Each Note. Another Octave.

I rolled my eyes twice over before I could take in the enormity of the Assam Valley School. With a polished, locked trunk and little other baggage I entered the threshold of the school to find almost nothing understandable. Life changed; it felt like an opera melody on fast-forward with a montage of faces to remember and a thousand reminiscences to be cherished for a lifetime.

Much though I would have liked this last piece of writing on the pages of the Assam Valley Express to be nostalgic, I find myself laughing at the contrast of emotions. I knew that I would one day have to leave this school, never to return as a pupil again, but I had not given it much of a thought until now. Bidding adieu to the Assam Valley School is going to be one tumultuous thing to do. I find myself wan from the pangs of homesickness that I have already begun to feel, for this school is my home.

Luring me with literature and drowning me in soulful musical splendour: there's just too much I owe to this school. This haven that I have learned to love has not only given me a plethora of opportunities to delve into but it has also let me build unforgettable friendships with like-minded individuals. Sprinkled with incidents sillier than one's vivid imagination can come up with, and with pranks more foolish than those a four-year old would try to have a hand in,my first years in school were bliss.Insouciant as ever, I must have trespassed into impermissible land at unholy hours; seldom must I have jumped on my friend's bed, using the creaking bed as a trampoline; and movie marathons on Saturday nights spilling over to Sunday mornings must surely have been a favourite.

Today I may not be a nanotechnology genius or anything of that ilk, but there is a sense of pride within me when I am able to strike a conversation with a perfect stranger; a feeling of certainty that I will not be lost in the big, bad world; and the assurance that I'm one of the privileged few in a nation so fraught with competition who has been able to avail a sound education from the Assam Valley School. Having been here since 2002, I now realize how so many of us have had to toil under the scrutinizing sun to bring this school out of oblivion and back to it's present state of greatness.

I do recall having my times on stage. All the agonizing seconds where I was left trembling below the nonchalant veneer while delivering a dialogue or reading a speech. Yet, of all these, what veritably glitters through is music. For of all the things left done or undone, music has a hold over my heart. The scenes in cloistered cubicles with the piano; my first solo performance during Founders'; the conflicts and temptations; all of it embarrasses me but, at the same time amazes me. My heart fills with immense gratitude as I think of all that this school has bestowed upon me; it goes beyond the common measures of education.

Now as I am at the brink of my school life, there is too much to contemplate upon, and one is tired of fighting time. This Founders', as we, the batch of 2010 are all set to lead from the front, I hope that this will be the most memorable Founders'. I know that I will sail stormy seas as I go beyond the sheltered and sheathed gates of my cherished school but I am braced for what lies on my way, owing to the strength garnered from the day I had stepped into this domicile of knowledge and wisdom.


Published For AVE- Founders' Issue-2009

When it's bitter, it becomes scandal
Every truth said becomes controversial
And I still am supposed to think
Writing is a way of expression. And now, I'm reduced to writing anything pensive and that is the only way I can escape from it all.
Seldom I make sense when it is an outburst of emotions and I do wish I could explain things to myself first before everyone else. But, I am helpless, judgments are far too much and too hastily made. I can console saying all that matters is what I believe but it only makes me human to think otherwise, the route of the pessimmist is the most oft taken.

So, I turned to a number of photographs as music failed .


TO BE CONTINUED LATER

At darkness, I screamed
To light, I whispered
To air, I sang
To all the world
I simply smiled.

Caste away to the sublime
I hear bells chime
Ringing,
So I drown, deep
Into silence.

Good times, no crimes.

Louder and louder
The air breathes
Sharper and sharper
My voice weeps
I now bow
To silence.

No leaves pass
Quite unusual
It is only a passing wind
Through my skin and the other,
Emptiness.

Filling gaps, seeking sounds
Finding the void
Uncomfortable and now I walk.
Further and further
Gathering light and sound, I move.

*It's hard to explain but there is this turmoil I feel which I've tried to put into this poem. Shall continue later.

One Moment

No song, no triumphs are good
For the soul alone weeps
And smiles of gentle beauty
No longer glow.

The highest crest
Have I fallen from
Even though it is yesterday
I still have wronged.

Thoughts often charred
Crisis often unheard
Because
Love not forgotten
But sense indeed.

Quite far, quite bizarre
For always knowing
And yet doubting
The only chance.

Who's pleased ?
Or perhaps not
Truth alone
Saw and laughed.

That moment
And now
Has caused
Revolution of the mind.




P.S-to be completed later.

ARCHIVE.
I found this poem of mine, written in grade8 in this booklet called 'Images of Innocence' published in 2005 by the English Department.


WAR
The epaulette, far from a distance;
the flame of courage that I often desire.
The courageous mind shows no resistance,
Just a second, I see the fire.
As you are, even they are
Strong and bold enough to begin the war.

One is injured, one is dead;
Still you show no signs of deserting,
This is the war, you've lead.
Stand no still, continue the combat,
Wait until the last breath,
Till you face death.

Over the seas, through the mountains
The victory that you wish, you must seek.
The counquered territories, the soldiers
Don't feel giulty and remorse
For the many you've killed.
Think of nothing but your destiny.

Now I reminisce those war days,
Cherish all the memories I have
Sing to my grandchildren rhythmic rhymes,
With blood pouring down as tears.

The vision can never fade
For the efforts I made,
And in my memory,
Celebrated to honour the soldiers
Who carried the heavy rifle on their shoulders.

P.S I was rather tempted to edit it because at parts I feel stupid but i gladly resisted.

Comeback.

Okay.
I do realize.
I know.
I really have mastered the art of delaying, of latecomings and more appropriately, late posting.
So, yes, I was listening to the soundtrack of 'Chariots of Fire' by Vangelis and that is masterpiece.
Sadly, Rahman's Jai Ho is far away from a musical symphony like that of Vangelis.
Am I to blame the time the movie is/was set in? The country? The director's bad choice?
Perhaps Dilli6 Drained Rahman of all his best.

So I've made my comeback and I'm glad.
There are bigger plans for this vacation .
Hope's there's something major to write about because this randomness is really getting quite boring.
Have been catching on a number of movies and think I found Seven Pounds pretty brilliant.
Will Smith worked his genius.
Maupassant seems boring to be read now, let's see, some suggestions should be great.
I'm thinking some utterly hideous Sheldon kind of fiction-pulf fiction?Is that what it is called?

Liars Paradise.

A holiday has been declared for Saturday but I have little to be happy about.
'Holiday'-it's such a misnomer here at Assam Valley that I simply cannot help but laugh at the futility of having one.
It's an immediate chance for a million more practice sessions; most often; unrequited.
Just when I felt the desperate need for sleep, to catch the first movie in the past three months and perhaps even having something creative on my blog-I can see the dreadful and undesirable Saturday ruthlessly approaching .
My first poem with some romantic element(in today's term) shall remain incomplete till eternity.
Another awful yet rooted story is half way through typing process.
But, I can only complain, whine and even wail if the need may come, which undoubtedly is close.

Rush, and more rush is the way of life. Incomplete prep work, dark circles of the worst kind and constant chiding has become an essential aspect of my daily life here.

And to think of it all,
I am writing a 'quiet' poem.

"The only way to get rid of a temptation is to yield to it."
OSCAR WILDE

I so relate to it that I could hardly believe it when I found this one, however, from Wilde you do not expect some long drawn moral-ish jargon.

Man's progress, especially in the last few years, has been swift and remarkable yet he continues to degenerate into the depths of regression as rapidly as he has attained success.

We are all progressing and developing, but only into becoming more ignorant and intolerant. It is unsettling to see how we actually we seem to personify  hypocrisy. We advertise for "fair, beautiful brides" and "eligible Brahmin grooms" in matrimonial sites; vilify the inclusion of financially secure Scheduled Castes and Tribes, and as if these with their colour and caste bias are not enough, we now give vent to our angst in the most primitive of ways. I speak of the rage of my fellow Indians against the recent racist attacks in Australia. That simply is not fair and if I may add, neither is the racism.

Also, I find the situation rife with irony. The students that have been attacked  have apparently chosen the country for a 'better' education, but what great education is it offering, I wonder, when it fails to instill among its own people respect for the varied shades of ethnicities. We discriminate, we are communal and yet, we dare to call ourselves educated. We suffer from pomposity  and our vision is narrow. What use of an education if it does not teach us patience, tolerance and above all, humanity?

An Ode to Melody

Bring me that cello no more

Let the strings chase the swallow today

And thou shalt sway

With the strokes of the fiddle this May

Till my song blended with the cries that distance heard 

An emotion so summery dry

I feel this thirsty spirit

In me all of a sudden lit.

These hummings lament mamories

Many deep of cruel atrocities

Others of joy unbound

This spirit in me is found

With poetic verses of eternity

Painted with the serene storkes of beauty.

Amidst the lasting stillness

"What is it", I still press

Shakespeare found and Mozart lost?

Or perhaps a capture of no cost

It is fleeting, passing...

The fondness slowly fading

The emptiness growing

But the spirit found still beholds.

Idealism Intact!

Whining and whining still, we find ourselves 'wanting'. we complain and sympathise and redo the routine all over again, till one begins to wonder, why we wait, and wait all the time for the world to change. For, it never will, until you and I passionately will for it to change.

A Slumdog Millionaire, an editorial of an incident of inhumane treatment meted out to the common man during a communal riot- are only momentarily pitied. And we simply choose to be complacent thinking," this too shall pass". But, there is more- more to do, more to give , more to serve. Let us not eternally bask in the glory of our fortunate births, Rather, it is only an opportunity to lend a helping hand to the destitute.

Service knows no caste, no creed. It brings a felling of contentment which you and I seldom experience. There is a moment of joy when you pour out an ounce of rice to man who has been starving. I am being no hypocrite, I realized this during the Flood Relief Campaign last year.

Ask yourselves if there has been such a worthy moment in your lives, a time when you got up to take an initiative, a time when you have not been ignorant.

Find a moment of introspection , to try and find answers to the many unanswered questions in our lives, to abandon all selfishness that is within us. Let us turn over a new leaf.

P.S- I gave this speech on assembly on the 5th of June, 09 and the community seemed to have liked it , so I decided to publish it.

Green Alert!

 Only one poor soul has reacted to my first blog. I am disappointed but I suppose it's just a reality check.

       So, now I vow to talk about something much more significant and which is dearly affecting   my life this year.

        It's the heat!

         We need to be aware and not brag about industrialization in the North-East . We are known for our forests and our dear old, Kaziranga. Let's preserve that. A major problem is the pollution levels and I insist that CNG public transport systems come up, although I am unsure if any government here is interested in matters which take a cut into their savings in their bank accounts. Unplanned development has caused this and now, though I am beginning to sound like a book i must tell you how thoroughly 'melted' I am. There's little rain and instead of 'Flood Relief' , we now need to switch to 'Drought Relief'.

Then, there's constant load-shedding and yet conservation of electricity seems to be like an alien idea here. I am trying my best at home and everywhere else I visit. Folks find it irritating but my reply is," Isn't beating the feat without the electricity worse?"

This blog of mine is a sheer result of agony and I am sorry it is of little pleasure to the reader as it is devoid of wit or any such substance.

Let's love and get the 'Green Light' on. This is no revolutionary idea but another attempt improve our lives and the environment.

Greenology!

If Someone Could Please Do the Honours

Every blogger's first blog has to necessarily mention that it is his first and well, he definitely is confused about the topic, or so it seems. I was a victim of this disease too when I wrote my blog on FB about a year back and wrote some "jargon" about the whole 'Singh is King' drama. That, was the no-confidence vote and not the movie.

      I now have finished my first paragraph , very smoothly and if I may say slyly,have spoken of my first blog in my life ever. But, now I'm getting a little conscious. I know Blogspot has got a certain reputation and I probably will have to live up to some extend of standards. Well, I am getting this feeling again,oh, I am going to barf it out-"It's jargon time again". I feel an inch foolish but I suppose it is only natural for a sixteen year old who is trying to fit into the' league of extraordinary bloggers'.

     So far, so good. I have completed quite more than I had expected but that I suppose always is a must for every writer. Well, I have found an ingenious way to keeping my blog updated; I shall simply lift some articles which I have written or in future will write in my school's weekly newsletter. I hope you reader's understand. The previous sentence tempts me much to go on and on talking about how hard it is at school but the thought of graduating soon brings some solace and I shall not repeat the same old story.

            I shall leave you with this and rest my poor brains which just shed a few grams of rust during the course of writing this little piece of "......"- anyone has the privilege of naming it.