Why I hate Ayn Rand

There's just this intangible something about Ayn Rand's books that just bring out and emphasize on my insecurities. For that i hate, passionately, with all my heart, Ayn Rand and her books but at the same time i can't help but be strangely fascinated and...whats the word..i dunno..held by them (imagine a snake being made to rise up and perform some silly dance, unwillingly, to the strange, disconcerting tunes of the snake charmer)

• Firstly, what's with the whole 'never do anything that doesn't serve some serious purpose' philosophy? So people like looking at and living in Tudor or Georgian or whatever outdated styles of architecture - it appeals to their aesthetic sense! So what if the buttresses on the pillar are unnecessary? Some people happen to think it looks good! Isn't that purpose enough?
• I resent and hate Howard Roark! Men like him do not and cannot exist! It just completely goes against nature as we know it! I saw on some internet survey that there are quite a few people who would actually like to date Roark! To them i say - do you like feeling like you do not exist or that you are not worth any emotion - not even contempt? You've got low self esteem issues is what and are sure to be in some kind of an abusive relationship.
• Worse - The Fountainhead actually says that inferior people like Mrs Keating resent Roark. So I belong inferior sect of the human race:-(
• I'm Peter Keating. Or so i used to think(my friends assure me otherwise but then they're like me) I'm definitely not ambitious to the point of not caring what you throw aside like him, but i can't help looking up to Roark as an ideal (strange after my abusive diatribe against him, i know)
• My character is a blend of the shades of grey. There is no black and nor is there any white. I'm always stuck in the middle, whether of actions or even thoughts and opinions. And according to Ayn Rand, that is a sign of mediocrity.
• I couldn't stop reading Fountainhead before my Physics preparatory and almost failed as a result.
• I was very confused( more so than usual, and that's saying a lot) for months after i read Atlas Shrugged. I'd think a thousand times before i said or did anything. Was i a looter? A moocher?
• I still am confused. I don't know what to believe. What Ayn Rand says makes so much sense logically but to believe her would mean not being able to live up to those ideals and i'd just hate myself. I'd rather hate her than me.
• This, what Gore Vidal says, is what i'd like to believe: "This odd little woman is attempting to give a moral sanction to greed and self interest. She has a great attraction for simple people who are puzzled by organized society, who object to paying taxes, who dislike the “welfare” state, who feel guilt at the thought of the suffering of others but who would like to harden their hearts. For them, she has an enticing prescription: altruism is the root of all evil, self-interest is the only good, and if you’re dumb or incompetent that’s your lookout." Sigh...he is just so much more coherent than me. So yeah - what he says, goes.

There are a lot more reasons but it is past midnight and I'm quickly losing my ability to form full, complete sentences. And I really do not want to be thought self-obsessed(what with the personal vendetta against Roark in particular and all.)

Anindhita

This is the first poem I've written in many, many years ( lines with an abab rhyme scheme like "Once there was a goat, who wore a blue coat" etc, etc do not count - and i hope you do realize those lines were just an example)

This short one took me many, many days and many hours of Additional English classes to write and it may not be much but hey! I wrote a poem!

This poem kind of follows up on my fascination for the enigma that was Syd Barrett. I wasn't too impressed by the earlier Floyd hits like See Emily Play and couldn't really see the fuss everyone made about Syd Barrett (this may also be because of my incomplete knowledge - dunno) but Wish You Were Here is my favourite Pink Floyd album and Shine On You Crazy diamond - very clichéd i know - changed my world.

And hence the amateur attempt at trying to understand the LSD induced hallucinations and torture that destroyed the brilliant career that might have been (but Pink Floyd did just fine! better than fine without him you know..)

Oh and i worked really hard on the meter of the poem and hope for it to be named after me. ( I talk too much and it stops now) and i hope to dear god that this poem doesn't sound pretentious (my worst nightmare)

Welcome.

The hole beckons

Bed of ice, floor of flames

Hands reaching. Bound, by straight jackets

Slime oozes; madness blinds

Shouts unheard fade

Mercy.

Sorry that what i wrote about the poem was shorter than the poem:( but a decent post has to have a certain length you know..

Anindhita

The Unfinished Symphony

I'm posting this story I wrote when i was 12 to remind myself of how it felt to feel as though you could do anything, aspire to anything and you dreamed big. I dreamed of becoming an author - of being read and adored by millions. Now though, i'm plagued with fears and uncertainties and insecurities galore. I no longer want to be a writer. I just want to be my fearless 12 year old self again.

So here goes my wannabe L.M.Montgomery/Meg Cabot attempt (unedited for reasons of authenticity) at a story..what i so lovingly and modestly had named - The Unfinished Symphony (oh thats coz the story was left incomplete) (try and read with a straight face and do please please remember that it was a 12 year old girl who wrote that - I've got to be honest - in earnest and unfortunately not as a spoof. So be kind.)


Chapter 1


It was a fine summer day. The sun smiled down on mellow pastures, blessed the cool green meadows with its warm radiance and even the clouds seemed relaxed and content.
Under the azure blue sky, on the path fated to be one of those many paths which change destinies forever, walked a young girl whose destiny was fated to be changed by that very path. Menley was one of those creatures to whom life is always a warm sunny day. Lucky she was not to know of the other side of the world, which had gone unseen by her carefree, happy eyes. Menley didn’t see the beauty all around her, she moved as if in a dream thinking of the school she was to join that day. Not once did she have an attack of the nerves like any other newcomer might have - Menley was just used to moving around from town to town joining a new school wherever she went.

As she neared the school, she woke from her reverie seeing a gang of boys playing football. A blonde haired boy kicked the ball high and it fell at her feet. Without any hesitation she kicked the ball back and ran to join them. Now Menley, I forgot to mention was a tomboy. She despised girlish behavior of any sort and scorned gossip and girl talk.
Boys, she thought, were fun and uncomplicated and easy to talk to. Girls – bah – were so silly, fickle and never exerted themselves – talk, talk, talk was all they did. The boys just stared at her for a minute and then without a word welcomed her and they played vigorously for half an hour. Menley was just about to score another goal when the bell echoed through the grounds. “Good game”, the blonde haired boy shouted out to her.
All the others nodded at her. Menley was enjoying all this attention when one boy came up to her and said, “Girls should not play football”. She was dumbstruck. Who was this rude boy to come up to her and say such a thing when she had scored most of the goals in the game? No one no one dared speak like this to her! Flames of anger leapt into her eyes. “Well they should - the standard of the game would be much better then”, she shot back, turned around and left with her chin up in the air and her back straight – very haughtily in fact. That was a lie but she had to say something to preserve her honour!

A gang of girls under the shade of the maple tree in the corner of the grounds had been watching the game in progress. “Who is that girl? She is shameless!” “Did you see her doing that flippy flippy kick?” (She was referring to the cycle kick Menley had made)
“Roughing it out with the boys like that and she a new girl! God, no shame!” ”That’s the most disgusting thing I've ever seen in my life!” “Is she mad? What sort of a girl is she? I mean look at her! No dignity at all!”
“I think she's wonderful - I mean she is a new girl and has already made friends with so many.”
At this everybody went quiet. “But Narcy!” one exclaimed.
“Come on girls, it’s so unbelievable for a newcomer to make friends with so many people in half an hour. Of course, I don’t approve of her playing football either. But give her a chance. We hardly know her.” The one and only defender of poor Menley was Narcissa Wentworth. Narcy was the exact opposite of Menley. Narcy was glad to be a girl – proud of it actually. She was not all joy and sunshine like Menley was. I don't mean to say she was depressed and melancholic all the time; she just at times was a bit quiet and sad.
Oh yes - she was also very self-conscious.
All the other girls thought her very confident, sometimes arrogant and fun to be with.
Poor Narcy was never really understood by anybody. All she had for supposedly close friends were Regina, the golden haired princess who always devised means to bring Narcy down from the position of most popular girl of the school. Amber, the mousy, timid and shy slip of a girl who thought the world revolved around Narcy and Anna, the boisterous, noisy big boned red head who thought the world revolved around herself.

Narcy got up and went towards Menley followed by her posse. “Hi, I’m Narcissa Wentworth .What is your name?” “Menley Stonewall”, she said brusquely and walked away.
“I told you she wasn't to be bothered with Narcy”, said Anna with a smug expression on her face. “So arrogant! Did she hurt you dearie?” asked sweet Amber.
“Never mind”, said Narcy, “She looks as though she's angry with something or someone. Now no one can say I didn't try to be friendly. Come on we don't want to be late”

Blahblah High School was one reputed to be unusual and different in their approach to educate children. A lot of stress was applied on freedom of the students and it was more about learning how to live life than learning life itself.

Narcy entered the classroom to see Menley arguing hotly with Jamie Seymour of all people! Usually he was such a nice guy, always laughing and having fun. But then she recalled seeing them talking on the field and she thought that maybe she had annoyed him somehow then.” Break it up people,” Narcy heard a voice behind her and turned to face Miss Longleaf. Narcy liked her and smiled at her. She walked off to a seat beside Amber. “First day of school and both of you fighting?”
“Miss Longleaf ,it's not my fault. She is so conceited that I had to bring her down a notch or two.” Jamie complained.
“Well Mr. Busybody, it’s none of your business how I behave or what I do and I just met you and you think you've already figured me out? Keep out of my life!” Menley cried. The whole class gasped – she was a new girl and was talking like that to Jamie Seymour!
“Why you prickly little thorny bush! I - “ “ENOUGH”, shouted Miss Longleaf. You both are 15 and I won't have u behaving as though you are four. Go sit down and don't let me hear this nonsense anymore.”


Yeah that's how i thought 15 year olds behaved, back then:-)

Anindhita

MEMORIES

today I visited a place
located deep in the mind
felt a strong presence linger
melody of the love song.

memories awakening,
providing unwanted feelings
only one left so strongly
the feeling of missing you

can't stop myself from remembering;
thniking, of our time together
how is that I'm still able to smile,
when I have got this hint of sadness?

torn by remembering
that you were once mine;
we use to share imaginations
that brought our love to life.

even though it has been a while
it's clear that I haven't forgotten
just know that I never will
because its my heart you got in.

lovlyn

JIA - my heart

JIA- my heart
I have an elder sister. We never lived together till last year when I decided to come here. I came here because of her. She is an ordinary girl with an extraordinary will-power. Whenever I am sad or depressed, she supports me. I feel that I am the flower and she is the aroma- she is the essence of my life.
That’s why I call her JIA-which means HEART.

Richa Tomar

Jaipur

My Favorite city- JAIPUR
I got a wonderful chance to spend two beautiful years of my school days in Jaipur,the city I fall in love with..
Thinking about Jaipur flashes so many pictures in front of my eyes…
The mouth watering sweets and chaats, the pink walled city with numerous shopping places.
Jaipur is a wonderful blend of traditional and modern living, you can find ladies clad with handful churi’s and ghoonghat and the youngsters with their latest bikes and scooties…

My favorite place is city market-this comprises of bapu bazaar, indira bazaar, Nehru bazaar all consecutively located; for jewelery we have Johri bazaar which itself is made up of numerous lanes for different jewelery types..
Being in Jaipur fills me with immense joy and freshness..

Richa Tomar

My journey called LIFE

I read the book THE ALCHEMIST by Paulo Coelho. I like it.

It inspires me to follow my dreams, to work for it and to believe in what I do. I imagine myself at the place of Santiago- the shepherd who travels the world and searches for his treasure..

Though I am not searching for any treasure but i am searching for 'myself'...

a self which is important for an existence, a 'self' which is pure and innocent..and which connects me to the supreme power.

I am traveling a beautiful journey called LIFE...

Richa Tomar