' And the sun will set for you.'

                             

I still remember the day I finished school . How I promised myself I wouldn't cry because I was glad to get away from it all. The teachers, the dingy and dull classrooms and the tiring routine. I fooled myself into believing that I wanted to get away from the gnawing grasp of childhood and all it accompanies.

I ended up crying on my graduation day. My eyes felt like water pipes the knobs of which had broken.

Four years later and I face the same situation once again. I should be better prepared now I think, but letting go gets harder as years pile up on me. 

My only ambition in school was to get to university. I hadn't really spared a thought as to what I was going to pursue after that. Now that it's over I feel almost empty and uncertain.

Uncertain of the future that leads to so many different destinations. So many different paths up for grabs, to be an ardent mother, a headstrong career woman, a traveler. 

Most of us will wander around switching between things we thought we liked and things that are necessary for us to do in order to survive.

That is when we will think of the friends to whose company we had gotten accustomed, that have moved away in distance, however remain etched in our memories.

We will think of the times we cried, pulled our hair out in agony because we were assigned projects we thought were impossible. We will remember then how we successfully completed them together and feel a sense of great accomplishment.

We will smile silently when our mind wanders off to a time when we doubled up in laughter with our friends while imitating our professors. And a teardrop will escape when we wonder where they are now. 

We will probably visit the same restaurants, drink 'karak' from the same tea shop and watch the same TV shows that we used to, but it will never be the same. 

I've come to realize now how much I've grown in the past four years, learned so much from being around great minds, people and personalities and it hurts to bid it adieu.

This time I don't make any false promises to myself instead I'm glad I've had amazing experiences and met wonderful people letting go of whom moistens my eyes.

The Invisible People

Oh the atrocity! This being my last semester in university I suddenly notice the attitude of various people changing towards me. Or maybe it's just me growing older and being able to see beyond the fake facade that people put up. Whatever it might be the past few years have opened up my eyes to the outrageous behavior of people that hides behind the great word, "tradition".

Just the other day I was talking to my mother about a girl I knew who was getting married to her long time boyfriend. To this my mother replied saying apparently she wanted to get married before her elder sister( her elder sister at that time was resisting the idea of marriage, no surprise). So I asked the obvious question, Why didn't she then? The simple answer, tradition. Younger siblings do not get married before their older ones, brothers do not get married before their sisters. When I asked why it was so and who said so, my mother gave me an answer that, well I kind of did expect.

She said the answer to both those questions were people.

People that are nowhere to be found when I need encouragement. People that are nowhere to be found when I need help. People that are nowhere to be found when I want to share my happiness. People who are nowhere to be found when I cry in sadness.

Who exactly are these invisible people?

I for one have always been known as the rebel against hard and fast traditional rules in my society. Why am I supposed to wear flowers that I hate on my head for my wedding? Why am I talking about my wedding anyway, when I'm only twenty one years of age?

These invisible people seem to be directing my life since the day I was born and sworn to be an engineer because anything other than a being a doctor or an engineer would make me less appealing as a person. Somehow, me being a doctor or an engineer determines the purity of my soul.

Most people are afraid to rebel against such atrocious rules designed to suffocate happiness. And I know if any  aunties looking for a prospective daughter in law happen to stumble across my blog, will deem me as being "unmarriageable" and "outspoken". So be it.

It's important to remember that the question was never, is it traditionally acceptable or not, the question is and always has been between right and wrong.

And it's somehow traditionally acceptable to be wrong.

  

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

Fasten your seat belts. It's going to be a rough ride.

The smell of fresh flowers and wet towels greeted me as I walked through the door. A fake smile to the left and another to the right. The path to my destination was tight and narrow, and as I fumbled to take my place strangers gaped at me which was routine. I tightened the belt around me that was supposed to save me from having a head on collision with the seat in front. A few blinks, announcements and plastic flavored peanuts later the lights switched off. Take Off Time.

It started off real slow, preparing me for the high velocity takeoff. I could see the world swish by me, blue merged with green merged with brown, my eyes unable to adjust, my ears tuned out without my consent . I felt like someone pushed me as the back of my head fell back and hit my own seat, " Why isn't there a belt to save us from that thump?" I asked myself quickly. 

But then there it was, the serene blue sky, way above the world I've grown to both love and hate so much. The head bump was forgotten and my clogged ears could hear clearly again, everything that seemed so big to me seemed so tiny, so small relative to the height at which I was viewing it.

Suddenly, the airplane jumped, bad weather conditions we were informed. Just because right now you are above the planet that harbors billions of people does not necessarily mean that you have escaped its calamities. A reminder.

My life is pretty much like our "every-other day" airplane trip, currently taking off. Everything is blurring around me, changing so fast and so much it scares me. A best friend ready to start a new life, others getting jobs and the end of my undergraduate university life slowly creeping on me. Why do we have to call it the end and not the beginning? Beginning has a positive connotation associated with it, the end just seems so final so ultimate, like nothing good is awaiting us at the other end.

 I sometimes feel like I'm making no progress, walking backwards instead of striding forward. Thump! Reminds me of the head bump. Maybe you need to have a little setback in order to move forward. The Law of Inertia.
But I know and I'm sure as I'm filled with this new hope that my life will soar if I don't take these setbacks to heart and allow them to bring me down, I want my setbacks to be the cause of my success. Every success story after all starts with misery.


But we must never forget no matter how much God gives us, how much we achieve even if it makes us feel like we are above all people, that its a two way road to success. To fall down is hard in all its essence as we are constantly reminded.
Being humble is the way around pride, its opposite, its solution. Humility is such an attractive quality. To remember all the friends that help you made it, to remember that when they need you. To remember your family irrespective of how supportive they were, to remember that you owe them your life. To remember that not everyone is as lucky as you are, to remember that there are strangers out there that need your help. 
There is a noose around all  success stories and as long as your feet are on the ground your story won't hang to death.

However, one day all our airplanes must land, go back to where we belong. We were made from mud and clay and we must return back to it they say. 
But will it be a perfect safe landing or will you crash your way down there? Will that be our end or possibly a new beginning? Will we enter heaven or be thrown into the deepest pit of hell ?


 P.S. When I say humans are made of mud and clay and that they must be buried I'm referring to the Muslim belief. Also,  inertia is what comes into play when you are sitting in the bus and you move backwards when the bus abruptly moves forward . Famous example. 

Skin, bones and lots of fat.

Ever since my maid toppled over my favorite jasmine figure that I bought from Disneyland all I've been thinking of is making a trip back to Paris. I can't believe its broken. Sheesh. Jasmine was and is my favorite Disney character, I don't really know why, maybe because she was Asian. Arab, close enough.
I remember as a kid I never had a barbie doll. It's something that's stuck with me even now as I edge closer to twenty one. I'd love to have a collection, along with a house to keep them all in. Who says I am a tomboy, there must be a word representing girls that have interests common to both male and females (Not lesbian!).

Just like the dolls I loved I remember the dolls I hated. The plump dolls with pink cheeks and blonde hair. Who told me that was ugly I'm not really sure, but those dolls were strongly not appreciated by baby me. I guess the notion of beauty is instilled in us as tiny tots.
To think of it I don't remember one fat Disney princess, go ahead think of one. None. 

I'm glad though that slowly but quite steadily thin and beautiful are not used in the same sentence. They shouldn't. Now I'm not talking about being obese and unhealthy, that's a problem. What however annoys me is that being thin these days is being considered as a disease.Very annoying. 

It's normal routine that when you visit relatives they make a point to pass a comment on your appearance. I've been waiting for it to stop, but it never does. It's like they expect you to change your appearance like a shape shifter every time they see you! It's either about your color or your weight, now the issue of color deserves a whole other blog post so I'm only going to concentrate here on weight issues.

 Me and I must say my sister because she is usually on the receiving end, do get hordes of people asking us if we are sick. Sick? At this point I must probably add that being fat and healthy in India is considered as a sign of being happy and prosperous.
Since when did the opposite of fat become sick I have no idea, but these constant questions asking us if we have this disease or another irritates me. What fascinates me is that passing a nasty comment on thin people  is considered to be harmless, how is being flat chested or having toothpick legs not an insult I don't understand especially when someone darts these words at you in public. It's as if we starve ourselves on purpose, if I really want to disappear there are healthier ways to do so. I may be an apple, a pear, an hourglass or a newspaper, I like who I am.

I personally think people should go on a diet only if they feel uncomfortable and are unhappy with the way their body looks not because someone thinks their body is ugly. People are never going to stop pointing out your flaws, the moment you try to make someone happy there's another standing in line to express their disgust over the choice you made.

On the other hand, I know that people sometimes genuinely care, so if you are really worried about someone's weight and health, take them in a corner and ask them with empathy not sympathy. 
Nobody likes to be pointed or poked at in public cages, not even animals. 

P.S. If you know someone who is thinner or fatter than normal for their age, don't gape or insult. If you have nothing nice to say, then maybe just maybe you shouldn't say anything at all. And if you don't know what a shape shifter is you MUST watch Supernatural.

Remembering death and that we must all one day surrender to it.

I hold his soft hands and let them wrap around mine. We walk out the door, and it takes all my patience to match my steps with his. The road is rough and I look around to see that the rain has melted the red sand to form orangish-brown ponds. He promises me he will make paper boats for me to play with when we get back home, only because I enjoy it. It makes me smile, and I know that makes him happy.
The rain has started to pour again, but we have an umbrella. I want to leave his side and enjoy the rain, but he holds me close promising me things far better than the feeling of tiny droplets running down my face. 
I don't remember where we were going or why, for some reason my memory did not consider it important to remember. My memory however, remembers the journey.

On another day he calls out to me while I'm playing upstairs. Dark sunglasses adorned his face and he was sipping tea. He enjoyed every slurp he took and smacked his lips, " Would you like some?", he asked. And since having tea was a sign of maturity for me as a young child, I hastily grabbed it from his hands. Burnt tongue, too fast I reminded myself.
His hands were soft, fragile but not weak, the skin wry and hanging and I'd play with it without actually realizing what it implied. The past experiences embedded in his skin and the years that were left, the end beckoning." How do I look with these sunglasses on?", he asked. To me he looked great just the way he was, thin, beard covering his face filled with wrinkles and with sunglasses that sat perfectly on his nose, he never owned a pair until then. For me a  pair of sunglasses was an insignificant commodity for him then, a luxury.

Bottom row : Third from the left.

I try to unlock most of my childhood memories, cautious not to touch the memories that I don't want to remember and unwrapping the ones I never want to forget. As a child 10 years pass by as 10 months or less which is why I feel the time I spent with my grandfather ran faster than I wanted it to.
Stories. A grandparent favorite. Stories of how he juggled professions, teaching being his favorite. And that is exactly what he is remembered as,"Momin Master". He valued education far more than money, which is why he traveled to the north all the way from the south with very little money, to attend university.

As I walk by the grounds of my university I see dry leaves fallen on the ground, blown far away from the green and blooming tree it used to be a part of. But old leaves must fall and be replaced by fresher and healthier ones. New leaves. Sigh.
And I look at my father now, whose attitude is very similar to what I remember my grandfather's to be like. I look at his strong hands fearing that one day they too would wither away into just a memory.

The mirror stares back at me as I watch my life pass me by. What do I want to be remembered as? What do I want to be remembered for? Because today is all I am certain of and I have yet to imprint my memory on anybody.

We often forget that not all deaths are mourned. Not every death is a loss.

My grandfather, me and my sister.

Forgive You, Forget You Not.

If someone asked you to pinpoint one incident in your life that actually defined you as a person what would it be? Something that forced you to face the harsh realities that you were earlier oblivious to.
I for one keep replaying some such incidents in my head over and over again. No, it cannot be that people are just evil. But some of them are, and most of them disguise themselves well. Promises can be broken and lies must be said. 
As children we develop a defense mechanism, block the unhappy events, put it behind a wall, imagine it's a dream and get back to the playground. As an adult it becomes highly difficult to keep this wall up or for that matter put anything behind it. Your childhood defense technique will only turn you into a psycho to say the least.
Crying till your eyes bleed, curling up on the bathroom floor and wishing you'd just die there, stifling your cries in a bustling house, all for people who hurt you, all for people who instead should cry for what they've done.

Holding a grudge, and not letting go of the anger only hurts you more than its hurts the perpetrator of the crime. Yes, hurting anyone is a crime, probably not punishable by law but that's why we have the saying," What goes around, comes around", or so they say to console themselves.

I personally think the above quote is sadistic. Why should you care? Why should you base your life's motto on someone else's unhappiness? If you are delighted by somebody's tragedy then what is the difference between you and the person who hurt you in the first place?

I disliked some people too, I could feel myself spitting poison out when I spoke of them, then I realized I was taking most of it in. Most of the people I've had a tiff with have made attempts at reconciliation which makes forgiving them easier. To ask for forgiveness is a hard thing to do, to accept your fault, to accept that you are wrong, so I believe people when they do. Forgiven are the ones that forgive.

But how do you forgive someone who has never asked for it?Someone who doesn't regret, doesn't remember, doesn't care.
Let's face it, every good deed that we do has a selfish motive behind it. As weird as it may sound, I find it extremely satisfying when I help someone, only people who have something that others want are asked to help. 

So if holding a grudge is slowly consuming you with hatred and bitterness while the other person is going about their life happily, then maybe it's time to help yourself, to let go, to forgive. It's time to yank out the double edged sword that is slowly but ruthlessly ripping you apart. 

Nevertheless, I don't encourage people to forget the incidents that hurt them. Forget the people but not what they taught you. It's what defines you, how you deal with situations when you are a complete mess, how you deal with people who put you there.

It's a reminder, a constant reminder of what people are capable of, a reminder of what you are capable of.


P.S. When I hurt someone I can't seem to get it out of my head, which makes me apologize. If you've hurt someone and you're aware of it then you must apologize, you never know who you picked out of a rut. Plus if people would make it aware that they are hurt and not play games, apologizing would be easier =)

The F- word.

Have you ever heard of the Arowana fish? The male species of this carnivorous clan of fishes bite of the female's tail before breeding. Sort of what you'd call domestic violence. And the female fish in response lays low at the bottom of the tank, to avoid the drama I suppose. I've actually seen this happen, my uncle who is a fish maniac bought two of these fishes in order to breed. Apparently, breeding of these particular species of fishes is quite profiting as long as you can figure out the difference between a male and a female fish. We didn't realize that domestic abuse is part of the breeding process and transferred the female fish to a bucket where she died later that evening. The death of this particular fish was followed by great sobbing from my sister and my uncle. The death of a fish that knew nothing about me and who I knew very little about, still left me sad. Why?

Maybe because she was helpless, there was nothing it could do to save itself. We consoled ourselves thinking that at least we put it out of its misery.
It's not animals alone that go through these situations, people do too and we all know about it. Maybe there's a lot more I can do for them than I could have done for the female Arowana.


I'm a hardcore feminist. I don't know what instigated these feelings in me but I know that its better than being  against the idea.
All the talk about how times have changed, how people perceive things in a different way, how gender inequality is slowly reaching extinction. Really, has it?


The amount of women I know who have gone through and/or are going through mental, physical or sexual abuse or a combination of the three is staggeringly high. And what do most of them do about it? Nothing. Just like the Arowana, lay low. The hidden stigmas in our society. It's a nasty circle, the son acquires from the father and the daughter from the mother. 
It's like being a pushover is a feminine characteristic, to be trampled on, to obey. Does your own happiness mean so little to you?

Have you ever wondered why a woman changes her last name after her wedding? Is it really necessary? Women who stand up against this perception are considered to be strong headed and overbearing. Women who stand up against any male privileges that are considered to be normal in any given society are considered to be too fast, ambitious, controlling and any other adjective in a negative light.

 It's hard to voice your feminist views since people are always ready to attack, to call you self centered and angry. Attacking a person voicing their opinion is a form of silencing, especially when there's a group of people against it which sadly often includes women.

"I've been through it so can you", is a phrase often used by older women to silence the growing fury among the younger women. Discrimination and taking advantage of women is wrong irrespective of what you have been through. The only way we can change the society and its absurd norms is by bringing about a change in our attitude and instilling in young minds that they are not secondary to anyone.

Feminism is often than not mistaken as hatred for men and cultures that keep them at the center. As a feminist I don't hate men neither am I voicing my opinion to revoke male privileges. I favor feminism because it fights for the rights of women, it helps break down barriers that allow women to live their lives based on their choices and decisions without facing any hindrance.

It is not a favor done by the world on us for valuing our opinion or by allowing us to vote, work and drive . It is something that women have fought for and are still fighting for. Why do we always have to snatch what we rightfully deserve?

It is not your responsibility as a woman to sacrifice and bear the atrocities committed onto you by any male or for that matter even female members of your society. It is not your responsibility as a daughter to watch your mother suffer in silence or carry the burden of your family's shame. It is not your duty as a mother to always stay at home and care for your children while your dreams take a hike. It is not your duty to be silent.

It is the duty of the world to treat you as an equal.

P.S. It's not that I want what men have, more like I need to have what I want. Plus, this is not a hate post, because I know many men would want to think so, besides men can be feminists too.

Planning 101

I don't remember the last time I felt extremely helpless which is a good thing because I hate being there. It makes me question the amount of authority I have over my life and the authority others have over mine. Now I remember! The last time I felt extremely helpless was the last time I planned. 

I am in fact, an intense planner, I love planning to the extent that I live my life through these plans because they hardly ever work out. So finally I thought to myself why don't they? Why am I not able to see my plan to the end?

So I came up with three reasons why I think my plans usually don't work out first being, the plans are usually unrealistic. I'm not going to be the youngest millionaire on earth before turning 21 unless my dad decides to give me a part of his fortune right now. It's important to have realistic goals, goals that match your perception and your abilities. Goals that will keep you going not because everybody's doing it but because you are passionate about it. I won't be an amazing cook just because my mom wants me to be. I will however be more than an amazing cook because I want to be.

The second problem is excessive dreaming. I spend so much time fussing over an idea that I lose interest in it. I plan, research, imagine, more or less I've actually lived it to the extent that I get bored with the idea, especially ideas that involve changes,  eventually I decide to put it at the back burner for another time. Probably add it to the top 10 list of things I want to to do sometime later in my life. However, this makes me really sad at the end of the day because I have put in a lot of effort formulating the idea and probably involved a lot of people in the plan. Disappointing to say the least.

Finally, the most hugest and difficult problem to get rid of is people. When the most part of your plan depends on other people, it's probably not going to work out. Not because they don't want you to have what you want, which is not always the case I must warn, but because they don't want to do what you want to. So many plans have been cancelled, exciting plans I must add, exciting for me of course but they have been cancelled because my friends and family are more passionate about sleeping in the morning than anything else. Also plans of working abroad, moving to another country, getting a new car, getting married or any other big important decision in your life involves the opinions of others. Ever wondered why?
Because we care too much. We care more about what people think about us, about the decisions we make more than we care about the increasing poverty in India. We care about our reputation more than our principles. We care about what other people want more than what we want. We want people to think highly of us while we think very little of ourselves.
It's really important for us to realize that people are going to scrutinize. It's what they do, it's what we all do. Whether you wear a headscarf or you don't, people are going to scrutinize you. Whether you are a science major or a commerce major people are going to undermine you. There's always going to be someone who dislikes who you are and that's not your problem.
I don't want to be a person whose life is made up of someone else's dreams and aspirations. Most importantly, I don't want my life to be someone else's plan. I want it to be my plan, my idea.

And if I don't get where I want to I'm not going to mope neither am I going to force my dream on someone else. Just because I did not get what I want I am not going to assume I never will and that nobody else will ever get what they want. I will encourage people who share their dreams with me or those who need my help, old or young. Nobody is too young to dream big and outrageous and nobody's too old to dream big or small.

Maybe that's all that my plans need, a tiny grain of encouragement.

P.S. I know many people who think planning is a waste of time but we all plan at one point or another, we plan trips, parties, timetables etc. Remember if you're not happy with your present it's only because you did not plan well in your past.
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"How can I pretend that I don't see what you hide so carelessly."

I had a really weird dream last night, weirder than usual I must add. Usually, I don't remember my dreams( somehow I only remember having them) but this particular dream sort of left me with a lingering feeling, feeling of loss, of misplaced identity. It's weird that dreams though being highly imaginative leave you with such realistic feelings. After I woke up I tried hard to shake off the feeling, obviously because it was insane to think about something that never happened. And then it hit me, my dream was someone's reality. Someone I did  not know, someone who had to face this loss on their own, someone was going through this feeling and did not have the luxury to shake it off, but live with it. 

Losing someone or something almost always buries in us a seed of pain. A seed that flourishes within you if not dealt with appropriately. There's a lot we can learn from painful experiences, some of which ride on the happiness of other people. 
Pain sort of hardens you, provides you from immunity towards issues that bothered you earlier, because somehow now these issues seem so little compared to what you are going through. Some of us get so used to it that we begin to consider it normal, just like our eyes adjust to darkness once the lights are off, similarly we make ourselves comfortable within the lairs of sadness, pain and darkness. Most of us however, want it to stop, want to take what we rightfully deserve but somehow cannot seem to take the first step. To get out of any painful experience you need to break the shackles, the shackles of insecurity, contempt for self and low self esteem.

It's important to know yourself, to know who you are and what you deserve. Self worth is very important, because there are many people who feed of your pain. Sadism, as much as we deny it, exists in each one us in varying quantities. Sadly, it makes sadistic people happy seeing that someone is doing worse than they are. How it by any means make their pain easier I have no idea, but if they weren't sad in the first place they wouldn't inflict it on another is essential to notice.

Somehow depressed people unknowingly spread their malady.You know how they say that when you are really depressed and sad you must talk to someone about it, well I agree with it, but I think some people abuse this advice. Moping and telling your sad tales to someone constantly not only makes you focus on your pain even more, but now the other person feels as sad as you do. It's then like a disease that spreads rapidly and fast.

Most of us then opt for temporary fixes, like excessive drinking and smoking and blowing your life up into puffs of cocaine smoke. Doesn't the pain hurt you mentally enough that you now resort to physically hurt yourself? For how long does it make you feel better, definitely not forever, because you probably won't even live half that long. Doesn't that seem cowardly then? Your attitude screams that you don't care about yourself, your life much worse want to end it, but since you don't have the courage, you opt for an option that makes you feel good temporarily while it does its job.

Realistically, we may often be inflicted with pain that might not have a quick cure, hell it may not have a cure at all, that only means we have to find it in ourselves to be brave enough to live with it. To stare at it in the face and not flinch, no eye twitches and no disgust. But it must be within us, the determination; we must want to be out of its clawing reach. We must strengthen ourselves; arm ourselves with smiles, happy people and most importantly a positive attitude.

It never rains equally in all parts of the earth, every part of the earth goes through a different weather and the best part is it always changes.Remember.The sun faces the earth but its rays never reach every inch of the planet equally. However there is no city where light never reaches, no city where darkness never fades.Remember.

P.S. the worst kind of "normal" people are the ones who see a loved one or for that matter even a passerby suffering but decide to look away, for one reason or another. Let's not do that. Nothing is more important than your happiness. The more happy people, the more good energy they spread and the better the world. =)