“A person often meets his destiny on the road he took to avoid it”

Posted: June 4, 2012 by CampusWriting in Writes...
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I am a strong believer of destiny and the ways of life. There are certain things and certain people you are meant to meet from different walks of life. Would you mistake that as a coincidence or would you open your arms and welcome the angel in your life.

I was 11, when for us staying online or living without a laptop or social networking sites was not indispensable. I had been eyeing my elder cousins at home, when I learnt what chat-rooms and chatting was all about. Living through chatting and excitement of making pen-friends or online friends who you randomly met, meant a lot. 

A gut feeling at once, told me that this guy had a decent name and with the way he initiated the conversation he would be a genuine human-being. The chatting began day in and day out, with waiting for each other online to leaving offliners to fix up a time for the next chat. Gradually, email ids and phone numbers were exchanged. Being of the same age-group and both still studying in school, was a bonus to the same subjects we were studying. We would talk about love interests to favourite subjects and the phone conversations would never end.

We both don’t know where this was leading to. The chats grew more and more intensive, with a stranger now becoming a great friend. Until one day, the attachment level grew to a point we could not do without each other, we needed to talk even if we rung up each other through public booths. Cell phones really never existed when I was that young. I am not that old too now, but yes I now know him for the past 11 years. Half my life lived till now has been with him.

One day I was informed about his girlfriend who he had been with for 3 years and this was the only odd thing I dint know about his life. The insecurity factor burnt me, and I let the ashes bid a goodbye to him. We lost touch, for two years until one day I shifted school. My new best friend had a similar number like his. I once late in the night, over-stressed and dying to talk to her happened to dial his number. Everything had changed, except for his ventricular voice. With changed schedules, and pressed for time we could not talk but decided to meet up.

My heart was pumping to meet him for the first time ever. I knew it was a date. One meeting was enough to build up the trust, the confidence and the comfort level which a physical presence has to make. The shift came along from being best friends to being in the longest pseudo relationship. It is amazing to see how strangers like these, become friends and start meaning the world to us and the feeling is reciprocated and indescribable. “To the world you mean one person but to one person you mean the world”.

Tanvi Gupta

The Purple Sack

Half-hearted

Posted: June 3, 2012 by CampusWriting in Daily Quotes
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It hurts when a hug is just two hands wrapping around u, half-hearted…

Shilpa A R

PICTURES ARE DECEPTIVE, LOOKS ARE FOR REAL…

Posted: June 3, 2012 by CampusWriting in Writes...
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I often hear people jump with excitement when they hear someone talk about “marriage”. Is it because it’s a once in a lifetime situation or is it about paying intuitive sensitivity to each aspect happening around. “Which photographer have you employed? Did he do your matrimonial picture as well”. This sounds like the magical man who could make you look 3-tones fairer and 10 times slimmer is it? We all want our best pictures on our weddings, don’t we? To many, this might seem bizarre and they would just be keen on viewing the wedding albums. 

Wedding Photography has come up as a major lifestyle statement along with being a lasting keepsake. This commercial endeavour has picked up as each moment needs to be captured with the maximum precision for before marriage portraits, displays or announcements. Competition in this industry forced on focussing on locations and the 1970’s welcomed the documentary style of photography.

With peoples disposable incomes increasing and multiculturalism being brought about, an exorbitant budget of the marriage is kept aside for the pre-wedding, wedding and the post-wedding pictures. In an Indian scenario, a lot of well known wedding photographers are booked a year in advance to bring about their best in the pictures. The pomp and show during the Indian wedding celebrations, coupled with ‘super-photoshopped’ effects make the bride and bridegroom look no less than models. The glamour is not restricted only to the photographs, but also to their make-ups, jewellery, air-brushed hairdos, clothing. The photographers put in more efforts in editing than in the shot capturing and sometimes, change colours of people’s garments matching the backdrop with making all the bulky parts hide. Needless, to say an Indian wedding portrait would seem more realistic than the celebration itself, counting in the flower decorations and the fancy back-drops. If you hav e more money, you can seem to add more glitz in your pictures by inviting celebrities, actors or performers or have a theme based ceremony.

“ A classy wedding happens only if you wear an ivory white gown with a veil”. This english tradition holds true even in the modern day, though the transition from white to coloured gowns is taking place. An English wedding will have an incredible wedding venue, beautiful ambience with detailings usually inspired from art deco, nouveau and the likes. “To each their own” is also a concept followed with customised weddings, with some having to organise a vintage wedding or some having origami coasters which people could take back as a remembrance. Previously, wedding pictures were seen in studio portraits with the bride more identified with the bouquet more than her dress. The times have lead to more of group pictures with the coming up of the concept of “the best man and the bridesmaids”. The moments captured now are the brides arrival outside the Church, the cake cutting ceremonies, the couple’s departure and more special situations . The well put together and the arty feel to the albums, make them more viewable and non-clichéd.

The concept of putting more and more pictures on facebook, as an easier and quicker way of socialising and self-endorsement makes it more prevalent of the kind of wedding one has had. Just by looking at the simple classy English wedding pictures viz-a-viz the overdone Indian wedding pictures one can gauge the difference in their styles. Needless to say, the wedding and its events along with the location all become clear as we stalk our friends on facebook to know the updates. The wedding photographs are not specific to the people or a place, it is to style of shooting and presentation along with the kind of celebration one has had.

Tanvi Gupta

The Purple Sack

tanvigupta28@gmail.com

The Plea of an Indian Women…

Posted: June 2, 2012 by CampusWriting in Writes...
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O evil man !
I will , I can…..
If you slap me once,
Then mind you , you ll be protected by none….
If you beat,
Dont think that I will fall on your feet….
I ‘m a woman of 21st centuary….
I too have dignity….

O evil man !
I will , I can……
Sati , dowry , infanticide,
For centuaries, they have made me cry….
Your atrocities have become greater,
Really , you are a worthless traitor……
Now no more,
This is the desire of victim’s core……

O evil man !
I will , I can……
Grant me all my rights, 
Or else I’ ll declare fights…..
I’ ll raise my voice,
You will have no choice…..
I have shed enough tears,
At any way, they do not affect you dear…..

O evil man ! 
I will , I can……
Sania Mirza , Sushmita Sen , Kalpana Chawla have brought our country tremendous fame,
This is not an easy game……
I do accept that our society is patriarchal ,
Soon it will become matriarchal…..
This is my faith ,
Whether you love it or hate………..

Nabila Khan

Peoples Dental Academy

nabila.alikhan@yahoo.co.in

The Highway to Living…

Posted: June 1, 2012 by sarupbanskota in Daily Quotes
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The road never ends.
Even if it does, there’s the way back —

The same one where you came from.
And when you come back, you see this junction.
Which leads to other roads…

You Tell Me

Posted: June 1, 2012 by CampusWriting in Writes...
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She likes eating out on rooftop cafes. She likes sitting out on terraces and lounging in balconies. She likes looking out of the airplane windows. She likes looking out of most windows. In fact, she loves everything to do with the sky, but especially the night sky. As a child, she would sleep on the terrace of her grandmother’s house in the summer and fall asleep dreaming about travelling through the stars. Not in a spaceship like an explorer, or on a broom like a witch, but rather like another star, as if she belonged there in her own lonely way. The thought would thrill her and scare her, as, lulled by the cool night breeze, in the half-state between conscious and sub-conscious, she would let the breeze carry her into the beyond. She would often lie down flat on her back, staring at the stars and think… I don’t see the houses and the trees, what if they are not there at all. In fact, all I see is a rectangular patch of concrete and never-ending bejeweled blackness. She liked to imagine that she was alone on a rectangular piece of grey concrete, hurtling through the universe. Later, of course, she learned she was quite accurate, except for one small discrepancy. The flat rectangle was actually a humungous sphere and she was far from alone on it.

Today is St. Valentine’s Day, which doesn’t really mean anything to her, but she likes seeing her sweetheart so this was an excuse as good as any. She wanted to have a quiet evening in as usual, but he, as usual wanted to dress nice and go out and eat good food and have fine wine, and today she didn’t feel like saying no. But sitting here on this rooftop café in the semi-dark, a strong breeze blowing, listening to his monologue on how life is too short to be slept away, smiling at him and the sky in turns, she was glad she had come. Even the slightly nauseating music they were playing there didn’t spoil her mood.

She again thinks of the café, hurtling on its own through the universe, and imagines, affectionately, a whole lot of mishaps happening to it, all of very spectacular nature. She imagines it getting hit by meteors and the like, and even an alien invasion. When she tries visualizing alien creatures though, her imagination throws up its hands.

Most days, she dislikes being lectured, even more so if it seems justified. But tonight, she quite enjoys it. She agrees with everything this earnest-faced, deep-voiced man says, even as she knows he’s sometimes like a baby to her, sometimes like an alien itself, and sometimes even like a piece of furniture and she feels he has no fathomable emotions at all. But she sees today, as she does so many times, why she is in love with him, and it surprises her that it always surprises her. He is wise, and sad; and he wants her to be alive, not just keep breathing. He wants it so much that it hurts him, and eventually her. And today she sees it, in the perfect setting of night sky, cold breeze, humor, love and a tinge of sadness and nostalgia for the life she will leave behind. For under the magnificence of such a cruel heaven, and the feeling of such joyous insignificance, it is laughable that she ever thought she could spend all of the small time she has, dreaming. Her dreams are beautiful, yes, but they need to see the light of day, even if as ink on paper. She feels the fear and inertia still gripping her bones but she knows they are troubled. At this moment, the idea of rent, electricity bill, even having to afford food and cigarettes amuses her.

He has told her what she had kept hearing, but needed to be here at this place and at this moment to listen. I love you, she says. I love you, he says, with a happy and unsure smile. For he has said these very words so many times before.

Rashmi Mishra

mona.rashmi@gmail.com

End

Posted: May 31, 2012 by CampusWriting in Writes...
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I sit in front of a huge office building, all blue glass. The world is reflected in the glass, some people, some faraway houses, everything and everyone but me. Maybe I’m the unfortunate one, who unwittingly chose to sit in front of the few opaque tiles. Or maybe I’m just not there.

Little black birds sweep close to the ground, like a jubilant celebration of a funeral. I see a woman taking down clothes from a clothes-line, on the terrace of one faraway house. There’s a red cloth flying against the cloudy sky, I can’t say if it’s a struggle for freedom or a child-like game against the wind.

I hope she doesn’t take down the red cloth. I hope the birds don’t stop circling around me. The red cloth reminds me of the beauty of freedom, and solitude. The birds remind me that the world doesn’t end when people like me go. These are the little things that I’m anchoring my little life on.

The woman leaves the red cloth on the line. Thank you. I think I will be alright some day. Instead of getting beaten about by the wind, I will soar in it again. Alone and finally happy. Or atleast content.

I’m now walking back to enacting my life. People stare at me and then look away. Most people don’t like being reminded of pain. Some stare hard and keep staring, maybe taking a morbid pleasure in someone else’s suffering or maybe they recognise pain as an everyday trade. How unhappy am I? I look into the glass to find a measure. I see green leaves and people passing, but I’m not there. Maybe that’s a cruel answer.

Rashmi Mishra

mona.rashmi@gmail.com

No Love for Beasts

Posted: May 30, 2012 by CampusWriting in Writes...
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Because the purity of the soul and the depth of a heart have always been and will always be overshadowed by the outer physical beauty, this one’s for all those beautiful souls.

For heaven’s sake my heart,
Keep secret your Love.
Contain it all inside you,
Hide it from those you see.
For love’s not meant for beasts,
It’s only for Angels and Fairies.

‘Coz he who reveals secrets,
Is considered to be dark.
Isolation and Anger serve his companion,
And loneliness becomes his friend.
Silence and secrecy serve him better
For he who falls In Love.

For heaven’s sake my mind,
Confide all your thoughts.
Make the heart of stone
And disguise all your tears,
Then may the skies fall and seas roar,
And you may remain safe.

Don’t answer “Who is she?”
For anyone who asks.
Say She’s just another person
From so many amongst the world.
And Walk away as you laugh,
Pretending She’s of no consequence.

For heaven’s sake my love,
Conceal all your passions
And accept all your sorrows
For sorrows help in pain.
‘Coz pain is the medicine
For those with soul of stone.

And love to the soul
Is as a glass containing wine,
What you see is just liquid,
What’s hidden is its spirit.
And when the soul is addicted,
It craves for more and more.

For heaven’s sake my heart,
Understand, understand
Love’s not meant for all.
Sometimes, somewhere, it may be that you fall
And cry out for help and reach
But remember,
Love’s not meant for beasts,
Love’s not meant for beasts….”

Gagan Preet Singh

configuregagan@gmail.com

It’s just another day!

Posted: May 29, 2012 by CampusWriting in Writes...
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While I came to learn in my new office
that I got this Sunday working,
My heart was heavy and I was tensed
Yet I had to be on time, and so I did.
Few colleagues around and loads of work to do.
This day has never got me working, such is the change.
Moving a stair up, I have grown up to know
How the meaning of a single thing changes through time.
How every thing keeps you staring with a different eye.
And how we get used to accepting these differences
And contradictions which prove every thing learnt
In childhood to be a mere bookish theory,
Yet we live without revolting
We live with every sudden change
We live without thinking
We live this USUAL way of living life.
And then we hear it now and then
What’s the big deal about it?
It’s just another thing and it’s just another day!

Shruti Suman

NIFT, Mumbai

sumansan10@gmail.com

The Story of His Eyes…

Posted: May 28, 2012 by CampusWriting in Writes...
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First crush is the most beautiful feeling in the world. It is a step towards adolescence, a sign of our maturing self. First crush is always special in everyone’s life.

I was barely nine years old when I saw him for the first time. He was mysterious; a handsome ten year old playing football in the rain, tall for his age with a great physique. And before I could realize that I had frozen at my spot, he turned around. I guess that was the start because his one gaze sent an electric shock down my spine. I stole away my gaze from his, feeling my cheeks go hot. I blushed for the first time.

Back at school, I found out that he was my senior. Never in my life had I so meaninglessly prayed to God like I did that day to make him my classmate. It was a big mistake, as I found out a year later because he had failed that year. Childish as I was, I was happy. He was in my class.

Gradually, our friendship started. He hardly spoke to any girl, but with me, he opened up, like we were best friends forever. He wasn’t good academically, but no one could beat him in sports. He used to fight with boys, but with girls, he behaved well. He was a mixture of opposites.

A year passed by. This time, he made it, but our sections were different. Nevertheless, we used to talk in the break time, or play together like the good old times. I was his best friend. He was my crush. My first crush. His eyes still gave me the electric shocks. My cheeks still went hot.

It was during the end of that session that I began to feel guilty. Secretly, I felt that it was my fault that he had lost one year. My fault that his friends didn’t respect him much because he had failed. All my fault!

So, I prayed to God again to make things all right. To make others respect him for what he is, not look down upon him for what he couldn’t be. At the same time, I finally decided to confess my feelings to him. It had been three years, after all. Yet I was scared. What would people say seeing me running after a guy who had failed? But in the end, I did muster up enough courage to tell him. 

Session break got over and it was a new class. Taking a deep breath, I peered into my class…….he wasn’t there. I searched for him in the other sections too. He was nowhere. Petrified, I looked up for him in the junior class, in case he had…….no, he couldn’t have. I ran upstairs to the junior class. He wasn’t there either. I waited for him for a week. Then finally, one of his cousins said that he had left the school. He went away to a boarding school, which was more sport oriented than studies. He went away to a place where he was respected for what he is, not looked down upon for what he couldn’t be.

My wish came true once again. I was guilt free, yet horrifically sad. He was gone, forever. This crush continued for the next four years. I would always search for him in public places, just in case I got a glimpse. Four years later, my crush ended and so did the search.

Recently, I got a message from him in a social networking site. He still remembers me. I am still his close friend. And he still doesn’t know that he was my first crush.

Once there was a pair of eyes,
Eager eyes with truth and lies,
Eyes blazing with fiery fire,
Reflecting all the hope and desire.

Its one blink made me sink,
Caught me staring and gave a wink.
Suddenly my spine caught a chill,
My spirit jumped to the top of a hill.

But those eyes left long ago,
No chill, now life runs slow.
No one else has such eyes,
No eyes to make my spirit rise.

I miss many things in my life,
But never like I miss those eyes.
That gaze on me they’ll never lay,
The boy who had them has gone away.

Krisha M

krisha.arsenal@gmail.com

http://krishadreamz.blogspot.in/

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