Sunday, 28 July 2013

My Trip to Chamber of Secrets!

In grade IX, my grades were pretty much average. Aptitude tests said I should be doing better and this was a constant message on my report card. My parents found it all too easy to blame my lack of intellect on my love for books and music.
They were opposed to my liking of Coldplay and Led Zepellin and equally resented my fantasies of visiting uncharted islands, Narnia and Hogwarts. After the usual you-will-not-get-anywhere-in-life-like-this and look-at-Mr. Bhasin’s-daughter lectures, I was sulking in my room. It was a warm afternoon-the old fan swung in lazy circles. I was supposed to be studying the Venn diagram and the Periodic table, but my over-active mind generally finds it difficult to stay in a quiet room for long. I gazed at the leaves fluttering lightly in the breeze as my eyes started to droop. A loud bang suddenly woke me up from what was soon going to be a royal siesta. Thinking wildly of burglars and terrorist attacks, I leapt up. What I saw, made me stop dead in my tracks, it took me around a minute to drink the scenario I was in. Somehow(don't ask), I'd landed right in the Chamber of Secrets of the Harry Potter book. The basilisk was thrashing its tail, after Harry and Fawkes had just punctured its eyes(basilisk's, not Harry's). However, it still wasn't going too well for the boy who lived. Fawkes couldn't rid it of its power of smell, so the basilisk pretty much knew where Harry was running. Catching my eye,he screamed out at me, “Help me, PLEASE!”. The only way I could save Harry was, if I somehow got Tom Riddle to call off his giant pet. I had it get his attention somehow. There was no other way to do it:
Hey Riddle, what're you troubling that kid for?”, I called out in my most casual voice. Tom
Marvolo Riddle, who'd been too busy watching the escapades of his favorite snake whipped around to see who had dared to challenge him in his abode. “And who might be you?”, he sneered at me, “another one of Dumbledore's students, I'm sure.” Harry was still dodging around madly, I had to think of something fast.
Very good. You're getting close, kiddo.”,I said, trying to sound as nonchalant as possible.
He snarled, “You dare to challenge Lord Voldemort, young girl? You know of the mistake you're making?”
The snake was nearing towards Harry, who could no longer keep up-in the book, this was the part where Fawkes showed up-I couldn't see him anywhere. But I had to keep Riddle's attention. “Uhh... Right. Have you looked at yourself? You're delirious, not you-know-who, ok? Better get to Madam Pomfrey and get something for your head buddy...” If memories could get red with anger, Riddle was getting pretty close, instead he flushed a deeper gray. Meanwhile, I had spotted Fawkes. He was late, but still there. Now all I had to do was keep Riddle's attention to myself, before he could warn his pet of the bird's arrival. I continued, “ By the way, I never formally introduced myself. I'm Sarah Cattermole, Ginny's best friend. I followed Harry and Ron here.”, this came purely out of my head, but I had to keep the story up. Tom tilted his head, as if considering me, “Hmm... strange. Ginny never mentioned a Sarah. In fact she always used to speak of her loneliness.”
I pretended to be hurt, “But, she MUST have! You must be wrong!” This was getting rather out of hand. A slow, cold smile appeared on his face, “True, or you're lying, and I'm not generally wrong.” Bugger. My game was up, but Harry had the sword of Gryffindor raised in his arms. It was now my turn to smile.
You're right. Lord Voldemort is not generally wrong. I must be lying right?”
Confusion, crossed his face for a second, before being replaced immediately by a triumphant smile. He raised Harry's wand at me and opened his mouth to presumably utter his favorite curse, but I cut him across, “Yeah, before you kill me, you might want to take just a tiny peek at your snake.” He whipped around just in time to see the massive serpent falling down, splashing the entirety of the Chamber with water. Urghh, now I was wet. I'd have to explain to my mother how I accidentally ended up in the Chamber and of course she'd never believe me. Riddle whipped around, looking really mad. Now, I was scared-he still had the wand in his hand. But when he spoke, it was my mother's voice, “What do you think you're doing? Sleeping in the middle of the afternoon.” I jolted back to reality, soaking wet. My mother had split water on me in her endeavor to wake me up. However, the scolding hadn't ceased, “ Wait till I tell your father...” Oh Dear, this was going to be another you-will-not-get-anywhere-in-life-like-this lecture. God help me.

Friday, 26 July 2013

Earphones and People

I saw this girl the other day, nothing out of the ordinary. She was walking her dog and smiling. I figured the smile must be about the beautiful morning or the nice weather. Suddenly she jumps about a foot in the air, scares the poor dog and screams, “OMG!! That's AWESOME!”. Everyone was staring at her big-time .. it wasn't later until she'd come out that I realised that the girl was using a hands free to talk to someone. Nothing crazy about the girl. That was when I realised how crazy I might seem,when using a hands free or earplugs for that matter. Something that really bugs me about using plugs is that you've got absolutely NO inkling that someone else has made any attempts of making conversation with you. I once passed a neighbour of mine on my way to the park. I had earplugs on. Next day, she tells me(quite huffily) that she had said hello to me and I had-in her words-quite blatantly and rudely-ignored her. Makes for a very awkward meeting now. I mean, you can let the old people off the hook who're still stuck in their Vietnam War youth, but the adults? I mean they're supposed to know- they're kids probably use them all the time!

Tuesday, 23 July 2013

German and Gibberish Sound Peculiarly Same

Okay, I'd been reliably informed(by friends, enemies, classmates, cousins, distant cousins, parents and teachers) that learning a foreign language was never a cakewalk. I kind of reached the epitome of that today... I've been learning German for five years now... they teach it to us at school. Being an Indian, and having had NO exposure to the language before, I was pretty proud of myself before for being able to say “I study in 10th Grade” in German before.(its “Jetze bin ich in zehnte Klasse”.) Now I'd enrolled for this really cool exam for German, Fit in Deutsch, which is like a university degree; meaning I can post it on my resumé today itself, and it'll be recognized by other universities and companies. I thought it'd be pretty normal. How wrong can you get in life? We were doing the hearing skills today and our teacher puts on the recording in her laptop, and we all go “WHAT THE HELL?!” I mean, no inkling whatsoever of what the person was ranting on about! We were first staring open mouthed at the teacher, then each other, and then the damned laptop. I thought I'd caught a few words here and there but that was unfortunately it. And the exam is in like, 20 DAYS... I'm screwed aren't I?

Monday, 22 July 2013

Why You Must NEVER Attempt to Cut Your Own Hair

  1. What looks good on Jennifer Anniston may not look good on you. Pl-ease! She's probably way more prettier and thinner than you are. So lets just leave the movie stars at it.
  2. Bangs don't look good on everyone. Period. I mean, bangs are definitely not the thing for you if you've got a small forehead. And trust me, the several hours you spend in front of the mirror don't change that fact.
  3. Be your true self. Just because the most popular girl in school, your best friend and that one girl you cannot stand have all got 'em, doesn't really give you the go ahead to do it. And its not the end of the world if you don't sport the most “in” hairstyle, trust me.
  4. Please spend your time doing something more productive like cooking or cleaning. At least that's more beneficial to the society at large.
  5. We are not professionals(unless of course you are one, in which case you are free to do whatever you want to do). We should each do our own thing. Lets leave all the hair-cutting to the people in the salons, shall we? I think its indisputable that they're better at it than we are.

Sunday, 21 July 2013

Life of a Tree

Unearthed this poem recently while clearing away the ancient dust that generally occupies my table. I wrote this in maybe the fifth grade. Kind of kiddish but I still liked it:

I am a tree,
I've never been set free.
I give you lots of shade,
But for that,I'm never paid.

I am a tree,
I would like to fly.
I'd like to soar,
High in the sky.

I give you people lots of fruit,
But in turn, you cut me off by my roots.
I am the wood on which you sit,
I make you warm, when I'm lit.

Friends, let me survive
Let me be and thrive.
I want Earth to b quiet and peaceful,
So that together we all can rule.

When Delhi became Mumbai

The skies finally deigned to open up on us yesterday. And what a downpour! We unfortunately had school yesterday(Yes, our school is mean enough to open on Saturdays, but it was kind of a blessing yesterday). We were in the grounds when the first drops fell. The shade of the sky already had our reckoning that it was going to be a bad one, but we had never imagined the kind of torrent that was about to descend upon our shoulders. In a matter of going from the ground to our classes, we were drenched to the bone. Since there were only eighteen of us present, the next period(music), automatically became a mass bunk and was spent wandering together in the corridors and hiding from teachers! When finally one did manage to spot us, I being the prefect felt obliged to shoo the herd back to the class. Once inside, we spent the rest our time playing cards and dumb charades(yes, we bring cards to school too). The last period was Math and unfortunately our teacher has a reputation of never giving a free period,so our noses were kept well to the grinds for the last forty-five minutes. The rain was still falling steady (Thank Gods). When the bell finally rang, the scramble to the door was mad; everyone was keen to get out and get drenched. For the first time ever I saw the courtyard in our school over flowing with water. The poor sweeper was standing in the middle of the tiny pool, yelling at us to keep out, but who payed heed to him anyways? We frolicked about in the water outside the school which was about knee deep. Some kids were trying to swim-the dumb mutts! Our school bus was water-logged. And we had the maddest of water fights in the bus. It was crazzy!!
Wading through water was certainly a new experience for me. Delhi had certainly turned to Mumbai for a few hours!

Saturday, 20 July 2013


Many mania's have overtaken the teenagers, particularly girls, in recent years. First came Miley Cyrus, with her blaring nasal tones, then came the Beiber Fever,which according to me was totally gaga. Now teenage girls all over the place are falling over five guys in skinny multi-colored jeans. Call themselves One Direction. I'd had the bad feeling that it was going to be another repeat of Beiber, and unfortunately I was right. I mean, Beiber was one guy, you could still tolerate him. Now you've got five like him, where d'you run? And whats up with the super tight PINK sweaters. Guys. Wearing pink sweaters. Skintight. That's like a glaring sign to the world to run away from them. And whats up with the fact that they're “AS GOOD AS THE FRICKING BEATLES”?? I mean have you EVER heard the Beatles  One Direction does not write their own songs. Sings in nasal tones. Wears colored pants. Wears pink sweaters. Runs on the beach wearing said colored pants and tight pink sweaters. And they're AS GOOD AS THE BEATLES? Snap out of it dear girls, and listen to some real songs. And if you're boys and you secretly like them, then I think its time for you to come out of the closet.

Wednesday, 17 July 2013


Today in bus I encountered this tiny shrimp of a kid. He was really sweet and really tiny-he was atleast two heads shorter than me. I fugured he must be in 6th grade. A bit malnourished for his age, but looked around that age. And then the kid goes, “What class are you in?”
And I'm like, “10th grade!”, and the kid visible stopped in his tracks. He stared at me as if I was an alien species, his poor eyes almost popping out of his sockets. He gulped and took a few steps back, and whimpered “Oh my God!”... Poor guy. Seeing him took me back four years back when I was a freshie in 6th grade. Middle school was something new altogether. We were very protected by our teachers in Primary school, but you were supposed to grow up here, fend for your own self in Middle school. To me it was highly daunting. I stayed well away from the seniors, darting out of the way if they happened to be coming down the corridors. One friendly senior did try and befriend me in the bus but all I did was mouth at her like a goldfish and stare at her dumbstruck. I never talked to her again. I looked at the Tenthies as if it were impossible to be that high up in the school.

And now I look at these shrimps and I know how daunted they feel, so I do try and talk to them and make them feel more in their comfort zone- but as you probably know, they scamper away the moment I open my mouth!

Tuesday, 16 July 2013


Monday mornings in general in my house are an absolute mayhem. Here is what happened yesterday morning and this was one of the calmer ones :
My father wandered around the house demanding to know who in the whole wide world had hidden his spectacles and what sort of a joke this was. Paper in one hand, and a cup of tea in another, he drifted first into this room and then into that, all the while muttering under his breath.( PS: They were perched on his head.) My brother, on the other hand, rampaged all over the house-the miniature hippo that he was-looking for the notebook that had suddenly, and according to him, grown legs and walked off on its accord. And me? I'd just woken up-late,as usual- to the trying-to-break-the-door-down-to-bits performance performed so obligingly by my mother everyday. After a quick yelling competition from either side of the door about unruly habits of waking up late, I dragged my self to the bathroom. Five minutes of trying-to-look-civilized later, I clambered downstairs, bumping into my father and spilling his cup of tea all over my shirt. I was the one with hot tea all over my dress, he was the one who was walking backwards, and who got scolded? Me. Life story of every hyper-active teenager. After a quick shouting match yet again, I stomped back up the stairs having accepted defeat, yet again. There I encountered my brother, trying to interrogate me if I'd stolen his notebook. Me! The squirt probably just hadn't done his homework and was trying to get away by pinning the blame on me. I shoved him aside, and made my way to my room to change out of my tea stained clothes. Meanwhile, my father blew up the roof honking, waiting for me to come down. Whose fault was it that I had tea over me? His. Whose demand was it that I must not wear tea stained clothes to school? His. Who got honked at? Me Anyways, five minutes later, I flew into the car and sighed as my father started the engine. Monday again.

Monday, 15 July 2013

Effects of Xamomania

Exams are just around the corner and I shudder to think of the approaching weeks. This is poem is a combination of such terrorizing thoughts, an overactive pen and an extremely boring Social Studies class :

My books are open and lie everywhere,
Not a minute do I have, to spare.
My eyes are filled with tears,
My heart clenches in fear.
Exams are so very near!
My subjects are all a burden to me,
I don't remember the last time I was free.
Maths haunts me at night,
Science is decreasing my eyesight.
I am revising left and right
I'm studying with all my might.
Drinking coffee has become a vice,
I've got dark circles under my eyes.
I'm cranky and not very nice.
I don't think I've been very wise.
Why wasn't I more sincere?
Why do I realize that now,
When exams are on the frontier?

Pro's and Con's of being the Youngest

I'm the youngest person in the family and having a fifteen year long experience in handling this position I recently made out a list containing both the pro's and the con's of being the youngest in the family. The list goes as follows :
  • You get to pick the colour of the room you and your sibling share.
  • On a night out, you get to pick out the restaurant that everyone will go to.
  • You kick a fuss about something, and the next thing you know you are getting it.
  • You never need to give treats.(Phew!)
  • You're by far the most pampered.
  • You get the most presents from your cousins.
  • Everyone has a different nickname for you which they insist calling you by, in front of your friends. (Trust me, being called a pumpkin in front of friends when you're a teenager, is not good for your rapport.)
  • No one ever wants to go to the movies you pick.( What is that about?)
  • You're teased the most in the family.
  • You're never included in the “restricted” conversation. Ever. -_-

Friday, 12 July 2013

Vacations and the Working Class

Okay summer vacations just passed by and as usual I went and spent a few days at my sister's place nearby. Now let me tell you a little bit about this sister. She's fat and she couldn't care less(that makes two of us), she loves to eat(hence the fat), she's into music, and she loves to read. In short she's 20 kilos more than what I would be eleven years later. Okay maybe a tiny bit more than 20, but as I said, she couldn't care less. So I'm gorging myself on bacon in the morning and she says something along the lines of I'd have invited you to this awesome party on Wednesday  but you'll have school. And I'm like, " Of course I can come, its summer vacations!" She gave me the blank look of the century and I could almost see the gears turning in her brain as she tried to remember the month long vacations she used to have lord knows back when. And then five minutes later she goes, "Oh, right. That.", I'm pretty sure she didn't really remember. I mean, I reckon your life hits an all-time low when you're not able to remember your vacations. That got me thinking of all the advantages summer vacations and all the free time come with : 
> Cover up on much needed sleep. Its like a semi hibernation period.
> Playing 
> Getiing out on a long, long adventurous holiday.
> Loosing the fat accumulated over the entire year.
> Catching up on all your favorite TV shows. 
I mean I'm sure I could continue, but I reckon you get the feel of it. Lastly, I'd like to send out my deepest condolences to the working class. Your life is very monotonous and I'd probably kill myself if I was living that life, but my hat's off to you. Its incredible that you have the courage to get off your bed and face your life every morning. Respect.

Thursday, 11 July 2013

Today and Tomorrow

When we were five
They asked us 
What we would like to be,
We said teacher, astronaut,
The president maybe!

When we were ten,
They asked us again
We said Chris Gayle
and Michael Jackson back then.

But now when they ask
They want an answer that's true.
But the truth is-
We have absolutely no clue!

Who knows what life 
will be tomorrow?
Will it be full of joy?
Will we see sorrow?

We don't even know
If we're here for the month
So I say live now,
And we'll think of tomorrow,
The next day...


They twinkle upon us at night,
When its dark they give us light.
There are millions of them in the sky,
All shining, bright above high.

They seem to smile at us,
Knowing all that we've done.
They disguise themselves well,
In the light of the sun.

My mother once said,
That those who are dead,
Pass away on Earth,
And become stars instead.

I often wonder if that is true.
And if its so,
Dear Grandfather,
I'll always be looking at you.

Tuesday, 9 July 2013


That same dream again...I woke up drenched in sweat. The bed sheet was all tangled as I had writhed around in it. I struggled to regain some control over my pounding heart as I slipped out of bed to go to the balcony. Boston was another scene entirely at night. Shadows slipped eerily in and out of streets. Silence screamed in the air . My mind drifted back five years...reliving the dream I’d just been having...

Go away. Get outta here!”, I screamed at my sister as I flung the door shut. They said I’d be a beauty queen when I grew up what with my blonde hair and green eyes. But that didn’t mean anything to my sister. Hilly was a prodigy and she did everything to “help” me improve my grades. Unable to teach me, she pounded on my door. Ignoring her, I went to my window. Dad was backing out his black Mercedes; being the director of the FBI had its perks I guess. Seeing him leave, I sauntered over to my bed and flopped down. The pounding on my door had stopped- for now. My eyelids were starting to feel rather heavy...I drifted off to sleep...

I felt ravenously hungry when I woke up. My watch told me it was 12 noon. All was quiet when I stepped out of my room. Hilly was probably holed up in her room studying, mom was probably in office-and dad was never home before midnight. I made my way into the kitchen when I saw Him...I remember every detail of those five frantic that dictated and still is dictating the remainder of my life. He was black toothed when he smiled at me...
Your daddy got me into a lotta trouble a few years back...its time I got revenge.”,
I flattened myself against the cabinet, my heart thumping and whimpered, “Please don’t hurt daddy's in the FBI”,tears started to flow down my cheeks.
Oh I know all about daddy,trust me on that...
Sent me to prison ten years ago...So what I dealt drugs, huh? Half the men in the FBI itself used to be my regular customers...”, he was ranting now, The phone was on the other side of the house, I knew I couldn’t out run him to it.
He was smiling now, “...but now I'm out,I want revenge. Its fair exchange.”
And then He brought out the knife...I didn’t know I could produce such a blood curling scream...but I'd realized my blunder. “Please Hilly, stay in your room, don’t come out...” My heart sank as I heard thundering footsteps down the stairs and Hilly's voice came into the kitchen, “Whats wrong Rachel, you OK?”
He looked pleased , “Aha! Join the party!” he exclaimed as Hilly rushed in.
Whose going first then?”, he asked, brandishing his knife. He fixed his stare on me, “You win,you’re first.”

But before he moved,I felt a breeze on my cheek as my sister rushed to my aid.
Hilly, NO!”, I screamed, flailing my arms to hold her back, but I was too late. She ran at him with nothing but her incredible courage. He just grinned at her. The knife gleamed as it cut through the air. I tore at my hair as a red stain appeared at the back of her shirt. The rest is a blur. All I remember is me screaming and rushing to Hilly. And pain. A lot of pain. I also remember her blue eyes, usually determined filled with resignation. For the last time, she'd given up.

I woke up at a hospital later on. I came to know that the neighbors had heard the noise and called the police, but they couldn’t get over fast enough because of a traffic stuck up. When my mum came to visit me after having looked after Hilly's body, she held my hand real slow and walked me to the mirror. I looked a horror. My hair hung in tatters where I'd pulled at it. But my face was unrecognizable.
I was sewn up in at least ten different places on my face...the scars, I knew they wouldn't fade. I'd be reminded of them every morning when I looked into the mirror and be reminded of Hilly's sacrifice. Of how she'd put herself in front of me.

The funeral went alright. It was kind of a blur. There were a lot of people offering consolation to my parents. I just stared at her grave. That night, I stared at the thin lines curving all around my palms. I tore them open just to feel the pain...I realized that without my one identity – beauty – I was nothing. And Hilly, she'd treat me the same way regardless of how I looked even now, when my mother avoided looking at me .

I started as I came back to the present. Five years on, the scars haven’t faded, but I like them now. They remind me that the past is real. But I've realized something else now. Everyone seems to think Hilly's back in that grave. She's not. She's in me. She's there every time I look in the mirror, she's there every time I’m stared at in the super market. Hilly isn’t in a grave, she breathes in Boston, she breathes with me wherever I go. And my scars remind me of that...


This was a very valuable lesson that I learnt quite recently in life. It all happened on a bright sunny morning when my friend had to use the washroom. It was quite an emergency, if you know what I mean. Now let me tell you a little something about the toilets in my school-you won't use then if some held a gun to your head. I seriously believe that there are species of bacteria in there that are yet to be discovered by Science! So, anyways back to the story. We were looking for any place where my friend could take a dump-behind bushes, empty classrooms(kidding!), discrete corners but we found nothing. Then I had the brainwave of using the one toilet not yet vandalized by the students-or monsters as many call them-the ones near the reception. We scooted towards them and my friend strides into the first open door she sees and slams it shut. It was an emergency. I was left standing there quite alone. But then what I noticed sent me headlong into a fit of giggles. And as luck would have it two of our guy classmates were wandering near the reception. Now, in life you often find yourself at forks where the first path is one where you are a good friend and don't embarrass your friend in front of others; the latter being one where you ridicule your own friends-often hurting them-and get a good laugh. I chose the latter- I'm not a saint and I'm not the nicest of people. I called them over, and waved off their questions, telling them to wait. Now if it were two girls they would've probably blown off the roof asking me if I was just wasting their time or what exactly was it that I wanted to do or if they were there just to guard the toilets, but that's the thing about dudes. These two just shut up and stared at two-and in their minds, very boring-toilet doors. Their patience however was rewarded. After some time, the door of the BOYS toilet opened and out stepped my friend. The three of us fell down on each other,crying with laughter. My friend stood perplexed at our behavior  mouthing like a goldfish. Finally I managed to point at the sign on the door. She turned and read the sign and that was the day I realized what a tomato-red blush was.
VERY, VERY important lesson, I'm sure you all are guaranteed!!


They say mango is the king of fruit. Fine - I get it. Give. It. A. Break. For the last one week my mum has officially gone mango crazy. I mean, she is totally BONKERS over the fruit. She makes me desert for lunch everyday, when I come back from school(one of the main reasons for me being fat but hey - I'm not complaining!) and for the last seven days everything I'm getting is along the lines of mango.
Day 1: She makes me a mango cheesecake. Okay, not complaining there.
Day 2: She makes it again. Still not complaining. Really.
Day 3: Again. Okay don't get me wrong, I'm not a spoiled brat (Okay-maybe a little bit) but not being a big fan of cheesecake and most DEFINITELY not being a mango fan, I was getting rather tired of it.
Day 4: Chocolate cake with mango icing. Oh-and by the way, not a good combination. I think she thought that I had some problem with the cheesecake. If only she'd thought so about the mango...
Day 5: Mango Jelly. Almost. Well I must say it was a good effort but for one thing it was still liquid. Apparently for my mum, variety is of the essence.
Day 6: Mango Something. Don't even ask. I think it was supposed to be an ice-cream, but to say that it was a disaster is an understatement.
Day 7(today): Mango pudding. This one tastes ABSOLUTELY revolting. Maybe it has something to do with the fact that it has egg in it. Or maybe its because I'm done with mango for life. 
7 days ago, I was a regular mango loving teenager, but now I can safely say that if I see a mango I'll probably run for miles! 
Readers, be glad, be very, very glad that your mums don't suffer from mango madness!!

The Photograph

I lost my grandfather at a very young age. I don’t remember him and cameras were hard to come by in those times. Mum says that he was a great man and an even better doctor. Gave free treatments to the poor on Sundays apparently. Dad keeps on telling me to be more like him. My brother has fond memories of him- the lucky brat. He got to enjoy eight years with him, and I just eleven months. I often wished there were just one photo of him that I could see, just to know what he looked like. Just to be able to picture him, just to have an image to go with the stories I so regularly heard.
Last year, I lost my grandmother as well. She had stoutly refused to move out of our ancestral home, claiming she would take her last breath in the same room that my grandfather did. The usually echoing rooms of the ancient house were suddenly filled with kids' laughter. It was one such sunny, boisterous afternoon that I suddenly spotted the partially hidden entrance to the attic. The door seemed as if it were beckoning me and as usual without giving it a second thought, I clambered up the stairs. The sunlight filtered through the innumerable cobwebs in the skylight. I started examining the first shelf ; the things there were very, very old. I was sorting through the pile of old rubbish when I spied a little piece of parchment hidden behind a wall clock. I slowly slipped it out, careful not to tear it. It was no bigger than my palm. I turned it over and gasped. There, on the musty piece of parchment was a black and white picture of my grandmother and along with her, smiling out at me was my grandfather. I sat myself down in a small corner of the room, and stared at the photograph , trying to make out his face's details through the hazy photograph. He had the same cocky smile that I had, and his eyes seemed to twinkle knowingly at me even now. I kept sitting there for what seemed like an eternity, imagining him giving treatments to the poor and playing football like my father had recounted to me on several occasions. Finally, after what seemed like a lifetime, I was jolted out of my daze by the appearance of my mother, “What in the whole wide world are you doing in here? Everybody’s looking for you!”.

Nothing”, I said, standing up and pocketing the photograph, “absolutely nothing”. It still seems funny to me – the day I lost my grandmother was I day I almost got my grandfather back...

Monday, 8 July 2013


Many of my Twilight adoring, Stephenie Meyer loving friends often make the mistake of asking me this question and as always they are left bombarded by the torrent of arguments escaping my lips. Ok dont get me wrong here I dont hate Twilight- Okay who am I kidding, I do - but hear me out. I've made a complete analysis of all the reasons Harry Potter is legendary and Twilight is - well, not. Okay so here goes : 
Moral Values learnt from Twilight: ... ( PLEASE tell me if you find any)
Moral values learnt from Harry Potter : (Now, where do I start)

  • Forgive you ememies ( what happens to Draco)
  • Be brave 
  • Be loyal to your Friends ( Order of the Phoenix)
  • Everybody is different, and that's not a bad thing ( Luna Lovegood)
  • Don't judge a book by its cover (Snape)
  • Unconditional Love (Snape)
  • etc....
  • Okay the next thing that I cannot stand about Twilight : in the second edition, the girl is literally BLANK PAGES without the dude?? I mean really?? Where is the era of woman empowerment??
    And Harry Potter on the other hand, teaches girls to stand up for themselves. When Harry leaves Ginny, she restarts the DA, and attempts to steal the sword of Gryffindor among other things. She does not sit and mope like our dearest Bella. Lets face it. Harry would've been DEAD if Hermione had not been with him. She is repeatedly saving the day, unlike our macho man Jacob or the creepy vampire Edward.
    And okay lastly, lets see if any Twilight lover can beat this : 
    "After all this time?"
    JK Rowling, that genius, wrote a better love story in 5 words than Meyer tried to do in 4 BOOKS. End of story.
    I now rest my case.