Utopia

“Where are the pegasus?”, a child asked her mother. “It’s too late to question,” the mother said and narrated a story.  "There was once a strange creature He lived with others of his kind They were considered different As they were difficult to find. They were beautiful horses With the ability to fly  They could run with the wind Yet you don’t see them in the sky. They had families and friends They felt happy and sad They knew kindness and love They could be good and bad." The little girl thought about them and said- "They seem to be like me Just hooves instead of feet Doesn’t the desire to fly Make all our hearts beat?" Her mother replied- "Yet the hooves instead of feet Made them a separate entity The wings instead of hands Gave them a different identity. They were them, we were us They could fly, we could not They were asked ...

132cm in height, weighing less than 30kg, I am a ten year old girl, in her first year at boarding school. My orange coloured house t-shirt is hanging on my frail structure, reaching my knees. My hands firmly hold the size 5 basketball. I am the smallest in size amongst the fifth graders who stand facing the two sixth grade girls. The coach has said, “The best way to learn is to teach” and the two seniors have taken the responsibility to teach a group of five fifth graders. I have not been much of a sportsperson before and my height plays to a disadvantage in this particular sport. In all, I am not a good player. But like every other little fifth grader, I dream of scoring impressive baskets and making my team proud.  One of the seniors has decided that we will divide into two teams and learn how to play a game. “We’ll choose one player at a time,” says a sixth grader to the other. They begin to choose.  Each of the two girls, hardly a year older than us, chooses one girl ...

Once I was crossing a bustling market and I saw a man selling bubble making machines. He was blowing the bubbles into the street to attract children. He was surrounded by kids, some of whom were awed by the bubbles and others who were jumping to catch them. Then I saw a little boy gleam at a rising bubble. He jumped and caught it in his hands. However, he stopped at that. He kept his hands shut and felt happy to have his bubble. “What are you doing?”, another kid asked him. “I am keeping the bubble safe from people. It is mine and I love it,” he answered proudly and continued to gleam at his closed hands. After a minute or so, he got curious to have a look at his possession. He peeped through the spaces in between his fingers but didn’t seem pleased. Then he separated the two thumbs bit by bit to have a look at his bubble. Eventually, he was staring at his cupped hands but there was no sign of the bubble. He began to cry. The man blowing the bubbles had observed the short incident a...

My country got freedom in 1947 and soon after it was a struggle for the Indians of that time to acquire the resources to lead a good life. They were hardworking people who wanted to secure the future of their families. The youth of today's India is the 2nd generation after these people. Professions like medicine and engineering are what the youth of my nation compete for, that is where our bright minds go. This is because the post-independence generation believes in mainstream mindsets, the ones that are sure to provide the family with a good life. These professions provide a degree and the degree provides a secure job which further secures the future of the family. The youth of my nation is bound by the chains of the previous generation which stops it from taking risks. The wings that wanted to take flight flap for a while but eventually they are forced to remain on the sides. Those who wish to fly leave the nation and settle elsewhere leading to the famous Indian brain drain. I...

They were making houses out of stones & only the best stones were used. I used to watch in awe as I saw all the big stones sit one on top of another firmly holding the weight of each other. Each year big stones were made into houses as all the small stones watched them climb onto one another and cheered for the strong lads.  I was a small stone but a small stone with a big dream. I wanted small stones to stand as houses as well. I wanted small stones to be recognised. I wanted small stones to be cheered. And I didn’t see why not, we had the capability to stand firmly and bear each other’s weight. We were all stones of the same earth, some big, some small. I went around finding stones of my kind, some stones with the same hidden desire, some stones in which i aroused the desire but nevertheless, we were all small stones with a big dream. And we were sure that we will be standing there with puffed chests amongst a loud applause.  Days went by & we pr...

9 November, 2015 Dear Diary, Today I’ll share with you a strange string of experiences that led me to discover a friend and an idol. Perhaps the experiences were not new but I had never before given them much thought. Today at school, the art teacher asked us to make a colourful scenery. I drew a landscape with flowers, trees, a river, mountains and a hut. Then I took out my crayons and started using each of them one by one. I wanted all my flowers to be of different colours. My teacher smiled at me when she crossed my seat and saw me using each colour at a time. However, the next time she crossed me, she stopped at my desk. “Why are you using the black crayon in the flower?” she asked. “Ma’am, you had asked us to make a colourful scenery. Therefore I am using all colours.” My teacher took the black crayon from my hand and placed it back into the box. She announced in the class that black colour will only be used to outline the elements and will not be used elsewhere. That ...

Hundred years ago, an Indian baby had been born He had inhaled the air of an enslaved land “I pray he sees better times,” the mother had said While holding him closely with her hand. The nation was then under a foreign rule Its people were slaves in their own kingdom They had to work towards glorifying a foreign nation And they dreamt the usual dream of freedom . The brave Indian boy along with others Lost his life in the struggle to free the motherland No other baby would be born to serve No foreigner would walk a ruler upon their sand. Years later, another Indian baby opened his eyes And inhaled the air of the free land “I pray he gets all that he wants in life,” said the mother As he was passed from hand to hand. The child played on the Indian soil He got educated in the Indian way He had the freedom to do what he chose to He could express what he wished to say. The boy read about the struggle for freedom He learnt the details off...