An Ode to my Teachers

Someone once asked me,

“What does Sanskriti mean to you?”

The words on my lips,

I realized they weren’t true.

So I thought a bit more,

What binds us all here?

Why do we enjoy learning?

The answer was now clear.

Everyday, as I walk inside,

I encounter someone at the gate,

She smiles at you,

Or glares, if you’re late.

Further into the campus,

As I go to keep my phone,

Laughter cuts through the smog,

And a playful pat on your tailbone.

With the bell

Comes shuffling of feet

My class teacher waltz inside

Before I take my seat.

She looks at all of us,

And frowns at the attendance

But beams right after,

Filling the class with radiance.

Good morning ma’am

We all sing.

As we take out our books

Which we honestly didn't need to bring.

You see, we’re not taught chapters

From pages,

Rather, we’re taught lessons,

Meant to be remembered for ages.

Our teachers teach us from the heart,

Their passion, their love

Is visible

In the knowledge they impart.

So to answer the question,

What makes Sanskriti special

Isn’t something in its stone

And yet, it is it’s very backbone.

Right from your first day here,

You have one friend who’s always there,

Your teacher guides you, helps you,

Even scolds you because she cares.

And today, as I stand here,

Still not ready to leave this home,

I glimpse back at all the memories,

The 14 years which went in a jiffy.

So I want to thank you, teachers,

For molding us into what we are

Your lessons and bright smiles

Will always stay with us

Whether youre near or far.

A Day without my Phone

Being born at the time of the advent of technology has its perks- talking to people who are thousands of miles away, seeing faces of those even further, getting books and books worth of information in a single click- the list is never ending. But growing up with this boon makes it a curse at times too. This isn't another boring article on the cons of technology; we have enough knowledge on that topic (which we choose to ignore). This is about the base of the seven deadly sins: obsession.

We are so obsessed with our phones, that it has become but an extension of our being now. Our feelings, thoughts, actions- everything resides in it, like a portrait of our experiences visible to the world. So naturally, when your lifeline is cut off, you are lost.

A few days ago, my phone 's battery got spoilt; it wouldn't come on.

Can you imagine my misery?

My bag felt heavy with the corpse of the phone weighting it down, for it really was dead weight. I went around feeling incomplete, as though a part of me had gone amiss. At night, going about my usual routine, I felt like I was forgetting something. I realized with shock that it was my ritual of checking my messages before sleeping.

It's rather funny: we used to listen to music or read a nice book at bedtime, so our dreams would be filled with fantastical creatures and adventures plausible only in our imagination. Now, however, we are too busy replying to texts and filling our heads with unnecessary clutter. And you ask why I have a dreamcatcher. 

That being said, technology has its more-than-obvious perks. I was left stranded at the market for 30 minutes, clutching my phone and hoping for a miracle, before I finally used someone else's phone to contact my mother to come and pick me up.

Yet, that seems like a small price to pay for a day of peace. Everyday, I complain about the amount of work I have, but fail to list them on my fingers, as I really have no idea what it is that I really need to do. Only after abstaining (without a choice) from whatsapping my friends did I realize, "I'm free." 

Beauty of the Night

As I sit at 3 am, typing away on my phone, I can say with complete belief: there's beauty in the night.
Indeed, there's beauty in the void between days, in the silence of the atmosphere, in the darkness before the dawn, in the stillness of the night.
Whether you're bundled up in your favorite blanket, or out swinging whilst looking at that same moon that moves the earth's oceans, you can't help but appreciate the darkness. Hearing the clock tick and matching your pulse to it, or closing your eyes and drifting off to sleep with your own breath as a lullaby- it's all nirvana. Whether you're an introvert or an extrovert, it barely matters: that delicate plain between consciousness and dreams is a peaceful adobe where, for once, your own company is all you need.

Jar of Fireflies

I see balls of light,
each emitting heat.
So beautiful, so radiant,
yet, modest with conceit.

Energy and life
bursts in them,
They are but stitches
in a cloth with no hem.

With every breath
they grow, they age.
They move, they collide,
and eventually they die.

They dot the sky,
creating a beautiful sight.
Making a masterpiece
of the dreary night.

I see balls of light,
each emitting heat.
I am but a single pea
in the infinite sea.

The universe that
of stars comprise,
Is but a jar
of fireflies.

Wolfsbane

Her mind was a mess-
It reflected her soul.
Her heart too
Was beyond control.

She was sick.

Sick of what the world
had done to her,
Sick of her life
being a chaotic blur,
Sick of others
telling her what to do,
Sick of people
deciding her value.

She was tired.

Tired of not knowing
how to respond,
Tired of forming
meaningless bonds,
Tired of being a weed
A field of flowers amid,
Tired of living
the way she did.

She was done.

Done with the reigns
that tied her to the ground,
Done  with obligations
weighing her down,
Done with manners
that dictated her personality,
Done with being afraid
of her mortality.

She took the leap,
And flew to heaven.
And though freedom
was her only aim,
Society was
her wolfsbane.