Month: April 2017

What continually rings in my ears,
Is advice I’ve heard passed down for generations in my family,
“Study now”, they say,
“You’ll have enough time later to go out and play.”
“Your marks accumulate like money in a bank account”,
My grandmother once remarked,
She said I’d be able to withdraw it whenever I want.
I have a problem with that mentality,
And I’ll try to explain that slowly,
First,
Why does society base itself on marks?, I ask, as
A participant in a system that promotes hierarchy.
Second,
Why study now?
Why not learn?
For our education system doesn’t teach us to succeed,
But promotes our conformity to rigidity,
Our futures at stake,
Based on the subjectivity of professors,
Third,
Why not promote continual learning?
Don’t tell me answers,
Ask me questions,
That’s the point of information,
Perception,
Opinion,
Innovation: to,
Erase past notions and push the boundaries to,
Limitations that society thinks it is caged by.
But that doesn’t happen,
No,
My society – we promote,
R-O-T-E,
Rote,
Preventing endless learning.

There are some things money can’t buy,
But with commodities it can afford,
We classify society into advantage,
Taking Platonic theories literally:
Gold, Silver, Bronze.

Meals and I,

Eating alone is
Grace.

It allows your mind to wander to places,
Allows your palate to really taste,
Avoid uncomfortable gazes.

Enables you to expand your horizons,
No one at your table,
Just your food and you,
A couple from a fable.

A habit, off-late,
One I wasn’t accustomed to,
But sometimes,
I wonder if conversation,
Goes better with dosa than a cup of filter coffee.

Or if,
Jokes and laughter are companions,
To my eggs and oats,
Rather than the earplugs with silence in my ears.

Then I realize all thoughts are futile,
And I’m not making much sense,
This poem doesn’t even have a consistent rhyme scheme,

Tomorrow I shall wander again to the mess,
Report my findings; but for now,

Suspense.

Blue means something,
I can’t quite put my finger on it,
But it sends a signal to my brain,
That sends warmth through my body,
Makes me feel wind through my hair,
Lifts my feet off the ground.

Blue stops time.
Emotionally draining, frustrating,
Blue sparks comfort,
From the first bed I slept on,
To the walls in my first room,
To the colour of my favourite chair,
The photoframes with my father cuddling me in his arms,
Blue takes me places I enjoy revisiting.

Blue speeds time up.
I recall every item of blue I own,
Every tinge in my soul,
A hue,
My dream University,
Another pastel shade,
My nemeses.

Blue tells stories,
It carries with it emotions:
Loneliness, Comfort, Happiness,
Can scream out Stop!
When the world says Go,
And is the colour I call Home,
In the confines of grey walls I’ll never get used to.

In the only profession to find an
Honorable Mention
Within a venerable creation,
I slave away at learning provisions,
That leave me after 180 minutes.

But.

For those 180 minutes,
My brain is hyperactive,
The thrill of ink,
Spilt,
And pages,
Filled,
Knowledge,
Overflowing through my veins,
I have no words.

I struggle to come to terms with
Ignorance, and can’t fathom the thought of
Interacting with hyperactive know-it-alls,
Imbeciles whose source of knowledge is opinionated
Information.

It keeps me awake at night, the
Indefatigable persistence of man in his quest for Truth, while,
Irritably, aware, that the
Independent media has been destroyed.

 

Time.
Our only friend,
Best enemy,
Whose comfort we seek refuge in:
When we’re lonely, upset, sad, disappointed,
And whose presence we acknowledge,
Under more positive circumstances.

What we’re reminded of constantly,
Consistently, over the ages,
Is that things are fleeting.
Attributing the thought to parents,
Aristotelian theory,
Without any praxis.

I wonder how this would change,
If life was never ending,
Forget immortality,
Think afterlife.

Time.
Our only friend,
Never an enemy,
No comfort to seek refuge in,
No one’s presence to acknowledge.

Emotionally drained,
Mentally faded,
The gears in my mind are,
Unable to will my body into action,
And all I am desirous of is a
Mattress to lie on and a fan over my head,
With cooler climes than the one at present.

Sometimes:
The world around you slows down,
But crumbles.
Rubble lays strewn to the side,
Like memories; time gone by.

You see sparks of fury,
Red: flames of rage, quiet,
Insipid hell,
Dashes of bitterness,
Loneliness, Discomfort,
Mixed in a palette of emotions,
Discarded,
Your colours: Rebel.

There comes a time where,
Your roads are no longer yours,
And you find yourself shoved onto a footpath,
With oncoming traffic,
Sirens, honking,
Chaos:
Their protagonist,
The world forgot.

Only,
You aren’t an important character,
Nor a part of anyone’s story.
It’s okay for people to forget you,
You need to forge your own path,
Don’t make people feel sorry.

For no one will,
And you’re not entitled to them,
So get on your way,
Navigate through the traffic, don’t
Crash,
Or spin out.
Turn your GPS on,
And if you need help, or some companionship,
Give people a shout.

Mix your shades of Yellow,
And your hues of Green,
Go create colours the world
Has never before seen.

When everyone leaves you,
And pity is the emotion on your mind,
Take control of your thoughts,
Pause,
Breathe,
And smile.

Because defeat and disappointment,
Are a big fat zero in front of a curve,
That can set your world straight,
As you pick up that rubble,
Build your own city,
Your own story,
The one you deserve.

Work,
Give yourself a rest,
You’re competing with yourself,
Being better than yesterday is more important than
Being the best.

Don’t set expectations,
Chase dreams,
Don’t conform to preconceived notions,
Of what success appears to mean.

Be yourself,
Stay humble,
Stay unique,
Nothing will guide you through these grey walls,
But a tinge of madness,
And colour that lights your soul,
When everyone leaves.

If I ruled the world,
I would de-segregate:
Visas, Caste, Class, Religion, and Borders,
They keep us apart and contribute to the
Decline and fate of the human race.

I would educate,
Fill people’s stomachs with information,
Perspectives and perception,
In the hope that this would lead to more acceptance,
And a less ignorant society.

If I ruled the world,
I’d strive to help people find things they love,
So pessimism would be replaced by a
Drive: Passion,
And optimism would fill every soul.

If I ruled the world,
I’m not sure what else I would do,
Except I’m certain I would prevent tyranny, and populism,
Share my power with more than a few.

i.

I’ll start this off with some context,
A pre-narrative to my narration,
And the random thoughts that will fill this creation.
I hold no loyalty to any colours,
Nor to a particular flag,
And contrary to my Graduation speech,
About my time in high school, I’m not glad.
But let’s step away for a minute,
And go back in time:
Let me take you on a journey,
A story leading up to my prime.

ii.

I remember bright red shorts.
My white shirt tucked in,
And Scholars over my heart.
I remember white shoes,
Those I outgrew, month after month,
Multiple trips to Shoe Mart.

I remember Merit Cards,
Badges, and, Pins,
I remember hating my lack of athletic ability.
Not receiving a medal was a Sin.

I remember teachers who guided me,
Taught me painstakingly to write,
Play hockey, and shake,
With my left hand.
Mentors who coached me,
My own two feet I could rely on and stand.

I remember my lies,
Without reason,
That went from white to black in a moment,
My forgery comparable to treason.

I remember my parents,
Signing my Diary,
Keeping track of my Homework,
Hiding Books,
Much to my chagrin.
But I can’t blame them:
Not when I threw omelets in the bin.

I remember Class Parties,
Field trips, to the Mall, and to the Beach,
And how I could sing,
How my mom made me teach.

And how I cried went I left,
In beige shorts, not red,
Knowing that in every move,
“God Grant Me Kindly Thought”,
I bled.

iii.

My first memories are broken glasses,
A punch, and marks on my neck.
Being called a nerd,
Understanding that my lingo needed to be kept in check.

I recall picking up American slang,
Calling them “zees” not “zeds”,
Going to the tuck-shop, eating Jolly Ranchers,
Having to relearn my Alphabet.

I recall never studying,
My grandmother climbing up stairs:
Only to discover,
That behind my Tricolore:
Lay Harry Potter, and his wonders.

I recall being annoyed with false patriotism,
Discovering my love for the tricolor,
Becoming an Eagle, when I once was a Falcon,
But never soaring, for I only stuttered.

I recall appreciating that I left,
Leaving no trace behind,
Just as I was taught on those “Leadership Camps”,
Where heartbreak on Skype Chats
Destroyed me inside.

iv.

I failed my entrance test,
Of that I am sure.
I knew nothing in Chemistry, or Physics,
And that Math paper was a bore.
But I cried during my interview,
Told Ma’am I wanted to become Head Boy,
Got into 8’B’ a few weeks later,
Welcomed by Orange and Blue,
Some familiar Ahoys.

I started to MUN,
Something inherently fun.
I loved how academic things were, but, also
How much scope there existed for my puns.

I looked like a cat-in-the-hat,
A potato, also, of sorts.
My voice creaked on every alternate syllable,
As I picked up Hindi, this journey I didn’t want to abort.

I met my favourite teachers,
Who later became my second mothers,
Watching me cry,
And consoling me with an Umbrella,
To protect me from my own tears.

I met my best friends,
Who I regret not speaking to anymore,
There was such good banter,
So many memories,
What I loved more was that no individual was branded,
Everyone was a brander.

I loved steering my Falcons,
Doing well on exams,
But nothing compared to the thrill of public speaking,
Holding a Dark Blue flag,
Posting it into the ground, but first,
Onto a stand.

My singlehood reached it’s peak,
My parents are only finding out now,
The mocking continued,
I responded with comments,
Tongue-in-cheek.

I took it slow in my final year,
Tried to hold on to things to take with me,
Soon, I realized that egos were at play,
That tomorrow, I was history.

I became history that never made the textbooks,
Things that went untaught,
My Batch was a step in the ladder,
But our rung, they forgot.

Not just when they painted walls,
Created posters,
Or sent e-mails.
Also when they spoke to us,
As if we were nothing,
But ghosts: haunting them, and pale.

v.

That concludes this piece of poetry,
I do hope you enjoyed,
Be back for some more tomorrow,
Maybe it’ll be filled with more happiness,
Less regret and sorrow.