Study

Even as my head threatens to fall off, I try flipping through the book in a vain attempt to find something in plain English, something that doesn’t contain any jargon. The futile search yields nothing, just the fact that if the author had been a nanny, he would have been figured in the top ten in the world. Sitting on the chair and table make no difference, I fall asleep all the same. But then suddenly a Thought breaks ranks, making me wake up with a start. All the Thought had to say, exam is tomorrow. Three words that would make even the most seasoned of army generals shy away. Shy away as in run away. I look around the room to see my roommates in a similar spot. Everyone is flipping through their books like it’s a novel they’ll like to buy in a bookshop, only to adorn them at home, trying to show their visitors that they too are intelligent. With a sigh I turn back to the task at hand. The size of the pages left to read simply over dwarfs the pages done. What baffles me the most is that I actually have an interest in the subject, and at any other time, such as before another exam, or in a time of boredom, would have picked up the book for a reading. But today, when I have to absolutely complete the prescribed text, my mind stands firm. No amount of cajoling, bribing, threatening can make it grasp even the simplest of the lines. And now, a mist seems to form in the front of my eyes. I get up in order to visit the washroom, in order to wash this wretched fog off, but it seems I’m dragging my dead feet over Mt. Everest. As I look in the mirror, I see a haggard, worn down face that a hardworking breadwinner of a family would have been proud of after a good days work. But unfortunately for this worker, the day’s work is not enough. Muttering curses to the authors of the books, I make my way to my room, only to find one wicket down and the other two, with the perseverance that would have put Mr. Dravid to shame, stick to their wickets. Taking care to disturb the others, I sit down, bellowing forth the choicest of the words for no one in particular. Pretty soon, my reserve of the bad words run out and I retire to my morbid thoughts of tomorrow. Then a lighting strikings! The Course! With a flourish, I take out the laptop and look up the course. You ever been in a situation in which you believe it could not become any worse when in fact you were only at the middle? I said I had morbid thoughts earlier. Well I clearly overreacted. What I am having right now are Morbid Thoughts. What I had previously are well good in front of this. I decide to do what presents as the most logically course of action right now. Sleep.

Eternal Battle

I take a walk on the beach, leaving footprints in the sand,

That make a line that stretches as far as the eye can see.

They follow not a straight path, rather a zigzag one, one that bypasses obstacles.

Tired of the friction of the sand under my feet, I sit, looking out to the sea.


The waves fascinate me, rolling away, white frothy foam, making strange shapes.

Some like a herd of wild buffaloes, some like white riders on the helm charging,

Knights with long white spears, and white shields, blinding as they come.

I look up in the sky, to see a riot of clouds, coming together to form strange shapes.

Like grayish castles, up and beyond my reach.



The scene soon melts into one, the sky and the sea,

the castle up away, a targeted place, attacked by the riders on the wave.

But alas for the riders they cannot reach, the castle up in the air, grayish and black,

Stretching up in as far as the eyes can see, far beyond the reach they seem.


A salty taste hits my lips, looking up I see the damsels in the castle,

Locked up by cruel masters, weep, for their knights in shining armor,

If they died they would be free, free like the wind,

But now instead they weep, casting huge drops, on the earth below,

Maybe perhaps in a bid to enhearten the riders.


And lo behold! The riders seem to move faster, higher up,

With each try better than the last.

Pretty soon, the masters of the castles are furious,

Cracking their whips and shouting aloud, and the scene descends into a chaos.


The damsels weep, the knights ride harder, and the masters rage.

The battle rages on, on and on.


I, the observer, watch, drenched in tears of the damsels in the high towers.

I look back, to see the footprints being washed away the path I took is now unseen.

The canvas I now paint on is now clear, a clean slate to start again with.


I get up from the battle field, an eternal on at that.

The battle rages unabated years on end and will do so forever,

But they wipe the slates clean for people like me.