Archive for September, 2013

Shattered – Dreams of an India footballer

Posted: September 30, 2013 by Ankur in Writes...
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The heavens opened as the ball rose into the sky. It met with his head when it came down and skimmed the crossbar, it’s a goal kick. The ground is muddy and wet; enough to make even the best in the world slip a dribble. There are only a few remaining in the crowd. The game is approaching its climax. The tournament maybe small but the teams were fighting like it was the world cup final. There’s a number 10 for every team and for his team it was him. The ball came to his feet the drops are falling like missiles from the sky, not enough to stop him. Through the mud he dribbled his way through the defenders. It seems like the ball and his feet are in love. 1, 2, and 3,4,5,6 he passed through six players like reminding of what Maradona did against England some time ago. And he shoots the ball found another love- the back of the net. The referee blew his whistle the final score- 24-1. It can’t be called a match instead it should be called the stage show of the wonder kid who smashed 17 goals in one match. It his first state level medal for top scorer. He has made his school proud. The next day a small column in the newspaper said “INDIAN MARADONA FOUND”, He could feel his dream near him “PLAYING FOR INDIA”.

“Does India have a football team??” one of his friends asked him. 

“If you want to play, play cricket “his mother told him. 

“Seriously you want to waste your life playing?” his father asked him.

“You don’t get a good girl if you play football “the worst, his uncle told him.

He was puzzled. He was seeing his dreams shatter. For one moment he asked to himself “why was I born here?” If he hadn’t he would have been in the youth team of any European club by now, he had that belief in him. He has the flair, the talent, the magic but not the support in a country where sports are built upon money and fame rather than passion and love.

A decade went just like a blink of an eye. The heavens opened at the old Trafford stadium, it is raining just like that other day. The drops turned into missiles. But the ground is not muddy and wet, it’s a world class stadium, it has its facilities. It is an International friendly match between India and England. “INDIAN MARADONA FOUND” he looked up that old newspaper report once again as the team lineups was shown in the screen. There was his name in the starting lineup, the number 10 of India. He was living his dream. The players came out through that famous tunnel of old Trafford. They lined up for the national anthem. “JANA GANA MAN.” He held his head high as the nation’s national anthem was played. The match started he was gazing the pitch in the rain with some of the legends in the world. Time went and he finally got the ball. The love between the ball and his feet was restored. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5, 6 he justified the title the newspaper gave him. He passed the ball into the back of the net as the crowd went into rupture. He slid in his knees and punched the air. The lights went off. His UPS started making noises. A drop fell from his eye. He moved the keyboard to a side and switched his computer off. He stood up and looked at the newspaper report again and threw it in the dustbin and told to himself “It would have been better if it was just “NEW MARADONA FOUND””. A cricket ball smashed into his window shattering the glass. He looked out through the shattered glass. It was going to rain.

Renjith Ravindran

Adi Shankara Institute of Engineering and Technology, Kalady

Meeting with the futures of India

Posted: September 29, 2013 by Ankur in Writes...
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Location- somewhere at the back of Chennai central

Passing through hectic streets of Chennai with horrid noises of MTC buses and autos, silly slangy fights infront the TASMAC shops, hotels along the road with hoardings indicating outlandish names, “Samudra view palace” ( though sea shores were miles away), walls with paintings of political leaders riding horses and with swords portraying them as someone not less than super heroes who descended down on the earth as saviors of mankind, food stalls making all attempts to attract customers to sell their stale idlis and steaming sambar and confused tourists dragging big trolleys down the potholed road in search of an affordable lodge, I landed up in a dark alley. That was the land of scrap dealers, hardly visited by any normal person. It was late and most of the shops were closed. But from a distance I saw a feeble light flickering at some corner. I ambled a little distance and saw something interesting which provoked my slow paced steps to gain some speed. I saw a lea n dark complexioned man, may be in his mid forties, hammering a piece of iron plate. Aside him, a small girl was sitting over a pile of card boards, dressed in a sky blue frock, may be her school uniform with few visible patches near her shoulder that had not been mended properly, the plaits of her hair were hanging down and were reciprocating with the movement of her head which played a pendulum infront of a small lamp. I gazed at her for few minutes and discovered that she was studying something and was helping her father too. After her father flattens a plate, she replaced it with next. I went close to her, stooped to know what actually she was reading and found that she was solving numerical from her mathematics book…. I smiled, looked at her for a while but she was not paying much attention. She may have assumed me to be another customer of her father. She kept on solving the numerical, counting with her little fingers, which was a little dark may be because of those rusted iron plates. I felt a little grieved when I saw those tiny fingers which were meant to work with color pencils and color papers toiling with rust and hammers at this tender age. Excited, I asked, “What is your name?” “My name is S.Meena, anna”, she replied with a special childish lilt in her voice. “What’s your ambition, cutie?” She chuckled and lifted her head, eye brows arched and looking up into the sky and replied with a blush, “I want to become a pilot, anna”.

Location- Howrah-Chennai mail

Train had just boarded Visakhapatnam… After a heavy biriyani meal, I was standing near the door to inhale some fresh air that rushes in as the train gathers some momentum, when suddenly my eyes fell on a small magician wearing a tattered white shirt, a brown shorts, a pair of torn school shoes whose sole was opening its mouth every time he took a step, entertaining the entire bogie with his tricks. He made flowers appear from his handkerchief, showered glitters from an empty box, bringing out the same stick unbroken from a pipe which he turned and bend thousand times. After his performance, he went to each seat with a small box expecting mercy and pity for his few beautiful acts that everyone enjoyed. But to my surprise, those people who were watching him a minute ago were all either deep asleep covering their face with newspaper sheets, became busy on phone or hurried into the toilet as if they had just realized that their bladder was going to blast seeing the kid app roaching. He succeeded only in filling the tin box with few coins that made noise, but not enough to fill even quarter of his tummy. Disappointed, he returned to the door and waited for the next station where he could catch another train back to his home. I gave him a ten rupee note but he wasn’t ready to accept it at first. Rather he inquired me if I had seen his performance and accepted the amount only when he was convinced that I watched him from a distance. I was attracted by his attitude and honesty that made me gaze him with more interest. “What is your name Mr. Magician?” “I am Ravi” he replied and soon got busy packing his bag. When I saw few books inside his bag, I started inquiring about him. He said that he is doing his eighth class in a government school in his village. His father serves tea in trains to feed his family which comprises of a diseased mother and four grown up sisters. That helpless father wants the boy to work to earn something for his family. But he was always very interested in studying and even tops in his class. So, everyday he use to go to school in the morning hour and after returning from school, he gets engaged in his work till evening… I was listening to him tight lipped when the train whistled abruptly, as it arrived at a station. All the thoughts that were mounting in my tiny brain imagining about the struggle he had to undergo each day came to a halt. He got down the train and waved me bye…the train roared again, acquiring speed. I shouted out of the running train, “Ravi, what’s your ambition?” “I want to become an IAS officer…..” he replied with confidence, his eyes were sparkling. 

India is a nation where millions of newborn babies meet their doom in some dirty corner of a government hospital due to the lack of attention and medicines which costs more than their father’s entire month wage. Here thousands of kids, though were made to attend the primary schools with the facility of mid-day meals, sleeps starving the whole night waiting till next day to fetch some food. And citizens of tomorrow dwelling in the dank slums, deprived of proper education and guidance not because government policies failed to reach them but because government educational policies do not act as a helping hand to fill the stomachs of their family… They are forced to strive hard for not for better living, just for survival… Work as domestic servants, work as labors in hotels, industries, constructional sites carrying tones of loads on their shoulders which are supposed to carry school bags and lunch boxes.
This is the actual situation of poverty and education in India, entirely different from that which is shown in the movie, “student of the year”. Yes, here thousands of Indian juveniles do compete, not for any student of the year trophy but for food, cloth and education. Here we don’t find masculine figures coming schools in Mercedes with biceps popping out of their tight branded shirts and gorgeous ladies roaming around in bikinis, but we find malnourished lean boys feeling their stomach with the half boiled rice and dal served at school and the young girls fighting hard to a get piece of cloth to cover their body. The actual situation is ghastly. 
In such a gruesome scenario where someone meets kids like Meena and Ravi, trying to lighten a small lamp of dream in a hopeless community, working hard to tear the dark clouds of illiteracy by their sword of wisdom, he is surely going to get addicted with pride, enthusiasm and inspiration.
During my plights through the slums, I have interacted with hundreds of kids living with a dream of becoming doctor, engineer and administrative officers someday, though in empty stomachs. But the question is that
“Till how long will they fight for their dreams with unfilled stomachs?”
“Will Meena and Ravi ever reach their destination?”
… Till the age of ten…twelve or say fifteen…then, then will they be able to continue their higher studies? No, I don’t think so….poverty and hunger will gradually squeeze out all the dreams out of their mind and throw them into the dark lanes of future where they have to fight for a single penny. Few years latter Ravi will be forced by his father to take the job for the whole day leaving his school. After some days he too will forget that he ever attended school and liked to study. His dream of becoming an IAS officer will soon disappear into the foggy horizon of a dark future. And Meena…our aspiring pilot will be forced by her father to marry someone who can take care of her entire family. She will cry, shout and protest but will finally acquiesce to her father’s decision. Just a year after her marriage, our future pilot who wanted to fly high will be pulled down to the earth by the weight of her swollen belly that will be carr ying the desires of a 
self-centered man of this patriarchal society.
Educational policies of the government should include proper attention to the kids and their families. Economical upliftment of their families can drag more juveniles into the schools and make them take education seriously. Along with mid-day meals, provisions for supper should be made; packed cooked food should be given to them at the end of the school time in afternoon. Along with the primary education government should start focusing on higher studies. Though primary education will make difference in their life but helping them to pursue higher studies to fulfill their dreams and come up as skilled professionals in different field is very essential. Primary education can never help them in getting a white collar job that will result in the development of their family status and shaping of the next generation which is going to follow them. If government really wants to make its educational policies effective and bring changes in the long run, it should start working out on higher and professional studies of young Indians rather than imparting only the primary education, enabling them to write their own name to the most and either rendering them unemployed or working as a daily waged labor. 
P.S. let’s take an oath to help millions of kids like Meena and Ravi achieve their goal. Let’s be a part of their struggle. Many of us lead a better standard of living. So we don’t realize how lucky we are because we have everything we want. Graphs and studies show that literacy rate is improving every year. But let’s wake up… let’s start reading between the lines of the study statics. A vow made to help at least one of such kids who lives in optimistic dreams of professional jobs and respectable standard of living, when we start standing in our own legs may give renaissance to another generation. 

Kids like Meena and Ravi always makes me feel that “INDIA IS SHINING”. Hope to meet Pilot Meena and IAS officer Ravi in future…

Amit Singh

International Maritime Academy

I am SORRY. Will you take it?

Posted: September 28, 2013 by Ankur in Writes...
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Today the purple wind has blown again,
when I saw you standing down the lane.

Remembered my mistakes, mishaps happened,
Felt guilty I m, to make you shattered. 

Forgive me, for times I made you cry,
left alone, broke your heart, I won’t deny.

Sorry for being me, wetting ur eyes,
Making you hurt and those lies.

What I did always, made you heart heavy,
And to confess I was very lazy. 

I have Caused stress in your life,
I made you cry a million drops and sleepless night.

I m sorry for that day I was out of my mind,
I shouldn’t have told you to get lost of my life.

I shouldn’t have shouted on you,
neither have I went left you.

Very sorry for those awful conversion,
from now on, only sweet vibration. 

I will play the symphony of on your favourite song,
we’ll dance like no one stretch us along.

Now I realize, can’t move alone in this journey,
I need you to be with me honey.

Now I’m here to wash away your fear,
to make you smile and to wipe your tears. 

I’m sorry for the lies and being so fake
I will show you my true love, will you please take? 

Sovik Ranjan Mishra


Posted: September 27, 2013 by Ankur in Writes...
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Na pucho hm itne khamosh q hain
Na pucho in hooton pe muskan q ni hn
Na pucho yeh aakhein bhari q hai..

Warna tut jayega sabr
Beh jayenge aason
Doob jayega dil gam mai…
Phr na toh khasmosi rhegi…
Na hi lafz..dard bayan krne ko…

Islye rhne do hume tanha khamosh
Gum ho jaane duniya k shor mai…!!
Shayad is shor mai hi is dil ko….
Thoda sukun mil jaaye….!!


Posted: September 26, 2013 by Ankur in Writes...
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A Nightmare makes you realize about the trifles of life

He opened his eyes to the salty water that was touching him every now and then. Lying on the shore he turned around and faced the sun, his worst fears were coming alive. He could not bear the sun, it was too strong. In despair he tried to get out from the sky and the water, falling, crawling, barely walking he made it out of the water, but he could not see any shade nearby. He was fighting a losing battle. He had lost his faith, in nature, in God and in Life. Nowhere to run, he just sat there embracing the sun, much to his pain, waiting for the clouds to cover. A drop fell into the sand making it wet, he looked at it at curiously as another drop fell into the sand, it was his sweat falling drop by drop into the sand, the sun was taking up his life, and the drops in the sand that was the closest thing that could be to a rain. 

The effects of the alcohol were wearing off, he was starting to gain his consciousness, realizing the painful dream he had, the sat up in his bed, filled with drugs and bottles. His room had a weird smell the weirdness of mixing cigarettes and drugs together, his legs were stumbling and his head was aching as he made it near the window. He removed the curtains; the sun rays penetrated his eyes like glass shards. He was enjoying that pain, punishing himself. It had become a part of his routine by now, one month it’s been. One month after realizing that there was nothing to live for, that the life had no meaning. He sat looking at the sun and closed his eyes. 

He started asking the same question he asked himself for the last one month. “Why she had to leave?” He played the times he spend with her, both the good ones and bad ones in his head, it was perfect till the day she left then why it had to end. He asked that to himself a million times. He stood up and put on a shaggy shirt and walked out through the door. He walked through the street, with eyes staring at him. He didn’t even know that people existed around him; he was alone in the crowd. People running around money, fame, career and in-between all of them, he was someone who was saddened about the love that left him but he had lost track of the reality, hallucinated by the drug and the alcohol but he know where he was going, the place where he’d spend hours every day, her grave. The went and sat there, under the scorching sun, it was not a problem for him, he started talking to her, time flew and a drop fell into the grave he looked at it curiously an d smiled as another drop fell from his eye. A bird came and sat near him and started singing.

His eyes opened to the numerous tweeting sounds, he jumped out of bed and searched for his phone, he found it near his bed. 

“You have 9 text messages” it showed.

He didn’t have to read any of those he knew who it was. He started dialing a number and waited anxiously, someone picked up the phone much to his pleasure. He was stammering but his words were clear.

“I LOVE YOU, stupid I just had the weirdest nightmare”

He continued his conversation as he moved towards the window. He was smiling and obviously happy. A drop fell on the window pane, he looked at it curiously as another one fell, he looked up the sky, and it was raining.

Renjith Ravindran

Adi Shankara Institute of Engineering and Technology, Kalady

Silent Dream

Posted: September 25, 2013 by Ankur in Writes...
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Standing in front of a mirror,
With a question in my eyes,
What am i doing with my life?
Living or killing it with all the lies.

Broken, shattered and unfulfild,
Eyes reflectd a distant dream,
Closed my eyes to escape reality,
What escaped was only a silient scream.

Walking down the old memory lane,
Staring at dark sky and full moon,
Ages ago, the path i had to choose,
Was that some disguised boon!

Seeing birds soaring so high,
I wish i too had wings to fly,
With the seven colors of rainbow,
Let me please paint the sky!

Nibha Gupta

National Institute of Technology, Bhopal

Common Man Of India

Posted: September 24, 2013 by Ankur in Writes...
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Admist the hustle and bustle of a railway platform, lives an unsung tale of the common man of India.MAN ,a common man, as common as the “chai Garam Chai” sold at every station of indian railways. If characterised,he is a man with a bag on one shoulder and a “chai garam chai” in the other hand. A lonely figure enters the scene of Indian Railways with a vision of his destination and plans of the future.MR.”chai garam chai” gets seated on the platform and the journey initates.

Brisk and lively gossips, debates on nation’s government, all worldwide issues discussed at a pace and fluency of a professional , little do they know about the constitution of india still complains about the mishap indian government is . The discussions range from the popular issues of the time to the intimate happenings of a celebrity’s life. High tempered debates , cross questioning the whole notion of being alive, explaining all the adversities of life, our common man travels the span of his land. This is the level of intimacy created in just seconds of encounter , oh yes ! our “chai garam chai” is very much welcoming . Buying tea for the reverend “bhaisahab” he just met , is like a ritual to these enchanting encounters of railways. Blowing horns,chirping noises of chatters all around, ferocious chase towards the rail compartments— “train has arrived” —the sweet melodious harmony between our common man and his counterpar t comes to an hault . 

Following the departure of train,there is a momentary desertness on the platform but “YATRIGADH KRIPYA DHYAN DE” swipes away all the desertness in a blink of eye. Like an amoeba , the platform witnesses the arrival of double number of passengers after the engulfing of old passengers in the just departed train. Again the briskness of the platform is maintained. “YATRIGADH KRIPYA DHYAN DE” has a very influential effect over the “chai garam chai” people of India. In the utter hurry of getting on the train , people risk the very existence of themselves. Ignoring the fact “tracks are for trains and footbridges are for men”. Foreplaying the adamant mindset of common man .People who were blaming the government for the mishap they have created in the country, just now created a mishap at their own level .That’s the story of every “chai garam chai” man ,blaming others while neglecting the faults and incompetence in t hemselves. Defaming the government for the unclean society and leaving the railway toilets unclean ! Ironies in every act .

But the journey has not ended yet , our common man is yet to meet the reason of his journey .Loving family members and friends ,reason why India still stands a chance to change.Leaving all the faces just met,taking along the sweet scent of meeting,our common man bids goodbye to the INDIAN RAILWAYS and disappears in the whistles,chatters,shouts of the vendors,all commotion. 

Yatti Soni

Amity University, Noida


Posted: September 20, 2013 by Ankur in Writes...

yesterday while watering plants in my garden…walking on wet mud…drew my attention on the footprints that left behind as i walked …it made me feel that lyf is like mud, and footprints are the memories of people …some footprints were dark and seemed to last forever …some were lighter…seemed to fade away soon…some fresh yet had grt impression…
as we grow …so grows our relatn wid grows our bond with lyf..sum relatns r vry strong n last long..sum short..yet precious…sum for a moment..still painful…

all footprnts…d memories have a lesson to teach…a smyl to bring when one is sad…or creates way for tears when one is happy…

so as we grow ..numerous of ppl get cnnctd wid our lyf..each one of them leaves behind thr memories… thr foot prnts…a reason y u remember thm..a reason that connects your lyf with theirs!!!

a reason that gives your lyf a reason!!

Kalinga Institute of Industrial Technolgy

Life of a single college girl…

Posted: September 19, 2013 by Ankur in Writes...
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As you enter the college gate making your way through the crowd there will be n number of people scanning you from top to bottom. The news is spread like fire and it travels back to you “Oh! So you are single”. Gradually people engage in a deeper conversation trying to dig your past and calling them your best friends.

You’ll find people judging you on the way you dress, the no. of guy friends you have, the number of friends on your bbm list, everything calls for a discussion and mind it these will be none other than your own friends. One day suddenly I encountered a rapid fire round. “Why do you have to talk to every other guy “and “Why do you need a boyfriend when you have us?” 

Firstly “Would the question have been the same if I would be having more of girlfriends?” I asked and there was a bunch of blank faces. Even if you have 10 guy friends there is no harm in having the 11th one. What matters is choose your friends wisely. Ironically all these advices always come from a committed group of people.

Secondly you need one to share things with, which you don’t share with them. You need one to make you feel special and different in this world. You need one to shut their mouths and prove them wrong. You need one not because they have one but to be happy in your own little world. 

Being single is not a curse. Being unhappy about it is surely a sin. What if you have a bad past? Everyone does. It doesn’t mean you have a red flag for the rest of your life. As I always believe being single is the best phase of your life. 
Cheers to all the single girls!!!!

Tanvi Mahajan

Kirori Mal (Delhi University)

A snippet from a life…

Posted: September 18, 2013 by Ankur in Writes...
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Its summer and I am cold. There is a guilt, a little loneliness spreading over love or just settling with the siblings.
I have a family where its hard for people to be happy and everyone is unaware about who I am. I get depressed as easily I get smiling. Keeping up my hopes has never been a problem, but there is a limit to someone’s positive attitude… How long can one expect to be unaffected of the turns? How long can one be expected to react to the word ‘chill’ instantaneously and remember the philosophical quotations on facebook and become happy? We share it on our profiles but it dosn’t work like that.

Right now I have many dear people in my life whom I am grateful for… but currently, fought with one, another is asleep, one is busy with his girlfriend, others I am not in close contact with… boyfriends are great options for situations where you want to talk your emotions and cry but here boyfriend is never available.

Everything is the way it should be… He is the perfect guy, there are no issues in the present or future, we are mad about each other and totally in In love. But somehow its dying… I dont care about the spark… Its allright but I can’t help it… Its unbearable… Its a hollow inside through which the wind is blowing and only I can hear it and it hurts so badly because I want it to be filled… I want to lie down and rest on it… I want to come back anytime and lie down on it when the world is crashing…Its my rock…it is not suppose to change and sand out. Where do I turn?

Its one of those nights, one of those moments that I decide to pendown… One of those times when you question everything and need someone to stay on the other side so you dont kill yourself from thinking too much. Where you are not sure whether you just miss it or want it back. Who am I? Am I too old for this world? I am not in the right place. Why do my relationships suck so much? Do I want to follow my dream or work for the people? What is my dream? I am scared to sleep with this questions… Because the dreams are a mix between haunting and tempting memories. If I don’t die right now… My dreams would strangle me. If I wake up tomorrow sane… I will be thankful for the sunrise.

Prachi Shah

National Law Institute University, Bhopal