Chapter 2

Shreya

Walls of high rise apartments assault the eye as one turns into Haralur road off Sarjapur road. The road, a narrow one groaned under the weight of thousands of cars every day, a tremendous strain for its rope like frame. Builders have eaten into the road further and further in, the village of Haralur being rendered a dream of a forgotten past. The rectangularity of it all deadens the eye, as much does the repetition of the Suburbia after a point everything composed of hard edged with hardly a breath of softness or greenery of respite in sight.The pinprick of lights shining from Apartment blocks and street lights,(surprised at their own ability to function) are hardy welcoming and cause nothing but irritation the passing motorist whose ears are already deafened by the hooting of the vehicles which snaked down the road at speeds comparable to thatof a sloth and all motorists deluding themselves with the fact that more noiseis directly proportionate to more movement.

In one such Apartment building lived Shreya, her mother, father and grandmother. The family was having dinner in the dining hall but nobody was speaking. The harsh luminescent light of the florescent lamp was softened in the curly hair that framed Shreya’s face, making it glow softly and gently like a halo. She had a curiously expressionless in her ebony eyes and her face was exotic to say the least with a firm masculine jaw line juxtaposed with delicately arched eyebrows. Though not extraordinarily short, she was of a fine build like a sparrow. Her hand carried out the mechanical task of taking food from her plate and depositing it in her mouth. She was carefully perched on the edge of her seat with delicate toes pointing downwards like a ballerina about to burst into dance. In spite of her seemingly serene posture, she is hardly at ease and the corner of her left eye twitches very occasionally at some unseen nuisance.

Her father chose to break the silence rather unceremoniously and said, “I hope you have finished packing your bag for tomorrow?” Shreya nodded deliberately, and continued chewing her food with some sort of dogged desperation. Her father, not satisfied asked yet again, “Read and understood the first chapters of all your textbooks?” Another slow deliberate nod ensued. Her father’s irritation was palpable to her mother Shika, a nervous woman, who though beautiful, was faded,like a rose dying with only a whisper of its former beauty. Shika chided her daughter saying, “Can’t you even answer a simple question properly? How many times do you need to be told to do things right?” Exasperation clung to Shreya’s eyes, and she answered to a space slightly to the left of her father’s face, “Yes Appa, I have done the reading of the first few chapters of all my textbooks, I have ordered the booklets for the NSO (National Science Olympiad)also. In addition to that I have finished making a study plan for the next 3months.”

The indignant look on her father’s face had now faded away. He was mollified and her mother a fraction calmer. Shreya’s grandmother eyes this entire pantomime, but did not breathe a word about her opinion of it. It was not like it would count for much anyways. Shreya’s father Manjith continued his tirade saying, “You know how lucky you are to have been allowed to take the Theatre elective? You will becoming home from school much later not you know. One entire hour. But we let you do that because we care about our child and her somewhat unnecessary hobbies.” Shreya continued to say nothing. She knew this already. That that empty rhetoric, all that useless rhetoric. Just stated and re stated with the expressed purpose of..of what, does one even need to enunciate that now?  The curls on her head stood out angrily each individual curl with the mythical pointedness of a mechanical implement.  Her silence screamed at him. It said things that words were too meagre to encapsulate, because the intensity of their meaning was too great for the paltry written word to construct.

 Manjith went on,happily oblivious to the fact that he was making his daughter uncomfortable.However at the pulpit of this house he was the only and unchallenged pastor. He went on to say, “We have allowed you to take literature also! That is itself a sign of how much we care. We are okay if you take a redundant subject. It will be the last time you will. Most people do not even consider it a subject. Ask any of you friends. My colleague’s daughter Aisha wanted to do literature. Bala had asked her if she was out of her mind. She did not do literature of course and now Aisha is a Doctor.” Shreya threw her father a parched smile this time. She had taken literature as an additional subject along with Physics, Chemistry and Math. The golden trio for most Indian parents though they would still mourn the loss of biology, sacrificed at the altar of literature. Literature which was what talentless people did, those who were incapable of analyzing the empirical finesse of numbers, equations and definitions. But then again, she would do external courses in Python and C++ programming. It was her parents desire for he to become a computer science engineer, or was it mechanical? There would be the JEE mains to give anyways, that standardized test to which most students.

Her mother,nodded vigorously saying, “Yes, yes. That is for sure though I wonder why you want to take literature….” She trailed off not knowing what to say. Her grandmother got up silently and moved towards the basin. Sensing that it was polite to leave now Shreya murmured something and left the table. On her way to the basin, she saw her grandmother. She had a wasting disorder and it was not getting much better. However, Shreya had a soft spot for the woman who read her the first stories she have ever know. Though speech was a painful thing for her, Her grandmother communicated a wealth of cove and compassion to her granddaughter through her well eyes. Shreya nodded gratefully and left the kitchen.

She walked into her room and took out a diary from her drawer, her she wrote in laborious cursive,

“The last time I will,

The last time I will.

Well, what will?

So I have one still?

It seems like a faraway dream on the ledge of some watercolour window sill.

Some watercolour window sill.”

Chapter 1

ABHILASHA.

The night was dead.And that was all one could say. The wind wailed resounding in honour of the deceased night. The birds had gone up to roost; the crickets had begun their unheard orchestra behind the funeral song of cars all heading home after an exhausting day of work. In flat number 27 on the main road was a light that shown forth.Now no one would have noticed this of course as this was a non descript house on a non descript street. However, our story reckons with this house pay close attention. Within this house was a girl who was staring intently at the screen of an old battered laptop. Battered because it had been dropped twice and old as it was second hand. She was reading an e-mail during this very dead night.It read,

Dear candidate,

Congratulations! We are please to inform that you are accepted as am eligible candidate for the Center for Excellence, Bangalore. The next academic year will begin on the 1^st of June 2017, Enclosed are a list of texts necessary for this academic year, along with the rules and regulations of the school for the 11^th standard. We look forward to seeing you.

Regards

Nirav Metha

(principal CFE)

The girl reading this was one Abhilasha. The letters glinted off her glasses as she re read the mail and the water colour of a red blush painted itself on her face. There was a well worn The Canterbury tales besides her, full of notes and underlining’s done with a sort of maniacal obsession. Abhi was very pleased about the prospect of joining the Centre for Excellence as it was the best School in the country,famous for producing the best minds of the nation. She could not wait to go there and get started. Abhilasha then closed her laptop and stretched her hand up, cracking each individual knuckle. She then gave a resounding yawn and decided to go to bed. The exhausted study lamp on the desk was grateful to be given a break. She was about to dive under the covers when a faint tinkling was heard by her window and the curtains danced in the dying wind. There almost ethereally, a sing song voice called out, “Abhi..” it said. Abhilasha sighed.It was Adikta again, she knew it was no use avoiding her as there was never any house avoiding anything in life. It would always come to bite you in the back when you would least expect it.

Like right now.

Abhi walked to the window cautiously and stared at her neighbor, silently cursing how closely built these row houses were. Abhilasha stared warily at Adikita and said, “Hey! Wassup?” Adikta smiled prettily and said, “Nothing at all darling you tell me.”Abhi shifted uncomfortably and said, “Nothing on this end either.” Adikta looked at her nails with a seeming nonchalance, “You are joining a new school are you not? The Centre for Excellence. “Yes”, replied Abhilasha. Praying that if she kept the conversation monosyllabic it would end sooner.

Around them, the wind whooshed and the win wailed piteously, the slender stalk of the sapling neem tree bent, and from its tender leaves rose a spray of cleansing scent into the air. However, that was intermixed with the stench of the Garbage dump a few paces away so the overall effect was unpleasant. Like the conversation that was taking place in the top tiers of two adjacent row houses.

Adikta, twirled a strand of glossy black hair and said, “Well, I guess it was a mistake then.”“If you are talking about this conversation than I wholeheartedly agree.”Quipped Abhi. Can I go in in now?” “Of course you can.” Said Adikta, you can go in whenever you like you know, I really don’t have to keep you waiting if you know what I mean.” She then let out a shrill, haunting laugh that resonated from post to post, rivaling the misery of the wind. “Just know” added Adikta,“And I’m sure you already know this, you are not enough for that the Centre for Excellence, I mean you were not even good enough for your last school, which is why you left. They did not want you really. You were a last resort Abhi, you did not get in on the first list did you?” Abhi gritted her teeth through the length of this exchange. There was many a time where she just wanted to raise a fist and ram it down Adikta’s throat. But she could not bring herself to do that, to such an old companion, even though this was not companionship anymore but its mossy, mildewed remains. “..also, who would want to be your friend in their right mind? Nobody! Nobody at all. Don’t even look to me like I’m a friend, for I’m not I’m my right mind for starters; one could even say that I’m in your mind.” The laughter ensued again. And just like that, at her own convenience,Adikta was gone. Abhi only then realized how tightly she was holding the cold metal railing at the tautness between each knuckle that stood out sharply constructing miniature trampolines, her skin was a mass of gooseflesh and she stood there in the balcony regardless head bowed, hair sweeping forward. She then released the railing and walked inside, slowly, purposefully measuring each breath of her’s. Though Adikta was been cruel, as she had gotten off late,what if she was right? What if no one wanted to befriend a slightly overweight bespectacled girl with an obsession with novels. What if…What it ..What if…..the words bounced around her head echoing all around her skull. Somehow the words translated themselves into a big You’re not good enough, which is why there exist so many what if’, so many uncertainties. With this heavy head, one besieged with dread, Abhilasha crashed onto her pillow and slept disturbed.

The night continued to be undecided.

A Preface.

The chapters to come will tell the story of three high school children. All of them are Indian and the setting of the story is a non-descript city in India, a cosmopolitan. The school is named The Centre For Excellence and it only admits into its fold, the best students in the country. Abhilasha, one of the protagonists is new to School whilst the other two protagonist’s Shreya and Parth have been going to this school since they were little.

The narrative will explore the journey of these children, The common thread tying them would be the desperation, the burning desire to Prove themselves in some way or other- hence the title. Shreya needs to prove to her parents how she is a model student though under the garb of seeming placidity, a cyclone revolves. Parth needs to prove to himself that he is a good person whilst Abhi’s only aim is to outperform and be better that neighbor Adiktha, to step out of her shadow. Shadows of the past claw at the throats of all protagonists and only in the confrontation of those sepulchers, will some peace be obtained.

I’ve never known how to showcase or sell my work; this is the best I can do for now. Elements in the story will mirror a Greek Tragedy and events spiral out of control and our protagonists find themselves in very dire straits, oftentimes with a resolution but sometimes, not.

In a sentence, what I attempt to do via this venture is to tell the story of Millions of children, who are subject to pressures absolutely out of their control, the tyranny of the system strains the individual to the breaking point very often, more often than we would like. However, though the individual breaks, for reasons one could arguably call the right ones, something of humanity is saved.

I will publish 3 chapters a week, with a day’s gap in the middle, I hope it will be something you will enjoy reading, but also think about. Thought is what powers us, it is a beautiful thing.

Love,

Thehumblehumanist

Kerala needs help.

The Breakfast Club.

(Id like to thank my friend for putting this up on her blog so early on, it means a lot to have my story told. I also want others out there to know that they are not alone.)

College.

The very term seems so all encompassing in itself so lets say it one more time, this time out loud ladies and gentlemen,

College.

The horrors and bathed breath arrive this place can only be matched by the profound sense of excitement in it. Of the friendships made and forgotten of new love and old and most importantly, of friendship.I mean, nobody really knows what to expect.

I have not written for a while, but not that my keys groan under the weight of my feverish fingers, all I can say is that I owe it.

I really do.

To the club.

We sat in that class at the end of the day waiting after waiting to go back. Around me were a group of children I hardly knew, the bubbly and ever happy Zara and her friend the sombre but still somehow vibrant Aisha. There were a group of nondescript boys in the corner, most of whom were bored and leaving the room. The silent elegant of figure of Shanti loomed in at another end, shy and retiring. There was a pretty curly haired girl ahead looking equally disinterested. mismatched elements in an even more mismatched melody.

I heaved a heavy sigh and was resigned to leave. But suddenly, the uncertain beginnings of a sentence forming at the back of my throat died and the boy behind me said resoundingly, “That was the most fucking tiring day in the world yaar.”I nodded in consent, and soon Zara, ever alive to a conversation chipped in saying, ” I know! They rally need to give us a break, I mean I have this cough and stuff…..” I nod

Need I remind you that most of us had never spoken before this point, and the burst of confidences was so surprising and so wonderful. Maybe the element of the melody were not so disparate after all.

Soon and oddly enough, chairs were pulled out and a circle was formed, we talked about our time here, about what we felt. We had done that in every meeting , but somehow it felt less superficial and less contrived. More like we meant it. It was not the whole class only a few, 8 to be exact, drawn by this uncanny but inexplicable force of attraction. The topic of conversation. was so varied, never once touching our actual subject of B(Tech). We spoke of our friend, our old schools, that experience of living in the hostel, of the idea of a Vibe, both good and bad, one of the boys, Hritesh said with a sense of uncanny honesty, “I an getting a good vibe just sitting here” I smiled my first genuine one in a while.Realizing how good it felt to be here.

We playfully dispelled notions of ourselves, the girl Shanti spoke in a soft dove like voice which was so animated that it would hearten anyone. Yet another, an introvert smiled wide and even said a few words. Divya even stated how her seeming intelligence was 1/10th true intelligence and 9/10th a show.

Need I remind you that most of us had never spoken before this point, and the burst of confidences was so surprising and so wonderful. Maybe the element of the melody were not so disparate after all.

There were further discussions on college like seeing people playing the guitar like out of a movie, getting egged on by a friend we really did not want and the uncomfortableness of seeing boy wander around in only his underwear. Phones were passed around the room and numbers collected.

There were good stories, sad storied and happy ones. Stories on the Waga border and in classrooms, about friends and relationships. Debates on feminism and the nature of politics also raged on in a lively manner. The nature was feminism was explored and a variety of views from reservation and education of women was expounded.

There was not one single bad story. For one who enjoys talking, listening was a real treat.
Time slipped with all the unassuming manner of water in cupped hands. Time seemed too short.

I had barely know these people, yet I knew, they were just as scared as I was, just as human. That made me feel safe somehow. In a space where people would listen not because they ere forced to but genuinely wanted to.

Maybe Orwell was not too off the mark when he said,

“Perhaps one did not want to love so much as be understood.”

The group was given a most fitting name,

The breakfast club.

Named in honor of the blockbuster hit movie of 1985. As a student of engineering here.

Truth to be told, I really did not know what to expect here at college, would it be frightening? Would I have a good time and more importantly, will I be understood. A dank, dank fear that rests in the hearts of so many. After spending many weeks wallowing in a pool of isolation, this release was much needed. Underneath the picture of seeming buoyancy, I was sinking, and boy was I sinking fast. There was I feeling,after roaming the rooms and corridors of loneliness, caused not by the absence of people but by the presence.

But this was different. Whether we may meet again or not, I do not know, it is beyond my control. But thank-you for your time. Tomorrow, I will not see merely a host of faces,

But friends.

Sincerely yours, the Breakfast Club

 

 

(Id like to thank my friend for putting this up on her blog so early on, it means a lot to have my story told. I also want others out there to know that they are not alone.)

 

love,

Anonymous.

 

 

The walk

I walk a road with curves and bends,

Where promises of suffering seem to no end

The dampness and moss which cushions my feet

Makes me feel so cold so incomplete.

The cold the damp, the hanging mist,

Makes me question the sanity of this tryst

the ash grey waters and the blacker than black sky

stand in Mourning as I pass by an by.

The frost has nipped the sunflower in the bud.

Worms beetles and ants writhe in the squelching mud,

My steps resonate with a loud sombre thud

For I am alone

And and Frost enunciated an his words do seep,

I have many mile to go before I sleep

Many days to labor on and on,

Before I can feel any lightness of step of cheeriness in song.

For not only my sorrows do throng,

And I hear the call from yonder gong.

But but there I see a shining den,

Over the hill and valley fen.

I see your faces, and my face does smile a little through the frown.

I felt gladder than a king with his crown.

When the sun will rise I will walk down,

But for now,

There is contentment in the memories of the past,

The little pains the future will promise and

The friendships that will linger even if only the specter will last.

The frost has  still nipped the sunflower in the bud.

Worms beetles and ants writhe in the squelching mud,

My steps resonate with a loud sombre thud

For I am alone

But not in my soul.

 

Dear Indian education system,

To begin with dear friends, I want to make a special request. This is the first time I have done anything of this nature and I would be grateful if you reciprocated. I would really like it if you would re-blog this post on your site, I want it to reach the widest audience possible.

Everything in this letter is true dear reader, and who knows? even you may resonate with it..

So……….. read the letter, and please re-blog it on you own site.

Thankyou,

TheHumbleHumanist

Prologue

I began pounding away at my computer the minute I received my 12^th grade marks. I was angry. So angry about the injustices I was subject to and the fact that I was a part of a system with idiosyncrasies as partisan as they as backward. It took me a while for the slightly egotistical ranting to fade and a skein of rationality to weave itself above a healing wound. Then I was ashamed because what I was ailing from was what millions of children, nay 472 million children under the age of 18 are probably going through in different degrees. Some may be completely oblivious to their suffering and may even try to deny it. Those I pity the most, who are not aware of the unnecessary burden they carry.

Now, anger gone, my keys clink more thoughtfully. I hope you understand my perspective even if yours may be different. I wish to deal largely in facts, to obliterate any possible biases. If they show however, please forgive a young person.

This is a letter and a journey dear friends that may or may not be relevant to your own lives, this is a letter by a teenager who wants a voice, who wants to know that her journey is not hers alone.

 

How have you been? Good I hope. You may not know me personally but have had a relationship with you that spans nearly 10 years. I believe my friends and I know you better that we can say. But do you know your origins? I suppose it becomes relevant to talk a little bit about the past seeing as to how it impacts the present and the present invariably the future. Now it is known that the education system installed in India has been passed down from the British, whose purpose it was to make in short; conformist, factory workers for the purpose of industry. Thus establishing the British Raj in India and controlling it would be so much more effective. Sir Trevelyan, a pivotal man with regards to the in the English education system in India, said in the British parliament in 1857 – “After such an education, a political revolution in this country will be unlikely and we will easily be able to rule over our Empire for long.”

“A student who enjoyed studying the subject and developed his or her own perspective on different topics is unlikely to get the highest marks”

Such was the sound of you education, imported. However, that did have its pros and cons and is a thing of the past. Moving on to the present day… From A young age, we are told to follow the syllabus and anything out of it became counter band. This even percolated to the higher grades where a student was awarded a poor grade for writing a good answer, but was not syllabus specific.

The one-mark question was: ‘How far do you agree with the statement that cultural globalisation is dangerous not only for poor countries but for the entire globe?’

Her answer was: ‘I do not agree with this statement as cultural globalisation leads to enhanced cultures with newer combinations arising from external influences, cultural heterogenisation and greater influence of all cultures.’

It may seem like a really good answer but was awarded a zero because and again, it was not syllabus specific. This is what the syllabus  dictated, ’Yes, cultural globalisation does lead to cultural homogenisation which affects all countries as it causes shrinkage of the rich and diverse cultural heritage of the entire globe’.

The syllabus, a words whose origin was in the mid 17th century, from the Greek sittuba ‘title slip, label’. In this way we were labelled, what was without a label, prescribed by you dear system, we could not venture into or discover for ourselves, our wings were clipped before we could even fly. This is clearly reflective of how you cultivate a herd mentality but not a ‘heard’ mentality. Why is that? How far have we come from our undignified time of British oppression as far as education is concerned?

I’m sorry for mentioning this dear system but such is the case. There is an absolute paucity of critical material in any course. Take the example of history for instance; we are encouraged to read texts of stellar writers like Bipin Chandra and Ram Chandra Guha. Knowing what the expert has to say is essential, but so is knowing our own opinion. Not once do you care to know what we think about Stalins tyrannical regime or the slavery of African Americans. About our stance on the freedom struggles of our forefathers, the Emergency or anything of such? Of course what the experts have to say is important, but it is the child who is to become the next expert, and he will only be able to do that if one is given space to think. However, we are expected to push our entire person into cookie cutter moulds for the sake of marks and grades.

Therefore, not only you but the entire education system has been excellently sued by a man who calls himself Prince Ea,

It was hear that I realized that Ranchoddas Shamaldas Chanchad, of the beloved Three Idiots Movie, would have never actually topped his class in this reality. Or at least the odds are astronomical. This is owing to the fact that the board or the college would have never entertained original and creative answers. His simple language and cheerful smile would have been to no avail in the face of the regimented examiner and the unyielding syllabus. He may have still been successful in life, but never in college. This thought saddened me.

Krishna Kumar of the NCERT himself said, “If I were in charge of admissions in humanities and social science BA honours courses in a college, I would look for good candidates whose Class XII scores in these subjects were between 65 and 85 per cent. I am sure that the students who score above 85 or 90 per cent are also good and hardworking students – but they are probably meant for other areas.” He went on to say that,

“A student who enjoyed studying the subject and developed his or her own perspective on different topics is unlikely to get the highest marks”

But why must he say that? Is it not important for you dear system to encourage independent thought? But yet you do not award these people. They may not want awards and accolades if they are true to themselves but a little motivation never hurt anyone. I once did an essay comparing the Tragic Hero of literature to a Hardy personality type in Psychology but you could hardly care about that. Right?

In 1983 a brilliant American developmental psychologist Howard Gardener described 9 types of intelligences,

• Naturalist (nature smart)
• Musical (sound smart)
• Logical-mathematical (number/reasoning smart)
• Existential (life smart)
• Interpersonal (people smart)
• Bodily-kinaesthetic (body smart)
• Linguistic (word smart)
• Intra-personal (self smart)
• Spatial (picture smart)

How many of these do you encompass? Bits and pieces of the above perhaps, but largely you specialize in rote; the art of memorization. Though interestingly enough, rote is not mentioned above or in any other theory of intelligence I know of. If it does exist somewhere though, my sincerest apologies.

It is this rote learning that turns human beings into machines, without identities of our own with the capacity of spewing out without thought what has already been learnt. It is this rote system that made Infosys, a large IT tycoon, claim that a large portion of its employees would be untrainable. The critical faculty we are so blessed with wallows in the muck and dirt, hardly glimpsing the sunlight.

As a person I would like to say that my marks do not matter and so would many of us who know that you are at fault. However we can’t because of the dreaded next step for most 12^th grades-college applications. Some children have sold their souls to institutes who grind them from grade 7 or 8 for a seat at IIT which is the India Institute of technology,  one of the most reputed colleges in the country. Or people embrace rigorous tuition in so that the prayer on their lips may be fulfilled, “Let me get into a good college”. The day when the results come out is one of high tempers and bated breath. When they do arrive, at that precise moment, it feels like your future is set in stone, though it hardly has begun. You either succeeded wildly of failed miserably. You have hardly left us with a middle ground. However the battle we have fought, if we have tried to, is an unworthy one and the spoils unfair.

I was shattered almost when my marks came, averaging it 90.6% in ISC. It did not get me and honours programme of the Delhi University of my choice. What I thought I worked for and deserved.

It was almost hilarious though when Humanities colleges opened at percentages like 100%. There were joke flying around on social media that even Dettol would not have been able to make the first list being 99.99% effective. And this is humanities I am talking about. In spite of that a whopping total of 3,38,893 applicants had registered on the portal till last Tuesday afternoon on the online portal. His is what one refers to as a rat race system, here all participant are blinkered in some way of the other, all looking towards the end instead of the process that got them there. Do these colleges how unitary their system is, how this can hardly encompass the entirety of an individual? Or most simply….how it is just not right? Even the government may need to realize that.

A talk held in the year 2016 discusses just that. This was a talk called “The Big Fight” and was held on NDTV, a major news channel. The show on the channel was called “The Big Fight” The Topic of debate was whether high marks ensure success in life. It was held amongst major educationists of this country including the ex chancellor of the Delhi University, Here it is below for you viewing.

The debate was enlightening but one does not feel reassured because there is no change. I, the individual, feels reduced at the face of it dear system, boiled down to a singular number so many times that I struggle to keep by critical faculty and more importantly my person abreast. Is this the nature of education that is to revolutionize the country? This will only end in employees and company owners who are hindered, without the capacity to unlearn and relearn. Students are ranked in an esteem killing manner not unlike the caste system of old.(Or is it of old?)

Then again I owe you apology, dear system, it is not your fault and I have been unfair. It is the fault of those who propagate you, who thrive in you and do nothing to stop you. There has been a barrage of rhetoric, from talk shows, news channels and social media for a change of some sort. This usually ends in an argument, misunderstanding or some form of casual evasion. This needs to end. This blame game. After all,

“The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars, But in ourselves”

We need to change dear system. Then so will you.

 

Most sincerely

A Human Being.

 

-please reblog-

 

Thought for the day.

The Conformist Rut.

In this modern day and age it has become a norm for most teenagers to align themselves with the popular opinions prevalent in their surroundings, and specifically in their age group. No one wants to stick out like a sore thumb. However this trend of being one with the group extends not only to clothes, books or television shows, but also to certain dangerous life choices such as drinking and smoking. It is one thing when curiosity of the child prompts him or her to explore this “uncharted” territory, but it is quite another thing when social pressure, especially from the peer group, forces a child to do so.

As Manjari Manoharan, a teenager studying in  Gear international school, she narrates an incident where one of her friends who had never indulged in “any of these ‘habits’ except for wine once in a while” was forced to “smoke weed” by his friends at a party. “they turned it into a game of 21 dares, his chance came, he still said no and everyone’s like ‘don’t be a spoil sport’, ‘don’t spoil the mood’, ‘it’s just a game’ so he didn’t want to be the ‘spoil sport’ or the person who ruins fun for everyone else so he did it. He smoked” After that day, he started smoking “pretty frequently” according to Manjari .“These habits catch on easily if you’re around people like this and want to be a part of them” she adds.

According to http://deaddictioncentres.in nearly 75% of the youth in states like Punjab are addicted to drugs .That is an extremely high percent because it means three in every four children are addicted drug users. Also, theaddictioncentre.org, explicitly states that the pleasure centres of a teenager’s brain develop faster than the parts of the brain responsible for decision-making and risk analysis and Drug and alcohol experimentation is often highest during these critical formative years. This is what causes teenagers to ‘take a drink’ or ‘have a smoke’ without thinking twice or dwelling on the larger repercussions of their actions. Those who get dependent upon drugs or alcohol, take it upon themselves in turn to make others dependent on it too so that they do not feel like they are the only ones. Statistics show that drug abuse is a growing problem among teens. In addition to cocaine, Ecstasy and other club drugs, a recent Monitoring the Future Study showed that the top six most abused drugs by teens are: marijuana (31.5%), Vicodin (9.7%), amphetamines (8.1%), cough medicine (6.9%), sedatives & tranquilizers (6.6% each).

There are some teenagers who propelled by their curiosity do try out drugs but at least in these cases it is on their own volition. On speaking to Meenali Nirvay, a 11^th grader in an international school who says she knows people who do drugs voluntarily. However she adds, “I think one reason why people who indulge in drugs do it for acceptance and do it to be a part of the cool kids gang. It always begins with a group of cool kids.” “I think 40-50% of students that I know may have indulged in drugs or alcohol. This habit may have been triggered not only by social pressure, but also by stress.” Says Kanishka Chandra, who also adds that the kids who generally do drugs are rather boisterous and attention seeking.

Although, many teenagers come under the influence of their peers and divert their behaviour so as to conform, there is still a large portion of the youths population who have a strong conscience and are not easily Swayed by their curiosity in matters where it is uncalled for. As Rohan Mahesh, a 18 year old student recalls, “There was this one time that my friends and I went out for dinner and all of them indulged in smoking and drinking. And even though they asked me to join them, I was least interested in doing either and politely declined it. I knew it was not right and I stuck to my beliefs”.

Is Social acceptance truly worth doing something you believe is wrong ? I leave this for you to decide.

What is your opinion? I would love to hear it!

 

 

 

 

 

Thought for the day.

We often do not give ourselves the credit and love we deserve. We appreciate others with far greater ease and even hesitate when it comes to giving ourselves a reassuring pat of the back, even when we need it. We take great joy in berating and belittling ourselves. It is however a rare and profoundly intuitive book that will shake the mind of the reader. Beloved by Toni Morission was one of them. It restores faith in ourselves in the most painful and gut wrenching way possible. One cannot help but smile through the misery when my Paul tells a bewildered Sethe “You are your best thing”

You smile because he is talking to her, but speaking to that broken soul in all of us

Amen

Love

Thehumblehumanist