Friendship II

So picking up from where i left it last time. The friendship with students studying in eleventh and twelfth. Well that's a bit stressful you see. I mean I have friends and I have faith in them. But you see, they don't seem to have time for me. Like I am not asking for going on a road trip or an amusement park or even at the least a movie. But you cant blame me if I ask for some quite minutes where we can talk about something else than cracking JEE or how stressful their class is. I wish sometimes I could talk to them about casual topics that friends talk about like how have you been? hows life? but you know these things don't find the crack to enter the icy sheet of our conversations. First of all they don't seem to have ample of time for me and even when they do all they can wail about it the pressure brewing on them. GET A LIFE. Because I know when I look back today after twelve years I don't remember how I felt receiving prizes but I remember the hootings and claps with my friends, I don't remember the feeling when I won HTML or TWEETING but I remember how I got congratulated for that by tese idiots. I don't remember them calling me over friendly but I do remember getting hit straight on the eye by em. I don't remember the fights we have had but I do remember the Gujarat Trip. I don't remember that you complained but I know you care. And now when you all are leaving a dumbass like me forever,  I don't remember anything but all those times we have spent together. Distance is just a no. Till death do us apart I'd hold all the grudges and remember all the moments I spent with you all. #farewell 

Writing - The Person I am Today! (2.5k veiws)

Today with a wide spread grin i write this post. The blog has completed 2.5k views today and God its overwhelming. i know its nothing much. but right now being in tenth with not publishing it anywhere but on Google+ its an achievement. Really. I feel blessed to have this blog. And today i wanna share my story of developing into a writer.

It all started when i was in fourth standard. I still remember the craze for being the part of the immensely coveted Khoj Science Festival. It was basically a DAV initiative and at that time our school too was a DAV affiliated school. Now we are a CBSE affiliated school. So that time my English teacher Mrs. Joyce Fernandez asked me to write an article on the topic "Why I wanna be an astronaut?" So likely interested i wasn't at that time knowing that it was for Khoj. But then when my teacher asks me to do something even till date i do it with utmost pleasure and determination. Except when it is completion of notebooks and journals. And i gave her my final draft the next day. She was very pleased reading the write up and decided that i would present it in front of the judges as an elocution. It was the first time i was going to attend something like that of an elocution. I was very excited as it was the first ever khoj of my life. I spoke with utmost confidence and everyone enjoyed the last  line that i still remember-"I don't now have to ask "Papa par main kaam kya karungi?" I am all set to be a superb astronaut." Even if I didn't win any prize it was a learning experience and being able to express my thought with some 50 unknown people it boosted my confidence.

Next was when I was in fifth standard. The school was hosting an inter house debate competition and I wasn't quite interested in it. But then again my alma mater Joyce ma'am was hell annoyed with me and asked me to get my shit together and prepare a declamation in a day. Like today she asked me to do it and we had the competition tomorrow. Great! But yet i prepared for the topic Project Tiger and gave an enthusiastic declamation and also exceeded the time limit. I won the second prize and i literally dedicated it to Joyce ma'am.

Next was when I  was in seventh standard. I was again chosen for Khoj but this time not for elocution but for project presentation. I still remember the hard work we exhibited in those 30 days to put up our idea of a green, technologically advanced and with the least pollution generating model. I remember the way i was trembling and shaking horrifically when i first gave the presentation in front of our Principal Shashtri ma'am. I cried like hell after that but that only made me overcome my fear of stage and people. I remember in front of the judges how i confidently gave the presentation and even answered all his questions. Every other participant was stunned with our practical approach at the presentation. And then again I was snatched and forced to write for the on-the-spot creative writing. It was a phrase we had to continue and write a paragraph on "If the present scenario of pollution continues..." I scribbled every instant thought that came to me and finished it in less than 5 minutes as my parents were to come to visit my presentation. The next day was prize distribution. After the speeches and formal welcome to the guests the first prize for the evening was announced which left me spell bound. "The prize for On-the-spot creative writing goes to Aditi Tiwari, J.H. Ambani School, Lodhivali." Shit!  I stood up transfixed at my position. I couldn't possibly walk. My teachers and friends hooted for me and it was the best feeling in the world to receive a trophy for your piece of writing.

Next was when I was in eight grade. I don't know why but the great this don't come with much of planning in my life. My class teacher Sakhre Sir asked me to meet him immediately. I rushed to him and he asked me to give a speech in the morning assembly tomorrow in front of the guests from Reliance Industries, Patalganaga. Damn! Why do i always get only one day for preparation?Yet i agreed. The next day he was petrified to know that i didn't bring the write up with me but i assured him i knew it well. That day I think the orator with-in me was high on adrenaline. I spoke with all the hand gestures and with the utmost confidence reflecting in my voice. I would face the delegates while speaking, I would ask the audience and i would speak. Mr. Ramamurthy I remember praised me a lot for my speaking skills. I was thrilled and next came our principal. It was over whelming. He said that i spoke like a leader and at my age where most of the students face stage fright i was an esteemed orator and an asset for my school. Followed by the series on appreciation by every teacher that came for lecture that day. I was on cloud nine.Forget nine there's no counting.

In ninth grade, my English teacher was behind me to submit a write up for the school magazine. The first ever.  I was irritated and thus submitted a poem in Hindi deliberately to put off the constant pestering. Its this thing that whenever i wrote a masterpiece it was solemnly because of my teachers. Later when the magazine was launched and i turned its pages and reluctantly kept it my bag. Later my friends came going all gaga about my writing skills and showed me something that left me rooted to my spot. It was published in the school magazine. Awesome! 

And then today i am writing this article. Today I am doing all the typing for our e-magazine this year to be launched on the 24th Annual Day 2015-16. I am helping for the back-drop presentation. I am the lead dancer and choreographer for Mrunalini Ma'am's dance and at the last anchoring the annual day with some friends. I couldn't ask for more and for the cherry on cake, I have got a travel report of our Manali Trip, an article on Attacks of 26/11 and a poem again Hindi being published in this years edition of e-magazine. I am thrilled. That's all I can say!  

The attacks of 26/11

The attacks of 26/11

26^th november is the same date that has haunted every single soul living today in Mumbai and all over India. Never in the history was a terrorist attack severe than 9/11 but on 26/11/2008 it all changed. The world came to realize the word “Terrorism” with much more than its literal meaning. The day still haunts our memories and left a scar on the lifeline of india, the city of dreams, the economic capital and the ever beautiful Mumbai.

It all began roughly at the noon od the D-Day 26/11/2008. Ten armed mens with a head exchanged the boats with the Indian fishermans who happened to unknowingly enter Pakistani water for the hunt of the Lal Paari fish. The terrorist boarded the boat and reached the shores of Mumbai at 7. Afisher man saw them with suspicious eyes and even complained to the nearest police station but was ignored.

At 21.30 firing began at the coveted and worshipped Chhtrapati Shivaji Terminus. (CST)  The charge was on two gunmen one of which was Ajmal Kasab who was later captured and identified by eye witnesses. The terrorists open fired at the crowd at CST using AK-47 rifles. The attackers killed 58 people and injured 104. The firing terminated at 21.45 but in those fifteen minutes they had ruined a thousand of lives. Security forces and emergency services arrived shortly afterwards. Continuous announcements by a brave railway announcer, Vishnu Dattaram Zende, alerted passengers to leave the station and saved scores of lives. The two gunmen fled the scene and fired at pedestrians and police officers in the streets, killing eight police officers.

The attacker then fled to Cama Hospital to injure the patients brought in by the scene. The devil can think the downright thing without even wasting a second to ask his soul for permission to committ something henious. but the hospital staff locked all of the patient wards. A team of the Mumbai Anti-Terrorist Squad led by police chief Hemant Karkare searched the Chhatrapati Shivaji Terminus and then left in pursuit of Kasab and Khan. Kasab and Khan opened fire on the vehicle in a lane next to the hospital and the police returned fire. Karkare, Vijay Salaskar, Ashok Kamte and one of their officers were killed, though the only survivor, Constable Arun Jadhav, was wounded. Kasab and Khan seized the police vehicle but later abandoned it and seized a passenger car instead. They then ran into a police roadblock, which had been set up after Jadhav radioed for help. A gun battle then ensued in which Khan was killed and Kasab was wounded. After a physical struggle, Kasab was arrested. A police officer, Tukaram Omble was also killed when he ran in front of Kasab to shoot him.

The Leopold Cafe, a popular restaurant and bar on Colaba Causeway in South Mumbai, was one of the first sites to be attacked. Two attackers opened fire on the cafe on the evening of 26 November, killing at least 10 people, (including some foreigners), and injuring many more.

The attackers had yet not succommed. But the next target was the pride of the nation, The Taj Mahal Hotel. Guest always felt it as a privilage to attend even a day at Taj but for the guests and staffs that day it was just a horrific nighmare. Being at Taj and being in a Nazi concentration camp was same for those who could here the wails of people and the haunts of the bullets.

Two hotels, the Taj Mahal Palace & Tower and the Oberoi Trident, were among the four locations targeted. Six explosions were reported at the Taj hotel – one in the lobby, two in the elevators, three in the restaurant – and one at the Oberoi Trident. At the Taj Mahal, firefighters rescued 200 hostages from windows using ladders during the first night.

During the attacks, both hotels were surrounded by Rapid Action Force personnel and Marine Commandos (MARCOS) and National Security Guards (NSG) commandos. When reports emerged that attackers were receiving television broadcasts, feeds to the hotels were blocked. Security forces stormed both hotels, and all nine attackers were killed by the morning of 29 November. Major Sandeep Unnikrishnan of the NSG was killed during the rescue of Commando Sunil Yadav, who was hit in the leg by a bullet during the rescue operations at Taj. 32 hostages were killed at the Oberoi Trident.

NSG commandos then took on the Nariman house, and a Naval helicopter took an aerial survey. During the first day, 9 hostages were rescued from the first floor. The following day, the house was stormed by NSG commandos fast-roping from helicopters onto the roof, covered by snipers positioned in nearby buildings. NSG Commando Havaldar Gajender Singh Bisht, who was part of the team that fast-roped onto Nariman House, died after a long battle in which both perpetrators were also killed. Rabbi Gavriel Holtzberg and his wife Rivka Holtzberg, who was six months pregnant, were murdered with four other hostages inside the house by the attackers. By the morning of 27 November, the NSG had secured the Jewish outreach center at Nariman House as well as the Oberoi Trident hotel. They also incorrectly believed that the Taj Mahal Palace and Towers had been cleared of attackers, and soldiers were leading hostages and holed-up guests to safety, and removing bodies of those killed in the attacks. However, later news reports indicated that there were still two or three attackers in the Taj, with explosions heard and gunfire exchanged. Fires were also reported at the ground floor of the Taj with plumes of smoke arising from the first floor. The final operation at the Taj Mahal Palace hotel was completed by the NSG commandos at 08:00 on 29 November, killing three attackers and resulting in the conclusion of the attacks. The NSG rescued 250 people from the Oberoi, 300 from the Taj and 60 people (members of 12 different families) from Nariman House. In addition, police seized a boat filled with arms and explosives anchored at Mazgaon dock off Mumbai harbour.

Only one of the 10 attackers, Ajmal Kasab, survived the attack. He was hanged in Yerwada jail in 2012. Killed during the onslaught were:

1. Abdul Rehman Bada
2. Abdul Rahman Chhota
3. Abu Ali
4. Fahad Ullah
5. Ismail Khan
6. Babar Imran
7. Abu Umar
8. Abu Sohrab
9. Shoaib alias Soheb

Even after 7 years, the day is mourned till now. The scars still hurt. Mumbai is back to its place but the hurt and hatred for terrorism can’t be suppressed.

Lashkar-e-Taiba, Taliban, Al-Queda are all names that not haunt but are hated across the globe. For once the time will come than these names will never be any thing more than some organisations mentioned only in books and histories...

Jai Hind. Vande Mataram.

Love II

Have you ever just completed a book by your favorite writer and read the messages of that someone special. Even if it took a million scrolls but you read it all as if it were a fiction. Sadly it all seems like fiction today. The talks that contained your true feeling that had reality now seem the fantasy of a world so distant that you can hardly imagine. People come and leave but some manage to stay and some create a space for themselves that only you can understand the importance of. He was one of them. Actually the only one. It all seems impossible from when I recall our first meeting rather argument. He shouted I listened and unknown to him I left with tears. And then nothing for months and suddenly talking for hours on facebook. I remember spending sleepless nights just talking to him about everything and nothing. About where I desire to travel to my favourtie dish. And the best part was he was an ethusiast in the convo and never let me down when I wanted to talk to him. Certainly between fighting over french and spanish secrets were reveiled. Great agonies were shared and hearts felt light. Atleast for me. And then the realisation stuck me. Adi, you aren’t the first or last. He must have shared with a ton of people and I still don’t have an answer to it. When you have almost fallen for someone you cant exactly retrace your steps back. Either you could confess or you could live on with the guilt if I would have ever tried. And heartbreakingly I chose the former. For the first few days it turned out to be dreamy. But then dreams are meant to be broken if you see them with your eyes shut. And then with lack of communication and pleanty of misunderstanding I lost what I thought was a friend. The leaves turned yellow to brown and finally landed on the ground to be crushed by the mighty fellow walking aimlessly and time flew with its own pace. Life was never back to normal after losing him and I was not anymore the cheerful and bubbly person I used to be. More or else often I was alredy annoyed and ion few moments it took the shape of anger. The cool headed girl had turned into a short tempered lass. No one could bring back the old me except him. And he was back again in my life. The silence has always advised the rise of a storm, the storm had proceeded the destruction, and this time my soul was on the verge of tearing into bits and pieces. So much had changed. A strange formality had engulfed our earlier carefree conversations and the talks seemed to be forced. As in the loaded-gun-at-your-head forced. It only tore me apart to read him talk with limited word and restricted topic. Our past relationship didn’t find a miniature of gap to find room in our conversations. But without clearing the past you can only have a blurred present and an uncertain future. I took the initiative and karma is a sweet bitch. I never actually got my answer. Today we talk, like the friends we used to be but I never could get my old friend back. We talk about everything but yet it seems confined in some formality. We talk but its like assuring ourselves that we are back to normal. Our friendship was my priced possesion and I ruined it with the weapon of love.

Aditi Tiwari.     

Friendship.

It all started when… well. Frankly speaking, when you have bruised eyebrow and ear and a scar on your forehead it isn’t the best time to write a post which you feel from our heart. But then again, physical injuries don’t matter when your soul is hurt. Well not exactly heart but yet hurt. So friends haan. Well have many friends like :book complete hai kya?, headphones laye hain kya?, soon pb hai? And a few like, : chal lets go for a coffee, aye, yeh wale answer ka kya kiya,and then come my best friends. Sanskruti: Aditi, yeh idhaar kuch hai ki nahi. Sakshi: chutiya hai tu?. Nimisha: Proper nouns ko kaise bhi pronounce kar sakte hain. Krutika” Sadaya. Bohot sadaya. But you know what one day without anyone of them feels so down. Like take today. Today we spent 2.45 hrs just rehearsing for our annual day dance and damn it was fun. Like really. Dancing with friends is like awesome. But these friends and our friendship has gone through phases from where we wont buy a look to each other to laughing our hearts out together. From seating aghast in some sports event to rejoicing a football match together. Ups and downs lows and highs our friendship has been through breakups and patch ups. We cant imagine a life without each other. We may fight we may cry but when a shoulder I need you are all I want. This applies to all of them. 

And then comes my elder friends. Ruchika , Jyoti and aayushi di. all them i love and they understand me even in the worst situations. but there are some who manage to hurt me every single time i meet or talk to them. for it wait for post no.2.

 

Indian writers v/s foreign writers

The title itself sounds so foolish that i can hardly expect anything from the post. There is no two thoughts about it. Keeping away the only writer Amish, no indian writer can even compete with the prologue or epilogue of a foreign writer.

Hell Indian writers only know to write in utmost amateur language and give insane love scenes*. It has it own way in describing love scenes but Indian authors knew only to make it vulgar. I mean you could pick up a scene from let's say Fifty Shades of Grey and Two States : one love. Even when the scene is a lot more mature in Grey it's yet a lot more sincere than the description of Chetan Bhagat.

And moreover foreign writers are more promising. Like after reading a Bhagat book you definitely feel like banging your head on wall. Not only that i have a personal grudge against Bhagat even Shenoy and Nagarkar aren't any different. Though their stories have a lot better line up than Chetans any book. And yeah though I didn't include Nikita Singh as I find her stories the most mature amongst the Indian writers.

Even though it's a complete treat to read Nagarkar, Durjoy and Shenoy but isn't even close to the satisfaction you get after reading a book by Nicolas sparks and Julie James . After completing either of their books it feels that the time you spent reading the book was well utilised and invested doing something constructive.

Moreover reading Indian writers you can neither improve your expression nor your vocabulary. Definitely not your imagination. Because they heck don't imagine. It's like they keep writing what happens in their life around. And foreign writers heck they do research for every small role. So different from their own profession they try to describe it wholeheartedly.  They go out of the box to give their best shot to their readers. The last time I felt an indian writer describe something wholeheartedly was only love making.

So there is no two thoughts. Foreign writers win with clear margin. I could go on forever with this post but i think it's enough for now.

* lthis post deals with only romantic novels in the discussion. No offence!!

Family and career

Standing in the balcony, hands widespread on the grill. Face dry as the desert of Sahara and tears won't come as a relief is my present situation.

Sometimes it all feels worthless. The grades i score the marks i get the position i build every single thing of it. Like they don't buy these things anymore.

What's the use of marks that can't even let you choose the stream of our own choice? When you parents want you to take science anyway why strive for a 10? Why can't they be satisfied with a 9 or 8 CGPA? Why is that they want the best from you but not the best for you?

Everyone dreams eyes closed but I dreamt of my future with open eyes. What do they think that i have no plans for my future. That I am choosing commerce to escape studies? That after that i'll marry someone and be a house wife? Darn which century are they living in?

But you can't make your parents understand that there is a big world out there. A world more than IIT and engineering. My dream world of Delhi university. What do they think DU halwa hai? Do they even know the cut offs? Of course its not easy to score 98-99%. But if you can't dream it how are you going to achieve it?

But then when my dreams were shattered on the floor and head bowed down, all I could do was hope. Hope is a strong bad word. Especially when you are hoping something you know would never happen.  But then if it's my destiny I'll surely achieve it. That's it.

- Aditi Tiwari