Lexicon

Allow me to walk you through a day in class 12th F. Students are expected to report after every other class from the coaching is dispersed. Class 12th F shares its schedule with no other batch, so the rusted iron entry gates are closed shut way before their session begins. That, however, is not their greatest concern. They consider themselves lucky if they don't have to struggle studying in candle-lit rooms due to power outages.  After you jump past the iron gate, you will have to climb a flight of slippery stairs till you reach the third floor. Towards your right will be a dimly illuminated hallway. Keep walking and the last classroom should be your 12th F. Careful, silence your phone before you enter. These students tolerate no distractions. If you wait for someone to answer the door, you might probably wait there forever. These students' ears are receptive to nothing beyond their syllabus- not even a knock at the door.  Once you are in, you realize what I meant when I said ...

  You used to be a kid who made the world with clay, you thought you could do anything if you tried You used to wake up with so many ideas,  your walls were filled with your doodles You used to be a kid who built empires with lego, you knew no geometry, no centre of gravity you tried to create barbie houses, that stood on a single sheet of cardboard  Later you learnt there are three dimensions, and that you can't live in that palace you drew You learnt it takes more than your imagination, to make some things come true Somewhere along the way, you abruptly stopped dreaming, to doodle, to create, to learn  You were told it's for the experts, "Only artists doodle, engineers create, scholars learn" Someone told you, you don't have what it takes At what point exactly, Did you start taking them so seriously? When will you realize that "someone" is your mind? You used to be a kid you thought you could do anything if you tried Eventually, you became an adult you...

  7 things love is not Love- A four letter word that makes up 33% of books sold in mass-market. Romance novels alone generate over $1.44 billion in revenue, making romance the highest-earning genre of fiction. Note the emphasis on fiction. While we enjoy devouring romantic reads, we are holding on to an idea of love that is entirely fictional. Frankly, I have no idea what love is, but here are 7 elaborated points for what I am certain love is not : Everything  Love is not your everything. Your world is infinite, encompassing a vibrant spectrum of emotions, experiences, people and adventures. It is the books you read, the ones who matter to you, the places you love to visit, your hobbies, your work and so much more. Your world should not revolve around one person. It isn't cute, it’s an obsession.  All inclusive  Your partner might be your favorite person but that doesn’t mean you don’t need other people, and it certainly doesn’t imply he should feel the need to ma...

  December 31st, Sunday I closed my eyes and inhaled a deep breath of fresh air. When I exhaled, I could feel strands of my hair flying with the wind as every last trace of tension left my body. My feet felt relaxed against the calm of river water. My son was splashing some on me, giggling so much my chest ached at not bringing him out for picnics more often.  The gushing of water brought my buzzing thoughts to a standstill. In that moment I wasn’t bound by the baggage from my past, nor was the uncertainty of the future holding me back. In that moment, as I focused on the rhythm of my heart- I was living.  The thought made me calm. I opened my eyes to see my son still playing with water. It was five minutes to sunset which I so eagerly brought my son to show. From the riverside, it looked delicious at the backdrop of a pinkish blue sky. The view was clear without any obstruction of skyscrapers.  It was only a few blocks away and I was visiting it after fifteen y...

There's something poetic  about leaving the endings unsaid Guessing countless open leads where the ellipses could've led There's something almost euphoric about the anticipation after beat drop but to live for the hope of it you need to read beyond full stop  There's something rather terrifying  about leaving the ellipses so vague it almost passes for a new beginning  to any interpretation you make  There's something so relatable about afterlife thoughts that it makes me wonder as I look at my grave if death also precedes three dots... *** In storytelling, ambiguous endings by ellipsis have an irreplaceable charm of their own. They come with equal parts of fear and thrill for what's to come. Moreover, they give us something to look forward to.  The kind of anticipation a full stop or resolved ending can never meet. They also leave interpretation up to the reader, thereby giving room for their own perspectives.  "Three Dots After Death" is a hypothetica...

  I was determined to paint my fate it had been looking monochromatic as of late that cold night, I coloured my world warm the first rays of dawn patiently waited to inform that everything I painted white, to my dismay was nothing if not a long stretch of grey I grabbed my brush once again  in that summer air, I coloured my world blue and ran out of all my shades when it came to capturing sun’s golden hue My world felt dark and dull I was questioning my art when the rain showered upon my world giving me a fresh, colourful start the spaces I’d filled with black, to my utter surprise lay between the greys, where utmost truth lies Tempered with the rain was sweet sunshine making a half circle pathway for colours to rome the shades poured over like streams to the river and decided to call my eyes their home I started seeing colours  and shades entirely new realizing there's a colour palette designed for my mind too  I'm not the writer of my destiny  but I don't need...

  Oh hush, don’t read this aloud, it’s a story no one knows She was covering her tan with long sleeves, when he held out a black rose Oh pain, how it shot under her skin, like icicles her broken heart froze Her frail body shivered as she wondered, “was all I deserved a black rose?” She wondered if it’d be any different, if she changed the colour of her hair Would she still get a black rose, if she were a tad bit more fair? Her insecurities convinced her, the flower was some sick joke She should’ve seen the boy’s eyes, at length his nervousness spoke Oh pain, how it shot under his skin, as embarrassment clouded her mind  She walked away, repulsed, totally missing he was colourblind  He knew she loved dark red, the florist heard him wrong   But nothing he could’ve said, would change this sad song For it was never about colour,  neither of her skin nor flower It was her blindness that ruined their ‘could’ve-been’, to the essence of his gestures, that she’d never s...

When I cried over actors playing dead, my granny truthfully said, “Don’t believe what you see or hear, frankly it’s just a pretense, dear” When I hurt myself in a playful fight, my granny said, hugging me tight, “Don’t grieve, why must you waste a tear, it’s really just a pretense, dear” When I felt betrayed in a game of cards, my granny was the one to offer her regards, “Don’t you worry, this isn’t severe, after all it’s just a pretense, dear” I understood my granny well, she made her point pretty clear but I’m beginning to read beyond it, as my adulthood is near Despite how different my granny made it appear, I wonder if she truly meant-  “ Life is just a pretense, dear”

Avoiding- I’ve mastered that art by now. I can do it with my eyes closed but moreover, I can nail it with my eyes open. I can see things with the empty stare of not having seen them. I can hear words with the sheer surprise of never having heard them, and I can avoid situations like they never presented themselves. It’s as easy as shoving back an unpleasant memory. A dismissing head-shake and it’s gone. That’s all it took until she stood tall in front of me, head up, chin up, looking me in the eye as though challenging me with her daunting gaze.  “Why don’t you love me?”  I immediately break eye contact as if the slightest of eye movement would make her disappear. Unlike all the things I have been avoiding, she doesn’t go away simply after blinking. Her pinning look demands answers and I am nothing if not a questionnaire myself.  I want to ask her why she hates me, why she avoids me, what part of me disgusts her. I have so many questions for her but firstly, does she real...

Gen(uine) Z They could bet they recalled their childhood was shared  they have seen another lazing upon their bed  They could confirm they grew up together  they would affirm  they needed one another  They could assure you they wouldn't fight they would be inseparable through day and night They insist they have a sibling none that you conceived  you wonder what you’re missing what child is your memory dismissing? They grab their phones and type away it’s a sibling thing,  but don’t you meddle  for not every generation was born  with technology  in their cradle... *** Generation Z is practically growing up with technology. Both advancements being directly proportional. Amidst this, the generation finds it conflicting to distinguish virtual from reality. Gadgets are beginning to become their roommates, their best of friends and everything genuine is taking a back seat. 

  There were days when I had a voice of my own.   Then there was the great revolt. It’s not like our clan and the other never fought before the revolt, but those fights were nowhere close to wiping out the existence of an entire community. At times I wonder what it would have been like if I perished along with the rest of my community members. That way, I wouldn’t have to live a life that isn’t mine. I also wonder if some other members of my community survived like I did. Maybe I could get a Doctor to treat my deep wounds and my survival chances would increase. Although a pointless thought, it makes me feel safe. The happiness is short-lived though, for I know far too well that to live in this world, they would have to live as a member of the opposite clan as I do. The disguise makes it impossible to spot my clan members and for them to spot me, assuming they made it. The odds of them turning out to be a Doctor are even more slim. Which makes me wonder how many days I have at ...

  Worry not! We are fixing it         The Olaseez were known to be brilliant creatures. Their intellect was unimaginable. To give you a reference point, the dumbest of Olaseez would still be seven steps ahead of a Mensa group member. Amongst one such clique of Olaseez, belonged Steven.  Steven had had a rough day. To top it off, he entered his shiny, clean lab to see a gross lump at its corner. The lump sat surrounding his favourite golden lamp. The specialty of which was how it was a spherical body suspended mid-air without visible support. Oh, how he had spent days working on its design. And now a disgusting structure was forming on it. He covered his nose and leaned in closer to have a better look.  Tiny granules made themselves visible. They seemed green, but there was no saying without a microscope. As he fetched one from the common area, his fellow mates joined in out of curiosity. Their reactions were identical. Scrunched up noses, taking a step...