Writer's Garden

Writer's Garden

COLD BLOODED TERROR

Hello. Welcome to the Taj. Have a pleasant evening." A doorman wearing traditional Indian clothes greeted us. I was out with a few of my sophisticated friends, going to have dinner at the Taj Mahal Hotel. Little did I know about what was to come. Little did I know that this would be a day that would forever be etched in our memories.

A little into the night, me and my friends were halfway through dinner and talking and laughing when suddenly I got a bad feeling about the huge bang that was heard in the lobby. The four of us scrambled out of our plum- coloured chairs and hurried to the lobby. The sight there was the most terrifying thing. Six of the seven men wore black masks and were clad fully in black. The seventh man was clad fully in white without a mask. The receptionist was gagged and pulled by her long, black locks and with their guns pointed at the hostages, they split up.

Few of them went upstairs to abduct people staying there. Few of them went to the restaurants and one stayed in the lobby. My friends and I quickly sprinted to the restrooms. We looked at each other, a look of pure panic in our eyes. Even without saying anything, we understood how grave and lethal the situation was.

Suddenly, the door of the bathroom burst open but luckily we had hurried into one of the elaborately decorated cubicles. This terrorist had removed his mask and his face was set in a grim mask of determination. His eyes darted towards us and as agile as a cat, he fired his gun, missing my friend by a mere inch, shattering the mirror to many, glittering shards.  Pieces of it fell to the ground and I felt as though my heart was going to fall to pieces on the floor.

The terrorist burst through our cubicle and he shot blindly. A bullet hit my arm sending a searing, excruciating pain throughout my body. I fell to the ground, half conscious while my friends were cruelly taken hostage. I knew he had thought I was dead and on the highway to heaven. I looked at my arm and saw blood flowing in torrents. My once white t-shirt was now stained in splashes of plum-coloured blood. The pain was unbearable. The last thing I remember doing before I slipped into unconsciousness was praying to God that if I didn't survive this, at least let my friends escape  healthy and alive. 

Shivangi Kajaria
MAIS STD 8, Age 13

Science, Maths, Poetry and ME!

I could sense the crowd in the corridor growing tense around me. Girls around me pushed each other, embraced or even got into an argument. Results were out!

A year’s hardwork of more than 200 students was displayed on the noticeboard  before me. My heart beat fast. Drops of sweat from my forehead followed. I congratulated myself on having managed to walk a few steps towards the notice-board. Girls were chattering away happily, some girls with their eyes wet trying hard not to let the tears slip. I stopped, wondered and concluded that the next few minutes declared my future to a certain extent.

The papers were not that bad. I had worked very hard for the examination. 11 years and 11 months of work which at times sent me in a tizzy, sometimes I really enjoyed it and sometimes I simply didn’t. But surely you couldn’t count the number of sums I solved in the last 11 months or the amount of history I absorbed to get through this.

“Calm down”, I told myself. “You can do it”. For years now, my family was expecting me to top the state... I am not a bad student, infact I was a very good one till I think, my seventh class. But soon I crossed over to eighth, that’s when it all began. ‘The Nightmare’.

Now, mathematics was no more interesting, science flew past my head and S.St chided me.  I expected A but got no more than B. In ninth, I managed to wriggle past B and got a safe A.

Another 10 months of science, maths and S.St followed. This last time I couldn’t complain or make excuses. I had to do it. Not an evening flew past without recitals of complex poetry or muggings of theorems.

I worked real hard and the prelims did not put a bad face. I was on a war not with maths or science but with time: I was determined not to let A+ slip. It wouldn’t be fair if I didn’t make it.

Ok lets come back, a distance of half a metre still separated me from the notice-board. I walked the distance with the slowest pace in the world, put my finger on the board, gradually against my name... and my mouth fell open. I don’t recollect what happened a few minutes after that. Yes, I had made it, I thought 95% was not that bad. I hadn’t topped the state though, I had a war to my credit as well.

The gate fell open to my dreams, I would do PUC for two years and be an engineer or a doctor or a writer.... I don’t know, I haven’t yet decided.

I could build a big mansion for myself, a big, soft, welcoming bed (Beds hold a fancy for me) and a big, fluffy blanket pulled close to me. “Priyaaa...” my mother called out. What? Did I just hear my mother? I sat up. Rubbed my eyes hurriedly and looked at the calendar before me. ‘June 2010’ it said.

Come on I told myself it couldn’t be... It cannot be just a dream. It meant another 10 months of of arithmetic progression or electromagnetic radiation. But now it didn’t matter. They didn’t scare me anymore. I could do it. Bye! got to go now, have to prepare for a science test tomorrow!!!

Vaishnavi Joshi,
X Std., St. Joseph’s Convent High School, Belgaum.

The night

The night sky's filled with clouds galore
But it isn't just that, it's filled with more
The glittering stars that shine so bright
They never slumber, just shine through the night
 
When crickets chirp and owls hoot
The time when Santa comes through the chimney soot
The time when moonlight seems to peep
When is time to go to sleep
 
By Dheeya Shetty,
Grade 7, NAFL 

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