Thanks to most of my important, formative years carelessly spent at the movies and watching sitcoms, the island of Manhattan was an extremely familiar sight even though I’ve stayed eight thousand miles away from it until a few months ago. It’s what all the fairy tales tell you meeting your soulmate is supposed to feel like – a brand new person you know you’ve never met yet certain sights and avenues feel so familiar as if they’ve been home all along. I’ve watched Spider-man swing through the skyscrapers, Ted Mosby obsess about its skyline, King Kong obliterate Broadway and scale the Empire State in a few leaps and a disorientated Steve Rogers stumble through Times Square as Fury and his minions swarm around him. This was my state of mind as we planned for a trip to New York City for new year’s eve of 2020. What more could it offer, right?
Three freezing days, aching feet and eight hundred pictures later, I can now tell you all the ways in which I was wonderfully wrong.
Click here for Part 2 - Exams.
One of the really cool things about applying abroad is that you get to make your case. As far as I know it’s all about numbers in India. You have a defined entrance exam and a set cut-off you clear. Reservation quotas might come into play then. Sometimes there’s an interview and even then it’s too technical. Nobody asks you about your story or what purpose you think you will serve by getting this degree. Foreign universities make space for this in the form of personal and academic statements, usually put together as one – the statement of purpose.
4,751 views with 2,709 visitors and 69 posts (a happy accident) later, here we are bidding goodbye to 2018.
“Your time has finally come, my boy.” Pomeron’s mother, Eve – a woman five-and-two years old, and hunchbacked – said, reaching to put a garland around his neck. An already short women, with a hunch nonetheless, reaching the staggeringly tall Pom’s head was no small feat.
Pom bowed low to make it easy for her. She was beaming with pride. “I wish your father was here. He would’ve been so happy to see you carrying on his own work. My boy, a Hero.” she said and sobbed into her dress.
“What? I don’t wish so. I’m actually glad.” Pomeron said. (more…)
The camp had settled at Mud River, celebrating their tremendous victory. The last four days had been a cycle of drinking, singing and dancing. It was evening, and there was still no sign of stopping, even under the smoldering heat of the two suns beating upon them.
Renner himself didn’t participate, but watching others was always fun. Even John was in on it this time, he had been unsettlingly happy since the battle. His confidence had somehow blown up too. He even went out alone by himself; for hours, sometimes.
Saint was having the time of his life. No surprises there. He drank, he sang and he danced. (more…)
Marvalo’s – Camp Flame
“Well, that was an embarrassingly awful defeat!” Pam cried, back at Marvalo’s town, alone with Jane. Elder Horton was elsewhere. He had disappeared around noon after another court session with yet another incident concerning a wolf and a missing person.
It had only added to her already miserable week. The wolf infestation was concerning though. Many reports had arrived from all over the camp. Surprisingly, most of them were apparently… Friendly. Most had become obedient pets. (more…)
Mud Battle II – Meanwhile…
The Queen had inexplicably gotten well just two days before the battle. The prospect of sitting another battle out drove out the flu, she assumed.
She had regained most of her strength surprisingly quickly. Her Elder – Horton, being Elder Horton, had advised her against going out to battle so soon; and yet there she was. It was where she belonged. It was where she was alive. (more…)
It was another week and a half before the Flames finally came. The Frosts didn’t push forward as the iron-makers took their sweet time with the daggers. Only nearly half the camp were armed with them even now.
Renner was feeling himself, for the first time in forever. It was ironic that he was his most unlikely version at the time. (more…)
The road not taken was my first real ‘adult’ experience with poetry. Until then I’ve seen poems as for overzealous people who cherished every brook, fallen leave and moss-covered stone or for the overly in love, singing in praise of their lady. The road not taken was a personal narrative, it told a story from a very critical moment in the poet’s life and knowing that his entire life as a career stemmed from that one risky bargain reinstated the notion of a sentient universe. That somehow things don’t just happen and it’s all part of a grand plan. It is still ’cause and effect’ but the causes always seem rather forced, the events rather too coincidental. It is because of Robert Frost that I tend to take a bit too long to decide every time I’m at crossroads and so far its paid out well.
You’re 21 years old. Your mom makes your dentist appointment. You also insist she accompanies you. She sighs, agrees anyway. Let’s get this over with.