Not a breath escaped me as i turned throught the last few chapters of Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows at 1 A.M. this morning. From the very first page, my mind was yearning for answers. It is, undoubtedly, the best book in the series. Personally, I believe it's the best book ever. With a plot so well made, a narrative so gripping, language so simple, yet impressive... what more would any reader want.
With all the loose ends wanting to be tied up, each one growing longer and longer ever since that fateful day on which Hagrid burst into the Dursley's 'hut', the wait was truly worthwhile. Even with close to eight main characters dying, even after the disappointment that Dumbledore was, after all, not alive, even with all the shock, anxiety, and sorrow pouring over me, I couldn't help but smile as i closed the book for the first time.
Of course, we all knew that Voldemort would die. Good over evil. It had to be. Shocking at is was to get to know more and more about the mirth and apathy portrayed by him, i think it was a sad, sad way to die. It portrayed his vulnerability, and shattered his supposed control , sureness, and above all, undying power.
Dumbledore's past is another thing that truly shocked me. He was not who i thought him to be. His past seemed to be tainted, because of the way he was at seventeen. Not Dumbledore-like at all. It probably explained the veil he always had around him, that reluctance to tell the truth. Rita Skeeter's right, Dumbledore was a practiced liar.
I also felt that the Deathly Hallows did not play a huge role as such. The continuous debate in Harry's mind- Horcruxes or Hallows, was rather unnecessary. Ultimately, it was the Horcruxes he sought,the Horcruxes he destroyed, to triumph over Voldemort. The Hallows were a meer distraction, Dumbledore's immature fancy.
Harry's selflessness to so willingly give up his life was quite impressive, though thoroughly unbelievable. The tragic hero, all over again.
But we've got to hand it to J.K.R for making such a fantastic last book, for winding up what is possibly the best series ever written, in such a beautiful, meaningful, undisappointing, rowling-like fashion.
Magic may be might. It may not be.
But it is the most luring thing ever.
Sunday, July 22, 2007
Thursday, July 19, 2007
Life as I know it
On entering my class, I blissfully slink into the last bench, talking chattily with all my other backbencher pals. Sadly, bliss, like everything else, doesn't last for long. In enters my physics teacher, and a nanosecond later, we're all snoozing on our desks, our 10-inch thick physics books making up for the lack of pillows. Time passes like a snail, each second lingering around for longer than it's fair share. Then, like God coming down upon earth, the bell rings, drowning her monotonous voice, and sounding as sweet as a bird during spring.
Just as half the class is getting out for a long stretch and a nice chat with the neighbouring commerce students(who are forever roaming our corridors, by the way), our computer science teacher a.k.a class teacher, barges in and starts 'advising' us about how it's absolutely illegal to stand at the door like guards at the Buckingham Palace(can't she see that our class guys are desperate to guard Queen Whats-her-name the hundredth's castle?), and how it's even more illegal to stand within 7 inches of the opposite sex (ladies and gentlemen, Professor Umbridge for you).
By the third period, all of us are sick and tired of life. A couple of people have even considered jumping off the roof, but before they can make it out of the class, our chemistry teacher comes rushing in, a whole 15 seconds late. As usual, we take advantage of her, with half the students walking in late(crumbs of food still grinding in their mouths), and the other half asking her the most nonsensical doubts conceivable. By the time she gets the whole class under control, her time's up, with many sighs of relief drowning the noise of the bell.
Being in 11th means double-periods galore, and the first few periods just repeat themselves, driving us absolutely crazy by the end of the day, our heads crammed with weird s-like symbols (which comes under calculus- who knew?), and quantum physics(a detailed explanation of which is given in our chemistry textbook) and Oiler's formula (oops, Euler's). Not to mention a repeated, ever- torturing loop of fors and do-whiles. Optimism can't possibly exist for anyone this year. Life, as i've known it, is officially over.
Just as half the class is getting out for a long stretch and a nice chat with the neighbouring commerce students(who are forever roaming our corridors, by the way), our computer science teacher a.k.a class teacher, barges in and starts 'advising' us about how it's absolutely illegal to stand at the door like guards at the Buckingham Palace(can't she see that our class guys are desperate to guard Queen Whats-her-name the hundredth's castle?), and how it's even more illegal to stand within 7 inches of the opposite sex (ladies and gentlemen, Professor Umbridge for you).
By the third period, all of us are sick and tired of life. A couple of people have even considered jumping off the roof, but before they can make it out of the class, our chemistry teacher comes rushing in, a whole 15 seconds late. As usual, we take advantage of her, with half the students walking in late(crumbs of food still grinding in their mouths), and the other half asking her the most nonsensical doubts conceivable. By the time she gets the whole class under control, her time's up, with many sighs of relief drowning the noise of the bell.
Being in 11th means double-periods galore, and the first few periods just repeat themselves, driving us absolutely crazy by the end of the day, our heads crammed with weird s-like symbols (which comes under calculus- who knew?), and quantum physics(a detailed explanation of which is given in our chemistry textbook) and Oiler's formula (oops, Euler's). Not to mention a repeated, ever- torturing loop of fors and do-whiles. Optimism can't possibly exist for anyone this year. Life, as i've known it, is officially over.
Whew!
Trudging to the school ground with my painfully heavy bag is a sad, sad way to start the day. Late as usual, I painstakingly make my way across the wet sand, after futilely arguing with two extra-dutiful volunteers, trying to make them let me in. I make a mental note to learn the art of flirting from one of my more experienced friends.
I quickly dodge our P.T. sir, who's capable of lifting me off my feet, 50-pound bag et al, and dumping me in the late comers line.
After making it to the huge mass of 11th graders, I quietly slink to the black of my line, hoping to escape the eyes of my ever-leering class teacher, always ready to make clean-cut comments about my lack of ribbons and humanly wearable socks.
Somehow, assembly is the only time when teachers decide to not keep the boys and girls 50 meters apart and draw one of Dumbledore's uncrossable lines to separate us. So, we're always talking, catching up with our guy pals, instead of dutifully reciting prayer after prayer.
Just as all of us are on the verge of getting sun stroke, we're rushed towards the school. But no, we dont get away that quick. We have to pass the 'inspection', which involves walking across the ever-dreaded 'ramp', with our oh-so-nice P.T. teacher checking our imperfections- hair, socks, ties, shoelace, and every other nonsensical thing possible.
The entry into the school building is a miraculous one, with only a few disciplinarians and escapists making it inside. Everyone else is caught up behind, for some reason or the other, possibly being screamed at for being late, or a zillion other illegal things, like blinking too much. I congratulate myself on being a good dodger, and, with a sigh of relief, enter my classroom.
Just four-hundred and fifty more assemblies to go.
I quickly dodge our P.T. sir, who's capable of lifting me off my feet, 50-pound bag et al, and dumping me in the late comers line.
After making it to the huge mass of 11th graders, I quietly slink to the black of my line, hoping to escape the eyes of my ever-leering class teacher, always ready to make clean-cut comments about my lack of ribbons and humanly wearable socks.
Somehow, assembly is the only time when teachers decide to not keep the boys and girls 50 meters apart and draw one of Dumbledore's uncrossable lines to separate us. So, we're always talking, catching up with our guy pals, instead of dutifully reciting prayer after prayer.
Just as all of us are on the verge of getting sun stroke, we're rushed towards the school. But no, we dont get away that quick. We have to pass the 'inspection', which involves walking across the ever-dreaded 'ramp', with our oh-so-nice P.T. teacher checking our imperfections- hair, socks, ties, shoelace, and every other nonsensical thing possible.
The entry into the school building is a miraculous one, with only a few disciplinarians and escapists making it inside. Everyone else is caught up behind, for some reason or the other, possibly being screamed at for being late, or a zillion other illegal things, like blinking too much. I congratulate myself on being a good dodger, and, with a sigh of relief, enter my classroom.
Just four-hundred and fifty more assemblies to go.
I just woke up....
Waking up to a 3000 decibel loud alarm is the least enjoyable way to start the day. However satisfying it may be to hit the snooze button, slumber is long gone. To top it all, it's Monday morning, the first and worst day of the school week. Laziness is abundant, after attending the many parties saturating my social calendar (*voice dripping with sarcasm*).
Instead of droning on about my oh-so-boring, not the least bit worthwhile school day, let me dwell upon the charmng topic of sleep, and the hysteria and madness invloved in the process of waking up.
Being sixteen, yearnig for a cup of bed coffee does not bring it to me. Lifting my 60 kilogram body from my bed happens to be a Herculean task. The events that follow are excrutinatingly embarrasing and call for omission.
Trudging down the stairs with a huge bag weighing me down is quite a challenge. Due to repeated hitting of the snooze button, there's just about enough time to dump all the books in my vicinity into my embarrasingly undersized bag; not to mention quickly tying up my ever- messy hair into two sickly looking, horribly tacky braids.
School is not a welcoming place, no sir.
Instead of droning on about my oh-so-boring, not the least bit worthwhile school day, let me dwell upon the charmng topic of sleep, and the hysteria and madness invloved in the process of waking up.
Being sixteen, yearnig for a cup of bed coffee does not bring it to me. Lifting my 60 kilogram body from my bed happens to be a Herculean task. The events that follow are excrutinatingly embarrasing and call for omission.
Trudging down the stairs with a huge bag weighing me down is quite a challenge. Due to repeated hitting of the snooze button, there's just about enough time to dump all the books in my vicinity into my embarrasingly undersized bag; not to mention quickly tying up my ever- messy hair into two sickly looking, horribly tacky braids.
School is not a welcoming place, no sir.
Hmmm.... (observations)
Okay, first things first, no offence to anyone. I was just being extremely cynical one afternoon... Trust me, this is just a general picture of any school, and i'm not mentioning anyone in particular either...
Here goes..
Lunch tables seem to have always been a symbol of categorization:
Table no. 1 : The jocks
Table no. 2: The drama kids
Table no. 3 The artists
.... and so on...
With the obvious absence of lunch tables, I have, out of utter desperation, moved on. I have entered the light.
Our school canteen is a captivating observation deck, with the whole lot of seniors hanging out there. It is, undoubtedly, the most happening place to be (not to mention an ideal place to think about how to cut those extra pounds while conspicuously munching on a sugary chocolate bar just handed over to you by Vinod anna).
1) The 'in on' gang- Notably, the only gang with both the sexes(whatever happened to girl power?). Believe me, for those of us who don't know them(ha!), ignorance is pure bliss.
2) Indian born confused wannabe Americans- With short skirts and fake American accents galore, there's no stopping them. They go on singing the latest pop/hip-hop/rap/ i wish i knew more genres. They frustrate you with their oh-so-fake accents. Culture is apparently alien to them.
3)The 'look at me, I'm cool' guys- They obviously don't eat their lunch, 'cause from 12:40 till the unanimously dreaded bell rings, these 'jocks' lean on the perforated walls, sipping colas or licking icecreams, their eyes wandering hopefully over every girl who passes by. Two words -you wish.
4)Sowkarpet 'babes'- These gals speak the fluentest Hindi conceiveable, so fluent that it is impossible to catch. Even their English is heavily accented with Hindi. I'm guessing that they're newly returns from the great north. Yeah, sure.
5) The 'kids'- Yeah, we can't forget them. They're gutsy enough to enter a zone self- marked for seniors. Valiantly, they plunge into the crowd of six-footers. Some of them have even experimented with folding down their socks. Their tininess is a big give away. I mean, i wasn't THAT small!
6)The outcasts- These people always seem to be lost, but believe me, they're far from losers. Together, they form the most intellectual band of students, and also the least sought-after gang. They spread over a wide range of people, all of whom are desperate tag-alongs. Hey, I said they were intellectual!
7)And last, but not the least, the Loners - You can see them flicking an invisible speck of dust from their ties, shooing away microscopic mosquitoes, and pretending to be in their own world, when they're actually, hopefully shifting their eyes around, digging for people they know, and trying to make conversation with random passers-by, not to mention the occasional stray dog.
Whoever came up with the lunch tables example??
Here goes..
Lunch tables seem to have always been a symbol of categorization:
Table no. 1 : The jocks
Table no. 2: The drama kids
Table no. 3 The artists
.... and so on...
With the obvious absence of lunch tables, I have, out of utter desperation, moved on. I have entered the light.
Our school canteen is a captivating observation deck, with the whole lot of seniors hanging out there. It is, undoubtedly, the most happening place to be (not to mention an ideal place to think about how to cut those extra pounds while conspicuously munching on a sugary chocolate bar just handed over to you by Vinod anna).
1) The 'in on' gang- Notably, the only gang with both the sexes(whatever happened to girl power?). Believe me, for those of us who don't know them(ha!), ignorance is pure bliss.
2) Indian born confused wannabe Americans- With short skirts and fake American accents galore, there's no stopping them. They go on singing the latest pop/hip-hop/rap/ i wish i knew more genres. They frustrate you with their oh-so-fake accents. Culture is apparently alien to them.
3)The 'look at me, I'm cool' guys- They obviously don't eat their lunch, 'cause from 12:40 till the unanimously dreaded bell rings, these 'jocks' lean on the perforated walls, sipping colas or licking icecreams, their eyes wandering hopefully over every girl who passes by. Two words -you wish.
4)Sowkarpet 'babes'- These gals speak the fluentest Hindi conceiveable, so fluent that it is impossible to catch. Even their English is heavily accented with Hindi. I'm guessing that they're newly returns from the great north. Yeah, sure.
5) The 'kids'- Yeah, we can't forget them. They're gutsy enough to enter a zone self- marked for seniors. Valiantly, they plunge into the crowd of six-footers. Some of them have even experimented with folding down their socks. Their tininess is a big give away. I mean, i wasn't THAT small!
6)The outcasts- These people always seem to be lost, but believe me, they're far from losers. Together, they form the most intellectual band of students, and also the least sought-after gang. They spread over a wide range of people, all of whom are desperate tag-alongs. Hey, I said they were intellectual!
7)And last, but not the least, the Loners - You can see them flicking an invisible speck of dust from their ties, shooing away microscopic mosquitoes, and pretending to be in their own world, when they're actually, hopefully shifting their eyes around, digging for people they know, and trying to make conversation with random passers-by, not to mention the occasional stray dog.
Whoever came up with the lunch tables example??
Saturday, July 14, 2007
The bright side
Roses, sweet and blossomy,
Love, joy and happiness manifested,
Blissfulness abundant,
In each petal, so pretty.
Thorns forgotten, hoped to vanish,
Crushed with all the good,
Tears, sorrow, seeping through them
Disappear, the hurdles, we vanquish.
Love, joy and happiness manifested,
Blissfulness abundant,
In each petal, so pretty.
Thorns forgotten, hoped to vanish,
Crushed with all the good,
Tears, sorrow, seeping through them
Disappear, the hurdles, we vanquish.
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