Gandhiji said, "we must be the change we want to see." We all exist for a purpose, but one unanimous thing is how all of us want to see some change, of course, in different magnitudes. Whether it is a seemingly insignificant day-to-day change or a noble change of achieving world peace, we all want it.
What is frustrating is not being able to implement this change. There are things happening around the world, every second of every day, people dying, lying, cheating. And all we do is sit at home and hear about them. We may feel strongly and may want to do something to change the way things are, but circumstances prevent us from doing so. This is probably what is most frustrating. I mean, there's something there, something you feel strongly for, something you want to change to make the world a better place, something you desperately want to do- but- there's a downside- you just can't. It's there, within your grasp, you reach for it. You know catching it will make all the difference. But you just can't. Period.
That's the big question- why can't we? We have the resources, the power, the potential, the creativity, ideas and intellect- and complete willingness as well, the icing on the cake. We have everything but we simply do not put any of these into use. Why don't we? Why don't we cross every hurdle and bring down every barrier to achieve what we want to and implement change and make the world a better place?
No. No one is asking for a fairy tale world with princes who fight off evil dragons and live happily ever after. No. Just a good, sweet, happy place. A world full of trust, love and friendship. Something worth fighting for. Something worth living for.
At least for this, we have to, got to, must, make a change- put in every last molecule of effort to alter the very mindsets of people and make them see the good in everything. Change them. Change the world. For the better.
Showing posts with label people. Show all posts
Showing posts with label people. Show all posts
Sunday, February 24, 2008
Saturday, August 18, 2007
Hooligans at Zoosville
As if it's not enough to bear with a bunch of hooligans throughout the school day, my IIT class welcomes me with thrice the number. I make it a point to come right on time, if not a few minutes late, to prevent my eyes and ears from being abused to great extents.
However, circumstances fail to ever favour me, and i, for the first time in eternity, turn up a whole 15 minutes early. I curse myself for my bad time sense, and search for an empty seat, trying my best to ignore the lingering smell of sweat, intermingled with that of worn-out school uniforms and mud-stained shoes.
The first hooligan of the day accidentally shifts his foot a nanometer from it's original position, only to leave me stumbling across the room, trying in vain to regain my balance. I avoid eye contact with anyone as I reach my seat. Spare me; I get embarrassed enough at school as it is.
Sadly, my choice of place is far from perfect. Unlike the usual set of brains between whom i can sit and pretend to fit in with, I'm surrounded by a bunch of dirty, sweaty, and, yes, giggly guys, who can't keep their mouths shut for more than two seconds.
The guy next to me stares, as though it's perfectly illegal for a girl to sit next to him. Some hooligans in front of me take out their phones, cunningly hiding them, placing them in the perfect position so as to be able to message each other, yes, EACH OTHER, though out class. Clever, you might think. Not quite. Especially when you're sitting right behind them and hear them bursting into fits of laughter every time they receive an SMS.
The boy on my right is sincerely doing last week's homework. Okay, maybe not a hooligan after all, but who said scribbling away undecipherable math sums is any better than under- bench messaging? The continuous scratching of his pen somehow annoys me more than deep-voiced giggles.
Metres and metres away from my inches-from-hell sitting place, a guy sits on the windowsill, twirling his pen and, yes, talking(?) to a group of girls. He occasionally runs a hand through his hair. I roll my eyes so hard, it hurts. I stuff my hand into my pocket to prevent myself from hurling my 10-inch math book onto him. Yes, the scene looks that unbearable.
Two girls walk in even later than me(and to think i never thought it possible). They make their way towards their seats. They don't topple over any one's feet. They don't find their seats between the craziest attention-seeking prats of all time. The guy next to them smiles and says hello, and is not revolted by the fact that a girl is sitting next to him. As though by a stroke of luck, their eyes miss the guy on the windowsill.
I groan out in frustration, only to be met with another terrified, get-out-don't-sit-next-to-me look from the guy on my left. Well, at least someone finds me intimidating.
Just then, the 'professor' walks in. Silence ensues. The pen stops scratching. The giggling in front is, miraculously, controlled. The boy on the windowsill jumps up as though he's just been struck by lighting(how i wish it were true...).
Peace at last. =)
However, circumstances fail to ever favour me, and i, for the first time in eternity, turn up a whole 15 minutes early. I curse myself for my bad time sense, and search for an empty seat, trying my best to ignore the lingering smell of sweat, intermingled with that of worn-out school uniforms and mud-stained shoes.
The first hooligan of the day accidentally shifts his foot a nanometer from it's original position, only to leave me stumbling across the room, trying in vain to regain my balance. I avoid eye contact with anyone as I reach my seat. Spare me; I get embarrassed enough at school as it is.
Sadly, my choice of place is far from perfect. Unlike the usual set of brains between whom i can sit and pretend to fit in with, I'm surrounded by a bunch of dirty, sweaty, and, yes, giggly guys, who can't keep their mouths shut for more than two seconds.
The guy next to me stares, as though it's perfectly illegal for a girl to sit next to him. Some hooligans in front of me take out their phones, cunningly hiding them, placing them in the perfect position so as to be able to message each other, yes, EACH OTHER, though out class. Clever, you might think. Not quite. Especially when you're sitting right behind them and hear them bursting into fits of laughter every time they receive an SMS.
The boy on my right is sincerely doing last week's homework. Okay, maybe not a hooligan after all, but who said scribbling away undecipherable math sums is any better than under- bench messaging? The continuous scratching of his pen somehow annoys me more than deep-voiced giggles.
Metres and metres away from my inches-from-hell sitting place, a guy sits on the windowsill, twirling his pen and, yes, talking(?) to a group of girls. He occasionally runs a hand through his hair. I roll my eyes so hard, it hurts. I stuff my hand into my pocket to prevent myself from hurling my 10-inch math book onto him. Yes, the scene looks that unbearable.
Two girls walk in even later than me(and to think i never thought it possible). They make their way towards their seats. They don't topple over any one's feet. They don't find their seats between the craziest attention-seeking prats of all time. The guy next to them smiles and says hello, and is not revolted by the fact that a girl is sitting next to him. As though by a stroke of luck, their eyes miss the guy on the windowsill.
I groan out in frustration, only to be met with another terrified, get-out-don't-sit-next-to-me look from the guy on my left. Well, at least someone finds me intimidating.
Just then, the 'professor' walks in. Silence ensues. The pen stops scratching. The giggling in front is, miraculously, controlled. The boy on the windowsill jumps up as though he's just been struck by lighting(how i wish it were true...).
Peace at last. =)
Sunday, August 5, 2007
The Park
As I sink into the sofa and grab the remote, preparing myself for my favorite soap, my mom nudges me. Take a walk to the park , she says. She mumbles something about fresh air. I glare at her. She has any excuse to make me shed some weight. Me? Well, it's just my excuse to eat more.
I make my way into the park, which is a street away. It's tiny. Minuscule, really. Not an inch larger than my house. Blocks of stone are placed together in groups of three. A group of teenagers flock on one side. Some kids are playing football. Noisily. But it only seems to add on to the tranquility. I can't help but feel a bit lonely.
Some old ladies are huddled together in the centre of the park. I can almost hear them whispering, complaining about some long-lost grandson or insolent daughter-in-law. A shocking trip to the restaurant or the need for stronger censorship. They throw reproachful looks at the soccer kids.
I see the 90-odd year old lady, the one who walks around the park twenty times every single day. Her steps are small, snail like. She stops once in a while, adjusting her sari, checking if all her body parts are working and still in place. There's a compelling look of serenity, even innocence, on her face. She doesn't seem to be bothered by the loud kids. I somehow feel that she realises how incomplete the park would be without their high-pitched shrieks, jests and jeers.
Just as I turn to leave, a dog bounds into the park. A beautiful, big, golden retriever. A bundle of energy and intensity. Following it is a little girl, a smile playing on her lips as she chases the dog.
The picture is perfect.
I make my way into the park, which is a street away. It's tiny. Minuscule, really. Not an inch larger than my house. Blocks of stone are placed together in groups of three. A group of teenagers flock on one side. Some kids are playing football. Noisily. But it only seems to add on to the tranquility. I can't help but feel a bit lonely.
Some old ladies are huddled together in the centre of the park. I can almost hear them whispering, complaining about some long-lost grandson or insolent daughter-in-law. A shocking trip to the restaurant or the need for stronger censorship. They throw reproachful looks at the soccer kids.
I see the 90-odd year old lady, the one who walks around the park twenty times every single day. Her steps are small, snail like. She stops once in a while, adjusting her sari, checking if all her body parts are working and still in place. There's a compelling look of serenity, even innocence, on her face. She doesn't seem to be bothered by the loud kids. I somehow feel that she realises how incomplete the park would be without their high-pitched shrieks, jests and jeers.
Just as I turn to leave, a dog bounds into the park. A beautiful, big, golden retriever. A bundle of energy and intensity. Following it is a little girl, a smile playing on her lips as she chases the dog.
The picture is perfect.
Thursday, July 19, 2007
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??
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