Blow the horn, the war is on.

Today I feel the urge to blog. Not the need, not the intention but just the urge.

I am typing this with zero knowledge of what my next word will be, or the structure of the next sentence that will follow. This time, my whims take lead and my limbic system controls the reigns.

Fight. Fight it out. Fight it to the end. These mottoes seem to be driving the course of my life for quite some time now. Oh yes and not to forget: This is a fight that needs to be fought alone.

Yeah, particularly the last one.

They will not stand by you. They will all disperse like little ants. They will walk out on you mid-battle. Then it is just you, your sword and your shield against a battalion. Fight bro, stick it out till the end. In fact, you are the only one person who will not ‘give handle’ to yourself. Every other damn person will.

                                                              “Et tu, Brute?”

It’s overwhelming. That sword will bend and the shield will succumb. People will fail you, your soldiers will die and your ammunition will run out. However, the show has to go on, and its time to fight bare-fisted. Clench your fists and grit your teeth, in full knowledge that your only solution is brute force.

                                            “Be not like dumb, driven cattle;

                                                   Be the hero in the strife.”

It is not about who stands in the opponents court. It is just about what is at stake. Sometimes, the game is played You vs. You- and one side HAS to lose. You could be your own nemesis, your own undoing.

 The essence of the matter is that your reasons will change, your armies will change, your stratagem, your battlefields, your prize…every thing will change. But the fight? Yes, that will go on. The fight against the mucus in your respiratory tract when you struggled on your first breath will become a fight on your deathbed against your last breath. Your main strife will be what lies in the middle of those two. So blow the horns, the war is on. Make it count!

PS: Wow. I let go, and this is what stumbled out of the closet. This is an unaltered article, completely free from pre-meditated ideas, typed out in roughly 20 minutes.

The Table of Truth

Today looked like just another drowsy mid-summer afternoon. I lay rolled up on the couch, listlessly hopping from one channel to another, staring blankly at the television screen. I had almost dozed off as the countdown began: "Movie resumes in 4...3...2...1..."
Then I jolted upright.

8 questions, 8 tasks, 21 crores. No contact with outsiders, no quitting mid-game, and no messing with the rules. What rules? Just one: if you lie, you die.
Sounded like a fair deal. So what if you couldn't quit? How bad could the truth get?

Real bad.

Possibly the 8 easiest questions ever, with the toughest of answers. Because the truth, my friends, ticks off a dormant time bomb of emotions. Wipes away years of grime from a past long forgotten. The past that travels a full circle and greets you with vengeance.
The 8 tasks- some easy, some disturbing, some life threatening. Each one of them intimately tied with  a shameful history. A history of the past decade, of a contemptible youth and a trail of disgraceful events.

To quit meant having to lose an arm. To continue, meant having to lose ones life, ones love, and everything interim. But 21 crores could change all of that, couldn't it?
So it went deeper into the gutter. Money- that was prime. And so wrecking another man's property, making a carnal exhibition of ones wife and holding a gun to someones back became the rightful thing to do. Money lay at the end of virtue.

We act without considering repercussions. We believe in living 'in the moment' and forget how the next moment is going to return fire. Then there is one slight brush with the past, one chance meeting with a face from the bygones, and life crumbles down. A stage is reached where regret and repentance holds no meaning. The stage where the cash stood, smiling an ingratiating smile.

"You shoot him, or I shoot your wife."
Shoot, and then the money will flow.
Shoot, and bid goodbye to your past.

A dam bursts open somewhere within, and in an overwhelming wave of self-reproach, the trigger is pulled.


I sat stunned, stone cold. Did I see what I just saw?
A series of instances flash through my mind. All the things I had done and gotten away with.The circle would definitely be complete someday. The boomerang I threw would trace it's path back to me. Would I ever have to pull the trigger as the last means of escape? An extremely uncomfortable scenario to envision, but not one to be ruled out.

I had seen arrogance turn to helplessness. I had seen pride transform into shame. I had seen the perfect mix of realism with surrealism.
I had seen it all, on Table No. 21.

 

With that, I switched the television off.

Caged Yearnings

"It's my life. It's now or never. It's my life. I ain't gonna live forever. I just wanna live while I'm alive. It's my LIFE."

BonJovi came so close to summarizing the story of my existence! Yes, this is a life I was blessed with. It's mine. And just because you know how much you mean to me, do not deceive yourself into thinking you can manipulate my life, in any possible way.But yet again, that has been happening to me at every crossroad of life. SOCIETY has dominated and ruled over every major decision of my life. PEOPLE began to believe they could take over a girl's life. A girl too weak to write the chapters in the book of her life. Why weak? Beacuse she's small. Merely a teen. Lively, enthusiastic...unaware of the "big bad world" out there.Which begs the question, "Was I born blind? Or did God substitute my brain with vacuum? "I've seen the world. It's dark, dismal. Not a soul I know is genuinely pleased with where he/she stands. And the people I see who smile their outwardly smiles, are already dead within.They tell me they've tackled life. That they've had glorious, fulfilling lives. They tell me they're happy. Happy beacuse they stuck to custom. The tried and tested formula of untangling the mess that started taking shape while we lay floating in amniotic fluid.

"Follow what your ancestors did, you'll never go wrong," they tell me.

"Am I a sheep?" I ask in return.

It's true, for a human community, we have an undesirably large number of sheep. I have my aspirations. A girl of the present times, I know precisely what I need to live a life that agrees with my version of "happy." People I know (including me) have been controlled by those who believe they have the right to dictate. A majority succumbed. No one stood up and stuck their neck out. No one stomped their foot and took a firm stance against the society. And when I finally muster the courage and tell the world "this is what I want," they pull me down like a treacherous bog.

"I'm going to be a Doctor"

*applause*

"I wish to be a Journalist"

*verbal bashing*

"What will you earn? How will you feed yourself? Who will ever marry you? Will you ever get settled? It's against what we've thought you. Don't you see? Become a doctor, you'll have a SAFE life. "Safe? Do you need more articles in the newspaper to know depression makes one suicidal?

The society, is nothing but a crowd. A crowd of such anguished souls lost in the maze of life. Such negativity in their DNA that if someone wakes from that slumber and points towards the light, they reject him outright. It would disappoint Charles Darwin to know that it is a part of their genetic sequence now, to resist change, even if it is for the better. Because custom has staled them. Destroyed the power of independent thought. Like zombies, they wander. Aimlessly, groping in the dark.So is it justified, for this...crowd, to steer somebody else's life over to their side? Personally, I neither know, nor care. Because I've had enough of people, I'm through with it. Call me names, disown me, do what you want, you mean NOTHING to me. You are just another face in a sea of other faces.

"My heart is like an open highway, like Frankie said I did it my way. I just wanna live while I'm alive..."Yes BonJovi, you said it right. It IS my life. It is my novel that is yet to be written. How it ends, I cannot fathom. All I know, is that now, I weild the pen. And I'm moulding my life the way I want it to be. My rules, my ideas, my twists, my turns.The society can go and suck it.

Cheers to Life!

The 'good' is only appreciated in contrast with the 'bad.'
The value of joy can only be measured against pain.
For without these contrasts in life, neither would there be a dawn, nor dusk.
Neither would there be a reason to wake with an aim, nor a moment of introspection before sleep.
Life would be reduced to a stagnant reality, aimless and devoid of growth.

Pain is mandatory for growth, the wise have said. We have been taught into believing that success cannot be tasted by those who haven't been thrown to the dogs in the past. They say life is a mortar and pestle and only those who can take the grind, survive.

I agree, but only partially. We have been a generation of humans obsessed with glorifying pain. Every little hurdle is a reason to groan for, every road-block a reason to slump, every failure a reason to cry.
We're giving up every single second. We make a waste of each breath we take, and rightfully deserve. So occupied we have been with miseries, that the very abstract of happiness has become obsolete. The line of contrast has been smudged beyond recognition and only a grey muck remains.

I hit a phase just like the one described above, only recently.
Situations went off-handle, and I found my maturity levels inadequate of controlling events. After all, we learn from what we experience, we don't carry it from the womb.
Life is a rabid bitch, we've all learnt. I experienced its manifestations first-hand. A twist in the tale, a turn of the tables, a shuffle of the cards...I can give it so many titles! Maybe even the Dementor's Kiss? (to satiate the Harry Potter freak in me!)
So what did I learn out of this particular experience? Like the biological rabies, the bite from this bitch comes with its anecdote as well. That like Dementors from fiction, these demons too can be warded off by a Patronus.

Now, what was the first requisite to cast a successful Patronus?
JOY. HAPPINESS.

As bizarre as it may sound, nothing dries tears faster than a smile.
But how does one exactly conjure a false sense of delight in a seemingly hopeless situation?
I fought it out. With each new morning, I set out to snatch whatever shred of happiness I could find. I struggled against choking tears to plaster a smile across my lips and courage over my face. Wore my favourite colours, smiled at random people, helped out a friend in need, tried every manoeuvre that could keep me occupied on a mental level. When I thought I was going to falter, I told myself that I don't deserve the pain. I gave myself the responsibility of keeping me happy. I made happiness my top priority.

The result amazed me. The tiny tiny bits I was collecting culminated into a beautiful silver Patronus. That smile struggling through tears? It was finally free. Uninhibited. It was somewhere around this time I understood the significance of these very popular lines:

"Dil jo tera baat baat pe ghabraaye, dil pe rakh ke haath use toh phusla le.

 Dil idiot hai pyaar se usko samjhaale"

Theoretically, it may sound bizarre. Practically, it is a major challenge. But the result it will yield, is worth every bit. The point of the matter is, you deserve cheer in the same way you deserve the oxygen you breathe.  Not a force in the world can snatch it away from you. Never, ever, give up the pursuit of happiness.

And if life is a bitch, shrug, and say Bitch Please!

The Unfinished Jigsaw

How often do you hear about the greatest of friendships being blown up in the blink of an eyelid?
How often do you hear about two sisters who get enstranged?
How often do you hear about a girl who hates her best friend?

If you have, I respect you already. If you haven't, you'll hear about it now.
Because what you will read next, is a glimpse of what lies in the innermost chambers of my heart, one of the many factors that still makes me frown despite all the reasons for me to smile. No matter how perfect life seems 'in the moment,' there is always that ONE thing that nags your heart and bursts that short-lived bubble of joy.

Naila. Shireen. Farha.
My Powerpuff girls, my angels.
The people who knew the Nida as she was. The Nida with all her vulnerabilities and fears.
The three people who loved her irrespective of all her flaws.
Naila. Shireen. Farha.
The girls with whom my insecurities were secure with.

They were the people whose presence compensated for every deprivation in my life.  I wanted one sibling, God blessed me with three. That is what they meant to me- my sisters.
Although we met in the most unimaginable circumstances, we gelled beautifully.
If one was a confused jackass, the other was a smart ass.
If one was reserved and soft-spoken, the other was an out and out lame ass.
Like all philosophical stories, we faced good times and hard. From rofl moments to crying hard in each other's arms, we had witnessed every flavour of life.
We were checks for the person going astray, we were pillars for those reaching higher.
Together we fell, and together we rose. Against the world and it's discrimination, against narrow-minded people and  their suffocation. We were just beginning to understand the meaning of  'perfect.'
We were four extremes, brought closer by the extremities.
They were the missing links to the jigsaw that my life was. The last pieces that fit perfectly to complete the bigger picture. The final link to my Utopian dreams.

The question thus arises: What went wrong?
Why was the jigsaw shaken up and why did it's pieces go missing?

It happened on the 29th of June, 2012.
A competitive exam that sucked the last ounces of our affection towards each other.
Two of us made it, two of us missed it by a hair's breadth.
Thus came the fall.
Getting into a medical college is the one issue that is so hyped in today's time, that love, friendship and selflessness disappear into the din of frenzy.
I NEVER understood any of that.
I valued friendship beyond everything. I do not know if I was right in doing so, but now I feel I had overrated  the concept of friendship. I'd made them the central pillars of my life, while I was just another brick in their walls.
I miss the two of them. Whats ails me further, is that they do not.
I recall as if happened just yesterday, me walking up to my mom on the day of the results and telling her I wished to swap places with Farha. I wanted her to get through, because Medicine didn't mean as much to me as Farha did. I'd have gone into one of the best colleges in Hyderabad- CBIT- to pursue Biotechnology, a field that always held fascination for me. But being a doctor was Farha's dream. It was the sole aim of her life, and of those around her. It was her mother's long nurtured dream.
Here again, I was wronged. While I was concerning myself with the tragedies (sounds melodramatic? It was.) in the lives of my friends,  there was a whole new storm brewing in the background. And I was at it's epicenter.
While I was being congratulated with niceties and hypocritical pleasantries, I was also being held responsible for the unfortunate circumstances in my friends' life.
It began with a barrage of question posed by disappointed mothers.
"How did she do it and you couldn't?"
"She is the same as you, what then, is different about her?"
"See? Those two are now ahead of you, while you remain plateaued in failure."

That did it. The firewood was there, so was the coal. Now, came the first spark.
Like all wild-fires, this one spread too. I was being blamed!
I no longer recognized the girl who was my sister. The girl who figured in almost EVERY picture I have of my college life. My FarHawtieee.

No more phone calls, no more texts, no more Nimbuzzing....like we'd never met.
I was always told that people change with time. I never believed that until I witnessed it first-hand. Flipping through my notebooks pulls me down into memory lane. My notebooks have become what the Pensieve was to Dumbledore. I loved sketching Farha. Blessed with the daintiest of features, she was my idea of dusky beauty. Then there was me cracking stupid jokes about how I would clone her hair and wear it myself. She was the closest any girl could get to being prefect. Quite the envy in college ;)
This sketch still gets me tripping in laughter! Sitting through a boring Physics lecture and playing match-maker...only to realize, there was no one who could do justice with my girl. So I ended up proposing to her myself. :P

Ahmed Faraz, you give words to my dilemma:
Tum takalluf ko bhi iqlaas samajhte ho Faraz
dost hota nahi har koi haath milaane waala

I spent a miserable birthday in hope she'd come knocking at my door with that radiant smile I was starting to miss. She didn't.
Even the date of my birth seemed to be conspiring against me...1st of July, two days after those wretched results. I went to her, next month, on her birthday and parted by saying "I didn't want anybody else's birthday to suck as much as mine did, so here I am."
She smiled.
The formality with which she spoke with me last, flummoxed me. For in the  past, we had been abuse pelting maniacs. Time is a funny entity, and memories, funnier. They create a limbo right in the middle of reality and leave you to wonder where it is that you actually fit in.
I do not know how to handle situations like these. I therefore choose to resign into muted silence. If I was loved the way I am capable of loving, then my jigsaw shall fit in on it's own and in it's own sweet time.
I still pray, every single day, that her life falls into place. That she tastes the success that is rightfully hers. Most importantly, I pray for a miracle that will bring her back, and us together.

Till Death Do Us Part

Present day Ladakh, portrayed in all it's beauty. Mountains, the sweltering sun and spiraling roads carved in rock solid hills. A puff of dust and an officer in Khaki comes riding a Bullet like a man on a mission.  THAT very instant you will hold your breath and fall in love with Major Samar Anand.
Cool as a cucumber, hot as himself, he sets to work with his characteristic furrowed eyebrows. And what is it that he is doing? Defusing his 98th bomb.
And if that isn't enough to get you drooling, then watch him do it without his bomb-suit. Watch him face death in it's face, without batting an eyelid or breaking a sweat. Watch him and ask yourself, why he is "the Man Who Cannot Die."

                                 

What begins as the rhetorical question of why Samar Anand cannot die, becomes one hell of a story. Told with gusto, grace and a great degree of romance, the movie will make you believe in love and miracles.

Now settled in his tent, with a cup of tea, Major Anand fills out his diary. A dairy that keeps an account of each bomb he had rendered worthless. The dairy that- as we learn later- is his way of mocking God. Why he does that, is disclosed over the next 2 hours.
Enter Anushka Sharma aka Akira Rai, like a whiff of fresh air. She dives into ice-cold Ladakhi water for no apparent reason, only to be rescued by the Major himself. A brief resuscitation later, Samar zooms away on his bike, leaving Akira with a smile and his Khaki coat.
Back with her troop of documentary directors, Akira stumbles upon Samar's Diary, the one shoved in the jacket pockets. And from then on, page after page,  we see Samar Anand in the days of his struggle as a Londoner.
Working two shifts a day and singing throughout, he sure knows how to charm his way into people's hearts. And charm he does! One song and dance sequence later, Katrina aka Meera is fluent in Punjabi and irrevocably in love with Samar. Samar proposes  to Meera and she decides to approach her father and call off her engagement with Roger, a family friend. Fate doesn't agree, and Samar meets with a near-death accident, right in front of Meera's eyes. Meera, the damsel in distress, falls to her knees in a fervent prayer and begs for Samar's life in lieu of giving up the one thing she loves the MOST- Samar himself.
And thus begins their struggle, of staying away and still together. The struggles of living up to promises- one made to God and the other- made to each other.
It wasn't their time. It wasn't meant to be. Hence a dejected Samar Anand returns to his home base to fulfill his family legacy and we now see the birth of Major Samar. The intense persona, the definite signs of a traumatic past, the hallmarks of a man mellowed by life's tortures.
Concern for his safety had deprived him of his lady-love. He retaliates by plunging himself into unimaginable dangers each day. His life was his tool against Fate itself, he had bared himself to the wrath of Destiny.

                             

An eventful turn of incidents later, Fate sends Akira back into Samar's life. This time, with a camera, i-pod and a laptop. It was her Fitoor that had brought her back in Samar's life, but it was Samar's life that had made her fall in love. Love in the truest, purest meaning of it. A girl of the present times, Akira's ideologies of love had been blurred. But as she watched the Major work, each passing day, the fog was beginning to clear.
The most heartwarming moment in the movie was where Samar, after having defused a bomb, retreats into total privacy to sing. To sing the song he had first sung for Meera. To sing of a wanderer...Challa....himself...

Challa hansda phire
Challa ronda phire
Challa gali gali rulda phire
Challe tu sab da
Challe tera koi nai
Challa gali gali rulda phire
Challa ki labda phire

Akira confesses her love. Fate frowns upon this and Samar meets with yet another accident.
And if life wasn't complicated already, it gets so, now. A severe head injury takes Samar 10 years back into time. The Samar of 2012 now barely recognizes himself.  Now suffering with Retrograde Amnesia, Major Samar Anand is back to being a London newbie. Carefree, happy-go-lucky and insanely in love with Meera.
What follows next, is chaos. Not in Samar's life, but in the life of those around him. A cross angle between the present generation and the generation of the yesteryears, both Meera and Akira are determined to bring Samar back. Meera, at the price of defying her treaty with God and Akira, at the price of love.

You will laugh,  you will spill tears, you will marvel at the power of love as you watch Samar fight his battles with life. You will go weak in your legs when you hear him say, "Zindagi ke halaat toh roz humein maarte hain. To maut se kaisa darna?" And when you watch Meera and Samar embrace at the end of their tryst with destiny, you will think of Love as undying, unyielding and simply...beautiful.

He is the King Khan of Bollywood, and he leaves no stone unturned to convince you. You won't doubt him as he plays a 21 year, you will adore him as a 30 year old. You will not question how he switches from the Samar of 2002 to the Samar of 2012 within a matter of minutes...you will only drown in his dimples.
Katrina, as Meera, is stunning. A 'gori mem' nurturing a wild child inside. Sizzling chemistry between the two, especially in the track Ishq Shava. It's bound to get your feet tapping. :)
Anushka Sharma, as Akira Rai is refreshing. An absolute delight to watch, as she struggles with the concept of love. You will feel her energy, the fresh peppiness of a girl in her youth. Untroubled and unpolluted, beautifully presented in the song 'Jiye Re.' As she gropes in the dark with feelings she can't understand, you will want to reach out to her and sympathize.

                         
And finally, the man behind the lens who made us fall in love over and over again. Yash Raj Chopra, you've left behind you an entire generation that will sing your songs, dance to your music and quote dialogues from your movies for a long long time. This leads me on to think of  a famous poem by John Keats:
      
                                                  ~Bards of Passion and of Mirth,
                                                    ye have left your souls on earth!
                                                    Have ye souls in Heaven too,
                                                    Double-lived in regions new?~

                               Yes Yash Uncle, you have left us a classic to love! <3                                  

                            

When 150 hearts beat as one...PULSATION 2012

 What happens when you put a hundred and fifty people of different shapes, sizes, colours, countries and mindsets in a single room, and ask them to stay there for 5 years?
Optimistically, it can be a happy story where everyone unites as one big happy family. Practically, we just end up hating each other, a situation that worsens in a female dominated class.
What begins as a misconception about a certain someone, grows to become a rumour and ultimately, seals a person's image forever. Credibility isn't the criteria. Compatibility is. But who can talk of compatibility without a certain level of interaction? So all we can do to judge a person, is to go by how  they're dressed, their demeanor and vibes. NOT CONCLUSIVE.
So there steps in Pulsation, our annual college fest. Organization, competition, victory, defeat...hand in hand with truck loads of fun!What began with furious arguments regarding the naming of our batch ended up with 150 jubilant students screaming:

When we score, when we scream, you wish you were on our team
                             Gooooo Spaartaans!
                                                    
Spartans. Yes, that's what we all are. Warriors, of both the body and mind. 150 Spartans draped in dazzling blue...electric! 150 students standing tall with the flag fluttering into the summer wind, united under one big banner: SPARTANS-2012.                                           
                                                                       
Day one, I remember, kick-started with the usual drag of a march-past followed by speeches upon speeches under the harsh mid-October sun. Nothing to dampen our spirits though.
The evening saw an energy packed boys' Volleyball match, which we lost to our Postgraduate uncles.
The first match however, had lain the foundation of our girl cheer-leading squad and the ever-so-unique slogan that went on to become our winning mantra. A great fight by the boy Spartans, and a promise to claim the trophy next year. Amen.

                                     
The sporting fervour continued for another six days, and by 13th of October, team Spartans was proudly placed second on the Basketball front. The girls cricket team amassed immense support and respect, having crushed our reigning seniors, the Warlords of  2007. Coached under our very own all-rounder Mohammed Abdul Ashraf, both the girls and the boys team excelled at the sport.


                                                                                   
                           
  Football became another feather on out hats, with the seniors assuring us of the championship in the following years. Sometimes, as freshers, you only have to compromise and walk ahead.
Kaushik Dandanak emerged the star player. Ah! I see the big-daddies trembling at the name itself ;)What came next was probably the most enjoyable event during the fest. Kabaddi...naturally restricted to the tougher male species. Some epic moments, raw force and mind games...a game high on adrenaline. We didn't win, but we didn't give up without breaking a few backs. Haar kar jeetne waale ko hi Spartan kehte hain boss ;)

                                                                                
                                           
Boys' Basketball came as a silver lining, after the dismal performance by the girls' team. They bagged silver and the girls lost their throats. Syed Adnan shone as the play maker and Omer Qadri as the hoop-dude. Excellent ball control, quick speed passes and fantastic co-ordination did the trick. On the individual front, Anam Sultana- a dear dear friend-clutched a bronze in the 100 metres sprint. Proud girly moment.
                                        

                                          
                                                                                                                   
    
Nearing the end of our festive week, came the literary and cultural competitions. Triggered by Omer Qadri and myself coming second in Debate, the topic being:
"Should rural service be made compulsory for medical students."
Team Spartans had Nida Fatima speaking for the motion, and Omer Qadri speaking against it. Excellent rebuttal from Omer, and full points for speaking were awarded to me. Vying for gold next year, InshAllah.
The winning streak continued with me winning gold in sketching...a basic job that seemed to work.
The  winner's torch was then carried forward by Naila Iqbal, who claimed two golds, one in the Memory Game and another in Photo-editing. Neat, classy editing. Not over-done, but executed to perfection.


                          
                               
We summed up our days with a smile of happy contention. We succeeded in establishing our presence, gave to the college a mere trailer of the potential within us.  The full movie, shall be released gradually over a span of 5 years. But wait! That's not all!
Down with all the competitions, the Spartans settled back to watch the better looking classmates walk down the ramp. Such professionalism, such panache...I often wonder if medicine is the right field for them. Flaunting everything, right from casuals to wedding wear...they made the outfits come across even better than the designer's conceptualization! Mohammed Wajih, Abdul Raafey, Hari Prem, Mubeen Babu, Ansari and Anas bin Siddiq came as surprise packets with each new sequence of the clothing range.
The story is still to continue. Most of us, who had almost dozed off in the middle, were woken up for a pleasant surprise. Random people simply ran up on to stage and my favourite song began to play. Even before I could jerk myself up to watch...the crowd, comprising exclusively of my batch mates, began dishing out moves like Jagger! It was a FLASH MOB!
Beautiful in it's concept and immaculate in it's execution, the flash mob became the highlight of Valentino 2012. The mob saw the birth of amazing dancing talent, that was probably buried under years of  ignorance and textbooks. Commendable job, under the expert eye of Akram, the choreographer from TNT-2010.


                                                                                                                                                

               

                                   
                       The Grand Finale on the 15th of October saw a huge turn over of people, all dressed to kill. Decked up in typical Hyderabadi party wear, we sure made heads turn. The evening began with prize distribution, song and dance with small humour segments interspersed here and there. Habeeb Qadeer, a renowned stand-up artist on the Hyderabadi comedy platform performed for over 45 minutes, very energetic and very well appreciated as well. What added charm to the night was the Qawwali. Authentic Hyderabadi Qawwali, performed by experts in the field. They belted out some entrancing sequences and had the crowds tapping their feet in a bewitched trance. The naubat became the icing on the cake- very, VERY impressive.
With good food and great company, time flies! And so it did, by 11:30 pm, the evening was just beginning to gain fervour.
It felt like I was back to square one. 150 students in one hall, for the next five years. But after the week gone by, the cat has jumped over to the other side of the wall. It is no longer a bunch of kids involved in back-biting or gang fights. We ended up as good- if not great- friends.
The Spartans bid good-bye to a week full of merry making to walk right into the snare of the upcoming exams. But the shift in moods was undeniable. We ceased to look upon each other with hostility (if there ever was) and distrust. Misconceptions seem to have been brushed aside, and we became open to meeting up new people.
Team Spartans is just beginning to gel. It is only a matter of time where Team Spartans will cease to be just a name...it'll be an identity for the entire college to reckon with. A syncitium of sorts.This is me signing off, so until next time:

GOOOOOO SPARTAAAAANS!