Index of Journals
In the realm of academic pursuits, Deepti Sharma ma'am cast a unique spell on my teenage self as our math teacher. My admiration for her may have been sparked by a peculiar association with a Bollywood film, 'Om Shanti Om,' featuring Deepika Padukone alongside SRK. It was Deepika's debut, and uncannily, many scenes reminded me of my teacher. Observing them together, one might quip, "The angle from which I found the two women similar is not even an angle." This whimsical comparison seeded a fondness for her.
A significant chapter unfolded when Deepti Sharma got married in December of that year. The details are hazy, perhaps falling between the 5th and 15th of the month. What remains vivid in my memory, like a scene preserved in Blu-ray quality, is an episode etched in time. She brought along the answer sheets for our third-term math test, conducted in her absence post-wedding. A new, tall, bold, and smart male faculty had evaluated the papers on her behalf. This marked her return to school.
Anticipation gnawed at me as the answer sheets arrived unexpectedly early. Nervousness welled within, fueled by my less-than-stellar math skills. I was determined not to reaffirm a negative impression, especially with her recent return. On this particular day, she appeared enchanting—clad in a red saree, pinkish cheeks, adorned with bangles, and radiating the glow of a newlywed. A thought crystallized in my mind—I would compliment her beauty if my performance was commendable.
My name was called, and to my astonishment, I scored 23 out of 25! The elation of my report card outshone any grand plans I had. Armed with my answer sheet, I approached her with a beaming smile, expressed my gratitude, and uttered, "Ma'am, you are looking beautiful." This impromptu compliment was a mental roller-coaster ride, leaving me oblivious to her reaction.
Amidst these adolescent tales, an intriguing quote found its way into my quote book: "A hug is a perfect gift. One size fits all, and nobody minds if you exchange it." (23 December 2007). Curiously, I stumbled upon this quote in the newspaper, HT City, during a time when my heart was ensnared by Sonal. Financial constraints during that period limited my capacity for extravagant gestures, yet my affection for her fueled a desire to shower her with gifts and share precious moments.
Meanwhile, societal developments, such as renovations and minor upgrades like marble flooring and notice boards, stirred discussions within the community. A substantial sum of twenty thousand caused reluctance in Chachaji, sparking debates at home. Veena Ralli and Dr. Mudita, representatives from our block in the management committee, intervened, eventually persuading Chachaji to meet the demands.
In an attempt to claim my space on the societal notice board, I encountered an unintended competition. Dimpi had adorned it with a colorful quote on a piece of paper. Unfazed, I decided to contribute, jotting down a quote on a white A4 page using black and red pens. I added a touch of color through overwriting, aiming to catch attention. Sagar Balal, our neighbor, recognized and appreciated my effort. However, my subsequent attempts were thwarted by grander, printed displays, leaving me disheartened.
Fast forward to 2012, my collection of newspaper cuttings until that year predominantly featured clippings from 2007, my eleventh-grade year. The motivations behind my cuttings varied, a testament to an evolving habit bordering on obsession. Noteworthy among them were cuttings related to space science, reflecting an inclination toward a dream that later intersected with my pursuit of computer engineering.
The year 2007 marked a shift in my newspaper routine, transitioning from a choice to a responsibility as the cost was integrated into school fees. Amidst the daily influx of news, one topic loomed large—global warming. Media frenzy, coupled with my relatives' concern over energy consumption at home, painted a dire picture of Earth boiling and ice caps melting. This narrative was, however, employed by my family as an unwarranted tactic to disturb my nightly studies.
As January 2008 unfolded, school results trickled in, bringing a mixed bag of scores. English fetched me around 18 out of 25, while my struggles with C++ language were apparent with scores ranging from 10-12. Physics became a nemesis, often leading to late-night struggles, while chemistry posed a comparably easier challenge.
Transitioning to a different thread of my teenage years, a retrospective glance highlighted the stark contrast between Tri Nagar and Mayur Vihar. The shift brought me to a world where sports, particularly table tennis, entered my life after a hiatus of over three years. Tri Nagar lacked the resources, environment, and infrastructure for sports, with a mere common gallery serving as a makeshift cricket pitch.
Tri Nagar's sports repertoire was limited to cricket played in the makeshift gallery, with occasional cycling on a shared bicycle. The school, Maharaja Agrasen Public School, lacked adequate facilities for soccer or cricket. Instead, games period was occupied by group activities like dodgeball and kho-kho, along with casual games like hide-and-seek and the obsessively-played "Stepoo."
The introduction of the game 'Stepoo' was credited to a girl from the neighboring house, cementing her role in our childhood memories. The camaraderie shared in those games transcended time and space, encapsulating the innocence and simplicity of our formative years.
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