A Fortnightly Newsletter

Issue #13 April 14,2012

To bring about a culture of enthusiasm and expression in the society and in minds at large
Featured this week

Educrats
Soulmate*. The Best Hours
LONELY HOURS ARE THE BEST HOURS OF LIFE. A message popped up in my inbox. I was in dilemma how can lonely hours be the best Page 3 Once I heard a voice Through the skies Child! said god Close your eyes Page 3 Page 4 Ankit Purohit reveals the mystery of the enigmatic world where he left us in the previous issue, and goes further to explain that the beauty of that world was only something superficial. Love, as we know is the strongest of all emotions, but very few are lucky enough to dive into the heart of their soul mate and feel it like Ankit Biswas does. Find out what how he feels that 'strongest of all emotions' in his poem 'Soulmate'. Next, we have Richa Garg who has found out that 'lone hours are the best hours of life'. Find out what she has to say about it in her article 'The Best Hours . It seems Aniruddh Agarwal is very fond of sleeping, or maybe the summer is repeatedly pulling away his blanket under which he found solace. Whatever is the case, he is not going to

The

CL

Imagine:The Anonymous
I was realizing that the beauty of the system they followed was only superficial. There was something more that I had to find in order to understand this system; something more left Page 2

Indian Summer: The Crazy, The Desperate And The Mind Boggling

Summer is the worst time of the year for, I guess, majority of the Indians.

Foreword

Its time that we have been used to the constant humming of our 'coolers' and are reluctant to even peep outside towards the scorching summer sun, forget about taking the pain of attending classes. The Educrats comes to your rescue in this season; firstly as you don't have to face the searing sun, and secondly because it is fun, as always. But, in spite of all the horrible months it will bring with it, this summer is going to be a special one for us here at The Educrats. This summer, we are going to celebrate our first birthday and coming up is something very special for you all. So watch out!

welcome the summer as the rest of our team will. In his article 'Indian Summer: the crazy, the desperate and the mind-boggling' he describes the crazy events this summer has brought.

With your love and support, The Educrats is now almost a year old. Had it not been for you The thirteenth issue brings together a new set of readers, we'd not be able to do this; and we writers with different styles and unique ideas. In thank you whole heartedly for it. As for now, his article titled 'IMAGINE: The anonymous', happy reading!! ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

All mankind is divided into three classes: those that are immovable, those that are movable, and those that move. - Benjamin Franklin
Career Launcher 1

A Fortnightly Newsletter

Issue #13 April 14,2012

Pen Route
a space for original fiction, poetry and all that you can express IMAGINE: THE ANONYMOUS
- Ankit Purohit name. Similar was the case with trucks and buses and everything: they were all the same- probably to shorten the gap between the rich and the poor by leaving no luxury for the rich, by treating all as equals. Was this the reason I didn't find any 'Baskin Robins'? I looked out for more ice cream shops but they all had the same name: 'Naturals'. I realized, in this world the long clichd phrase of 'Equality' which every political party in any corner of the world had in its election manifesto had been reached, but were the people happy? Their countenance said they were not; they were rather 'hungry'! Then why did they follow such a system? Who was the engineer of such a system? There must be people who gained from such a system and hence overpowered others who were left with no other choice than to acquiesce. Just then I felt as if I had lost something that I had carried all along from my room to this place; I searched my pockets, looked around on the road, in the weeds- all in vain. I tried to dig my mind for what was it that I had lost banging my fist on my forehead in frustration. Then, like it was stuck somewhere in my mind itself and the banging threw it out, I heard the faint melody which again started from the faint sound of piano. It reached its former intensity after which I expected it to stop, but slowly and gradually, it became louder- as if a patient hand was rotating its volume knob. It was like a meter to gauge how near I was to the treasure: the secret of this world. It became louder but I still couldn't figure out the words; the melody had reached its maximum intensity but the words had not: as if someone was blocking the words to fall into my ears. I felt like I was only one step away from the 'treasure': one step to the secret of this world. I started again to find out that treasure; this time determined to unveil this world. Walking along the road I came across a shopping mall, from where I could still see the transcontinental roadway. Nearby, I could see a taut figure of a man on a huge hoarding flaunting him as 'The People's leader'. He was the engineer of this world. I tried to capture his image in my mind as one does of a 'Wanted' criminal even though I didn't yet know the nature of his crime. The shopping mall was a huge building having glass walls and decorated entrancewhich looked out of place in this world. It had a huge collection of clothes and apparels and everything you find in malls which had only one manufacturer, as was the case with cars. Inside the mall, I saw the parking area on the basement which extended throughout the length and breadth of the building and looked like a storage yard of a car manufacturing company- because all the cars parked were the same. Trading in a free mall is something I had never done in my life and had also craved about doing so; but this timeto my surpriseI didn't go for it and walked out of the place. After coming out I had a strange feelingas a person who was just about to commit a crime but has been taken away from the site by an unknown force and saved from the guilt of being an outlaw. I sighed and looked around for another clue. A gigantic structure made in white marbleswhich was not far awayso as to typify 'peace and prosperity'. I had to take a flight of stairs to enter into that structure and I found a group of peoplelarger in umber than usualoffering their prayers in the temple. No, how could a temple exist in such a place, it must be an ersatz for temples, mosques, church and all the religious places in the world. I concluded that my prediction was true when I noticed among the people there were Hindus, Muslims, Sikhs, Christians, Germans, French, Chinese, Japanese and people from all other ethnicities offering their prayers. My predictions are coming out to be true; I am nearing the 'secret'. In this place people have no religion but one, no country but one, everyone lives in peace, everyone is equal, no one worries about money whose existence has been damned. It again added a clue for my treasure hunt: It was just an anonymous religion! - And this anonymous religion was the national religion of this anonymous country! This world was a 'utopia' which men had always wanted to live in, which every political party had promised its voters and which ultimately has been reached. But something was wrong in this 'utopia' which was clearly reflected in the faces of these people which I could construe as a 'hunger'- 'an anonymous hunger'! The faint melody became louder again (only the melody) but I moved on, paying no heed to the resorting event.

(contd from issue # 12) I was realizing that the beauty of the system they followed was only superficial. There was something more that I had to find in order to understand this system; something more left hidden from me as a treasure of an Indian king of 500 AD. But, I had to find that treasure at any cost- even if the cost exceeds the treasure. But where should I go? I don't know! It's just an anonymous world! Perplexed, I started moving, aimlessly. Devoid of any purpose, I looked around the street. It was like a river flowing at an arbitrary rate carrying oblivious people as its water, who were the building blocks of this world. I looked into their eyes; they were silent gleaming eyes but somewhere inside this silence was hidden a 'hunger'- a voracious 'hunger'. But hunger for what? They had every damn thing under this earth for free! It was just an anonymous hunger! But we cannot expect felicity in these eyes; can we? The river also carried few automobiles with it: buses, cars, trucks, etc. I saw a car- not the one that everyone on the street envies- coming from a distant place. It was an old fashioned car with an unattractive cherry color, similar to 'Alto' of our world. I successfully figured out the name on its rear as crossed me at quite slow a speed. To my surprise, the next car to arrive had the same name on its rear, just this time the unattractive color was pale blue. The next car to arrive was black with no changes, and then the next was the same unattractive cherry color. I could feel my eyebrows strained at the bizarre thought which struck me, but when I looked around spurted out: It's just an anonymous car! Yes, all the cars that I sould see were the same model and bore the same
Career Launcher

A Fortnightly Newsletter

Issue #13 April 14,2012

I moved further inside the building to see the only God of this world- the god who showered his blessings on the anonymous people of this anonymous world. He had the serene eyes of Lord Jesus, a dark moustache and beard of Guru Nanak, clothes and weapons of Lord Vishnu, headgear which looked like a Chinese god's (I haven't seen any though but could make out) and an aura of Islam. He was the God of this world, the United God. Bewildered, I asked a man who stood praying beside me, pointing my finger towards the deity: Who is he? The man who looked dejected answered in an unwelcoming tone: What do you mean by that? Not knowing how to put my question before a person who was an alien for me I answered hesitantly: I mean which temple is this, or which mosque? I.I mean which God is he? I've never seen him before. Whatwhat is his name? He looked at me as if I had committed a hideous crime and didn't know how my complicity. He answered with the same dejected expression on his face; There is nothing called name of this God; he is just the God, the almighty who can keeps the motor of this world moving. You must accept him as he is! Frowning at me for a second too long, he went away. I was standing on the door, trying the last key I had to enter the door and unearth the treasure. I felt the mild breeze that carried a sense of achievement. Yes, it was 'name' that this world lacked. It was 'anonymity' the people of this world have accepted as their virtueas the emblem of 'equality'. It was this anonymity that made the American serve me. It was anonymity that the people served everyone that came to their door. It was 'name' that the people were voraciously hungry for. It was 'recognition' that the people wantedfor their deeds, for their virtue, for their skill; but had been deprived of. 'Name' was the secret of this 'anonymous' world. The lock on the door cracked open; I removed the lock in anxiousness. The melody was louder than ever, it was being played at its maximum intensity, but the words were yet hidden from me. It was the door which came between me and the wordsthose divine words. I pushed the door open and there was a flashof silver lightand everything went out of sight but one thing still remainedthe song, not the melody alone but the whole song. I opened my eyes. It was a room, my roomnot an anonymous room. The soothing music coming out from the speakers was a song by John Lenon: 'Imagine'. But after my journey to Lenon's world, I could conclude that it was just superficially soothingit was just an 'Anonymous world'. ---------------------------------------------------------

Fear took my heart Thinking what I had done I could think of many But serious wasn't one Again came the voice Pure as a dove A reward you shall have For you were true to your love I will show you a place That all the mortals miss And so he took me To a place that was bliss Everything was in oblivion And yet everywhere I could see How could such beauty In existence ever be Clouds of love overhead Joy falling as vain And the wind was flowing Brighter than a lion's mane Buds bloomed everywhere With every shipping beat And stopping my own feet Really was a feat What is this magic? Struck dumb I asked Never in such glory Hath my heart basked Yet I know this place As if it were mine But how can I own A tavern so divine And then he smiled And it was clear as a slate This was no heaven But the heart of my soulmate ---------------------------------------------------------

jumbled; vocabulary plays hide and seek; wrong spellings seem correct and grammar goes to hell. As everyday, I was on my way to college via 8:40 am Raipur-Durg local. Inserting my ear phones and just about to listen to my favorite music, I was scrolling through my inbox, when I saw the same message again. I felt why not try to realize it actually. I felt sorry for my ear phones which everyday accompany me during my journey. Once again with the thought of writing an article, hoping as always it to become a revolution, I started. This time I thought why should not my first article contain these all thoughts. The difference this time was I had no one familiar around. Just about to write about an idea to start it, the person sitting next to me said, Agar BSP nahi mila to Raipur hi jayenge yaar. His voice was loud enough to distract me and I forgot what idea I had. The next moment, I found someone familiar marketing his products- mozarumaaaaaal. I saw this man everyday in train. Well again I regained myself and planned to make a new start. After scribbling four to five lines, I heard Phone chod yaar, agla patta fek from a group of people playing cards. Now that was terrible. I felt as if all the people in train were silent and only a few around me were taking deliberately to disturb me. At that moment, I appreciated the old man sitting diagonally opposite to me who managed to take a nap in such a hullabaloo. Trying to refrain myself from these thoughts, as I looked outside the window, Raipur Naka (the end of a bridge in Durg) indicated that I had to get down at the next station. So with 5% thoughts on paper, 0.5% in mind and 94.5% nowhere, I packed my bag half-heartedly. That day while returning from college after my lab periods, putting on my scarf and gloves and off course powered photochromic glasses; walking swiftly to reach the main gate of college; climbing and crossing over the bridge; waiting for an auto or lift whatever comes first to reach the station; I was lost in the same thoughts-what else can I write? The next day, again on the same time, in the same train, among the same as well as different people and the same hawker, I just wrote continuously without giving athought to what people would think about this line or what rectifications would be needed in this piece. Amidst of all these, I appreciated myself that I heard only what my heart said inspite of so many distractions around. After I read it, I felt so elated that I have discovered a new thing about myselfyes.. I can write. I thanked the same people by my heart whom I felt as irritating before because I wouldnt be able to write this piece without those strangers, the strangers, who helped me to encash loneliness in the best possible way and now I understood the exact meaning of that message: Lonely hours are the best hours of life.because it is the only time we share our deepest secrets with the most trusted person in the world i.e. OURSELVES. ---------------------------------------------------------

THE BEST HOURS

-Richa Garg LONELY HOURS ARE THE BEST HOURS OF LIFE. A message popped up in my inbox. I was in dilemma how can lonely hours be the best. It was this day when I realized it. Just as last three times, I decided again to write an article for THE EDUCRATS and as same as before, I didnt had any topic or I should say that I had so much enough in my mind, which could not decide to which topic I should stick. Every time I started with a theme, traveling through numerous thoughts, I always ended with something which had no relation with the main theme. Moreover I was unable to concentrate on what to write due to people around. I never really thought that writing an article would be such a tedious job. I speak, I communicate, I laugh, I chat but when it comes to penning down something, I am as blank as the head of a student attempting a question paper. Thoughts become

SOULMATE*. -Ankit Biswas

Once I heard a voice Through the skies Child! said god Close your eyes So I shut the lids Down so hard I couldn't even see the light Hanging away a yard
Career Launcher

A Fortnightly Newsletter

Issue #13 April 14,2012

CULTURE VULTURE
- Aniruddh Agrawal INDIAN SUMMER: THE CRAZY, THE DESPERATE AND THE MIND-BOGGLING
Summer is the worst time of the year for, I guess, majority of the Indians. After the coolness of February, after all the night soirees on lonely roads of the Sector area, sleeps that you wished would never end in the warmth and solace of the blanket, after short days and long nights, comes the callous heat of March. If there ever was a greater injustice inflicted upon mankind, than eight years of George Bush, then it has to be the Indian summer. Let me substantiate. Indian summer brings to the fore not only our tendency to sweat a lot but also the crazy, the desperate and the mind-boggling. I mean, what else can explain a disaster like Agent Vinod? 2012? Well, it sure seems plausible that we might as well be at the end of the world if we can spend millions on such utter useless wastage of human effort and intelligence and the beauty of Kareena's side kick in the Mujra number, i forget her name. So the point is that, it was crazy enough for Saif to think of making an Indian Bond meets Bourne but then it seemed rather desperate when it came out as Bond-meets-Bourne-meets- Saif's 'waaaayoooo'. I mean, it is mind-boggling for Saif to attempt a chic-retro-stylish thriller comedy (remember Tashan) again and fail both the times. But that's bollywood getting affected by the Indian Summer. Tashan, by the way also came in summer 2008, so there. This summer started with all the heat, clamour and frenzy that only a UP election can bring. The Prince donning the angry young man with rolled up sleeves and a beard of sardonic indifference or of concrete determination, either way, he has been knocked out by the street-smart and earthly Akhilesh Yadav. For once, the Cycle bulldozed the Elephant and stomped the Lotus as the Panjas waved on their victory march. If there are certain lessons that the Indian Polity has learnt this summer is that rhetoric doesn't work, as the Prince now agrees, neither does megalomania and denial as Behenji will tell you, nor does bringing dead skeletons from forgotten closets as the BJP will admit about Uma Bharti. What does work is a palpable promise of change and a figure head which knows the realities on the ground and has worked there as Akhilesh is sure to preach to whoever will listen. It sure was a mind-boggling result on March 14th, one that has changed many equations in New Delhi and rendered the political times rather desperate for some. Talking of desperate times, few can beat the few hours or minutes, depending on the time that he took to get out, whenever Sachin was batting this whole past year. The Mahashatak, the monkey on his back, what people almost began to claim was the albatross around his neck, finally came against Bangladesh in the Asia Cup. And suddenly, the seasons changed, in our hearts and our minds and as one layman on the street summed it up quite aptly but unassumingly, as only a layman can, that we all at once started feeling comfortable. And if there ever was a reaffirmation of the fact that Sachin is unconsciously synonymous with God in our minds then that was it. After so many mindboggling failures, our God had triumphed. It seemed like the climax of the grand moral narrative that he had designed for us to learn the lessons of Perseverance and Hard work and, what was that line? karma kar aur fal ki chinta mat kar. The summer isn't over yet and it does seem endless whenever you need to face the scorching sun, mercilessly beating upon you, when perspire is all you can, when each step seems like a mile, throat parched, mind hallucinating of some cold water trickling down your already half open dry mouth, and you can't help but wonder why? Why did you ever watch Agent Vinod? And then all you can do is curse the Indian summer and continue bearing on. Like you did when he said Kya aap juice lengi?

Career Launcher

A Fortnightly Newsletter

Issue #13 April 14,2012

Editors Pick
What we recommend........!

The Jungle Book

- Rudyard Kipling
The Jungle Books can be regarded as classic stories told by an adult to children. But they also constitute a complex literary work of art in which the whole of Kipling's philosophy of life is expressed in miniature. They are best known for the 'Mowgli' stories; the tale of a baby abandoned and brought up by wolves, educated in the ways and secrets of the jungle by Kaa the python, Baloo the bear, and Bagheera the black panther. The stories, a mixture of fantasy, myth, and magic, are underpinned by Kipling's abiding preoccupation with the theme of self-discovery, and the nature of the 'Law'.

A Cinderella Story
Cute but geeky high-school student Samantha Martin (Hilary Duff) is knocked off her feet by her father's untimely death, which leaves his diner and Samantha's well-being in the care of Fiona (Jennifer Coolidge), Sam's thoroughly wicked stepmother. Not one to take on such menial tasks as dishwashing and mopping floors, Fiona exploits Sam's dependence as a method of hoisting any dirty work off her own shoulders. School is hardly a break for Samantha, particularly when Shelby (Julie Gonzalo) is around; spoiled, wealthy, and popular, Shelby treats Samantha nearly as badly as Fiona does. Samantha's life is irrevocably changed, however, by two events: a makeover of epic proportions and a sudden electronic correspondence with a mysterious young man. Due to a misplaced cell phone and a series of fateful coincidences, Samantha and her Prince Charming develop a romance through text messages and e-mails, and ultimately promise to meet face-to-face at the biggest school dance of the year. Of course, getting there doesn't go smoothly, and Samantha may miss her chance to meet her dream date -- none other than Austin (Chad Michael Murray), the most

Cat Stevens
What a treat it is to listen to Cat Stevens again! His departure from music is missed by a lot of us. This is not the place to discuss his change in identity to Yusuf Islam - because it is irrelevant here. But the new release of his classic Tea for the Tillerman is something irresistible. His devotion to peace and Islam is unmatched and is proved by the number of awards he has under his name. His song Peace Train -the one we definitely recommend- caught my heart and specially when I heard him sing on the occasion of Nobel Peace Prize in Oslo. (Peace Train soundtrack): Now I've been happy lately, thinking about the good things to come And I believe it could be, something good has begun. Oh I've been smiling lately, dreaming about the world as one And I believe it could be, some day it's going to come. Cause out on the edge of darkness, there rides a peace train Oh peace train take this country, come take me home again. Apart from this,we would also recommend Father and Son, Roadsinger , Everytime I Dream and The Rain.
Career Launcher 5

A Fortnightly Newsletter

Issue #13 April 14,2012

Congratulation!!!!!

Sachins 100th Century

And we also pay tribute to

Rahul Dravid

Tell Us What You Think..

You Can Also Be A Part Of It. All you need to do is just pick up a pen and paper and write whatever you feel and send it. Well publish it and take it to all. Remember, This Is Just A Start
facebook.com/TheEducrats

we.the.educrats@gmail.com
Career Launcher 6