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Bliss of Triveni

21st Jan 2015 by admin - , (0) Comment

Triveni

This Sunday of Korean pancakes at ‘Branch,’ four hours of philosophy readings, and endless procrastination-based facebook checks was maybe not my ideal Sunday. But luckily, I could interrupt these tedious happenings with a little Triveni time. The past term I have taken part of four Trivenis, all of which have become an integral part of my everyday life.

One of these is MUWCITimes. We are approxiamtely 15 students working on the school paper; I write, while others draw, design, do photography and so on. So, in order to get a break from the required IB readings, I did some required writing. I believe that a triveni is what you want it to be, and I find it fun to use MUWCITimes as a little taster of the lives of all the big people in the big world, who have taken the joyous journey of journalism to reach whatever destination we all search for. Of course UWCMC is quite small, but nevertheless I have been set on an investigative round; I shall find out what we students cook. I planned out my article in the dead silence of the library, but left the execution to the me of tomorrow. There are, after all, also breaks in the life of real journalists. Or at least we can pretend so, if there is more homework to be done.

When my mind was finally mush, and I left my work to (hopefully) finish itself, another triveni presented an opportunity to me. Along with a friend I went to the darkness of ‘Space’ – our recreational centre, and liberated the poor sitars locked up there. I am no master of this instrument; indeed I would almost say it is a master of me. It is strange how at peace it can make me feel to repeat those simple scales again and again as I watch the line from the string carve deeper into my finger. And so, with the scribbles from our Pune teacher at hand, we sat on the hill with a view of the valley. There is no time as beautiful as when the sun battles the moon, with red spilling everywhere, and nothing to make you more grateful for UWCMC than watching the village lights create a blanket of stars over the valley.

From this transition of day to night, I transitioned from the tranquil sitar to the sassiness of ‘swing.’ You can see it as the ending of the week or the beginning of the next – personally I view it as both. And a wonderful one at that. Every Sunday night, a group of 20 or so students gather in the fairy-lit oasis I usually consider my Lit classroom, and for two hours we dance till our soles are spent and souls uplifted. Our talented coordinator teaches us to shim-sham, belt-loop, octopus, and rainbow. If these sound intriguing to you at all, I encourage you to swing – I guarantee you a lasting smile on your face.

My Sunday ended, however, as they all do. Ahead of me is a long week of responsibilities, absurdities, and new possibilities. But I embark on that journey knowing my trivenis will always be there to help me breathe if I ever drown in the seas of our fishbowl. And there is always the Tuesday music group sessions to keep me sane.

With so many people from different musical heritages, being a part of music group is quite the experience. Unfortunately music group does not have the fortune of filling my Sunday, but this will not keep me from introducing the two of you. Music group is not exactly a name clouded in mystery; we are a group that meets and does music. Mostly we decide on a song to perform at a certain event or plan a concert for our neighbours. My favorite times, however, are our little improvisations. There is this certain style, a delicate, nostalgic sound, which we always find when we sit and let out the sound that comes to mind. One will start with a whistle, a guitar chord will follow, the light tones of one will perfectly harmonise with the dark ones of another. There is something piercingly serene over these fleeting compositions.

I am eternally grateful for these moments of calm and peace that my trivenis give me throughout the week, and on my otherwise deadly boring Sundays.

 – Ida Laerke Jonassen Hass (Denmark)

Class of 2016

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