Terrific Technology or Terrible Technology??

I strolled the winding road of Crystal Drive, beside the prim young mulberry bushes and flowering moonbeams and ivy snaking around the front doors of the estate of similar whitewashed houses; a dazzling emerald in the stupefying, crisp midsummer sunshine. I swivelled open the weather worn, rusted, ajar gate of old, grime-coated, steel which still bore the faint, italic letterings which spelt “Sunshine on my Pot” . A tommyrot name for a house…
I sauntered towards the back garden, gingerly tiptoed past over trillions of carefully designed clay pots, vases arrayed against the cobblestone path, tipping slightly in the hint of a summer breeze. Harriet, (a clay pot making enthusiast, jovial and sometimes obstinate, with hazel curls and coffee bean tinted eyes) her eyes as round as tomatoes while absorbed in the shaping with serenity, was perfecting the wet clay transforming it to an oblong vase which went wide at the rim and round at the bottom. She was surrounded with loads more pots smothered with wonderful African and Chinese murals. I lingered closer and protruded into Harriet’s vision. “Hello! Do you mind placing this in the oven?” she asked vaguely and motioned me to take the vase from her hardened clay hands. I whisked it away and shoved it gently and swiftly in the oven as a split second later the gradual stuffy, blistering heat clapped over my hands. I gazed hazily at the slowly rotating figure of the clay as the crimson glow of the oven made that figure sturdier and solid.
Meanwhile, Harriet organized a picnic right in the back garden. She spread out an ancient Persian mat, its patterns of fiery red turned magenta with age, and laid out the snacks. The tea was lip-smacking- tuna and cheese sandwiches and toast topped with mulberry jam and freshly picked strawberries with custard and frothy cream. We washed up, splashing beads of water everywhere, watching bubbles fizz up and being a bit peckish we ravenously licked out sugar from dried apricots. Later, we played a fair game of chess and a more challenging game of scrabble in which we didn’t know who won! We peered out of the clear window and noticed the majestic sun, a brilliant orange (the shade of marmalade or like a massive orange marigold), casting its last few strands of gold before sinking down (like Titanic, I thought) through the wispy clouds of the silhouette of an evergreen forest.
A few years later… Harriet had moved to a spacious flat in the city…
I rang the doorbell rapturously, daydreaming about the same amusement, the same tech-free day we had when Harriet was still living in the countryside, in Crystal Drive. “Oh! Hello dear… Come on in, Harriet’s just doing her pottery in the bedroom…” Harriet’s mother said, putting on her best smile. I wondered on the threshold how Harriet can do pottery in a flat- let alone baking the clay. I briskly walked in towards the hall and it was like entering the parlor of the first class. Hanging unflinchingly on the ceiling like a bat in the woodlands, was an ostentatious, gilded chandelier, its counterfeit, diamond-like gems meandering down giving the impression of a winding staircase. A lone, ornate grandfather clock with its golden needles pointed out the time with two needles; a spindly and a squat one. A black, podgy leather couch with down cushions faced a Samsung Curve television glinting in the mellow light from the chandelier. The flat still smelt of the pungent smell of whitewash and of new carpets.
I walked in, finding Harriet’s room at last, the door was festooned with an enormous ‘Keep Out’ written in Harriet’s dirty scrawl. (I did have to search vigorously for it, every nook and corner).
The room was really crammed and cluttered up with all her lovely pots and vases wreathed with exotic designs, I barely could open the door! Harriet helloed and welcomed me in.
“So, where is the wet clay, the firing oven, the new pots and the templates for painting on the pots?” I questioned her.
“There’s nothing a question to ask… Everything is in there…” Harriet responded, pointing discreetly to an iPhone on the mattress.
Obviously an app, she introduced me to a digital pottery world she was fussing over and thinking it awesome how the vases came out of the firing house without a crack in it. Don’t get me wrong, I am not jealous but it was quiet irksome. Harriet grabbed my attention again when she showed me ‘Flappy Bird’ and ‘Temple Run’ and ‘Angry Birds’. I didn’t find it addicting at all but it was fun the first time I played it. After a good half hour of showing me the Samsung Curve, in which it was thrilling to see movies in, we ate a mouth watering meal we chose from Harriet’s iPhone (“Where are our cookbooks? Well, we don’t need those when we have our iPhones, do we? We have cookbooks, dictionaries and even the Holy Bible!” Harriet had exclaimed)
“Let’s go out and play tennis!” I suggested.
“We don’t need to go out! We can simply on my Xbox…” she wavered and then trundled onwards to on it.
We had to have the remote as a makeshift racket. It was a game of mere distraction, as the ‘ting’ of WhatsApp kept reverberating across the room. “Excuse me… I urgently need to reply to this joke.” Said Harriet, hurriedly leaving the room.
I shut down the whole system at once, scurried out of the wretched house as quiet as a church mouse- without anyone knowing, of course. Harriet had lost a friend for good…
Can technology be so addicting? I’ve never given a second thought. Technology can make things more at ease, much faster than manual. Touchscreen the biggest highlight. Can you live without your phone, nowadays? Are books really fading away? True, there are eBooks and Kindle but the smell and the feel of books are going to be missed. Imagine the jolly good old days when family dinners were all about knowing how each ones days were spent, and now everyone is just nibbling their iPhones instead of their food…


A Movie with an Icy Chill: Frozen

Born with a powerful, icy curse, Elsa, princess of Arendelle finds herself in trouble with her dangerous but delightful magic…A magic that is dazzling and enchanting but it is also engrossed with intense fear.
All through Elsa’s life she tries to hold back her chilly powers which mostly affected Anna, her younger sister. She ran away on her coronation day, unable to control it, leaving a part of her icy powers in Arendelle (A place popular for its bright and cheery summer) and it slowly grew into eternal winter. Only true love could stop the spell. Anna couldn’t bear to see Arendelle in this dreadful and disastrous state. She had to find Elsa, believing that she could stop this weather. On her quest, she finds the most hilarious and helpful friends- Olaf, Swen and Christof. Together they wound up the North Mountain to be met with a dreary surprise…
“A must watch heart-warming and charming film. The songs hypnotize and mesmerize the ears and souls of children and even adults. This terrific movie is based on Hans Christian Anderson’s Snow Queen and is nominated for the Oscars.”

An exhilarating, electrifying tale through a villain’s malicious eyes….Maleficent


With bat-like, horny, brown feathered wings of gigantic size and humongous span (like an albatross’s – potent and trustworthy), with her winding, dark, ram headdress, with her insipid, black, rag-like robe tugging behind her in the swift situation of flying as air borne as a leaf in a hotchpotch tempest… She flitted and fluttered- so powerfully that it slapped the wind. Rocketing high over the loftiest summit through the candy floss clouds of the jolly, mystery filled, pleasant lush greenery of the moors, she spun so rapidly like a dancing top, drawing clouds to her-the speed too intense, the cloud seemed like mist…
‘She’ is Maleficent. The vicious villain, the victorious heroine…It doesn’t matter. She is both…
Yes, it is the age old classic tale of Sleeping Beauty but with a striking, unbelievable, incredible twist.
As young Stephan (a farmer’s son) was creeping in the moors to steal something in the faeries wake, Maleficent (still a jovial, contended girl) caught him. That was a beginning of their true love story… But it didn’t last long enough. Stephan was soon plotting to be of a post of high glory in the kingdom. He stole Maleficent’s wings in order to be king. Maleficent, mixed with revenge and malice couldn’t control her fury of Stephan’s voraciousness. She came across Diaval, a crow strangled in a farmer’s fishing net. Taking pity, she saved him and he solemnly swore to be her spy. Shortly, Aurora’s christening occurred. Burrowed in bubbling anger of not being invited, she herself trundled to the castle and cursed the giggling and bubbly Aurora. (The same wicked story book jinx— “Before the sun sets on her sixteenth birthday, she will prick her finger on the spindle of a spinning wheel and fall to a sleep like death…”) Watch what befalls Aurora—will it be Prince Philip who wakes her up from her hibernation?

A moving, courageous tale of ignorance, tears, love, greed, fury, mastery and evil. Never a bore, it just goes on until you are perplexed the movie came to an end so quickly. Maleficent was the most daring, dark and mystical of all other faeries. She had a heart of enduring gilded gold but Stephan and her own folly enameled it with a stone crust. And yet Disney’s movies are always quoted with a happy, magical ending.

Day Dreaming Dilemmas

Another humid and hazy and horrid day, so hot that you will have the impression of melting like an ice lolly until you are exceedingly sticky like melted marshmallows and inexplicably stinking and smothered with the sickly stench of sweat. That day we had Science as our first period. Yes, and regrettably (I had run out of luck lately) I couldn’t resist the window seat, despite the heat, standing sturdy and vacant—perfect for a spontaneous dreamer like me. My eyes weaved in and about the variety of other desks appealing to my comfort but many a number of class mates grabbed their opportunities to the air conditioning area and settled down serenely like proud VIP’s. But my eyes swivelled back to the sun bathed chair and desk near the greasy and fuzzy window. Without even giving it a second thought, I slipped down on the rigid wooden and quiet dirty chair rather awkwardly with the terrifying heat lapping at the left of my face and unusually soothingly stimulating cool air tickling and gently touching me on the right. I began to sun-cool- bath feeling the utmost relaxation. The fiery glare of the sun against the pane was annoying but evidently warming me drowsy. The teacher, meanwhile, was far from the start of the lesson–“Inside the earth”. As I was not too keen on Science and was too great a day dreamer for learning, I abruptly heard the teacher explain in her shrill, aged voice, “The inner core can be almost compared to the big seed of a mango. Therefore…”

“Oh! Imagine!” I murmured jovially to myself (I was actually quarter dozing, half day dreaming and the last quarter aiding me in keeping myself look up and awake on the outside) as I pictured an absurdly colourful text book with a diagram of the Earth chopped in half and the layers projected clearly. But, at-the-spur-of-the-moment, the Earth dissolved itself into a massive mango which was hilariously amusing. And the insides of the mango disappeared too, and refilled again with the crust as the mango peel, the mantle as a dense mango puree with numerous bite size chunks of juicy mangoes, the outer core was mango juice with smaller bits and pieces while the inner core turned out to be a giant mango seed!!

Suddenly, I fancied a dismal looking ancient volcano with jagged, ragged, weather-worn rocks of all sizes bundled and huddled together. (coconut sized to the size of an African elephant!) A moderate vibration appeared to occur slightly, the trees juddered and the rocks shuddered. Unexpectedly, out of the blue, a handful of people dressed in jeans and everyday t-shirts, staggered, stumbled, strode and hurried showing how ferine they were. “Let’s slurp it up before it stains everywhere.” they managed to pant. In the meantime, the vibration grew worse. Unpredictably, the bleak volcano bombarded, spitting lava (that’s what I thought anyway). Those people were shrouded in it- most likely swallowed in the tremendous blazing heat. But no, wait! Lava is not yellow! The liquid which had spilled out was a syrupy yellow. It was mango juice! And there came the group of people, licking themselves over and over and that surely made my lips smack. For I haven’t had a proper treat of mango since May. If it hadn’t been for a thundering voice agitating me, I could have asked the men to pass some juice to me too. “Stop dreaming, youngster. I won’t abide dreaming in my class!” boomed the querulous thundering of the Science teacher who in reality seemed to pinch my ears moodily. I don’t ever wish to describe the scene after that.

Daydreaming can leave someone in a really fantastic picturesque fantasy land always leading to trouble afterwards… I can never leave the habit of whiling away my time like that. Have you ever been in a day dream?