I was driving the other day through outskirts of
I was an average kid all through my childhood. Schooling wasn’t something I liked, though I never hated it. That was till my 4th standard. I don’t remember what was the sin I did, but for some apparent reason I was punished and then taken to the headmistress (HM) one day. I remember panicking as I was being made to walk like a criminal to the judge. I was caned by the HM and then I was taken back to the class. The whole of that day I was made to stand outside my class room. I would sit down when my legs would tire, and when I heard the teacher or any passerby coming close, I would stand up again. I do remember having wept a lot that day.
The next day I went inside my class and sat as usual. The teacher came during the second period, and seeing me in the class got infuriated. She took me to the HM again, and this time I was made to stand outside the HM’s room. Three humiliating days were to follow. I stood there the whole day, and had to go in and ask permission to go to the loo during the break. She would nod, not even looking up at me. Other kids would walk past and laugh at me standing there, few made fun of me, and few sympathized with me. But I was a laughing stock for all to see. Some parents who came into the school would come and ask me what happened, and I would sob seeing them. By evening, I felt like garbage, not even wanting to go back home.
I did not know what to do the next day, so I went kept the bag in the class and went to the staff room to ask my teacher. Thinking of it now, I feel, she thought I was sarcastic or maybe I was showing attitude, what ever it may be, she got furious and asked me to stand in front of the HM’s room. Surprisingly, I did not feel bad, nor did I cry. I remember telling one senior that, I have been made the watchman for the HM. I would see kids being brought in like sheep to the butcher. There was fear in their eyes as they would go in, then they would be caned and they would go out crying. We would exchange looks as if to say, I understand buddy!! Later that day, a senior came with a box of sweets. She distributed it inside the office and then gave to HM. On the way out, she came to me, and offered me one. I heard the HM shouting from inside, “not to him”. I was a culprit who wasn’t eligible for any pleasures. I had started hating the HM and the school as such by then. There was some rage inside me that was burning.
Day Three, I didn’t even go to the class. I don’t know what had transpired in me, but I went straight to the HM’s room and stood outside with my bag kept beside me. I started wishing all the teachers who would pass by with a smile. I sat there and ate my lunch. During the break I would have kids around me, watching me, as if I was a joker out of a circus tent. I wished I could vanish. I wished I fell so ill that someone would take me away and I could hide. Nothing happened. I was humiliated more and felt more depressed.
Though I changed to a new school next year, those four days had a major impact on me. I fell so low on my self confidence. I did not want to go to school anymore. I didn’t want to see any of my friends. I stopped looking at schoolmates, was worried that they may be laughing at me. I started running away from everything.
This may have happened to many, and so many would have brushed it aside and not let it affect them. But it affected me to no ends, and continued harassing me till my tenth, when I finally could move on.
I still don’t know what they were trying to achieve by doing that to me. Whatever it was, all they managed to do ,was to kill the self respect of a student and make him feel rotten. I have never been able to pardon them for what they have done to me, and I won’t ever. I hate them from the core of my heart and wish no kid goes through this again.
When the sun is up,
As the day gets bright
So am I up
In all my might
Its easy to give up
Its easy to lose it
But, I'm a fighter
And I cant lose it
All I need is you
To hold me to you
When I reach there
I won’t be alone
You’ll take me there
As with me, you have flown
As I wish myself a good day
I know its going to be our day.
For this is a personal apology
You shared it all with me,
You shared your mind, soul, heart
You let me touch you, hold you, cuddle you
Never did you say a no to me,
Never let me down when I needed you
You let me take your most priced possession,
I took it away from you
You let me share your body with me.
I let you down; I made you feel losing your self respect
I deserve no sympathy, cos I failed you again.
What I have for you is pure, and what I'm losing is the purest
If no one sees me again, it’s not cos you hate me
It is cos, I hate myself.
I'm sorry
I sit overlooking the cliff
Not even realizing the Breeze
When i look down and see the waves
I realize the vastness ahead is empty
Is there an angel who would appear
To lend a shoulder to disappear
I dont want to hide from the world
All i need is a chest to bury my head
The feel of being owned
The feel of being cared
The touch of reaffirming
The warmth of belonging
As she appears from the far side
I'm not sure if she is going to be aside
I don’t even know, if she is coming for me
Or if she also would walk past me
She comes close, her hair brushing my face
I know the smell of her perfume
She isn’t an angel,
She is for real
She holds my face
Looks at my eyes
Is there a drop of tear
Both of us may drop
Holding my face close to her
She whispers my name in my ear
I'm so light
She holds me tight
I look up to see her face
Is that the one I miss ?
A scream shatters the peace
Reality always bites
Woken up from my sleep
My day begins again
When Barkha Dutt’s interview with SRK on what he feels about Bal Thackeray was being telecast the Nth time in NDTV, and when Headlines Today was discussing if the guy who stabbed Rathore was a drama ploy by Rathore’s camp, and CNN IBN was discussing BT Brinjal, a small ignorable scroll was running that 16 Indian Soldiers had perished under an avalanche in Jammu, and at least 60 others were fighting for their lives under tons of snow.
Media is a profit game, TRPs do matter, and Sensitive stories capture imaginations. Our media is selective about deciding what we should hear.
Why isn’t that such a disaster would capture their time share?
How is a drop of blood from Rathore’s chin more important than 16 soldiers who died on duty?
Why is it that six people killed in a shooting incident in a far fledged state of USA gather media coverage in all our channels, but a boat capsize in a far away village of Bihar or Bengal just gets a passing remark .
Is media circumspect of human lives based on the TRPs that the news would garner?
Isn’t there a bigger role expected to be played by them ?
My homage to those brave army men who lost their lives saving us and keep getting ignored. Pardon us , if you can, for we feel that your lives are less valued than what a Thackeray would utter next .
