Acr-lic Colour

It seems to have gone out of fashion lately, but when I was new to Facebook, it was very common to have someone tag you in a photograph that said, 'Describe me in one word'. Perhaps I take it too seriously, but such things have always made me uncomfortable. A person has so many sides to himself or herself! Honestly, I think that mentioning a single aspect would lead to overlooking  so many other vital ones that make the person who he or she is. And things like being kind or caring just don't count (according to me, at least), because they're prerequisites for being a good friend! For example- has anyone ever asked you who your BEST friend is? For as far back as I can remember, I have never had an answer to that question, because I don't have a single best friend. I have  groups of people whom I love very, very much, but I still love them all equally. The odd thing is the people who fall into this category have widely differing personality traits, albeit some ba...

'So what do you want?' asked my dad with a smile. 'Nothing.I don't need anything.' I said at first. And then, as the reality of the results began to sink in I remembered an old promise... A few months ago, a friend treated me to my first Belgian Dark Chocolate ice cream (being a vanilla fan, I seldom tried anything else). As I took my first lick, I was overwhelmed. It was the most rich, chocolaty and delicious thing I'd ever tasted. I decided that this was something that was meant for special occasions. "What can I do to deserve one of these?',  I asked myself. The first thing that came to my mind was the board exam. 'If I get a C.G.P.A. of 10, I'll treat myself to this', I decided. ...' A Belgian Dark Chocolate ice cream' I told my father. 'I'm treating myself to one.' I grinned.

There are lots of quotes out there about how imperfection is the true perfection and how having some imperfections makes one better .But like the fox and the grapes (don’t ask me why a fox would want grapes), I think that we just find it hard to appreciate what we can never reach. For a long time, even I never liked perfect things. For instance, I disliked traditional rangoli designs because they were perfectly symmetric. I couldn’t draw them, so I decided that I preferred free hand drawings.  However, my attitude has changed lately. The change started when we began to study circles in class nine. Circles are just so… perfect. Think about it- from the fact that every single point on it equidistant from the same single point, to the fact that the ratio between circumference and diameter is always constant, there are so many amazing results that can be obtained from that simple shape! That’s probably why I love mathematics too. It is a perfect subject. If a law exists, it al...

We remember and register the strangest things. Lots of  Indian women who drive wear bangles and own a set of car keys. When I was younger and anxiously awaiting my mother’s return from wherever she’d gone- the sound of those bangles and keys was what I would listen for.When I heard the sound of her fumbling for the keys, I would rush to the door to greet her ( as I grew older I would do the opposite- turn the TV off or shut the novel I was reading and run in). But whatever the response was to the keys and bangles, I would always know they were my mother’s.  I may hear other keys and bangles, but somehow, they always sound different. To this day, that sound means ‘mum’s home’ and thus, even today, I cherish it.

Getting up at 4am in the morning and preparing to climb the Tirumala hill was exciting. So was the actual climbing experience- 2400 steps, the invigorating crisp morning air and the breath-taking view. But excitement was the only feeling in me. To tell the truth, the only reason I’d agreed to go to Tirupati was the physical challenge that the climb had presented. Two hours later, I was sitting in a room doing absolutely nothing. It was cold, I was hungry and I was bored. My family and I had managed to get a bench for ourselves, but every square inch of the floor was covered in people. Well, I had expected crowds, so I was quiet. Three and a half hours later we joined the queue. To say it moved at snail’s pace would be incorrect, because between rare, brief spurts of movement, it  didn't  move AT ALL. I don’t know how long I spent standing in that queue. Running on a small cup of coffee and a ‘Mentos’ or  two that my aunt happened to find in her purse, squished betw...