Respect.

It is rare that I will have a heart to heart with any of my folks. Mostly the lack of deep conversation emanates from the discomfort of being judged on choices made. Though for once, the first in my lifetime I, the so called strong woman in the family reached out to the motherhood for help. The help word freaked out the folks because they know their daughter to be someone else altogether. In a moment of rage, hurt and stinging tears, the confessions tumbled out. No surprise. No judgments. Just soothing words. A few scattered comments. But mostly, all attention.

And then the advice: It isn't going to be rosy. You must settle with it.

I grew up in a typical household wherein I saw the ladies doing the "holding the family together" bit. Mostly, I grew up to understand the importance of equality as much as the folks tried to instill in me the reality that I was in fact a woman. And settling in would be something that I will be required to do. At various points. Not compromises. Compromise is still a mutual agreement on dealing with certain situations a certain way. Settling in - no arguments, no show downs. Just coming to terms with how it is. Often, I would question - Why can't the other party do it as much as I do it. These questions would be in relation to broken friendships, people who turned their backs in the moment of crisis etc.

The more I was told to come to terms with the settling in part, the more rebellious I became. Partly, because I knew it to be unfair. And partly also because an extremely rigid sense of right and wrong was installed in me long long ago. So long ago, that I do not even remember when. It is probably something that never came from the surroundings. It came from within somewhere.

Mostly, I have come to respect what women from the generation of my folks have managed to do. If I was in extreme denial and disbelief as a teen of 15 or 16, today I have managed to put it all on a pedestal for worship. Not because I think I need to be that ways. But because it requires courage, patience, sacrifice and letting go of your own desires to keep things together and tethered. To scatter is easy, to keep it together is going to be painful - says she. And I believe her. I tell her I won't be the only one doing the keeping together bit. Because, I know I am worth it. I am worth being fetched, loved and kept. The folks shake their heads. They probably know that someday I might give up. But I think I won't because I know that if I have a daughter, I want her to know that she is beautiful and that she deserves to be respected. I want her to know that her feelings are valuable. That in no way she should get bogged down or let anyone mess up her self esteem. That she must be open, that her own values might get tested, that she must sometimes stand her ground firmly. And if I have a son, I know I will tell him that there will be someone who will make him special and he needs to be fair to her. And if he can't, I would blame my upbringing. That's how my mother brought me up. That's how every woman should feel. Because, many among us will put in our hearts and souls in to nurturing others. And it is only fair, to be loved and respected and have the rest of the world be grateful that we can indeed love you, cherish you and make you feel the center of our universe. The least you can do is - respect that; and deal with the things we can't do.

Because on good days, we will stand by you, love you, hold you and be good to you. On bad days, just like you have those, we will need exactly what we gave to you.

It is fair. And many among us, truly deserve that.

Since You Left

The pain and hurt remain as vivid in the heart as if it was happening right now - like you were moving away in all of that lazy haze that swirled around you. I held out my hand in release or as a desperate attempt to reach out to you still - was it yesterday? 

Was it time that swept you away across the farther end of the board and then stood still or was it my own mind forgoing all physical strings that remained long after the mind had already nipped off all vital connections between you and me. Why still is the pulse beating lazily setting off the jumbled mumbo jumbo of a movie - snippets of you and me, of you, of me, and then of you and me. Were it supposed to be that I will mirror you - aren’t you the past which has forever crept into my present and every moment of the future; slowly passing through the present and moving on to become the past again. Why are you not past. There isn’t a denial, neither any desire to pull back the past to the present. There is a dull throb in the head filled with an overwhelming realization that you; my friend are forever going to be what defined me. What defines me. What will define me.

 
You are the experience. The learning. The regrets. The good. The bad. Me

You are the loss I have no regrets for. You are those faces I know are not the same. The reflections that got caught and froze in the mirror of my mind. The reflections that remain oblivious to reality and change. I reach not to clasp you with both my hands; for you are gone. Forever. The pulse beats lazily. The movie plays. In rewind. Then fast forward.

The games we play - are just scenes from a memory.

For A Truly Perfect Day

The alarm went off at 7 am and she woke up. It was time to get ready and go.

As soon as she woke up, a kiss was planted on her cheek lovingly wishing her birthday. She hugged back and swung out of the bed and under the shower.


The hustle bustle had started and as she hastily picked up her belongings from various corners of the room and stuffed them into the bag. Some where at the back of her mind, she wondered about what was as usual missing from the special day. She left the air conditioned walls of her room and tip toed into the other room.
All was quiet.

She quietly stepped back with a wistful smile on her face, swallowing the tears in her eyes till they sunk deep back into the sockets and stepped out to a rainy day.

Popping open the pink umbrella, she gingerly made her way to where she was to be picked up. The new shoes gathered the rain and muck without least bothering the wearer. She was lost in some other world altogether.

The day was special and everyone around her made it as special as she could have possibly wished for.

Getting back home, the same thought played on her mind. It had been years now. The same day, the same feeling - every single year.





That day she decided she couldn't anymore. And away she went. To save herself from the thought that now pervaded every single moment she saw him; the same feelings gnawing at her insides. The feeling of rejection, of unimportance of not being what she ought to be to him.
















She quit.

What if.

What if, we forget the baggage.

Forget the tears. Forget the silent accusations. And the loud ones. Forget the rainy nights on the wet roads. Forget the half-complaints. And the insecurities. Forget the the first exchanged message on facebook. Forget the bleeding nose. Forget the million moments of shared laughter. Forget judging and being judged. Forget the first hurried conversation. Forget the smiling mornings. Forget the snooze button and the systematic morning regime that follows. Forget the claustrophobic nights.







Forget the abuses, the ones we mean and the ones we dont. Forget the shoes. Forget the cooking. Forget the shopping. Forget moving-in day. Forget the countless moving-out night. Forget the past. Forget the missed calls from him. Forget the future. Forget college. Forget the first night at the hotel. And the third one at the hotel.




Forget the badly made tea. Forget the midnight maggi. Forget the naked walks around the house. Forget the super-smell of suji ka halwa. Forget the birthday. Forget the marthon across Vasant Vihar. Forget the belt. Forget the lies. Forget the truth. Forget GTalk. Forget the love. Forget the CLAT. Forget chinese food.


Forget the hate. Forget the ego and the indifference that comes with it. Forget the jokes. Forget the sarcasm. Forget the first time. Forget the last time.


What if we forget everything.

And meet for a cup of coffee.

What if?

The Wonder of You

7 am in the morning. She picked up the phone and called.
A thought kept nagging her again and again - Should I do this? Is this necessary?

A sleepy voice answered at the other end.

She let go; of every inhibition, let go of the mask of strength she had worn for so many years. She just heard the hello, and every pretense came cascading down all around her.

I hate you - she said. The voice seemed disturbed in it's quiet sigh. It said nothing.
You made me like you, you brought me up too straight, too brash and arrogant with too big a sense of right/wrong, too loved, too independent, too impatient, too attached, too loving and now I must be this my entire life. Why have you done this to me? - She bit her lip between words, between tears rolling incessantly down her cheek.
Why could you not make me more crooked? I could have survived with so much ease. Why did you not teach me how to give up? Why am I a shadow of you.

The voice quivered and said - I am sorry. Just, you were always this way.


And tears rolled down, for the heartache they had felt, for so so long - all alone; in their own little worlds.


When no-one else can understand me
When everything I do is wrong
You give me hope and consolation
You give me strength to carry on

And you're always there to lend a hand
In everything I do
That's the wonder
The wonder of you

And when you smile the world is brighter
You touch my hand and I'm a king
Your kiss to me is worth a fortune
Your love for me is everything

I'll guess I'll never know the reason why
You love me like you do
That's the wonder
The wonder of you

The Flower Girl. The Guitar Guy.

Been more than an year. I miss you, almost everyday.
Time has probably reduced the anger but not your memories.
And your smile comes to my mind daily; out of nowhere.

I wish I could call you up and talk to you. The number is still on my list. Did dial it the other day - for no reason at all. Then chuckled to myself. Why would I do that knowing well that there will be no answer at the other end. Hanging on to whatever remains of you - the Orkut profile picture, the testimonial you wrote.

Love you.
Miss you.
And the guitar.

I wish I had taken your call that day.
Wish you were within my reach.

As Good As It Gets

Josh sat on his desk looking through a plethora of flower arrangements. Nothing appealed to him. Nothing seemed good enough to match up to Grace. Nothing was special enough.

“Finally ... something she would love. Or is there something better I can do for her?” He thought.

He sat there staring at the screen... Pay or Cancel... Cancel or Pay

Grace looked at her cup intently, focusing on the remains of her coffee, wondering if she would ever learn to read the future in it. She had tried several websites and books but all in vain.

As the clouds roared in the background, she thought to herself "It’s going to rain, but I can’t see any clouds in here for sure."

She concentrated harder and could make out a man, or a car or ... After spending a few more minutes with her cup, she decided that it was just a white mug with a coffee stain - the one that needs to be washed.

A sudden knock on the door busted her concentration.

"Coming" she shouted. She placed the coffee mug on the table and ran to the door.

Knock Knock

"I said I am coming!" she frowned

She opened the door to a crisply dressed middle aged man with flowers in his hand and a lovely black limousine in the background.

"Miss. Grace" the man smiled, handing her the flowers and a small note.

Delighted with herself at finally being able to successfully comprehend the coffee stain, she hurriedly opened the letter.

Hi Hun

No questions - Just get ready and get in the car.

Love
Josh

Grace smiled at the man and asked "What’s your name?"

"I'm Joe"

"Thanks Joe, I will be out soon!"

Half an hour later, Grace stepped out of her door. Dressed in Josh's favorite dress, she looked like an angel draped in red.

Grace called out "Joe, Thanks for waiting", covering her head with her purse as the blues and grays of the sky begun spraying the first shower of the season.

Joe opened the rear door for her as she ran towards the car.

She entered the car and to her surprise, she found Josh there waiting for her. She beamed at him.

"So?" she asked as her eyes lit up with amusement

"I said no questions, didn’t I?"

"But..."

"Shhhhhh.... Is it just you or all girls are like this?"

"What?"

"See... another question"

And they burst out laughing...

The tip tap of the rain grew louder. Grace looked outside and then looked at Josh grinning widely with sheer joy exuding through her expressions.

"You love rains don’t you?" Josh said

"Yes! It’s the best" she said bursting with exhilaration

Josh laughed as Grace giggled like a school girl.

“Joe, stop the car.” Josh said

"Are we there?" Grace questioned

"What did I tell you?" Josh questioned her back

"No questions!" she frowned

Josh removed his shoes, opened the door and stepped out. He came to Grace's side and opened the door, extending his hand for her.

"Take off your shoes"

"Bu..." she left the word hanging in the air, removed her shoes and held his hand to step out.

The rain fell like a thousand sprinklers upside down.

"Let’s walk" he said and led her to the adjoining park. She followed.

"Josh... check this out"

She jumped in a puddle of water "Woooooo!"

"Ah! You are such a kid" and Josh followed.

They put their arms around each other and walked on the wet grass talking, laughing, playing and jumping in the water puddle whenever one came in the way.

The hues of green looked splendid - fresh and laden with drops of water.

He let go of her hand as she raised her head to face the sky and extended her arms, her palms reaching out for the drops of heaven that kissed her skin tenderly.



"I saw her sitting in the rain, raindrops falling on her.”

Surprised, Grace turned around, smiling from ear to ear.

"She didn't seem to care. She sat there and smiled at me." Josh continued singing as he walked towards her

He took her left hand and placed it on his right shoulder. Placing his right hand on her waist, he swirled her around in a circle.

"And I knew - I knew, I knew, I knew, I knew
She could make me happy - happy, happy"

Swinging from right to left, from left to right, he went on…

"Flowers in her hair, flowers everywhere.
I love the flower girl, oh, I don't know just why. She simply caught my eye.”

He pulled her closer and swayed gently from side to side as she joined him and sang.

“I love the flower girl, she seemed so sweet and kind. She crept into my mind. "

“Flowers in her hair, flowers everywhere.
I love the flower girl, oh, I don't know just why. She simply caught my eye.
I love the flower girl; she seemed so sweet and kind. She crept into my mind."

Josh hugged her, enveloping her snugly in his arms “Hun, You are a terrible singer." Josh murmured

"Ummm... I know" Grace said tucked securely in his embrace "And you are a terrible dancer"

"What?" Josh said

"No questions Mister... remember?"

They both looked at each other explodeing in a loud chortle. They walked back to the car, drenched in rain, water dripping from their hair and clothes.

"I'm hungry" Grace said making a sad face...

"Well, if they will let us in, we maybe able to get back on track with the original plan!"

Josh asked Joe to take them to the restaurant as they settled in their seats.

"Josh..." Grace said "Thanks for this. It couldn’t have been better"

"Don’t thank me, I didn't order the rains!"

"But it wasn’t the rains..." She looked at him affectionately "It was you. The rains will never be the same again" she said with a warm smile.

He took her face in his palms and kissed her gently "Happy Birthday Hun!"

The radio crackled in the background

"Suddenly the sun broke through (see the sun)."

Josh continued staring at the screen... Pay or Cancel... Cancel or Pay

"I turned around she was gone (where did she go).
And all I had left was one little flower from her hair."

He clicked on cancel as the music filled the room

"But I knew (I knew, I knew, I knew, I knew), she had made me happy (happy, happy).”

The sound of her sweet voice filled his memory as her words echoed in his mind - The rains will never be the same again.

Indeed… NEVER…

Mera Pehla Pehla Pyaar

December 21, 2008. I remember it like it was yesterday. What was that? Oh sorry! Wrong date! I meant 11th June 2005 of course. The first time I saw him. You see, it was only the previous evening that we had picked up the glasses my optometrist had prescribed for me. We were classmates, good friends even. But I had never been able to see the precise shade of brown that his eyes were or the exact no. of hair strands that stood out on the back of his head or his "impish" grin.

We were to be tested in Geography that day. With only 10 minutes left, would I make it? Why was “Tujhe dekha to yeh jaana sanam” playing in my head? Had everyone else finished writing? Oh no, wait, there was K, the class dunce, with his notebook open too. That didn’t bode too well for me, did it? Hey, who was that who just passed by, in the corridor? Teri baahon me mar jaayein hummmmm… “5 more minutes, everyone!” announced Mr. RM. Oh shit! I began scribbling frantically in my notebook. “4th question? Just 2 more. Come on, babe!” I looked up and blinked into his face. Did he just call me a babe? A BABE! That was, like, the ultimate compliment! He thought I was a babe! Visions of him and me, running around trees, holding hands, laughing, singing a hit song, flooded my mind. Someone was shaking me. Shoo! Not now. We were about to exchange garlands and become husband and wife forever and ever and ever… Someone was saying something somewhat remotely pertinent to me “Time’s up, my dear. Submit your notebook. Come on now.” Oh well. Love demanded such sacrifices, I thought as I submitted my notebook.


That night, I realized that there was only one way to ensure our future together. You guessed right – the FLAMES test. For those of you who do not know what that is (Are you kidding me? You don’t know? Please don’t ever say it out loud unless you are feeling suicidal.) contact me; I shall explain it at length to you. For now you need to know what the alphabets stand for. F – Friendship, L – Love, A – Affection, M – Marriage, E – Enemies, S – Sex. (What’re you sniggering at?) No matter how many times I went through with it, the result was always the same – E. We could end up with M but we’d both have to change our names drastically. I rubbished the whole FLAMES business and went back to blissfully daydreaming about him.

The next day in school, he looked nervous. What was the matter with him? During the second hour, as I was about to drop off to sleep, I received a jab in the back and a note. “Meet me near the big tree behind our block in the lunch break. Top secret! – N” He sent me a note! Suddenly, life was much more exciting. Come lunch break and I waited with bated breath at the tree. He stood facing me, apprehensive. “I don’t know how to say this” he began, “I have a crush on S!” he exclaimed. WHAT! That sickening vixen! He had a crush on HER? “Will you talk to her for me? Please! You’re the only girl I feel is not a typical girl. I mean, you are a girl, but, I don’t know. Anyway, just tell her that I like her and ask her if she likes me. No, don’t ask her that! I mean, I don’t know. So, will you?” He expected me to talk to that cheap cow on his behalf? I was so mad with rage that I wanted to punch his face hard enough to break his nose, then hit him with a spinning kick to his torso and then give him the old one-two. But I wasn’t going to do that. I was far too noble for such heinous acts. I smiled a sweet smile as I stamped on his foot, delivered a double fisted blow to his back as he was bent over and topped it off with a sharp kick to his groin.

But things have been just peachy since then. Not a single fight, not a single disagreement, in fact, not a single word has been spoken between us till date. Talk about perfect endings! :/

NOTE: This blogpost is for Blogadda's contest.

In association with:

Abstract Beauty
Elegant Beauty

A Wish Upon The Stars.

I was about to hang up the phone. He softly said - This is crazy. I have never talked to any girl for 2 hours on the phone! I chuckled.

We went to see his stars that night. Far from the city. I was feeling down and out for some reason. So a surprise plan was made in a jiffy. We went out of the city. To see the clear night sky.
We stopped at one spot. And stood there, lost.
I kept looking up rotating on my own position looking up intently. My head felt dizzy with all the going around. He stood quietly at a distance looking at them blinking.
I felt better.
He said in a low tone- I come here alone when everything feels like it will fall apart. These stars give me my solace. I didn't bring anyone here before.I thought you should see them too..

My heart felt a strange peace
Was is it stars. Was it the words?
But there was my peace for sure..

Urban Melancholy.

It's so hard to write right now. Not because she has any dearth of things to write about. Neither because she cannot find the words to write it down. But because her mind is not staying still. Its flitting, between the present and the past with little diversions to the future as well. Its somewhere else, lost in streets of unbelievable passion and quiet submission, where she is hesitant to tread, cluless as she is of what lies ahead.

She started doing so many things today but nothing was able to hold her interest for long. She would then drift off, leaving them in various states of disarray. After weeks, she had woken up hungry, wanting to have apple pie, exactly how her best friend made it. Yet the apples she cut for the pie got tossed into a zip-pouch and into the fridge. The table-cloth she was embroidering for her mom, was spread out half finished on her bed, the spools of colourful threads a stark contrast to the black satin bedsheet. Seeing her unmade bed made her sigh, thinking of those countless mornings when her mom would nag her into spreading a bedcover. Now there was no one to dictate how she lived. She sat on the window-sill and started sketching Chintu, the kid who sold balloons right outside her apartment. She knew his story, had a strong urge to rewrite it, give it less twists and turns and more pleasant surprises. The sketch-pad now lay on the glass table, the incomplete face staring out through the beautifully etched out eyes.


Next to the sketch-pad, her laptop was open, GTalk signed in. She kept scrolling up and down the list, the long list of red and green dots calling out to her. The red dot against her own name with an ominous "Not Available" as a status message, daring anyone to breach the virtual fence and drop by to say hi. As it turned out, no one did. Neither did her fone ring. Its not like she did not have friends or family. Her fone book was 842 people strong, with a good mix of professional and personal contacts. But a long trend of unreturned missed calls and unreplied messages had led people to leave her alone. The fact that she did not have 9 numbers that she could list down on speed dial was testimony to her uncertain social life.


She looked at the stack of books lying on the floor; the entire 'Shopaholic' series her colleague lent her the other day, the hugely acclaimed Booker-prize winning book, the book which had just been made into a Golden Globe winning movie, 'Feluda stories' that her dad had gifted to her... she had planned to go through them this weekend and each one of them had been opened. But listlessly put aside after the first few pages. She scanned through issue after issue of Femina, Cosmo and Vogue, till it had stop registering which magazine she was leafing through.


Finally giving up on everything, she made another one of the jasmine smelling, weird tasting tea that she had started getting used to and settled down to write. And this is all she could come up with....


Silent whispers in lonely nights
Unsaid emotions in loud fights
Dark shadows in illuminated rooms
Evident scars when the camera zooms
Crowds which suck you to its core
Conversations that leave you wanting more
Magic which lies only in fairy-tales
Bright purple polish on her nails
Measured footsteps echoing on the street
Writings where fact and fiction meet
Old wounds that refuse to heal
Strong, firm nerves of steel
Life hidden behind closed doors
Steering a boat without oars

She cant write anymore. Her hands refuse to type. Her mind is playing games with her again. And slowly, very slowly, one teardrop, just one truant drop, flows down her cheek and nestles itself on her neck. And so passes another night in utter solitud.

Her on Her

"I like you. Another world, another day. I would have definitely pursued you. But that does not change the fact that we are in this world, this day."

"Why? Why not now? Why not today? Why not in this world?"

"I have shared some beautiful years with her. She is very close to me. She has taught me so many things. She makes me look good.. In my own eyes. She loves me. I love her. All the crap that we keep going through to time to time. We have come out stronger every time. And its not just what we have been through. The understanding we have is perfect. I know what she thinks. She knows how my mind works. We know exactly what to do to hurt each other. She is very important to me. I cannot just give up on her one fine morning."

He had spent hours before this, explaining the same thing to her. He had been honest, from the beginning. Sometimes to the point of brutality. Yet she had refused to understand. And then a few sentences said about someone else. And in an instant, realisation had dawned.

She didn't begrudge him anything, or her, for that matter. They were perfect for each other. They had history. They had love. They had a future. They deserved a fairy tale life, the kinds with happily-ever-afters. The longing she felt for him, the craving, the love, she blamed him for none of that. He had done nothing to lead her there, had never encouraged it. But he indulged her. Knowing the fragile state of her ego, he let her play make-believe.

But today, it had hit her. And with that had arrived a tidal wave of memories. Every guy she had been with. Every 'relationship' she had try to build. How it was almost like a routine. Falling in love with the most complicated guys, agreeing to the most complicated setups, just to feed her million insecurities. Walking into each one of these "relationships" with full faith that she could make it work. Even if she was at it all alone, she would manage to sustain the bond. And then eventually, the crumbling would start. The shelf lives got shorter and shorter. So many years, so many guys, so many 'relationships', nothing to show.

What pricked her though was that nobody would say those words for her. Nobody. Not to her. Not to anyone else. She just did not mean that much to anyone. Nobody loved her today. Nobody would probably love her ever.

So while I try to bring a smile to her lips, Cheers to all those women who are with men who love them. They are a rare. Something very precious!! Cherish them with all your heart. :-)

Transient Paradise or Dearth of One

From far beyond the realms of real,
and non real something to feel,
different walks of this path of one's
own destiny, one's own run,

With a goal in sight, a target in mind,
a brutal strategy, or one so kind,
as to bring one that eternal prize,
that one looks for throughout one's quest of unimaginable size,

What is the purpose ? Is there one just ?
Or are we soon to learn what we must,
that it is all an illusion, all but a farce conclusion ?
Or shalt we not bother with the greater,
That which is not known to us,
and shall we move on in this Transient Paradise ?
Or shalt we accept the Dearth of one ?

Life is a term so far abused,
not really known to anyone alive,
as death is only the start of one's
understanding of life,

Who are we but mortal man,
with a foolish sense of pride,
followers or leaders, we all stand,
at this same stage, with this same light,

Large or small, far or close,
we are all one in the matter of those,
things we come to accept as real,
but are we not accepting without appeal ?

Who are we to say what's next ?
Or what lies at the end of this quest ?
Are we not just as learned like
that child of two, who may not know what's right ?

Right and wrong are yet again,
words made by us once more,
the 'us' who we consider so powerful,
if only one were to realize our sheer significance,
in this universe of no bounds,
can we not see that we are not all that abounds ?

A tiny point in a tiny point is all that we are,
take a step back to understand, we are quite without power.
The square Earth, or the Loch Ness or even the very role of the very sun,
were all theories so believed, and now are they proven ?


This is not an attempt to demean the manor of the man,
but only a plea for all to know, that we are not all in it's plan,
the universe may have some use of us, but not all that accounts,
for the simple size of our existence, is little to what it amounts.

The Inheritance Of Loss.

In the past ten days, I’ve ruined a paper, burnt an arm, fallen seriously ill, and received more love than you can ever imagine. When I came home, I glanced through old photographs that brought back memories of my childhood, times I did not value while they were still passing. Of the many familiar faces, smiling away, in those old photographs, there are some that are now no more. As I saw them gaze back at me I remembered the lines of a poem I once read which read vaguely like this...

"Where did my Childhood go?
It went to a hidden place
That’s hidden in an infants face
And that is all I know"

As I thought of this I began to slowly realize that despite all the money, power and pelf this world can offer; there is no inheritance that anyone can bequeath you; not by choice but by circumstance greater than the inheritance of loss. I learnt a lesson that we all learn in time; that time is ephemeral and the only thing that does and can stay with you are perhaps the thought of all that you have loved and lost. Without losing it all you will secretly admit; those moments would have little value, because living without them alone teaches those who have lost, what losing something, however small meant to them,

As I write this and time floats by; like any other time this time too is of little value to me.No, not because it is not precious, but because it is yet to pass. History is replete with examples that teach us that things become valuable only when they are scarce. An interesting case in point would be perhaps of the Kohinoor diamond. With a history of 500 years, if it could talk it would have many an interesting story to tell. Stories of the many great men who have won and lost it; but one thing is certain, it is but a piece of rock if you take out all that history from it. The chronicle of a time lost; It really is a wonder that what is now no more is precisely what gives it such value.

Wolfgang Amadeus Mozart, while still alive was considered at most a mediocre composer. He died in penniless disgrace, and yet it was only after it so happened that humanity realized the ingenuity of his work. Today a wad of papers that so much as bare his handwriting is considered a work of genius. The life of Vincent Van Gogh also tells a similar story.It is the story of how a man condemned by society to be a madman, left derelict and homeless while living, is in death hailed as an eccentric genius. Are these hypocritical judgments on the part of humanity at large? I am not one to judge; but then again the examples before us speak for themselves.

When I was giving my board examination, as each paper came closer, I thought of the times I had spent in the canteen, bunking without a bother in the world. I also thought of those who were, at that same time hard at work in the classroom. I had once condemned them in the words of Dr. Zeus to be 'nerds' and questioned all that they were 'Losing' out on. Now when the exams have passed I often wonder how I shall explain to my mother as to why my result was so terrible. When it does finally come I might just wallow in a little sorrow and wonder about what could have been, and then perhaps face the reality of what is; my inheritance from the time that I lost.