Broken

My head bowed
I listen as you
Recite the happenings of your day.
Mundane, hopelessly boring events,
There is so much I need to say.

Yet I sit here, unable to meet your gaze,
Consumed by my silence,
Your chatter ceases
And we sit, together,
So near, yet so apart
The breadth of my couch, a yawning chasm,
That neither has the courage to cross.

Instead of bridges,
Why do we insist on building walls?
Why do we play these sick, sick games?
I gave you all I was
You laughed and turned away.
I clutch at your shrivelled affection
Hoping, praying, that you will stay.

The slanting night shadows,
Twist and turn,
Dance and burn,
A bacchanal of sorts;
An orgy of emotions,
Fueled by passing cars
And the tears that steadily carve rivers.

I don't know how we got here,
Yesterday was so rosy;
Another lifetime.
Please just reach out,
Hold my hand,
Don't let me spend yet another endless night
Staring at the ceiling in a trance.

I want to know you're hurting too,
My pain is magnified by the fact that-
you can still live, laugh and love,
And make your promises, your empty, empty apologies,
While my every waking moment
Stretches as an endless torment, from dawn to never-ending night.

The loss of trust is a terrible thing,
The loss of innocence, even greater,
Whom do I lean on? Where do I turn?
And as I struggle to rise from the ashes,
I still want you to know that
I did my best; I gave it all;
None else would've done any better.

Ah Biology :)

[Once again, a college application essay. This is one of my favourites, since I bravely attempted humour! Most of the credit for my performance in Biology should rightfully go to Pramila Ma'am. However, for the sake of easy reading, I have attributed all of my interest and achievement (in Biology) to Nirmala Ma'am. The essay topic was an approximation of:'What made you choose your particular major?']

Biology is not an easy or precise science. It is tricky, smells like formalin and involves a lot of intimidating diagrams and tongue-twisting taxonomical names. Schools teach it so students can learn how babies are REALLY made (in case their parents didn’t go the whole mile while telling them about the birds and the bees). At least, that was what I thought until I entered the ninth grade-and met Nirmala Ma’am.
Anyone who has ever had Nirmala Ma’am will tell you that she doesn’t teach Biology; she teaches children. Clad in her crisp cotton sari and standing at a diminutive five feet, she starts bombarding you with questions before she even closes the door behind her. From angiograms to angiosperms, no topic is overlooked during her intense review sessions. As you turn to pull out your notebook, her hands whirl across the blackboard, drawing brains and hearts with mind numbing precision.
The first month is a blur (neuron? nephron?), but when you finally catch up, you start wondering why you couldn’t answer her questions earlier, how many notebooks you will exhaust before the year ends, and whether your wrist will actually crack if you write faster than 3,000 words per minute. You also learn the meaning of all the trite little phrases that biology teachers often employ, like “Biology is the story of life.” You end up sitting before a computer screen for hours into the night, marveling at the seamless perfection of the DNA double helix and laughing uproariously at nerdy jokes like the one below.
Question-Why are amoebae so bad at math?
Answer-Because they divide while multiplying!
I was so moved by Nirmala Ma’am’s influence that I decided to beg and plead for 8 months for an internship at Biocon, India’s largest biopharmaceutical enterprise. A week there as their youngest ever intern was enough to make me realize that this was my calling. The biotechnologists that I assisted and interacted with could not infuse life into words and 2D diagrams, like Nirmala Ma’am could, but they taught me technical aspects I could never have learned in a classroom. I felt an adrenaline rush whenever I entered the bustling laboratory, buttoning up my spotless lab coat, breathing in the heady aroma of reagents. I progressed so quickly that I was even allowed to test enzymes by myself!
During the winter of my 11th Grade, I was selected to be a part of the prestigious CPYLS (CSIR Program for Youth Leadership in Science), a national initiative to encourage budding scientists. Once again, I saw, learned-and was conquered. I spent hours with Nirmala Ma'am after class, excitedly detailing all the state-of-the-art facilities, and describing the complicated procedures I’d witnessed. Her constant guidance and encouragement enabled me to start working on my long standing projects on prion diseases and micronutrition-projects that I’m still researching today.
Now that I’m in my fourth year under Nirmala Ma’am’s tutelage, I’ve realized what makes her so special. Unlike most teachers, she is driven by such a strong passion for her subject that it’s actually contagious! I have slogged for months just to earn an imperceptible nod during her review sessions, a word of praise during rare one-on-one conversations (when she sheds her ‘monster’ persona). Through my own efforts, I’ve discovered a curiosity and passion for this enigmatic, yet easy, subject; and thanks to Nirmala Ma’am’s, I can now predict genotypes of successive generations, classify organisms with ease, and even get a 790 on my Molecular Biology SAT with absolutely no preparation (needless to say, she wasn’t very pleased about that!). Like a Mills and Boons heroine, I eagerly examine every flower and leaf, classifying it, drawing conclusions-reticulate or parallel venation? Pinnate or compound leaves? Monocot or dicot?
If Nirmala Ma’am hadn’t entered my life with a swish of cotton, barking a volley of complicated questions, I have no doubt that I would be pursuing the Arts, particularly Creative Writing and Journalism. Without even trying, she made me chart a course very different from the one I had decided upon earlier.
A particular line comes to mind-"A teacher affects eternity;he can never tell where his influence stops."

My grandfathers

[I wrote this essay for my college applications; but it is a piece from the heart, so I thought it should feature on my blog.]

“Desire is the key to life because desire is power. You are what your deep, driving desire is. As your desire, so your will. As your will, so your deed. As your deed, so your destiny,” goes a famous Buddhist proverb. Perhaps it was composed by my two grandfathers, whose inspirational lives could fill entire Chicken Soup books.
Siddlingaiah, who grew up to be my maternal grandfather, was born to an impoverished widow in a god-forsaken South Indian village. Working three menial jobs by the time he was thirteen, he managed to attend school and win a scholarship to study medicine in the city. Times were hard; he was forced to copy out entire medical textbooks and subsist on water when his mother couldn’t send him his monthly pittance. Braving all odds, he rose to the rank of District Health Officer and even now, a year after his death, awed villagers recount to me how my grandfather had performed an emergency surgery in the forest, on a woman whose intestines had been ripped by a bear, with only saline water, needles and thread at his disposal. At his funeral, I saw the passing of not a man but a legend; yet for 16 years, I merely saw my aging Grampa cheerfully battling the repercussions of 40 years of diabetes, even as he coaxed me to finish my vegetables. People often tut-tutted about his deteriorating physical condition, commenting that a man of medicine ought to have had the 'sense' to look after himself. But Grampa's favourite Sanskrit edict was- Paropakarartham idam shariram (The purpose of this body is to help others). Once, in a ruminative mood, he narrated to me the incredible story of his life (making light of his hardships, including the onset of diabetes at a mere 27 years)and suddenly he murmured, "If I had wanted to, I could've taken better care of myself, sleeping regularly, exercising, eating healthy. I'm not a fool. But even if I live to be 80, fit as a fiddle, what is the point? It will only be advantageous to me. I would rather die young, secure in the knowledge that I have alleviated the suffering of others." He fixed his rheumy, nearly-blind eyes on me. "Always remember child, if you live only for yourself, then it truly makes no difference if you're alive or dead." He wasn't preaching; just explaining his chosen destiny. And die young he did, after a protracted illness. His patients, family and friends miss him terribly-the booming laughter, carefree smile and genuine concern. Even though he became irritable and irascible as his illness progressed, we all loved him sufficiently to smile through his tantrums.
Thimmappa, my paternal grandfather, was the eldest child in a family of ten, and had to shoulder the burden of his father’s premature death. He conducted tuitions, attended night classes, and became the youngest ever Assistant Commissioner of the Food Department. It can’t have been fun or easy, but I’ve never heard him discuss those dark years; he educated and married off his siblings, and is a contented, intellectual man to this day. He often tells me that 'education is the great equaliser' and insists on cross reviewing every one of my report cards.
Living with the legacy of these two strong men, I’ve never had the luxury of considering failure an option, and my definition of crisis has been forever altered. Even as I grumble about my unrelenting workload, I’m grateful that my biggest worry is usually a debate or the upcoming SAT. They were born in times and places where farming and drinking to death was the norm, but they fought the circumstances-and triumphed. Their burning desire to succeed eventually shaped their destinies-and mine. I owe my strong work ethic to their discreet, non intrusive influence. Everyday, I endeavor to achieve a little more by challenging my boundaries; my proudest moment was when my uncle casually remarked, “She’s a chip off the old block-truly her grandfathers’ granddaughter.” I strive for excellence, and vow to leave my mark on this world, just like my two heroes did. My attitude, as molded by them, has been aptly summed up by Adidas-impossible is nothing.

The Intruder

I pushed open the door, and stifled a gasp when I saw him standing there. He looked exactly as he had in my terrifying nightmares-menacing, unclean. I trembled as he slowly explored my room. Obviously, the ‘Trespassers will be prosecuted’ sign on my door had meant nothing to him…

But mother had promised me, just the night before, that I would never have to worry about this….this….monstrosity…ever again. That he was a thing of the past. Yet here he was, with his back to me, methodically and coolly walking through my disorderly room as though he owned it. The last shards of my self control shattered, and I hugged myself in an effort to stop trembling.

Slowly, as though he could sense my gaze, he turned and looked straight at me. Then, leering, he took tottering, unsteady steps towards me, as though he had all the time in the world. I couldn’t move; paralysed and frightened, I stood in the doorway and screamed like a banshee.

Suddenly, midway through his weaving path, he stopped abruptly and collapsed. His eyes, the eyes I had never had the courage to look into, seemed to cloud over. My breath caught. Slowly, I forced air back into my lungs and clung to the door, trying to calm my racing heart. It seemed as though the new insecticide had worked after all!

I strode into my room fearlessly, taking special care to squash the cockroach that lay sprawled on its back.

Yearning...

I'm working on seven blog posts right now, but the sentences are stubbornly refusing to flow!!!:( Until then, I thought I'd just post the lyrics of this beautiful song by Dido. It's titled 'Hunter', and is more relevant in my life than ever. I just hope the right people take note:)

With one light on in one room
I know you're up when I get home,
With one small step upon the stair
I know your look when I get there.
If you were a king up there on your throne
would you be wise enough to let me go,
for this queen you think you own...

Wants to be a hunter again,
wants to see the world alone again,
to take a chance on life again,
so let me go...

The unread book and painful look
the tv's on, the sound is down,
One long pause
then you begin
oh look what the cat's brought in

If you were a king up there on your throne
would you be wise enough to let me go?
for this queen you think you own...

Wants to be a hunter again
wants to see the world alone again
to take a chance on life again
so let me go
let me leave...

For the crown you've placed upon my head feels too heavy now
and I don't know what to say to you but I'll smile anyhow
and all the time I'm thinking, thinking...

I want to be a hunter again
want to see the world alone again
to take a chance on life again
so let me go.