Well, looking at the title you can predict what you are going to read in this post. Success, a very strong word, successes, even stronger! I'm not writing about a kind of success, that would change your life in a big way, maybe a small way, but not big. The best part is along with the successive successes, I got to bunk skip, a lot of school periods! What could be more fun than escaping from the boring and uncreative, claws of studies. Who wants to learn things, especially when teachers teach them like they were meant to be boring, and they are here to either make you fall asleep, or bang your head on a table.
Being a part of the Literary Club is completely fun, being the Secretary actually takes the fun away, maybe not in bulk, but yes, a bit of it. The teacher in charge begins to start knowing you, your friends start getting a wee bit jealous, but since they are boys, you tend to consider yourself lucky. Boys are plain obnoxious, they take most of the blame, if its a girl, the one standing next to her is evidently unlucky. In fact I've had a lot of experience when I was younger. Never can forget things like that. Trust me sweet girls aren't sweet, if they aren't sweet, then you definitely mingle with them, same thing with males. Never trust the sweet! I only trust the word sweet, when the sweet thing is edible.
The day the teacher in charge of the so-called Literary Club (I am going to abbreviate it to L.C, for my convenience) announced that six boys will have to turn up on Sunday only to skip school, the whole crowd turned jubilant, and everyone wanted to turn up, but unfortunately, it was only for the students of ninth grade so the tenth graders were heart-broken. We were supposed to go to Indian High School, Dubai, as a poet by the name Imtiaz Dharker was to turn up. There was also an award for the best two questions posed to her. Six boys were selected including me, and their e-mail IDs were taken so that details about the poet could be given. I knew I was going to have a busy weekend.
I sat in front of my desktop for an hour or two thinking about the stupid questions I'd ask her on Sunday. It was not a very good thinking period, as all my thoughts weren't assembled, and like all writers, she was too complicated in person. In fact the first thing that struck my mind was that she was a divorcee'. The thing was I was not the media to ask her questions which are irrelevant and personal. Her poems weren't that very inspiring, it had sense of a lot of thoughtfulness and less natural flavours, which made it a bit boring. Sitting in front of a machine, which wouldn't allow me to access any of her work without paying, I had no hopes of making a question. In fact the only work I read was the one I was able to see through the e-mail that was sent to me. I mean who calls a television an idiot box isn't a desktop idiot enough! You can at least access a lot of things after buying a television. It is just not the same with a computer. Can't access anything good without money.
My mother helped me a bit, but her thoughts were more scattered than mine. It was so scattered I hardly could understand a word she said, in the end we were able to frame three questions, but the thing was I had to choose one from the three. Hard job.
On Sunday the day had come to wear a blazer on your uniform and look smart, like you have just graduated from college and you are going for a job interview. In the bus I felt really stuffy with the blazer and our driver just liked it without the air-conditioner. I did have a minor headache, but it never really took effect. The bus was really quiet that day for some reason. I could hardly hear anybody talking, it felt odd and you could say irrelevant, especially looking at the people in the bus.
In school all the six boys who were asked to visit the poet, first visited the ninth grade supervisor, left their bags in the supervisor's room and were prepared to leave with pens and pencils and a notebook, which nobody really used. The teacher in charge of the L.C, couldn't come as there were no substitute teachers and she couldn't leave school, so an art teacher accompanied us, and he did so with great delight.
Our bus was small, but because of the small number, I was able to bag a free seat, all to myself, how wonderful could that be! My classmate was sitting right behind me, and he was talking all about how idiotic the session was going to be, he wasn't much interested, he was more of a guy who'd love to bunk. "This session is going to be boring and its going to suck." he said. I replied with the look that said 'let's see'. The trip was kind of boring, especially because everybody was just talking. Burj Khalifa, a small man-made lake with flamingos and ducks weren't new beauty to us.
Reaching a foreign school is always exciting, but visiting a one which is better then your own school is depressing! My classmate was so furious, that he would have screamed if our art teacher wasn't there with us. We asked for directions and finally reached the auditorium, wherein the show was going to be conducted. It was more like theatre, with a balcony and all. The chairs were fixed to the ground and were immobile. We found out that we were too early, and this time our art teacher was furious. He blamed the school authorities for our early arrival. However we entertained, rather depressed ourselves more by visiting the neatly painted and neatly arranged library, and were astonished by the collection of books they had. They had Cubicle Rooms, wherein students could discuss studies related stuff privately.
We spent most of our time going through various magazines and books. Then the time came for the session itself!
The poet was a woman who looked normal, not too fat, not too thin. She definitely wasn't very good with speeches and also really bad at entertaining others with her own poems! The starting of her session was so boring that even our art teacher slept off! It only picked up in the end and because of that it turned out to be an okay session. Then came the time for the thing everyone was waiting for, questions!
I was the second one to ask the question and the poet replied by appreciating my question and also a very long answer which just came through my left ear and went out through the right one. Many others got a chance to ask their question, even my classmate's question was appreciated.
In the end the two best questions were mine and one other girl's from Indian High School. We got a poetry book signed by her, mine was called Leaving Fingerprints. My classmate also got a book, he got a book since the judge liked his question, but she didn't want two people of the same school to take home a prize. So she gave him a free book. We left the foreign school not too happy, not too depressed. When I reached school, everyone was happy that out of nineteen schools, our school got the prizes. This is my first success!
The next day, the talk about the Secretary of the L.C winning a prize had lightened, I was happy that of three questions I was able to choose the best. That day everybody was asked to write an essay on the topic What Children's Day Mean To Me, I wrote it delightedly as thoughts were pouring through my head. I submitted my paper, and I got to know that the best two will be selected from each class, and the winners will be provided a prize.
Two days later, there was a special assembly, for Children's Day and our poor teachers managed to organise something just less than decent. At first our physical education teacher shocked us by singing a song! He sang delightedly with all the cheering! There was a game of Charades, which only a few of our class representatives were able to participate in. You wouldn't want to know how dumb it was.
Our teachers literally shocked us by singing a song together. The thing was it didn't go completely according to plan. Some teachers were hiding behind other teachers, some of the male teachers were happily dancing! Some of them were absolutely clueless! Some of them were just glaring at the lyrics, through their spectacles which almost touched their nostrils! The program was almost over after that, with only the prizes of the essay competition to be given.
As the title of the post talks about successes, you'll know that I am one of these winners. Not a lot of gap between two completely different successes, what a week!
Hasta la Vista,
K
Being a part of the Literary Club is completely fun, being the Secretary actually takes the fun away, maybe not in bulk, but yes, a bit of it. The teacher in charge begins to start knowing you, your friends start getting a wee bit jealous, but since they are boys, you tend to consider yourself lucky. Boys are plain obnoxious, they take most of the blame, if its a girl, the one standing next to her is evidently unlucky. In fact I've had a lot of experience when I was younger. Never can forget things like that. Trust me sweet girls aren't sweet, if they aren't sweet, then you definitely mingle with them, same thing with males. Never trust the sweet! I only trust the word sweet, when the sweet thing is edible.
The day the teacher in charge of the so-called Literary Club (I am going to abbreviate it to L.C, for my convenience) announced that six boys will have to turn up on Sunday only to skip school, the whole crowd turned jubilant, and everyone wanted to turn up, but unfortunately, it was only for the students of ninth grade so the tenth graders were heart-broken. We were supposed to go to Indian High School, Dubai, as a poet by the name Imtiaz Dharker was to turn up. There was also an award for the best two questions posed to her. Six boys were selected including me, and their e-mail IDs were taken so that details about the poet could be given. I knew I was going to have a busy weekend.
I sat in front of my desktop for an hour or two thinking about the stupid questions I'd ask her on Sunday. It was not a very good thinking period, as all my thoughts weren't assembled, and like all writers, she was too complicated in person. In fact the first thing that struck my mind was that she was a divorcee'. The thing was I was not the media to ask her questions which are irrelevant and personal. Her poems weren't that very inspiring, it had sense of a lot of thoughtfulness and less natural flavours, which made it a bit boring. Sitting in front of a machine, which wouldn't allow me to access any of her work without paying, I had no hopes of making a question. In fact the only work I read was the one I was able to see through the e-mail that was sent to me. I mean who calls a television an idiot box isn't a desktop idiot enough! You can at least access a lot of things after buying a television. It is just not the same with a computer. Can't access anything good without money.
My mother helped me a bit, but her thoughts were more scattered than mine. It was so scattered I hardly could understand a word she said, in the end we were able to frame three questions, but the thing was I had to choose one from the three. Hard job.
On Sunday the day had come to wear a blazer on your uniform and look smart, like you have just graduated from college and you are going for a job interview. In the bus I felt really stuffy with the blazer and our driver just liked it without the air-conditioner. I did have a minor headache, but it never really took effect. The bus was really quiet that day for some reason. I could hardly hear anybody talking, it felt odd and you could say irrelevant, especially looking at the people in the bus.
In school all the six boys who were asked to visit the poet, first visited the ninth grade supervisor, left their bags in the supervisor's room and were prepared to leave with pens and pencils and a notebook, which nobody really used. The teacher in charge of the L.C, couldn't come as there were no substitute teachers and she couldn't leave school, so an art teacher accompanied us, and he did so with great delight.
Our bus was small, but because of the small number, I was able to bag a free seat, all to myself, how wonderful could that be! My classmate was sitting right behind me, and he was talking all about how idiotic the session was going to be, he wasn't much interested, he was more of a guy who'd love to bunk. "This session is going to be boring and its going to suck." he said. I replied with the look that said 'let's see'. The trip was kind of boring, especially because everybody was just talking. Burj Khalifa, a small man-made lake with flamingos and ducks weren't new beauty to us.
Reaching a foreign school is always exciting, but visiting a one which is better then your own school is depressing! My classmate was so furious, that he would have screamed if our art teacher wasn't there with us. We asked for directions and finally reached the auditorium, wherein the show was going to be conducted. It was more like theatre, with a balcony and all. The chairs were fixed to the ground and were immobile. We found out that we were too early, and this time our art teacher was furious. He blamed the school authorities for our early arrival. However we entertained, rather depressed ourselves more by visiting the neatly painted and neatly arranged library, and were astonished by the collection of books they had. They had Cubicle Rooms, wherein students could discuss studies related stuff privately.
We spent most of our time going through various magazines and books. Then the time came for the session itself!
The poet was a woman who looked normal, not too fat, not too thin. She definitely wasn't very good with speeches and also really bad at entertaining others with her own poems! The starting of her session was so boring that even our art teacher slept off! It only picked up in the end and because of that it turned out to be an okay session. Then came the time for the thing everyone was waiting for, questions!
I was the second one to ask the question and the poet replied by appreciating my question and also a very long answer which just came through my left ear and went out through the right one. Many others got a chance to ask their question, even my classmate's question was appreciated.
In the end the two best questions were mine and one other girl's from Indian High School. We got a poetry book signed by her, mine was called Leaving Fingerprints. My classmate also got a book, he got a book since the judge liked his question, but she didn't want two people of the same school to take home a prize. So she gave him a free book. We left the foreign school not too happy, not too depressed. When I reached school, everyone was happy that out of nineteen schools, our school got the prizes. This is my first success!
The next day, the talk about the Secretary of the L.C winning a prize had lightened, I was happy that of three questions I was able to choose the best. That day everybody was asked to write an essay on the topic What Children's Day Mean To Me, I wrote it delightedly as thoughts were pouring through my head. I submitted my paper, and I got to know that the best two will be selected from each class, and the winners will be provided a prize.
Two days later, there was a special assembly, for Children's Day and our poor teachers managed to organise something just less than decent. At first our physical education teacher shocked us by singing a song! He sang delightedly with all the cheering! There was a game of Charades, which only a few of our class representatives were able to participate in. You wouldn't want to know how dumb it was.
Our teachers literally shocked us by singing a song together. The thing was it didn't go completely according to plan. Some teachers were hiding behind other teachers, some of the male teachers were happily dancing! Some of them were absolutely clueless! Some of them were just glaring at the lyrics, through their spectacles which almost touched their nostrils! The program was almost over after that, with only the prizes of the essay competition to be given.
As the title of the post talks about successes, you'll know that I am one of these winners. Not a lot of gap between two completely different successes, what a week!
Hasta la Vista,
K
