Temple of the King

She contemplated the meaning of life. But for the life of her, she couldn’t figure it out. She realized that she was going down a hopeless path. The answer to why Yusuf took this drastic step was beyond her imagination. What possessed him to vent his anger in this way was what only he could answer.

But what was done was done. Pooja’s face was destroyed forever. No amount of plastic surgery by the best surgeons in the world could help her regain her old face. Her life was over. She remembered the days when she would win praise for her almond-shaped eyes, her aquiline nose, her full lips and her long smooth hair. Those days were over now. She would have to live out the rest of her life in ignominy.

She got up from her bed to look at her face for the thousandth time in a mirror. She could not believe what had happened to it. The skin, which had recently been re-repaired by Bombay’s most prominent plastic surgeon, appeared sloughed off even though she could barely look at herself in the mirror.

She had spent weeks sobbing to herself and to her friends, her family and anyone she could find solace with. She remembered the days when she was madly in love with Yusuf and him with her. They spent the monsoons together, the summers together and the winters in each other’s company. She had never felt better in life than when she was with him. They had met at a mutual friend’s party about 4 years back and he had seemed dreamy and carefree. She fell in love with his personality immediately, and she guessed that the same had happened with him. He wooed her for a long time and she finally agreed to go out with him. All was hunky-dory until a few months back.

Her parents had decided that she could not be permitted to marry a guy whose religious beliefs did not match theirs. They had arranged for a very rich guy for her, a boy she’d known since she was a kid and whose family knew theirs for decades.

When she told Yusuf this, he seemed to handle it pretty well. But she did not know the rage that he hid behind his cool demeanour. He was jealous of the man who was going to get the girl of his life, the girl of his dreams. But instead of hurting the other guy, he decided that if he couldn’t have Pooja, no one could have her.

And as it turns out, no one would want her after this. She was ugly, she was hideous. But she had to keep her courage up. She could not wait for Yusuf to be punished for what he had done to her. In the back of her mind, as she flicked through the pages of a glossy magazine, she knew she was missing out on the happiest years of her life. Yes, the once beautiful Pooja was jealous of the models in the magazine who seemed so happy.

Wishful Thinking

The grass is greener on the other side.

But is it really always that way? The grass might appear greener, but it might have its own shades of black, grey, or other colours you might not have foreseen. You often see that which you desire rather than what the actual ground reality is. An optical illusion, should I say? Mental illusion? Take your pick. It’s just like those mirages, which you see in cartoons, where the oases are always filled with beautiful, semi-clad women and delicious food and drink, and which always disappear when the character approaches them.

I have always tried to put myself in someone else’s shoes (not literally, of course :P), and imagined life in their own terms. Never has it been to my liking. Obviously, I do admire a few of my friends’ qualities, the amount of freedom they get, or just their devilishly handsome looks :P. But there are many negative points which I would have never liked in my own life. There is always something negative along with the positive. Justifies the old sayings and theories of the balance in nature. 😉 It also makes you look at life in a different way, be it good or bad. So enjoy life while you’re still in it. Cheerio!

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I’ve also often wondered how a teacher still loves to teach inspite of the deteriorating condition of the teaching staff in our country. Barring some incompetent teachers, students should not have any complaints about the quality of teaching. However, that is not what is observed in most of the schools or colleges I have been in. This has been synonymous with the advent of coaching classes, sounding the death knell for most of these government-paid, government-fed teachers. Coaching classes pay more, and get more out of their teachers, causing the scales of the students’ barometer of preference to tip the wrong way.

This makes the college professors feel small, and maligned. Which is very much true, considering the rowdy behaviour these teachers have to face. Sometimes, I do feel frustrated with some of my “supposed” teachers. But I do not blame them for whatever is going on now.

Indeed, teaching IS a noble profession in this brave, new world.