The Writer's Platform

  When the first day of camp started, the kids were seemingly excited in the presence of such a well-furnished playroom. On the other hand, I was this close to calling it quits at the sight of the kids themselves. Now all the readers might be wondering why I was scared of such puny humans (some may even poke fun at me). The reason was simple; I was not sure how to build my image as a teacher in front of them. I was extremely aware of the fact that I have zero crowd-control and non-existent fluency in delivering a lecture as long as fifteen minutes.  I didn’t even know how I was going to introduce myself. Internally screaming, I make my way to the make-shift stage, and blurt out my introduction. As I spoke, I remembered that many people have had difficulty in pronouncing my name. The ‘Y’ would often be confused with an ‘L’. So, as a half-baked attempt, I made them repeat my name twice. And my eyes might have deceived me but they looked a little bit more animated and eager. I wa...

  After the grueling two years of college ended, my schedule was left wide open. My parents made me take up as an English tutor in a summer camp organized by my mother’s colleague. I wasn’t entirely against the idea but I was feeling rather unwilling to be up for the job since I am not good with kids. I have the least amount of tolerance when it comes to kids and I have no idea why. I don’t seem to have the hyperactive energy required to bond with children or the crackhead energy either. As a child myself, I did not have kids my age as playmates after school. It was always my youngest sister with whom I played. She used to be rather clingy and wanted to do everything that I did (I know it’s natural for a small child to be like that and I’m not complaining). I was initially skeptic about it but in the end my parents told me that it will be a kind of personality training for me.   My ears perked up at the words “personality-training”. I have a satirical, impatient and a...

  I had shifted from the Middle East to my home country, India, during the year 2017. Since my eldest sister needed to pursue her higher studies, India seemed like the best option to start. As the “obedient “kids that we were, I don’t ever recall throwing a tantrum or even whining about shifting from the place that we called home for 12 long years. Neither did my sisters. We were focused on our last school year, determined to make the best out of it without any regrets. When the time came to leave; a 6-hour flight, happy relatives greeting us, entering the new apartment and then entering the new school greeted us.  I kind of wanted to be home-schooled than enter a new school with new teachers with kids of an entirely different set-up compared to mine. I genuinely detest writing about that particular phase since I had to let go a lot of things I held dear. The emotions that come after leaving something dear to you didn’t catch up with me, rather I wouldn’t allow myself a brief ...

Mid-February had the outgoing second-years scrambling to finish their record books and cramming in experiments for the up-coming practicals. Students who did not yet feel confident enough to perform the experiments spent the days holed up in the labs, tinkering around with the instruments and chemicals. The other students whose records weren’t complete would sit in the classrooms, on the floor, Indian-style (since the building was new and not ready yet for the benches) while being supervised by a lecturer. These records were completed under constant laughter, gossip, scandals and general banter. Upon one of those days, we were again welcomed by a disastrous fit of insubordination. For the new readers, I have a group of eight people, four of whom were introduced in the previous post. This narrative will now include the other three members. Misaki, Sora and Fumi. Misaki is the quietest yet outrageously vocal girl in our group. She is a girl of fewer words and rarely talks about her real ...

  “That lesson was so annoying”, I said, as I put my mechanical pencil down. I was seated on the first bench, in the row by the wall. My notebook in front of me was scribbled with the day’s notes and a rather rough drawing of a girl wearing a skirt (my favorite clothing). “Yeah right”, sneered a friend seated behind me. “Isn’t that what every topper claims?”                                                              I groaned disapprovingly. Do people naturally forget that good-scorers are humans too? An ideal topper is one who has a firm grasp of a good portion of his/her stream. They should have knowledge that extended beyond the reach of marks. I, on the other hand, hammer the c...