Skip to main content

Stories!

I pulled the fraying edges of the ribbon which held my knotted plaits together as I heard my teacher say, "The universe is made of atoms". I smiled unwilling to believe the fact. What did the atoms know of life, chided a thirteen year old in me?

Science classes to the rest of my friends were interesting, with all those atoms and molecules and rays and motion, they found diverse things in their platter. They would jump at the sight of the rays passing through the prism or gasp at the bubbly solutions gurgling in the chemistry lab and there I would stand, failing to take interest in any of those. At best I appreciated things  but my interest was always in those neatly stacked story books with luscious covers which the librarian would always hand over after removing those, he worried I could leave it dog eared.

How much I longed for those hours of library class which became rarer as we jumped towards higher classes. Science textbooks became bulkier enough to eat away those library hours and what was left off at the end was our grim looking science teacher harping over the fact to concentrate on studies. He would stress the last word unnecessarily to create an impact.

How much I longed to tell him that the universe was made of stories. Stories long and short, stories of you, me , everybody. Gripping tales which stemmed out of life. Stories that changed life each moment. stories that had pulse of their own. That it was okay to prioritise stories over atoms, dreams over the weighing scale of the physics lab. That it didn't matter at all to know how an apple hit Newton, that it was perfectly okay to take interest in art and music.

The bulky textbooks once overshadowed a friend of mine who today paints magic with her makeup brush, it could never understand the pain of my dancer friend who had to undergo the dilemma when she was made to prioritise studies over dance. Her ghungrus rusted along with her dreams.

With the result fever on, I don't want another kid to suffer the wrath which a thousands did. Do what you feel like doing, be it art, music or pottery. Let your work write your own beautiful story. More power to young souls!

Comments

Post a Comment

Popular posts from this blog

Sea (ii)

"I want to see a setting sun", I told him as we sat in the shack looking at the bright sun gleaming over the waves. "Sure, let's not move anywhere", he readily jumped over the idea. We talked about everything that we had anticipated all along, this trip, our future together, family back home as we nonchalantly waited for the sun to set. It was only when the waiter brought a lamp to our side when I noticed that we had missed the whole idea of viewing the sunset! "Phew! I don't see the sun", I yelled out alarmed "laa", I heard him say. " Well, isn't it good that we can again come back tomorrow and sit in the same spot waiting for the sun to set", he remarked. Well, this is what I like about him. His ability to look at the positive side of life. Well, if not a sunset, we saw a pale moon's silvery gleam over those tall waves. We laughed and talked over endless cups of tea and food. While it was time to leave the shore, we di...
Post a Comment
Read more

Home in the mountains

 The tiny mountain lights showed me home, Home: a fluid entity which marks no land. I opened my palms to feel the chill and yet I felt it's warmth in the way it held my gaze Unfaltering, of a different magnitude. I don't belong to the hills and yet A part of me was always here waiting, For me to claim my roots. And thus those lights,led me   home.
Post a Comment
Read more

"My love is enough for both of us"

"My love is enough for both of us", she often felt those words ring in her heart. She finally had understood that life wouldn't always follow her designs. That people are meant to leave but their memories won't. She often had wondered how someone could love her to such an extent when that person had always known that she wouldn't reciprocate those feelings. How could a person stand by her when she always acted as a fleeting shadow. She never had given hope for she knew the pain of dejection but he kept hoping like a hopeless vagabond. How she wished that he would some day hate her enough to let go. She devised ways to free him from this web, she acted cold, turned indifferent, did everything he detested and she finally saw some changes. It was a relief, he finally seemed to take hold of his life. She could see him grow responsible. He finally it seemed was learning to love himself. Phone calls died, meetings subsided, they become known strangers. All this while ...
2 comments
Read more