“…I would like to share with you all, my experiences with ‘my jhoola’ which is very comfortable and inviting. Sitting on it, I feel like floating effortlessly with the south winds just like the large coconut leaves swaying along the sides of the Ring Road. The Ring Road, which is approximately two hundred meters from the ‘Thyagrajan Villa’, my home, looks as if it has achieved the much craved for ‘peace’ at this hour long after dusk, completely worn out of the hustles of the day . I look up to the sky, sometimes. Yesterday was the first time when I could spot the Ursa Major, the Sapta Rishi. The first time in the three months that we have moved to our new house. The seven of them were twinkling and the Pole star was shining steadily. I feel lost in the constellations, the wonders of the clear night sky. My concentration breaks with a roar. The roars of airplanes taking off. I keep my ears open to listen to the sound of the roars fading into silence as the plane passes across the terrace. On my jhoola, I get my inspiration, to know, that world is a beautiful place to live in and I should live my life to the fullest may whatever hardships come my way.” There was a moment of silence and then all the children started clapping. “ So, dear children, do we now know that our ‘favorite thing’ need not always be the television where we watch cartoon networks and car races all day long” Ms. Lily took her register and bade goodbye to her kids.
This was not the first time Lizi was told to read out her piece of creative writing in front of the whole class. The last time it was about ‘a short trip’ and almost everyone had written about their class outing to the local zoo. Ms.Lily was surprised to read Liz’s essay on boating in Banelory Lake. A beautiful, imaginative piece. What surprised her teacher most was her lucid description of the new moon light flashing on the water and the whirling of the small round boats. Moreover, her writing was so very well outlined and free from the gaudiness and ambiguity that she comes across in most creative writing pieces.
“Such brilliance from a thirteen year old” Liz was slightly embarrassed when she heard Ms. Lily saying to her colleague.
“My Dear Diary” Liz started like every night. “I didn’t mention it in my essay. That would have looked so ugly in my writing. After all, in a piece of creative writing we are supposed to be writing about the nature, the green valleys, waterfalls, the sky and the heavenly bodies not poverty and hunger. It takes away all the sophistication and fineness from the writing. Ms. Lily says my piece had a sense of completeness. How can my piece on ‘my jhoola’ be complete, without the mention of that…” Liz’s eyes became sad as if haunted with something…
“And you know dear diary, that Hanam was again trying to sneak away my old story books. So what if I have read them all about a hundred times, I don’t want to give it to that sluggard with dirty teeth.” Liz ended like every night. Of the ten years that Hanam had been there to help Liz’s mom in domestic works, not one day had passed without Hanam and Liz shouting at each other for something or the other.
“The the currency currency of of US US is is dollar dollar dollar dollar dollar”“HANAM, WILL YOU STOP GETTING ON MY NERVES??” Liz was very annoyed with Hanam who was loudly trying to get by heart the name of the US currency. ‘Why can’t you do that silently and without repeating each word twice? …and for a change why don’t you understand the meaning of the sentence you read instead of repeating it a hundred times like a parrot”
It was not always that Liz had such disregard for Hanam. “Believe me Liz, they don’t bury movie actors when they die” Hanam had told her once when she was just a toddler... “They take out their skins and make masks which other actors can wear. This is how you can see their movies even long after they are dead.”
Liz cannot forgive Hanam for this, for one reason that, she had herself passed on this great philosophy to all her friends, just to get all embarrassed later. As if this were not enough, Hanam keeps taking away her books without her knowledge.
“Why do you have to read my books when you don’t even recognize the alphabet too very well and what’s this parroting? Why can’t he ever read single lines in one go?”
Hanam would give Liz a big grin showing all his teeth, reddened with beetle stains. “You wouldn’t know Liz; the best way to get something by hearted is to repeat it twice. That’s how my teacher taught me when I was in standard four. Read it once by looking at the book and then close the book and recite the same line once again. Why, I have remembered big verses this way”
“Thank God you didn’t go to school after grade four, Hanam!” Liz gave him a sneer.
That night Liz had gone up to the terrace earlier than usual. She wanted to enjoy the stars, the clusters of whites up there, the one or two lorries passing slowly by the Ring Road… She didn’t want to look at THAT…it makes her feel very gloomy and depressed. The little girl there was collecting the ashes from the earthen stove. Once she is done with that she will go on to make jasmine garlands to sell it near the street tomorrow morning. Hardly ever does she wear anything other than that long orange skirt, perhaps once deep red in color and that soiled blue top.She never went to school. Previously, she used to play with the other kids in the slums but now, she was thirteen and hence not allowed to play with the boys any more.
‘How could I have written it in my essay, she looks so helpless, pale and so sad with life’.
Next morning, Liz was very angry with Hanam.That lousy moron has done it again. "How many times do I have to tell him not to make such blunt underlines all over my book?”
"Liz, should I tell you something. My teacher in standard four had told me to make points underlined and highlighted so that you can remember them at a glance.” Hanam retorted.
“Why isn’t your parroting technique much helpful” Lizi giggled. “ but seriously, do you really have to make those awful red marks with that blunt nib all over my book, you idiot? Hanam, in your head, you still are a fourth grader and always will be. No school will ever promote you.” “Sorry Liz.” Hanam displayed his indigenous teeth again and that infuriated Lizi even more.
“Today, no roaming about the terrace till late, Liz” Gong went the bell for ten and mom’s orders had to be obeyed.
“Dear Diary, I wish the poor girl gets some education at least, to read and write. Why does she have to live in the slums? Should I have told Ms. Lily about it? That, my jhoola gives me inspiration, true, but it gives me pain as well. She looks so sharp from her appearance, not like that blockheaded fourth grader who can never understand a thing without making you repeat at least thrice.” She bade goodbye to her, soul mate, her diary, with that critical remark for Hanam.
“You should talk to that girl, Liz. Find out if you can help her in any way. May be you can give her a book or two to start with.” Ms. Lily was touched by Liz’s tender and warm nature.
“Don’t be pained, darling. She may not be a skilled writer like you because she never got the required education for it but I’m sure she must have something in herself which makes her life worth living and equally enjoyable.” Ms. Lily swayed her fingers across Liz’s hair, her favorite student of whose writing she was an admirer.
“I will do that Miss Lily. I will go to the slums today.”“NILE-NILE IS IS THE THE LONGEST LONGEST RIVER RIVER IN IN THE THE WORLD WORLD.” Liz was shocked to hear the similar sounding parroting method in the similar loud voice. She walked nearer the slums and there was the girl in the orange skirt making red marks and underlines with a blunt nib. She lived in a hut in the open field outside which was the Ring road. She was marking the longest river in the world.
After dinner Lizi was sitting on the jhoola again, her favorite thing in the world. She was gazing at the pole star with a smile on her face. On her laps, was her diary. “Dear Diary,You know, she knew about US dollar and its Indian denominations. She told me that the man who lives in Thyagrajan Villa teaches her and all other kids in her neighborhood. He has taught her the tricks of remembering verses and underlining important points. I have kept all my old books in the servants’ quarters and yes, also some sharpened pencils to make marks. I just hope, that fourth grader, hasn’t told them that ridiculous story about movie actors again.” Lizi ended as usual.
This was not the first time Lizi was told to read out her piece of creative writing in front of the whole class. The last time it was about ‘a short trip’ and almost everyone had written about their class outing to the local zoo. Ms.Lily was surprised to read Liz’s essay on boating in Banelory Lake. A beautiful, imaginative piece. What surprised her teacher most was her lucid description of the new moon light flashing on the water and the whirling of the small round boats. Moreover, her writing was so very well outlined and free from the gaudiness and ambiguity that she comes across in most creative writing pieces.
“Such brilliance from a thirteen year old” Liz was slightly embarrassed when she heard Ms. Lily saying to her colleague.
“My Dear Diary” Liz started like every night. “I didn’t mention it in my essay. That would have looked so ugly in my writing. After all, in a piece of creative writing we are supposed to be writing about the nature, the green valleys, waterfalls, the sky and the heavenly bodies not poverty and hunger. It takes away all the sophistication and fineness from the writing. Ms. Lily says my piece had a sense of completeness. How can my piece on ‘my jhoola’ be complete, without the mention of that…” Liz’s eyes became sad as if haunted with something…
“And you know dear diary, that Hanam was again trying to sneak away my old story books. So what if I have read them all about a hundred times, I don’t want to give it to that sluggard with dirty teeth.” Liz ended like every night. Of the ten years that Hanam had been there to help Liz’s mom in domestic works, not one day had passed without Hanam and Liz shouting at each other for something or the other.
“The the currency currency of of US US is is dollar dollar dollar dollar dollar”“HANAM, WILL YOU STOP GETTING ON MY NERVES??” Liz was very annoyed with Hanam who was loudly trying to get by heart the name of the US currency. ‘Why can’t you do that silently and without repeating each word twice? …and for a change why don’t you understand the meaning of the sentence you read instead of repeating it a hundred times like a parrot”
It was not always that Liz had such disregard for Hanam. “Believe me Liz, they don’t bury movie actors when they die” Hanam had told her once when she was just a toddler... “They take out their skins and make masks which other actors can wear. This is how you can see their movies even long after they are dead.”
Liz cannot forgive Hanam for this, for one reason that, she had herself passed on this great philosophy to all her friends, just to get all embarrassed later. As if this were not enough, Hanam keeps taking away her books without her knowledge.
“Why do you have to read my books when you don’t even recognize the alphabet too very well and what’s this parroting? Why can’t he ever read single lines in one go?”
Hanam would give Liz a big grin showing all his teeth, reddened with beetle stains. “You wouldn’t know Liz; the best way to get something by hearted is to repeat it twice. That’s how my teacher taught me when I was in standard four. Read it once by looking at the book and then close the book and recite the same line once again. Why, I have remembered big verses this way”
“Thank God you didn’t go to school after grade four, Hanam!” Liz gave him a sneer.
That night Liz had gone up to the terrace earlier than usual. She wanted to enjoy the stars, the clusters of whites up there, the one or two lorries passing slowly by the Ring Road… She didn’t want to look at THAT…it makes her feel very gloomy and depressed. The little girl there was collecting the ashes from the earthen stove. Once she is done with that she will go on to make jasmine garlands to sell it near the street tomorrow morning. Hardly ever does she wear anything other than that long orange skirt, perhaps once deep red in color and that soiled blue top.She never went to school. Previously, she used to play with the other kids in the slums but now, she was thirteen and hence not allowed to play with the boys any more.
‘How could I have written it in my essay, she looks so helpless, pale and so sad with life’.
Next morning, Liz was very angry with Hanam.That lousy moron has done it again. "How many times do I have to tell him not to make such blunt underlines all over my book?”
"Liz, should I tell you something. My teacher in standard four had told me to make points underlined and highlighted so that you can remember them at a glance.” Hanam retorted.
“Why isn’t your parroting technique much helpful” Lizi giggled. “ but seriously, do you really have to make those awful red marks with that blunt nib all over my book, you idiot? Hanam, in your head, you still are a fourth grader and always will be. No school will ever promote you.” “Sorry Liz.” Hanam displayed his indigenous teeth again and that infuriated Lizi even more.
“Today, no roaming about the terrace till late, Liz” Gong went the bell for ten and mom’s orders had to be obeyed.
“Dear Diary, I wish the poor girl gets some education at least, to read and write. Why does she have to live in the slums? Should I have told Ms. Lily about it? That, my jhoola gives me inspiration, true, but it gives me pain as well. She looks so sharp from her appearance, not like that blockheaded fourth grader who can never understand a thing without making you repeat at least thrice.” She bade goodbye to her, soul mate, her diary, with that critical remark for Hanam.
“You should talk to that girl, Liz. Find out if you can help her in any way. May be you can give her a book or two to start with.” Ms. Lily was touched by Liz’s tender and warm nature.
“Don’t be pained, darling. She may not be a skilled writer like you because she never got the required education for it but I’m sure she must have something in herself which makes her life worth living and equally enjoyable.” Ms. Lily swayed her fingers across Liz’s hair, her favorite student of whose writing she was an admirer.
“I will do that Miss Lily. I will go to the slums today.”“NILE-NILE IS IS THE THE LONGEST LONGEST RIVER RIVER IN IN THE THE WORLD WORLD.” Liz was shocked to hear the similar sounding parroting method in the similar loud voice. She walked nearer the slums and there was the girl in the orange skirt making red marks and underlines with a blunt nib. She lived in a hut in the open field outside which was the Ring road. She was marking the longest river in the world.
After dinner Lizi was sitting on the jhoola again, her favorite thing in the world. She was gazing at the pole star with a smile on her face. On her laps, was her diary. “Dear Diary,You know, she knew about US dollar and its Indian denominations. She told me that the man who lives in Thyagrajan Villa teaches her and all other kids in her neighborhood. He has taught her the tricks of remembering verses and underlining important points. I have kept all my old books in the servants’ quarters and yes, also some sharpened pencils to make marks. I just hope, that fourth grader, hasn’t told them that ridiculous story about movie actors again.” Lizi ended as usual.
No comments:
Post a Comment