Our Candle

Couldn’t think of a better occasion than the festival of lights itself to recall the blissful emotion portrayed in this poem we wrote a year ago. Wishing you all a happy and blessed Diwali !!

Photo by Hakan Erenler on Pexels.com

Here’s our rendezvous with a candle –

It was a normal night.

Well all nights are normal till,

And Everyone with their laptops

Me with a book in my hand

And suddenly something happened 

Actually, nothing a havoc of surprise around.

The lights went out due to a power cut,

It was somewhere 9 ‘o clock?

All of us staring and trying, setting, mushiness into right.

Even though knowing light would come again alright.

So why not wait for it to arrive?

The encumbered batteries about to drain, 

No one paying  here a sight

Not even the clouds and shudders creeping inside,

And agitation growing, dwindling inside.

Hence, a candle somewhere turned out alright. 

 Some time spent in the dark,

With the single candle being lighted and giving light,

The wax gradually melting 

But till the last moment the candle did thrive.

 And we huddled together to the warmth we found. 

The candle stood there alone and we did.

The gloom and the dark, 

The glow both defied, denied.

We took care that it glowed

Brighter than before,

Till everything went alright.

And the light came ,it sure did.

when the lights went out, we hated it

So, instead waiting for the bulb light to pop on,

We lit one right then in its sheer demise.

To have a candle ‘s light in unusual circumstance

one must take it into strangeness,

when the gloom and darkness prance.

And so did we when frightened by a sheer power cut.

And hence the sooted candle, left a grave mark. 


A question of Mathematics!

‘The winds are always cold at this hour’ Reena thought as she got up for school. She lazily scrubbed a brush over her teeth and took a bath. It was 5:30 am.

The ball of sun appeared to rise from a red lid far in the horizon. The surroundings were dark as a starless night sky and as she went to her balcony, she waited for some sounds to occur. There was the muted rush of a bike, and the ding of the morning bell of the Durga temple. Pigeons cooed in unison. But everything was silent. A pale-yellow bus roared, driving out stray dogs from its path. It pulled to a stop at the Mahanadi Society waiting for the only student from this society to board the bus. Reena waved her dad goodbye as she entered the bus.

Jiya beckoned her to the third two-seater. The bus  bellowed and took a ‘U’ turn from the stop in the opposite direction.

After thudding a little it again came to a stop. Reena wondered why the bus had stopped. Was the engine down? According to the bus Didi, it was waiting for a child ‘s mother who had forgotten to bring his art material for his drawing competition.As silence stretched, the pace of blabber and jabber among children increased. Rohan, the ‘BothersomeBoy’ of the bus, cried at a nearby hawker for some bhelpuri. Many gawked at his courageous behaviour which soon invited a spanking from the bus Didi.

‘Which papers have you got?’; Jiya asked, breaking the silence.

‘None’ Reena replied

‘And are you participating in the annual day?’


Reena felt extremely sad and out of sorts. She repelled Jiya’s questions with a No or None. Of course, Jiya soon understood.

She turned her head towards the seamless blue sky. which was dotted with fringes of red, yellow and orange. Rings of birds marched and flapped their wings, cheering the younger pack to join. Red Bulbuls chirped as quickly as they moved. Butterflies circled around the nursery. However, nothing could turn Reena ‘s attention.

Reena ‘s mathematics teacher was to give the marks of Mathematics. Rather than feeling excited or perturbed she felt a numbness settling over her. Her teacher M. R Rangarajan, was a stout lazy domineering fellow. He never taught anything nicely, and whatever he drew on the board was done with utmost listlessness. He loved moving his pot belly to an old song while also drawing the shape of a circle on the board. He never went beyond 3 questions in three days, and soon the chapter got over with children left to do the exercises on their own. He never asked for notebooks regularly but rather in the most unexpected times.

In short, he was nowhere near to a typical Mathematics Teacher.

M.R Rangarajan was called Ranjeet in the class. ‘Ranjeet Sir arrived!’ Ranjeet, a popular actor was known to play villain roles in Bollywood movies in which he ill-treated girls. But instead of terrifying girls he terrified the boys out of their wits. He believed that it was not possible for him to toil hard for grade 10 for he was too busy with grade 11 and grade 12. And that, Reena believed, was the sole cause of her thinking too hard.

Yesterday, he had left half the stack of checked papers of her class at home.  It contained Reena ‘s paper as well.

The bus reached the school. Little graders pushed themselves in to go out first. The rest of the bus meanwhile, tried to wake up from drowsiness while people like Reena tried wishes, swears, and prayers to get out of their predicament. It was the paper showing day for all other 10th graders as well as 11th and 12th but none had got a teacher like M. R Rangarajan. Or Rowdy Ranjeet Sir.

At school, everyone was excited to see their papers. In English the class topper was Priyandarshi Goel. Most had got satisfying marks in science but there were those who still requested a slight increase in marks. In Hindi, people had written all sorts of poor and “unpersuasive” answers. It was the seventh period.

Ajay, the class monitor was given the responsibility to keep a lookout for Ranjeet Sir. His arrival after all, would mark readjustment of: behaviour, changed places, desks, teacher ‘s desk in the class. There would be a readjustment of everything in the class.

‘Ranjeet Sir arrived!!’.

Everyone shuffled and moved. When Mr Rangarajan entered the class, it was super quiet. He took a stride to the teacher ‘s table and sat down waving his hand so that we could settle down as well.’ Roll no. 1’, he called out.  Reena looked around in agitation. Hers was Roll no. 4. What would she do?‘Roll no.2’ Jayeshwari was a good student and everybody cried to know her marks. Reena felt as if Jayeshwariwas stripped of her privacy. Bad or good marks, she had the first right to see them.  Roll no. 3 ‘T.C Sir!’, someone called.‘Roll no.4!’, It was a chance, a punishment or both, for Reena to be having the fourth roll no. in the school.

She approached the teacher ‘s table and drew her hand for the paper keeping her head down.

‘The paper is partially checked’

What? she thought. He made some ticks and gave marks in circles.(2),(2),(2),(3),(3),(3),(5) How could she do all the 2 mark questions right? Wasn’t that trigonometry question of 2 marks thoroughly wrong?’ Reena saw him flick and put ticks. He looked at the marking scheme and gave her 1.5 marks in that question.‘But sir, why have you given 1.5 marks in this question? It is a silly mistake for an easy question!”

‘Aah I don’t remember the question’, he said. She produced her own question paper.‘Well the marks are given for writing the steps’, Ranjeet Sir said casually. But Reena was not satisfied. There was no reason to give marks. She had copied the question in those steps and done that question wrong.

If that is how marks were being awarded in each question, with a chief carelessness and indolence then those marks did not give her any pride.

‘ Sir, if in the final examination I make the same mistake will I get 1.5 marks then?’; Reena pushed.

‘ No but you have written the ste- ‘

‘ I don’t deserve these marks as well.’, She finally stated.

Her mathematics teacher stared at her in astonishment. He wrote zero in front of the question.‘Class this is the first time, No, the second time I have discovered an extraordinary student!’, Ranjeet Sir roared.‘The first one lives in Australia today working in some bank. I always wondered that your class had some inner potential. But most of you, including those going to coaching, worry about getting more marks! Perhaps we should learn a lesson today!’; Ranjeet Sir stood up from his desk.

Reena looked at her still left unchecked paper and sighed.Life can sometimes make strange demands to oneself.

(based on a true story)



‘How is life going?’

Generally, we tend to go over those posts that talk about life.. how life is.. how life has been. One may feel like the person is penning an obituary for his/her blog. (Obviously not us )

We are going through what will be some major exams, based on a pattern in which our brothers passed their grade 10th( Which means extra long answers and less MCQs). This not a reflection of our constant complaining, perhaps it is what is coming out these days.

Tension, monotony, realization, mistakes they all seem to be a part of the cycle of life don’t they? Well right now, we are staring at those emotions in their rawest form.

So we just both want to ask What about you? If schools are hard then workplaces are harder. College may give someone constant anxiety considering you have to come across so many people( and seniors). How is life treating you?


‘A reunion called!’

Hello everyone. This is Kunjal. This is my first attempt at a sonnet. Hope you like it.

On a long drive to aunt's sturdy white house
On a  road our car dances in the mist
Grasshoppers bounce and  mischief-makers trounce,
Green fields melting and attuning adrift.
We traverse through a foulish filthy lake
Muddy dogs and goats, squirrels swim with gay,
Eyes towards the land, we want to make haste,
Yet moving slowly in the pool of rain,
Little tinkers from school  singing in gay
 Carts, single bikes vans stationed to wait
Train paddles past which turns the blue sky grey
Parting with the hawker, without bargain!
 Dust playing with eyes as reunion takes place,
On a dusty lone lane tears make their way.

It was a reunion after 3 to four years for my dad with his sisters. One sister travelled from Bangalore, the electronic city of India all the way to Itawa in North India. We met at my father ‘s elder sister ‘s white bungalow. The first floor is still occupied by workers though.

The skies were always dry and sand always pressed on faces whenever we moved out of the house. But not that day.. not that day when we reached the place. The day was as cool as it ever could be. I still remember the emotional reunion that took place. And it was then the sun chose to shine on us. In 3 to 4 years, the time spent at her house was the most memorable.

This is written for a prompt at Skeptic Kaddish hosted by Britta Benson.



Into the bushes

This poem is penned for the prompt at Skeptic Kaddish where the poets were asked to write a poem following these rules

  • 12 lines of free verse;
  • Must include the adjective “adorable”

The Mulberry Cottage still  stands firm

The gladioli,Lilies and orchids still dance with the wind,

One part of garden looks loftier with tons of leaves some wild begonia, twigs and daisies

 And a silent creature- rests within.

I often wonder would Miss Mackenzie,

Be thinking about her flowers

And the house, her cat Wily and

‘One electric bulb’* would she still ask?

Was she smiling adorably when her body felt,

The ‘grunt’ and the ‘tup’ of that shovel,

And the precious book of wildflowers she gave me

 Would she not give it one more stroll, a caress?

~Kunjal. G

*The poem is inspired by the short story ‘The Prospect of Flowers’ by the eminent author Ruskin Bond.

The Mulberry Cottage is the house of an English spinster Miss Mackenzie. There is nothing extraordinary in her life until she finds a boy plucking flowers in her garden. Together they both come together to study flowers in a book filled with many names of different species. Time flies fast, the boy goes afar and she dies, cold in her bed. I imagined her to be buried within a bed of flowers and the visit of the boy after his vacations…

*One electric bulb I would care to explain. She one time exclaimed to the boy to gift her some electric bulbs for hers always flickered and his father did a business of electric bulbs.


‘ A struggle for recognition’

Its been 14 days? Or 15? since our last post! Hello everyone, welcome back( or rather trying to say welcome back to ourselves after a long time). School has taken advent, pressure and enjoyment are at the highest but we will keep our pace at this blog!

A short note

Life at school has been hectic and it had been difficult to juggle up tons of homework with self study. Detractors, teachers, distractions and pressure: all this had/has to be managed. There are no reasons to feel unhappy, sad or pressurized that is what we both tell ourselves in those extraordinary days. Emotions though need to be managed properly If you are facing something similar, you are probably stuck in processes which need change.’

This post is a continuation of the Not-So-Political Series:

  1. It could be someone or you
  2. Experts advices..
  3. Adding
  4. Still here to Stay
  5. Old crisis in the Neighbourhood
  6. Woman a citizen and worker
  7. Hearing more from the UN right now?
  8. Climate change
  9. Could you please wait one more second?
  10. An Awakening, A Wake up Call
  11. ‘Not-so- Political After all!’
  12. Just a tag?
  13. Seeking Refuge

History is filled with struggles for freedom and democracy, however it is clear that the question isn’t just about attaining mainstream freedom but the main challenge is maintaining the liberal attitude towards the people after becoming an independent nation. While we witness the dynamic Russia-Ukraine war, an impending crisis which is attacking the very right to independence of a country, there are a series of unlooked military takeovers, where democracy has been an idea deep under the sands . The unnoticed  situation in Africa. 

It is a land of varying climatic conditions which led to formation of many tribal groups having diverse cultures. 

But over the years what could be its strength (cultures), became its weakness. 

Soon after its independence Africa has witnessed many military takeovers which continuously uprooted the elected governments. The political situation is often uncertain since the region of West Africa is filled with deep seated unrest due to shifting of many militant groups in its soil. 


Mali, a  tiny country in western region of Africa, became a region of unrest. After 1995, a group known as Tuareg Rebels came to light again in 2012 when they attacked some regions of Mali. They seem intolerable in the region which deserves some peace and lesser deaths. Less people giving up their breath everyday. Less human induced deaths. 

Let’s take you to another story. The story of yet another country facing the same situation – Niger. 

Niger has seen the opportune of democracy in 2021 only when Mohamed Bazoum, a former interior minister was democratically sworn in as the leader of the country. But it is still  difficult to say that there would not be another military takeover or an instability or a bomb for Niger which has for a long time been in a period of darkness. 

The country has witnessed five different constitutions in the past always promising a different kind of system for its people showing that seeping in conflict and instability, it could not discover its tryst with destiny. It still hasn’t. 

People live under constant fear. Schools are closed for children leading to high illiteracy levels which can turn them towards extremist views. The lives of people are at the side-lines. 

After having a bird’s eye view it is evident that despite the citizens of this region preferring democracy over terrorism, they are so exhausted with instability that they’re willing to give in to military leaders. As a result a large no. of people have robustly supported military takeovers and joined militant groups for benefits. 

Countries like France, U.S have been engaged in Africa to eliminate these terrorist groups. But have they as big powers been successful really? The answer is no. 

France has been engaged in Mali for a long time. When military takeovers have been successful, such countries have outrightly threatened to remove support. When the wave would be good, they can, thus again join in their efforts to eliminate terrorist groups. There is no space to see the lives of people as they are. 

They have underscored the problems, the ethnic diversities, unemployment, lack of respect of civil rights institutions and reduced role of people in the very same countries. They are pressing the idea for establishment of democracy, or else they threaten to withdraw their support.  They press the demand for a democracy in countries where the military is gaining all power. They press for stability and peace while investing more in military and arms rather than civil institutions. So, what is freedom you ask?


And ultimately climate change worst of all. West Africa is facing increased food and water scarcity. Temperatures are soaring high and regions are turning into deserts.  Africa is a confluence of a variety of tribal cultures but also  has become one of  climate change, military takeovers, militancy.  

So don’t you think the problem is with the argument itself? The goal of ending terrorists by killing and uprooting its every means is unachievable. If Africa ‘s civil institutions are not given a chance, if they are not taught the right way, the country will plunge again and again As Noam Chomsky an American critic  points ” everyone is worried about stopping terrorism. Well, there’s really an easy way: Stop participating in it.”. Military is never a solution. It will only scare more, and cause more worms to come out of their holes.


‘ It’s Light’

I am very elated to tell you guys that I recently hosted a prompt at Skeptic Kaddish . Do check it out! I received amazing responses from different poets and they took the groovy challenge extremely well!

  • Your poem must be no more than 16 lines;
  • It must include the word ‘groovy’

 It's Light,

The doors  held ajar,

Unto the striking dark,

And in and in it traveled,

And burst in more shards.


Shards of gold they were,

Primmest of diamonds they were.

To cover the deadly expanse of dark,

They slackened in ribbons to disembark.


The big or small scrapers,

All looked like little tiny huts above,

Snoring and grumbling in sleep

People awaited its touch-a sly sneak.


Light traversed and it took

A groovy path- into nooks,

I tell you, twas a wonderful element.

Before we moved into the deep trenches of blue.

This was the first time I hosted a prompt! Thank you David for hosting wonderful W3 prompts and allowing poets to challenge themselves!😃



His first rain,
From a little scrawny window,
Droplets pattering and dew forming,
His first thought is a big spit or too much sweat.
His second rain,
Through open gates And-he-could- crawl- cross-fall 
Above those big bouncy raindrops,
Stripped in straps he looks-
At The kids dancing,
He feels his heart sighing and shunning
The remorse- and skipping with the drops falling.

Hello guys this is Kunjal! This poem presents a little contrast about sorrow and happiness. To dance in the first rain or just feel its beat as a kid is a reflective thought.😃.


What is your pro and con for rain?

Also written for the W3 prompt#7


‘Seeking Refuge.’

If we have no peace, it is because we have forgotten that we belong to each other.

A country doesn’t merely comprise its native citizens, it consists also of those seeking protection.

Each day.


Every day.

Today we will be talking about refugees. Not the economic playback right now, not the ongoing war, not on religion. Them. They are the center of basically everything. While many “consider” war and big policy announcements on their table the influx of refugees and migrants, who again become a controversial topic for countries, sees little action.

A refugee, according to the UN, is ‘someone who is forced to flee his or her country because of persecution, war or violence.’ A refugee has a well-founded fear of persecution for reasons of race, religion, nationality, political opinion and abandonment in a country, a civil war (like one extending in Syria and manifesting itself Sri Lanka right now), or they may be forced to take this path when they are not accepted by their own country. For instance, the people who came from Bangladesh to India after the 1971 war or the Bloody Syrian Civil War.

High protests against corruption, high unemployment propelled protests against the government that were brutally suppressed by the President Bashar al-Assad. This in no time plunged the country in a state of total chaos, and members of willing rebel groups as well as unwilling civilians died. The United Nations has verified that at least 350,209 civilians and combatants were killed between March 2011 and March 2021 and that number is unclear.

This seems like a perfect tale of an arrogant leader who swept the country and labelled its people as terrorists and made the ground ripe enough for several rebel groups to crawl and  integrate and form their call.

But this war saw a major creation of refugees. According to the UN there are a total 6.6 million refugees worldwide right now.

According to the UN, 5.6 million refugees are hosted by countries near Syria. Lebanon alone hosts 1.5 million refugees from Syria more than it can do. Too much inflow of refugees and lack of clarity of policy has plunged Lebanon as well in a state of total confusion.

As a responsibility to humanity, not just one country alone but all countries share the responsibility of accepting refugees and making them a part of their own country. Stranded from their homes, refugees  face challenges like Young girls being forced into prostitution, men being brutally punished and refugees facing discrimination even at international borders. In other words too many roadblocks.

‘We cannot despair of humanity since we ourselves our human beings’

Nations need to retain their humanity and see these people as assets.  These people can be armed with skills that we may not be aware of and can prove potentially good for economies. Agendas of hatred, confusion and too much false information on social media has blurred the lines between what is our duty and what is not. 

The diverse language set brought by refugees can make them good international sales marketers or maybe a highly linguistic tour guide next door. They can also be a value addition to corporations which contribute to the care and hospitality of asylum seekers and refugees and hence may need a proficient staff in languages. Also they are not a threat for the natives living in the country, they are looking out for other sorts of jobs.

Hence, it’s clear that social media, deep penetration of false fake news, and lack of policies in some countries  prevents us from fulfilling our duty as a community.  Hosting refugees is not a controversial topic among voters. When driven to rise they won’t back down.


As a German citizen said ‘ I thought it was really great that we Germans achieved when our Chancellor stated- that people can come here and that made me feel proud’ during the 2015 refugee crisis.

Even during the Russia- Ukraine war right now, countries which never accepted refugees like Hungary are accepting people in huge no.s. Refugee is not a dream but a reality. If their country stops feeling like home, should the world stop too?


Or should it not?....

What do you guys think about it? But first guess who has given the quote ‘We cannot despair of humanity since we ourselves our human beings’ A very famous person we all admire. Known for his/her mind.

This post is a continuation of the Not-So-Political Series:

  1. It could be someone or you
  2. Experts advices..
  3. Adding
  4. Still here to Stay
  5. Old crisis in the Neighbourhood
  6. Woman a citizen and worker
  7. Hearing more from the UN right now?
  8. Climate change
  9. Could you please wait one more second?
  10. An Awakening, A Wake up Call
  11. ‘Not-so- Political After all!’
  12. Just a tag?

The Good Ol’ Days

This is a short collab with Veera- a poem that came out on its own after long mulling about the Good Old days when we spent a great time to play!

I remember four years ago,
When studies were irrelevant,
When going out and sweating
And playing was important.

Cricket in the morning,
Swimming at twilight,
Football in the evening
And basketball at night.

I remember four years ago
When sleeping did count,
Eyes drowsing innocent,
And blinking up with vigor

Sweat in the hot sun I did,
As every muscle I strained
To give my all in every sport
I played without disdain.

I played without any disdain,
Of yester’s fights,
Enjoying every bit,
In today ‘s sunshine.

And brows drawn
To create something new,
And mind busy on
‘How to add more fun?’

To this question arrived
An answer in games
Invented by young minds
That gained immediate fame

Immediate fame they gained,
Twere played again and again,
New kids learnt them all,
Ne’er forgetting the maker ‘s name.

Police and thief, a classic,
That I shall never forget,
Where I remember infiltrating “prisons”
To free jailed suspects.

Ice and water,
Running with madness
To save ourselves from ice,
To unfreeze our friends left.

Capture the flag we chose
To play when many gathered,
Capture the flag we had to,
The guards a spot of bother.

The grimmest places
Were the best hideouts,
When lights went out,
It was a chance to tread out.

But when all else didn’t matter,
A good ol’ game of squash did,
Smashing footballs onto the walls,
Ignoring angry parents’ cribs.

And when armed with agility,
The best runners were picked,
They overcame the trail of chasers,
The hills and blocks it contained.

Ah those were the good days
When the desk mattered not,
When sweating in the sun
Was quite worth the effort.

-The Forgers of Fantasy
-Kunjal(Duo Disseminators)

The bolded responses are those by veera!😃. Check out his post