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The Stoic overflow

by: Prajjwal

Dinner table conversations at home are often unpleasant. It significantly revolves around how incompetent or inexperienced I am compared to other people of my age. I realized I wasn’t worthy enough to be a boy of my age.

Back in school, I was asked to man up whenever I went to seek help during distressing times. I learned that I should pretend to be fine when I am hurt, deep within.

One day I was shamed for not winning at a competition. I had to digest the fact that defeat was never an option in my life.

There are instances when I preferred to remain silent after listening to triggering statements or derogatory opinions. All credits to my conflict phobia.

Finally, I learned to tune myself with the norms and rules of society so that I could fit in and get some kind of validation for my existence, and this was when stoicism entered like a dreaded monster, extending its bloody hands to cover my mouth and cloud my emotions.

According to Greek philosophy, stoicism refers to the teachings or the ethics designed to lead a happy, virtuous, and wise life. It is regarded as a powerful tool for those in pursuit of perseverance, self-discipline, and master, or in simpler terms, it taught people to be free from any kind of passion, and unmoved by grief or joy. History’s great minds believed in stoicism and sought them out. 

Even though the core idea of stoicism is lucid and relevant, the modern version of it seems hyper-polluted. 

Society’s paradigm is quite a complex subject. As you grow up, you are expected to be the ideal man or woman who is capable of handling responsibilities without any flaws and mold into perfect shapes and sizes to please the people around us. And, this is where the misappropriation begins. You tend to suppress your agonies and hardships without any display of emotions, just so that you can avoid getting called ‘the fussy one’ and when you fail or break down, you silence yourself with phrases like Do not give up, Keep calm and move on when in reality, it just starts to snowball and multiply your miseries. 

The societal norms which define the dichotomy between genders have posed an unspeakable threat to the modern world. At places where patriarchy reigns, you can find a crisis of affection, especially in males. They have no female companionships except for the ones at their home, thereby tricking boys to signal their masculinity. They tend to follow the same rituals for generations unless cooped.

I too am emotionally sterile at times. I constantly worry about the visceral way I cringe when I talk on video calls. I waste my time significantly in “What others might think about me?”, unaware that this very notion has the potential to cripple my existence one day. No wonder, Gen-Z has mistaken the word depression for sadness, failing to realize the existence of a thin line between both. There are days when I feel that I missed a great number of opportunities to express myself, cry, voice out my opinions, vent out my feelings. Maybe I was just afraid of grief, which might make me look weak in front of other people.

It is exhausting to keep up to the expectations of people around us, especially at times when you are grappling with your internal self.  It is worthless to bottle up your emotions and choke yourself with unforeseen consequences. We as humans have the power to express our inner self, vent out our opinions. It has a cathartic effect.

Stoicism is brutal. It is capable of taking a toll on one’s mental health. You may opt for silence, but the echoes inside will remain and thrive, to haunt you forever. 

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The Human in Humanity


Selfless, sympathetic, humble, sincere, passionate, emotional, and courageous. 

These qualities represent what humanity is. 

Or, a better way to put it is that they portray how humanity should be.      

The other day, I watched a Ted Talk by a famous author, Chris Abani, on what he thought about humanity. Chris is an excellent author and novelist, often known for writing about his nation of Nigeria. He wrote about how the people of his country fought against a military-controlled government for their freedom. 

At the age of 16, Chris was thrown in jail for publishing his first novel, Masters of the Board, because the book’s plot was based on a coup that was carried out in Nigeria just before the book was written. He was imprisoned for six months on the notion that he was conspiring against the government. Two years after this, he was imprisoned again for a year for continuing to write novels about the government. Another two years after this, he was thrown in jail a third time for conducting anti-government plays in front of government offices. But this time, he was placed on death row. With the help of his friends, he bribed a few officials and got out of jail, immediately moving to the UK afterward.

In his speech, Chris tries to explain his views on humanity, the direct and indirect nature of its expression, and justifies his definition through a few stories of his own. He focuses on the point that the world may be where it is today because of big powerful gestures, but that is not what makes this planet a better place. Small, considerate everyday acts of compassion are what he believes make us human.

He goes on to explain a highly respected philosophy of his Nigerian culture called Ubuntu. A direct translation of the term Ubuntu would be humanity towards others, and this translation is precisely what the doctrine tries to portray. The mere acts of care and love towards others are what solidifies humanity and its strength.

Chris discloses that explaining humanity would be a challenging task. So, he chose to give short accounts of people he found remarkable and more human, thus defining human nature through these stories. 

He starts with his mother. 

Chris’s mother was English and moved to Nigeria in the ’50s after meeting his father. She was a strong, confident woman, known for being outward with her actions, and had five beautiful children with her husband. 

In 1968, his mother and his whole family were caught up in the middle of the Biafran war, the Nigerian Civil war. They moved from one refugee camp to another for one year, and Chris remarks that his mother never cried through the whole of it, even with all the hardships and troubles they faced.  

Then one day in the near future, they were finally on an airstrip in Lisbon, ready to leave this war behind. Another woman in the airstrip noticed his mother, her ragged clothes, and her five hungry-looking children. She came over and asked what had happened. His mother explained to the woman their terrible situation because of the war. This woman proceeded to immediately empty her suitcase and give Chris’s mother all of her clothes. She also handed out some toys of her children to Chris and his siblings. That is when Chris said he saw his mother cry for the first time. 

Years later, he asked his mother why she had cried then at the airport. She replied, “You can steel your heart against any kind of trouble or horror, but the simple act of kindness from a complete stranger will unstitch you.”

Another anecdote he shares is of a rite of passage for young men that his culture, the Igbo, had in Nigeria. Many of these rites of passage included killing little animals, and that made sense because of their agrarian community. When he was 13, it was time for him to kill a goat. He admits that he was a sensitive kid and didn’t want to kill a goat but had to. His friend Emmanuel, who was much older than him, came along with him that day. He recounts that Emmanuel was forced to serve as a boy soldier during the Biafran War, and having him there with him, made him feel better.

Chris explains that the voice of a goat is said to be very similar to a human and a goat’s eyes look like a baby’s eyes. So, when the time came to kill the goat, Chris couldn’t do it. His friend Emmanuel bent down, put his hand over the goat’s mouth, and covered the goat’s eyes so that Chris didn’t have to look into its eyes when he killed the goat. 

Chris explains that, to Emmanuel, killing a goat must have seemed like such a menial task yet, he found it in himself to try and protect Chris. Chris continued, saying that he started crying, and Emmanuel stood there in silence until he was done. Afterward, he said to him, “It will always be difficult, but if you cry like this every time, you will die of heartbreak. Just know that it is enough sometimes to know that it is difficult.”

His message of understanding that we can make the world a better and brighter place by showing love and care to anyone who needs it is one of my main takeaways from this Ted Talk. The last story I’d like to share about Chris is another anecdote he let loose during his speech. 

The Igbo, Chris’s cultural community, built their own gods. They would all come together as a community, and they would express a wish to their priest. And then the priest would find a ritual object, and the appropriate sacrifices would be made, and the shrine would be built for their god. If the god became unruly and began to ask for human sacrifice, the Igbos would destroy the god. They would knock down the god’s shrine, and they would stop saying the god’s name. This is how they showed their humanity, and so I’d like to end with a quote from Chris Abani himself,

Every day, all of us here, we’re building gods that have gone rampant, and it’s time we started knocking them down and forgetting their names. It doesn’t require a tremendous thing. All it requires is to recognize among us, every day – the few of us that can see – are surrounded by people like the ones I’ve told you. People with humanity.

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Good On Paper


Folding a yellow paper, 

my grandfather schooled me 

how to build a paper plane, 

he put a paperclip on the plane 

& said, “it’ll fly farther dear.” 

I grinned and abused many papers 

while trying to make planes and 

The lonely old chap was smirking as 

I saw a gorgeous morning

on his wrinkled face.

I wrote, “Hello, I like you.”

on a reddish-pink paper

While holding my thirteen years of courage 

& with my best friend’s moral strength, 

I gave that paper to that popular girl 

but her “sidekicks” beat me black and blue 

but I beamed when a soft zephyr

from the window caressed my cheek 

while passing through her golden brown hair.

Trigonometry, algebras and mensuration 

the last page of my mathematics notebook 

was resembling like a garbage centre 

while I got occupied with the reckoning 

of my life and inside the 

totting-up of my flummoxed existence

 where a newspaper on my table 

was gaping for someone’s nudge.

And one day, I departed this journal

while bowing down my head 

to the enigmatic candour of death 

I gulped some darkness but couldn’t vomit 

I chewed many sighs but couldn’t sigh 

I gnawed some lies but couldn’t stop a death 

and to prove the end of my extant, 

The faceless paper granted me the final gift 

My very own “Death Certificate.”

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The Moon, of course, is Always There


The moon, of course, is always there–

This was a writing prompt given to me by a friend, over a year ago. I was feeling bored, and wanted some inspiration to write something, so I asked them for a writing prompt. And they gave me this. A *little* procrastination later, I’m finally doing something with that prompt. 

The moon, of course, is always there– except when it’s not. 

Everyone knows about the phases of the moon. How it waxes and wanes as it goes from the new moon day to the full moon day and back. 

Back in the tenth grade, we were discussing some poetry or prose in my English class, I don’t remember which. During the discussion, our teacher threw a random fact at us. He said that in literature, women are often compared to the moon, and men are compared to the sun. He said that this is because women menstruate, and are “unavailable” (sexually, I assumed)  for a few days when they do the way the moon becomes “unavailable,” and that men are like the sun, as they are available all year round. For some reason, him saying this stuck with me, and I still occasionally think about this. At the time, I wasn’t educated enough about gender, so I didn’t correct him by saying  “not all women menstruate and not everyone that menstruates is a woman.” I probably should’ve once I became educated enough. 

The moon, of course, is always there– except when it’s not– floating around in the night sky. 

Ever wonder how the moon and moonlight became a symbol of beauty and elegance and whatnot. It’s literally just a large rock orbiting the earth (another larger rock, but significantly more beautiful than the moon.) And, it doesn’t even have its own light. It just reflects light from the sun. If a human did something similar, one would call them a charlatan, or unoriginal. Why then, do we praise the moon?

I sometimes feel that humans forget this about the moon. Or, they tend to purposely ignore it, just to remain oblivious. Or maybe to look for meaning in something that doesn’t really have a lot of meaning.

Is that the case with just the moon, or is it like that with everything?

(It does look beautiful though, shining brightly in the night sky. A sight to watch.)

The moon, of course, is always there–

But WHAT is it that is there? Is it just this large rock floating around in space, or is there some sort of a spirit or a moon god residing there? Is it Artemis, the Greek Goddess of the Moon and the hunt? Is it Chang’e, the Chinese goddess, voiced and portrayed so perfectly by another goddess, Philippa Soo, in the movie Over the Moon? Is it the Hindu moon god? Or is everything just a series of myths proliferated by our society, in our endless mission of giving meaning to things that don’t really have a meaning? Does anything have meaning? What is the point of existence? What is the point of anything? Sorry, got a little carried away there. But I think you’d have gotten my point by now. 

Also, if there is some spirit, how did they feel about the moon landing? Random quacks walking over their surface. Was the moon landing even real? Or was it just a hoax, as assumed by so many people? Why would NASA try to scam so many people by saying they sent astronauts to the moon when they hadn’t? What was their motivation? And if it was a hoax, was Neil Armstrong living a lie for most of his life? 

The moon, of course, is always there– but one day, everything comes to an end. That day could be tomorrow, it could come in a month, in a year, in ten years, a hundred, or maybe after a million years. I only wonder, would everything be better or worse when that happens?

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A heaviness falls on my chest as I hear him say the words again, for the umpteenth time today. 

“Stay.” He begs, with a pleading voice. 

“I can’t, not anymore.” I say, with an icy chill in my voice that puts him over the edge as his eyes go small and his face falls. I wrap my arms around his frame one last time and as I wait for his arms to find their way onto my back, I can’t help but contemplate staying for a little long. But I don’t wait. I don’t wait for him to hug me back and I walk away.

There are days when I hear those words ringing in my mind in a litany, when nothing else makes sense. There are days when I hear those words ringing in my mind on loop, where everything seems to have fallen into the background, like a motley of colours splashed on a canvas haphazardly. On either one of those days, I wish that you were here, to calm my ocean down and tell me that it will all be okay. The truth might be far from it, but just this once, I might actually believe you. 

I have been keeping this under wraps for long, in fear that once these words roll off my tongue, it just might be real. There is no going back after that. It takes only one to fall in love and I just might be the testimony to that, just like it takes only one person to wreak havoc and orchestrate loss. There is definitely an odd comfort that comes with being in the company of strangers; where no one knows you, knows your truth, the scars under your sleeves or the voices screaming inside your head while you walk with calm and staccato in your steps.You were not Hawkins’ Jason and I could never be Jess. I don’t know exactly which moment or date I transcended from Rachel to Jess, or if I ever did. I watched you from a distance each day, in groups or by yourself and at that moment I could only ever think of you as a magnificent piece of art I wanted to claim as mine. I talked to you as though I had not observed every little detail of yours and how you turned my apathy into something I did not know. As the distance reduced to endless talking all day on the phone, I realised you were not what I had expected you to be. What a fool of myself I have made, thinking that my imagination could trod over into reality and gain life. 

We were thin glass, you and I – fragile yet iridescent. This is the only thread of similarity running between us.

Running away was easier, holding your heart in mine and listening to your heartbeat could never be easy. I am Frangipane’s muse and you’re the boy from the garden state. A catastrophe underway, grenades in hand. When I left, I took the grenades away and blew it up on me.

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The Black bird of social media


Now this is going to be a long one, bear with me. Twitter, one of the most popular social media sites out there, having an enormous user base, has its fair share of problems. It’s often regarded these days as a “toxic” place and such a label isn’t unwarranted in the slightest, in my opinion of course. 

Let’s go right to the root of the problem, it’s character limit. With 280 being the maximum character limit, there isn’t much scope for an actual substantial discussion in the first place. Twitter is at its best when the user base makes use of the character limit to come up with creative jokes, sharing stories or thoughts that may cross their mind, with people responding to it in a fun healthy discourse. The main problem arises when people use the site to address significant and debatable issues because usually the character limit isn’t enough to give it justice or credence, especially when in a discourse with someone else. The ideals behind the original point become muddied when you don’t have enough space to actually explain the nuances of your statements and put it forward in a more precise and detailed manner. Such an issue becomes abhorrent when combined with the major issue that is performative activism and virtue signalling, which Twitter loves to participate in. 

Sharing posts about issues going around in the world isn’t wrong in the slightest, it helps bring attention to them and could actually cause pressure for the concerned authorities to take action and rectify the issues to the best of their capabilities. The problem is when it’s used as a tool to promote themselves. In many instances you see internet celebrities dodging criticism by putting out a tweet speaking vaguely about how they respect and support oppressed communities and see them as equals, literally the bare minimum, to earn praise and virtue points. They don’t care about hopefully bringing attention to the issue at hand. They do it to save face, earn praise for doing the bare minimum, increase their following and earn more clout and internet points. It becomes a selfish desire rather than a selfless act. These people use the plight of oppressed communites such as other races, people of different sexualities, transgender and non binary people, people with disabilities etc. for their own gain and clout by treating them with the barest minimum of respect. These less privileged people’s lives aren’t made for one’s own inspiration story!  They are normal people as well! One isn’t a superhero for treating them as such and shouldn’t be rewarded with undying love and loyalty for doing the bare minimum. You might be wondering that even though one may have scummy ideals, atleast they are doing a good act and inadvertently helping, so why do I care so much. The reason I do ties into the next problem I have which is the “Stan” culture. 

Being a fan of something/someone is completely normal and human. When I talk about Stan culture, I talk about the obsessive fan culture that not only significantly harms the mental health of the person who they are obsessing over, but even themselves. To get too obsessed towards a certain thing is never healthy, especially when the Stan culture is over a person. This leads to the dangerous phenomena of parasocial relationships as well where the fan convinces themself they actually have a relationship with this person who they know nothing about, all they know is the online persona a person has created. This can severely impact the mental health of both parties involved. The major problem with this is that most of the time it’s minors who get involved in such stuff. This leads to predators with a significant fan following having a platform to be able to groom their minor fans thanks to parasocial relationships, preying on them and taking advantage of them in disgusting ways. Stan culture is an obsessive thing that is very prevalent on Twitter, trending everyday in some sort of hashtag. Such fan culture shouldn’t be promoted. By allowing stans of a person to exist, who elevate a person to such a superior status for doing the bare minimum, we strip away the concept of accountability from them. 

On the other end of the spectrum however, is the issue of “cancel” culture. The funniest thing to me about this is that people in fiction love redemption stories, stories where people realize their mistakes and improve on them slowly and gradually to become a better version of themselves. However when it comes to real life, Twitter for some reason forgoes the concept of redemption. Any mistake a person has ever made is held against them throughout their lives, even when they have shown regret for that mistake, apologized for it and have improved themselves and changed their behaviour. It’s good to hold people accountable for bad stuff they might do, but it’s obnoxious to never give them an opportunity to change, to approach them with hate instead of trying to educate them. No one is perfect, all of us have made mistakes we regret in our lifespan. Not everyone should be “cancelled” and have everything taken away from them for a mistake they made in the past, especially when they have shown progress and change. Forgiveness is a trait that’s completely forgotten when it comes to Twitter. 

Another major issue is that dissenting opinions are seen distastefully. It’s like people there want a collective hivemind of thoughts and emotions and any differing opinion must be silenced and banished. People there have a problem of treating their opinions as facts and facts as opinions. Differing views and ideals should be encouraged to force an open dialogue and discussions. People with differing opinions are just blocked. For the record, blocking someone isn’t a sign of weakness or something you should avoid if they are actually troubling you and spamming you. But when you start blocking people with a differing opinion than you, even on harmless topics, you’re just creating an echo chamber for yourself which is detrimental to discussions and debates as a whole. To combat bigotry, there needs to be a dialogue. To reconcile and unite, there needs to be an acceptance of differing thoughts and ideals and finding a common ground should be encouraged. Battling hate with hate is a recipe for disaster. Being mean and rude for no reason shouldn’t be celebrated as a positive trait. Some people would prefer to be praised as a villain rather than be obscure. This is just harmful and detrimental on every front.

To conclude, I do not in any way mean to generalise every user there as having these problems. But there is a big audience which causes these issues. A large part of Twitter has these problems which makes the atmosphere overall “toxic”. This piece is for addressing those parts of Twitter.

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The Microtonal Beauty of Jazz.


First celebrated on April 30th, 2011, International Jazz Day, a day that highlights Jazz and its role in uniting people all across the globe. But what really is jazz? What makes it different from other forms of music?

By definition, Jazz is a genre that has its origins in the African-American communities of Orleans, Louisiana, United States of America. It has its roots in 19th and 20th century Blues and Ragtime. It is characterized by blues notes, swing, complex chords, poly-rhythms, microtones and above all Improvisation.

But, to me, jazz is a form of music that gives the player freedom to play whatever, freedom to interpret the music in their own way, meaning that no two performances, even by the same musician are never the same. Each performance changes with the performer’s mood, their interactions with their bandmates and their experience, this means that melodies, harmonies, solos and even the time signatures change with each performance. Jazz truly represents the diversity of the individual, and as a result of this freedom, we have multiple sub-genres or forms, each varying slightly from the other. This is in stark contrast to Classical Music, staying true to the source is important. Any and all deviation from what is written on the sheets of music in front of you is not perceived well.

Jazz bands usually have a soloist that is supported by a rhythm section that have instruments such as a piano or guitar, or both, a double bass and drums.  The rhythm section supports the soloist, giving them a solid base to build off of and often responding to the changes that the soloist makes, ensuring that the soloist is able to stand out to the crowd. In comparison to this, forms of jazz such as Free Jazz and Avant-Garde reduce this separation between the soloist and the rhythm sections, giving the other instruments a license to move away from the source based on their mood.

In Jazz, there is this requirement for the players to abandon classical notions of sticking to a scale or a time signature and explore the possibilities of what can and will sound good. As someone who had just completed what seemed like the basics of music theory, Jazz seemed like this over-the-top, complicated genre that only experienced players attempted. The complicated chords and the quick scale changes, were all too difficult to comprehend. And while I still find these techniques complicated, it hasn’t stopped me from enjoying the songs.

Jazz takes you away from the 4 chord monotony that is present in a lot of modern songs (take for example Dusk Till Dawn by Zayn)  and stretches the limits of what is perceived as possible. Compared to other genres such as Pop, Rock and Punk, the variety in Jazz is what I find appealing, though Linkin Park is and always will be my favourite band. And this, at least in my opinion, separates the average album pop or rock song from songs like ‘Boy’ and ‘L.A. Girls’ by Charlie Puth and Bruno Mars’ ‘Leave the Door Open’, all of which are amazing songs. If you’re into anime like I am, then background scores produced by Studio Ghibli have some amazing songs that while not necessarily Jazz, do have a lot of influence from Jazz music. And if you like to waste time on YouTube or Instagram or even on Reddit, go look up Charles Cornell, Adam Neely and their likes.

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First love


The firsts are always special. The first time we cry, the first time we walk, the first time we talk. But we don’t remember these firsts. One of the firsts we remember, we cherish, and hold dear is first love. First love gives us a lot of firsts, the first time we realize feelings for someone, the first confession, the first ‘I love you ‘, the first hug, the first kiss. 

“There is no love like the first” – Nicholas sparks

The unfamiliar feeling that settles in the heart, the sense of excitement running through the blood, the overwhelming emotions rushing through the mind, the feeling of cosiness around them, the aroma of love is surely magical.

Why do people ask us about first love but never the next? What is so special about first love? 

It’s the magic, the pureness, the innocence, and the craziness that makes first love exceptional. 

“You remember your first love because they show you, prove to you, that you can love and be loved, that nothing in this world is deserved except for love, that love is both how you become a person and why.”

-John Green

We all can remember the euphoric feeling of love and how our heart ran a marathon when we saw our crush. How we blush whenever we think about them. How we create situations in our heads with them. How we plan to confess thousands of times yet retreat. How we constantly try to become familiar with the new feeling of love. It’s just so fascinating, how we gain an awesome experience once and for all in our lifetime.

It’s just infatuation people say, but the love-filled with just pure innocence comes only once and that’s first love.

“Love, like everything else in life, should be a discovery, an adventure, and like most adventures, you don’t know you’re having one until you’re right in the middle of it.”

-E.A. Bucchianeri

Love gives us the sense of happiness to have a person by our side. The sense of commitment and excitement. The feeling of fondness and attachment. The pure blissful emotion. 

It’s not just the magical feeling that makes us feel like we are floating in the air but it’s also a great teacher. 

We learn how to express our feelings, how to understand what and how others feel, how to respect people’s opinions, how to give the space and time people need particularly people close to us. We start to know the true meaning of unconditional love and selfless love. But more importantly, we learn how to become a better person, we constantly try to be.

First love is extremely different because after the first love we mature, we become more calculative, more aware of what’s happening, and when the cluelessness fades away so does the innocence.  

First love may last or may not but it always remains as something one will adore till the end.

 “The first stab of love is like a sunset, a blaze of colour—oranges, pearly pinks, vibrant purples…” —Anna Godbersen, The Luxe

It’s just a magical breeze that engulfs us once but is always locked deep in the heart beneath layers and only we can see and treasure those memories forever and ever. 

Memories of one’s first love may fade but never disappear. 

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Media Circus

Author: Aaditya

Getting bored at home, after exhausting the libraries of every streaming service? Read all the books available at home? Looking for a cheap source of entertainment while staying at home?

Like many other things these days, I suggest we go retro, and enjoy the amazing art of the Circus.

Now, there would be many questions in your mind. Circus? At home?

After nearly seventy-five years of meticulous research and development, the scientists at ISRO have brought to you circus at the comfort of your home.

The circus, like every other art form, has changed and evolved over the years. It started with stunts and acrobats, then had animals doing stunts and acrobats and now, people partaking in stunts and acrobatics verbally. With this evolution, the flaws, unfortunately, have also manifested themselves in different forms. Circuses used to exploit and mistreat animals, it now mistreats the society, and the people watching it.

Despite that, it’s still a good idea to watch it, albeit not for too long.

And here’s how you do it, in just three simple steps.

Step 1: Switch on your television. That thing in your living room that you used to watch as a kid. Wipe off the dust, you’ll find it then. Yes, that’s the one.

Step 2: Take the remote. That thing that looks like a very old phone, but doesn’t have a screen. Smack a it a few times on your palm. Now you’ve, umm, calibrated the device.

Step 3: The final step. Put on an Indian news channel on the television. I recommend a channel with famous circus-performers, like Arnab, but any channel would provide you with great entertainment.

Now get some popcorn, and enjoy!

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Author: Atulya Subash

Do you have that one spot where you find yourselves going to, when you feel low? 

A place you could go to, and hope to make all your problems disappear. Or a place you go, to spend some quality time with yourself. I’m sure you do and if you do, you know it has inherently become a part of you. It could be somewhere away from your home, a little spot tucked away in some place peaceful. Or it could simply be a warm, cozy corner at home which is meant just for you. It’s a place where you go to get answers or peace or whatever it is, that you’re so intently looking for. And somehow magically, you always find it there. For me, it’s a snug corner on my bed. It’s a place that I share with nobody but myself.

Sometimes these places give you a sense of comfort and warmth that cannot be received from people around you.

However, sometimes for people, that place is not a physical place but a person. A person who they consider as their safe haven. If you’re fortunate enough, this person will always remain as your refuge in times of trouble. But more often than not, we lose some of our human diaries along the way. We wander about, feeling lonely or incomplete until, life comes a full circle and you find someone new to share your thoughts and feelings with, again.

Having wandered from place to place, I’ve now sought permanent residence in one such place that is wholly, completely and forever mine and mine alone. That place is myself. No matter where/who your special ‘place ‘ is, it is important to have yourself as your go-to special place. You are your home and you will always be welcomed there. You can make it the coziest, warmest and happiest place on Earth. In your most emotionally vulnerable times, you’ll always have yourself to lift yourself back up, because you are your biggest cheerleader. Expecting others to make you happy in a way you yourself cannot is a bit too hypocritical. 

Each one has a different special ‘place’ to call their own. Whatever this place is, wherever this place is, I hope you always find your way back to yourself, while finding more such new places along the way.