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Write a narrative essay, describing the usual kind of Sunday evening spent in your home from 6 o’clock to bedtime.Marks:25
HINTS: ·Introduction to home, its significance, brief description of people ·Activites in the evening—playing chess, carom, ludo, etc with your brother ·Mother preparing tea and snacks, father reading newspaper ·Your elder sister watching TV ·Study time activities of self and siblings ·Dinner, a time of sharing experiences ·Father discussing office and work ·Children telling school stories ·Moments of togetherness to cherish ·Preparing bags, uniform, shoes, etc. for next day
Write a narrative essay, describing your thoughts and feelings on leaving home and school to enter a college in a strange city for higher studies.Marks:25
The very thought of leaving my home and school to continue studies in a new distant city, at times strikes an emotional chord in me, moving me to tears. The thought of migrating to Bengaluru after completing my ISC, for pursuing an honours degree in computers sends butterflies down my stomach.
This is on account of the prestige associated with it. The feeling of awe and envy that it would generate among my friends and colleagues pleases me no end. I conjecture up visions of anxious juniors coming to me for help and seeking my advice. This would indeed, make me a sort of a celebrity not only in school, but also in the neighbourhood.
I am also thrilled at the prospect of making new friends, and seeing new places that I have only heard and read about. I am indeed fascinated by the fast lifestyle of the metros, and would also like to partake in it, and enjoy life to the fullest. The thought of living in a hostel, completely independent, away from parental control and the strict discipline of school exhilarate me. All these would be novel and unique experiences for me.
Nevertheless the fear of being unknown haunts me. I am terrified at the thought of ragging which I may have to face in the college and in the hostel. I have heard about some horrid incidents that take place in the campus, which cause me great anxiety. The thought of leaving the familiar environment of home town, sometimes trembles me. It fills me with great melancholy, for I have many sweet and pleasant memories of my school life. I would miss the care and affection of the teachers. But the one thing that I shall miss the most is my home, my parents and my near and dear ones. I guess I would have to change a lot myself, become more responsible, attentive and independent, so that I can stand on my own and face the future as it unfolds in a new place.
Indeed, this is what life is all about—a change. Life is a journey in which we cannot afford to look back. The fears and apprehensions that I have shall in due course of time evaporate, as I take them in my stride.
Write a narrative essay, describing your wonderful experience of cooking independently for the first time in your childhood days. Also give a suitable title to it.Marks:25
My Golden Cookies
Although I have grown up to be entirely incompetent at the art of cooking, I was always on the countertop next to my mother’s cooking dish, adding and mixing ingredients that would doubtlessly create a delicious food. When I was younger, cooking came naturally with the holiday season, which made that time of year the prime occasion for me to indulge with dark chocolates, creams, sauces and various other messy ingredients, numerous cooking utensils, and the assistance of my mother to cook what would soon be an edible delicacy. The most memorable of the holiday works of art were our jam-filled Cookies, which my mother and I first made when I was about eleven and are now made every Christmas.
My mother wanted me to not indulge in cooking at such a tender age. But the pride my mom gained in taking out hot crunchy cookies from the oven lured me to try them once. One day while my mom was away for shopping with my father, I got a chance to try my hands at cooking. I had the idea of what all ingredients are needed for making cookies. Only thing missing was eggs. In no time I got them from a nearby general store. I took full use of the Internet to learn minute details of baking process, so that my cookies would not burn or taste bad. I mix all the ingredients gently to make soft dough. With a rolling pin I made cookies of different shapes. In the beginning I found this task a little difficult, but with some trials I was successful in giving good shape and size to my cookies. I baked them at the right temperature for the specified time period, as instructed in the recipe online. To my delight, cookies looked tempting. They were crisp from outside and soft from inside with a great taste. When my parents returned from shopping, I served them the cookies with tea; the moment my mom took a bite she was in tears of happiness and pride.
Write a narrative essay, describing your most vivid memories of early school days. Also give a suitable title to it.Marks:25
The Day My Cycle Love Vanished
Memories have the strange ability to take us back in time. While the good memories fade out, the horrible ones become nightmares. They just require a trigger to relive the experience, making us feel that it all happened a day before.
It was yesterday, while flipping through an old school magazine, I came across my photograph captioned ‘Junior Cycling Champion’. My chest swelled with pride, as I recalled the feeling of exhilaration, on winning the Junior Inter School 1500 metres cycling championship. I was in class VII that year, when this championship was held for the first time in our school. It was one of the toughest races I had ever won. While trailing at number three till the penultimate round, I was able to win the race by a sudden burst of speed in the final round. Obviously my regular practice and stamina had made the difference. I received a standing ovation from the spectators, and had walked up to the victory stand in a trance.
From that day onwards, I loved my cycle, taking special care of it, with regular greasing and maintenance. One day on reaching the school late, I quickly parked it in the cycle stand, and rushed in just as the gate was about to close. I was happy on escaping the punishment meted out to latecomers. After the school was over, I came to collect my cycle. To my surprise and dismay, it was nowhere in sight. I searched high and low for it, thinking that someone had probably played a prank on me, but all in vain. The cycle has just vanished into thin air. I reported the matter to the school authorities, who in turn called the police, but all I got was condemnation, for my carelessness in not keeping it locked. Feeling dejected, I had walked home with a heavy heart, to recount my tale of woe to my parents. My father scolded me for my carelessness, and arranged a cab for me to school. From that day onwards, my love for cycling came to an end. The very thought of the humiliating experience, arouses my anxiety even today. I had indeed learnt an important lesson in life: the virtue of being careful and cautious.
Write a narrative essay, describing your horrible experience of a cycling trip with your brother and father to a long distance. Also give a suitable title to it.Marks:25
A Horrible Cycling Trip
When I was 14 years old, I went on a 150-mile cycling trip with my 16-year-old brother and father. My father was a professional cyclist, and wanted to show his two sons the work of the trade. My brother John and I were thrilled for the adventure; my mother was not that much.
The trip was across Goa. We prepared for the trip by going on smaller trips and practised cycling for few kilometres every day. Adjusting to the weight on a bike was harder than I thought. We were all ardent cyclists, even though my brother and I were so young. I can say I felt like I was born on a bicycle, even though I smashed into a grocery shop the first time I rode one.
When we set out for the trip, I knew that I yearned to have an adventure and wanted to see the beautiful sights of mountains, beaches, seagulls, forests, and much more. But what I did not realise was that trouble was around each corner. There were strong winds blowing in opposite direction, big holes in the roads, inclement weather, wild animals, and much more.
One night, after perhaps a week into the trip, we were on our last legs getting to a campsite, and going down a large hill. It was raining moderately and we were coasting down the hill in eager delight to take a rest from going uphill with all our gear and sore legs.
Suddenly, my brother’s front tire slipped in the rain, and he slid into the middle of the road. My father and I stopped, asking if he was okay. Apparently, he was not hurt too much, but his leg was caught up in the bike frame. From the top of the hill, we saw the light of a car coming. My father and I looked in shock of the situation. John could not seem to get out of the entrapment of his bike, and now a truck was blasting his way. This all happened within seconds.
Instinctively, I rushed out in front of my brother in the middle of the road, and waved my hands frantically. The truck rushed forward, but quickly jammed to the left to go around my brother and me. My brother was saved from being crushed by the truck, and for some reason, I did not think that I was risking my life. It seemed like the only thing to do. There was no way I would watch my brother die under the wheels of a truck.
My brother says I was incredibly brave, but I think we do what we know is right. From this experience, I believe that one should listen to one’s gut when in times of peril. If I had thought about what I was doing on that fateful night, my brother might have been robbed from this world.