Why this blog?

The nascent and fresh minds of students are so creatively inclined that they have the ability to bring into being a universe of their own. They are little tyros who would, with time, unfold into verves, momentum or sensations of various creative dimensions. A chalk sculptor, a clay artist, an amateur painter of Madhubani, Warli, a dabbler of still life, a budding poet, a tenderfoot writer or a fledgling lyricist – one gets all varieties of creatively-aligned students covered in a seemingly dilettantish peel. We at Shishukunj aspire to provide a humble platform to all such potentials to smatter around and mature into the perfection that they are seeking to epitomize or become! This blog is thus an endeavor that would allow all Shishyans to just play around with their latent artistic caliber and enjoy the bliss of a “BRAVO” from known and unknown quarters.

Monday, October 22, 2018

Dealing with Death


Gauransh Sharma, Class X G

Last week, I went to the market on my bicycle to buy some books. I placed my bicycle outside the shop which was situated at one of the oldest and most abandoned places of the city, perfect for a broody loner like me. It was a freezing evening in the middle of December. The complete darkness was only broken occasionally by the little man-made bonfires near the beggars sleeping on the cold barren pavement. The chilly wind was howling and therefore I entered the shop with my collars up and my jacket tightly sealed. I was welcomed by the beautiful note of the wind chime and the bibliopole who was standing at the counter with a friendly smile. He invited me towards the bookshelves which I often visited but today, I don’t know why, I moved towards the ‘L’ section.

I found the books neatly arranged except one book that looked dusty. I picked it up and patted it to remove the dust from the jacket. I read the title. ‘Grief Observed’ by C S Lewis. It was the blurb that brought tears of anger and grief. It read ‘deals with death’.

Honestly, I had never imagined I would be opening this leaf from the book of my life ever again. It was presumably buried deep beneath the thick misty veils of what everybody called memory. But there are some incidents that, at the sudden mention of certain words, shoot back as kaleidoscopes right in front of your eyes and the word ‘death’ has the same relation with me.

Three years ago, I was just eleven and never bothered much about my parents, my home, my school or the ice cream man at the gate. But June 03, 2015 (8:46 am) changed all of that as the first monsoon showers brought the muddy news of my mother’s death. I knew it was something bad but wasn’t aware of what it meant until I read her diary.

She had written ‘I leave my son with the most precious thing he needs. I have hidden it in his almirah somewhere in the bottom drawer’. I searched my almirah and found a box of chocolates, a bunch of straw, a toy heart and a letter. The letter read

‘Box of chocolates – be sweet to your enemy
Bunch of straw – make a lot of friends
Toy heart – Mom’

That moment shook me and I still curse death for that. I threw the book in a corner and ran towards the door. I rode my bicycle in the darkness and didn’t let the chilly wind blow my tears because I did need them now. 

Friday, October 19, 2018

Ali Brothers


Ronit Banerjee, Class X B

The summer holidays had just begun and Shourya was already getting bored. He decided to change that. His solution was not the temporary escape of playing cricket.
His inspiration came from his brother’s. You see, Dhananjay, Shourya’s brother flourished as the local artistic Messiah.
Selling his art to the local boutique, Dhananjay was adored by all. Yet his fame, was his disgrace. Both brothers shared the same impractical view of the world. Why was fame a disgrace? The answer lies in the five-year-old newspaper with a critic’s remark. ‘Crowd Pleasar’, it said. What was his fault if he was taught art by a teacher and not emotions?
Shourya, inspired by his brother, told his brother about his sudden urge to paint. Dhananjay brought him a canvas and beginners’ acrylic paint. Dhananjay’s meticulous right hand and Shourya’s limitless left brain worked as a charm. The artistic epitomy they both reached was sent to the Telegraph and was duly appreciated. The box read, “A marvelous eye-candy by the Ali Brothers!”
Truly, days like those come rare.

Wednesday, October 17, 2018

The Spy


Soumya Tiwari, Class X B

Stephen walked fast. It was getting dark. He then realized that he had lost his way, yet again. Oh! I was so difficult to remember the way in the woods!
His heart was racing. He increased his speed, moving briskly, trying to hear for the stream flowing. He finally heard it, the soft chatter of the stream as it rolled down the rocky land. Stephen followed the noise and found the way. He walked slowly now, his ears cocked to hear footsteps if anyone was following him.
Stephen was a spy. He had been betrayed by his own companion. And now, the soldiers were following him. They wanted to kill him, of course! He had the ‘Top Secret File’ with him.
‘Crack’.
Stephen stopped. Someone was running towards him. Stephen quickly pulled out a blade from his shoe and threw it towards the man. He fell and oved no more. Stephen pressed the dial of his watch and a gun appeared. He really did not want to use it. But then, it was the demand of the circumstances. He aimed the gun at the other two soldiers who were advancing towards him, killing them. The others ran away. Stephen reached home safely and provided his government with the file. What was in there, and how he retrieved it, is another story.

Monday, October 15, 2018

The Mad Man


Akshat Tiwari, Class X B
Stephen walked fast. It was getting dark. He then realized that he had lost his way. He had no option but to look for a place to spend the night. But there was not a single human in sight. He shivered at the thought of spending the night alone in the jungle.
His thoughts were interrupted by a flicker of light at a distance. He moved closer and saw mad Bhuria. The villagers told scary stories about him and never went near him. Suddenly, it started raining heavily. Stephen, without pausing to think about the consequences of his action, went into mad Bhuria’s hut. He grew terrified as mad Bhudia followed him into the hut.
They stood facing each other. Mad Bhuria smiled at him and said, ‘Don’t be afraid. You can spend the night here with me. You will be safe.’
Bhuria offered Stephen milk and bread which he accepted readily. They spent the night talking and Stephen learnt the tragic story of Bhuria. He understood how the villagers had formed misconceptions about this harmless man.
The next morning, as he walked back towards his village, Stephen thought that it was the villagers who were crazy to think of Bhuria as a mad man because he wore old and tattered clothes.
We live in a world where appearances are the glasses through which others perceive us, he thought as he tried to save his clothes from the mud on the ground.

Friday, October 12, 2018

Knowing Too Much


Riddhi Singhania, Class XI D

Knowing ‘too much’ is never ‘too much’.
Until it’s the stars that you can touch.

The world is full of surprises
And discoveries play peek-a-boo
You are never ‘too knowledgeable’
Even if you’ve read a whole library through.
The world is full of people
Who pester the whole day,
They think they know ‘too much’
But all they do is to say.

Be a good person
Keep rooted to the ground.
‘Cause if you know ‘too much’
Then there is much more for you to learn.

Wednesday, October 10, 2018

Test of the Best


Amber Raghuwanshi, Class X A

Woody handed over his test paper to his mother, anxiously waiting for her to react. Woody was not a very bright student. Nine out of ten tests he would fail and in the tenth he would fail miserably.
But not this time. He had studied day and night for the test and was confident that he would score decent marks. When he got the sheet in class, he could hardly believe his eyes. He had got full marks! No student in class had ever got full marks in that subject. His teacher called him in front of the class and everybody applauded. But something very strange happened. Woody stopped everyone. When he had looked inside, he had realized that it was not his paper. The roll numbers had got mixed up. His sheet got exchanged with the test sheet of another student. The teacher made the correction, the other student was applauded and his classmates laughed at Woody.
What hurt him more was to see tears in his mother’s eyes. He asked her, “Mom, did I do wrong in telling everyone? Why are you crying?” His mother hugged him and said, “No my son, these are tears of joy and pride. More than the marks, your behaviour has shown that I’ve brought you up well.”

Monday, October 08, 2018

The Test Paper


Nandini Bohra, Class X E

Woody handed over his test paper to his mother, anxiously waiting for her to react. It was a class test of English, in which the students were required to write a story on a topic given to them.
Woody was never great at story writing but this time he had done a tremendous job. He scored a perfect ten-on-ten!
After his mother finished reading his story, she hugged Woody. Woody could see tears rolling down his motehr’s cheeks. He consoled her and said, “Don’t cry, mumma. Everything is alright now.” His mother calmed herself and smiled.
What happened was that, the topic for the story Woody had to write was ‘An Accident’. Woody had sat staring at the paper for a long while. He had then mustered up courage to write about when he was just two years old and news had arrived that his father had met with a fatal accident. What had his mother not done to never let him feel the absence of his father!
When Woody’s teacher read the story, she was touched. That day, Woody and his mother did not speak to each other. They were lost in the past somewhere.