All the King's horses, And all the King's men Couldn't put Humpty together again!

Parents seem to be very confused when it comes to treating you like a child or an adult. When you want to go out on a road trip you seem to be reduced to a small baby and at times when things are demanded of you, you morph into an adult. These thoughts seems to wrap around my brain and are slowly tightening, forcing me to define the exact meaning of maturity. The heaviness of this word burdening the ones who have attained it while the "less fortunate" desperately await it.

The concept of maturity seems very distorted to me especially in recent times. In most cultures age is considered to be a proof of your maturity level an ideology I strongly disagree with. 

I was watching this documentary on a news channel about a small Syrian boy, nine years of age. He was playing out in the muddy sand while a chopper hovered about his head. The boy got suspicious and decided to run home when the chopper decided to bomb the area. He woke up with a crying adult brother on his side and one leg missing. He turned to his brother, wiped his tears and promised him that he would stand up again. He told his brother that even though his leg was missing his spirit and will to live was still intact. 

And at that moment while I was staring at the screen into this little boy's eyes I realized that from playing in the mud to running back home and waking up with a devastated older brother and an amputated leg, the boy had grown far more than age could measure.

It's the situations that we are placed in and what we make of it that defines us. It forces us to grow up most times than what people assume is a gradual step into adulthood. 

Increasing broken homes,hearts and spirits; betrayal, jealousy, war, disasters and the unsuccessful attempts at keeping up with the pace of this fast changing world, force us to grow up and face reality. 

And as I see pictures of 13 year old's splashed across my Facebook wall indulging in activities that have a legal limit imposed on them,  read articles on elementary school children being raped and watch sword and guns replace balloons and toys in the hopes for revenge to substitute for all the pain the world has put them through, I question our actions and judgment as adults. 

Don't judge a book by it's cover. It's the pages that have worn out and entire chapters of most innocent lives that have gone missing.

Gloom, Love and Lots of Words.

It feels like eternity since my hands tapped on the keyboard frantically, trying to jot down every thought that flows through my brain magically and every time I find myself short of time, paper or enthusiasm. 

The ray of hope and happiness seems to have disappeared, my aims merely thoughts that failed to materialize.  It's been long since I read or came across something that would move me. Something that goes beyond dead movie stars and flying men. Am I amazed? Yes. Does it leave a lasting impact on me? Absolutely not. And yet we spend so much time sobbing over irrelevant atrocities and rejoicing over outrageous theatricals.

The cramps are making their way up from my feet to my legs, I'm too tired to blink but my fingers are relentless. How I've missed unloading, I hope you don't feel used. 

It feels good to have found something that will welcome me when I'm tired and stressed out. Something that won't complain when I sometimes find myself unable to communicate. Something that makes me stay awake at night despite the creeping fatigue engulfing my body. I guess it's called passion. That makes me wonder if it's what I took you to be and I feel a shiver crawling down my neck.

I hate the unwanted, uninvited shivers that are often accompanied with uncomfortable and less remembered memories. I shouldn't have spoken of you today, I shouldn't have spoken to you that way yesterday. But what use is repentance without redemption and you left me no choice. Rather I left you with no option.

And the letter you wrote to me I still carry it around more out of habit than attachment. And when my trembling hands manage to yank out the crumpled paper from beneath the crisp notes, I often find myself wondering. Is it just the moment that makes us say things and do them, and when the moment has passed each seems to be forgotten?

If it's so and your love for that moment is justified forgotten and your subsequent hate forgiven. Then so shall my hate for you be forgotten and infinite love forgiven....

Unnamed and Untamed

Psy kept yelling into my ears as I made my way upstairs. My friends reassured me to help calm my nerves although words never left a lasting impact on me. I fixed my hair and clothes very quickly, cleared my voice and controlled my limbs from behaving like they did not belong to me. Imagine him doing something silly like the Gangam style dance move, I told myself.That helped creep me out!

I did not sleep well the entire night, the effect a person you know very little about and who knows nothing about you can have on you. I had imagined possibly every direction that meeting could go, atleast I thought I had. I only saw it going two ways, it would remain as bad as it was or get worse. So much for  being positive! When it comes to something highly superlative, going with the worst option is less heart breaking I suppose.

What was I really afraid of? Rejection? Why would he reject me when I never asked for his approval? I just wanted it without me having to demand for it. Some questions don't have answers and most feelings no reason.

September 30th and as the clock kept ticking I kept waiting for October 1st. Digital Filters, signals, absolutely summable and some indecipherable murmurs crashed against the walls of my ears. I wasn't taking anything in, not until 11.50 a.m.

Butterflies fluttered somewhere deep down. I swallowed all the nervousness down my throat and opened the door, his reaction made me want to run back home right away. I stayed, had a sour face on but stayed. His hand movements and the words shooting from his mouth snatched words out of mine.

I watched the ice break, toppled right in front of me.The day only went uphill from there on. 

If there was one superpower I could posses it would most certainly be reading his mind.

Bittersweet delight

At the top of my head, a million things. A few disdain, most exciting each taking up great amount of space in my cluttered mind. A great amount of my brain power is being used up fearing tomorrow. Fear intertwined with excitement with a slight pinch of a delightful feeling. That ecstatic feeling, the overwhelming jumps in your stomach; people say its mice some say its butterflies. My mind hasn't settled on a favorite yet though mice scrambling anywhere in or out of my body does make me cringe.

I'm trying to organize out of habit more than anything else but right now I'm not even sure who I am. The things I was so used to doing, my way of living life is slowly slipping away from my fingers.

Slipping away from your fingers, a negative connotation attached to this phrase. I'm glad that the life I lived, the way I was used to living it has escaped every clawing finger that is addicted to familiarity. Unfamiliar, that describes the past few months of my life. Walking into unknown territory, keeping a brave face on. I hope with all the restored sanity in me that I am doing a pretty good job.

The sun is trying to light my face on fire so I duck because I know its relentless and will stop at nothing. The tiring heat helps me drift into a spiral of thoughts sort of like a never ending domino effect, one thought leads to another. You are never alone if you have your thoughts for company and so I continue to have a conversation with myself shamelessly.

The patches of green trying hard to stand out among the vast golden desert that is passing by me. And suddenly I'm observing myself, the sudden gush of happiness, the roaring confidence, peace that hope brings along with itself. I'd never felt so happy than I was at that particular moment. I was fully aware that the moment was fleeting and it would soon be replaced with the fear that my undetermined future brings. 

But the effect was lasting, must be something to do with groundless happiness. No reason yet you smile free from the fear of having it  taken away.

I want to stay here for long, for long as I'm alive if possible. It's taken me ages to find my way here and as I put my walls up I realize it might take ages for someone to get to me. 

Red Blues and Colorful hues

I always fear for myself. Worrying that tomorrow I might not be as happy as today, won't wake up to the glowering sun shining in my face. What if I end up living the rest of my life with someone I cannot love or worse with someone who does not love me? Will these fears ever leave my bedside for if I am looking for freedom in its true sense then I must let these fears go, ride away in the darkness with all that inhibits me.

It's hard for me to pinpoint the exact reason as to why this particular emotion, love is so important to me. I feel like I'm walking and this person comes and stands in front of me so I move right and the person mimics my steps and blocks me again. 

I flashback to when I was fourteen young and naive, oblivious to strong feelings in fact I found it funny, to be in love crazy enough to let your sights wander from your actual aim whatever it might be. I still find it funny, absurd and silly most of us do and yet we allow it to manifest within ourselves. Keep chasing after it in reality and in dreams. Though the idea of love in reality seems quite unreal. A realist is hardly ever a romantic and love hardly ever a reality. Love's probably an extension of dreams maybe even a prequel but definitely not reality, it feels surreal and once it's over you scramble to hold onto the remains to assure yourself that it did happen.

Reality is too mundane to be associated with love and love too heart wrenching to be called a dream so we are caught up in between fighting to be free.

P.S. I blame it on Before Sunrise and Before Sunset, movies that carry sweet melancholia on their back. Must watch.

Cultural Infestation.

When someone tells me that so and so is beautiful my brain automatically forms an image of a pretty girl with nice flowing hair, fair skin, thin with shining eyes and a glowing smile. My mind is programmed to think so, I'm sure all of us are. Never have I substituted beauty for a young girl with a confident smile, courageous eyes that show that they've been through enough pain, smile that exuberates modesty and intelligence that promises a great future. 

Why am I suddenly realizing the error in my ways, trying to uproot what has settled so firmly in the very core of my being?

Very recently my mother and her aunt arranged a proposal for her cousin brother. A cousin brother who according to them is quite the eligible bachelor. So after asking around they found a girl who according to the word of mouth (otherwise known as the written word) is doll-like. I am going with present tense because I have not really seen her to pass any judgement. So the whole family and when I say whole you must imagine a room full of people set out to examine and judge the doll. 

This aspect of arranged marriages makes me cringe where the girl dresses up, cakes up half the world's makeup and plasters a less than natural smile on her face. The boy's family arrives, leaves the should-be couple to talk for as long as they want while they sit outside interrogating and making up awkward questions.  
So they finally leave and on their way home pass the most snide and rude comments ever. I know and I'm sure you do too because so many times we've either heard them or unfortunately even been a part of these conversations. 

The end result of this entire setup was just a comment. The girl is darker than she appeared in her photograph and too thin with no figure and personality. Apparently she wasn't as doll-like as previously suggested.

No offence to anybody but God in my perspective. It's like you put in so much effort to make something and someone less than ordinary comes along to criticize your work.

What angers me though is that beauty has somehow attached itself only to the physical aspect of a person and the only aspect to be considered when you meet a woman. I am not saying that we should give up on looking good. No! In fact we should all make an effort to look good because it undoubtedly boosts our confidence and let's face it people do look at us differently. 

According to me people who make an effort to look good and dress well are generally happy and positive people compared to people who just pick up their stinky clothes found under the bed and walk around with unwashed faces and last nights eating overdose still decorating their cheeks ( we all do this when we are depressed, don't we?)

In addition to looking good you spend considerable amount of time building up good character and a great life and someone comes along criticizing you for things beyond your control like skin color and metabolism, well just be glad that you did not end up with them!

 I've also seen people criticizing brides when they come for their wedding. Oh your lipstick color is disgusting, your dress color is so light, your makeup is too heavy or your hair is too made up. 

Even men are not spared on this day. Oh the poor girl did not deserve such an ugly man! Its like a rose and a cauliflower, do not make a pair. Though I must say that men take criticism much better than women especially when it comes to a beautiful face.

The word ugly is dispensable and depreciating. We think that we are just whispering to our friend or  telling our relatives what we honestly think of the girl. But remember the word of mouth travels faster than any mode of transportation available to us.

If you are not attracted to someone it's fine, say so but pointing out flaws and discussing them with other people is just evil. 

A compliment on physical beauty is the greatest confidence booster and sometimes a motivating life changer. An insult on the other hand shuns people into the deepest pit of depression surrounded by low self esteem and self worth. And I've literally seen this happen, people's comments lead a nice girl into marrying the first guy that comes her way irrespective of anything in order to escape any more shattering comments.

The organ in our body that does more harm to others than good is our tongue. So let's use our words to make lives beautiful and not to torment others. 

Besides what attracts us to someone is beauty enough whether it's physical or emotional. When you really like someone it's anyway hard to pinpoint the reason why and I would hate to have only pretty face as a plus point to talk about.

The Language of Flowers...

There are many human emotions that I've never gone through and many that I will probably never go through. It makes it hard for me to identify with people that do, hard to put myself in their shoes, nod my head in approval or be able to find an excuse for the madness that their feeling might eventually lead to.

The most alien feeling to me is that of not belonging, of being abandoned by the very people that are the reason for your existence. Moving from one foster home to another, one dysfunctional family to another hoping to find something to prove you wrong that not all people ride on the back of the devil that evil lives alongside good that one does not exist without the other.

Good books have an impact on me that I can only try to describe. I'm sitting on my bed with cushions and teddy bears surrounding me relaxing and the next thing I find myself on the street, evicted out of my house because I'm eighteen and am expected to have money to fend  for myself. I am no longer the child looking for love, I'm now the orphan that believes in anything but love.

The Language of Flowers , a book as beautiful as its title suggests. The feeling of being homeless, unloved and socially awkward are ignited in me by this book. But the main thing that this book taught me is that words are not the only way to express your feelings. 

My heart breaks for Victoria, an orphaned adult who battles with feelings of love and misanthropy. Her silenced lost words are made up for by her love for flowers which she uses to convey her every emotion. The impact that her flowers have on people leads her to become a popular wedding florist. 

Each flower represents one word, one very powerful word that combines all your feelings into an aromatic plucked flower.

 After I was done with the book which I must say intertwines the meaning of flowers with Victoria's life and secrets beautifully I wanted to know if this dictionary was authentic. To my surprise and delight the dictionary of flowers is very much authentic and widely referred to.

So, I decided I'd substitute greeting cards with flowers. Giving greeting cards on any occasion kind of feels like a duty, without it my gift seems incomplete. Most times I don't even know or remember what was written inside the card. With flowers its different, there's a lot of thinking that goes into giving one and the message is profound and meaningful.

It's true ofcourse that flowers will eventually wither away and die compared to hardbound greeting cards but just like the aroma many people leave in our lives the meaning of these flowers and how they make their recipient feel lives on way beyond their death. 

Hawthorn, Hazel and Baby's Breath surrounded by Forget- Me- Not's just for you...

P.S. Here's the dictionary that you can use to convey your words to a loved one : Dictionary of Flowers. 

I could really use a wish right now....

23rd August 2012

10.00 p.m. Unfamiliarity creeps into my skin, not what I expected. Honestly, I wasn't really excited for my best friend's wedding. As my plane landed on the ground I'd never steeped foot on my heart beat nervously. I couldn't really pinpoint the reason for my anxiety I was too lazy anyway from the travel. But the moment I entered my hotel room, dropped the bags on the floor and washed my face all I wanted was to meet her. So I left, all my fatigue forgotten in the hotel room, rushing to her house.

24th August 2012

3.45 p.m. I'm not really a museum fan but if you are gonna explore the non hill station and beach areas of India you have to make do with the limited options. So the next day we were off to see the Charminar, and the Salar Jung museum where I discovered that history is quite interesting. Not studying 60 pages per chapter for your 9th grade examinations but just standing back and observing, pictures, clothes, relics, weapons, the life lived preserved behind glass walls and etched in paintings.

I must also laud the Hyderabadi cuisine, the foodie in me was at an all time high. Absolutely splendid food in every restaurant we ate, I'm sure I've put on a few kilograms.

2.03 a.m. I'd decided I wouldn't cry at her wedding wouldn't turn it into a sad event for myself. I left before the "bidaai", hugged her reluctantly, scared her husband jokingly and left the hall frantically. I'd see her the next day, I promised. 

25th August 2012

1.30 p.m. The next day however, my mother's excessive eating led to a major stomach upset so we stayed in the hotel. I love just sitting in hotels, watching television, emptying the mini bar. The only bad part about most of the hotels outside Dubai that I've stayed in is the water problem. Why is there no water pipe beside the toilet seat? Why? Why? I spent a lot of time in that washroom thinking how I'd extend my hand till the bathtub to fill my mug with water again.

11.00 p.m. Anyway as expected we hogged excessively again at dinner time. Hey, it's not our fault it's like keeping an unprotected safe in front of a criminal and expecting him not to steal it. 

So we took our heavy stomachs to bed that night hoping we wouldn't end up feeling squirmish the next morning.

26th August 2012

6 p.m. Time to get ready to attend my best friend's reception. By the time I reached the hall, she was already there flanked by her husband's sisters. I went upto her excited to ask about her wedding night. We giggled like the 10 year old us, dancing in the corridors. 

1.00 a.m. It was time to leave I had an early morning visit tomorrow to the film city in Hyderabad. So I hugged her willingly for the first time ever and she patted my back saying, " I wonder when we'll meet again". I looked at her puzzled because she promised me she'd be visiting Dubai in October. 

That's when everything flashed in front of my face, all the times we pulled each other's hair, spat at each other, attended birthday parties together, sat together in class, fought in the bus till we reached in front of our apartments that were right beside each other. Through thick and through thin, we made new friends as our houses grew apart in distance, our classes changed but we always had each other just a phone call away. 
We have been talking to each other almost everyday since the last 21 years, we grew up together and now we don't know when we will see each other again.

And as I reached the foot of the stage I caught her sister's hand and bawled like a baby. A big cry baby, I choked on my tears, waved at her from afar and left as soon as I could. 

Not once did I tell her during my entire stay there even when she asked me the next day why I cried that I'd miss her. I really do, because I know that it will never be the same again. Ever. That was the answer to my anxiety and uneasiness.

And it seems like yesterday, It was just a dream

Those days are gone, they're just memories.

When you really love someone things might change drastically but it's never over. It is just the start of the next chapter, I just have to keep turning the pages and not let my legs tire from all the moving on.

The Restroom Dilemma

Apparently a Bangladeshi woman garnered up the most fines in Dubai for speeding in the last three months. The amount came up to a staggering two hundred thousand Dirhams and I couldn't help but wonder if she was driving the bat mobile by any chance. She was probably being chased by a stalker or maybe the brakes in her car have broken and she's still driving around Dubai collecting fines. The rules people break and the price they must pay.

I am not really a rule follower or a law breaker but ever since I started university I've broken a lot of them and made quite a few new ones. For instance, my aversion towards public restrooms. I had made this pact (ofcourse with myself, I cannot imagine who would care about my restroom habits) to never use anything in a public restroom except for the mirrors. But since my entire life now revolves around my university I had to enter the forbidden territory. And the price that I have to pay. Sigh.

As a kid the first place my family would enter in a mall would be the restroom, something about being excited I think that made my mother and sister pee. I felt the same way when it was time to open gifts or when I was allowed to play on the computer.

Anyway, their tiny bladders would always lead us to the restroom where I would be found waiting outside listening to tunes which for some reason are not considered to be an obstruction of privacy.

That is one of my problems with the public restrooms, the cubicles which have been very intelligently left open from the bottom and top. 

Why? Because the toilet inhabitants would like to exchange things while committing their "dailies" in the washroom or because sometimes people would just like to peek into their neighbors cubicle out of curiosity. The only thing that manages to make it out of those open spaces are compromising sounds which will help you determine what the person entering the cubicle is actually doing in there. The thought of it makes me conscious.

I'm not really the kind of person who wouldn't take a sip from a straw that my friend used but to sit on the toilet seat that a stranger just used, that's another story. My mother came up with an awesome idea,  to cover the seat with tissue papers (Hah). The idea is awesome unless you spray water on the tissue paper by mistake and instead of being stuck to the seat the paper is stuck to your behind. So we found another solution which is the toilet seat cover also known as the "ass gasket" which I would suggest everyone must use.

Also while you are on the seat it's best to shut your nose and even eyes ( if you have the worst luck ever and find yourself in an Indian airport toilet) because some people think it's their private restroom and consider it to be the duty of other citizens to clean behind them.

The only thing that's at rest in the pestroom restroom is my bladder the rest of my senses are only waiting to scram out of the cubicle into a wide open space with fresh clean air.

You know that feeling you get when someone talks about red ants and you can feel them crawling all over you, I think I can smell one of the worst restroom's I had ever stepped foot on. That must be my cue to stop.

P.S.I would share a very interesting toilet incident with you but that would make my blog stink, so maybe in private. Also more about the toilet seat cover at : Toilet Gasket

Skeletons in the closet.

The other day I came across a rather shocking article on the MSN homepage regarding Hollywood stars moving into acting after a short stint in the adult movies industry. On top of their list was Cameron Diaz who was apparently making home movies at the age of 19. The article also happened to mention the efforts made by the people concerned in keeping the tape private but obviously in the Internet age hardly anything can ever be private anymore. So I guess not everybody is what they seem, no matter what you do to keep it in, the truth about you always bursts out through the door.

Like my clothes for example. I prefer to think I dress well, ironed clothes, prim and proper. Nobody would ever doubt that the clothes are picked from a huge mountain of lost dresses, tights, sweatshirts (for the not so perfect days) and jeans. It actually takes me 20 minutes to dig through the closet for the right dress, another 20 minutes to iron it so that its crisp and crease free and finally it adorns my body. (Closing my wardrobe filled with colorful skeletons also chalks up quite a bit of time).

I remember watching this cartoon called "The Kids Next Door" where these five kids have to save a friend from drowning in his closet that is filled with hordes of clothes. That drowning kid defines me.

It's not something I'm very proud of, it's like a secret part of my life that needs immediate addressing. But once I'm home tired and lazy all I can think of is sitting on my bed with a bowl of ice cream and watching some "feel - good" movies. Hanging my clothes neatly on the hanger stands in the way of all of this. So in the hurry to get comfortable I just yank open the door, throw in my clothes and close it before my mind fully registers the plight of my wardrobe caused by my utter laziness.

I try not to think about it until the next morning when I have to drown myself in last nights skeletons that I threw in, my mother throws a racket when she sees the mess but I'd rather take her nagging than pickup my clothes. I also have to put in an extra effort to cover up my mess because certain nosy guests love to open my wardrobe as a part of their investigation (No I did not kill your dog!).

It's a disease, keeping my wardrobe clean just doesn't come naturally to me. It's a talent that can be acquired and it is a lot of hard work for those that are not gifted.

Some days I feel a wave of encouragement and enthusiasm surge in me to clean up the mess ( it's usually to avoid some other time consuming work) but a few outings later my mini Everest of clothes starts to rise again.

Truth is, it might take me awhile to find the right clothes for the day in the clutter but it takes me even longer when its hanging neatly on the rack. Nobody understands that and fact is neither do I.

Some of us just find discipline in the mess and as long as it's within the four walls of the wardrobe it shouldn't really hurt anyone. 

Unless of course someone opens it, for such emergencies I have "The Kids Next Door" on speed dial. No worries.

P.S. When I said shocking article I hope you sensed the subtle sarcasm. Also, if you are curious to know who the other celebs that made it to that list are then here's the link

From Adult Movies To Acting

Woeful Tale Of The Many

I walk along the roads of Rome, the walls of every building drenched in history. The colors are far too dull for my liking but the town is bustling, cheerful voices making up for all the lost color. As I walk further on I see an old building the red fading into orange, I touch the dry walls, the walls that were supposed to hold our memories, you promised.

My brain holds many tiny insignificant memories that are triggered at the sight of familiarity. If I allow one memory to leak out the rest burst in through the doors. Time moves on, but the places where memories are forged remain the same. How far can we move away from them?

Cars honked as people impatiently quivered in their seats. No smiles were exchanged, no eyes were met, people stared blankly forward, their minds submerged in the papers piling up in their cubicles they had yet to reach. But his face could not be missed  in that crowd after all  it was frozen in her memory. She wanted to look away, but her eyes refused, her legs moved forward despite her every attempt to stop. His hands, his strong hands were wrapped around another's and her heart pulled the brakes on every sense that had awoken.

Sometimes I just feel like dropping all my belongings on the ground, leaving my mess of a life behind and moving. Moving somewhere, anywhere. This is why I love video games and reading. I feel like I've transported into some parallel universe, witnessing someone else's life, their happiness and tragedies, the people they cared for and the betrayal they received in return.

She stared blankly at the person in the mirror, every inch of her face coated with make-up. Someone held her hand and walked alongside her. She was going to be married, all of her, all the unfulfilled dreams, the unfinished business her. 

Sometimes when all my friends have classes to attend I just go to the student lounge, take a chair and look around. Notice friends laughing with each other and sometimes at each other. I see girls dressed at their best, gossiping with their friends with a coffee in one hand and a laptop in another. I see boys and girls sitting quietly in corners studying for a test, an exam or just for the sake of it. I must seem like a weirdo, like a stalker. Stalking the youth and how they deal with being at the crossfire of two generations, one that refuses to let go of customs and traditions and the other that is rewriting them.

Slick black hair tied back neatly she wore a crisp blazer and a confident attitude as she scrammed out the door for an urgent meeting. She was parched but didn't have time to stop for coffee, the bottle in her bag was empty. At the end of the day she was tired out of her brains, she slumped into her bed making plans for the  next day. There was no place for empty moments in her life, she wouldn't let them in. Silence scared her, it screamed of loneliness so she switched on the television and fell asleep.

I was reading a blog post where the blogger was talking about her female role models and I realized I don't have any. There was no woman in this world I could connect with, with the same background, the same battles, the same disappointments. 

The shackles of traditions and the pain of disappointing people you care about, of broken hearts and second chances, of blame and redemption, of holding on and letting go, each one's personal ballad.

All the queen's men....

Television shows are on an all time high, be it Indian, American or British though I don't really enjoy Indian T.V. shows very much. Almost every show starts off with a poor girl with a big heart and a small dream(puke), throw in a rich guy, some evil people that could range from her mother in law to the milkman, add some extreme drama, thunder and crazy ass music and voila you've made yourself a bad tasting Indian T.V. show.

American T.V shows on the other hand take a group of normal citizens, sprinkle some glamour on them and add designer clothes alongwith boy candies to make you crave for the next episode. Not long before you realize that the boy candies are homosexuals, the acting is way below par and the storyline is just way too cheesy. Pretty Little Liars, Gossip Girl and Vampire Diaries are shows that made me feel that way. 

On the other hand there are some highly unrealistic but very interesting shows that have my loyalty for years. More for the men than anything else.

5. Dexter Morgan : He is one of the sweetest blood analyst/ murderer that you'll ever come across. I highly doubt that I'd ever want to come across him, some good things are best viewed from afar. He's torn between living in his past that leads him to kill people and moving on into the future where he yearns to have a family. It's something that we all face at some point in our lives, not that we have to choose between murdering our siblings, relatives and random wrong doers in the neighborhood (The feeling is sometimes hard to hold back) or living peacefully and normally. But we all have to at some point stop chasing our past for all the wrong that happened then and allow new people and experiences to change us in a positive way. 

4. Phil Dunphy : The ideal dad and the ideal husband. He is so smart and stupid at the same time it makes me swoon. Apart from his (un)cool lingo and his swan like posture due to all the cherleading apparently, he would be a nice person to have around. He's like a young boy trapped in the body of a man who loves Disneyland, that episode actually made me cry. One can actually be too old to sit on their rides. However, what I find  hilarious is how he is so weird around his mother in law, Gloria Delgado.

3. Dean & Sam Winchester : I clubbed the two as one person because one is boring without the other. Some days I'm Team Dean others I'm Team Sam. Though I think I prefer (the devil bloodless) Sam over Dean. I absolutely adore how they whack ghost bums out of houses and people's bodies with such gusto. The sarcasm in the show is epic, I could totally get along with these guys. The brothers as a pair on paper seem as bad as a hobo in a limousine but its amazing how they find in themselves to accept their differences and look beyond each others shortcomings.

2. Chandler Bing : The queen king of sarcasm. He makes funny double up in laughter. I've never come across anyone that can make me laugh so hard, the way he walks, talks and thinks is just hilarious. He is not afraid to make goofy expressions that make him look like a retard, I sometimes wonder with the way he moves his hands and legs if there are actually bones there. If there was one brain that I could sit inside and investigate it would have to be his, it must be a fun fest in there. He is the most realistic version of a man I'd want to live with.

1.Harvey Specter : This introduction requires some crazy ass Indian T.V. show music. Harvey Specter is the classic egoistic and fair self made man who sometimes comes across as snobbish. He is handsome, even with those black things above his left eyebrow which seem like a fashion accessory if anything. As an employee and as a colleague he might often come across as selfish and arrogant but as a friend he is quite loyal and trusting, he believes in second chances which is why he hired his big brained part time con man associate. I believe in second chances too, you never know who you might save from drowning.

If I were a boy I'd be a combination of Harvey and Chandler, or you could say what my ideal man should be like.

Until I find him I'll keep myself happy by watching these television shows.

Dealing with being a "twenty something".

So the time has come. The time has literally come when I call myself a "twenty something". Just had my first reality check when I asked someone how old they were and they replied by saying "twenty something". It occurred to me that it was time to hide my age with vague replies, shove it under the mat, under the bed where all scary things reside.

 Until now I never really understood the whole hype that comes with women hiding their age or much worse lying about it. As a teenager I always considered it to be quite cowardly, why can't people face who and what they are? Ofcourse then I was in the ideal situation, the perfect age, the perfect craze. Hah. Teenage years are anything but perfect.

As a young adult, things are literally beginning to hit me (Wham!) in the face. I must hide my age, protect my identity.

"How old are you now, beta?", an Indian aunt favorite. I really don't know how my age is a measure of anything much less maturity, trust me I have friends who behave like they just got out of playschool.

What exactly can you determine from a women's age? How pretty she is despite of her age, ah maintenance. How young her kids are even though she is quite old, ah career oriented. How she is still unmarried even though years are piling up on her, ah ugly. It's madness, utter madness.

For me my age is just a reminder of how much time I've wasted doing nothing substantial. I'm "twenty something" after all I must have some records of my own besides sitting on all five big thrills at Disneyland in one day. Yes, five. Crazy, huh?
Well I guess until " twenty something" you are only preparing for "twenty something plus one" that's when all the real stuff happens.
Friends getting married, and I keep emphasizing this in almost every blogpost because they are getting married! Getting a job is another one, the perils of finding one and living with it. I have yet to decide what career path I want to take up on. Yes, I am almost an engineer and no, its not necessary that I either end up as an engineer in a company or as a businesswoman of some engineering firm, I could also be a scientist or a professor. However, my mother wouldn't be very happy, according to her too much studying leads to hair loss. I was under the assumption that hair loss was weather or stress related and as much as I hate to sound like some character from The Big Bang Theory, studying does not stress me out. Judge me. Also, I hate that Einstein does very little to support my argument with my mother.

Moroever, with age I feel even more judged, my intelligence, my beauty, my attitude everything is being "x- ray"ed (like Kim Kardashian's butt, that still cracks me up. Oh the irony!). People think that as a "twenty something"you must let go of your childish habits. Apparently, the learning phase is beyond you, now it's time to apply. I disagree.
My wardrobe is still a mess, I still play video games, Disneyland is still my favorite place on planet earth and I still love all sorts of funky candies.

Growing up does not mean I have to let go of everything that makes me who I am. Just because I morphed from a teenager to an adult doesn't mean I suddenly turn into a Ms. Know-It-All. I still have a lot to learn, friends to make, and fetishes to discover.

As a "twenty something" I might look different and might be perceived differently but my core feels just the same.

P.S. In memory of my 21st birthday. Also, beta is Hindi for child. And the Kim Kardashian incident, oh you must google it for a laugh.

Roads were made to walk on so move along.

She hugged him tight as their legs intertwined under the blanket. It was warm but she did not want to let go of him she ,however wasn't sure whether he felt the same way. She looked up towards him, he was after all much taller than her, his eyes were closed, his long eyelashes spread neatly along his lids. Sleeping or deep in thought ,she wondered. Insecurities, that's what brought it all down, everything that made waking up in the morning less of a chore.

I've never been good at letting go. Letting go of relationships, friends, memories, belongings anything I have an emotional attachment with which is why I'm still in touch with friends from middle school and have a lot of junk rotting at home. Letting go of people most times is not a choice we get to make, its made for us. 
Its important to let go if we ever dream of being happy, forget about the ones that don't remember us and forget about the trouble they've caused. We must make a conscious effort to let go of the feelings, people and all that weight that is dragging us down.

Moving away is one reason why people lose contact and dealing with that can sometimes be very hard. For me its a regular affair, you'd think I would be an expert in dealing with such situations but it only gets harder for me every time as the list continues to grow.

She looked down at the photo of the friend she used to know, what stood in front of her now was far from what it used to be.

Have you ever noticed how the people that leave always promise so much to the ones they leave behind. Promise to stay in touch, promise to never forget, promise to never change. Only fools make promises that they cannot keep but the most  foolish ones are those that believe. People change, that's how we are programmed to be. The purpose of time is to move on just like our lives and the people in them after all there's a reason why they call it leaving behind. Friends change, lifestyles change, attitudes change. The question is, will we still be together? Will I still mean the same to you?

When the answers to these questions are not what you anticipated them to be then you know its time to move on. 

The worst cause of separation is not being distant physically, but emotionally. The person leaves  you with vague reasons and self blame to deal with. With emotional distancing there are no questions, no trying. Someone does not want to share their happiness or sadness with you and therefore it is important that you move on. Letting go of strong feelings is a hard thing to do, to substitute the love with hate or much worse, indifference. 
The path of letting go is usually a spiral, a spiral downwards or upwards and this is a choice you get to make. 

She tried to drink her misery away, or puff it away with the smoke from her cigarettes. She only felt worse, and much farther away from herself than ever.

I sometimes find it very hard to let go of the love, the hate, the unforgivable sins, different people responsible for each. I constantly try to look for closure so I never have to think of them ever again. I know in order to let go I have to forgive them for their mistakes and myself for mistakes that I've committed. 

Even after letting go usually some memories remain. Memories that were once responsible for your happiness but now have nothing more to give yet are hard to let go of like books that you've read but cannot seem to give away. They are etched in your mind and sometimes it's best to let them remain that way than scratch them out and cause more pain.

I hate that my mind is not clouded with thoughts of you. I hate that you are no more important to me and me important to you. I hate that our roads will never coincide. I hate that I had to let go of you.