Brown Study

  DUMP THE OSTRICH POLICY Re: Anne Frank’s The Diary of a Young Girl (Sebastian Eriksson Art "Ignoring the ignorance"  ) After a long time, I finally put myself to the task of reading Anne Frank’s The Diary of a Young Girl. Having heard so many negative reviews from my fellow mates in 10th form about the book being terribly boring, flimsy, infantile, dull and monotonous, I never could bring myself to pick it up. However, once I held the pages open in my hands, then I simply couldn’t put it down. I have been so utterly moved by the diary, that I had to share my thoughts and make it known to everyone who’s looking for something real and soul-stirring. It’ll be inhuman to judge it because it isn’t a literary piece of work published to feed the critics their most awaited snack. It’s the heart of a young girl poured out on sheets of paper at the most dreadful stage of her life.   I remember reading it in one of her entries, “Deep down, the young are lonelier than the old.” A t...

HOSTILE REALITIES In a world woven by others  - selfish strangers of sullied intents To bear silently their tortures And never complain, you are condemned Your life is yours to steer, they say Your choices yours to make In truth, a crime to claim control Liberties false; assurances fake A bed of roses they laid for you Yet you mustn’t grumble about the thorns For the bed of roses they’d take away But would leave you bruised and forlorn Everyone’s evil except everyone Virtue is relative, so is vice Investing trust is a gamble Life’s balanced on a roll of dice Lavish bills load up the hollows That privation of empathy made With money souls are bought and sold For money a million hearts betrayed

  “FOR WHOM THE BELL TOLLS” India celebrated its 75 th Independence Day this 15 th of August. All forms of media - digital or print - were brimming with expressions of felicity and displays of flag waving.   (Ahhhh! Flag Waving. 72 nd Republic Day. Red Fort. Oh, what a blotch on memory now!) Unfortunately, however, the merrymaking had a tinge of guilt concealed this time. Why? AFGHANISTAN. Here we were, celebrating our Independence; while there, people lost their sovereignty to the Taliban in a most sadistic takeover of power. If cries could kill, every person watching the news of the Afghans would be dead. Every status update and every wish of joie de vivre was accompanied with a sheepish sigh of relief, “Thank Heavens! At least we are Free and Independent. ” Each one of us had a skeleton hidden in the closet, a shared secret embarrassment. After years of shaming and blaming our nation and questioning democracy, questioning our rights, our constitution, questioning FREEDOM...

  THE GOLD AND THE GLORY It has been a week since the 2021 Olympics ended and the euphoria hasn’t yet worn off. Afterall, India bagged a gold among other medals and the hockey team made a commendable comeback. Our athletes weren’t even back home before the first hoardings made appearance: ‘Bajrang Punia face of Mobil India ‘Dangal Offer’ campaign’. From a skyrocketing number of followers to lavish gift vouchers to class 1 posts in government offices, a medal in the Olympics is all it takes. And the luxury isn’t exclusive to Indian victors. A gold medalist in the U.S. receives a payment of $37500, and $737000 in Singapore, nearly 20 times more, among other forms of support in healthcare, education etc.   It is unquestionable that the winners in the Olympics make their countries extremely proud and they do deserve an enthusiastic applause. But why is it that a show of praise is considered inadequate unless backed with extravagant bills? An overworked argument given in its favor ...

  STAINS ON THE CAMO The streets reflected golden Under the broad sunlit sky The retailers earmarked wares After all Eid was pretty nigh He proceeded towards his home Omitting the insinuating augury The consequences tragic and unfortunate He turned a target for terrorist roguery Patrolling commenced, manhunt launched A bullet ridden body recovered The Indian rifleman was abducted and killed Yet the murderers prowled undiscovered His brothers joined the T.A battalion To avenge his death with guns and ammo His coffin draped in Indian tricolour Reminded ‘em of the stains on his camo This ain’t a poem on fictional characters But a ballad on true events It’ll be a shame if you can’t recollect it For Pulwama didn’t happen in 1810 HAPPY INDIAN INDEPENDENCE DAY!

  OUR SONG To my ears the wind carried A tune, a melancholy strain Heavily in me it settled As on land settles the rain A wandering, restless sound it seemed Like an unmoored ship at sea Convinced, it securely anchored as if It had been searching for me Images assembled before my eyes Nostalgic, I stood entranced Your face, the park, the fireflies Then this song to which we danced

  AN AMATEUR POET: AN AMATEUR ROUTINE A pen in hand, a sheet on desk Multiple ideas sprinting in head What can be soul stirring? What is as yet unsaid? Sundry poetic words like beads And do they harmonize - oh yes! If only I could tie ’em together Alas! I possess no splendid thread Scrounging for secondary substitutes Nonetheless, the intellect remains unfed “I give up prose & poetry!” exhaustedly said Another crack of dawn and I sit back at the desk Thus I stick to following,  The path I customarily tread.