"48 hours" the doctors say. she's a year younger, slipping away into peaceful sleep, the sort of sleep that has no awakening. we haven't met much, but she is like a sister, very close to my heart. i can't say why i am writing this, i don't know what to say really, "R.I.P" or "you're better off up there" or "you'll live in our hearts" and such crap don't make sense at all! i'll miss her very very much. "48 hours" is that little glimmer of hope, which i know will fail me. god i wish many more birthdays for her. and it's so unfair that she has to go this way. we all knew this had to come, we prepared ourselves to face it, its still a shock that this moment is arriving.
Apraajeeta aka Appi, (name changed) my dad's bestfriend's daughter. i'm not sure if she turned 20. her mum runs a bootique and god she looked so elegant. petite, that little face and that cute giggle and the way she spoke, so calm, collected and well, respectful. very very respectful. though i am just a year elder than her, she addressed me as akka, meaning elder sister in Telugu. even we treated her like a child, maybe because she never grew. the hight of a dwarf - but how does it matter?
i've always known her with a liver disease. the elders spoke about it and we were never to question. but i have a vague memory of asking, during my early teenage days. mum explained patiently and all i remember is that she won't live for long. wow, she was never given the chance to dream of a long, happy and healthy life. we all want our fairytale, cute and clichét, but she was always told to live a short life long. god she braved it! words fail me, it's so difficult to go on. no, i am sure she won't be very happy reading this, because i know, too much of sympathising and empathising don't float our boat! we are a little different, we have bodyparts that aren't too kind to us. eyes in my case, liver in hers. we've never wanted sympathy and empathy, we lothe those emotions, and we can not handle it! i was scared to ask mum, so i asked her.
"are you unwell? what's wrong with your health?"
"nothing at all. why do you ask?" she asked, aiming at nonchalance with success. she did not answer.
i was 11, she was 10. and clearly, i would have answered in the same way had someone asked me about my eyesight.
the world needs to know, heros like her lived, she had the truth presented naked in front of her - everytime someone met her, they expressed their simpathy. she lived till 20, obviously she was used to it, but still. again, a vague memory - "when i'm an older woman..." what? no, no more of it i can remember. then her mum repeated it to her dad "when she's an older woman..."
six months ago i heard of her again. mum was out when she got a call from her family. and it was no good news. she was diagnosed with liver cancer. cancer, the sideeffect of her medication. it had already spread to her lungues then and the doctors informed that she was too weak to survive the radiotherapy. now that's called a heartbreak. we, young women sob for the men who leave us! her parents had planned a liver transplantation for her. it took them years to earn to afford a highly expensive and uncertain surgery for their only daughter, and it was too late by then. mum was shakened, she did not speak to her family after that phone call. she didn't know what to say, she kept thinking about it and she cried a little at the thought. dad went for their house warming ceremony. they had planned it so that their relatives from around the world could visit her for one last time. dad described her as "fragile". we spoke to her over the phone and she was delighted to speak to us after so long. my throat knotted but i could hold it in. it was wonderful to hear her voice. i congratulated her. she had the choice to not study. they said high amounts of pressure could cause epilepsy, but she took it onto herself, the 12th board exams in the Medicle stream - something we crib about all the time. she aced it with grades above 85. she aspired to become a doctor. god, you could have spared her another 10 years, you saw the spark in her.
this was the time when one of my friends was highly disturbed about his brother's cancer, somewhare near the throat, it eventually affected the food pipe, and days after, sometime in February, he left behind a young wife and a son around 10 years old. life doesn't just stop for the heaven dwellers, does it? but heaven dwellers, really? i just can't muster the courage to say dead!
then there's the fault in our stars. what a desirable love story. the book is tragic, beautiful and fiction, but talking about the movie - the terminally ill cancer patient, the heroine has perfect skin, perfect hair and a history of radiotherapy sessions. she bumps into an ultra-gorgeous, extremely chivalrous gentleman who falls for her even when she does absolutely nothing to impress him. what does it lead to? puberty hitting, discovering and sexually frustrated women craving to share the story with the protagonist. films really need to grow realistic. cancer is the last thing anyone should romantisize about, please, it isn't cool at all.
dad is leaving to see Appi tomorrow. mum was telling us about the pictures of her craft that Appi had uploaded on facebook. she was selling them. i heard mum telling dad to buy a few for us.
the last time Appi spoke to me over the phone, after her cancer diagnosis, she said she wanted to come visit us in Delhi. but the doctors forbade her from travelling. mum called up and her dad was telling her about how Appi had been criing for going to hyderabad day before yesterday. she fell weak while travelling and threw up blood. the doctors informed that she would slip into coma and she did, at the given time, around 1:30 in the afternoon. they took her home. we have only 48 hours, they say. math counts lesser.
we don't want to do this, but we are counting down, hour after hour, minute after minute. and you know what? Appi was never told she has cancer. she kept looking forward to the liver transplantation. i can't really say if it is right, because her parents didn't want her to suffer. she deserved a normal life, and she lived it.
editing:
Appi is gone. it's her amma's birthday today.
Friday, 27 June 2014
Tuesday, 24 June 2014
Babydoll's guestpost
Perfection is elusive and also; unnecessary not to mention, impossible. But it still has a lot of fans. Scores of people trying harder with every morn to achieve a little part of it; to fake it or to be destroyed chasing it… only to realize it doesn’t exist. For those few who still manage to pick themselves up, dust themselves off and move on with a smile on their face are lucky. But those who can’t; they exist but don’t really live unless they being their imperfect self, bump into someone. Someone different. Someone perfect.
I first saw S at the college. She was so enthusiastic about the first day of college. You know the type; it was a first day of my college journey- I will study so hard and be perfect – look at all these new people I’m meeting- I’m growing up kind of day. The kind of day when your mental refrain is a nauseously happy American song about being happy. I had that song in my head too; on repeat, but by habit I don’t talk about these things. By a very bad habit I mean, of constantly preferring to be a cold distant observer in any new situation. She is the perfect opposite. S was pouring her heart out to anyone who would listen, making best friends by the minute. I smiled and stood alone. We met at the departmental orientation. I was the girl who asked so if our classes start from the second period on a particular day, do we turn up straightaway for the second period or the first. Someone said, “Could you please accompany me to the college gate?” I said yes and I held her hand; that was the first time I held her hand in the years to come. Each time with a different emotion, purpose, destination but each time with a stronger bond. She asked me about me and told me we’re from the same state, from a city I had never heard of. We didn’t see each other for a while after that. But something stuck. Something always sticks about S. it’s impossible to meet her and not have an afterthought about her days, weeks later. She impinges on memory. I quizzed my dad on where this city was that I’d never heard of and he said there was no such city. I was confused but quite amused. And it was just the beginning.
It was sweet and sour initially. I was an aloof judge-y bitch and she was the queen of sunshine. Always doing something new, always sharing it with people, always smiling and discovering new things. Always friendly. I was amazed to be quite honest. I wondered how it was possible; to always like people and always be liked by them. I liked her too no doubt; on the good days when I absorbed a bit of the sunshine and even on the sour days when I didn’t say anything but she still sat by me.
I can’t point out the exact moment when I thought that this woman will be one of my closest friends for life. But I did think of it at several points. The times when we spontaneously decided to paint the town red, the parts where we discovered our mutual love for junk food, and even the parts with the boy talk; sharing everything with each other, our aspirations, ideas, fantasies and even fears, remorse and guilt. There were tough times, there were blank phases. But I knew that I will never let go and neither will she. She was always so giving… she’s the kind of person who plans for people’s birthday gifts a month in advance, the kind of person who hears shit from people and bears it to collect money for a poor person’s hospital visit who she thought was sick and she thought was her friend. You know, the kind of girl who when decides to love someone does so with the entirety of her tan, man and dhan. Tere pyar mein fana ho jau and all that.
Of course, I was a bit perturbed. I get a little uncomfortable around too much perfection. I didn’t say much because she was happy, so perfectly happy. And then it happened, the quintessential college heartbreak, twice and almost simultaneously. It was cool at first, something new! Something beautiful, something venerated and made perfect in dozens of pop culture books, films and what not. They call it the greatest emotion on earth. The purest part that everyone craves for, but few get. S did not get what she deserved- something pure. But being S, she imagined it was pure and went along with it. She was head over heels in love. And in this case, gorgeous branded 2k heels with neon motifs way above the standards of the one it went over the head for.
She came undone. Everyday a new phone call, everyday a new story of how people disliked her, avoided her, hurt her. I was disturbed and these stories didn’t fall into place. How could the sunshine S I know be disliked? Surely she was just being too harsh on herself? Surely, its just the heartbreak talking? Just the heartbreak… for tan man dhan chicks like us a heartbreak is never “just”.
There were bad days. As in I want to put the world on fire- be surly all day- everything I do turns to shit kind of days. There were many inspired days, I will begin again days. There were let me distract myself days. There were I’m totally lost days and there were happy days that ended in tears.
Slowly, with ever weakening, ever resolving strength she found herself again. That’s when I saw it. Perfection. It was never in constantly being liked or liking. It was never in meaningless friendly interactions. It was in her will to live, to really live not just exist.to learn something new and execute it, to accept, to move on, to adorn oneself. I saw that girl who sat for hours, touching every piece of jewellery in her bulging jewellery bags with a satisfied smile on her face. “you’ll get used to my madness.” She said then. Little did I know we would both get used to each other’s madness and what not. The heartbreaks helped put life in perspective for her and for me. And there are tears here and there, there always will be. And somewhere in-between it will find its way; hot and pulping- perfection.
Not in the non-klutz-y, non-creased clothes, perfect comebacks kind of way.
But in the I have something stuck in my teeth, lets laugh at fake bitches, lets gorge on doughnuts, I have a big smile on my face, my nails are neon, my hair is flying kind of way. Its something we tan man dhan chicks are quite good at!
I love you S! I always will!
I first saw S at the college. She was so enthusiastic about the first day of college. You know the type; it was a first day of my college journey- I will study so hard and be perfect – look at all these new people I’m meeting- I’m growing up kind of day. The kind of day when your mental refrain is a nauseously happy American song about being happy. I had that song in my head too; on repeat, but by habit I don’t talk about these things. By a very bad habit I mean, of constantly preferring to be a cold distant observer in any new situation. She is the perfect opposite. S was pouring her heart out to anyone who would listen, making best friends by the minute. I smiled and stood alone. We met at the departmental orientation. I was the girl who asked so if our classes start from the second period on a particular day, do we turn up straightaway for the second period or the first. Someone said, “Could you please accompany me to the college gate?” I said yes and I held her hand; that was the first time I held her hand in the years to come. Each time with a different emotion, purpose, destination but each time with a stronger bond. She asked me about me and told me we’re from the same state, from a city I had never heard of. We didn’t see each other for a while after that. But something stuck. Something always sticks about S. it’s impossible to meet her and not have an afterthought about her days, weeks later. She impinges on memory. I quizzed my dad on where this city was that I’d never heard of and he said there was no such city. I was confused but quite amused. And it was just the beginning.
It was sweet and sour initially. I was an aloof judge-y bitch and she was the queen of sunshine. Always doing something new, always sharing it with people, always smiling and discovering new things. Always friendly. I was amazed to be quite honest. I wondered how it was possible; to always like people and always be liked by them. I liked her too no doubt; on the good days when I absorbed a bit of the sunshine and even on the sour days when I didn’t say anything but she still sat by me.
I can’t point out the exact moment when I thought that this woman will be one of my closest friends for life. But I did think of it at several points. The times when we spontaneously decided to paint the town red, the parts where we discovered our mutual love for junk food, and even the parts with the boy talk; sharing everything with each other, our aspirations, ideas, fantasies and even fears, remorse and guilt. There were tough times, there were blank phases. But I knew that I will never let go and neither will she. She was always so giving… she’s the kind of person who plans for people’s birthday gifts a month in advance, the kind of person who hears shit from people and bears it to collect money for a poor person’s hospital visit who she thought was sick and she thought was her friend. You know, the kind of girl who when decides to love someone does so with the entirety of her tan, man and dhan. Tere pyar mein fana ho jau and all that.
Of course, I was a bit perturbed. I get a little uncomfortable around too much perfection. I didn’t say much because she was happy, so perfectly happy. And then it happened, the quintessential college heartbreak, twice and almost simultaneously. It was cool at first, something new! Something beautiful, something venerated and made perfect in dozens of pop culture books, films and what not. They call it the greatest emotion on earth. The purest part that everyone craves for, but few get. S did not get what she deserved- something pure. But being S, she imagined it was pure and went along with it. She was head over heels in love. And in this case, gorgeous branded 2k heels with neon motifs way above the standards of the one it went over the head for.
She came undone. Everyday a new phone call, everyday a new story of how people disliked her, avoided her, hurt her. I was disturbed and these stories didn’t fall into place. How could the sunshine S I know be disliked? Surely she was just being too harsh on herself? Surely, its just the heartbreak talking? Just the heartbreak… for tan man dhan chicks like us a heartbreak is never “just”.
There were bad days. As in I want to put the world on fire- be surly all day- everything I do turns to shit kind of days. There were many inspired days, I will begin again days. There were let me distract myself days. There were I’m totally lost days and there were happy days that ended in tears.
Slowly, with ever weakening, ever resolving strength she found herself again. That’s when I saw it. Perfection. It was never in constantly being liked or liking. It was never in meaningless friendly interactions. It was in her will to live, to really live not just exist.to learn something new and execute it, to accept, to move on, to adorn oneself. I saw that girl who sat for hours, touching every piece of jewellery in her bulging jewellery bags with a satisfied smile on her face. “you’ll get used to my madness.” She said then. Little did I know we would both get used to each other’s madness and what not. The heartbreaks helped put life in perspective for her and for me. And there are tears here and there, there always will be. And somewhere in-between it will find its way; hot and pulping- perfection.
Not in the non-klutz-y, non-creased clothes, perfect comebacks kind of way.
But in the I have something stuck in my teeth, lets laugh at fake bitches, lets gorge on doughnuts, I have a big smile on my face, my nails are neon, my hair is flying kind of way. Its something we tan man dhan chicks are quite good at!
I love you S! I always will!
Sunday, 18 May 2014
Ennui, jilted, band aid on my heart
So, on a very fine evening, after a walk in the JNU campus and my first plate of the oh-so-delicious-Delhi-ish steaming hot momos with lots of the authentic mirchi chatni in ages, my skin felt more like skin. Delhi times, revisited.
Today is my third day in Delhi and I’m bathing in the distinct smell of weirdness and wonder! What’s so cool about Delhi you may wonder, nothing really. What’s so cool about the badti hui mehngayi? The poor is in poverty, the lower middle class is struggling to protect themselves from the kiss of poverty, the higher middle class is struggling to not struggle for long and the rich has felt the tremors. But I’ll tell you what. Fashion is cheaper than food here! Tomatoes I think cost eighty Rupees and guess what? I shopped three gorgeous stoles for one hundred Rupees, and many other such cheep goodies when I was out with baby doll (that’s what we’ll call my besty) and my sister at Sarojini Nagar (a local market). Omg, fuel for survival comes at a price, zero sized anorexia still in demand! Why?
What’s cool about the noise? Argh nothing. Not after living in one of the most beautiful valleys in Himachal Pradesh. The only noise that annoyed me the most was birds pecking at our windows, asserting their right to get breakfast, lunch and dinner early in the morning. Trust me, they do that. They are used to being hosted at our home every day. And it’s cool only for the first week, and for a late riser like me, it ain’t cool at all!
What’s cool about jams? Toasts and tarts and almost everything! But I’m referring to the not so cool kind of jams. The traffic jams. Oh you get that a lot in Delhi and those are a special kind of kolaveri that can only have been contrived in the deepest and most unholy depts of hell! It took us around five hours to drive to Delhi from Nauni, Solan, Himachal Pradesh. And it took us two hours to drive back home after entering the fringes of Delhi. Frustration sears in. seriously, I look up to my dad; sometimes he can be a paragon of patience.
Is the weather cool in Delhi? Nooooooooooooooooooooo! It is either toasting hot… Or spine chilling cold! Weather wizards don’t do cool in capital cities, that image is for the “Dilli ke dil waalas” to hold. Presently, Delhi is hot. Like jaw of hell hot. June is approaching and January and June in Delhi are the worst Js of the year!
No one in my little happy family finds peace in Delhi. But still, Delhi is happiness for me. As I said, my skin feels more like skin here. My heart beats the happy rhythm. Maybe because I found the almost most absolute people here. What’s funny? None of them are from Delhi. Neither am I.
I digressed completely. This was supposed to be an apology post. Because I owe my little bloggity a sorry post. I was supposed to do a holly jolly post on the 23/4/14. My little love blew her first candle on that day and I didn’t celebrate it. Not that I forgot, I just didn’t. My baby sister gave me a chocolate in celebration, I ate it, but I didn’t do the “happiest happiest blogaversary” post that I should have done.
Why, you may wonder. To answer that, I’ll have to elaborate on the title a little.
Ennui because this constant need to do something is driving me nuts. It is getting way out of hand. Where to begin? For a very long time I didn’t have the courage to really write, I wrote in bits and pieces, scraps and fragments. I have been micro blogging through facebook. I have been writing and erasing things, experiencing the blogger’s block, angry and disappointed with myself. There’s just so much to do starting from baking and quilling to blogging and a course in creative writing, that I did not know where to begin so I didn’t begin at all. A circle has no beginning!
Jilted? Jilted by that dream I fought to live. Began to live. Quit mid way. Quitting doesn’t sound good at all. Not a bit. See where the disappointment and the anger came from? Every idea of mine seemed recycled, from a movie or a book or another blog. I guess it is a human tendency to become extremely self critical when we realise a few of our plans have remained unplanned, or one wrong shot fired boomeranged on us.
I remember, more than a year ago, on a beautiful loverly (I made the word up, it means ‘for lovers’) night, during the pre-relationship days, he asked me who my current love was. The staunch amateur social worker in me franticly yelled “Tata Institute of Social Sciences”. I heard him shift, or maybe adjust. With his lips closer to the phone, he whispered “tell me!” and again, the staunch social worker in the making yelled “Tata Institute of Social Sciences” while my heart hushed a meek “not a lie, it’s just half the truth”. But, god knows, the passion for social work was greater. But still, I dropped the admission I gained to TISS. I know I will go back, but still, that guilt of returning home empty handed, in the process waving a huge middle finger to my physical, emotional and educational investments and responsibilities lingered for a month. Maybe it still does, but relatively, not absolutely. Though I made the decision for myself, it feels like being jilted. Congratulations, I’m still a graduate! Even after all this.
Thus, the band aid on my heart. I remember someone saying to me “Scars are sexy because it means you made a mistake that led to a mess”. How true, the game is in growing out of the mess you made for yourself. I have reached that moment when guilt reaches a saturation point and I am beginning all over again. But this time, baby steps. Starting off with wisdom.
Recuperating.
What contributes a certain cachet to starting this post you may wonder. Another fragment. You know what happened today? After the momo hogging bliss, dad told me off for eating too much. Like any other fat kid, I pulled a face in my defence. Then we went to a park and…
Self thought on a swing – “I love swings and summer evenings.”
The swing haled my name with its last breath, tossed me in the air with no respite, swirling I landed on my haunches!
Argh, is this how ecstatic swings treat healthy, grownup girls?
Its 2:30 in the morning and I’m typing away in super cute mauve pyjamas with clouds on them and an unmatched polo (my sister’s sports uniform for school). I should be sleeping. The Wi-Fi is turned off so I promise myself to post this entry tomorrow.
Anyhow, in all confusions, mishaps and wrong deeds, lord has been very kind. And this break, though it was uncalled for and unplanned, it is a much needed respite from everything heavy and unhappy.
Gratitude.
Today is my third day in Delhi and I’m bathing in the distinct smell of weirdness and wonder! What’s so cool about Delhi you may wonder, nothing really. What’s so cool about the badti hui mehngayi? The poor is in poverty, the lower middle class is struggling to protect themselves from the kiss of poverty, the higher middle class is struggling to not struggle for long and the rich has felt the tremors. But I’ll tell you what. Fashion is cheaper than food here! Tomatoes I think cost eighty Rupees and guess what? I shopped three gorgeous stoles for one hundred Rupees, and many other such cheep goodies when I was out with baby doll (that’s what we’ll call my besty) and my sister at Sarojini Nagar (a local market). Omg, fuel for survival comes at a price, zero sized anorexia still in demand! Why?
What’s cool about the noise? Argh nothing. Not after living in one of the most beautiful valleys in Himachal Pradesh. The only noise that annoyed me the most was birds pecking at our windows, asserting their right to get breakfast, lunch and dinner early in the morning. Trust me, they do that. They are used to being hosted at our home every day. And it’s cool only for the first week, and for a late riser like me, it ain’t cool at all!
What’s cool about jams? Toasts and tarts and almost everything! But I’m referring to the not so cool kind of jams. The traffic jams. Oh you get that a lot in Delhi and those are a special kind of kolaveri that can only have been contrived in the deepest and most unholy depts of hell! It took us around five hours to drive to Delhi from Nauni, Solan, Himachal Pradesh. And it took us two hours to drive back home after entering the fringes of Delhi. Frustration sears in. seriously, I look up to my dad; sometimes he can be a paragon of patience.
Is the weather cool in Delhi? Nooooooooooooooooooooo! It is either toasting hot… Or spine chilling cold! Weather wizards don’t do cool in capital cities, that image is for the “Dilli ke dil waalas” to hold. Presently, Delhi is hot. Like jaw of hell hot. June is approaching and January and June in Delhi are the worst Js of the year!
No one in my little happy family finds peace in Delhi. But still, Delhi is happiness for me. As I said, my skin feels more like skin here. My heart beats the happy rhythm. Maybe because I found the almost most absolute people here. What’s funny? None of them are from Delhi. Neither am I.
I digressed completely. This was supposed to be an apology post. Because I owe my little bloggity a sorry post. I was supposed to do a holly jolly post on the 23/4/14. My little love blew her first candle on that day and I didn’t celebrate it. Not that I forgot, I just didn’t. My baby sister gave me a chocolate in celebration, I ate it, but I didn’t do the “happiest happiest blogaversary” post that I should have done.
Why, you may wonder. To answer that, I’ll have to elaborate on the title a little.
Ennui because this constant need to do something is driving me nuts. It is getting way out of hand. Where to begin? For a very long time I didn’t have the courage to really write, I wrote in bits and pieces, scraps and fragments. I have been micro blogging through facebook. I have been writing and erasing things, experiencing the blogger’s block, angry and disappointed with myself. There’s just so much to do starting from baking and quilling to blogging and a course in creative writing, that I did not know where to begin so I didn’t begin at all. A circle has no beginning!
Jilted? Jilted by that dream I fought to live. Began to live. Quit mid way. Quitting doesn’t sound good at all. Not a bit. See where the disappointment and the anger came from? Every idea of mine seemed recycled, from a movie or a book or another blog. I guess it is a human tendency to become extremely self critical when we realise a few of our plans have remained unplanned, or one wrong shot fired boomeranged on us.
I remember, more than a year ago, on a beautiful loverly (I made the word up, it means ‘for lovers’) night, during the pre-relationship days, he asked me who my current love was. The staunch amateur social worker in me franticly yelled “Tata Institute of Social Sciences”. I heard him shift, or maybe adjust. With his lips closer to the phone, he whispered “tell me!” and again, the staunch social worker in the making yelled “Tata Institute of Social Sciences” while my heart hushed a meek “not a lie, it’s just half the truth”. But, god knows, the passion for social work was greater. But still, I dropped the admission I gained to TISS. I know I will go back, but still, that guilt of returning home empty handed, in the process waving a huge middle finger to my physical, emotional and educational investments and responsibilities lingered for a month. Maybe it still does, but relatively, not absolutely. Though I made the decision for myself, it feels like being jilted. Congratulations, I’m still a graduate! Even after all this.
Thus, the band aid on my heart. I remember someone saying to me “Scars are sexy because it means you made a mistake that led to a mess”. How true, the game is in growing out of the mess you made for yourself. I have reached that moment when guilt reaches a saturation point and I am beginning all over again. But this time, baby steps. Starting off with wisdom.
Recuperating.
What contributes a certain cachet to starting this post you may wonder. Another fragment. You know what happened today? After the momo hogging bliss, dad told me off for eating too much. Like any other fat kid, I pulled a face in my defence. Then we went to a park and…
Self thought on a swing – “I love swings and summer evenings.”
The swing haled my name with its last breath, tossed me in the air with no respite, swirling I landed on my haunches!
Argh, is this how ecstatic swings treat healthy, grownup girls?
Its 2:30 in the morning and I’m typing away in super cute mauve pyjamas with clouds on them and an unmatched polo (my sister’s sports uniform for school). I should be sleeping. The Wi-Fi is turned off so I promise myself to post this entry tomorrow.
Anyhow, in all confusions, mishaps and wrong deeds, lord has been very kind. And this break, though it was uncalled for and unplanned, it is a much needed respite from everything heavy and unhappy.
Gratitude.
Sunday, 16 March 2014
We crave to be white
She picked her bag and walked towards the door, all set to hit the dance floor, to booze, to party, to hug and bid her buddies adieu. She turned to look into the mirror to examine herself one last time. Ravishing in red, inches taller, stood a girl in the mirror, smiling so confidently.
Amidst the gorgeous madness, she suddenly realised a flaw. No matter how elegantly she was carrying herself, she is dark skinned. And dark is never beautiful.
She sat on her bed, trying to figure out if her skin is darker or her soul. Would she like herself as much even after the party?
She shut her eyes. She reminisced running around in a pink frilly dress, licking a lollypop, holding a balloon, two little ponytails barely touching her ears. There was no pain, neither on the outside nor in the inside of her. No dark skin issues and the concept of dark soul was out of question. She was loved.
But love wasn’t her problem. She was still loved, and she experienced intense, physical love few months ago. He had loved a part of her so much that he stared at it with thirst. He couldn’t hold his love in for long, so he held onto her, bruised her, thrust in and poured out and left her before she realised.
The world found out and now, a lot like him love her. Just the way he did. In a “no rings for sluts” sort of a way. Many like him want her. Just the way he had once wanted her. He got her.
She was conditioned to crave to be white, from her teeth to her vagina. Her teeth are, but her vagina?
Amidst the gorgeous madness, she suddenly realised a flaw. No matter how elegantly she was carrying herself, she is dark skinned. And dark is never beautiful.
She sat on her bed, trying to figure out if her skin is darker or her soul. Would she like herself as much even after the party?
She shut her eyes. She reminisced running around in a pink frilly dress, licking a lollypop, holding a balloon, two little ponytails barely touching her ears. There was no pain, neither on the outside nor in the inside of her. No dark skin issues and the concept of dark soul was out of question. She was loved.
But love wasn’t her problem. She was still loved, and she experienced intense, physical love few months ago. He had loved a part of her so much that he stared at it with thirst. He couldn’t hold his love in for long, so he held onto her, bruised her, thrust in and poured out and left her before she realised.
The world found out and now, a lot like him love her. Just the way he did. In a “no rings for sluts” sort of a way. Many like him want her. Just the way he had once wanted her. He got her.
She was conditioned to crave to be white, from her teeth to her vagina. Her teeth are, but her vagina?
Wednesday, 19 February 2014
I didn’t do anything, chocolate vodka did it!
I swear I would have sat on the road if she didn’t let me sit. But she was being nice and she let me sit in the auto. Oh man… like Baba Thillon once sang, I was “blowing in the wind”. I still am, you know?
But, I wish my Baba Thillon was Punjabi, but sadly he was bob Dillon. Born in another country, died in another country. But I wonder what he thinks about chocolate vodka. Do you get more flavoursome chocolate vodka in the States?
The chocolate vodka I drank… boring vodka I drank long time ago… namesake man… they are just namesake. Didn’t even taste chocolate! Chocolate is supposed to be an aphrodisiac. Why isn’t anything happening?
I’m not drunk. I’m tipsy. I like talking when I’m drunk. I mean when I’m tipsy. When I’m drunk also I talk. But whatever man I’m sober and I can debate on neo liberalism and post colonialism. Wanna put up a fight? With me? I’m awesome at debates that sometimes I mentally strike the other person’s head with a hammer in frustration. Yesssssss……! That’s where the spirit comes from. I’m a great debater.
But what man? Chocolate vodka didn’t even taste chocolate! 260ML I drank up and all the money I paid for it. Why?
Why do I smell guava? I wanna smell chocolate. Someone give me chocolate. Please someone give me chocolate.
What’s wrong with my doughnut cover picture? Why is daddy cribbing about it? And you know? I asked why he didn’t like it. And he said “I’ll talk to you later.”
Mean daddy doesn’t realise the importance of chocolate and doughnuts in my life.
Someone send chocolate. Please someone send chocolate. But, note. I only eat white chocolate. Dark chocolate is Yuk… only Horney people like dark chocolate. No. I didn’t say it. Someone I know and don’t want to name once said it to me. I won’t name him because I hate him because he is a bad guy.
You know I was working on a group presentation and I asked a friend to give me her earphones. And earphones also smelled of chocolate. I wanted to ask her if she applies her chocolate lip balm on her earphones. Had I been drunk then I would have asked her, you know?
I was sad on Valentine’s Day. Because I didn’t get any chocolate. You know, hot women say valentino is an excuse for getting flowers and hugs and chocolates. And they regale themselves with chocolate, be it the pish posh chocolate Dundee cakes, or bigger aphrodisiacs like rum chocolate or novelty choco-treats like little chocolates wrapped in colourful papers and assorted in pretty baskets or even eclairs toffees.
But I guess it’s out of my business because I’m a sidekick and sidekicks are not hot.
But you know what; I respect the magic of globalisation. I want strawberries dipped in chocolate sauce. Sinful? Dark desires? You bet! Chocolate knows to tease the taste buds! 10 million orgasms in one go? Who would know? How cheesy! Oh I want chocolate cheese cake!
No one is getting me chocolate. I’ll sleep with my guava.
Baba Dillon, I’m “blowing in the wind”!
But, I wish my Baba Thillon was Punjabi, but sadly he was bob Dillon. Born in another country, died in another country. But I wonder what he thinks about chocolate vodka. Do you get more flavoursome chocolate vodka in the States?
The chocolate vodka I drank… boring vodka I drank long time ago… namesake man… they are just namesake. Didn’t even taste chocolate! Chocolate is supposed to be an aphrodisiac. Why isn’t anything happening?
I’m not drunk. I’m tipsy. I like talking when I’m drunk. I mean when I’m tipsy. When I’m drunk also I talk. But whatever man I’m sober and I can debate on neo liberalism and post colonialism. Wanna put up a fight? With me? I’m awesome at debates that sometimes I mentally strike the other person’s head with a hammer in frustration. Yesssssss……! That’s where the spirit comes from. I’m a great debater.
But what man? Chocolate vodka didn’t even taste chocolate! 260ML I drank up and all the money I paid for it. Why?
Why do I smell guava? I wanna smell chocolate. Someone give me chocolate. Please someone give me chocolate.
What’s wrong with my doughnut cover picture? Why is daddy cribbing about it? And you know? I asked why he didn’t like it. And he said “I’ll talk to you later.”
Mean daddy doesn’t realise the importance of chocolate and doughnuts in my life.
Someone send chocolate. Please someone send chocolate. But, note. I only eat white chocolate. Dark chocolate is Yuk… only Horney people like dark chocolate. No. I didn’t say it. Someone I know and don’t want to name once said it to me. I won’t name him because I hate him because he is a bad guy.
You know I was working on a group presentation and I asked a friend to give me her earphones. And earphones also smelled of chocolate. I wanted to ask her if she applies her chocolate lip balm on her earphones. Had I been drunk then I would have asked her, you know?
I was sad on Valentine’s Day. Because I didn’t get any chocolate. You know, hot women say valentino is an excuse for getting flowers and hugs and chocolates. And they regale themselves with chocolate, be it the pish posh chocolate Dundee cakes, or bigger aphrodisiacs like rum chocolate or novelty choco-treats like little chocolates wrapped in colourful papers and assorted in pretty baskets or even eclairs toffees.
But I guess it’s out of my business because I’m a sidekick and sidekicks are not hot.
But you know what; I respect the magic of globalisation. I want strawberries dipped in chocolate sauce. Sinful? Dark desires? You bet! Chocolate knows to tease the taste buds! 10 million orgasms in one go? Who would know? How cheesy! Oh I want chocolate cheese cake!
No one is getting me chocolate. I’ll sleep with my guava.
Baba Dillon, I’m “blowing in the wind”!
Monday, 17 February 2014
Naa jaane koi
(who would know)…
Kaisi hai ye zindagani (how’s the living)?
(I didn’t graduate in translation, so shush!)
This song has been playing in my head since yesterday. The cool boyband of our class sang to its melancholic beats for the farewell party. Yeah man, I know we are bidding our seniors a goodbye, but this is no adhuri kahani (incomplete story)!
How does my story unfold?
20 years long!
What do I feel right now?
Too mixed up.
Am I happy?
Ask me again tomorrow.
What do I want?
I’ll tell you when I figure.
Do I have the time?
Time and tide treat all of us the same way.
But I’ve learned a lot of things this week…
1. When you say the cool lot doesn’t hang out with you, it only means you’re insulting the lot that hangs out with you, the friends who love you.
2. Just because you think someone is cool doesn’t have to mean the person is actually cool, it only means we have our romantic phases.
3. I love myself and there’s no harm in saying it allowed. Haters may hate and potatoes may potate!
4. Depression only needs excuses like… oh the room doesn’t have enough sunlight.
5. Gossiping at someone else’s expense is always fun. Trust me; you do not know the entire story. Even if you do, it’s none of your business because you will not realise how it feels unless you are at the receiving end.
6. No, the woman who gets drunk at a party and ends up making out with someone is not a slut. Trust me, there’s more to it than what meets the eye.
7. God helps those who help themselves. Where will tossing in bed for days take you?
8. People respect those who respect themselves. Often, the most confident are called cool. You have it, you display it.
9. Friends in need are friends indeed! Because the time you ask for a friend the most is the time you have the least to offer.
10. The joy you share is jealousy doubled! This applies to random people, for friends it has, is and will always be joy you share is joy doubled. So choose wisely.
11. Just because you haven’t talked for a while doesn’t mean you aren’t friends anymore. One hug and the love will rekindle. Because the heart remembers.
This is still an adhoori kahani. I have a long way to go.
But what cheers me up is that I’m wiser than I was. I’ve learnt a lot. I’m still learning. I write a lifestyle blog. About things I’ve realised, about things I’ve experienced, about how I plan my life, and maybe someone somewhere will find answers.
And guess what, I’m respected. My parents read my blog. And their advice?
“Keep exploring, child.”
Why do I care about the social strata?
I’m placed on the topmost layer in my little society consisting of the most awesome people. And you know what? We are all equals. We all share the topmost layer.
Kaisi hai ye zindagani (how’s the living)?
(I didn’t graduate in translation, so shush!)
This song has been playing in my head since yesterday. The cool boyband of our class sang to its melancholic beats for the farewell party. Yeah man, I know we are bidding our seniors a goodbye, but this is no adhuri kahani (incomplete story)!
How does my story unfold?
20 years long!
What do I feel right now?
Too mixed up.
Am I happy?
Ask me again tomorrow.
What do I want?
I’ll tell you when I figure.
Do I have the time?
Time and tide treat all of us the same way.
But I’ve learned a lot of things this week…
1. When you say the cool lot doesn’t hang out with you, it only means you’re insulting the lot that hangs out with you, the friends who love you.
2. Just because you think someone is cool doesn’t have to mean the person is actually cool, it only means we have our romantic phases.
3. I love myself and there’s no harm in saying it allowed. Haters may hate and potatoes may potate!
4. Depression only needs excuses like… oh the room doesn’t have enough sunlight.
5. Gossiping at someone else’s expense is always fun. Trust me; you do not know the entire story. Even if you do, it’s none of your business because you will not realise how it feels unless you are at the receiving end.
6. No, the woman who gets drunk at a party and ends up making out with someone is not a slut. Trust me, there’s more to it than what meets the eye.
7. God helps those who help themselves. Where will tossing in bed for days take you?
8. People respect those who respect themselves. Often, the most confident are called cool. You have it, you display it.
9. Friends in need are friends indeed! Because the time you ask for a friend the most is the time you have the least to offer.
10. The joy you share is jealousy doubled! This applies to random people, for friends it has, is and will always be joy you share is joy doubled. So choose wisely.
11. Just because you haven’t talked for a while doesn’t mean you aren’t friends anymore. One hug and the love will rekindle. Because the heart remembers.
This is still an adhoori kahani. I have a long way to go.
But what cheers me up is that I’m wiser than I was. I’ve learnt a lot. I’m still learning. I write a lifestyle blog. About things I’ve realised, about things I’ve experienced, about how I plan my life, and maybe someone somewhere will find answers.
And guess what, I’m respected. My parents read my blog. And their advice?
“Keep exploring, child.”
Why do I care about the social strata?
I’m placed on the topmost layer in my little society consisting of the most awesome people. And you know what? We are all equals. We all share the topmost layer.
Monday, 10 February 2014
I’m cool and I know it! :)
Being jobless makes me so cool. And I get tralala sorta fun. What’s life without a crazy theme? We totally deserve an entertaining change. The rat race demands blood and sweat. Beware; you want all that’s yours. Do you want to give up? Sell away your lungs and kidneys? No, don’t, no, don’t, please, begging.
You are still loved very much. Be safe, be happy, be good. Go to bed with a smile. Pick a line for your epitaph. My epitaph – Vindhya Himachala Yamuna Ganga. Because my name is Sai Vindhya. Do crazy stuff, weird is different.
By the way, I’m not jobless. I have many assignments to complete. And piles of stuff to sort. But this post has a purpose.
I have a secret to tell. Oh, oohh, ah, yeah, hmm, hmm. I’ll be quick, surprises are hard. I can’t deal with them myself. So, awesome peeps, here it goes…
This post has six worded sentences.
Yay, yay, boom, boom, woohoo, hurrah!
Count the words in each sentence. I make a terrible, horrible cheater.
I’m looking forward to your responses.
It’s your turn to be cool.
I love you very much, reader.
Sending you my warm fuzzy regards.
You are still loved very much. Be safe, be happy, be good. Go to bed with a smile. Pick a line for your epitaph. My epitaph – Vindhya Himachala Yamuna Ganga. Because my name is Sai Vindhya. Do crazy stuff, weird is different.
By the way, I’m not jobless. I have many assignments to complete. And piles of stuff to sort. But this post has a purpose.
I have a secret to tell. Oh, oohh, ah, yeah, hmm, hmm. I’ll be quick, surprises are hard. I can’t deal with them myself. So, awesome peeps, here it goes…
This post has six worded sentences.
Yay, yay, boom, boom, woohoo, hurrah!
Count the words in each sentence. I make a terrible, horrible cheater.
I’m looking forward to your responses.
It’s your turn to be cool.
I love you very much, reader.
Sending you my warm fuzzy regards.
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