Being a good judge of character.

As human beings we are all prone to external influences—good as well as bad. Sometimes, our sensory insight deceives us in judging another person, which gradually overpowers our own sense of thinking. This also affects our mental capabilities as our opinions are manipulated by those of another person. Hence, it is vitally important for us to be a good judge of character. We should be able to understand a person fairly well in order to determine his/her ulterior motives.

To illustrate my point, I would like to throw light on the famous Shakespearean characters, Macbeth and Lady Macbeth. Lady Macbeth is a strong and ambitious woman propelled by the desire of acquiring the royal throne. On the other hand, her husband is a naïve and malleable character, unaware of the ferocious desires of his mistress. He is not a good judge of character and is therefore, not able to understand the latent motives of his own wife. Lady Macbeth, to fulfill her selfish wishes starts molding her husband. She makes him imagine of all the worldly pleasure he would enjoy once he acquires the throne by killing King Duncan. The gullible Macbeth falls intro the trap formulated by his wife. Consequently, they chart out the stratagem to kill King Duncan and attain the despotic throne. Amidst all this conspiracy, Macbeth loses his own identity as he was not able to vividly comprehend the notions of Lady Macbeth. Because he could not aptly apprehend the motives of his wife, he met with a dreary fate.

In today’s world of artifice, one needs to be extremely prudent of other person’s character. We cannot trust anyone for if we do, even for a moment, it is ascertain that we will lose ourself in the in the repercussions of the subsequent turmoil. However, some may advocate that homo sapiens are social mammals and need someone to rest their faith into. Yet, I would like to ask these buttresses—How much do you know or understand people? Are you aware of what people think about you? Do you know what actually those people have in mind? Do you?

I think the answer is evident.

Genetic Inheritence vs. Experiences

One’s genetic inheritance is of little value when one is faced with the problems of the present world. On the other hand, experiences tend to shape our nature the moment we step into this world. Thus, I do not conform with the idea that nature is more important than nurture.

Experiences make or break us. They play an extremely crucial role in molding our behavior. For instance, Mahatma Gandhi did not know of the term “racial discrimination” until he confronted it himself in South Africa. When Gandhi was thrown out of the train forcefully by a White for standing up against the norm that a colored person was not permitted to be seated in a first class compartment, only then did Gandhi understand that the world was harsh and cold. It made him realize that the truth was stranger than fiction, that the world was actually not what it seemed. This very experience contorted the whole ideology of Mahatma Gandhi. Consequently, he fought both in India and South Africa to protect the rights of the minorities. Hence, a single confrontation surmounts to enough to teach a person the ways of life.

On similar grounds, I would like to further my point by exemplifying the present technological tycoon, Steve Jobs. Steve Jobs was an orphan and was adopted by and American family, which caressed him, like their own son. Jobs as a child did not know much about his lineage. So, as he reached adulthood, he was completely lost and was like a waif without any place. At such a time, there was no one to guide him. He was on his own. Thus, to understand himself better, Jobs toured the world extensively taking with him a new experience from each place he visited. In this process, he gradually identified himself as a person and learnt many new means of living life. All he had was the nurturing which subsequently turned him into the technological genius.

In sum, we learn many things from our nurturing, things which we are not facile to figure out. Experiences impart in us paramount knowledge necessitating the essential changes.

Privacy is a privelege

“Privacy is a privilege”, we have often heard this adage and most of us are granted this privilege but sometimes this advantageous surfeit of privacy is not a boon. Hence, I do not conform with the notion that we should concentrate on becoming more and more private.

Firstly, I would like to propose that privacy may be an essential part of our lives in the modern world. However, it is not necessary. It makes a person extremely reclusive from the society, which in turn slowly decays the mental well-being of the individual. Consequently, let us imagine a situation in which a youth remains locked up in his room and does not even interact with his own parents and siblings. Thus, he exercises privacy to an extent which is unacceptable. Thereby, the child confronts major problems in acting normally in a gathering, he has problems in talking to people in a normal manner and continually performs in an aberrant manner. In such a situation, we apprehend that privacy leads to complete resignation which subsequently creates a whole new network of problems.

To illustrate further on my point, I would like to cite that all great artists exercise their rights to privacy to a prodigious extent but how many of them are devoid of social difficulties? They remain in isolation throughout their lives and thus are not able to comprehend the social norms of life. One such artist was Vincent Van Gogh. Van Gogh made his works of art in complete quarantine. He knew nothing of mankind, of company or of friends. Gradually, his mind overpowered his judgment and his acute skills. He began getting hallucinations and the case went so far that he cut his left ear off. Van Gogh’s ultimate seclusion was the cause of moribund of his innate capacities and acumen.

To conclude, I would like to say that we do not essentially require privacy. We live in open communities which binds us in the social fabric of love and companionship. Being private completely restrains us from appreciating these qualities. It binds us to the fact that private life is a thousand times better than the social life. However, the profuse fact which maybe successful in enticing us should not be given due importance for man is a social butterfly.

New post

New post? As I sat down to write this post today, I was out of ideas. So, call it a mere coincidence or intention that I titled it accordingly.
Well, I can’t leave this post blank hence, I might as well tell you what bloggjng means to me.
Writing a blog is not just about getting famous amongst the little circle of friends you have or the bloggers, it’s about papering down your memories. For me, blogging simply means writing humorous memories at school or in my day-to-day life. While writing, we often tend to forget the purport of writing one and end up writing something which pleases the eye–such writing is very superficial. It most certainly means that we are just in a hurry to write, but we do not care about what we are jotting down. Take my case, I joined this site with the very similar idea but ended up discouraging myself by reading such wonderful blogs. I then conflicted about the main purpose of writing my post of the day. Just think about the purpose and then give it a shot.

First day

“Shaurya, wake up! It’s time for school” my mom yelled from the kitchen.

I slowly opened my eyes and looked from my window, thought something and then reflexively went back to sleep.

“Get up! It’s time. You’ll be late” my father instructed me entering my room.

“Just two minutes, please. I did not sleep properly last night” I replied in an exhausted voice.

“Why?” my mother snapped from the kitchen,

“Because there were a lot of mosquitoes. They bit me on my arm and see, it’s swelled now” I continued speaking while throwing off the blanket off me and getting up.

“Shaurya! Wake up! Or I am coming to fetch you!” my mom threatened me in a strict tone,

“I’m up” I quietly said,

“What?” she shouted,

“She is up” my father told my mom which ultimately silenced her.

I laggardly  dressed for the first day of class Tenth at St. Thomas’ School. Class tenth? I thought to myself as I fondly recalled the past grades that I had passed. Yesterday only, I was in class ninth and now I am in tenth. Time flies, I told myself.

“Drink your milk and don’t forget to take your dry fruits” my mom reminded me. I tied my shoe laces, washed my hands and drank my milk and ate those dry fruits. “I hate these groundnuts. Please don’t give them. They taste so bitter” I complained looking at my father.

“No. You have to eat them.” my mom firmly told me.

When I was ready for school with a spick and span uniform, shining shoelaces perfectly tied, the new bag loosely hung from my shoulder, I glanced at the time on my Reebok wrist watch. It was seven fifteen already and the school begun at eight.

“Preyasi, get out! Right this minute!” I banged the door of her room.

“She is getting ready, dear” my mom told me sweetly.

“No! We’ll be late. Get out, you idiot!” I shouted, still banging.

“I am coming” a meek voice replied from inside and the door unlatched suddenly, which made me fall forward onto my sister as I was leaning on the door. I regained control and swiftly stood upright.

My sister started sipping her flavoured milk drink. She hates milk and I love milk. I just don’t understand why can’t she drink milk. Anyway, to supplant for the milk, my mother buys her a bottle of flavoured milk from the grocery store.

“Drink fast. What are you doing? We’re late and you are drinking so slow” I shouted at her.

She was totally ignominious to all my threats or requests and continued to drink that way until mom yelled at her. She then picked up the comb in one hand, her shoes in the other and instructed dad to pick up the bag for her as her hands are full. We walked to our car and our driver drove us to our schools which is a one hour drive for me and a one and a half hour drive for my sister as we have two separate branches. Preyasi quickly wore her shoes in the car and combed looking at herself in the rear-view mirror to which I chuckled. Oh, it always happens. The car came to a halt in front of my school and I picked my bag up, got out of the car and said goodbye to dad before walking inside the school premises.

Tenth-A, tenth-A, tenth-A. My mind processed as I quickly glanced around hoping to find my new class. There it was, it front me. I could see what chaos my classmates were making from a distance and I couldn’t wait to join them. As soon as I stepped inside that hideous classroom, my whole class stared at me as if I was someone special and a bunch of classmates jumped on top of me, making it very difficult for me to even breathe. That was their idea of a long hug, which I totally detest. I mean can’t you just shake hands and say a “hello” or something instead. I do not get this idea of hugs and kisses. When all of us were back on our feet, I kept my backpack on the seat where my friend, Zehra pointed at. Zehra is one of my best friends and so are Vritika, Raashi, Prachi and Ridhi. Prachi and Raashi are in tenth-B due to the shuffling of sections but we don’t feel their absence at all because they are most of the time sitting in the last row of our class attending lessons and chatting.

The first bell rang and we went to our seats hurriedly. A few of our classmates went outside to inform us about our new class teacher, if they saw her approaching.

“Who is our class teacher?” we whispered to each other. Just then, we saw a fat lady entering our classroom. We regarded her as one of the substitution teachers but then we all got the shock of our lives when she told us that she was our class  teacher and our physics teacher. She took our attendance and checked our uniforms. Some of my friends had short skirts which were there and then, ripped. Those who didn’t carry their id-cards were given a fine of Rs. 100 which was shrugged at. It was just the first day and it was becoming a torture camp or what? We stared at each other and giggled.

“Look at those girls in the last row, they are giggling away to glory even after so much of scolding. Shameless children!” she glared at Vritika and me while saying all of this. We put our hands in front of our mouths and continued giggling.

Our chuckles stopped as the bell rang for the first period, History.

Our history teacher thumped into the classroom with her books and a pile of files from which various sheets of paper flew out. The first-benchers got up to collect to those papers and handed them back to her.

“Cronies” we whispered to each other. So, the history class began with an introduction of each student to Ms. Meeta. We studied actively about the history of India. We have been studying about the history of India since we were like five-year olds? I think they want us to memorize the India’s history by heart. The bell rang marking the end of the History class.

“Gooodddd Morningggg Ma’am and thankyou ma’am” our class chanted in unison like the kindergarten students do.

The next class was English with Ms. Geetika. She had taught us last year too and we all had a lot of respect for her as she was a really good teacher. Actually, we enjoyed her company too. The englsih class went past were quickly and the next one was maths.

“I hope our maths teacher is a good one” I told Vritika and she nodded but all our hopes shattered when we found out that Ms. Dotania was our maths teacher. From the past rumours, it was very clear to us that she was a very slow teacher. But, we comforted ourselves by telling that it was just the first day and maybe she was a good teacher. At that moment, it was enough to convince us and remove the clouds of doubt from our heads.

We did not study anything in the maths class but played paper toss with the dustbin and the fragments of paper that were lying around.

Then, came the most wonderful time of the whole day, The recess. Oh! recess is surely the best part of school. Though we had already finished our lunches in the 15-minute short break but that was not enough. We needed something extra to rejuvenate ourselves for the rest of the day and that extra was junk.

“Does anyone have 50 bucks?” I loudly questioned from my whole class.

“50 bucks? I don’t even have 10” one of my classmate shouted from the last row, which made me sigh.

I, along with my friends begged for 10 bucks from every other person that went by. Most of them contorted their face to that of disgust but we did not care at all. We were a bunch of wolverines! With great difficulty and hard work, we ‘dutched’ about 50 bucks and managed to buy a packet of blue lays and some weird tasting candies which were consumed in a minute by our all-the-time-hungry-class.

‘Beg, borrow, steal‘ that was our motto.

We did not realize when the recess ended, but when we did, we dashed past the school corridors like we were being chased.

“May we come in ma’am?” me and my friends chimed in unison looking at our economics teacher, Ms. Alka who was discussing something about the chapter Money and Credit.

“Yes, you may but this should not be repeated again” she snapped at us. We all nodded and went to our respective seats.

Zehra and me, played bingo during the whole economics class and for the next two periods of art. Art was the last class of the day which was of course, regarded as a free period by all of us. At 1:45 p.m the final school bell rang ending the day and we said goodbye to each other before leaving for our homes.