The face

        He was busy searching for his pen. He had to hurry up to school. This was although a routine practice for a procrastinator like him, but, he really didn’t want to be the last one to be at prayer. He was the lead of prayer orchestra. Hell, he couldn’t find it and rushed to his father’s shelf to grab a new pen and shoved it into the depth of bag. 

        He was gasping for breath by the time he reached school compound. The prayer was about to start. It was a primary school. It always caught his imagination how organized the queues of students looked when they stood for prayer in the first hour of school. Everybody looked so fresh and neat, he wondered if everybody’s mom were so particular on keeping a handkerchief. That’s something which he never understood.

        As he rose on to the stage, he could see a new face in the front. Holy jeez it was fifth standard girls’ queue. His heart skipped a bit. He froze there. Such beautiful eyes, he had never taken time to appreciate any face ever before. The rest of the prayer was like eons for him. He couldn’t help but steal a glance at her face every now and then. His headmaster later introduced the new girl to the school on the stage. 

        Today after fifteen years, he thinks about it and wonders what that was. His perceived and institutionalized common sense says it was a hormonal burst. Huh. It’s quite fascinating to summarize a whole bunch of feelings in a rational term. 

        But then, he thinks the feeling that day doesn’t need any name to be justified in this day. Others may not have encountered this. That doesn’t make his struggle to get back into stream of normality by adjudging the naïve experience. 

        He had finished his cup of coffee by now. He closed his eyes for a moment while a smile brewed on his lips.

A childlike Proposal

Can I give you something?

Something red, something blue;

If you know; my heart is true.

A box of berries,

                                                       Or a bottle of coke;

                           We’ll drink together until we choke.

I can share some of my home made stew,

Can I be that person among the few?

I will bring you cards,

                                                            Colorful and charm,

I will paint your heart,

                                                                 Lovely pink and warm.

Now, if you allow me,

                                                                             Can I be your forever friend?

We will sing and dance,

                                                                             And walk through the end.

Sriks…

20^th July, 2011

Dedicated to- All Jacks and Jills

It was some time ago

It was some time ago
They said I was a child,
often I wandered in wild;
I recollect faint traces
where have they gone?

The days of playing with sand,
fighting, laughing, crying and,
peaceful sleep on her lap.
I have made friends over berries,
‘have even travelled miles on ferries.

Dreams and wishes replaced by obligation,
Now I drive every foot on instigation;
Either did the world change,
                                                             or the dream;
Neither do we laugh today,
                                                                     nor do we scream.
When I ask people now,
“where did everything go?”
They just smile and whisper
It was some time ago
It was some time ago

Sriks...

3rd Jan, 2011

 Dedicated to- Sweet childhood

Slaps and lost childhood.

                 One often wonders why we do mistakes. I think it’s the consequence of being institutionalized in conventional society which prompts us to believe that committing mistakes are normal. Though it’s true, but mistakes are subjective. Mistake to one may not be mistake for other. It really becomes difficult for a person to judge beforehand and act accordingly. Since, wrongs are such subjective matter; we can’t expect young children to do justified acts every time.

                 Punishment for wrongs. This has been conventional technique for ages to impart discipline and a sense of good and bad in young minds. It’s hard to arrive on a consensus which of the various schools of thoughts works best in imparting discipline. The basic question still remains unanswered i.e.Does fear have to be the trigger to a refined personality? 

                   I hate to see the matrix of possibilities.

Dad: You are my hero

               He hated mathematics. He didn’t know whether the exactness of the subject or the exhaustiveness made him sweat more, but he hated it. 

               Baba, had given him 10 sums that day, a rare task coming from him. He had to solve it before 9 am. It was a Sunday, and he didn’t want to miss Chandrakanta (A weekly soap). He tried desperately to work on the sums, but stupid problems never made any sense. Of course they looked a piece of cake when Baba solved. Baba must be a genius, he thought for a second. Baba was like the cool dude for him. He had an uncanny ability to guess what he wanted for present. He could ride faster than anybody on bicycle on road. He loved those ride with him. All he had to do was to ring the bells often. Awesome, he had never thought about Baba’s ability before that day. He wondered how his father could know so many things. He could answer every question he asked. His face glowed suddenly. He had found the answer of one question which teacher had asked him the day before. Like whom he wanted to become in future? Yess, He wanted to become like his father. 

                It was 9 am; Baba had come home from market with his favourite fish. He eagerly looked into his notepad, it was blank. He knew he was in trouble. But one thing for sure, that day he realised, it was not anytime soon he became like his father. 

Dedication- For all fathers.

Alvida old school

                     He was sitting by the window. It was not an unfamiliar scene to watch him there, but there was something different about him that day. Usually he would play with his buddies in the evening. It was drizzling that day. As the moist breeze of monsoon brushed his cheeks, he felt cold. 

Examified

               It was as normal a day as any other day at school. Friends, dancing around and making all sorts of Hungama. Teachers were praying for the clock to run faster and ring the bell as soon as possible. They were dead tired after trying to control little devils for a day long.

               For me on the other hand the day was remarkable. Why wouldn’t it be, when it had ended with a clever action of mine? Yes, I was glad and patting my shoulders in thought. In later occasions I came to know that, what I had gone through was called an EXAM. (A tool to sieve out smarts from dumb ones).

Butterfly effect in Geography class

               It was social studies that I hated most. Bloody thing never made sense to me. I mean, I, as a boy of 9 years struggled to comprehend the relevance of Mutton industry in Chicago in annual term paper at a school in India which was 140km from nearest railway station.

               (Well, They didn't tell me, tons of IT professionals from India work there.)

A scribbled scrap

Hi friends,

               I am Srikant Padhy, a dreamer, like all of you. (Not like Ishan Nand Avasthi) lolz

               

               One of the first things that they taught us in school is, how to ignore millions of thoughts that light in our brains every second. (When I look back today,I find they did an amazing job).

               But, we all know, that we still wrote those thoughts, drew them on the back of our notes. The reason behind was to just have a re look at them and try to dream along them. 

               My effort here is to just revisit them once again to see how beautiful those all were.  I hope you like it.

               Please, bear with my rusty English and stupid synchronization of thoughts, Cause that's what my teachers were teaching while I was dreaming. (no kidding)

Srikant Padhy