My English Essay Book...

Yesterday was another room cleaning session. And this time my maa decided it has to be my study table. What with term coming to an end and exam fever all around. So when I was clearing the heaps of papers, books, writing tools…one thing never ceases to amaze me is the amount of things that can lay buried. I found some of my drawing books and paper whales and air planes made. No its not like I hadn’t cleared the cabinet since 6th class but id kept it, reminiscence of the fun days (not like im not having fun now, but then the most scary thing that could have happened in life was the Head Mistress writing a note in the skool calender asking my parents to go meet her –which never happened btw)

So I have this special place with all my skool stuff. Like the eraser belonging to my first crush…my paper air plane that stayed air borne for sum 10 seconds…that’s how friendly me n technology can be at the most.…10 seconds...my drawing book, my English Essay Book among other things.

And then I sat going through my writings when I was in 5th Class. And though my vocabulary has improved quiet a bit…my writing style still remains the same. Goofy, inane and pathetic attempt at humour.

And the kind of essays…Im still chuckling. It was the same…again and again and again every single year till we were in class 8. And we wouldn’t even copy the same ol matter. We read me, was a achcha bachcha even bak then :P:P
And I had this really weird crazy habit. Id start off each and every composition of mine with some quote. Most of em would b quotable ones by literary geniuses, some made by me…and then…neeche id write anonymous. Lol till my English teacher said I need not write anon if I made em myself, but just let em be. (COME ON NOW!!! I WAS 10- admitted kids these days are a lot smarter at 10...)

My Mother. Some variation like my grandparents…if the teacher felt like it…
“...I look like her. There is this photo clikd in her childhood, with her holding a doll and there is a picture of me holding a doll in almost the same setting. And we look so similar that it could have been my photo taken in black and white… she is the only one who really understands how I feel like even before I say it. *sigh…those days*
She makes the best rajma chaval in the whole world…. (and the end) I really love my mother and may God bless her. :P

Next came My Hobby.
I love reading. I more than love writing. *lol so u see I more than love writing even now* it is important to have a hobby in life, it gives a person a direction….blah blah blah…
The best part about “My Hobby” is that everyone in da class had their favourite hobby as stamp collection. And you wonder why? Because that was the only composition listed on the hobby in the “Essay Book” present in the library.

A letter to the Head mistress asking for a leave of absence :
Respected Ma’am,
….I am a student of ….blah blah blah…I need a leave of absence for a week so that I can attend my cousin’s wedding. From the second week of august to the last week.
Till date I don’t understand why did we ever have to write a letter to da nun. Not like had I written the letter, she would have granted me “the leave of absence for the same”. Also, I promise that I will more than make up for the classes missed and pass out with flying colours. Yours, sincerely….

A letter to a friend apologizing for returning the class book late. Here again there was some stupid reason why I could return the book and that I was profusely sorry *spelling mistake on the ‘profusely’* for the inconvenience *yep mistake again* caused.

A report for the skool magazine on the open man holes and the nuisance it caused to the residents of the locality during the monsoons.

An autobiography of a coin. Lol, here too some innovative story on how people didn’t like me (the coin) because I wasn’t as shiny and as pretty as the other coins I would jiggle with in the pockets *I still prefer the more shinier ones. These days there r all shiny coins but bak then, the old 1 Re. coin was not as pretty and shiny as the new coin*
And that finally my life is just being passed around. And how I would like a steady and stable life in a piggy bank to forever remain some place permanent *I really wasn’t that good with spellings bak then* but the fact that im money means I have to go around the country being passed from one place to other and one person to the other. And how some people treat money and how dirty I was and that no one ever thought of maybe giving me a wash or something. *God!!!*

A visit to the local market, another letter to a friend telling him/her about your good grades. A report on some community service done...
And so on and so forth...My English Essay Book.