Strings Attached!

On my way back from Lucknow yesterday I met a person, actually I just ‘saw’ him. He was sitting on the berth opposite to mine in the general compartment (the only place where you find the most unnatural terra inhabitants). He was sitting along with four others on the berth which could hardly bear the weight of the bulky demons resting their unnaturally bulky bums on it. What a bum deal it was for the berth! I was seated with five skinny men and was with the window.

The man of the focus was quite accomplished in health terms; he was dark and must have been around fifty. He talked like a prodigy, as if he knew everything that people in general avoid, everything that is weird for igniting a conversation. I don’t remember anyone from earth or heaven that begins a conversation by asking the prices of real estates in Lucknow or Jaipur. He asked such questions and later I got to know that the question was rhetorical and was intended to down-show the other intellects sitting there which comprised mainly of the Google expert millennial including me. His smirk of the victory was heavenly as if he conquered the Marxist ideologies. I did not participate the blind debate other jumped in, it reminds me of the news channel debates which are dominated if and only if you have a highest volume in the panel, these debates never reach to a conclusion. I plugged in my earphones, without music though, intending to hear the expert panel and snub the messers at the same time.

The holy man of the hour was strange man. He was a clerk in some government institution. He was all tied and tangled up in strings. He had around eight strings ruling his pathetically thick neck (I guess the neck stored fat ‘under the table’). Those strings were attached to different pouches made in army camouflaged cloth piece. They were different in sizes, quite like his eyes which had unbalanced size. He kept his phone in one, pens in other, dedicated a pouch for his broken spectacles and wallet in one of them. And his shirt’s pocket had ‘chana’ in it. He had, maybe, a compulsive fear of pickpockets, but did he know that we had chain snatchers also, for this purpose. But I guess chain snatchers look only into women’s cleavage for pendants and necklaces and the fatso looked manly enough to bypass their skepticism. He was different in a funny sort of way. He had a holster like leather pouch where he secured his ‘paan masala’. Besides all of these securities he had a leather bag too which had a lock on the zipper and the strap was fastened to his waist.

I deduce mathematically that if one pouch corresponds to one kangaroo he represented a complete kin and kinship of the specie. It was rakshabandhan and thus he had one more string on his wrist representing that he was in stringed relationship with his sister as he was with his props.

Kafan mein jeb nahi hoti,’ someone, I remember, recently said, to which, someone else replied (I remember the voice of Lalu Prasad Yadav), ‘Inke kafan me jeb nahi jhola hai jhola.’ Who knows this very man maybe lusty enough for his props to get a designer ‘kafan’ with pockets and strings reserved for himself .

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THE FOUR PROMINENT APPLES

Chew! Chew! Chew! Arrrgh!… and then I thought about the fourth, but how did I reach four? Did I skip the first three or my Adam’s apple is leaking numbers! Oh no! I didn’t leak, I mean my apple didn’t. I first thought of the first then the second and so on.

The three prominent apples of the global history. First one came from a tree, I mean all of them did but the first one is always pictured with the tree. Newton sat below it and the fall, the holy, royal fall, the esoteric fall (my schoolmates called it a cursed fall) changed the overall physics. Second one went to Alan Turing who was so embarrassed and disgusted by the allegations over him that he could not take a second bite before his demise. A similar stingy apple went to snow white (Warning! I am not reckoning apples of fantasy) and the bite could not cross her Adam’s apple (wait, do girls have Adam’s apple?). The apple stuck in her throat like she stuck in our childhood fantasies before we found ourselves growing up with Emma Watson through the Harry Potter’s heptology. The next apple fell into the blessed lap of Steve Jobs, who too dug his teeth into it just once and the rival companies minced in pain. The bite had a long lasting impact, maybe it had a wee bit touch of snow white’s and Alan Turing’s fatal apples as he was once diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. Thankfully Steve was stronger!

As Lalu Prasad Yadav cursed Nitish Yadav in his crass dialect about the so called backstabbing, I happened to spot my fourth apple. His Adam’s apple! Does he really have one? Oh yes, but it is kept safe under a heaped fat of Benamis and allegations. He cannot let it open for Nitish to fodder upon, correction ‘feast upon’. His strong kin-o-philic nature holds him from doing so. And maybe it is safe that it is concealed, anyone who has feasted on it is under CBI probe (his kids for example). Close escape Nitish! It might have resulted similar to Turing’s fate or constructively it (the worth concealed in his Adam’s apple) could have produced many jobs or better, Steve Jobs! Happy and safe apple eating!

Thanks for reading, please do like, comment and follow.

Prashant

THE DRAPERY TREND

The idea of penning this incident down came when I noticed two girls, in my university campus, posing for a selfie, from underneath the scarf that draped their face like a mummified corpse.  Weird enough to be laughed at and provoking enough to be avoided! I’m sure they must have produced a pout under the scarf, but the poor camera wasn’t powerful enough and could not scan, their lips dwindling, under the scarf. Thankfully it did not have the power, the x-ray vision; it would have blushed seeing the absurdity underneath the drape. Similar phenomenon has been observed for burqahs in every corner of the earth (corner! But I have heard that earth is round!). Women have often been spotted posing for camera from the drapery of burqahs. How exciting it would be to let the camera explore only the eyes (sometimes they too are behind laces and mesh) and a body covered in loose burqahs (it is almost impossible to guess the figure)! For some esoteric reason their elation is similar to the level of a regular girl clicking her selfie. It’s their picture, and I’m sure they remember the expression and thus, can see it, a pout, a bubble, a tease, or some other incomprehensible expression people often produce for the camera.

There are added advantages to the drapery trend besides protection from lusty eyes and equally lecherous pollution. You can always use it for identity theft and no one dares probe into your burqahs or general little drape, scarf. Women are quite privileged nowadays. Once upon a time there was a messiah named Feminism and he proposed the two sexes to be treated equal. I remember an incident from Kanpur railway station, my friend stood in a queue for ticket, it was a high time, diwali, and the head-legs-flood was on. A fat woman came pushing people and my friend objected. “Aunty line se aaiye please.” To this her reply was “Ladke, dikhta nahi ladies hoon!” No judgements on singularity-plurality of ‘ladies’. She was right, for the record she looked two in one.  “Toh please ladies wali line mein jaaiye na.” The women’s line was quite heavy too. “Ladies ki koi izzat hi nahi hai.” She pushed him and marched ahead to the counter. This happens quite often, there are women who demand respect and privileged (mark my words, privileged not equal), try out a public transport. I am quite confused where the limit of feminism ends and abuse starts. I am a feminist at heart but I surely loath the ‘demanded privilege’. Identity theft. You can put on a huge windshield, correction, huge sunglasses (still not much difference though), for better results. It is trendy plus traditional way to conceal identity. You might possibly forget using a concealer in makeup but scarf or burqahs compensates it completely, but I’m sure you do not want to forget mascara and kajal and eyeliner and god knows what all is smeared on eyes. It is unbiased, like many young men; to the exotic beauty or holy ugliness of your face it hides everything. Nevertheless as it conceals, it beautifies you too, exposing your killer eyes. Eyes in burqahs and scarf generally look beautiful, you might have so well reconstructed the face that sometimes the revelation might kill you.

Once a man on a bus I was travelling was continually flirting with a burqah lady who had, apparently, beautiful eyes. The lady too, supposedly, was playing along. Thirty kilometers of journey before the man saw her shriveled and aged hand. It was embarrassing for him and hilarious for me. You cannot ask a girl to lift the veil; you do not want to get a slap or worse a fatwa against you (worst if someone executes the demands of fatwa). In the times of scarcity, feel free to use the scarf as a bed sheet of towel (government has started issuing sanitary pads in hospitals I suppose, thankfully, else… who knows). The trend redefines the liberty and reusability; you conceal your assets before papa using the scarf as dupatta and are free to reveal it before boyfriend.

Another incident happened at a paani-puri makeshift shop near my home. A teen couple (apprarently) sat waiting for their orders and the girl happened to see her father pass by. She safely pulled on her scarf. Identity saved! ‘Get on your boyfriend’s bike before papa; it is now possible with our version 2.0 rainbow scarf’. You can also walk past your boyfriend with a new boyfriend, unnoticed! We have enough justified arguments and evidences in its favor. It protects you form dust, smoke and tan. But do we get tanned at nights too or inside a restaurant or even in rain? It is like a person wearing sunglasses at night or in bathroom.

Let us take an oath to get our pictures clicked in pompously colored drapes on funerals and let our boyfriends guess us from our eyes, if they don’t, lets dump them on the name of this holy drapery trend. Relationship status: Draped in a complicated relationship.

Thanks for reading.

Prashant

Blessed is the…

A compartmented repost from my post ” The Divinity of Love” posted on 17th of august in 2016…

“Today I went thru two such moments. No matter I see something like that everyday but noticing was what I did today. A cute little girl with her father! It soothes me a lot. Try it someday and see your lips curling to smile, effortlessly. I saw a girl, maybe five or seven in years, with her father sitting on their parked scooter along a roadside bhutta stall. They were sharing it turn by turn. It wasn’t like the father was the richest or was the bike was posh nor the girl was a hot teenager (which, I admit, is the only thing “expected” to hold people of my age at a place). They were turn by turn nibbling the unit bhutta ,happy and content in their world of two, disconnected from the surrounding. Sometime views like these arouse in me a feeling to be a father, of a girl child (don’t judge me as a sexist but I absolutely have no idea why a girl). To be laughing and fooling with my cute little daughter whole day round. To be tending her when she’s sick, to take her on long rides and enjoying roadside bhutta and chain rain, to be madly celebrating reasonlessly, to go with her on hikes and to play tricks on her mom with her, to go for ice creams mid nights, watching movies and never letting her lose her innocence. I feel it though I am too young a man to feel the rush of these elderly desires, but I do feel it. Given a chance I would love to forget for the rationality, the calculative me and be her loved father and crazy friend forever. Though I’m not expected to but I can feel the happiness of being called “Papa aaj office mat jao na…” by my cute daughter. Oh yes it is heavenly good feeling and I find myself doing injustice trying to comprehend it in words.”

Discovered him…

Dated: Sunday, February 19, 2017

Timed: 12:40 AM

How do I define him? How should I draw him? I’ve seen him but the figure wasn’t distinct. I saw him in that waste picker. She was scrounging for something in the heap of dirt and filth in the dump yard with an old sack on his back. She was just a child, but I saw him in her. He attracted my conscience. There was someone in her. Dogs barked at her but she continued scrounging without giving them a damn. They seemed to talk to the one I was seeing. He was illusionary, like a candle’s flame he was figureless yet steady. For a moment I saw my reflection in him, though it too was none different that the figureless flame.

I stood looking at the figure and saving his image in my mind, but he seemed to change himself every moment. Was he playing with me or was he testing my patience or was he not noticing me at all. Was her talking to those dogs? Was I a voyeur there? He seemed to have an endless depth akin to the infinite questions in the eyes of the girl. He seemed to have a great height at the same time, none different than the heights of her dreams. His eerie illumination magnified every time the girl found something that brought smile to her face, and it rarefied each time a thorn or something bruised her tender fingers that were slowly getting used to picking waste.

Each time she threw a crushed bottle or a piece of metal from the dump on the dogs, they would pick ‘em up and collect it at a place. The light in the girl seemed to dance merrily with the game with his mates. The girl went on scrounging. There was still the childhood’s innocence and she lacked adult rational. I followed her, heap to heap, keeping distance from her and the stink. Like the dogs I too was completely idealess as to what would I do if I catch her. I just followed the candle in her. She reached a place where her family (apparently parent and an infant younger brother) was doing the same. Her parent had no illusionary candle in them. They had no dogs barking at them. Their eyes had a noetic look. They, unlike the girl, did not get pleased when they found something interesting. I looked at her younger brother revealing himself playfully to her sister from behind the mother. The dogs got happy and so did I, their song of game began. I smiled and looked the flame inside him, it was brighter than the girl’s.

The Divinity Of Love

By:Prashant

Dated: Sunday,July 31, 2016

Timed: 8:40 AM

In our lives we often encounter some of the moments which bring cataclysmic change in the way we observe, or rather perceive things, leave alone the fact of these changes being momentary or lingering. These moments are not very unusual ones rather we go thru these daily, but we are too involved in ourselves to feel the importance of the passing moment. These mesmerizing moments give to us (at least me) a realization that real happiness is nothing expensive, nothing to be scrounged for. These moments like a lively silhouette pass thru us to the setting sun of gloominess filling our horizons with twinkling stars of pleasure inducing smile of contentment to the soul.

Today I went thru two such moments. No matter I see something like that everyday but noticing was what I did today. A cute little girl with her father! It soothes me a lot. Try it someday and see your lips curling to smile, effortlessly. I saw a girl, maybe five or seven in years, with her father sitting on their parked scooter along a roadside bhutta stall. They were sharing it turn by turn. It wasn’t like the father was the richest or was the bike was posh nor the girl was a hot teenager (which, I admit, is the only thing “expected” to hold people of my age at a place). They were turn by turn nibbling the unit bhutta ,happy and content in their world of two, disconnected from the surrounding. Sometime views like these arouse in me a feeling to be a father, of a girl child (don’t judge me as a sexist but I absolutely have no idea why a girl). To be laughing and fooling with my cute little daughter whole day round. To be tending her when she’s sick, to take her on long rides and enjoying roadside bhutta and chain rain, to be madly celebrating reasonlessly, to go with her on hikes and to play tricks on her mom with her, to go for ice creams mid nights, watching movies and never letting her lose her innocence. I feel it though I am too young a man to feel the rush of these elderly desires, but I do feel it. Given a chance I would love to forget for the rationality, the calculative me and be her loved father and crazy friend forever. Though I’m not expected to but I can feel the happiness of being called “Papa aaj office mat jao na…” by my cute daughter. Oh yes it is heavenly good feeling and I find myself doing injustice trying to comprehend it in words.

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A few words before my second experience…

Teri baaton ki maasumiyat mein jee rahein the hum;

Teri aankhon ki gahraiyon mein jee rahein the hum;

Teri khilkhilahat ki baarishon mein bheeg rahein the hum;

Koshis to ki ki tujhse door rah sakein hum;

Par tera saath jo tha yakeen tha, jee rahin hai hum;

Jaana tha hume chorke tujhe;

Aur ab jab ki tu nahi hai nazron mein;

Naa jane q lagta hai saansein gayi ho tham;

Jaise anayas hi aankehein ho jaati ho num;

Bahot bedard hai tera yeh gum;

Tabhi to duniya ki bheed mein akele kahde hai hum!

Another moment was which I shouldn’t have had looked so attentively, it was uncivilized to do, but I couldn’t help it coz it was spell casting. It was irresistible. A middle aged man with her lady (wife, who was apparently on her family way) were taking a stroll on the road. It had rained a few hours back and the atmosphere was touching. What oftenly I’ve been observing (with my friends, obviously) about these couples on the streets was that if they looked good together. But today was different, I was in my soul company so I looked at them with my perspective. I was walking right behind them and could overhear the conversation. The lady said,” I wish it’s a boy, nothing different from you.” The man looked back and smiled, his smile had a matured and loving tinge. I had been noticing this man for quite some time (at my favorite bhel-puri stall) with his friends and he was dumb. I never saw him speak only that he had crude sign language. Whatever I saw today was astounding.  I was shocked to see the way the lady felt for her man. The way she saw him as if he was the best man in the world, a flawless man. Even that she wanted her son to be like him. I tried looking at  the man, he was no different from the people walking around me and that maybe coz I had no sentiments attached unlike her wife. Next I glanced the lady to check if she had gone nuts. I was wrong and happy to be wrong. The way she looked at him was what made him perfect, it was her love for him that concealed his disability. It wasn’t a sympathetic look, it was something as pure as newborn and as immortal as time. I stood looking at them, speechless and thoughtless, yet spelled, as their pure aura lingered and their silhouette faded into the setting sun.

These are the moments of sheer love that keeps me going, that (directly or indirectly) keeps you going, that keeps the world going. There is a world beyond governments, beyond stock markets, beyond terrorism, beyond illness, beyond material, the world of eternal love. This is what bring peace to the world, it isn’t the rising value of dollars or rupee that drives contentment in us, its love. These moments of sheer love stirs in our heart the seismic waves of love which rushes thru our nerves. Its incomprehensible, its indecipherable but its indelibility on our heat drives us. Material isn’t driving the world, they say its GOD, I say it’s the INEXPLICABLE DIVINITY OF LOVE that keeps us going.

 

 

FAREWELL TEACHERS…

10:43AM: 2ndFeb.,2016

Dear teachers,

I do not consider myself a good orator. I feel I can express better in writing. One reason is that I fear I might miss composure verbally. When I write the tears, the smiles, the loss, the gain all are hidden from the readers. There is a wall, opaque one, of monitor or at least a paper. Every expression of mine is behind the wall, all that readers get consequently is the feelings which apparently have no expression of mine rather they need to visualize my expressions, so the text might be perceived differently by every head. I think I should take a chance to express myself coz I am considered (even by myself) a person who does not reflects his soul. If you are reading it, I think I have decided to break the silence, at least for once. I request you to keep your ego of teacher aside while you read this. Read this stuff as an expression of a taught for his teachers.

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Before I say something, I feel it important to clarify that I have included certain names in this text. Some (many) are not included directly but diplomatically. I have considered only those who I personally know as to what they exactly are and what their ideologies are. I regret for not having included all. But if it was the case the letter would have been a big lie and a flattery stuff, but it’s not. Please do not consider the text a flattery or a critical stuff coz that would be a blemish on my attempt to understand you. My fingers shiver at times while typing this letter with the imagination as to how it is perceived. I hope you do not take any of the following stuff otherwise as was the case with some of my friends when I wrote a letter for them and stuck it in our classroom. Some of them complained me for not having included their name, but I couldn’t they are just acquainted to me, I can’t lie to make someone happy. Well I shouldn’t!

To be honest, I never understand a teacher completely due to lack of informal interaction. The case is not that I deliberately stay away but the fact is firstly that I speak less secondly I do not know what to speak and thirdly, to be open enough to say that, I do not want to be a headache to you by sticking to you. I like the company of certain teachers and even talking to them. Pawan sir, Tiwari ma’am, Principal sir, Tiwari sir are a few names for the same. Still I keep away. L

Tiwari Sir has been in my life from the day I came for my entrance test for admission to this school. I remember he was greatly impressed by my performance in the test and he offered me biscuits which I shyly accepted. J In early days I saw his strict and violent aura, the impact of his presence compelled opening up of books in students’ lap. The announcement of ‘Tiwari sir being spotted near our classroom filled us with terror’ but today with time and growing affection between sir and the students that they, especially I, wait for his class visit. I like it when he comes to our classroom to talk to us. I remember there have been instances (two, to be precise) of me being slapped by him. I do not tend to forget the punishments I receive coz if I do I am bound to commit the error again. He has apparently deep faith in me. I can recall an instant when I ethically broke the faith in fourth standard. I remember being thrashed by Balkrisna sir and Pawan sir for the same. I did not realize the worth of being thrashed then but today to turn back to the past to have a glance proves me that they were right in thrashing me. I never repeated any such instance of committing ethical blunders. Pawan sir has been like an elder brother to us. I remember he thrashed me and then pampered me when I cried in my early years at PPS. He has been with me since my childhood and in these years he has become a rather inseparable part of my life. I have literally no ideas as to why he called me ‘dictionary’ some years back. Though there has been a bit lack of interaction thereafter yet the relationship is unaffected. He has been with me and the school in all the shades of spectrum. To say that I feel thankful to him would be an understatement. When it comes to Principal sir, he has always been like a father to me. I always stole words of wisdom and experiences from his talks. He has been a thing of interest and (to be frank) a fashion icon among the student all thanks to his appealing persona. I have at times wished to be like him in my early years with him. But it is time that made me realize there can be no other person akin to him. I remember he once called me (obviously not before me) “mera shishya”. My keyboard and dictionary feels helpless describing the pleasure I felt that day. My Tiwari ma’am has been a matter of wonder for me the time she entered PPS.  Her diva like appearance with a formidable professional attitude filled me with a bit fear and awe at the same time. It was with passing years and my growing understanding for her that I saw her getting softer. And today I proudly call her MY MA’AM in my class. J I like her company so I rush up to her every fourth period especially if I feel a bit off. To disclose one of the biggest facts that I learnt about her is that she has the skill of gifting the tightest slap in PPS. I felt it once, maybe in sixth standard. It is harder than Tiwari sir’s and Principal Sir’s slap even! JJJ

The biggest shock that I received in my last few days was from Anjani sir. From the day he entered PPS premises I had a notion that he does not recognizes me or any student in particular coz there have been very few instances of him naming a student other than reading out from a printed list or something. This misconception was in my mind till I had taken my chemistry viva. The time I was taking the viva he revealed a lot about me to the examiner. Some facts were so strong that even my friends and family are unaware of! Something similar was observed during physics viva. I felt like thanking him for his support during the viva but I often find myself unsuccessful at executing such plans all thanks to lack of time and more importantly a favorable chance. I might not get a better chance to thank him. So sir I express my deep sense of gratitude through these words. Thank you so much for your support. And I apologize for having taken your silence as your ignorance. But now I gather that your silence is worth a thousand words. Thank you sir! To take a bit off stream mode I would like to express my affection for Gulrez sir even though he has not officially been my subject teacher yet he is a teacher of mine. I, like all others, love his poetic creations and since I have an inclination for literature (which only a few people know) I have inclination towards him too. I thank Ashish sir for igniting and making me realize the worth of computer in my life and connecting me to my dreams. Before him my life was aimless like water poured on the floor, but he made me realize that I had a stream so I could take a direction. On the same list I would take Nikhil sir. I have no idea as to what I should write for him. I have mixed feelings for him. I love the way he is, cheerful and lively. To be true I have taken a lesson from him to be what I am and to not try to be someone else. Coz everyone is one of a kind. The most beautiful kind of person is he himself.

There have been teachers in PPS who have, unknowingly obviously, made me ready for my next life. Deepika ma’am, Amit sir and none other than my class teacher Bimlesh ma’am. They and especially their persona had a great influence on my teen mindset. Bimlesh ma’am, besides getting me a hand on experience on my skills, has connected me to the contemporary world and more importantly people around me who I kept distance from. Spending around four months with her was the best time in last two years. The way she incorporates studies with fun is a skill I would love to carry with me throughout. Akin was Ravindra sir who made our subject a fun to study. When it comes to Sandeep sir, he has been very helpful throughout. Kamlesh sir made experimentation a fun filled time. He supported whenever I needed. Thank you sir.

Coming to my science teachers Sunil sir, Akash sir and Haridwar sir. I find their words encouraging besides being suggestive. I am never going to forget some of their words. Especially Sunil sir’s at IIIT’s cafeteria time guidance, Akash sir’s bus stop time suggestions and Haridwar sir’s tea talk at his place and his professional approach to his work. There are some of my life’s brightest stars who are not among us in PPS now. For them I just have three words ‘I miss them.’

I have learnt the importance of team work, understanding and true company in the last few months. I have seen, in the last few months, that a teacher can be a friend too. A friend who you can share all your problems all your worries. They have solution to all my problems. They are akin to:

A cool wave on my sunburnt pain; A fountain of ethics, an ocean of love;
A lunch box in hunger, A samosa in cashlessness; A like a pending picture to click;
A quench in dry throat; A phone call in solitude;
A guide in life’s puzzle; A Christmas to rejoice, A new year to celebrate;
A smile to keep smiling;
A milestone to cherish
!

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The passing years have always strengthened the bond. My ten years passed in this school, more than half of my life! Our official bonding is coming to conclusion but the informal relationship between us is eternal. I have often heard it from teachers that students tend to forget them. But this is just an insight. We might not stay in regular contact. For some it might mean that they never contact you but one thing that is never gonna change is that they won’t forget you. And sometimes in their solitude, in their pain, in their problems, in their joy…they will miss you. You may be many a miles away from us, but you are with us and will be with us in one form or the other maybe education, maybe teachings, maybe ethics or simply memories. No matter what the form is, you will always be a moral support at the time of stooped motion. I take an excerpt from my article in our school magazine (which was selected by Desh Ratan sir against my wish):

There have been moments in my life when I felt angry at you, really I did, but then I did not know the “YOU” in you. It took me time to explore you layer by layer with patience. I cannot, even today, say that I know even the 20% of you, but I’m contended with my current knowledge about you. Teachers, I, from a few years dream of you saying me ‘son’, just once would be like a complete life to me. I might not be following all your teachings but if this is the case that won’t be deliberate. You will stay in my heart forever no matter whether or not, we are in touch. All from me have been tolerated by you people, covering my inabilities, encouraging me even when you are disappointed by me, by citing illustrations from your own life experiences, at times articulately and other times finding us scoop the chance to disengage and smirk at your mediocre narration. Whatever there may be, souls keep embanking indelible impressions, and they say souls are eternal. Some teachings in that embankment shall be from your teachings as well, I might or might not stand a place in the world but your teachings will live for eternity, teachers-I’m pretty sure.

Thank you teachers for finding a moment to read ‘me’. It really means a lot to me. Thank you so much.

Now if you please excuse me its 1:44PM and I got to study for my CS practical exams for the next day and need to take a bath too before Papa comes home, else a scolding! J

Prashant