The news channels and the Internet haven’t been able to stop raving about Stephen Hawking’s life and death for a few days now, and yes, Science has lost one of its brightest stars to the Universe. What made Stephen Hawking more of someone we could look up to was that he had lived life, worked and contributed a great deal to our understanding of the universe despite a disease called Amyotrophic Lateral Sclerosis, aka, ALS. This is a progressive disease that slowly robs a person of their voluntary muscle movements, including walking, talking and the like, and people die of respiratory failure once this disease has spread far enough for the brain to lose control over the respiratory muscles, in usually three to five years after the disease has striken. Stephen Hawking lived around 55 years after being diagnosed. Respect.

But this post is not about Stephen Hawking. It’s about ALS. To me, it’s struck closer home, having encountered it in a friend at the ripe old age of six. He was ten. Barely ten.

Ten years ago, in fact, long before ten years ago, around thirteen years ago, my parents bought an apartment in Bangalore. It was newly made, and the neighbour’s boys went to school with me, one in the same class as me, the other, four years older. The older boy couldn’t walk. I remember him being carried in and out of the school bus with his rolly-chair as I called it then, and like everyone else, assumed he had been in an accident or had polio or whatever other mundane explanations we came up with as the six year old shrimps that we were.

I was a regular visitor at their house, the older boy being unable to visit mine, while we traded toy cars and had lenghty discussions about which ones to buy next or who had which car. And the years passed.

Slowly, he lost the use of his arms, left with his wrists, which he learnt to flick to write, and he had to be pulled out of school because there was nobody on the school staff who could – or would help him. But that didn’t stop him, people from the apartment block offered to teach him what they knew, and his mom called up my mom to teach him math, for he was fond of it. I tagged along with mom, played with his brother, traded cars, disturbed him and mom in their labours. He never thought of himself to be different from us. And to us, he was no different either, in fact, I remember fighting for the right to push his rolly-chair for him.

In time, he lost his wrists too, and all he could move was his head. He refused to stop learning math though, and had someone writing for him.

He was twelve when his family took him abroad for better medical attention. Two years after that, me and my family moved out of Bangalore too. I have not heard of him in seven years. Hell, I don’t even know if he’s alive any more. If he is around, reading this perhaps (with a near zero probability though), I hope he hasn’t stopped his pursuits of math. It was only after Stephen Hawking’s death that I realised he had ALS, not an accident or polio or anything else.

His last gift to me was his seventh grade, and very last math textbook, for me to use four years later. I still have it, kept safe in my book rack, and this was the book that fuelled my own liking for math. I even have the last batch of cars I had exchanged some of mine for, now passed down to my brother with a threat that of he loses or damages even one of them, he has had it from me. And my brother has kept them safe, thankfully. Only, I wish I knew where and how he is, or even if he’s alive. I hope he is alive and well, still pursuing math, that wonderful little mathematician who is the sole reason I haven’t let go of math, the sole reason I enjoy and understand the Economics – Math combination so well, unwittingly pushed to a corner of my brain to haunt me years later. To me, us in fact, those who knew him in the apartment block, he wasn’t the kid with ALS, he was, and still is, our own, homegrown Stephen Hawking.

-Severus Snape-



Of things that move in the dark,

The most hideous, of them is the shadow:

Black as ink on a white sheet of paper,

A motley of sizes,  a stalker of sorts,

And hopelessly unfaithful:

It follows it’s owner as long as there’s light,

But is gone as soon as the dark sets in.

-Severus Snape-

A Bit of a Block

It looks a bit cliché to be writing post after post on writer’s block to be very honest. But I really cannot help it, I’m presently stuck in a bit of a block and have no idea what to write. It’s a shame really for my brain to be reacting this way to all the cold coffee I have been downing all day, because cold coffee usually puts my brain to work more effectively than it’s hot counterpart in this weather, and some music (I have had some good rock blaring in my ears for hours now and fear I may go deaf before an idea hits me) as an added bonus. Maybe a novel will do me good, talking of which, I just finished The Picture of Dorian Gray this morning, and totally hated the ending (no, I’m not dishing out spoilers, just in case) and am planning on trying some D H Lawrence (Sons and Lovers perhaps? I don’t know really, I have no experience of D H Lawrence as a novelist, though I have read some of his poetry). That being said, I’ll stop raving and get to work, and maybe I’ll be able to come up with something before I call it a day, and that’s a lot of time, maybe this evening and most of tonight, considering I just woke up from a sizeable nap, and did I mention, I have a straight A mark sheet for the first semester? It’s been a few days I’ve known, bit the excitement’s not worn off yet. I’ve not been labeled the typical nerd yet though, considering I’m barely seen around without my nose buried in a book or a device, or without music pumping into my ears and I do wear glasses, though I’m not fond of them (I got to know I needed them well into my first semester of college, and to those who have last seen me as a schoolgirl without glasses, yes, I wear glasses now, while reading or writing that is, I can’t stand them on my nose all day). It’s my fashion sense and the fact that I rather be seen under the tamarind tree on college campus than in class that keeps the nerd reputation off me. Okay, I’m raving again. I’ll just shut up and go I guess? Ciao!

Severus Snape-



All good things to those who wait-


Don’t wait.

Get out there.

Make a niche.

Find a goal.





All good things to those who work

Not wait.

Change a mind.



-Severus Snape-



Yes, I just called Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice sexist. You say, is a happily ever after necessarily a good marriage? Bennett and Darcy, Eyre and Rochester, both places the man is filthy rich, well mannered and I don’t know how educated. Of the two feminist heroines, Eyre was still more independent, having earned her keep for a long time before marrying, but in the very end if marriage is life and not a mere part of it for the heroines in the question, what’s so feminist about the books, other than the fact that they were way ahead of their times? We don’t live in Victorian England any more for crying out loud, and I’m sure the definition of feminist has changed as well. My point of view, no offence to anyone.

And with that, I’m the most wanted criminal in the English department of the University. Two profs actually thought I was a Litbug (I’m a half baked irrational Economist not a Litbug) and when they realised otherwise, there was an expressed sense of curiosity as to WHY I’m not a Litbug. That being said, I haven’t been seen in any of my English Lit or Calculus classes for a long long time. That’s nine free hours a week for me. That’s nearly two every day for a five day college week. Now, the Prof in charge of the English Lit classes I religiously stay out of is pretty much unhappy that I’m seen under the tamarind tree in front of the canteen with a novel under my nose and rock music (I’ve taken to that lately) blaring in my ears instead of in his class, listening to him. But I really can’t help it- the stories and poetry that’s in the reading material for this course is exactly what I had read as a twelve- thirteen- fifteen- even as an eight or ten year old. So when they’re taught in class, I find myself blatantly asleep on the very first desk right under the Prof’s nose. And the poor man still wants me in class. Funny really, I could do with some more challenging peices.

Calculus is a whole new ball game. The course material for this sem is what I had learnt in high school. Basically what I had to write for 44 per cent of my high school math exams is what I’m writing for 100 per cent of my college exam. And I used to be found daydreaming at the back of the class after having finished off with the assigned problems. Then I got thrown out of the Calculus class not to be seen there for the rest of the semester and spend the time under the tree. I don’t care about that though, I’m scoring round figure 90s or more in Math without much effort, and much rather spend the time finding myself something to do that takes me to the end of my capabilities.

So here I am, a noticed figure in quite a few of my classes and not found in the rest, and one of the top scorers among my peers (plain truth, no bragging), the writer of a blog that’s doing good by my own standards and otherwise a normal teen caught up with life. And I reiterate, yes, I just called Jane Eyre and Pride and Prejudice sexist.

-Severus Snape-



Truth written in poetry.

Poet's Corner

By Charles Robert Lindholm

This Is What They Say,

View original post 17 more words



Not every bad day is permanent,

Not every battle fought is won,

There is no friendship without a fight or two,

But a fight is not fought by only one.

It’s okay to make a mistake I guess,

After all, we are only human,

It’s okay to be angry, sad or deranged,

It’s okay to say ‘I’m done.’

It’s okay to misunderstand I think,

It’s okay if there is no trust,

But it’s not okay if noone tries

And does what everyone must.

It’s okay to be weak sometimes;

To be blown away in but a gust,

‘Cause weakness doesn’t last forever, does it,

If I believe Karma to be just.

It’s okay to break apart I guess,

It’s okay if it’s not forgiveness, but beyond,

I’m okay with, if we don’t talk any more,

But distance does make the heart grow fond.

For what’s in friendship if friends never fought?

What loyalty was ever understood at once?

Whatever was life without a few dragons?

What’s butter to anyone without a few buns?

Sometimes it looks af if I’m angry,

Yes, sometimes it is that I’m mad.

But whoever thought straight with a boiling brain-

I never did and that’s sad.

And I make no claims as who’s a friend,

Neither do I have a place for hate,

I’m not one to harbour an unforgiving heart,

Though I have a brain that never does forget.

I know they say that peace takes time,

But sometimes I think it’s been a bit too long,

For I have made my peace with all that’s been,

Even if it does look like I’m long gone.

Now all that remains is to bide my time,

And give up my wait for a lost cause,

For to me, it looks like things won’t change

From what they are now, a loss.

And no, I don’t want any peace

That is unless you want to talk,

Yes, the guy I actually fought with,

Noone else or I’ll walk.

Oh, I may want to be on good terms again,

I do seem to have a naïve little heart,

But a brain that’s fired its censor board

And a mouth that is tad too smart.

With that I think, I’ve made things clear

Of where I stand on this matter, besides,

Who knows, I may learn to be friends again-

Or perhaps not it such my heart decides.

-Severus Snape-