The section-I chronicles

Our first encounter with the ‘THING’ was right in the first Sem itself during a particular English lecture when ‘IT’ was compared to a plane. Yes, people, This Is It. This was the revolutionary means of war which would later break friendships, cause bloodshed and wreak havoc.

This is PAPERBALL!!!!!!!!!!!!!

One of the memories that, I'm sure, every single one of us will carry with them is of the EPIC paper ball fights in our class. With teachers, without teachers, during lectures or otherwise, it just doesn’t seem to matter to us. Believe it or not, every living soul in the class, at one point or the other, was involved in it. Some brave offending, some defend, some hermit-like back benchers take to watching, some poor little souls (usually on the aisle side) get caught in the cross fires (not mentioning that much like myself, some have aiming capabilities worse than a 3 month-old), some bold warmongers who’d target the bald pate of a very specific teacher and then the whole class would scream “LOVISH NE KIYA!!”.

Alliances were formed, ammunition was collected (which usually came from the neighbor’s notebook because why use our own when we have the sweet little oblivious neighbor) , guns were loaded, and Sparta-like bloodthirstiness was in the air. But among all of this, there was a feeling of kinship among us. How we’d unite against the teacher in not listening, how as one paper ball was flung around the room there was a mutual understanding among eighty-four students that the war has been waged. This was the point of no-return when rows would stock up on ammo, sometimes hitting each other with it( just to check the quality of ammo of-course).

In a class of 84 people it is not possible that groups not be formed, every class has that. But what every class doesn’t have is that when all these groups are together, we are as ONE. Groups, then don’t matter, everybody hangs out with everyone and has fun. My reaction when I entered the class and its numerous introductions in every lecture was that “bah, I'm stuck here for another year.” but now? The year has gone so fast, just yesterday we had our class party, and our field trips, and our constant lamenting about extra classes, our boo-ing the teacher when she over stayed her lecture by a minute, our united standing up to teachers picking on particular students.

Now I'm not very good at mushy good-byes, and misty eyed promises of meeting up in later future, but here I am openly wishing that I hope in the coming years, when we walk past each other we nod with a mad glint in the eye of so many ‘insider’ jokes. Thank you all, for giving me the perfect first year, I made some very VERY good friends here and I shall remember every single one of you(yes I, now, know everybody’s name finally!!!).  I love you all and may you have the brightest future there is. All the best.

The white, The blue, the shapeless, The True

When water weaves itself like sultry waves,

Nature, the seamstress, leaves no boundaries,

Like a perfect satin fabric slipping over a shapely hip,

It flows into oblivion of the sleeping sea,

With a hem, the eye cannot fathom.

Limitless water flows from under our feet,

Changes form here, becomes tangible there,

Ever indecisive , gives itself over to you.

Moonlight dances on ripples and twists on currents,

Paints the perfect picture of solitude.

Like a maiden sitting on a rock, with a satin gown,

And flowing hair like night,

Coalesces with nature and brings you home,

Open your heart, open your eyes,

let it course through you,

leave in its wake, a pure heart, a pure mind.

Subtilités de la conduite sociale

Yes, here I'm going to finely relate to you, the atrociously annoying rules of social conduct. No, don't scroll away just yet. I'm going to tell you what all you should avoid doing when among a large number of educated social individuals.
1. Do NOT look at your drink all the time.
   Or your shoes for that matter, or admire the fine lines on your fingers. It gives others the idea that you're       nervous or occupied or troubled, when you just simply don't give a fuck and all you're doing is mentally compiling the "101 ways for the other person to SHUT THE FUCK UP."
2. Don't sleep on the dinner table.
   Apparently its insulting to the cook (looks like the host is not at all concerned about your comfort). You could sleep with your eyes open or excuse yourself to the washroom and sleep there.
3. Don't comment about the wallpaint when the other person is talking. The person talking usually takes it to heart when you don't stare at their stupid faces and ooo and aahh from time to time(they think they're important to you if you do that. Poor little delusional people)
4. Don't EVER be sarcastic, funny or even REMOTELY logical. Yes, this is one of the most important points. Normal people do not appreciate interesting, humorous conversation. Just be plain and dry and VOILA!! you're a hit.
5. Last but not the least, Do NOT, in ANY circumstances, excuse yourself from the party(really, that's what people call a highly boring gathering of dim-witted, old, 'apparently sophisticated' people, who think drinking Bourbon on the rocks is THE coolest thing they can ever do). Just leave without being noticed, otherwise the host party shall coax you into spending another meaningless, hellish hour in their company.

So, take my advice, either feign ignorance or pretend you never got the invitation (this will also give an upper hand as you later torture the person for 'not' inviting you when you were so looking forward to it) or pretend that you're too above all these parties and you prefer the kingdom of The Lone Ranger, or simply just chill and hope you don't get invited.

I mean, seriously, who are you kidding you scrawny little loser, nobody is inviting you anywhere. Hurrah!!

Rain.

The rain poured down,

Like sheets of nectar,

My parched skin, my parched throat,

Sent heavenly thanks.

My lord showered upon me,

I sang with love,

Danced with devotion.

The smell, like a thousand flowers,

In my mother’s locks,

Like the incense she lit.

Filled my senses, intoxicated.

The drops in my eyes,

Changed my vision, and I saw the light.

Bursting out of every orb,

Every drop I’ve seen,

Made me pure,

Made me strong, made me weak.

That was the shine I craved,

The diamonds and pearls

The silver and the gold,

Nothing but raw nature.

Two Drops of Freedom

walk a road downtown,

mind's play, a fleeting glimpse.

two sides of roads untouched,

carry the warm feet ahead.

follow the road they say,

where to, who to,

they fail to say.

try to plot a murderous fling,

so long it went, unseen.

now the clock turns, the bells chime,

call out to the feet, to stop, to ride

the waves as they go,

but there are so many, the feet cringe

meet the stones, the sand,

stuck in the grace of chaos,

meet the guile, the wicked smile.

lose their balance and trip and fall.

why do they walk i say, 

why shouldn't they walk you say, 

why shouldn't they walk i say.

trace the ghoulish path,

they walk on,

 leave you behind,

leave them behind,

they go on, 

not the waves not the stones, 

mark a road of their own.

where it takes them?

to my pride, walk ahead .
walk away and out of sight.

blue and white

fire in water, unusual sight.

sand in hair, salt in eyes

blind the blue, and distort the green.

take it in, the sand in your feet.

its the brine that stings, the calm flutters.

the stony rocks and the pious sea, 

blend together like sandy fingers.

and create electricity.

the sea cringes, the stone ever sturdy

creeps slowly to etrust the feel.

it is a langorous cow, an attentive tigress,

drowns the stone and leaves it bare.

caresses and drenches, both alike.

When I give the Word.

I was taking my daily walk with a friend, biting into the delicious chocolate frostik, when suddenly she said something and i replied pretty dramatically with a few heavy words here and there. She stood there and stared at me for a second, giving me a 'what the hell is wrong with you' look. i said, "well, I'm a writer, I'm allowed such things." I've never refered to myself as a writer ever before, and i doubt i can for atleast another 5 years. But that one comment led me to think, why at all, did I say that. Well now, I'm not particularly a boaster, nor do i actually think of myself as such ( does this comment make me one?).I do not do cool things like play an instrument, dance all those complicated dance forms, click away to glory with an expensive DSLR, or play with colours and preserve a view on canvas. I want to confess though I take pride in calling myself a writer. She asked me, "dude, how can anybody write, I mean why do you write at all".

Well, here goes. I SUCK at expressing myself, I think writing covers that area. Or so it should. Apart from that, it opens a completely new world of possibilities. You can be anything, say anything for or against anyone, and they'll be reading your blog liking it. That is the power of the Word. When Written properly it has power to move nations. Gandhi, long back used this and sent a letter to Hitler. Martin Luther King made extensive use of it, so did a certain bored female who had nothing better to do. writing is actually a very twisted thing, its like wet clay, mould it in anything you want. If read carefully, it can probably map the writer's brain right in front of you.  It is like an eternal private joke with yourself (yea that's forever alone talk). Anyway, imagine the power one can get, by merely twisting words.

Also, to a writer, it doesn't really matter whether people like what they write, because if you start writing for yourself, you don't care. People might have different reasons for writing, some really serious ones, some for soul searching, some also to wile away time. Me? I don't have any such fancy motives. No i don't want to take over the world, I'm not a lonely little girl in a big bad world, nor do I have to put across a message that will make your life easier, reader.
I'm just,Me. I am Shivani Bansal, and Writing makes me happy.