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?