The Reflect: Edition 2, Part I [2021-22]

ref ɘɔt the

VOLUME 2 - PART I

A note to the readers Poems Short Stories Articles Odes

About the writers

1.

2.

Short Stories

Oh, that’s just a guitar

A little too soon

3. Articles

The two sides of the same coin

Flip a coin and the outcome is discrete. It is one or the other. Either the odds are in your favour, or they are not.

But say the coin does not land on a face. Instead, it proves nimble and comes to rest on its side. The outcome is far murkier in that case, and we do not always have the fortune to flip the coin again. Although statistical probability would prove otherwise, this case is a more likely event to occur in several of the themes in life.

Not one, but two. Not two, but one. Like calls to Like. The faces intermingle, coexist within the realms of existence. Perhaps one exists simply to check the other. Perhaps they both just exist because higher powers are at play. Perhaps it is some cruel and elaborate system of balance. Complete dominance of one is never achieved.

Here, we Reflect on the two sides of the same coin.

t he eternal cycle

Pain, misery, grief

Varied are its faces, the sorrows that we might feel Lurking round the corners, waiting for thyself

A devil's dance, a dreary draught, an ambush by the darkness.

Gloom sets in, the mind is clogged,

And coldness pierces thy very own heart There is no solid ground, no light is found And hope is lost in sepulchral hours, yet it's thoughtless brooding abound. If too long they have been, these hours of grief

The world seems gloomy, to be gloomier still

Storm's nigh, the winds are high, lightning splitting the vast black sky. Night howls as the storm seethes

And a sudden rumbling is perceived

The ground's cracking beneath one's feet, No one can see, it's now a gaping pit The footing is lost, all support is gone and one spirals into the abyss. An infinite fall, in no time at all An unending pit, getting darker still No wind, no light, not a thing to feel ' Nothingness fills the chasm to brim.

The war was raged, one's world ravaged One soul did fall but no lives were lost Only the mind is bleeding and heart forlorn.

Happiness now, that's something isn't it? Our reason to live, the joys we feel, the opposite of our melancholy.

In our happy times, beneath beaming sunshine With the mirth, the bliss, when laughter rings All hope is found, all gloom banished.

The gentle rain, the lush green trees

Ecstatic joy, an amiable breeze and the euphoric smell of soggy land beneath.

The pleasant wind, the sloping hills,

The soft grass underneath one's feet

Climbing higher, to go higher still

The world looks good, all problems meek.

Happiness, however, is subjective

And for individuals it often varies:

Reading a book in the twilight

Feeling valued beneath moonlight

Or the sheer warmth of the sunlight.

A joy is felt a thousand times

With your loved ones-friends and family

It makes you feel as if music rings

In your ears and mind, ethereal

Swirling, dancing, singing-mystique.

Ephemeral radiant brightness-of eternal bliss.

Now, now, the dark, the bright - two sides of the same coin.

It is the existence of one that gives meaning to the other:

There's no happiness without anguish

No gloom without bliss

And no joy without grief.

Happiness, by far, is the most sought sensation

To most, it's permanence of paramount importance

But in desiring the good we forget that the universe is unbiased

It takes no sides

It chooses no preference

And its only law is impermanence - transience

Most of which has been can no longer be seen

And all that is shall one day not be

And all that might be will one day cease to exist.

Happiness and pain go around in an infinite cycle

We lose one to tumble onto the other

Like polar opposites, one forebodes the coming of another

Yet never together, never together.

They are two ends of the same grand scale of perception, of existence

We are born aching

We search for happiness while we live,

We find it, we cherish it, we lose it, we hurt a while, and we find it again

Oscillating to-and-fro in the in-between

And then, we die aching. Aching, yes, but never without the joy of having lived, of all the things that we did feel - all the sorrows and all of the bliss.

Life is a certain blend of the bright and the dark, of joy and sorrow, and we mere watchers of the grand design, what we see and what we feel and what we perceive, and how well or poorly we do it all, are often solely dependent on our own selves, but sometimes they are not Sometimes they are not We think, we feel, we mourn, we rejoice -The Eternal Cycle.

Srijan kumar

बेज़ुबाँशब्द

करके इन क़िस्सों को,

रूह का तु ारेरोम-रोम काँप जाएगा,

न चाहतेहुए भी येआँसू,

दय

t o the past I belong to

In the corner of a dark room, I sit With a sense of loneliness peeking through the slit. I recall some days inked in black, Like on a newly built wall, with very deep cracks. I keep sinking under and find no way out. I feel numb in an ocean, filled with self-doubt. I clutched my hair and wrapped my arms all around me. The fear of the haunting memories now wouldn't set me free. They have clung to me and keep corroding me.

In a cage, I feel I've been locked in and someone now has misplaced its key. I've started walking on an endless road, With my soul surrendering to the past.

And eventually, a ray of light has traced its way to the room, Bringing in hope and positivity, and washing away all the gloom. Like the rain on barren land, And the echo of a soulful band. I found a way to escape,

To look at the world differently and let my thoughts reshape. Look at the beautiful future you are about to be a part of, But what if it all fades away and leaves me sunken?

What if it all comes again to me and disrupts the journey that I had just begun? Chained by the fears, how will I ever dream to run? A lifeless room with some dreadful experiences or out of this cage, something magical, but with a life completely strange to me. After hours of thinking, I finally chose the road that I should take, Neither the dark forests nor the garden that hid those prickles behind the beautiful roses,

But a path that I may have once chosen to forsake, The path of my experiences in unmeasurable doses

A bustling road now familiar to me, A bird flapping her wings, out from her cage, in the sky, set free. A paralysed life it would be, if in greed of the divine future I burned, No matter how grievous my past is, the experiences extracted from it are the real treasures that I earned.

To the past I belong to, of that I am sure, no matter what the future holds Though, tempting may its fragrance be, But it’s to you who I’ll be forever thankful, drawing forth a different version of me.

mperfectly perfect i

You say you‘ve reached a level that is so, so high, Perfectionist as you are, and your perfection beyond the sky, On the contrary, my soul so crooked, my excuses all so lame, My endeavors on every task I do put me down to shame.

The perfect blue sky, and so high are those mountains, Perfection pours so beautifully through these azure coloured fountains,

Then comes this fog, pouring imperfection on that snowy ground,

The hue so dark, makes everything look gloomy around.

“If you do or be or try to remain the way you are, Mind my words you’ll never find success”- said the perfect star.

The imperfect soul, so low in self-esteem , Cursing its existence, way harder than it seemed.

One side was the twilight sky and its tranquilising abyss, On the other was this, one of the darkest bliss. Imperfect soul, all set to change thyself, The perfection that just existed to demean myself.

Until it dawned on me, Wait oh imperfect soul of mine, Can you change so easily by those imperfectly perfect thoughts of the mind? These norms of a seemingly perfect society take nothing but the peace of your mind,

Truly perfect is the soul that accepts every gift of the holy divine.

Let this story of perfection be heard, not told, To those imperfect incandescents that this soul beholds, Get up and head straight to a world where scorn is hardly carried, Where perfection still prevails, where imperfection is not bullied.

Beyond infinite outcomes before infinite stars

I was destined to fall in love with you Though you're are not very far from me yet time had plans for us, to wait for a glint, a 'glint of crush'?

Quite certain it is, we are not the same "Polar opposites," they say it's pretty lame But my glow and glimmer is from you no queue If I'm worth a million eyes then my eyes are on you.

A day feels a year, my yearning, so high But grateful to good lord he kept us in one sky. And then at length the dusk curtains time We, come together, singing songs and knitting rhymes.

Not that it lasts for too long "O celestial divinity, what did we do wrong!" Embracing the drops of love, I get All oceans were less if we had time if we had met.

My wait for you would forever, never end I burn for they see you, that I can never mend I shine for you, for you had all I could ever want A perfect horizon for my ship ataunt

Beyond infinite outcomes, before infinite stars I am destined to love you; I'll be the strings of your guitar I'll be the cause for you to see all melodies "Our book" will have kindred me, while- he parodies.

o h, that’s just a guitar

I was drowning and I could feel my breath escape me. The darker my surroundings got, the more water filled my lungs. I was gasping for air until I couldn’t even move anymore. I just knew I was falling. I was surrounded by water, lots of it. And then I woke up with a start.

“Shit!” I muttered under my breath as I realized that I had fallen asleep in ankledeep water. Last night was rough. And it’s going to get rougher. I mentally added, looking at my watch.

It was somehow easier to get into my ‘tightly-secured’ hostel at night. That is, between one to three a.m. I usually just slid through the back door and into the mess on a lucky day. But not after that. Mornings were tough. On a very lucky and rare day, I’d find the guard asleep. Mostly, I found him drinking his morning tea. I had to wait until he was finished with it and went inside to give back the empty cup. Then I would enter through the front gate, slowly jogging, and acting tired, out of his sight - which was hard, but manageable. Getting out wasn’t hard either.

Today was a bit different, though. I had to meddle with the hostel records too as I had to get out earlier yesterday without signing. It was a piece of cake compared to getting in and out.

As soon as I was past the guard, I went and sat down in the lobby area. It was spacious enough to seat a dozen people, but at that moment, it was completely empty, and rightfully so - you can’t expect college-going students to be up at six in the morning, except a special few. I quietly opened the door to the office and entered. I quickly did my entry in the register and went straight to my room.

Being a contract killer and a student simultaneously wasn’t easy. Managing my money was almost equivalent to managing my attendance. If I didn’t have one, I couldn’t earn the other. And then there were exams which I needed to pass to keep earning both of these.

Then there were the moral dilemmas at every turn of my life. To kill or not to kill. Was my target corrupt or bad enough? Did my target have any close family? Sometimes I had to turn my emotions off. Sometimes I could shoot someone in the head even if I didn’t get any money. It was bad for my business, sure, but that person definitely deserved it. I sometimes believed that I had bipolar disorder. After two hours of self-introspection and questioning my life decisions, like any normal person, I left for my classes. Unlike other girls, I didn’t go to my classes in a group. I always had music playing in my earphones as I scrolled down my phone looking at my pending contracts. I had to discard the ones based completely on jealousy.

By the time I reached my class, I had shortlisted one of my contracts. The target was a 40-year-old goon who was hiding out in one of his safe houses after committing various murders. I had received this request from the local police department and was promised a good amount of money. I could take a long break after this. Did I not tell you freelancing had its perks?

I found an empty seat in one of the corners of the class and went ahead to sit there for the rest of my classes. People had stopped bothering me after a couple of days since college started. All but one. No matter how much I frowned as he made his way towards me every day, he never got discouraged. Despite his presence being highly irritating, it was refreshing. It sometimes felt good to know someone could be attracted to the good in you despite all the bad. Even during lunch, he would sometimes follow me to the canteen. We would sit there in silence, barely exchanging words, and eat our food. It sure was a strange thing we had going on, but I had gotten used to his company by now and I guess he had gotten used to my silence. Could I call him a one-sided friend?

I was out of the class the second after the teacher left. I sometimes wondered if I was the fastest girl alive, I truly did. I didn’t have a lot of time to waste because I wanted to get this done as soon as possible. According to the intel provided, my target was to be found in a slum area around a half-an-hour from here, but before I got there, I had to collect my sniper rifle from a safe house. Inspired by Hollywood and Amazon’s Great Indian Sale, I bought a guitar case to store my rifle. You’d think something like this wouldn’t be available for sale online.

Once I had retrieved the case and the rifle within, I headed towards the slum. It wasn’t hard to find the mentioned safe house. It looked abandoned and there was a lot of dust sitting all around the tiny hut. The door was left slightly ajar. So careless. So easy. As I carefully checked the area around the hut, I found my target sitting at the window, drinking from a bottle containing god-knows-what. So very easy. I sighed as I made my way to the terrace of the adjacent house, which was empty too, save for one passed-out man at the entrance.

Once I got my rifle positioned, I decided to watch him for a few minutes, giving him some time before he died. After a couple of minutes, he stood up with a jerk. I tightened my hold on the trigger. One step and I would shoot. He looked around himself in confusion, whispered something inaudible in my ears, and sat down again with an expression of pure dejection. I pulled the trigger instantly before I could think to analyze his actions. He was lifeless now, on the window-sill, blood dripping down, drop by drop. It was a sight I was accustomed to, but this time it was a bit different. I packed everything up and left the place as soon as I could.

By the time I reached my room, I only had one question in mind. What did that man suddenly remember that made him so sad? I would always think about this. I would always remember the sad man I killed. Things like this keep me from becoming a senseless killing machine, a monster, or so I have always believed. I cleared his name from my pending contracts and kept my phone on the table. It was finally time for a long break. Tanisha

a little too soon

“Excuse me,” Alex said as he moved past the librarian, arranging the bookshelf closest to the table where his things were splayedmultiple-coloured pens, highlighters, a notebook with a pencil stuck inside it, a magazine, and his beloved copy of ‘The Book Thief’. He made some space on the messy floor with his free hand and placed the books he had brought on the table. Since it was a busy Monday afternoon, the library was relatively empty. To Alex, the emptiness of the library seemed quite welcoming. Today, for the first time, Alex ironically appreciated capitalism and the long working hours. He grimaced at the thought of having to search for a job soon. However for now, he thought it better returning to the boring life of Plato.

After what felt like almost two hours, Alex got up to stretch and went to get himself an iced coffee from the cafe next door. How fitting, he always thought. The Bibliotheca Cafe was an extension of the library itself with its own minilibrary for its customers. Alex bought the coffee and took a seat in his usual corner, The Book Thief in his hand. He loved reading about the life of Leisel Meminger. In her, he saw himself, for they shared the same philosophy of hating and loving the words. It was his love of words that had pushed him to pursue a career in literature. And so, the library was his place of solace. It was actually his mother who had gifted him the book, “A first edition copy,” she had beamed, “only for my son”. He read it once and then several times, and at some point, he started carrying the book everywhere and anywhere humanly possible.

He left a tip along with the bill and started to leave when he saw someone waving and smiling at him - a woman with long, black hair. Before he could react, she had already covered the distance between them. With one last step, she was hugging Alex. “My Love,” she released a deep breath, “I knew you’d be here.”

Alex was starting to recover from the sheer suddenness of what had just happened. He uncomfortably shrugged himself out of her long, pale hands. The woman noticed his uneasiness and took a step back, confused.

As soon as Alex was at a respectable distance from the strange woman, he tried to figure out the situation, “Love? Do I know you?”

The woman’s eyes fell on the book in Alex’s hand, and slowly, understanding dawned on her features. “Shit. Wrong timeline. Shit,” she muttered under her breath, low enough for Alex to not be able to hear it. She cursed herself as she racked her brain to come up with an excuse for what she had just done. She couldn’t really tell him the truth. He hadn’t

“Hello? Do I know you?” Alex inquired once again.

“No, No,” she shook her head vigorously from left to right. “I thought you were someone else. I am incredibly sorry.”

Before Alex could say something else, she had already turned around and was hurriedly moving towards the door. What a strange woman, Alex wondered. He kept thinking about the black-haired woman on the way to his table in the library. Although, the centuries-old concern of getting over someone was solved in an hour of reading Plato. He didn’t think about her again until the next time they met. Again, by mistake.

और सुखवाद

d octrines of pedagogy

“Never underestimate the power of a single word, and never recklessly throw around words.”

Philosophy and education are two terms that are commonly confused with each other, resulting in many having similar views regarding them. In some ways, this misunderstanding is acceptable, but it is largely wrong in others.

Philosophy, a word taken from Ancient Greek- φιλοσοφία, literally means “Love of Wisdom”. In other words, philosophy is something people undertake when they seek wisdom - one that helps them understand fundamental truths about themselves, the world in which they live, and their relationships with each other and the world.

‘Education’, on the other hand, has been derived from the Latin term ēducātiō, which translates to “the act of teaching or training”. Education is the process of learning new things which tends to positively influence an individual’s process of thought, the standard of living, and the spread of culture, consequently facilitating the overall growth of society.

In the words of Walter and Heckmann (2003), a philosopher is a person who goes deep into the reason and nature of things and tries to arrive at certain general principles with the intent of applying them in his daily life. Educators, on the other hand, are the ones known to incline to objectivity and facts that determine their perspective on earning a livelihood.

Education, basically, can be considered the dynamic face of philosophy. The reason behind their interdependencies is the belief that education cannot be justifiably imparted without philosophical thought, and philosophy alone cannot persuade others to achieve their aims and values. Education is practical in nature while philosophy is theoretical. Theoretical learning is gaining knowledge and practicality is its implementation to achieve real-life goals. It is therefore articulated that theory and practice are the two sides of the same coin.

To a novice, philosophy appears to be a daunting topic to delve into. Indeed, it does have a rather wide scope since it addresses the "whats" and "whos" of humanity. People usually prefer shortcuts in life and typically avoid delving into the profundity and depths of life's meaning.

The education system, on the other hand, is only deteriorating with time. Instead of focusing on the pupil's growth as an individual, it is nowadays solely focused on mass-producing human robots. Subjects like "Moral Science" are introduced in the curricula aimed at inculcating manners and etiquette in the students. It is evident that a 50-minute lecture on moral values once a week is not enough to prevent money-making from becoming the ultimate goal of education. This presents us with two questions: What are the fundamental goals of education, and how can they be attained? Let us address these and more in the remainder of this article.

In 2007, Godfrey and Smith proposed that philosophy shows the way, and education follows. Philosophy deals with the end and education with the means. As a matter of fact, several of the greatest philosophers throughout history were also noted as brilliant educators.

The Western philosophical tradition, which began in ancient Greece, exemplifies the interdependence of the two subjects at hand. Socrates introduced his own method urging his students to reason every custom or practice that irked them instead of just following the herd. It served as the foundation of the philosophy of education. After around a thousand years, John Dewey (1859–1952), an American pragmatist philosopher, proposed an argument rejecting Plato’s hierarchical sorting and said that education should be tailored according to the child, individually. Similarly, over time, a number of historical figures emerged who advanced their ideas on the philosophy of education.

The philosophical outlook on education doesn’t just end here.

A theoretical article published by the Foundation of Education presented the four philosophical approaches currently being applied in educational settings, viz. essentialism, perennialism, progressivism, and social reconstructionism/critical pedagogy. What should be taught and how it should be taught are at the heart of these four approaches. This curriculum should foster an inquisitive mindset, facilitate artistic expression, promote constructiveness, and preserve interest in the said discipline.

Despite their obvious contrasts, philosophy and education reflect parallels in terms of origin. However, education is derived from more tangible sources, whereas philosophy is derived and disseminated more intangibly through reflection and dialogue.

Today's education system steers pupils away from the path of enlightenment and toward the path of wealth. However, if one truly desires fulfillment to the soul, it is possible to acquire it by simply combining practical and theoretical understanding.

The bond between philosophy and education is one that must not and can not be forgotten. To blindly pursue only one is to forsake the other.

Janhvi sharma

t o live or to die?

And as I sit here under the winter sun with the sound of the rustling leaves soothing me, and the shiny grass blades gently tickling the restless beetle, I wonder to myself: will it be peaceful if good could spread its armour unimpeded by evil? What if the vast expanse of our magnificent universe wasn’t draped in darkness? What if the black didn’t exist?

Perhaps, the answer to all these questions is a bland “impossible”. There is bound to be a crack in everythingthat’s how the light penetrates. The light would have no value without the dark for contrast. Peace wouldn’t be appreciated without the lingering possibility of wars.

14 billion years ago, a tiny, dense fireball exploded and the Universe was created. Isn’t it enchanting how a tiny little particle led to the creation of 8.7 million species? Different religions have different myths to explain the creation of “life”. Hinduism believes that Lord Brahma sent the river Ganges from heaven to Earth that eventually created all the living species, while Christianity stands for the faith that God himself created Earth and the life living on it. Science chooses to stick to the fact that organic compounds once assembled in a more complex coalition - a coalition that could grow and reproduce - and that is how life was created.

While the answer to the question about the creation of life remains dubious, we are almost automatically drawn to finding answers to another existential question: “What is the purpose of life?” Is it to work for an underpaying corporation, or to meet people who could cry at your cremation? Is it to plan the never-happening trip to the Maldives, or to whine about homework and assignments?

An absurdist’s answer to this question would be simple: why try to find the purpose of life when we’ll all die eventually? No, absurdists are not a bunch of people going through a midlife crisis. In fact, they believe in a concept called “Absurdism”. The term for this controversial belief was coined by the Danish philosopher, Soren Kierkegaard, who argued in his thesis that life is purposeless and has no meaning to it. He believed that no matter what paths we may take, we will all end up dying eventually. He felt that to feed our inherent desire of finding a purpose in life, we pass each day seeking answers from a universe that’s always silent.

But ask yourself, is that what it is? Are we here to die, or does our existence have some ineffable significance? Isn’t the latter a far more optimistic outlook on life?

No matter how optimistic we are, “death” is an ineluctable truth. The concept of “afterlife” was always the most fascinating allure for me as a kid. Among all those tales of heaven and paradise, I used to rest my case by concluding that death was in fact the ultimate form of salvation, that it was a respite from the endless plight of man, a peaceful silence to comfort us from the relentless world. However, “death” has also been a topic that continues to haunt you and me. The fear of death is evident and omnipresent. Hasn’t the pandemic evoked this fear in most of us?

Which brings us to another existential question: “What happens after we die?”

Ancient Egyptians believed that after we die, our heart is weighed against a feather to see if it is suitable for heaven. A heavy heart, bearing the weight of felonies and misdemeanours was fed to a wild beast. Christians guard their faith by believing in the concept of heaven and hell - unless your name makes it to Saint Peter’s list, you’ll be banished from heaven to bear the eternal torments of hell. Hinduism believes that your afterlife is the brunt of your "Karmas" in real life.

100 different mythologies, 100 different stories. The question remains: “To live or to die?”

To live in a harsh, fast-paced, purposeless world, or to die in a slow, dark, unidentified dimension? Well, to be honest, our choice is hardly affecting the cycle of the universe. Life is unavoidable. Death is inevitable. This juxtaposition between life and death is what forms the marrow of existence.

So, all we can do is not die before we’re actually dead! Witness the changing patterns of the stars. See the raindrops patter against the glass doors. Let the shape of the clouds sink into your heart. Bake your favorite chocolate chip cookie. Shout at the top of your lungs. Run until you hear your heart pound. Fall in love. Dance in the rain. Hug your mom. Breathe. “Live” before you “die”.

d eserts of faith

Man is preoccupied with the search for meaning. Confusion befriends him at every turn of his life, and he frequently gets lost. Perplexing situations breed indecision, which causes him to doubt himself, his surroundings, his circumstances, and morale, preventing him from triumphing. Believing in oneself is the first step forward toward a fulfilling life. When it comes to making decisions, people with clear heads and unwavering focus are extremely astute.

When it comes to the self, belief is nothing more than the art of realising our full potential, as it allows us to put into practice methods that will ensure its realization. The cycle of failing and learning is a continuum that allows us to discover our qualities, strengths, weaknesses, and things to avoid. The task that has been assigned to us is not beyond our capabilities, and the difficulties that it has thrown our way are not beyond our endurance levels. Victory is unavoidable as long as we believe in our cause and have an unbreakable will to win.

Belief should not be degraded in its external form by making it appear to be the confines of a cult in which members blindly follow what they are served. It must be tried, tested, and monitored. The internet has made this methodical testing process a little easier. However, the overabundance of information, particularly from social media, has sadly made most of us even more uncertain and confused.

Philosophers used deductive and inductive reasoning to answer the problem of certainty in the past by appealing to logic. Throughout the European Renaissance, science was hailed as the pinnacle of the intellectual journey and an antidote to myths, superstitions, and religious dogmas. For others, their religious beliefs were instrumental in guiding them to the light in the midst of darkness.

We've seen time and again that when someone comes up with a novel, unorthodox idea, many people are quick to dismiss it. However, sometimes that very idea goes on to change people's lives in the future. Nobody expected humans to be able to launch space shuttles, but scientific pioneers have made this and other feats possible.

Be it in sports or business, people who strongly believe in their ideas and have a strong intent to get their work done regardless of criticism, are the ones who excel and do wonders.

Doubt does not undermine belief; rather, it is essential to it. In search of answers to the questions that doubt raises, we are led to our beliefs. In his article 'The Place of Doubt in Religious Belief' (1916), Professor Snowden asserts that only two kinds of minds can be free of doubt: those that are omnipresent and all-knowing, and those that do not think at all. Clearly, most of us do not fall into one of the two categories.

Because the so-called "believers" dominate the narrative, the relationship between belief, and doubt can become hazy at times. Those who declare their belief and embrace it wholeheartedly are frequently the ones who have the most doubt. Extremist terrorist groups, for example, proudly celebrate killing at the behest of their beliefs but lack the conscience to see the consequences of their actions.

We frequently seek textbook solutions to everyday problems, but reality necessitates the use of practical methods to achieve our goals. The presence of belief in us will be ensured by asking the right questions, doubting predetermined certainties, and being curious. Our beliefs, most often, are based on our knowledge, which is based on our trust in the credibility and veracity of others. Philosophers, on the other hand, associate knowledge with certainty and belief with probability, owing to the fact that it varies from person to person.

On the contrary, doubt is linked to uncertainty. For example, I may be uncertain about the value of Pi's trailing decimal digits because I lack the necessary skills and information to evaluate it myself, but I would not normally be said to doubt its truth, because that implies, I have positive reasons to doubt it. Belief in a supernatural entity, on the other hand, is a subjective matter that varies from person to person.

Doubt can be spontaneous, which is absolutely normal for a human. In fact, it is methodical and practical to doubt. Descartes was not a fool to have devised a method of questioning everything he read, saw and heard.

Our beliefs are fuelled by our conscience and by our ability to analyse things. Why are we doing things the way we do? What drives us? The answer lies with each one of us.

t he faces of Identity

Perspective on everything matters a lot. For instance, just this simple word in the English language, ‘identity’ carries different meanings for people belonging to different backgrounds. For Indians, identity is our Aadhar card; for authors, it is the pages they write in a lifetime; for a mathematician, it is an algebraic notation he discovers. But what exactly is this word, “identity”?

According to me, identity is the most powerful word in the English language, only second to the word “love”. From the moment a mother becomes aware of the child in her womb, the family begins prescribing the child’s identity, neglecting how the child itself may want to shape it in the future.

Without an identity, it is impossible to be recognized. Even if a person lacks one, others will provide one for him. Identity is a state of mind in which one recognizes/identifies their character traits, which eventually leads to them discovering who they are and what they do. In other words, it’s a way of setting yourself apart from others by carving a face of your own and by letting it be seen who you are and how you define yourself.

The theme of identity is often explored in books, novels and other works of literature in order to pique the reader's interest and allow them to relate to the characters and their feelings much more vividly.

In their lifetimes, there are very few who actually achieve success and establish their identities the way they want to. We see many people being dominated by others, being eclipsed by other powerful beings, which knocks their confidence to the ground. But in actuality, this is not how things are hundred percent of the time. This rationale can be supported by the real-life example of the lion and the lion tamer. Everyone is well aware of how scary and powerful a lion can be.

Despite his immense power and ability, the lion still dreads the lion tamer. And just like that, a ferocious carnivore bows before a man.

Personal identity is one thing and social identity is another. With personal identity, we can create or break the cycles of improvement at a pace suiting the systems of the self, but when it comes to social identity, there comes fame, and with fame comes a social responsibility of inspiring others and helping them directly or indirectly with the help of that social identity. Our social identity requires us to be ethical, both socially and morally, even if we believe no one is watching. However, social and personal identities have one thing in common: growth, in either, builds confidence.

Out of billions of the population, there are specific types of groups or communities which possess an identity like that of an open book. Everyone wants to know everything there is to know about them, to become like them, and to keep an eye on every move of theirs. Politicians are the most prominent examples of this type; I could have mentioned the ‘soft power’ which includes celebrities all around the world but they have a specific purpose of entertaining people, and whatever additional social work they perform is just a bonus. Politicians, on the other hand, are leaders of society whose primary motto is to help and serve their people. Of course, identity plays an important part in politics, too.

Individuals have a tendency to construct stereotypical ideas of other people in their heads, resulting in perceived identities that are as difficult to change as a set and dried mould. In this modern era where social media is highly accessible in every other household on the planet, people have become more aware, and consequently insecure about how they are perceived.

Most people confuse identity with reputation, and I believe there is a fine line between the two. Neither of them is very differentiable nor very much congruent. Reputation is earned by accomplishments, and identity is what makes us one of a kind. Identity stems from a state of calm and awareness, which also sometimes fulfills the desire to find our life's purpose.

Human identity is complex and confusing. It changes with every failure or success we experience. With everyone having an opinion about the perplexing word that "identity" is, nobody has ever really succeeded in defining it precisely. Back to square one, are we? Well, perspective matters. A merry-go-round, or a serpent eating its tail, just like the loop in the time cycle that has no rational explanation but exists.

Mayank Dhamaniya

Our Team

Tanisha (EDITOR) vats

A nyctophile by nature and a binge-watcher by habit, Tanisha has made it her life’s unofficial purpose to describe every life event with a Taylor Swift lyric. She would rather you leave her alone with her books and the dramas.

Deeksha (EDITOR) shukla

A reader who goes the extra mile to believe she is one of Virginia Woolf’s lies flowing undeterred from a place of wishful thinking. Put Deeksha to paper, she aims to at least rile you up.

Saumya (EDITOR)

Saumya identitifies as that protagonist in a novel who discovers her passions in literary alleys while finding answers to life's mysteries. Vocalizing words, forming phrases, and moulding poems from them are her ways to express her emotions.

Ayushi (COORDINATOR) agarwal

Poetry and art are Ayushi's escape from a world that is constantly at war, but whose events are oft-times the subject of her writings. Enamoured by the feline sophistication, she dreams of waking up as a Chartreux most nights.

Shreya (COORDINATOR) shukla

Yet another one of Dickinson's nobodies, Shreya has oddly enough made her way into the world of literature. On most days, she fancies herself dried flowers pressed between the pages of her favorite books.

Sarthak (COORDINATOR) sharma

After a long day, Sarthak often finds himself returning to shayaris in search of solace. Geopolitics enwraps him in the affairs of the world while poetry alleviates him from the mundanities of life.

Anushka kshatriya

Anushka? Too dramatic she is. Perhaps an opinionated contrarian who is always up for discussions about life under a sky full of stars. She seems to be on an unprecedented path of finding answers to the "hows" and "whys" of life.

Janhvi sharma

A shy, awkward observer in crowds who loves to be "the crackhead" aroound the ones she's comfortable with. Janhvi strives to cross the wardrobe to her own Narnia through reading while still having the keys to the real world.

Kshitiz Rai

Mythological literature beguiles Kshitiz, while geopolitics and national and international affairs captivate his attention on most days.

Srijan kumar

Seeking ataraxia since time immemorial, Srijan is a voracious reader, a frenetic thinker, an avid dreamer and a writer by circumstance. Words often tend to hold more of him than he does himself.

Meha shukla

An imperfectly perfect overthinker who finds her true calling in finance and entrepreneurship. Confused, puzzled, and hence an engineer!

Nitin pandey

A confused, optimistic, and cheerful boy who loves to do unprecedented things in his imagination. Reading and listening to poetry are his favourite avocations.

Agrim mohan

Agrim is a keen thinker and sensitive observer who finds comfort in music and poetry. Even in the midst of the Universe's commotion, Agrim believes that we must continually seek deeper meanings to pre-stated facts.

Sudhanshu mishra

Getting to know why everything is the way it is infatuates Sudhanshu. Seldom interested in abstract thought and reading, he sees writing as his instrument of catharsis.

Nehal chaturvedi

Just another breathing human, lost in her own imagination. Birches are close to Nehal’s heart.

Kanishk shukla

Kanishk can be found comfortably alone in a crowd or conversing with the most random dog. His side hobbies include getting overwhelmed by aesthetics and helplessly relating to characters in a television show or a novel.

Sachin singh

Sachin is passionate about history, literature, and, above all, his country. He has a special fondness in his heart for Hindi. In his articles, he enjoys posing questions to his readers.

Anvisha chaturvedi

Still dreaming of a world of unicorns and rainbows, Anvisha's hiraeth traces its way to her endless fantasies. She loves to write about the tranquility of the night and seeks solace in the dark.

Utkarsh pandey

Utkarsh is a silent observer, who likes to live different lives through stories and characters. Partially introverted, he is full of emotions but always short of words.

Sugandha singh

A music, art, culture and literature aficionado, Sugandha dreams of visiting every country on the globe and tasting every cuisine that has ever been put together.

Vaibhav K sharma

Vaibhav prefers seeing situations from a neutral perspective. Life, he believes, is the greatest teacher of all.

Mayank dhamaniya

A human compendium of facts, Mayank is always ready to learn something new. He dreams of joining the Indian Army one day. Talk to him and you may stumble upon a cool piece of trivia.

Proshant S chandra

An ebullient fellow, Proshant loves weaving experiences into a thread through his words. He might be recognized as a hopeless romantic by many, but he channels his inner Wordsworth when writing on the subject of love.

Aditi mishra

From having explicit avalanches in her daily diary to fighting internal turmoils, Aditi's pen is her greatest armament; the high converse with a rhyme there and about, Aditi's poetry is her prettiest ornament.

Aditya K tiwari

Aditya is a physics enthusiast who loves to analyze situations from different perspectives. A perpetual learner fascinated by geopolitics and history.