Teach us something useful.

This is a poem inspired by the Connecticut shooting, and the Delhi gangrape, and the fact that I was doing nothing except Maths. Which is pretty freaking infuriating.

Don't teach us physics,
Don't teach us chemistry.
Teach us love, teach us humanity.
Don't teach me algebra, I'm never going to use it.
Teach girls to value their virginity, because one day they're going to lose it.
Teach the people, they can NOT take it forcefully.
Teach the men, teach the boys.
Teach girls to do and wear what they want -
It's not an obligation, it's a choice.

26/11, 9/11, and Connecticut is just as wrong.
There's only so much I can fit into this song.
And it won't even matter - poets and preachers, artists and teachers -
"You're not an engineer? Inferior creature!"
People of worth aren't paid any heed -
until they're judged, with their "need for attention".
Like, seriously? We're 2 days from the world's end -
You think anyone will be sent to Heaven?

And whose heaven is it anyway? Christ's? Allah's? Ganesha's?
It doesn't even matter - it's the world's biggest issue today.

Don't teach us about things in textbooks.
Teach us to open our minds.
Teach us to be the change we want to see in society.
Don't teach us about expectations, about violence, about cruelty, about the gods above.
Teach us humanity, teach us love.

An Ode to Emily Bronte

"I have seen nothing like it; but, indeed, I have never seen her parallel in anything. Stronger than a man, simpler that a child, her nature stood alone. [...] In Emily's nature the extremes of vigour and simplicity seemed to meet. Under an unsophisticated culture, inartificial tastes, and an unpretending outside, lay a secret power and a fire that might have inflamed the brain and kindled the veins of a hero; but she had no worldly wisdom; her powers were unadapted to the practical business of life: she would fail to defend her most manifest rights, to consult her most legitimate advantage. An interpreter ought to have stood between her and the world. Her will was not very flexible, and it generally opposed her interest. Her temper was magnanimous, but warm and sudden; her spirit altogether unbending"

This is what Charlotte Bronte had to say about her younger sister. Emily died on December 19, 1848 - but not without leaving a mark. Wuthering Heights, everyone has heard of that book. A large collection of (highly underrated, in my opinion) poetry. No, she wasn't prolific as others. Maybe she didn't even write as well as the others of her time (but you will have no doubt of her writing ability once you read her poetry). But there's still a reason that I keep July 30 and December 19 marked.

Emily lost her mother at 3. Then, she went to a horrible school, where she lost her older sisters Maria and Elizabeth. On returning home, she found that her father wasn't the best of tutors either. Emily, Charlotte and Ann would often write together, or go to the moors, and they only had the company of each other.

And that's one of the main reasons Emily strikes such a chord with me. On reading her writing, you could tell that she was a lonely girl. You could tell that she'd lost a lot. You could tell that "inartificial tastes and an unpretending outside," and that she had "a secret power and a fire". There was nothing fake about her. Nothing inartificial about it. She wrote with a passion, she wrote from her heart.

But the thing that stands out the most to me is, her pen-name. Charlotte, Emily and Anne published under the pseudonyms Currer, Ellis and Acton Bell. And even though it's badass - that they're choosing to write when writing wasn't encouraged in girls is a pretty big thing in itself - it's sad that even in the 19th century we had such sexism. But that bit doesn't matter now.

I never knew Emily Bronte, but I wish I did. And through Wuthering Heights and her poetry, I do feel like I know her. I would like to end this piece on an emotional high, but I can't. So I'll just leave you with my motto for the rest of my life.

"I'll walk, but not in old heroic traces,
And not in paths of high morality,
And not among the half-distinguished faces,
The clouded forms of long-past history.

I'll walk where my own nature would be leading:
It vexes me to choose another guide:
Where the gray flocks in ferny glens are feeding;
Where the wild wind blows on the mountain side"
-Emily Bronte in Oft Rebuked, Yet Always Back Returning.

Write Story. Revisit after a year. Feel awesome.

Long time no see, blog! What up?

Sigh. So much business.

I don't even know what this blog post is about, to be honest. I'm just writing.

So. Nostalgia sort of happened, a few days back. Got me thinking.

Most of my friends know, I wrote a book called Puns, Pi and Purgatory when I was 14. About being an Indian teenager, and all. One of the stories was -
-it was my brother's birthday and
-i had an important exam the next day and
-He dragged us out to Barbecue Nation and
-I fought vehemently for animal rights because everyone was eating meat and fish and yuck.
-I didn't do so well in my exam the next day.

(Yes, that's basically the story. It's not actually half bad)

Thing is, as a writer, practically everything I write has a vein of truth, and a world of made up stuff. That thing up there^ didn't really happen, but bits of it did, so I exaggerated and made it into a short story.

Now, exactly one year later - it really happened.
All the details. Same.
Deja Vu, Coincidence, I don't know what to call it.
But it was awesome.

Which got me thinking, of what all changed in a year.

School/college. Way different.
Lost contact with half my friends.
Felt betrayed at the fact that I came to Arts to pursue English, and we're basically learning bullshit.

But.
I'm way more confident now.
Way more independent.
Way more bold.
I waste much more time but that's alright.
I beatboxed on one of India's biggest stages, I made a ton of new awesome friends, I got to dump Physics etc and took up Psychology etc.

I can write more stories, now. Definitely.
You can't see the black without the white, and vice versa.
But when you do see both...
There are a lot of stories there, just waiting to be written.

What the hell, world?

So I was on Facebook the other day. One harmless little thing. This is roughly what my homepage looked like.

Someone Random uploaded a new picture.
Someone Random uploaded a new picture.
Someone random uploaded a new picture.
[All of these are picture of herself making duckfaces]
Someone Random liked Some Other Random Person's picture.
Some Prepubescent Chick is single.
Prepubescent Chick - Heartbroken :'( :'( <3 p="p">Some Jobless Creature - *insert crappy meaningless Lil Wayne lyrics.*
Some Other 13 year old - profanity profanity heartbreak angst angst profanity love love tag YOLO.

And these are all kids.

Which got me thinking. What the hell, world?

imperfect=beautiful.

It's impossible to please everyone.
But it's impossibly easy to piss off everyone.
I would know, being towards the end of a stereotypical teenage identity crisis myself.

You can't please everyone.
You just can't. No matter who you are, how hard you try.
There's always going to be the girl who is wearing the same dress as you at some reputable social occassion.
There's always going to be the chick who gives you iron eyes because her boyfriend likes talking to you a little too much.
There's always going to be the boy who ended up in the friendzone.
There's always going to be someone who made you end up in the friendzone.
There's going to be the pesky teacher, the pesky teacher's peskier pet.
There's going to be someone who hates you, maybe because you're a teacher's pet, said teacher is found pesky by said hater, hence you, being the pet, are also pesky.

Point is. You're not perfect. You never will be.
You can pretend to be. You can pretend to be happy, funny, caring, bubbling over with joy, creative, smart, everything. You can pretend.
While you're pretending, you can also ignore the pain you put yourself through, just because you try to make others happy, and not yourself.

Even if happyfunnycaringbubblingoverwithjoycreativesmart is your actual style, it won't help if you still let others run your life. You, whoever you are, however you are, you're beautiful, and you should know it.

You can make others happy. You can try. You'll be a wreck inside, but you can try.
Or you can hold up a middle finger to the world, and be your own badass.

You can have love, or you can have respect. The only time you'll have both is when you respect yourself enough to love who you are, and stop pretending to be someone else.

Teenage angsty post about peer pressure and The Plastics coming up.

One shade of grey

So, here we go again.
College. It's such a nice, fancy word.
Junior College. Not so fancy, but still miles better than plain old "school".
It should be a piece of cake. My college is close to my house; it's pretty reputed; and I get to ditch Physics and Chem for Psychology and German. I should be happy. Right? Right?

But all this is at the cost of English. It's anticlimactic (an anticlimax, according to someone of repute around college, is a "decent" from a climax. True story), because I expected it to be some sort of Utopia where I unleash my creative goddess and live happily ever after. But if it's so bad that I want to bunk English (earlier you wouldn't have believed this possible, trust me) then surely something's wrong?

Then again. Where something's wrong, there's also something right. Pune's biggest library is just next door, I have nicer subjects, a whole bunch of new people to meet, get to do subjects that I like, and get to perform at India's biggest inter-college fest. I should be happy. Right? Right?

Thinking over it, I am. It's a whole different experience - and while experiences in themselves can be bad, just the fact that you get to see some new side of life is nothing to complain about. I get more time to read, more time to write. So it's all good?

Eh well. It goes on. It goes on being good, it goes on being crappy.

In some senses, life is just like a book. Good stuff happens, bad stuff happens.

But that's the spice of life, isn't it? Who would remember a story without a villain? 

Sunrise In Aries. Creative badass style.

The whole point of calling yourself creative, is to be creative. To make new, crazy things in your chosen medium, to break boundaries, to mix and match and create and destroy until you have something beautiful. Here's my contribution.

If you know me even a little bit, you know my crazy-yet-amazing taste in music. So do me a favour. Open a new tab and listen to Sunrise in Aries by God Is An Astronaut. Not only is it an amazing song, you kinda sorta need it to comprehend the rest of this post.

Done? Heard? If not heard, go listen NOW. If heard....listen again, there's no harm.

So here's the juicy bit.
My brilliant mind came up with this poem/rap/spoken word thing that "goes with" the song. Yes they're 2 separate entities but I kinda sorta wrote the poem to recite alongside the song. Like the song was playing a part in the poem, like they complement one another. Don't be scared if you don't understand this - I'm the creator, I don't understand it either.

Anyway. Listen to the song and read this poem simultaneously. You'll get the hang of the rhythm after a while. Feel free to leave comments.

In the sky, in the sky, in the sky - pretty lights passing by.
In the night, in the night, in the night - the lights twinkle, and they shine.
All the time, all the time, all the time - fighting with the moonlight-
It glows white, it glows white, it glows white, till the morning rise.

Looking at the dark ceiling,
I get a light feeling,
Like it's Bliss I'm dealing with
But I'm just dreaming. 
While the wind blows and
While the stars glow and
While the night closes in
I see a light-show and - 
I'm feeling cold, 
I'm feeling bold,
I'm feeling like rebelling to whatever's told to me,
The wind blows through me,
It's like the world knows me
Before I've become whatever it is I was born to be.


Grab your destiny with both hands,
never let it go
And if you choose to make your own path,
better so.
Better to play with your chances,
Always take the lonely road not taken.
Not so long ago you were mistaken, for someone else,
Braking right behind the crowd.
Shake it up! Leave no doubt,
Awaken yourself, and scream, and shout.
Waking up and taking orders,
Faking smiles and hating order - 
This world is yours to dissolve.

So the morning comes,
I'm still not done,
Trying to find whatever prize it was I thought I'd won.
Winning's not a big thing - 
But losing is, and even in the spring
You'll find yourself shivering
Maybe now you're wondering - 
You've fallen more times than you can count,
Worse than you care to think about,
But if you choose to refuse Society's noose
Of opinion and games - you can't lose if you never play.
Every artery, every vein, 
every bondage, every shackle of disdain,
Every hurt, every hole,
All the heartbreak, all the pain,
All the aches, the defeat,
Insignificant as a grain of sand.



Grab your destiny with both hands,
never let it go
And if you choose it yourself,
better so.
Better to play with your chances,
Always take the lonely road not taken.
Not so long ago you were mistaken, for someone else,
Braking right behind the crowd.
Shake it up! Leave no doubt,
Awaken yourself, and scream, and shout.
Waking up and taking orders,
Faking smiles and hating order - 
This world is yours to dissolve.



I was looking at the dark ceiling,
I had a light feeling,
Like it was Bliss I was dealing with
But I was just dreaming. 
While the wind was blowing and
While the stars were glowing and
While the night was closing  in
I saw the lights showing  and - 
I was feeling cold, 
I was  feeling bold,
I was feeling like rebelling to whatever was told to me,
The wind was blowing through me,
It's like the world had known me
Before I'd become whatever it is I was born to be.


Now after the sunrise,
All I feel is one tide
Of feeling - and I know that last night,
Last night was my sole pride
Before my fall into a new day,
My fall into a new way
Of life - Who said that the world was split into black and white?
Blast off, into the 7th gear,
Free your mind, forget fear,
You're free to go, the sky's clear
Now you just have to steer your ship
Into Heaven or Hades'
home, you'll see lords and ladies 

Or, maybe devils or fairies

Or, maybe a Sunrise in Aries.

Grab your destiny with both hands,
don't you dare let it go
And if you had made it yourself,
even better so.
Better you played with your chances,
Always take the lonely roads not taken.
Never again will you be mistaken, for someone else,
Braking right behind the crowd.
Shake it up! Leave no doubt,
Awaken yourself, and scream, and shout.
Waking up and...forget your orders! 
Forget fake smiles! You know you hate order- 
This world is yours to dissolve.

If you made it through till the end, Merci Beaucoup for reading.