Descriptive Writing
My Name Is Ratan, Ratan Prakash, and I Am Not A Terrorist!
It was a pathetic day, a day everyone dreads. It was my first day at my new school, and it was a horrible feeling. To be very honest, I was very nervous; it took lot of courage for me to walk into the classroom. What I saw when I walked in completely appalled me. There was this ugly- looking guy with huge arms standing there.
The guy was about 4ft tall and looked like a character from The Simpsons. He wore red glasses and had a terrible hairdo. Each arm was the size of a tank, and his body structure was rather plump. He had a huge stomach which made him look like a “teletubby”. He resembled a balding Elvis Presley. This guy in the eighth grade was balding; this was truly unbelievable! Someone really should have suggested he use an anti-hair fall shampoo. His school shirt was a complete mess, with stains all over it. His trouser was very loose. He wore gold chains on his neck and knuckles on his fingers. This guy was actually wearing a cap the other way around and had a ridiculous yellow belt and red shoes. He had a smug expression on his face and a lot of hair on his nose, his hands and his ears. Actually, he seemed to have hair everywhere except on his head. He was supposedly the class bully and teased new students. This bully looked like a “don” and called himself “Bhai”. This guy looked extremely unfriendly and would probably scare people away. I wondered how he got admission. He walked with slowly and kept picking his nose which was really pathetic. He was very fat, and he burped every 25 seconds very loudly. He had very dark skin and looked like a gorilla I once saw in the zoo, strong but ugly and hairy. He wore an earring and a gold nose ring.
Suddenly, he walked towards me with a smile on his face and a water bottle in his hand. He hit me on my head and said, “Hello! My name is Prakash, Ratan Prakash, and I am not a terrorist!”
Then he laughed at his own joke and walked away. I decided at that moment that I would keep a good distance from such a negative influence.
Ishav Kohli MD 9
Characterization
I sunk into the worn, wooden Starbucks seat. “Be calm,” I whispered to myself, “she’s only your future sister-in-law, not the Queen of England!”
I looked around. Was I nervous? No doubt about it. My nerves were killing me. Or maybe it was just the fact that I had secretly arranged to meet with my brother’s future wife. Well, it was either of the two. Somehow, the bustle of my surroundings calmed my frantic mind. My eyes wandered around the room. I caught sight of a lady wearing a peach coloured silk shirt. It was just like the one I was wearing when I had met with Jonathan (he’s a pretty good big brother, so he flies in to meet me a lot). We were in the “Hare and the Tortoise”, a modern Japanese restaurant on Ealing Broadway, enjoying bowls of steaming hot rice and teriyaki salmon. That was when he had told me about Natalie.
I glanced at my watch. It was four fifty nine. I had decided to be a bit early (we were meant to meet at five o’clock), so I had been at Starbucks for exactly fourteen minutes already. Just as I was about to officially announce that Natalie had been late, I saw a tall, slender figure, gracefully glide across the battered wooden flooring, in six inch heels. I was mesmerized by her aura. Her hair was a glossy dark brown with soft waves, and was elegantly cut in layers until just below her shoulders. Two flawlessly round pearls adorned her ears, flattering her bronzed, tan skin. She wore a coral cut-out sleeve shirt, dark skinny jeans, and leopard print wedges. She didn’t seem as dull as I thought she would be! After all, she did work for a bank.
She was closer now, almost at the seat opposite me. I guessed she had recognized my face, as after scanning her surroundings, her face lit up and she smiled as she noticed me. She had extremely white teeth! I could just about make out the colour of her eyes. They were a shimmery emerald green, partnered by long, charcoal black lashes. She seemed perfect!
A split-second later, I found myself awkwardly staring at her outstretched arm. She sported a French manicure, a sign of high-maintenance, as well as an undeniably enormous diamond ring on her left ring finger. No prizes for guessing it was her engagement ring! I always knew Jonno had great taste in Jewelery Needless to say that he learnt from me, and the countless times I had dragged him into Tiffany and Co.
Waking myself out of my daydream, I shook her hand. I was almost scared to touch it as it looked so pricelessly delicate!
“You must be Amy!” she exclaimed, showcasing her radiant smile. “I’m Natalie.”
“Yes,” I replied, “Jonathan has told me so much about you, Oh, you mustn’t tell him about us meeting, by the way. He’s not meant to know!”
“I most definitely won’t, no need to worry.” she assured me.She seemed lovely. My dubiousness was wrong after all!
AmyJoy Hendricks
MD9
DESCRIPTIVE WRITING
The Old Lady in the Lift
One fine day, when the sun was bright and the wind was warm, I planned to visit my uncle’s house to meet my newborn cousin. I was really excited to meet him. As I pressed the button of the elevator, the door opened, and I saw an old lady standing in the corner. As soon as I stepped in, the door shut, and the elevator began going down. After a few seconds, it stopped. Now both of us were trapped in there. I pressed the emergency button, but nothing happened; I realized that we would be together for a very long time.
The old lady had whitish complexion and cotton-white hair which was neatly coiled in a bun. Her forehead was quite wide with many wrinkles and folds. Her chocolate brown eyes looked tired. She had thin, pointed eyebrows which looked like two hills meeting. The blood-red bindi in the middle looked like the bright sun trying to separate these hills. Her gold- rimmed spectacles were on the edge of her nose. That somewhat reminded me of my teacher. Her cheeks were as red as ripe tomatoes. Although her nose was small, it was cute. Right below that there was a black strand of hair sticking out from her mole. She had small narrow lips. She was breathing heavily with her mouth wide open. She also had a double chin because she was enormously fat, and she had drooping shoulders.
Time passed slowly, and the elevator still did not start working. Both of us were sweating a lot because the fan was not working. I saw droplets of sweat trickling down her flab. I was surprised to see her bony legs. Maybe her poor legs were bony because they had been carrying a lot of weight for ages. Her small, little feet were wearing flat rubber slippers. She was making a lot of noise by nervously tapping her walking stick on the floor of the elevator. It seemed that her fingers were incapable of holding it properly. Her cotton sari was clumsily draped around her.
As it was getting very late, I made another attempt at pressing the emergency button. I thought this action too would go in vain. But by God’s grace the door of the elevator opened. As she opened her mouth to say something, a spray of spit shot out, and I noticed that her dentures were not fixed properly.
As I stepped outside she said, ‘‘Beti, I am glad I had you for company”.
I turned with a smile on my face and said, ‘‘You’re welcome, Aunty!”
RIYA AWTANEY
MD 9