Let The Good Times Roll by Sahil Mehta

LTGTR Let.The.Good.Times.Roll

(2010-2013) I had a loverâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s quarrel with the world

The Goodbye Issue...

A New sign

The winning entry for our logo-redesign contest

made by Shruti Shyam

To mark The end

From our readers “Not one thing in this world is perfect, I realise, as a chapter is set to close in my book. I have been writing, not too well I understand, for some time now, but the first glimpse of hope I ever saw in regard to my writing was due, in a very large part to LTGTR.

Credits Kartheik, Vakul, Vijay, Sayonee, Pradeep, Nishant, Amrita, Hamsini, Shaonli, Rachina, Vidya, Abhay, Aradhna, Harsh, Abhyudaya, Pragyananda, Tarun, Abhishek, Rajat, Sudeep, Dharna, Namrata, Prachi, Vasundhra, Pranav, Hasita, Sukriti, Kusha, Pradyut, Revanth, Roopak, Sagnik, Sankalp, Sukanya, Surya Tej, Anuj, Kyati, Aditi, Sowjanya, Ankush, Sanket, Demonrazor, Edocsil, Aman, Rahul, Shivam, Alok, Anubhav,Shruthi and all the others whose names I’ve missed. Special thanks to CHINMAY MAHESHWARI. And finally, yours truly, Sahil Mehta

It was in March ‘12 that Sahil accepted my first article: Ideas. Not too long back, you’d think. It’s only been exactly a year. But no. To me, it’s been a long and happy time, I’ve grown, wrote things and been in states of mind I’d never imagined possible. It could all seem superficial to you, superfluous even, but I can’t begin to enumerate the changes that I’ve seen, changes that continue to re-define what and how I write, and are to the better, I hope. Nothing is perfect, they say and that everything that is born, dies. A year has passed and I worked a bit, procrastinated more, but in the end the way I feel about writing has only been improved by working with Sahil, Chinmay and others. It’s been a pleasure working with you guys, reading some wonderful, powerful stuff. Stuff that sometimes went over my head, that made me see things in a different way, made me realize that I’m not the only one seeing things as I was. There are others, others that are just like me, in their very own way. I do not know if I or anyone for that matter will remember LTGTR at all, 30-50 years from now, and I can’t honestly guarantee that I will, but in the now and today, I will with surety say you’ve made a difference”. - Harsh Joshi

The

The Editorial

Vindication

Of An Idea I

have been drafting this in my head for nearly three years, as long as weâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;ve existed. Drafting and redrafting to make it grand, like the final flourish of an actor on stage who knows that he will be remembered by that one final act of his, as he is lost in the fading spotlight, while the curtains come down on his part.

Sahil Meht

simply incredulous about the fact that we defied a certain fate for as long as we did. And even within that incredulity is a sense of pride at what we, and I, have achieved. And a deep sense of gratitude for all those who helped carry us until they could no more.

There is a reason why all the things must end. And in essence, they can be broken down into one of two; a) But as I sit here actually typing it out, I would happily a body that has no strength and a will which can no trade all of that grandeur and elegance for clarity, as I longer push the broken body; b) its existence was an struggle to pick out that one single strand of thought, abnormality, a mistake that should never have come from the multitudes that coarse through my mind, like a about. dam broken, battered and worn by the essence of time. It is, I believe, true for all things â&#x20AC;&#x201C; people and ideas, for We were destined to fail. Of that I have no doubt. Iâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;m those are all that matter to me.

“The journey of LTGTR ends here. And at the end of it, is the vindication of an idea.” When LTGTR was first conceived, its end was already marked down in the annals of its history, that shall soon be wiped out as footprints are, in a tidal wave. What remained then, was simply to determine the brevity of its existence, and the cause for its failure. I started out LTGTR as hopelessly foolish idealist, who perhaps like a Romeo blinded in love, refused to accept the declining prowess of the written word. I believed that like the young revolutionaries who preceded us in eras bygone, we, the offsprings of a confused marriage of technology and tradition, could do the same. I was full of big dreams and thoughts that would never come to fruition in 100 years. I was never high on hope. And so we began our quest like all young dreamers do, clueless about the path ahead and thick-skulled enough to not care. We began our quest, with only the stars to guide us. And our first obstacle was not the resistance from others, or the fury of nature, but the moral dilemmas that waylay all young travelers and test their strength, will and belief. Not all of us made it through. Those that did were stronger for the better.

droop and heads began to fall, until finally bodies rolled off and men began to disappear. And those remaining, while certain of their fate, despaired at the thought of a lost legacy and of the taint of being called fools for the rest of their afterlives. With one final push, they built a monument as a sign of their achievement, a testament to the fact that they were not wrong. This letter is that monument. And that is the story of LTGTR. We found the right path, the right idea, but the journey’s taken its toll. And while our strength has failed us, our intentions were right. We made a small place for ourselves in this world. An acceptance from our readers. And a recognition from people, for what we tried to do. The journey of LTGTR ends here. And at the end of it, is the vindication of an idea. An idea that everybody has a right to express themselves, and that others will accept them for it. An idea that well written articles still have a place in a world of sarcastic and satirical Tweets and statuses. And that writing and literature can still inspire and ignite the souls of people, and - using them as agents - bring down the tyranny of antiquated thought that still prevails.

To those wondering about this seemingly pointless meandering, I have this to say. Patience. And that is what we did whenever it dawned on us that we had started out a quest doomed for failure like all foolhardy men do. And we pulled through. Somehow helping So it is, at this august evening of March, that we bid thee farewell with the hope that we’ve touched your each other like those tiny ants do. lives and made them better in our own small little way. We crossed the desert and sailed into the sea, with the wind at our backs and a handy crew. And we rejoiced And as the Scorpions said in the turn of fortunes and lived recklessly. And then “If you feel that all your life the wind stopped. And then we despaired. And in that Is packed with complications despair our own albatross appeared. And we sailed for a And almost everything you try while again, before we shot it. And again we despaired. Ends up in new frustrations And again it came. And again we shot it. This continued If you feel that life’s passing by, passing by for many turns till finally we reached the promised land. Catch the train of better times Rock tonight We paid our price too though. We reached somewhere, Hard times go and then we couldn’t move further. The will of men is As soon as the good times roll not enough to build ships that travel unexplored waters. Hard times go It is only enough, and not always, to reach the safety of As soon as the good times roll” the mainland from a few miles in the sea. Stuck there, with nowhere to go, the shoulders began to

“...writing and literature can still inspire and ignite the souls of people, and - using them as agents - bring down the tyranny of antiquated thought that still prevails.”

Age of Consent & Anti-Rape Bill

Welcome To The 20s

14 Stoccato

Be Safe

16 18 The Match Seller

Ekalavya

Politically Incorrect

Date A Girl Who Travels

Stories & Their Importance

Cooking Life With A Bit OF Salt, Pepper & Sugar

This Is Not The End

t p u G y a h - Ab

Age of Consent & Anti-Rape Bill

here’s an old saying that I made up a few minutes ago about carrots and sticks. If you can’t make the carrots any juicier, line the stick with barbed wire so it hurts more. And that’s presently what the government is in the process of doing with the remodeling of the current laws regarding rape and age of consent. By now, I’m sure everyone’s familiar with the infamous incident where a 23-year old woman was brutally gang-raped and tossed out of a moving bus in New Delhi on the 16th of December, 2012. The public demanded that the government do something in response to such a horrifying tragedy and, well, they’re doing something. They’re sharpening the stick. The carrot isn’t going to taste any different, after all. What, were you expecting the government to start doling out gift baskets and badges of merit for all the rapes you DIDN’T commit today?

creeps to enact out my deepest, darkest fantasies. Umm, I meant theirs. Obviously. But seriously, anyone could be a voyeur if poor judgment is applied. If you’re attractive enough, you may just have to get used to a flurry of ogling fans checking you out. There are some obvious boundaries one is allowed to have and too much staring is definitely creepy but if you’re going to enforce a law on it, you should damned well know how far a line you want to draw. I’ve known people who get into trouble with cops for driving after having a single glass of beer and that’s just made it clear to me that our government has a tendency to overcorrect an issue to a dangerous extreme when it can’t find an optimum solution. On that note, have you ever considered what constitutes stalking? No, checking someone’s Facebook profile isn’t real stalking. But, hey, maybe it will be soon. We won’t know for sure until the government makes up its mind on how much stalking is too much stalking and when the persistent pursuit of a love interest crosses over from ‘endearing’ to ‘holy shit, get a restraining order’. Janata Dal’s Sharad Yadav, for example, suggests that this bill could ‘kill romance’ since it’s his belief that a man must ‘follow a woman’ till she notices him and reciprocates. Uh-huh.

What is the government doing about this, though? Have we really questioned whether the government’s actually taking the right steps towards curbing the number of incidents of rape and sexual brutality committed in our country every day? Let’s start with the restructuring of the laws regarding age of consent. As of this week, it’s still 18. There was a lot of commotion regarding the proposal to lower it down to 16 and all I could wonder was – How does that affect anything? Do sex offenders really ask for age proof before sexually Still, what amount of persistence is stalking? Could I send violating someone? a woman to jail because she called me a hundred odd The age of consent is basically the youngest one can be times over the course of a week? If I’m walking towards before they can lose their virginity. Anyone who takes a certain destination and a woman’s walking the same the virginity of someone below the age of consent is way, some distance in front of me, should I overtake guilty of committing ‘statutory rape’, regardless of her or stop for a smoke break to avoid the possibility whether consent is given or not, and is entitled to a of going to jail over some misguided paranoia? Does free trip to prison, all expenses covered. The idea of that, effectively, make me just as paranoid? Thanks, changing the age of consent was to effectively curb the government. We all feel much safer now. sexual exploitation of minors. There is some genuine legitimacy to this issue but it’s a huge waste of time if our primary agenda is to eliminate rape. What kind of statement is the government making when its solution to stopping rapists and sexual fiends is to lock up pedophiles and horny young people? If you have tigers loose in the city, you don’t solve this problem by hunting down stray dogs in the hopes that this will discourage the tigers from eating your children. You find yourself a hunter who knows the difference between a tiger and an aalsi kutta.

The task at hand is a complicated, difficult one to solve, and the classic approach of introducing more terrifying penalties seems to have done little to deter close to a dozen men from brutally violating a woman to the point where her consequent death was a small mercy. It’s a grave problem that cannot be fixed simply by discouraging a handful of promiscuous teenagers and everyday voyeurs. If you feel, as I do, that our government can do more, don’t let the Anti-Rape bill circulate around such insignificant factors. Don’t let the December atrocity blow up into another sensation that And don’t let that be the only thing that should bother got swept away underneath a rug of hollow solutions you about the government’s Anti-Rape bill. There’s also and helpless scapegoats. Remember – the next victim stalking and voyeurism that’s under debate. First time could very easily be you or someone you know. offenders could face 1-3 years for voyeurism and up to three years for stalking. I’m not opposed to this. There are some really creepy people roaming our city streets and the last thing anyone wants is for any of these

Welcome To The 20s

auha h C a n r a - Dh

Oh, you’re my 20-something fellow? I’m sure you’ll agree with my wise words from my tiny pea-sized brain. Or you would discard it outright with absolute disproval saying, “Oh, what rubbish!”

soul-mates and you would in all probability be in the midst of a heart-break or would not have experienced ow when you step into your twenties, you’re love at all. Please, relax! You’re just in your early suddenly out of your teenage and are looked twenties. There are lots of people still out there, waiting upon as a mature adult; fully capable of taking to love and be loved. Desperation is not going to be your own decisions, all of which are expected your most striking quality; refrain from it. to be correct and solely your responsibility. Yes, it is a lot of pressure. But that is not the hard part. You will be Suddenly, the things that annoy you become invariably able to take a lot of decisions - some pretty good ones, large in number. Kids you once thought were cool and some downright filthy. But all of them will be scrutinized breezy would now be nothing more than retards and under the most painfully alert eyes; because while you imbeciles, waiting for a mouthful, wishfully from you. may be blissfully unaware, someone, somewhere is just People will cease to impress you by being merely “hot” waiting for you to screw up, and they’re as confident as with the IQ of a bottle. (Oh, wait. Are you a guy? I’m sorry; this one thing is not going to change.) you are that you WILL screw up.

Did you just turn 20? Here’s some wisdom for you.

There are a few things you are going to realize once You should prepare yourself for a lot of pain (emotional, you turn 20. You won’t realize them all at once, but I mostly). Although you are past your teens, your am pretty sure by the time you’d turn 25, we’d have hormones have only grown with you. They will confuse you on a whole new level. You’ll realize that a sandcastle covered most of it. being washed off by the waves was not in fact the most People around you will be falling in love, meeting their

painful thing to watch. You will witness great losses— friends, pets, lovers, fictional heroes—a lot of them are going to leave you, and you may then realize what they meant when they said they were “writhing in agony”. At least that is what you’d THINK. A part of you will understand that small talk is not for everybody. All you eventually care for will be a “what’s up!” without even waiting for the answer. Hasn’t happened yet? Give it time. The sibling you had been wishing was dead for years, will suddenly feel like the most fun, honest, and wonderful friend you’ve had. All these years growing up, when you felt you could easily kill him and now you realize that a part of you resides in them. She is the only one who knew how you were when you were young; that’s precious. You love her now, more than so many of your friends. There will be some people around you who you’re sure you don’t give a damn about! But the moment they say something about you, it affects you more than you’d ever imagined possible. This is the point at which it strikes you that no matter how many times you say that you don’t give a dead rat’s ass to what Mr. X said, anything ANYONE has to say about you affects you! You may not understand why, but it does. If you are lucky, you will fall in love with a pretty quirky person. Your friends would try to talk you out of it; they won’t understand what you see in that person. And you won’t understand how they could NOT see it in them! Well, only until a few years. Yes, growing up is an unending process. We can only hope to be the adults we think we are. One thing that is going to hit you really, really hard is that not all (none, actually) twenty-somethings are anything like Rachel, Joey or Monica! Falling in an out of love isn’t as easy. You’re not going to have as many sexual partners. And no, you are not going to be friends with anyone like Chandler Bing! Sitting around in the coffee house, gossiping with your ex-boyfriend is not how you make a living. You have to go to actual jobs, work crazy hours, and earn a meager amount you’d call “salary”. You girls, at one point, you will realize that the V-word is actually a big deal! You are going to understand how important first times are, and how the first time happens only once. You thought your hormones went crazy when you turned 17? Lady, you have no idea! Now more than the guy, you are going to miss just having a guy. One advice: Be wise, be picky, and be safe. You will soon realize your best friends may not stick up for you at all times; they’ll be still your friends, just not

“You’re going to offend certain people, belittle your own self, magnify your problems, loathe your friends and family, and not even know why. Because no matter where you are, what you do, there is always going to be someone out there who is smarter than you, prettier than you, richer than you, more fulfilled than you”

as “reachable” or “agreeable”. You’ll still be really close to them, talk to them every day, then every two days, every week, then every month… which would, at best, change to every birthday. But this would also make you understand, that even though you may not be in constant touch with them, they mean a lot to you. You will hold on to whatever’s left. You’re going to become more realistic or even more absurd about your plans for the future. Some of you will realize that selling lemonade along the foothills of Himalayas could be a cool, very cool dream-job, but not as profitable. Others would still wonder why there are no lemonade stalls along the Himalayas. Either way, it’ll change your idea of being. You would choose your bridesmaid/best-man and the godparents for your future-children. You would think these are the people that are going to stick with you through thick and thin and are going to be the pillar of support you can always lean to. You’d be right. The person you can see mentoring your child is definitely someone you can depend on. Hold on to them. You will start getting an idea about how some of the things your parents said were true and sensible, and you would in all likelihood, be able to understand a portion of them. You will, however, still be rebellious, and confused between your own love and resentment for the two people who, you’re not sure why, haven’t written you off yet. You will love them, again, but in the unhealthiest way. At some moments in your life, while you are in your early twenties, you are going to be sad. A lot! Your mood swings would range from ecstatic to downright depressed. At times you would want to shower your love on people, while there would be moments when you would want to kill the next person you see. You will find yourself turn mean to the levels you had never imagined; also, you will surprise yourself with the occasional silent acts of compassion. You will lie a lot. You will judge a lot. You will hate a lot, and you sure will love a lot. You’re going to offend certain people, belittle your own self, magnify your problems, loathe your friends and family, and not even know why. Because no matter where you are, what you do, there is always going to be someone out there who is smarter than you, prettier than you, richer than you, more fulfilled than you; and there would be pretty much nothing you would be able to do about it. All you can do is enjoying the growing up and learn what you can, about life, about others, and most of all, about yourself. The twenties may be not be the best that life has to offer, but it has its own perks and attractions. Welcome aboard, my friend, welcome to the twenties. It pretty much sucks; you’re gonna love it and oh-so-much miss it when it’s gone!

- Kartheik I

Staccato T

he sun. Now orange. Now red. Blazing. Iridescent. Portentous. Humbling. Setting.

Its reflection. His eyes. His face. Stubble. A tear. Salty to taste. The sea. The waves. Little boat on the horizon. Bobbing. The breeze. The smell of fish. The taste of salt. Of memories. Bygones. Possibilities. The seagulls. Fly. Glide. Circle. Fish. Dip. Miss. Dip. Catch. Eat. Rocks. Vein-encrusted. Tidebreakers. Sturdy. Stolid. Weathered. Worn. Clouds. Contrast. Shapes. Of wishes. Of dreams. Drift away. ‘I want to...’

yer

Words. Strung. Together. A theory. An explanation. A fact. Contrast. A rationalization. Expectations. Reality. He sat and thought. For a way to put his thoughts into words. Of any form, in any language. Words. Powerful. Meaningless. Powerless. Wise. Such...., such that it allowed his wandering, traipsing mind to express all kinds of eloquent trivialities, but fell short when he wanted to speak of what mattered. But what mattered? Initiate cycle. Success? Meaningless. Company? Temporary. Love? No, not that. Freedom? Self imposed. Self declared. Semantics. Life? Not being dead? Achievements? Individual. Meaningless. History? Stories. Depend on the storyteller. Peace? Wishful thinking. Happiness? Too hard. Satisfaction? To whom. Self. How? Success? Full circle. No answers.

Beautiful? No.

He sat and watched the sun set, a reflected fire burning in his hollowed eyes as the incandescent ball ducked below the skyline with deceptive quickness, the lights in his eyes flickering with the stormy sea before they, too, went out altogether, leaving the burnt out husk of what once had possibly been a great man. Softly, he sang to the wind, as they carried the quiet words away,

Interesting? Yes.

‘Don’t take away my shine, my shine is all I have...’

Thoughts. Fragmented. Splintered. Incoherent. Looking. Searching. Lost trains. Life. Meaning. None. Journey. Pointless. Goal. Unattainable. Game. Whose? Mine. Yours. His? Whose? Somebody. Nobody.

Spectacles. Opaque. Coulombic. Not inverse. Mundane. Nontrivial. Together. Simple. Lies. Random.

o put everything into context, it is twenty one minutes past midnight on a Wednesday night, or a Thursday morning. I have to leave home at 8:30 a.m. in the morning for work, and I really should be asleep. I feel sleepy too. I’m tired and I want to sleep. But I can’t. I can’t sleep because I’m scared. I’m scared of the nightmares that may come when I do actually close my eyes. You see, a female friend of mine was due to travel alone late at night today. And despite my telling her to message to let me know she had reached safely she hasn’t. And right now, I’ve got no fricking clue whether she’s safe or not. Or course, I shouldn’t really worry. She’s a bright, sensible and independent girl who’s probably done this before. My anxiety should not be taken as a reflection of her being careless or immature, because she isn’t. But I am worried. And I’m scared. Because, deep down, I know what can happen, and what does happen in this country. I wake every morning to headlines of rapes and gang-rapes. I look at these articles in despair and anger. I wonder what kind of animals would do this. And I berate the authorities and government for not preventing these hideous crimes. Today I’m feeling another emotion, something that the newspaper stories don’t me feel. I’m feeling the fear that thousands and thousands of Indian women and their families feel every day. And frankly I’m terrified. But it’s not just fear. It’s helplessness. I’m sitting here and typing this in the clear knowledge that if anything untoward does happen, I won’t be able to do anything. And perhaps no one else will even bother.

Sahil Meht

Be Safe

“I, we, live in the world’s largest democracy. We shouldn’t feel like prisoners in our own homes” It’s not one incident. A couple of days back my mom had a work dinner. She told me in the morning before work. As it would happen, the driver was on leave as well. She told me, and I completely forgot by the time I got back home at 8 p.m. Now, I’m used to mom working late. And I don’t usually worry because she’s in the office and the car and driver are right there.

vigilante. I can’t be present at the scene every time a woman is harassed in this country. But perhaps collectively we can make a difference.

And perhaps we can start by being more sensitive to women in general and stop saying inappropriate things. If you know someone going home alone, drop her! Wait till she’s inside if you’re dropping her. And for god’s sake, This particular day she wasn’t in the office, and there stop making a pass at every girl you see! was no driver or car. So after a couple of hours I got kind of concerned. So I called her up. And her phone I’m at a loss now. I’m not naïve enough to suggest that was switched off. I called, a little stupidly perhaps, government should educate people about this. A. They don’t have the capacity. B. I don’t think people need repeatedly. And the phone was still off. to be taught how to act as humans, or atleast they I’m not going to get into details, but when she did return shouldn’t. home I unloaded on her like I’ve never done before. It wasn’t her fault. But I still did. And while I apologized But till we can fix this disease in the society, I just want for it, if something like this happens again, I probably all the ladies reading this to be safe. And please do carry would do it again. If not for any other reason than a pepper spray. It might feel like nothing to you, but it simply because, there’s nothing else I could have done. makes me sleep easier at night. I can’t really describe how worried I got then. But after today’s instance, when I look back at things, I’m a little amazed. I shouldn’t have to fell scared if people I know are not at their home or their offices. No one should have to live in the fear that some tragedy might befall their dear ones just because they aren’t in the confines of familiar surroundings. I, we, live in the world’s largest democracy. We shouldn’t feel like prisoners in our own homes. If you think I’m making this up, you’re wrong. If you think I’m overreacting, then wait until you have to go through this same thing, though I wouldn’t wish it on my worst enemy.

Viewpoint

er kartheik Iy

In the morning, they both didn't feel like writing the exam. She thought, 'I'm set. I don't need to write this.' He thought, 'I'm screwed anyway. What's the And then there is this one final thought. Why am I so helpless? I’m 23 years old. I’m reasonably smart, and use?' passably strong. More than anything else, I’m educated with morals and values. I should be doing something. I shouldn’t let this environment of terror prevail!

I’m pro harsher rape laws. I’m all for death sentences for extreme cases. But that’s not making me feel any less concerned about the safety of my friend and mother right now. If something were to happen to them, then I’d probably go into a mad killing rage anyway without regard for the law. But nothing I could do then would change what happened. And that thought sickens me. I can’t go out patrolling the streets every night like a

The Match Seller wal r a g A i t a y - Kh

This story here is not exactly an original. It’s the one which I heard from grandparents ages ago and would like to share with you. It has been modified in many ways and the writing is mine but if anyone is familiar with the original story, feel free to share it.

he was walking gracefully on the stony platform. She was barefoot. She had a plaid green shawl thrown across her shoulders. She wore a long flowing skirt on which, at places there was some patchwork. She wore a dirty cashmere sweater with gaping holes in it. She had large, beautiful, expressive grey eyes that took me in completely when she asked me to buy a packet of matchsticks from her. Yes, she was a match-seller. I was going to Petersburg to visit a friend of mine. At Volkan (I think, that was the name), a station just before Petersburg, I opened the window to let the fresh air pour in. I was grateful for the freshness despite the icy cold breeze. It was then that she came up to me with her large innocent eyes and asked me to buy a match box. I stared at her fixedly for half a minute and was wondering who would send their child in such frigid a weather, barefoot? She seemed around twelve years old. She requested me in earnest and her eyes seemed to be pleading

to buy a match and not drive her away as the rest did. I obliged. I rummaged in my cloak pocket for a rouble. I handed her the money and she gave me a couple of matchboxes. She smiled and said, “Spasibo bolshoe”. Her eyes lit, she went off in the other direction, selling matches. Her smile passed on to me and I retained it for the rest of my journey. Why, though? I do not know! ... Two days later, the cold became severe. The girl at the Volkan station was shivering uncontrollably. She had to sell her daily quota of matchsticks otherwise she be thrashed by her step-father. She remembered the last thrashing and winced involuntarily. The bruise on her elbow still hurt. She sighed deeply. The only one who ever loved her was her grandmother. She was the one who consoled her and made her feel worthwhile. She was the reason, the girl smiled. But apparently God

“She kept delaying on the lighting of the third match. She shivered, both from the cold and the fear of being flogged by her stepfather for wasting too many matches” needed her grandmother more and so he took her Ultimately, she had to give in. The cold was away about two months ago. After her demise, it unbearable. She lit the third match and lo! She saw was a miracle if she could manage her daily meals. her grandma! She was pearly white and translucent. But she was her grandma, the person whom she Waking from her reverie, she walked and walked, had thought of the most that night. The girl grinned convinced that someone would buy her matches. happily as her grandma spread her arms wide for Suddenly, snowfall started. She sat in the corner the little match girl to hug her. There was warmth near the bookstall and observed the passengers. all around her grandmother and the girl welcomed She could not discern their shapes in the dark so it as she embraced her. she decided to light a match which would keep her warm and would let her observe the people. But ... she had to be economical in her usage of matches, Next morning, the train stopped at the station and lest her father hit her. I got out of my compartment in the expectation of She lit a match and a wave of warmth shot through seeing the match girl again. I couldn’t find her and her whole body. In its light, she caught a glimpse was filled with a sense of foreboding. After much of a strong man with broad shoulders, dressed in searching, I found her sleeping blissfully under a crisp, black business suit, a camel-skin overcoat, the cover of a white blanket. On her face was an sleek and shiny leather boots and a grave looking exuberant smile, her now no more bright eyes were briefcase. Seeing him, she remembered, as if from open whilst the snowflakes rested on their lashes a past life, a period of prosperity when she was and beside her lay three matchsticks. She was dead. with her mother, grandma, and her stepfather. And I was sickened to the core. They lived in a large mansion with all the comforts and luxuries one could dream of. This was before I asked the owner of the nearby bookstall about her mother’s death. Afterwards, her stepfather her. He said the severe cold must have killed her. (a drunkard) recklessly spent all their money in He added it was best for her as her father treated gambling and they became virtually beggars. The her like an animal. He said the authorities had been flame came very close to her hand. She couldn’t informed. I walked up to her, closed her laughing hold it any longer. She let the match drop. It eyes which mocked the world and stood rooted extinguished, taking away all its light and all its to the spot until the final call for the train leaving registered in my brain and I ran for my compartment. warmth with it. She lit another match and in its light, she saw an old lady cajoling a five year old and she was forcibly reminded of her grandmother. The match again, became too hot to hold and she let it drop with a sigh. She felt a little dizzy so she leaned her head against the wall and closed her eyes. The cold was intense. Her toes and fingers were all numb, her lips blue and her teeth were chattering continuously. She kept delaying on the lighting of the third match. She shivered, both from the cold and the fear of being flogged by her stepfather for wasting too many matches.

The image of the girl under the snowy blanket and her dazzling smile was now branded in my memory. I couldn’t shake it off. I couldn’t help but wonder what was the reason for that peaceful, serene smile of hers. She would have seen an apparition of sorts, I concluded. For who would smile so jovially when sent out to sell matches in this cruel cold? Yes, she would have seen an angel. But she would never say anything about this. I would never know…

Ekalavya T

he Devil was waiting to make his move. He was standing on a railway platform with the air of a hunter waiting for his prey to fall in his trap. As he waited patiently, he couldnâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;t help but think how much he wanted to quit the job. Lately, his job had become too predictable and boring. His performance in the recent times had reached the zenith, leaving all the competition behind. He really missed his dear friend, The Archangel. There were times long long ago when the Angels and Devils used to compete with each other. Those were the times when The Angels used to earn a well deserved victory. The Devil still dreaded the days when Ravana, the king of Devils, was slaughtered by Ram, who was called The Archangel. It was the most embarrassing defeat the devils had ever faced. Ever since, the Devils were trying hard to take revenge. Their attempts were never successful, until recently.

Shashank C

hepuri

The Devil recalled his last and most talked about victory on 16th December 2012 wherein a 23-year-old female was beaten and gang raped in a bus in which she was travelling with her male companion. â&#x20AC;&#x2DC;Where were the Angels then?â&#x20AC;&#x2122; The sound of the approaching train brought the Devil back to the present. He became aware of the surroundings. He scanned the people who flocked looking around the train for his next prey. An evil smile materialized on his lips when he found her. ***

As the express train arrived at a station for its brief halt, passengers rushed out and into its already packed coaches. Gayathri, a 21-year old girl, just managed to get into a compartment. She was holding on an air bag, which served as her only luggage for her travel. She held Since the last couple of decades the battle had become the bag with her left hand and held on to a supporting one sided. Off late, there was no competition from the rod with her right hand. As the train accelerated ahead, Angels. It was as if the Angels had gone into a deep she suddenly got pushed by the crowd. She panicked slumber. They needed a wake-up call. The Devils had and lost her grip, and she was thrown out of the become too bored of victory. They needed competition. speeding train.

The bluster of the train muted the thud of her fall on to the ground more than a meter below. Gayathri shrieked with pain when her back met the ground. She was knocked senseless. A boy who was standing on the footboard in another compartment of the same train couldn’t believe what he had just seen—a young woman in a white Punjabi suit lying next to the tracks. Meanwhile, gasps and screams emanated from his compartment. The boy immediately raised an alarm by pulling the emergency chain frantically. The train screeched, and started decelerating. But it seemed to him as if the train was taking forever to stop. He couldn’t wait for it to halt. The boy scanned the compartment hoping to find someone willing to help him in rescuing the girl. But nobody volunteered. Everyone was afraid of getting involved. All wanted to know what had happened; all were curious to catch a glimpse of bleeding body and unconscious mind; but no one wanted to come forward and help. All were inactive; all were weak. They could think, but could not feel. They could reason but could not empathize. They spoke in a language devoid of intent. All they cared was to catch their respective glimpses; to consume their daily dose of sheepish whispers and sterilized conspiracies.

“The Devil feasted on the scene. The boy was alone. No one was willing to get out of their busy schedule and help the damsel in distress. Everything was going according to the Devil’s plan.” Gayathri was slipping into unconsciousness. As a child, she had always wondered what death would feel like. She knew she would experience it someday. “It can’t be today. It can’t be now”, she prayed. ‘Don’t worry, you will be fine’, the boy said. It was as if the Angels’ had answered her prayers through the boy. They were the last words she heard before blanking out. She hoped for hope and trusted the voice. The boy looked around. No help was in sight—they were alone somewhere between two stations.

The Devil feasted on the scene. The boy was alone. The Devil’s plan was immaculate. The boy alone could No one was willing to get out of their busy schedule do nothing. Devil knew that he would have to give up and help the damsel in distress. Everything was going eventually. according to the Devil’s plan. But the boy had no intentions of giving up. He lifted the Unaffected by the people’s response, the boy pushed 50-kilo Gayathri cautiously and made his way across his way towards the exit of the train. the tracks. He crossed through some shrubbery, and followed the direction of the sounds. The boy took a deep breath and closed his eyes as he jumped off the train. His rubber slippers did little to The Devil was impressed. This boy earned the Devils protect his feet from the sharp edges of the rocks. A attention. For the first time in a long time, the Devil was burst of pain shot up in his ankle as he landed on the actually challenged by a human. ground. The pain, however, was not strong enough to weaken his vigour. He gasped for breath as he stood ‘I should find help at any cost’, the boy thought. looking for the girl. ‘All you can find is trouble. Yes, that is what you will He found the girl lying by the side of the tracks around find. And if you choose trouble, I can offer you a wide 50 meters away. The rocks (which are usually found variety of it’, the Devil laughed. between the tracks) had greatly damaged her spine. As the boy reached the road, he found new hope. A Her hair lay intertwined with the rocks, which tried to hope that the girl could be saved. He started asking for invade her profusely bleeding scalp. The adulterated lifts. No one cared to stop. red streams irrigated the geometrical disparities on her face. Her right hand stretched diagonally towards the ‘She is injured,’ the boy implored motorists who drove track with her thumb resting against her palm; curled by. like an infant flower bud afraid of daylight. Her left hand, with which she earlier held her luggage, was now ‘Please help me take her to a hospital’, he cried aloud. smeared in blood. Her luggage lay 10 feet away from Tears started rolling down his cheeks. He couldn’t make her, hidden in the shrubs. out if the tears were due to the pain in his legs or for the

That day she decided to give her parents a surprise visit. Gayathri was looking forward to having supper with her As the boy cried, the Devil laughed. It could already parents, and a long phone chat with her fiancé. But now smell its victory. she lay drenched in blood on the highway. girl he was carrying.

*** The 21-year old Gayathri Narayan had her marriage coming up the next week. Like any other Indian girl, she awaited a dream wedding. The wedding was just the icing, indeed. The fact that she was marrying the man she loved was the real cake. She was very happy the way her life was shaping up. She felt like princess. It was as if the whole world was conspiring to please her.

*** Just when he had begun to lose hope, a tempo-truck pulled over and its driver, a middle-aged man who spoke Punjabi, stepped out. The man helped the boy lay Gayathri down in the back of his truck. ‘Let’s take the girl to The City Nursing Home’, suggested the driver. When the vehicle lurched forward, Gayathri stirred and her eyes fluttered open.

The boy, who was carrying Gayathri, had a very different story. The dark and lanky youngster was from a nearby town. He was an unemployed high-school dropout who’d recently come to city looking for a job. He had spent his morning giving an unsuccessful interview for a job at call center. As he boarded the train home, he pondered his future. But, all he could now think of was saving a stranger’s life.

Gayathri’s eyelids gently rolled up to reveal her light blue eyes and as they came down again, she managed to take a fleeting glimpse of the sight in front of her. She saw a silhouette of a man, standing against the setting sun. He was holding a stick to support his aching leg. It looked to her as if Lord Ram himself was standing in front of her, protecting her from death. She felt like a baby which was taking refuge in its mother’s womb. She felt safe. She started a silent prayer but couldn’t complete it as she lost focus and rolled back into the darkness.

The Devil saw a familiar sight. The boy reminded him of the Angels. As the driver helped the boy to lay Gayathri into the back of the truck, the Devil felt nostalgic. It was turning out to be another Ramayan where in Ram and Hanuman come together to save Sita and vanquish the evil lord. The Devil was terrified.

She just nodded and fell asleep again. *** In a few days Gayathri made a full recovery. She was amazed to learn of the manner in which she had been rescued. She enquired more about the boy.

‘Check her for the mobile-phone. Try and call someone Her cousin said that he had thanked the boy and offered from her contacts’, the driver suggested to the boy. The him money which he promptly refused to accept. boy obeyed. He called a contact which said “Bhaiyaa”. It was the contact of the girl’s brother. ‘I can’t imagine what would have happened to you if he hadn’t been there,’ he said. Gayathri’s cousin was wrapping up his day at his software job when his phone rang. The voice on the other end ‘I think it’s astonishing that a stranger would jump off a of the phone informed him of Gayathri’s accident and train and risk his life for me. We can never repay him’, asked him to come to The City Nursing Home as soon Gayathri said. as possible. The Devil sat in the same room silently. He was outplayed. ‘I’m on my way’, he said, as he rushed towards his He was left defeated but was not disappointed. The motorcycle. boy proved that Humanity was still not lost by all. It was scarce, but it did exist. And as long as people go Gayathri arrived at The City Nursing Home minutes out of their way to help others, Humanity shall prevail. later. Dr. Avasthi conceived the urgency of the case and Perseverance of Humanity is biggest weapon of the admitted her immediately to the ICU. As Gayathri was Angels and hence the biggest threat to the Devils. being taken into the ICU the boy was asked to fill the application form. His hands shivered as he filled it up. The Devil was about to leave when he heard Gayathri enquire about the name of the boy. As the Doctor looked into the application form to check his name, the Devil waited for the answer. He needed to know the name of the boy who defeated him.

“As he boarded the train home, he pondered his future. But, all he could now think of was saving a stranger’s life.”

‘Ekalavya…His name is Ekalavya’, the Doctor announced. The Devil then flew out of the hospital already conspiring for the next disaster, hoping that at least the next time, this trait called humanity, would not cause any trouble in its well laid plans.

The Doctor asked the boy to hang around until As the Devil left, Gayathri smiled and closed her eyes; Gayathri’s family arrived. That’s when they noticed that visualizing the boy’s silhouette and silently completed the driver, having done all he could, had slipped away the prayer which she had started in the truck. with his truck. (Based on a true story...) ‘Oh, I couldn’t thank him!’ the boy thought. Gayathri was still unconscious. But her X-rays showed that although the injuries looked severe, they were not fatal. There would be no lasting damage, but Dr Avasthi believed that she could have bled to death had nobody helped her. When she finally opened her eyes, her cousin and fiancé were by her side. She couldn’t find the boy who saved her. ‘Where is the person who saved me?’ she enquired. ‘He is not here. He had to leave for his town’, her cousin said.

Date A Girl Who Travels

an - Hamsini Harihar

ate a girl who travels the world. Date a girl who lives on the edge with a vague but good plan for tomorrow and a good collection of memories from yesterday. Date a girl who walks the world with a bag on her shoulders and a crumpled dress inside in case she ever meets a nice guy. Date a girl who travels because she will be adventurous; she will be ready to rapple, to snorkel, to walk 36 kilometers to catch the sunset and to live in a sleeping bag under the stars as long as she wants to. Date a girl who travels, because she can take care of herself. She will lift her own baggage and offer to carry yours too. She will almost always have mosquito repellant and an extra towel. She will know what local produce to buy irrespective of her being in Zijuantenejo or Sialkot. Date a girl who travels because she’s not going to be PMS and she’s not going to give a damn if you pretend you do. Date a girl who travels because after 36 hours of a bus ride with no pit stops, she will sink her teeth calmly into the first edible food you give her and not kick up a fuss about low fat produce. Date a girl who travels, take her out some place nice to eat. She’s not going to care if it has three michellan stars as long as it’s nice food and good conversation. Take her out dancing; take her for a simple long walk in the park. She’ll be up for anything; concerts, art shows, car rallies

and even bull fights - because a girl who travels is a girl who appreciates every type of culture. Volunteer together at an orphanage in Burundi , Teach English to Tibetan monks in Northern India, help build houses for those who were displaced during the Haiti earthquake. Take her to watch a foreign movie in a seedy theatre in a small town in the middle of nowhere. Tell each other bed time stories from all the folklore that you have heard on your own journeys. Trek to the top of a small hill, pitch a tent and just stay there plotting the movements of the sun and the stars. Rent a houseboat and try fishing. She’ll be up for it all and most of the time; she’ll be up half an hour before you making sure that you aren’t forgetting anything. Date a girl who travels because chances are, she will always be fit. She’ll look pretty because of that freshness; the zest for life and have a spark in her eye. A girl who travels isn’t going to care how she looks and therein lies her charm. She’s not going to take bullshit from anyone, mind you! She could just turn around and give you the finger if you cross her threshold limit but that isn’t going to happen often. A girl who travels is going to have a calm head most of the time. And she isn’t going to put herself in danger - Because a girl who travels knows how important it is to be safe as a woman. She’s not going to complain about how hard her bed is going to be, she’s going to be talking about the place you’re in, the amazing scenery and the people you meet. Date a girl who travels because she is going to have seen much of the world and known enough of its beauty and its monstrosity alike. She will know how large the world is and how insignificant humans are that she will retain her humility. She will also know the importance of luck and fate and that’s why she will cherish your relationship. A girl who travels will always have a steady supply of stories to go with hot chocolate but she will also know the importance of silence around a bonfire and she’ll converse with you by the flames in her eyes. Date a girl who travels because she is desperately seeking some answers. Talk to her about the conception of the universe and God and humanity. Ask her about her family and her relationships and find out why she likes the wind in her hair. Tell her everything will be okay. Tell her how awesome it is that she is looking for the answers in her own way. If you’re lucky, she’ll ask you to accompany her on her trip. And we all know what that means.

Fear

- Jibran Anand

ear; what is it? Perhaps the most innate human instinct of them all, fear is something that resonates inside each and every one of us. For some it could be the fear of losing a person, for others it could be the fear of being insignificant in this vast world of ours. There are some fears which are constant, fears which lie inside you throughout your life and periodically show up, usually in idyllic situations. These fears may not be necessarily limited to only a few people, and may be as vast as this world of ours, but they stay constant throughout time. Then there are other fears, fears which suddenly flit into your head and turn what you thought was a perfect moment but what was actually a moment as perfect as Arsenal’s season, into something resembling Liverpool’s yearly exploits. These fears are those that seemingly emerge from nowhere and suddenly take over your life in such a manner that asphyxiation seems like the only option. However, there is one fear which we all suffer from, at some level or another. This isn't a fear which occurs frequently and is perhaps one that lasts only fleetingly. Yet for that instance, that minute,that second or that hour, this fear is one which overwhelms you to such an extent that you begin questioning your existence in this cutthroat world. What is this fear you ask. Well this fear is something that is common and yet so uncommon. It is something that exists within us at all points in our lives and yet so often it doesn't. This fear is something that a takes many forms, a shape-shifter in a form that would indeed make J.K Rowling very proud. You ask me to name it...I ask you to feel it.

ell, you got me. This is most definitely my first (and hopefully last confession), but keeping in mind that I hope to be the next Ashish Shakya (and by next I mean better looking and richer), it’s safe to assume that I’m a devout man who talks to God every night before I go to bed. I get it, writing exams are a painful process. And when you’re an engineering student in a premier institute of the country, you’ve got nothing much to look forward to apart from a 9-to-8 IT job. A job which might pay a ton of money but is still useless since you probably can’t even approach the hot girl at the bar to buy her a drink. Stress busters are important. No, I don’t mean the perfectly innocent looking 50GBfolder marked Miscellaneous Foreign Studies. Lo and behold! The Facebook “Confessions” pages come to your rescue. Take your pick, there are over a gazillion confession pages for the IIT’s , NIT’s, BITS and other forgettable institutes filled with completely believable and infallible truths about pranks, sexual escapades and romantic feelings for one’s roommate/ roommate’s girlfriend. Honestly, I’ve been glued to the pages myself, leading me to realize that I’m probably no better than the moronic jackasses I call my wing mates who almost drool when they came across posts like , “I was having kinky sex with my boyfriend behind the library”. Personally, I don’t believe it’s true, but kudos to aforementioned boyfriend otherwise. But true or false, we’ve once again hit upon the secret that Chetan Bhagat has so exquisitely exploited. Literotica sells, and every horny college student’s buying. Nobody really cares about the validity, but everyone’s got an opinion, and everyone’s hooked. We all want to know who’s cheating on whom, who got completely sloshed and peed all over the professor’s door and who cheated on a test. But sometimes, more engaging than the event itself, are the discussions that followNewspaper Journalist, (and believer in the one true higher power, Arindham Choudhary) – “*insert premier college name* students are changing the way we think and revolutionizing social media!”

Forgive Me Father

For I Have

Sinned - Anonymous

Professor #2 - “We will find these cheating rascals and rusticate them immediately! No mercy should be shown!” Student #2 - “Anyone want to meet behind the library tonight?” One point everyone does seem to agree on is that this occurrence is just a one-off, and people will completely forget about it soon enough. That’s about as truthful as Pawan Bansal’s assertion that the Railway Budget was made keeping in mind the needs of the common man. As long as the confessions keep coming, we’re going to open that Facebook page and look at it, because deep down, we all want them to be true. We want to believe that we’ve got the potential to be as sexually deviant as the bored individuals on the campuses trying to ‘confess’ their sins away. The world is going to try to get back to its previous state soon. We’ll be back to bashing Dhoni for being a horrible player despite his statistics in front of us; spokespersons will tell us that India-Pakistan relations need to be mended, and hopefully the next Madrid – Man Utd match will end a lot better than the previous one did. But one thing is certain, while the number of people liking the confessions pages everyday will drop soon enough; no one is going to forget that the pages exist. For the sole reason that they are addictive, especially the week before the exams.

Professor #1- “These students are a disgrace to our college and are bad mouthing this great institute where So unless you’re really bored and want to read about we tirelessly teach and care about our students!” what most college students want to achieve in four Student #1- “Screw everybody! FREEDOM OF SPEECH!! years, go try and do something more important with INQILAB ZINDABAD! This is the power of the youth! We your time. I suggest running around the streets in a white shall do and say what we feel like, and shove wickets up undershirt screaming “Yippi kay yay MotherF***er”, because John McClane has returned. the Australian’s asses in the next test.”

The Best Of Pragyananda Mishra

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Vampires are blood honest. Unke irade NECK hote hain In the world of symbols its only the + which enjoys a Sumbhog ;)

Fowl-Mouthed: Blurting out obscenities at the first serving of a Chicken dinner after a break of many days

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Way too much vampire stuff on TV. Those Neckromancers ! Its Maha Shivratri today- Rise to the occasion with the Big Bhaang Theory! I salute the woman - One who, generally speaking, is generally speaking ;) A main-course at a gala dinner ends only with a inter-course late night ~ wise guy

A very happy birthday to Uday Chopra. The only Director turned Actor turned Director turned Producer turned Extra

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The Fund Raising of an orchestra is always a Band-Aid A Voyeurâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s eyesight is tuned at the Peek Efficiency ;) Shoplifters are the few ones who have a Gift of the Grab Fight till the last strand of black hair. Dye Hard !

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Dressmakers, catering to a pregnant clientele are Mother Frockers Bharat Bandh coincides with Jiah Khanâ&#x20AC;&#x2122;s birthday. Poor girl, she is Nishabd today ! A swimsuit hottie is a girl worth wading for There are always few special ones. The Testimoanial types :P

Arranged Marriage: NewlyWed Love Marriage: KnewlyWed The more you study the harder it is to convince You choose ! your grandmother about your career path

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A barter over sea food is a Squid-Pro-Quo

Climbing up a train is difficult for fat people. Uncles, for decades have tried to Up the Aunty at those places ;)

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Sleeping with girlfriends since 1903, A Teddy Bear has seen it all. #HappyTeddyDay Lingerie salesmen are Negli-Gents

In spite of my protests my friend went for installing 6 aquariums in his new house. It is a house of gill repute now !

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Pickpockets are the greatest optimists. They believe that every crowd has a silver lining ;)

My MBA friend’s relationship with a hotel maid is not working out. Apparently she is more of an expert with spread-sheets !

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What do you call a share trader who is also a humorist? A Laughing Stock Sheldon, of late has become better. He is now an Amyable person Every Pandit is a Hymn-atwala Ageing has its own pitfalls. One is the loss of the never-say-dye attitude Quantum Physicists, on completing their work breathe a Ψ of relief Cricketer’s dilemma at food : Currydor of Uncertainty Lost my shoes at the temple. Thank God, I found there exists a sole-mate for me

A frog’s mother always opposed his son venturing out to the open. Little did the son understand that she was always the WELL-wisher ;)

In a text conversation ‘Awwww’ is the answer to Life, the Universe and Everything

Ancient Romans as portrayed by the TV shows were an altogether different generation. They were the Gen-ITALIA ;)

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Indian Protester : AAM ADMI by day, SPAM ADMI by night

The Cunning Linguist got a score of 96.69; Forget MBA he would be a Lay-man for life ;)

With Butter and Pickles, North Indian food is always a delightful Ghee-motional Atyachar ;)

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Hindu weddings prove the existence of an Altar Ego

My friend is on track to become a fantastic orthopedist. His favorite topic is the Cast-ing Couch ;)

Balding Lions hate Mane-o-pause

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Its Bal Divas. A reminder to look after the receding hairlines ;) Classmates: Morons Special Classmates: Proxymorons The private browsing icon stands for Cognito Ergo Sum ;) Any one got a DVD of Ra.One ? Let’s burn it and celebrate Dussehra ;)

While conversing with a boy, 65% of all girls begin replying with a ‘no’ Stay awake.......It is their aNOmaalous behavior

The spell checker went for a blood test. He had a tough time believing the report. He just could not get over the Type-O ;)

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Electrical Engineers are the only people proud of their current affairs ;)

I am innovative and a risk taker when it comes to consuming and ordering lobsters In other words I can become a EntrePrawneur some day !

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There is always a vas deferens between birth control methods #Man-hood

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Police Dogs are an Epitome of Conscentration Savitha Bhabhi would surely be having a good time. It’s world Aunty-Corruption day ! Zoroastrians make the thriftiest of friends. The Parsi-monious type ;)

FDI has to be something right. I was opposing it and got splattered all over by an IDF defender

Happiest birthday Shane Warne. The guy who bowled men and balled women Vital Statistics is all about mean, maiden and mood. Female sheep bitch about Ewefamism #Hey Ram ! Spanish counter strike players propose by the following words…te ammo ;)

A movie name for 1. A dying torrent Donald Duck broke up with his girlfriend. His 2. A soon-to-be plant condition was best described as LackaDAISYcal 3. An ageing Vicky Donor

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Minding the pupils is a squintessential Wake Up Seed ! teacher’s worst nightmare A serial kisser is a Kal-muaaahhh ;) Batch parties make celebrities. The Lager than Life type you know ;)

- Shruti Sen

Cooking Life with Salt, Pepper & Sugar

t was time for dinner and I rushed to the kitchen, asking mom if the food was ready. I was more impatient than ever. Why wouldn’t I be? I had asked mom to make my favorite dish, Chicken Masala. Once the chicken enters her territory (read kitchen), that culinary art subdued within her is triggered. She begins with washing the chicken, skillfully assorting the varied spices, mixing them well in the correct proportion and providing the ideal amount of heat to it. As I see it coming my way, the smell itself is enough to give me a high. It’s now being served and the eyes solicit me to devour it while the mouth is busy anticipating its taste. Finally, a piece goes in and I all that I can utter in that state of rapture is, “Ah! What a delight”.

those secret ingredients, mix them in the accurate proportion using the most ideal conditions; won’t the result be equivalent to that of savoring a delicious treat? Yes indeed, only more powerful and finely tuned I assume. The mystery lies in finding those ingredients that would make life palatable for each one of us. It’s simple. Just like in the world of cooking, I figured, life also has three main elements that is Salt, Pepper & Sugar. All you need to do is put on an apron, a chef’s hat and place life in a hot pan filled with those mixed ingredients. The tricky part is to find this trio and make its best use. Salt, Pepper and Sugar here is the presence of those three significant people whom each one of us needs to cook a great life.

Now imagine if we could cook life as flawlessly as my We all know that a dish without salt is like a pen without mom cooked that chicken. If we could somehow find ink. It obviously is the most fundamental element.

When it comes to life, Salt is the person who has to keep showing up so that you survive all the way till the end. That person is your absolute necessity. Each one of us radiates unique frequencies. There is always an antenna available in your surrounding that catches and records it. Salt is the one that carries the antenna. When you talk to them, you are amazed at the level of connection that is sparked in the air between you two. Late at 4am, when terrible thoughts hover above you and pour rain, this is the one ingredient which protects you. They listen to you patiently; provide you the warmth of support and you don’t need to fear about judgment too. That intense level of understanding leaves no scope for conflict. You either keep coming back to them or they keep showing up. Salt might not be able to teach you many values as you both have almost the same ideologies, their role is just to keep mending you each time you are in pieces. They make you an extension of their own self and would easily push boundaries in order to protect you from those who intimidate. Without Salt, it would be awfully difficult to find those precious moments of peace in this increasingly complex world. But take note that you refrain from sprinkling too much of it because then it loses its charm, leading to a life that is built only on one perspective. Like they say, add salt according to taste.

“When it comes to life, Salt is the person who has to keep showing up so that you survive all the way” Be it at our home dining table or an eatery, you will always find pepper standing next to salt. But how many of us actually use it? Not many, I reckon. Not adding pepper doesn’t make food any less appetizing but when we do sprinkle it, the flavor reaches to a new level of culinary delight. In other words, it acts as a catalyst. Similarly, in life too we find Pepper doing that same job. This is the person that holds the mirror in front of you, unlike Salt that holds the antenna. Instead of connection, admiration is the end result here. Both of you stand at the edge of two extremes and keep bombarding each other with your own perspectives. They consume you and fill you simultaneously by shattering your little predefined world. This may sound disastrous, but actually it’s not. It’s a catalyst which binds you both together despite the prominent differences. So what they smash your belief, make you highly vulnerable and open the locked doors of addiction but on the other hand, Pepper gives you a new outlook towards life. They keep knocking you down

and picking you up until the day you’ve learnt to stand up on your own. When you break down and look for support, they might not successfully comfort you but instead they’ll show you the difficult path that holds the destination of permanent healing. It is not for your survival that you need Pepper; you’re required to keep them around in order to undergo transformation and experience revelation. Yes, at times there is a strong urge to toss a stone at the mirror they hold before you, but no sooner you pick up the stone, you accidently gaze at your own reflection, wonder and accept the fact that you need to transform. Therefore, you are neither able to destroy the mirror nor painfully keep gazing at it forever. You both rejoice in being stuck until you are finally reinvented. So, unlike the oblivious people who choose to sprinkle only traditional salt over their feast, pick up pepper too and make it even more thrilling. Doesn’t the slight sugary taste in a spicy dish add an edge to its complete flavor? It is the surprise element that rejuvenates your taste buds and pumps pleasure in your veins. It’s not hard to guess who would be termed as Sugar when it comes to life. We all know one person who remains happy no matter how hard the situation gets for you or them. If not for real, they are shockingly good pretenders of leading a fulfilled life. That is Sugar. They are a bundle of joy that brightens up your frame of mind with every interaction. It doesn’t matter if years have passed without any sort of contact. Once you are around them, everything is vivid, dynamic and enthralling in the world. There are so many exciting layers to their life that you stay active and entertained all throughout. Surprising you with their mantras of happiness and eventually pulling you inside the world that lives ‘for the moment’ are their favorite tricks. You might not be around them but only their thought in the dark gloominess sparks your soul and manages to draw a huge grin on your face. That is how vibrant and charming they are. Their intentions are neither to provide you continuous support like Salt nor to show you the path of transformation like Pepper. All that they are there for is to blow some glitter on your face so that you are surprised at their audacity to stay happy. Of course you can’t consume sugar everyday as it has its own hazards. Just when you need to break free from the customary Salt and Pepper, use Sugar once in a while as it’s enough to keep you energized for a pretty long time. In the kitchen of life, we all have our own personalized jars of Salt, Pepper & Sugar. It’s time to bring them out, realize their potential and figure out the right proportion. Once you’ve done that, the fluctuating heat of circumstances will blend them together suitably and put Life served hot on your plate to dig in and relish.

Until We Meet Again -

Vasudhaa

Narayanan

As I pack my belongings Of 3 and a half years, too long I slip into the two fuzzy layers of my blanket I collect objects, like I collect words - scribbled, printed, said Never good at letting go “That’s not good, vee” – he said Keep only one thing that reminds you of a person A memory, your favorite one. Letters I wrote, but never sent Bookmarks I made That never snuggled between warm pages There are Places I won’t visit again People I can’t say goodbye to But it’s alright, darling The rain pacifies my displaced state of mind There’s room for one more – it tells me One more coffee, perhaps. Let’s run into the past And Flirt with familiarity Or learn to love The face in the darkness Accept the fear of the unknown Until then, The blinding city lights Shine past midnight As nostalgia slowly creeps in One moment Between the city skyline and I that’s when I know its time for goodbye

Book review

- Amrita Paul

thing or two about a great narrative is that it keeps its readers hooked on to it, till the very end. Rishi Vohra’s “Once upon the tracks of Mumbai” could have been that and much more. Except that it’s not. Rising out of stereotypes which is more or less definitive of Mumbai, this is the story of Bubloo, a “schizophrenic” who resides in the railway colony of Bandra, frequently obsessing over his physical self –“I was only five feet eight inches tall, but athletic and well built .... My straight, silky black hair stopped just above my shoulders, giving me a wild unkempt look. My face was long and chiselled and my jaw line well defined ...” He is the prodigal son who is unable to decide what to do with his life and his diminutive existence is of no concern to anyone, even his family who keep citing the example of his brother Raghu, who was doing quite well for himself. The only silver lining is Vandana, who is pretty of course but kind hearted Bubloo does like her for her nature and for hearing him out when clearly nobody else is in a mood to. This is the story of Bubloo, his journey from being a nobody to becoming someone of consequence. This is a story of man’s quest to defeat all odds and find himself amidst the cacophonous environment of a posh Mumbai suburb. The characters could be better etched and not clichéd to the point where every character feels like a generalisation of a particular social class, gender and age. The characters are hardly well rounded, in the

sense that they are either too good or too bad, just as you would expect in a bollywood flick, except here, in this novel, the entire razzmatazz just does not work to the benefit of the plot. It is an easy read, which is one of the better things about this book. But it somehow fails to move me. Babloo is mentioned to have been autistic and psychotic, yet in the book he comes across as someone plain foolish. It becomes so difficult to empathize with him when he is so obviously concerned mostly about his physical self, which comes to his rescue when everything else fails. His plight is only his, because even when he finds his redemption, it feels as if he is only emulating heroes on screen by beating up the bad guys rather than doing it out of the sheer injustice of a the given unfortunate situation. The end, too, is hardly a surprise. As a first time author, Rishi Vohra has tried incorporating a lot of issues in this novel, instead of dealing with just one or two at a time, which makes the story fall flat, to a certain extent. The city of Mumbai perhaps plays the most important character of being ruthless yet beautiful, observant yet distant. Vohra has described the city and its lifeline – the railway tracks, accurately which adds to the benefit of his story but only if his characters were of stronger mettle instead of being so obvious all the time, “Once upon the tracks of Mumbai” could have made for a much better book.

e write to make ourselves heard. We write to comfort ourselves and write down the thoughts that swirl in our heads. That’s all well and good. We need those happygo-lucky stories that amount to nothingness they keep us sane and safe. There are so many books in the market right now that are filled with stories; stories that mean nothing. They’re filled with stories about BITS boys falling for IIT girls, engineering colleges, women who can’t make up their minds; bad English and slaughtered grammar. Most of these authors wish to pen down the best days of their lives: their college days. But the people who need to write their stories, they don’t. The people who have faced suffering, loss, grief and pain—real emotions—they don’t or can’t write. But their stories are the ones that need to be told; they are the ones that people need to hear about and learn from. I heard this quote recently: Those who forget history are condemned to relive it. Instead of amalgamating a style similar to that of the west, we need to talk about the essence that is India. We need to bring out the real stories that people live in everyday. We need to tell everyone these stories because that’s the only way we will not repeat our mistakes. The good books, the good stories; they live through and through, and people don’t need to know the alphabets to know of them. This is not to say that books about urban chick-lit timelines are not good. Essentially all stories are the same and they all serve the same purpose. That makes sense, yes. But are some stories more important than the others? How do we rank their importance? How can we prioritize them and say that one is better than the other? Who has the right to say that one is better than the other? We all grow up with our own, unique frames of reference; essentially, we’re all screwed up and we have our own baggage. And we hear and assimilate stories that we relate to, that somehow touch us for reasons unbeknown. But only when we go beyond our own frames of reference and move on to other issues—new territories of which we know nothing about—we grow as people. So the next time you pick up a book, pause and look around to see if you want something new. You don’t know what you might be missing out on.

“Those who forget history are condemned to relive it”

On Stories And Their Importance - Hamsini Hariharan

Diary of A Teach For India Fellow

This Is Not The End

- Pranav Sukhija

he year 2013 is already turning out to be quite eventful for me and my bunch of 40! Not only did we excel in our end of year exams, we also put forward a stupendous showcase event in our classroom for ten delegates from Teach For All. They were here in Delhi for an educational conference and I volunteered to host them in my school and classroom, hoping that this chance will allow my kids and I to do something really special. We organised a carnivalthemed event which had something for everyone. The kids led stalls inside the classroom and demonstrated some of the stuff we did in the last academic year such as making bookmarks, painting diyas and improving reading comprehension through games. The mehendi stall, which was led by Ishrat and Mariyam, became especially popular among the ladies.

teaching in government schools. A lot of things the Act talks about such as formation of school management committees, etc. don’t get implemented. The seminar answered some questions I had but left me with many more questions to think about.

The kids are done with their fourth grade exams and are now moving to fifth grade. I am working hard these days to carefully plan out the first unit of the new academic year. This first unit is the only one left for me to spend time with my students. I find it rather eerie to come to terms with the fact that my fellowship is coming to an end. When I look back at the time when I first met my students and compare it with now, I see a massive difference in their abilities, attitudes, values and mindsets. But it is not just the kids who have changed. I have changed, too, and I know that if Centre for Civil society, a think-tank based in New delhi, it weren’t for the lifetime opportunity the fellowship partnered with TFI to organise a three-day seminar on provided me, I wouldn’t have gained so much in the last public policy (ipolicy) for TFI fellows. I was chosen to two years, both personally and professionally, as I did. I be one of the participants of this seminar. The three am happy to know that a new fellow is going to replace days were spent reading, listening, thinking, debating me in my classroom and my students will still have the and discussing policy-based solutions to solve socio- opportunity to experience excellence in education. economic problems. Some of the sessions like “Why is The fellowship may be getting over but my association India Poor?”, “Tragedy of the Collective”, “10 Principles with TFI and all the amazing people I met in the last of Sound Public Policy”, among others, were particularly two years is not. I will keep supporting the movement interesting and made me question my views and beliefs in whatever ways I can, wherever I may be going to about the role of government and market in the society. from here. The journey seemed long, rocky in parts, but The session on Right to Education Act was designed with the help of my friends, I reached my destination. for us to spot out the loopholes in the policy and But the end point also marks the beginning of another recommend appropriate changes. It was particularly journey and I am equally excited about what knocks my interesting to note how the government is forcing door next. private schools to reserve 25% of their seats for poor children but is not doing much to improve the quality of Like I said, this is not the end. Just another beginning.

La Fin