Sunday, December 30, 2007

The Moment

Even a year ago I used to visualize the very moment when I would see my name on the "SELECTED CANDIDATES" list of a company during the placements. How would I react? Will it how Sushmita Sen reacted on her name being announced as Miss Universe 1994, or will it be like the way we react when India wins a cricket match in the last over. How will it be? Would I be dumbstruck and statued with my mouth wide open, or laugh and shout of excitement. Will I go mad of happiness. Perhaps I would clap, 'cause that's what I do when India wins. I would hug my mother tightly with broad grin on our faces. Call every person I could think of and burst out my achievement to them. The long fought battle would at last been won. So much of preparation and prayers have at last born result. I would have got a job. It would take a few months to get back to my normal being from the world of flattery and congratulations.
Perhaps that's what was supposed to have happened. That's what was expected from me who craved for a job for years more than anything. Not a single prayer was made without having the plead for the best job. The wish was granted.
But it wasn't at all this way. I was standing in the corridor in front of the Training and Placements Section with the notice board glass reflecting nothing else than my own image. My eyes got stuck on the single piece of paper ignoring many others which hung by its side. This "special" paper had my name on it. I've got the job. I saw it much carefully this time to convince myself. My heart bounced while my palms sweated. I was suddenly feeling warm in this chilly December morning. I rang up home to tell them what I had just seen.
This was the only moment I waited for years and now I stood there all alone with my own voice echoing in the empty corridor as I walked back home. Neither Sushmita Sen nor cricket type reaction, only a few waves of agility up and down the skeleton. Life remained the same.
But I hope the moments of celebration are yet to come. My colourless mind awaits to be painted.

Thursday, December 20, 2007

A Tribute

Batchmates know me as one who neither helps nor take help while in exams. And trust me, I'm very proud of that, even if I score pathetically , for I never like to share my success with others. If I win, it's my victory and if I fail, it's my failure. I can proudly claim that every mark and grade that I've scored is entirely mine.
Smells arrogance in air..isn't it???........Well, let me tell you from where it all started.
We were in fifth standard in school. The changeover time between two consecutive classes was fully utilized in playing "kith-kith" (the common game played by primary girls) ,the venue being the backyard of the principal's room.As small arguments evolved into noisy quarrels ,a short chubby lady used to appear from no where with her greyish brown eyes on us. A heavy scolding ...and we would fly straight to our classroom. That was how we knew her and was pretty afraid of her. Seniors said , she was the best teacher in school, but I found her very scary. now , my school friends may have recognized the person I'm talking about.
Mina Ghose Madam
She was my English teacher in standard sixth and seventh at school. The fear and apprehensions about her vanished the very first day she came to take our class. As the days passed on and I came to know her better, I could understand why seniors considered her to be the best teacher in school. She was the best teacher I've ever seen and perhaps the best teacher on earth.She was dedication and benevolence personified . In an inhomogeneous class like ours, comprising of students from convents and from Hindi medium, it was her perseverant motivation that brought every student to the same level. I still remember her Grammar Classes. She pointed out, "A common mistake which a number of people make is using a simple sentence as interrogative sentence by changing the tone in which they say. "You will come???" is what a number of convent going kids ask in a interrogative tone. This is a big mistake. It should be "will you come???"". She insisted us to learn five new English words each day from the "Oxford Mini Dictionary" , which she asked every one to carry. Had we been sincere then, chewing the vocabulary for GRE and others wouldn't have been a nightmare.
She was and will always be a motherly figure to me.Her care for students had no vitiation of favouritism...From front-bencher Ravi, to back-bencher Jagdishwar...all received her tender attention alike.
Once she told us an anecdote which had a profound influence on my life.S
he had an examination and during post-exam discussions with her friends, it was found that,all but her had the same answer which was totally different from hers . It was expected that hers would be the wrong answer, for so many couldn't have arrived at the wrong answer. But to their amaze, ma'am had the correct answer. She said "Never adopt unfair means in exam. It is possible that you know the correct answer while your friend doesn't. Have faith on yourself and the courage to face the results."
These words got permanently imprinted in my mind entangled with my conscience. My inner voice never allows me to ask or show answers to my friends during exams. The values given by Mina Ghose Ma'am stops me from telling a lie no matter how harsh the situation be. Yes...I consider myself a very honest person. "Your daughter is honest", she told my father during a Parent-Teacher meeting. The compliment I'll cherish my whole life.

Today, I would like to tell you all, that I owe my success to my Mina Ghose Ma'am. The triumph of getting my first JOB is dedicated to her. The BEST TEACHER and the most inspiring person in my life....MINA GHOSE MA'AM.

Dear Mina Ghose Ma'am ,
Thank you for your love and tenderness. It would have been the best moment to see you smile and congratulate me for my achievement. Your teachings will always enlighten my path. May you be in good health with that charming smile on your chubby cheeks. Kindly bless me for my future.

Tuesday, December 11, 2007

Story of a "Book" Worm

There was a worm. Her husky brown color camouflaged with its wooden niche'. Day in and day out she kept herself busy scratching her head with one of her dozen legs wondering what to do when she grows big. Shall she go exploring other corners of the world or live a comfortable life where she had spent the earlier years. Fellow worms turned into elegant colorful butterflies and spread out their wings to conquer the nature. But this poor worm had no hope of having those colorful wings for it had an ugly brown slithering body. She thought that perhaps her life would be unlike others, a dull and gloomy among the thick bound books on the wooden shelves. Her slithering body and tiny dozen legs rebelled with the thought of becoming a beautiful butterfly and set free from this corner of the library into the garden swaying over the nectar filled flowers. Her monotonous days passed by chewing the pages and the covers of the books. While her friends were already unfurling their wings , this worm was still crawling deep behind the books.
One fine morning the worm woke up hopeless. Her mind was not bothered by any apprehension. Life seemed the same but had something unusual. Fellow worms gazed at her with astonishment. Some wished good luck while others were dumbstruck. She felt uneasy and something uncomfortable around her chest under her shoulder. As she rotated her head to find the cause of this vexation, her eyes spotted a sliver of bright crimson wings circumscribed by golden yellow. Her heart bounced within her chest. The day has come . It's her day. She has finally got wings. She was about to shed her slithery brown skin and transform into a velvety black bodied butterfly. She stretched her wings, which flattered among the dusty books. The world outside waited with all its extravagant display to welcome her. She was standing on the edge of the book shelve which had been her home for so many years, her wings flapping gallantly. The runway was waiting for her and she was ready to take off.

Friday, December 7, 2007

Death of Aditi Das

Alarm clock beside her head rang just on time. It was 5 in the cold December morning. She woke up with a peculiar enthusiasm very much unlikely at that point of time, as if she was waiting for something. Clutching her sweater which lay asleep beside her pillow she stepped down her bed to look for her slippers. Sliding her feet in the purple slippers she headed towards the room where the computer rested. As she walked through the rooms to get there, bulbs and tube lights illuminated to see what this girl was up to. With one stroke of her finger the machine came to life. She swirled the mouse to search for something. The monitor saw her dreamy anxious eyes drop back to dismay. The computer thought if only it could ask for help, it would have rendered it to her. May be her search was over as she left the computer again to have a nap for an hour. It was 6:30 then, when she again dug into the internet to have another investigation. Her anxiety and restlessness was now visible to other member of her family as by now they too have come out of their beds. A couple of phone calls were made. Dressed in a perfect attire she rushed for some urgent cause.
An hour she engaged her mind in what is called the written test. An announcement regarding the shortlist was made during the test. Her sanguine and confident heart waited. As she headed towards the notice-board she knew not what waited for her. The piece of paper was all set to rip of her heart and assault her pride and identity as a departmental rank holder.
Her confidence, pride and arrogance was crushed. There was attack from both the fronts. From the mind and from the heart. She stood there still in the hope of getting some life savior from other papers hung on the notice-board. This time her tear glands rebelled and she could not fight back. She was strangled and bitten brutally by her strong feeling of being a failure.Slowly she drowned into the chasm of despair, dejection and pain. Perhaps this is the fate of the girl who thought she was bright, hard working and honest in what ever she did. Perhaps she wasn't fit for the time. She will lay in this gloom until rays of hope and morality makes it's way through this chasm to reach her. That's how Aditi Das, the "Clayden book muggu" died.