Sunday 22 December 2013

Kaleidoscopic Haze.


You see, life is a bunch of phases. One after the other, they take you on a roller coaster ride. One moment you're on the top of the world, carefree and screaming your lungs out of joy. Then there's the plunge downhill that fills your heart with immense fear. You hold on for dear life, fearing what will hit you next. And then there's the part where your in the pit of the ride, where you can't go further and you just want it to stop. Eventually it does. How do you feel then? Tired, relieved. That's the last phase of your life. You had a hell of a ride but then that's about how much you can handle. So you step out, allowing for others to take your seat and you walk away from it.
That's life for you. 
Every story has a hero and a villain. 
There has to be pain in order for you to feel the relief when it goes away. There is no happiness without the sadness.
When you've hit rock bottom, thank your stars, for the only way out there on is up.


What's a hero without a villain to defeat? How would you fall in love with the hero if you didn't have the villain to despise? Would the reconciliation of the hero and his leading lady be just as beautiful if the bad guy hadn't eloped with her earlier? No, it wouldn't. 

Similarly, your life wouldn't have been half as interesting had it not taken the occasional plunge.
Every phase teaches you a lesson. There's something you pick from every part of it, good, bad and the ugly. How boring would life be if you woke up every day and got through it without a single happy or a sad moment.
Every emotion you feel gives prominence to the one that follows. The relief you feel after fear having enveloped your heart wouldn't be the same without the fear itself. The happiness of seeing a person after ages wouldn't be half as delightful if sadness hadn't played its part when the person departed.

Learn to love every emotion, it only adds beauty to your life.
Don't be either here, there or nowhere. Don't be a Black and White person. Don't see life through two extreme perspectives. It's not always just a Black or White situation. Often, the Gray patches have more significance then either of the others would. It's a colorful life, don't put it in a box.
Expand your perspectives. Don't restrict yourself to the black, white and gray of life.
Cause life is just that, a kaleidoscope of ever changing colors and patterns. You never know what turn it will take and what design it will make.
Soak it up.

Monday 9 December 2013

Body Armor!

It was just another Facebook morning for me. I was nonchalantly browsing through bitch fights and breakup posts and lovestruck photos when it caught my eye. Not everything you spot on social media makes you want to pause and take a second look, not for the right reasons anyway. But this did. Body Armor!

 Whoever could've thought of that! Us women, we love accesorizing, don't we? Right from earrings to toe rings, we wear them all. Or do we?

So when I got in touch with Anisha, she had a whole new perspective. It dazzled me. What was supposed to be a mere enquiry urged me into penning down my thoughts about this steep turn in the world of Fashion. So I decided to go all Journo on this one.


How often do you wear a dress and find it incomplete? The sort of piecemeal that a necklace or a pair of dangly earrings fail to do justice to. That's when you turn to this whole new definition given to accessories.




Tell me that doesn't excite you! Tell me it doesn't make you go "Oh shit I want that.. and that! AND THAATTTT!!"If you're a girl, no matter how old you are or what background you're from, this is bound to tug at your heart, ever so strongly.Here we have a 20 year old girl, almost threatening the careers of well established jewelry designers! 


"I'm frankly really bored of seeing people wear the same old accessories.. Hello!! You're forgetting the rest of your body!These accessories are made to enhance the feminine you...It's like a body armor. I have made every piece with a special reason... Every piece is
Anisha Bakshi, Creator.
a story I am trying to tell...
You pick the piece that truly belongs to you.. Not because it looks good, but because its meant for you.. And because its going to give you the confidence to be yourself.Not a single design will be repeated.Every beauty deserves her own unique treasure.My jewelry appreciates the feminine parts.The beautiful round neck, the beautiful curvy back, our most precious bosoms, our beautiful waist, legs, hands, hips, everything!!! It's mysterious, it's traditional...It reflects the strong Indian beauty who is religiously rooted.It's something that reflects your mysteries..

It's your power."

You heard her. Loud and clear!

So what are you waiting for? Oh right. An official statement.
If you're a woman who loves her trinkets or a man who loves his woman, swing by in Feb 2014, pick up the latest fad in the world of jewelry! Watch this space for details.
Until then, polish that body to suit this armor!





Monday 18 November 2013

Her.

Sai. Just three alphabets, yet, the name weighs tonnes.
As far back as my memory takes me, I remember her going out of her way to take care of me. Apparently. when I was a year old and she was three, she'd try to hold me in her arms and shush me like my mother did. Barely any taller than a potted plant, she nurtured her motherly instincts from the day I was born.
Over the years, we've fought like animals. Pulling hair, scratching, biting, punching, kicking, anything you can think of. But at the end of it, either of us would come crawling back and
apologize and we'd cry our eyes out and hug and make up.
She's always been the innocent one and I always had the mischievous streak. Every time I went "Saiii listen naa", her eyes would go wide and she'd say, "What's it this time?"
There's nobody that can understand me as well as she does. She'll disapprove of my choices, but she'll stick nevertheless.
We've always been told how strikingly similar we are. But what you see is just the outside. She's the person I can never be.
I've never seen a person so giving, so pure and pristine. If I can get myself to be half the human being she is, I'll consider myself lucky.
I've never seen her sit still. She's the world's fastest and most efficient multi-tasker. 
She's juggled TYBA, an exchange program with Germany, a French level with Alliance, and number of things I can't even remember.
She introduced me to Classic Literature. If it wasn't for her, I'd still be sitting in a corner reading Tinkle and Archie's. No kidding.
She's protected me from my parents every time I messed up. She'd yell and give me a piece of her mind later, but she'd never let anyone else scream at me.
My sister is my best friend on earth. I know I can fight with her and behave my worst, but she'll always have my back.
Today we've come to a point where the fragile, dainty little lady needs me to be her bodyguard cause she's so delicate. I'd do that for you for life, Saiyu.
It surprises a lot of people how close we are. Sometimes it surprises us too :P
There's so much I can say about her. SO much. I'll always fall short of words trying to tell you how much it is that I love you.
I love you to the moon and back, and yet a little more.
Wish you a very very happy 21st. Not that you look like it at all, not even close, but well, happy birthday anyway.
If there's anyone I'd take a bullet for, it's her. It'll always be her.

Saturday 9 November 2013

Reality Check.

The wounds may heal, but the scars will stay. And what caused the wounds will always be despised. A second look at your scars will always bring back unwanted memories. Those will never really phase out. Learn to accept them and live with them or accept the fact that it'll never be okay again. 

That's all you need to know about this phase. Acceptance.

Friday 8 November 2013

Waking up to Reality.

It's only after the worst of the storm has hit, does it finally settle. 
C'est la vie, Cherie.
That's what every turn in your life is like. Good, followed by bad, followed by the worst, and when you're at the brink of giving up, it starts getting better again.
She was there, at the edge, jumping off the cliff. 
She could look back only to find demolition. Bits and pieces. Scars and wounds. She was so busy looking back that she overlooked what lay before her. There's always sunshine beyond those dark clouds that haunt your present. But a distraught person has every reason to not believe. She didn't either.
She gagged as Fear enveloped her heart. She choked on self pity and spat out her confidence. 
She believed that there was nothing left to believe anymore. Nothing.
A whisper in her ear and a hand at her waist, pulled her back into the realm of possibility.
Was it possible? Was it real? Reality was too harsh and her dreams too unreal. 
Fighting against reality, soothing herself by her dreams, she refused to open her eyes. She wouldn't dare see the world again. She wouldn't dare to believe again.
Faith and Belief had failed her.
Her eyes twitched, Hope prodded at her heart. One eye at a time, she opened her eyes to see what stood in front of her. Her feet gave away, she fell to the ground.
This couldn't be happening.
Love stood tall in front of her. No, it had to be an illusion!
He reached out to her. But was she brave enough to take his hand again?
Patience embraced him as he smiled, waiting. Who could fight against those two? And for how long?
He sat down next to her, ignoring the whimpering noises she made. 
He took her hand in his and wiped her tears. "Come" he said.
Almost as if he'd given her strength, she stood up again. Silhouettes of Fear and Pity lingered as they were drawn out of her. She took a step forward, testing new waters.
How was this happening? She closed her eyes tightly and opened them again, expecting to see herself in a dark corner. But she was out there. Hand in hand with him again. Smiling after what seemed like eternity.
Embraced by Happiness. Backed by Hope. Blessed by Faith. Guided by Love. 
It was unreal, but true.
The sunshine had fought the darkness away. And for once, Reality was better than her Dreams.

Tuesday 29 October 2013

Band Baaja Baarat!

Winter chills. Wedding bells.
As a hardcore Indian who sweats profusely under the blazing sun, and one who loves the smell of mehendi, this is my best quarter of the year.
Come November, invitations start flooding in by the dozen every week. Beautiful sarees, heavy jewelry and dark mehendi starts overpowering the Hindu households. Long lost cousins are placed awkwardly next to us and we're expected to make small talk which generally begins with "we met at *insert random name* didi's wedding last year, remember?" and ends with, "yes yes we should meet up". Next December, repeat.

Weddings are important to every member of the family for different reasons. The kids, because they get a day off from homework and their cheeks pulled by a hundred people. The women because they get to gather up and give and take gossip about the who's whos at the wedding and subtly show off their sarees and jewelry. The men, for it's more often than not, an open bar and temporary freedom from the endless clatter.

Growing up, I've fallen in love with the concept of marriage. The wedding ceremonies starting ten days prior to the D-Day, the attention paid to intricate details, the sanctity of the institution and the family reunions.

My grandmother whispered in my ear before we went to a wedding last week, "Carry yourself well. You're a woman now. People are always looking for matches to make at weddings." It made me laugh. But it made my heart flutter. What if the guy I'm going to spend the life with is at the next wedding I attend? What if he's out there looking for me and sees me doing something weird like choking over a PaniPuri or guffawing loudly? Will he fall in love with my weirdness or will it repulse him?

At my cousin's wedding last year, they clasped hands and smiled deeply at each other when the mangalsutra hitched them together for life. "I want that", I thought immediately. Not just married, but happily married.

Drape that saree, put on the heavy jewelry, let your hair fall over your shoulders, curl that eye liner and smack those red lips. He's somewhere out there, looking for you, waiting. Waiting for the Band to play the Baaja at your Baarat!
Didi's Wedding, December '12.

Balls-ywood.

Final Scene:
Girl runs from the villains who are convincingly slower than a girl wearing stilettos. Bad guy catches up with the heroine and Kaboooom! Macho Man is here!
Twenty odd minutes of blood curdling screams and swishing of every weapon from guns to swords. With two bullet wounds and a torn T-shirt, the hero kills the villain with one stab of the blunt knife. Hero and heroine reunite. The End. They all lived happily ever after.
Remind you of anything? Every other Bollywood movie perhaps?

Don't get me wrong, I'm a sucker for all the drama Hindi movies feed us.
I believe that one day a man will love me as much as Shah Rukh loves his heroines. I believe that it's okay to be standing tall after having two beer bottles broken on your head etc.

But Bollywood puts realism to shame. A conversation between Bollywood and Realism would probably be limited to - "RIP, Realism."
What pushed me to write this? Chennai Express. Hands down.
So, you decide to chuck the ashes of the man that raised you in a random creek and skip off to Goa? Okay.
You're taken to Chennai instead, by one girl and her Sumo wrestler brothers? Okay.
She says you're her husband to be and you accept it ever so gracefully despite knowing her father is the Don? Okay.
You get one chance to save your life from the underworld family and you choose to get drunk and do an item number instead? Okay.
You do flee and then you waste petrol worth thousands and come back to the Don and the creepily tall man, both of who want you dead? Okay.
You fight the creepily tall man and his never ending minions for hours on end, have stab wounds, should have a couple of fractures and yet, you can stand on your feet and give a speech about how you love her and run to her and embrace her? You wake up the next morning with nothing but one tiny Band-Aid on your forehead? Okay.
You expect the audience to believe it all and appreciate your cinematography skills? Not okay.

We've grown up. Bollywood needs to too.
Where the ever so long fight scenes maybe entertaining to some, most of us are looking for something that won't put our brains to shame. It's time for Bollywood to stop playing on the emotions of it's audience and create real, believable art that sets those brain cells churning.

At the pace at which the Hindi cinema is going, we'll have the British taking over us all over again.
Bollywood moments in Life.
Come on Bollywood, show us what you got.

The Three P's.

1. It's Three P's, Not Four.
2. This isn't about a Marketing Strategy.

I'm a middle class citizen of India and this is my story.
I wake up every morning, take the train to college, attend my lectures, take the train back home, do my chores, sleep. Sounds simple? Not if you look closely.
On my way to the station I often come across men who believe that every woman is theirs to stare at. I live through that every day. The overflowing trains are merciless to one and all. Train travel conditions you to swim underwater for a couple of hours at least, if you know what I mean. I thank the Lord every time I get off a train in one piece. On my way back, repeat.
Still sounds simple? Look closer.
I don't belong to that strata of people who spend money for a living. We're the people that don't spend every alternate night in clubs or throw parties that can afford to invite random strangers too.
We're the people that prefer kande pohe over pancakes and puranpoli over...well, you get the point.

When I come across a sticky situation, I don't say "Tujhe pata hai mera baap kaun hai?" cause I know that the guy in front of me will know my dad just as well as the PM knows the people of this country. Making 'one call' doesn't get me three cars full of people to solve my situation. I can't commit a crime and be rest assured that'll my father will make a few calls here and there and I'll get away scott free.
We don't have celebrities, politicians or the underworld dropping in for chai-biscuit. Nobody in my extended family has ever seen a gun, except in movies, or Diwali.

My father doesn't sport a red tilak on his forehead and wear white clothes and fold his arms to the public. He doesn't stand on a stage and make promises to them. Nobody's life depends on the direction of movement of his head. Nobody hangs on to his every word and hitch hopes to it. We can't have a car with 100% tinted windows and get away with it. I wasn't given a swanky imported car with a VIP number on my 18th birthday. 

I'm an Indian citizen. And I face situations where I'm forced to shut up and gulp down my rights because my life is dear to me. 
No matter how much you want to stand up for your rights, you can't. Cause you fear for life. And as girls, for our dignity.
A wad of notes in their pocket, a gun at their belt, a couple of contacts in their phones and the backing of an influential man is all it takes for these scoundrels to do what they like and get away with it.

India is my country. But all Indians are not my brothers and sisters.
To feel safe, secure and peaceful in this country, you need three things. 

Power, Politics and Paisa.



Wednesday 23 October 2013

Happy Birthday, HeartBreak!

If you can relate to the title, you're either as crazy as I am or you have serious issues in life. Or both.

What is it that makes a person hold on to something that hurts for this long? Lolisms. Had I known, I wouldn't be writing this.
Getting used to a heart break is probably worse than having your heart broken. It's like burning your hand accidentally and letting it flame for a long time. I know, ouch.
But you know what the real issue is? The fire does tend to die out at a point, but you've gotten so used to living like this that you add kerosene to it to keep it that way. You're afraid to try again. The comfort of someone having ruthlessly broken your heart is too convenient to start over. You're scared to start over. All the ifs and buts come flooding back to you. No, it's better to drown in self pity.

Nothing is as disgraceful as self pity. You're really going to sit in a corner, eat tubs of ice cream, become anti social, let go of yourself and become a hippie, all for the one person that never cared? I don't pity you, I despise you.

Till a couple of days ago I was just like you. Conveniently shying away from the world because he was one of them and it didn't turn out so good. Then I saw what a lump of shit I was being. Did he deserve this importance I was giving him? By cutting everyone out, avoiding all those things we used to do together?
Shame on me if I let someone divert me from my way of living my life. That's right, MY life, not his. About me, not him.

It's okay to have your heart broken. There's always people surrounding you with the glue and tape you need. What's not okay is to hold on to it. Don't turn your back to those who're offering to fix you.
I'm proud to have had my heart broken. It opened alleys to so many other people who really cared.
This day last year, I was sobbing. Today, I'm smiling from ear to ear as I think of every person who's here with me.
Happy Birthday Heart Break! You did me good! 
See you around... Not ;)

Saturday 19 October 2013

Nude Souls

"Honey if you're going to be two faced, at least make one of them pretty." - Marilyn Monroe.

Most people I've met have had two personalities. One for themselves and one for the world. So much for Sigmund Freud's painstakingly written theories. It's probably not intentional, just a habit that can be conveniently passed off for a human trait.
So what is it that makes people adopt two strikingly different personalities and portray two different images? I'm no Freud or Bernays, but I have a theory of my own.
I believe that people wear masks to hide their real selves. Be it insecurity, a superiority complex or just plain desire to be someone else. 
Why? That remains unanswered.
There's beauty in simplicity.

At the end of the day, people that love you for what you pretend to be are never going to accept who you really are. Those that have seen the worst of you won't really care. 
Cliche`. I know. But these become cliche`s for a reason, as simple as one that they've always stood true.
To put yourself out there is a task so difficult that people find a way around it. It's time we stop playing hide and seek with ourselves. It's time we stop running in circles and come face to face with our real selves.
How difficult can it be, stripping yourself of everything that's not you?
Accepting yourself is the first step to finding yourself. The day you're happy with your own self, you wont find the need to impersonate someone else.

Beauty is within you. And no, that's not just a statement that sounds pretty and is thrown around in novels to give them depth. That's the raw truth.

"Look inside of you, what do you see?
An unmasked personality, a raw clarity..
You fail to recognize her, you have no clue. 
But that's her, that's the real you."
I wrote these lines the day I met myself. For real.
I've been true to myself ever since. My opinions may clash with yours, but they'll still be mine.

With every mask you shed, you go one step closer to finding yourself.
Happiness is directly proportional to the nudity of your soul. Strip the weight off before you sink beyond recognition.

Saturday 12 October 2013

What Really Matters..

Since childhood we're hammered over one thing. Prioritize. Prioritize. Prioritize.
Studies first, TV later.
Finish your food first, go and play later.
Say sorry first, then you can have your toy back.
Everything has been so conveniently categorized into first and second for us.

But today, standing at the threshold of adulthood, everything looks so hazy. We've gone past lunchboxes and homework and Cartoon Network. Okay not Cartoon Network, but the rest. Prioritizing still stands to be our, well, priority, but how? How do I know what's going to make me land on my face and what's not? How do I know what'll make me cry out of happiness and what won't? See that's the downside of growing up. Taking your own decisions and with it, the risk of taking the wrong ones too. 
So girls, boyfriend or friends? I can hear so many echoing in my head, saying "Of course my boyfriend. My friends are just as important but boyfriend boyfriend hota hai."  One out of thousands may have struck Mr. Perfect but most don't. Diplomacy. No wait, sheer stupidity.
Making one guy your priority over a handful of those who probably know you more than your Prince Charming does is nothing but that.
Snap out of Fairyland land, honey. He isn't going to come trotting on a horse every time you're in trouble. Heck he wont even know about it half the time. But they will. Those that he got chosen over more than just once. Those, who mean it when they say Friends 'Forever'. 
I've learned my lessons, lived them too.
Last year I fainted at the Railway platform with just one friend by my side. When the others got news of it, they, as they say "ran a marathon" and came to fetch me. That, to me, matters.
I got told off for something in the library and a friend of mine fought for me. That, matters.
Today, post the incident. Keepers.
I got sick in Lavasa and got hospitalized. Everyone stood with me, throughout. That matters.
Just today, a waiter stepped out of line while waiting our table. That friend of mine stood up for me, told him off in a not so decent manner and sent him off. It reduced me to tears to know that I have friends like these looking out for me. And when I cried, they all knew why I'd really cried. Cause they've actually listened even when I was droning. That matters.

So it's time you reconsider your priorities girls and hold close to you all that really matters.

Thursday 3 October 2013

Inception

The break of dawn wipes away the darkness,
Fades out all the stars, one by one.
The sky turns a liquid golden,
As the sun shines with an air of dominance.

Stifling a yawn I force my eyes open,
All happiness drains out as my dream is broken,
My smile has turned upside down,
What remains of it is a morbid frown..

Closing my eyes, I watch you go,
That bubbly laughter, that meaningless ego.
I see you walk away with the same air of pride,
That like most other things, you never cared to hide..

A tear trickles down my face,
Brings back memories from all those days,
From midnight fights to your hollow race,
To get the best looking girl and show off your embrace.

Everyday is another bad dream,
Every hour is a fresh stream of tears,
Every minute is a decade without you,
Every second, a bundle of new fears..

I stare out of that window,
Will you ever come back?
Isn't it time already? Or is it too late?
It's been quite a while now, I've really lost track.

Reality seeps in like a bitter medicine,
I know you're gone and gone for good.
One day I will forgive and forget,
I know I will cause I know I should.

The shatter of dreams, wipes away the hopes,
Fades out all my illusions, one by one..
The sky is now a bitter gray,
My world crashes as I give up on the comfort of inception.

Karma.



As a estrogen charged human being who religiously PMSs every month, I just got one question to ask to all the men sniggering at different women at this moment, "Why?"
So what if she's wearing a short dress? Maybe she worked hard on that body and feels the need to flaunt it. Since when did the length of someone's dress start determining their accessibility?

Eve teasing. Molestation. Rape. Why? Because you're a man whose brain is down there?
It's pitiful that you doubt your manhood to such an extent that you need to exert force on a woman to feel proud about yourself.
It is also funny that you're so convinced that you'd never get the girl you want so you just force yourself on her.
And lastly, it is sickening that you think you can lay your hands on any woman and she'd whimper and obey.

If that's the way you treat a woman, your mother sure did a terrible job at getting you to respect her, and more importantly, a mistake by adding to the burden of the already over populated Earth by giving birth to you.

The man's world is drawing to an end. Your whim will now be at our mercy. Every woman will fight back and you will probably die of a shock of how strong a woman can be when she decides to.
But I hope that's not how your end draws. I hope you suffer every passing second and have a life full of regrets and sorrow.
A woman who can create a whole human being from within herself can just as easily destroy one.

You will eventually pay for every smirking eye you laid on a woman. For every comment that you passed. For every move that you made.

Cause honey, Karma is a bitch.


One can take you down, two can wipe you off.
.

Monday 23 September 2013

Dear Society.

I’ve made mistakes. Millions of them. I keep making mistakes. Often, I make the same mistakes over and over. And no matter how much I try not to, I’m going to keep making mistakes. Not because I want to, but because I can’t not make mistakes. I’m only human. Mistakes are the only constant in my life.
Everyone makes mistakes. I did. You did. She did. He did. You can hold it against me. You can criticize me. You can ridicule me. But you can’t judge me on the basis of something that I didn’t even mean to do. That’s exactly what a mistake. Something that you didn’t mean to happen, but it did anyway.
So no. You don’t get to judge me.
No matter how much I regret having done something I shouldn’t have, I can’t take it back. And I can’t change it. No matter how much I want to.
So why don’t you accept that I made a terrible mistake. One like that terrible mistake you made probably just once in life, but bad enough to never be able to forgive yourself anyway and let me off the hook?
Just because I don’t keep apologizing for a mistake doesn’t mean I’m glad I made it. So why don’t you cut me some slack and not make me curse myself every time?
You can pinch your nose, look at me accusingly, give me such a disgusted look that I want to bury myself a hundred times, but guess what, I forgave myself. And since you’re such a hold-it-against-you-forever person, I don’t care about you forgiving me anymore.
I’m a better person and I’d never make the terrible mistakes again. But I won’t waste my time trying to feed you that. You won’t buy it anyway. So why bother. So why don’t I save my time and yours, my breath and yours and not waste an effort.
Very sincerely,
The girl who stopped caring.

The Opacity of Nothingness.

"Hey, what's wrong?"
"Nothing."

"Are you crying?"
"Oh it's nothing!"

How many times have you passed off a tear as dirt in your eye? How often have you held back those emotions from the fear of vulnerability? How easy is it to say "I'm okay"? How difficult is it to really be okay?
How often do you really mean it when you say "It's nothing"?

As girls we're used to being emotional punchbags. Being on the receiving end of the overload of frustration, hurt and at times, anger. We're strong enough to deal with our problems and that of others. But does that really make us responsible for the happiness of the world and more? Aren't we entitled to our share of the moments that bring tears of joy for a change? I guess not.

We're born fighters. We fight for everyone and everything that's ours. We'll go that extra mile to catch the one tear that's about to drop from his eye. He'll probably just blame you for having been the reason for that tear in the first place but you'll know the truth and you'll just smile to yourself, hoping one day everything will change.
We invest so much in hope, don't we? Our worlds can in be in a turmoil but we'll still be hoping for something good to come out of it. We hope that things will go back to being how they used to be. We hope that he'll change for the better. We hope, till there's no room for hope. And then we just hope some more.
Truth? We're the hapless maniacs waiting for lightening to strike and the universe to do a cartwheel. Yes, hitching our wagons to stars. Stars that don't even exist.

How much longer are you going to hide behind the facet of nothingness? How much longer are you going to fight the battles of others against yourself? How much longer are you going to suppress all that's been struggling to express itself since eons?
In the middle of nowhere isn't half as bad as in the middle of nothing.
Not too far from now you'll drown in the hollowness of your defenses, while overlooking the opacity of your own feelings. And maybe then, it really will be what you always claimed it was... 'nothing'.

Hey, Soul Sister!

"In the end, it's the girlfriend's that stay", they say.
Well, I've had mine stick with me from the beginning, through the lows and well, she's been there forever.
If she finds out I've written about her on my blog, she'll just call me gay and desperate and hooked on to her for life. Well, in crude words, it really does boil down to that.
I don't know what I'd do without her. She's the one I turn to when I want to wrench my hair out of my head. If she didn't mean the life to me, I'd have had killed her long ago for her so called jokes that make you want to spend your allowance on a bottle of poison. No, seriously.
Which girl calls you and says, "Hey I might just be pregnant." really coolly and laughs for a minute while you've gotten like a thousand heart attacks and then says, "Eco fucked me."
If you laughed, die.

So you know, during the last year of your school you fill up slam books? She'd draw really ugly stick figures holding..well, sticks and write "Keep In Touch." Yeah, no. Not funny at all.

She's one person who can read through me like glass. I can put up a mask for the rest of the world but when it comes to her, I can dare to drop my defenses and cry like a baby for the lamest of reasons and I know I won't be judged.
Over the years, I've tried to write about her a number of times. Overload of content. Confusion. Shutting of laptop.
These six months were probably the worst months of my life. More often than not, I've cried myself to sleep and called her and droned about the same things over and over again. She's heard it all. For hours at times, offering the same support, same consolation and same strength every single time.
She's not just my best friend, she's my sister. My guide. My support system. My teacher. My rock.
I don't know what I'd do without you, Sampada. I really don't.

Hey Soul Sister,
You're the shizz. And I love you till the world's end.
Yes I really did that. In public. In a bookstore. In the romance section. Memories, 2010 :)

Sunday 22 September 2013

Once A Sulonian..


I scampered to make it to class before the “Warning Bell”.
Till 4th grade I gobbled up my lunch so I could go out and play for the rest of the Lunch Break.
I’m one of those very many students who stopped carrying a “Short Break Snack” after 7th grade because it was too childish.
I’d ring the huge bell in the 3rd standard corridor and run away while the watchman in the khaki uniform chased us.
I was a part of the mob at the canteen on Tuesdays and Fridays.
Tara bai and Laxmi bai were as popular as any of the teachers.
I played “Concentration” every single day during Sports Day practice.
I was one of those who knew that the ‘Lamp’ had never ‘Just Been Lit’ on the Lamp Lighting Ceremony every month.
A.P.P and M.D periods ranked among my favourites.
I knew exactly who they were referring to when they said “Amma”.
I was (also) victimized by the Music Teacher who hated almost everyone.
I was lucky enough to have the funniest guy on earth teach me Marathi.
I screamed my lungs out during the Youth Festival after we won competition after competition.
I screwed up the Craft assignment and passed off someone else’s work under my name and got an A+.
I spent two minutes after every period in the washroom, as though that was a necessity.
I made a cake for the first time in school, in 8th grade in the Home Science room on the Third Floor, right next to the slope.
When it came to asking the Bus Number, it was always “Takle ko puch”.
I’ve danced my heart out in the Gopalvan.
No matter how tone deaf I was, I sang with everyone else and enjoyed it all the same in the Music room.
My heart broke when I saw the Old Assembly Hall being broken down.
I spent 12 years out of 18 in this place.
I love school for what it was and what it gave me.
The BasketBall court, the Football ground, the Office area, the Watchman’s Cabin, the canteen near the old KG Park, the little secret hideaway above the third floor in the Old Building, the Old Assembly Hall, the Gopalvan, the New Assembly Hall, the Sahana, the Malhar, the Darbaar, the Old Labs, the mesmerizing corridors.. School was and will always be the most amazing place I’ve been to.
A proud Sulonian,
Till Eternity.





Sunday 13 January 2013

I See Plastic.



When you walk into your classroom,at least a hundred out of the three hundred smile at you.
When you get into the lift, the irritating woman from the third floor, you absolutely hate is in there and you greet her.
You tell your best friend how annoying a certain girl is and then you squeal and hug the girl when you meet her. Sometimes, you may also tell her how pretty she's looking. (Yes, you did mention to your best friend how ugly her red streaks are.)
Honest much?

Just today, I was coming back home from college and was standing at the door, preparing to get off at the next station.
A lady weighing roughly a hundred kilos stepped on my foot, which was already bandaged owing to a recent accident. She said sorry and all the other flowery things. Then she scooted inside and told the lady next to her, "Why should you stand at the door if you're already hurt?" in Marathi, all this while, smiling at me.
With all the respect and politeness in the world, I told her, "Aunty, I'm a Maharashtrian."
She was visibly embarrassed, and I gave her a scathing look, politely.

Its a fake fake world out there. And you're so accustomed to the falseness of it that you've just conditioned yourself to play along and live with it.

During Malhar, the Xavier's College Fest, I wasn't "The-Bitch-Who-I-Hate-So-Much" anymore. I was suddenly "The-Long-Lost-Friend-Of-Mine-Who is coincidentally working at the VIP gates."
Well, just so you know, I was back to being The Bitch as the third day of Malhar ended.

We're all living in the fake world, living our lives under false pretenses where everything is "Cute" and "Awesome" and where everyone loves everyone..as long as its of some use to them.

Birthdays, for example, are the days when everyone loves you, and you're suddenly extremely pretty and everyone's best friend. Whats funny is that you actually respond to all that sugar coated diabetic sweetness. Which lasts only for that day btw.

When you open your eyes to reality, and sacrifice your comfort of delusions, you'll see people.
Those who're honest enough to tell you what makes you look fat and what doesn't.
Those who'll know all your dark secrets and never judge you.
Those who are familiar with your negative aspects and still love you.
Those who will make you laugh even after you're punished for laughing. Not those who look at you menacingly and pretend to be sad that you're being chucked out.

When I look around today, I see plastic. If you tug too hard at it, it may just.. Break.

The Beginning Of Perfect Endings


Not everyone’s story begins with “Once upon a time there was a princess…” and not everybody gets to have a “and they lived happily ever after” for an ending. Most of us have confused beginnings and terribly confused endings.
We’re those people who tumble out of our beds, run after buses, trip over shoelaces, prefer messy buns over shiny curls and find comfort in pyjamas.
I wake up to a groggy version of myself every morning. I run late, I lie to my best friend about having left for college while I’m texting from the bathroom (Yeah I do that), I spill milk over myself more than just once a while, I curse at the liftman when he doesn’t wait while I’m done tying my shoelaces, I forget my train pass and pay hefty fines to TCs who seem to make a fortune out of me alone, I laugh shamelessly when my best friend points out funny women in train compartment, gossip peps me up and chaai warms my heart.
I’m the Girl Next Door who can go unnoticed if not looked at closely enough.
In this world of glitz and blinding glamour, it’s me and countless others like me who blend into the grey walls of the world, giving the much deserved importance and attention to the Glam Dolls and their Gucci’s .Who else should the spotlight be on, but them?
We’ve always believed that the Fairy tales are rightfully patented by the patriarchs of Versace and Steve Maddens… That Prince Charming’s white horse will trot right past you and stand at the gates of the Royal Palace for the Princess to glide along the marble staircase and be swept off her feet and ride into the sunset and of course, live happily ever after.
Times changed. Scriptwriters changed.
Prince Charming won’t necessarily wear armor and trot on the Royal White Horse. He might just step out of a White Car that owes its color to the choice of his Princess, who is in reality, the Girl Next Door. These are the times when we get to pen our fairy tales ourselves. The Girl Next Door is no competition to the Cheerleader Dolls but she’s the one that won Prince Charming’s heart and got him hitched for life.
I’m the Girl Next Door who got her Prince Charming. I’m that girl who penned down her own happy story. I’m the one who got to be his Princess and be swept off my feet and drive into the sunset.
Not everyone gets “And they lived happily ever after” for an ending. But I did. I got my fairy
tale ending.
All you need to do is believe. Believe that somewhere, your Prince Charming is scheming ways to woo you, that someday you will live happily ever after, that somehow you will a have a happy ending. A perfect fairy tale ending.