5 Reasons Why Dating An Indian Woman Is Not Your Cup Of Tea

I don't usually take any of the "10 Reasons why he's the right guy for you" or "12 signs that indicate your best friend is really a foe in disguise" kind of articles too seriously, but I came across one today that gave me something to think, laugh and write about.

Matt Forney, a Chicago-based author, journalist and entrepreneur came up with 5 rather intriguing reasons why you shouldn't date Indian girls. 
I'm an Indian girl. Was I humiliated, ashamed or embarrassed?
You wish.
I was amused. I was also driven to hopefully give a piece of my mind and that of several others to those who shared the post in agreement.

So like Matt Forney stated, there's a lot of reasons you aren't suited to date an Indian woman. Going by the same logic as his, and the same format too, here's my version of it: 

1. They'd make you look unattractive.
Forget about Aishwarya Rai and every other smoking hot Bollywood actress you've ever seen: the average Indian woman has an hour- glass figure and cascading tresses so dense, they would put the thickest of forests to shame. Sure, not a large percentage of Indian women are fitness conscious but it's safe to say obesity isn't an alarming constant in the country. She doesn't always 'balloon up' as soon as she gets a ring on it but if she does, she finds a way to carry it with grace rather than trying to fit her curves in a ragged pair of skinny jeans. Imagine the horror of being the better half of one of the most thoroughly detailed and beautifully crafted creations of God. No way in hell you can compete with that. Nope, sorry Indian girls!

2. Sex: To each her own!

For a supposed origin of the land of snake charmers, Indian women are shoulder to shoulder and beyond with competitors from the opposite sex. Speaking of sex, you'll find a lot of desi girls with inhibitions regarding it and a lot of women with no hesitation whatsoever. See that's the beauty of diversity: everyone gets to decide how they feel about a certain concept, act or belief regardless of what their religion, gender, nationality or race is. Sex is a choice. Anything that happens before or after it is a choice as well. 
Indians have sexually conservative attitudes thanks to the number of sexually transmitted diseases, soiled attitudes of their potential sexual partner and morality. I don't see how any of this connects to their parents or any other individual for that matter. 
Also, Indian women would hardly refer to sex as "banged" or having multiple sexual partners as "slutting around", especially since the concept isn't exactly alien to great chunks in the world. Speaks volumes about the morality of the Indian woman, doesn't it? That, as a matter of fact comes from the Indian parent if you must know.
But a headstrong woman with an opinion of her own? That won't go down so well with your ego. Steer clear from Indian women, boys.

3. Social stigmas don't disbalance their confidence.

A number of sitcoms show a brown skinned man with a horrid accent fantasizing about a white girl in the shower and making a fool of himself trying to woo her in every episode. Every Indian woman, on the other hand is portrayed as the docile, helpless Sari-clad woman who cleans the house and waits for her husband to come home and treat her like the doormat she just dusted. Indians however, have learned to laugh at themselves.
They don't all speak like Apu from the Simpsons or get tongue tied at the sight of a gorgeous woman like Raj from The Big Bang Theory.
Indian girls raised in the US never shut up about the glories of India because the rich culture gives them a little too much to talk about. And to those that look at India and only see people shitting on the streets, progressive is a subjective term and your definition of it is different from normal so Indian women? Not really your deal.


4. They're feminists.

I don't see why this was a reason to not date an Indian woman. They've been females all their lives, why wouldn't they be feminists?
Advocating women's rights on grounds of equality of sexes. 
Again, tell me one thing wrong with that.
So much for "A man looks for confidence and determination in a woman." When she stands up and buttons down, it threatens the security of your manhood and you start gagging her self respect with pitiful excuse.
And "Indian mothers control their sons with guilt trips and shame which is why so many of them become sackless weaklings and Indian Race Trolls"? On a more serious note, basing your research on Bollywood movies isn't the smartest move. That's the thing about Bollywood movies: they're movies.
Indian girls growing up in America are some of the most privileged people on Earth. Well, why wouldn't they be? They're Indian girls. Feminist Indian girls with the ability to step up and fill in for a man whenever necessary. Ouch.

5. They can be anything you want them to be.

She can be your traditional Indian wife with the maang tikka and chooda.
She can suit up and be the corporate boss they all fear.
She can be the doting mother who sharpens her claws in her spare time to gnaw at anybody who'd dare lift a finger towards her child.
The Indian woman makes the smoothest transformation from the 'Girl from the club' to the 'Academic topper of the year' to 'Matron of tradition in the gorgeous nine yard saree and the nose ring.'
She could be anything you'd want her to be. And everything else you'd never dream of her to be.
The Indian woman is a being of many hues and shades ranging from pleasant to animalistic in a matter of seconds.

Truly, when it comes to girls any ethnicity or race is a better bet than Indians.
You can't tame her and you can't keep up with her. You can't muffle her.
And you sure as hell can't lift a finger at her and expect to walk back with all ten of them still intact.

There's a lot of reasons to not date an Indian girl. But the most important of them all is, she's not your cup of tea. Which is best brewed in an Indian woman's kitchen, in case you didn't know.

Mirror Mirror On The Wall

Twenty, going on twenty one.
It isn't the fanciest age to be, believe me. Sure it sounds all sorted but deep down, we're constantly shuffling between being carefree children and responsible adults and it doesn't feel as fancy anymore.

Here's when we start indulging in raising questions about our self worth, or worse yet, basing it on someone else's judgment. No good hair day is good enough, no skin is perfect enough and no body is skinny enough.
Why did I say skinny? Admit it or not, we all look at that and sigh. Sure we read, promote and even write powerful words about how every size is beautiful, but how much of it is true? And if you were to magically receive that sculpted body with the cheek bones and the collar bones and all other bones, would you still be standing on those supposedly high moral grounds?
I know I wouldn't.

So for a large chunk of my life I would look at my reflection in the mirror and see a rather crude, imperfect and disappointing version of me.
They say to find true love you must first be insanely and irrevocably in love with yourself. I was. Or was I?
I saw but too many flaws in what that mirror had to show me. If my clothes made me look slender, my hair would be acting up. Something was always you know, off.
I'd run into people on the street and greet them half heartedly, deeply wishing I could magically disappear. My acne would suddenly seem too prominent and my jeans felt too tight for no apparent reason.
I'd learned to love myself the way I was: hyper emotional, needy, over bearing, insecure and easily broken. I had come to terms with what I saw within me, but I wasn't yet ready to make peace with what the world saw of me.
My face.
Six pack flabs.
Undone nails.
Feet that looked at pedicure as an ancient ritual, so on and so forth.

Somewhere along battling my own insecurities, I finally unwrapped the bow tied truth of my fragile little ego. I had created my own insecurities.
The reason why I always felt like I wasn't enough was my own self. It was because I gave more importance to the acne invasion on my cheek than the heartfelt smile I'd give to people I bumped into. Would they remember the freckles on my nose or that I ducked past them despite having spotted them?
Was the world really perceiving me as the reflection of my mirror?
Was I wearing make up as an addition or as a necessity?
And was I really basing my self worth on how many pounds my weighing machine pointed at?

That machine runs on a couple of batteries.
The mirror shows you everything that you don't want to see. One blow and it would come crashing down into pieces that can't be put together again.
And I was letting something that fragile define who I am?

Not anymore.
You see, part of growing up has a lot to do with thanking puberty for the splendid spell of magic.
But part of it, and the important part of it is about looking at yourself and finding what you wanted to see in the first place.
No reflections, no deceptions. Your true self. Your core. Your soul.

The next time you catch yourself crinkling your nose to what you see when you look into a piece of glass, remember that it's just that, while you? You're worth more. A hell lot more.

India Hates Women

March 2015. Almost two and a half years after the gruesome, inhuman, cowardly and cringe worthy act of sexual harassment, we're debating whether or not it was her fault.

REALLY? We're even considering the possibility of it being her fault here?
Because she wanted to catch a late night show. So WHAT? They have late night shows so we can watch movies at our convenience. Did the theater in any way say that the show was exclusively for men? 

Or was it because she was accompanied by her male friend? Oh sure, that could be a reason. Step out with your boyfriend on Valentine's day and get married. Step out with a friend at night and get raped.

My hands shiver and my heartbeat multiplies ten folds as I follow the Nirbhaya case. 

A girl was raped. Brutally. Her friend was assaulted. The accused is right there, in front of us. What are we doing about it? Defending him.
I understand that the Constitution allows everybody a fair trial. But if an advocate makes statements like "If you keep sweets on the street, dogs are going to eat it", we should stop dreaming of a developed nation. 

What are you going to do with stark infrastructure and glossy machines if the morality of the nation is rotting away to hell?

Every time I step out, my parents have half their heart sinking till the minute I get back home.
They call me every half an hour to 'chat'. Who are we kidding? In real, blunt words, they're calling to check if I'm still alive and okay. 

Sending their daughters to colleges and work places has become a nightmare for parents in this day.

A woman is looked at as an object, as a thing, something to sneer at and whistle at. Just something to look at. Or touch, occasionally. Or maybe rape or kill if they feel like it. It's a free country after all and we're just women.

Thank you, dear Indian men, for making me feel unsafe in my own country. Thank you for reminding me that humanity is a lost cause in this pathetic excuse for a country.

The very fact that people aren't hesitant about making strong statements like "Rape is a girl's fault." "Men will be men, mistakes happen." or "Women are asking for it if they step out late or wear suggestive clothes" is proof that the country has no hope, no room left for women anymore.

Doesn't matter if I'm wearing a saree or a crop top, I'm not asking for it. Unless you see me carrying a placard around my neck saying "GIVE IT TO ME", I'm not asking for it. Stop looking for signs and symbols. If I don't personally walk up to you and ask you for it, I'm not asking for it.

The fact that the Nirbhaya case went on for anything more than a week scares me. It genuinely scares me. They had the proof, evidence, victim, accused and the case. And yet, yet it has been more than two years today and God knows how many more till they reach a conclusion.

I have a sister, I have friends, little cousins, classmates and a mother and aunts. Every morning, I pray for the safety of everyone out there. Everyone I know, love, care for and everyone I don't know but care about. The rate at which the accused are walking off scott free is alarming.

I see the fear, the worry and the borderline terror in my parents' eyes every time I step out of the house. I see women around me being wary of the kindest of men because, you never know.

India scares me. The men scare me. The reality and blatant lack of morality of Indians scares me.

Right from killing the girl child to raping the girl child, it's evident that India hates women. There is no place for us lowly creatures in this supposed holy motherland unless it is at the other end of a killing knife or their sexual urges.

I can already see my parents breaking out into a cold sweat at my expression of thoughts, because although the Constitution states it, we don't allow freedom of speech and to top it all, I'm a woman. Easily targeted, conveniently muffled and perpetually subdued. I'm a woman. Visually raped every day, dying inside every alternate minute, looked down upon, shunned by the society and yet somehow standing strong. But I'm a woman. And India hates women.

Drunken Horizons

It was the fourth night in a row he had dreamt of walking into a sunset. Like, literally into one.
The sun blazing royally in shades of crimson and a forlorn gray. Was it going to rain? Was the world just closing in on him? What on earth was the dream supposed to mean?
He rubbed his face vehemently in order to shake off the queasy feeling the dream had brought upon him.
He moved on to his chores but his mind kept backtracking to the one thing that didn't make sense. Make that one more thing that didn't make sense, he smiled bitterly.

What was he thinking when he pushed her away from himself? Or was he thinking at all? God knows. It seemed right back then and there was nothing better he could think of. He knew and well enough that he had turned into a self consuming, hollow being whose inner demons had had the better of him. His soul had kissed him goodbye a long time ago and there was a void inside of him that only she seemed to fill.
Gosh that scared him and how!

Here there was an emptiness that he had found a way around, a kind of desolation he had convinced himself was necessary for his very existence and a stone hearted reality that was now just that- his reality. And then there was her, wilted as a stemless flower, crippled by her own emotions and broken; even incomplete by herself. But in some farcical way that seemed like nothing less than borderline sorcery, she completed him in the most ridiculous way there was.
She made him feel complete. Whole.
She was the one magical thing in his illusioned world.

Of course that scared him. Was there anything more daunting than a woman who understood him? All these years of watchful isolation for what? Definitely not this. Caving in wasn't an option.

Another day passed in equal sombreness if not more. Climbing into the bed for two, all alone, he braced himself for another wave of scepticism to wash him into miles and miles of uncertainty.

But..
What if.
What if these dreams were the illusions that masked his reality?
What if those sunsets weren't really sunsets but day breaks? What if it were really dawn? A new beginning?
Could it be possible that life was blindfolding him into a tomorrow that were meant to fill out his void in the most unprecedented way ever?
What if those weren't really endings but just a bunch of drunken horizons hazing his vision?
What if, his reality was destined to be better, way better than his dreams?

Noise.

 I was being tested. There was no other explanation to this. Absolutely none at all. One doesn't simply shoulder the world's gravest burdens one after another without a reason. Nope.

One recovery was paving my way into something else that needed my undivided attention, and that juts led to something else which was way past my coping abilities. What I needed was serenity. Oh what I would give for a sea of silence right now. I was halfway into a far fetched dream when I was shaken back to reality. There was something else that needed dealing. Of course there was.

The next couple of days were spent between piles of paperwork and countless cups of tea. I was going to lay off tea for the rest of my life after all this was done, I thought to myself as I lifted my fourteenth cup. Sigh.

A flashback to my pre-teen days when I would beg and plead to be allowed one sip of the tea Mumma poured for the 'grown ups' as they sat around the dining table discussing grown up things. 

And now here I was, guzzling it down like it were keeping me alive.

I had made a hundred phone calls by the day, but I couldn't recall the last conversation I had had.

My system got the food it needed but my memory couldn't backtrack the last meal I indulged in.

Spectacles were taken off and I did lie down for a couple of hours every night but a sound sleep was a distant dream.

When exasperation hit like I knew it would, I shut them all out. I cut them all off. I'd been holding it off, even suppressing it for weeks now because they needed me. The situation needed me.

But now? Now I was the needy. And I needed me to stop.

I dialed the first number I could think of and waited. I waited for her voice at the other end, I waited for the tears to finally brim my baggy eyes and to break. Oh how I had longed to just break.

For the first time since it had all started, I let it out. I let it go. I let myself go.

The walls that I had built ever so carefully were torn down brick by brick. I let my guard down and I gave up on the facades of strength and valor.

My fears, insecurities and my sorry plight were suddenly in focus. Raw, revealed and ruthless.

"When did we get here?" I asked her.

The last I remembered, we were sitting on the last bench of our classroom discussing boys in hushed tones. The biggest problems back then were them and lousy marks and it seemed like the end of the world.

What would I have given right now to just go back to those days when my perseverance was far from being tested.

It's like I'm in the middle of an ocean and I have the liberty of choosing a direction but I'm lost. There is so much to look forward to but I'd rather live my life in reverse. I'm foraging for silence to feed on, but in my head, there's just noise. Shrill, riotous, resounding and yet somehow deafening.

Just noise.

2014: The Year That Was.

It probably seems like I'm two weeks too late in publishing a new year post, but it took me a while to come to terms with certain changes that 2014 left behind.
Looking back, I don't see a gasping turn of events in the last one year that made me a new person. Sure there were ups and downs and twists and turns, but you don't need to go through an entire year to face those. Yet, the year left a different person behind, be it for better or for worse, but different. The plot would sometimes be subtle as a brick and other times it'd pass by like a stranger on the subway. But it was sure to leave behind imprints. 

For the first time in twenty years (gosh, am I that old already?) I made a resolution. A rather typical and painfully common one. Yes, you guessed it right. I bought myself that overpriced gym membership in the first week of January. I further went on to buy new shoes, gym gear, hair bands and just about anything that's even remotely relatable to a gym. I was a regular for the initial two months until one day I was too bored to haul myself and walk two blocks to get there. Then on, it was a ride downhill. One excuse followed another and one kilogram followed another.
Eventually, I never made it to the halls of the gym again.
Yet, like fate would have it, I ended up losing almost eight kgs of my net weight to a summer internship I took up at the other end of the city. Purpose served? Well, almost.

You know how 'letting go' is such a big deal? How so much significance is put in two basic words? Hell, I wrote an entire blogpost about it a few months ago. Earlier last year, I got to a breaking point in life where everything just wouldn't add up. The math was wrong and it was all an unresolved mess. I was brought to accept that cutting some ties was the only way ahead. After all, if you continue to re-read your last chapter, you'll never finish the story. The bibliophile in me wouldn't rest until I turned the page and started the chapter that was long overdue. So I did. I let go. And although it felt like taking a dagger to the heart, I felt lighter and happier at the end of the wrecking process. Letting go was easier than I thought and much better than I had hoped it'd feel.


On September 28th, 2014 I got my first tattoo. I'll be honest, I was terrified by the idea of having a needle pierce my skin a few hundred times a minute, but it was thrilling. I've always wanted to get a tattoo and a lot of thought, precision and long hours went into the making of my first. It says: "Forever and Always", for I refuse to believe that a love of any sort can come with an expiry. I believe in an eternity and I believe in a Forever. I always will.

The biggest change that gripped me this year was my change of heart towards pets. 
I was only seven years old when a stray chased me around the compound of my society and threw itself onto my tiny self. It was probably his way of showing affection but I was too young, too naive to understand that. I maintained as much distance from pets of any sort since then... until this year. In the last leg of 2014, someone who means a lot to me suddenly decided he wanted a furry companion. I was traumatized at the thought of having a creature around me more often than not. Over time, I grew extremely fond of those tiny paws and the sheer innocence in those eyes. I'm proud to be not just dog friendly, but a dog lover anymore!

It really is funny how nothing seemed different as the year wore out, but today when I look back, everything seems to have changed. It wasn't one but a series of events that made me the person I am today. Twists and turns aren't always welcome, and they'll rub you in the wrong way more often than not. But accepting the change is the only way to get on with life, so why not do it with a smile?

This is me, one year later.
Still dented in some places. Still scarred from old wounds. Still weighing my pros and cons before every small decision. Still dramatic. Still hyper emotional.
Still the same, but one year older.
Still me.

The Last Chapter

"But I can't. Don't you get it? I can't. I just cannot."

"Write it. Do you trust me? Just do it. Write it."

His tone was oddly fierce and cajoling if that was even possible.

She had been stuck on the last chapter for a year now. Hitting the delete button had become more of a habit than a necessity. Nothing seemed good enough anymore. All the serenity in the world hadn't contributed to that one last chapter. Three hundred and six pages later, one chapter seemed like a child's play. But my oh my, wasn't it the hardest thing to do right now.

He had been supportive, even encouraging throughout her journey. From pulling all nighters to brainstorming, he'd been there through it all. He had borne the wrath of the worst of her mood swings and been pleasantly surprised to find the otherwise frazzled and focused woman unwind with a glass wine and the crass music that she enjoyed so dearly.

She had always dreamed of this day. Running a finger over her words in print had always been the dream. To finally see the heaps of papers strewn across the room be bound and propped in shelves in book hubs had been the day she wanted to live to see. 'One day', she had always told herself. One day I will make it there. And that day was today. 

It was here. 

Why were her footsteps so uncertain now? Why did her fingers shake as she took to the typewriter? Why was her mind dragging her in ten inconspicuous directions when all she wanted to do was finish that one last chapter?

The answer lay in her final question.

Flashbacks had become a constant now. Her otherwise flawed memory had recorded that day as flawlessly as ever. The day she broke down, one last time. That day, that precise minute when everything seemed like a conspiracy closing in on her. She could still feel how the end had choked her up to the extent where she still had nightmares of being gagged by a shadow. A ghost of her past.

The first nine chapters had been fuelled by the anguish, the emptiness and the emotional inability to cope with life. When her words started filling up the hollow back hole that her past had left behind, she started to heal. Life wasn't just tolerable anymore, it was pleasant. Might even dare to call it happy every once in a while.

The spirit that she had now developed resembled that of a cripple who had defied every prediction of never being able to be the same again. She had done it, normalcy was just a few footsteps away now.

All she had to do was to reach out. Reach out to the world and be a part of them again, and then they would finally stop looking at her with pity. How she hated that. Pity. What an ugly emotion to be subjected to.

It had taken her just five months to cut through nine long chapters. But now? It was draining out. The hurt, the inaccessibility, the pain. Her wounds were healing. The catastrophe had struck, done the damage and was now slowly but steadily seeping out of her system.

She had started smiling more often. Gaps were bridging. Reality had finally manoeuvred across her dreams.

 And now, one year later, she was still struggling with the last chapter. She needed one striking tragedy to get her through the end. Such was the hypocrisy of fate. Happiness had now become her worst enemy. 

It pained him to see her struggle to ward off happiness. He'd promised her he'd do everything to keep those tears from spilling again, but his promises were becoming her worst enemy. He loved her like no man could love another woman, and thus, he smiled. He smiled as he wrote the last line of a what could possibly be the last letter. His jaw clenched and his temple throbbed, but he remained undeterred. He took one last look at her, and his lip trembled as he took his first step away from her.

She awoke the next morning to a ruthless letter haphazardly written about how he had found something better and that he had to answer his calling. The stains on the otherwise merciless tone of the words gave it away and she smiled in remorse.

He had given her what she needed and more. A tragedy brought upon by a seamless ocean of love. 

And thus took form, the beginning of the last chapter.

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?