Personal Statement

 By Sarah Fariduddin

A shrill laugh rang in my ears. I practically walked the halls of Thornfield by the side of Jane Eyre. I wondered as Jane wondered. The ripped veil struck me with as much horror as it struck Jane, and Mr. Rochester's clandestine marriage left not just one, but two girls devastated at the altar. It wasn't just Jane who accompanied me through childhood. In my early teenage years, the yellowing pages of Penguin classics, allowed me to breathe in a parallel world of Literature. The physical changes accompanying me to womanhood were followed by iron-clad rules imposed by my parents. Limiting interaction with childhood male friends, garbing my femininity with a dupatta and keeping my candid opinions to myself, were among
the many stipulations to keep my spotless reputation in check. As the chains of cultural restrictions grew tighter so did my clutch over a book. Very soon, the characters in these books became companions in whom I found strength, comfort and hope.

When I watched a beloved friend married off at the 'appropriate' age of 23, I wondered of Mrs. Bennett's wish to have Lizzy marry Mr. Collins. Is the bond of marriage merely a social obligation? Does love figure at all? Is life like a binding, black and white document or is it like a painting that we create with colours of our own choice?

Soon I questioned where I was headed. I questioned not being able to study in the Cambridge section of my school. I could no longer settle with the life of a rote-learning Matric student. Unlike solving derivations and complex equations, analyzing literary texts and penning down my thoughts gave me the joy of reflection and revelation. By walking out on Mr.Collins, Elizabeth Bennet encouraged me to live on my own terms.

Switching from the local board to the Cambridge system was my only way to fuelling this passion and studying subjects like  literature and history. I was only the second girl of our family to take this road. From a secure Convent School to remote, dingy tuition centres, from warm, familiar classmates to a sea of unknown faces, I was exposed to everything I had never known. Studying with males too sent disapproving looks my way. All the while the pages of my books were emanating the spirit behind their words. Countess Olenska's decision to lead the life of a scorned free divorcee strengthened me to face criticism. I eventually learned to confide in my decisions. Along the way, I also discovered my ability to act. The catharsis of slipping into another role on stage was not unlike losing myself in a book. Writing angry verses often, also releases pent up emotions. But on stage my angst and rebellion poured itself out in dark, powerful monologues

I now understand Jane's need to build an individual identity after stepping outside the cold confines of the Lowood orphanage. The past two years have brought me out of a shell too; a shell created by making the youngest child follow in the footsteps of the older siblings, by underestimating a girl's desire to learn for personal fulfillment, outside the classroom. Literature has helped me to break out of this shell.

University away from home would mean the continuation of the journey I embarked on two years ago. The tendency to immerse myself within the pages of a book provides me with constant food for thought. My deep enthusiasm for Austen or Bronte is not merely due to the angst I share with Elizabeth or Jane. It is out of a brimming desire that one day I too may help the women of my conservative society to break out of their shells.

Book Review

Dune (1984)

Reviewed by Nimrah Nadeem

If handled right, a good novel can make a good film. However, a great novel almost never becomes a great movie, because the intricacies of the book can’t possibly be captured in such a limited screen time.
David Lynch’s movie adaptation of Frank Herbert’s cult classic sci-fi novel faced pretty much the same problem, but it seems this movie just took it to a whole new level.
The movie doesn’t even come close to doing the book justice. On the contrary, it was riddled with gaping weaknesses in the plot and bland, one dimensional characters.

According to Robert Egbert, Dune was “a real mess, an incomprehensible, ugly, unstructured, pointless excursion into the murkier realms of one of the most confusing screenplays of all time."
The protagonist is a young man, Paul Atriedes (Kyle McLachlan) of House Atriedes foretold as the “Kwisatz Haderach” who will lead the native Fremen of the titular desert planet Arrakis, or Dune to victory over the malevolent House Harkonnen. Riddled with dirty politics, intricate layers of meaning, and memorable, well developed characters, the book was a masterpiece. As winner of the prestigious Hugo and Nebula awards, Frank Herbert’s Dune has a massive fan base, one that David Lynch’s weak movie adaptation has deeply disappointed.

At the time, Lynch was one of Hollywood’s most avant-garde directors, having directed masterpieces such as the famous ‘Elephant Man’ and ‘Eraserhead’. He was even on the directing shortlist for ‘Return of the Jedi’. Lynch was considered worthy of a massive undertaking, but after Dune, he even resorted to releasing certain versions of the movie under a pseudonym Alan Smithee. Well, Lynch, maybe it’s too little, too late.

On the whole, the film wasn’t completely horrendous. The visuals and special effects were considerably impressive, when you think about it in terms of a 1984 movie. The worms were almost spot on, and so were the Fremens’ “blue in blue” eyes. Even the music score by popular 1980’s band Toto was appreciated. Too bad they couldn’t save the movie.

Personally, I just hope David Lynch doesn’t read Isaac Asimov’s Foundation and try taking it on. We don’t need any more sci fi movie adaptation disasters.

Media Violence harms Children.

By Punhal Pirzada

Q. ‘Your school is holding a declamation. The topic is ‘Media Violence Harms Children’. Write two speeches, one speaking for the topic and one speaking against it.’

FOR

Respected judges and my fellow students, good afternoon. The topic is very interesting as violence has always been a part of media. Ask anyone, and they will probably tell you that their favourite movies did have a fair share of violence in them. But today, ladies and gentlemen, we are here to debate over whether violence harms children or not.

Before I establish my case for this topic, answer this – if you had children, would you be content with your child viewing adult content? The answer is, no. Pornography has negative effects on an individual’s mentality and can shape that individual for the worse. This is exactly why individuals under eighteen cannot view it. Now apply the same logic to violent content. There is a reason why censorship boards have such strict regulations that disallow individuals under thirteen from watching movies that are full of violence.

Children are at a relatively delicate stage of their lives. You can nurture their minds and help them distinguish between what is right and what is wrong, or they can end up as thugs and criminals when they grow up in life. By exposing them to violent media, we are clearly misguiding them. More often than not, we see these children replicating the violence we see in movies, on television and in video games. In Tokyo, a twelve year old boy by the name of Sam, a huge fan of the ‘Grand Theft Auto’ video game franchise, was found responsible for the deaths of over twelve people when he tried to emulate the killing spree he was used to carrying out within the video game.

Furthermore, studies have suggested that children who are exposed to violence will not only grow up to become aggressive adults, but will also neglect the values and traditions that their parents spent years trying to transfer. If we seek to have a generation that can coexist peacefully, we must acknowledge that media is truly detrimental to children and we must shelter them from violent content. Thank you.

-----------------------

Against

Honourable judges and my esteemed opponents – good afternoon to all of you. Now moving straight to the topic, I personally firmly believe that it is very interesting that most people believe that children should not be exposed to violence in media. I will urge my opponents to try and logically accept my argument with an open mind, as I seek to establish my case.

The first misconception that is important to clarify is that all violence portrayed in media is shown positively, and that the media endorses the very use of violence. This, ladies and gentlemen, is absolutely false. The portrayal of violence is not all about blood, gore, torture, death, suffering and weapons. In fact, media usually talks about how violence is actually bad for society, and how we should seek alternatives! What we see in most Jackie Chan and Chuck Norris movies does not endorse violence as a means of spreading anarchy in society by any means. These movies often show violence used on the protagonists’ part merely in interests of self-defense, or retaliation. What we all must acknowledge is that it is very important to teach children that they do have the right to self-defense, especially in a world like todays.

Furthermore, I personally see nothing wrong with acquainting children with violence as a sad reality of life, because whether we like it or not, violence I everywhere. In our daily lives, we see people exerting disproportionate force against one another, and we have learned to accept it. We can either convince children that life is all about rainbows and butterflies and then wait for reality to hit them like a bullet train once they get older, or we can acquaint them with reality and teach them when it is okay to use violence, and when it is not.

Besides, violence in media is usually what makes media more interesting. Let us take the popular children’s animated show – Pokémon. Yes, it has its’ fair share of violence, but it has also brought millions of children together, kept them entertained and given them a childhood to remember for when they grow up. Personally, as a child, I played the game ‘Street Fighter’. Yet here I am in front of all of you; civilized and full of good memories from my childhood, and I definitely did not degenerate into a street fighter myself.

Therefore, I reiterate that excessive censorship is not required. Violence in media is not bad for children, but it can actually help them in their practical lives. Thank you.

Pros and Cons of Imposing School Uniforms.

By Sania Bilwani

A recent article in The Reader’s Digest states that uniforms are a way of imposing discipline and equality in schools. But to what extent is that true? Indeed, some people argue in favour of uniforms but it is also worth noting that uniforms may strip people of their individuality and confidence.

Supporters of uniform claim that it sets equal standard for every pupil. There are some people who may not be able to afford lavish clothes or accessory to express themselves. In that situation,students who are less fortunate than others may find themselves stand out. In some cases, its is argued, they may also be shunned and even
bullied for they are deemed 'different'. This is a direct blow to student's confidence and self esteem.

Since different schools have different uniforms, it is also thought that each school uniform represents its own school. Pupils of the same school may therefore feel united. This is illustrated in sport's competition. This is where students from a variety of schools support their own school mates and demonstrate their loyalty to the school. Thus, uniforms raises school spirits and ensures that all students unite as one when faced with competition.

Another argument that favours the imposition of uniforms stresses how they may become a source of discipline. The administration of the school is able to exert control over their students. They are expected to dress in a certain way and it trains them for the future. While wearing the school uniform, they are expected to behave well and uphold their school's honour for any misconduct reflects badly on the school. This point may further be highlighted through an example of the military where uniforms and thus discipline is strictly enforced.

On the other hand, opponents of the argument insist on the fact that other institutions like prisons, hospitals, and mental intuitions also have uniforms. Not only does this create feelings of claustrophobia and a sense of feeling 'trapped', but also puts forward an unfavourable impression. From my own personal experience, I can
provide an example of when I was send to a local community centre to spend some time with orphans. Instead of opening up to us, these children were frightened of us and thought us to be from a hospital because of the uniforms we wore.

Furthermore, another argument emphasises how students are unable to express themselves. They may start thinking they are 'just another face in the crowd', for they are forced to dress alike. This may strip them of their own self esteem. While other people argue that uniforms impose equality and strengthen the school spirit it is actually thought that too much control may also start a rebellion. If students are unable to express themselves they may rebel in any other way they can. For example, students bringing fancy hand bags to schools that
clash with the dull colour of the uniforms.

Expensive shoes and numerous accessories are also example of how students may try to express themselves instead. In addition, students may vent their frustrations by trying to ensure that their school's honour is in fact not upheld by smoking outside of school in their uniforms. This may go unnoticed by the school administration but the fact remains that it actually does not impose discipline as was originally thought by the school.

All these arguments highlight the pros and cons of imposing school uniforms on hapless students. While some may think uniforms are a way of enforcing equality and discipline, on the other hand, I personally believe that it may become a source of rebellion and discomfort for the students and should therefore not be enforced.

The Sahara Desert.

By Najia Navaid

This travel article is written to enlighten its readers about the comforts as well as the difficulties that the Sahara Desert has to offer. It is also an attempt to remove preconceptions in the readers' minds about the Sahara Desert. The readers are mostly those who want to travel to the the Sahara Desert or are interested in travelling and foreign places. The tone of the passage is awed and appreciative in some places and concerned in others. The writer makes use of powerful words and contrast to intrigue the reader's mind.

The writer starts off by immediately saying that to travel to the Sahara Desert, one needs to change their way of thinking. The desert is one wide expanse of sand and dust which creates mirages. The traveler should not be hoodwinked by by its appearance for there is much else lying in wait to ensnare one who is unsuspecting. The writer personifies sunlight and says that it 'tricks' the traveler into seeing things; like a con man, it is luring travelers into a trap. The writer also poses a warning: 'one mistake and you could vanish forever'. The desert is a dangerous place.

The writer goes on to tell the reader about his own experience. The 'dusty backwater' gives the impression of scarcely maintained Sahara services. The writer's eagerness to make the trip 'entirely by camel' shows how enthusiastic he was to fully sink into the lifestyle of the people of the desert. Words like 'incredible' and 'golden sand dunes' create an impression of majesty and the reader feels awed.

The way the guide 'expressed his gratitude' shows the reader that the people love the desert in spite of the hardships it offers and would welcome with open arms those who truly care about it. The writer's 'guilt' for traveling in the 4WD tells us that he cares and doesn't want to harm the environment. The 'once-fertile' land that has been 'consumed' tells us that the sand is slowly taking over, like a slow creeper that climbs up a wall and makes it crumble.

The next paragraph is a contrast to the difficult travel. The fruit of the sacrifice. The writer tells us that after a long and tiring journey , he camped at a 'cushy bivouac'. The 'giant fire-pit', the 'grand' tent and the 'comforts' show us that the sand doesn't hold people back. They enjoy the luxuries of life as well. The people come across as resilient and those who make the best out of the situation they are in. The tents assembled in a 'circle to block sandstorms' show that the people are used to the weather and precautions like these are second nature to them. However the writer feels that the people are helping him 'survive'. He finds the desert to be harsh outside the sanctuary of the surrounding tents. This also shows the contrast between the writer and the natives. For the writer, it is a struggle against the might of nature.

The writer once again expresses his concern for the well-being of the desert and asks rhetoric questions. He makes a contrast yet again by saying that the 'powerfully rugged desert' is actually 'delicate' and 'fragile'.

The next paragraph sees advice that the writer gives to potential travelers of the Sahara. He calls simple pleasures like 'beer and wine' luxuries, telling us that either the quality was really good or else he was too tired after traveling and the simplest things seemed heavenly to him.

The writer ends by praising the people and saying that 'still these people manage to sustain themselves' and expresses his astoundment at how they manage to survive. He also hints that he would like to visit again and that next time, h would experience the Sahara's 'greatest luxury' which is silence.

The Clown

By Najia Navaid

Chapter One

Ahmad wanted to murder his boss.

When he had applied for the job, he had specifically mentioned that he was looking for a career in management, not entertainment.

He slammed his hand hard against the steering wheel and then cursed himself as the car swerved towards the pavement. But what else was I expecting anyway? he thought viciously. It's not like someone up there is watching out for me.

He drove recklessly; not a surprise, considering the fact that one could almost see the smoke coming out of his ears. The car screeched to a halt in front of Number Seven, Zamzama Street. Ahmad looked up at the house - or rather, mansion - and the scowl on his face deepened.

Rich people and their snobby brats. He got out of the car and slammed the door shut. He walked around the car to the trunk and pulled out the bag which held his costume. After casting one look at his tiny, beat up car, he turned away and walked up the mosaic pavement lined with hydrangeas to the patio. He looked at the ornate door handle and dread tightened around his chest like iron bands. He could hear screaming and the pattering of feet.

He took a deep breath, counted to ten, and pressed his finger to the buzzer.

***

"No, Rayyan, you have to wait until everyone is here!" Mrs. Sherdil was in a state of distress. Her son's friends were running all over the place and already one of the priceless vases lay in pieces on the floor.

"But Mama, I want my presents now!" Rayyan screamed as his mother rushed past him, calling out orders to the help. He couldn't believe that his mother had told him off for the broken vase. It was all Sadia's fault; she had pushed him.

Mrs. Sherdil looked helplessly at her son who was now throwing a fit on the antique carpet, and then decided to let him be. Instead, she answered the doorbell.

The man standing on the doorstep took her breath away. He was tall with russet hair that was standing up every which way. His eyes were azure, a shade she had always been fascinated by. But what made the man really attractive as the way his eyebrows were furrowed. Mrs. Sherdil could tell that he was thinking deep thoughts and in spite of herself, she giggled.

"Are you Mrs. Sherdil? I'm the -" the man hesitated for half a second. "- clown."

"Oh!" Mrs. Sherdil's eyes widened to the size of saucers. "Oh, of course. Come in, do!"

The man stepped over the threshold and his eyes appraised his surrounding with an almost bored look. He was holding a large duffel bag which Mrs. Sherdil supposed held all his props and costumes.

She led the man to a broom closet.

"Go on," she chirped. The man looked at her as if she were crazy.

"What am I supposed to do in here?"

"Change your clothes of course! You can't entertain the kids wearing that!" She gestured to his scruffy clothes with a gesture of her hand. Her diamond ring glinted. She thought she saw irritation cloud the man's face briefly. Was it something she said?

"Alright. Give me twenty minutes." The man stepped inside the tiny storage room and slammed the door in her face.

***

Ahmad looked down at his sickeningly bright costume and almost threw up. It was a jumper suit with bright orange and green polka dots against a yellow background. His face looked as white as a newly painted wall.

"If Edward Cullen could see me now," he muttered to himself. He carefully painted triangles over his eyes and fumbled through his bag for the bright red balloon that was his nose. After surveying his face in the small cosmetic mirror, he snapped it shut and stuffed it inside his bag. He did not want to go out there. He just knew that the woman with the platinum blonde hair was timing his appearance - if the way she had been sneaking looks at him was any indication. Probably a dead marriage, he thought bitterly.

He could hear the clatter of dishes through the wall from what he assumed was the kitchen, and the sound of children running around screaming made Ahmad want to escape. He heard a balloon burst and a child started to wail. Obnoxious spoilt brats.

He looked down at himself one last time, put a trick flower into his pocket and took several deep breaths to steady himself.

"Show time," he muttered and then pushed the door open.

SUCCESS- HOW CAN YOU ACHIEVE IT?

By Camilla Bawany

Good evening young ladies and gentlemen! As you all stand here eagerly waiting to graduate from your middle school and enter your high school, let me warn you. It's definitely not as easy as you think it is going to be. No longer will your teachers spoon feed you with syllabus requirements, no longer will you be allowed to come in late if you overslept, no longer will the excuse of 'the dog hate my homework' work. Everything will change. You will be adults now.  But along with these changes , something more important will also change too. Your goal. As you enter the real world, you will realize your one and only goal in life : success.

Success is what all human beings want. Yet we fail to realize it during our childhood because we are too engrossed in useless activities as our innocence hides the requirements of this greedy and selfish world. But as we enter adulthood, we slowly and gradually see that everyone's life revolves around success. Everyone needs success. Everyone works for success. Everyone wants success. Yet, not everyone can get success. So what are the ways of achieving success? Are there any ways through which one can garuntee success?

Well, to achieve success, the very first step is to define what success means to you. Not everyone has the same meaning of success, do they? I am sure while I was talking, all of you had different images of success built up in your minds. For one it might be money, for one getting admission into the best university in the world or for one, it might be just becoming the captain of the cheerleading team. So decide. You need to decide. What you want.

After you are done deciding what success means to you, stop running after it. Yes, you have heard it correctly- stop running after success. No need to run after it, afterall why should you? You know what you need to run after? Run after the task which defines success for you. Go after that task. Do it. But don't expect any success. Do it again. But don't expect any success. You need to keep doing it. But don't expect any success.

Success will eventually itself come to you. That is a promise. When you aim towards hard work and perfection, success automatically comes running after you. No need to go anywhere, no need to ask for it, no need to cry for it. It will just come. And if it doesn't , it means you still aren't doing your job the way it is supposed to be.

I will also warn you about something most people don't . Do not go for success which someone else wants for you. Your parents, your friends, your family. No. Do not listen to what they want you to achieve. Listen to yourself. Think about what you want and then work for it, not what others want for you. For example , ten years from now if you see yourself as a dancer and your parents see you as a doctor, make sure you show them the picture you have about your future. Do not ever replace your picture with theirs'. If you do, trust me success won't even come anywhere near you.

Finally, my friends, I shall end my speech with one last advice. Love your work, love your dreams. If you don't love what you want the you won't ever love the work you have to do achieve it. Hence even if you get success by any chance, it won't lead to the ultimate goal of each and every human being- happiness. So follow life in three simple steps: work, success, happiness. Thank you! 

The Wedding

By Lynette Rodrigues

Write a contrasting descriptive piece (between 300-450words each) about a wedding. One of them is about an enjoyable experience; the other is about an experience which is not enjoyable. In your writing, you should bring out clear contrast in setting and atmosphere.

Enjoyable Wedding Experience:

“From this moment as long as I live, I will love you....From this moment on,” sings the girl in the floral blue dress. Her melodious voice fills the hall as the bride and bridegroom dance to their first dance in the new chapter of their life. Colorful stripped paper and sequence burst out in delight above them from the bride and bridegrooms statue. The paper twirls in the air as though dancing to the energy in the candle light room.

               

As the little girl watches, her eyes sparkle at the scene in front of her. The music puts her in a trance, swaying her body, making her feet tap to its beat. The good cheer in the room unconsciously draws a smile on her cherubic face as she runs towards the crowd to get a closer look at the bride.

               

The bride twirls across the wooden dance floor, her groom always there to catch her. Her delicate, hearty laughter adds to the fairytale of the scene. She looks at her husband, their eyes meeting in laughter. Nothing else seems to matter; not the silk wedding gown whose trail is sweeping the floor, nor the sprig of flowers that seems to jump on her simply designed hair as she glides across the floor.

               

As the dancing comes to an end, the crowd, intoxicated with merriment, moves towards the round tables to sit. Each table is covered with a cloth matching that of the chairs with it. Broad purple ribbons too can be seen tied on the chairs which add that sense of celebration that is seen at weddings.

               

Even the little girl seems to find decorations to her liking. Purple balloons decorate the Greek style pillars of the room. They frolick with the slight breeze that enters the hall, upon the arrival of a new guest. The bride picks out a balloon from the pillar and gives the girl with a smile before her husband and she move towards each table to welcome their guests.

Experience which was not enjoyable:

The jarring music floods the room where the bride and bridegroom sit. Her eyes burn as the overwhelming lights hit them. Red lights, orange lights, green lights, they all cover the room in an almost menacing manner, like that of a dictator ready to ruin one’s life.

               

As the bride sits, she tries to let her eyes become accustomed to the light. Her head sways due to the heavy jewelry that adorns her delicate, slim, fragile body because of the wedding. She tries to smile but she is unable to because of all the makeup that shrouds her.

               

The guests pay no attention to the red beauty sitting in silence. They are more interested in a dance being performed by the grooms sister and friends.

“WOHOOO!” they scream, their voice being drowned by the blaring dance music.

Some children are seen running around, jumping, kicking, “Thud!” a plate falls from a child’s hand, but no one notices. The child quietly kicks it under the table and skips away.

               

She waits, as she cannot move around freely, for someone to come and talk to her. It is her day after all, IS it NOT? But no one comes. She contents herself with looking at her guests rushing towards the bouquet. Plates are piled up, rice topped with curry, topped with salad and shami kababs, topped with pudding. They wallop it down, like hunters after a week’s failed hunt. They gossip in loud voices about what is wrong with the wedding, about the lack of heavy embroidery on her scarlet red gown, about the lack of variety of food.

She looks at them with eyes glistening. The garish dressed clothes that scream out their pompous nature, the fashionable outfits that do not care about personal comfort, the lips that do not care about people’s feelings.

     

She tries to move, but alas, she is unable to. It is her day. Her prison.

Forbidden

By Alisha Sethi

With Christmas approaching fast, the scene at the North Pole was one of havoc and hysteria. Reindeers were excercising to build up strength for all the long journeys they would soon have to undertake ; Santa's helpers (the elves) were busy manufacturing goods in the factories; and last but not the least the Santas were sorting out their Wish Lists.Wish Lists were mailed to them early November and now the Santas were busy planning their itineraries, which house to visit first which to visit last and all that. However in the midst of all this madness, sat Martin, a most unhappy Santa, sulking in the corner of his cubicle. He had been in service for twenty years now, twenty long years of delivering presents and having kids pull his beard but not once had he been appreciated. Not once had he been made Star of the Year. He was fed up of his job, his life and the same monotonous routine that took place every year. Each year Martin's mind would race through the endless career alternatives that waited out there, he was not quite sure what they were but he knew that there were many and he knew that they HAD to be more exciting than being a Santa. He had been thinking of resigning since quite a while now but because of the severe consequences of leaving the profession, he just couldn't bring himself to do it. People didn't just become Santas, either you were born into the profession or you weren't, and he,Martin, was born a Santa. His ancestors had been Santas too, he couldn't just pack up his bags and leave. It was Forbidden.

On the 26th of November 2011, a miracle happened. His colleague,who had been with him in service since the start, couldn't remember his name.Ralph, looking around for an intern to deliver files to the office of the Head,saw Martin sitting at his desk and asked him if he was new. Upon looking at the appalled look on Martin's face, Ralph realized that he was mistaken and then made several attempts to recall Martin's name. Morris, Mickey and others were tried in vain before Ralph finally slammed the files on Martin's desk and told him, whoever the hell he was, that he wanted the files delivered to the Head right away. 

Something snapped inside Martin.

Suddenly all of the reasons why he couldn't, why she shouldn't, leave his job flew out of his mind and a wave of anger and determination took over. Fury raced through his veins and clouded all sense of reason. He marched up to the office of the Head, but not with the purpose of delivering the files.

Without knocking on the door, as required by unspoken and unwritten rules he banged open the door.

" That's it! I've had enough! I'm done! I want to resign NOW!", yelled Martin.

The Head, Sir Christopher Jones, looked taken aback at first due to the hard,blazing look on Martin's face, but then within a few seconds of the outburst, he regained his usual calm demeanor. 

" Excuse me? ", Sir Christopher said.

Martin retorted that what the Head had heard in the first go was right, that he, Martin was sick of being a Santa and wanted an out. Then without waiting for any further questions, Martin went on to narrate how much he loathed being invisible and doing a meaningless job.  The Head listened patiently and waited for Martin to finish, however after all the endless complaining was done all that came out of Sir Christopher's mouth was a simple ' No '. He told the elf sitting in the corner of the room to escort Martin out of the room. The elf, copying his boss' smug and sarcastic smile took an entirely bewildered looking Martin out of the room and then slammed the door on his face.

Though it was clear that the Head wanted Martin to forget the conversation ever happened, it was very difficult to do so. Not only had Martin not given up but also the constant whispering and muttering that always surrounded him these days made it very hard for him to put that little outburst out of his mind.He was greeted by stiff looks wherever he went. He could sense people pointing at him behind his back, referring to him as the traitor' or the rebel , the person who dared to go against tradition. Every Santa felt honoured to be part of a family which had for years engaged in a 'noble profession' and since Martin on the contrary loathed his ancestors for forcefully deciding his future the moment he was born, he was the Oddity. A disgrace to all Santas. Rumours quickly spread suggesting reasons why Martin could possibly want to leave service, some, the wackier ones, involved him wanting to be a disco dancer at a shabby pub instead.  His reindeers, who he thought for years to be his loyal friends, had also turned their backs on him. One of them actually assaulted Martin.

However Martin's sense of determination had not left him. He turned a blind eye and deaf ear to all the disapproval that surrounded him and worked on his plan with renewed vigour. His plan involved the father of the only kid that Martin had grown to like over the years. The father, Rupert, was a nutty scientist. When they had met last Christmas, Rupert had told Martin that he was working on a machine that could go anywhere in the world within a few minutes. The machine,which was called Rocker 007, was going to be complete roughly around the end of 2011. One phone call was all that was needed to put his plan in action. 

Exactly a week before Christmas when everyone was so busy that they had even forgotten to gossip about Martin, something rather starnge happened. The elves,busy in loading prepapred packages into trunks, noticed the sky grow darker.  The sudden lack of light was felt by many others who left whatever they were doing and turned to look up at the sky to discover a possible source of obstruction for the sun. And then they saw it. A flying rocket, atleast thats what it looked like, was coming down upon the North Pole fast. The moment it touched the ground all went dark and there was lots of screaming to be heard. The darkness though left as quickly as it came, and once the crowd had accustomed themselves to the sudden light they saw something which made their eyeballs pop. Martin, with a man on his side, was sitting in a machine full of what appeared to be suitcases. Then suddenly, a puff of smoke emerged from the engine of the machine and left a message in the sky:


                                                           SO LONG LOSERS!

The sound of Martin's evil laughter, echoed loud and clear in the ears of the baffled community of the North Pole.

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By Nimrah Nadeem

The boy crouches in the dark of the giant’s broom cupboard, waiting with bated breath. The pins and needles in his cramped legs grow almost unbearable, and he longs to change his position. His heart feels like it’s beating a tattoo against his ribcage. He feels a ripple of panic as the giant’s voice booms, heavy with suspicion. He shrinks further into the shadows, grateful that his face is smeared with dirt.

She winks at her husband and points and the broom cupboard discreetly.

“How big is this one?” he mouths.

She shows him with her thumb and forefinger. He can hear the boy’s heart thudding violently, and his mouth twists into a slow, cruel smile.

“Fee, fie, fo, fum…” he begins, grinning at his wife, who shakes her head in mock disapproval.

Lé Chocolat

By QuratulAin Rashid

Q: Compare a person to an item of food. (150 words)

Like a piece of cake, she sits at the edge of a counter of a bar, waiting to be devoured.

Her hair is long and curly, like the ruffles of dark chocolate on a moist and melt-in-your-mouth, slender slice of cake. With her dark and delicate fingers, she slowly mixes her drink. Her gold bracelet gleams like gems of hazelnut praline on a dark surface.

Shes crosses her silky smooth legs and pulls down her little black dress. He looks at her from the corner of his eyes. There is a roughness about her, a bitterness.

"Can I help you?" she asks him.

There is a sweetness in her voice, a layer of light chocolate cake as the base for a decent layer of rich chocolate mousse.

He looks into her eyes, and smiles.

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By Najia Navaid

Q. Describe a person in terms of food and also include an appropriate simile.

Honey loves to cook. It is not so much the pleasure of eating as it is whipping up a new concoction from the most surprising ingredients. How do you do it? her friends ask, as she serves them slices of her famous sponge cake in which are embedded cumin-sized pieces of orange rind which leave a bittersweet taste in the mouth that lingers for hours. Honey's candy floss hair rests on her shoulders and her sausage-like fingers are curled around the handle of her rolling pin. At the praise, her heart swells, like the bread in the oven, and her caramel eyes sparkle. Her apron spell out 'kiss the cook' and is tied around her dumpling-like body: soft and round. Her complexion is creamy and her cheeks look as if they have been dabbed with cherry sauce. The kitchen smells like vanilla and sugar and so does she. And her friends know that when they leave, they will feel like turkeys on Thanksgiving - stuffed.

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By Lynette Rodrigues

Q. A setting that creates a sense of claustrophobia.

Panting Lynette stopped almost unable to breathe. A fog descended on her mind, rendering her unable to see. She anxiously scrutinized the place she was standing in but an empty blot of colour hit her eyes. The tunnel she had entered was never-ending going on and on and on in its garish oppressive paint. She crawled on her hands and feet grazing them in her febrile desire to find a way out.

Her team-mates had noticed her panicked disposition. The beads of sweat trickling down her

forehead. They said nothing but moved on, past her, to victory. She was surrounded by smooth, thick, windowless walls that caved in on her. The stench of the damp tunnel overwhelmed her nostrils. Her lips pressed together unconsciously licking the sour lemon balm. Voices from her mind reverberated in the tunnel with their shrill desperate chants of Help me! Save Me!

But all the response she got was the heavy thudding of her heart.

V Files: Chapter 8 - Mystery Unveiled.

By Sama Khwaja.

The minute those words escaped her lips, an electric jolt shot through her body, sending her thoughts awry as if on rewind. Images of her younger self flashed across her mind along with glimpses of Alicia Crescent and Samuel Templeton. The very process sensitized her nerves painfully and she staggered backwards while clutching her head.

‘Dee, what’s wrong?’ River said in alarm when he saw her pained expression.

‘I don’t know,’ she gasped as the pain slowly ebbed away to be replaced with confusion. What had just happened anyway?

The walkie-talkie on River’s belt suddenly crackled to life.

‘River?’ Adriana’s voice rang out in the desolate church. ‘River, where are you? I don’t care if you’re ignoring us but get back to HQ! Rhett’s orders! We’ve finally figured out what the GroundUnders are after! We’re in Omega!’

As trained soldiers, they packed their feelings away and focused on the fulfilling the given command. Upon entering Omega, the inhabitants gazed suspiciously at the two. Keido, who was positioned behind the enormous computer, smirked at Destiny.

‘What you got, Keido?’ Destiny asked, ignoring everyone’s stare.

‘Rhett, isn’t there something you would like to say?’ William put in, giving him a sideways glance. Rhett’s face colored slightly but he cleared his throat and gave Destiny his usual stern and cold expression.

‘The file you brought us,’ he uttered impassively. ‘Turned out to be exactly what we needed to piece the puzzle together.’

‘You should be glad I insisted on studying it, Rhett,’ Keido said casually as he opened a file on the screen. Rhett gave him a murderous glare. The file he had opened unfolded to reveal window upon window of information stamped with ‘FAIL’ in bold, red capital letters. Destiny raised an eyebrow. Why was Alicia so persistent on this experiment when she failed every time she tried? The windows suddenly disintegrated to make space for the image of a dark silhouetted lean creature with bat-like wings. The image shifted to one side as information wrote itself beside it.

‘Ew! What is THAT!?’ Chi cried out and wrinkled her nose.

‘Alicia labeled it as ‘Mage’,’ Keido informed.

‘Mage…’ Destiny murmured and a familiar tingling returned to her skull. Something was trying to surface in her mind but it was like she was pushing it down while simultaneously trying to wrench it free.

‘Mage was a segment of Hova,’ Keido read off the screen. ‘Which the scientists had obtained when they severed off a piece from her. It mutated into Mage, a life-form more powerful, more destructive and definitely more unstable than Hova.’

Tito grunted while Gear whistled low.

‘Because of its unstable nature,’ Keido continued. ‘It couldn’t be exposed to the Earth’s environment without causing a nuclear explosion. But if encased in a unit that can withstand Earth conditions, Mage would be invincible.’

‘Is that what the experiments were for?’ Adriana said in a hushed tone. ‘They used…’

‘At least thirteen humans died while the others went insane,’ Keido said gravely, his frame rigged. ‘And I’m not even counting the animals used. But here’s the worst news: they finally succeeded in sealing Mage. It was Alicia Crescent and Samuel Templeton who did the honours.’

At that moment, something shattered inside Destiny. Her eyes widened in realization as she covered her mouth to stop herself from vomiting. The experiments. All those bloody experiments were…

‘Destiny?’

She looked up to see a concerned River reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. She flinched and jumped back to step on Adriana’s foot.

‘OW! DESTINY!’ she howled and clutched her foot. Everyone looked at them distractedly.

‘Yo, Dee, you okay?’ Tito queried.

‘I…I can’t breathe…need air,’ Desinty managed to stammer as she scrambled out of the room.

‘Probably weirded out by this stuff. I know I would be,’ Chi said knowingly.

The Africa Passage

By Muhammad Saad Hussain

In this passage, which is a hybrid of a journal and a travel article, the writer describes his first experience of visiting Africa and strives to remove the various preconceptions that the people of the world, particularly Americans and Europeans, have about it. His tone varies from dramatic at first, to admiring and conversational in the middle and awestruck and persuasive towards the end. The writing techniques that are most evident in this passage are personification, the usage of contrast and similes and alliteration.

In the first paragraph the writer describes the African sunrise in a dramatic fashion. He personifies the sun, in the words “leaping”, “ambushes”, “glaring” and “slaps”, and portrays it as a vicious and cruel creature. The writer also uses an allusion and describes the sun as a “huge, glaring Cyclops”, a one eyed monster from Greek Mythology.

In the second paragraph a contrast is made between the African day and a day in Europe. The usage of words such as “seemly”, “demure”. “politesse” and “subtleties”, as well as a listing of pastel shades of colour in line 12 portray a European sunrise as gentle and civilized. However, each sentence in this paragraph is preceded by a “no” or a “none” which emphasise the harshness of the African environment. This is clearly evident in line 15 when even the soothing relaxation of an afternoon siesta is denied to the reader.

The description of the African sunrise comes to an end in paragraph three. Personification is again used in the form of the words “leaps”, “glaring”, “leering” and “daring” which serve to highlight the sun’s portrayal as a monster. The paragraph begins with a sudden, emphatic “No” and along with the simile comparing the sun to a jack in the box, they create an image of a beast suddenly coming out and shocking the reader.

In the fourth paragraph, the readers are introduced to the sun’s one great enemy, shade. The repetition of the word “shade”, as well as the usage of hyphens in line 20 forces the reader to pause and focus on the dramatic showdown. The writer shows the variety of regions that are under the sun’s domain by giving examples of a “nomad’s tented roof” and “verandahed pavements”. The monstrous portrayal of the sun continues through the usage of the words “detests”, “suck”, “pound”, and “stalk”.

The writer’s tone becomes one of admiration in the next paragraph as he comments on the resilience of the people and things that live in Africa. The repetition of “still” in line 28 gives the impression of overcoming obstacles. There is a usage of contrast in the words “accidental” and “learned” which are used to explain the reason behind the elegant movement of the Africans.

In the sixth paragraph the writer’s tone becomes conversational and also slightly condescending towards Europeans as he compares them to the Africans. His usage of words such as “effortless”, “elegance” and “poise” to describe the Africans demonstrate his opinion of them. This is in sharp contrast to the list of adjectives he uses in line 33 to describe the Europeans whilst creating an image of clumsiness.

African women are depicted in the seventh paragraph in an awed and admiring tone. Similes are used to compare them to models, ballerinas and even to majestic black statues of liberty. A list is used in line 36 to emphasise the burdens that these women can bear. However, in contrast to those burdens, the words “propelling” and “lullaby sway” make it seem as if this is effortless to them.

The wide variety of African landscapes is described in paragraph eight. After mentioning these varied vistas, the writes uses irony in the form of the words “a landscape of nothing” to show that the people of the world don’t care about all of this. The “solitary figure” that is mentioned is actually a reference to the isolated African people who struggle to survive on their own and are forgotten by others.

The writer’s tone becomes persuasive in the ninth paragraph as he highlights all the aspects of Africa, the good one as well as the bad ones. The paragraph starts out with a description of the bad aspects but goes on to list all the good things that are present. A list is used in lines 52 to 54 to point out everything that Africa has to offer which very few people actually know or care about.

The final sentences of the passage contain a contrast between the words “dark” and “luminous”. The emphatic “No” in the first sentence serves to abolish the negative misconceptions that are present about Africa while the second sentence emphasises all of its good characteristics that are usually ignored.

Personal Statement

By Souha Khan

The first time I understood the true meaning of the word ‘fear’ was when I stood on the edge of the pool of Induruwa Beach Resort in Bentota, Sri Lanka. If it hadn’t been for the “10ft deep” markings on the frigid marble floor beside my foot, the water could have easily been 50ft deep. It lay there motionless and seemingly endless like a patient predator. I stood, in the dark of the night, stripped down to my costume, staring at the bottomless demon with nothing to hold on to but a sense of terror yet silent desire. While my family peacefully slept upstairs in our hotel room with not a single clue of where I was or that I was about to attempt the most reckless act of my life, one that would change me in ways I never could have contemplated.

For as long as I can remember I have been incredibly stubborn. I have been told time and again that I have a mind of my own. Most people would call it ‘rebellious’ I prefer ‘determined’. Therefore it will not come as a surprise that the day my father stopped the car because of the commotion at the side of the road while on a road trip in Sir Lanka five years ago, I stepped out and impudently followed him even though he specifically a told my sister and I to stay in the car. As inquisitive as I was, I needled my way through the crowd after him. The image of what I saw that day remains to this moment so vivid that if asked to paint a picture, I would do so down to the very minute details including the folds in the shirt and the crevices in the man’s bloated skin who had drowned and whose body had washed up on the rocks at the base of the cliff on top of which we stood. Needless to say seeing something like that leaves an impact on you, but I would soon realize how grave the impact was for me.

Standing barely 3 inches away from the daunting dark water with no clue how to swim except for the basics I had been taught in the kiddy pool, there was chaos in my mind. Voices reverberated off the back of my head, warning me of the risk I was taking. I shut them out, absolute silence followed. Kick, circle, peddle; kick, circle, peddle, chanting these words to my self I mustered up all the strength I had and dove head first into the deep freezing water. Somehow I managed to complete an entire lap of the pool, 10 ft and all. How? It still puzzles me to this day.

I learned in that moment that the worst thing that can stand in your way is fear of fear itself. The exhilaration of triumph triggered a part of my personality that night, a part that has gone on to do daring acts; bravely taken on challenges, for instance stopping at a road accident site and helping with the limited basic first-aid knowledge I have from Indus Hospital seminars; taking on the responsibility of twenty children while volunteering at the SOS Village, aware of the risks involved when we take them out on a ferry; things I never would have done otherwise.

That day remains to be the day I learned how to swim and the first of many where I found myself asserting my newfound independence and sense of, what’s the word? Invincibility. It is this very attitude that helped me push through tough situations. Skeptical times, when people would doubt if I could handle being a part of the student council, the debating club, the throw ball team and maintain good grades, back in eleventh grade, was when my hunger to discover unfamiliar territory and explore uncharted waters proved most useful. I choose to learn as much as I can today and not fear striking out tomorrow.

I am no longer afraid of the unknown; I do not dread taking risks, learning something new, learning EVERYTHING new. I would rather experiment and conclude than play it safe and miss out on the chance to be original. Just like I would rather dive head first into mysterious forbidding waters than walk on the edge with the constant fear that I might, one day, fall in.

Personal Statement

By Misal Shujjat

My mother almost died when I was nine years old. I’d had a very adventurous childhood before that; I fell down the rabbit hole with Alice, flew on a broomstick with Harry Potter, climbed the beanstalk with Jack and solved mysteries with Sherlock Holmes but this particular event was like a lightning bolt of reality in the rains of my imagination. It pulled me out of the pages of my books and led to the painful discovery that waving my pencil would not cast the spell I needed to clean the dishes or silence my crying four year old brother when both our parents were at the hospital. But it also led to my discovery that the best way to express all my frustration, fear and helplessness was through creating whole new worlds and characters and burying my problems and beliefs in their speech and actions. It was liberating, therapeutic, addictive.

That was the year I started writing in earnest. Literature had been part of my life ever since I was old enough to listen to my grandmother’s folk tales; her voice willing away the hours of heat filled summer power outages in Karachi with tales of flying carpets and the cool wind in our hair. The rest of my childhood years in Canada, I immersed myself in books, identifying with characters, diving into their worlds when my own got dull and loving the fact that anything seemed possible with them.

Moving back to Pakistan after a decade of living abroad wasn’t unlike being struck by lightning again. I was immediately singled out, teased by my peers for being a bookworm, for having a different accent and an over imaginative mind and the resounding thunderclap came in the form of my father’s nearly life robbing heart attack.

Through the struggles of adjusting to a familiar yet altogether alien culture, dealing with the threatening possibility of losing a parent again, and coming to terms with the realization that reading and creative writing were just not given the same level of importance as the more ‘hardcore’ subjects in my high school, my connection with books and my passion for writing gave me the fire I needed to light the fuel of my determination to prove myself.

I learnt to fight for what I believe in, a trait that later awarded me Prefect ship for three consecutive years and the title of President of Literary and Debating Club. There were always parallels to be made between my world and my beloved characters; the societal norms I was expected to act on were similar to those in the worlds of Jane Austen’s heroines, the political mayhem around me poignantly Shakespearean. I didn’t lose myself in these fictional worlds, falling out of touch with reality like I was accused of on so many occasions; I learnt from them and used my knowledge to shape my own unique views.

My craving for a formal classroom environment where I could hone my talent wasn’t satisfied until I transferred to college to complete my A levels and was presented with a faculty devoted to literature. I could finally stretch the canvas of my imagination further than I’d been able to before when I was surrounded by people who understood and shared my passion, added their own coloring to my interpretations. I was still fighting for what I believed in but instead of fighting for literature I was arguing about it; from history to politics and philosophy. Their company was like the first rain after a tiring dry spell; refreshing. That’s how I imagine my university life to be like.

Personal Statement

By Rahima Sohail

When I was younger I was absolutely terrified of heights.

When I was 11, I climbed up a park swing. It involved climbing a ladder to the top, jumping into the skylight and dropping onto a trampoline several feet below. Clearing my head, I climbed all the way to the top. Needless to say freefall wasn’t my thing. I looked down below and realized how high up I was; looking behind I saw no other kids climbing the ladder – I decided to back down. I saw no point anyway. It wasn’t like someone was going to come out and give me a medal or a certificate for accomplishing this feat. But as I was climbing back down, I realized I was denying myself an experience I’d never had before. Life’s greatest achievements aren’t measured in medals and certificates; knowing that I didn’t give up would be much more satisfying than going home and wondering how it must feel – to let go of all control.

So I closed my eyes and jumped. It was exhilarating. A scraped knee was forgotten as I basked in my new found courage.

Ever since that day, I’ve let myself fall. As a result I’ve overcome my inner fears. I’ve signed up for debating and elocution sessions. For basketball and poetry recitals. Everything I wouldn’t do. The knowledge that I won’t win, and that I may end up stuttering like a pro or become grammatically handicapped under the spot light has never stopped me.

I’ve had trouble at school. Lessons were never my strongest point. I’ve had to put in more effort than many other people to get a decent grade. My parents have been called at countless parent teacher meetings to discuss my grades. My desk holds more certificates of participation rather than medals of success. I have tripped over and fallen countless number of times. I have learnt the meaning of success only through these failures. I have learnt to pick myself up and move on ahead while overcoming the obstacles that have come in my way.

I have tested new grounds and let myself fall. I have let myself brush shoulders with failure. I have realized that it is better to fail knowing that you tried. That it is better to experience mortification in front of hundreds of people rather than sitting at home in a corner and hoping for an alternative existence – one where I could be bold enough to survive under public scrutiny. I have realized that it is better to fall a hundred times than to never take a step forward.

Learning from failures is one of the lessons life hopes we learn. My life is constituted of many failures. But it has taught me to take risks and forget what other people may think of me. Brushing shoulders with failure is never easy. Not even when you’ve done many times. Everytime I fail, it hurts me. You never get used to it. But it has prepared me. It has prepared me to expect what I should be expecting in college, and it has taught me how to overcome them.

In many ways life is like a freefall. You jump and you don’t know what to expect. You don’t know what awaits you at the end, or even in the middle. All you can do is close your eyes and take that leap of faith. I have.

Personal Statement

By Mahin Shamsi.

With every “tuck” of the cart as it climbed the initial rise, my anticipation grew. My heartbeat quickened and adrenaline raced through me. As I neared the top, I held my breath eager for the fall. I was embarking on my journey through a maze of metal twisted into the most gut wrenching path one could imagine. The sheer excitement that I felt at that point could not be put into words. Because looking at the climbs, the falls and the loops, I still new I’d come off unharmed. The speed at which I would navigate through them gave me goose bumps. And the physics of it all absolutely fascinated me.

For me, the love for roller coasters went a lot deeper than satisfying the thrill seeker within, it grew on my obsession with mechanics. The feeling of weightlessness as you loop the loop was just a tickle in the tummy for most, but a question for me. How? Why? It was questions like this and many more that drove me to read beyond my years to quench my thirst for answers. Every time I learnt something new I would rush to my father, and spill it all out without the use of punctuation marks. He recognized the passion in me, as it mirrored his own. With encouragement from both my father and grandfather, I eventually found myself madly in love with physics. During lessons images formed in my head and I visualized what we were being taught. The concepts would then be etched into my brain. Never did I find it difficult to understand and never was it unable to hold my attention.

The eagerness to learn more about physics fed on my thrill seeking nature. It urged me to try things most could consider unsafe, but physics promised my survival. And clinging to that promise I had the most exhilarating learning experiences. One of which took place at the Franklin Institute Science center; three stories above their main gallery when I took on the challenge of bicycling on a tight rope. They provided a complete rationalization as to how what I was about to attempt was completely safe. But there is always that initial moment of hesitation. It was overcome by the thought that the laws of physics would not fail me. And in the worst case scenario I would fall onto the netting below. And the experience itself was so satisfying that those five minutes meant more to me than most my days did. Five minutes of something rendered completely irrational by your brain at first can be quite liberating when you come off safe and sound, your faith reaffirmed. The faith that makes you risk physical injury because you can hear it yell “you know this will work.”

The same voice of faith pushed me off the edge of a cliff to observe the life from a broader lens. Looking down at the world from a height of 18,000 feet while you’re suspended in the air by a crafted piece of fabric changes your perspective on things. That day I learnt two important life lessons. Firstly, I learned the power of faith and how it can lead you into doing the most bizarre things but also give you the magical and life changing experiences. Secondly, when you look at the bigger picture, the silver lining finds you.

Today the same voice encourages me to follow my heart in the pursuit of mechanics; a field my society has reserved for men. But I have been told that the only way to be truly successful is to do what you love. And as I step into a primarily male dominated field, I know the challenges that will face me, but I want to go in headfirst and come out victorious. I want to go to college to earn a degree in mechanical engineering but I want to come out as much more than someone with a shining resume, I want to be a well rounded member of society and implement by knowledge into giving back to the world that provides my sustenance. My dream is to attend a school that has the ability to turn raw passion into something wonderful, something beneficial, and helps me apply it to practical life.

Tribute

By Mahin Shamsi

I'd like to write a tribute to Aakash Dharma.

Aakash was the head boy i only new by name for the first couple of
months in lyceum. Till the urdu drama rehearsals rolled around. While
I still have little respect for him as a headboy (I witnessed him
napping on the bench with the gown as his pillow) a strong friendship
was forged between us due to the drama. We had our rough patches but I
can honestly say I'm really going to miss seeing him in school. Also
his indecent sense of humor due to which I had to justify my innocence
to him. But Aakash knows I'm not the bad one (I hope you get this
Aakash)