Project Snowflake

On the eve of December, I’m looking back and wondering where the past 11 months have gone. Where did all my fancy resolutions, all my perfect plans disappear?

2013 was supposed to be a year of change. A year where I grew up and started my journey to the person I wanted to be. Yet, here I stand, eleven months later and I’m still the same.

But the year isn’t over yet ...

There are still five weeks left and I plan to make the most of it.

Having seen one too many makeover movies, I’ve decided to create a month-long makeover project for myself: PROJECT SNOWFLAKE.

'Snowflake' is a metaphor for the identity I want to create. A snowflake is said to be beautiful and unique. No two snowflakes are the same. This is who I want to be: gorgeous and original. 

Beginning December 1^st, every day I will do something that will take me closer to who I want to be as an individual. It’ll be a whirlwind of new habits and fun activities.

I know I may not cross off everything on my makeover list but hopefully at the end of the month, I’ll at least be three steps closer to who I would like to be. 

A Year to Remember

Like everyone else the world over, I began 2013 on a hopeful note. As the clock slowly wound down on 2012, I closed my eyes and mentally repeated my wish list for the coming year. Ten resolutions. Twelve months. I was going to rock 2013!

That was six weeks ago. In that time I've made little headway in crossing off my checklist. One month down and I’ve still 10 resolutions to go.

That's not to say January's been a complete waste. It was a roller-coaster month where no matter what I did I always came up even. If I woke up on the right side of the bed and everything was all sunshine and roses, something would come along to darken my day and trip me up. If I had a terrible day and I just wanted to crawl under covers then something would come along and make me smile and shake me out of my funk.

January was a time when I made a lot of mistakes; cut ties, became just a little more selfish and strained a few personal relationships. However in the past month, I have also achieved a lot that I'm proud of. Small little milestones where I've learnt and grown a lot. Little steps on my journey to be the person I want to be.

Maybe that's the lesson to be learnt. Instead of a complete list of things I want to achieve by year's end, I should just dedicate 2013 to one resolution and focus all my energies on achieving that single one.

Maybe my New Year's resolution for 2013 should be to just live in every moment. To be fully and completely alive in each moment so that I can make this year one for the books!

One Summer Evening

       An empty beach stretching endlessly. A clear, star-lit sky. Soft white sand that one could sink their feet into. On one side, the beach was greeted by a small wood thickened with twilight. On the other side, one could hear the waves softly meeting the shore like the comforting, peaceful chatter of old friends content in each others’ company. It was the perfect night for a campfire and a group of kids that had wandered there seemed to agree. 

      The breeze, however, was determined to be too strong for a campfire on the shore so the group moved inward. The woods seemed to envelope the group into its inky darkness. Black shadows lengthened and twisted around them. The watchful eyes of the wood followed their every movement. Its silence seemed to mock them. If one was quiet enough, one could almost hear soft footsteps being carried by the breeze. The faint snap of a twig brought on by either man or animal with only the crickets sounding a warning. 

        This was the stuff movies were made from. This was where urban legends began. The scene was set. The actors were in place.

The group quickly got to work setting up camp. The breeze blew all around them, frustrating their efforts. The trees looked down upon them as they toiled. Finally, a spark could be seen. Steadily, the flames grew higher. The group huddled around the fire. The bonfire bathed the group in its warm, fiery glow. It kept the shadows at bay. At last, they could relax and enjoy. Their murmurs and laughter filled the night. The food disappeared faster than it had appeared.

Towards the end of the night, supplies ran low and energies were drained. The site was quickly cleared; trash collected and the fire put out. The group got into their cars and left, their headlights shining like a candle in the dark. The trees watched them vanish into the night and they kept their secrets. It was as though they were never there.

Watching someone slowly losing their faith is terrifying. You feel helpless and trapped just sitting there. You’re dying to scream at the unfairness of it all but you hold those screams inside. You can’t show fear or despair. So you let a reassuring smile slide across your face (one you don’t feel inside) and pray to God they never stop fighting.

There are three good reasons to be a teacher - June, July, and August :)

A good teacher is a master of simplification and an enemy of simplism. ~Louis A. Berman

I was thinking about teachers the other day and I realized I have had only a few great teachers who have left their mark on me. Since I have always been a ‘problem’ student, the single qualification for this role was the ability to grab my attention and get me interested enough to learn.

No matter what I may say about my mother, one of her greatest accomplishments is that of being a teacher. My mom has always had an amazing way about her to make people sit up and pay attention. As the fresh batches of students pile in each new academic year, anticipating the challenges ahead in finding something novel for every student always puts a smile on her face.

More than thirty years of being a teacher couldn’t have been easy or fun. However, if you asked her, she would say teaching scores of children the lofty principles of math and science, were the best days of her life. And they ain’t over yet. To my mother, teaching is a gift and an addiction. It gives meaning to her life and defines her. She would go into her grave, happily teaching.

She is one of those few, rare people to whom teaching isn’t a job but a vocation. If you had spoken to any of her students while they were in her class, they would tell you she was the most horrible teacher on the planet who lived to torture her students. Talk to them ten years later and she’s one of the few teachers they remember and are eternally grateful for.

A cross-eyed teacher can keep twice the number of children in order than any other, because the pupils do not know who she's looking at - Anonymous

Monsters Among Us

When one hears of serial killers, one thinks of a good plot in a movie or a juicy plot in a book. One thinks of it as a gruesome phenomenon happening far, far, and far away. When it comes to serial killers, we adopt an ‘out of sight, out of mind’ policy. Sure, when the chilling news first hits, we sympathize with the victims and are shocked at the inhumanity of the killers, but we do all this from afar. Because no one expects a killer so close to them, no one expects one to emerge from their own backyard.

"Every man to his own tastes. Mine is for corpses." - Henri Blot

I doubt any of the Londoners knew or suspected that a modern Jack the Ripper was brewing in their midst. He was a graduate student who was studying the work of serial killers. The police have said he bludgeoned his victims. These murders seem to have links to the standard MO of a number of serial killers, the most prominent being Jack the Ripper. It’s chilling and scary to think that somebody would be so entranced by the work of a murderer that they would carve out a similar legacy for themselves in the most gruesome Hall of Fame.


Once again in Bombay, a serial killer has surfaced. The police suspect one man is behind three murders that took place in Bombay's Kurla area over the last five months. The victims were all young girls, who were raped before being killed. It takes the lowest scum of the earth to prey of defenseless, little girls and kill them. It takes the worst kind of monster to snuff out an innocent’s life on a mere whim of lust or for game.

The Bombay serial killer seems to strike on the sixth of every month since February, taunting the Bombay police. With a death toll of three young, innocent girls, the police are desperate to find him. They launched their biggest manhunt for serial rapist and killer to date. They have announced Rs 2.5 lakh reward for information on the serial killer and have released a sketch to the public. Let’s pray he’s caught before the horrors continue and another life is taken.

Dancing the night away ...

In a family of dancers, people with two left feet are alien and rare. I have yet to meet someone within my family who wouldn’t get up and dance at a party. I had this epiphany at a family wedding a few days ago where all my close relatives, second cousins, various aunts and uncles gathered together. These are once-in-a-blue-moon occasions where everybody turns up to enjoy in a big way.


When my family gets up to dance, they’re just good. There’s no other word for it. Their movements are confident and sure. No one stumbles or missteps. Gracefully they will flow together, anticipating each other’s moves. These are dances they have danced a thousand times before to songs they have grown up listening to. It comes naturally and effortlessly to them. Whether they are jiving or dancing a waltz or just moving on the dance floor, it’s graceful and beautiful to watch.

The men twirling their partners across the dance floor, the children dancing together, everything moves as though in sync. It’s like someone up there has choreographed the entire performance. Yet at the same time it seems so natural. These people are so delightful to watch because they genuinely love to dance. Nobody is forcing them to dance. They want to get up and have a good time, just dancing to those old, forgotten classics. From the young to the old, it’s lovely to see people enjoying the music of yesteryears.