One can say that it's both my habit as well as nature to recollect the good old memories and deeds of the past and somehow give them a re-birth to them in the present. There was once a time when it used to take me days and months together just to gather my thoughts and to decide what exactly to write about. I am glad that things are getting better. Over all these months, I find myself in a position that now there are so many things, so much happening all around that there is no scarcity of endless thoughts and it's just the right time to soar high and keep on writing forever.
My university organized the first edition of a national level parliamentary debate from 7th-9th September 2013. As evident, I was happy that I was a significant part of it, and more specially in the things post completion of the competition, like compiling reports, feedbacks, experiences etc. I had spent a fair amount of time in writing a press note, something which was a part of my duty and more than that an activity I relish like anything, which is writing.
As expected, there were numerous responses to it in the form of likes, comments and shares, for it being decent and nice. But bells of nostalgia struck me like anything when I saw that the first like coming onto it, being that of my english teacher from Secondary School, Mrs. Mamta Jain. For a minute, things got rewound back into the year 2005, when the most enjoyable subject to study used to be English Literature and Grammar, more than Maths, more than Science and more than anything else in the world. It meant not just something but everything. That class of roughly forty minutes meant the world to me, and to many others I am sure. I used to take great pride in the fact that we were the only section in the entire batch to be taught by her, her main priority being the batch of our immediate seniors.
It's been years now, since I last met her but I feel that a blog post could certainly be a small tribute to her from our side, if not a perfect tribute. This is for all that she did for us. All that we are today, me and my school friends across the country, owe a lot to her. I get reminded of her everytime I have to write a SoP, a job application, an apology mail for a delayed submission and so on. The kind of command and hold over the language and more specially vocabulary, is due to the wonderful interactive sessions we had in every single English period, to which the colourful portals of 9th B, St. Anselm's Pink City School were a witness.
All the workbook exercises, the extended discussions over every single stanza of the poem in the literature book, the framing of notices, writing of letters, report-writing etc. as a part of Diwali holidays used to prick us like anything. But the seeds of hardwork and toiling done then are boring significant fruits now.
The Road Not Taken, still very much finds place on the soft board just above my study table. The cutting is the original one from the Ninth Standard CBSE English Textbook. The poem has been an inspiration, not just because it was written very well by Robert Frost, but was explained in an equally beautiful manner by our beloved English teacher. Thank you so much ma'am.