MY ESSAY DISCOVERED ME

Some people are just so  fastidious nowadays.  After posting an essay on a site, you get 

tonnes of comments very often from different sources which belie within themselves ¬some laud 

your attempt  to write saying that they really liked it, while others  completely (and very 

diplomatically too) molest your self-esteem with ragged ridiculous words firing the essay to be trash

outright. It becomes so frustrating because you are left in a fix about what to keep and where to 

stitch to maintain the coherence of the essay.  It is impossible to win unanimous approval in such 

instances;  I learned that  spending 1700 words  (not to mention your hard work)  on paper, many 

papers on proofreading, and an entire day on listening to others criticising your essay, or trying to 

teach  the so-called erudite critics  something astute that they ought to have already known, but 

didn’t, is a futile exercise indeed.

Nonetheless, I decided to chase after this futility. If these people wanted a masterpiece and 

showed  obstinacy to accept my essay, I was  adamant to give  something to marvel at. A few 

comments couldn’t scare me. However, this thing I ventured to achieve seemed a farfetched dream;

even after an entire day of uninterrupted computer-time, my piece was far from complete. I sought

magic, something that would entice everybody; much like how Beethoven’s tunes continue to 

mesmerise all of the people of this generation. Already in my creative mood seeking the inspiration, 

I felt the grass blades smirking at me in the morning sun; suddenly the useless cycle tires, the extrastraight walls of the  houses; the hooding boards on the sky-scrapers all seemed to  utter tragic 

stories. There was music everywhere; the chirping of the birds; the swaying of the leaves of the trees 

all contributed to the same melody. Even stray dogs sang their melancholic tale. The world seemed 

much nicer a place to be in. I began to perceive the nature as it was; all the same I didn’t receive any 

stimulus to boost my mind to begin creating astute things- I still had nothing to begin with. 

When I tried walking through  those streets where I had grown up, flashbacks  of my 

childhood  kept on coming  one after the other  in my head. On the other days, if ever I walked 

through these  streets (which I always did),  I never had the time or the patience allowing 

reminiscences to blossom in my head. There were some really extraordinarily treasurable memories 

associated with these places.  You see,  I  had always been a  very  naughty child always up to his 

mischiefs. I and my buddies  often rang the doorbell of some house or the other and then hid

ourselves; the confusion the owner showed while opening it and the rage with which he shut it later 

amused us and we  laughed heartily later on.  I remember the time when we put Superglue on  the 

class teacher’s seat-the poor guy had to walk with something covering his behind for the entire day;

his pants just refused to dis-embrace the chair, and only some pieces of it survived. That was really 

hilarious. As I looked at the empty space before me, I could envision my younger self with his gang 

walking; it brought a smile to my face. Younger times were always fun. I pity my older self and am 

now destined to remain envious of my younger self; for those younger times I enjoyed, or rather my younger self did with his pals, are now over. All these memories will forever remain memories, for 

these days are long gone. All the same, getting butterflies in my stomach was a good thing; it got my 

creative side up and running.

“What should I write about?” was the question hitting the walls of my cranium like  tennis

balls bouncing back and forth. A beggar begging for some money to feed himself, should I write 

about that? Or maybe not; everybody writes about such elements of the society, don’t they? Maybe 

as a bribe to keep him from  crying for not selecting him as a topic, or as a token of pity for his 

economic disability, I provided the poor kid with a rupee coin and chose to tread on my path. A little 

ahead, I saw another sight; a stray thirsty dog drinking from a dirty shallow puddle. It was the time 

of year when diarrhoea and typhoid would be at their infective peak. I smiled with compassion at 

him, for I pitied him for his disability to fight for his survival; his days were most certainly numbered. 

What about it, I thought. I pondered over the thought for a long time before I decided that it still 

wasn’t still the right spice for my dish. So, with deepest sympathies and a great deal of regret for not 

being able to do anything for it (unfortunately, I was not born with a silver spoon); I walked away.

I looked into books, asked my teachers, browsed the internet and did what not, only to find 

that mysterious spice. There was a catch, my efforts were in vain. Inspiration, inspiration… where 

was my magic spice hiding? I sat down on a bench in the park and began thinking. Was I looking in 

the correct place? Was I doing what I was doing correctly? I wished I was. I had never written an 

essay of so great an importance before, had I? I looked into the river that passed through that park, 

there were beautifully superimposed waves silently striking the other. Some were desperately 

moving towards the others moving in the opposite direction, like two forcibly estranged lovers 

striving to meet the other. When the waves met, they vanished; as if their enemies had conspired 

for  their demise. I recalled what my teacher had taught us in class about the destructive 

interference; then I ignored it.  I didn’t want facts at the moment.  I tried to search for figurative 

meaning in the waves, tried to hear what they had to say and what the stories of their lives 

constituted. I tried to listen to nothingness. Alas! I failed. Had it been some competition, I would 

have been shattered. But, not today; I was amused to find that I felt really happy.

This escapade had not given to me my inspiration, but it certainly had left me with a clearer 

mind. I, like many of my fellow so-called “social” beings, had been neck deep in my work to such an 

extent that I had lost sight of the greatest beauty one can behold- nature. I had forgotten what it 

meant to be a little dude. I had forgotten how attached someone can be to a particular entity. I 

recall often (and my mawkish mom never lets me forget- she finds it adorable) how I used to take 

every new thing bought to me to sleep every night, as if I feared that someone would take it away; I 

had forgotten how I felt then. When I was a child, I used to jump every time mom called out to me 

because of happiness; I had overlooked that precise feeling.  I had forgotten how my heart beat in 

sympathy to anyone in need. This essay I had wanted perfect may not have  turned out  so  in your 

point of view, neither  is it so  in mine; nevertheless it gave me a chance to recall all of that. I really 

wanted to live; to enjoy but my work hadn’t been allowing me. My search for my inspiration did that 

for me. I think that I had lost myself for some time in between, the real me if you may. Searching, I 

discovered that I was my own inspiration; the magic ingredient I had so long desired. Trying to 

discover my perfect essay, I ended up discovering me, whom I hope I will never again forget.

Nature or Nurture?

Today, genetic engineering has verified the long unsupported claim about the genes being the foundations of expression of all of the characters of the organism. It is however also true that influence is also held in matters of expression of those characters by the environmental conditions one grows in. Two homozygotic twins, i. e the siblings with the same genetic makeup will have different characters when they are raised in different surroundings. Therefore, I personally believe that Nurture as well as Nature plays a part in affecting ones character and its expression.

It is well known that the entire genetic makeup of the organism is stored in the form of randomly organised codes-called the genetic codes. Basically, from the colour of your skin to the colour of your eyes, from the way you speak to what behavioural characteristics you display-everything has already been programmed in your genetic makeup. The code; however has been eluding the geneticists for centuries, for it is the most difficult secret code to decipher. It is also known that any sudden change in the basic structural organisation of the genes will result in spontaneously induced mutations. The colour of skin, for instance, has been found to change when the lab rat is exposed to mutagens. The totipotency of the cells has been restored in some reptiles after they have been exposed to X-Rays for some time. Sudden strength, increased vigour, better reflexes are the qualities that have been induced in the organisms through mutation; thus ascertaining the claim for the genes to be the storage unit of the information about the characters of a person.

Two twins born from the same zygote have ditto genetic makeup. However, it is also true that the characters seen in these children in their later life differ from one another, suggesting that the ambience where these children grew up also influences the expression of the characters to a great extent. About two decades ago, researchers in USA performed an experiment in which one of the two homozygotic twins was kept aloof from the world while the other was given a normal life. the first child, secluded from the world, lived in a dark room with no interaction to other human beings except for an occasional cough or sneeze made by the person bringing it food two times a day; the other child lived a normal child’s life. After some years, it was seen that the child that was secluded in a room failed almost entirely to show any signs of civil etiquette characteristic of human beings while the other child grew up into a normal boy. Thus, it was shown scientifically that it is the environment of the organism that greatly influences the character-expression.

Thus, the adage-“the baby’s mind is plastic” is completely true. No matter what is programmed into the baby during the fertilisation process, it is the environment that he grows up in that shapes up its mind. Raising it in a family of loafers will result it also turning into a loafer. An educated family will provide a good ambience for the baby to become interested in learning beginning at an early age. Valmiki, the great sage of the Hindu Rastra, had initially been a crook. He, as a child, had been kidnapped by a gang of gangsters and had grown up to become a crook in the eyes of law. Many great erudite people history often tells us of became so great because they had a good atmosphere when they grew up. Many rogues are from the slums because their families were unable to provide them with proper education and basic necessities. Therefore, a person’s character is best shaped when he is a child and the environment he grows up in influences this to the greatest extent. Keeping the child in a room of hooligans will give you a hooligan, no questions asked.

Freedom to study

We Nepalese are educated under an archaic educational system. The so called educationists in Nepal are unaware that this system would better function if it were displayed in a museum. Our society also functions on that very basis- if you obtain certain specified marks, then you are deemed a good student and otherwise. It is not the content or the quality of the answer that matters, but it is actually the length of the answers you give- notwithstanding what you write in the answer, mind you. Writing about Osama Bin Laden’s assassination in a question about general relativity is a commonplace here, and it is accepted too if the length of the answer is that desired by the teacher.

Here, the people don’t have the liberty to study what they want to study- or that to cease studying when we want to do that. Say a person is very much interested in physical science. The academicians care not where in the boy’s interest lies- he is mandatorily made to study 10 subjects until his class 10, most of which will do him no good later on. And to add to that, he has to study how to get marks rather than how he can amass knowledge. He has to analyse critically how to analyse the pattern of the questions rather than analysing the pattern of answers he has to present to those questions. He is under pressure to score too, and thus has no choice but to memorise the questions. Thus, he fails to understand say integration even though he can do lengthy integrations pretty easily.

After all, social survival is the primary objective of the students here. They understand that life is a race and if they don’t rush, they are bound to be left behind. However, when we compare our education with that of the western nations, we turn green with envy. A future mechanical engineer learning the slokas of the Vedas is a pitiful site indeed. A doctor learning agriculture at high school for instance or a mathematician learning herbal medicine, or a future writer learning home science-these situations may seem absurd to an outsider, but it is a commonplace in our society.

Had we been provided with the opportunity to study what we really liked, our development would have been much faster. A wise man had once said-“Efficiency at doing something comes with experience, experience is derived from interest”.  I never wanted to wake up at 7 every morning and get ready for school, or wear the same dress every day and sit in classes. I didn’t want the dictator of a principal we have here at our school to scold me every day. All I wanted was to study. I didn’t want home-works to do; I do mine myself. All I ever wanted was the freedom to study what I wanted to study. Many of my friends also agree with my philosophy. If I were allowed to add an extra topic to those mentioned by President Roosevelt, I would advocate in favour of “THE FREEDOM TO STUDY”, after which, I believe that all of us here would be content with the Rights guaranteed to us by the constitution.

The Greatest Lesson

My life, as I often tell my friends, is an open book. I have nothing to hide from anybody, nothing to feel ashamed of. I am what I am today not because I always desired to do well in academics, but because my life had been a bumpy ride, and a large bump in that terrain sent me this way. Today, I go around the streets receiving much appreciation. I am what people call a genius or an intellect in its true terms. Mr Omniscient-if you may, that’s what I am today. I am able to add to the discussion going on around me making it worth the while of the discussers to it. I receive phone calls at the middle of the night from people desperately seeking my help in some physics problem they couldn’t solve, or some chemistry mystery that the callers managed to entangle themselves in. Today, I am somebody important. I have matured. Had you asked my teachers before two years what they thought I was going to be twelve years hence; they’d probably have answered ordinary things like “teacher”, “employee” and others. Time alone changes the entire world, doesn’t it? Today, time has changed their words too. Now, the same teachers tell me to aim for NASA, or at the least some space laboratory; the same principal of my school, who didn’t know my name earlier, now recites my example to anyone and everyone who wishes excel in academics. They think that I am capable of achieving the acme of success. They think that I am different from others. But what exactly lies behind these brains, they don’t know that. I am often exaggerated by the people who describe me. They think I am brilliant. I, however, am often reluctant to agree.

Sometimes, I feel that I have become a subject of ebullient exaggeration. My teachers say what they must. Whenever they drag my name to any discussion going on about studies, they garland me with accolades. I feel embarrassed. I got labelled as the “scientist” of my school just for completing a project on Magnetic Levitation and successfully demonstrating it in the form of a Maglev train in front of a large audience on my own when I was in my 10^th standard. I mean, there are people, even some in Nepal who have done much more, like building a solar powered car, or building fuel efficient engines. I know how they work, but they actually built them! I am deeply interested in science, and my syllabus of study outclasses the +2 syllabus we study here by a long shot. I have studied Vector fields, vector calculus, multiple integrations, number theory, quantum mechanics, classical electromagnetic theory, holography and what not. Gravitation and both theories of relativity are like my bread and butter, so high school physics is a piece of cake to me. I love biology. Actually, I love every subject taught at school. I hold detailed knowledge in each of these subjects.  Besides these, I am also a trained computer hardware technician. We do not have any course in our school where foreign languages are taught, so I completed one outside. I have been trained in German Language and am fluent at it. Therefore, in the classes, I am always like “Mam me!” whenever the teachers ask any question. More often than often, I know the answer. So, my friends are often open mouthed when they look at how often I raise my hand. They labelled me “Ph. D”, a pet-name they say defines me completely; again I feel embarrassed at their remarks. Exaggeration again I am subjected to. They exaggerate, I think, because they haven’t met anyone like me. But I know that I shouldn’t be delighted to receive such appreciation; that there are others much better than me. I don’t want to remain the one eye blinded king in the land of the blind. A win by a rat in a race of turtles is not a race worth watching. The race is fun to behold only when the competition is stiff, isn’t it?

One special aspect about me which demarcates me from millions of others who are also exaggerated, I think, includes the things I had to face in my life that landed me in the position I am today. I always loved to compete, unlike now, however, I was not always prepared for it. I was not always the top of my class. I was mediocre student earlier on. Because of my mediocrity and my involvement in other activities besides my school work, I was often the subject of taunts in the class. The teachers often made a field day out of me. Because I was doing all other courses for extra credit and I wasn’t that excellent at my thing, I was slated often. It’s understandable when school bullies taunt you, one can live with that. But, if the teachers begin taunting you, you just lose the sight of what you want to be anymore. You just lose hope. You feel harassed and you become desperate to try and succeed. If you fail at that, then you are the in a fix about hating your teachers taunting you, hating the fact that they are your teachers or hating that you exist and you are in a school where the teachers  don’t know what teaching means. You literally feel that you are the one who is the most unlucky person in the world. I was no better. I then began hanging out with people who felt the same way. After all, birds of same feather flock together.

                Well, my peers at that time constituted of some of the most acrid people one could point out. I hung out and went places with them. They had some really gruesome habits, I however chose abstinence. As the result of my spending more time on hanging business and less time on studying, my grades took a steep dive. I began smoking (smoking by a minor is considered obscene in our society). I even tried opium once. The people who knew me began thinking, “Man, this dude is gone!!”. I also began thinking that I had indeed lost my path. I did get everything a wild teen would have had. All the same, I was not a modal teen that I am now. When I look back upon what I was earlier, I feel that I was a complete mess. I was a phoenix about to die. I didn’t have any hope to survive this terrible phase of my life. Just past my puberty, I was in a state of wild atrocity, and funnily, I was enjoying it.

 One day, my principal caught me smoking red handed. He brought me in and then called my parents. It was a terrible sight to behold. I knew I had wronged my family members. I could feel their plight. My dad’s eyes were furious. My principal looked as if he was on the prowl to kill something. Then he announced abruptly that I was going to be rusticated. For a second there, I was dumbfounded. I hadn’t realised what the consequences to my actions ought to have been before, had I? I had just gone with the flow, the flow of my peers. I then realised something. This was not who I was. I didn’t want to be a wiener for the rest of my life. I didn’t want it to become hazed with smoke, did I? No sir, I didn’t. I didn’t want to be a school drop-out. I wanted to become something in life. I wanted to be respected in the future. I wanted to establish my identity in the society. I couldn’t let it end this way.

I begged the principal to give me another chance. I literally got down on his feet and begged him. If I was rusticated, no other school would again admit me. A desire to study had erupted within me. I wanted to become somebody, I told him. He took pity on me and granted it. I still remember him twitching his moustache telling me that it was all or nothing. If I didn’t show significant improvement in my next examination, he was going to let me go. I took this as a challenge. The fiasco I had rendered that night had somehow changed me. Study, study and study; that was all I began doing. If hard work could cause a school dropout to become a steel industrialist, how difficult would achieving the first position be? I worked day and night, studied everything I could get my hands upon. Finally, the day came when the results of my labours were expected to be out. There it was, my name glistening on the top of the merit list. I had been reborn. I was a nearly failed venture of my parents. Now, I am here at the top of everything I do. I rose to become what I am today from the ashes of my parent’s dreams. I made my life, my stature. If people call me a geek, I tell them that I am one, for I decided to become one. Now, phoenix is my favourite bird; for, it lives its life very much like I lived mine. I never was a graceful unicorn who mesmerised all those that set their eyes upon it. When phoenix grows old and then when it’s the time for it to die, its body turns ignites all of a sudden and it is reduced to ash. Then something magical happens, from the ashes arises a new bird (well, the old bird but with a newer self), as was the case with me.

                Today, my life has brought me to the present platform on which I stand. I was a no body, and I became somebody because of my hard work. I now do not do things spontaneously, I do them with plan.  I know where I want to see myself 10 years hence and am willing to put up as much hard work in it as I can. I have set my goals and am willing to do anything to achieve it. I have faced many hardships in life, after which I now have a clearer picture of the world. I am a different guy in my view point. I aim to be the best and for that aim for the best. I don’t anticipate my life to be a smooth ride. But, now I believe that whatever bad may come my way, I will be able to face it. I wish to inculcate this very lesson to others- life may yield its fruits, as well as its fangs to you. But the thing that should keep you going is hope. You should never lose the sight of who you are. Life may poison your existence, but it is up to you; up to your determination to succeed and your faith in yourself to do something good in life. If you don’t lose the sight of what you are trying to do, then definitely the success will be in your hands. This is the greatest lesson I have learnt in my life and I want to inculcate to others.

I am useless

Am i a human, or a beast who knows only to feed.
Why am i a parasite, why do i suck entities dry?
Where am i human? he wouldnt hurt a fly
Why am i here? what have i done !
But im helpless, these things i must do
Why even my parents, why dont i let them be
I pester them always, never let them at peace
A bike, a car, a cell; greed that drains their banks
I hurt my loved ones, not me; my greed
But i feel guilty, i repent for my misdeeds
These are not crocodile tears, i must make you believe
But from a fly to the sky, its me who makes them cry
But to live i must hurt,
For otherwise, i must die
I am a symbol of pain, of death, of hell
I am a murderer, for without doing so, i cannot survive
Im a sinner, for ive sinned for a long time
But without sins, im somebody redundant
Im somebody, wait a nobody
I mourn for the people i hurt,
But without doing sins, i must die
Without sins, i have no hope to survive.

Where am i, what is my need?

Well I'll Be Damned

 Today I’m here, tomorrow maybe not.
The victories I savored, the losses I got.
Despite these, my life had been futile,
I had been lost, I’d forgotten it all.
All the troubles my parents went through
To get me to the top.
All the sacrifices they made,
The half empty stomachs they kept
The sleepless nights they spent
Only to see me rejuvenated!!!

I forgot my friends, who’d been by me
Throughout my troubles, who’d helped me through
I forgot the tears they endured
When they saw me pained
Impudent I was, when it was my turn
To return their favor, when they were in need
I shunned them aside, paid them no heed
I vied for my goal; looked back no more
However, I forgot they were the last time
But are here no more.

Now I’m tranquil, solemn in my secluded exile
I glance around, not a glance I am returned
I searched success, my search left me alone
I once had the desire to live, now I have none
I don’t know why, but I’m done with this life
I’m done with this world
I feel it’s the time
To return to god