So, Grade 11 is over. Grade 12 is here. I am around 4 days late on this "cleaning" thing.
I go to the cupboard and stare. It was messed. Really really messed. My relatives were gonna come so all the stuff on the table was picked up and thrown inside.Literally.But suddenly standing there and staring at all the papers and notebooks and textbooks and fat guide books and hotel management entrance exam books...I realised this was all going away. I mean sounds really philosophical right? Of course Its going away. What am I cribbing about? But today (10th march) is the day I really really felt that immensely great feeling of "growing up". Think about it.
All your life you looked up at 12ies. They were the big big people of the school. The ones who dominated the social hierarchy. The ones who you could not go and talk to. The ones who lorded over the others. The ones you looked up to. The ones you envied. The ones you wanted to be, you aspired to be like them... Your entire life you wanted to be THEM.
And now, you are FINALLY HERE. After 12 long years of waiting, you are finally there. Feeling the pressure? Nah! Its WAYYYYY over-hyped. I always fantasized about it. About the first day of 12th. And probably I even waited for it desperately through out 11th. But on 8th March I woke up. Got dressed, Went to school. I wore the same uniform. I went in the same van. I sat in a roomful of same people. The same teachers came to teach and I studied the same subjects. Heck, I even sat on the same bench in the same class with the same partner.
What fun?!
I felt the exact same way I felt yesterday, and the day before and the day before that.
I wondered to myself... Is this it? Is this all its supposed to be?
I felt like the long dream I had been seeing had FINALLY ended.
Schools not over yet. One big year to go. Last year to go.
Its nothing great. Over-hyped. I am probably gonna go through it with the same fervour I went through with my entire school life and once it gets over maybe I will get sad . Cry a few tears, perhaps. Look back and say "Ah! I will miss it."
Maybe.
I dont know for sure.
For now. I am fine. Just that. Period.
Wednesday, March 10, 2010
Sunday, January 17, 2010
Get me outta Here
I hate this feeling of being locked up in a room with no escape. Its like being deaf when music is your life. Why is this happening ? This feels so wrong…This was not how it was supposed to go. Things were not supposed to change like this. I was supposed to write and change the world and change human thinking and do all of those unbelievable things we humans think we can do.
My future was supposed to be bright and glittering and sprinkled with millions of fairy lights. It was not supposed to be locked in this dark and dingy room . I feel so claustrophobic inside. It feels like a big red cross mark at the dead end of a long and never-ending tunnel.
There are words but no meaning. Notes but no music. Its like my heart is singing “I walk this empty street on the Boulevard of Broken Dreams where the city sleeps
and I'm the only one and I walk alone...I walk alone...I walk alone”
I feel clogged up. Held back by my own desires . Drained out of my blood , my own poison , My own creativity. But after sometime I accept this stage of uncontrollable darkness. Complacency is the word for this feeling. I feel like I can live with it. Like I can make new dreams out of this NEW BLACK and spin them around and make them work .
THEN you come along.
You tell me to snap out of this lulled reverie , to get REAL , to live it up. Indirectly you were telling me to get a LIFE!
I feel bad , dejected.
But then I realize that you are right because WRITING is my life and without it I am lifeless…Without it I am lost in an ocean ,drowning in fear just waiting and hoping to be rescued.
But I got saved.
I was the lucky one.I saw light again after darkness. I saw the BREAKING DAWN.
My future was supposed to be bright and glittering and sprinkled with millions of fairy lights. It was not supposed to be locked in this dark and dingy room . I feel so claustrophobic inside. It feels like a big red cross mark at the dead end of a long and never-ending tunnel.
There are words but no meaning. Notes but no music. Its like my heart is singing “I walk this empty street on the Boulevard of Broken Dreams where the city sleeps
and I'm the only one and I walk alone...I walk alone...I walk alone”
I feel clogged up. Held back by my own desires . Drained out of my blood , my own poison , My own creativity. But after sometime I accept this stage of uncontrollable darkness. Complacency is the word for this feeling. I feel like I can live with it. Like I can make new dreams out of this NEW BLACK and spin them around and make them work .
THEN you come along.
You tell me to snap out of this lulled reverie , to get REAL , to live it up. Indirectly you were telling me to get a LIFE!
I feel bad , dejected.
But then I realize that you are right because WRITING is my life and without it I am lifeless…Without it I am lost in an ocean ,drowning in fear just waiting and hoping to be rescued.
But I got saved.
I was the lucky one.I saw light again after darkness. I saw the BREAKING DAWN.
Thursday, December 24, 2009
The music of life
I don’t remember the time. I don’t remember the day. I don’t even remember the words. I don’t remember the smile . I don’t remember the scene. I remember the place. I remember the hugs. I remember the I miss yous. I remember that feeling scared.i remember thinking whether I would be able to survive without this. I remember thinking whether there was life after THIS. I remembered calling you my bestfriend for life. I remember the last look. I remember remembering this was the last time here. I don’t know where I was going. All I knew I was going away from you. Way to far away for me to reach out. Way to far away for a mid night call , for smiles over phones , for early morning hugs and for late night”wish you were here” . I knew the music of my life was going to change. But I never knew that the transition from rock to slow jazz would be that hurting
Music , music of life changed everything . my thinking , my words , my feelings , my looks , my smiles , my entire meaning of happiness.
Now I stay with all I ever knew gone, Washed away in the flow of time. The past is gone .my eyes search for you even though I know you are not there for anything. Nothing . it’s all empty now. The party is over guys. The music has ended, the music of LIFE has ended.
Music , music of life changed everything . my thinking , my words , my feelings , my looks , my smiles , my entire meaning of happiness.
Now I stay with all I ever knew gone, Washed away in the flow of time. The past is gone .my eyes search for you even though I know you are not there for anything. Nothing . it’s all empty now. The party is over guys. The music has ended, the music of LIFE has ended.
Happiness
Happiness is probably not having everything you want. It is probably liking at some point of time everything you have.
It takes time to adapt to changes, but once those changes start getting old and you start accepting them rather than running away .Even they can make you pretty complacent. Maybe because somewhere in the back of your heart you know that you can’t change whatever has happened how much you want to.
You start feeling like this is the reality. All other memories feel so far away and different from the present ones that you start doubting yourself whether it was even reality you lived in. Those faraway times feel like dreams. They look so real, every piece in its perfect place but somehow like dreams you can’t touch them or feel them and it seems like your mind just conjured up these images to remind you how bad the latest times were.
But when you start getting all cozy in the present they become more and more distant….more faraway.
But still every time you think of them you just wish you could go back just once to feel how you felt and to remind you that yes that WAS “my reality”….
It takes time to adapt to changes, but once those changes start getting old and you start accepting them rather than running away .Even they can make you pretty complacent. Maybe because somewhere in the back of your heart you know that you can’t change whatever has happened how much you want to.
You start feeling like this is the reality. All other memories feel so far away and different from the present ones that you start doubting yourself whether it was even reality you lived in. Those faraway times feel like dreams. They look so real, every piece in its perfect place but somehow like dreams you can’t touch them or feel them and it seems like your mind just conjured up these images to remind you how bad the latest times were.
But when you start getting all cozy in the present they become more and more distant….more faraway.
But still every time you think of them you just wish you could go back just once to feel how you felt and to remind you that yes that WAS “my reality”….
Thursday, August 13, 2009
Grade ten in I.L.S. - A journey of a life time
When you come to grade 10 teachers bombard you with advice, threats, it’s not a piece of cake, don’t sneeze at it (Mrs. Mathews ever famous dialogue)…etc etc. But trust me you enjoy every day of your grade ten.
First you start the year with a lot of tension so you study diligently for the first month.
Next month competition in class and in studies brings in the cat fights, dog fights, this fits that fights. Some cry, some make a noise and some just stay aloof.
Then comes in the mischief. The paper ball weeks (when we kept hidden paper balls to throw at each other when the teacher is not looking) came and we called it “saving the mela circulars”
Then came the annual day practice. Oh! How I miss those days. Mobile phones and iPods became a part of the uniform. The whole class sang group chorus on top of their voices. ‘ROCK ON’ days were here! Bunking classes in the name of practice was followed by grade ten “satayavadis”.
After the initial rush of the annual day, prelims came brought in hard core reality. Exams after exams and boards were knocking at our doors. But the mischief never stopped. 6 am Gossips and shivering bodies became a well loved sight.
Boards came and went, grade ten came and went but none served as a hindrance to our ever mischievous minds. My advice to you (present grade 10) is “love it or hate it, you’re going to miss it”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
PS - This article was also published in the Ivoice but im not sure how much they edited it because i did not see it in its printed form. So this is the original version.
First you start the year with a lot of tension so you study diligently for the first month.
Next month competition in class and in studies brings in the cat fights, dog fights, this fits that fights. Some cry, some make a noise and some just stay aloof.
Then comes in the mischief. The paper ball weeks (when we kept hidden paper balls to throw at each other when the teacher is not looking) came and we called it “saving the mela circulars”
Then came the annual day practice. Oh! How I miss those days. Mobile phones and iPods became a part of the uniform. The whole class sang group chorus on top of their voices. ‘ROCK ON’ days were here! Bunking classes in the name of practice was followed by grade ten “satayavadis”.
After the initial rush of the annual day, prelims came brought in hard core reality. Exams after exams and boards were knocking at our doors. But the mischief never stopped. 6 am Gossips and shivering bodies became a well loved sight.
Boards came and went, grade ten came and went but none served as a hindrance to our ever mischievous minds. My advice to you (present grade 10) is “love it or hate it, you’re going to miss it”!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
PS - This article was also published in the Ivoice but im not sure how much they edited it because i did not see it in its printed form. So this is the original version.
Who am I?
Well this blog is about me and my life so guess it deserved an introduction.
So here it goes a true description of “me on myself”
My name is Meghna. Presently living India (and wishing every moment of the day to be in Lagos ,Nigeria ) and going to Delhi public school. I don’t have the most fabulous of lives or the best of anything but I have been told is that “Meghna, you literally suck at singing , dancing and drawing but the way write, no one can write like that!”(Thanks Garima)
My life can be described in the weirdest of terms to be fun filled and also sad (opposites, aren’t they?). I say so because I generally end up finding funny things in almost anything and sad because I miss Lagos and my 6 best friends back there (ok, I know 6 is a large number to call best friends but they were all so amazing!).
This blog is called the Life of the cynical vagabond because many say I am very cynical which stands for critical in a viewpoint or judging someone’s intentions to be generally bad (and no I did not open the dictionary or Google it to write it here). Vagabond generally means a person who keeps moving from place to place. I call myself a vagabond not in the actual sense but as a term to describe my “ever moving around things” mind. But you could call me a vagabond in real terms also since D.P.S. would be the 5th school I am going to.
This blog’s articles are not all about my life but also contain my viewpoints and also some articles I have written over the time.
So dear readers enjoy reading my ramblings and be sure to post your comments, suggestions and criticisms. Thanks!
So here it goes a true description of “me on myself”
My name is Meghna. Presently living India (and wishing every moment of the day to be in Lagos ,Nigeria ) and going to Delhi public school. I don’t have the most fabulous of lives or the best of anything but I have been told is that “Meghna, you literally suck at singing , dancing and drawing but the way write, no one can write like that!”(Thanks Garima)
My life can be described in the weirdest of terms to be fun filled and also sad (opposites, aren’t they?). I say so because I generally end up finding funny things in almost anything and sad because I miss Lagos and my 6 best friends back there (ok, I know 6 is a large number to call best friends but they were all so amazing!).
This blog is called the Life of the cynical vagabond because many say I am very cynical which stands for critical in a viewpoint or judging someone’s intentions to be generally bad (and no I did not open the dictionary or Google it to write it here). Vagabond generally means a person who keeps moving from place to place. I call myself a vagabond not in the actual sense but as a term to describe my “ever moving around things” mind. But you could call me a vagabond in real terms also since D.P.S. would be the 5th school I am going to.
This blog’s articles are not all about my life but also contain my viewpoints and also some articles I have written over the time.
So dear readers enjoy reading my ramblings and be sure to post your comments, suggestions and criticisms. Thanks!
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
