After all I am just their teacher.

"Ma'am nothing what you taught came", "This was the worst paper ever", "Ma'am are you sure this name reaction is in the syllabus, none of us remember reading it". 

I woke up with a start. The accusations were still ringing in my ears. I checked the time by squinting at the screen of my phone. 4:07am. There was still a few more hours before my students wrote their exam. Why did they always have to keep chemistry as the last exam and with a two week break.? Of course no one studied for those two weeks. Maybe the last three days. I wondered if R* had finished organic and if A* had finished coordination chemistry. She really wasn't comfortable with the nomenclature. I should have worked out a few more compounds with her. Maybe a few more sums on mole concept would have really benefited the whole class. With these thoughts filling my head, I fell back into a disturbed sleep. I had been up till 1am the previous night going over the entire inorganic section with a student and having had a very restless night, I woke up grumpily and groggy at 7am. I did have to get to school and take class for the 11ths.

It was 1pm. My students were gathered on the steps and I dreaded the torrent of questions. I am not a walking encyclopedia of chemistry and when they just bombarded me with questions one hour before the exam it really threw me off. But for a change, they were silent. They just discussed things amongst themselves. I am pretty sure that I even heard some talk about basketball scores. They seemed relatively relaxed. More than I felt anyway. I sat in a corner not sure whether to enter in a discussion with any of them or not. 

It was 5pm. I must have stared at the clock for the past 3 minutes and it wasn't moving any faster than before. It really took forever for them to come out of the exam hall. With each passing minute, it felt like time was just crawling by. Crawling.

5.15pm. "Ma'am it was a good paper". I smiled, a not-fully-convinced smile. I glanced over the question paper. It was relatively easier than the last year's paper. I wondered if P* had written neatly without squashing everything together and if L* had managed to answer all of the organic. Most of them barely looked at me. Maybe one or two said thank you. And then it was over.

They all went their own ways- to eat, to play basketball or football, or to just get home and sleep. I just stood unsure of where I was supposed to go. After all, I was just their teacher....

krupa

*names changed to protect the identity

BUSY

People always ask me- Why are you always busy. I make up stuff like- Oh I'm a workaholic, I love my work, I am duty bound, a teacher's job never ends, blah blah blah. Though that may be partially true, there is so much more.
Being not busy means asking friends to meet up, going out and having some fun. Being not busy means having the time to catch up with those who matter to you. Being not busy also means getting turned down by all the other busy people. So what is the purpose of being not busy?? Just to hear every person around you say- Oh I have relatives coming over, I'm working in the lab today, I have lots of cleaning to do.
Atleast some people have the courtesy and the presence of mind to always have an excuse. The rest, they just don't reply. It makes you realise that you don't matter as much as something else does.
When no one has the time for anyone else, why should anyone else be anything but busy?
And so like always- I am Busy.

Krupa

Ten Years.

How easily we talk about a decade.

Jan 2004:
She sat in the exam hall, staring at the question paper. Vant Hoff factor. Oh come on. Surely atleast this time you know what it is. Something about electrolytes and a theoretical value. Forget it. I will never pass chemistry.

Feb 2004:
Dressed in a white sari and a candle in her hand, she looked at her best friend with tears in her eyes. School life as they knew it was coming to an end. She didn't want the evening to end. Maybe if she held on a little longer, things would not change. They all cried and hugged and promised to keep in touch.

March 2004:
Eat. Study. Cry. Study some more. Eat. Sleep. This seemed like a routine. When would these exams come to an end. Why did chemistry have to be the last paper. Stupid Chemistry.

May 2004:
Thank you God. I passed in Chemistry.

June 2004:
Me? I study at Joseph's. MCB. Microbiology, Chemistry and Botany.

June 2007:
Biochemistry is what I want appa. I am sure. No more staring into microscopes.

June 2009:
What am I doing? Oh I am waiting to do M.Phil at University of Madras.

June 2010:
I teach at Bethany High School. Chemistry for class 11 and 12 (jaws around me drop and I love that reaction).

March 2014:
"Vant Hoff factor is the ratio between the observed and calculated value for colligative properties telling us whether a solute undergoes association or dissociation in solution".  God please let me students remember this better than I did.

It has been 10 years. I have grown. 10 years it has taken for me to be comfortable with a subject I never thought I would pass in.10 years to confidently stand in front of class and teach what I was never confident about. 10 years to gain a few kilos :P 10 years to grow out of being a not so popular person into the a valuable asset to my department (atleast I like to believe I am). 10 years to discover that I could teach chemistry, dance, take photos, make powerpoint presentations, set question papers, correct answer scripts, take tuition,be the author of a makeup blog, be the editor of a newsletter, be on the basketball team, go out for coffee, perform in shows, teach dance, design clothes, shop, MC, organize events and yet have time for me. 10 years to know that there is so much more to me than what I knew which makes me realise that all my students need is a push to reach their potential.
10 years is a long time and when I look back I have achieved a lot. Maybe I could have done more, maybe I have done more.
10 years later is now.
Now as I watch my students go through their Valedictory and their Board exams I am reminded of a thin tall girl with geeky glasses and a long long skirt standing outside the exam hall with chemistry notes in her hand and fear in her heart. Now she prays that none of her students go with that fear. If only they could see what 10 years would do to them. Then again, 10 years is a long time away.

Krupa

Why I dance

Everyone who knows me, knows I dance. They also know how much I love dance. But why?
This video link was sent to me by a friend, a guy who has known me for barely a month and he yet he knows what dance means to me. This video got me thinking, why do I dance?

Dance is about the expression. 
That feeling I get when every part of my body is moving to the rhythm. 
When all I want is to let go. 
When I want to cry.
When I am happy. 
When I am frustrated.
It is about showing love and anger. 
It is about the stage, and the applause.
It for everybody but for nobody.
It is for me.

Dance is mine.
In my every breath, In my every step.
I cannot walk, I can only dance.
It travels with me. I travel for it.
The beat is in my heart.
The music in my soul.
The movement in my feet.
I dance because it is me.

All the world is a stage
A stage for my dance to be heard.
A cry for help, a tantrum.
The arrogance, the innocence.
The divine, the ego.
It all storms through me
It rips me apart.
Dance makes me whole.
It makes me complete.
Without it, I am not me.

People always leave.
My dance stays.
Till death do us apart.
Dance is me and I, dance.
This is why I dance.

At a loss for a post title..

Sitting here in the house. It all seems so surreal. The people just walked around, stood around, whispered or looked sad. This was just a bad dream. It had to be. People don't just die. They have to grow old first. They have to watch their kids grow up and get married. They have to build houses and save money. People don't just die. They have to secure the future. They have to travel and see places. They have to love and get hurt. They have to cry. People don't just die. They have to fight and laugh and shop. They have to fall ill and recover. They have to learn to drive a car and eat in fine dining. They don't just drop dead.

Oh. But they do. Death. A morbid reality. Natural death, death by disease, death by accident. Bottom line, people die. They go away. Things unsaid, faces not seen, questions unanswered, problems unresolved. They just go away. Maybe they are peaceful after leaving behind this rat race. But what about those who they leave behind. Do we say, "take us with you" or say, "we'll carry on your legacy" ? Do we smile that they don't have any burdens to carry or cry because we shoulder theirs. Or maybe we just stand silently with tears running down our cheeks, thinking to ourselves. 

What do we think... What happens next? Why did it happen? How? What the.... 

Or maybe we just are numb. 

Whatever.

Life goes on. That's how they would want it.

Author's note- This was typed on my phone at a time when I was really affected. It took me a few days to summon the courage to put it up.

P.S for those of you who are bummed out by this post. Go read my other blog.. http://ishtyleawhile.blogspot.in/2013/10/of-festivals-and-mini-giveaway.html

Lamentations of a 27 year old.

There are days, and then there are DAYS! Some days I wake up with a smile, no puffy eyes and beautiful skin that is glowing (probably because of the dream last night). And then there are days when I get up to see my face in the mirror, see wrinkles on the forehead, crows feet, and one more white hair than what was seen the night before. I really don't know how white hair just springs up overnight. It is truly amazing. But ageing is not my biggest worry. It has to happen at some point and well, more white hair, more wisdom, right?

Then there is the pangs I feel when I see my closest friends get married. No I'm not really worried that I'm not even engaged, but what if my married friends only want to hang out with other married friends because I don't have a mother-in-law/ sister-in-law worth bitching about? There is also this problem of distance because these married people just move away to other countries. That is also not my biggest worry.

Who am I? That is a question I found an answer to some time ago. A 27 year old with a 16 year old inside who loves to dance, cry, laugh, flirt, eat, fight and basically live life as an independent woman. So  no, I am not worried about soul searching. Kind of need to have a soul for that first. But we'll get to that later.

What worries me the most is what do I want from my life? If I was to make a list, this is what it would sound like.
I want a job that pays a truckload of money, but I also want job satisfaction. I want to feel happy that I am giving back to society. I want to dance and learn to play the drums. I want to study further and maybe do P.h.D. I want to have a social life. I want friends and time to have tea with them (coffee gives me acidity).
I want to make a difference in the lives of those I teach. I want to shop till I drop. I want fame and glory in small way, maybe just  Page 3 worthy types. I want anonymity to be able to talk about whoever and whatever. I want to be a hero, the Ironman, sorry sorry, Ironwoman of today. I want to an iron hearted woman as well unperturbed by the emotions I feel. I want to write and read and blog. I want to be a makeup artist and a choreographer. I want to be a party planner and also to bake cakes. I want to travel and see the sights of Italy and Rome. I want to hike to the top of the mountains (but not swim to the deep seas. Scared of water). I want to love without the fear of being hurt (like that's possible). Ok lets, scratch from the list. I want to try making some exotic recipes (vegetarian only).
In simple terms, I want everything in the 24 hours, 7 days a week, 365 days a year that I get. So TIME is what I want the most.
I want to live each moment.
To quote the words from the song of High School Musical 3 (yes I am quoting HSM3, a kiddy/ teenager movie)-

" Don't you see that bigger is better, and better is bigger,

A little bit is never enough

No No No

I want it all"

I.WANT.IT.ALL

Krupa

Of Childhood Friendships

Childhood friend. What does that mean??
In a cinema style it would mean a girl and boy being neighbours as kids, liking each other only to get separated and find each other a decade later by means for a song or a watch or something, falling in love and getting married, and the hardships they face in the process.
In reality there are very few of us who have a friend whom we can call as a childhood friend. In the day and age of Facebook, it isn't hard to find an old friend but is sharing pictures and seeing the pages they like, what a childhood friendship is about.
No.
It is much more.
It is about all the unspoken words. It is about the thoughts you share. It is about knowing that your friend is there no matter what.
It is about being apart for years but connecting the instant you meet again. Sometimes not even meeting but still connecting through a simple mail. It is about not having to catch up.
It isn't about long phone calls and endless chats. It is about knowing that any time you want to talk, they are there. Time is irrelevant.
It is about who you think of first to share your joy and sorrow. Especially your sorrow.
It isn't about coffees, lunches or dinners or even wishing them on their birthday. It is about your saddest moments, your deepest feelings, your inexplicable thoughts. They are always beside you. With you.
Close your eyes and they are there. Understanding you even though they are miles away.

So what's our story?

My mother was pregnant with my sister (another post will talk about the sorrows and joys (?) of having a younger sister) and so we had come down to India for a few months.
Arun's family lived in the house above.
My first memories of him is the picture you see above. I think I remembered the hot pink skirt more than I remembered him, but oh well, he still fit somewhere in the memory.
After we went back to the UK we completely lost touch, though his name and his family was mentioned occasionally at home.
Years passed by, and one summer holiday, when all of us had gathered at my grandma's place for a holiday, the mamas decided that keeping these children at home was driving everyone crazy and so we went for a one day trip. On the way we passed through Palakad and stopped at Arun's house. When we entered the house, we were welcomed with hot food and the beautiful sounds of the veena. Arun was having veena class. Respect grew. We spent hardly an hour at his place and I didn't get to talk much to him. Little hard when you are surrounded by a dozen or more people.
A few years later he came to Bangalore and that is when we actually got a chance to speak properly.
Since then we've been constantly in touch. Emails, phone calls. Even when with him sitting all the way in Sweden.
Today, more than 20 years of knowing him, I can 'classify' him as a childhood friend.


Dear Arun. This is for you.
I am blessed to have you in my life.
Always have been. Always will be.

Krupa

There she goes.... My grandma.

The sun infiltrated in through the curtains and hit her eyes. She pulled the blanket further up to cover her eyes. Waking up meant waking up to the reality. Reality which had hit her hard with the cold hand of death. The void inside seemed unbearable. It wasn't so bad when she was on her home ground, but here. Every nook and cranny was full of memories. Even when she shut her eyes there were only memories.

The house was full of people. Full was an understatement. The 3BHK was bursting at its seams. All the brothers and their families had gathered. Every room had bags, every chair had clothes, and every bed and inch of the floor had someone sleeping, resting, sitting. There was a queue for everything- from the morning coffee to using the bathroom. These were only the people who were staying. There were another 70 odd people who came to visit. The supply of tea and coffee and water was never ending. Looking at all those people she realised how many lives her patti had touched.

Her patti. She would never hear her say "Kiruba" again. Never get kissed by her and crushed in her bear like hug. What had her patti not done for her.

It was because of her patti that she knew why Ganesha had an elephant's head, why one of his tusks was broken, how Muruga went to Pazhani (such a silly fight between him and his brother), how Muruga landed up with Valli and Devayani, and all the brilliant stories of Krishna and his feats. All this and more was because her patti. Who would tell her stories now? More importantly who would tell her kids all these stories?

Who would make all the cousins sit in a row and feed them dinner? Who would make the most brilliant murukku and sooji appam?

Who would tell her stories of all her naughty mamas and her rebellious mother? Who would call and then say every 2 minutes- vechitumma (Shall I keep the phone?).

All that remains now is a picture in the hall and the ever-so-wonderful never-ending list of memories. 

We are so caught up in running and keeping up with the race against the rest of the world, but the joke is on us. Because the world will never ever stop running. It is like trying to reach the end of the rainbow. There are no winners. All that happens is that we lose out on what matters most. Family. The craziness, the fights, the laughter, the food, the tears, the joy, and all the unconditional love. 

Don't wait to lose someone to realise this. Then again, realisation never strikes until you face it.

Foolish Humans, say the Gods above. 

To Arjun. On his birthday.

The best gift a person can give is their time.
What I have here is all the time I wasted to give you this awesome gift.
The fruit of midnight battle with words

10 things I hate about you.

 

I hate that you're not 'sensible' like me when I am the older one.

I hate that I've learnt more English from you than you've learnt chemistry from me.

I hate that you listen to me whine and rant, and never ever complain.

I hate that you let me be ME the whole while I am with you.

I hate that you have good taste and make shopping much more fun.

I hate that we can't have coffee any more, and yet meet all the time.

I hate that you've managed to rub off on me, as I have on you (I think)

I hate that you know what you want, and sometimes what I want too.

I hate that I completely enjoy every minute I hang out with you.

But most of all I hate that you inspire me yet leave me searching for words.

krupa

In his dreams...

Every girl dreams of being a guy's dream girl. Here is such a dream...

She looked stunning in a light sea green sari which brought out her slim figure appropriately. Not heavily loaded with jewellery, her accessories highlighted her taste in fashion and very subtly showed off the beauty of her long neck. Her makeup was well done and her sparkling eyes were not the only thing that made her stand out of the crowd. Just the way she carried herself and moved around the crowds smiling at a person here and there, stopping to adjust the dress of the kids, talking politely to elders, all this made her the centre of attraction and pulled attention away from the poor bride on stage.
He could not take his eyes off her and found himself looking at her wavy hair more than once. He admired the way she had done up her hair such that it did not fall on her face and adjusted it ever so lightly every now and then. She was a joy to watch and seeing her bubbly talkative nature he was a bit apprehensive to approach her. As he watched her from one corner of the room, he realised she was talking to all HIS relatives. Did this mean she was related to him? Oh hell no! He thought. The last thing he wanted was some uncle saying, this is your chitappa/perippa's daughter, thus making her his sister in some way. However, if she turned out to be some mama's daughter, well that could work to his advantage. Now he really needed to find out who she was. Curiosity was just killing him and as he moved closer to her, he realised there was something very familiar about her. Surely they had met before....

3 years later....

Yes it has been 3 years since I wrote in this blog. Why? because we allow ourselves to get distracted by the meaningless things around us and search for happiness in that. We forget to make time for "ME" and let the "I" rot away for the sake of "WE". All this for supposed happiness.

It is 3 years later and as I type I realise that I haven't changed much. Yes I'm older, coupla hairs greying, frown lines and crows feet appearing. but inside I'm the same. Wearing my heart on my sleeve, allowing it to be crushed by every Tom, Dick and Sally (yeah yeah I know it's Harry but it isn't just guys who have hurt me). Yet hoping that things will get better, keeping the faith alive. 

The words are flowing and I must say, I have missed this SO much!!! 

So why am I back? Good question. Life is a journey of self discovery. We're constantly searching for ourselves and in the process learning something new every day. Sometimes what we learn is not completely new, it is something we know but we'd forgotten and so it needed to be dusted out a bit. Me coming back is something like that. 

I've now been a teacher for 2 years and since I started teaching I've thought of writing about my experiences but never actually gotten around to doing it. Yesterday in the lab I mentioned to a couple of my students about how each batch was different from the previous and how I was most definitely going to write about it some day. I also mentioned that I did have a blog, and them being the curious lot that they are, asked for my blog site, and it was at that point that I realised I had forgotten the name of my own blog!!!

Well I did remember it and tell them, then i just forgot about it. Today one of them came up to me and told me "Ma'am, i didn't know you could write poetry so well. Why did you stop?"

That question got me thinking... why did I stop? I could not come up with justifiable reason and so I am back. Back with a bang, ladies and gentlemen!! Thank You very much!

Cheers

Krupa

Inside the Head

"The B lymphocytes give rise to the plasma cells and memory cells. The memory cells help to recognise an antigen that infects the body again. But yet we keep catching colds. These bloody viruses, what a pain they are. Man, I hope I'm not sick on my birthday. That's so not how I'd like to spend that day. Shucks I still have to go buy a new dress and give the salwar material for stitching. Hope that tailor is there when I go to ulsoor. Thanks to the Metro it's such torture to travel all the way there. And I don't like the way the 4th cross tailor stitches. This is why I need to go for that tailoring class. But first I need to get the sewing machine fixed. And mom's vehicle is still lying around. We should sell that. I doubt it's worth the repair. And then I need to convince dad to a get a new vehicle. But if I say vehicle, then he'll say learn car. Yeah I guess I should go join that as well. Hmmm.. I wonder if Poonam picked up the TC from trust office. It's been a while since I talked to her.Ii wonder if kavitha cleared her backs. Wonder what the girls are doing. I know shaman is working. Can't believe we're so out of touch. Ok ok. I won't go back to old stories. Thank god for sheril being around. Speaking of sheril, he hasn't replied to my mail. I bet that lazy bum hasn't even checked it yet!! Can't wait for him to come to town. I hope he stays till my birthday. Oh ya, I still don't know what to buy. Maybe I should get a top for the leggings. But I want a skirt or dress. Ok let's see. Got to work on getting perm from mom n dad for that. Not a short dress. Calf length would be jus great. Something in pastel colours and flowy. Hmmm.. I can just imagine it. This is why I need to learn to stitch. Ok as soon as I'm done with Net exam I'll go join. Ok where was I now?? Oh yeah, B lymphocytes. The plasma cells give rise to antibodies."

Isn't it amazing how the mind works so fast and connects so many unrelated things especially when one is studying. :D

kanden kadhalai= kadhalai kanden

Kanden Kadhalai or Kadhalai Kanden literally translating into the same meaning- I saw love is a remake of the hindi movie 'Jab We Met' starring dreamy eyed Shahid Kapoor and bubbly Bebo aka Kareena Kapoor. As expected many of the scenes are 'same to same' and even the costumes are 'matching-matching'. However the movie is refreshing due to the importance given to the character played by Santhanam. His scenes provide the comic relief and is a welcome change in the remake.

Tamanna could have done slightly better in the role that was given to her. There are certain scenes where her dialogue delivery seems kind of forced. However there probably is nobody else who would have been able to pull of this role that neatly. Genelia might have been a possibility, but it would have been a real challenge to carry out the sensitive serious side of 'Anjali'in the secind half of the movie.

Bharat is the perfect typecast for Shahid's role and has truly done a commendable job. It definitely takes courage for an actor to be cast in a remake especially one of a movie that did really well in the box office. There will certainly be some amount of comparison done.

The challenge of taking a successful remake lies not only in the hands of the director but it also needs to be backed by a strong script. The sound tracks by Vidyasagar bring out the fresh tones of tamilnadu. All in all the movie is adorable and highly enjoyable.

Aadhavan review

Aadhavan starring suriya, nayanthara, vadivelu and a come back from the old heart throb, Saroja Devi. A movie with K S Ravikumar direction sure has a lot of expectation. Ramesh krishna has given a typical commercial story with an introduction song for the hero and one for the heroine, and a coupla duets, some neat fights with stunts that have now become the norm. Suriya of course is upto the mark with his dance and comedy. The play on words with Mano bala is worth applauding, and vadivelu is upto his standard as always but some of the comic scenes seem like déjà vu and some punch lines are now getting predictable. Nayanthara plays more of a role in the flashback than in the present day scenario where she only provides the romantic side. The role of saroja devi makes you wonder what was the absolute necessity of that role except to provide a bit of support to nayanthara's character especially in driving away ramesh krishna, who is a potentially annoying suitor for nayanthara. The idea of portraying suriya as a 10 year old is pretty novel and makes you wonder whether he really did look like that at the age of 10. It also makes one think how is it possible that though his face has not changed but only matured over the years, nobody in his family can no longer recognise him. The climax is slightly more unbelievable than usual. If you've seen Ayan then the plot of Aadhavan is pretty predictable.

On the whole as a commercial film Aadhavan would probably do decently and will be loved by suriya fans for his acting, his dancing and his comedy. But as a story the plot is lacking any twists and turns that were not already forseen, and leaves you expecting a bit more. Looks like suriya is getting stereotyped and his movies getting cliched. And that comes from a hard core Suriya fan.

To Sheril

this is a dedication to sheril on his birthday!!

It seems like yesterday that I first saw you and admired your smile.

It seems like yesterday that we sat and broke our heads for the semester exams.

It seems like yesterday that you vividly described football to me with a shine in you eyes.

It seems like yesterday that we chatted about my ignorance in movies and music.

It seems like yesterday that I had my first hookah with you.

it seems like yesterday was my birthday that you guys made so special.

It seems like yesterdaythat we discussed your plans of going back home.

But it seems like forever since we've been together.

To Janani

It seems like yesterday that we both met for the first time in school. With our glasses and accents, what a pair we made!

It seems like yesterday we wrote letters to each other expressing what could not be said in the open.

It seems like yesterday that we part walked, part cycled to tutiton while finishing our lunch.

It seems like yesterday that we marched in our final Sports Day and had tears in our eyes during Hollow Square.

it seems like yesterday that we spent every minute in class and in tuition together, and yet had to gossip over the phone.

It seems like yesterday that we cried over parting and fought over gobi.

It seems like yesterday that we oogled at guys, flirted with some and crushed on others.

But it seems like forever since we've been with each other, for each other...

The Rain

What runs through your mind?

Hot cocoa, window seat with a romantic novel

Popcorn, a movie with the one you love

Soft lilting music, swaying in the arms of your partner

A warm fireplace with the family huddled around it listening to stories

Sorrow at the thought of separation from you dear

Anger as dark as the clouds in the sky

Depression, tears flowing just like the droplets

Whatever it may be

The rain brings a flood of emotions

10 things I miss about you.

p.s insipired from 10 things I hate about you.

I miss the way you look at me and the way you say my name

I miss the way you go on and on about ur favourite game

I miss your silly sheepish grin and your shining eyes

I miss the way you used to make excuses for never being on time

I miss my study buddy and my partner in the lab

Without you our awesome foursome seems very drab

I miss our midnight calls and our talks on everything dandy

I miss hearing you classify gals as chicks and candy

I miss going and bouncing along on your kine

I miss standing next to you and feeling so tiny.

But most of all i miss me

The part of me with you

short episodes

here are a bunch of totally unconnected short verses. i cud not think of a name for each n everyone so it's a collections called SHORT EPISODES.



Dance
A form of expression
A language with no words
A art, a talent
From the sexy salsa to the classy classical
It speaks to us.
We weep, we laugh
We're left speechless.
Desires within are expressed
Thoughts are put forward
Morals and stories brought to the front
Dance.. one word says it all.

The discovery of the self is always through the eyes of another

What you are is not always what you see.

Isn't it funny how little we know ourselves and you know others even less.

And yet we claim to "understand" each other.

There is always a twinge of sadness
As the train pulls away with our near and dear ones
And joy as it brings out loved ones
With goodies and more
The shrill of the whistle brings a thrill
As the train moves, each journey, good memories.

Friendship

Its about conversations without a reason

Going out to celebrate without a cause.

Its about knowing someone is upset even if they don't tell you.

Sharing joy as well as sorrow.

Its not about being there only when a person needs you

But even when they don't.

The only thing that is always with us is our loneliness.

Our comfort we must find in ourselves.

We seek solace in solitary.

Nobody stays forever.

Words are just words.

After the laughter and tears comes silence

So loud that it is piercing.

Sometimes

So wrapped up in our own confused lives

We turn a blind eye to those around us

And fail to see that we're all in this together

No one can survive alone

Everyone needs friends.

To the People

There are times when everything seems wrong
People tell us to forget it and move on
Nothing goes the way i want.
People tell me to go out and get it
But if i do, I'm called stubborn
When i don't, they say i'm spineless
Why can't u make up your mind
Or atleast let me make up mine
When the world revolves on opinions
Why is it wrong for me to listen to them?
We are defined by our society
And yet we try to defy it
But... who is the society?
You, me and others
So why are we so hard to please?