So Much For Your Promises

I have always found promises to be an interesting topic, and yesterday when the topic came up with a friend, we had a good debate over it. She believes that if a promise is made it should be kept, and hence she rarely makes a promise to someone. I believe that it is not always possible to keep a promise, for life has certain plans of it’s own that we know naught about. And no matter how good our intention is to honor the promise, sometimes it just can’t happen!
So I believe that you should try. Kyonki koshish hi kamyaab hoti hai... promises are toh meant to be broken!
(I have a feeling of déjà vu, which means that I have already written this in some other blog. If you have read it already... read it once more!)
I have had many experiences in this chotu sa life of mine. In some I have been unable to honor the promises I made and in some, I was at the other end – someone couldn’t keep a promise they made. And most of the times, the person who had promised, was not at fault. Life was at fault.
Life.
My favoritest topic.
(I know... I know... favoritest is not a word in the English dictionary. But it is a word in my dictionary so learn it. It refers to the top-most thing in the list of your favorite things, when ranked in an descending order of preference – that is, the most preferred among preferences)
But we’re not doing life here, as of now. We’re doing promises.
The question that arises is, should you make promises and try to fulfill them and if not possible, then break them, or should you not make promises at all.
Guess the answer is a personal choice.
My answer, you know: try, try and try harder. And if not happening, sorry boss, better luck next time. No need to get your knickers in a twist and all because you couldn’t fulfill a promise. It’s not the end of the world. You will get another chance, another promise.

“So much for your promises.”
- Kitty in Ptolemy’s Eye, when Nat promises he’ll be back and then goes and dies.

Until next time...

Angels & Demons

I met him about a week back, and that too quite by chance. It was my first time, and I wasn't sure what to expect. I certainly didn't expect liking him within 10 minutes of meeting him. But like him, I did. Of course I had my qualms, and rightly too. I mean – who ever likes a demon? A Demon!! Well, I did, and I still do, even though my association with him is long over. I am talking about Bartimaeus, Sakhr al-Jinni, the Serpent of Silver Plumes, N'gorso the Mighty, and my favorite – Rekhyt. And I met him in the triology, aptly titled, The Bartimaeous Triology, by Jonathan Stroud.

Bartimaeus proves throughout the three books that no one is good and no one is bad. We are all shades of grey – a little good and a little bad. Not one person I know can claim that he has never been bad, ever (except one, but then as I keep telling him, he's damn weird!) A Demon is supposed to be bad, right? Damn right, he is. All the stories we heard as kids about demons in hell who would roast you on a fire if u weren't a good girl (thanks to my teachers at Villa Theresa Convent School) had it imprinted in our brains that demons are bad. And in this book too, there are bad demons. And then there is Bartimaues. I'm not saying he was an absolute angel or really sweet or anything like that. In fact, if my mother ever heard me talking as sarcastically as he does, she would definitely think I was a demon! And he does his bit of bad and maybe even enjoys it too.

But inside that essence, underneath all those forms he took, there was something good. Even though he was a demon, he could be trusted. And that is what made me like him. Yes, he had a good (OK amazing) sense of humor; his sarcasm was top-of-the-order and he was cute (in a demonic kind of way!) But the real reason I liked him was that he was good, even though he was supposed to be bad.

We don't have to be what society expects us to be. We have to be what we want to be. It should necessarily be like this, but sadly it is necessarily the other way round. Expectations of what we are supposed to be and how we are supposed to behave run our lives. Agreed, that society has some rules to live in, like wearing clothes, and these should be followed. But doing something because it is expected of you, even though you don't want to? Like - "What will people think if I do this? I really want to but I cant!" Now that I don't agree with.

If you really want to do it that badly, then do it. Be prepared to face the consequences, and know well in advance what you are getting into. And if then, you still want to do it, then go right ahead! Don't care a damn what the world thinks or how pinky aunty will gossip about it to all other aunties of the building. She doesn't think before gossiping so as to "what will everyone think if I gossip so much?" Then why do you bother! As the people at Nike believe – Just Do It!

Ok – we went off on a tangent there – sorry. Back to Bartimaeus. If a so-called demon can find it within himself to be good to his master – someone who has enslaved him, I'm sure we all can. It doesn't take too much, and if you do it his way, it doesn't even hurt your ego! And if you have an image to maintain, as Bartimaeus (the other djinn would give him hell if they ever found out that he was nice to his master) you can be good discretely (or bad - depending on what you are right now!) Nathaniel didn't even know for a long time that Bartimaeus actually liked him (well kind-off!)

Until next time…

 

Why I Speak my Mind And Do As I Please

Because i dont give a rats ass so as to whether people think i am a "subservient suck-up" sucking up to profs for marks.
Because i know myself, I know that i DONT do it, no matter what people think.
If i like a person, and if he/ she happens to be a prof or if i respect teachers or if i like to answer in class or if i get the highest marks - it's not my fault. I talk to them because i like doing it. Not because i get more marks by doing it. You dont get the highest marks by "sucking up"
You get marks by studying, attending regularly, maybe even mugging. Prof's are not that dumb so as not to see through someone's sucking up act if they are doing one. Marks are not alloted for how nice you were to the prof or how sweet you were. they are alloted for the stuff wrtitten in your answer paper, the content up on ur slide during a presentation, and the depth of the knowledge you have about it. Somehow' profs have a way of knowing who has worked hard and who hasnt worked at all.
You dont get marks because if u attend the prof likes you, or if u dont attend u'll get rusticated - but because if u attend u will learn all that the prof has to teach:which is my main aim for being here. Unfortunately my dad daoesnt have all the money in the world to ssquander off 5 lakhs and have me behave in such a manner. This is where my self respect lies. When my father looks at me, he doesnt regret anything and i mean anything about me. My self respect lies in my father's pride. Definitely not in letting him down - bothering him for things that I am capable of getting myself, or should be.
My career doesnt depend on my sucking up skills. It depends on my capability.
I'm not talking arrogance here. I am saying that somethings are more imoprtant than a smile (huge or otherwise) on your face. Like a smile on your parents face. Like realising your responsibilities in life, and rising to fulfill them. Like letting go of your much coveted carefree-ness so that someone else can be carefree. And anyways, the smile that fulfilling your responsibilities brings to your face outlives the one brought about by carefree-ness by eons.
In short, I am what i am , on your face.I dont be nice to people on their face to get something from them and then say horrible things about them behind their back.
Until next time...

Shadows

Exams are over, and after sleeping for 10 hours straight I did what I really wanted to do: read a good book. At the insistence of a friend, I picked up A Thousand Splendid Suns by Khaled Hosseini, and finished it off in one non-stop go of 6 hours.

Does the above sentence seem like a dream come true to you? Hardly, right? I mean what's there in that sentence that's even worthy of being called a dream?

The "doing-what-i-wanted" part.

The story is about two women protagonists from Afghanistan and how their lives changed because of the turmoil that the country was in from the eighties till the early 2000's. They went through the Communist rule, the jihad, the Taliban, and what not. I'm not going to give you the story or a review of it here. It's a good book, maybe brilliant even. But if you want to know more about it, read it. What I want to talk about here is what has been in the whole book, like the far-away smell of rain just before the monsoon: always there but never in-your-face.

It's a well established fact, at least for me, that life changes in an instant. I've been there-done that, so I know it only too well. And after things change we wonder: what why when where how and all other possible questions, trying to find answers to what-if's and but's. Everyone in life has problems and everyone has eyes only for their problems. We tend to forget the good things that we can still enjoy, because of the bad circumstances that we find ourselves in.

Leaving the house when you want to, eating 3 square meals a day, wearing the kind of clothes that you like, living with your family, living in land that is not constantly war-ravaged, where you don't have to go to sleep everyday wondering whether you'll be alive the next day or no: these are a few things that we tend to take for granted. This is the way people in Afghanistan have been living for the last three decades or so. We're talking about three square meals a day? Sometimes I have six. My problem feel so inconsequential compared to what these people have been through. Not one family, I repeat, not one family has been spared the ordeal of seeing a loved one die. Some have seen their entire families being obliterated. And they still find the courage to move on. What right do I have to complain about my problems? I have a roof over my head, a loving family, food to eat as and when I want, whatever food I want, clothes to wear, the kind and color that I want. I even have the right to tell my father, when I don't agree with what he's saying, "Dad, what crap are you saying." And that too in so many words. Women in Afghanistan didn't even have the right to look into a man's eye, forget not agreeing with him, and that too, definitely not in so many words! They'd probably get beaten till they bled to death, and then the man would go around saying that she deserved it anyway. This is a not a man versus woman, and woman is suppressed but still better than man naari mukti morcha that I usually support. This is much more than that. This is about humanity, about strength and about shame. There are people out there who have problems. Real problems. Death due to starvation, being abandoned by family, being orphaned, being in a war-torn country etc. Let's not belittle their problems by giving our inconsequential problems so much importance. So big deal if life is not what it used to be. At least there is still life. So what if you don't have that much money as much as you'd like. At least you have your family. Intact (touch wood) and all yours.

Children being orphaned at the age of 16, going from being a teacher's daughter brought up in a relatively modern way to being a shoe-maker's wife, a man who is over30 years older than you. Can you imagine yourself in that kind of situation? And worse yet, can you imagine still living, everyday, for the sake of your unborn child. A sixteen year old – a child herself – sacrificing peace in the form of death for her own child, choosing to face abuses and get beaten up every day, only because the child has no fault that it was born. And I crib because life's been a little unfair to me? Am I shallow or what. These people go through pain every day. They have nothing to fall back on, no support system. No food, no family, no future. And yet they have hope. And we? We have a family, we have food, we have clothes, and we have everything. But no hope. Only despair. I need that job. I want that promotion. If I don't get that raise, I won't be able to buy that nice expensive car that I've wanted all along. I want- I want- I want. All the time. Never looking at what I-have.

Words fail me now, to describe the shame that I feel; the guilt for being so shallow. For being ungrateful of whatever God has given me: always mourning what he has taken away. For thinking that a small hiccup in life is the end-of-the-world. For always seeing the thousand shadows, instead of seeing the thousand splendid suns that caused them.

What is worse is that even though this book, its story, has touched a nerve, all I can, or rather will, do about it is cry when I read the book, and write a blog about it.

Somehow, I really don't think I like myself today.

Though nothing can bring back the hour,
Of splendor in the grass, of glory in the flower,
We shall grieve not, rather find,
Strength in what remains behind…
-Wordsworth

Until next time…

Hey Girly

After 24 years of living like a tom-boy, and refusing to do any beauty-thingi's, I finally went to the parlor to get my hair blow-dried. Usually I used to go there just for a haircut, in and out in like 10 minutes max. But considering that the occasion demanded that I look a little presentable (had to get a photograph clicked for the placement brochure) I realized that since nothing else about me can be made beautiful in such short time, might as well do something to the damn tangle on my head called hair. So I sat there, let her pull on my hair with a brush made of pig hair (eewwww) simultaneously attacking it with a blast of hot (very hot) air, actually paid her a bomb for it and left looking nice. Really nice. Finally I understood why all models have hair while I had a tangle. Because they did this pulling-hot-air torture regularly. But it was worth the pain. My hair was shining, all lustrous and curling a bit at the ends and all nice and voluminous as compared to the flat thing I had to make do with regularly. This whole exercise made me realize that why exactly do people take the pains to look good. (People as in girls). I never really got the hang of wasting hours in front of the mirror to apply makeup but in such a way that your face looks natural and devoid of any make up. (Rather not put it in the first place right?) Or this blow-drying routine that many of my friends follow regularly. (I mean its pig hair, for god's sake, if not the pigs!) But now I get it. Looking good, or rather feeling that you are looking good, does wonders for your confidence and mood. Just feeling that I was looking nice that day actually made feel like a princess. It made me wonder exactly why I lived a tomboyish life for 24 years where I could have felt like this every day.

I introspected (big word na?) to realize that the answer was very simple: it's just not me! Ya its expensive ( oh boy o boy… very expensive) and time consuming but people who really want to get it done get it done. I'm just not one of them. I don't need to do this to feel like a princess, I can just talk to my dad and feel like that. :-D
But I don't condemn this whole routine as much as I did when I hadn't gone through it myself. Typical me, judging without experiencing. I am a bit more tolerant to people who love makeup and hair do's. But I am not one of them. It felt nice to be a part of their world for those few hours, but it felt even better to be back in my world today morning when I left home with dripping wet hair, falling flat on the sides of my face.

Until next time…

Domestic (Un)Help

I never ever thought that this would be a topic of discussion for my blog. I mean who talks about domestic help anyways? Old boring aunties and my mother: that's who. And now I belong to one of them (either category is as scary as the other so I can't decide; you take your pick). But after having walked the walk (read: doing my work on my own) I feel the need to discuss this very important issue. And by work I'm not talking about small things like serve my own food and put my clothes neatly. I'm talking about the big stuff: like sweeping and washing clothes and all.

What happened was that one fine day, moushi (that's Marathi for aunty, and that's what we used to call her as is the norm with maharashtrians) decided that she'd had enough working and wanted to now rest at home and so she stopped coming to work. No intimation, no nothing. There should be a law against this, like the one on the corporate world: one month's notice is mandatory. From either side I agree, but a law for sure. So. Moushi stopped coming and my house went for a toss. Mom works (doctor) and so everyone leaves by like 9.30 and so most importantly, everyone was expected to put in their bit till a new domestic help was hired. Mom took the kitchen, kiki took the making-the-beds (which she doesn't do anyways. she just pulls the bed sheet extra tight so it looks made: the cheat!), dad took the "general supervision" (????) and I got stuck with the sweeping-the-floor and washing the clothes. (Thank GADGET-GOD we have a washing machine and one that is as of now working, and still continues to work despite me operating it for the last 3 days: guess he finally had some pity on me!). Sadly we do not have a auto-sweeper (has anyone invented one yet? I'm not talkin vacuum cleaner: doesn't work for India. I'm talking like an automatic-wet-floor-sweeper.)

This whole episode made me realize that domestic help though is called help – can be quite an un-help (a word coined by me that means in short: opposite of help). They have their own tantrums (holiday tomorrow or I quit; tea+breakfast or I quit; raise pay or I quit: u get the point) and they have their own moods and they have their own politics (this is my sister's husband's sister's daughter's father's son's wife. Hire her instead of your current maid for xyz work or I quit!). True, they are the ones that literally run the house, and true that if they decide that nothing should function in the house then it won't. Makes for almost blackmailing – do what I want or I quit! And as far as I can see there is only one solution: legalize the whole damn procedure, all the way from hiring to firing to quitting. Like a domestic-help act or something. And make sure that people follow it so that we poor kids, so unaware of all these hassles do not have to face the trauma of doing work (until we actually get married: which is another trauma in itself and an issue to be discussed at a later time!)

Anyways, go-to-go now: washing machine's beeping! Hail Gadget-God!! :D

Until next time…

Gadget-God

There is some God up there, in charge of all gadgets and electric thingies who does not like me. We never got along, them electric gadgets and I. it all started when I was in my first year of engineering. We were supposed to write programs in the lab as practical assignments and then take printouts of the same. It was one of those dot printer LX-something-something. It used to print everybody else's programs properly, sometimes even extra dark. But the moment it was my turn something would khiskao its silly brain and it would stop working. Sometimes the ribbon was screwed, sometimes the paper would get jammed and most of the times the problem was unexplainable. It would just stop. Phhooossshh… a noise like that and there you go. Nothing and I mean NOTHING could make it work. And then the printer and PC at home started acting up. Just getting hung for no rhyme or reason and behaving in general very difficult.

This week after all my gadgets (no re, not those gadgets!) stopped working I started thinking. Cell, laptop, earphones, T.V… you name it and it's frigging not working! Then I realized that there is some force that can't be reckoned with: some God up there who just does not like me! Kiki says that there is nothing like a Gadget-God and that I am plain simple electronic-gadget-illiterate! But I beg to differ, and have decided that I am going to donate a mouse (the electric variety and not the animal variety) or something like that (am still trying to locate a temple of Gadget-God) so that my bad luck goes away and he likes me again.

And if that doesn't work out, then I'm going to hire a gadget-manager who can manage all my thingies (as in GADGETS!) for me! Someone, who knows how to talk their talk and walk their really irritating walk. I know that would be conning them, not really letting them know that it's my work being done, but I guess they leave me no choice.

Until next time…

I'm Back!

Its been a long while and i have no excuse: just too lazy! So thanks biks, for finally making me realise what i was missing and making me get back to it! As of now nothing special as such, just a few lines that i wrote here and there...
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One Moment
One Moment. Thats all it takes. For anything to happen. For you to go from riding a bike to lying on the road. For replacing a smile with a tear. For it to go from all-ok to oh-shit.For your world to go upside down.For you to realise that all it takes is one moment. Its like life is moving in slow-mo and eternity gets captured in that One Moment.

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Nothing.
A Friend of mine told me over a very cheesy Mac D veggie burger that he was so content with life that nothing got to his head, and that he was at absolute peace with everything. The first thing that came to my mind, and i told him that, was that it was the effect of the food! But then on a serious note: imagine. Being so content that nothing, absolutely nothing gets to you! Not even a bad exam, not even a good exam, not even a friendship gone sour, not even an amazing connection with that special someone. promotions. losses. achievements. Nothing.
And then, that line that anthony (not marc, not the other one) has made so famous came to my mind.
"Nothing? Then nothing shall come of it!"
And i started thinking, again. If nothing gets to you in life then where do you get in the end? Nothing getting to us is as good as nothing motivating us. And nothing motivating us means that we're not getting anywhere in life. To get somewhere in life, you need to be motivated, to feel that pinch a little bit, to feel that jealousy that makes you work harder. Atleast i do.
Maybe i can be so content after a certain stage in life, but as of now: give it to me baby!!!!!
:D
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Dreams Unlimited
If there's one thing in life that is unlimited, its dreams. You can dream all you want to: no taxes (as of now - lets see what this budget brings!!) no restrictions and no issues.
Not necessary that all your dreams will come true. Maybe (depending on your imagination) none of them will. But you can still dream. I remember some of mine - ones that got lost god-knows-where with the winds of time. From not too long ago (considering that i am only 24) but sure feels like (considering that i've lived a lot of life!)
Some were typical girly ones: cute romatic boyfriend (in retrospect: cut out the CUTE!!) :D
smoot relationships and unconditional love - like the gift of maggi characters. (ya rite!)
Some were overly ambitious: smart career woman. travelling the world. loads of money [:D]. people running around me.but still gt loads of time for family! (dream hai! sab chalta hai!!)
Some were downright childish!my own chocolate factory with only one buyer: Me!! Unlimited free movie tickets at the snap of my fingers! ( i know, i know - i already said no restrictions!)
and beat tis one: insatnt weigt loss - and i mean instant!!
Most of these never came true, and some wont for sure. i know some wont, but there's still scope for some of them (i mean the way medical science is advancing: instant wt loss doesnt seem that far!) . And these unfulfilled dreams do not stop me from dreaming more new better more imaginative dreams - so here's to Dreams Unlimited! Cheers!!
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Until next time...
(I promise it'll be sooner this time!)

Happies Endings!

If you really believe in something it will come to you. That is the law of attraction. Your thoughts radiate out into the world as frequencies, and they attract all other things with the same frequencies.
Paulo Cohelo said it in The Alchemist. I was skeptical.
Rhonda Byrne showed it in The Secret. I was still skeptical.
And then, my Shahrukh said it.

"itni shiddat se maine tumhe pane ki koshish ki hai…
ki har zarre ne mujhe tumse milane ki saazish ki hai!
Kehte hai… agar kisi cheez ko dil se chaho, to poori kaynath use tumse milane ki koshish mein lag jaati hai…"

And I finally believed it. It all about hope.
Hope and faith. Of course it makes a difference when he says it, eyes moist, dimples playing hide-n-seek with the cheek, hair falling on his face and most important of all, conviction in his voice. :D
But back to the point, it's about your belief. In your capabilities, in your dreams, in yourself. Believe in yourself and the world will have no choice but to believe in you. It doesn't have to work out instantly. But work out, it will. Negative thoughts attract negativism and positive thoughts attract positivity. So be positive. Difficult? Ya… specially because those names that you feel like calling people who stress you out are definitely not an indication of positive thoughts! But hang in there buddy, for Shahrukh says it will work out, so it will!

They say that you need darkness to develop a picture out of a negative (okay well… ok inn those ancient times when digicams were still unheard of, it did) so when God sends darkness in your life, he is actually preparing to present you with a beautiful picture. In the end, it all works out. And if it doesn't work out, well… then it's not the end!

"… humari filmon ki tarah humari zindagi mein bhi, end mein, sab theek ho jata hai… HAPPIES ENDINGS! Aur gar theek na ho, toh who the end nahin hai… pichchar abh baaki hai dost!"

Until next time…

Lesson Number One.

The first lesson that i learnt in MBA - dont put up anything ona slide that you semi-know.
people can be *!#$%^&* enough to ask about it (wrongly) and then tell you in front of the prof and the whole class that "you are wrong, actually."
I learnt a lot of subjects and a lot of gyaan but this is definitely lesson number one.

Untill next time...

A Slice of Heaven

Considering my "healthy" nature (arre bahi, khaate peete khaandaan se hai…) I am forced out of my house every (almost) morning to go and run and become a little less healthy.

Being the nice, obedient girl that I am, I go.
Okk..the real reason I go is that is, I go = mom quiet + sister give chocolate + dad give ice cream. Initially I used to sleep walk, but one day I wasn't that sleepy, and I opened my eyes to look at the place that I would walk-jog-run-pant like a dog in.
And this is what I found.
When I took off my headphones that were blaring energetic morning radio shows, I heard all possible birds that I could (well… all the possible birds I could hear in Mumbai!) : crows, mainas, parrots, sparrows, one-for-joy-two-for-sorrows and some that I couldn't name. And instead of getting irritated at the cacophony, I was mesmerized. It was the most "alive" sound that I have ever heard. After that day I started sleeping early and stopped carrying my earphones.
Everytime I go there, everytime that I think about it, only one thing goes on in my head like an old tape recorder stuck at a particular point: this is a slice of heaven.
My slice of heaven.

Until next time…

Why

Why.

It is my favorite word and favorite question.
Today, I'm applying it to my currently favorite theory, the "theory of death"
Weird one, this "theory of death" is. It says, "All who are born must one day die; the means of which are variable."

My grandfather died when he was just 78. Can you imagine?
I hadn't. And suddenly, before I knew it, he was gone. All I got was a phone call. "Tell Papa to come home immediately…"

And I'm still wondering… "Why?"

I still remember the walks we used to take to the see to sea. He was fascinated by it. We used to go and sit by the sea side, and he used to tell me stories about pre-independence days, about his struggle in life, about how he managed a family with only 10 rupees in his pocket, about how he built that quaint blue house, the same one that I spent all my summer vacations at, brick by brick.
I still remember his toothless grin (without his dentures) and his toothy laugh (with his dentures).
I still remember the way he used to tease me and call me a fat monkey… fat for obvious reasons and monkey for the antics and nonstop jabbering that I used to do.
I still remember the pains he used to take to get his grandchildren to speak their mother tongue, sindhi.
I still remember what he liked to eat and what he didn't.
I still remember the last time I saw him.

You know, you never know that last time you see somebody, that it is the last time you are seeing them. I didn't either. All I knew was that something was holding me back that day. I never want to leave that house once I go there, but that day I really didn't want to leave. Didn't realize then that it was my internal sixth sense going off, trying to tell me that "this is the last time you'll see him."

And then I wonder. Why. Why do I still remember? Why can I still hear his voice sometimes? Why does some random bald head on the road look like his very adorable bald head? Why did he die? Why does it still, after six years, hurt so much? Why.

And as the usual case is with my "why's", I get no answers. He stares at me, smiling, from his photograph hung on the wall, but says nothing.

I just want to tell him that I love him and really miss him. Anyone who can communicate to spirits in the next-world please do this one favor for me. Please.

Until next time…

Dont Touch Me

"Dont touch me!" he shouted and jumped back from me.
Why?
Because i am suffering from cunjunctivites. In the middle of exams, thats another thing.
I was shocked at his behaviour. I mean, come on. Cunjitivites for godsake, not AIDS or something!
If this is the way people in this country treat people who are suffering fro cunjunctivites, then its no small winder how they treat people with aids. Snatching a daughter from her mother because "she is not fit to be a mother, as she has AIDS..."
what crap.
forget being a bit understanding for it feels like there are a 1000 pins pricking the eye, along with acid pouring out of it. travelling over 25 kilometers (one way) on top of that for an exam, without studying, and the first thing i get to hear is "Dont Touch Me!"
after hearing tht i really felt like stickin my finger in my eye, and then sticking it all over his eye. but for tht i would have to touch him. and i dont touch dirty things.
3 things for you mr VIP Frenchie:
1.grow up. money isnt everything. get some brains.
2. who said i'm interested in touching you, in the first place? as i said, i dont touch dirty things.
3. GSAT. (this seems more contagious in class thn cunjunctivites!) ;)

until next time...

I Me Myself

I Me Myself.

I am not what I was.
I was a care-free,
Happy-go-lucky,
Superbly energetic extrovert,
Waiting eagerly, the next day to see.
Today I am a cynical,
Energy-less,
Introvert,
Closed to everything around me.
I hated solitude, loathing to be alone.
Today I seek solace in it, running away from the drone.
I could mingle with any tom-dick-harry,
Genuinely because I wanted to.
Today I close myself to people around me,
Not wanting to talk, not interested in extra burden to carry.
I used to let everyone close.
Today not many cross the barriers that arose.
I am myself
Only sometimes.
And I don’t know why
I have become like this.
My old self doesn’t like my new self.
Really wondering many a time.
But you know what?
My new self doesn’t care about that.
“Get over it.” She tells me, “I have done no crime.”
I haven’t backed off from any challenges.
Yet.
I won’t in the future either.
But my way of looking at things,
My behavior,
My attitude,
Everything has changed.
The famous spark of my eyes has died,
Flaming very rarely, if ever.
I wait for the day, oh so feverishly
When I will be me again.

Until next time…

Counting

Three years.
I don't know about anyone else, but I counted.
Each second.
Each minute.
Each hour.
Ech day.
Each month.
Each year.

And i still am.
Counting.
Waiting desperately for it to end.

Until next time...

Cracks

The pressure is building.
The wall is breaking.
The cracks are appearing.
And the ego's are flowing.

Wow. What fun.

Untill next time...

I’m lovin it!

 

I went. I saw. I was conquered. Chak de…I loved it!! It has two of my favorite things…shah rukh and India! And of course the girls. I mean, what can I say… I loved it! And that I am still loving it! It has nothing that a shah rukh movie has, and yet everything that makes a shah rukh movie that: a shah rukh movie.
Komal Chotala… my kiki… J Well, sort of. Just that she's a bit sweeter. (komal, not kiki! :-P) what attitude man. And that punjaban…forgot her name…mom says I'm like her. Big and hot tempered! :-D
What can I say… mother dairy ka dhoodh piya hai…kuch toh asar hoga!

We need movies like this. Ones that inspire you to do something for your country. Ones that are realistic almost to the point of believing. Ones that have loads of shah rukh in a white shirt and aviator glares. And blue jean also! (dirthy girl! :-D)
this is one movie that I am definitely adding in my DVD collection. Waiting desperately for the original DVD's to come out. (specially the ones with the exta stuff which means extra shah rukh!)

It's Over

THE THURSDAY. Its over.
phew!
its been an eye opener, to say the least.
don't even have the energy to type anymore.

Until next time...

2067

India completed 60 years on independence on August 15, 2007. The newspapers as usual had something special set for that day’s front page. One of them had this whole graphic of India in 2067, 60 years later. Fancy planes instead of cars and new bio-fuels and trans-galactic food and god knows what-not!
I got a little excited that wow, I’ll get to see all this and was animatedly discussing this with a friend, when he pointed out “Honey, you won’t be alive in 2067. You’re 23. 60 years later you’d be 83. That’s a loooong time for anyone to live!”
This realization has depressed to the pits, and I’m moving about blaming my bad sad mood on the economics professor. I mean think about it. You are going to die one day and then you’ll be…well…gone! I know it sounds crazy but I really don’t want to die. I want to see the fancy planes and the parking problems that come with them and of course I want to know if trans-galactic food comes in chocolate flavor and whether it too is fattening. I even tried telling myself that The Bhagvad Geetha professes that the day you realize you are mortal, and are going to die one day, is the day you’ll start living life truly. But nothing seems to work on my mind. I am literally dreading living this moment because it has brought me one moment closer to death.
Don’t get me wrong. I am not some freak (read:girl) who does not want to age and let wrinkles et all spoil her beauty. Please. I hardly even care. But what I am concerned about is that this moment that I had today, this day that I spent with my family, it’s over. It will never come back. And that scares me. Maybe I am scared of the future, so as to what it will bring and where I will be. Maybe. But I definitely know that today where I am, how I am, with who all I am: I am fine. And I DON’T want this to change.
Change.
I never did like this change – thingi anyways. Everything is going fine and along comes change, and well, changes everything. Anyways that is not the point here.
And then there is that other thought which is more depressing and more likely to come true.

Until next time…

Ramaa and Ritikaa.

She is a 21 year old, with an 11 month old child. She has returned to her parent’s house, after 3 years of trying to live with the man her parents married her off to. He turned out to be a wife-beating alcoholic who is a mama’s boy and will listen to any crap his mother will tell him about her. Her parents have refused to keep her in their house any longer: a married daughter has no place in their house. Temporarily living with her sister, she manages to feed her baby by working domestically in houses like mine. She has no clothes of her own, they didn’t let her take any when she was leaving, and she starts her day everyday hoping that today maybe her husband will realize his mistake, his responsibilities and come and take her home, where she belongs. She is Ramaa.

She is a 27 year old, with a recently aborted fetus. She has returned to her parent’s house after 6 months of living with the rich prick her parents married her off to. She was 3 months pregnant when she aborted her child. Her husband, who had separated from his parents recently, was under stress due to his new business and was fighting with her a lot. She couldn’t take any more of his verbal abuses and moody behavior. So she called her dad and he immediately sent her an air ticket and a doctor’s card. She wakes up every day, ignoring her husband calling on her cell, but still at times finds herself wondering what it would have been if their child had been born, if they were still together. She is Ritikaa.

Two people I came across recently, whose story moved me. I feel sorry for Ramaa, because life was a bit too harsh on her, and sorry for Ritikaa for her parents were a bit too soft on her.

This proves one thing that I always believed to be true. Not that all men are B**t**ds, that too, but that relationships anywhere need a lot, and I mean a lot of understanding, communication, and most importantly trust. Without these things, a relationship cannot survive for long. And the incurable romantic in me wishes to add: let’s not forget the romance.

Until next time…