The (untold) Story of Mrs (aunty) Tandon.

It’s been a long long while since I last thought of Mrs Tandon who always wore a saree and used her blouse as a pocket to keep her wallet.

It was raining when she died. Very few people were present at her funeral as I recall, I expected the whole town to turn in because she was such a social butterfly, but my mother many years later explained how she was a mad hatter and not much of what she spoke made sense to anyone (except a 7 year old me).

I remember her making perfect sense to me when she helped me buy a milk packet from the confectionery to feed a few stray puppies. I wasn’t allowed to bring home the puppies or Aunty Tondon, puppies were more cute though and I could easily sneak one in my school bag. Never thought I could smuggle a over 85kg lady in it! Estimation made sense even then.

She had the most loudest of laughs which could be heard as far as six blocks and one could easily spot the black tooth which looked like a witch from those Disney movies but wasn’t as well fixed and always threatened to fall as her belly wobbled from laughter!

She would tie her saree in a manner that could hardly be called graceful. But it was tied in an exceptionally convenient way to walk across the hill roads and climb stares without falling off. Half here bosom and more than half her wobbling stomach was always visible to the naked eye and I am not sure if I ever heard her complain about eve teasing even with that amount of skin exposed. It gave me the notation that it was okay to wear what you wear if it’s convenient and comfortable, society doesn’t mind that!

Today while I was walking home from the town market I crossed her house. It looked dilapidated, vacant and unhappy. It started raining as I stood there watching the building, waiting for Mrs Tandon to come out yelling at the cobwebs and cursing the gods for making her porch wet.


Lost than the usual lost. 

I woke up on the wrong side of the bed, Life felt a little heavier than the rest

I flipped the page of a book I wanted to read since eve,  but my mind was elsewhere submerged in unrest.

Decided to use technology as my escape, played a song here and sent a text there. My heart prompted from beneath the fancy rib cage that all of it is nothing but waste.  Continue reading “Lost than the usual lost. “

Virtuality taking Real Lives : Blue Whale Suicide Game.

We live in a real word surrounded by virtual environment. It’s the era of Facebook, What’s App, Instagram etc etc but it is also the era of major addictive virtual games. Be it COC better known as “clash of clans” or “candy crush”or “criminal case” the list goes on. As much as I hate seeing a generation ,who won’t have stories to tell as grandparents, wasting their life infront of screens I fear for them.

I fear for kids who are vulnerable enough to take their own life in order ṭo win a game. 

The Blue Whale is one such game. If you haven’t already heard about it let me give you a brief insight on what’s it all about. 

The Blue Whale is a virtual suicide game which was developed by a Russian psychology student who was explled from his college. This game accepts participants who want to end their life in a fun way. It majorly attracts students suffering from mental illness such as depression, anxiety etc. The game consists of 50 levels which are comprised of infliction of self harm. After completing each task the person is supposed to send a photograph of the self harm done. They play with the psychology of the human in such a way that ensures that a person does not back out. The last i.e the 50th level is when the gamer has to commit suicide. 

You might think that ‘so what there is such a game? It’s JUST a game after all.’ Well it’s not. 

Throughout Russia and China the game has taken almost 150 innocent lives. It has now spread it’s roots to India. Last week a 14 year old student from mumbai commited suicide and today I read on the paper’s that a student of 7th standard ,Indore tried commiting suicide by jumping of a three story building,but luckily was saved. Still think it’s just a game? 

I am a student of psychology and I am a sister, an aunt, a friend as well. I have a family and I have friends. My purpose of writing this blog is simple. I want to keep all those I love safe. I am sure you would want the same. 

So I talked to my psychology professors and asked that what could be the deriving force behind such a hideous task. To cover all that Information I’ll put forth the word “psychopath”. But what is more important is how can we tackle this situation? 

They told me that to start with TALK- TAKE NOTICE – COUNSULT. 

it’s three basic steps. Talk to the kids around you, ask them to speak. Ask them how their day was, what they did at school, listin to their childish problems. When you put efforts they know that you Care .

Take notice. If the person is too self occupied and you notice a divination in their behaviour don’t ignore it. If a person is behaving unusually or is too quite please keep all your work aside and ask what’s going on in their life.

Consult. If you realise that the situation is out of your hand or even if you do figure out that something somewhere is wrong don’t hesistate to take professional help. A trained psychologist Is your best option. 

Please spread the word and show you care. Stay safe. 
~Snowy Rahi


To the beginning of an End.

When you start reading a story it’s majorly divided into three parts. The beginning, the middle and the end. Life is more or less like that, obvious is the fact that it has it’s ups and downs and not always a happy ending and even at times you don’t even get closure at all. 

You need to understand the atmosphere before you read this blog. I am sitting in my room and packing my bags for the last year of college. It will be the last time that I will be heading to my hostel to start the beginning of an end. This is the last year of my graduation and it has made me rather nostalgic. 

I won’t bore you with my college stories , I am sure you have plenty of your own. But what I would like to share is how one can make this end of a new phase worth it.

You remember that first girl/boy you met on campus who you faught with and suddenly you had a sworn enemy? Well talk to that person. Be the first one to say hello and crush down all the bitter memories. I am sure you don’t even remember the reason that made you to part ways in the first place !

Along the road we all made friends. All of us thought it wouldn’t last long and yet it did. I am sure college produced some pretty amazing friendship bonds. Keep them close. Make a bucket list with your buddies and go bonkers because if not now then when will you ever complete that crazy list of yours with people who are equally bizarre as you are!

Take in your campus , explore it to the fullest. There might be nooks and corners that your eyes would have missed. Who knows you can find a reunion spot! 

College crushessssss! All of us have that one person who we are head over heels for. But not once have we had the courage to go over and start a conversation. Or that person could be a friend and we might be too afraid to cross the line. Oh well I guess it’s about time to cross those lines and give love a chance. That person could be your ever after. And even if not, it’s better to let your heart out then live in a delimma for the rest of your life “she loves me she loves me not” , it’s time you asked her/him instead! 

To the bullies and the bullied. Learn to accept rejection as well as learn to say no. Keep your ego aside, not everything is going to be the way you planed it out. Every individual is different with different choices and opinions. LEARN TO LIVE WITH THAT! it’s not shameful. Help someone in trouble, not being part of a gang which is full of haters does not make you less awesome. Popularity at the price of your soul is not worth having.

Have been wondering about to finally do something towards the things you are passionate about? Well go ahead and do it! Learn a new instrument, learn how to write, develop a taste for reading, learn to drive, swim, race! I mean the world is at your feet take a step forward and embrace it!

The last but not the least. Never let anyone tell you to be someone you are not. Never give up on your dreams. Always be a friend, you never know who might be silently asking for help.

Live- let live.Love- let love.and Laugh.

~Snowy Rahi

Writing the (soon to be) forgotten art !

I was walking down hill as the monsoon rain came to a brief halt. It had been raining cats and dogs throughout for the past 24 hours and as some people find the idea of rain falling romantic , I pretty much loath it.

But rains are not my topic for this blog post. As I was walking I started thinking about the long written letters that my uncle used to write to my grandfather when the latter used to be away for work. I, for one, am a sucker for hand written letters on parchment papers that are old and coffee brown and brittle, all ready to break because they have overgrown their age to tear apart. It’s that ink that stains them which is worth a million smiles and million memories that are re lived as you read the calligraphy done by it. 

How will it feel when the online Facebook posts and these blog posts is all we will get to read from? I wonder if the jokes relating a person with a bad hand writing still be related to a doctor or the myth of hand writing depicting the characteristic of a person still be valid. 

Remember that rush of adralin when for the first time we were upgraded from a pencil to a pen ! Wow we felt all grown up. Using that fountain pen taught us the art of writing along side teaching us  a lot of patience that was required to fill up the ink without staining our hands or clothes. It will be a shame that the gen next might have to do with tabloids, iPads and laptops. They might never be able to feel the texture of a hardcover book and the smell that the papers hold within. Trying to copy the handwriting of some famous personality will no longer be a task nor will be there that smile of satisfaction crossing their face seeing the words their quill is capable of creating. 

Trees will still be cut, forests will be long gone, trodden paths will be a myth and along with them the beautiful art of muse and writing displaced. 

Literature: An Analogy with society

Here is a blog post written by a friend of mine. He is a student of English Literature at Aligarh Muslim University and has a versatile personality. From writing to playing basketball to trekking the trodden paths of the mountain. Here is a blog post by SHubham Sharma. Hope you guys enjoy it.

We have been studying literature since we were toddlers, perusing each and every aspect of Literary terminology. However, we are still unable to comprehend the exact meaning of this term “literature”. If we carefully perpend this word, it gives haphazard obscurity. Albeit late, but I have understood the meaning of literature. Literature for me is the connection of experiences. In other words it is a quintessential confluence of various ideas and ideals, amalgamated into one. For example: if we consider the circumstances prevailing in Elizabethan period, Renaissance and the Romantic Period, writers had sundry experiences and they penned down them. Now, it is Literature that has intermingled all those experiences and connected them with one string. 
Unfortunately we have confined “our” literary knowledge solely to books. But real cognizance of literature comes from the society, which decides the literature of the sphere it covers. For most of us, literature is just a subject not a delight. Studying literature as it is meant to be studied, hones our grey matter and generates conscience plus conviction. It makes us a better being and a good teacher as well. My English professor said a very beautiful hence introspective line about teachers, “A good teacher does not make good students rather a good teacher makes better teachers”. And for being a good teacher you must have the possession of conscience and conviction.
 As a student, one must have two dreams: one is getting knowledge and the other is getting character. Mark Twain’s quote finds relevance in this context. He says, “The two most important days in your life are, the day on which you were born and the day on which you find out why”. That day had certainly came in my life when i opted for Literature. I felt a certain excitement. I could fancy myself with the greatest of ease. Ignorance was bliss for me before, but later it was my remedial weakness. 
For me Literature acted as a mould in which it shaped my clayey mind to tackle life problems with ingenuity. Literature has turned my idle yesterday to a delightful tomorrow. 

-SHubham SHarma

Mysterious Misconceptions.

For he loved the mystery in me

Trending fashion seems contagious

Contagious to the level of infecting the pure social stigma of love

Love having been defined through time and back

Back with the mystery in your beloved’s eyes

Eyes that were mysterious through the era of romantics it may seem

Seems the power of love feeling void in contrast to that of mystery

Mystery is the dame that every heart ached for, went the saying

Sayings complicating the simplicity of relationships in today’s world

World where the beauty of connecting through open hearts got lost

” Lost Cause”, is the prefix or suffix the word “relationship” holds now

Now is the time to open up your body and soul,

To wake up and kiss him on the lips, as in the old times it goes

Let the mystery be only in the eyes of your beloved and not be a hovering cloud in your relationship

Love him as he loves you, open and wide

Wide like the unhidden ocean beneath thine beloved’s eye.



Of Thunderstorms and Splendid Skies.

The forces that drive thunder to strike and screech through the smouldering sky is the same force that forces it to later smudge and blend into the night like that smudge of a blend in mascara on a girls face wearing a scarlet blush which compliments it. 

The thunderstorm is scary,No doubt about that. But in midst of the scorching heat and swooning bodies falling here and there and here, under the charms and spells of the sun, feel relieved when the thundering sound approaches and the clouds cover the blue of ṭhe sky and turn it into grey and finally a shade of black. The mighty yet not so mighty of God’s creation look up in awe and relief thinking it’s about time that their prayers have been answered. 

Rain has always had it’s way with humans. Humans who have a heart that connects to that of nature. The rain drops touch the lithosphere and dance at the touch of the ground as if their tinny droplet bodies are caressed after ages and their thirst finally quenched. It is in almost the same way humans dance to their tune. I look out of my bedroom window and I see girls dancing their hearts out with every touch of rain that is setting their bodies ablaze in fits of laughter at the thundering sound of the invisible magic wand being waves somewhere afar behind the cloak of the night.

Now looking at the trees I have this different observation. Where as for the humans, thunderstorms are a chance to create more noise and chaos and laughter,for the tress it’s a time of whispering and trespassing the boundaries that are otherwise always created. I see them bending this way and that and hobbnobbing together as if whispering to each other the stories that their hearts have kept locked up until that very moment.These storms bring them close but as it is , attachments come with a cost. Too much snuggles and cuddles and whispers are out of bound and if they try to cross that line the result is fatal. As fatal as imminent death caused due to unacceptable bending and breaking. 

Lifting my thoughtful gaze from the ground I again look outside the window. The storm has ceased. It’s calm. Everything back to the way it was and the eventful hours or could have been minutes, who could tell, have passed away. Solace and order has taken it’s authority back after much of a battle. To conclude all Is well under the splender of the dark dark night but I see a sapling sprout and I wonder … But Ah well that’s a story for another time, under different skies , under different shades of the night. 

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