Oil and Happiness

 

This universe is  home to three kinds of people. There’s the rich, the happy and then there’s both. Countries in the Middle-East boast an abundance of oil and natural gas reserves, yet we as Indians see as positive that even in a resource-devoid nation of a billion plus, penury and satisfaction have a healthy relationship.

Back in the day, the Emirs, some democratic and the rest autocratic, rolled up their sleeves and set out to help oil states develop and prosper in both infrastructure and political aspects. They promised to destroy the state of Israel and flexed their muscles after sizing up the weakness of their Western counterparts, but all along it was nothing but a sham.

Even today, crude has only bought them arrogance. All this while, it has meant only money. It’s no secret that the region is strife-stricken. We have to look no further than the conflicts in Syria, Lebanon and Egypt which boldly highlight the storm within. Taking into perspective the US intervention and the butterfly effect of the tension in the area, petty wars leading to rise in crude prices and negative sentiment, a change of attitude is needed, one that learns to be content with less.

Ditch the hydrocarbon and hug the lovely soul. It may not be crystal clear, but the third kind is non-existent.

Jatin Sehgal,

B.Sc.(H) Statistics.

The Pursuit

The Pursuit

When we’ve had enough of surrealism and metaphysics,

we stroll down

seeking a tumbler of chai (not ‘tea’).

While Che Guevaras

and other  wisdom on t-shirts

pass us by.

We try to resolve issues of original creative writing,

Analyse why Dylan

dislikes being called a “poet”,

Concluding classical literature and second-hand hardbacks

are the best by far.

Surf for the model value-for-money tiffin service,

Allow ourselves to critically dissect

the inherent personalities of rude sedans.

In the both literal and metaphorical heart of this geography,

We walk  promising distances,

expecting to locate new land.

© Chanchal K.

(English Honors 2nd Year)

To read more from him click here.

Eighteen

Eighteen

The world then seems almost heroic ,

Delectable sometimes and despondent sometimes; almost unreal.

Filled with creatures-half divine or half diabolical,

scenes of a fantastic reverie.

Everything more intense and enhanced,

tinged with a bright swirl of passionate emotions.

Darker forests and and brighter skies,

greener pastures and sweeter fruits.

Tender hopes light up the countenance,

it’s assurances so implicitly believed.

Love is welcomed with eager felicity,

it’s many agonizing phases still unknown.

Quivers of misery when do penetrate the spirit,

the injury is a new thrill of life.

Light sprinkling of love,

and the wounded soul is healed.

No pollution yet clouds the thoughts,

the mind has serenity and conscience it’s chastity.

a memory without  an ignominious blot or biter contamination,

what a beautiful treasure.

Drawing closer gradually , unwillingly ,

to the boundary of the illusive walls of dreams.

Fantasy land falls behind,

The realm of reality  lies ahead,

about to be waked up from the cradle of safety one has been lulled into.

The era of experience has begun,

her crushing and refining lessons are yet to be learnt.

With a hand so exacting and an authority so impelling,

precluded are we from being thrown down dreaded declensions.

© Ishita Jha

(English Honors, 1st Year)

The Bigger Picture

The Bigger Picture

                                                                                                      –  Anjini Chandra

The realization that my problems were so pitifully insignificant crashed into me while I was standing at the peak of one of the mighty mountains of the Spiti Valley, in Himachal Pradesh. There, I was delightfully eye to eye with the pristine snow capping the ruggedly beautiful mountains. I was at their level, but I had never felt so utterly small. The cobalt blue sky, dappled with wispy clouds stretched almost endlessly above me, and yet again, the crushing feeling of absolute helplessness slammed into me. Looking down, I saw the clear, aquamarine river, winding around the bases of the mountains, cutting its way through, creating its own path. A lush green patch caught my eye, so different from the stark, barren landscape, an oasis in the middle of a cold desert: a village. A moving speck entered my vision, a large bird soaring high in the sky. The scorching sun beat down on the earth, exposing every hidden corner, every nook and cranny of the unbelievably vast, breathtaking valley before me.  The cold, stinging wind whipped around me, clearing my mind of every thought but one.

 

 I was entirely inconsequential, just a tiny coloured speck in the painted canvas of the world. The petty problems, confusing dilemmas, overwhelming wave of choices faced every single day, were insignificant.

We were all part of the bigger picture, God the artist. Every new, masterful stroke of that paintbrush, sometimes adding new life, colour and beauty, other times obscuring and deleting former strokes, every drop of the vibrant, dull paint, created, destroyed and controlled.  I was only one tiny fleck of that masterpiece, my problems even smaller.