The Difficulty of Being Good

A couple of days ago, my college had taken us for a guest lecture at the English and Foreign Languages University (EFLU). We met the head of the English Literature department and his second in command. The talk was incredibly fascinating as they explained to us how the Modernists were influenced by their environment; how literature attempts to show us the inadequacies of communication; how we might be saying the same thing, but our meanings might be completely different. The professor had a strange manner of speaking, maybe a speech defect of some kind. What shocked me was the way some of the students just made fun of him, imitating and mocking him. It's a disability, he's not doing it on purpose. And yet most of the class seemed to find it funny.
Why is it that we mock those who aren't as lucky as us? How cruel can we be? Mocking people without a limb, with a stutter, with a lisp. Even those who are mentally handicapped. This man, who's probably smarter than the entire room put together, took time out especially for us, and instead of being grateful to him, we mock him? What does that make us? We call ourselves civilised? We call ourselves educated, sophisticated? Really? That's what this behaviour is called? I wonder what savagery is then.
Cruel nicknames, bullying, verbal and physical violence, mulishness, is that a part of a civilised society? I thought it was respect, kindness, compassion, intelligence, level-headedness. It honestly makes me wonder whether we are actually receiving an education. Because education isn't just about the textbooks or the marks you score, it's about shaping you as a good person. If our teachers, our parents can't show us the right way, how else will we learn? How can we expect to treat others with respect, if we don't have role models who set such examples for us? Yelling at a waiter in a restaurant, throwing things at people, resorting to bad language or violence at the drop of a hat, acting as though being smug and narcissistic is very cool, talking down to everyone, saying terrible things about others-this is what the norm seems to be. Anything else is just an exception. My mother has always told me (I have a nasty temper), treat people the way you want to be treated. If you treat everyone badly, don't expect everyone to treat you like you're God's greatest creation. The first step in the right direction is to treat everyone around you with respect. There's no need to be a sycophant, just be your normal self. Its not hard; you just have to imagine what it's like to be at the receiving end of an insult or bullying.

Why The World Needs Harry Potter

Harry Potter is practically the first series that I became obsessed with after I got over my love affair with Mallory Towers, Famous Five, The Faraway Tree and about a zillion other Enid Blyton and Carolyn Keene (Nancy Drew) novels. I was an unfaithful girl, I know. I still continue to be. Harry Potter was one series that always stayed with me. Hogwarts, Diagon Alley, The Deathy Hallows, magic, where do I even begin? The world that JK Rowling wove with her words, is a world that has stayed with me ever since I read the books. The characters felt real. Hogwarts, to me, isn't just some fictional place. It's my personal brand of heaven (note the Twilight reference-don't get me wrong, I don't like the books. It just seemed to fit!). If Heaven exists, and I've been a good person, that's where I hope to go.
I don't understand people who haven't read Harry Potter. How can you not read something that spawned the dreams and fantasies of children everywhere? The world needs Harry Potter. It isn't just a series of books. Harry Potter taught people to dream, taught people to believe that even in the darkest of times, we can find happiness if we remember to turn on the light, taught people to stand up for what they believe. Harry Potter taught people about the sanctity of friendship. Harry Potter spoke to every kid who had ever been bullied for being the fat one, the short one, the eccentric one or the studious one. Harry Potter made an entire generation realise that every 'mistake', every detour in our lives is just a straight route to what we are meant for. Harry Potter made me believe in fate, in destiny.
The world needs Harry Potter so that we can believe that in this crazy, inexplicably violent and ugly world, all will eventually be well. The world needs Harry Potter for making us believe that heroes exist, and perhaps, to believe that we have the power to make a difference, however small. Finally, the world needs Harry Potter, because it's brilliant writing. You're truly missing out on a generational phenomenon if you haven't read it. Harry Potter changed lives. At least, it changed mine

Telling a Story

I've always wanted to write a book. What about, I don't know. I've actually attempted it a couple of times. When I think back upon those stories I wrote, I think that if I had ever attempted and succeeded in getting them published, I'd probably have been sued for plagiarism!
Every show I'd watched, every book I'd read, every song I heard, I put into my attempt at a 'novel'.
Now that I'm older (can't really say wiser), I wonder what I would write about. My mom tells me that I should write. But what would I write about? I'm a girl who's still waiting for life to happen to her. I haven't seen much of the world, literally and figuratively. I haven't done much. What do I know? What can I possibly know that the world would want to read?
Everyone has a novel in them, a story that they can tell; it's just that some take longer than others to find it. There are times I find myself bursting at the seams with things to say and there are days that I draw a complete blank. My unsatisfactory reason for never actually finishing any novel that I ever started, was that I don't have much of a story myself. The only story I could possibly write is about a girl, very much like me, eager to go out into the world, and yet when she gets the opportunity, she backs away in fear.
Repeating myself, everyone has a novel in them, myself included. It's up to us whether we dig deeper to find the story that we were meant to tell. And it's also up to us whether we tell it to the world.

What I Think About Love

On my way to college today, I was listening to a song that my friend was playing. It was obviously a romantic song and the girl was singing about how the guy she loved had become her everything- her laughter, her tears, her sky, her life. Yes, that's even cheesier than it sounds
I don't understand it. I don't understand a love like that. A love that's all consuming that your identity completely changes. A love that seems to be even more unconditional and blind than a mother's love for her child.
I understand love. I interpret it as having the courage to say what's hard to say because you care enough to say it. I see love as a meeting of two minds, of two hearts. I see it as intense and passionate, but I don't see it as something that takes away what makes you who you are. I don't see it as something that changes the way you define yourself.
And I really don't see how a love like that can last. Doesn't it get exhausting? That much intensity all the time? Why can't love be an interesting conversation over a cup of coffee? Why can't songs be written about that? Simple, uncomplicated and happy.
Life is complicated enough as it is, why add this Romeo-Juliet touch to romances? I've never understood the appeal of these kinds of love stories. They're completely overrated. They couldn't stand the thought of living without each other that they would rather die? Come on! Elope, for God's sake. Figure something out. There's no need to kill yourself. And these are just stories you read in books and hear at bedtime. Love like that doesn't exist. And if it does, it happens once in a century. So that we can fawn over it till we find the next one

You May Say That I'm A Dreamer, But I'm Not The Only One

So, I wrote this poem approximately 5-6 years ago. I came across it yesterday when my mother was asking me why I couldn't write lyrics like John Lennon's 'Imagine'. I was reminded of this poem. And I thought, since today is Independence Day, I might as well talk about the world I dream of living in-

On the wind, across the sea
There is a world waiting just for me
A world with no sorrow
A world with a better tomorrow
A world green and serene
All this is possible, if you can dream

A land filled with love
And stars twinkling high above
A smile on every face
And sorrow, not a trace
The sun shines with a yellow-gold sheen
All this is possible if you can dream

Friendship, love, family
There can't be a greater gift given so generously
The melody of life
An ocean of learning to dive
Only possible if you can dream

Now I wonder what was going on in my head when I wrote this and it also makes me wonder why I stopped writing poetry. Somehow I look at it and see a child. And I wonder if it's possible for me to start again.

Becoming A Dragon Slayer

Honestly, sometimes I wish the world would end. It seems to get uglier every single day. This report about ISIS executing 19 women for refusing to be their sex slaves is truly horrifying. They were executed for refusing to indulge in sexual jihad, which, according to Wikipedia is-

"Sexual jihad (Arabic: جهاد النكاح‎, jihad al-nikah) is a controversial practice of women within some Wahhabist groups who are allegedly voluntarily offering themselves in sexual comfort roles to men fighting for the establishment of Islamic rule."

Not only this, a translated ISIS pamphlet was found to be a rate card for prices of Yazidi or Christian women of different age groups-ranging from $43 to $172. The women can be as old as 40-50 or even as young as 1-9. How depraved, how evil do you have to be? What has happened to the world? That we have sunk to such a level that we've basically become the dregs of society? How sick do you have to be to even consider such an idea? The tragedy is that even though most of us will shake our heads in horror and disgust, we aren't really surprised with it. The zillions of reports of rapes, of child abuse on the news has gotten us accustomed to the idea that there are sick perverts in the world. What do we do about it? What can we do about it? The futility of my question bothers me.
There has to be a solution to this. If it were up to me, I'd probably mace them and then set a pack of hungry wild dogs loose on them. But then, we can't take justice into our own hands. If Hell exists, there is a special space reserved just for the sick, perverted, convoluted minds that seem to be growing by the day.
The fact that there is a market where people can be bought and sold for a listed price, makes me want to gag in horror. What is it with the need to dominate, the need to assert one's supremacy, the need to have absolute control over another human being? Why is it that we are so helpless? Forget about protecting others, we are unable to protect ourselves from any kind of threat. We know nothing about self-defense. And the one thing we do have? Our voices? We don't take any advantage of the gift of communication that all is have been blessed with. And the ones who do, meet fates like those poor young women. Its enough to frighten anyone. But should we stop? Just because we are afraid, we shouldn't stand up for what's right? We shouldn't fight for the legacy Nirbhaya left behind? That brave, young girl with a promising future; she could have been any one of us. Her life changed forever in just a matter of minutes. What truly set her apart? The fact that she fought with the courage of a soldier at war till her very last breath. All of us have it within us, the strength to fight for what's right. It's up to us to look within and find the grit that will help us stand up for what we believe in and fight against what we think is evil. We love fairytales, don't we? The Prince slays the dragon and saves the princess? Well, why don't we become the dragon slayers ourselves and protect what we hold sacred? No harm trying, right?

Courage is a Rarity

We are doing Pygmalion this semester. Which brought back fond memories of 'My Fair Lady'. And when you think of that movie, you have to remember how exquisitely beautiful Audrey Hepburn was. I was reading her Wikipedia page where I saw that she was trained in ballet, and she danced to raise money for the Dutch resistance (against the Nazis) and also occasionally acted as a courier for them, delivering messages and packages. She was no more than 15 or 16. So much courage. And she was the daughter of Nazi sympathisers.
It's truly one thing to say you feel empathy and just talk about it and it's another thing to actually get up and do something about it. Its a completely different thing to try to make a difference. All of us hate the Taliban, we hate the ISIS, we hate child labour, but how many of us have the courage that Malala Yousufzai or Kailash Satyarthi do? It's all well and good to talk about the tragedy and go, "tch tch" with pity. We just can't take a stand, can we? We are so frightened that our lives and our lifestyles might be harmed in some way. We are so afraid that something might happen to us, as is happening to the world around us. The fact that these atrocities are happening in the world around us, to our own species, inflicted by our own species eludes us. How can we stand by and watch people who aren't so different from us, people with families, people with responsibilties get hurt and tortured? How can we watch a child's future get destroyed? How are we human if the instinct to protect our own kind is weaker than our fear of something untoward happening to us? How is it it that 99% of us don't have the courage to stand up for what's right, but by some miracle, there is that tiny fraction of society that still believes in humanity and had the courage to speak their mind and do what they said they would?