Robbed On Christmas Eve!

From the actual 'crime scene'

The doorbell rang through the silence and woke me up rather rudely. I grabbed my mobile to look at the time. Around 7.30 am. Who would disturb us at such an unearthly hour on a winter morning? My mother was awake and doing her usual household chores, so she answered the door. I heard a male voice. "The lock of your other house is broken. You better come and see." The next thing I heard was mummy walking out of the house. The robbers struck at the right time I guess. We dont stay there any longer, and my Dadi (Father's mother) is out for a vacation.

I didnt bother to get up because I knew the thieves wouldnt have found much to steal. All our stuff is now here, save a few pieces of furniture. And whatever my Dadi has would not really amount to anything. But then lightening struck me and I remembered my father's brand new speakers and music system that were still in their cartons. They were stored there because this house of ours is smaller and doesnt have any free space. I got up in a hurry, grabbed my jacket and left.

My brother and I reached the other home in a matter of a few minutes. After all, its only across the road. Mummy was already there talking on the mobile with someone. I hurriedly went inside was greeted by the chaos. Every cupboard, bed and showcase was thrown open. The wooden doors were splintered near the knobs. It looked like a tornado had come visiting. I quickly grabbed my cellphone and thanked my stars for its good quality camera. I moved from room to room and clicked away.

The floor above barely has any furniture in it. So there wasnt really much for the thieves to break. But as I went to my parents' room, I saw that the locker had been broken into. But so far nothing was missing. Then I thought about my father's precious stuff and rushed to the other room to check if it was still there. Everything in that room was untouched.

The bumbling thieves wasted their whole night breaking through nearly 10 locks, but did not take anything away. They wanted cash and gold, and obviously did not find any.

Mummy then called out to me and asked me to go back home and wait for the maid. I agreed because there wasnt much for me to do anyway. I came back and quickly loaded all the photos to my laptop. I observed them all carefully since I didnt really have time to do that in the real 'crime scene'. I zoomed in to one picture of my parents' room and saw something missing. Then the dam broke and I couldnt stop laughing.

The thieves will have a very merry Christmas tonight with my father's collection of priceless scotch bottles.

(click on the pics to enlarge them)

Last Two Years Of Schooling

My mother is a Maths tuition teacher, and ironically, both her kids are absolute duds at it. Ronnie always managed to pass, though. I was the one failing everytime. I had to reappear for the blasted subject when I was in class 9, but in the 10th Board Exam, I scraped 38 marks out of 100. All my classmates were complaining about their marks. Even those who had scored well in the 70s and 80s. On the other hand, I was the only one in a state of euphoria! I had done it! I had somehow managed to clear the paper, and now I wouldnt have to take it as a subject again!

I realised that I belonged in the Humanities stream (Its also called Arts) somewhere in class 9. But there was a problem. My school had stopped offering Humanities as a choice of stream since the past 10-11 years, since it did not have many takers. I had to change my school.

I approached the Vice Principal. I thought that I would somehow be able to convince him to restart the Humanities stream, since there were 6-7 other children who were also interested to take it up. But he flatly refused. I now knew that my efforts were going to have no results. A new stream could not be started so soon.

I withdrew from the school, and then my school hunting began. I had changed schools twice before, but then I was too young to know the entire process. But now, I was more aware and more interested.

None of the top schools let me in because they needed someone with a minimum of 80% in the Board Exam. Well, it didnt bother me too much. But at the same time I got an invitation from a newly opened, but highly prominent school in the city. The place where snooty children of snooty parents went to. I refused because I could not see myself settling in there comfortably.

After a few days of inactivity, a thought struck my mom. There were just 2 more years of schooling ahead of me. Since I had always studied in exceptional schools, why couldnt I take a chance and go to a small, newly opened school? After all, they were mushrooming all around our locality! I decided to take the risk.

The very next day, I went to the oldest of the newly opened schools (and most reliable among them), accompanied by my mom and one of my friends. The school was small and not at all imposing from the outside. But I got an inferiority complex once we went in. The floor was gleaming and the reception cum waiting area was highly ornate. There were water dispensers all around with those little plastic glasses. I was awestruck. In my previous school, though it was one of the best, we drank directly through the taps. This school was also airconditioned. My friend said that it looked like a 5 star hotel.

There were a couple of parents waiting with a child or two in tow. The school was going to start its first batch of class 11, so there were many takers. An admission was guaranteed here. These very students, including me, would subsequently become the school's first batch of class 12 as well.

The Principal was interviewing the children and their parents one at a time. It was our turn next, and I insisted on taking along my friend as well (I didnt want her to feel lonely). The three of us knocked the door, entered the room and sat down immediately. I saw an angelic looking lady sitting in front of me. She smiled at all of us and started talking to my friend. She kept talking, kept asking her questions for the next couple of minutes, until I realised what was happening. She thought that my friend was here for the admission! I quickly corrected her and we all had a heartly laugh.

We came outside, my admission fixed. I looked around with a sigh, and prepared myself for the stay in the hotel.

The Identity Crisis Of Rima Kaur

I look at other blogs and wonder how people twirl their words around and around to create such beautiful entries. It all looks so difficult to me! My blog, however, can be described as simple and straightforward. Pretty much the same as I am in real life. Precise. To the point.

This free-spirited nature of mine, coupled with my utterly rebellious nature, put me in a tight spot one time too many. The earlier incidents of rebellion I do not remember, perhaps because they were too small and insignificant. But as I grew older, they were no longer far and few in between. My rebel spirit grew stronger and stronger, until there came a point where I couldnt care less for other people's feelings. My speech, which was witty at one point of time, though a bit outspoken, became rude, brash and uncivilised. People thought of me to be heartless and cold.

Then something happened that sucked out all these horrible things out of me. I wanted people to know me, the real me. I wanted them to know that I was warm, kind, helpful and loving. I was sick of being labelled as uncouth.

I moved over to the next class with an unconscious resolve to show myself truly. No pretense. The transition was smooth, easy and hugely noticed by my classmates. I was popular still, but now for all the right reasons.

It has been many years since this identity crisis. I am still a rebel at heart. I still speak my mind. But there is a certain softness about it all. My classmates remember me as a friendly person who would go out of the way to help people. And that is the beauty of it. To know that you make people happy.

Now there's something strange here. The time period when I was a girl with two horns and a spiked tail is fuzzy in my mind. I dont really remember anything worthwhile from that duration. But things that happened years earlier, even when I was 3-4 years old, are so clear in my mind.

Any explanations?

Mumbai And Delhi : My Homes

Mumbai was where I belonged to, for a very long time. I was born there, and spent my formative years in one of its best schools. As I approached my 10th Birthday, certain circumstances forced my family to shift to Delhi.

Even after spending almost 10 years here in Delhi, Mumbai holds a special place in my heart. I wasnt allowed to venture out of the colony where we stayed because I was too small, but I could feel Mumbai and its soul, nontheless. I can say that because everything seemed different when I came to Delhi. The behaviour of children and the schools. The way of teaching and the nosy, loud adults. Yes, things were very different.

I dont really intend to go back there. Even though I think of the beach, my colony, my friends and my school a great deal. But I will always be both a Mumbaikar and a Delhiite at heart.

I shudder to think of the ordeal that people in Mumbai have gone through in the past few days. My heart bleeds for them.

My Priceless Nailpolish

I have always thought that I do too much for my friends. I go out of my way to help them and sometimes fall into trouble myself while doing so. I remember making an elaborate birthday card for a friend when I was in school (since I am pretty good at doing such things). I attached those little 'ghungroos' (bells) at the base which made my fingers bleed. But I kept at it, until the card looked prettier than a wedding invitation.

Most of the times I have not adequately been... what should I say? Rewarded? Lets use that word for lack of a proper one. People say that there shouldnt be any expectations in love or friendship, but I somehow dont agree with it. You shouldnt be taken for granted in life.

There was nothing special about today. So I was pleasantly surprised when a dear friend gifted me a nailpolish. I know its a small thing and probably doesnt cost more than 70 bucks, but the gesture was so sweet that I almost cried. She remembered how much I love that particular shade. (She has a nailpolish of the same colour and I had instantly fallen in love with it, but had been unable to find the exact shade in the market.)

It doesnt always take a lot to show someone that you care. Do your share right now. You might just make someones day.

Study

STUDY
(written when I was about 8 years old)

Study study all the time,
For me it’s such a horrible crime.
It makes me bad tempered like boiling lava,
But when I see my mom, I become as soft as a guava.
The word “study” makes children mad,
And some parents quite gloomy and sad.
But studying is a part of our lives,
Or at the end, we get to face knives!