St. Mary’s School is a day school located in serene, verdant surroundings spread over an impressive campus in the Cantonment area of Pune. Under its banner, it has separate sections for Girls, Boys and a Co-ed Junior College.Admissions 2017-18
MY ENTIRE WORLD IN A SMALL CHIP
As I muse on beauty, the image that arises before my eyes is not that of a formless goddess, with glowing eyes and half-wistful smile, as she was portrayed by the ancients. I see instead a lovingly crafted piece of metal, with splendidly intricate patterns marking its surface and hard, flawless lines. The small piece, born of the writhing snakes marked across is embedded in the core of its metal cavern the beauties of a lifetime, assiduously collected and preserved, each part becoming a thread in the rich and vivid tapestry of life.
I am what the ignorant or uninitiated would term, contemptuously, a sensualist. I am content with the word for want of a better one, if I may so be bold, I would venture to replace it with ’connoisseur’. It describes, very aptly, what a talent it takes to unmask the obscure beauty hidden in the most mundane of everyday objects, for to whet the appetite of the seeker, the goddess of beauty often chooses to cloak herself in the garb of unseemliness. The splendid panorama of the wilderness is marred by uncouth wires, the raucous cawing of the crows overriding the lilting melody of the rainall instances of her whims.
Who but the true worshipper knows the delight of seeing beyond this pleasant subterfuge? And who else knows the frustration beyond belief that racks hi s f rame when he f inds i t impossible to recall the exact shape of a contour, the sudden sweeping flight of birds?
It is then that I turn gratefully to my store of hidden beauty. Within this chip of infinitesimal size is enclosed the delights of the sights and sounds of nature, still fresh and in first bloom of their beauty, untouched by the destroyer, time, with their sparkle not yet dulled. Here indeed resides beauty in her purest and most unalloyed form, stripped of those ungainly elements which do ruin her in real life. Wrapped in a cocoon, shielded from the buffets of crude world, she reveals herself in her truest splendor. Just so, methinks, must the faithful St Peter stand sentinel over the pearly gates, preventing the intrusion of the unmannerly and uncouth into the abode of angels- as does my chip encapsulate and shield the world of a true connoisseur.
The bare bones of fierce rocks draped in velveteen moss, trailing clouds of mist, the pearly drop arrested exquisitely in motion as it slithers down the waxen surface of the leaf, the iron-grey tower, with bold black wires drawn from it, as it stands against as ominous darkening sky- all these images, which, had I trusted my fickle memory, would have been obliterated, had it not been archived carefully within that little chip.
However, sometimes I am gripped with fear. The tiny piece has too much power over meperhaps I ought to grind it into dust and scatter it to the four winds. It has usurped the position of the master and reduced me to slave. Nonetheless!My mind wanders. Was I not slave enough before? It has merely bound me faster to the service of a Goddess I revere.
Hark! What is that sound? It is the far off rumbling thunder, summoning me to witness the great pantomime of elements. That gnarled oak in the lawn ought to be removed. It ruins the landscape, which, I had once recorded in my chip. I can change whatever I want in accordance to my will.
The soft rain begins to fall. Why does its beauty seem dulled? I have an image of it in my chip that is far better. Weariness seems to overtake me- nature seems, suddenly, an unimaginative wench. That same image has been reproduced a dozen times in my chip. What allure can there be in an image thus repeated? Perhaps, a voice whispers, the delight of forgetting and rediscovering, instead of freezing it for all time. I stifle at the thought.
I suddenly catch my breath. That vision of a magnificent tree, draped in the showers of raincan it really be the old oak? Can it be possible that , in the frenzy of excluding and manipulating, I have not so much as brushed the hem of my mistress’ robe? For therein lies her miracle- in celebrating the disfigurements of her creatures. Did not the beauty of Nausicaa lie in those lovely sightless eyes?
As I watch, enthralled, a harsh discordant sound breaks the harmony of nature. It is my chip telling me its memory is full. Mauli Kaushik