First day of the final year in university


Well.. It wasn’t very interesting, but it wasn’t that bad, either! I think I’ve got a project to work on, and getting an S grade in it might increase my GPA! Ha!

And that project is for the next semester. Not this one!

I guess we’ve got a new HOD this year, and he seems to have implementing all brilliant ideas for our department, except one thing that I found odd. Class representatives should have GPAs above 8.5! What kind of rule is that? I mean.. The more studious students will be willing to only study more and wouldn’t definitely want to waste their priceless time on trivial things like an attendance log book or filling up a mark sheet (I’m just guessing, lol… I don’t know what else they do).. The people who’re interested should do that, actually.

Whatever! My university is always the best for me anyway. And I heard companies like eBay and Amazon are vising our college for recruiting students, but apparently, I’m not eligible for any of those.

Still have crossed fingers for the other companies who might want to consider me.

Best places to write: Fantasy and reality


Places I fantasize:
1. A calm forest, where I would sit under a shady tree with my laptop and a superfast wifi! Or even a book will do. That would be the most peaceful place ever, with the low hum of the running water in a nearby spring and the birds chirping. I’d love to go to such a lovely place and write.
2. A full moon night, when I have a large room with a large window by the bedside, and sit there with my laptop and write. The soft mattress beneath offers coziness beyond compare and the brightly shining stars from above motivate me to write. If only I had a window, let alone a large one, in my room. I’d probably stay up the whole night and write.
3. A humble hut facing a scenery of a mountain range, and a lake that is in the middle of the two mountains, which also reflects the warm sun. It would be even better to sit at the border of the lake and write, provided no alligators or crocodiles reside in it.
4. On the terrace of a sky scraper in a very populated, clean city like Chicago or something. The other high, enormous yet elegant buildings all around me might give me some inspiration to write – or maybe I’d just stare at the beauty and take photos.
I like to sit with my laptop and its superslow wifi and type off all I want on the yellow table in my room. I’d choose night time for doing it, as night would always be ideal – it provides a peaceful environment. Or I could even prefer early mornings, but I’m so lazy that I don’t wake up that early! 😀

—-Written in response to today’s writing prompt: Writing Space——

Beginning of another semester


The Day after tomorrow is the day. The day from which everyone starts putting pressure on me. From that day onwards, I might never be free.

Training for aptitude tests, creating an attractive resume, news, and academics are bound to fill my days. Besides, the lack of old friends who’ve graduated is going to create a void space in my heart. And to add insult to injury, I’ll be having tougher subjects!

And I also have to keep writing and also posting in my blog. This always comes next to college work, but it’s something that interests me. By the end of this semester, either I would be having a job in hand, or I’d be weeping silently for not doing well in the interviews.

A semester that decides my fate — let’s see what this semester’s got in store for me.

All things I hold dear


Writing in response to the writing challenge: Writing 101 by The Daily Post.

No, there isn’t one, there aren’t two… There’re quite a few.

I treasure almost everything that’s dear to me. Most of them include papers. I have lot of such ‘unwanted stuff’ (what others call them) stacked up at home. I treasure the handwritings of all my friends (I keep their test papers with me) and I have some of my own exam papers, in which I would’ve scored 99, 100, or something like that.

I am someone who gets easily attached to people and always want something as a token of their remembrance. And whenever I get one, I keep them all in a bag or stuff them somewhere inside a cupboard for them to be discovered later.

And I also thought keeping the memories of the test papers of my favorite tuition center would be ideal, as I never wanted to throw them away. That teacher was a perfectionist, and he also made us incorporate some of his perfection into our papers. He liked our papers to be neat, and so, there I was, writing ever so neatly just because his handwriting on the board and neatness whenever he taught us had inspired me quite a bit and my notes were exceptionally neat! I even ended up writing neatly, even though it was Math. And whenever I look at those, I never feel like throwing them away, so I still keep them with me.

I also have a few handwritten notes that my dad must’ve probably written years ago (crinkled, brown papers they all were), which I found along with the waste papers; I treasure those, as I love to have something that my dad had written. And the day dad taught me differential calculus was also memorable; so I keep his writing (differential equations, that is) treasured somewhere, but now I forgot where I actually have kept it.

And there’re letters that my childhood friend had sent me long back as soon as we parted, and we’re not in touch anymore. I have those letters still with me—ever since childhood. And while I was a kid, there’s this other bestie who made me a paper cell phone as a gift. I still have it with me and it will always stay with me.
And I also have with me the pens which my friends have gifted me or which is theirs. I keep it as their remembrance.

I also treasure all the greeting cards that my friends have gifted me on my birthdays and other occasions. They’re all safely kept somewhere.

I also treasure my writings in my laptop and I upload them on a site called ‘wattpad’, so that if I lose them on my laptop (as I don’t back up my files) I will have it at least in the net. Not only the writings, but also my drawings that I’d done since I was in school. I have them all stacked inside files and forgot about them. I was okay at drawing back then, and had even won many prizes in drawing.

And speaking of prizes, I just remembered… I have a few prizes that I never throw away—I’ve received many for various purposes – for general proficiency in English, and general proficiency in Tamil (though I didn’t keep this one), drawing, prizes for good handwriting, prizes for getting good scores in the examinations, and prizes that I’d won in sports in school (for sports, they usually give steel plates, steel glasses, steel bowls, etc, which we currently use at home).

But most of all, I treasure the photos of my cool group of friends the most. But since all of them are kept in my laptop, there is no guarantee that they’ll remain with me for life. I wish to take a hard copy of them all soon, but there are just too many of them to take. Very many.

I’ve met these people just for doing a skit. There was only a remote chance of being friends, I had thought, but now I see how wrong I had been. These bunch (that’s an understatement; there’re too many of them) of people mean the life to me right now.

And among these people is a friend who gifted me a watch, by earning for it herself while she was just a student! This still awes me that she could do so much just for an undeserving friend like me. She’s the reason why I’m very lucky! I’m just lucky to have her and adorable gang of friends in my life.

And yeah! I treasure all these people; not only their photos.

Above all, the thing that I most cherish and treasure is our memories. Memories of the friends I’ve had, memories of many kind acts people have done to me, memories of everything lovable and things that I hold dear, which reduces basically to my friends and parents.

There’s this money-collection box that my grandparents had brought me when I was a kid – I still have it as a token of their remembrance. Though they buy me dresses and everything else twice or more every year, they’re things that cannot be kept with me till the end; so I have that box and the watch that grandpa had gifted me when I was in my seventh grade. Yes, it was my first ever ‘real’ watch – by ‘real’, I mean a branded one – not one of those kids’ watches that you get for twenty rupees, that’s sold on the roads.

I also treasure a few things like wrappers of chocolates, when given to me by someone dear or just simply – just like a collection; but that was long ago—not doing it now-a-days. I also treasure the petals of a rose on which we’d written our names (me and a few friends) when we were in our seventh grade. Even though the petals have become dull and almost wasted, they’re still safe in my diary.

I also have a weird habit of stealing a few things from my laboratories if possible and keep them as a remembrance. I remember stealing a few scrapes copper something from chemistry lab when I was in my eleventh grade. And I usually pocket the tiny ICs, resistors and transistors into my lab coat whenever possible even now! And they stay safe in that pocket forever (I never remove anything from that pocket, so I still hope they’re there).

Memories are the most treasured of all, though. The very memory of having an animated conversation/ an intimate conversation with a friend or being loved by my mother – it gives me joy. Then what else is there to treasure and cherish? 🙂

An essence of me— a frozen up magic potion.


Postaday: A local ice cream parlor invites you to create a new wacky flavor. It needs to channel the very essence of your personality. What’s in it?

Well, I’m not someone who is a total fan of ice-cream, but I still can help them create a flavor which tastes like me. Making that does seems cool ha!

They’ll just have to add some freshly-cut fruit pieces into it and put some nuts inside. Chocolate pieces wouldn’t hurt. And they’d have to mix it with a few things like ‘craziness’, ‘laziness’, ‘weirdness’, ‘carefreeness’, ‘stubbornness’, ‘dreaminess’ and ‘loveliness’ and stir it up. And then put it in the freezer for an hour or so and voila! An ice-cream flavored with the essence of me is ready!

I’d recommend enjoying a scoop of it in the hot afternoon sun, every day. It’ll just make you insane and you’ll find that carefreeness just begins to run into your veins after eating it! 😀 You’ll find yourself craving for more. And mind you, it’s super-expensive. B-)

Doesn’t it sound like a magic potion of sorts? 😀

Another reason to hate technology


Technology got me so engrossed in it that I haven’t drawn anything for a while. Today, as I sat down to unleash my creativity, I found there was nothing much I could do.
Technology has, in fact, ruined my interests in painting and drawing. Now-a-days, all I do is photo-editing, which can be undone a number of time and can be redone a number of times. A few days ago, I had just erased a part that I shouldn’t have and for a microsecond, my mind thought of clicking the ‘undo’ button, but alas, there wasn’t one on a sheet of paper.
Technology has made life easier, I do not deny, but it has made the otherwise easier things hard for us right now. Drawing was a passion for me a few years ago, but right now, I’ve come to a point that I detest drawing now-a-days, and due to lack of practice, they don’t even come out well anymore.
The result of today’s ‘sitting to draw’ resulted in a realization – that I detest it with all my heart, and that I don’t do it well anymore. I write only because I keep typing in MS word every day. Or else, I guess I would’ve even lost interest in writing, had there been no typing software available for computers.
Still, I have come to love technology and no matter how much it’ll spoil me, I’d still like it, just like millions of other people in this world.

Writing non-stop for 400 words: writing101


Where a kind princess once lived…

Amelia was a princess who loved to visit the shore of her kingdom. She always went with her best friend, who happened to be her maiden, Diana. One day, as they were walking along the sea-shore, Amelia spotted something from afar—a huge ship was approaching towards their kingdom.

Amelia, at that time, didn’t know whether to be excited or nervous. They had to first get to know if the team of people approaching them were allies who were giving them a surprise visit, or their foes, who were planning on declaring sudden war.

But, as the ship fast approached, and Diana ran towards the castle to inform their king about the mysterious ship they knew nothing about, Amelia stood there, transfixed, admiring the beauty of the gigantic ship that began to appear larger as it came nearer.

As Amelia stood looking, the ship anchored at a good few metres from the shore and one of them got down, with three others behind him. The man stood out from the others, and wore expensive clothing, Amelia could tell, from the looks of it.

As he approached her, he asked, “Madam, can you tell us if there is any space left for a few travellers to stay in your kingdom? We will not live more than a day or two.”

The other three men stood baffled at what their master, apparently, had just uttered. “But master…” One of them dared to prompt him.

But the young man waved the man off, showing that he knew what he was doing, and there was no need of any advices. The man stayed silent.

“Madam?” The young man prompted Amelia.

“Oh,” she said, snapping out of her thoughts. “Your ship looks very much like the one that the kingdom of Genovia owns, sire, so I had thought for a moment that we were going to be attacked.”

“We are from Genovia,” said one of the three men behind the kind young man, earning a glare from him.
“You are?” Amelia gasped at the revealation and turned to run back to the castle and inform her father, when she felt a soft tug at her hands.

“Worry not, young lady,” said the kind-looking traitor. “We’re not here for war.”

Amelia turned towards him, wanting to know why they’d come all the way along. “And?”

“I’m here, to make you my queen.”

“And about the war?” One of the three bodyguards, it seemed, of the prince of Genovia asked.

“This young lady here,” he said, “has made the war unnecessary. Let us just leave with her, if she permits to let us take her.”

Amelia was stunned, and was speechless. “You’re Genovia’s prince?”

“Yes, and will you be my queen?” He stood on his knees. “I don’t want a war, if I can have a beautiful woman as you as my wife.”

Amelia held his hand gently, and made him stand up. “Dear prince, I’m delighted we need not fight anymore. Let’s make peace between the two kingdoms, come talk to my father, who happens to be the king.”


P.S: I have cheated a bit – sorry, it’s a habit of mine to press backspace when I think some word doesn’t make sense. “Old habits die hard” right?

Anyway, sorry about that. It doesn’t seem senseless because I probably backspaced at least ten words. I just went with the story, though. 😀

My fantasy vending machines: to console a lone heart


In response to the writing prompt from The Daily Post.

A picture of an empty vending machine taken from the net.


1. A vending machine that gives out tiny chits to comfort people.

A vending machine that can give handwritten notes saying ‘it’s okay’ – that’s what people with a broken heart need. When friends or their loved ones isolate them, or when they just get tired of waiting for someone who isn’t gonna come, they could just go to the nearest vending machine, and get a note that comforts them.

The vending machine should be a two way one, to drop comforting letters into them and a another for picking up one of those chits with the press of a button. It should be free of cost, as mere chits of paper from kind people shouldn’t be charged.

Just to know that there’s someone in this world who cares for them.

Yet another picture of vending machines lined up, taken from the net.


2. A vending machine that gives out unpublished novels or stories.

You punch on the big grey button, and you get one. Simple.

A great companion to acquire whenever you feel alone or dejected.

Another two-way machine, which lets you put your notebook inside and let any lone person read what you’ve gone through, which makes the other person feel good about their life, or put in a comforting story for a lonely heart.

These two kinds of vending machines, I think, will be a great hit if they’re brought into reality.


This one is a vending machine that sells cycle parts. Ha! How cool is that? 😀

Again, taken from the net.

How I unintentionally helped Mrs. Pauley



A short story written in first person, in the point of view of a twelve year old boy for writing 101: writing challenge.



I was playing with my new plastic bat in my lane when I heard a voice beside the house I stood. The voice made me stop playing and eavesdrop.

“I will somehow try to pay it within a month, sir, please give me some more time.” The desperate cries of a woman tore through the otherwise silent air, as I stood there, motionless. It was Mrs. Pauley.

I slowly peeked through their gate and let my eyes wander. Sure enough, I saw Mrs. Pauley, sobbing hard, with some sturdy looking old man and a cop.

What are they trying to do to her?

I slowly tiptoed to the other side of the gate to get a clear view and a clear idea of what they were talking about. It looked like Mrs. Pauley couldn’t handle paying the rent for her house as she lived alone.

Mr. Pauley had his cancer operation done after it had reached its advanced stage, knowing no hope was left. That operation took two things from the Pauleys, mother had said. Their hard earned money, and Mr. Pauley’s life.

However, Mrs. Pauley wasn’t someone who surrendered to the depression that threatened to suck her in. She still wore a happy smile and sent all her six sons out to work, as they were short on money.

Mother said that Mrs. Pauley was a kind hearted woman and she prayed for Mrs. Pauley’s sons to return soon with whatever amount of money they have made.

“Okay, Mrs. Pauley.” A rough voice made me snap to reality. “We shall see this weekend. If your money is not returned by then…”

The next thing I experienced was the gate smashing right against my nose as the sturdy man barged out, with the cop following closely behind.

“See you this weekend, ma’am,” said the cop as the duo barely noticed me.

Mrs. Pauley didn’t have any money to buy me candies anymore? Oh,no! That would be a great issue!

I went straight to the phone stand at the far end of the lane and took out the only coin I possessed. I put it into the slot and held receiver tight.

“Hello?” The person on the other end of the line answered.

“Hey Brian, it’s me,” I said, knowing the youngest of the Pauleys would surely recognize my voice.

And immediately I got a response. “Hey, dude, what’s up?”

“Something bad has happened,” I told him, as I knew I wouldn’t get candies from her every weekend. “Mrs. Pauley needs money urgently, and you must come with whatever you have.” I hung up immediately.

“Good job, son.” A familiar voice said from behind, helping me put the receiver back onto the stand. “Mrs. Pauley does need money, and she wouldn’t tell her sons and make them suffer.”

I smiled, as mother ruffled my hair affectionately. “I had to do it, mother.”



Sweat, plus a few smells that almost cannot be smelt in the horrible sun



Summers in the southern parts of India aren’t really enjoyable, you see. As it is quite close to the equator, there’s nothing but the smell of the intense, sunny air (if it had any) and the stench of sweat everywhere on me.

It occasionally brings down rain, but right now, the tranquil night has settled, giving me a feeling of congestion in my room. Even my hairs that brush against my neck irritate me, and there’re always two fans running. Since fans do not have a ‘smell’, I can shift to a topic that really does talk about smells.

The smells are just as usual, the hot breeze in the air bringing the usual polluted air. I live in the countryside, so it’s not as polluted as the cities that I need to cover my nose, but still…

Whenever I go cycling, I get the smell of fresh air. The smell of coffee is something that my town is proud of, and there’s a special kind of coffee named after my town. And what else? Nothing much, but I’d probably smell the stench that’s in the place of the evaporated river Kaveri , which once used to exist.

But the best smell in the summer is that of mineral water – if it ever has one. I crave for it and thank god for every drop that has been offered to me. That mineral water we drink at my home, I must say, is something that can be relished so much only at a time like this.

Nothing more to smell; my nostrils are already flaring in the heat.

Again, writing in response to the writing prompt from The Daily Post.