Those were the best days of my life...

The Student’s Prayer

Don’t impose on me what you know,

I want to explore the unknown

And be the source of my own discoveries.

Let the known be my liberation, not my slavery.

The world of your truth can be my limitation;

Your wisdom my negation.

Don’t instruct me; let’s walk together.

Let my richness begin where yours ends.

Show me so that I can stand

On your shoulders.

Reveal yourself so that I can be

Something different.

You believe that every human being

Can love and create.

I understand, then, your fear

When I ask you to live according to your wisdom.

You will not know who I am

By listening to yourself.

Don’t instruct me; let me be.

Your failure is that I be identical to you.”

Umberto Maturana

Dove Evolution is one of my favourite advertisemnts. An award winning advertisement from Ogilvy & Mather, it shows how our perception of real beauty is restricted to the flaweless skin and size zero figure. Do watch 'Onslaught' too. I really don't think that I need to write much. The advertisement speaks for itself.

Neverland bound...

You may wonder why my blog is called Neverland bound. Well...this is not a lift from Mr. Jackson's (May his soul rest in peace) infamous ranch.


This is my picture of the superlative world…my utopia. Neverland is the world which was once inhabited by Peter Pan, the boy who never grew and the Lost Boys. A world where one lived with a content heart, where one exults in the hand offered by fate, where one lives a life whose innocence embraces all that is good, where the thoughts speak and the hearts listen. In Henrik Ibsen’s words:

‘Our wants were never allowed to outrun our means- we had no longing that foundered on the rocks of circumstance; and the hand of death didn’t visit our circle to bring emptiness and loss. We loved beauty, and it wasn’t a side-issue, it coloured our whole way of life.’

In this dysfunctional world, it was my make believe idea to hope for the best, to draw some inspiration in an age that has disowned virtue , to fearlessly find my own paths, to find sufficient courage in making mistakes. In the world that I frequent, this is my heaven concealed within hell…a picture that will always be coloured and treasured in my heart…

But before drawing conclusion about the idea behind the name, it was purely confusion and bewilderment that led me to name my blog ‘neverland bound’. I was lost when it came to naming my blog. Totally and utterly drained of anything close to what we term ‘creativity’, this was plight that I found myself in…heading for some place I didn’t know existed. Before I drain the creativity of anyone who is reading this
(that is if there is absolutely anyone!), let me give all of you some peace of mind. Cheers…

10+1th Joy…

They say that behind every great man, there is a woman. Apologies…but I’m not a believer of that particular thought. So allow me to modify it a little bit for you. Here it goes…behind every good deed, there is a reason, an inspiration, a melody, a determination and the cause for all this need not always be a woman. I have been fortunate enough to have two very wonderful people who pulled me out of the pit (ok…now don’t take it in the literal sense).


Thank you guys!
My attempt at thanking you might result in the release of a whole array of clichés like first drop of rain on the parched land, or the April shower which sees the first bud sprout…blah… blah… blah… Don’t start thinking so highly of yourself already 
Let me finish my speech.

I know that both of you would be reading this. I would like to take this opportunity to express my gratitude to two wonderful people who have been really nice to me.


Wow…there she comes! (As I’m actually banging my keys) She gives me that signature smile unaware of what I’m up to. She is the critic from my ‘launch-a-book-and-get-a-critic-free’ phrase. But it’s not always that one is privileged to get a critic who has a 1000 watt smile. The girl with the loveliest, prettiest, messiest and curliest curls in my hostel, she can light up a room in case of half hour blackout (which is quite common in my hostel). Bonding over books and movies (but largely arguing though…lol) usually during times when we wait for one occupant to vacate the bathroom while the other is busy filling the bucket with hot water for shower. You’ve become every 10+1th reason for one of the little pleasures I take from life.


There pops up my chat box with him n the smiley. God alone knows what nick I’d be getting today, the list being endless…Sparky, Smiles, MJ, Miss Swan,Piano keys n a lot more to add to the directory of neetha’s nicks. To be very frank, this is the highest list of nicks that I have gathered in the shortest time. Whoa!!! He loves his Eleanor but still finds time for literally shattered souls. His attempts at motivating me had may have all turned futile with my stubborn resolve. And yes one day I might even learn to speak flawless, acceptable-in-your-standards Malayalam. Thank you so much for bringing back the joy.


And before I wind this up, do I need to mention how much my PC (it’s beyond words to express) has contributed to everything. sarang eyo…

And the Razzies goes to…




Have you ever wondered why our Indian cinema or rather Bollywood did not bother imitating the West when it came to the concept of introducing the award for the worst movie of the year? Well… I think I know. It shouldn’t come of as much of a surprise to you. It’s simply because they wouldn’t have enough categories to accommodate all the contestants.

The idea of the Razzie struck me three years ago when I once went to the theatre to watch a Hindi film. A Yash Raj film, ‘Neal n Nikki’ was an absolute catastrophe. I needn’t have been a Film Studies student then to understand how pathetic that movie was. Maybe one day, if I ever get to teach Film studies to students, I will definitely screen this film in my class to coach them on ‘How not to make a movie’.

The story line was so weak, I wish they had at least tried to copy some thing from even an Antarctic movie (hey, but do they make films in Antarctica?). I really do not understand what the film maker was thinking when he started making this movie. Probably, he too wanted to inspire someone on ‘How not to make a movie’. Must tell you sir, you quite succeeded in that. There is a desperate or rather ***ually frustrated boy who sees his match in an equally desperate, ***ually frustrated girl. They fight, them **** out, fight again, **** out again and the story continues. Has anyone heard of such an innovative story line? It was so motivating that a person with absolutely nil suicidal tendencies might be inspired to bang the head against the wall (I could have had a hamburger with that money instead). What a weak script sirji!!!

The songs weren’t that great. You can listen to it once if you really are jobless. Otherwise which sane person would want to listen to stuff which goes ‘I’m Neal, I’m the man…’ Give me a break… did the scriptwriters and lyricists take a sabbatical? Let’s move to the other aspects of the movie.

The costume designers probably took off after the scriptwriter and the lyricist. The fashion designers need to learn something from their Asian counterparts. Just look how they balance the money that they spend on the K- serials. I think that the film crew would have found themselves abandoned on some foreign locale with no money and they would have adjusted with clothes borrowed from some local thrift shop. The lead actress in almost all the scenes gives the viewer a peek at her underclothes. Fishnet tops and tiny tops (probably from her own 20 year old wardrobe) were excessively used in the film. As for our lead actor, I’m out of words. Here I need to make special mention of the make up artist (don’t think he took off because his presence was quite visible). But he probably thought that he was dressing up some bride for her bachelor’s party. He had more lipstick than the girl herself. And please do not forget to notice the blue contacts. The actor didn’t look like our classic Bollywood babus or the Bollywood babes (and this 15 something biceps couldn’t even fit him into the transgender look-alike category).

On more than one occasion, there is a mention of DDLJ and Silsila. How can one even try comparing something that evergreen romance with this piece of ‘abstract art’? And the absolutely unnecessary countless, useless and controversial kisses did nothing to draw the crowds. Why watch two silly people gorge on each other when Emran Hashmi would suffice?

I did not even have tears to cry after I left the cinema hall. This was what I would have called the total abomination of a film. My amateur film making classmates could have pulled off things better than this. I’m so overwhelmed with emotions that I can’t choose the words. So the next time you see a piece of art like this one, do not forget to enter it for our own Razzies.

Dummies Guide to Living with a Hypocrite

Once upon a time, son,

they used to laugh with their hearts

and laugh with their eyes:

but now they only laugh with their teeth,

while their ice-block-cold eyes

search behind my shadow.

There was a time indeed

they used to shake hands with their hearts:

but that's gone, son.

Now they shake hands without hearts:

while their left hands search

my empty pockets.

`Feel at home´! `Come again´:

they say, and when I come

again and feel

at home, once, twice,

there will be no thrice for

then I find doors shut on me.

So I have learned many things, son.

I have learned to wear many faces

like dresses - homeface,

officeface, streetface, hostface,

cocktailface, with all their conforming smiles

like a fixed portrait smile.

And I have learned too

to laugh with only me teeth

and shake hands without my heart.

I have also learned to say,`Goodbye´,

when I mean `Good-riddance`:

to say `Glad to meet you´,

without being glad; and to say `It's been

nice talking to you, after being bored.

But believe me, son.

I want to be what I used to be

when I was like you. I want

to unlearn all these muting things.

Most of all, I want to relearn

how to laugh, for my laugh in the mirror

shows only my teeth like a snake's bare fangs!

So show me, son,

how to laugh; show me how

I used to laugh and smile

once upon a time when I was like you.

The poem reminds the blogger of an upcoming variety of species who “wear many faces… with a fixed portrait smile”. They are very common on planet earth and you may have been fortunate enough in being acquainted with them. The blogger would summarize a few characteristics to help the readers identify them in future.

1. One of the main attribute which sets them apart from the usual earthlings are their claim to ‘virtues’, ‘principles’ and all the other crap which gives full mouthed ‘OHHHhhhh’ from everyone (including your own parents). So just try to emulate everything they do and get an ‘OHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhh’ (the longer one) for yourself.

2. The blogger has had the opportunity of knowing an assortment of these ‘luminous personalities’. Their made up charm would even blind the most prominent aurora. So do not forget your shades when in contact with them. They can’t even see when you are sleeping. And you don’t have to bother them when they are hunting for their next victim.

3. They may be available in any form, colour, shape, size or gender. There maybe no distinctive physical characteristics about them except (through their actions and speech) their self-proclamation of self importance. Keep a straight face and throw a little bit of arrogance around before they target you.

4. These two-faced Homo sapiens could even put a chameleon to shame with their super-swift ‘colour changing’ ability. Do not compete with the chameleon and give the two faced muggles (thank you Miss Rowling for the word. Well for all the others who haven’t read Harry Potter, it means non–magical people) a chance.

5. You may often be put in a situation where one might think that they are dealing with patients affected with Multiple Personality Disorder. Do not be duped, it is just one personality trait of theirs. But you may not have to face extreme cases like ‘Anniyan’.

6. They may, on more than one occasion, be your Agony Aunt (the perfect tumbler for all your fallen tears) and Reuters-challenging news agencies, the next minute (maybe they might wait till you leave the room to start posting the news. C’mon people…they aren’t all that bad!!!)

7. Pleasing others is an inevitable quality you might find in them. They can go to absolutely any limits to make you feel like the princess. (Mind you… Any limits which might include listening to your boring stories of your boyfriend and you, listening to you crib about which dress to wear every morning, blah blah blah). It might depend on the species you encounter.

For any more information, it would be preferable to learn from your own experience. On updates and suggestions, contact the below given address:

Tinker Bell

St. Nicholas Center for Notorious Nuts

Nowhere street

Neverland-99

My Angel on Earth…

By Nimmy Kumar

You know better than anyone that I can’t express my feelings for you,

With a poem having lines of merely forty two.

My feelings for you run deep down

You’ve seen me through every smile and frown (I’m afraid there are more frowns)

And you’ve loved me through it all

Your prayers have guided me through every step and fall

You held my hand and guided me,

Through what seemed to me like a turbulent and mighty sea.

Then you take a step back

While I faced life-its victories, failures and sometimes I did crack

But your outstretched hand

Always lifted me and made me stand

I tell you it was only your smile

That has helped me travel so many miles.

You are like the cool breeze during autumn

That moved so lightly with a soft hum

You are like the winter mist

That spreads tranquility with its each turn and twist

You are the whiff of sweet summer air

That intoxicates me with a fragrance so rare

You are like the spring’s drops of dew

That falls and awakens flowers of every hue

Like the varying seasons you’ve sometimes been a mother, a role model, a friend, a guide

You’ve given me all the reasons to live my life to fullest and never hide

You’ve taught me everything I need to know

You’ve moulded me and helped me grow

You’ve taught me the importance of companionship

And that without friends we may sometimes err and slip

You also taught me the essence of humility

And that by asking for forgiveness we are in fact displaying one of the greatest qualities

Come what may

You’ve been the shining beacon, the ray

That first sparkled then shone so bright

That it chased away all the darkness

Until there was only light

I love you from the bottom of my heart

Mom, forgive me because I truly want to make a start

Your love, your value, and your companionship I now see

As you are miles and miles away from me…

I just want to tell you that I really, really, really love you and adore you for what you are. Don’t think my sister could have penned it better. Thank you honey…

Lost in Translation

Even last week in class, one of my teachers made a mention of the theory of the hen and the egg. Who came first? That is one question which has intrigued me since my childhood. And as I grew up, this very concept started affecting a lot of other things too.

There are certain things in life an individual has no control over. One of them is your fate and the other is your religion. And religion, in my opinion defines your personality more than any other thing in the world. It gained a lot of significance once I realized how much it came to affect one of the main characteristics of my individuality. The society has set the religion to have such supreme magnitude, that it shapes a person. Then what happens to all the claims to secularism? Is it a mere consolation for people who hope for religious equality?

The ‘good guys’ of religion proclaim that all the religious conviction declare one omnipotent force, a savior of humanity, protector from all evils, the list being endless. Then why do they become the first to create a furore about nationalism or admonish inter- religious marriages?

Having being born to parents who follow two different religions, I have always been in a dilemma about my own spiritual inclination. In spite of living in a non secular (Arab) country for over a decade, I never once had to face the wrinkled brows or jeers of others when they enquired about my religion. They may perhaps be too busy to be concerned about such trivial matters (the normal human mindset of ‘why care when we aren’t in their plight’) As they say ‘people who know don’t care and people who care don’t know’. As a young girl, the only thing that mattered was the prospect of getting new clothes for every Easter, Vishu, Onam and Christmas. The paramount importance that a concept called religion could have upon a person opened up a sea of possibilities for someone like me.

So here again we come back to the first question of the hen and the egg. What came first - the religion or the God? If God created the world (like what the Genesis mentions in the Bible) would he actually create so many religions? Is our ‘ever-supreme’, ‘the invincible’ all that stone hearted, that he could tolerate to see charred and mutilated bodies of his sons and daughters? Who are we praying to and for what? Each one kills the other in the hope of securing a place for themselves in the House of ‘their’ God. If this is the scenario down here, then won’t the gods be fighting in the heaven above?

But then again does it make a difference? The Bhagvad Gita, the Bible and the Quran preach the very same concept of love. But in this world starved of any emotions, people tend to achieve some kind of sadistic pleasure in condemning others especially when it comes to something as sensitive as spiritual inclination.

I have often wondered, what would happen to me when I die. Would I be cremated with its accompaniments of the sacred pujas and my ashes scattered on some river with its numerous meandering tributaries taking me to the mighty seas or would I be buried in a graveyard where I would be laid to rest inside a wooden coffin where my loved ones might come to visit my grave on All Saint’s Day and reminisce the happy days that we spent together.

But which House of the God would accept me…

YOU THINK WRITING IS EASY……………? NAH…ITS NOT!!!!!

Tagore once said, “Timid thoughts, don’t be afraid of me”. Writing is an outlet for the timid thoughts of life. 26 letters. They combine to form words – thousands of them. All you need is an author, someone who knows what to write and get it down on paper.

God bless the Chinese!!! Had it not been for them my bag would have been weighing tonnes with scrolls and scrolls of parchment. Thanks to Lewis Waterman, for saving us from quills and ink. Some find solace in writing, others do it for earning a living and there are some who do it for the sheer joy of it. We can’t forget a new set who actually dread the whole process. The only time I dread writing is during exams. I can still remember…a Physics question paper on my L.H.S (left hand side) and the crisp white of the answer sheet on my R.H.S (right hand side) smiling at me to pen down the answer. I pick up my pen. I can hear my heart thumping against my chest. I wonder whether the invigilator can see the rise and fall of the fabric of my shirt. I turn cold and my hands go numb. Damn writing! Why did we have to write? This is one phase of life all of us must have walked on. Not a pleasant path I must say.

For the solace-seekers, the diary is their weapon. When you feel that you are carrying the burden of the entire world on your shoulders, pouring it out on paper would make the heart feel feather-light. You may be feeling angry with thunder clouds hovering over your head, or feeling sad or empty like a painting washed off its colours, the diary dons the role of a best friend.

And when it comes to love, its cupid’s turn to strike the bow. All the Romeos and Juliets would have turned a part-time literature freaks atleast once in their lifetime when it came to writing love letters. Be it asking your friends to help you write it or referring old 'love' letters, you would have put even Marvell to shame. One simple request to the drooling love pups is that please make sure that your not-so-literary ‘flames’ understand your thoroughly researched phrases of love. I say this because I am reminded of a coy, sloppily sentimental and (of course!!) stupid friend of mine who once addressed her ‘just a friend’ as ‘the anchor of my heart’ and his face underwent an extravagant display of emotions and ultimately ended up looking as blank as my answer sheet. She might have hit the right cord had she called the biology whizkid as ‘the aorta of my heart’. Poor soul!!

For all those who are waiting to wear the laurel crown of literature, the scene backstage may not be to your liking. Young writers are buoyed by the notion that all they need to do is to throw their literary works at the world’s feet and they are given the title of the new light in literature. A true artist’s life is weaved in a web of disappointment, rejection, inability to reveal his feelings and the difficulty of gaining the public ear. You are accused of plagiarism even for your original works. The more than once accused Miss. Rowling would agree with me. What is literature if you are not allowed to speak your thoughts? Why was a fatwa issued against Salman Rushdie for his ‘Satanic Verses’? Why was Dan Brown condemned by the church for his ‘pure’ fiction? Plagiarism seems to be the latest trend in literature. Kaavya Vishwanath earned fame for plagiarism than name for her debut novel.

Some of the best literature may have been lost in the dustbins of the editor’s office. It is ‘launch-a-book-get-a-critic-free’ world. Many are seen to abandon the profession of pen after suffering the silent torture and savage criticism. What the critics slay is not the writer but his creativity and soul. A lot of people may agree that writing has become unfashionable. Even if you are creating blogs on the net or sms-ing your friend does not become ‘keying’ your thoughts? Had it not been for a diary, the memory of Anne Frank may have long remained buried beneath the remains of the concentration camp.