Bagless day

A day to sit and reflect on the entire week reminds us how much has happened in just a few days. It has been a heavy and extremely busy week, especially with the senior classes having their examinations. The students were stressed and occupied with a demanding schedule, trying their best to prepare and perform well. As the week came to an end, the school observed a bagless day, bringing a refreshing change for both students and teachers. Instead of regular classes, students engaged in various fun and creative activities.

One of the junior classes had a craft session. Many students brought clay pots and decorated them beautifully, adding bright colours, patterns, and even fresh flowers that made the classroom vibrant. One child crafted a Ferris wheel with great detail, showcasing exceptional creativity. Others decorated bottles, cups, and flower pots, each one unique. The excitement among the students was evident as they helped one another, shared materials, and proudly admired each other’s work.

The higher classes took part in "cooking without fire," which was equally exciting. They prepared a variety of dishes that looked colourful and tasted delicious. The joy on their faces showed how much they enjoyed the experience. After cooking, they shared their dishes with classmates and ate together like a family, turning the activity into a warm and memorable moment.

The younger classes engaged in making Christmas cards and other themed artwork. It was a wonderful opportunity for them to express their creativity and imagination. Days like these remind us how important it is to allow children to explore beyond textbooks. Teachers play a beautiful role in nurturing the hidden creativity within every child. The way a student’s eyes light up when they try something new is truly priceless. Activities like these encourage students to learn joyfully, develop new skills, and discover their talents in a fun and meaningful way.

A social science exhibition

 Again, another week has come to an end. As quickly as it began, it finished, and I hardly realised how fast time had passed. The week felt light yet tiring, but it brought valuable learning. It went by in a blur as students prepared for the upcoming activity scheduled for Saturday. Both students and teachers were busy and excited. As the week drew to a close, the month too was ending, and with only one month left in the year, it felt like time was slipping away. With the year almost over, it feels necessary to reflect on the past months, the achievements, the mistakes, the unfinished tasks, and everything still left to do.

Saturday was eventful, filled with the excitement of the exhibition students had worked hard for throughout the week. The day began with the primary section, whose parents visited the exhibition. They left with happy faces, proud to see the models and artwork created by the students, showcasing their talents.

While the primary parents observed the exhibition, the students of classes four to seven were gathered in the basketball court for a short meditation session to calm their racing minds. It was much needed, as they rarely get a mental break, which often leads to stress and restlessness.

Since they became restless quickly, they were encouraged to do some exercises, which felt refreshing at first. They were enthusiastic, but soon their bodies began to tire, and excuses started. Afterwards, they were taken to the ground, where they spent the remaining time relaxing.

After the break, students visited the exhibition, and I was one of them. Everything was beautifully made, be it rainwater harvesting systems, solar system models, eclipse demonstrations, forest and wildlife displays, volcano eruptions, and even models of the old and new Parliament buildings. The students were incredibly talented, confidently explaining their work. There was also a skit on the Constitution that spread awareness about social issues.

The day ended with new lessons learned from the models and many interesting discoveries.

From illumination to light

 Schools are not just places of learning; they are communities shaped by the people who guide, inspire, and support them every day. While celebrations often highlight students and teachers, it is equally important to recognise the one who stands behind every achievement, every event, and every milestone. Principal’s Day is a reminder to honour the guiding force who leads the school with dedication, compassion, and vision.

This week has been filled with practices, artwork, and many preparations. With Principal’s Day approaching, everyone was busy and active. Every year, we celebrate Teacher’s Day, Children’s Day, Annual Day, and many other events. But we often forget to honour the person who makes all of these celebrations run smoothly and successfully. Principal’s Day is a moment to appreciate the one who guides the entire school family, reminding them that they are cared for and valued. This year, the week was dedicated to them under the theme “From Illumination to Light.”

The hard work of the students and teachers shone brightly on this special day. Their smiles and heartfelt words expressed everything they felt. The decorations and the performances, practised, rehearsed, and re-rehearsed, came together beautifully. Watching the little ones dance joyfully to the music was truly heartwarming. Every small step they learned brought excitement, and the teachers who trained them showed their dedication through the children’s confident performance.

The programme included performances by both the primary section and the high school students. The high school skit introduced the significance of the day in a meaningful way. This was followed by touching speeches from the students and a vibrant Garba dance that filled the hall with festive energy. The celebration concluded with a special choir song, written and composed on the theme “Lighthouse.” The lighthouse represented the Principal, the guiding light who helps others stay on the right path and not lose direction.

The entire event was a beautiful expression of gratitude, unity, and respect. It reflected how much the school community values the leadership and care of the person who leads them with wisdom and strength.

When teachers became children again

This week was celebrated as Children’s Day, a reminder that we were once children ourselves, completely dependent on our parents and filled with innocence and wonder. Throughout the week, the teachers stayed back after school to practise their performances for the celebration. Watching them rehearse was a delight. For a short while, they let go of their roles as adults and allowed the child within them to come alive. Their faces lit up with excitement as they tried out different dance steps to retro-style music, laughing and enjoying every moment.

I was reminded of my own school days, when I would eagerly watch my teachers perform various programmes for us. This past week, I witnessed the dedication behind those performances. The teachers worked with genuine enthusiasm, wanting to give the students a joyful and memorable Children’s Day. Their hard work reflected how deeply they cared for their students.

On the day of the celebration, my teachers wished me “Happy Children’s Day!”, and for a moment, it took me back to the time when I was the one sitting among the students. Standing there as a teacher in the very same school where I once studied felt surreal. Even though I am here only for a short period, the experience is special and difficult to put into words. It’s a beautiful reminder of how life comes full circle, turning students into teachers and memories into new experiences.

Day 4 of teaching practise

 Day 5 began with the start of a new week, a lazy Monday morning when you simply don’t feel like stepping out after a short weekend. As I stepped outside, I was greeted not by the freshness of a new day but by a thick blanket of smog hanging low in the air. It stung my eyes and made it slightly difficult to breathe. The once-clear morning sky now looked dull and lifeless, as if covered in a grey filter.

Because of the rising pollution levels, the outdoor assembly was cancelled, and we had to gather indoors instead. It felt strange not to stand in the open ground like we usually do, but at the same time, it was a relief to be in a safer environment. During the assembly, the thought for the day was a quote by Jawaharlal Nehru:

“Failure comes only when we forget our ideals, objectives, and principles.” 

The quote stayed with me for a while. It reminded me that true success isn’t measured by fame or achievements, but by the integrity behind them. A person might appear successful to the world, but if that success comes through dishonest means, then it is nothing more than a hidden failure. This message felt especially powerful to start the week with a reminder to stay grounded in values even when the world seems to rush past them.

As the day went on, time moved faster than I expected. The classes went smoothly, and despite the dull weather, there was a quiet sense of peace in the air. It could be because the indoor setting made everything feel more focused and calm. Students seemed as usual, without having the effect of Monday mood that follows after the weekend's freedom.

The environment surely causes a negative effect on people. It’s concerning how each year the situation seems to get worse around this time. The sunlight barely filters through, and the city looks as though it’s lost its brightness under a smoky haze.

Still, there’s always hope, hope that things will get better with time and awareness. Small steps like reducing firecrackers, using public transport, or planting more trees might seem insignificant individually, but together they can bring change.

By the end of the day, even though my eyes still felt irritated and my throat a bit dry, I felt grateful, grateful for health, for shelter, and for another day to experience and learn. As I packed up to head home, I silently wished for clearer skies and cleaner air in the days ahead.

From other side of desk: Day 3 and 4

The third day at school was quite relaxing since I had fewer classes. A short break truly helps to refresh both body and mind before beginning a new day. The morning started, as usual, with the assembly, where the thought for the day was, “Learning happens at all times, so we need to keep our minds open.”

A short break in between classes really helps to regain lost energy, which is much needed for a teacher’s daily routine. It’s quite a busy schedule for teachers who are constantly on the move throughout the day. One of my teachers asked me, “How do you feel about the transition from being a student to becoming a teacher?” That question made me smile; it reminded me of my childhood curiosity about what it would feel like to be on the other side of the classroom. I now realise how challenging it truly is to grab students’ attention and keep them quiet and engaged.

By the end of the day, I felt exhausted, even though I had been energetic throughout. As soon as I reached home, the tiredness caught up with me completely, making me feel lethargic but still looking forward to the next day.

The fourth day began with a chilly morning, the first real touch of winter. The breeze was cold, and my hands and feet felt numb. As soon as I reached the staffroom, the warmth there was a welcome relief. The morning assembly went by smoothly and ended with a quote by Albert Einstein:

“Education is not the learning of facts, but the training of the mind to think.”

As the day progressed, it became more engaging and enjoyable. Time seemed to pass quickly when interacting with students, compared to sitting idle. During my free period, I spent most of my time in the library, my favourite spot since my own school days. The library has always been a peaceful place for me. Back then, our librarian used to keep a book ready for me to read, and that’s where my love for reading truly began.

The day ended quickly, leaving little time for other activities, and it grew dark earlier because of the approaching winter. As the weekend drew near, the first week of my teaching practice came to an end, a week full of learning, experiences, and small moments to remember, while awaiting a fresh start filled with new activities in the coming week.  

Day 2 of teaching practise

 

The second day was not easy at all. The first day had been all about getting to know the place, even though my assigned task was mistakenly given to someone else. But the next day, I was given substitution classes, my first real experience handling a large number of students. It was stressful and quite challenging.

The day began with the usual assembly, which was longer than the previous day because there was a prize distribution that took quite some time. After the assembly, I went to the staffroom, as I had the day before, and there I received my first class assignment.

It was the first period, so I had to take attendance as well. The class was Grade Seven, which meant the students were a bit older and more energetic. As soon as I entered, they were excited to see a new teacher and immediately asked for a free period. Convincing them wasn’t easy, but somehow, I managed to make a deal with them, and they quietened down for a while. It was difficult to grab their attention, but I’d say I handled it fairly well.

Later, I was asked to take another class with a younger group, and it turned out to be even more challenging. The students were restless throughout the period, and it took all my patience to manage them. At some point, I felt completely exhausted and kept waiting for the bell to ring. When it finally did, I let out a sigh of relief.

I also received a substitute for the games period, which was much easier since the students were outside playing. After a lot of walking around the school, the day finally came to an end. I was truly tired and could feel the fatigue in every part of my body.

It was, however, an eventful day. I had the chance to talk with other teachers, and they shared some valuable tips and tricks for managing a class. I hope the coming days will be different as I slowly adapt to my new role as a teacher.

Day 1 of back to school

 

School has always been an emotion for me. I often find myself missing my days as a student there. I have a vivid picture of how my school used to look because I spent fourteen years within its walls, a long and unforgettable time. The corridors, library, playground, classrooms, and every corner have a clear route in my mind.

After returning to school after many years, everything seemed to have changed. When my brother mentioned it earlier, I didn’t believe him. I assumed it would just be a small, barely noticeable change. However, as I walked inside the school premises, I realised how wrong I had been. The transformation was huge, almost unrecognisable. It made me miss the old surroundings even more, yet I felt genuinely happy seeing how beautifully things had evolved.

Stepping into my school again, this time as an intern teacher, brought a rush of mixed emotions. I had always wished to teach in the very same school where I once studied, though I never imagined it would actually happen. On my first day as an intern, the school felt completely new to me. I met several of my former teachers, to my surprise, many of them still remembered me, and some even recalled my name. Their warm smiles and encouraging words made me feel truly welcome.

Though I missed seeing a few teachers who had retired, meeting the ones who were still there filled me with immense joy. They had been a significant part of my journey, and seeing them again brought back many memories. This journey has been long and meaningful, and as it now nears its end, I feel both a quiet sense of loss and the excitement of stepping into a new beginning.

The Craving For Biriyani

Food is something we all enjoy, irrespective of our different choices and favourites. Everyone prefers different kinds of food, and our tastes often vary from person to person. Sometimes, food is deeply connected with memories, a craving can suddenly crawl out from a hidden corner of our mind and linger until the flavour once again dances on our taste buds.

I recently missed the Chennai biryani I used to eat while staying on campus. The memory came rushing back while I was talking to my brother. Soon after, I found myself searching for biryani recipes online. There were so many cooking videos that choosing one became difficult, mostly because, apart from the craving, I didn’t really have the motivation to cook.

Today, since my mom was also at home and wanted to taste the biryani, I finally decided to make it. The beginning was a bit chaotic and messy, but I eventually managed to get all the ingredients right.

Here’s how I made it:
First, I sliced some onions and tomatoes. I heated oil with a bit of ghee in a pan and sautéed the onions until they turned golden brown. Then, I added ginger–garlic paste and cooked it for a few minutes until the raw smell disappeared. Next, I added khade masala, cardamom, cinnamon sticks, and cloves to enhance the flavour. After that, I mixed in some chilli powder and a spoonful of curd, followed by the chicken pieces, blending everything well with the masala.

Once the chicken was cooked slightly, I added the soaked rice and poured in water. For the final touch, I squeezed some lemon juice and closed the lid to let it cook.

After a few minutes, I suddenly remembered that I had forgotten to add salt! I quickly opened the lid and sprinkled some in before it was fully cooked. Then came the waiting, and soon, the air filled with the rich aroma of biryani, making both my mom and me even hungrier.

After what felt like forever, we finally opened the lid, served ourselves a bit, and enjoyed the meal together. It wasn’t just delicious, it was a plate full of nostalgia and satisfaction.

An Evening Walk

 

An evening walk is always refreshing, so today, after a long time, I decided to take a short walk in the nearby park, which sounds quite fancy for a lazy person like me. It was a bit late, and winter was approaching, so the sky darkened faster than usual, leaving the park almost empty before eight.

Before stepping out, I was in a bit of a dilemma, half-hearted and unsure, but eventually, I made up my mind and went for a walk. The park was nearly deserted, and the cool breeze felt completely opposite to the warmth of my cosy home. The first few minutes were fine, but the silence soon felt overwhelming, so I decided to listen to The Da Vinci Code by Dan Brown. The story was so engaging that it helped me keep my mind off unwanted thoughts.

After a while, my eyes began to wander. I noticed how unusually bright the park looked despite having only two streetlights. Usually, only parts of it are dimly lit, but tonight it seemed brighter, perhaps because many houses still hadn’t taken down their Diwali lights, which continued to twinkle in the distance.

Halfway through my walk, a few children entered the park with badminton rackets. They first sat on the swings, chatting and laughing, before finally deciding to play. A little later, a dog arrived with his owner, wagging his tail and excitedly pulling at the leash. His enthusiasm eventually faded after a few rounds, and he tugged his owner out of the park.

I kept walking until my eyes began to sting, and I felt a bit breathless, probably because of the lingering pollution from the crackers. I silently wished for rain to clear the sky. Feeling tired, I decided to sit on the swing and rest for a while. It was peaceful, even with people around. I closed my eyes, enjoying the moment, before finally deciding to head home, thus ending my short evening walk.

DIWALI : colours, crackers and quite reflections

 Diwali, the festival of lights, is one of those days when the entire city seems to come alive. Every street glows with a thousand colors, every home radiates warmth, and every heart feels a little lighter. As I look outside tonight, the streets shimmer with diyas and fairy lights, each one adding to the grand mosaic of brightness that defines this day. It’s as though the darkness itself has stepped back to let light take over.

Yet, beneath this radiant celebration, the world feels different to each of us. From my home, which faces an open ground, I can hear the laughter of children as they burst crackers under the watchful eyes of their parents. Their joy echoes through the night innocent, pure, and contagious. It’s heartwarming to hear their giggles rise above the noise of fireworks. Moments like these remind me what festivals are truly about togetherness and joy shared among loved ones.

Yesterday evening, on my way to the shop, I noticed how Diwali transforms even the most ordinary corners of the community. Houses were decked with strings of golden lights that glowed softly against the night sky, casting a comforting warmth that reached even the quietest alleys. Today, I saw a young girl outside her house, carefully creating a rangoli. Her hands moved gracefully as she filled the patterns with vibrant colors, her face glowing with satisfaction. Nearby, others were lighting diyas around their doorsteps, ensuring that no shadow remained.

But amid all this beauty, one thing continues to trouble me the sound and smoke of firecrackers. They come in so many kinds some dazzling, some deafening. While the colorful bursts in the sky are undeniably mesmerizing, the loud ones often drown out the peaceful side of the celebration. As each firework fades, it leaves behind a thick cloud of smoke that lingers in the air, dulling the brightness that once felt pure.

Yesterday, the noise was mild, almost tolerable. But today, the sound of crackers seems endless. It’s constant and overwhelming, making the air heavy and the head ache slightly. Now, when I open the door, the smell of burnt powder mixes with the fog, making it hard to breathe. The once-clear night sky now seems veiled by a smoky haze a reminder that joy, when uncontrolled, often leaves a trace of sorrow behind.

And yet, despite it all, Diwali remains a time of beauty, joy, and reflection. It’s a celebration that teaches us contrasts light and dark, noise and silence, excitement and peace. Perhaps, as we enjoy this festival each year, we should also remember the quieter side of Diwali the calm after the lights are dimmed, the serenity after the last spark fades.

The festival’s true spirit lies not just in lighting diyas or bursting crackers but in illuminating our hearts with kindness, compassion, and hope. As the lights fade and the night deepens, I’m left thinking that the most beautiful glow of Diwali is not on our streets, but within us.

A fruit basket

 We all love fruits as they’re healthy, refreshing, and exciting. However, not everyone might agree, as the taste of fast food seems to dance on their tongues, almost erasing the flavour of something fresh and natural.

Many of us haven’t even tried the wide variety of fruits that exist, each unique in shape, colour, and taste. It’s fascinating to see so many types of fruits online that we’ve never seen or even heard of in real life. These exotic fruits spark curiosity and make us want to try them at least once. Since they’re not as common as bananas, oranges, or apples, they’re often quite expensive.

Dragon fruit, just like its name, is a fascinating fruit. I had always heard about it and wanted to try it. The first time I tasted it was during a trip to Kerala. We visited a mall where fruits were neatly cut and arranged, and customers could choose the ones they wanted. I picked dragon fruit along with red and green apples, papaya, and watermelon. I didn’t like the green apple much since it was quite sour, but I enjoyed the rest. Later, while strolling through a local market with my mom, I was surprised to see dragon fruit being sold there, something quite unusual for that area. The taste isn’t as extraordinary as its appearance, but it’s definitely pleasant.

Custard apple is one of my favourite fruits and is usually available around this season. It seems to be more common now than in previous years. Every time I visit Kerala, I see raw custard apples hanging on trees, but they are rarely ripe before I return home. The first time I got to taste one freshly picked and ripe, it was delicious, creamy and naturally sweet. Since they don’t ripen in large numbers, they remain a rare treat enjoyed in small quantities.

Avocado is another fruit that has become quite popular lately. For a while now, people have been making videos about it, especially for recipes like avocado sandwiches or smoothies, since the fruit itself doesn’t have flavour. When we bought one for the first time, my mom decided to make avocado juice. She added several ingredients to bring out its taste, and the result was surprisingly good. On its own, avocado tastes quite plain, but when combined with other flavours, it becomes delicious.

Lastly, the fruit persimmon, which looks a lot like a tomato, caused a funny mix-up at home. My mom thought it was a tomato until I explained otherwise. The first time I tried it, it was sweet and juicy, but the one I had today didn’t taste quite the same.

Fruits may come in different colours, tastes, and textures, but each one holds a story, a memory of where and how we tasted it, reminding us of the simple joys that nature provides.

Steps towards serenity

Today, my trip to college was quite different from usual. The morning started off poorly, but I managed to make it better as the day went on. Since I didn’t have to leave early, I started a bit late, and the roads were already crowded. The sun was out, but the heat wasn’t as intense as it usually is. When I boarded the vehicle, it was packed with people pushing through, even though there was barely any space. I got stuck in the middle, unable to move. After a few stops, I finally found a spot where I could stand properly and breathe.

After some time, I began to feel uneasy. It was getting difficult to breathe in that cramped, closed space. I wanted to get out, but I was stuck on both sides and couldn’t move. Since only two or three stops were left, I asked one of the ladies sitting nearby if she could let me sit for a while, as I wasn’t feeling well. At first, she seemed hesitant, probably thinking I was making an excuse, but when I asked again, she kindly offered me her seat.

As soon as I sat down, I started sweating heavily and soon fainted. The women around me were startled but immediately helped me. One gave me water while another wiped my face with a wet cloth. By the time my stop arrived, I had regained some strength, and one of them helped me get off. I was truly grateful to the three women for their kindness and care.

After reaching halfway, I boarded a bus to Greater Noida. I sat down, relaxed, and waited for the bus to move. The open windows let the cool breeze hit my face, refreshing me completely. When I reached Knowledge Park, I decided to walk to my college instead of taking an auto, just to calm myself. I plugged in my earphones, played some light music, and walked along the footpath. There were fewer students around since classes had already begun. Had I been a bit earlier, the place would’ve been bustling with students from various colleges.

On my way, I saw a few herons standing gracefully around a buffalo, probably enjoying the warmth of the sun. As I walked further, I noticed butterflies fluttering around. One tiny yellow butterfly sat on a plant, and I mistook it for a flower until it flew away. There were also small dragonflies hovering in the air. The sight was peaceful and beautiful. Sometimes, a simple, relaxing walk is all that’s needed to let go of the heaviness and uneasiness within. By the time I reached college, I felt completely relaxed and free, the suffocating feeling from earlier replaced by calm and gratitude.

The Engagement That Engaged My Heart

 

Dear friends,

Today, I would like to share my day, which was both tiring and lively after a long time, as I met many familiar faces and discovered new sides to them. To put it simply, I attended the engagement ceremony of a lovely couple who will soon begin their journey together in marriage. But this story isn’t only about the couple, it’s also about the people around them, the joy that filled the place, and the little details that made the day memorable.

The day began as usual, though the sky was a bit gloomy, quite the opposite of the couple’s bright and cheerful mood. We left home a little late since it had been raining in the morning. To avoid getting stuck in traffic, we decided to take the metro instead. Being the first working day of the week, the roads were busier than usual, and the rain made it even worse. The metro, however, was relatively empty when we boarded, so we managed to find seats. Our destination was the last stop, so I spent the time listening to music. As the train moved along, more passengers boarded, most of them were tired returning from the office after a long day. We looked completely different from them, dressed up and full of energy, while they seemed exhausted and ready for rest. I realised how hectic working life can be, especially when long commutes are part of the routine.

After reaching our stop, we made our way to the venue. Inside, I saw several familiar faces, friends and relatives greeting one another with excitement. Many people who barely knew each other started conversations, turning unfamiliarity into warmth within minutes. However, I noticed that the event wasn’t as lively as the weddings I remembered from years ago. Some familiar people were missing; I heard many had moved back to their hometowns, while a few had travelled long distances just to attend this special day.

The crowd was quite large, making it difficult to move around freely. One of the most exciting parts of any celebration, of course, was the food, and everyone eagerly rushed to the various counters to taste different dishes. The starters included pani puri, aloo tikki, pav bhaji, chilli chicken, chicken fries, kebabs, and a variety of vegetarian options. There was also a South Indian section serving appam with stew, along with different kinds of dosa accompanied by sambar and chutneys. Desserts were equally tempting: jalebi, kulfi, ice cream, and a selection of refreshing drinks. There was a main course as well, but I was already full from the starters and couldn’t eat any more. Children seemed to be the happiest of all, running around excitedly and trying every dish that caught their eye.

After the meet and the meal, we decided to return home as it was getting late. We took the metro back, it was much quieter now, with the rush hour long over. The journey didn’t take too long, and I found myself dozing off, completely exhausted from the day. As I sat there, I replayed the events of the day in my mind and realised how much time had passed since I last saw many of those people. Some didn’t even recognise me as they remembered me as a school kid. Everyone had changed, and so had I. It struck me how quickly time moves, taking along with it the people, the faces, and the moments that once felt so familiar.

By the time we reached home, my tiredness had taken over, leaving me with one quiet thought: time never stops, and neither do we. People change, moments fade, but the memories remain, reminding us of how far we have come.

The joy of soul

The joy of soul,
jumping all around,
so full of excitement,
for the moment at hand.

The day began differently
dull, lazy, lifeless,
But everything changed
Once I found the right place.

Music surrounding,
claps in rhythm,
feet gently tapping
to the beat within.

It isn’t my joy alone,
but the people’s delight,
their happiness reflected,
shining on every side.

How long will this joy last?
Is it fleeting, or forever?
Time will reveal the truth,
the answer to our wonder.

And the answer feels sweet,
like ice cream after a meal
filling not just the stomach,
but the soul as well.

                                                 _ Beera

More than just a scratch

How much does a wound really hurt? We all know the pain of it, but do we think about it only when it happens, or do we reflect on it at other times too? Yesterday, I hurt my finger while working, and since then, it has been bothering me constantly. It’s just a small wound, yet the pain feels much greater than its size. The moment my finger was cut, I felt a sharp sting shooting through my fingertips, and the pain lingered, refusing to leave.

I quickly did the first aid as it was bleeding, and thankfully, the bleeding stopped. But this morning, the throbbing ache returned and kept me from doing even simple tasks. Every now and then, just when I’d forget about it, a sudden sharp pain would strike again, instantly reminding me of my current problem. Even now, while I am typing, it feels like I am a beginner learning how to type all over again, and my speed has decreased noticeably, making me more aware of the discomfort.

The wound may be small, almost invisible, but it feels powerful enough to disturb my entire routine. It makes me overthink, as if healing would take months instead of days. Strangely, the moment there is a limitation, countless tasks suddenly appear, making me realise how much I rely on even the smallest part of my body.

Sometimes, it’s not the size of the wound but the way it disrupts life that makes us notice it more. Perhaps it also teaches us patience, reminding us that healing, whether of the body or mind, always takes its own time.

The Green Heart of my Home

The green leaves fluttering in the breeze keep the surroundings fresh and lively, full of life. Having plants around creates a refreshing feeling that rejuvenates both mind and body.

I too have a few potted plants growing inside my home as well as outside. A house feels warmer and more welcoming when there are plants around. They take away the sense of loneliness or emptiness, almost as if someone is always there with us.

I even named my first plant ‘Oxy’, a snake plant. I still remember how excited I was to welcome this new member into our family. My brother and I collected mud to pot it, returning home completely dusted and dirty. Mom was upset, but since she was the one who had sent us, she didn’t scold us. We even bought manure to mix with the soil so that the plants could grow well.

Before ‘Oxy’ came, we had already tried growing outdoor plants like spinach and tomatoes. Some grew successfully, while others failed, mostly because they dried up or were destroyed by monkeys pulling them out of the soil. Even now, though many of our plants are growing well, there is always the fear of monkeys. They are so mischievous that they not only pluck plants but even take clothes off the drying line. Sometimes they search for the smallest cloth, remove it carefully from the clip, and even wear it perfectly! It’s funny to watch, but at the same time, they create a lot of trouble.

When I first planted ‘Oxy,’ I was worried because it didn’t seem to grow at all or rather grew too slowly. I placed it outside in the sun and rain, but then it stopped growing completely. For months there was no change. Finally, I kept it inside near my bed, and after a few weeks, I noticed new leaves sprouting. Now, I water it occasionally and keep it where soft sunlight reaches. Slowly but surely, ‘Oxy’ has grown beautifully and is still growing.

Plants inside and outside the house hold so many stories, these include children playing in the park, parents caring for them, adults taking walks, people rushing to work, and quiet moments of life unfolding around them. And among those stories, mine with ‘Oxy’ is one of them.

The thought still remains

I walked and walked, a winding lane,

Each glance I met brought silent pain.
Not just one face, but many stare,
Do they judge me? Do they care?

Do they despise the words I say?
Or wish I’d kept them all away?
Did I offend, or speak too fast?
Would silence have been best to cast?

The questions echo, never end,
A storm of doubts I can’t defend.
Anxiety has a heavy cost,
Arrives when words are already lost.

Are these thoughts blessings or flaws?
No answer fits, no guiding laws.
Still, the puzzle won’t explain
The thought will forever remain.

Among the crowd, both near and far,
I sweat beneath their judging stare.
This burden makes me keenly see,
The world weighs heavily upon.

Is self-awareness a gift or a curse?
A truth I seek in every verse.
Though silence falls, one thing sustains
The thought, unanswered, still remains.

IF PAPER COULD SPEAK...

This is a story of a newspaper. Imagine if newspapers could speak, they would surely have tales to tell, waiting for someone to listen, just as I need someone to understand my emotions. This is the story of Paper, who longed to share his journey with the world.

Hi, my name is Paper, and today I’d like to share a day in my life.

I was created some time ago, and after all the hustle, I rested with my companions, sleeping peacefully before the sun rose. The room was dark; all I could see were shadows, and all I could hear was the soft breathing of my fellow newspapers. I felt a mix of excitement and anxiety, unsure of what the future held for me. Eventually, I drifted off to sleep.

My eyes fluttered open when the lights were switched on. I quickly nudged my friends to wake up, eager to begin our journey. Soon, a man entered and picked up a bundle of us. I was in the middle of the stack. As he stepped outside the building, a cool morning breeze brushed against my surface, sending a chill through me. I felt goosebumps, and I think my friends did too, for I sensed them shivering slightly. Being in the middle, I wasn’t as cold, shielded by those above and below me.

We were carefully placed on top of a machine, which I later learned was called a motorcycle. It was incredibly fast! At first, I was scared, thinking, "What if I flew away?" We clung to one another tightly, even though we were already tied together to prevent such accidents. After a while, though, it started to feel exhilarating. The wind rushed past, and I felt free of my worries, even if just for a moment. But then, the motorcycle stopped, ending the thrill.

The man began walking through a small community. The streets were quiet, with a few people heading to work, children on their way to school, and elderly folks enjoying the morning on their balconies. One by one, my friends were delivered to different houses. The man didn’t wait for anyone to collect them; he simply rang the bell and left the papers at their doors.

He started with the ground-floor homes, and then came the upper floors. I wondered if he would climb the stairs, but to my surprise, he began throwing some of my friends up to balconies. Amazingly, they landed perfectly. Then, it was my turn. He tossed me upward. I closed my eyes and braced myself... and just like that, I had arrived.

I lay outside for a while until a man from the house came out and picked me up. He read through my pages as he sipped his morning tea. However, he didn’t finish as he had to leave for work. Later, his son picked me up and flipped straight to the sports section, reading it for a few minutes before tossing me aside.

For the rest of the day, I was mostly left alone. Occasionally, someone would move me from one place to another, but no one paid me much attention. The rest of the family was busy with their phones or watching television. As night fell, I was tossed into a corner along with other newspapers that had arrived before me.

I don’t know how long I’ll stay here. The others aren't sure either. But it's the unknown future that still gives me hope. As I lie quietly in the corner, I watch the family together through thick and thin, living their lives.

When time lost its shapes

As I sat there doing nothing, a sudden thought came to my mind: What did I do during the lockdown days? Were they as uneventful as now, or did something different happen? And if there was a difference, has it really changed anything so far?

If anyone were to ask whether I miss the lockdown days, most of us would probably answer that we miss the days before the lockdown. The sudden change the world went through is still hard to accept, as the once slow-paced world transformed into something resembling the world inside Fahrenheit 451. It’s deeply unsettling.

I remember myself in the year 2019, when I joined my first year of college. After that, time just seemed to blur, and now, when I look around, everything feels unfamiliar, like the colours have been pushed back into a grey day. I’m not saying there were no bright, colourful moments; there were. But they felt like fleeting sparks swallowed by an ocean of grey.

This grey slowly began foreshadowing the days I spent feeling low and withdrawn. Instead of doing something different or meaningful, an unsettling heaviness kept pulling me down. Sometimes I imagine living in a small cottage surrounded by green nature everywhere, with a stream flowing nearby and a small community of people living simple lives on a mountaintop. No one is staring at the latest piece of technology, but instead is spending time talking to each other. I often travel to this place in my dreams, though I don’t know if it truly exists.

I used to think daydreaming was a bad habit, but sometimes it’s the only place I feel comfort, my quiet refuge each night before being pushed back into reality the next day.

And now, as I sit on a chair staring out the window, I realise it’s not the world that’s the problem; it’s my mind, still refusing to see myself as an adult member of society. Is it just me, or are there many others who feel the same that the time before was beautiful, but now everything feels dull? The hectic schedules and monotonous days weigh down the soul, yet there remains a small hope for something new to look forward to.

Beyond the wait

Wait, that moment comes to end,

But patience stays, your truest friend.

Is it beautiful, or just divine?

Time will tell as it draws the line.

Each small step, each choice made,

Paves the path that we will tread.

The climb is tough, the pace is slow,

But steady hearts will always grow.

Nothing beats that joy so pure,

A hope that feels secure.

Though doubts may rise and moments dim,

A quiet hope still starts to swim.

The silence hanging in the air,

The anxious glances here and there

The wait for something to be done

Becomes a tale that’s just begun.

Smiles spread gently, laughter flows,

A wave of peace within us grows.

Faces light up, hearts rejoice,

In that stillness, we hear a joyful voice.

The wait is over, calm and bright,

Let the story continue with new light ...

 

                                                  

Painted horizons

Clouds form a pattern in the sky,

In hues of orange, drifting high.

They move along without a sound,

Like quiet guests that float around.

They never leave, they never stray,

But hide when sunlight floods the day.

At dusk and dawn, they tint the light,

Painting skies in soft twilight.

Like an artist's brush at play,

They shift and change throughout the day.

Minutes turn to hours fast,

Yet every moment seems to last.

Nature’s beauty, calm and deep,

Lulls the restless soul to sleep.

The closer we are, the more we see

How nature sets our spirits free.

Freedom... what a lovely word,

Not always shouted, often heard

In gentle winds and skies above,

In little things, like clouds we love.

Opinions shift, and feelings stray,

But clouds remain, they find their way

In shapes unknown, in forms brand new,

On a journey meant for me and you.

                                              _ Beera

The masked one and the broken light

Once upon a time, in a tiny little town nestled between hills and meadows, there lived a monster. From the time he was a child, the townspeople feared him. Perhaps it was his appearance, or maybe his cold demeanour, but no one dared to go near him. He wandered through life in solitude, never knowing the warmth of companionship.

Years later, a little angel arrived in town. She was full of energy and joy, her smile bright enough to melt even the coldest hearts. The townspeople adored her instantly. She had a kind word for everyone and was always surrounded by admirers. But even in the midst of all that affection, she noticed someone on the outskirts, someone standing alone, pushed away by the rest.That someone was the monster.

She watched his lonely figure for days, her heart quietly aching. One morning, she decided to approach him. “Hi,” she said with a smile, unbothered by the stories she had heard. He didn’t answer at first, but she didn’t give up. Day after day, she returned, sometimes talking, sometimes just sitting beside him in silence.

Eventually, the monster opened up. They became best friends. The townspeople were surprised to see the monster smiling. Slowly, others began talking to him, too. Curiosity turned into kindness. Acceptance replaced fear. The once-feared monster became part of their community, and for the first time, he felt like he belonged. The angel, proud of her friend, watched it all unfold with happiness in her heart.

But one day, when they were alone, the angel saw something she had never seen before.

The monster changed. His smile vanished. The warmth faded. In its place stood someone unrecognisable, cold, manipulative, and frightening. He was no longer the gentle creature he pretended to be. Terrified, the angel stepped back, realizing she had been deceived all along.

She wanted to tell the others, but something held her back, fear. Fear that no one would believe her. Fear that her truth would be buried under the image the monster had built. And so, she stayed quiet.

Slowly, the angel faded into the background. Her smile dimmed, her light grew dull. The villagers, unaware of the truth, continued to praise the monster. He had become the angel in their eyes, kind, generous, and loved. The angel, broken and alone, left the village.

Years passed.

One day, she returned. The town had changed, but what caught her eye was a familiar face, the monster, now older, holding a tiny child in his arms. A little monster, or perhaps... an angel.

Only time would tell.

Started with song, ended with silence and thought

After a short break, I finally watched a movie today, one that had been on my watchlist for a while. Interestingly, it wasn’t the film itself that first caught my attention, but a song from it. During my visit to Kerala, I heard my cousins playing a beautiful track, and curiosity led me to ask which movie it was from. That’s when I learned the name "Nariveta".

Until today, I knew nothing about its plot or genre, so I went in with zero expectations. As the movie began, I wasn’t particularly impressed at first, but I had heard from others that it was worth watching. The first half felt like a typical feel-good story, sprinkled with a bit of mystery through flashbacks.

However, it was the second half that truly elevated the narrative. The film revolves around the lives of tribal communities, homeless on their own land and their fight for basic shelter. It also explores the complexities of human nature, revealing hidden emotions and unexpected behavior.

The gradual transformation of the protagonist—from a self-centered individual to someone who genuinely cares for the people he once saw as strangers is portrayed subtly and effectively. The film gently nudges the viewer to reflect on empathy, dignity, and the value of every human life.

The music stands out as a powerful element in the storytelling. The songs are beautifully composed, with lyrics that echo the pain and resilience of the characters.

Overall, the movie is a moving portrayal of social injustice and the unseen struggles of marginalized communities. It sheds light on the darker side of humanity while also reminding us of hope and change.