Being Human

Yet another day, yet another news channel reporting a terrorist attack. Yet another group of innocent souls being offered to a supposed deity under the name of religion and chastity.

It has become so common a news that it’s not 'breaking news’ anymore. Neither does it break you. Murder, rape and crime has become so synonymous with the human race that it doesn’t move you anymore. It doesn’t concern you. So you offer condolences, say a silent prayer and switch the channel. Until next time.

The internet is now flooded with a ton of open letters to Pakistan and the terrorists that caused the mayhem. I don’t address terrorists or the government or the citizens of Pakistan or any other country in particular. My address, is to you. You as an individual, a mother, a daughter, a son, a husband, wife, teacher, CEO, maid, driver… human? Is it still valid for us to use this term to define ourselves? Is this really how God intended us to be?

Today, it was the merciless slaughter of the kids in Pakistan. Last year it was a young girl being brutally raped in India. A few years ago it was a terrorist attack in America. God knows when the next attacks will be and where. But one thing’s for certain, they will happen. Lets face the raw, relentless truth than indulging in a blissful state of ignorance. There’s going to be another great chunk of people being bumped off the earth for no reason or rhyme, there’s going to be immeasurable crime against women because, well, they’re women. There’s going to be acts of inhumanity that’ll shake you worse than the last, every single time.

My heart went out to the mothers in Pakistan who had to face the lifeless corpses of their children. But this isn’t the Indian in me taking a stand, today, I speak, not as an individual or an Indian or a woman or an adult. This is a human praying for the souls of hundreds of those who are now just that. Souls. 

We detached ourselves from humanity the minute we decided that it was okay to call the shots in someone else’s destiny. 

We live in an era where ‘Being Human’ is merely a statement that you pay oodles of cash to flaunt across your chest. It’s nothing more than a brand. A tag. A money minting machine. 

As an Indian, I’m appalled.

As a woman, I’m scared for my dignity and life.

As a daughter, a sister and friend, I’m afraid.

But as a human?

As a human, I’m ashamed. I’m ashamed of being human in a human race where humanity is a lost cause.

Preserving Memories

 Eversince the much applauded digital revolution, memories have become about pictures and screenshots of conversations. We welcomed smart phones ever so happily and there's nothing wrong with it.

But remember the time when we'd write letters? When we'd pass bits and pieces of paper to have a conversation with someone in school. It'd have to go through rows and rows of people till it finally reached the person you intended to send it to. Remember the days when gifts were more about handmade cards and apologies were written down with lots of sad faces?

Those were the days.

I'm a self confessed phone addict. My parents have declared to family and friends that my phone is as important as one of my limbs, and I agree with that shamelessly. Not that I'm proud of it, but well, it's just something that's well, true and I can't really deny it. Having said that, my biggest weakness is handwritten notes and handmade gifts. Nothing screams "You matter to me" like handmade gifts. 

Anyone can sashay into a store and pick up a bottle of perfume or a printed birthday card. Irrespective of how intricate it is or how expensive it is, it seems worthless in front of something that took time, patience, effort and love.

I preserve movie tickets in the form of memories. They sit around in my purse till the print fades out and all that's visible is the name of the theater. Even after that's smudged the two tiny fragments of paper mean more to me than anything. When I look at them, it all comes back to me.

Every letter anyone has ever written to me sits in a box in my drawer. I'm a sucker for anything that's handwritten.

Every year someone asks me what I want for my birthday, I tell them to write me something. Anything. It doesn't have to be an essay or an anthology. Something as simple as a vivid memory we shared a decade ago is enough to cause my heart to flutter and eyes to tear up.

I've always made it a point to write people letters, cause there's no better way to express yourself than writing them letters. When I saw my best friend after eight long months, I wrote her a letter and although her attention span of reading barely expands to a minute, I could see that it meant a lot to her too.

Writing Facebook posts for someone's birthday is touching, but writing the same on a piece of paper is moving.

I draw strength from the letters people write to me every time I hit a low in my life. I draw them out and make it a point to read each of them to the last word. There's nothing as assuring as someone telling you how they feel about you and nothing as empowering as being able to relive it word by word.

I agree that it's a busy life and your schedule is jammed from minute to minute. But the next time you buy someone a gift, or a card, make sure you jot down a little note along with it. Because believe me, that's something they'll preserve.

Taking pictures is great, but framing it and gifting it for someone to look at everyday is better. Memories are made so you can cherish them. Storing them away in a folder in your laptop or your smart phone isn't the way. Prop them up where you can see them every day and smile. Smile, because there's always someone who would do anything to see that one smile. And if that's not something worth remembering, what is?

Letting Go.

One of the hardest things you will ever do is to let go of something you have held on to in the darkest of times, harshest of hours and roughest of roads. But if it doesn't offer you a reason to wait around, there's nothing to do but to let go.
When you invest your time, efforts and emotions in something or someone, it's only human for you to urge your patience to hold on just a wee bit more.
 You wait. And you wait. And when you're tired of waiting, you wait some more. Not because you cannot go on without them, but because you always dreamed that you never would.
An ending that you thought you would never see. A beginning that you thought would never end.
It comes crashing and you don't know which way to run, because by now you're hallucinating of them in every nook and corner of your mind and heart. Some would call you crazy, but I'd call you real.
If you feel like your world has come to a standstill, that time has frozen and life seems like a haze with illusions of solutions but no real way out, I'd call you human. Just another human with a heart.

If you hold on for longer than you've considered letting go, all the strength in the world isn't going to be enough to give you the little push you know you need. You're at the edge of the cliff and you know you have to take the jump, but your heart tugs you backwards. Why wouldn't it? You've spent an eternity cherishing the solidity of land, kissing the grounds and nuzzling in the comfort of what is nothing but a slab of mud underneath your feet. But it's your comfort zone. It's where you've always been. It's like home and you've shed your masks here.
When reality hits you like those sharp winds, you wonder what will happen of you if you fall. Scary, indeed. But what if you fly?

You build something from scratch, you tend to it, nourish it, pay heed to every need and meet every expectation.
Much like growing a plant.
You sow the seeds, water it every day, make sure it gets the sunlight it needs, pull out the weeds that eat at its soil, prune the branches that wither, just about anything it takes. But it's a plant with more thorns than flowers. It pricks your fingers every time you attempt to nurture it. Yes, it gives you beautiful flowers from time to time, but what purpose does it serve if your vision is too hazed by the tears it drew to admire the excruciating beauty of the flower that blooms among a bed of thorns?

Life offers you a lot of chances. Some seem easier than the rest and some seem impossible to hand out.
Some situations resemble a death sentence and some will set you afloat all the way to Cloud 9.

But sometimes, you have no choice but to let it go. No matter how miserable it makes you, no matter how much it breaks you, it's the right thing to do and you know it.
Letting go of anything that involved love may seem like a task so impossible that it may physically break you. And there's only one thing worse than that, it's to hold on to something that hurts.

If it doesn't make you happy, let it go.
Sometimes the choice is between letting go and letting go.
Let it go.

Between The Books

"For it was books that made me feel that perhaps I wasn't completely alone."

I first met my best friend when I was in kindergarten. I was visiting the school library during my vacations and there she was, surrounded by a pile of my favorite books. That's probably why today, sixteen years later she's my best friend in all of mankind.

Growing up, I wasn't exactly a social bee. I had a disturbing childhood and a high school life, parts of which would safely pass off for a nightmare. I have some horrendous accounts from my adolescence that I have happily put away under the 'Please Ignore' tab in my memory.
Throughout this tumultuous journey I've had so far, I've had one steady source of strength; my books. Be it Archie's, Roald Dahl, Nora Roberts, Nicholas Sparks, Abdul Kalam, just about anything and anybody. If it was there, in print, I wanted to read it.

There's something so alluring about the idea of an alternate reality! Living life through someone else's soul, peering through the glasses of another being and recognizing your heart beating for someone else's sorrow is an experience that helps you grow as a person.
When I read a book, I've lived in a different part of the world, seen a different era and spoken a new language; all in a matter of a few hours and each different from another. Books are a uniquely portable magic. What fool would let go of one? Or worse yet, never pick one up?

I don't drink and I don't smoke. I haven't felt the need for either supplements to transport me to a world of make-belief. I prefer what I like to call a book hangover. The inability to get past the world of the last book I read is much better than the throbbing headache an alcohol influenced hangover gives you.
I remember, when I first read Harry Potter, I was probably just nine years old. I couldn't get over the tragedy of not being a witch and I looked down upon myself for being a Muggle. I distinctly recall having spoken the Hogwarts lingo for a long long time after.

Seven out of ten people my age prefer movies over books these days. I confess to have judged every single person who has frowned when I say I'm reading a book. Give me one reason not to and I'll give you ten as to why it's only legit.



Books can create a gravitational force within you that drags you into the world you're reading about. The protagonist's heartache becomes yours. You laugh, cry and fume along with him. You can feel the butterflies in your stomach when he has a romantic moment. You sob away to glory when his loved one is torn away from him. You cuss under your breath when the antagonist strikes his signature move. In a turn of pages, his world becomes yours. Between the pages of a book is the loveliest place to be.
Without books, you have only lived one life. Loved one man. Weathered one era. Encountered only so many people. Seen only so much. Learned only so much. Felt only so much.

For you see,
It isn't always about the happy ending. Sometimes, it's about the story. 
Life is too short to live it just once. Pick one off the shelf. Delve into another world. Create your own portal and travel to a world of your choice. Reality may not give you that option, but an alternate reality will.
If you had one wish, where would you go and what are you waiting for?

The Beautiful Mess

A tiny coffee shop in the middle of nowhere,
A lonely soul looking for a pair,
A stranger taking shelter from the storm,
It was but a love story taking form..

Hollow like a copse,
Heart filled with despair,
She clung on to what was, a rather treacherous affair.

A single tear welled up, and many others followed,

Treated with disregard, her life was just another bunch of sorrows..

It had been quite a while,

A month, maybe a year..

She had but forgotten what it was like to smile.

Rough and rigid, he was a man of flair,

The world at his feet,

He lived life with not a care..

He knew what it was like to be vulnerable,

Had endured pain beyond the bearable..

She had had her share of heartache,

Tread on ghastlier paths than she could take..

He'd sworn never again to look love in the face,

She had grown weary of the never ending chase..

Two unknown souls with a single pain,

Two estranged hearts that'd never be the same.

She blinked back her tears as her bore into her eyes,

Her nerves reacted with an electric fear,

The kind when fire meets ice.

Within a split second, he knew she was the one.

Her tattered heart skipped a beat,

Something invigorating had just begun.

Sparing no room for thought, he sealed it with a kiss.

Resurfacing from heaven, she knew she'd tasted bliss.

They pranced out of the coffee shop,

Her lonely soul had found its pair,

Hand in hand through the storm,

This lovely damage was beyond repair.

The Pride and The Bridegroom

Girl and boy meet. Fall in love. Get married. Have kids. Live happily ever after. 

It's wonderful to trace this story line in the marvelous novels I indulge in. But real life is a little more complicated than that. A lot, maybe.

It's not exactly a foreign concept. You have either felt it yourself or seen it happen to someone else. Either way, it happens and extensively so.

If you managed to secure your happy ending the moment your stumbled across your happy beginning, you're one hell of a lucky woman. Hold on to it.

Blame the nerves or blame the pride, either way, you don't see him stepping down and giving up where he should. No, he gives up where he shouldn't. Unless he's Nathan Scott. 

The male domination that supposedly trailed away centuries ago has left behind traces in a man or two.

From what I hear, there's a theory that allows a man to have an extra marital affair and denies his spouse the right for the same. I don't have details on this theory because frankly, it seemed too horrific a statement and I'd hate to have it proven to me.

"Any man that flirts with you will be murdered in his bed." That coming from a guy who flits from flower to flower without having to pay nectar tax. Real smooth, no?

More than just once I've overheard a girl complaining about how he is 'behaving weird'. Heck, I've been that girl more times than I can remember.

I want some time off. 

I can't deal with you right now.

Leave me be for sometime, alright?

Why do I even do things for you?

Do what you want, just please don't annoy me.

There's barely ever any reasoning for these. Felt it, said it, got away with it.

If you have someone that you know will never leave your side, never leave theirs. One of the biggest mistakes we make these days is to take people for granted. We test their patience till they lose it all and if you're really late at scampering, you might just lose it all. And if that doesn't scare you, I don't know what can.

It's never too late to make someone feel loved. For there's a reason why some stay back and endure your 'weird' phase. Those who stay hold their ground for a reason, one that doesn't always make sense. But they're there. And that's what matters. That's what should matter.

So, swallow the pride or pass off on the bride.
The choice is yours!

How Mental is Judgemental?

Stereotype: A fixed, over generalized belief about a particular group or a class of people.
That's how my Psychology text book defined it. I swore by it until of course, I stumbled by the real deal.

Anyone with a tattoo is immediately categorized as 'wasted'.
If I love books, it's taken for granted that I have no wild side and that I am a nerd.
A girl who wears what she likes is someone with no values and God forbid if something were to happen to her, she definitely 'asked for it'.
Everyone with a beard and a moustache isn't a terrorist for God's sake.
Stereotyping doesn't just involve having a 'fixed, over generalized belief', it tends to draw some people away from the crowd and be looked down upon. It forms the thin line between what is considered normal and abnormal. It divides, and it rules.

Knowingly or unknowingly you're judging someone at every casual glance you cast. It's not always words that make your point. All that sniggering, raised eye brows, muffled laughs and pointing fingers qualifies too.
Congratulations, you have kept alive the tradition that came from God knows where and became an every day thing for everybody with the ability of forming an opinion.

When I write an article about a heartache you take it for granted that some boy trashed my heart and walked all over it.
Maybe that happened. Maybe not. Or maybe I'm just so good at what I do that I recreated a story from scratch and compelled you to confuse it with reality.
And at this precise moment, you're calling me a pompous rat.

If you ask me, unnecessary judgement and frail stereotyping is taking us down with much more force than dowry, casteism or global warming ever will.
Okay, maybe not the global warming but you know what I mean.

I want to be able to wear a pair of shorts and not be labelled 'easy'.
I want to be able to sport my glasses and not be called 'nerdy'.
I want to hang out with my guy friends till whenever I want and not fear being the 'girl who is always with boys- question her character'.
I want sarees to be as cool as tank tops.

I want to skip all the parts where prejudice gets the better of me. 

I'm genuinely sick of being cast into boxes according to my appearance and my behavior that changes every few months anyway. Aren't you?

How fair is it to chalk out someone's life span based on the hour long account that you've had of them?
How sensible is it to form an opinion about someone you don't know?
How stupid is it to carry on this tradition that's nothing but well, stupid?

How mental is judgemental, really?

One of a Kind

She was never like the rest of them.
She was more of a messy hair bun and oversized glasses than cascading luscious hair and a blood red lipstick. A new book caught her attention more than a new dress. An old yellow Classic with splattered ink made her swoon.
She wasn't from the other world, but she had just about a touch of normal.
Some would call her mad. But then again, she embraced that madness. There was a hint of serenity in her otherwise chaotic soul.
The madness drove her. Pushed her. Even though it meant being pushed away from certain heart fluttering moments, she floated on in the direction the madness drew her in.

In the ever confused world of impersonations where everyone wanted to be like someone and wanted her to be more like someone, she was at peace with herself. Well, almost.
In the short, terminal life that she led, she was labelled, judged, vehemently isolated and jeered at more than just once. So when someone jabbed at her heart until it broke, she didn't quite fret about it. It wasn't new to her. Nothing new at all.

She floated on as time would have her to. She ventured into new pastures, each greener than the previous. She gathered many a time bound friends on her journey to the final destination of happiness. Each took leave with every step taken. It's a cycle, she told herself. One should go for another to arrive. And she smiled, yet again. A smile fainter than what it used to be. But a smile, nevertheless.

Alone she may have been, but the journey she had taken was after all through the icy needles of society. It took from her. And oh boy, it took from her.
Her shoulders hunched with every step further now. The hands that had held others up now covered her own face in mistrust. The eyes that used to glisten now had been weighed down by the ghosts of self doubt.

Fearing the loss of her identity in the over-riding wave of sterotype, she moulded herself into what others perceived normal. The spontaneity withered. The realness faultered.
She was lost in her ownself, blinded by the idea of normalcy that they had set out for her.

Be more like her they said.
Be happier they said.
Be free. Be alive. Be youthful they said.

Be yourself, they never said.

There she was again, lost in the crossroads of the realm of happiness and the projection of the perfect girl.
She struggled to find herself again. Kicked frantically into the cuffs that held her down, gagging into the suffocation that societal expectations had caused.

She was one of them now. Limp, lifeless and not herself.
She had transformed into what she had been proud of not being. She had crossed over to the other side. She was a woman of many facades now.

 Yet somehow, she was still one of a kind.

The Chronicles of Flesh and Metal

"..But... never mind."
I don't know about you but a lot of my conversations have ended like this.
I'm from the awkward generation that saw the ethnicity in handwritten letters as well as the swiftness in e-mails. We didn't have a hard time deciding what was better because owing to human nature, we slipped into that which was more convenient and comfortable. Technology.
They say that had it not been for technology we'd still be ripping raw meat off bones with our teeth. While that's taking it too far, fact remains that we would be far behind in terms of development and progress. Yes, we have covered large grounds in those fields but since everything comes with a price, this did too.

What we gave up for the sake of societal and monetary progress was just as crucial if not more. 
Connectivity. Communication. Humanity. Care.
In your every day life you probably don't even have the time to sit back and think it through, but if you look just a tad bit deeper, you'll see that somewhere in the rat race to god knows where, we seem to have snapped the cord that held us together.

I feel for the generation that followed mine, deeply. Ours transcended into technology in our adolescent years, letting us taste the raw earthen way that bound people together. These kids, they've tumbled into the abyss of this cruel angel called technology since their infantile years. A six year old can unlock a phone and play a song of his choice these days. When I was six, I was barely learning to access paint on my box-computer that I sorely miss.

I'm ashamed to accept the fact that I can't keep a phone conversation going for too long. I prefer texting over calling because I can conveniently tune out if the conversation hits a dead-end.
All these soul stirring quotes about how people prefer meeting in person than have a conversation over the phone do more justice nuzzled behind the flat LED screens. In real life, it's just something they say. Some claim they make. Some worldly statement they throw because it sounds so damn good.

Truth is, our real lives have come to a grinding halt.
We smile at our phones more than we greet the people around us.
We embrace our virtual lives much more than we even try to soak up our real lives.
And that isn't even the saddest part. What's worse is that we've grown to like it. We've made it our way of life. Something so entwined in our everyday reality that we seem to have lost touch with the real reality anymore.

That being said, technology isn't exactly up for evasion. Because then our virtual lives would come to a screeching halt too, and we'd be left with potentially nothing.
Stepping out to admire the chastity of nature doesn't hurt. Neither does inviting people over for a cuppa instead of sending those animated emoticons of steaming cups that do nothing good for my morning anyway.

We've started to lose touch with flesh and mass. Our system has adapted to metal and scratch-proof glass screens.

In this digital world where someone's "last seen" matters so much, more often than not we fail to recollect when we last met. 

S(hhh)ex.

If you're a generation behind me, your worst nightmares probably came true. Yes, I have one blogpost dedicated to sex. 

And at this precise moment, you're judging me. But that's okay. I don't blame you.

It's the Indian mentality.

'Sex' according to our mindset is a crime. We disown our children and take their names off our will and what not. Umm, we don't want to get into the science of their existence, do we?

All this frenzied reaction to this simple three letter word. I have another three letter word for you- Why?

Why do we get worked up when there's the mention of sex?

Why do we switch channels when there's anything that suggests it?

Why do we hesitate to acknowledge the concept and the logic behind it?

The more you avoid discussing something, the more curiosity it's going to generate. It's Newton's action-reaction law. We've learned that, haven't we?

I know I'm treading on extremely risky grounds here, what with giving people a wide scope to judge me. But it's about time someone said it. Typical Indian mentality: There's no sin like indulging in sex. Be it the talking part or the doing part.

I want to take a moment and clarify that through this post I'm not encouraging more people to go indulge in sexual activities. I simply want to know why it's the conveniently and perpetually shelved topic of discussion.

In 9 out of 10 Indian movies I've watched, there's a prematurely pregnant girl becoming a social outcast because of her 'condition' and her parents wailing and beating their chests over the shame she brought to the family. Now, I'm aware that an unmarried mother doesn't slip right into the norms of our society, but how far will you go to punish her for her 'treacherous deed'?
Simultaneously we're exposed to the other extreme in the West where teenage pregnancies are also dealt with calmly and maturely.

With the ridiculous disparity in what we see and well, what we see, where are kids going to find answers if their folks are so uptight about the more-than-necessary discussions in their early age?

You may think I'm overstepping here by telling parents how to do their job, but that's really not what I'm trying to do. 
We've advanced in too many fields but this one, and the most vital one at that.
We deny them the answers and penalize them if they go looking for them on their own. 

I have no shame/ fear/ embarrassment in acknowledging it. I'm a saree loyalist and yet I'm as open minded as people get. Are you?

Till Kingdom Come

"I love you. Good night."
"Don't tell me you love me unless you're ready to act on it and if you aren't ready, don't say it."
...
"I love you."

Her heart fluttered like it had a hundred times before, yet he had the ability to make it seem more special each time.
There had been fights and fall outs on more than one occasion. Hell, there had been more spats than recorded in history, and they reminded each other of how much imperfection there was between them all the time, but love bridged the gap each time it widened.
The ebb and tide of their relationship had set a rhythm in their lives. A rhythm they had come to love.

It's not easy, but it's worth the fight.

The term 'boyfriend' seemed so inadequate to her that she refused to refer to him as that. He wasn't just a boy that was her friend.
He was the one who had touched her life in so many ways. The man who loved even through hate. The man who would give endlessly and take equally, demarcating his territory and rights. That gave her the butterflies.

How could one person awaken so many of her senses all at once?
With him, she had been ridiculously happy, ridiculously sad, hurt, angry, jealous, but in love. So ridiculously in love.

For every one person instilling hope in their being, there were five to warn them against it.

"Not meant to be" they said.
"Imperfection personified" they said.
"Do you think this will ever work?" they asked.

Funny little creatures. What did they know?
What did they know about being madly, dangerously and ridiculously in love?

Love makes you do stupid things. Like falling in love over and over again.
That's the thing about love. It gives you pros and cons and waits for you to make a choice.

All the odds were against them. Still are. Will mostly always be.
The chances of them floating through it are as thin as a needle tip.
The probability of there being no obstacles is negligible.
But they're in love.
If that isn't enough, what is?

With that thought, she smiled at the table clock. No time was too late, no night was too dark and no feeling was as good.

"Till kingdom come." She whispered into the break of dawn, undaunted by the challenges to follow, intrepid as ever and ridiculously in love.
"Till kingdom come." He mouthed in his sleep. Not knowing where the words were coming from or what they meant. Not having any memory of having uttered them at all. Yet, being ridiculously in love.

Khan Diaries.

Salman v/s SRK. Yes, you've done this too.
I've actively participated in this debate as much as I have in the India-Pak debates. Why? When have we ever stopped to ask ourselves that question anyway?
Few months ago, a similar debate was in progress, it was about who does more charity I suppose. Yes, we're horribly nosy people with no lives of our own.
That's when I took a moment to stop and think, why.
How much of that money is either of them going to donate to me for rooting for them?
What movie will they cast me in if I win the debate for them?
More importantly, why do I have to pick just one?
I stand to believe that Shah Rukh is the King of Romance and there's no defying that. I drew my idea of a perfect man from his movies and he set the benchmark for love in my life. Probably why I'm still single. Never mind that.
Yet, I have immense respect for Salman Khan's sensitivity for social issues, his foundation: Being Human. I love his innocence, his nonchalance towards the forces that bring him down and his painfully unreal movies which make me question my sanity, yet I believe it when he evades a drum of RDX with a mere swing of an arm.

Yes, I said it. I love them both. Sue me.

Indians are as obsessed with Salman-SRK make ups and breakups as much as St.Xavier's College was about Rahul and Anjali (Refer: Kuch Kuch Hota Hai)

Be it a movie promotion or an IPL match or a charity function, they're both constantly questioned about the status of their relationship.
Give them space? No way man. They're Bollywood celebs. They owe us this information.

Why is it that if I'm sporting a Being Human T-shirt, you assume that I've never watched DDLJ and that I hate Shah Rukh?
I love Kabhi Khushi Kabhi Gham as much as I love Hum Aapke Hai Kaun.

Living in the constant hope that mere Karan Arjun aaenge, 
Yours truly.

PC: bollywoodlife.com
Why was this such a big deal anyway, they're two normal people that decided to greet each other with a hug!

Modified India!

Anywhere and everywhere my head could turn and as far as my poor vision behind expensive spectacles would allow, I've seen nothing more than campaigns and billboards with magnified faces and visibly yellow teeth among other things.

Anyone who didn't know about the upcoming elections was living in a world of his own, in a far away place, with no human contact and dysfunctional lungs. Yes, I mean dead.

Being a media student myself, the PR strategies the parties used this time were gold. Gold, I say.

You probably hadn't heard of Narendra Modi before, but he went all out to make sure you did, now.

Although the jokes made on the campaigns knew no limits, they were being cemented into the minds of people without their knowledge.

'Ab ki baar Modi Sarkaar', 'Janta maaf nahi karegi', 'Acche din aane waale hai' were more or less linked to Bollywood, cricket and school-college jokes. Yes, the greatest chunk of India's fields of interests were covered right here.

P.C-www.indiatimes.com

Was it his efficiency and his promising candidature or was it simply the near-damn-perfect campaigns or a blend of both or neither, is debatable and I'm no Arnab Goswami so I'll leave that alone.

But as a citizen of India who cast her first vote this time (and didn't put up a picture of an inked finger), I think putting my trust in the Modi sarkaar was a refreshing move if not the smartest. How far his lead takes us and how many mountains of success he scales is a conclusion we can draw over a matter of time. 

Politics never drew my interests as such, till everything around me was about politics and the ease with which every discussion found itself maneuvered here. I've always been politically correct and probably will be till the end of time. But even a diplomatic person like me who lazily resorts to 'No Comments' in a political debate acknowledges the stir the Modi Wave has created in the country.

Be it his emotionally moving speeches or his accomplishments in his hometown, Gujarat.

P.C- quickmeme.com

The elegance with which he soared above the allegations of corruption and the echoes of his failed marriage deserves an applause from anyone who has the sense of appreciation.

From a Chai wala to the PM of India, this man sure did come a long way. Bowing down before the Parliament before stepping inside and crediting his party for backing him up can be rumored to be as staged as they want, but the Indian in me senses some top level truthfulness in the man's mannerisms and his agendas for the country.

We gave you our votes, Mr. Modi. And we've invested in you our hopes. Do justice.

Here's to Change. A transformation. A new India, A Modi-fied India.

P.S.- The views expressed in the above post are mine and I don't endorse any party and neither does anyone pay me for this ( sad, yes.) I respect all other parties and individuals in India equally and am not open for any kind of debate about the highs and lows of any individual.

Knight(mare) in Shining Armor

"...and then it was literally a race to the next door. I managed to open it before he did. Then he looked like he was pulling out a chair for me. I quickly grabbed the one next to it."

My friend had just gotten back from a first date and she was filling me in with the details.
The guy was apparently terrific, but for the desperate impersonation of "Mr. Perfect."

Do you see her wearing a gown, donning a hat over the tight bun and wearing elbow-length gloves? No? Then don't go about acting like her Knight in Shining Armor. More often than not, we're looking for a normal boy who has his laces in a lump and fumbles with words. We're not on the hunt for a savior, and in case you thought otherwise, we're not looking to be rescued.

Every girl nurtures the distant dream to meet Prince Charming, but I'd rather have mine in a white shirt and blue jeans than in a metal armor that clanks too much.

PC: memecrunch.com

As much as I'd want it to be, we don't wake up in Bollywood world every morning. So this whole effort to woo isn't going to get you the results you want. You'll feature in the sleepover conversations for sure, but you won't be anywhere near being the Chosen One.
In today's world, every woman strives to be independent. Anyone who's looking for a girl to command and control is chasing a distant dream. Gone are the days when a beautiful face would hide behind the ghoonghat.

In between a desperate attempt to be her jailor or a wimpy shot at being her chauffeur is the man she wants you to be.
Opening doors and pulling chairs doesn't make you half as chivalrous as lending an occasional shoulder or draping your jacket around her does.

Let her take the wheel, she's not going to kill you.
Let her pick up the bill, she doesn't always need you to pay for her.

Screw the 'gentle', be the man she knows you can be.

Screw everything else, really. White shirt and blue jeans. That's all you need.

A Long Overdue Letter to My Younger Self

Haaaaayy!
Yes, you're going to be saying that one day, deal with it.
I know you hate school right now and that it seems like your worst nightmares came true, but when you get here, scurrying between a workplace and college, you'll reminisce those days. So first, live that up. Like literally. Live it. Take lots of pictures, you'll cherish them when it's all gone. 

I know you hate Ma for forcing you to go to bed at 10, but believe me, there's going to be a day when you'll crave that eight hour sleep that's your daily dose right now. Speaking of Ma, and listen very carefully 'cause this is probably the most important piece of advice anyone will ever give you and I do wish I'd gotten it sooner. She's going to get menopausal soon. No it's not just theoretical. It actually happens. Yes, she's going to go crazy and you won't relate to her anymore. She'll drive you to wits end and you'll have the most meaningless fights ever fought, but remind yourself everyday that you love her. You do. 

Please don't eat that pizza and those chips. Please. PLEASE. Yes I know it's a flavor party in your mouth but you're going to have the toughest time scraping all that weight off your body. It's a pain. No, I mean literally.

Don't buy that expensive cell phone right after Boards. You're going to lose it.
Don't make late night phone calls a habit. You don't know it yet but your bill is itemized and every number is recorded. Don't make that mistake.

Hold on to the best friend. She's the only one that's going to stick it out, in spite of everything. She's going to be miles away, so make the best of the time you do have.

Live your life. Nothing stays back but for the memories. They fade away too one day. There's going to be a lot of curveballs thrown at you but you're going to be okay. I know it seems like the scariest thing right now but it's not.
There's going to be lots of happy moments that you want to live for. Lots of heart wrenching times that you're going to sail through.
Your life is going to be drama, but you're going to love it. Every bit of it.
Hang in there, little one. One day your drama will define you.

Forever,
Nautanki Naari.

Growing Up.

A little more than a year ago when I started this blog, I was young (still am), eccentric and highly emotional (again, still am).  I distinctly remember fusing my personal life and public, inevitably making a laughing stock out of myself.

It took twelve months, harsh words and heartfelt advice for me to mature over the content I so published.

I’m one of those people who can have a better emotional conversation with a wall than anything else that breathes. I’ve always written down my heart wrecks and overwhelmed moments for as long as I can remember. So when I took to this blog, I continued to do the same, unaware of the responsibility I had donned when I took to social media.

Needless to say I started off attracting more negative criticism than positive and the whole thing was a big blob of uncooked pasta.

Getting a URL with my name didn’t empower me to take on issues in public, was a lesson I learnt over time. Although I believed every word I wrote, gripped with insecurity and desperately hunting that safety blanket, I dumped my all my eggs in one basket, and the wrong one at that.

So once I gave myself an intervention and here I am, gathering the courage to issue a public apology to everyone I indirectly cross webbed.

When I look back today, I cringe. I cringe with all my heart and soul. No matter how much I resented certain people back then, I didn’t quite realize that I was thwarting my own self while taking a jab at them.

Some, I still feel the same about. Others I’ve forgiven. And most, I’m at peace with. So why leave lasting imprints of an emotion that’s only going to last in the passing?

Anyone who’s been insulted or even remotely affected by anything I published so far, a sincere apology.

Everyone who told me to grow up, doesn’t matter which way, a heartfelt thank you for setting off that ‘Grow Up’ alarm inside of me.

And to my readers who forgave my immaturity, I express earnest gratitude for believing that I was more than that.

It only seemed right to address this mistake on the same platform that I made it.

I sign off with a lighter heart and a clearer conscience.

It’s a good thing after all, growing up.

Aai & Bai.

Marathi household or not, I KNOW you instantly related to this.
Bollywood gives you an idea that a life partner is the most important person in your life. Jhoot kehte hai.
I've seen my mother Keep Calm and Function when my dad goes out on business trips but one day the maid takes a day off, she falls apart. Sorry dad.

Picture Courtesy: MyIndiaPictures.com

No matter how alien we are to this idea, fact remains that our lives depend and revolve around our domestic help. So much so that you're willing to go to any extent to make sure she doesn't quit cause, " Aaj kal bharose wali bai milna kitna mushkil hai pata hai?"

I still remember when we moved to our new house 8 years ago, the first thing my mother asked my new neighbors after exchanging pleasantries was about the house help. No she didn't want to know about the malls in the vicinity or how friendly the neighborhood was. The Bai was my Aai's priority.
So while we sat awkwardly around the neighbor's house, offering awkward smiles from time to time to prevent ourselves from falling asleep, the ladies bonded over the Woes of Finding a Reliable Help.

The Aai insists that the Bai be treated with utmost care and respect, lest she get offended and leave. If my maid was a product, she'd come with a "DELICATE: HANDLE WITH CARE" label personally crafted and glued by my mother.

C'est la vie, mes amis. In a house that my father bought, with the salary that he shells out from his pocket, the Bai rules over us with such fluency and modesty, it's hard to tell who's employed whom.
She can come at 5pm and cook dinner that we won't be eating anytime before 9 pm, but hey, atleast she's working, what will we do without her?

This situation in my house (and I'm sure yours too) reminds me vaguely of a chapter I learned in Civics a couple of years ago (I hope my teachers are reading this and dabbing their eyes with joy) about there being a "Nominal Head" and a "Real Head." Who's who, really?

I'll leave you to figure that out. Meanwhile, I need to do the dishes. The Bai has a splitting headache that the Aai has already given medicines and a leave for. But come on ya, lets be considerate. What if she quits?
*shudder*

Pick me. Choose me. Read me.

A couple of books I had the pleasure of reading and falling in love with. If you want a lasting relationship with words, I insist you read these.




  The Villa: Nora Roberts.
This book revolves around the Giambelli family and their winery across the Napa valley. Sophia Giambelli, grand daughter of the matriarch of the family, Tereza, has inherited her hunger for power and the staunch will to never back down, alongside a sprawling palatial home and the family fortune. The story begins to unfold twists and turns as hot as ever Tyler Macmillan enters Sophia's life like a tornado and makes her feel like nobody has ever before: insecure, and hungry for love.
A marriage of mystery and romance, this book is a must read. I tend to re-read this often when I'm in solitude. 

The Mafia Queens of Mumbai: Hussain Zaidi

Hussain Zaidi is by far one of my favorite Indian authors. The lucidity of his language and the raw approach he implements is awe inspiring. Mafia didn't interest me till I read his trilogy on the Mumbai mafia (Dongri to Dubai, Mafia Queens of Mumbai, Byculla to Bangkok). Zaidi is a man that presents reality as it is. Not only has he used the name and references of every feared gangster in Mumbai, he has also made it a point to reveal the death threats he received as a result of penning it all down.

Mafia Queens of Mumbai speaks of the women that took over the under world and dominated it like they would do their kitchens. The stories are supported by pictures of the lady dons and their sidekicks. It's a pleasant change from the fiction based novels I normally indulge in. A plunge into the 'No-Entry' arena, Mafia Queens of Mumbai is a must read.

Message In A Bottle.

Father of romantic novels, Nicholas Sparks has redefined the power of love in this novel. How often do we dream of finding a note inside a bottle washed ashore while on a quite walk alongside a beach? And how often does it really happen? And if it were to happen, what would you do? Would you ever go that extra mile to track the one who would rather be anonymous? Distraught and divorced, Theresa Osborne takes the chance and goes that extra mile. But what has fate in mind? A book that takes you on a joyride and washes it away with a tide of sorrow, it's a must read for anyone who loves a blend of emotions.

 

The Zoya Factor: Anuja Chauhan

If there's an Indian author I'd read over and over and stand in a queue outside a bookstore at the launch of a new novel, it's Anuja Chauhan. Hands down. Her pakki Hindi language gives it the Indian feel that most Indian novels lack.

Her story is thoroughly uncomplicated, yet unpredictable.

The story revolves around a Rajput girl, Zoya Singh Solanki and her role in the deciding of the fate of the Indian cricket team, and the captain: Nikhil Khoda's discomfort at being robbed of the credit for the team's victory and the potential romance that blooms between the two.

It's hilarious. It's romantic. It's cocky. And seems almost real.

If there's anything called an alternate reality, it's this.

  The Fault in Our Stars: John Green

"I fell in love with the way you fall asleep, slowly and then all at once." If that doesn't move you, I don't know what can. I was a turmoil of emotions as I went through this book. It redefines love in every way possible. There couldn't have been a better way to frame a tragic romance and make it look like it isn't tragic at all, but a bloom of romance and romance only. This book is pure indulgence. 

I'm a believer in words. There is nothing in the world that can move you any more than a good book possibly can. In this ever-disappointing world, it's necessary to have an alternate reality to escape into when all isn't well. And nothing says revival of the soul like a good book does.