Monthly Archives: March 2015

Not a blog

Hi!

So I entered this story in a contest.

https://litagram.com/story/545758/its-not-her-fault

Please read it, if you have time and if you like it maybe give it a vote or post a comment.

Thanking you,

Anjali.

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Going Home

They say home is where the heart is, the place where we are accepted for who we are and what we want to be. The place where we don’t have to change who we are for people to like us but we want to, so that life maybe easier for those who make a place our home. Home is not always the place where we are born or the place we where we live and sometimes it does not even exists outside our heads but whatever it is, where ever it is, it the one place which we would not even hesitate to die for, the place whose memories we treasure more than perhaps lie itself. It is the lovely, dark and deep woods which pulls our soul towards peace, it the place where when we close our eyes to rest, we already dream of being awake. It is the place where every day maybe is not better than the last or even happy but where every thing some way or other brings us peace, makes us think and smile even through eyes full of tears. The place where we care for others beyond ourselves, the place where our heart sings and where we feel that we belong, the place where we get out true names and know our true selves, where our differences do not make us targets but give us a purpose to live and love. Love our parents, our friends and ourselves.

For people like me, out home lies deep in the pages of books, in worlds where things happen beyond our reckoning, where lions roar and Pegasus fly, where war is a myth and happiness flies likes birds and smiles twinkle like streams full of stars in broad daylight, where we get so lost among yellowing pages and words that time and reality lose all meaning, where we know the world in those books, the people there perhaps better than we know our own selves, their words better than our own. Their smiles are our smiles, their pain our pain. We may laugh at their love and fear but in the end we are them and they are us, both craved from the same pen and spelled from the same ink, with memories that span the length of the world. Like how every fan of the Hunger Games smiles when they see a sugar cube and how every “Divergent” feels nostalgic when they go zip lining and how every Potterhead smiles at the thought Hogwarts and every demigod yearns for their camp Half-blood.

Maybe for others their world lies within those whose eyes hold their beauty or in the world created by colour and pain on canvas, decorating nature and yet others find peace in helping others and protecting the world, in being brave and some in reality. However, one thing remains the same no matter where one’s home lies, it is the one place where in the end we are all welcomed with open arms and smiling faces.

The world of your eyes.

Everyone likes to do things their ways, whether it be a Maths problem or learning the periodic table. We do things with a distinct style that shows our personality and individuality. Our free will and the power to make a choice and as we grow up this free will changes from choosing what to eat to what to wear and eventually what we want to do in life whether it be a teacher, a doctor, an author or what ever else it may be. We start to see the world of  our eyes and long to live in that world where although thing’s are not perfect but they are what we want them to be. However, it is seldom easy to follow our dreams because people, society, our family, insecurities and talents all stand as barriers in our ways, barriers most of us cannot conquer and we let others decide our paths, our dreams and our lives. I am not saying that is wrong, because it is not but is it not indefinitely better to find a legal and nice way to do what others think is right and what our heart wants because in the end it is you who has to live with yourself.

Take me, for example, I loved writing and finally after a lot of hard-work with extreme encouragement I finished my first book and now want to continue on this path  which I have started to travel on but people never stop to jab or insult. Frequently people laugh at my dreams, sometimes, even people from my own family! But that dies not mean I will give up, because life is too short not to do what you want and just like every hero or heroine in every story does, even I will have to fight against the world and fulfill my destiny. Another example can be the struggle of one of my favourite authors, J K Rowling, who did not give up hope even after being rejected twelve times or the story Anne Frank the girl who managed to fulfill her dream of living on even though she had to endure the horrors of the Second World War. Literature is also filled with examples of heroines like Katniss, Tris, Mia, Elizabeth, Emma and so many more and with heroes like Sydney, Pip, Percy,Harry and others who fought for what they loved and came out victorious. So why can’t we?

It’s time we, the generation of today, show the world that dreams are worth having, that risks are worth taking and that being different is not a problem, because we are all unique in our own way and because it’s time that we follow our dreams on a journey to success and happiness.

My Life

Hey everyone!

This is Anjali Roongta student of class ten, debutante author, lover of blood guts and gore, horrible horrible singer and weird nerd, not necessarily in that order. So, this is basically my version of a draw my life video where I will try to tell my whole sixteen years on this earth in six hundred words, though it is most likely to fly out of the window. The word limit.

It all started on 2nd March, 1999 when I was born while everyone else played Rang Holi outside. Rang Holi’s like the ultimate Indian festival where everyone plays with colours, attacks each other with water balloons and water guns. Mom and Dad wanted to name me Manjari, a mixture of their names but my youngest maternal uncle named me Anjali, because he thought that I looked like the heroine in K2H2, one of my all time favourites. And then there was me, Anjali Roongta, a little baby with tufts of weird wavy brown hair which never seems to look the same and dark brown eyes. I spent the first few years of my life with my Mom’s family, as my parents made a name for themselves. I don’t remember much but I do remember that it was a time full of fun, swinging from tails of buffaloes and touring the village with my Uncle.

Then one day my mom came and whisked me away wither to Kolkata, the city of joy. I remember doing a total Bollywood drama for not going to school, even though it is my favourite place now or maybe second favourite- first favourite has to be storybooks! Mom says it’s because some people in the housing complex had been rude because I wasn’t as fluent in English as them. I only remember walking the school corridors with Mum, on my first day, a black vortex everywhere, I think that represent’s my dread but it all changed when I bumped into my first best friends, Sanjana, Rahul and Sakshi. The four of us were inseparable and always there for each other. We couldn’t even keep a decent fight for five minutes! Same carpool, same benches, same everything. We found loopholes in the teachers’ every attempt to separate us. My parents always knew  I would be intelligent, they say, when I first spoke only eight months old and I lived up to their expectations by coming first in my class in class one and getting into the same school as my younger sister which is one of the best in Kolkata.

I remember my sister, Priya, crying because we were in different classes, her being two and half years younger to me and I was crying because I can not see her cry. Though looking back, I think she just wanted her friends to know that I was her didi (elder sister) and no one else’s and that only she could bully me. One of my earliest pictures is of her standing Hercules’ style in front of a tri cycle she had pushed me off. I studied in AGCS for four years and made my first Agite friends on my birthday when these mean girls were being nasty, though it’s not a big deal in India, and two kids help me fight them and soon we became the golden trio of the class.

As the years went by our group expended till I changed schools and went to a boarding school which was one of the best years of my life even if it was  little difficult.

Then I left, courtesy to my sister and joined Pratt Memorial where I now study. Last four years here I have had loads of fun, especially this year, which is weird because it is supposed  to be the scary ICSE-  one of the most important exams ever- year. So I guess that’s it, all about my life and wow I actually did not blow up the word limit by much. The thing I love the most bout PMS, however will be the awesome friends I have gained here, both online and offline, just like in every school I attended.Good day and sionara! 

Loads of love and warm wishes-

Anjali