On the Face of It
(from My Student's perspective)
By (Kashika), Batch 2018-19
(Derry begins to weep)
Derry: You can't leave me like this! You have tin leg, I have a burnt face. You have things to say, I have the ear to put all into. We are friends!
(Silence. Suddenly a bird sat on his head.)
Derry: See, all the folks here want you to speak. I will help you with the crab apples. Years, taking things steady.
(His lifeless eyes show no sign of sparkle.)
Derry: No..no... you are my only friend...
(shrieks)
I came back for you! I kept my promise! I am no people! Friend!
(runs away)
Scene 4 (Derry's home)
(Bang)
(shuts his room's door.)
(sat down and weeps)
(Knock on the door)
Mother: Derry? You home?
(no answer)
Mother: I told you he is not a man to be talked to. He is barmy, aloof. Stays daft in the garden all day, puts his hand into beehive, says they sing, pitter patter of rain lulls him to sleep, weeds as beauty...Ehh! old silly creature.
(Bangs on door)
Mother: You need to open the door now! You are getting on my nerves. Open the door otherwise you won't get the supper!
Derry: screams from inside
I don't need supper. It's not the stomach to be filled, it's life to be felt and contended.
Mother: Fine! These words look good in books only. They have nothing to do with your life.. with your face..with your future!
(The door opens)
Derry: (calm) I don't have to do anything with this (pointing towards the burn) it's the beauty, it makes me different, it's an epitome of bravery, for me, for the world.
(Smiles with tears)
I have got two legs to run when the dog's after me, two hands to work and earn for my living, two eyes to admire this vibrant nature,a brain to analyse and lips to smile. I can still live my life to the fullest and thrive something better and make this world a better place to live!
Mother:(sniffs) That oldy has casted a spell on you! I bet it's something his is toffees.
Derry: The thing he was wrong at, was optimism, was equality, was nature, was life itself! He saw equality in things, this society finds no similarities. His books became the partners for life, the jewels of his crown. He embraced the mother nature by nursing it like his own child. Yes! he was wrong, BARMY!
(Went inside)
(looks in the mirror)
Derry: You made a warrior out of Derek, Mr. Lamb.
thinks something
Oh no!
runs
(Scene 5)
(Mr Lamb's garden)
Complete, dead silence
Leaves rustled a bit
It feels like nature is weeping on his deat.
Derry: Friend!
(kneels down)
( A row of ant entering his mouth)
(eyes, dry, stiff)
(holds his hand up)
Derry :You deserve respect.
(weeps)
You deserve nature. I am not a 14 year crying about his face lad anymore. I am you, you is me; everything is same, right!
Gets up and runs towards the house
[The house is dark ,only windows as a source of light, empty shelves, books all around in a slovenly manner, a dusty room full of pictures on the wall.]
Derry: whispers
Family..
(he glances at each photo carefully)
Derry: You always knew how to smile..
(looks at the bottom right corner)
(frowns)
Derry: Brad? Brad Lamb?
(creak)
(a man in his early thirties, formal look, with a file in hand enters)
Brad: Who's there? Who's ye?
Derry: startled
(glances the picture, then the man)
Brad?
Brad: Mr. Brad Lamb. That man's son. Poor guy. I wish he would have signed the insurance before breaking his neck. Anyway, who's you, champ? Wish to take books or toffees or stuff? They are all yours now!
Derry: Friend.
Brad:A friend?
(cackles)
That silly old creature lost his leg in the war. A bomb blast. Fortune never completely smiled on him. Time took his mates too. Maa's death shook him away. Not so bad. He got a bit mad. Bad. Pity. No?
Derry: Too much.
Brad: Too much? He was an escapist. He didn't used to bath for years. Always hallucinating, fantasizing. Never faced the reality. Always doing hell with this gooey stuff. Pain. Ugh! this room stinks.
(turns to go out)
Thank God the local watchman informed me his death. Luckily, he was passing by. Poor man!
Derry: Mr. Brad Lamb. Shame. This surname doesn't suit you. Your selfish mind makes you nothing more than a brainless worm.
Brad: (without turning)
Limits, boy.
(Turns)
(Kneels a bit)
Take whatever you wish to. These things gonna go in dump yard. Wish to take YOUR FRIEND'S things?
(Pause)
I wish to construct a bungalow here. Collect your stuff and get lost.
Derry: Mind it Mr.! Have you ever seen the pictures carefully? Your father giving a painful smile? He was aloof, but the father of this garden. He was desolated, still was a king of hearts. Even the atomies here yearns for his presence. He resides everywhere. Crab apples, bees. Think once, your father left with his own will, he was alive for people like me, for that friendship we had on that bench!
(pointing towards the bench where he sat)
He was alive the love he deserved, for those small apples. It's you blemishing this bliss. He enunciated the timid in the me, he is my friend!
(Pushes him)
(Runs)
Derry: He is my friend!
(shouts)
You were never a human, Brad!
(After that, he stopped passing that garden. But now he had a completely different perspective about life and society.)
After 5 months
(Scene 6)
(Mr. Lamb's Garden)
(Lamb's green happiness, A yellow board read)
Guard: Whatcha want boy?
Derry: (hesitating) I wish to go inside.
Guard : Run inside ! the gates' up! Every time! For everybody!
(He looks at the garden with amusement. Children frolicking, people having the evening walk. In the middle of garden a huge tub full of candies.)
(Went to the bench)
(smiles)
Words engraved in the stone,
" In the memory of Mr. Lamb's and his friend's friendship. Ironically, living forever"
It's not the end...
_________________________________________
By (Kashika), Batch 2018-19
She who returned to the yellow wood
“Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And I took the one less travelled by,
And that has made all the difference.”
I have breathed this poem as if it were my own,
held it with the tenderness of creation,
stitched it so close that now,
my heart wears it,
and no longer remembers
what it was meant to ask.
And now,
in a quiet corner beyond time,
I sit beside you again, Mr. Frost;
the woods are quieter
than you painted them in my sixth grade.
And I ask you again,
only now, I see the weight with my own eyes,
innocence finally wearing off.
Once, we ran through colours,
now we sit in the stillness of grayscale.
Tell me,
what did your sigh mean?
for even now,
the woods do not answer.
the trees stand still,
their branches holding a silence
older than either of us.
the wind passes through,
not harsh, not kind,
just enough to stir
what refuses to be spoken.
it brushes past the grass,
and for a moment,
everything seems like it might confess,
but nothing does.
above us,
the sky stretches endlessly,
unconcerned,
as if it has watched a thousand such choices
and forgotten them all.
I listen,
for you, for meaning,
but all I hear
is the echo of a step
that could have been mine.
were the woods kind,
or did they simply exist around you,
vast and unmoved?
did the tall grass lean toward you in welcome,
or fall back into place,
as though you had never passed through at all?
and when I walk my own divided paths,
will I, too, look back and say
it made all the difference,
or will I finally admit
that the woods never chose for me,
and never will?
I turn to you, searching through your thoughts,
you do not answer at once.
you watch the wind
move through what I cannot name,
and when you finally speak,
it is softer than I expected,
not truth,
not certainty,
just something that almost settles.
“The roads were never what we made of them,”
you say,
as if the words had been waiting longer than I had.
“I only chose,
and later,
I learned how to speak of it.”
the trees do not move,
the sky does not change,
but something in me does.
“The sigh?”
you almost smile,
“it was not for the road I took,
but for the knowing
that I would never walk the other.”
And I sit there,
no longer eyeing the woods,
no longer searching your wrinkled face
for something it cannot give.
I just wonder,
what I will carry,
and what I will leave behind,
when my turn comes to sigh,
even at the deathbed,
even at the edge of a cliff,
and let it be
enough.
_________________________________________
Why Don't Men Cry?
(By a Student of Class XII Sci. A Session 2026-27)
Everyone asks, why don't men cry?
Whether their heart is broken or even an ant dies,
Why don't men cry?
They are always taught to be brave,
Whether they are nervous or whether they are shy,
Why don't men cry?
Everything seems hard to even try,
Then why don't men cry?
In their minds full of worry, they are always in a hurry,
Then why don't men cry?
They are emotional, too shy to cry,
Yet everyone asks — why don't men cry?
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