An ode to Class X-D

‘Never forget that only dead fish swim with the stream.’ This line has been etched in my heart ever since I read it. I draw purpose from its portentousness. It leads me to dogged perseverance. It gives me focus-to initiate and to perpetuate and not to wait. Such is the exhilaration of these words. It reminds of a hindi poem we did in 8th. I don’t remember the title but this quotation and that poem are allegorically the same. I say allegorically and not categorically because if I know something is right, I want to do it. If I don’t want to do something, it’s not right but if it’s right and I don’t want to do it, then I don’t know what right is. Then I become a dead fish swimming with the stream. Amitav Ghosh writes in ‘the glass palace’, ‘what a man takes for himself, no one can deny him.’ I couldn’t agree more.

Who Said English is Easy


Fill this blank with
Yes or No and then read the whole sentence?


1. __ I don't have a BRAIN.


2. __I dont have SENSE.


3. __I am STUPID.
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I want to Share 'EVRYTHING' with U. Your JOYS ur SADNESS, ur HAPPY MOMENTS. Every Single SECOND OF THE DAY. Let's START with Your "BANK A/C
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I can't live without u.Without u I can't even imagine 2 exist.U r in my breath,I can't live without u even for a second.
HOLD ON...HOLD ON...
Itna khush hone ki jarurat nahin hai,I am talking about OXYGEN.

Note-savour each and every word.

Between the innocence of babyhood and the dignity of manhood we find a delightful creature called a boy. Boys come in assorted sizes, weights and colours, but all boys have the same creed. To enjoy every second of every day and to protest with noise (their only weapon) when their last minute is finished and the adult males pack them off to bed at night.
Boys are found everywhere-on top of, underneath, inside of, climbing on, swinging from, running around, or jumping to. Mothers love them, little girls hate them, older sisters and brothers tolerate them, adults ignore them and heaven protects them. A boy is truth with dirt on its face, beauty with a cut on its figure, wisdom with bubble gum in its hair, and the hope of the future with a frog in its pocket.
When you are busy, a boy is an inconsiderate, bothersome, intruding jangle of noise. When you want him to make a good impression, his brain turns to jelly or else he becomes a savage, sadistic jungle creature bent on destroying the world and himself with it.
A boy is a composite-he has an appetite of a horse, the disposition of a sword swallower, the energy of a pocket size atomic bomb, the curiosity of a cat, the lungs of a dictator, the imagination of a Paul Bunyan, the shyness of a violet, the audacity of a steel strap, the enthusiasm of a fire cracker, and when he makes something he has 5 thumbs on each hand.
He likes ice-cream, knives, saws, comic books, the boy across the street, woods, water (in its natural habitat), large animals, dad, trains, Saturday mornings, and fire engines. He is not much for Sunday school, company, schools, books without pictures, music lessons, neckties, barbers, girls, overcoats, adults or bedtime.
Nobody else is so early to rise, or so late to supper. Nobody else gets so much fun out of trees, dogs and breezes. Nobody else can cram onto one pocket a rusty knife, a half-eaten apple, 3 feet of string, an empty Bull Durham sack, 2 gum drops, 6 cents, a sling shot, a chunk of unknown substance, and a genuine supersonic code ring with a secret comportment.
A boy is a magical creature-you can lock him out of your work shop, but you can’t lock him out of your heart. You can get him out of your study, but you can’t get him out of your mind. Might as well give up-he is your captor, your jailor, your boss, and your master-a freckled face, pint sized, cat chasing bundle of noise. But when you come home at night with shattered pieces of your hopes and dream, he can mend them like new with two magic words-‘Hi dad.’

Ps: its from a friend’s grandpa’s book. I thought tom sawyer, huck finn, swami when I read it.

If there is poetry in sadness, why do we choose to be happy? Why do we choose to munch potato chips in front of the television? Is there no poetry in our lives. But of course there is. What is happiness? A state of mind? A relativity? An indefinable , intangible emotion? I read somewhere, its ‘something to do, someone to love and something to hope for.’ We have so much to do, so many people we love and so many things to hope for. Yet, we are not happy. Atleast not always. We have good days and bad days. It just takes one look, one word, one act, one moment to wrench happiness away no matter how convincingly we portray our self made persons. Is my good fortune, someone else’s misfortune or my plight someone else’s triumph. Much as I don’t like to write this, I must-it is or how would the balance be made. OK, so the balance is a bit precarious. I am neither in a vindictive mood nor do I have enemies. Happiness mind you is totally different from sadistic pleasure. Happiness is possible in the holistic entirety of a community-sadistic pleasure is not.
I might sound like I am six but ……………………whatever. I like listening to music. I like reading. I like reading Alice in the wonderland. It gives me happiness. It takes me away to a different world. I transcend. I feel joy. Happiness is little things and big things. Happiness is contagious. Lets start an epidemic.

Ps:I deliberately chose not to write about the boards. They are not the make do or make end of our lives.
I saw rang de basanti for the second time-love the part when they decide to kill the defense minister.
I will start no pretty pictures tonight. Its been a really long time since I read it last.

Aarushi (16 March)
Akanksha Khanna (18 March)
Chirag (18 March)

Birthday remindals work a great deal in my inbox...lol

Before I forget, a very Happy Holi to everyone!!!

Ps. Best of luck for the french exam (day after).