Fried Eye

Child Guest: Srishti Bhatnagar

Today’s Guest : Srajan Bhatnagar

PTA meetings though are dreaded by us students and parents alike; sometimes provide an entertaining story of their own. more

- Today’s Author : Srajan Bhatnagar, follow him in twitter http://twitter.com/srajanb

Even best of friends can have misunderstandings. But this one was not a great tragic misunderstanding but a funny one. more

Every time I see my country
I dream of many things
Think of our freedom,
That many died to bring more

Why do people fight for a dime.
When life is full of rhyme.
Why do people hate thy neighbor. more

Hello I am Srajan ! I study in the ninth standard and just as it happens in every school, we too were given an assignment in the form of preparing a debate.
As it again happens I took the help of my chachi to prepare my speech or rather points and thanks to her I had the most boring speech among the lot and I will not go into details to bore you all but instead I will share with you what I wrote initially which was rejected instantly by my Pyaari Chachi.
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By Oscar Wilde

Every afternoon, as they were coming from school, the children used to go and play in the Giant’s garden.
It was a large lovely garden, with soft green grass. Here and there over the grass stood beautiful flowers like stars, and there were twelve peach-trees that in the spring-time broke out into delicate blossoms of pink and pearl, and in the autumn bore rich fruit. The birds sat on the trees and sang so sweetly that the children used to stop their games in order to listen to them. ‘How happy we are here!’ they cried to each other.
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‘Untrustworthy’ was the exact word that came to Oliver’s mind whenever he reflected on the artificiality of human beings. Tricked by his near and dear ones , he couldn’t easily trust life.

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An expression of anger can be liberation.

When Mike Wool was a young boy, he was called ‘Springs’. Not for nothing. He could leap and run and shoot in the basketball court like he had spring on his soles.

They also called him shy, but they weren’t too correct in that. Mike was quiet, but the great NBA star was famous in the tabloids for sudden violent outbursts. A glimpse of the faint scar on his neck and it would all come rushing back to him; his father pushing him to practice, thrashing him when he didn’t want to. He built that anger in him to such a mountain that peace became a flimsy, elusive word. Now sitting on the benches for the game to begin, he hated the kids in the stands for their childhood, for being able to watch the game without being expected to learn from it to be the best.

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