MEDIA AND COMMUNICATION CELL

MCC 34 & 35

F RO M T H E E D I TO R ’ S D E S K

MY EXPERIMENTS WITH LIFE 4 I KEEP FORGETTING 14

The curtains unfold to reveal the choicest picks of the year, from the hearts and minds
BONDS THAT MATTER 15

CO N T E N TS
at IIM Lucknow. In the following pages lie stirring sonnets, soliloquys and stories along THAT ONE MOMENT 5
with stunning imagery captured through lens, brush and hand. Prepare to be swept MY OPINION 16
away by the creative extravaganza. BUT WHAT IS MAGIC? 8

SANA 10 WHO IS THE REAL GOD? 18

We would like to express our deepest gratitude to all the students who contributed
enthusiastically through poems, stories, photos and paintings. We would also like TO BE VULNERABLY HONEST 12 IF ABSTRACT HAD A DEFINITION 22
to thank Prof. Vikas Srivastava for helping us in helming the magazine through his
vision and guidance. We hope that we have been able to advance the legacy of our THE WARRIOR 13 CREATIVE STROKES 24
senior batches through this magazine. We also hope that we have done justice to
the purpose of this magazine.

- Media and Communication Cell

2 | PULSE 2019 MEDIA AND COMMUNICATION CELL | 3

 “ How can you be sure that some Dream right | Live right
muscle behind that ribbed cage
is overpowering your grey cells?
Really, Is it the Heart?”
T he sad part is that while reading
about successful people we
forget to read about their struggles
and the number of times
they have failed.
wish for, have led intelligent minds
This orchestration of one-night suc-
to act like gullible fools.
cess stories make us all feel
Oh, how often have you scurried
like ‘He/She is special, I cannot do that’
behind the pied piper of false hopes
But here is where we put limitations on
and assumptions and fallen off the
our lives, on our
cliff of rationality!
dreams.
How can you be sure that some
Why can’t you?
muscle behind that ribbed cage
Who’s stopping you from living your
is overpowering your grey cells?
dreams?
Really, Is it the Heart? Is it capable of
But then again don’t limit your dreams
doing so much? When does it have
to your imaginations.
so much time while its continuously
Read more, watch more, learn more....
pumping your liquid life? Oh but it
There is never a time
does.. it really does, because every
when you have imagined enough,
time you meet disappointment,
when you have dreamed
every time you sit in a corner
enough.
cursing your foolishness, it is that
There is always going to be more, so
heart which changes its beat.
much more that you’ll be
And it is that heart which reminds
surprised when you look back and
you, with its continuity, that you
realize how little you
will be fine. That it is strong. That
thought of your life then.
it has its way of bouncing back to
Pray for bigger imagination.
Photo by: Shaubhik Das its old beats. That you can create
Pray for bigger dreams.
your own heartbreaks through
And JUST BREATHE!
expectations, but the heart too can
make more space for new ones. -Tanvi Goel

M Y E X P E R I M E N TS W I T H L I F E -Shaswati Sagarika

W e create our own heartbreaks through plans, on a single black cloud in the sky?
A s I stood there, in the rain, in you. Be there for you. Eternally.

THAT ONE MOMENT

expectations. You don’t know what wind brought that poor that moment of disillusionment, I stood with my heart, mind and
I found the one moment, the spark I body, all in a synchronised stillness,
When was the last time you ran to the elevator loner on your head. was looking for, for so long, amidst the wetness of the cool raindrops
and it slammed shut its metal jaws on your How many times did you think the lady in the infinity of mediocre pieces of a and the sound of the tranquil wind
face? front of you with a laundry list of items on life that I had, until then, “lived”. After engulfing me. Nature taking over the
You don’t even know the person inside for 2 her grocery basket would let you check out so long, at last, I found my Nirvana. senses. Life came to a pause, time no
milliseconds and you already have expectations your single can of juice first? She has 3 kids to Everything else fades into black. more meaning anything.
of him risking a possible leg amputation attend to, back at home. She doesn’t care for Nothingness. No trace left of the And I wondered. Why are moments
world, its evils, its noise, its ever- when we are lost, relentlessly never-
stopping the door for you. your Tivo. elusive pace. Just a soul. In peace, at ending, while ones like these, those of
How many times did you bind all your hopes These trivial sins of letting our hopes cloud last. In silence. Bliss. With a faint yet joy, only fleeting?
of an unannounced downpour, to cancel your our judgement and believing what we secretly firm pulse, a calmness so profound,
you want it to forever, be. You want it -Chaitanya Jain
to stay. To enrich you. Keep fulfilling

4 | PULSE 2019 MEDIA AND COMMUNICATION CELL | 5

 “ How do I feel with this sinking feeling of losing? Do I
brush it away? Or do I process it? Do I wait for it to pass?
Or do I take actionable steps?”

Why does no one teach you how to deal with sadness. Wait, can anyone teach you how
to deal with sadness? There was a meme going around Instagram that said- If your
friend says she is sad, the answer “Oh, Please don’t feel sad” is NOT ACCEPTABLE.
Moral of the story? Make better friends. NO

The true takeaway is — Make friends with yourself. I know it’s cliche and you’ve read
it way too many times. But maybe there is a reason people find the courage to put this
out there- Make friends with yourself. Take time to understand your patterns and your
Photo by: Debankur Saha
reactions to things.
“Know yourself before giving the
responsibility and obligation to
BUTTERFLY someone else to fix you.”

W hy do we run after a butterfly

when we know that we might
सूर्योदय I am typing this out cause I need to
remind myself. I need to drill the words
not be able to catch it? deep down in my head before the world
If at all we do catch it, we know that it अस्त के बाद उदय भी होगा, takes over and tries to fix me. I am for-
will either die or become incapable of tunate to have real good friends just an
flying. जिंदगी का ये दस्तूर तुमने सुना ही होगा। arm’s length away. But, the actual mir-
We might experience victory for a brief मंजिल थोड़ी दूर हुई तो क्या, acle maker rests inside of me. She will
moment, feed our egos. emerge when I call her out.
कुछ निशान और छोड़ने को मिले है, ये सोच, And with this rambling, I am reminded
But in the long term, we won’t be happy.
The guilt of deteriorating the spirit of संगी पीछे छूट गए तो क्या, that I work on faith. With this outburst,
butterfly will consume us. I feel better, I feel more connected with
राही और मिलेंगे सफर में, ये सोच,
Will we be able to live with that guilt? myself. The written word helps me
Rather, let it go… लड़खड़ा गए कदम तो क्या, define the flow chart of my life. These
It will come back to you, sit on you, सीखने का मौका मिला है, ये सोच, 26 letters are my own to play with and
speak a word or two. weave a story. Find your magic. Call out
Wouldn’t you just love to have that सांस फूल गई तो क्या, your miracle maker. We will be okay.
experience? मेहनत का पसीना है, ये सोच,
So, stop…think…step back…stay still… For everything else, there is always
कुछ खट्टे अंगूर मिले तो क्या,
It will come back to you. Even if it chocolate cake.
doesn’t, you’ll be better off living without ये भी एक ज़ायका है, ये सोच,
the guilt of chaining down a beautiful अस्त के बाद उदय भी होगा,
-Harshi Kher
creature.
ज़िंदगी का ये दस्तूर तुम भी बतलाते नज़र आयोगे।
-Anamika
-Rubal Mittal
6 | PULSE 2019 Photo by: Abhinay Varsh MEDIA AND COMMUNICATION CELL | 7
 BUT WHAT IS MAGIC? S omething so profoundly inconceivable, that
it’s very thought is ludicrous, and yet being
these overarching fragile creatures, us humans
being unable to be with her best friends again.
And yet, she believed that there would be a warm
world waiting out there for her, for she believes
are often gullible to believing it exists. that the universe would conspire to make things
They say 23 is not a comfortable age to be just okay for her.
in. Clearly, we are marching (unwillingly, of When she was torn by the struggles in college,
course) towards adulthood, and yet in those of the strenuous experience that it insisted on in-
quiet moments, we find solitude in reliving the flicting on her, of the sleepless nights spent and
tiny moments in the form of memories, allowing the days when she thought that she wasn’t going
ourselves to be covered by its beautiful blanket. to make it, she allowed herself to believe, about
Of all those times in our lives when we were at a different time, a different place, and watched
the brink of giving up, of letting ourselves be the magic and miracle unfold, of believing that
swallowed by sheer mediocrity, yet choosing to if she pushed herself to the brink, then the world
embrace the fighter in us; believing that magic would be at her feet. And she would finally go

Photo by: Souvik M

exists despite all odds, and emerging victorious. ahead to make it big.
So let me pen down some of the moments When she stepped out in the cold world,
which us lost souls in their early twenties can straight out of her modest cocoon, when she had
relate to, some seemingly unimportant, some to realize that she really couldn’t trust anyone,
profoundly defining, when we chose to believe in that she had to fend for herself in this harsh
magic. world, when everything was going against her,
When she cried heavily before joining kin-
dergarten, refusing with all her tiny might and
pleading to shirk the first day of school, of fight-
only to confront this startling realization, that
she just had to believe in her magic and victory
will sweep her. That by taking a deep breath and
T he very things that make us feel
beautiful are those that possess an
unparalleled gift of being tranced into
ing the demons that plagued her to be apart from having undue faith in her capabilities, she could the visages of their own being- as much
her family for some time, out in the unknown actually make her mark in the world. devouring the subliminal space as they
world, and yet, believing in magic, believing with There are so many memories that define us, do the cognizance. Or so I believe. As I
her big brown eyes that she could indeed con- we are confronted with so many situations when cozily sit here engulfed by the air of rain
quer her demons. we need to make the strength to make the right soaked earth, I wonder as to why we
When she entered the awkward age of adoles- choice, and sometimes the most obvious answer often prioritize cobwebs over colossal
cence, shy, uncertain, a gangly teen, not aware somewhat seems out of her reach, yet it stares joy. Somewhere between this shade

B L I SS
about how she would turn out to be, yet willing glaringly in front of us. Sometimes in our con- of tangerine and ochre lies a truth so
herself to believe in magic, that one day, she founded state of mind, we wish to give up and profound that it salves the aching heart;
would emerge to be a confident woman. take the easier route, to let go. But don’t you somewhere between this safe merge
When she held a boy’s hands for the first time, think, as a part of being humans, a little part in from dusk to dark, emanates the voice of
and she felt a plethora of feelings, an emotional our souls refuses to let go of the tiny bit of magic the Universe.
turmoil, that uncertainty of falling in love for the that we possess or what we think the universe The breeze does brief about the besotted
first time, and yet she believed that indeed the has and which is out there waiting for us? That billows. The rain drops do divulge their
feeling was magical and hoped beyond hope that even without realizing, we tend to believe in deep desire for the dainty daisies. The
he would be the one. some things that people tend to misbelieve in, leaves turn lyrical of their lust to lure the
When she was betrayed by him, and she thereby making us enter the realm of beauty and loch. The petrichor does seem to peruse
thought she couldn’t handle the heartbreak, and magic? through the perennial corridors of my
yet she allowed herself the privilege of loving Maybe that’s what poems, and songs and star- being.
someone deeply and passionately again, finding dust is made of. Maybe that’s what authors have If not for such saccharine-coated mo-
herself in the chaos of a broken heart and letting been trying to say for eons now, that despite ev-
ments that reveal the beats of nature,
if not for the choice of this earth to go
herself taste the wonderful magic of love again. erything, across centuries, we humans would in-
blithesome now and then, if not for the
When she went out to college for the first time, variably succumb to the warm illusions of magic,
creation letting us slip into its realm,
her heart filled with a warm trepidation, her and some, the braver ones amongst us, will turn
if not for the stars being watchful of this
wondrous zest of exploring an entirely different that into a gorgeous reality!
genuine grandeur, what else is left of
world altogether, a new world, and yet a warm
Photo by: Bablu Boro life?
feeling of home sickness tugging at her heart, of -Vaishnavi Subramanian
forsaking the joy of waking up to her family and -Anusha S

8 | PULSE 2019 MEDIA AND COMMUNICATION CELL | 9

 SANA
- S H U B H A M LO H A K A R E

T he​ ​sound​ ​of​ ​Azaan​ ​echoed​ ​in​ ​the​ ​neighbourhood.​ ​A​ ​flight​ ​
of​ ​pigeons​ ​swarmed​ ​over​ ​the Khan​ ​Manzil​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​
the​ ​mosque.​ ​The​ ​sky​ ​was​ ​colored​ ​with​ ​almost​ ​every​ ​shade​ ​of​ ​
ing​ ​the​ ​street​ ​in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​Salim​ ​Chacha’s​ ​tea​ ​shop,​ ​when​ ​Tariq​ ​
called​ ​her.​ ​She​ ​went​ ​running in​ ​the​ ​alley​ ​where​ ​he​ ​was​ ​stand-
ing.​ ​She​ ​was​ ​horror-struck​ ​when​ ​he​ ​grabbed​ ​her​ ​by​ ​throat.​ ​He
yellow,​ ​yet there​ ​was​ ​a​ ​dearth​ ​of​ ​sunlight​ ​which​ ​touched​ ​the​ ​ pulled​ ​her​ ​soiled​ ​trousers​ ​down​ ​and​ ​struck​ ​his​ ​length​ ​between​ ​
ground.​ ​Sana​ ​woke​ ​up​ ​to​ ​the​ ​sweet​ ​praise​ ​for Allah,​ ​as​ ​she​ ​did​ ​ her​ ​legs.​ ​It​ ​was​ ​the​ ​worst​ ​pain​ ​she had​ ​ever​ ​felt.​ ​He​ ​stank​ ​of​ ​
every​ ​day.​ ​She​ ​folded​ ​her​ ​legs​ ​and​ ​raised​ ​her​ ​hands​ ​and​ ​said​ ​ cheap​ ​alcohol​ ​and​ ​mad​ ​fury​ ​raged​ ​in​ ​his​ ​eyes.​ ​Even​ ​though​ ​he​ ​
her​ ​daily​ ​prayer before​ ​she​ ​left​ ​the​ ​stack​ ​of​ ​gunny​ ​bags​ ​which​ ​ did​ ​not cover​ ​her​ ​mouth,​ ​she​ ​was​ ​too​ ​terrified​ ​to​ ​scream.​ ​Four​ ​
she​ ​called​ ​her​ ​bed. ​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ strokes​ ​and​ ​he​ ​left,​ ​leaving​ ​her​ ​half​ ​naked in​ ​that​ ​alley.​ ​She​ ​
​Sana​ ​lived​ ​on​ ​Abdul​ ​Rehman​ ​street​ ​from​ ​as​ ​long​ ​as​ ​she​ ​could​ ​ sat​ ​there,​ ​too​ ​sore​ ​to​ ​move​ ​for​ ​a​ ​long​ ​time.​ ​When​ ​she​ ​finally​ ​
recall.​ ​She​ ​had​ ​no​ ​memory of​ ​her​ ​parents.​ ​The​ ​first​ ​person​ ​that​ ​ came​ ​to​ ​her​ ​senses, she​ ​wept​ ​and​ ​wept​ ​for​ ​hours,​ ​in​ ​a​ ​hope​ ​for​ ​
she​ ​claimed​ ​to​ ​remember​ ​was​ ​Salim​ ​Chacha.​ ​She​ ​thought​ ​of a​ ​warm​ ​embrace​ ​but​ ​all​ ​she​ ​got​ ​was​ ​the​ ​despair​ ​of​ ​the cold​ ​
him​ ​as​ ​her​ ​guardian,​ ​since​ ​he​ ​everyday​ ​bought​ ​a​ ​Vada​ ​Pav​ ​in​ ​ heart​ ​of​ ​the​ ​universe.​ ​She​ ​put​ ​her​ ​hand​ ​between​ ​her​ ​legs​ ​to​ ​
the​ ​morning​ ​as​ ​a​ ​snack​ ​for​ ​her.​ ​He gave​ ​her​ ​used​ ​clothes​ ​of​ ​his​ ​ soothe​ ​the​ ​pain​ ​and​ ​found​ ​blood there​ ​for​ ​the​ ​first​ ​time​ ​in​ ​her​ ​
daughter​ ​every​ ​Ramadan.​ ​Also​ ​he​ ​offered​ ​her​ ​a​ ​gunny​ ​bag​ ​once​ ​ life.​ ​After​ ​that​ ​night​ ​she​ ​had​ ​never​ ​looked​ ​at​ ​Tariq​ ​in​ ​his​ ​eye​ ​and
in three​ ​months​ ​when​ ​he​ ​refilled​ ​the​ ​stocks​ ​for​ ​his​ ​tea​ ​shop. ​ ​ neither​ ​had​ ​they​ ​talked​ ​since.​ ​Even​ ​today​ ​she​ ​finds​ ​it​ ​hard​ ​to​ ​
Sana​ ​went​ ​to​ ​the​ ​hand​ ​pump​ ​beside​ ​the​ ​mosque​ ​to​ ​freshen​ ​ believe,​ ​that​ ​Tariq,​ ​who​ ​she​ ​thought of​ ​a​ ​big​ ​brother​ ​could​ ​do​ ​ Photo by: Shaubhik Das
up​ ​and​ ​kill​ ​the​ ​hunger​ ​of​ ​the night​ ​before​ ​with​ ​water.​ ​She​ ​saw​ ​ something​ ​so​ ​vile​ ​and​ ​vicious.​ ​Remembering​ ​that​ ​incident,​ ​she​ ​
Rezwan​ ​Chacha​ ​coming​ ​from​ ​the​ ​mosque​ ​and​ ​entering​ ​Khan thinks that​ ​her​ ​effortless​ ​smile​ ​would​ ​fade​ ​someday.
When​ ​she​ ​was​ ​almost​ ​done​ ​painting​ ​seven​ ​pots,​ ​she​ ​saw​ ​ quiet.​ ​Then​ ​she​ ​went​ ​back​ ​to​ ​her​ ​bed and​ ​sat.​ ​She​ ​looked​ ​at​ ​
Manzil.​ ​Rezwan​ ​Khan​ ​was​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​richest​ ​persons​ ​on​ ​Ab- Around​ ​mid-day​ ​Guddu​ ​Patel​ ​came​ ​with​ ​the​ ​daily​ ​box​ ​of​ ​
a​ ​group​ ​of​ ​children​ ​shouting​ ​in excitement​ ​on​ ​the​ ​arrival​ ​of​ ​ the​ ​Khan​ ​Manzil,​ ​whose​ ​lights​ ​beamed​ ​a​ ​hue​ ​on​ ​the​ ​street.​ ​
dul​ ​Rehman​ ​Street.​ ​He​ ​owned​ ​a Mercedes​ ​Benz​ ​showroom​ ​in​ ​ earthen​ ​pots​ ​to​ ​be​ ​painted. Guddu​ ​Patel​ ​owned​ ​a​ ​decoration​ ​
the​ ​sweet​ ​vendor.​ ​The​ ​children​ ​were​ ​back​ ​from​ ​school​ ​and​ ​ The​ ​street​ ​light in​ ​front​ ​of​ ​her​ ​flickered​ ​now​ ​and​ ​then​ ​but​ ​
the​ ​rich​ ​locality​ ​of​ ​Bandra.​ ​Sana​ ​had​ ​heard​ ​women​ ​saying​ ​that​ ​ shop​ ​near​ ​the​ ​Sandhurst​ ​Road​ ​Railway​ ​Station.​ ​Even​ ​though she​ ​
were​ ​still wearing​ ​their​ ​school​ ​uniform,​ ​flocking​ ​around​ ​the​ ​ mostly​ ​was​ ​steady.​ ​She​ ​lay​ ​down​ ​on​ ​her​ ​gunny-bag bed​ ​and​ ​
he owned​ ​a​ ​sofa​ ​which​ ​had​ ​armrests​ ​made​ ​of​ ​gold,​ ​and​ ​the​ ​ could​ ​not​ ​read​ ​or​ ​write,​ ​Sana​ ​had​ ​shown​ ​her​ ​talent​ ​of​ ​painting​ ​
vendor​ ​to​ ​purchase​ ​a​ ​sweet.​ ​She​ ​went​ ​to​ ​the shop​ ​neigh- watched​​ ​the​ ​sky.​ ​She​ ​could​ ​see​ ​nothing​ ​but​ ​darkness.​ ​It​ ​was​ ​
cushioning​ ​was​ ​done​ ​with​ ​Pashmeena silk.​ ​She​ ​wondered​ ​if​ ​she​ ​ last​ ​year​ ​when​ ​the​ ​Bombay Municipal​ ​Corporation​ ​had​ ​asked​ ​
bouring​ ​the​ ​mosque​ ​and​ ​purchased​ ​a​ ​Rooh​ ​Afza​ ​from​ ​the​ ​ impossible​ ​to​ ​see​ ​the​ ​stars due​ ​to​ ​the​ ​city​ ​lights.​ ​She​ ​saw​ ​
could​ ​feel​ ​the​ ​softness​ ​of​ ​Pashmeena​ ​silk​ ​ever. ​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​​ ​ children​ ​to​ ​paint​ ​the​ ​walls​ ​near​ ​the​ ​Grand​ ​Trunk​ ​Road​ ​with
ten​ ​rupees​ ​which​ ​were​ ​left with​ ​her​ ​from​ ​the​ ​day​ ​before.​ ​ the​ ​moon​ ​though.​ ​Its​ ​freckled​ ​beauty​ ​made​ ​her​ ​blush,​ ​as​ ​if​ ​
When​ ​she​ ​returned,​ ​Salim​ ​Chacha​ ​was​ ​opening​ ​his​ ​shop.​ ​She​ ​ messages​ ​spreading​ ​awareness​ ​about​ ​female​ ​foeticide.​ ​Realis-
She​ ​decided​ ​that​ ​this​ ​will​ ​be​ ​her​ ​last​ ​Rooh​ ​Afza​ ​of​ ​the​ ​ it​ ​was some​ ​prince​ ​who​ ​would​ ​rescue​ ​her​ ​from​ ​her​ ​colour-
smiled​ ​as​ ​she​ ​always​ ​did, effortlessly.​ ​She​ ​greeted​ ​him​ ​with​ ​a​ ​ ing​ ​Sana’s​ ​painting​ ​potential, Guddu​ ​offered​ ​her​ ​a​ ​wager​ ​of​ ​40​ ​
season, since​ ​the​ ​winter​ ​was​ ​settling​ ​in​ ​and​ ​she​ ​wanted​ ​to​ ​ less​ ​life.​ ​She​ ​then​ ​thought​ ​that​ ​all​ ​her hardships​ ​would​ ​end​ ​
salaam​ ​and​ ​he​ ​simply​ ​nodded.​ ​She​ ​found​ ​her​ ​Vada​ ​Pav waiting​ ​ rupees​ ​for​ ​painting​ ​ten​ ​of​ ​his​ ​small​ ​earthen​ ​pots​ ​daily.​ ​And​ ​she
have​ ​a​ ​more​ ​fulfilling​ ​dinner​ ​to​ ​keep​ ​her​ ​warm at​ ​night.​ ​She​ ​ soon​ ​for​ ​she​ ​was​ ​god’s​ ​child.​ ​“Allah​ ​never​ ​keeps​ ​his​ ​children​ ​
on​ ​her​ ​bed.​ ​She​ ​cheerfully​ ​ran​ ​to​ ​her​ ​meal​ ​and​ ​savoured​ ​it​ ​to​ ​ agreed,​ ​for​ ​the​ ​money​ ​earned​ ​would​ ​give​ ​her​ ​a​ ​daily​ ​bread​ ​and​ ​
finished​ ​her​ ​drink​ ​and​ ​went​ ​back​ ​to​ ​finish​ ​her​ ​painting​ ​work.​​​ in​ ​misery”, she​ ​had​ ​heard​ ​the​ ​Maulavi​ ​saying​ ​this​ ​to​ ​Salim​ ​
the​ ​last​ ​bite.​ ​She​ ​had​ ​many times​ ​offered​ ​to​ ​repay​ ​this​ ​kind- she​ ​would​ ​no​ ​longer​ ​have​ ​to​ ​be dependent​ ​on​ ​some​ ​random​ ​
Soon​ ​after​ ​the​ ​sunset,​ ​Guddu​ ​came​ ​back​ ​to​ ​take​ ​away​ ​ chacha.​ ​She​ ​knew​ ​that​ ​Allah​ ​was​ ​watching.​ ​She knew​ ​that​ ​
ness​ ​by​ ​doing​ ​some​ ​chores​ ​in​ ​his​ ​shop,​ ​but​ ​he​ ​did​ ​not​ ​allow​ ​ woman​ ​to​ ​give​ ​her​ ​the​ ​leftover​ ​food​ ​at​ ​night.​ ​Guddu​ ​would​ ​give​ ​
the​ ​coloured​ ​pots.​ ​He​ ​was​ ​not​ ​in​ ​a hurry​ ​now.​ ​He​ ​careful- she​ ​would​ ​someday​ ​leave​ ​her​ ​bed​ ​made​ ​of​ ​gunny​ ​bags​ ​and​ ​
girls or​ ​women​ ​in​ ​his​ ​shop.​ ​She​ ​watched​ ​him​ ​as​ ​he​ ​unpacked​ ​ a picture​ ​of​ ​designs​ ​and​ ​guide​ ​her​ ​patiently​ ​till​ ​she​ ​finished​ ​co-
ly​ ​examined​ ​the​ ​pots​ ​and​ ​then​ ​complimented​ ​Sana​ ​on​ ​her​ ​ sleep​ ​on​ ​a​ ​bed​ ​woven​ ​out of​ ​multiple​ ​cotton​ ​sheets​ ​or​ ​silk​ ​
his​ ​washed​ ​utensils,​ ​poured​ ​milk​ ​and made​ ​his​ ​first​ ​serving​ ​of​ ​ louring​ ​one​ ​of​ ​the​ ​pots,​ ​and​ ​then​ ​he would​ ​leave,​ ​only​ ​to​ ​come​ ​
work.​ ​He​ ​gave her​ ​forty​ ​rupees,​ ​took​ ​the​ ​box​ ​of​ ​pots​ ​and​ ​ perhaps.​ ​She​ ​knew​ ​that​ ​she​ ​would​ ​someday​ ​leave​ ​Abdul​ ​
tea​ ​of​ ​the​ ​day.​ ​As​ ​the​ ​milk​ ​boiled,​ ​the​ ​life​ ​started​ ​to​ ​gush​ ​on​ ​ back​ ​in​ ​the​ ​evening​ ​to​ ​collect​ ​the​ ​coloured.
left.​ ​Within​ ​half​ ​an​ ​hour,​ ​the​ ​night​ ​crawled​ ​in.​ ​Salim cha- Rehman Street​ ​and​ ​live​ ​in​ ​a​ ​house​ ​which​ ​had​ ​walls​ ​and​ ​a​ ​
Abdul Rehman​ ​street.​ ​Scooters​ ​and​ ​bikes​ ​sped,​ ​children​ ​teased​ ​ She​ ​greeted​ ​Guddu​ ​with​ ​her​ ​effortless​ ​smile.​ ​She​ ​could​ ​see​ ​
cha​ ​closed​ ​his​ ​shop.​ ​Sana​ ​waved​ ​at​ ​him​ ​as​ ​he​ ​left.​ ​Sana​ ​ ceiling​ ​and​ ​a​ ​fireplace​ ​to​ ​warm​ ​her​ ​when​ ​it​ ​was cold.​ ​She​ ​
each​ ​other​ ​as​ ​they​ ​walked​ ​to​ ​their school,​ ​mill​ ​workers​ ​rushed​ ​ that​ ​he​ ​was​ ​in​ ​a​ ​hurry.​ ​Unlike every​ ​other​ ​day,​ ​he​ ​just​ ​told​ ​her​ ​
went​ ​to​ ​a​ ​roadside​ ​vendor​ ​at​ ​Hamid Square​ ​for​ ​her​ ​dinner.​ ​ knew​ ​that​ ​someday​ ​she​ ​would​ ​have​ ​a​ ​shoulder​ ​to​ ​cry​ ​upon,​ ​
on​ ​their​ ​bicycles​ ​in​ ​a​ ​group​ ​so​ ​large​ ​that​ ​it​ ​appeared​ ​to​ ​be​ ​a​ ​ to​ ​paint​ ​five​ ​pots​ ​with​ ​the​ ​peacock​ ​design​ ​and​ ​the​ ​remaining​ ​
This​ ​was​ ​customary​ ​for​ ​her​ ​after​ ​Salim​ ​left.​ ​She​ ​asked​ ​for​ ​ someone​ ​she​ ​could​ ​hug​ ​and she​ ​would​ ​know​ ​that​ ​she​ ​would​ ​
moving colony.​ ​And​ ​Sana​ ​watched​ ​this​ ​dynamicity​ ​from​ ​her​ ​ five with​ ​the​ ​popular​ ​Warli​ ​design​ ​and​ ​then​ ​he​ ​left.​ ​She​ ​opened​ ​
a Chicken-Thali,​ ​which​ ​was​ ​priced​ ​at​ ​Forty​ ​rupees,​ ​ten​ ​ never​ ​be​ ​alone.​ ​She​ ​knew​ ​that​ ​she​ ​would​ ​someday​ ​have​ ​a​ ​
static​ ​spot​ ​which​ ​promised​ ​her​ ​nothing​ ​but​ ​a sleepless​ ​night​ ​ the​ ​box​ ​of​ ​pots​ ​and​ ​dragged​ ​her painting​ ​tray​ ​which​ ​Guddu​ ​
more​ ​than​ ​her​ ​daily​ ​Vegetable-Thali.​ ​She watched​ ​the​ ​fancy​ ​ family to​ ​make​ ​that​ ​house​ ​a​ ​home.​ ​She​ ​knew.​ ​She​ ​somehow​ ​
on​ ​most​ ​winter’s​ ​darks. As​ ​she​ ​gazed​ ​on​ ​the​ ​other​ ​side​ ​of​ ​the​ ​ gave​ ​her​ ​on​ ​her​ ​first​ ​day​ ​as​ ​his​ ​employee.​ ​She​ ​sat​ ​near​ ​her​ ​bed​ ​
restaurant​ ​on​ ​the​ ​other​ ​side​ ​of​ ​the​ ​road.​ ​It​ ​had​ ​glass​ ​panes​ ​ knew.​ ​For​ ​Allah​ ​is​ ​the​ ​most​ ​merciful​ ​and kind​ ​that​ ​he​ ​would​ ​
street,​ ​she​ ​saw​ ​Tariq.​ ​Tariq​ ​used​ ​to​ ​play​ ​with​ ​her and​ ​other​ ​kids​ ​ of gunny​ ​bags​ ​and​ ​with​ ​utmost​ ​dedication,​ ​painted​ ​the​ ​earthen​ ​
and​ ​kebabs​ ​were showcased​ ​in​ ​the​ ​most​ ​graceful​ ​man- not​ ​let​ ​his​ ​children​ ​suffer.​ ​Sleep​ ​crawled​ ​in​ ​with​ ​a​ ​blanket​ ​
of​ ​the​ ​neighbourhood​ ​before​ ​he​ ​left​ ​school.​ ​He​ ​was​ ​in​ ​his​ ​late​ ​ canvas​ ​with​ ​the​ ​colours​ ​with​ ​the most​ ​elegant​ ​brush​ ​strokes.​ ​
ner​ ​to​ ​attract​ ​even​ ​the​ ​ones​ ​who​ ​craved​ ​the​ ​least​ ​for​ ​such of​ ​hope​ ​and​ ​Sana smiled​ ​yet​ ​again​ ​effortlessly.
teens​ ​and​ ​smoked two​ ​packets​ ​of​ ​beedis​ ​every​ ​day.​ ​She​ ​came​ ​ She​ ​loved​ ​this​ ​work​ ​because,​ ​these​ ​were​ ​the​ ​only​ ​colourful​ ​
delicacies.​ ​The​ ​vendor​ ​gave​ ​her​ ​the​ ​food​ ​in​ ​an​ ​aluminium​ ​
to​ ​know​ ​about​ ​this​ ​only​ ​when​ ​he​ ​boasted​ ​about​ ​it​ ​to his​ ​friends​ ​ moments in​ ​her​ ​monochrome​ ​life,​ ​the​ ​only​ ​moments​ ​in​ ​which​ ​
plate.​ ​It​ ​had​ ​one​ ​small​ ​chicken​ ​piece with​ ​gravy​ ​and​ ​one​ ​
the​ ​month​ ​before.​ ​She​ ​felt​ ​a​ ​sudden​ ​panic​ ​as​ ​the​ ​memory​ ​of​ ​ she​ ​could​ ​colour​ ​the​ ​canvas​ ​as​ ​per​ ​her​ ​wish without​ ​the​ ​cold​ ​
Naan​ ​bread​ ​and​ ​it​ ​was​ ​hot.​ ​Sana​ ​finished​ ​her​ ​dinner​ ​and​ ​
that​ ​night​ ​engulfed​ ​her once​ ​again.​ ​It​ ​was​ ​a​ ​chilly​ ​winter​ ​night.​ ​ hearted​ ​destiny​ ​interfering,​ ​the​ ​only​ ​moments​ ​in​ ​which​ ​she​ ​
went​ ​to​ ​the​ ​hand pump​ ​to​ ​kill​ ​her​ ​remaining​ ​hunger​ ​with​ ​
The​ ​streets​ ​were​ ​deserted​ ​at​ ​such​ ​a​ ​late​ ​hour.​ ​She​ ​was clean- knew​ ​that​ ​the​ ​colour of​ ​blood​ ​was​ ​the​ ​colour​ ​of​ ​love.
water. She​ ​roamed​ ​around​ ​the​ ​street​ ​for​ ​a​ ​while​ ​until​ ​it​ ​got​ ​

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 FILTHY and throwing away
your pants
Deep down we’re at whim,
all filthy And with it
in our own ways, everything
And we’re proud of it, you wore
as we should be. for them
that wasn’t
No, not evil, you.
neither sinister
nor insidious, That is our filth.
But it’s our own And only someone
filth, who lets us
the kind that makes us wallow in it
feel homely, will maybe
TO B E V U L N E R A B LY H O N EST

come close
like entering your dwelling to loving me,
at the end to loving you,
of the day to loving us.
and uncorking -TAPESH JOSHI
your bra

Photo by: Abhinay Varsh

W hat’s so mundane about writing

about a pleasant day? The weather
doesn’t always have to color the backdrop,
until a sullen steel covers the sky overhead.
People like to talk about storm clouds
as a uniform mass of gray encasing the
THE WARRIOR

it can also be the topic taking center stage. heavens. But if you look at them long Perched on the coldest stone,
Days like these make me feel happy. Make enough, it becomes obvious that isn’t Sound of waves crashing on the shore,
me want to sit back and relax and ideate. I true. They roil and sweep, darker strands Thoughts entangled in a messy net,
feel this is the perfect weather for a holiday. coiling and uncoiling. Occasionally, the Mind wandering aimlessly with a familiar fret...
The clouds wash over the daylight, dimming sun pierces through in a blaze of silvery Caged where my demons were supposed to be,
it and at times completely obscuring it. white, before being overwhelmed again. Wondering how they got hold of me,
They form a racing curtain, layers and So, the dance of light and dark continues Tired of life being a constant battlefield
layers of white and gray floating past, until suddenly, the winds die down and all Scared of hiding daily under a broken shield...
as they constantly shape and reshape a is still. The moments that follow stretch I look in to the mirror, a stranger stares back
hundred different figures, fluidly changing to feel like ages. A sense of unease creeps Deeper into the eyes, cries of darkness and void in disguise...
from dragons in flight to diving whales to upon the world, a tension stretching from A friendly face pointed towards the clouds,
hunting archers to heavenly faces looking the trembling sapling to the flock of birds All I dared to see was that tar-black shroud,
down upon us. As they travel on unseen launching into the sky, fluttering into their
Look closer, the face said, you may see a silver lining
currents, my mind travels with them, nests and back again. The tension grows
And yes indeed, behind it the sun was still shining…
tracing the patterns of my imagination until the nerves of the world teeter on the
Picked my shield, fought my way through,
incarnate. The wind is cool and soft against brink of snapping. Then, the clouds rumble,
the skin, a gentle caress that soon grows breaking the stillness. A moment later, Screamed, because I knew it was long due,
to buffet against me and brings with it the the raindrops descend in an urgent rush, I care no more who blocks the gate
thunderheads. providing a moist salve to the frayed edges I am here to write my own fate...
The low dark clouds, sweep over the of the world’s fabric. Back again, perched on the coldest stone,
patchwork tapestry of white and blue, Remembering the days long gone,
-ANONYMOUS Drenched under the bright sunlight, Photo by: Abhinay Varsh
Humming “It’s not the end, if it is not right”
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-Rubal Mittal
I K E E P FO RG E T T I N G

- SA LO N I G U PTA

I keep forgetting,

BO N DS T H AT M AT T E R
To add fruits in my shopping basket.
I miss how you sat there,
Making me eat the fruits when I acted all busy Photo by: Vishnu Babu
working. Thinking of a bond that matters, I landed up thinking just of you
Now every time I munch lays, Photo by: Abhinay Varsh
I don’t know how it started, but today – Yes, it’s true!
I wish you were here with a meal. I keep forgetting,
The walls I built were high, the doors were shut since ever
To smile so often But then you came silently - Oh! I melted; and I surrendered myself for forever.
I keep forgetting, I miss your all the best wishes,
To hang that wet towel for drying Making me stronger and vibrant. I wish I could tell you, how I fall for you every time you smile,
Every time I am lost, I wish you could see how it mesmerizes me – your charm, your touch, your style!
I miss how we would spend hours on the terrace
I wish you were here I wish I could hold your hand everyday & say let’s sleep, let’s walk, let’s dance;
Drying clothes, Wish we could stay together because we might not get another chance.
Putting face masks, To remind me that I am still a kid.
And discussing life. Yes, you’re magical – you have brought my world to life.
Every time my bed smells stale Maa, Yes, you do wonders – today I smile in you, see my happiness is redefined!
I keep forgetting, Yes, I am afraid of the day when we no longer meet,
I wish you were here to remove the towel.
To dip the almonds in the water overnight But I will still be there - in every coffee, in every song and in every treat.
And maybe that’s why, With every morning alarm I will still wake you up,
I keep forgetting and that bite of my favourite chocolate will always cheer you up!
To pay the electricity bills on time, I just keep forgetting.
I miss how we sometimes cooked in candle light Yes, we exist, and someday you will also say that “it’s true”,
Because a bond that matters just happens, and now I belong with you!
Sweating with heat and laughter.
Every time I sleep on the office chair -Anonymous
I wish you were here,
To pack my stuff and cover me with a sheet.

I keep forgetting,
To iron the wrinkles on my kurta. FLY
I miss how you ironed even my handkerchief,
In all her glory, she flew in the sky
And scolded me whenever I wore a wrinkled
jeans. Fluttered her wings as trees passed by
Every time I am late, She was the restless kind,
I wish you were here, Wondering how it felt to fly a little bit high
To pick my clothes and get them ready.
All eyes gazing at her, she was everything but shy

I keep forgetting, In her mind, she was conquering the sky

To unpack my suitcase. Her wings failed her but the spirit held high
I miss how you arranged it They said “well try”, but you cannot fly that high
Filled with love and home-made food. For you are not a bird, just a butterfly
Every time I come back from a trip,
And then..she gave it another try
I wish you were here,
To make me feel like home. -Neeraj Yadav
Photo by: Bablu Boro

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 FREE
Today on the wings of wind, I ride

Drifting and diving, willful and wild,

Breaking apart the now-feeble chains

And away from the crushing clamor of claims,

I breathe in the dawn and embrace the rising light

And into unknown, I take my maiden flight.

The stars are but blazing spheres ahead

That lie within my ever-widening grasp,

Fire and freedom flow through my veins

As I burn my bridges to the past,
Photo by: Bablu Boro
Oh! Look now how the world shines for me
ओ स्त्री! कल आना As I rise and soar, unhindered, building castles of glass.
कल, जब ढलता सूरज
और खिलता चाँद Yet as the winds change, ebb and die
फ़र्क ना करे तुझमें,
कल, जब झाड़ियों से आती My wings grow heavy and I fight to fly
भेड़िए की गुर्राहट से
And unanchored, as I drift into space
कदम ना तेज हों तुम्हारे।
All my crystal castles dissolve without trace
Photo by: Abhinay Varsh ओ स्त्री! कल आना

MY OPINION कल, जब ख़्वाब तुम्हारे And the rising light that I had cherished within
क़ैद ना हो Grows distant and cold, as my fall begins
दीमक लगे इतिहास की किताबों में,
She was born in the soil of culture कल, जब तुम्हारी आवाज़
Dad’s li’l angel and mom’s mischievous girl उतनी ही मुनासिब हो The flint that once kindled sparks in my mind
Life was joyful and solace was her place जितनी हो ख़ामोशी हमारी।
Little did she know that the world is demonic Now chafes against my scalded limbs and heart,
She enters the stage of hopes and dreams ओ स्त्री! कल आना
And freedom chains me with the broken links
To achieve and sustain, to carve and live
कल, जब दरख़्त की
The world sees her with its cruel eyes Of regulations and responsibilities, I flung apart,
Encounters become nightmares
सबसे ऊँची डाल पे बैठ
Experiences tell her not anymore बुन सको तुम अपनी कविता And for their love and warmth, as I yearn
Unable to bear, she decides to rest कल, जब तुम चुन सको अपने हर्फ़
Goes that lady back to her nest और दे सको संसार को All my visions seem worth less than none.
Who knows what she could have done अब तक की सर्वश्रेष्ठ कविता।
This unsafe world has ruined her dreams
ओ स्त्री! कल आना
- RAGHAMITHA GANJI -ADITYA RAIZADA Photo by: Vishnu Babu
-ANIL KUMAR
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 W H O I S T H E R E A L GO D ?

- JYOTHITHA HARISH

“ It doesn’t matter what you see, what matters

is the perspective in what you see ”

and appalling discovery of the most sought out is providing ideas to the present world of booming
question in the world, ‘Where do we come from?’. technology, that the answer to this most awaited
This is a discussion which has been going on ever question can be found out in not so late future. Brown
since the existence of human life on Earth. All of rightfully mentions in his book how science and religion
us are enthralled to learn our creator, our most never go hand in hand. Years back when not enough
minute detail of beginning on this planet. Numerous scientific proofs were deduced for many phenomenon,
possibilities are accounted; humans were individually people were forced to believe them as part of some
Photo by: Vishnu Babu created by God, humans had evolved elsewhere in religious miracle. As we developed, we started heading
the Universe and were bought by aliens to thrive on towards the rational world where most of the rational

S hiva, Jehovah, Allah…the synonyms for the

supernatural being worshipped by people, forming
the basis of the largest institution, ‘Religion’. Has anyone
confidence in oneself through the process of gratitude
to the universe and seeking what one needs with no
logical thoughts interfering. To be precise, if I want to
Earth or humans are like any other living organism,
descendants of Bacterium. The Darwinian theory of
biological evolution facilitates us with the information
minds today are impassibly called Atheists. Today
we see a rise in this group across the world. As a
matter of fact, it is the least religious countries like
wondered why these beings took the form of a human? go to the moon and even if that dream is something of how the vast diversity of life could all have arisen the Scandinavian ones, that have been found to be the
Or is it the belief from the sacred texts that zip locked nearly impossible, dream of it, manifest the thought from a single common ancestor. No further thought happiest and peace sustained ones in the world.
our thought process to conceive the idea that humans into the universe and the law of attraction will bring it is required to analyse why it became so controversial Religion was created as a method to unite people
were created to be similar to the creator himself. Let us to you by working out miracles. Byrne elucidates that and infamous particularly among outraged Christians and drive them towards a common goal of tolerance
give more insight to this topic of a ‘Creator’. the power of mind is impregnable and can irrefutably as it contradicted Bible. However, the theory mentions and peace. But it is an indubitable and unavoidable fact
I was never a follower of any religion, but I had work to the way of success. Having told about this nothing of how this single common ancestor came that this same weapon of unity has turned against each
believed in the concept of an absolute being possessing power – ‘The Power of Human Mind’, I believe most of to life. In ‘Origin’ this unsolvable mystery is explained other, being the ultimate cause for violence. Our right
the ideal infinite power. I considered religions and you must be cynical about yourselves and the credibility using the theory that life took place through chemical to education, right to awareness must be utilized in not
practices were evolved to direct humans in the right in making things happen with the mere control of your reactions over time. Such theories have already been letting ourselves blind fold our consciousness to realize
path, but that again which was apt and suitable for mind. predicted but never established in real world, as there the need for action right now. It shouldn’t be for which
the lifestyle of earlier times. In the recent times, I have Let us delve into another concept I recently came was not sufficient proof to do so, and yet remaining God I must put my faith into, it should be on how I can
started to shift my ideology of a demigod to more of across, one explained in Dan Brown’s hot off the fire as mere theories. Through the book, Brown gives the get my rational thinking and logicality advance to my
a lifeless power. Now, where does this power come book ‘Origin’. Unlike ‘Secret’, it is not an inspirational possibility of developing a supercomputer that can fellow-hood.
from? It was just a few months ago, I came across a book teaching the way of seeing life, it is a sequel to predict future, and hence give sustainable proof that It doesn’t matter what you see, what matters is the
book ‘Secret’ by Rhonda Byrne which is no doubt taking the Langdon mystery solving novels like ‘Angels and when chemicals react over a long period (say millions perspective in what you see! Believe in the power of
over the markets with its stunning concept of the ‘Law Demons’, ‘Da Vinci Code’, ‘The Lost Symbol’ and ‘Inferno’. and millions of years) the smallest atom can be formed your mind and realize that the imaginary character
of Attraction’. The book tries to inspire and motivate Similar to the previous ones, Robert Langdon, a Harvard which can develop into molecule, structures and finally of GOD was created because a normal human was
beings from a mental level by encouraging to believe professor of religious iconology and symbology, paves to DNAs, which can ultimately take different species not capable of learning the complete capability of its
in the power residing inside their mind. It cultivates this his way through mishaps to reveal the prodigious form. Through this particular sci-fiction series, he individual mind power.

18 | PULSE 2019 MEDIA AND COMMUNICATION CELL | 19

 And the cold Realization mutters...

Why!!
She sees the dark Cloud lurking behind her window,

STO P Its murkiness casting a daunting shadow,

She realises,
Tonight, She has to be brave,
As her friends have been taken away,
Afraid, in the comforts of her Battered doll,
The little girl takes her shelter...
-TAPESH JOSHI
Thud. Thud. Thud. Thud.
She hears a door being knocked,
A familiar fragrance reaching her,
She realizes,
The villain has finally appeared...
Wherever you are
Stop The dawn, never shying away from its exquisite glory,
Wait The cuckoo, with melody more wandering than bonny,
And confess, confront. Both of them symbolising,
Love, fear, madness The dawning of a beautiful morning,
this destruction, Watch in silence,
this poverty of a half-eaten life, The poor thing still waiting,
this opulence of kerosene stoked gloom, ‘Perhaps it’s my time to dissipate’,
this frustration of lost time, He wonders,
And there goes away the lone drifter...
of peace of mind.
The saying goes like this:
No arms, No legs, ‘Time flies over us, but leaves its shadow behind’...
But you are all,
the quiet, lonely snowcapped mountain, The little girl has grown up,
the dissed, slighted volcano, Bold and Beautiful, She no longer hates Night,
the thunderous hurricane, For taking her friends away that fateful night,
and the enraged sea. She no longer bears any grudge to Rain,
For bringing her the utmost pain,
Photo by: Abhinay Varsh There she goes looking out of the same window again,
Yet be remnant of
Back in the old memory lane,
the tenderness you were born with, As if calling her back to reality,
that they stole away, It starts to rain...
that they wounded,
But never managed to kill. PETRICHOR Chime. Chime. Chime. Chime.
‘Is it the Dream Catcher again’!
None’s sympathy Her lips curving in a knowing smile,
She reads the mystic signs,
None’s conception of penance -SIKRUTI DASH Presumably dazed,
Leave it, no need.
She opens the tawny Door,
None’s eyes,
And embraces the stranger like a long lost friend...
None’s whimsical attendance A virgin Petrichor,
None’s pity, Emanating from the cryptic breeze, The Petrichor, now no longer virgin,
Leave it, no greed. Crooning the sweetest lullaby, Basking in the delightful glory of the mighty night,
No tongue to speak in Knocks a rustic door, Spots the door,
No heart to speak to, The only one He can see, The same door where He was not acknowledged,
And waits... As if testing his pride,
Leave it.
He knocks on it again,
And keeps waiting... Preparing himself for a long night,
Yet, speak
But the Door opens this time,
For if this poverty has to end, The duskiness of the Night, And the Petrichor can only smile...
and this entropy to meet the sea again, Glowing on her innocent face,
You, tender human, tender creation, Her tender heart waiting for her only friends, Not the Happy one,
fragile beings, She wonders, Rather a Pitying one,
Photo by: Paraini Soren ferrying hummingbird hearts, With a dreamy gaze, He laments,
through this confusion, About the stories the Moon and the Stars have promised “Wish I could tell her,
her tonight, While the little child in her has started dancing,
Need some loving,
As if breaking her from the trance, She hardly knows,
from yourself The Dream Catcher jiggles, A storm.. is waiting”...

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 M ES S CCT V: H U M A N L I F E I N
T H E E Y ES O F M I N E

M y name is Speedlink Infosystem Hikvision DS-2CD-1240I. I

am a CCTV camera installed inside the Annapoorna Mess
of Indian Institute of Management, Lucknow. I have been here
I am not so lonely after all. I have almost 40-80 people on an
average in my purview at a time, on a daily basis, reaching a
peak of almost 250 during 1:45 pm, when most of the first-year
for the last 2 years and I have less than 3-4 years left on my side students get free after their classes. I have calculated this number
before I die along with my mother, my motherboard inside me. using some of the guesstimate knowledge, which I overheard
These human beings do not trust each other and are always on when some of the students discussing while they were eating
the lookout for profits, which is naturally expected from a neo- in the mess. Only during the months of May and June, the mess
classical B-school student it seems. That’s why they invented remains completely non-functional and during the times of
technology to watch and monitor each other’s behavior. I can’t summer placements, where most of the students live their most
blame them because if they weren’t like this, I wouldn’t have been ancestral cavemen-like life, eating only sandwiches and tea. I
born on this planet after all. Thanks to them! However, I should am completely by myself during those times and have a relaxing
thank them for a little less because after seeing their activities and summertime with no work at hand. I am quite happy during those
hearing their colorful stories, it has been very hard on my part. times unlike the Lana Del Rey song- Summertime Sadness. And
Will you be interested in listening to a few? during the month of September and October at the hour of 9 in the
I have been installed on the left corner on a wall on the ground night, I have seen some students running frantically towards the
Photo by: Vishnu Babu floor inside the Annapoorna Mess. It is the place where more than upper floor, probably because they have some Group Discussion
1000 people, mostly students hop in at least 3-4 times a day for preparation session. I don’t know what do they prepare. If you
some sumptuous delicacies (at least the Mess committee tells like want to discuss just have a discussion. That’s it. As simple as that.
this on their emails and menus). I am just above the tea and coffee My friends are also attached to walls with the help of screws
I F A BST R ACT H A D A D E F I N I T I O N vending machines where people, irrespective of being a smoker or
a non-smoker, use it umpteen number of times for some transient
at different corners of the mess. We share special bond through
the wires which are connected. We can only close our eyes
euphoria and energy boost, at any point of the day, barring the when the electricity, which feeds us, is switched off. Otherwise,
nights after 4 am and in between 10 to 12 in the morning. I am we are always awake and always talking with ourselves and

I like paintings. May be more so than the next person. The

things we cannot do ourselves tend to impress us more.
Perhaps that is the reason, because my short-lived stint with
It is often as simple as 3 rectangles of different colors, (Orange,
red and yellow- Mark Rothko) or a farrago of paints, splashed
mercilessly across an innocent white canvas (Jackson Pollock).
just watching them taking plates and spoons and bowl from the
plate table and going over to the food counter taking food more
than they can eat, almost 4 times a day. Be it breakfast or lunch or
judging fellow students. And my other friends include Chotu, a
lizard, whom I have seen grow through my eyes and his mother,
Gita, who died recently due to overheating. Also, some of the
colors and the canvas ended in a mass (read mess) of crayons But that would be a mistake greater than the one committed by snacks or dinner, whatever food may be on the menu, whatever spiders make their home around me, with the female spiders
on paper. Thus, I grew up to appreciate great paintings, and Eve, that has ultimately forced me to write this piece, and you complaint they have regarding it, they still eat a lot. Some come overpowering and scolding the male counterparts, unlike the
gradually discovered the nuances of this fabulous art form. to read it. There is a reason both these paintings sold at record to the mess to take a slice of bread and jam at 9:10 am and a human race where still females do not have equal opportunity
I read about the masters and their pieces, saw their works prices. cup of coffee and run towards their scheduled class at 9:15 am. as that of male counterparts. Then there are some small moths
Be it whatever season and whatever time, I wonder why its the who come inside the mess during winters for some heat and sit
and fell in love. Naturally, I began wondering about the It is only after some exposure that we realize, how difficult
common guys whom I see running like this regularly! Some of on my head for having a lovely view. Last but not least, those mess
epitome of these creations. Was it Monet and his water-lily it is to make abstract art. Until and unless one masters the
them are dodging the queue at the plates table, probably showing workers do a fantastic job day in and day out, from 6 am in the
pond, or Pissarro and his garden? Van Gogh with the detailed traditional rendition of still life, portraits or impressions, they
early signs of unethical behaviors. Then there are some people morning to 3 am in the night, each and every day. They deserve
undergrowth? Or was it Michelangelo and his famous ceiling cannot be recognized as a true abstract artist. How can you
who clean their plates, spoons, and bowls with napkins, every some felicitation for their wonderful and superhuman work. I have
at the Sistine Chapel. Was it their astute depiction of reality give a new shape to an object that you are not familiar with in time they eat, no matter how clean their plate is. seen them working coordinately as a unit to make food with the
that made these great? And if so, what next? Were these its entirety? It was only later in his career that Picasso started Some of them come almost weirdly, mostly during the night utmost safety precautions. Those workers clean the floor after
perfections? making disfigured guitars (the guitar) and misshaped women mess timings - 11 pm-3 am, with their heads high, unshaved faces, each meal timings and make sure that every utensil is clean at the
But it was only later, I realized that it is the form or structure (the three dancers). red eyes, puffed with blackness underneath, looking straight, greatest level. They make extra food items like paratha and shakes
that enslaves us. Predictability kills spontaneity. As Kahlil In order to enjoy a Wassily Kandinsky (Composition VIII) or and thinking something else in their minds; they order a quickie in a separate counter and eat at the end when everyone has
Gibran writes, “Those who understand us, enslave something Saiyed Haider Raza (Saurashtra), one has to see them for what like Maggi or a fruit juice or just grab a cup of tea and stand completed their meals and no one has gone out of the mess with
in us.” In the same way recognized shapes enslave the creator they are. It is not about figuring out the generic interpretations quietly at the night mess food counter. I still don’t know why this an empty stomach. Also, I forgot to mention one thing. I have a
with redundancy, and it is then, that abstract comes to their of what is being conveyed. It is about finding delight in the happens- maybe they eat or drink something before coming to lovely view up here. I have a full panoramic view all the way here.
rescue. broken shapes and myriad of colors that stare you boldly in the the mess or maybe they are in some kind of existential crisis and Photographers will surely enjoy clicking pictures up from here. It’s
Abstract is art that dissociates from the set visual projections. face proclaiming their audacity. filling their void illusory life with dreams and thoughts. I have also beautiful to watch people from here and perform the task which
It is an expression that flips off the conventional rules, and Hence abstract remains only about beauty and grace. It seen similar looking people taking away lots of paper glasses is of utmost importance for their survival.
enables artists to make their own. It is a sign of rising above the empowers an artist to create Ars Gratia Artis- Art for art’s sake. and substantial quantities of packet foods with them. And then Well, I have told a lot about myself and what I and my friends
mundane to a level where you are the guide and the creator. Nothing to prove, sheer expression. sometimes I see students leaving their plates or glasses mostly on see regarding the human lives in the place where I live. There is
Without an explanation, it would seem like an absolute Much like that crush, just out of your reach, who demands a the dining tables after eating, even after repeated warning on such a lot to say but there is not much time for me. I hope one day you
absence of structure, an inexplicable enigma from the depths lot of effort and attention to be understood, with no promises activities (the Mess Committee even mentions my name in those will be able to know all the stories. The observations made by
of time before civilization, sometimes interspersed with of being yours, abstract is not for everyone. warning emails). Still, I have seen some potential kleptomaniacs me regarding humans will continue. And my observational stories
recognizable objects, mutated and disfigured at the artists will. stealing the mess-owned plates and cutleries. It is through my regarding them will also continue too. Till then, goodbye.
But then it is seldom about the destination, right?
A gullible viewer might expect them to lead somewhere, but eyes the mess authority and mess committee were able to notice
only to be disappointed. such activities. It was because of my skill, such nuisance-prone -ANKAN MUKHERJEE
One might ponder if it is indeed a task to create abstract art. -YAJURV ALGOTER people were able to be caught and further such events were
prevented to occur.

22 | PULSE 2019 MEDIA AND COMMUNICATION CELL | 23

 Anil K
rS ishti Singh umar
Sandip Monda l Ashima

Prativa Das

a u t a m
Gurjot Kaur Ab hishek G
Sandip Monda l

C R E AT I V E S T R O K E S
Pa l lavi Barkade
Tanvi Goel
24 | PULSE 2019 MEDIA AND COMMUNICATION CELL | 25
 TANVI GOEL ANAMIKA CHAITANYA RUBAL VAISHNAVI

HARSHI ANUSHA SHUBHAM TAPESH RAGAMITHA

Photo by: Right Angles

GURJOT SIKRUTI NEERAJ ADITYA ANIL K

PGP 35 & ABM 16

CO N T R I B U TO RS

JYOTHITHA YAJURV ANKAN M SRISHTI AASHIMA

SANDIP M ABHISHEK PALLAVI PRATIVA SOUVIK M

Photo by: Right Angles

PGP 34 & ABM 15

DEBANKUR SHAUBHIK BABLU BORO VISHNU PARAINI

26 | PULSE 2019 MEDIA AND COMMUNICATION CELL | 27

 ABHINAY | ADITYA | ANISHA | ARITRA
JYATEEN | KAFEEL | PALAK | SALONI

ANKITA | DHEERAJ | JAIDEEP | MANSI

NEHA | PRAFULLA | SHASWATI | SNEHA

MEDIA AND COMMUNICATION CELL [email protected]

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