Telegram Vol.2 issue i

Memories In Polaroid ‌ Telegram Volume II Issue I‌

Table Of Contents 1. Message from the Telegram Team 2. Frames of time 3. Memories 4. Playlist 5. Colours Of A Memory 6. Photography 7. Peach Fuzz 8. Team Credits

Dear Knights, The Publications Society is proud to announce the First edition of the Telegram for the Academic Year 20252026 Continuing the tradition from last year, the Telegram will be posted twice a month to showcase the diverse talents of our students in the form of photographs, creative content, playlists, recipes, and so much more!

The theme of the August edition of the Telegram is “Memories in Polaroid”.

Much like a Polaroid, we often wish to freeze fleeting moments and capture memories, raw, unfiltered, and timeless. This academic year’s theme is an ode to the memories unforgotten, and forever captured in the telegram, being recorded by essays, photography, and music.

We hope the Telegram continues to spark creativity, preserve memories, and bring people together—like a Polaroid, capturing moments that may be fleeting but never forgotten.

Editor-in chief Eman Mustafa

Frames Of Time Brought back from the dead, the colors ignite, A frozen flame glowing soft through the night.

Echoes of laughter drift through the haze, Framed in the beauty of long-forgotten days.

Painted with hues of despair in the air, A window to worlds now worn by wear.

Each smile a lantern, each sigh a refrain, Waltzing in sepia, bound by the grain.

Ghosts of the past stand silent, lifeless, Yet so full of life, the memory priceless.

Whispers of shutters and murmurs of wind, Locking the moment no time could rescind.

Ah Time, our sworn enemy in disguise, A wicked smile hidden deep in her lies.

She fades the faces, corrodes the photo, Each theft a tribute to her wily motto.

So guard them like lighthouses casting beams, Guiding the vessel through memory’s streams.

But never let fate, with its mythical ploy, Plunder the heart of the Polaroid’s envoy.

I remember having chubby hands, my speech still a tad slurry, and an overwhelming fear that the world might swallow me whole. When you’re young and small, everything seems large – people, the sky, voices, shadows. The world is like a terrifying entity waiting to devour you as soon as you’re vulnerable.

But then again, everything is scary when you’re alone, but I never even had to imagine what being alone felt like: my mother was there holding my chubby hands all along. When everything seemed nonsensical and scary, my mother was the only thing that made sense.

My human memory might betray me sometimes. The edges of those parts of my life are blurring together and fraying as time sweeps me away. But peace occupies my heart when I find I have something to remember it all by: a keepsake, a souvenir, and in more practical terms, a Polaroid. I have proof it all happened: a soft smile, a laugh captured on camera that will never fail to cheer me up, my mother’s arms around me as she dressed me up for my first day at school. Overexposure blinds our twinkling eyes and whitens our wide teeth.

A simple Polaroid, really, but my entire life enfolded within. A few pixels, but ones carrying memories and details that my childish brain could never fully commemorate. A piece of paper to many, but a side of my mother I couldn’t fully comprehend at the age when the world is your playground, and time seems infinite.

Fatima Ali

Playlist

1. Fou rth o f July - Suf 2. Wh jan S at wa teven sIm s ade f or - B illie E 3. Ye ilish llow C 4. Wh oldpl ay ere’d all th e tim e go - Dr. 5. Sp Dog arks - Col dpla 6. 50 y 5-A rctic Monk eys 7. He re wi th m e-d 8. Wi 4vd ldflow er - B 9. Ba illie E ck to ilish the o ld ho use The S mith s

A small grid hung against the walls, holding memories of friends and moments that had been captured and printed. Smiling at the camera with the people I grew up with, some of those who had left and those who joined me eventually, all of them leaving a trace of different meanings in those small photos of us, colouring the blank white film.

The memories we made in those days were eventful; each of them now has its own story, hanging on my wall. As the colours of the past leave a mark in my room, I look forward to the memories that are yet to come. The ones I cherish the most sit in my wallet, reminding me of the people whom I love dearly. While the other happy and gleeful moments, with those who are no longer in my life, sit in a box tucked away in my closet, a bittersweet reminder of the past. Those that I can't really bring myself to throw away, as they are the physical evidence and mementos of happiness I once felt as those photos were being taken and printed. The beam of the flash and the sound of the shutter etched into my heart.

People who meant a lot to me at that moment, that is what I wanted to capture, rather than the memory itself. With every set, I keep on reminding myself that everything is bound to change with time, but I shall still remember the feelings I felt for all those people and places I took photos of during that moment. All of which brings colour to the blank white film that is my journey of life.

Aleena Mukhtiar

PHOTOGRAPHY

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Peach Fuzz When I take my glasses off, everything becomes a blur.

Not so much so that I become a Velma without her glasses, but enough that everything dissolves into a soft haze.

No harsh edges or fine lines. only softly outlined figures and details that melt into big fuzzy shapes, like pixels in a photo stretched just beyond their clarity.

My memory is much the same as my vision without glasses.

Nothing is ever clear, and all my recollections consist of either tiny, oddly specific fragments or vaguely familiar events.

And yet, there is comfort in the misty recollections that cloud my mind.

Sometimes I wish I had clearer memories, so the fog was easier to navigate, but most of the time, the haze I see through is so comforting in its obscurity, always so dazzling in its blur.

Anoosha Hassan

Team Credits Editors

Eman Mustafa Anoosha Hassan

Graphic Designers Anoosha Hassan Eman Mustafa Aleena Mukhtiar