Thursday 12th February 2018

by Siddharth Soni

There is nothing new in a twitchy upshot prior to result declaration for an exhausted science stream inductee. The whole kit and caboodle inside my brain appears to have been wrecked with abused stresses of examination, along all gray matter so maliciously evicted that some trifling ruins would barely allow me to write a daily blog. Nothing else. One testimony to such a fatigued psychological stability, is a vaguely driven scratch on the left side, just above the tiny letters imprinted on the tail of my friendly bike. It was perhaps my carelessness, that such a lapse is committed by one of the most celebrated bikers in underground Delhi. But more precisely, more persuasively, it was one unwanted rule of strain, which my philosophic, pacifist mind could not overbear.

One among the sixteen thousand messages, either by Email, or by SMS, I receive weekly, was by Saif, a wholesome dude that upheld me as a commerce inductee. It said in that old, familiar, inquisitive undertone; Hello wassup, how is life before the results? and then it ended on a certain incomplete, appealing mark. A sudden upsurge of adrenalin, maybe because of the word, or the arrangement of letters that say ‘R-E-S-U-L-TS’ look spooky. I thought to settle that upsurge of adrenalin, in the usual, much practiced way. I wrote an instant, altruistic stanza in pursuance of suppressing that unwanted element of fear, and that excitement that often show up with some insects implicitly rattling on your face. Doctors may call it a change in blood-pressure, but for me, it is that very old viewpoint to life. A yet another, only perceptible, and non-describable experience in life. The stanza told:

So kind this world, the priceless life it gave,
but forgot to teach us, the way to drive,
What bequest us this intellect, We deny,
O’ God, take it back, or give it the fullest,
So that we can conquer our fear,
become scholar, year after year…

Only wishing to make this year better, and conquer the flaws that made XI woeful for me. The morning bell will ring soon, and the cuckoo bird will soon tell me, accompanied with the old, bleary eyed stargazer that one unanticipated day of your life has come. By the time, I rest my somnolent body and collect back the evicted gray matter of my brain. I bestow this never-ending philosophy for my readers:

Zilch matter our luck, we regret,
we wander in never-ending pierces of life,
toil hard, make those pierces undescipable,
we proceed in perseverance, we strive


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