Tuesday, 20 June 2017

The Making of an Ambition


www.shutterstock.com

The seven year old pursed her lips, eyebrows creased in deep thought. An Apsara pencil was held tight in her right hand. Craning her little neck, she tried to peek into her partner's notebook but found nothing useful. So once again she returned to her train of thought, tapping the freshly sharpened pencil on her chin. Their class teacher was moving from bench to bench, planting smiles in each of their faces.

Something stirred in her mind. "Teacher!", the little one thought suddenly, "I want to become a teacher!" Tightening her grip on the pencil, she neatly filled in the space in her notebook under the column titled 'My ambition'.

Four years later, she was seated on her comfy bed, the last page of 'Harry Potter and the Philosopher's stone' lying open in her lap. Her mind was still reminiscing in the potterworld after finishing the book.

She would've told people that she'd grow up to be a legendary witch, but her Hogwarts letter hadn't arrived yet. So she decided to become a writer, like Rowling. And thus, she went on to write her first fantasy novella that went up to 40 pages in MS Word. Pleased and proud, her tale was keenly (as she'd like to believe) read by all her family. Indeed, she was to become a writer.

Past another four years, one peaceful evening, there she lay gazing at the night sky from the terrace in silent introspection. This was her room of requirement. Be it to clear the cluttered mind, enjoy some solitude, have a mood boost, or even daydream, it served any purpose of hers. For the umpteenth time she beheld the twinkling beauties of the sky.
    But today, she noticed a sudden movement up there. She sat there transfixed. Was that a shooting star?! A meteor maybe? Rushing downstairs to announce her discovery, she instantly started googling for images of shooting stars. This was followed by browsing of articles on heavenly bodies, studying constellations, and daily sky watching. She knew then, that she wanted to be an astronomer.

But that was before she actually started learning physics. She realized that the pretty and romantic part of astronomy was limited to sky watching, and didn't apply to the truckload of science that came with it. She simply felt there were better things to do than spend a lifetime searching for stars (No offence to astronomers). With all the happenings around her, the adrenaline in her made her want to get out there and be a part of it. She wanted to help out in her own way, step out and make the change happen.

To her, media was the solution, and an interest in journalism sprouted in her. Thus began her series of emails to the National daily's mailbox and a few columnists. The encouragement she received was profound, and her mind was set.

Until elderly advices poured in to help her become more perplexed. She was told not to shun the other options just because of an interest here. To them, she was but looking through the keyhole rather than the door. So she dug deeper still, scrounging for possibilities that she seemed to have overlooked.

And so, in the final years of schooling, she discovered a newborn love for computer science. But could that be because what little of it she learnt in school was plain easy? Maybe she'd better move back to her older choices. When the crossroads of choices finally showed up, she found herself in a fix . The pressure of choosing weighed her down, and the time was running short. Added to that were the constant nagging question from the grown ups, the all too common - "Beta, what are you gonna do?"

Standing at the fork with different worlds ahead, she wondered where she belonged. And then it dawned to her that she'd belong wherever she chose to be. Life was an experiment of experiences. (Did that make any sense?) So it didn't matter where she went; it mattered more how she chose to live her life, and who she'd be as a person. Goodbye to the inner turmoil of making wrong choices! She was gonna hop on to the last roller coaster before her - her latest choice- and let life unwind its adventure.

Until then, when the next time she's asked what she wants to be, she'll just have to say, "I want to be me".
Or wait, did that sound too cheesy? Maybe she should just stick to saying "Wait and watch".



***
Writing on the quote : 

" Ambition is believing in yourself even when no one else in the world does. "

Linking with #QuotedStories 


Life through my Bioscope
Published in ChaaiPedia @nitc


Thursday, 8 June 2017

I am India's Daughter


Parivartravels


A cozy bed, newspaper ahead, and a nice cup of tea. A perfect morning it was to be.
Flipping through pages of the paper and this photo is chanced upon. This merry photo of little boys playing football in the beach.
Just another photograph of kids relishing the summer heat.
Just another game for the boys in the beach.
And yet this photo held something more; something that tingled my nerves. This harmless picture rekindling the rebel soul itching to break out.
A gush of impulse springing from the shackled freedom within.


Saturday, 3 June 2017

Tea or Coffee

Media.salon.com

“Tea or coffee?”

I turned to my sister out of habit. Any question directed at me was to be answered by her. I was the little one in the family who didn’t know the good from bad, or the better from good. But she always knew what to do.


Monday, 22 May 2017

The Vagabond


Source: Viewspaper


The engine roared to a start. The passengers were shuffling in their seats.

" I heard the roads are bumpy. " mumbled one to the other.

"Aye." came the reply, " Plenty o' curves 'n' heights. Best be prepared eh?" he said,
popping his pill. His neighbor rummaged through his bag for mufflers. The biting wind shouldn't get the better of him now should it?


Thursday, 11 May 2017

From Fresher to Sophomore

Bit by bit we Hack your wit ;)



Number 311, the board read. A mess of a room sprawled with clothes aplenty. There were just so many of them! You think you’ve packed them all and the trolley bag’s zipped up and done with, only to find more of them lying about hidden under the bed, on the window grills or even in between the bundle of books. And then you would start all over again.

But then calling our room a mess would do injustice to the rooms of archi(tect) students; home to unwashed vessels of noodles and poster paints alike, and un-bathed artists sprawled on the floor with models/charts stacked on their beds (do forgive me for this reveal). While the most that our room had were piles of cloth. And lots of fallen hair.


Monday, 1 May 2017

The Race

Google Source


Faster! Faster! the voices screamed. His lungs were ready to burst, his head throbbed as if a hammer was breaking through from within. Every inch of his body ached, yet he kept running. Faster! They bellowed still. He knew he couldn't go any faster than that. Or maybe he could, but he just didn't want to. What was the point after all? he thought. To trudge his way till the end where he'd win some badge like everybody else, a badge he didn't even want...

His train of thought was cut short by another who'd just overtaken him in the tracks. It was no more surprising to find people casually jog past him while he struggled to drag himself forward. You're not trying enough! the voices screamed into his ears again. There's still time. Work harder! He clenched his teeth as he tried to ignore his aching muscles, mustering the mettle despite the hurt. Not until yet another one had crossed him with ease did he notice that he had hardly been moving ahead. His efforts had been in vain. I can't. he spluttered, staggering to a halt.


Saturday, 22 April 2017

On Being a Dreamer



Source : Things I learned from


"You may say I'm a dreamer, but I'm not the only one. I hope someday you'll join us. And the world will live as one. " - John Lennon


So I'm watching another Kenny Sebastian's video when the messenger's notification tone rings. "Hey Dashy - it's been a while. What's new?" read the message from Corinne, the one blogger because of whom this blog is what it is today. It dawns on me then that I'd been neglecting Wandering Wows for almost four months now.

Of course there were the pangs of guilt that sprang up every now and then, for calling myself a writer but not writing much. But then the mind gets so creative when it comes to finding excuses. A short writing break? Call it writer's block. The break getting longer? Busy schedule! Getting longer still? Let's look for other places where I've written something and say...see? I've been working elsewhere.


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