Delhi Public School
Aftaab Zaar
An Editorial Board Initiative
Patron: Ms. Shafaq Afshan
Aftaab Zaar
An Editorial Board Initiative
Patron: Ms. Shafaq Afshan
GAASH: LITERATURE
Starry, dusty dome of ink
Cradle to anguish, dawnyearning for rest
We fade into ruin, Songbirds awaken still With the first light Oblivion remains a sanctuary - Ahmed Abrar
What Withers In Spring Op-Ed
One of the oldest flowering plants is believed to be the Magnolia, a plant that stands splendid in the corner of my garden. As winter exhales its last breath, the tree blooms brilliant white flowers— fierce in their beauty, fleeting in their essence. Within about a week, the first of the flowers start to wilt away: petals shrivelling and withering, while little green leaves emerge on its branches; and before I know it, the flowers are already gone, giving way to bright green that lasts until winter knocks again, leaving no trace of the ivory that marked its dawn.
The magnolia tree is unique in this sense. Its zenith, demise and resurrection all unfold in Spring. Life compressed in one season: a story that cannot wait to be told. Each flower a dream, luminous yet ephemeral. In the wake of reality, all scatter across the earth, in their place grow new leaves—perhaps less enchanting but enduring, building the hopethat keeps it alive throughout the year.
With every passing spring, I yearn for it to bloom white again, my years measured with every flowering. Time eludes me as the white ebbs from its branches.
Spring embodies both a welcome and a farewell— each bud a promise for tomorrow, and the foreshadowing of its end. Herein lies the great contradiction of life. Every beginning marches towards its inevitable end. In the grand cosmic plot, life unfurls like petals of a flower, coming to full bloom, before losing all essence. Old petals sink to the ground, new seeds drift in the wind: life begins anew.
This awareness ripens into a vision—the discerning eye that sees not only what blooms but what fades beneath. Spring heralds a new beginning, but also veils an end bygone and an end on the loom
.
The cycle of mortality renews by consuming itself: a snake eating its own tail.
A beginning is an end unmasked.
Bazilah Kirmani, 12th S1
HERITAGE & FOLKLORE
The Origin of رشٲک
Kashmiri (رشوک) is the valley's native tongue. It has flowed from Kishtwar southward into the lower hills north of the River Chenab, crossing the Pir panjal range. An estimated 100 Lacs of people globally speak or understand Kashmiri, according to the J&K Academy of Art, Culture, and Languages. The origin and geological categorization of the Kashmiri language are still up for debate. However, there are two schools of opinion regarding the origin of this language. Kashmiri is categorized as belonging to the Indo-Aryan group of languages in one group and the Dardic group in another.
The origin of the Kashmiri language is a topic of debate. Many people believe that Sanskrit is where the Kashmiri language originated. According to the updated classification system, it is now grouped with Shina-Kohwari. However, there is a local argument that it is essentially a Sanskritic language, and given the historical fact that the Kashmir valley was entirely inhabited by Brahmanas with Shastri lore before its conversion to Islam, that argument may be worth taking into account.
According to N.L. Chatta's article on the Kashmiri language, "It can be said that the Kashmiri language has a Paschachi base because the people who live here are undoubtedly representatives of an early immigration from India proper." The Dard group of languages has replaced the Paschachi group. The first European scholar to describe the origins of this language from the Dardic group was Sir George Grierson. In his opinion, Kashmiri originated in Dardistan, which is the hilly area between the Pamir and Punjab's northwest. The remaining words in the language are Dardic or Paschachi, except Arabic, Persian, and Sanskrit words. This group includes the Kashmiri, Kishtwari, Kohistani, Shina, and Kafiri, who speak in the west of Chitral. According to Grierson, Sanskrit has had a significant and long-standing influence on Kashmiri culture
The first researcher to claim that the dialects of the Hindukush region and Kashmiri comprised a distinct group within the Indo-Aryan linguistic family was Professor Ernst Kuhn of Germany. Kashmiri is Indo-Aryan, not Dardic, according to several academics. According to another theory, the language originated from Saryani and Abrani, which were spoken by Jews who immigrated to Kashmir around 2,000 years ago.
Many words in Kashmiri have been taken and modified from Persian-Arabic, Sanskrit, and, most recently, English. It is observed that several phonological alterations and the emergence of certain morphological traits have been brought about by these borrowings. Today's standard Kashmiri has a few minor linguistic variations. For example, the Kashmiri dialect used by Muslims and Kashmiri Pandits is somewhat different. In addition to having a slightly different pronunciation, the former's vocabulary is more heavily layered with Persian-derived terms.
There are also differences in pronunciation between a town man and a villager's speech in his language. Changes in language and variations in the dialects can be seen every thirty kilometers in Kashmir; therefore making it a more beautiful and interesting language to know and learn.
- Zaara Farooq Class XII
A new day, a new beginning. Come the time of blossom, of spring, the valley of Kashmir blooms into celebration. Nowruz, meaning quite literally a new day, is the day when the sun at its peak, casts no shadow in many places. While shadows are certainly cast in the valley on that day, the people themselves do not allow even a glimpse of the gloomy despair that shadows are often associated with.
Nowruz is a festival held at the time of equinox and marks the new year in Iranian calendars. It is a day on which celebrations are held, people are full of joy and gifts are exchanged. Its roots can be traced back to Zoroastrianism, a faith which held is to high regards. It is celebrated across western Asia even to this day, albeit in a more secular sense. The introduction of Nowruz can be traced back to the period in history when the Persians had great influence over Kashmir, the concept of Nowruz is said to have been brought here by the Sufi saints and philosophers from Persia.
On this day, the people of Kashmir observe special prayers, special feasts are organised and gatherings of the community. In Kashmir the festival of Nowruz is much more than just a day celebrated by the Shia folk, it is a day where all the past woes and negativity is shed off, in whose place hope and a fresh positive start is introduced. While Nowruz may not be a widespread festival celebrated with much gusto, it is still observed by many families in one sense or the other. Many people put flowers on their windowsills, particularly those of the almond, to signal the beginning of a spring which may reinvigorate the soul after the severe winter of Kashmir. Spe-
cial prayers are held at the tombs of Sufi saints such as Makhdoom Sahib.
The festivities are also reflected in the cuisine of Kashmir, as dishes such as yakhni, modur pulao and gushtaba are served on the day, dishes often reserved for the signalling of new beginnings and special days such as marriages.
This day, typically observed on the 21st of March, is viewed as more than just a bygone tradition. Deep in their hearts, everyone views Nowruz as a day of chance, chance to start anew, to start afresh. As the winter snow gives way to spring’s flowers, one also lets go of all the negative in them built up during the winter to make room for all the good that the upcoming winter may hold. However as the days pass, the year unravels, one is left questioning whether or not this all will change somehow. Each year with each passing Nowruz people hope for a different year, and mark up spring as the way to it, and every year they return to Nowruz disappointed yet again.
Nowruz is a time of celebration, of new beginnings, of a better outlook, a better vision. However, in the celebrations we often forget that if we put too much expectation on anything, let alone a singular day to turn our life around, we will end up disappointed. It is a day to be joyous and to be hopeful, and at the sunset hours the lenses in our frames have to be changed for new ones, in hopes that they make a difference, and that is the spirit of Nowruz.
- Sawood Mir , Class X
A NEW DAY
ART Cyclical death of tradition: A look into Balinese art
Clinging to memory, this phoenix-like apparition of interwoven human instinct, refined to its very heart, drags us into yet another astral journey through the very dregs of creation, yet, we hunger still.
It is that hunger which leads us to the heart of Bali, Ubud and there we meet Mr. Agung Gde Rai.
“Afternoon Mr. Rai. Pleasure to have you here.”
Mr. Agung Gde Rai, a guardian of Balinese heritage, founder of ARMA Museum - a ‘global temple’ housing art from all over the world - an artist, and curator, joins us.
“Thank you.”
Perpetually poised, remnants of the extremities of raw desire suppress, and serve one last true unbreakable connection between man and God.
Could you tell me about the moment you first realised art would be your life's work and not just something you admired?
“To Balinese people, anything produced by the artists is considered an offering. The Brahmin priests mediate between the artist and the subject. This system is very strong and still practised by the people, especially the higher Brahmins and artists. Whatever they produce is connected to the universe — ancestors, God, or Shiva. It’s a way of life.”
There’s a serenity in the way he says “offering. Not transactional. Sacred.
How does this connection influence the art itself?
“The tradition is passed down from generation to generation. The younger generation is very creative and expressive,
but the spiritual connection remains very strong. People believe art holds powerful spiritual meaning.”
You mentioned you’re very close to nature. How does nature inspire your work?
“I spend most of my time in the rice fields and forest. To me, nature is a university — so many layers of green, flowers, fruit, animals. I learn a lot from nature. It’s a blessing.”
“We glorify the sun, water, and wind—sources of life. We even used natural pigments like black pepper for painting. Travelling is education. I’ve seen Bali from the perspectives of Europe and Japan. Travelling taught me English. Bali has had deep spirituality. It’s not about religion—it’s about awareness. After seeing Bali through these perspectives, I created a new model of museum—a global temple that honours local and foreign contributors to Bali. It’s a living tradition.”
The beauty of Balinese tradition is rooted deeply into his personal beliefs. His glorification of the sources of life, and the beauty of art itself. His mind lingers in his museum.
Could you tell us about your earliest memory and boyhood interpretation of art or the process of creating art, and how did it change your perception through the passage of time?
“I’m a frustrated artist — I never succeeded in being an artist but I try hard. Being an artist is a high achievement. From a young age, we learn music, singing, making offerings, cooking. I have a good eye and can select art. When I experience art, it moves me deeply. We call this feeling ‘Taksu’ — and nourishment to my soul.”
“ My wife and I worked for 50 years to create a museum. It brings happiness. People must learn from nature, its beauty and power. We teach people how to feel, how to be present—spiritually, not just physically. That’s not easy, but it’s what we try to do at ARMA.”
How is Balinese art integrated with local traditions and temples?
“Temples have very high-quality art, but people don’t always notice. When I go to a temple, I pay attention to the aura — the energy and the carvings are vibrant and healing. Every village has main temples to honour the sun, wisdom, and Shiva, plus family temples to honour ancestors. This system builds mutual respect and harmony in the community.”
Temples are living galleries. To observe is one thing, but to truly see is to notice the quiet energy humming beneath the empty surface.
Does the sacred function of art change when placed in museums like ARMA?
“The spirit is still there. Bali has thousands of temples full of artwork. It’s important to sincerely engage with this art to connect spiritually beyond aesthetics.”
How is newer art different from the older forms, and has this evolution affected tradition, or has it made it less magical?
“Only the medium has changed. Traditional art used natural dyes and materials like bark paper or wood. Now it’s acrylic on canvas. But for temple art, traditional materials and rituals are still used—natural pigments, sandalwood, auspicious timing, and blessings from priests. It’s a deeply spiritual process. The younger generation still follows this.”
With traditional art dying out in many parts of the world, what wisdom would you provide to others considering the deep emotional and personal connections tied to it?
“This is what we do—preserve. Artefacts have hidden values and knowledge. We learn a lot from the past. But it must be done with love and sincerity. Many only see the surface, not the roots. If you lose your root, you’re lost.”
“Bali is a melting pot. We work and share together. We must protect and preserve. Iconography isn’t just form— it holds hidden knowledge. That’s what we’re missing. And that’s what we must hold onto.”
We’ve come to a close.
“Thank you Mr. Rai.”
Signing off,
“Goodbye. Have a good one”
- Ahmed Abrar Giri, Class XI, Mariya Wani, Class XI
INDIA’S LEAKING PIPE OF POST-PRODUCTION
I have always considered “movie magic” to be an insultingly basic oversimplification of the film production pipeline. However, it stands as an excellent segue to understanding the world of VFX, CGI and 3D animation. VFX, which stands for Visual effects, refers to the part of the film and movie production pipeline wherein imagery is added in post-production that either does not exist, or cannot exist in real life. Such as the most basic of greenscreens to substitute a background, up to dragons, spells and the like. CGI is Computer-Generated Imagery, which is the method by which VFX work is carried out. In this article, I will be using AVP as a shorthand for this specific set of industries (animation, visual effects, post-production).
Movie magic is either delightfully tacky or wildly immersive, when put into effect, but the workforce behind it is not confined to Hollywood. Over the past two decades, it has become common for post-production work, such as wire-erasing, to be exported to India, from Los Angeles. Wire-erasing is the process of hiding stunt props used in action sequences in film. It is also the most laborious part of the entire pipeline, and this is not a coincidence. A study by Ernst & Young done in May 2025 details that there are over 3000 Indian studios involved in animation, VFX and post-production work that function as secondary labour to the headquarters in LA. Consequently, 75% to 80% of India’s AVP segment revenues come from exports, largely as work-for-hire projects.
Some live-action films you may be familiar with that Indian studios have worked on are: Avengers: Endgame,
Life of Pi, The Jungle Book, and the recently released Lion King. In the early 2010s, Puss In Boots, Madagascar 5, The Swan Princess series, and Tinkerbell: The Great Fairy Rescue. Blockbusters, niche favourites, or just well-known high grossing films. Impressive, then, that it takes three Wikipedia citations, a research paper, and six interviews to learn where the majority of the workforce came from.
Observing the list, clearly, we do not lack in skillset, in infrastructure. Then, why is the quantity of work done in India (over 200,000 hours of original media per annum) not for our own projects? A few reasons. First, when working in collaboration with international studios, the overall schedule is a near 24-hour cycle, ensuring that not only does no one ever rest, but that not a single moment is wasted. (The delights of capitalism are familiar to us all. Notably, the only country in the world to have strong, formal AVP unions, with government support and national contracts, is France. By comparison, presence in the United States is limited, and non-existent in India.)
Second, since the start of the international AVP industry, in 2005-2010, labour costs in India have been 40-60% lower than in North America. Due to an understandable lack of trust in developing country’s creative ability, the only projects given to Indian studios were to be followed to the letter. In other words, drudgery. As a consequence, Indian animators have been trained purely from a technical perspective. Storytelling, creativity, art direction are all concerns of the director in Los Angeles. This is made clear by the fact that global IPs do not use Indian studios
for debut projects, but rather for sequels of well-known and well-loved franchises or adaptations that no one really wants.
When attempts by Indian studios have been made, they have not been unsuccessful. They have been well-received but limited by attempts to uncomfortably emphasise the nationality of the creators. A good example is Arjun: The Warrior Prince (2012), which is the only Indian animated film to ever receive a nomination at the international Annecy Animated Film Festival. Its reviews include critique about the fable being incomprehensible to those outside of the intended religious audience due to too much context being assumed by the directors. It ultimately did not get past a nomination. The studio responsible, UTV, is another casualty in a long line of partnership-acquisition-shutdown demises in the trail of wreckage Disney India has left in trying to match its foreign counterparts.
Prana Studios is an example of all that a skilled, but also creatively encouraged studio can accomplish. Based out of Mumbai, they have worked on the American “Hoodwinked!”, French “Why I Did (Not) Eat My Father”, Indian “Kuch Kuch Hota Hai”, and Disney’s “Tinkerbell” (2008).
Indian narrative film has started to rise to the Prime and Netflix Top 10. “The Elephant Whisperers” recently won an Oscar, whilst “Naatu Naatu” became the first Indian song to win the Golden Globe for Best Original Song. Parallel to this, Indian animated television shows are broadcast, at furthest, to Pakistan and Bangladesh, where the target demographic is children under the age of 13. By no means international. Between animation and live action, the contrast is striking and the solution seems simple. Pair the visionary writers and creative directors with the existing technically skilled animators. But when has the film industry ever been that easy?
In summary, I cannot tell the entire film industry what to do. While I have flippantly referred to Disney’s most recent live action releases as being unwanted by the vast majority, they are still box-office hits, with ludicrous revenue. There is an audience, somewhere, for the family-friendly, money-making blockbuster franchises, but I think we’d all benefit from the citizens of India being trained to have an imagination, for once.
Zainab Iqbal Class XII
- Ahmed Abrar
Languish, bliss tiny token of peace I no longer fret Misery-
You hear wailing, It breathes soft tunes
The Poet of Hope HISTORY
Faiz Ahmed Faiz, a well-known poet of the 20th century, was not only celebrated with his extraordinary poetry, but also praised for his unwavering commitment to hope, justice and mankind. Not only is his poetry aesthetically appealing, but he is also a deep philosophy rooted in optimism when he faces challenges, defends social justice, and defends the transformational power of love .Faiz’s childhood was shaped by the social turbulence of the time, including colonialcrews, independence movements and subsequent Indian divisions. Research into English literature and his enlightened participation in the literary world exposed him to a variety of ideological perspectives, which led to a unified worldview, linking artificial pressures to social activity. Faiz’s words have experienced a wide range of experiences of violence, oppression and despair, but the words continue to inspire hope and resilience. Faiz believed that poetry had the power to encourage social change and encourage individuals to strive for a better future. His immortal words,
Speak as your lips are free and we are also dedicated to the spirit of freedom.Faiz’s philosophy was based on a strong belief in people’s values. He believed that each part was a larger community and should be treated with respect and fairness. His poems often show the struggle of marginalized people, asking them to suppress and maintain their optimism. He believed that important social transformation could occur if individuals worked together, showed love for each other and were unshakable to the existence of justice. His poetic voice combines romantic idealism with practicality to recognize the challenges of life, but emphasizes the opportunity to find salvation and renewal. His philosophical perspective is reinforced by the duality of hope not being stupid but a firm resolve to oppose it. Love for Faiz was also an overwhelming force of hope. His poems often include topics of universal love for humanity, justice and freedom, as well as romantic. He was convinced that love had the power to bring hope and redness, even under the darkest circumstances.
His poems show that love and hope are intertwined, and that they make a living in the human mind to endure and fight for justice. Faiz Ahmed Faiz’s philosophy is extremely important in today’s world, inspiring generational status with unwavering hope and determination. His belief in the power of words that ignite transformation emphasizes the importance of hope as a driving force for politics and morality. In a world often filled by despair, Faiz’s poem reminds us that hope is not passive, but a positive choice, and an integral part of the ongoing struggle for a just society. His life and work serve as evidence of the belief that through the power of hope, love, and collective action, the human mind can find light in the middle of darkness, even in the middle of darkness. Faiz Ahmed Faiz is not just a poet, but a sign of hope, and his philosophical views have encouraged us to believe in the potential of transformation through resilience, love and unwavering commitment to justice. His poems are evidence of the permanent power of hope to form a better morning.
- Syed Afaan, 11th S2
HISTORY: HOURGLASS
April
March 6, 1475
Michael Angelo, Italian painter, sculptor, architect, poet and visionary, was born in Caprese, Italy
March
15, 44 BC
16, 1896
The Olympics were held for the first time after a break of 1500 years, in Athens, Greece
The assassination of Roman general and statusman, Julius Caeser, in the senate chamber in Rome, by Brutus and other conspirators.
March
March 23, 1775
Patrick Henry, American politician, planter, orator, Founding Father, sparked off the American Revolution with a speech, declaring the Second Virginia Convention: “Give me liberty or give me death!”
April
April 14, 1865
May 10, 1994
Nelson Mandela was finally inaugurated as the president of South Africa after winning the first free elections held in the country
Abraham Lincoln, 16th president of the United States, is shot at and mortally wounded while watching a performance at Ford’s Theatre in Washington
May 25, 2020
African American man George Floyd was killed during his arrest, an incident which led to widespread protests against racial injustice and police brutality
May
April 20, 1889
Austrian-born German politician and dictator of Nazi Germany, Adolf Hitler, is born
May 19,
1925
Malcom X, or el-Hajj Malik el-Shabazz, black nationalist and civil rights activist, was born in Omaha, Nebraska
- Ahmed Abrar Class XI
Hope, Entrenched FICTION
Lying amongst those who once used to be, clutching his rifle tight.
“Now that the winter snow has melted, it should be a breeze”, was what they had said.
The snow has indeed melted, allowing the gentle bloom of flowers to cover the Earth in their beauty, only to be trampled on moments later and covered in mud by the march of the soldiers.
“We have better armaments, we will take the city easily.”
Lying there amongst his comrades, the empty rifle by his side, thinks to himself about the foolishness of this meaningless discord turned war. Thinks about how disagreements between a few men have led to the tragedy of thousands. The same words, the same speeches, the same plans, the same lies. All had been repeated over and over again once the winter snow melted, only to be repeated once again.
He had hoped it would be different this time, that perhaps this time they would really breakthrough, that he and his comrades would perhaps not have to spend their days lying in the miserable trench filled with despair. Yet as spring came, and the tragic act of brotherhood being torn to shreds continued, he began questioning himself, of what use was this hoping? For what purpose is he allowing himself to believe all the false promises? The constant booms of the artillery die down, he hears boots coming towards him.
“Well, I suppose this is it.” says he to the remains of the soldiers who fought alongside him.
As he gets captured, the soldier asks him a simple question “Why do you choose to fight? I do not have a choice, for I am obliged to follow the commands of my leader, but why must you?”
To which he replies, “I do not know the reason myself. Perhaps it was so that the rifle I hold today may never be held by another in the times to come, that the way this rifle is empty right now,
may be the way all the rifles in the world are.”
As he gets to the truck destined for the camp, he turns and says to the one who captured him “It is ironic you know. To have my rifle become empty while the others still had theirs loaded full of ammo, while I dreamt of every rifle being empty”.
The soldier chuckles lightly “I suppose it is.”
It has been three years since that fateful day, and after having initially questioned hope at its core, it has become the very thing that has kept him sane.
The years spent inside the prison walls, with the one way of keeping the track of time being the winter snow he once hated to see melt, and the singular flower bloom in the courtyard. For years in the war, his only belongings used to be his rifle and his helmet, taped to which was the only picture of his beloved that he had.
Now all that remains with him is hope, hope that perhaps, come next spring, things may change, that the walls surrounding him may crumble and that he may fly as a free bird once again, yet deep in his heart he keeps with him the knowledge of what happened the last time he had hoped, and in his mind a clear view of the workings of the world, how most of times, change seems on the cusp of arriving with the arrival of a different ray of sunshine, yet never does.
- Sawood Mir, Class X
A Letter To The Wind
Dear Wind,
Yesterday, your anger knew no bounds and you were swishing furiously against everything that came in your path. I was laughing at your reckless behaviour, till you approached me. Your gaze, alone, was enough to make me shiver. I don’t know why but when you started to swish around me, my fear rose with every gush of yours. A tinge of shame occupied me because I sensed how mighty you are. People love you when you are silent and calm, but fear you with just one roar of yours. What about me? I questioned my existence. I am merely just a boulder, who becomes an obstacle for everyone.
People don’t hate me but they don’t like me either. It felt like I didn’t matter in anyone’s life because I am too useless, even to be observed. All these pessimistic thoughts were fuelled by the dirt and debris I had collected over the years. They laughed at me, discouraged me. Everything was fine till I broke down. Streams of water flowed through my eyes. I felt exhausted. This constant feeling of inferiority was draining me mentally, and these debris were triggering me. Whenever I felt confident in myself, their taunts would make me feel low again. I was shattered after hearing what they thought about me. But towards the end, I am to be blamed for all this mess. I gave them the space to settle in me. It was me who gave them the authority to consider me as a place where they can reside comfortably. No matter how tired I was after having them, I couldn’t let them go. I considered them an important part of me. Questioning my thoughts, why did I think that I’ll be worthless without them? Maybe I’ll never find an answer to this.
Oh my dear wind! After seeing you so desperate and angry, I couldn’t control my laugh. Probably, keeping the debris as my companion, I lost the sense of compassion and un-
derstanding. When you started blowing for the first time, I could see the clouds running around in a haste, from here to there. The humble trees which bowed in front of you stand as mighty as they were before. However, the trees which were too proud to lower their heads, lie inert on the dirt below. I would like to thank you for making everything so better for me, with a single gush of yours. When you roared at me, every part of me trembled, from the trees to the rocks. The haughty debris shut their eyes and begged you for mercy, but you didn’t listen to them. You carried them away with you. Right away, I felt a huge weight getting off my shoulders. My heart cried with joy as my mind sensed a new beginning. Maybe, the debris made my life miserable, but at the same time, they taught me many lessons. Perhaps, I won’t let the past hold on to me anymore. Perhaps, I would forget everything that happened. Or perhaps, I would repeat the mistakes of my journey, and learn from them again.
Once more, I thank you for making me realise that endings can sometimes be the new beginnings in disguise. What matters is the way you see things. This time, I will be bidding you a farewell, because it is wisely said that each goodbye makes the next hello closer.
With love,
The Mountain
-Zaynab ShabirDeva
Class VIII
Blanket of weariness I remain ailing
Wretchedness, frailty, four walls These ramparts I wrought Bring peace yet agony I hold dear despair - Ahmed Abrar
GAASH: Literature
The Oppression of Tomorrow
In the kiln of the 20th century, fueled by the ideals of revolutions, the horrors of the two great wars and the industrial revolution, the tapestries of literature saw an exceptionally profound shift; the writers of this era began to question the very direction and outlook of society itself. They saw the future not as a symbol of hope and progress but rather as an unrelenting and crushing blight coming to consume the very soul of society itself.
George Orwell’s magnum opus ‘1984’ is the most intricate conveyance of this terror. Orwell paints a world where the party weaponises vision itself, thus. Reducing the state of people to nothing but mere cattle. The protagonist Winston Smith, however, rebels against this and sees the world through a lens of freedom; this, however, proves fatal in a system designed to crush this very ideal itself. In this society. Obsessed with controlling tomorrow, the dreams of man have to suffer acutely.
A rather polar yet equally dreadful fable is presented in Aldous Huxley’s ‘Brave New World’. In this realm future is not authoritarian but rather meek, absent of war, pain and depth; the world is without substance. Huxley warns that in our quest for a utopian future, full of stability, happiness and progress, our asphyxiation of humane qualities will result in an oppressive world without room for individuality and failure, thus shattering the very vision of mankind itself.
However, long before these two giants, Mary Shelley laid the foundations of this horror in her magnum opus ‘Frankenstein’. Victor Frankenstein’s aspirations are hatched from the visionary ideal of harnessing life itself. This, however, soon results in an uncontrolled disaster beyond his control. The creature he creates is soon misunderstood and shunned by him, thus becoming an allegory for the unforeseen outcomes of human desire, especially those grown in the soil of arrogance can lead to permanent ruin. Her warnings are clear-cut: the future is not the slave of mankind but rather something to be approached with humility.
Oscar Wilde, although known for his shrewdness, tackled this brutality in his own words. In ‘The Picture of Dorian Grey’, he criticises man for his unquenchable thirst for eternal youth and perfection; these very visions soon consume the very humanity of Dorian himself. The insistence of the world to live up to a picture of perfection soon becomes rather suffocating. Wilde alerts us that an obsession with a perfect future leads man into a trap full of spiritual and moral decay.
These brilliant and rather fabulous weavers, across time illustrate the same reality that the future, when idealized, politicized or romanticized can become a weight too herculean for one’s soul to bear. Vision alone does not liberate the human soul. Rather it must be grounded with the shackles of acceptance of human plateaus. Otherwise it becomes a silent killer for the human soul. In the modern era of unwavering ambition and tailored identities, the lessons from these writers feel rather urgent. They warn us not against dreaming but rather against dreaming blindly, for only without delusions can we carry our herculean vision without being suffocated under it.
- Abdul Muqtadir Class X
LITERATURE Senior Book Recommendations
“A rat in a maze is free to go anywhere, as long as it stays inside the maze.”
The Handmaid’s Tale, by Margaret Atwood
The Handmaid’s Tale is a dystopian novel set in the Republic of Gilead, where a harsh government controls society (especially women’s lives). Due to declining birth rates, fertile women, Handmaids, are forced to bear children for powerful families. The story follows Offred, a Handmaid who secretly longs for escape and resistance. It ends with unresolved questions.
“And if somebody else has it much worse, that doesnt really change the fact that you have what you have. Good and bad.”
The Perks of Being a Wallflower, by Stephen Chbosky
A coming-of-age novel told through letters written by a shy teenager named Charlie. Starting high school, he feels anxious after the death of his best friend. He eventually finds friendship through a group of seniors, including Sam and Patrick, who help him open up to life. The story explores sensitive themes like mental health, and dealing with an unfortunate past.
Junior Book Recommendations
The Giving Tree by Shel Silverstein
Genre : Classics, Picture Book
“I have no house, the forest is my house, but you may cut off my branches and build a house. Then you will be happy.”
This novel is a story about a tree that loves a boy. The tree's affection knows no bounds, and it gives with such a doting attitude too. It’s a tender and deep story about love and sadness that I’d recommend to any child and adult alike.
Momo by Michael Ende
Genre: Fantasy, Philosophical Fiction
“Time is life itself, and life resides in the human heart.”
In the quiet crumbling of an ancient amphitheater, a child with nothing but a gift for listening appears. Her name? Momo. Soon, Momo becomes the only one who notices when the mysterious men who steal people’s time and leave behind hollow lives arrive. Join her adventure to find out what happens next!
- Mariya Wani, 11th C1
P YCHOLOGY
I’m A-Freud Not
the thin line between a genius and a charlatan
Word to the wise: don't dwell on the past. It's merely a story, and once you realize this, it can no longer haunt you. But how true is that, really? Sigmund Freud, a renowned Jewish neurologist, begs to differ. According to one of his theories, human behavior is influenced by unconscious memories and thoughts. This suggests that even memories we've long forgotten (perhaps because they seemed unimportant at the time) can shape how our personality develops. This concept lies at the heart of psychoanalysis, a method Freud developed for treating mental disorders. Through multiple observations, Freud devised the technique of 'free association of ideas,' in which patients were encouraged to say whatever came to mind — no matter how random or irrelevant it seemed. Interestingly, some patients struggled with this exercise, which led Freud to conclude that painful experiences were often repressed from conscious awareness. Freud used this technique to explore the deeper meanings behind dreams, forgetfulness, and slips of the tongue. From these observations, he also developed his well-known theory of personality structure: the id, ego, and superego. According to Freud, the ego, or the ‘I-myself’, operates at the conscious level and deals with the demands of reality. The id, or ‘it’, refers to an unconscious drive that pushes people towards/away from things. Lastly, the superego, or ‘above me’, embodies moral values shaped by
one's environment and acts as the ego's internal censor. Now, back to those embarrassing brain lapses — arguably the most entertaining part of Freud's work: the Freudian slip. The American Psychological Association defines a Freudian slip as ‘an unconscious error that is (assumed to be) caused by impulses breaking through the ego’s defenses, exposing the individual’s true feelings’. Freud himself called these slips Fehlleistungen, meaning ‘faulty actions’. Interestingly, even before Freud, William Shakespeare is believed to have described this phenomenon in several of his famous works. Some everyday examples of this (painful, sleep-disrupting) experience include moments like accidentally calling your teacher ‘Mama!’, or calling someone by your other friend's name — when they are very much not that friend. In theory and writing, Freud's ideas may seem factbased and research-driven — and some are. However, many of his theories are so incredibly outrageous that modern-day psychologists and students alike can’t help but question his credibility. Some view Freud as a brilliant observer of human psychology, while others see him as a pseudoscientist (or perhaps a borderline charlatan). All things considered, Fraud— uh, I mean, Freud— was an undeniably sharp observer of human nature, who, more often than not, presented fanciful ideas disguised as scientific fact.
- Manahel Khan, Class XI
A Generational Norm
Right when we are born we are made to be a part of a system. A constructiveboundary of which weare inevitably expected to be a part of, for the rest of our lives. A system which encapsulates religion, belief, culture, community and family. Even if all the factors may subside to less importance in the longer run. Family always remains a part of ussubconsciously if not in our conscious sense. Regardless of the distance between us and our families, we are always reflecting a part of them: through behaviour, language and perception. I remember being in the 2nd standard when our teacher would make us listen to moral stories and assign us sentences to learn on good and bad habits. Little did we know that those mind straining hours of trying to cram those paragraphs would later dilute somewhere among the wide solution of childhood memories.Who could have thought that those sentences will subdue with time. We are taught rules that we are always obliged to follow. Be it at school or at home but never are we given the reason as to why do they need to be obliged? The only thing our little minds are capable of understanding at that time is that going against the rules could get us in grave danger.Without realising these pseudo-ideas creep into our subconscious mind and make their own place of comfort there.
In the longer run the fear of breaking the rules doesn’t allow our mind to think otherwise. It forces it to think traditionally. The fear of losing, letting down one’s family, security creeps in our mind through the creak created by our elders. One can’t blame them because they have been made to go through the same tragedy by their elders. It’s like a vicious cycle where one passes on the most gruesome trait to the other. Where beating or scolding one’s child is the only way to get them back on the right track, a track fenced by thorn fencings. An endeavour whose lefts and rights have already been decided by the ones before us. We are made to believe that crossing that fence is only going to hurt us and turn us into a loser whilst failing to see the serene beauty that lies ahead of it. Life is like an electrocardiogram: once the line becomes straight the human body is considered dead. Our mind doesn’t grow from cramming rather from experiencing. Our mind is like the ecosystem.
A system where nothing exists alone. It’s an ever- growing and everlasting system. It cannot grow in a constrained
boundary. I often hear youngsters around me say that they can’t wait to leave their houses for the greater good. The house that at birth is a person’s paramount of happiness. Why do Elders never ponder as to why their younger ones seek to run away from the people that were fundamentally their best supporters? According to reports 50 percent of females and 60 percent of males suffer from intergenerational trauma. That unintentionally is passed on to the ones that are to succeed them. It’s like a universal syndrome that almost everyone carries in their minds. Nonetheless, it can be cured. In the end it is what we chose to make out of our own lives. If we chose to pass the trauma to our children or if we chose to make them learn through experiencing-If we chose to be a part of their childhood or if we chose to just thrash a pamphlet at them which reads ‘Moral stories’?
As Khalil Gibran said, ‘Your children are not your children. They are the sons and daughters of Life longing for itself. They came through you but not from you and though they are with you yet they belong not to you.’
Parents needs to understand their child’s mental needs and accept that not every child is like the other, they grow and develop differently. Everyone is born with a specific set of creative skillset and every blooming child needs space and time to realise its full potential. As parents it’s their responsibility to make their child feel loved and to reassure them that when everything goes wrong they have their child’s back. If as a child that’s too much to ask for, as a parent to expect their child to be Einstein isn’t justified either.
Fallak Naz Class XI
Philosophy When Rumi Dies
When I die
When my coffin Is being taken out. You must never think I am missing this world.
Rumi died over seven centuries ago. His mausoleum in Turkiye is a magnetic site for tourists and a shrine for Sufis. His poetry entrances the romantics and the religious alike. The former seeks love from their partners, and the latter from the Lord. “When I die” is a rather famous poem from his six-volume collection, the Masnavi. It can be comprehended by reading it once, a feature many poems lack. However, its beauty is in its simplicity. It covers the basics of the Sufi school of thought, specifically Fanā.
When you see
My corpse is being carried, Don't cry for my leaving
I'm not leaving.
I'm arriving at eternal love
Rumi alludes to his death, which must have been shocking for his pupils. For his pupils, his death is the end of guidance. The end of enlightenment and salvation. Rumi assures his pupils that even if he dies, he won’t truly disappear. Rather, he would achieve eternal love, the embrace of nature itself. Rumi was not self-taught. He had a teacher, Shams Tabrizi. Tabrizi was the one behind Rumi’s self-realisation. It happens so that one day, Tabrizi just vanishes. Historical records suspect foul play, but it is not clear where Tabrizi went. All we know, and Rumi knew, was that his teacher was gone. Vanished into thin air.
You'll only see me
Descending into a grave.
Now watch me rise. How can there be an end When the sun sets or The moon goes down?
Rumi tries to find Tabrizi. He ventures out on long searches, trying to find his teacher. Rumi’s early poetry reflects longing and pain. It is death. Rumi’s spirit dies without Tabrizi. And for a Sufi, spirit is everything. Separation from the teacher was spiritual stagnation. Rumi had died. With age, Rumi’s poetry evolved. With no sign of Tabrizi, he had to come to terms with his condition. As he guided pupils and meditated, Rumi realised that he did not just die, but he was alive. To reach self-sustained spiritual enlightenment, Rumi had to go through the pain of separation. He would not attain a higher sense of self until his older self was truly dead.
It looks like the end. It seems like a sunset. But in reality, it is a dawn. When the grave locks you up, That is when your soul is freed.
The process of regeneration ceases. That is when Rumi sees the bigger picture. At the end of it all, Rumi was freed. It was his sheltered perception that encumbered his opinion. Sunsets are not the end, they do rise, just far away. When Rumi leaves his adobe and comprehends the gravity of spiritual death, he sees that he may have died in the here and now, but will rise in a completely different state. Rumi’s worldview can be traced in one single poem. From a sentimental young scholar to a sage. He has conquered himself through the process of death. He has died once, so he may live again. In one lifespan, Rumi lives multiple lives. Each begins when the previous ends.
Rumi’s death will breathe life into his pupils. They will go through the process of losing the guiding light. They will lose the torch-bearer, left alone in the dark. But it is not long before they create their own light. They become the torch-bearers. The supposed end was just the beginning of something even greater. All these experiences add up to a person’s life. This is Fanā.
Have you ever seen A seed fallen to earth, Not rise with a new life? Why should you doubt the rise Of a seed named human?
Fanā is not voluntary. It is not only for those who seek enlightenment. No one can, essentially, hide from Fanā. The process will occur regardless of one’s beliefs. Like every seed is meant to be buried and grow, every human is meant to die and live again. Surely, this does not have to be life-altering. It may result in small and simple changes, not necessarily momentous spiritual shifts. Each human has to go through changes. Rumi tries to highlight the change (in and of itself) using the metaphor of physically passing away. Although physical demise is the basis of the idea of resurrection, the concept transcends. It applies to all spheres of life that need change. Change is demise. One thing dies to make room for another. And, for the most part, change is good.
When for the last time,
You close your mouth, Your words and soul Will belong to the world of No place, no time.
Rumi died over seven centuries ago. His mouth is closed. However, his poetry will live on for eternity. His ideas and teachings will influence people across the world, philosophers, theologians, lovers and poets. He faced many endings, but also embraced many beginnings. And as per his request, I am not crying.
“
- Abdullah Bin Zubair Class XII
Expectations and Acceptance
Samsara and Vision
As the calendar turns its pages, we are catapulted into another cycle. Scintillating aspirations, indisputable goals, and an unrelenting chase fill our minds as we get ready for another pilgrimage. However, in the shadow of this pilgrimage lies a herculean burden, to which Samsara offers answers.
Samsara, the cyclical cycle of birth, death and rebirth in Buddhist philosophy, is a voyage of the soul powered by desire and attachment. It is not reincarnation in the literal sense, but a metaphor for our everyday patterns: ambition, success, failure and resumption. Each new year, we embark on another samsaric voyage, filled with the common question of, “Will I be enough?”
This arduous labour of expectations is a defining feature of modern civilizations. We are driven to refine every moment and to achieve endlessly without looking back; however, this soon manifests into an existential blight. Vision here turns into the shackles of confinement, forever imprisoning us.
flawless voyage rather a lens of existential clarity. The tapestries of old whisper that nirvana does not come from herculean achievements but rather from seeing through a different vision. It is not the wheel of time that binds us, but rather our rigid attempts to grasp what is within it.
This lens of existential clarity shows that acceptance is the only lance against this foe. This acceptance is not a feeble surrender but rather a radical act of seeing through the new lens, devoid of any judgment. When the essence of samsara trickles down into one’s mind, one begins to shift from a teleological focus on the world to an attunement to the present. One begins to slowly lose these worldly attachments and finally, for the first time, sees the world for what it truly is and starts to live again.
In the cyclical odyssey, we see life not as what it is but what it is according to others. We chase perfect titles and timelines, thinking that if we are just consistent enough, we will arrive at something. However, each new achievement births another horizon and each new failure shackles us further.
This is not to say that these visions are ignoble; rather, it must be reframed. It should not be a rigid blueprint of a
As we stride further into the year, we should use vision not as a metric of rigidity but rather as a lamp of discernment. One should not sow the seeds of their goals into the barren soil of self-doubt but rather in the arable soil of acceptance; every failure, every plateau should be accepted, since these are what will make the seeds of our goals soar even higher. One must accept that the wheel of time moves not because of his exertion but because it must. Nirvana lies not in rushing things up but rather in learning when one must make a stop.
Samsara shows us that the year will come full circle, with or without our command and in the lens of how we see it lies our true freedom.
- Abdul Muqtadir Class X
The Moral Zeitgeist
Moral Zeitgeist is a term employed by the renowned evolutionary biologist and best-selling author Richard Dawkins in his polemic 2006 best-seller, titled ‘The God Delusion’. Moral zeitgeist is the evolving and changing ‘spirit of the age’ that effectively anthropomorphizes the spirit of the collective moral compass upon which society is founded, and which changes and develops with the passage of time.
According to this fascinating concept, norms once universally accepted everywhere and fell back to — such as the institution of slavery, the institution of patriarchy, or the prevailing attitude of religious intolerance — are being questioned, challenged, and eventually replaced by values based on universal human rights, sympathy for fellow human beings, and working towards equality for all human beings. Instead of the conception of morality being passed down through the ages in an unchanging form by way of tradition or scripture, it changes and develops as society gets more educated, informed, and networked with one another.
This concept is not only compelling in its underlying form but also wonderfully optimistic in the grand scheme of our collective human experience. I see it as speaking to me very profoundly in my knowledge of history and the essence of human beings. As humans become increasingly educated about the world they live in, are exposed to a variety of things, and are exposed to others beyond the silos of their own culture, their moral ethos simply changes and evolves.
The moral zeitgeist offers a keen understanding of why public opinion regarding broad issues such as religious tolerance and racial justice has changed so fundamentally over the course of a decade or two — it is not a product of divine epiphany or brilliant
light, but an effect of deep human self-awareness, growing awareness, and growing ability to see ourselves through each other.
To me, the idea of an evolution of morality is not moral weakness or lack of character, but proof of our potential as a people. It is proof that we are capable of learning and getting better over time — of learning and recognizing the errors and injustices of those who preceded us and of doing our best to do better. To be a believer in the moral zeitgeist is to be aware of the potential of human beings to attempt and create a better and more humane world for all. And I have no doubt at all of that potential.
- Dayyan Murtaza Mattoo, Class IX
Do Endings Really Exist?
“If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster and treat those two imposters just the same”
— Agha Shahid Ali
“What wasn’t, became, and what was, passed by, The wheel of time never stops turning.” This verse reminds us that everything in this world is temporary. A tree that once stood tall must shed its leaves once the autumn hush embraces the land. But does this mean it will never rise again? The truth is, although autumn winds have stripped the tree of its leaves and weakened the stem, it will be back to its mighty self soon enough. In Urdu, we say “Har Zawaal ka Arooj Hota Hai.” Every downfall leads to a rise, just like how the sun rises every morning after the long hours of darkness. What may feel like the end might just be the beginning of a new chapter. Our universe, the cosmos, has itself undergone a demise just to be reincarnated. Millions of years ago, when the land was ruled by large, massive reptiles, a huge asteroid struck the land, ending everything, the luscious forests and the roaring monsters in the fraction of a second. Destruction had taken over the world, not leaving anything behind. Endings have always been there, whether in the face of a big bang or just a silent acceptance. From leaving the classroom you got used to, bidding goodbye to the ones you thought you would be forever with, or just leaving the house you spent half your life in. Somehow, it never truly ended; it continued until, in the midst of all, you realized you had come across something even better. The bitter truth is, you might not always get something better, but you will always walk away changed. There will never truly be an end, as Khalil Gibran might have said, “Every winter carries the seed of spring”. But how do we know that there will be a beginning when everything around us is falling apart? How do we know that what lies ahead is better for us?
The poem ‘If’ by Rudyard Kipling states it beautifully:
This is what it means to have a vision: that life is all about ups and downs. In Urdu, we use two words, ‘ibtida’ (beginning) and ‘intiha’ (ending). We forget that these two words aren’t opposites, but companions. They move together. Everything ends in giving birth to something new. Only when we dare to stand up and face the failures and setbacks thrown at us, can we keep moving forward in this paradox of losing and becoming. Perhaps there is no end, just simple pauses from the universe before granting us something that was always ours. Maybe the falling of leaves, the shattering of dreams, or the absence of something dear to us aren’t losses after all, but nature’s way to make room for the beauty that’s yet to arrive. Or perhaps it was the cosmos removing the clutter from our lives to prepare us for what has always been ours, or it was simply a lesson to help us grow. In any way, it was not the end; there is no end, and there never will be. My Grandfather’s words echo in my mind,
I now understand what he meant. It was never about clinging to what was or is, but to be able to walk through what is and to trust that something better lies ahead, even if that’s not what it seems like. In the end, there is no end. -
Maheen Mansoor Shah Class IX
SURVIVAL THROUGH MEANING
"Suffering ceases to be suffering at the moment it finds a meaning."
Picture yourself being taken away from everything, your home, your family, your freedom, and deposited in the midst of one of the darkest horrors of history. For anyone else, that would be the end. But for Viktor Frankl, it was the start of a concept that would transform millions of lives.
Viktor Frankl was not your average psychiatrist. Born in Vienna in 1905, he was captivated by life's greatest questions from an early age. What drives people? Why do we suffer? And most importantly, how do we keep going when everything falls apart? Sigmund Freud said life was about pleasure. Alfred Adler believed it was all about significance. Frankl disagreed. He believed life was about meaning.
However, in 1942, Frankl's world was destroyed. He and his wife were deported to Nazi concentration camps, such as Auschwitz. His loved ones were murdered. He was starved, beaten, and forced to the point of near-death. But in that unimaginable suffering, he made a discovery: the people who survived the longest were not the strongest; they were the ones who had something to live for. Frankl survived
because he wanted to share this idea with the world. After the war, Frankl wrote a book in just nine days.
That book, Man’s Search for Meaning, became one of the most important psychology books of the 20th century. It’s part life story, part philosophy, and full of emotion. His core message? Life is pain, but that's not to say it has no meaning. Instead, meaning makes pain endurable. He named his method logotherapy, taken from the Greek word logos, which means "reason". Frankl believed that we can find meaning in three main ways: through work, through love, and suffering. His philosophy wasn’t about escaping suffering, but rising above it, choosing how we respond, even when everything else is taken away. Viktor Frankl went on to teach and lecture all over the world. He wrote over 30 books and influenced generations of psychologists, philosophers, thinkers, and plain people just attempting to find meaning in life.
He died in 1997, but his ideas are still relevant to this day. Frankl's life proves something we all need to hear: even in the darkest times, we can find light. Not by avoiding pain but by finding meaning in it.
Manha Batool, Class IX
- Viktor Frankl
DPS Times
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TECHNOLOGY
The Quiet Revolution of AR
Have you ever used Augmented Reality? You know— that feature in some apps that lets you see dinosaurs in your living room or a new couch in your space using just your phone camera? Particularly well-known examples include Pokémon Go, or maybe Minecraft Earth. But those examples don’t show off the real magic of AR. The tiny little pocket of AR a phone creates doesn’t do the concept justice.
The real magic of AR is in what are popularly known as “Smart Glasses” or “Smart Goggles” – eyewear that can just project things into your vision, with everyone else none the wiser. Features in past models have included things like text translation, projection of images, item recognition etc.; truly something straight out of science fiction. You could read notifications without having to touch your phone, set timers following your vision, make reminders pop up when looking at a relevant object – the possibilities seemed endless There were, however, glaring issues. The resolution was horrendous; controlling the glasses was a nightmare, with the user having to flick their eyes around constantly or fiddle with a separate controller; the glasses couldn’t stand alone, with most features requiring a connection to a phone; the average battery life was only 2-3 hours, and most smart glasses were bulky and ugly, leaving casual use out of the question; the list goes on. Most of all, the price was a nightmare: the most famous example, the Google Glass, cost upwards of Rs. 1,20,000. Smart glasses were amazing in theory. But in practice, they just didn’t work.
As always, however, these issues are being resolved, with some excellent progress to show.
Most smart glasses have begun offering resolutions between 1080p and 4K since 2023, and framerates of 60 fps or 120 fps. Control schemes now rely on small hand gestures. The introduction of smaller and smaller processors now means that smart glasses can function entirely on their own – no phones required. The battery has similarly improved, and constant heavy usage nets you 5-6 hours of battery – which translates to about 8-10 hours of light-to-moderate use. Most now look like ordinary glasses.
Finally, we come to the price. While the upper limit stays around Rs. 1,00,000, the lower limit has shifted. For a pair with all the features listed above, what do you think the price starts at? Lock in your guess.
The answer? A little upwards of Rs. 42,000. That’s half the price. That shifts the price range entirely – instead of being on par with something like an entire PC, the cost is that of a moderately expensive tablet. Think about that. A pair of smart glasses – a concept for daydreams more than anything – at half the price of a new laptop.
Makes you wonder, doesn’t it? AR will soon stop being a novelty, and become a part of daily life. The future won’t arrive all at once, but soon, it might be sitting right on your nose.
- Mohammad Saad, Class XI
Poetry: Farewell, 16
teenage girl 17 will sound too close to 18 and 18 sounds scary.
I cannot believe that I won’t be 16 in a few months, It will be hard to perceive myself as not 16 as not 14 as not 11 or not 9.
I have associated my self and my being to being a child being a young girl
When Lady April leaves with her belongings she leaves me with a trail of unopened gifts and that is what I unbox every summer.
16 was beautiful 16 was agony 16 was yearning 16 was dreaming 16 was breaking— but it was beautiful. Every equinox I remind myself there has never been a time When time didn’t pass and I’ll never know if that was; a blessing or a tragedy Because this feels like the last day of feeling like a
28 and then summer comes back to me gnawing my heart with its sharp teeth
I dream of another 16
Another 16th summer
Another 16th spring
Another 16th fall
I wish to place 16 between my ribs and hug it forever I wish to be 16 till I’m 25
All my friends are 17
And one day I will be 17 That day is close. after that,
Farewell 16.
It may be the films and the radio that colour 16 to what I hold it but it is a great deal being 16.
It may sound like great things happened when I was 16— that isn’t true It isn’t even close to true I have loved 16 because I have loved myself be 16.
Farewell 16.
Banafsha Iftekhar Wani, Class XII
• forwards beckon rebound
Adrianna Lenker
• Golden Brown The Stranglers
• Pinocchio: I. Omino di legno Alexander Litvinovsky
• Walking On A Dream Empire Of The Sun
• Jazz Ahmad Jazz Gaekhir Republik, Mir Kashif Iqbal
• Chest Pain (I Love) Malcolm Todd
• Javeda Zindagi-Tose Naina Lage Kshitji Tarey, Shilpa Rao
• Christmas Time Is Here Vince Guaraldi Trio
Playlist
• Ajib Dastan Hai Yeh Lata Mangeshkar
• Vampire Empire Adrianne Lenker
• Bloodbath Polyphia ft. Chino Moreno
• Marcel Her’s
• The Four Seasons Recomposed Spring Max Ritcher (After A. Vivaldi)
• Valentine Fiona Apple
• Photograph Ed Sheeran
• Velvet Ring Big Thief
• Love Keyshia Cole
Credits Editorial Board
Shazia Fida
Abdul Muqtadir Wani
Ahmad Abrar
Bazilah Kirmani
Hadi Imtiyaz
Kawkab Lone
Khalid Khursheed
Manahel Khan
Mariya Parvaiz Wani
Mohammad Hammad
Mohammad Saad
Mohammad Sawood Mir
Sualiha Khan
Syed Imaad
Zaara Farooq
Zainab Iqbal
SPEC ial
C oN triBU tor S
Abdullah Bin Zubair
Art EDI t Or
Zainab Iqbal
iM
a GE C r E dit S
Cover Illustration: Bahija Bint Fayaz, Class IX rawpixel.com
laY o U t dESiGN
Manahel Khan
Mariya Wani
Zainab Iqbal