Aftab Zaar 2025 Winter Edition

Delhi Public School Srinagar

An Editorial Board Initiative Patron: Ms. Shafaq Afshan

2025:Winter Winter Edition 2025: Edition 2024: Autumn Edition

Aftaab Zaar

Table of Contents 01 OP ED Winter Passes

HERITAGE & 03 FOLKLORE Wakhtey Sahar A Story of the Conflicting Land The Treasures of Kashmir

07 ART

Against Interpretation

HISTORY 10 Nishan-e-Mohabbat Hourglass

14 FICTION Fraier When Winter Weeps

18 PHILOSOPHY I Think, Therefore I Am The Slient Strength

20 BOOK RECOMMENDATIONS Junior Book Recommendations Senior Book Recommendations

22 TECHNOLOGY

NVIDIA’s Trillion Dollar Journey Digital Detox: Finding Balance in the Digital World Classroom VS. Digital Learning

24 IN MEMORIAM 27 CREDITS

Op-Ed

WINTER PASSES “Spring passes and one remembers one’s innocence.

Summer passes and one remembers one’s exuberance.

Autumn passes and one remembers one’s reverence.

Winter passes and one remembers one’s resilience.”

As I am writing down this piece, frost is the new look of my window, the sun has started practising work-life balance, the leaves outside have wilted, it is too cold to walk, it is too cold to take a bath and according to some “delicates” who have already left for their temperate abodes, “it is too cold to live.”

Winter, by its very nature, appears to be a season of desolation and dormancy. The trees stand bare, the flowers are frozen, and the rivers are icy cold. Yet, within this apparent stillness, a profound paradox unfolds. Beneath the icy surface, a remarkable transformation is taking place. The seeds, buried deep within the soil, lie dormant, gathering strength. The sap within the trees, though seemingly inactive, continues its slow, steady ascent, preparing for the burst of life that will follow. The very snow that blankets the landscape provides insulation, protecting the delicate ecosystem beneath.

Through the lens of paradoxical rejuvenation, we see the world in a new light. We see that even in the midst of adversity, there is always the potential for growth, for renewal, and for transformation. We see that the darkest of times can also be the most profound and that the stillness of winter is a catalyst for introspection, self-discovery,rebirth and resilience.

As the snowflakes gently fall upon the valley, casting a serene silence over the landscape, we are reminded of the indomitable spirit of our people. The harsh winters, the turbulent rivers, and the majestic mountains have all contributed to the unique character of our valley, and the resilience of its inhabitants.

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Resilience is the quality that allows a tree to stand tall, even after its branches have been stripped bare by the winter winds. It is the strength that enables a river to flow, even when its surface is frozen solid. It is the courage that permits a flower to bloom, even in the harshest of conditions.

As we navigate the winter landscape, we find that resilience is not just a quality of nature, but also of humanity. Our valley, with its rich history, its vibrant culture, and its breathtaking beauty, is a testament to the power of resilience. We see it in the faces of our people, who have braved the harshest of winters, and yet, continue to smile, to hope, and to dream.

We see it in the stories of our ancestors, who have passed down their wisdom, their traditions, and their struggles from generation to generation.We personally, too, face our own winters — seasons of hardship, struggle, and sometimes even loss. Yet, like the valley that endures the snow and ice to embrace the newness of spring, we too are part of a larger cycle.

It is easy to forget this cycle when we are in the midst of pain and uncertainty. The world outside may not see the strength in our stillness, nor understand the depth of our silence.

But we know that even in our most challenging winters, we are not defeated. We are not absent from the world. Like the roots that burrow deep in the frozen soil, there is a quiet but firm sense of purpose growing beneath the surface of Kashmir's sorrow. The silence is not empty; it is full of meaning, renewal, and hope.

Winter may seem like a season of desolation, but it is also a season of paradoxical rejuvenation — a reminder that even in the darkest of times, there is always the promise of a new beginning. As we silently dawn our pherans, as we hide our Kangris and as we relax on our hammams; we prepare to rise again, like the snow-capped peaks that tower above our valley. We prepare to flourish again, like the flowers that bloom in the gardens of our ancestors. And we prepare to thrive again, like the rivers that flow through the heart of our valley.

Khalid Khursheed Muzaffar - Class XII

Piety, bleakness My fleeting brush with winter A bygone bond, it trails onto A shrine laced with grey Hell, besides misery brings forth a summer breeze

Ahmad Abrar - Class XI

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Heritage and Folklore “Waqhtey Sahar” - The moment for Sahar has come. This is what the residents of Kashmir listen to- from the Ramzan drummers, known as Sahar khan. As Sahar khan stirs them awake for their pre-dawn meal, or Seheri, Kashmir is enveloped in total darkness, with everyone still in deep sleep.

Ramzan is the ninth month of the Islamic calendar, which commences with the sighting of the crescent moon. During this month, Muslims around the globe observe fasting from dawn until dusk. In the sacred month of Ramzan, Sahar khan serves as a human alarm in this technological age to uphold a tradition that originated in Central Asia. The practice of Sahar khan has been maintained in Kashmir for many centuries. This tradition not only helps preserve the culture and customs but also supports the livelihoods of a specific group of people.

Yet, there is a noticeable trend of rejecting the ongoing presence of Sahar Khan throughout the valley. Many times, individuals express that Sahar Khan’s announcements are merely an annoyance and a disruption. It appears that their efforts have become irrelevant to the community. Despite the long distances they travel, they do not receive the same warmth as their predecessors. Several years ago, Ramzan drummers played a crucial role in rousing people for Suhoor, but now technology has taken over that function. Even though Ramzan drummers have a significant cultural heritage, advancements in technology have diminished the importance and necessity of their traditional role. Is it really so challenging to support people in sustaining their livelihoods by simply being more welcoming and appreciative of them?

Individuals who serve as Sahar khans during this time, are primarily laborers hailing from backgrounds of necessity and hardship. In the final ten days of this month, they visit every household in their community to collect some cash and items, mainly rice, to bring back home. This month provides them an opportunity to earn a specific amount of money so they can return to their homes at the month's end and joyfully celebrate the Eid festival with their families.

Although we often focus on our own lives and remain caught up in our routines, it is important to recognize the need for a balance between personal pursuits and the welfare of those in our community, so that we can support one another. As we reflect on these ideas, we still face the lingering question: is it truly so challenging to assist others in sustaining their livelihoods simply by being open and showing them appreciation?

Zaara Farooq - Class XII

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A Story of the Conflicting Land Kashmir is a story of contrast. A story that takes place in a valley nestled in the arms of the great Himalayan mountains, a story which is well known beyond the mountains it takes place in, a story like no other. Other stories around the world have been carefully crafted by the people, with elements introduced with the utmost care to ensure they don’t create any unnecessary conflicts within the story. The story of Kashmir is one written by the dynamic flow of the universal winds of fate, and destiny resulting in a story that is unlike any other in all aspects, possessing a beauty that is akin to the masterpieces of the great artists of the technique of contrast.

Culture is a fragile concept. Any interference from forces outside its sphere of interaction can lead to a complete wipeout of the traditions and heritage it carries with itself. However in rare scenarios, the things often viewed as opposites turn out to be complementary, and once they are accepted by the people who once couldn’t even bear the thought of opposites even remotely meeting, a culture is rejuvenated in a new form, which may seem paradoxical initially, but eventually becomes one of the most richest of traditions, with a heritage which lives on long after it’s initial creation and continues on burning bright, like a great gentle fire supported indefinitely.

Reflections Perhaps the best representation of a culture, which can be recorded, is the music and poetry produced by its people. Kashmir has had a rich tapestry of artists whose works give us a glance into the valley’s inner workings. Kashmir is a point of convergence for different languages, people, ideologies and much more, which has shown itself in the works of the artists. While there have been many instances of collaborations, between differing styles of artistic representation in the past, the best examples are the ones which are present today, having originated long ago and despite having undergone changes, are in their spirit, the same as they were years ago. Contemporary musicians of Kashmir create a unique musical blend, combining all the centuries long Kashmiri ventures into music with regards to instruments, style and also combine poetry from the great poets of the past, into a melody which feels unequivocally Kashmiri yet with a modern twist, such that a new era of music and poetry has started in Kashmir mixing all that came before with newer, more modern ways, a reminder that what this valley had before, that uniqueness to how it’s story is told, is still there and continues to add to its culture.

Embracing The Conflict The Industrial Revolution. Three words which can almost always be correlated with the loss of traditional industries of a region. However, as is the case with the Valley, this destructive force did not cause the heartbeat of cultural identity to stop, but instead enriched it. Before the people welcomed the revolution into Kashmir, the things often closely associated with its culture, were on the brink of fading out. The world renowned Pashmina shawls, the beautiful and intricate carpets, along with the paper-mache crafts, were met with an existential crisis. As the industrialised goods flooded the market and it became clear that the industries could no longer keep operating as they had been for ages before, they had to make a choice. Either embrace the very thing that was driving them to the brink of collapse, or seal their own fate and fight a war that was certain to result in defeat for them. Through this dilemma, a choice was made. Industrialisation would be the force that would keep these core parts of the valley’s heritage alive. Through this process of embracing change, not only with these industries in particular, but nearly every aspect of Kashmir, the traditional Kashmiri spirit is not only kept alive but has been allowed to thrive and reach the wider world.

A Chapter Finished, A Book To Be Read Kashmir’s culture and heritage are not static relics of the times gone by; they are dynamic and ever-evolving. This particular story is a constant reminder that beauty can often be found when change is welcomed. Through its art, its music, its philosophy, and its very spirit, Kashmir embodies the idea that cultures must be open to everyone, it shows that cultures can incorporate elements from each other and welcome things traditionally considered to be “foreign” to grow. It is proof that contrasts can be made to coexist in a way that enhances the best parts of each other.

Kashmir on the surface is a story like any other, but once attention is given to how it was created, those reading it begin to look from a different perspective. A story shaped by paradoxes–a land where the differences that emerge, do not create divides within it but instead strengthen the very fabric of its being, a story where contrast and conflict create the most enriched tapestries of beauty which shall remain forever timeless.

— Mir Sawood, IX

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The Treasures of Kashmir Khalid Khursheed, Class XII

The treasures of a nation are not solely composed of jewels and material possessions; they also encompass culture, heritage, and folk tales. In the context of Kashmir, this treasure is preserved in our folk tales, which find expression through the timeless stories shared by grandparents.

The Legend of Mahadev Once upon a time, by the shores of the renowned freshwater Dal Lake, lived the Robin Hood of the city. He was raised in a three-story house made of wood, mud, stone, and bricks. This charming abode was nestled within a medium-sized yard adorned with lush green grass and vibrant rows of roses and marigolds, all surrounded by the lake’s meandering exit. Known as Mahadev, or Robin Hood, he was born under the silhouette of a chinar tree. Tragically, his father passed away early due to an unknown illness, leaving Mahadev’s stout yet wise mother to care for her perceptive son. He was enrolled in a Pathshala (school) near Rainawari, which offered both secular and religious education.

Mahadev was cunning, intelligent, and perceptive. He was also compassionate and gentle. Unfortunately, he fell into bad company. The Pathshala’s Panditjee made every effort to encourage Mahadev to return to his studies and mend his ways. However, Mahadev preferred to skip class rather than focus on his education. One day, Panditjee summoned his mother to discuss her son’s behavior. Dismayed to learn that her child was wasting his time on various antisocial activities instead of studying, she chastised him and withheld his meals for the day as punishment.

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To discipline him further, Panditjee requested a stack of fresh green nettles.

When presented with the bundle, he covered his hands with a thick cloth before rubbing the nettles on Mahadev’s hands, legs, feet, and arms. The pain was excruciating for Mahadev, igniting a fire of rebellion within him.

From that day on, he regularly skipped classes. His mother desperately tried to persuade him to change his ways but received no response. Despite his flaws, Mahadev remained true and honest; he had no personal greed but felt a responsibility to help the poor. He did not enjoy life’s comforts but found excitement in the art of theft.

The Robin Hood of Kashmir Mahadev refined his craft with finesse and skill while setting records in the process. He possessed a unique ability: he could transform into a cat. People would shout “Bisht Bisht” to scare away the “cat,” leading Mahadev to adopt the surname Bisht. He stole from everyone without regard for caste or creed but made sure never to rob the needy or downtrodden. Instead, he targeted the wealthy to feed the poor.

With the bounty from his exploits, Mahadev supported philanthropic endeavors such as educating children from impoverished families and assisting families with daughters’ marriages. He ensured that no one in his community went hungry or lacked medical care. Additionally, he took special care of the hungry, sick, and widowed. No one dared intrude upon his territory; he ruled it with an iron will and tolerated no opposition from other robbers or outlaws.

Living an austere life that was both modest and pious, Mahadev gained immense popularity among the people who admired his hidden altruistic qualities. His valor and kindness became legendary.

The Ingenious Heist At that time, Pratap Singh, a Dogra Raja, ruled Kashmir. Learning about Mahadev’s notoriety and popularity among the people infuriated him; he could not tolerate being overshadowed by this infamous thief. Thus, he ordered his troops to capture this famous robber.

For years, Raja Pratap Singh’s warriors pursued Mahadev but were never able to catch him in the act.

One day, a group of thieves gathered to honor their clever comrade Mahadev. During their meeting, one thief challenged Mahadev’s invincibility by suggesting that if he could steal the Raja’s pajamas from his palace unharmed, he would accept Mahadev as their rightful leader.Eager for such an exciting challenge to prove himself, Mahadev confidently accepted it and declared that he would enter the Raja’s bedroom and emerge with proof as a prize.

On the fateful night of his daring mission, security at Sher Garhi Palace was heightened as informers were dispatched to gather information about this notorious robber. However, Mahadev devised an ingenious plan for his covert entrance into the palace.

First, he fashioned a long stalk from dry hollow hay and gathered a pile of bustling ants into it. After sucking them into the hollow stalk, he carefully wrapped them in muslin before making his way toward the heavily fortified palace grounds.

packet of ants and directed them toward the Raja’s body using the hollow stalk. The ants quickly spread out across him as he became increasingly irritated and itchy from their bites. In desperation, Raja Pratap Singh stripped off all his garments—including his pajamas—trying to escape their torment.

Mahadev watched in amusement as the Raja danced helplessly in his nakedness. Seizing this opportunity, he used the stalk to collect Raja Pratap Singh’s pajamas as proof of his remarkable skill before slipping back down through the pipe.

A Legacy Established The next day when Raja Pratap Singh discovered that his pajamas were missing, he realized that he had failed once again to track down Mahadev. This audacious act solidified Mahadev’s legendary status among thieves in Kashmir; he had created history in his profession while demonstrating artistic prowess that earned him respect among both thieves and common folk alike.

Thus began Mahadev Bisht’s reign as not just a thief but as a hero—a figure who stole from the rich to give back to those in need while etching his name into Kashmiri folklore forevermore.

Transforming into a long feline shape once more, Mahadev approached the palace’s sewer pipe and began climbing up with stealthy grace using his long stalk filled with ants. As he reached the window level of the chamber where Raja Pratap Singh lay sleeping in regal comfort, palace guards noticed a cat creeping up the drainpipe and shouted “Bisht,” hoping to scare it away.

Undeterred by their cries, Mahadev opened his

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ART

The Dangers of Over-Analyzing Art: Against Interpretation.

When Claude Monet first debuted his Famous Oil on Canvas, “Sunrise” in April of 1847 at the 35 Boulevard des Capucines, French academic critics denounced Monet’s loose brushwork and ‘unfinished’ style. Louis Leroy a prominent art critic of his time wrote ;

"Impression I was certain of it. I was just telling myself that, since I was impressed, there had to be some impression in it — and what freedom, what ease of workmanship! A preliminary drawing for a wallpaper pattern is more finished than this seascape.”

We now understand that what they missed was that art does not need to conform to an externally imposed, fixed ideal of having perfect workmanship or fitting your standards. Louis Leroy, by insisting that every detail must serve a predetermined symbolic or allegorical function Inadvertently confined art within a set of rigid criteria.

You wouldn't be shocked to find that such criticism was praised for being thoughtful and rigorous—for they were using the prevailing academic standards to judge art. Their analysis was deemed thoughtful because it applied a strict set of formal rules to what they believed art ought to be.

When critics insist that art must ‘serve some meaning’ or fit into a predetermined mould, they are projecting their interpretive frameworks onto the work. This is not a neutral process—it’s an imposition. Art does not have to be subservient to our analytical needs. Instead, art can exist as a whole, ambiguous experience that resists neat categorisation. The assumption that every detail must be ‘decoded’ is an overreach which only transforms a personal, magical encounter with art into an academic exercise.

Take for example - “the curtains are blue” as an artwork. Perhaps the curtains are blue, but when we dissociate the formal and allegorical meaning behind "the curtains are blue" from the artwork as a whole, we dismantle the original intention to fit a predetermined condition that- there exists a meaning behind the artwork. This puts art into a framework of rules and restrictions—but who decided that art must be subservient to us? That it MUST fit into this mould? That it must serve some meaning to the world?

Analysis which assumes that there is a fixed ‘original intention’ in art, is inherently flawed which modern theories like the “death of the author” have long challenged. When we dissect an artwork into testable pieces, we risk stripping it of its holistic, sensuous impact—the very experience that makes art magical.

When we observe, we create assumptions. Yes, this is inevitable and valuable, but as Susan Sontag claims in her influential essay - “Against Interpretation” - we need to return to a more primitive and sensual, magical experience of art. While the thick layers of hermeneutics may be challenging, we should approach artworks with a strong emphasis on revealing their sensuous surface without excessive dissection. Sometimes the intention is to have no intention, and over-analysis defeats this purpose.

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Some critics assume that every artwork must be analyzed, sometimes at the cost of its raw emotional impact.

There is a danger that as interpretations evolve, we risk losing sight of the work’s original impact. When every detail is dissected and reinterpreted, the artwork may no longer stand as the holistic, undiluted experience it once was.

Analysis, when overdone, can create a false expectation that every element must ‘serve’ a grand symbolic purpose.

This insistence is one that may no longer be relevant as cultural values shift.

But, does this mean that we should stop artistic analysis as a whole? No. Interpretation can be a magical thing that everyone who knows art experiences, and deliberate analysis might reveal aspects of a work (such as technique, context, or emotion) that contribute to its overall impact. Art can be multifaceted—its meaning can be both direct and layered—and that analysis, when done well, need not destroy an artwork’s value but can enrich our experience of it. Analysis is inevitable, but we should always stay clear from pushing our interpretations onto others and try to see the artwork from a new perspective. Most importantly, do not let anyone give prescriptions to your artwork.

Mariya Parvez Wani -Class XI

Flowers?

Or...not?

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April, foul blessing I wrench tales from fog Of a thousand suns And a thousand stars Shrouded in dreams, I scorn rest The wind now reeks of flowers

Ahmad Abrar - Class XI

HISTORY Nishan-e-Mohabbat

Once upon a time or to be exact, 433 years ago, a prince was born in Lahore to Bilqis Makani, the Mughal queen of Emperor Jahangir. This prince was named Shabab-ud-din Muhammad Khurram, later given the title of “Shah Jahan” literally meaning “king of the world”. Khurram received excellent education, studying the Quran, Persian literature and military tactics. His relationship with his father was rather complex. Jahangir was strict because of which Khurram often found himself against his father’s authoritarian rule. Despite all this, he was successful in proving himself the capable heir of the Mughal throne.

In 1612, when Khurram was 20 years old, he married a young princess named Arjumand Banu Begum, who he later gave name Mumtaz Mahal meaning the unique beloved: The marriage of Khurram with Mumtaz proved to be a turning point in his life. Khurram became Emperor Shah Jahan and Mumtaz became his trusted advisor. Happiness doesn’t last forever, and it certainly didn’t for the couple.

When Mumtaz was travelling with Shah Jahan (and the Mughal army), she went into labor. Despite the best efforts of royal physicians and midwives, the delivery was complicated. While the baby girl was taking her first breath, Mumtaz passed away. The death of Mumtaz had a devastating impact on Shah Jahan who started isolating himself in his chambers.

His grief was so immense, he mourned for almost two years, during which most of the empires military campaigns were postponed. He didn’t eat for eight days, and even abandoned his imperial duties for several months.

While he had isolated himself in his chambers, he thought of a mausoleum dedicated to his beloved wife. He was determined to create such a monument that would surpass every other in terms of beauty and grandeur, and that would stand for as long as the Earth could hold it. He gathered the best architects, engineers and artisans of the time to create a monument that was inspired by Islamic, Indian, and Persian architecture that no one had seen before. The team was led by Ustad Ahmad Lahori, a renowned architect and engineer who had previously worked on several other Mughal projects. Planning took around a year, the team surveyed the site, designed the building and prepared detailed estimates of the materials and labor required. The actual construction of the monument started in 1632. and took

22 years to finally be declared as the Taj Mahal. The construction of the Taj mahal required a massive labor force, which included approximately 22,000 workers. Said project of such size and detail took around 32 million rupees, a staggering amount at the time. If the Taj Mahal was to be built today, it would take 82,600 crore rupees.

Mumtaz was initially buried in a garden of Burhanpur, where she died. Six months after death, her body was transported to Agra, where she was reburied in a temporary grave in the Tajganj area.

After 22 years when the Taj Mahal had finally been built, the mortal remains of Mumtaz Mahal were buried in her final resting place. Five years after the Taj Mahal was completed, Shah Jahan fell severely ill, leading to a power struggle between his sons while he was still alive. Aurangzeb, one his sons was successful in consolidating power and eliminating his brothers.

Shah Jahan’s recovered, however Aurangzeb did not want to give up on his throne. Thus, he arrested his own father until Shah Jahan’s death.

It is said that the room in which Shah Jahan spent his last 8 years, he could see Taj Mahal from the windows, gazing longingly at the monument. At the age of 74, Shah Jahan died, and was buried in the Taj Mahal next to his beloved wife. Even today, Taj Mahal stands as the monument of eternal love. An Inscription this monument reads, “Should guilty seekers find one day a curb for the delirium of their mind, they will perceive why the pitiful heart finds no rest, did not the sleeve of the gracious one absorb the blood of my heart?”

— Shah Mohammad Hayyan, IX

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HISTORY

HOURGLASS Frank Sinatra was born on 12 December 1915

December

January

December 3, 1971 - The Indo-Pakistani War of 1971, a militarised conflict between India and Pakistan that took place during the Bangladesh Liberation War in East Pakistan, begins.

Mahatma Gandhi died on 30 January 1948

• December 16, 1773 - The Boston Tea Party took place in Boston, in colonial Massachusetts, against the Tea Act, a bill which permitted the sale of Chinese tea by the East India Company without paying taxes

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7th January 1610 - Galileo Galilei, an Italian astronomer, physicist and engineer, discovers Jupiter's four largest moons with the help of his refracting telescope

Charles Darwin was born on 12 February 1809

February 27th January 1945 - Liberation of the notorious Nazi concentration and extermination camp, Auschwitz, by the Soviet Red Army, a day now acknowledged as International Holocaust Remembrance Day

24th February 1739 - The Battle of Karnal, in which the Persian emperor Nader Shah defeated the armies of Mughal emperor Muhammad Shah, leading to the infamous sack of Delhi

• 4th February 2004 - the launch of the popular social media and social networking platform Facebook, by Mark Zuckerberg and his Harvard colleagues.

Ahmed Abrar - Class XI

discern a gilded dusk obscure, treads forth its dregs unveil spring I part ways with a spirit Daphne - It persists The scent of flowers lingers Roses ruin the laurel bough

Ahmad Abrar - Class XI

Fiction

Fraier Syed Imaad Hussain, Class XII “We must think about this well, Alfred. She is our blood after all.”

“I have christine, it is time this omen brings some good to our village.”

“Pe-” “Do not take that accursed thing’s name in this household!

Lest you curse us all.”

“The girl has lost a lot Alfred, and now we condemn her to that beast! Have some heart.”

“That girl! Is the reason your brother and my friend passed away, I care for you deeply but it does not exist to that child.

I will be rid of her as soon as can be.”

Eavesdropping from the door, was a small child of only thirteen. She simply could not fathom what they were talking about and what it would entail for her nor did she care. As she moved away from the door, the man came in, a lanky fellow with a serious and stern face. He looked at her with disdain and spared one look at the woman standing at the door. Next he grabbed the girl by her arm and dragged her outside.

“It is time we are rid of you and your fate, omen! “ Wails and cries were heard from the woman, who begged the man to keep the child. But the man was unrelenting; he pushed the girl outside and into the arms of a group of villagers. The girl was confused as she found herself in the arms of rugged men she had never seen before, she feared the worst, worried that she had been sold to the worst of fates. Soon she began kneeing and clawing at anyone who attempted to grab her. After a long struggle her hands were tied and she was taken away on a horse. She could not help but feel regret at how things had come to pass.

She was a gleeful child, her mother and father were the cause of that, perhaps that is why she turned out like this now. She remembers it all so vividly, how it happened. The blood and the exclamation of both her parents. She remembers how they were swept away by the rushing waves and only she remained. It took quite a lot for her to pull herself together after that tragedy however life still had more in store.

Coming to live with her relatives, one had hoped that it would be a bearable experience after everything had happened but no, she was treated like filth, an unholy object that should have never come into existence.

After this treatment, she had forgone any hope she had for any pleasant future experience but she still wanted to hold onto whatever life she would be able to live as her father always used to tell her.

Before she can complete that warm pleasant memory she realizes she has been thrown onto the ground, immediately jumping up and running forward, wanting to escape her supposed captors. However after sometime running she realizes no one is chasing her and that she has wandered into a large castle of stone and dust. The fight wears off her, as fright creeps in as she finds herself at the mercy of whatever decrepit dark creatures that this hellgate holds.

She moves forward deeper into the desolate structure, each step echoing throughout its huge inside.

Walking deeper inside, she finds herself facing a black wooden door. With nowhere else to go, she opens it and finds a fireplace with the firelit. She moves forward entranced by the heat it was giving out, completely forgetting to check the rest of her surroundings.

As if to trap her when she’s halfway inside the room, the large black door slams shut behind her. She cries out in terror as she realizes she has trapped herself in this room. Having no chance to do anything else as she is suddenly frozen by fear at the sight of an unnatural shadow near the fireplace. It was a humanoid figure but far too tall to be a normal man, it shined palely. Its arms are long and thick, the hands unnaturally large with “Life has always been a storm meant to tear you down, it pale long dagger-like protrusions at the end only matters how long we hold on Pe–” of the fingers. She could only watch in

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fright as she realized it was walking towards her, soon she could see its face, bony and devoid of any color, white eyes that seemed to kill any light that entered them. It wore a black garb, as black as the night.

Finally as if some spell had worn off, she ran to the other end of the room, looking for a way out. She noticed a small opening in one of the stone walls, big enough for her to pass through. She lunged at the opening and pushed herself through. She looked around and found herself to be out of the clutches of the dark figure.

She looked around the room, it was old and rotting like the rest of the place. She stumbled upon a book, half torn and dusty, it seemed like a diary. She opened it and read, “I have finally succeeded in binding this hellion to this castle, now all that remains is that I stake its body through the chest during the day That is the only way to put an end to this hellish curse.”

All the other pages were either torn or too worn away to be read. But she now had a singular escape out of this hell even if it seemed impossible at that instant. She looked around and found a sharp rock shard, just long enough for her to stab through the chest of that shadow. She readied herself and exited the room, with a newfound courage wanting to escape this hellhole, she roamed the hallways of this endless maze, finally stumbling upon the hellion. Its figure lit by the escaping dim sunlight coming from a large hole in the castle wall, she realised that somehow she was at a very high elevation.

She realized that this was only a cruel joke and that she would perhaps only live a few moments. However a new want arose in the heart of the girl, she realised that there was a minute chance that she may be able to find and end this dark creature, even if it was at the cost of her already shortened life. The fact that she had survived this impossible fall and woke up just before the next day ended only seemed to further her resolve.

So she arose, grabbed another sharp rock and dragged herself back to the opening, hurrying and entering the dark structure one again. She rushed and tried to find the resting place of this hellion. Sunlight was running out. She looked frantically and finally she saw it. The pale figure lay with its eyes closed in a large metallic tomb. However something was amiss, she realized that the sunlight was trailing across its body rather quickly, the sun was about to set.

She ran towards the creature and stabbed its chest, it started screeching and wriggling around as if trying to prevent the rock reaching its heart. She had to hurry, the sun was about to set.

The strength in her arms began failing her, she could not seem to be able to hold on any longer and just as her grip weakened and she was about to let go of the shard. A voice screamed in her ears.

“Life means to hold on, hold on longer Penelope.”

It stood in front of her, tall and dark and unrelenting.

She ran and lunged at its chest, stabbing through with all her might, the creature gave a shriek, she pressed harder thinking she had won but soon the shrieks of pain turned into a long string of deep, demonic laughter. The sun had set and thus the creature could not be harmed.

Hearing the sweet words of her father, as if rejuvenated, she stabbed anew with her dying breath and the creature gave an unbridled screech of pure pain. She could only hope this was the end as her last breath escaped her and she closed her eyes.

The creature moved its arms to grab the child as it opened its mouth. It was a frightening sight, its mouth seemed to contain only sharp teeth of various shapes and sizes, as if picked from all the predators on this earth. The girl, scared out of her mind, lunged away from the decrepit shadow, but she had made a critical error. She realised she had thrown herself at the large castle wall opening.

Something was strange, no eternal sleep was lulling her to itself. She felt fine, no pain anywhere. She opened her eyes to find herself covered in ash which seemed to stink of sulphur and rot.

Soon she found herself falling, and the only reassurance she could give herself was that the creature did not consume her as she fell body first into the ground and everything blacked out. She felt wet all over her as she woke up to the sight of a dimly lit forest, the sun about to set. She tried to get up but could only scream in pain as she realized she had various gashes in her legs, her head also had an open wound. The wetness she felt was of her own blood.

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The strangest detail was her wounds were gone, no gashes, no open wounds, no scars. It was as if she was never hurt. She began laughing gleefully, having never done so since she lost her parents. In the laughter, she heard a very faint voice.

“We want you to hold on longer Penelope.”

She could only nod and smile at the message.

She would live if only for the memories of someone else.

When Winter Weeps Every winter, the snow observed the fawn, admiring how the white spots of the innocent creature mirrored its own frosted nature—like kisses the snow ached to give. For now, it was content with etching the deer’s footprints into its memory.

The once-scrawny fawn had blossomed into a delicate yet resilient creature. A passerby watched as a spotted deer galloped through the bleak, snow-clad woods.

During one such reign of winter, the snow feared that it would not be able to savor the doe’s presence for much longer. She moved with reckless abandon, oblivious to the warnings around her.

The snow issued its caution, hailing a blizzard in her wake. But the cold air biting her face numb did not deter the doe. How could such vulnerable prey willingly endanger itself just to bask in the snow’s pristine beauty?

Not far off, the snow sensed the footprints of a much larger animal replacing those of the scrawny deer. The blizzard raged, yet the doe paid no mind to her admirer’s desperate pleas. She tried to ignore the heavy feeling in her chest, the reluctance of her cloven hooves to move any further, the crackling of sticks behind her.

There was something there. She could hear it—the pounding of a predator’s heart, heaving as it drew closer.

In the blink of an eye, the snow was tainted by its lover’s blood. The crimson hue seeped into its surface, as if the earth itself had been wounded. The deer’s death had always been inevitable, yet the snow couldn’t help but envy the earth that would bury her body.

- Manahel Khan, XI

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Solitude reft by warmth I depart Lively, unkempt haven it bestows chaos Anguished upon Dawn I embrace slumber

Ahmad Abrar - Class XI

Philosophy

I Think, Therefore I Am René Descartes, one of the most influential thinkers of the 17th century, sought to establish a foundation for knowledge that could not be doubted. In a time when skepticism challenged traditional beliefs, he embarked on a journey to strip away all assumptions and begin from absolute certainty: His conclusion “Cogito, ergo sum” (1 think, therefore I am) became one of the most famous philosophical statements in history.

Doubt. for Descartes, was a powerful tool. He questioned everything: the senses, the physical world, even his own memories. Could he be dreaming? Could an all-powerful deceiver be manipulating his thought? If everything was uncertain, was there anything left that could be known with absolute certainty?

It was in this moment of deep skepticism that he discovered a truth that could not be doubted: the very act of doubting Itself proved his existence. If he was thinking, even if his thoughts were mistaken, there had to be a “self ” doing the thinking.

he attempted to rebuild his understanding of the world, arguing that reason, rather than blind faith or unreliable senses, was the key to true knowledge.

However. Descartes famous statement was not with. out its critics. Some argued that it assumed too much, that the act of thinking did not necessarily confirm the existence of a “self ” beyond the thoughts them-selves.

Others believed that existence was not solely dependent on rational thought, as emotions, physical experiences, and social interactions also played crucial roles in defining human existence.

Despite these debates. Cogito, ergo sum remains one of the most profound and influential ideas in philoso. phy. It marks a turning point in the history of thought, shifting the focus from external authority to individual reason. Even today. Descartes insight shapes discusThis realization formed the foundation of Descartes’ philoso- sions on consciousness, identity, and the nature of phy. By establishing thought as the undeniable proof of exis- reality, reminding us that in a world full of uncertainty, tence, he created a rational starting point for knowledge. From the act of thinking itself is proof that we exist. this certainty, — Hadi Imtiyaz, XI

Cogito, Ergo, Sum

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THE SILENT STRENGTH “I come I come, why dost thou call for me?”

The said quote is from Niobe, a man so devoted to philosophy, he passed away at a place to which he dedicated his entire life to. His moral ethics led to the foundation of a school that moulded the thoughts of thinkers. This remarkable intellect is none other than Zeno of Citium, the founder of the Stoic School of philosophy.

Stoicism is a type of practical philosophy in which it is believed that the practice of virtue is enough to achieve ‘eudaimonia, — a well lived life. The four important virtues in a person’s life are wisdom, courage, moderation and justice. In stoicism, Virtue is considered to be the only good for human beings.

While other external pleasures, such as wealth, are said to be bad in itself. Many records in history depict emperors that implemented the idea of Stoicism to govern their empires. One such ruler was Marcus Aurelius, former emperor of Rome.

This influenced the development of modern-day human rights we all enjoy. According to Martha Nuss baum (a present-day philosopher), stoicism should be praised for its emphasis on rationality and justice, and its notable role in contemporary society. From dealing with challenges to cultivating mental resilience, stoicism also helps one to find meaning in today's fast-paced and complex world.

It teaches a person to focus on what they can control, asking a person to live in accordance with nature. Ac cepting the order of the universe and aligning one's life with it can be used to achieve mental peace, and is the key to stoicism. In addition to this, the idea of stoicism also advises us to take responsibility for how we react to life's circumstances. Most importantStoicism is also considered to have affected western phi- ly, were taught about mindfulness, and living in the present losophy and legal systems. Cicero, a Roman statesman world and philosopher, combined stoic ideas with the legal and political theory, to advocate for rule of law:

" You have power over your mind, not outside events. Realize this, and you will find strength.

- Marcus Aurelius

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— Zaynab Shabir Deva, VII

LITERATURE Junior Book Recommendations “You have been my friend... that in itself is a tremendous thing.”

Charlotte’s Web, by E.B. White Charlotte’s Web is a heartwarming tale about true friendships, loyalty, and compassion. Against the backdrop of a rustic farm, a connection fosters between an unlikely pair — a lovable pig and a clever, gentle spider —who manage to achieve something extraordinary. This classic, with its tender moments and subtle humour, captures the beauty of life, its cyclic nature, and the most generous acts of heroism that often go unnoticed

“A poem is when words beat their wings. It is a song sung in a cage.”

This is a Poem that Heals Fish, by Jean-Pierre Simeon When young Arthur fears that his beloved fish is unwell, his mother offers a rather curious remedy: a poem. Determined, he seeks out to discover the meaning of a “poem”, asking everyone he encounters what it means to them. Each response is unique, personal and lyrical.

This is a Poem that Heals Fish is filled with dreamy illustrations and few words that speak a lot; it is perfect for all those who love pondering over poetry

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Senior

Book Recommendations Turn of Mind by Alice LaPlante Genre: Literary Thriller, Mystery

“Why bother exfoliating? Let the dead cells accumulate, let them encase me until, mummified, I am preserved as I am. No more deterioration. To stop this descent. What wouldn’t I pay. What wouldn’t I give.”

Dr. Jennifer White, a retired and highly esteemed surgeon, is slowly losing her mind as she descends into dementia. When her best friend is found dead, fingers surgically removed, suspicion falls on Jennifer. Told in her fractured yet eloquent voice, this novel immerses readers in the anger, frustration, shame and isolation of a mind unravelling. As the investigation deepens, a chilling question lingers: is her failing memory concealing the truth—or protecting her from it?

Steal Like an Artist: 10 Things Nobody Told You About Being Creative by Austin Kleon Genre: Self-Help “If we're free from the burden of trying to be completely original, we can stop trying to make something out of nothing, and we can embrace influence instead of running away from it.”

Building on the idea that no creative work is original, this book explores the concept of “creative theft,” teaching readers the difference between imitation and transformation. Written in an engaging, graphic style, and packed with excellent examples and practical exercises, Steal like an Artist will surely rekindle your creative spirit.

Bazilah Kirmani – Class XI

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TECHNOLOGY Do you know what an ‘exoskeleton’ is?

An exoskeleton is basically a wearable robot that can move your body for you, or just increase the strength or speed of your movements. They’ve been very commonly used in sci-fi, but make no mistake – they’re real, and very useful. Why should you care, though?

The unique thing about exoskeletons is that they’re designed to work with your muscles.

They still function perfectly without them, but what’s interesting is that they’re designed to cater to muscular needs. This makes them very useful in replacing the function of paralysed limbs. The limb’s still there – you don’t want to tear the muscles apart, even if they don’t work anymore. This also makes them useful to retrain atrophied muscles, i.e., muscles frozen from lack of use – you really want to keep the muscle intact, because you want to use it again.

The other use is to amplify the strength of able-bodied people. Workers, for example, use these to lift extremely heavy loads, while soldiers gain the ability to stand guard for hours on end without a lick of exhaustion.

But how do they actually work? As you’d guess, they use a mix of motors, sensors, and computers. The sensors detect what the person is trying to do, the computers tell the motors what to do, and the motors help the user do what they want to. Some use AI to predict movements, making the overall usage experience smoother.

As of now, there are two main types of exoskeletons. Some are designed to help people with disabilities such as spinal injuries, used in hospitals or rehab centers. These let patients possess or regain strength and mobility. Others are built to amplify strength, for use by workers, soldiers, etc. Both allow you full freedom of ability, so there’s no specific “intended purpose” you’re limited by.

One outstanding example is Human in Motion’s “XoMotion” exoskeleton. It falls into the ‘medical’ side of exoskeletons, designed for people who can’t walk. Most other such exoskeletons require the supervision of at least one able-bodied human, but the XoMotion is self-balancing and hands-free, meaning the wearer doesn’t need an aide. It even copies nat-

ural human movement, so using it feels more like walking naturally than just clanking forward like in a bad ’80s movie. The XoMotion has been approved for use in Canada, making it the first self-balancing exoskeleton available there. It’s already being used in hospitals and rehab centers to help people recover from injuries or regain independence. It’s a glimpse of what’s possible with this kind of technology.

But it’s not just about XoMotion. Exoskeletons as a whole are evolving fast. In factories, workers are starting to use them to lift heavy objects without hurting themselves. In the military, soldiers can now carry gear across long distances.

Soon, they could help the elderly retain an active, mobile life, or give athletes an extra edge in training.

Of course, there are still challenges. Exoskeletons can be expensive, and they’re not always easy to use. Also, making them light and comfortable enough to wear for long periods is tricky. But as always, as technology improves, problems are solved one by one.

So, why should you care about exoskeletons? Answer: They’re a perfect example of how technology makes life better. They’re helping people walk again and increasing human capabilities.

They’re insanely useful and adaptable. They’re amplifying human capability, instead of replacing it. What’s not to love?

Mohammad Saad - Class X

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Encryption & Quantum Computers

For better or for worse, technology is becoming increasingly ubiquitous in our lives. Most of us are quick to adopt it, using our computers for everything from relaxing in the evenings, to finding employment in the first place. The average person also uses their phones for rather private matters, ranging from making payments to having personal conversations. The question arises, then, is it wise? Many of us believe what happens on our phone stays on our phone, but this isn’t exactly true. Nevertheless, the general faith people have developed in technology being secure and private didn’t appear out of thin air this trust is held up by the vast field of cybersecurity. Here, we will discuss one specific aspect of cybersecurity – cryptography.

Cryptography is, in essence, the practice of securing digital information through the use of (a LOT of) mathematics.

There are various methods to go about encrypting data, and some standardized methods are known as encryption “protocols” that we see used widely today.

RSA is a popular encryption protocol. It randomly generates very large prime numbers, called “keys” to use as ciphers for encrypting data. These keys are generated in such a way that, for the average computer to bypass them and decode encrypted information, it would take longer than the expected lifespan of the universe.

Pretty secure, right?

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Allow me to introduce quantum computers.By now, everyone’s heard of them.

Most people know that they exist, few know what they are, and fewer still know how they work.

Unlike classical computers, which store information in binary “bits” (either 0 or 1), quantum computers use quantum bits, or qubits. Thanks to something called “superposition”, a qubit can exist in both 0 and 1 states at the same time, allowing quantum computers to process vast amounts of data simultaneously. This, combined with another quantum phenomenon called “entanglement”, enables quantum computers to solve certain problems — such as complex simulations, optimization tasks, and factorisation — at very high speeds.

Concern arises from quantum computers’ proficiency at prime factorisation. Classical computers take an impractically long time to factor large numbers. RSA relies on this pitfall of classical computers to secure our data. As previously mentioned, to bypass RSA, a classical computer would take longer than the expected lifespan of the universe.A sufficiently powerful quantum computer, however, would take about a day.

Fear not, however – you won’t be losing your data to a common hacker. Quantum computers require extremely specific conditions to operate, such as a temperature of around -270ºC, insulation against the Earth’s magnetic field, and more. This means that access to quantum computers will be (and already is) highly limited.

Thankfully, quantum computers are still in their infancy. We haven’t advanced nearly enough for them to be a serious threat just yet. However, research is already long underway for “post-quantum encryption methods”. These encryption algorithms are specifically designed to be difficult to break, even for quantum computers. In fact, conferences have been held on tackling this problem all the way since 2006! That’s quite remarkable, given that we’re still years from having a quantum computer be a real threat.

It’s remarkable how we humans are racing ahead of our own inventions, having started an arms race between quantum computers and post-quantum encryption decades ahead of time.

Mohammad Hammad - Class XII

In Memoriam

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Until Next Time, Imad We may not be good enough writers as Tennyson to write tions. Walking and jumping at the same time, nervous another ‘In Memoriam’, yet, as Hallam was to Tennyson, so whether you would be elected Vice-head boy. And when were you to us, dear Imad. you made it, how you celebrated your triumph with the group. But you couldn’t even spend one day holding the Bright as Sirius, undoubtedly you were. The realest and the position you so dearly longed for years. funniest person we ever met. A helping, honest and gentle one. Timid we found you, at times though.

At every parents-teachers meet you were there, for we would hear taunts from our parents about you being there The absence of your laughter, do our ears crave. That irk- with your mom and dad; what we would often refuse to some shout of yours, funny enough to make us laugh, is attend. Your name was first up there, be it the Bookaroo, all we long to hear. One last time. There’s just so much we MUNs or Debate Club, making us feel far behind you. want to tell you; a minute is all we need; just one last minute.

So ambitious about your future you were, with a precise plan for all your endeavours. We remember how you used So ambitious a friend, your passion for learning pushed to explain to us, about managing your college expenses. us to the limits. Every time we met, you set a challenge; Your dream college, your dream job, all await you. strive and move ahead. You were incredibly hardworking, so much so that you often made us feel like we needed to We all miss you, man! The group chat has since been all catch up fast, or we would be left far behind. Your passion silent - no ping, no picture, not even a text message. It is drove us to push harder and strive for more. You were jack never going to be the same without you. We want to write of all trades and master of one; your tech skills were second so much, but your passing has turned all pens dry. to none.

Brother! You were far too kind for this world, your soul, as True! Death keeps no calendar, but why so cruel? pure as driven snow. Without you we can never imagine life being the same. Your silly jokes and taunts were all that Until next time. used to keep us going. Your opinion was the last tick on Musa and Eesa any decision, and your presence brought a sense of completeness that words cannot describe.

You would be down to ride the bike anytime the group decided. You would be the first person that would reach, excited throughout the whole time. Your enthusiasm was contagious, turning even the simplest moments into unforgettable memories.

You were the friendliest guy we have ever met. You would be friends with everybody we knew, and everybody we knew, knew you. You promised to arrange a hut in Gulmarg to spend a week with the boys in the meadows; what kept you from fulfilling the promise? What about our Ladakh trip - its budget you, Amaan and Izhaan prepared remains ever fresh in our memories.

I remember how you fretted over the student council elec-

In memory of all those we lost this year

Azeem Sofi

Hamaad Showkat Wani

Imad Tahir

Mohd Ayoub Sahab

Credits

EDITORIAL BOARD Ahmad Abrar Ayesha Ahmad Bazilah Kirmani Hadi Imtiyaz Kawkab Lone Khalid Khursheed Manahel Khan Mariya Parvaiz Wani Mohammad Hammad Shazia Fida Sualiha Khan Syed Imaad Zaara Farooq Zainab Iqbal

SPECIAL CONTRIBUTORS Mohammad Saad Mohammad Sawood Mir Abdul Muqtadir Wani

ART EDITOR Zainab Iqbal

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IMAGE CREDITS

Cover illustration: Zainab Iqbal rawpixel.com

LAYOUT DESIGN

Manahel Khan Mariya Parvaiz Wani Zainab Iqbal

IN LOVING MEMORY OF Imad Tahir

Grey blanket of love I gaze at darkness grovel, I burn I dwell in bliss My sins stay in Eden Spring perishes once again

Ahmad Abrar - Class XI