Is not being kind and good, the truth of life ? I was always taught to believe that. Many feel it is quite the opposite. Kindness and goodness are not the truths of life they say. In today’s world if you exhibit kindness it is meant to signify that there is a deeper motive hidden behind. If you are being good it is with purpose.

The purity of deed conducted in a realm that breathes unselfish air, has been tainted. Now perhaps for life.

No longer does there exist a desire to believe and trust with immeasurable faith. The ways of modern life and living have been bludgeoned into by suspect behavior .

 Because there is scant respect for honesty in a corrupt society, it has taken a comfortable and lazy seat at the back of the hall. When one is exposed to such impurity, one becomes firm in belief that that is normal and correct behavior. In a society closed and cocooned within its own thinking, there is ever hardly an effort or desire to explore fresh terrain. Some elder or experienced individual, who may have gained faith not entirely because of his current deeds, will become the voice of all reason and decision. His presence amongst others or to the world, then carries different and more severe connotations. 

Why does one individual come with a preconceived agenda. Why does he question or put doubts into those minds that may have never faced questioning. Is someone’s intent written on their  foreheads. Many question that and say that it is and indeed have capacity to read it. Surely that would require some basic intellect. Is basic intellect always impure and corrupt.

I ponder a lot over some of these issues when I notice humans and their behavior. What a great deal of negativity must be utilized to continuously consider evil manipulation and thought. One evil thought would require endless amounts of energy and strength. Would it not serve better purpose if that energy were to be gifted, wrapped in  endless reams of good natured paper.

Is it not right to follow the right path. Or is the left better. Would such indulgence cause you to be left behind.

Why hate on perception. Or is perception the better life. Why judge a state when its reality does not require judgement. Can opinion be formed from what I know from others. Does it not encourage greater pollution.

How does a mind function in such circumstances, or does it not need to. Why does the polluted minds of others disturb the purity of your own. This percentage is small. Small percentages are often close to extinction. Are some of us on the verge of extinction. Would that not be a sad day in the life of normal mortals. Mortals who claim their existence has all along been subjected to only the purity  and compassion expected of them.

Who then wins, or does it not matter.

Happy New Year...

May this be the happiest New Year for all .. until we come to the end of this … then there shall be another to be the happiest ..


2015 leaves us .. left us amidst fireworks that lit up the sky in and around us … welcoming the new … 2016 !!


For some peculiar reason .. punching 2016 as the year, seems to be giving a better feel ..


May you all remain happy and fulfilled … healthy and prosperous …peaceful and strong ..

The Past is always Perfect

pieces that makes picture of past...

As a growing up kid, I had a very good memory to remember things.
Not that I had that ultra sharp mind to learn by heart the mathematics multiple tables or memorize the table of metals and their properties but I could retain the little things, a little longer than others.

Little things actually sums up to the moments which might change or enhance the life in the long run. It was never a forceful act to evoke, but interestingly anything and everything occurring into life was by default printed in album of memories in my mind. Be it a good bright page, bad black page or a shadow of grey, every moment was supposed to read, to learn from, and to be cherished in the book of experience and innocence.
Forgetting the past to me meant like unwilling to face the mistakes done and hesitant to learn. Perhaps, learning is ageless. One must keep learning and practicing their skills as in a pursuit of perfection. Indeed as the saying goes "There are some things you learn best in calm and some in storm".
Learning is after all the synonym for Life.

Gradually as I was learning and making a list of things, my likes or dislikes, my choices and my beliefs, I further learnt that at times we need to move on. To move on was a sign of letting go of things.


"Letting things go from some habits, people, ideas, desires, expectations, is always the hardest part of the life to face. Only difference between 'the lost and letting things go' is that one does not have any control over the lost and on the other hand one chooses consciously to let go things respectively. Basically at the end in the both conditions one tries hard to cope up with the change and tries setting oneself free to fly high and embrace new positive possibilities. It is not the easy step one takes on to overcome hurdles of uncertainties and accepting the circumstances wholeheartedly. However, those are the turning points and are greatest memories which we look back on our lives. Until our memories shape up into a glorifying past, we read back and forth, fine-tune it, forget what we want to forget and revise to remember and emphasize in all the good things, bending the best way with the interpretations and elucidation of the experience.

Over the period of time and hassle, the words evaporates from the whole picture of the past perceived. This picture of past blends well with colours of the feeling which actually never changes, it remains the same, tastes the same! And now we know for sure how we want to present that personal piece of history to people. I personally enjoy providing a fabric to the story!

I believe in stories.
I believe that the stories never really end, even while we are reading them in the books. The stories always go on. They neither end on the last page nor does it start from the first page of the book. There is always a lot left untold, pretended and presumed before it begins from the first page, after it actually rolling ends at the last page and sooner than the book is snapped shut. Eventually every experience becomes a story to share someday.
Pouring out the part of the story we are holding back.
Subsequently all the messed up things, today those are the moments marked where we did not lose hope, where we suffered yet supported strongly to mend up and bravely make up to the brag. Sometimes the past makes up well equipped to further face the bigger disaster. The picture of the past seems perfect at present beyond compromise, beyond reason, beyond promise and beyond peace, beyond love and beyond any loss.


Nevertheless, I was moving on but with memories! They are moments to cherish and celebrate.


I value the things from which I have learnt the most.
Perhaps, those things have been let go due to strange situations.
Yet I found out that most of the worth things I adore are somehow the lost one.


May be I feel that I gained more and lost less. I gained strength, I learnt to move forward, gained more determination to focus and the good list goes on. May be the lost is significant because of the perfect memory constructed in mind. They never fade. They though been lost, do not lose the charm. They never rusted. They are made up of the tough yet in high spirits series of memoirs, be it good or bad, they still been so far the best recollections. Those memories of ones we had turn brighter, enlightening, which only grows rosier day by day with the revision. They are made up of hopes, putting our faith in aspirations and dreams of magnificent things could have been. A hypothesis of eternal ‘if it could have happen’ should never bear with the fact of reality of non-existence. Yet no matter whether it dwells or not, really good time sometimes are already the one we regret the end of it. The lost is the love, the commitment, the excitement, the joy, the bliss and the growth that occurred in the passion we posses. Those are ours to keep them secured forever to feel the warmth.

Perhaps only things we no longer have due to fluttering tranche time ticking, have been so flawlessly real that it will always be poise to perfect eternal in our memories in the final trumpet destiny-destination of life.

It's very much like before you participated in a running race, you aspired, aimed and thought of winning the race which will eventually follow a grand success party, cheers and celebration by friends and family. Yet after all that what you thought, the running race did not turn up like it could have, you might have not won not even near to the catch. Against all the odds, loss and agony you go through in looking at the broken promises and dreams, you try thinking that in-spite of all the hurdles and tough time, you sincerely participated in the contest. It gave you bliss and joy even if it was for a while. It made you feel blessed, loved and cared. You literally lead the best in the marathon of memories and above all the experience counts. Finally, I’m glad that it happened (even if it was hypothetically)...  

Indeed, this is a marvelous moment to remind myself that I'm in the present and my thoughts which I'm sharing right now are coming from my past. Hence, Past is Past, past is and has to be always perfect to me!

Some Tough Decisions

                                           

I thought people are successful because they struggled and persistently worked hard.
But I often hear them saying that they have made so many compromises in their life to be successful or be at this top of the pyramid structure. Honestly, not being rude but I don't get them at all. I wonder are they trying to prove that they have made too many compromises in life, or they want to be noticed that they are quite successful right now in their life or they are simply putting light on the compromise section of their life and overshadowing their success.

Whatever they mean in real, I being truly empathetic only comprehend that though being on top people still regret of making certain decision in life which they call it as compromise. Our human emotions are built in such a way that we like to sob and still state that we are successful. It's funny to be identified as a martyred hero for the decisions we take.

Lets not get down, discussing whose phase in life have been more difficult. Each one us have our own share of tough time to deal with.

I have also made few decisions in my life which were tough for me to take. Yet those tough choices I made are not the compromises. They are neither settlements nor were any kind of sacrifices. They were tough decisions to shape up the current reality then, based on the circumstances which were not in control at that point. Perhaps circumstance can never be controlled, and we often deny completely to understand this simple fact.

Some decisions were for, "firmness of purpose"; some for only a "sense of purpose"; some were "resolution"; and some decisions were simply "conclusions".

There is a series of priorities in one's life and we need to list them, scroll them to and fro, rank it and perhaps implement them in life. That what is life and that what we are made up of the progression of integrated priority. Warm up have a flexible approach and keep exercising it to excel further.

I heartily respect and appreciate when people say their life is quite eventful. There are chapters in the book of life. Some chapters interests people and some grab only our attention in simple little stanzas.

Some choices we make for people around and some decisions we take for thyself! Perhaps, still if you call your decisions a sacrifice since they were taken for other's sake, then sure those sacrifices at the end made you only stronger.

Let's, "give thought to"; "give priority to"; "pay attention to"; "be devoted to" ; "be dedicated to" be the words chosen by you when you are admitting that you were made alone by the choices you created in life.

Reflect on your past decisions, good or bad, easy or tough, learn from the mistakes made and never forget to celebrate on your triumph too as "Good decisions come from experience. Experience comes from making bad decisions." - Mark Twain. Pat your back for being strong and sailing away calmly during the hurricanes of life. Cherish your decisions!


What I have learnt in life is that,
What we are today, are not the compromises or sacrifices we made in life.
We are the product of passion in priorities we make to enrich our as well as other's life. Indeed, you are only growing and evolving in your life with your tough decisions.

Routine has such an impressionable effect on others. Or should I say that one persons routine becomes another’s pain. Those that cannot contend with a disciplined routine of someone else will work ceaselessly to prove that the other is so incredibly wrong. The weakness or handicap of one shall always become an issue of ridicule for the other, even though the other will be devoid of any great accomplishment of value. It is the classic case of one being so devoid of any acquisition, or merit, that finding demerits in the other would come as a deliberate demeanor, to cover up their own deficiencies. There is a complex hidden here – a complex of inferiority. Not finding oneself in a position of superiority, the inferior shall continuously persist in finding fault in the other, or other things. It is a false reminder to themselves that they know better than all else. That they are right and the rest of the world wrong. And an immediate test of that is when they are challenged. Challenged to prove that they are right. Firstly in such a situation, there will be a denial, then anger at the audacity of the challenger, and finally leaving the situation altogether, so that they do not have to face the correction.


I would say that they are classic fodder for the psychiatrist. They are in desperate need of help, and which should be immediate. For, if it were to be ignored and left unattended, could in time destroy the balance of their minds. An unstable mind is perhaps the worst ailment or condition for any human. Their continuous ranting at pointing fingers at all, will in time envelope them into a disease – one that shall unfortunately never be up for any cure.


The sad part here is that damage is irreparable. They will never accept their inferiority, and so shall never believe in their instability.


There are conditions I believe in such circumstances. The inferiority complex comes from the knowledge that knowing you are inferior than the other, you deliberately keep insisting that you are superior or that the other is not of your standard. In a sense you pose to be superior, when indeed you are not. But being inferior, one can also develop an obtuse superior complex, as an outer shield. A shield that protects you, albeit metaphorically, from any kind of instigation which you feel has been executed, to put you down through an act of superiority.


There is another dilemma though. Trying to be superior as an act of wanting to be noticed as being one. And so on. This could be most damaging in practice, and I do hope that when and if someone God forbid, were to fall into such category, they would possess, at least in their moments of private thought, what they were pretending to be. For reality has strange ways of catching up with you.

All good things...

...must come to an end.

Loyalty is underrated.

In a relationship, respect precedes love. Always.

Don't compromise. But if you do, live with it.

What goes around doesn't always come around. Sometimes it just disappears completely.

When things don't go your way, pray.

If death can solve all problems, nobody will be alive to see the solutions.

Nobody is perfect, but we can all learn to be a little less imperfect.

Life is never fair. Suck it.

The winner takes it all. That's a fact.

YOU should never be more important than ME.

I am not different. I am just unique.

For The Last Time...

I am NOT Andrew.

There is this 40-ish to 50-year old lady who has been calling my mobile asking for Andrew. The first few times when she called, I said, "Sorry aunty, I think you got the wrong number."

Few weeks later, she called for Andrew again. Multiple times. I took a deep breath and said as nicely as I could muster,"Aunty, there is NO Andrew here. You called the wrong number."

Auntie called again a month later. "Can you please check the number before you call? This is NOT Andrew's mobile." I could almost hear myself losing my cool.

"Aunty! This is my number, NOT Andrew's number! Please don't call me anymore looking for Andrew because there is no such person!" said an exasperated me, a few months later to the persistent Aunty. I have really lost it this time.

Early this year, she called again. The moment I picked up, I tried to use my most menacing mafia voice ever and growled,"You have called this number many, many, many times! How many times must I tell you that you've got the wrong number? I am NOT Andrew ok? Don't call this number again!"

The calls stopped after that.

I was in a conversation yesterday afternoon, having a fruitful discussion with an old friend. The phone rang. In a swift reflex motion, I answered it with my chirpy voice, "Heh-llo"?

"Eh elo....Is Andrew there?"

It's the Return of The Aunty.

It's been two years now, and she's still calling my bloody number looking for her bloody Andrew. I want to tighten my fingers around Andrew's neck so much.

The little red devil with the forked tail in me really wanted to scream at her, and asked her why da hell she keeps calling the same number looking for the same idiot when I have told her umpteen times that she had got it wrong.

I wanted to yell and shake her and insist that she writes her stupid Andrew's name and REAL phone number on the wall in blood and get herself a phone that has number pad dials as big as her bedroom.

I even wanted to threaten to sue her for harassing me, though I have a nagging feeling that she simply kept dialling the wrong number due to dementia.

Sigh.

"Wrong number." My voice came out flat and emotionless, and I hung up the phone almost the same time I said it. The little white angel with fluffy wings has won the battle.

Somehow, I knew the phone would ring again. Someday.

Maturity Demystified

I was caught off guard recently when a blogger friend asked me to explain what maturity means, and the qualities one should possess to be seen as a mature individual.

Frankly, it's not the question that got me stumped. It's who he posed that question to that almost made me tumble off my swivelling chair.

Look at me. I am the last person you would ask about maturity - seriously. I have irrational mood swings. I am freakingly emotional. I have that occasional but sudden passionate outbursts. I can be rash and impetuous. And I am a li'l girl trapped in an aging, decaying, horizontally expanding and vertically challenged body.

Ok ok. I shouldn't make excuses for myself. Since you've asked - my dear friend, so you shall receive. My concept of maturity may be warped, so please take what I blog here with a huge spoonful of salt.

Maturity - to me - is a mindset, which in turn will translate into observable behavioural patterns, and materializing in several forms such as responses, reactions, actions and speech. It is a state of the mind.

Simply put, maturity comes from within. It is often determined by oneself, but defined by others.

For example, I may feel that I'm mature because I have been through a lot in life and accumulated pain and experience along the way to emphatize and offer solid advice. I may be mature in handling work issues and politics. I'm less emotional when it comes to focusing on my goals and pursuing my dreams. My head sits tightly screwed on my shoulders when I'm depended upon to offer solutions to critical problems. My sensible and responsible nature reflect the mature me in the eyes of my friends.

On the flipside of the coin, I could also seem immature during the times I throw my tantrums, sulk or exhibit a ridiculously unreasonable behaviour, or any of the other actions I've listed in the earlier paragraphs.  I  falter in the face of challenge and give up when things do not go my way

Many could not resist equating age to maturity. After spending 28years struggling in the real world, I discovered a number of older people I've encountered in the days of my life, work, school and social network are quite a distance from the nirvana state of maturity.

You cannot imagine the childish words that sprung forth from their mouths when they are angry or upset. You can hardly believe your eyes when they react mindlessly to protect their egos or pride. You cannot help laughing at the few who resort to juvenile acts for personal gains.

I don't have to go really far to prove my point. Look around you at the heads of state who fell out of favour with their people; men with graying hair in the likes of Osama bin Laden; historical figures in power who committed some of the world's gravest mistakes. Maturity seems to elude them too, isn't it?

I can't tell for sure what qualities you really need to be deem a mature person. In my humble and baseless opinion, I would think that he would be objective, calm, reasonable, and righteous (morally sound, that is). He would have the ability to differentiate right from wrong, truth from fiction, good from evil. He takes no sides, spreads no gossips, bears no grudges and exacts no vengeance.

I guess whenever I'm on the verge of veering towards the immaturity complex, I can always go back to that one reference who embodies "maturity" in every aspect of his behaviour and thought.

Think Jesus.

One really effective way is to infuse these 4 letters in each and every part of your life - WWJD.

What Would Jesus Do?

"Maturity is achieved when a person postpones immediate pleasures for long-term values." ~ Joshua Loth Liebman

Life Lesson

I whine a lot when things are out of my control. I want to change that, Well something struck me again today. I planned my schedule that I would go to church today before I make it to office, so I went to pick up flowers before going to church (particularly also bcoz I specifically wanted to ask a special angel to intercede for me and that angel now in heaven, while on earth loved flowers). I went to one of those tiny shops on the main road. The florist was not more than 20 years old, someone whose innocence seems unaffected by all the bad things in the world. He was so happy to put together a bunch of roses for me, picking out the best of the best.
I saw a bunch of these flowers and other decorative items made of wood and plastic and what not. I thought they’d look damn pretty at home. So I took a yellow flower. When I paid him for the roses, I reminded him of the flower I took. He smiled and said I didn’t have to pay for it since I seem to like it so much. That just made my day!
I asked him about his work. He works 14 hours a day, from 7 in the morning to 9 at night, every day. 14 hours!! He lives about 20 kilometers away. He eats his lunch there itself. He seemed happy doing what he’s doing. So he had been working for 13 hours straight, from the pleasant morning breeze to the scorching afternoon sun to the crazy night traffic and noise, when he said I could keep that flower because I liked it. Despite a long day’s work with no roof over his head, he found it in him to make me happy.
And there I was complaining about the routine of spending 10hours a day in the office, traveling in a First Class Mumbai local, getting coffee and biscuits, all in a comfortable, air conditioned setting. Even so, by the end of my day, I’m just tired and pissed off and in no mood to make anyone smile.
I keep coming across such simple people who spread joy in their own, tiny ways. People who know, a small thing can go a long way. And every time I forget, I meet another awesome person who reminds me again.
Until next time, love.

Were you beautiful today?

I’ve been waiting for the favourable moment to rant about this and I’ve no shame in sharing this stuff I wrote a few days back and why should I? So, this is it. Here I go–


Everyone needs to have a good look at the aura but subtle connotations of “pretty” – it’s someone who’s complexion is usually light. Yes, we’re all in denial about that – but have a good look at fairness creams and Beyoncé/ nicki bleaching their skin and Jourdan Dunn making headlines for being a “black model” on the cover of vogue uk – why is that even news?


I recently walked into Bodyshop to buy basic moisturizing lotion that makes my face look uniform. The first thing I got handed was one that was 2 complexions fairer than my sun-kissed self. I told her I wanted one that was EXACTLY my complexion- Not one shade light, not half a shade light. I mean, I loathe girls looking like Queen Elizabeth from their foreheads down to their chins. I’m very happy being the sun honey brown, and I think that the skin that wraps your bones has nothing to do with how fabulous people truly look when they’re sure of themselves just as they are. I mean, have you SEEN Lupita? Woo-man!

Dumb to heroic!

So there are these pigeons that come to my neighbour's terrace every evening to be fed their usual grains and water.
Yesterday, one pigeon got tangled on a little ball of thread that was stuck on one of the powerlines (I wonder how it got there in the first place) This pigeon was hanging from it and struggling to fly it’s way out but just made it worse by getting more tangled in it. Fellow pigeons were of no help as they kept fluttering around (you know how dumb they can be)
Before I could think of any way to help this bird, these men below my apartment, construction workers, made arrangements on the middle of the road and in about less than 3 minutes, rescued the pigeon. Carefully, they took off all the thread this bird was tangled in. Happy, wounded pigeon joined the other dumb pigeons.
Yes, it might not be the greatest heroic act in history. But to stop what you are doing to help another being is the greatest heroic act to me!
These men and those fatty pigeons have taught me something today!

The Ugly Cake

On my fifth birthday, I saw a big, ugly cake in a bakery. It was Chocolate, layer on layer and white icing on the borders with yellow somethings on top and grand and I liked it. It was expensive and my mother couldn’t afford it. I knew that, but I wanted it to be my birthday cake. I was easily distracted and we went back home. It was almost dinner time and I asked for the ugly cake again and again. Mummy took the keys told me to look after my brother and left. She came back home with a bag in her hand and went straight to the kitchen. Then she helped me change into a dress and as she was braiding my hair, very gently she told me it wasn’t very nice of me to ask for an expensive cake despite knowing what we were going through. That we could’ve celebrated with a small cake. That she loved me very much. That greed isn’t good. That it’s important to be understanding.

 And then a little later she came out from the kitchen with a big brown box and a big smile. The ugly cake was mine, but I didn’t feel so good anymore. I looked at my mummy and then I looked at the ugly cake. I experienced love and hate at the same time. I felt loved. I hated myself. Mummy lit a candle on the ugly cake and asked me to make a wish. I don’t remember if I did. I just remember feeling terrible as she sang the birthday song and clapped. I blew out the candle and I cut the ugly cake. It tasted as ugly as it looked. I remember feeling ugly inside. I don’t remember the rest of my fifth birthday.


A few months later, I witnessed death for the first time. A lady who lived in the same chawl that my friend lived in and had a grey side wall had set herself on fire. I never did like that chawl anyway. She was dead and her family was crying. People were whispering all kinds of thing, which I didn’t understand. She was dead and everything else was a blur. A few weeks after that, I witnessed a suicide attempt. Her blood was warm and she was pale. She was screaming and crying. She was alive and everything else was a blur.
There are many things I’ve forgotten, willingly and unwillingly. Sometimes even photographs aren’t a reminder of a certain memory. I don’t remember easily and I forget easily. But there are some things I will never forget. The ugly cake is one of them. Death is another. At five, I learnt two things. That greed brings unhappiness. That death isn’t a choice, but life is.


Life is full of ugly cakes and choices.

Ten Reasons I Want to be Reborn as a Girl

In today’s world where anyone and everyone with the slightest hint of fat on their chests and/or a vagina is being violated, physically and mentally, being a woman is pretty much a challenge. Parents all over are terrified that their daughters will be ripped out by some monster waiting in the dark.
Girls themselves are scared yet determined not to give in while some have armed themselves with pepper sprays, penknives and karate moves to save themselves if the need ever arises. Suddenly the media is full of pictures and quotes about women who have been wronged, ignored or worse, misunderstood, demanding that society pays for their sins. There is a sudden rise in ‘feminists’ who are tearing down one manhood after another.
Yes, suddenly, the world is concerned, scared and determined not to lose to the whims of this patriarchal society. Yet, as we fight a collective fight, everyone forgets the individual. Has anyone asked a single woman how she feels? Yes, yes, we read interviews of empowered women all the time. Blogs full of women flaunting their femininity like a weapon being brandished by a warrior princess.
But, what if you were given a choice? Would you want to be reborn as a woman again? I would. Why, you ask me? I say, why not? But anyway, here goes.

• Boobs. As unflattering and uncomfortable they might be, I like the way they are always jutting out and hampering free movement. I mean, have you ever heard a man complain because a woman bumped into him from behind? On the other hand, it is almost criminal to bump against a woman with an erect penis. And gross too. Ew.

• PMS. Which other species on earth has the right to be cranky five whole days of a month without any explanation or apologies? TELL ME! Yes, none. We women can scream, cry, kick and punch you, verbally, physically, emotionally and otherwise and the moment you dare complain, we can just pout and spout, “PMS, baby” and all is well.

• Which brings me to my next point. Periods. While most women will curse themselves for this monthly monstrosity and swear to pull out their fallopian tubes every month, it is a sign that your insides are working fine. I know, the irony of bleeding and cramping for good health is more than enough to tear out your hair but hey, at least the reports are almost always on time!

• Clothes. There is a dizzying array of outfits we women have access to. (At least the ones who are fashionably acceptable.) From colours to hues to shades to styles to kinds to types. WHEW! I don’t even know 10% of them.

• Fans. Men want to be us. Literally. Uh, not so literally but yeah. I don’t know many women who would make a fake profile to be a man. But I know many men who hide behind the ‘pallu’ of a woman who might not necessarily be theirs. And all because we have more idiots flushing their unwanted attention on us.

• Messages like “Mk me ur frn list”, “cnt add u. snd me rqst”, “ur sooooooooo butful” to whatever. I mean, LIKE WHAAA? SWAAAAG. Women RULEZZ!

• 1150 likes on a pic. Stare at a faraway place. Purse your lips like you’re pooping. Click. Add a few filters. Add a caption like “I can hear you but why are you so far away” adding as many smiley faces you can. If you are a woman, trust me, you will be ‘like’d.

• Get away with questions like “Does Nexus 5 have a camera?” with a smile and fluttering your eyelashes. Never has the world criticised a woman for her ignorance. In fact, we are the only species which is encouraged to remain dumb.

• Free (un) wanted advice. A classic play of the society, a woman is always being advised. By men, other women, plants, sunlight and even furniture. EVERYONE has something to tell her.

• Right to joke about the above things. Let’s face it, I will be hated for this. But then, at least ONE person would laugh at it. However, if a man had posted it, the poor guy would have been slaughtered.

So, I will, again, be born as a woman and face this cruel, cruel world. Happily.

The humanity of chewing gum.

I have been walking with chewing gum stuck to the soles of my footwear for four days now. The damn thing just refuses to come off and I have tried everything from scraping it against a wall to soaking my beloved flip-flops in hot water.

We humans have so many issues to discuss, crimes to judge and people to kill that the little things escape our attention. When is the last time you thought of keeping a respectable amount of space between you and the person in front of you in a queue? I know ‘respectable’ is an opinion, but somehow most of us prefer to have ourselves breathing down someone’s neck.

I guess it is because some of us also have the habit of butting into whatever little space visible to us and ‘adjusting’ into it even if it meant displacing everyone around for a mile. For a long time, I thought that it is because the world is fast and time is money and blah blah…but now I see that it is plain bad habit.

When I was returning home from office yesterday evening, I realized that it wouldn’t make any damn difference to a single passenger if the motorman never gives a signal before the train leaves the platform. The moment the train reached the next station, almost everyone around me shot up from their places pushing each other just as ready as the Indian National Army at war.

Getting back to the gum under my feet, there’s a reason you have wrappers (except for you to litter), tissues and if they suit your fancy, even leaves. Once you are done chewing, just wrap the goddamn thing before disposing it instead of spitting it out for it to wait to annoy someone else. Remind me to start a petition on this.

We talk about humanity, terrorism and women empowerment, but who will preach that we should not sneeze without covering our nose?

Dream, Dream a Little More

Future. Wasn’t it supposed to be an abstract idea? Something full of hopes and dreams and all the rosy promises. Having a dream was enough. Like, yeah, I’m going to be a writer with loads of money or own a magical chocolate factory with my personal little favourite people work-force and have a house with a room each for books, handicrafts, and all crazy stuff  and an Olympic sized swimming pool
and maybe, Mr.Perfect as my husband. When all the little girls my age were dreaming of being the future Miss Universe, I was hoping I’d be a space scientist and finally figure out what lies in the vast emptiness beyond the skies. I wanted to be a fashion designer, an artist, a singer, a dancer (so what if I can’t sing& dance). I wanted to be a tattoo artist. I wanted to invent something cool and have my picture in Science books of the future for my great-great-great-great-great kids to draw moustaches on.  I wanted to be everything I could be and more. I wanted to be anything but ordinary. I swear, I had the perfectly clear idea of my future. I knew what I wanted to be, who I wanted to be. I swear. Until, now.


And then, when I need them the most, my dreams deserted me. All those crazy, possibly impossible dreams. Right when the time to work on them was there, I was on a boomerang ride. Neways no regrets.. Of the Endless Dreams I dreamt I did manage to meet  a few.  Right now when the future waits for me, in all its uncertain glory. It’s waiting I don't know taking me where and for what. So, what do I do now?


I write a stupid blog post about it. I laugh for no reason at all. I get mad at a person for pointing out the obvious mistakes I know I’m making, and I love that person for pointing it out anyways.  I crib to everyone I know about how my life sucks and be glad that those people are in my life to listen to my crap. I listen to music and dance while thinking I then struggled to solve math problems and now life problems.


I work, and I work hard. I dream and I dream a little more. I hope and I give it all I’ve got.

Pieces Of Me

Got these dreams of mine bottled up,

For when the night is dark,

And the fairies lose their way,

I’ll live with those dreams of mine,

And wait patiently for the day.

Got all the inspirations of mine penned down,

For when the sun doesn’t shine as bright,

And the rain starts to pour,

I’ll read from these frayed pages,

And lose myself in a fantastical lore.

Got all the memories put up in frames,

For if one day we wake up and forget,

How beautiful life can be,

I’ll see these pictures and remind myself,

To start again and pick up –

All the fallen pieces of me.

***

 I know it isn’t really good, but, whatever. I’m just happy that I wrote something after all this time.

whats my goal? And whats on for me ??

Who am i ??? What am i doing here ?? Whats my future?

These are things that i always Ask God About...
i am tired.. so tired.. of all thigns that are happening now... My plans are uncertain..
 future is uncertain... SIGH... HOW HOW HOW??????

Anyway i've been thinking for  years... and guess what .. this year's intake is by far the worst one ever.... so what am i going to do about it ??? I DONT KNOW............................

Here i am .. in the office writing this ... dozing off... Meaningless Meaningless... sigh....


i think i will attempt to write a poem... here we go...


LIFE ...

Life ?
Is it present or is it Past ?
Is it good or is it Bad?
Is it Exciting or is it disgusting?
Is it Meaningful or is it meaningless?


Whatever it is an influence reminds me always:
L: Lord
I: IS 
F: Forever
E: Encouraging


Thats what brings me hope in life.. :)

It’s a Kinda Magic.

I will always remember how I loved reading fairy tales and stories just as every normal child did when they were kids. I also remember how, though many of my friends soon seemed to outgrow that stage, it took me longer than most to do so myself. My favourite story was Tom Thumb; the little boy who was as short as a thumb but with adventures bigger than any other person around. I always hoped, wished and even prayed for a little man or woman of my own to call my friend. It did happen; but looking at my brother, I did realize that he was a tad bit bigger than Tom Thumb ever was!


As I grew up, I slowly lost my faith in magic and magical happenings. I felt that I had grown above and beyond those things, and every magical thought, wish and dream was drowned in the cold ocean of reality. Now, however, today in my late twenties, I’m beginning to wonder; was I wrong to do so?
What if magic DID exist?


A different kind, of course than potions and a wave of a magic wand, from poison apples and spells and wishes granted. Yesterday, on a long walk from Miraroad station to home, I pondered on why these stories were told and read to us from the time we were little. Was it just the, “goodness always prevails,” or “don’t be greedy” that we was being drilled into our heads? Or was it something more than just  that?


Cinderella, a poor, bedraggled girl with no prospects and not much hope still wanted to find love , though her chances were nil. She managed to do this when her fairy godmother appeared out of nowhere, dressed her up and sent her to the ball. Was it the make-up or the gown that Prince Charming fell in love with?  It was her; the beauty and simplicity that was her. All she needed was an opportunity, and the courage to grab on to it and make it work for her.


Sleeping Beauty was cursed to sleep for all eternity, but her Prince Charming road up to her castle, kissed her and brought her back to life. The same goes for Snow White.


Children can’t understand big, complex concepts like, “When you get an opportunity, grab on to it, and fight, because it might never come again, becuase the world is a cruel, harsh place.” Nor do we want them to. We want our children exposed to all of the good and warmth of the world possible till the last moment. They can, however, understand that because of her ‘fairy godmother’ dressing her up so that she could attend the ball, she found true love and that saved her from misfortune. Old ‘Ella could just as easily have said she was afraid or that she didn’t dare do something like that, but she never did. She grabbed on to opportunity, grabbed on to chance, and rode her way to happiness and success, and Pretty Boy *ahem* Prince Charming later showed that he loved her even in rags.
Sleeping Beauty, due to an old evil Crone was forced into slumber and dormancy. Her soul was cold and lifeless, but love’s true kiss woke her up, as with Snow White.


Later on, children realize that they don’t really have fairy godmothers. Old, sweaty aunties who feed them jalebis and pinch their cheeks, yes, but not fairy godmothers. But sooner or later, we all realize that we don’t need FGs to get us what we want, because what the story tried to tell us, what it really was all about was snatching at opportunities, fighting against all odds, and finding happiness despite all that’s against you.


Maybe an old witch’s curse wasn’t what made so many Beauties out there fall asleep and ‘die’. Maybe it was a broken heart, no prospects, depression, sorrow, whatever. But like Sleeping Beauty, despite being forced into frigid and frozen languishing, there will someday be a Prince Charming to come rescue you and awaken you to the world, and to all that beauty out there that they closed off with their souls, no mattef how unlikely it seems.


And that, friends, is why I think Fairy Tales were made. Not just to entertain, but for children in their own way to understand and forever remember that there is always hope and goodness left in the world, no matter where or who you are. And for them to know that there will always be magic. At their fingertips, in their eyes, in their hands, in their hearts. And that magic will get them through it all, make good all the bad and the wrongs done, just like a little spell from a  good old Fairy Godmother.


When you’re down in the dumps, read a fairy-tale.  You’ll know that there’s always reason to smile.

When does the turn come?

I have heard. That people move on. Eventually. That we forget and forge a new life. The past eventually fades away, and a brighter future comes. We get over deaths, heart breaks, failures, rejections, even wounds and embarrassments. I have heard. I refuse to believe it though. If we do get over it, if we do forget it all and don’t ever look back, was it at all worth it? If we don’t reflect upon it, will we be the person we are or are we just trying to hide? I know we have forged many masks. Masks to show people we don’t care. Masks so that people never know we are vulnerable. But, hey, if we all end up wearing masks, don’t we all know that we are wearing masks? Does that mean ‘transparency’ is just a theory? How do you learn to trust someone new if you have been lied to, before? How do you not question your actions when you realize that you have forgotten your past mistakes and you are in fact repeating them, subconsciously?


I have heard people change. That people shed their old skins and evolve. Does that mean you are a new person? Are you no longer attached to your past? Are there no skeletons in your closet? Let’s face it. We move on, but don’t move away. We walk ahead but a glance strays back, a furtive one, maybe but a glance anyway.

A toast to all

Today, friends, I propose a toast. A toast to all things that have come and gone, a toast to all things that are yet to be, and most importantly, a toast to all things that are; those that are in my ’here’ and ‘now’, and those that we must always remember to cherish the most.

A toast to friendship, and the glorious highs, and the below -the-belt lows. Let’s never forget all that those we call our friends have taught and done for us. Let’s especially remember friends we’ve lost, because they’re the most valuable of them all. They showed us so much in the short time that they were with us, and when they were gone, their loss made us wake up a little from the inside and look around to value those that still remained, and helped us cling on more fiercely to them, loving them a little more for simply BEING THERE.

A toast to love, to all the many kinds of it that exist in this world, all the little ways that this, the greatest emotion one can ever experience expresses itself in, to revelling in it, to really feeling it, to sometimes loosing it, but always, always, loving love, simply for coming into our lives.

A toast to music, to all the various forms and kinds of it, to the bliss that it brings, to the beautiful form of expression that it is in itself, to the understanding that it sometimes brings with the simple ease of opening a present. To the flow of it, the rhythm that we dance to, cry to, sing to, laugh to and love to….

A toast to books. Books, which keep us sane, and help us hide our faces from the world when the fat tears are rolling down our cheeks, and to the crinkly pages, who willingly accept these tears that fall on them and mark themselves in their effort to absorb our pains. To the stories that we give so much time living in that we sometimes forget ourselves and our duties around us, and for giving us the comfort of a short-lived, yet well-loved retreat from it all.

A toast to change. Change that comes in all it’s many forms, from combing your hair a LITTLE differently today to choosing between jobs, or, in this time of recession, getting one in the first place. To change, that gracefully unwinds us from the cocoon that is the mundane and routine, to change that gives us reason to move on and realize that there is MORE out there when we’re knocked down hard, gasping, panting, but somehow, still surviving.

A toast to the beautiful, meaningful idleness that i so love to spend time in. Oh, how amazing it is, how much it makes me think, how it makes me realize that there are more ways to express oneself than writing.

A toast to My Bestie, who can still make me smile no matter how much time has passed since a long heart to heart.

A toast to the little things, the simple things. The little sparrow’s nest I see everyday on my way to work, the brave little sapling that has growing in the spoonful of earth lodged in a little crack of the wall in my apartment on the ground floor which shows me and all it’s siblings down below that to be noticed, you have to be unique and different, to the pigeon who calls out to me mournfully in the morning, to the toothless beggar who smiles at me daily when I pass him by, reminding me of the little fact that you can have nothing, nothing in the world ( not even teeth,) to smile about, but you may still smile.

To life and all it’s ups and downs, to learning, to loving, to dancing, to existing, to always having so, SO much to still keep fighting for….

A Toast to All….