Thursday, November 02, 2006

My 'Big-Fat' Government College

My ‘Big-Fat’ Government College

You are very proud of me, for I am studying in a government college, thank you very much. After all, Delhi College of Engineering is the seventh best college (courtesy: India Today) for some optimistic urban Indians and among the top 20 best colleges in the country (courtesy: other Indian weeklies) for the not-so-optimistic ones. I am regularly reminded by my mates studying in other colleges of the worth of the brand that I sport on my sleeves. And I express my gratitude to the almighty for the adulation I receive owing to my association with this college.
This month and a half in the college has been enough to understand the way it runs. On one hand the beautiful infrastructure enthralls me, while on other hand the administrative system stuns me. Thanks to the requirement of a few slips of paper that are called “cards”, I came face to face with the barbarism that glides on our DCE roads. Unfortunately, the students as well as the staff members are blinded by it.
Elaborating my experience to you, I am sure you would spare me from any accusations of disloyalty to the college; for I believe that true criticism comes from within oneself; and righteous corrections too can only be done by one. The necessity of attempting the inevitable first mid semester exams brought me to our administrative building’s very important section – the admit card allotment cell. Wondering why everybody in the hostel that morning was worrying about the rush on the counters because proper queues and a civilized behavior seemed obvious to me, I entered the admin-block, only to be welcomed by a crowd quite resembling to the one that my dad comes across in a fish market when there is a sale. I tried resolving to the i-am-a-girl-so-i-get-importace approach to the situation, something I try avoiding unlike the other young ladies when we come across problems caused by the oh-so-sad sex ratio. Failing in my attempts in persuading the boys to get a form for me, I finally barged into the crowd and fought my way to the counter that seemed miles away. One my way back to the exit with three forms in my hand (two for the girls waiting hopelessly outside), I heard one of the boys mushroomed in the crowd share his excitement with his friend, “hey! This horde is a good body massage, ain’t it?”
Okay, do you still don’t find a reason to blame the college for this barbarism? Going to the administration block for any fee submission (preceded by a whole college tour to get the receipt signed by different faculty members) introduces you to fresh irritation and frustration from the staff sitting there. And why does the girls’ hostel seem like a jail to us that sets us free every morning at six and shuts us within our rooms every night at eight? The boys, on the other hand, wander about the campus like wild animals till they aren’t finished preying on the cold night breeze and the star-studded sky. Speaking of safety, there’s another way out – shun the boys behind the hostel gates at eight while the girls can walk about freely, at least till 9.
Mind you, this is not the story of all engineering colleges; an impression of generalizing “social” problems seems to be birth right after all. Its just my big-fat government college…

Why being a girl?

Why being a Girl?

When I cried at my first jiffy
As I felt the room pretty stuffy
Grany didn’t like mom’s pearl
I wondered, why being a girl?

By the look on my father’s face
I thought, what was the disgrace?
He took me in his hands and told
“It’s ok”, his heart was consoled.

So I realized every night,
That I was born for a fight
If boys took a step ahead
I must take two while I tread.

This struggle for all girls
Straightened up our curls
When I was to make up a Barbie doll
We were playing basket ball

After a few years of love and fun
Dad said proudly, “This is my son!”
Then freedom gleamed in my eye
I was above all my ally.

As the winds smelled like teen
I was not what I must’ve been
School hours were spent prime
Nights were on for party time

If I thought everything was good
That the society did all it could
To make my life a happy one
With all ecstasy and fun

Said the streets, “You’re wrong my dear”.
Don’t tread without any fear.
For there are shadows that chase your furl
I was reminded…why being a girl?

I felt sorry for my mother
Who startled at a blowing feather
Whenever I was out of the gate
And whenever I was a minute late

We’ve been friends-girl and boy
First we are all modest and coy
What is it that you revenge?
As you grow up, you change.

For we were to lend a helping hand
Walk together through the sand
It’s irritates when you’re chasing
Yeh, I mean eve-teasing.

You don’t know how life’s hell
So listen what I want to tell
That lets change roles for a try
“Why being a boy?!” you’ll cry!

How dare you have such guts?!
You deserve a kick on the butt.
For if I look ‘hot’ to you,
Your sister’s being troubled too!

So dear men, old or young
Give this attitude a flung
Become those ol’ time gentlemen
Understand, at least one in ten.

Divita Mathur
when i was 17yrs. old

Saturday, October 28, 2006

Two Queens in a Hive

Two Queens in a Hive

When my kind was designed
Eyes made great and the body shined
Our long hair substituted the tail
We are called the Female

When we are young
We hold dolls for fun
We have two plats with fancy clips
And one ear towards big sister’s tips

Day by day my hair refuse to tie
Day by day the dolls feel shy?
Night by night the stars start to speak
Into the future…can I have a peek?

My pony climbs high
My nose grows long
When I turned thirteen
Everything starts going wrong!!

And then came the day
When I saw the second queen
Wish it was just an illusion,
Or she really was my twin?

We walked for being better
We talked just out of the theatre
My my! I better hurry
Before SHE gets the merry.

On one fine day
The sun changed horizon,
To the world’s great honor
The queens shared the region.

For every chance was grabbed together
And we became centre to gather.
For every step we kept pace
And mended the other’s pimpled face.

I got a break, I had to move
I thought we would still groove
But slowly it happened unnoticed
And the chasm created long distance.

I smiled at my old pal but she was seeing
The person sitting right behind me
When I moved towards her niche
She remembered something fancy.

This is once upon a time,
Two queens in a hive.
They lived happily ever after
When none heard the other’s laughter.

It is a strange disposition
That we must be so.
Coz if we change our shoes
I will have the same go.

What happened in the end
Is that I lost a friend.
But whom should I kill for distress?
For this unwanted mess?

Forget this as unseen
But don’t you call me mean.
Because this is the truth of life
That you can’t have two queens in a hive.

DIVITA MATHUR
{One of the dear queens}

the ungratefull princess

The Ungrateful Princess

She’d be bathed in the Sun’s vigor everyday,
Tanned to the consummate of beauty.
She’d be soaked to the skin by the rains,
Purified from the vile and the ugly.

She’d be distinguished by the masses,
She’d be honored for her brilliance.
But she’d smile on her plastic face
And disregard everything with her unique grace.

Stupid would you find this quality,
Which made her continuously so proud,
That she’d bestow with all her might,
But demand nil from the crowd.

For she had taught herself ingeniously,
At a very tender time of life,
That one mustn’t stay in lieu of others,
One mustn’t hold from the blade of a knife.

But she’d always be heard by The Love,
The Love barring all distressed,
The Love begged for by the unfortunate,
The Love, she, in panache, regarded uninvited.

She cast a shadow on The Love,
She thought she’d left it behind,
She blamed him for the injured dove,
But The Love always remained kind.

Then one fine day in an unreasonable fight,
The Love was lost, didn’t return at night.
She wasn’t uneasy, she didn’t dread,
She mouthed a blame to the fortunes instead.

Time flows, the princess grows,
The Love takes all beautiful facades,
But their hearts, but their souls,
Never do unite, nor obliged by the princess.

DIVITA MATHUR
(The Ungrateful Princess)

8-9-6