She laughed and Seema smiled, her parents frowned. Disapproval nearly suffocated them but they endured it all in good grace. It would be over soon. The final call for the Canada bound flight came and her mother pulled her side. “Just tell me where I went wrong,” her mother pleaded, “We could still go back home and forget everything…all of this.” She pulled away disgusted. “Mum, don’t make me question calling you ever once I get there,” she threatened, but softened as tears filled the older woman’s eyes. “I love Seema and I cannot be happy without her,” she repeated for what seemed like the hundredth time and reminded herself that at least her parents had not shut the door in her face like Seema’s and for that she had to be grateful. She now held back tears as she thought of all the fond memories she had shared with her mother, her father, her Bangalore. She walked away from her parents and held Seema’s hand. Seema gave her hand a tight squeeze, she understood as she always had. They walked to the flight together, still holding hands.

-Shruthi

Why I can't write

When I watch a movie, read a book, listen to a song on the radio or see a billboard, a million ideas, questions and abstract thoughts buzz around my head. My natural response is to put them on paper but then I stop. I can’t write.

There are a few very reasonable reasons why I can’t and many more unreasonable ones but I’ll stick to the reasonable ones; of course they may seem unreasonable to you and if they do, I’ll take it you’ve never seriously attempted writing.

The first reason would be that unless I capture the delight of the moment and immediately set down to writing it, it just never happens. Call it laziness if you will, but I’d like to think of it as an artistic inability. A poor excuse in even worse choice of words but then you will have to let it go, because I had the idea of writing this two days ago.

Plagiarism. Just the word is enough to send shivers down any budding writer’s back. I’ll be presumptuous and say everybody who attempts writing have read at least a book or two that has really affected them. When an emigrant can pick up the accent of the nation he goes to after a while, is it really impossible to pick up the style of your favourite author? What separates a bad writer from a good one is that the good one has a style of his own, the great ones seem simply to write like everybody else but add a quirky touch and I’m not talking about the plot. I’m neither good nor great and I wouldn’t want to fall among the bad.

The great writers themselves are a source of agony to me. When I read something that is brilliant I want to cry, irrespective of the mood the piece suggests. It is because I’m not sure I can write anything as good as that. I cannot call myself a writer when these geniuses do too. It just isn’t justified.

Then the case of writer’s block. When nothing inspires and if suddenly a small crack in the wall appears and inspiration does trickle down, the words are all missing. To feel numb and then unable to express what you feel is worse when you know you had the medium to in the first place. I could still spout out nonsense but critics do not look kindly upon a budding writer’s block, even if the critic is your mother and I tell you this from experience.

“Had I been blessed with even limited access to my own mind there would have been no reason to write. I write entirely to find out what I’m thinking, what I’m looking at, what I see and what it means.” A quote from Joan Didion’s ‘Why I write’. I don’t think I could have put that across as accurately as she has (look up my third reason again) but i know it is as true for me. When I write I delve into a part of me that has answers; so though I can’t write for all these reasons and more, I know I stoically still will impose my writing, be it in my journal or a blog.

-Shruthi

The Dream

i know some of you might be tired of the romantic cliches i've used, but for me some cliches have this eternal irresistible charm. =)
love, apoorva


The Dream
As the night climaxed and Thalia fell into bed, exhausted, and her mind entered a deep stupor, her subconscious awoke, stretching pleasurable, lazily looking forward to her day. She took in the world around her. Thalia's state of mind when she had gone to sleep had been one of weariness but deep satisfaction also. "Well, we're just going to have to fix that, aren't we?" Tatiana murmered, annoyed by the peace of mind surrounding her. Tatiana as a subconscious thrived on loneliness that comes only in the darkest, most cruel hours of the night, and she had to hunt for that in the depths of Thalia's soul while Thalia slept, if she was to have enough energy to wake up the next night.

Tatiana got up and started walking. Every night her surroundings were different, but no matter what they were, she had to wade through dozens of dimensions of thought. Thalia's mind was a jungle of ideas, her soul an ocean of feeling. As Tatiana fought through it all, she enjoyed the hunt for darkness.

She stumbled and plunged through a soft canpoy, into a radiant space. Sheilding her eyes from the bright lights, she saw a figure approaching. "Katara!" she exclaimed, recognising the subconscious of Thalia's mother. "How are you?"
Katara replied pleasantly, "I'm well, Tatiana dear." They stood together for a few seconds, sheltering themselves from the rainbow of Thalia's mind in the darkness of eachother. Tatiana's eyes radiated shadows into the vibrant tropical atmosphere of the part of Thalia's mind with which she dreamed of her friends. Blinded by memories and echoes of laughter, Tatiana winced. Katara noticed.

"You can control this, Tatiana," she said, gesturing around her. "You have to visualise and then find what you want Thalia to see, what you want to see. That is what she will dream of."

Tatiana thought about this as she pushed on through visions of Thalia and her friends laughing and playing some silly game. The momentary irritation she felt lowered her defences, allowing Thalia's enthusiastic soundtrack to the scene to penetrate her consciousness. As she heard it echoing through Thalia, its rhythm in tune with her heartbeat, Tatiana felt panicked. Thalia's dreams were her creations, and they were becoming stronger. More visions were in the scene now. The love was flowing like blood and wine on the cobblestoned streets of Paris. Tatiana was disgusted by the beauty of it all.

Concentrating on tuning the music off key and blurring the figures Thalia was seeing, Tatiana plunged forward, trying to visualise the environment she wanted to surround Thalia's soul with. As she moved she used her eyes to cast shadows around her, and fight the light and brightness that so often filled Thalia's eyes.

Emerging from the scene, Tatiana knelt to the ground and imagined Thalia close to her. Holding her protectively, Tatiana began to sing. She sang a lullaby Thalia had heard when they were young, which had both terrified Thalia and captivated her to the point of obsession for years. Tatiana sang and sang until Thalia became more solid in her arms and the vibrant colours surrounding Thalia's memories faded, drowning in shadows. She knew that on another level the world was shaking as Thalia's peace of mind shattered and she tossed and turned in her sleep, seeing the person Tatiana had fought so hard to call.

Thalia's demons emerged in a burst of fiery darkness, materializing into the horrible vision that was ripping Thalia's heart to pieces. Tatiana continued to sing as he approached, a hideous, morphed figure with cruel eyes and a tantalizing mouth. He stopped in front of Tatiana, who then stopped singing and got to her feet.

"You don't really look anything like the way she remembers," Tatiana said, smiling coldly at the memory before her. Her eyes glowed red to counter his black ones.

"Her memory of me is tainted," the figure said, but it sounded more like a sneer. "Punishment for my sins," he added sarcastically. "I'm supposed to be feeling remorse."

"But you're beautiful," Tatiana said, her eyes devouring him. "Breaking hearts is an art, not a sin."

The dream grew more definable with the strength of this compliment. "I'm glad at least this part of her still needs to see me."

"Yes," Tatiana agreed, "Now it's your job to keep us entertained until she wakes up..."

Few things one most do in a boarding LIFE!

Whatever i write here, let me tell you i have done all of it!

Its super fun!!! Trust Me!!!

1)Make maggi with geyser water at 2 am.

2)Smuggle food into the house illegally.

3)Go to the house mistresses house and ask for food.

4)Watch television beyond curfew.

5)Try origami during prep hours, trust me you learn faster.

6)If you nothing to study during prep, READ through the Dictionary.

7)Try and go out every weekend with the entire house, find exciting things to do so that the teacher does not refuse.

8)Play kabbadi when it rains.

9)In a double bed size bed, try sleeping with 7 people.

10)Open a mini chocolate factory inside your cupboard.

11)At the hour of cupboard check go take a shower if your cupboard is not worth looking at.

12)Call for food from the Dhaba because your bored of the mess food.

13)Watch awards with the entire house sitting in the common room (you cant hear a word of what the host is saying on the tv)

14)watch your batch mates and seniors cry in an emotional movie (every time)

ahh!!!thats all i can remember for now..

Anamica Jain

hmmm....yes its me...

Hi all,

yes as you all very well know how much of a writer i am...

but, there is something i could share...

So here we goo...

I MISS my previous school The Daly College, Indore, i miss my friends, my boarder buddies, my humanities gang, my teachers, my Vice Principal (Mr.Potty), but most of all my school campus and the main building.

I have had the time of my life over there, its something i cant even express.

when i went there, i did not know that i will happen to miss it so much? I wish i did know it then!

Even if i thank all my teachers and my friends like a million of times, i do not think i can give them back what they have given me.

Its like a small world in there, everything just so nice and pleasant, while i was there i wanted to run away with my friends, but towards the end, we started collecting all our memories, clicking pictures, just sitting outside in the garden staring at squirrels play, we wished and prayed we could stay back in there for some more time, but the time has to pass, and so it did.

Our graduation  day arrived, we were all very excited, because it was not an ordinary one, it was special, very special. We would be wearing our school formals and dressing up with our blazers with our own college colours for the last time, from Dalians, we would be turning to Old-Dalians now, soon.

We all cried in joy and sorrow, our parents standing there, we hoped we made them proud, gave roses to our favorite teacher. we knew we have troubled them like crazy and they would never want us back, but one thing even they knew, that we would miss them and we did love them at the end of the day.

I cry as i write this, i m not the one who cries so easily, but i have been missing them recently.

A tragedy took place on the 3rd of oct, something that none of us can still get over with, one of our batch mate is no more, he died in a car accident, and the other two friends are in the hospital.

But, one thing we all realized that even though we did not know each other two well, and were just the typical hi-bye friends, we did feel the pain. All of us did, hoping that the other two recover soon. Is this the Dalian feeling? The togetherness? The connection the emotions?

In the end all I would like to say is-I AM PROUD TO BE A DALIAN. 

And will always be one.

Anamica Jain

Is he the one ? (Part 3)

She finally reached the bus stop.It felt like an extremely long walk.But she couldn't see him anywhere.So she called him to tell him that she had reached and was waiting for him but he cut her call.She assumed that he was on his way and waited.

He had already spotted her when she called him but he cut her call on purpose.He was nervous and had forgotten all that he had prepared to say to her when he saw her.She was looking so pretty in the blue top.And he knew that it was her favorite color.She had tied her hair up today and her ponytail was swished from side to side every time she turned.He sighed and pulled himself together.He picked up the chocolates and her presents,which were now neatly wrapped in colorful paper,took a deep breath and walked towards her.He hadn't told her about the gift and the chocolates knowing she'd say no.He wanted to surprise her.

She was getting a little anxious now.Where was he ?? He should have been there by now.And then she spotted him walking towards her with a chocolate box in one hand and a nicely wrapped gift on the other.She was surprised ! She didn't recall him saying anything about gifts and chocolates.She smiled to herself.As he came towards her she knew that he was serious.He walked up to her, said hi shyly and gave her the chocolates and the gift.He hoped she would like them.And she did.She had never told him that she liked chocolates and that blue was her favorite color but he had done his research before buying her the gifts.He was elated when she told him how much she liked the presents.She knew now that maybe he was the one.He could be the one if she would give him the chance.She would never know unless she opened herself up and let him into her life.She was still did not know what the future had in store for her,for them, but she realized that if she did not give it a chance she would never know.


Gowri

Is he the one ? (Part 2)

He was ready to meet her.She would finish college early today and they would meet at the bus stop.It was her birthday yesterday,but it being a Sunday she spent the day with her family.Besides,her parents wouldn't let her out of the house on weekends.They were a little old fashioned you see. It had only been a week since she'd said yes,so no one knew about it except for his best friend and her best friend.She had insisted on meeting at the bus stop....he wonder why.She said she had to get home early because some guests were coming home.Somehow...they'd never met alone.They spoke for hours on the phone but they had not gone out on a date yet.She needed time he thought and went on to select his outfit for the occasion.He chose his clothes and shoes with great care.He had to look his best today.He had bought a blue kurta and matching earrings to go with it.He didn't know if she'd like it but she sure looked pretty when he imagined her wearing them.
It was nearly time to leave.He was going to be there 10 minutes earlier.He was filled with nervous energy and excitement.He also wanted to pick up some chocolates on the way...she loved chocolates.He had cleaned his bike which looked quite new.He was ready.He was going to meet her.He was lost in thought as he drove to the bus stop.


Gowri