Ishwarya's Blog, page 6

Music On Shuffle

I was surfing Google to look up writing prompts in order to enable me to keep my blog awake and came across one amusing challenge that grabbed my interest. It asked me to play my music player on shuffle and write down the first ten songs that play. The first set spewed some songs of the same artists or a folder that contains a large number of songs, so I switched it on and off for a few times till I got a balanced set of variety.

If any of these are songs you love, feel free to enthusiastically share it in the comment section

Provoked Morph

Just when you think someone is the best, the best of best, the bestest, and you travel along with them with joy dedicated to that sole person’s achievements, the lights go out, a scuffle of words explode into a grenade of deliberate misconstrues and then the lights come back on to reveal an avatar of them that has been birthed from frustration, anger and a fury to make a comeback, changing that person into someone who isn’t even the last person you wanted that person to change into.

It’s terrifying and saddening.

And no matter how much you search for that lovely, bubbly person whom you fell in love with first, you never find them beneath this new avatar of theirs. You can only hope.

How is it that the minute someone shines so bright, like a diamond, all the surrounding people want to do is break that diamond into pieces and destroy that lustre? Why, just why? What is the mechanics of this attitude? What is the reason to search for a way to break something so incredible?

Breaking a diamond doesn’t turn you into one.

Tall Tale

Back in college, we had an exercise in English class called Tall Tales, whose rule was to invent an alternate climax to any popular story, as far as our imaginations took us. I chose The Hare and the Tortoise after a few wheels spun in my head and produced my composition, the revised edition of which I wished to share with my readers.

To refresh the tale, the tortoise challenges the hare to a race after he witnesses him bragging about his speed. The proud hare deliberately stops a few feet away from the finishing line and takes a nap, deciding to rub his victory in the tortoise’s face when he catches up. He eventually dozes off and jerks awake in horror to see the tortoise holding the trophy.

My Tall Tale:

The hare ran at top speed, exultant and imperious. Looking over his furry shoulder as he whizzed through the lane, he cackled. The tortoise would never catch him. The foolish little better would be struggling to take his third step by the time he crosses the finishing line. What was the stupid shelled slowcoach thinking anyway? In which part of his wishful brain did he imagine he could ever beat him, the speed king, at a race? He was built for speed!

Flashing a wide buck-toothed smile at himself, he hoped the silly animal had thought to have a large meal before the whistle was blown. There was no way he was reaching the line before the sun went down –

‘Yikes!’

SLIP.

SPLASH!

His velocity got the better of his small distraction and sent him flying over the edge and tumbling into the pond. The chilly water froze into his fur.

‘Oh dear, oh dear!’ he cried out as he surfaced. ‘I’m freezing to death!’

He kicked and paddled with his abnormally large feet towards the bank but froze when he felt something jump on him.

‘Hey!’ he said.

Rolling his eyes upward, he found a bright green frog perched on top of his head, happily eating a fly and croaking wetly.

The hare groaned in annoyance. ‘Get off, you disgusting animal!’

The frog ignored him.

‘Ouch!’ the hare cried out as something nipped the soles of his paws. Paying no more attention to the frog that refused to budge, he made a beeline for the shore. Once he fell on the sand, he inspected his paws. They didn’t seem to be in bad shape. He could still win this race.

A series of splashes later, something small and shiny leapt out of the water and bit him on the nose.

‘Yeow!’ he shouted. It was a fish with sharp teeth. ‘Bad fish!’

The fish stuck out its tongue and the frog hopped off his head, bounced off his nose, and dived into the pond. The hare breathed heavily, still shivering, and heard some voices from behind. He looked over his shoulder and saw Mr Squirrel and Mr Bird.

Mr Squirrel gave a shout of horror. ‘The hare is injured! He must be hospitalised! Ambulance!’

Before the hare could protest, Mr Bird let out a loud squawk and two chipmunks instantly rushed over with a long piece of vertically cut log. Ignoring the hare’s pleas, the chipmunks hauled the poor creature off the ground and dumped him onto the stretcher.

‘Let-me-go!’ the hare struggled against the chipmunks’ grips.

Meanwhile, Mr Bird started flying ahead, screeching, ‘Emergency! Emergency!’

The forest doctors, two giggling monkeys, rushed forward, took the stretcher and dashed into the hollow of a tree. The other animals followed in. Some were in tears. Once the hare was set down, the monkeys started to apply weird looking liquids, moss and moist mud to the faint scratches. Nobody gave an ear to the hare, who was repeatedly yelling he was all right and that he needed to finish the race.

The chipmunks were assisted by two other monkeys to hold him down.

‘I am afraid you are not fit to race today, Mr Hare,’ said one of the doctors. ‘This will not do. We need to keep you here for the rest of the night. Eat a hundred bananas too.’

‘What?’ the hare shouted, terrified, and he successfully kicked the two monkeys off him before jumping out of range. He ran as fast as he could towards the race lane, spattering mud everywhere, and as he victoriously leapt over the finishing line, he crashed into the tortoise and the trophy he’d just been awarded with.

The hare turned pale once they were upright.

‘When did you –? How did –? What?’ he stammered.

And he fainted, allowing the chipmunks to take him back to the hospital again.

 

Ethereal: The Dawn of the Blue by Deepika Kumaaraguru- Book Review

When someone enjoys a book you wrote and gifts you with a heart warming review, it’s a moment that can’t be put into words. Nothing is more blessed for me as an author than a passionate reader telling me they loved my fictional world. Thanks a million, Shreya, for your most beautiful review and for enjoying the journey with Nashira! This is the first review on WordPress and it fills me with joy to share it on my blog ❤ Once again, thank you very much!

MysteriousSoul

Title: Ethereal: The Dawn of the Blue

Author: Deepika Kumaaraguru 

Genre: Fantasy fiction

Publisher: Leadstart Publishing Pvt Ltd

Publication Date: 4 Oct, 2016

Book length: 448

Ethereal: The Dawn of the Blue is an enthralling fantasy genre novel that revolves around the story of a girl Nashira Jaynes who undergoes a painful transformation from a human to shape shifting unicorn on her sixteenth birthday. She is a lovely girl with introversion characteristics but gets along nicely when migrated to another world of shape shifters named Saturna.

The author has phenomenally described the mystical world of Saturna, its radiance and luster mesmerizing us and taking into the reverie. I could completely relate with the protagonist Nashira who is an admirer of nature. Along with that, her warm relationship with her mother melts the heart. Their conversations are heart-touching.
The story is all about the enigmatic Unicorns who are the controller of…

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Laptop or a Notebook?

WordPress is flooded with authors, all of whom are either novelists or bloggers alone. Every person’s website is a testimony to the pen they hold in their hand and as we indulge in this art almost every day, it’s crucial to know whether the mode of the art being crafted is suitable for the long run or not. Said modes are either writing through the literal pen or typing on the computer or laptop. A bestie of mine asked me about the pros and cons of each a couple of months ago and I thought, why not blog it for everyone else as well?

I’ve been in this for six years now and with all the experimentations, I’ve managed to finalise the list based on my results. You can choose whichever works best for you, as I can’t make this blog into a lesson you should definitely oblige to. But if my results and solutions strike a chord with you, I’m really happy.

Let’s see what comes with the laptop/computer first.

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Pros:

If the keyboard is sleek, you’ll never be tired of typing at all. And, you can actually complete writing sooner than you can on the notebook, with the letters already written and all you have to do is type them in the proper sequence of spellings and sentences.
You’ll be able to fit loads of lines in one page than you normally would using a pen on an A4 sheet.
One of the best parts of writing in a laptop is that you can edit without making a total mess of paragraph extras and cross outs. If someone opens my notebook to divulge the mystery of my story, they’ll be having a hard time divulging a page itself. But after you insert extra scenes or take some stuff out on the word document, you’ll have a neat result in the end.
MS Word highlights spelling errors and grammatical errors for you to correct, as well as has an installed thesaurus whenever you’re stuck with finding the right word.
The word document also calculates the number of words and pages, which is very useful if you have a word limit to your story. If you don’t have one, it’s great to see the numbers increasing. Well, in my case, as I can’t tell a short story at all.
With all the different fonts and bolds and italics available, you can have loads of fun with styling your manuscript to your heart’s content, imagining it being in print already.

Cons:

The first drawback of using a laptop or a computer is that you’ll strain your eyes if you spend too much time on it. And the worst part of it is, even when your eyes wail to get up off the chair immediately, you can’t resist completing a dialogue or a scene if you’re in the middle of an important one then.
Speaking of the chair, you won’t be obliged to get up and stretch your muscles every now and then. It has a habit of making you stay seated for longer hours without any inkling of the time flashing by. It’s not good for our health that way. The longer hours of sitting can cause problems within your body you’re better off not having. Your elbows will also hurt by being pressured to your arm rests, if they don’t have cushions.
One annoying trait is that you don’t stick to the word document alone. You won’t even be aware of yourself directing the mouse to clicking on Google Chrome to stalk someone online or end up on YouTube. Even if you switch off the WiFi, you have a tendency to switch it back on.

Moving onto the notebook.

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Pros:

The first pro of the notebook is that you never strain your eyes.
When you can’t take your laptop to another place, in fear of it being damaged, you can always take your notebook to go with you. It’s perfect if you find a shady place under a tree in the middle of a peaceful field or park, where you can keep the notebook on your lap and sit in your comfortable position. You can’t keep a laptop on your lap – I do hope people don’t do that – or sit in a comfortable position with it on the floor, unless you like punching your back.
You write in your own handwriting. Nothing is more amazing than seeing your own story written in your own words with your own handwriting. It’s a piece of priceless treasure.
You’ll be more inclined to put it down for a while and go and take a walk to give your muscles some exercise.

Cons:

As already mentioned before, the inserts of extras and cross-outs create a mess on the page. I don’t like my manuscripts being messy.
Writing with the pen for too long can cramp the muscles of your forearms slightly. You won’t be able to write without taking a break, no matter how much you want to keep writing.
Unlike the laptop, you can’t keep a backup of your story with the notebook. If it’s lost, you lose a ton of agonised tears along with it.

As you can see, there is almost equal balance between the laptop and notebook, as each has its own share of benefits and disadvantages. But in my personal opinion, I prefer the notebook first, the health benefit being the first and foremost.

[image error]I win!

If you’re in a profession, you have to find the healthiest way to do it if you want to be in it for a long time. What I do is write in my notebook during the weekdays, and then copy it all in the laptop during the weekend. At least, that’s what I try to do when the pulls of YouTube, F.R.I.E.N.D.S, and mythological shows on Hotstar lose their hold now and then. I strive to avoid the laptop and computer as much as I can and hope to achieve a healthy balance in which I am not driven to watching the aforementioned much more than I like to do.

[image error]Admit it, guys, this your dream office, isn’t it? Because it sure is mine!

Devasena + Amarendra Bāhubali

Part two to the incredibly written fanfiction of Amarendra Baahubali and Devasena. While the first one created warm flutters within us, part two is heartbreaking. Keep rocking, PPD, the pen you hold is a magical wonder!

Life. Dreams. Hopes and Happiness.

Hi, you guys!

The header image must have warned you, nevertheless, I must give out these two explicit warnings.

This is a same-timeline-different-location story which runs parallel to scenes from the movie (you know which one). Accordingly, I declare here that this is intended as fan-fiction only.
I hope you read this after watching both movies. It’ll be perfect that way. (you can call this a rule)
You can read my other work on these two here, right now or after reading this one. However you prefer.

Not gonna spoil it with more explanations.

Jai Mahishmati!

When the Skies Cried…

“Rajamata? Is all of this happening within your knowledge?” asked Kattappa. His face was sober and his hands could not stop their trembling. He felt his existence crumble around him into tiny, tiny shards.

He spoke. “Let me grasp your feet and beseech you, Amma. Please, ask the Emperor…

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Funny Little Realities

Here are some snippets of life I’m pretty sure we’ve all gone through now and then

I, The Little Mobile

I, the little mobile with its screen head and belly full of buttons, tried to look around the huge dictionary to see what was in the package Anna brought in, but it was a hard task to move my own body a mere inch of my own accord. I couldn’t move anywhere if Anna didn’t need me. I never normally had any intention of poking around to know whatever new product she bought home but I had a strong instinct this box that created that radiance on her face had something in it to bury me alive.

It made me feel cold with dread.

For the last few weeks, Anna had resorted to looking at me with displeasure and shame.

It had come as a huge shock. She’d never looked at me that way before.

Not once.

I, the little mobile, remembered the day her eyes fell on me at the mobile showroom two years ago. Through the small gap between my box and my lid, I’d been able to discern a lovely girl’s voice as she asked to be shown one mobile model after the other. My box was placed on the third shelf and the last time I’d been opened was to a guy who took one look at me and rejected me without a second thought. I, the little mobile, was determined not to take that to my heart, and patiently waited for someone to take me into their hands, like all those other mobiles who’d happily gone to their new homes.

I’d dared to hope, just a sliver, for the owner of that soft feminine voice to consider me, right when I felt my box being lifted off the shelf. My breath had caught and I’d braced myself, staring directly at the light above when the darkness was lifted off, before a mane of hair obscured the harsh light and a pair of beautiful eyes staring down at me came into view. Hands picked me up and slid the plastic cover from my body, exposing me to the girl. A smaller hand, hers, replaced the one I sat in, the assistant’s, and the most incredible warmth took me over as she gazed at me with wonder.

‘I like this one,’ she’d declared immediately to her parents.

She … liked me?

She liked me!

Someone liked me!

If I had been able to, I would have done cartwheels on the table for the joy that overwhelmed me. My features were explained to her and she’d hugged me close on the car ride home after I was bought, making the seventeen year old my new owner. I, the little mobile, later came to know she was going off to college and needed a communication device to help her keep in touch with her parents and brother. Every time she made a call home, I listened to her patiently. She talked for as long as she wanted, both to her parents as well as old friends. I loved this sweet little girl for who she was, this little girl with a little mobile.

She loaded her favourite songs into me, listening to them whenever she wanted, sent text messages (tapping my buttons gently instead of pushing them, pun intended), took photos, along with her digital camera, and made me an alarm to wake her up every morning. She never went anywhere without me.

I, the little mobile, loved our little world.

But the world around us was drastically changing.

Something called a touch screen became the new craze among people. Anna was surrounded by it. What the hell was a touch screen? Every time I heard the term, I was always inside Anna’s pocket.

But a few days of what’s-its-name and she gave me a sullen look every time she picked me up, or took me out of her pocket, or even looked at me.

I felt weak.

Helpless.

Small.

Insecure.

Inferior.

She had eyes for that weird electronic slab her roommate had recently bought. I stared at the slab in some shock, the first time I saw Anna’s roommate switch it on in front of her and show her all it promised. Oh, so that was a touch screen. You swipe the screen with a finger and it obliges to your commands. There were no buttons on that phone.

A phone they named – the Smartphone.

It looked like the Slothphone to me.

Anna’s roommate had access to her email on that phone and too much of applications to have her plant herself on her bed for hours. She never actually made many calls, resorting to texting on a so called amazing texting application – what was up with that? – with the sleek keypad that resembled the one of a Blackberry.

Every time I cast my sight on the Sloth, I saw it giving me that imperious smirk.

It thought it was so much better than me.

With its whole-world-in-the-palm-of-your-hand thing going on with it.

Anna watched her roommate take these weird front camera pictures by making weird animal faces. Anna’s roommate herself called one of them a duck pout or something, I don’t know whether I heard her properly and I don’t give a click about it.

Anna fell in love with the Sloth.

Leaving me, the little mobile, to wish I could cry.

Never thought anything could make me feel so small.

I wish I knew how to measure up to the Sloth to win back Anna’s affections, but it was a battle lost before strategy.

Anyone who owned something like me was looked down on by so many people from their peer groups, especially among young adults like Anna.

And now, as Anna opened the box she brought in with her and took out what was inside, I wished I could fling myself out of the window as she gazed lovingly at a Sloth of her own.

The shiny black Sloth sneered at me.

I am shiny and black too, you know! Don’t you dare flash that smirk at me, you slithery devil! I threatened him.

Oh, you think we’re equals? Sloth raised both eyebrows at me. Tell me again, does anyone love you anymore? Does Anna?

All I wanted to do was to pop out my buttons and aim it straight for that glossy screen of his, smashing it to pieces.

Anna loves me now, pipsqueak, Sloth sneered at me again. I have everything a person could ever hope to have just a tap away. You’re useless and ugly. And a shame to anyone who still uses you.

We’ll see about that, I snapped at him, though I wasn’t exactly sure what I was saying and what the hell I was doing challenging the glorious git.

Anna didn’t care my battery needed charging as she held the Sloth and leant back on the wall, staring into it while her fingers were at work. I only had a few more minutes left.

Anna … I tried to call out to her but I couldn’t. I never have been able to.

Anna, please feed me … I’m hungry …

She paid no attention to me, the little mobile.

I had so little time left.

Suddenly, she looked up.

My heart swelled as those warm eyes surveyed me, before she pressed something by the side of the Sloth. Then she flipped him over, removing a part of him from the back.

I could have danced right then.

She was taking him apart!

Served him right to come between the pair of us, the stupid Sloth. I watched with more ecstasy as she took out his battery.

Take that, Sloth!

She put him down on the bed and crawled over to reach out for me.

Yes!

My dear Anna held me in her hands, allowing me to enjoy the loving warmth. Though she didn’t know it, I was smiling at her.

But then she did something very strange.

She was making sure all the contacts were saved to the SIM in my safety locker.

Once she did, her thumb reached up to press on the button meant to switch me off.

No … wait … Anna, what are you doing?

She’s going to transfer that SIM into me, dumbass, I swore I heard the Sloth’s thoughts reach to me, even though it was switched off.

Anna, please don’t –!

Everything went black.

I, the little mobile, was never turned on again.

~~~~~

This post was inspired by thinking how would any basic mobile have felt when their owner switched to a smartphone, combined with a spritz of Sherriff Woody’s jealousy of dashing new Buzz Lightyear when he first flashes into his life

Cinderella Was Meant To Be A Queen

Heard the story of Cinderella from Mum when I was seven.

Then watched Disney’s 1950 classic a few months later.

I fell in love with it back then and I’m still in love with it.

The scenes starring the witty and cute mice earned laughter and admiration out of me back then and they still earn laughter and admiration out of me now.

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But now that I’ve grown up and am more perceptive to every movie I’m watching, I found out something about Cinderella when I was watching the movie yesterday.

She really was meant to be the Queen.

The wicked stepmother, the slavery in her own home and winning the Crown Prince’s heart may look very Mary Sue-ish to many people. For a minute, even I was under the same idea, before I shook my head. No, Cinderella couldn’t be a Mary Sue. Not my most favourite Disney Princess.

Then I realised all these shaped her to be the perfect and most eligible Queen to sit on the throne.

I’ll tell you why.

Patience:

Cinderella has to be the most patient lady I’ve ever seen. She could have easily raged and stormed at her stepfamily for reducing her to a maid from the level of an aristocrat’s daughter, but she doesn’t. Her stepmother does threaten her to turn her out of the house if she didn’t follow instructions, but still, she could have easily thrown stuff around in her attic room to vent out her emotions. That doesn’t happen either.

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Her serenity, gentle nature and resilience offers to be a soothing balm to the outbursts of the Royal family when things turn upside down. Being a Queen means to endure so many amounts of stress. We see the otherwise merry King prone to temperamental explosions now and then – As is proved when he smashes a crown through a window. Though we see the Prince to be kind and gentle, there’s no telling he can never explode like that, being his son. That’s where she would calm him down and give him expert advice on how to get over anger. Cinderella’s tolerance will open doors to sensible solutions to the good of the country. Decisions pondered over and considered in a fazed and confused state can’t promise sense as much as a calmed mind would conclude.

Organisational Skills:

How she gets all her work done before bedtime, I’ll never know. We’re talking about cooking three or four meals a day, sweeping and scrubbing a manor, washing a Mount Everest of clothes, mending and sewing clothes to the stepsisters’ expectations, taking care of own her health in case she falls ill, dusting cupboards, arranging them, dusting the rest of the furniture, receiving extra work as punishments if she so much as crashes a teacup, gardening the plants … I’m out of breath.

But she gets all of them done.

In the movie, we see a huge list of things to be done for the day as well as extra laundry and work while the family is getting ready for the ball. And by the evening, we see her retiring for the night after completion. Only a cleverly devised schedule and quickness of muscle labour could accomplish that.

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Her clever mind is a priceless benefit to the Royal Family. Not that they aren’t already clever, being in the positions they are in, but her presence is an extra advantage.

When troubles grow to a number that cannot be borne by normal shoulders, she’ll be there to properly organise and clean things up within a few minutes. The time management skills she’ll apply will be a huge guide to getting things done within the allotted time.

Silver Lining:

No wonder her stepfamily hates her so much.

Why wouldn’t they be annoyed as she skips through every single demanding day with a smile?

She greets the day by laughing and spending time with the mice and birds and sings through her chores, turning them fun.

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The concept of the silver lining will be so hardwired into her that she’ll inevitably apply the same principle to any gloomy situation at the Palace. When people of the Royal Family are down with their spirits, that can’t be good for the country. She’ll know how and where to see the sun through the dark clouds, bringing colour and life back to their faces, leading to hope, spirit and confidence strengthening the people.

Compassion:

One genuine smile from a genuine heart directed her way and she’ll love you forever.

Grown up within four walls of insults, commands, reprimands and punishments, all Cinderella ever wanted was some kind of love for her existence. That’s why she immediately loves the mice, who are the only souls in the house to like her for who she is. They give her a flower, and she gives them bouquets. She feeds them, sews them clothes, and provides a warm home for them, keeping the mean cat away from them as much as she can.

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When she can love every small kind expression directed her way, there’s no doubt she will extend the same heart of compassion to the country. Isn’t that what a country wants? Genuine love and care? The compassion which will lead to many considerations of them and having their best interests in heart?

Small wonder she’s the owner of those glass slippers.

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They were created to be unique, just like her.

I’m pretty sure her time as the Queen was one to be blessed to the country and the Royal Family.

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This is why I love Cinderella more than the other Disney Princesses.

Bloopers On Stage

Back in college, everyone has their hilarious moments that last in their memories to give them a good laugh for the rest of their lives. Some of the moments that still have me losing it are from the times we staged dramas, one for English class in our first year and one for a Fine Arts competition. It’s natural for bloopers to come up when you’re rehearsing the play but when you’re enacting the real thing, bloopers shouldn’t come up. That principle didn’t apply to us though.

During the Fine Arts competition in our third year, I was in charge of western solo singing and since I was the only member of that unit for our department, I ended up being the contestant. Though I didn’t win, I loved strumming my guitar to Taylor Swift’s Treacherous that day, feeling happy about me being the only person to play the guitar. I kept a distance between myself and the other major stuff like dramas and dance, since I knew the trouble of administrating and taking charge would inevitably fall on me if I was a part of those. I had enough experience of taking charge of a large group of girls as the class representative in my second year to sound the red alert in group activities. Even if I do try to avoid taking responsibility, my need for sheer perfection betrays me and pushes me forward.

My close knit of friends took up English Drama and asked I help them out with the story and script, which I voluntarily did. No matter what, the Monica Geller in me switched on while we discussed about it and knowing I deliberately stayed away from Drama, my bestie gently asked if I could actually be in it. I shook my head stubbornly several times but I don’t remember how I was convinced, because then I found myself to be one of the daughters of the mother character another close friend played the role of. The fantasy story was set in a drought village with a river goddess, the goddess whom was played by my bestie (The theme for Fine Arts that year was Water Conservation). Since it was only the five of us along with another friend of ours who’s a nice girl, I thought, ‘Oh well, then.’ And went on with it.

Practice went on with business and laughter together, the latter contributed by the bloopers that came up in various scenes. My first scene was to take a bucket and fill it with water from the river, where I’ll be the first person to encounter the goddess. While I take the first step back home, she’ll call me from behind, causing me to drop the bucket in surprise. The bucket behaved itself during every single rehearsal. I thought it was such a good bucket. But then it stuck its tongue out at me and bounced off the stage towards the audience when the scene played in front of the judges. My bestie and I stared at each other for a second, she holding in laughter while I stood there, not sure whether to be horrified or amused. The bucket was needed for two more scenes. It was a good thing one of our other friends was standing by the stage and watching us, since she was the one to retrieve it and give it back to us, but that didn’t score points with the board. The next blooper was during a moment the mother put her children to sleep. Myself and three other friends rehearsed properly on where each person was to sleep but since one friend accidentally laid down at the place allotted for another friend, which was beside me, the latter kept asking her to move over while still standing. I took the liberty to press my hand to my mouth to hide my uncontrollable mirth, since no one could see me doing it, while shifting over myself to give her room.

Once we were done and back in the safety of our laboratory, we put our faces in our hands, blushing and laughing at the same time. Every time the five of us talk about it now, we still end up laughing.

The Drama for English class, however, had a twist. You’ll know why in the end.

This was back in our first year.

English Drama was a Non-Major Elective. I couldn’t join my friends in it because I had to choose Tamil, since I studied French as my second language. But I did own the happy job of the story and script for my friends’ final NME Exam, gifted to me by my bestie herself. I remember how the seven of us sat out in the college gardens, under the shade, in a circle and holding discussions about it. I suggested they take up the basic story of the movie, A Cinderella Story, with a small twist of characters. They agreed to it and we created scenes together, with me scripting the fair draft of it for a fifteen minute show alongside. I had it ready within two days and became the director of the play as well. We had great fun rehearsing, making the masks for the ball, and deciding on make-up and costumes.

On the actual day, one of the girls was absent. As we grew nervous and wondered what to do, my friends decided to tell the professor and go on with the play without her. The professor said it was okay and that was when my friends had a thought that took me aback. Why don’t I fill in for the absent character? I stared at them and told the professor I didn’t belong to this NME and that I only helped them out but she smiled at me and said I could go for it if I wanted to. That was all my friends needed, as they didn’t wait for my response, and pushed me on stage with them. Thankfully, I remembered all of the lines. Things went well the first few scenes but it was during the ball that we started sweating.

The three girls playing the female characters had to change their clothes, which was already notified to the professor beforehand. The dresses hated the smooth progress of the play, as they gave trouble during changing. The rest of us, horrified at the last minute screw up, did all we could to help. It took ten minutes before everything was fine and we hurried on stage, starting to dance immediately. I think we actually forgot to act the small scene before it in anxiety. We were three couples altogether and one of the girls playing a male character started mumbling, ‘I am so scared! I am so scared!’ to the girl she was dancing with, testing her resistance to laughter at her tone.

And since the stage was a little small, we kept getting in each others’ way. I doubted people were able to discern what was going on. Then after a few more scenes we stumbled over and Austin and Sam finally declared their love for each other, we bowed to the audience and hopped off the stage, biting our nails.

Ten minutes later, the professor called us to her and told us she enjoyed the drama and the romantic sequence in it thoroughly, granting my friends the top score. Smiling at our bewildered expressions, she went off, leaving us to laugh and hug each other.

I’d love to hear about your funny memories from staged dramas. If you’d like, please share them in the comment section below.

Have a great day and stay blessed.