Clocks

NaPoWriMo 2017.

2/04/2017 day two.

“Clocks”

There’s something about clocks
tick-tock-ing,
steadily, as if nothing could ever
be out of sync.

There’s something about the way
the digits align themselves,
spaced so equally, as if nothing could
ever be out of place.

There’s something about the way
the wheels churning in the distance,
soothingly, musical even.

There’s a lot about how they align
in the illusion that is time,
as everything seems to fall into place,
and it all just seems so right,
rhythmic tick-tock-ing
calming the tides.

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“Longing”

NaPoWriMo 2017. 1/04/2017

day one.

 

It’s not about how your hair bounces as
beads of sweat trickle down
your forehead while you dance,
or the way your rhythmic footwork seems like you’ve been tap dancing
on my heart the entire time,
crushing it with your heel,
then gently tip toeing, testing the waters,
suddenly bending down to rip it apart.

It’s not about how you’re always around
casually conversing as you sip coffee,
or the perfect smile that shows up,
lighting up your face, making
your eyes sparkle with delight.

It’s not about how your presence is
felt, in those you love, in their
chatter and mannerisms,
even in your absence.

It’s not about the happiness
felt at seeing you,
or hearing your voice
after a long, hard day;
and the slightly faster beating
of my heart at seeing
that sparkly, perfect smile.

Those feelings are just stuffed
to the bottom drawer of my heart,
desperately wanting to be ignored,
forgotten.

It’s about longing to be with you,
and knowing that’s its not
happening anytime soon.

It’s about promises to
clean out the bottom drawer,
a bit by bit,
just not now.

The journey of a mathematically-impaired kid

Math and me have come a long way. From learning the spelling (yes, that matters too!) to learning the values of ‘x’. A very, very long way indeed! The journey is filled with tears, and on most parts, angry pen marks in frustration and torn pages filled with formulae.

Look from afar, and you’d always see a hazy, blurry picture of me scrawling out numbers on a Classmate notebook, the pen cap chewed to bits and the textbook, half torn, lying in front of me. There was never peace between us, a war of the Xs and the Ys. And there was me, trying to pacify them both, and failing miserably at that.

Sometime in the ninth grade, my mother made me join a tuition, only for mathematics. She said, and I quote, “You wouldn’t want to fail ninth because of one subject now, do you?” That sentence petrified me, I was so scared that I had sobbed into my pillow for the rest of the night. Failure was something that I could never take in. Whatever I did, I had to excel in that, play to win!

The tuition teacher was a good one, she made me solve at least ten sums per sitting, five out of which I executed properly, and the other five were solved in the same old messy way. Now I cannot disregard my style, can I?

A week later, I had my Periodic Tests, and math was the first paper. I felt prepared, for once in my life. I went inside the big hall, the eerie silence making me forget all the formulae I had crammed up inside my head. I don’t know, everything just went blank the moment I faced the question paper. A single tear made way down to the answer sheet, and I wrote whatever little I could recollect from the minutes I had spent cramming up and solving tons of sums.

Faith was lost, for me, I believed that I was never going to pass math, and it was so out of my league.

Five months had passed, I had changed tuition teachers, written down each formula at least a hundred times. I had my Second Semester in ten days. Math again. The first paper. I don’t know why my school always had math as the first paper, maybe it was to terrify students from the first exam itself, or to rid them of the fear and help them perform well in the papers that followed. Nothing worked for me, I worried about math in each paper, and every morning closer to the result date made my heart skip a beat.

Result date: I scored 55 out of 100 in math. I DID IT!! I PASSED!! I was so happy I pranced around the whole room showing everyone my result. I was promoted to the tenth grade!

I worked hard in tenth, though most of it I spent goofing around with my friends. For my boards, I think I had practised enough sums. I didn’t need to cram up formulae now, they were inscribed, engraved, embossed, and anything else possible, on my mind.

When the result for the board exams were out, I had scored 86 in math. It was a great score for  me, a massive leap. Happiness bubbled out of me like oil from a pakoda.

Although I did well enough in Math in the tenth grade, when it came to choosing subjects in FYJC, I felt math and my journey filled with tragedy had to end sometime. We parted ways happily. I chose Logic.

Now I watch, with a smug smile, at other people trying to pacify the Xs and Ys.