

A voice called out ‘Stop daydreaming, sweetheart!’

It was my mom and I woke up with a start.

Childhood – The Best Time

Himanshu Agrawal, Class XI

Don’t you remember those days when all of us were the most stress-free persons on this planet? All of us wished that we never become grownups. We’ll not have to worry about jobs, family, etc.

In my opinion, childhood is the best phase of a person’s life. It’s the time when we believe ourselves to be the happiest and luckiest. I still remember those games in which we transformed ourselves into trains, running through the streets; breaking the window of our neighbours while playing cricket; losing track of time while playing football… We used to spend our time playing, eating, running, shouting. It was the time when we had no worries about starting a multi-national or applying for a job in one of those.

Unfortunately, in today’s world, this ‘children’s best time’ is missing. We no more hear the shouts of children in the open fields or parks. Most of them are in their homes alone with gadgets or at tuitions.

I would just say that this more wonderful phase of our life should be enjoyed to its fullest or else we will regret!

My Pet

Naqiya Barnagarwala, Class VII B

I remember the day I got my pet

From then I was never scared to sleep in my bed.

Now that I’ve even given a name to him,

It’s impossible to imagine life without him.

I love to watch him with coffee and tea,

Living with him has become my daily routine.

He loves to walk in the sun’s rays

With him I love to play.

Without him I cannot imagine a day.

With him joy I get,

I just love my pet!

Sisterhood

Anushka Sharma, Class VII B

It’s a wonderful thing you must know,

The best part of life you can’t show.

You’re the luckiest person on earth if you have a sister for a kin,

She’ll stop you from performing any kind of sin.

You’ll not understand this bond quite well,

It’s just like a mysterious shell.

Your sister grows up to become your best friend,

Even though you think it’s not a popular trend.

She will be silly and shall at times irritate you,

Yet, you’ll be sure that she will come to help you, out of the blue.

This love is great,

You’ll just have to treat her like a mate.

Cloud Talk

Ayush Baweja, Class IX G

The thunder shakes me to the bone

Below me sits a man alone,

In no hurry, the man is,

No thoughts of others, in the joy of his.

Cars fleet past,

Like ships of mast,

Waiting for when the rain,

Will stop at last.

I hear birds chirping,

Hidden in disguise,

I feel the smell of the earth,

Slowly rise.

In the sounds,

Voices drown

Never to be heard,

Never to be found.

Wispy air surrounds me

Rain falls soft on the trees

The sun glistens through the dew.

Seven colors through the sky,

The thunder, no longer does it cry,

Quietly, the winds begin to die,

And slowly the Earth starts to dry.

Author: shish_admin