STELLAEIDOSCOPE

 "The What-Ifs and the Should-Haves will eat your brain." - John O'Callaghan Cover Art by Yukta Smiruthi, III B.A. English Quote by Radha Rani, III B.Com (General)  Editorial What If? “What If?”: Of Parallel Universes What if we were all like Dr. Dolittle?  A Recipe A Perfect World What if the Skies were Transparent Movie Review: What If I Wish We All Could Live Like Kings   Off-topic  Humans of Stella nine nights Pretty Women in our Garden glass breaks whether you want it to or not Be Proud of You: A Poem on Mental Illness time reverses Shape of You Artwork

What if we didn’t have any responsibilities? What if time was reversed? What if we could talk to animals? What if on that fateful Wednesday, you hadn’t waved at that one girl who was actually waving to someone behind you? We’re sure that you’ve been plagued by these questions, or questions similar to these, at some point or the other. This issue is all about those questions; the what-ifs in life, both big and small. Some what-ifs keep you up at night, some are perfect daydream material for boring classes, some give you a wistful feeling that goes perfectly with rainy evenings and ginger tea. “What if?” is a question you might often find yourself asking regretfully, but we find it’s best not to dwell on those questions; to put it as succinctly (and awkwardly, but let your grandmother editors have their moment) as possible—YOLO. It’s much better to sit back and enjoy the world around you, or perhaps the numerous possibilities that lie ahead; not what could have been, but what could be. ...

'Tired' by Chiquita Canisius Gomez, I B.A. English

Written by L.S.Samyuktha, III B.A. English Photograph by Krishna J Nair, III B.A. English  Rose James, B.Sc.Psychology, 3rd year "What if you had the power to do absolutely anything, what would you do? How would you use that power?" There's so much that I would want to do. I would want to tackle poverty, degradation of the environment, LGBTQ+ issues; the list is endless. These are all things I truly worry about, and if I had the power to bring about a bigger change than I can right now, I would definitely choose that. I'm the type of person who likes to cling on to hope. I believe in humanity. Although things seem bleak right now, I do believe that if we were all more active and aware, things could turn around for the better. It won't happen if we just hope and pray, it'll happen only when we 'do'. When I have more time and resources to do something more, I definitely see myself working for the LGBTQ+ community - be it joining an...

by Zenia Zuraiq, III B.Sc. Physics I think about alternate universes a lot. Okay, okay. I know. Quantum physics doesn’t really work that way. There aren’t really tangible, physical, alternate me’s floating around. But it’s still fun to think about! Anyway – what I like to do is to imagine paths converging right after something happens. Every time I narrowly avoid something, good or bad, there is a part of me that goes “Oh, but in alternate universe #23456, Zenia did get hit by that car!” (Or to be less morbid, “AU #28967 Zenia didn’t spill the coffee on herself!”.) It's scary, sometimes. Thinking of the lives we lost or the lives we let go. Thinking of the infinite possibilities. Of the future we're travelling into, second by second. Of the futures we could've been travelling into. Of the chapters we chose not to write. Of the chapters we deleted and edited. It's comforting, too. Not only could endless possibilities be endlessly bleak, but thinking of the c...

by C.M. Pratibha, I B.Sc. Physics So I was just sitting on my balcony on an ordinary day, sipping tea, observing the world doing its thing. That's when I noticed a huge flock of birds chirping away in a nearby tree. It resembled a scene from the Lok Sabha. Parrots, sparrows and crows fighting over their place in the tree, leading to a state of complete pandemonium. I wish I could understand what they were talking about. I am pretty sure they were discussing the catch of the day, or how dumb we humans are, and how we are just blatantly destroying their homes and making their fellow mates extinct. I feel it’s a privilege to even listen to birds chirping. Many people living in cities can't even recall the last time they heard a bird’s call. Not just birds, what if we could learn to talk to animals? Imagine how easy it would be to make your pet go back to your house when it starts to rain. Well, it would make my life much easier. Oh, how I envy Dr. Dolittle. But if you no...

by Hima Mouli, I B.A. English What if there was a world Without all the tumultuous pain This mess of complicated discord The mire of chaotic disorder Like scars on smooth skin A world that would know joy Without the sharp price of pain That apparent eutopic vision Like a vague mirage-like dream Sugary sweetness, almost sickening But somehow I think that world Seems scarier than this one Maybe it’s because I prefer my monsters visible Out in the open And not hidden, concealed Under my bed Maybe it’s because I’ve lived with them Grown up as they grew For so long now A world without them Feels odd, suspicious Maybe it’s because I have a twisted connection To all those horrid things That haunt my dreams That binds me to reality Maybe it’s because I’ve become so used To the shadows that I think myself one of them It’s not that I can’t imagine light It’s that I cannot exist in the light

by Meghna Jaiprakash, I B. Com CS (A) What if the skies were transparent And the dancing colours of the galaxy become apparent? How blissful would stargazing be? Sights of surreal festivals on the moon And of the cold, frosty nights on Neptune Glittering comets lighting our world up like fireflies, and intergalactic dust Filling our hearts with songs and infinite lust Starlight baring into our souls, removing humanly sorrows Giving power to bear the drudgery of a thousand tomorrows.

by Samyuktha Iyer, II B.A. English the bomb begins with a blast and ends with a decision to set it off. the trains roll back into the stations and Hindus and Muslims return back to wherever they believed they belonged. guns draw out pellets from now unbroken flesh. india begins in fascism and ends in democracy. a protesting crowd watches the sun rise in the evening and goes home unbroken. machines shut down mid- grind and coal mines fill with soil, next monsoon’s landslide forgets to turn up. old age becomes hopeful. youth, experienced, and when they talk, people listen. the prime minister unsigns all the laws he’s passed and no one’s afraid to walk the streets at night. the rapist hangs at the noose even before he reaches for her kurta. my sexuality unfolds outside the closet and resolves itself with an open lock. the lord says let there be darkness because we’ve seen light and it hasn’t really brought us much good. the universe contracts one day, disappears into nothing and takes...

by N. M. Mathangi, I M.A. English this is the season of parties, this is the season of stories. stories of a war — calm, silent battles we won unsmiling, our histories dipped in the agarbathi smoke that permeates the forbidden niches of our lives. when you pull these stories from our tongues, they are going to sound like anklets clinking in the expanse of our living rooms, they will sound like the murmurs of a hundred feet on ramakrishna mutt road as temple goers haggle with the flower sellers, they sound like suppression, like the swallowed pain of 356 nights being unleashed over 9. we are celebrating us today, celebrating the fire in our bellies, the agony of birthing that fire into this world, to give back to the soil. we are celebrating our katyayanis, our shaktis, look out. we're coming for you. watch as we lay waste to your empire; we bring you our bodies, we bring you our war. we are celebrating our lakshmis, our goddesses who g...

by Srinidhi Alladi, I B.Com (Accounting and Finance) I had decided to take this month’s Stellaiedoscope theme literally and consider things like, what if dogs named us like we named them? Or what if grass was sentient, and we had to mow the lawn? However, while we were discussing things on the group, my motherly friend Riya asked if anyone had seen the movie What If. In addition to being almost every kind of fangirl, I also happen to be a connoisseur of rom-coms, (if you will), and so I decided to review the movie instead. There’s just something about rom-coms that tugs at a person’s heartstrings and at the same time is quite infuriating. Is it the unrealistically good-looking cast? The cliché plot line? Regardless, we’re sitting at home on a Friday night, in pajamas, wondering when our knight (note: gender unspecified) in shining armor will indulge our rom-com fantasy. What If is the pinnacle of cute, peak softness – from the meet-cute to the end. The protagonists Wallace and Chant...

by Subashini K. J. J., I B. A. English What if I could do this! What if I could do that! I could be the greatest flautist Or take a walk with my cat. I might be a rockstar in the making… Maybe, I’d try my hand at baking! Mountains, I’d lift with much ease Or wear a dress that shows off my knees. Might go on one too many shopping sprees And gift my friends some designer briefs. I’d like to put away my responsibilities And write cute odes on little leaves. They say I’m bizarre, my dreams too bold I promise, I’ll give it all up when I’m old. But these pretentious people just can’t see That we’re not that different; you and me We give up all our crazy dreams, And watch them wash away in streams, But let me have my moment now As all of you did, and the ones above So sit back, helpless, watch me fall and fail Just hold me, please, as I sob and wail. You can’t do much about it though Now watch this go back, to and fro. Oh! How I’d love to do so many things, So I close my eyes and spread m...

by Krishna J. Nair, III B.A. English I have been told that pretty women blossomed in our garden. For instance, Ammama was a blue lotus On a full moon night, yearning for Appapa’s soft touch. Ammama also had a name that was given To the kindest of the moon. I have been told that pretty women blossomed in our garden. Amma was a sunflower, surrounded by a forest Full of gulmohar trees. Oddly, every night, The moon shone only on the sunflower, And the blue lady by the creek. When I stumbled on the flowers in our house, Where the sunroof held dead leaves Which were cleared once in a blue moon Because Ammama left us all too soon, Appa held his stare on the bougainvillea; For him, they were just villains. When I rushed back home one day after school Wearing pinafore of navy blue, Old men stood in our garden With garden tools looking solemn. Appa’s eyes directed at the villains Who lined up on our porcelain white wall. But I have been told that pretty women blossomed in our garden. So when...

by Riya Nagendra, III B.A. English Writers are sometimes the most horrible creatures. They put their pens to paper (or their fingers to the keyboard) and out—from god knows what deep recesses of their cruel minds—come words that will tear you apart, and, if they’re feeling benevolent, crudely stitch you back together with brittle old thread and no anaesthetic. It’s one thing when they make you fond of a character, and then, when you think you cannot possibly love anyone more, they stab them with an inky knife—but there’s another little trick they use to break your delicate little heart. I’m no writer myself, but after years of keen observation I think I have an inkling of how they do it; you will find the instructions you need below. You will require: 1 tbsp. Character A 1 tbsp. Character B (optional) 3 tbsp. Oops (to be added 1 tbsp. at a time while mixing) 1 cup Relationship (not required if only one Character) 2 cups Fondness (can be replaced with ½ cup Deep Emotional Attachment...

by Shruthi Mukunth, II B.S.W. Too thin, too thick, Been called way too many insults that stick From your hair to your nails You're judged everyday And regardless of what you change You'll still receive hate. They'll mock you and they'll judge And if you try to change, then you're a wannabe With no originality; So your diets And your workout, your hair care routine And your face masks Your uncomfortable clothes or dysfunctional shoes Won't ever satisfy them. Their comments aren't from concern, Like some might claim Their words aren't for you per se, But for their own self-loathing and insecurity to tame. And if they don't do it, you'll do so yourself Your worldwide influencers too focused on aesthetics to care about emotions Reality unmatched and health forgotten You'll take yourself apart, weaken and lose yourself to meet goals, underestimated Desperation, frustration and hurt take over you The need to change to fit...

by Chiquita Canisius Gomez, I B.A. English If you're suffering from mental health issues Know that you are not alone. If you woke up today and are reading this right now I am extremely proud of you. It takes only the bravest of heart To put up with all this. You are still fighting the war in your head And very soon you'll win, my love. If you just hang on a little longer Those demons will get tired of hurting you and let go. You might feel like you are buried and everything in life seems hopeless. But I tell you there is hope. Everything in life is temporary. Seeds have to be buried for flowers to grow. Don't be ashamed, love. Mental illness is not a disgrace. It's a sign of strength of how far you've come. Ask for help, don't feel bad. The more you talk about it, The better you will feel. Trust me. Learn to love yourself, that's the first step out of depression. Look into the mirror and see the beauty you possess within. The gem...

by Divya Iyer, III B.S.W on the other side of the mirror lies the shape of my disappearance. on the other side of the mirror lies all that i have lost. bottles of nail varnish, thin long line of sturdy neck, jawbone that glows in the light just right, wrists to be remembered; on the other side of the mirror lies all things of the past. tickets in jean pockets, hands on a railing, shrill laughter and my ears grating, the music a little too loud and the jump scare still ringing in my ears. on the other side of the mirror: all the things that refuse to come home, no matter how loud their mothers call. all the things that have no home to come to. all the things that came home and destroyed their homes – left the streets forlorn and the villages empty and drained, dripping all out. everybody sobs into their shirts. on both sides of the mirror, there is misery. on every side that you take there are casualties. broken glass. loss. on this side of the ...