Arnold and me.

"Will you be mine?", he asked.
He had an unkempt beard, matted hair, baggy clothes which were either too big for him or he had gradually grown too timid for them. He did not look like any of the other humans I saw everyday. I could see a sparkle in his eye whenever he spoke to me, and love emanating from him each time he nuzzled me.
"Woof!", I promptly replied.
That day forwards I was always seen with him, hopping around, tongue hanging, tail wagging.
Arnold and I became the best of friends. He called me a lot of names, 'Patricia, Patty, Snuffles, Spotty, Lil girl'...but 'Patricia' kind of stuck on. I thought Arnold was the most interesting human on earth, one of the million reasons is that he kept moving to different places, unlike the other humans. One day he slept on the park bench, the next day it was a niche in the wall of an abandoned building. We even hunted for food together. I sometimes brought him things I found in the trash can, but he used to wrinkle his nose and cringe at it, so I figured he didn't particularly like delicious things. Sometimes, kind humans would offer him food, which he would share with me. What a swell life! We had everything we wanted. However, there were days when Arnold would get sad. He would curl up on the park bench and cry silent tears, I never understood why. I would lick away the tears and he would hold me close. He seemed to feel better when he held me close, so I let him hold me like that until he fell asleep. I felt bad for humans sometimes, they seemed to have a lot of troubles. As for me, as long as I had Arnold with me, nothing would hurt me.
One day, Arnold and I were walking towards the area where all my other dog friends lived. I never understood why they always growled at me when I was with Arnold though. They lived in big houses with big gates which stopped them from going out. They always had food and water, they never had to hunt for it. So I figured they didn't like me because they envied me. I had an amazing life, they didn't. I gave a sudden WOOF at that thought and Arnold's hand involuntarily reached down to nuzzle me behind my ear. It was my favourite spot. This was basically how I spent my days with Arnold. Wandering, hunting, sleeping, just having a gala time so to say. It was all going well until one day things took a wrong turn.
It was a sunny afternoon, I was sitting with Arnold under a tree which was really wide and I couldn't see the sun when I sat under it. I dug myself a nice hole and was fully prepared to catch a wink. Arnold had been drinking that coloured liquid from a bottle, which smelled weird and always made him act different. Some instinct told me to stay awake and watch out for Arnold. So I decided against my nap and obediently sat with him. Gradually, my eyes started drooping and I don't know when I fell asleep. I was dreaming of chasing butterflies and playing in puddles when I heard that screech which woke me up from my slumber. I heard Arnold scream and I bolted towards the street where he lay under a car with his legs twisted in a painful position. I started barking alarmingly, I was so scared looking at that pain in Arnold's eyes. I licked that part of his leg from where a grey liquid kept oozing. His hand still nuzzled my ear as he whimpered in pain. Slowly he seemed to lose sense of where he was and he lost conciousness. I kept barking hoping for some human to come help us. I heard a vehicle approaching us, it made a sound which pierced my ears. I started circling Arnold, I did not want another car to hurt my human. The vehicle stopped right in front of us, and two humans came out with a bed. Something told me to trust these guys, so I let them take Arnold on the bed and put him inside the vehicle. Naturally I followed them, trying to get inside the vehicle but they pushed me away and shut the door. They didn't understand! He needed me! When he woke up he'd look for me and if I was not there he'd think I abandoned him when he needed me the most.I couldn't just leave him with these strangers, so I followed the vehicle.I ran behind it until it started to appear smaller and gradually disappeared, then I followed it just by the sound it made. Gradually, all the other car noises drained out it's sound and I had lost it completely. I was dumbfounded, I did not know what to do. That's when guilt started consuming me, I was supposed to stay awake, I was supposed to watch out for Arnold, I was supposed to take care of him. It was all my fault, I couldn't forgive myself. I started crying, I didn't know whether he was alright, whether I would ever see him again, whether he would want to see me again after what I had done. Then it dawned upon me, once Arnold was fine again, the two men would leave him where they found him first. So I ran, I ran with all my might towards the big tree. The grey liquid coming out of Arnold's leg was still there, and just looking at it pained me.I stayed there for two weeks, biding my time, waiting for Arnold, but he never came back. I thought what if he's at the park, so I searched all those places where Arnold and I usually spent our time, but I found him nowhere. Then I realised finally, he was never coming back. I had lost my human. I did not know, until then, what misery was. I felt a deep sorrow that I didn't know dogs were capable of. It felt like my existence was dependent on Arnold, and now that he was not there, everything seemed vain. All that I used to find interesting before, just became a task for me now. Life had become monotonous and cumbersome. All the fun and love had gone away with Arnold. I was alone and lonely. I hadn't known of a life without him, so I had to learn how to live again.
One day, I was walking around aimlessly, going trash can to trash can in search of food, when I saw a man inside a room with glass walls. He was limping around with a tray of glasses, while the other humans were eating. This man looked way too familiar to me. Before I knew it, I was running towards him like my tail was on fire. The shaggy beard was gone, ragged clothes were replaced by well-fitting garments, the hair was neatly cut, and the gait had changed. But this was still my Arnold, my human. Just when I had started to believe I'll never see him again, he was there right in front of me. I stood on my hind legs with my fore legs pressed to the glass and I called out to him. I barked with happiness, grief and excitement and waited for him to spot me. My tail was wagging with a frequency I hadn't quite experienced in the past one month. Some guy from the room repeatedly came out to shun me. No matter how many times he tried to drive me away, I came back. It felt like an eternity passed until Arnold finally lay his eyes upon me. I WOOFED. He looked at me, blinked, and turned around with his tray like I was invisible. It broke my heart, it seemed as if he didn't care about the fact that he saw his girl after a month of staying apart. He went on to speak with another human inside the room. He preferred to talk to this other human than meet me. I was upset, blatantly upset. Then I noticed Arnold nod, leave his tray, and march out with a bright smile plastered to his face. He opened the glass doors and ran towards me with arms outstretched.I galloped towards him, and he fell to the ground hugging me in his arms. I licked away his tears out of habit. I was home again.
"I thought I'd lost you, Patty", he said. "You came back, you're such a good girl!", he exclaimed.
I was his girl again, I was with my human again. And that moment, right then, I realised, if there was anything better than chasing butterflies and playing in puddles, it was this. Arnold.

The frustrated rant of a book-lover.

When I read books, I admit that I get a little weird. I laugh and cry with the characters and take them very seriously as if they were real people (As I type this, my head is convincing me that they are real indeed). I do get depressed when a character dies, and I mourn for them till my broken heart finds a rebound. This may seem queer to people who don't read and that is completely okay with me. What is not okay, is that they ridicule it! I get strange looks when people find me reading in my spare time. I mean, since when is it normal to watch a movie for leisure, but if you spot a person reading something (which, in my opinion, is the best way to spend free time), he/she is the most mundane person on the face of the earth. Yes there are people who enjoy reading and prefer to read away to glory instead of  watching cinema, FACE IT!
         On social media, you see two kinds of people. The first being, people who upload selfies of themselves with a heart-warming, sentimental line stolen from Tumblr. The second type- the hashtaggers. They would go on to write an entire paragraph using only hashtags.  (Apparently, replacing "." with "#" makes you look cooler.)  And these very people are the ones considered cool in the society, they are the fad, and that's still fine with me. If you find joy in doing these things, then by all means continue. I'm nobody to judge you. HOWEVER, if a person uploads a book review or something he/she read in a book, all it gets is a mere 'scroll', so they can move on to better, less sensible things. WHY ARE BOOKS NOT GETTING THE ATTENTION THEY DESERVE?
      Do you realise?  A one thousand pages book is comprised of just twenty-six letters re-arranged in different ways. These twenty-six letters proceed to make a whole story, a whole plot, and in some cases, a whole new world. Can you acknowledge the fact that these twenty six letters engross the reader and leave him entirely raptured in his book- world? How magical is that! Zillions of books took birth from these mere twenty six letters. That, my friend,  is nothing less than absolutely amazing!
      Then why is nobody appreciating this wondrous four lettered thing called BOOK? Why is a girl with red lipstick pouting at the camera, or a guy pretentiously posing on his Harley Davidson (we know that is not really a candid picture) more interesting than a paperback? A book has so much to teach you, so much to enlighten you with, it will be your best friend, your own universe away from the grey reality you live in.
     It is an earnest request from a person who loves to read, do not consider it stupid if you see a person dwelling in books. It is fine if you don't get it, we do not expect you to.However, do not ask us how we don't find reading boring or monotonous. We just don't.  Do not interrupt when it is very much evident that we are totally into the books. It may not seem important to you,but it is for us.
      And last but not the least, if you borrow a book from us, have the courtesy to keep it in good condition. They are extremely precious. If you are not going to read it and it's just lying in a corner of your room accumulating dust, please return it. It's a little too humiliating. I read somewhere, ''Everybody is a reader, they just  have to find the right book''. I hope you find yours, and until then, just appreciate the ones who already have.

PS- Published in interest of the cause- MAKE READING COOL AGAIN.
PPS- Okay, I made that up.

YAKUB.

It was 7 AM and Humera's bleating woke me up from my slumber. I shifted to sleep under the sunlight seeping through my caged windows. Winters in Kangra were extremely cold, and if you didn't have warm clothes, you'd be sure you wouldn't live long enough to see another winter. Humera is lucky that way. We always joke that she has a perpetual sweater on her back. Whenever we take her for shearing, I sob on my Ammi's bosom. I feel sad because nobody bothers about the fact that she would be cold if we take away her sweater. Zayed laughs at me when I say this, he calls me a buddhu who cries like a girl. I began to ignore him after I accepted the fact that he was born solely to give me a hassled life.
I couldn't catch a wink after that so I decided to wake up and help Ammi with her chores, since she was always toiling. I had barely ever seen her sleep, other than the times when I woke up in the middle of the night because of nightmares. Even then she would put me to sleep and only then go back to sleep herself. Every khala in my area had their husbands to take care of the house, but my Ammi did it all alone. Abba worked in a medical college, he is not a doctor, he is the gardener there, but I think that is equally important. Looking at flowers makes people happy and my Abba makes sure of that. He comes home once in 3-4 months, he says he cant afford to take a bus home every day, so he stays near the medical college. Every time he comes home he gets me and Zayed a small gift. The last time he came, he got me a top! He knew I envied my friends whenever I saw them playing with their tops. I was so happy that I went to sleep clutching it tight. However, more than the gifts it was the joy of having him home that made me happy. My friends hold their fathers' hand when they cross that shaky bridge each day on the way to school, and I go all alone. I assure Ammi I'm not scared but I think she knows that I lie. Abba brought with him a sense of security and safety. Whenever he left, I used to cry for days at end. I hated being weak, but the tears came before I could stop them. I really miss him.We used to build blanket forts together and he would tell me stories inside the fort. He weaved these stories spontaneously and I would always be amazed at his skill. I wish I was as smart as him. Then my teachers wouldn't hit me with that wooden scale in school.
....Anyway, Ammi was making Patande for breakfast and I quickly brushed my teeth and sat down for breakfast before Zayed woke up. After I was done, I fed Humera. She was my companion and I spoke to her even if she didn't understand anything. Ammi tells me we are like Jay and Veeru. I never understood what she meant but I think it is related to a bollywood film. It was 8 by the time I realised I'm already late for school. I got dressed hurriedly in my school uniform. Actually it was Zayed's, I hated that I always got his hand-me-downs. Zayed stopped going to school after seventh grade. He works at Amir kaka's shop now. School was an hour away, that is if I didn't go wandering where my mind took me. Fortunately, I reached exactly on time for the assembly. After the national anthem, we were seated at our places, and a group of doctors were welcomed to the dias by the Principal. Several speeches followed their welcome and I dozed through most of them. Once we were inside our class, the class teacher told us that we were supposed to go with the doctors for a medical check up. The whole class gasped since we were sure of getting injections at the hospital. Complaining about the atrocities imposed on us, we boarded the bus which was supposed to take us to this hospital. Once the journey commenced, we forgot all about the needles and syringes and started having a good time. It was not every day after all that we got to go for such long drives. We sang bollywood songs and some of the bigger kids sung english songs which we didn't understand. Some of us were snoozing when we reached our destination, and got down all sleepy and groggy. Surprisingly, the medical check up didn't turn out to be remotely related to injections. They only checked whether our heart beats right, whether our vision is clear, and whether our throat looks okay. We were made to stand in a queue and were led back towards our bus shortly after.
When I was exiting the gate, I heard someone call out, "Yakub!!!" Half-knowingly, I turned towards the man calling out to me, and before I knew it I was running towards him. My vision blurred because of the tears in my eyes, I just ran and ran until I fell into his outstretched arms. Seeing him so unexpectedly opened the channels to all my emotions, and I had to bite my lip to stop myself from crying. Abba beamed down at me and I felt utterly embarassed as I hugged him and soaked his soiled shirt with my tears. But for once, I did not care what my classmates thought of me. I was with my Abba jaan and that was all that mattered. I had no idea that this was where Abba worked. I had heard Ammi say it several times but I had never remembered. I dreaded to think how regretful I would have been if I had left without meeting him. I would have spent days agreeing with Zayed that I'm a worthless fool. I told Abba about Humera, about how Ammi made patande for breakfast, how Zayed always poked fun at me. He listened patiently, smiling and nodding his approval at the right places. The bus driver's honks were left unheard as I went on with my countless stories. It felt good talking to him and being held by him. However, all good things come to an end and soon it was time to leave.
As I said good-bye to Abba, I was certain I saw something glistening in his eyes, but I didn't mention it to him. My bus sped off, and the melancholy in my heart was replaced by another feeling I can't really describe. When the first rain of monsoon falls after three months of summer, the trees and their leaves are wiped off their grime and dust, and are cleansed again. Suddenly everything starts to appear green and beautiful. Meeting Abba felt like that. Months of suppressed anguish had found a release in his arms. I felt new again, whole again. It felt like everything suddenly fell at their right place. I could hold on to this memory and carry on until he came to meet us again. I also felt bad for Ammi and Zayed since they couldn't meet Abba, but he had promised he would soon come home to visit. He had sent with me a flower from his garden for Ammi and a candy for Zayed. I tucked them safely in my bag and giggled at the thought of how surprised they would be when they received it.
So this was the best day of my life. It may not be as grand and adventurous as others' story, but it was the best moment for me.
PS- If I win this essay competition, it would be the second best day of my life. Thank you.
                                                                                           
                                                                                                                   - Yakub Ahmed
                                                                                                                      3rd standard.

Romione fanfic.

Fanfiction (noun) : Fanfiction is when someone takes either the story or characters (or both) of a certain piece of work, whether it be a novel, tv show, movie, etc, and create their own story based on it. 

IF YOU HAVE WATCHED OR READ HARRY POTTER, YOU WILL BE KNOWING ALL ABOUT RON AND HERMIONE, TWO OF THE MAIN CHARACTERS OF THE SERIES. THIS IS A FAN FICTION I WROTE ON RON AND HERMIONE (ROMIONE), BECAUSE I'M A ROMIONE FANATIC! I HOPE YOU ENJOY READING THIS AS MUCH AS I ENJOYED WRITING IT. :) 

After the battle of Hogwarts, though the ecstasy of defeating the most dangerous dark wizard, Voldemort, was very evident, the pressing grief of losing a loved one weighed down on everybody. Losing friends was tragic, but losing family was outright devastating. One of the families affected, among several, was the Weasley family. Needless to say, Fred and George were renowned in Hogwarts, not just for being amazing beaters in the Gryffindor quidditch team but mainly for being the most entertaining and clever pranksters (Nobody would ever forget the Umbridge episode). Everybody involuntarily felt that George was the most affected by Fred's death, which was true. Fred and George were one, inseparable, but now unfortunately separated, by death. However, there was one more person who felt the loss of Fred as deeply as George did. Ronald.
Ron was born after the twins and was the guinea pig in many of their experiments. Charlie, Bill, and Percy were scapegoats nevertheless, but since they were elder, the twins didn't have the same liberty they did with Ron. Albeit the incessant pranking, Ginny still held a soft corner in their hearts, since she was the precious little sister. So that left Ron- the victim of most of their jokes. Initially, Ron used to get agitated, but gradually even he had started to enjoy the twins' antiques. If nothing, it had only made him stronger to face the world outside, where people were waiting to bully him for his red hair, freckles, lanky stature and hand-me-down robes. Fred was the reason he was terrified of spiders, very true, but he was also part of the reason why Ron was brave enough to enter the forbidden forest in his second year, when he followed the spiders with Harry according to Hagrid's instructions. If he could survive staying with Fred and George, he could survive just about anything. Unknowingly, the twins had given him a protective shell.
Ron understood that George needed the care and affection more than he did, so he put up a brave face in front of his family. He couldn't falter in front of them, could he? He waited until everybody went to sleep each night, and once the lights were out, he clutched Fred's jumper that had been passed on to him after Fred had outgrown it, and wept bitterly. Each night he did this, and he thought nobody noticed how broken he was, but he was wrong. Hermione never failed to see that Ron was sinking deep into his sorrow with each passing day. She noticed how, whenever he smiled, the smile didn't reach his eyes, how his eyes kept moving towards Fred's empty chair at the dinner table. Ron thought he could escape everyone, but this numpty couldn't escape his girlfriend. After casting the obliviate charm on her parents, Hermione had nowhere to go. She always insisted on going back to her empty house, but Molly wouldn't have it! She said Hermione was only a child and even the brightest witch needed to be around people who loved her, especially after the emotional and physical turmoil she had been through during the battle. Hermione relented, knowing that secretly she did want to stay with them, because going back to that empty house was much too painful.
Everyday, Ron and Hermione went for a quiet walk together, sometimes got rid of garden gnomes, and Ron even tried to teach her Quidditch! If there was one thing Hermione didn't have any interest in, it was Quidditch. However, Ron seemed happy when he was flying on the broom trying to teach Hermione how to pass the quaffle through the loop, and as long as Ron could maintain this momentary happiness, Hermione had no reason to complain, so she went on with it. One night when Ron came out of his room to go to the kitchen for a glass of water, he saw Hermione sitting there reading a book, and quickly lowered his eyes. He didn't want her to look at his eyes which were red and puffy from all the sobbing. Hermione couldn't take it anymore and slowly approached him from behind and laying a hand on his shoulder, muttered, "I know, Ron''. Just like that, Ron broke down again, he held on to Hermione and she consoled him like how you would console a bawling baby. She managed to compose him somehow and took him to his room, and tucked him under the blanket. Just as she was leaving, she realised that even though he wouldn't say it, Ron needed her. So she climbed on to his bed and held him tight in her arms as he slowly drifted off to sleep. Hermione realised that she had seen Ron at his most vulnerable tonight. She knew she would do anything to make him better, to just see him smile that smile again, and just then, as if he could read her mind, Ron woke up with a start. He looked beside him to see Hermione looking up at him with anxious eyes, his face lit up into this warm, sincere smile and he went back to sleep again, holding her hand. It was as if all his troubles had disappeared by just knowing that Hermione was beside him, she was with him and life had become easier again. Ron had no nightmares that night and peacefully slept after a long long time.
On the morrow, when he woke up, he saw Hermione was gone. He rushed downstairs to find her and when he did, he pulled her away from his large family and took her towards the tree under which they sat after their stroll everyday. He looked into her eyes and whispered, "You saved me". Hermione's eyes welled up with tears and she found herself unable to reply. Ron just hugged her until she could compose herself, then Hermione broke away from the hug and said, "You don't have the emotional range of a teaspoon after all", and Ron burst out laughing. Molly looked outside her window at that exact moment to spot her son laughing again, and she knew....ALL WAS WELL.

Lessons my Hostel taught me.

Four years we spent in one room, in one building, four years we made memories as we drifted through the coridoors, moving from room to room like nomads. Four years we spent sitting on the same bed with mates, to watch a movie, or to gossip, or to cry under the blankets once the lights are out. We laughed, celebrated, resented, disdained. We entered as immature, aloof eighteen year olds, we leave as mature, responsible (upto an extent), independent twenty-two year olds. We spent those four years of our lives which sculpt an individual. We interacted with complete strangers who went on to become best friends, we also interacted with people who became foes. Knowingly, unknowingly, we changed. Apart from the homesickness and appreciation for 'Ghar ka khaana' , hostel life taught us some lasting lessons. These are few I could think of.

1. There's much more to a person than what meets the eye.

The quiet girl may be the most wild person you've ever seen. The most friendly girl may be the one wearing a mask and hiding scorn underneath. The only tricky thing was deciphering which was which.

2. There is always somebody.

When you stay at a place where multiple people reside, not all of them can be your friends; but there's this invisible bond between these people, like we are part of the same territory. And this invisible bond renders you with always having somebody to fall back on. You may have never spoken to her, but she'll still lend you a pack of Maggi at 3 AM when you're as hungry as a hungry person. (Pardon my simile).

3. Laughter is always around the corner.

Everyone has their days when things seem gloomy and there's a grey cloud hovering above your head, with a constant downpour which drenches you to the bones. Such days, all you want is to be left alone, but considering the fact that there's no isolated place in the whole building, you resign to your bed, put on your earphones and snap out of reality until you're sane again. When finally you're ready to get out of your den, you will always find someone who will lift your moods. It may be as small as sitting with a friend at the hostel entrance, gazing at the empty lane ahead, or as grand as going for a movie with your posting batch.

4. You begin to appreciate solitude.

Like we all know, Man appreciates what he has after it is taken away from him. Having company is great, but sometimes the only company you need is your own. As the daily routine starts taking a toll on you, you find yourself inclined towards disconnecting from the crowd, and surrendering to your solitary retreat. You need some time alone, and you realise that it rejuvenates you just as much as spending a day out with friends does. You learn to differentiate between loneliness and solitude as you periodically retreat to the silent abode.

5. People drift away.

The people who were best buds in first year, become 'Hi-Bye' friends by final year. The more time you spend with a person, the more you get to know them. This may work for you or against you. Many a times you find people who get closer, and the bond becomes stronger with passing time; but there are also people who get distant and move out of your orbit gradually. It is a mutual process, no bitter feelings, just that oil and water can never be miscible.

6. You learn to stand up for yourself.

From being the timid pushover, to being the rebellious fighter, you evolve. You acknowledge that there are people who are going to walk all over you, and there's only you who can save yourself. You stand up to the girl who thinks she can mock you and pass it off as a joke. You stand up for your friend who is being humiliated by a couple of baneful seniors. You become your own knight in shining armour.

Basically, I think staying away from home has it's own pros and cons. However, at the end of it, you always emerge more mature , more confident, and more grown than what you were when you first entered. From doing your own laundry, to taking care of yourself on sick days, you grow up unnoticably. It's only when you pack your bags, and see your batchmates clearing up their rooms to leave, that you realise, inspite of all the tough times, you're grateful for having experienced this emotional, adventurous ride.
Remember how you felt when the renowned TV series F.R.I.E.N.D.S got over? This feels just like the last episode of F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Today, I leave my hostel. Today, I prepare to start living outside in an apartment, bereft of the protective cocoon that hostel provided. Today, I tie up all the memories I've made, and proceed to make new ones. Today, I end a journey that began four years ago.

Beyond face value.

So I was listening to some music the other day, and I was really listening; not going about with my chores while some guy sings in the background. I was having a rest day, and was sprawled on my bed hearing James Blunt sing ''You're beautiful", and the wheels in my brain started churning over the lyrics. The protagonist was a guy who was bowled over by the beauty of a woman he saw at the subway. Maybe it was really romantic and all that, but I was just thinking, what if it was a dim-witted lass who just happened to have a beautiful mother?
It left me puzzled as to why external beauty is so overrated. I mean, sure some people have the perfect long lashes, the puckered rosy lips, the almond-shaped eyes, and a nose sharper than the brain, but in the end, it is just an appearance. There's so much more to a person than how he appears. Why are the movies, and songs, and books not talking about passion? I know some people who are so passionate about the things they do, that you can actually see the twinkle in their eyes and the jump in their step whenever they talk about it; and I admire them for the love they harbour for this particular thing, may it be reading, painting, or just how the stars arrange into constellations. I am basically a tech-illiterate person, but when I hear some of my friends talk about these things, I listen. I listen not because I understand what they are blabbering about, but because their enthusiasm is so contagious that you want to know more about this wondrous strange thing. Now, if I were to cross eyes with the same person on a subway, I wouldn't look twice, and would go about my business without giving it a second thought. Because hey! He's just a mediocre looking person and I didn't go weak in my knees over his perfect bod.
So why are the movies, books, songs and every other kind of media not advertising zeal? Why are we not appreciating passion? Why do we run behind beauty, which, if I may, is just temporary. That beauty is going to be masked with wrinkles one day, or a really nasty rash you picked up in Foochow. However, the love you hold inside your mind and heart for your passion is perpetual. You're going to pursue it until your heart tells you that you have accomplished everything you've wanted. It is going to keep you striving for your endeavour, it's going to define your character. An attractive face with an empty mind is, in my opinion, a body without a soul in it. So dear writers, stop with these claims of outer beauty being superlative. Channel something more everlasting, something more substantial. Give the mediocre a chance. Beauty is in the eye of the beholder they say, what if beauty is in everything? Even the rock which is covered with moss and has little bugs crawling on it, because you know what?! Maybe it was formed even before your great-grandmother was born and it's still there waving goodbye to so many generations! Well, it's definitely way more interesting than the chick who posts a thousand selfies on Instagram. If you're going to admire the sculpture, also admire what it came from. Worship the core of a person, not the nincompoop with God-gifted external features.
Be that person who has a purpose in life, if you haven't found it yet, it doesn't matter. You will find it one fine day, maybe when you're twenty, or maybe even fifty, but you'll reach that. Impress with your mind, and you'll be beautiful in your own way. If it doesn't agree with the standards set by the world, just acknowledge the rebel that you are and defy the parameters set by the society, which changes with the fad. Be your own whetstone, break the stereotypes, redefine what the world thinks beauty is, and even though you're unaware of it, I'm certain that you will find it within you.

3 AM thoughts.

You know, we are all growing up now. Some of my friends have already graduated, some are working, some are getting married, I'll be finishing with my final year in a month and then I'll be an intern, my sister is getting married and moving away from home. Time is moving so fast. Just yesterday we were a bunch of kids fooling around, making plans of meeting up and thinking of the future like it is light years away, and just like that, here we are. We will leave hostel soon and drift apart. We are going to be like the grown ups who reminisce and get nostalgic about the past and tell stories about it to anyone who is willing to listen. And still, inspite of all this, we stand so uncertain, so unsure of the nebulous future that's looming upon us. It's like we are sprinting in a vast field unaware of our destiny. Just running and running and running. Chasing the Sun, going where life is taking us. But soon there will be a dead end and you'll know that this is it. I'm on my own hereupon. Then you'll look around and all the peers you were running with would have disappeared. You'll be left alone to fend for yourself. However, you would have always anticipated this, so with a quaint smile you'll take the first step. It's like putting your feet in the water at the beach. You don't know how cold it is, but you know for certain you want to take the plunge. So little by little, you wade inside the water and all at once you dive and swim and feel exhilarated.
This feels somewhat like that. You're so unsure, so naive, yet so eager to know what awaits you. Maybe that's the beauty of it all, the spontaneity has it's own charm. You embrace it on your journey, and one fine day you open your eyes and you're accustomed, you know it like the back of your hand and you've admixed with it. It feels like breathing, so natural, so effortless. Then you prepare yourself for another milestone, for the next threshold, from where you'll jump again to another universe. One more time.