I could outrage. I could talk about appropriate punishment. I could scream my head off. But it is becoming harder and harder. One, because it seems to make absolutely no difference. And second, it only seems to make things worse. Please don't call me a feminist if I raise the issue of safety for women. Honestly, I want safety for everyone. But it is the women who seem to need it more, simply because some men just can't keep it in their pants. And if you have the gall to say it is the woman's fault, shame on you. Shame on you, for blaming the victim of such a horrid crime. Has it ever occurred to you that she could be a woman in your family? Just trying to make a living for her family? Trying to provide YOU with better food, her children with better education, her family a better lifestyle? Did you ever think of asking the scum why he did it? I'll be damned if he ever said, "because she was travelling by public transport after dark."

What would you like me to do? Not work? Wear nothing but Salwar Kameez? Stay locked in my house? Marry young? I couldn't believe my ears when I heard it. One man claims we should never have abolished child marriage. This never happened then, he says. Because all men got to keep their sexual appetites well fed. First off, bullshit. Complete fucking bullshit. You think women weren't raped in the time of child marriages? The only person you are convincing is yourself. So you think the answer to this is to get everyone married. Bravo. Bravo indeed. I recently read an account of a 62-year old woman who was raped and tortured. And the perpetrator of the crime had been married. Twice. Oops. Now what? 

Instead of blaming women and trying to put us all in shackles and cages, do the right thing. Punish them. I am not asking an eye for an eye. If that were the case, I'd be asking for a woman to rape and torture him in public. Maybe enjoy it. Tape it and make a viral video out of it. No, I want you to see to it that he never does it again. If that means you have to castrate him, do it. Uncomfortable? Sure, but doing the right thing always isn't supposed to be a joyride. I'm counting on you, India. I'm counting on you to step up. 

You know it's the right thing to do. You've been thinking about it yourself. But that's the problem. It's all nice and easy to think about. When it actually comes down to it though, it hurts. Like a bitch. And I have nobody but myself to blame for it. Shame. Such a shame, because maybe I could've done something differently. Maybe I could've thought different. Maybe I got too complacent. And worst of all, maybe I deserve this. I could whine about it forever and ever or I could learn from it. Grow from it. Never do it again. But I think we all know what's really going to happen. Let the hurt begin.

Selflessly self-piteous.

There comes a time in life when one has reached desperately new lows. "And how does it feel?" you may ask. You know, if you were an anchor for E! News. Anyway, it sucks of course. And you know what makes me feel worse? The fact that I am a selfish prick for actually complaining about anything! Because, lets face it, I am one of those privileged people who has been given everything she has ever needed on a fucking platter. So yes, I do not really have any right to complain. But, kya karein, dil maanta nahin na! (Translation- but what can I do, the heart doesn't understand!) So I go ahead and let it screw with my head. I get depressed. I cry. I wail. I wallow in self pity. That's the stage I am in right now. Self pity. Yeah it's kinda pathetic. But that's alright. I'll get over this. Only a matter of time. I will also do what I must do. Take control of things. Nobody deserves to feel this miserable! So tomorrow, I promise to wake up with a new attitude. A better one. Till then, allow me to publish to the rest of the world, how self pity really works. (This is where I go on to get some chocolate, look at pictures of dogs and wonder why the world dishes out the most cruel verdicts and people to me and why I put all my energies into them.)

Woofie Chronicles

I remember the first time I saw her. She was squirming around with her siblings, her eyes still shut. Poor things were stumbling around, wondering where on earth they were. We were visiting my mom's cousin in Wayanad then. It was my parents' anniversary that week and I had just about turned 10. I squealed as I saw the whole lot of them in the courtyard. Their mother was still inside, recovering. Seeing my enthusiasm, my uncle let me sit next to them. The next thing you know they were all over me. One little guy was clawing at my shirt, trying to feel the fabric. Another little girl put her furry ear against my foot and got me giggling. This was my happy place - squatting in the sun, surrounded by 7 adorable German Shepherd puppies. We spent a week there probably, I can't tell anymore. All I remember were the pups. I even tried getting to know their mother. She wasn't too ecstatic to see me. One growl and I was screaming for my mom! So I was careful to stay away from the little ones when thy were having some mom time. The night before were leaving, my mom's cousin offered to let us have a pup as an anniversary gift for my parents. Appa said no even before my uncle could finish that sentence. I couldn't believe my ears. He KNEW how much I loved them. Outraged, I started asking why and very promptly Amma said, "We'll discuss this in the morning." 

I was up before everyone else that morning, sitting with the little ones. I couldn't imagine how anyone could say no to these cuties! One of the boys was busy gnawing at my toe, when I noticed it. There she was, a tiny ball of black and brown fur on my lap, slowly inhaling and exhaling. She looked so cute that it took all the strength I had in me to stop myself from tickling her teeny li'l nose. After what seemed like ages, my mum came out and sat with me. My sister is terrified of dogs, so she stayed far far away. We had about 4 hours left to eat, pack up and leave. So i finally worked up the nerve and went asked Appa again. "Shradha, I don't think we can......." and that was all I needed to hear. I started wailing in the middle of their courtyard. Yeah, I'm probably a spoiled little brat, but I wanted that puppy. The one that was snoozing on my lap an hour back. I think the crying lasted for about 3 hours, before my Dad gave in. "Okay!" he said. "Aana, nee thaan paathukkanum. Okay? I'll hold you responsible." I don't think I heard anything after 'okay'. I ran in and  was hopping with excitement as I waited for my uncle. After Amma and Appa had spoken this out and enraged my sister to no end, they came stood with me. 

"Edha eduthukka pore?"

"There was this one girl who slept on my lap. Her ears had brown spots. I want her!!" 

Amma's cousin picked her out for me. I remember him telling me that girls were the best, because they care a lot more than the boys. And that she was going to take care of me. Those were the last words I ever heard from him and I will be forever grateful to him for it. I didn't know it then, but he was right. So there we were, 4 of us in a car with a green picnic basket, 3 huge flasks of luke-warm milk, a plastic bowl and my first love - Lassie. 

How we came up with her name is a whole other story. You'll hear about it soon! 

It's complicated.

No, not talking about a Facebook relationship status. But this kinda applies to that too I guess. Or not.

Relationships are hard. They're confusing. They tend to fall apart, if not nurtured. And that stems from the fact that people themselves are complicated. What is right to you may not be right to me. And one must learn to be patient. It is of utmost importance not to judge, assume or form conclusions. And it is important to not react to situations. Yeah that sounds like you need to be a saint. Yep it's tough! Today I saw a relationship fall apart. And it hurt. Like hell. Today, I had to grow up. I had to act my age. Not because I was asked to, but because I had to. I couldn't run away or hide from issues. I had to face up to it like an adult. I had to step up and say things. And I did. But I also had to watch others do it. It felt so...awkward. These are the people you watched as you grew up. The people that made decisions for you, fed you, threw you up in the air and caught you. Watching them be so vulnerable, kinda shook me. Guess my parents have been kind enough to keep me innocent for as long as possible. And I am so grateful to them for it. I've always had this feeling that people in my family don't give a crap about me, because they never told me stuff or I was the last to know. But I understand now, well atleast kinda, that they did it to protect me. And I won't hold it against them. I can't imagine facing something like this when I was 16. Oh the nightmare. People don't kid about age. You do need to be a certain age to know something, to understand it, to deal with it. So I'm gonna let time take its course. Let her teach me what needs to be taught, whenever it needs to be taught. No point rushing her, no?

Crazy CabRide Chronicles

3.40 am. I'm in a cab with two other sleep deprived souls. The driver is quite the talker. He gives a good speech about 'thus buus' English. Dailamo dailamo playing in the background. Not the kinda tune you'd expect to hear at 3.45 in the morning. And he just told me that he was from Trichy! Wow. Talk about small world.

Anyway so we're two minutes away from our destination, the airport when I realise I had forgotten one of our props back home. We had 20 minutes to check in. The driver said, "avlodhaane Madame. Pifteen minute la neenga thirumbi vandhuruveenga. Naan guarantee." I'm not gonna lie, there were moments when I thought 'this is it. This is your last moment. Ever". Once I thought I saw white light even. It was the craziest cab ride I've ever taken. But bless that soul he actually brought us back in one piece and in 15 minutes as promised! Yeah he was awesome at getting us back in record time. But what struck me about him was his attitude toward life.

Such a happy person. Sometimes they can annoying. I know. But you just couldn't crush his spirit. His wife was studying to become the principal and he had passed his class 10. He was very clear about what he wanted. He wanted his kids to be well educated. He knew his wife could do much better than him, but he was happy that she chose him. He knew that tomorrow was an uncertainty. He only believed in doing whatever you wanted now. "naalaikki nu solli vitteenga na, nalaikki varavevaraadhu Madame. Panradha ippo pannanum." What a man! Must learn from him.

The thing is, I know what he is talking about. I am aware of how it works. But I forget. It gets lost in the smaller things of everyday. That's our problem. We keep forgetting about the bigger picture. That's what we need to focus on. Remember this, at least for today. Go do something you've been thinking of doing for a while now. How about going to the terrace. I haven't visited my terrace in months. I will now!

When I was.

When I was 7, I wanted to be a puppy. When I was 12, I wanted to save puppies. Five years later I couldn't even save my own. One life lesson learnt. When I was a little girl, all I wanted to do was wear skirts and dance till my legs dropped off. I stopped completely when I hit a wall. I should've pushed harder and broken down that wall. Only, I didn't. Another one bit the dust.When I was 16, I was so damn sure that I had what it took be the first ever Indian Idol. Only, I realized a year later that I got my spelling wrong. When I was 4, I thought the tape recorder was a house where little singers sang and danced when we pressed buttons. When I was 18, I realized growing up isn't as fun as people made it out to be. When I was 19, the feeling was reinforced. When I was 20, I had the best birthday surprise ever. And 21 saw me go to Europe and learn a brand new word - inebriation. Never took it too seriously though.

Now I am 22 and so much of this world I have seen, but so little I have learned. Everybody wants to go back in time, visit their childhood, stay there even. I don't want that. Yes, I'd love to be that innocent again. I'd love it if reality didn't suck so bad. I'd be really grateful if I didn't need to think so much. But I do think a lot. Unnecessarily. And I am sad to admit that I am no longer innocent. But life, it doesn't suck so bad. It pushes you around a lot. Throws things at you, for no goddamn reason. But it does all that because you need it. If that effing horrid incident hadn't happened, you wouldn't be who you are now. Everything you ever did or went through, makes you who you are. And be nothing but proud of it. 

Why you should listen to LTP.

My head is just cluttered with so very many things at the moment. And they aren't pretty. But I'm gonna put it down anyway, because who knows! It might elicit a response somewhere. I might have made some sex offender feel like shit in some corner of the world. So here goes.

I read a blog today about growing up. And I loved it! I have been beating myself up over the past few days, about the Guwahati incident, wondering what it was. What the need was for some people to violate other people's rights.... their privacy. It was ignorance and immaturity in parts. I'm relieved that I understood. That alone has given me a certain sense of calm. I'm not an idiot. I understand that realising why, doesn't solve the problem. But at least we're half way there. And I'm not gonna lie. I'm still scared. I'm always looking at people for what they might be. On the inside. What might be behind that facade, that appearance. And it sucks. It really does. When I'm out on the road, waiting to take a rick, I wonder if this guy is going to be nice to me. I wonder if I should keep a friend on speed dial who can help me out of a difficult situation. I have contemplated buying a can of pepper spray so many times. But you know how everybody had this idea that it will it actually never happen to them? That is what is stopping me. And it's the stupidest idea I've had in a long long time.
And yet, there is some part of me that disagrees. Why should I!? Yes, I sound like a jackass. But it's a valid question. A friend once told me that girls and boys cant be equal. They just can't. And, you know what? That's fine by me. I'm not saying I'm loving it, but I'm okay with it.
My point being, you don't have to treat me like a guy. No please don't. All I ask for is some respect. Respect that I have my choices. Respect that I am also human, with preferences and ideals. Respect that I also sometimes need some recreation. Expecting me to lead my life, fearing that you can't keep your 'desires' in check - kinda unfair don't you think?

So please. Grow up. Educate yourselves. Find a way to educate those who need this kind of lesson. Learn the quality of self control. Its not too hard really. You just need to try it. I'm not asking for a whole lot here. Just asking you to respect each other. Be it man, woman.... Whoever.

That's enough ranting for one day, I suppose.

Life before 2nd standard

Childhood was pretty awesome for me. Till 1st Standard, I studied in my mum's friend's school, and boy it had its perks! I got to call the Principal 'Mytheee Aunntteee" and eat snacks whenever I wanted. (Yes, I've been a food-pig from waaaaaay back then) Also, my class consisted entirely of 5 people. Including the class teacher. This was definitely an advantage for me, because I was always first in class! Even when my spelling skills were as poor as 'frends' and my drawing skills were cat, when asked to draw a dog. My mom would glare at me, as I'd regale my athais and cousins with tales of how I came first in my exams, first in the fancy dress competition (dressed as pattu maami), how I delivered the longest dialogue in the school play. Basically, I was a superstar all-rounder (according to myself)

I was in my final year (first standard, in Akshara terms) and our school day was fast approaching. It just so happened that our school principal was related to Arvind Swamy (the actor). And he was coming to Trichy to attend some show. So 'Mytheee Aunteee' invited him to come visit our school. I, being the star achiever of the school and the eldest, was asked to greet him at the entrance. Of course I was all dolled up for the honour - well-pressed uniform, shiny shiny shoes, well-brushed, coconut-tree pony tails... you get the picture. So I was standing, near the gates, when the car arrived. 

This is when things took a turn for the strange. He got out of the car, and I went crazy. I saw him and screamed my head off. And started weeping. No, wailing. And sadly, my memory of the event ends there. But, from what I hear from mom and other sources, I proceeded to run inside the school, still wailing, and hid myself in the art cupboard. It took 3 people, including my mother, to pull me out of there! Apparently, Mr. Arvind Swamy was very upset by what happened and tried to get in my good books by bribing me with chocolate!! I'm totally bummed that I don't remember this part. But on the bright side,  by that evening I was apparently sitting on his lap, "smearing my face with diary milk and stuffing my mouth with gems". These were the words my sister used and was also gracious enough to let me know that I did not share even a morsel of chocolate with anyone. I have to say, I'm proud of myself. 

Synonymous with Stupid.

When I was in school, I was one of those kids. By those I mean the ones that were neither here nor there. I know that sounds like I am bisexual. But I'm not. I think. Anyway, I was one of those people who was never remembered for some cool trait or strange quirk. You'd think that being an active member of the culturals club would change that, but no. It didn't. Don't get me wrong, people knew me. And that's about it. I was never associated with anything. I was never the class topper, the art freak, the notorious criminal. Nothing. If I must describe school in one word, it has to be "average". I drifted through school-life with below average looks, average grades and above average friends.

So you definitely understand my surprise, mingled with shock at the loud applause that greeted me on that monstrous Monday morning. It was the Monday after our excursion to a certain theme park. The mood in general was a mixed bowl of disappointment and excitement - disappointment at the end of an epic excursion and excitement at the prospect of sharing pictures and recollecting the fun stories. I entered my classroom thinking about how the chutney I'd had for breakfast could've been a little more spicy, when I heard the deafening sound. I looked up, slightly confused and turned around, wondering who they were clapping for. I looked around the room for....lets call her Traitor for now, my one chance at an explanation. My then-best-friend was sitting in the second row and staring at me, her face ridden with guilt and an expression that then reminded of a scared puppy. Focusing all my attention on walking to my seat without running into the awkwardly-placed pillar, I walked like nothing was happening. After I sat down and dropped my bag to the floor, I turned to face Traitor.

"Umm, what's going on?"

"Uhh...I'm....."

"Ray, what's up!?"

"They know. Shradha, they know."

For about 15 seconds I heard just the cat calls and whooping. I was looking at the Traitor as she sat beside me, fiddling with the Dexter pencil I'd given her for her birthday, two weeks back. 

Oh crap.

For those of you who stuck around till this, the story is a little strange and definitely proves that stupidity is synonymous with your's truly. We went to a water theme park on our excursion. And after jumping like an electrocuted maniac in the wave pool, the Traitor and myself decided that we'd had enough. We wanted to change. I was to wait at the plastic palm tree near the pool, while she went to the little girl's room, changed and then switched with me. That was the plan. So I waited. And waited and waited and waited. It had been 4 minutes dammnit! Thats it. Imma be going to change now. I walked quickly, because I didn't look as hot as I'd have liked in wet clothes, and ran into the first enclave with a restroom sign above it. Imagine my horror when I saw a bunch of boys standing just outside and changing into dry shorts. 

Any normal person would've stepped out, checked if they were in the wrong room and then proceeded to doing whatever the appropriate thing to do was. But me? No. I, being the self important ass that I am, decided in a matter of seconds that I COULD NOT be in the wrong room. How dare these fools of the meaner gender occupy OUR restrooms to change? I started screaming and yelling at them, asking them what they were thinking, and that they were going to be in deep trouble. My bag was flailing about in my arm, hitting the wall beside me, when I heard the Traitor shout out my name. I turn around to see her with her hand covering her mouth, horrified. I was just about to ask her where the hell she went when I saw it. Right behind her. A HUGE green board that said in plain and clear English - GIRL'S BATHROOM, with that ugly mnemonic of a bald girl. 

Shit. 

I swiveled around and walked across to the other side, pretending like nothing had happened. Had it stopped there, it wouldn't have been too bad. But one of the boys followed me. He tugged at my bag, one hard tug. Terrified I turned around to find a fairly tall boy, in shorts and a white t-shirt, standing right in front of me. I inhaled and broadened my shoulders a little bit, my defense mechanism on the ready - to run like my life depended on it. He stretched out a long and surprisingly muscular arm with a torn piece of paper on it. I was almost sure it was a threat of some sort. I looked up at his face. No expression at all. And I wanted to whack my head with a brick, because all it could register was how cute he was. I looked at his hand and took that piece of paper with a trembling hand. He couldn't possibly think I was cute! Well, you never know. Before I could open it, he was gone. I turned around and found the Traitor dumbstruck. I opened the torn and folded entry ticket.

No he didn't think I was cute. He didn't give me a number or anything. It said, "Are all girls idiots like you?" Not only did I embarrass myself, I brought shame to my entire gender. I looked up to see the entire lot of them looking at me and laughing their heads off.

After swearing never to talk about it, EVER, I threw the paper away and we left to find our classmates and the rest of the trip was uneventful (except for Ms. Caroline's snoring at the planetarium. That was good fun!)

Back to cruel reality, I turned around and saw a group of them still laughing and pointing at me. One of them waved their hand at me. I was going to give her the "WhatEVER!" look when my heart stopped for a split-second. She was actually waving at me a torn and crumpled ticket that looked strongly familiar.

Raaaaaaay.... Gaah!

Traitor indeed.


Post Script: There were pictures, by the way. That's right. The Traitor actually took pictures while the mean-ass cute fellow gave me the note. And the story is only partially true. Which part isn't, I ain't gonna tell! :D

Mindlessness over mind

Since when did I become this person? Since when did it matter what someone wrote to some one else? Since when did I become insecure about things the weren't even my concern in the first place. Since when did something affect me this much!? Well I suppose I have been affected by things in general, pretty easily. Something/someone with even an ounce of persuasive powers could get me. Unless I was stubborn about it. That aside, I don't know whether I should be happy or go into panic mode. You know this constant state of paranoia you are in, even when you are actually doing something else? I think I might be getting there.

Unaccustomed to sadness

And another short story is over and gone. Still reading unaccustomed earth and other shorts by Jhumpa Lahiri. Once in a lifetime. That is what this one is called. The story of a young girl just entering her teens. Her crush on the boy she used to hate. How her family played host to his for a month or so. What is amazing about this one is that she steadily builds up on a character, letting you form your own impression of them, judging them even. And she snatches it away from you. In one single statement, she reprimands you, silently albeit, for being such a judgemental person. There is something to be learned from this for all of us, I suppose.
Another thing that strikes me about her stories is the strain. There is always a vein of sadness, a strange feeling that the people in this house are probably never going to be completely happy. It makes me wonder if she also had a life that was such.
Whatever said and done, Ms. Lahiri knows to write. She knows how to capture emotions that people would rather avoid. She is an expert at taking that awkwardness that every family experiences, but ignores and putting it out there in the open for everyone to see. She isn't afraid to tell you that she knows. She knows how it is. She understands that sometimes you need to get away, no matter how much you love them. She understands how relationships disintegrate and there is pretty much nothing you can do about it. They were just meant to be that way.
I must say, this is quite a leap for me, in terms of genre. I feel like I'm finally growing up. From Enid to Agatha, detoured to Ayn and finally to Jhumpa.
Two more stories to go. I'm waiting to see how they end more than anything, just to see if the pattern that I'm seeing continues. I hope it doesn't!

MindUnclutterings

"You can take all that anger and turn it into productivity." 

That was my mum's solution to my rage issues. Mhmm. It did work. NOT. Sigh. But it does work at times. When there are some old vases and crockery that need disposal. Done very efficiently. Smashed. Shattered. Dust.  And then came the helplessness issues. 

"Ma, I feel so helpless! What do I do!?" 

*silence*

"Get over it"

"Huh?"

"I said, get over it. You'll be fine."

Yep, didn't think that's gonna go very well either. And then, it just happened! Don't ask me how. It just did! 

So basically, what you do is, you take it (helplessness), make a gigantic rock out of it and chuck it in the ocean. Screw feeling helpless. Those feelings are not for us. They're not for anyone. They should be nicely gift wrapped and flung right back where it came from. I'm telling you. Promise me you'll do it. Promise me you'll try at the very least. 

On a completely different note, ever tried flying paper planes from the terrace? They're insane fun, especially when you're trying to get them to go into the bitter old man's apartment. And once your mission has been accomplished, you should run for your lives. Because bitter old Thatha will find his walking stick and come to your house. He will knock on your door - three ominous, spine-chilling knocks. And when you answer the door looking like an innocent child who knows not what he wants, he will hand you a paper plane. THE paper plane. He would look at you like he is going to whack the living hell out of you. And then, out of nowhere, he will suddenly flash you a smile, turn around and leave. After blinking like a retard for a few seconds, you will clench that paper plane in your hand and shut the door. As you turn around an eclair will fall from within the folds of that plane. Again, as you stand there looking at that chocolate filled treat, all pretty in gold and purple, it will dawn on you. You'll probably miss him the most, when you have to leave. 

Which is why baking him an eggless chocolate cake (he is very aachaaram you see) with vanilla frosting is of utmost importance. I contemplated making him a proper south-indian meal, but that could be disastrous. Wouldn't want to poison the man.

So chocolate cake it is! And it shall be done. Yes it shall. 

Ranteroo - Part Too

Sometimes I don't know why I do certain things. It isn't about doing something that is right or wrong. It needn't necessarily be wrong. But I don't know why I do it. I'm probably sounding like a crazy person right now, but shouldn't there be a reason to do most things? We do almost anything that we do, for a reason! What that reason is, I should think. The next time I do something for no apparent reason, I should stop. Just stop and consider why I am doing it. Because maybe it'll save a lot of people from getting hurt. Or maybe it'll give me an insight into my own twisted head, that might help me figure out how to be happy with what I have. That is another thing. Have I mentioned how really fortunate I am? I have the best parents in the world, an amazing sister, a beautiful family with such loving grandparents, friends people would kill for... All the materialistic pleasures I probably don't even deserve. I'm just wonder struck at how kind the BigMan Above has been to me and I am grateful for everything. I just hope I don't screw it up. Because that would be entirely my fault. And I've probably got that coming too.

Chemical Lorcha in the Mandai.

Its time we gave it up.
Its time we started afresh.
Its time we grew up
Its time we gave it rest.
Because having a plan,
It really blows.
Lets be part of a clan
and simply go with the flow.

Go with the flow. I'm suddenly addicted to this phrase. It makes sense to me. That is really all anyone can do. If you want to live a life that is relatively happier, lighter. But it is a concept that many people fail to grasp. One doesn't simply 'go with the flow', my mum would say. Plan. Plan for the future. Plan your day. Plan whats for lunch. Even if it doesn't go the way you planned it, you'll be prepared. How, you ask? More planning of course. Plan for what might not happen. Plan for what might happen that might not actually happen. Oh man. For someone as lazy as me, that sounds like PUNISHMENT (Capital Punishment - Get it? Okay sorry).

Mind you, going with the flow isn't a walk in the park either (hah! Umm. Sorry again). It takes a fair amount of courage to do it. For some people just doing something as it is chucked at them is terrifying. Like myself. Therefore, physiologically, psychologically and basically, I am screwed. I confessed to a friend once and she looked at me with an 'Oh, Shradha' expression oh her face.

"No, not really."

"How do you know?" I ask.

"All you need to do is find the balance. Do both."

Oh it is THAT simple?! *snorts of derision* Well, lets just go ahead and balance away then! *Humph*

Okay, I guess I'll find a lopsided balance somewhere along the way. When I do, you may hop along if you like.

I wish

I wish it would stop. The tears streaming down your face. 

I wish you didn't have to be in pain. 

I wish you would realize that she suffers no more. 

Because having to suffer unspeakable trauma is simply not fair. 

I wish for you to understand that she is at a better place. 

A place that is free from suffering. A place where happiness is all you get. 

I wish you could see that you are not alone. Ever.

Because I just would not even contemplate to leave. 

I wish you would see that you are stronger than you think. 

I wish for you to use that strength and take on the world , be brave. 

Because you are destined to see, do and be great. 

What I thought of on my way to work.

I think it is safe to say that we all spend most of our lives trying to acquaint ourselves with the ever-changing world. And when we are sufficiently comfortable with the set up, we want to shake things up. We want to make life interesting again. Hopefully find a little happiness during the way. This eternal battle teaches you so much. Throw in a bag of surprises and we have life, as we know it. I hear not many people are fond of surprises. I never understood why! I love them. Get that heart racing. And maybe give it a few jolts once in a while. Oh, the joy. That is actually all we want. Joy. Solace. Eeee. I just hope we don't lose our way trying to chase her.

That's right! Happiness - definitely a girl 

Of Dreams and Visions

It had been a long day. A tiring one too. All I wanted to do was sink into my cozy bed and snuggle up in my comforter. And that is exactly what I did. Didn't even change into night clothes. It felt like I had just closed my eyes, when suddenly I woke up.


Did I hear something? 

It was all a little blurry. It was quite breezy and could feel my light blue curtain flapping around. I propped myself up, on my elbows. What was that near my desk? Looks a little bit like someone was sitting on my....

And that was when my heart stopped.

Should I scream? Where was my pepper spray? Please God, let this be a dream. PLEASE!!

He was examining the Polaroids above my table. He chuckled at the one with me tickling Thatha.

Oh shit. I'm gonna sneeze. Why is it like the movies!??! No. Don't. N.....*aaachhhhooooo!* 


Crap.


He turned around. He was old. Reeeaaally old. He smiled and took a few steps towards me. I pulled up my comforter a little higher and stiffened. Funny thing was, he seemed familiar. He was wearing a blazer that, I was pretty sure, I had seen somewhere. And then I noticed something even weirder. I could see.... through him. My clothes-line picture strings were like lines on his forehead. Now I was a 100% sure I was dreaming.

"Shradha?"

How did he know my name!? Are my notebooks somewhere on the table?

I nodded. Then it struck me. I had seen him before too. In pictures.

"Krishnan Thatha?!"

"Hahaha! You remember! Yes, I am your great-grandfather."

I didn't know how to respond to that. I was just staring at him, wondering how on earth he entered my subconscious and became a dream. In the meanwhile, he came a sat down on my green chair and looked around the room. When his eyes came back to mine, he smiled again.

"Am I dreaming?"

He shrugged.

"I'm not sure. I thought I should pay you a visit. You're the only grandchild I haven't seen!"

Ah. Maybe it was an unfulfilled wish of mine. Okay I should stop interpreting this dream thing. 

"Oh....."

"I see that you have a lot of pictures here. Pamechu looks so old in that one!"

"Yeah.... That was when Thatha came to visit last month..."

"But his smile hasn't changed. You like photography?"

"I guess..... It is fun!"

"Hmm.... I used to collect spoons as a teenager. Quite a big collection I had."

"Spoons?"

"Yes... and forks too"

He put his hands in his pocket and drew out a spoon. It looked antique. He held it out. I was looking at it with a little apprehension.

Is it real? What if I can touch it? That makes this much more real.

I took it from him anyway. It was cold to touch. Very slender. Probably silver too. And with such intricate work on it. She was a beauty.

" Where is it from?"

"My father once took me to Bombay. I was just a kid then. It was 1903...... I remember, because that was my first time in an engine coach. They had a grand opening of a hotel then.... at Colaba. It was magnificent! The halls were lavish and the restaurants, spectacular. My father was having coffee with his colleagues, when I stole it."

He chuckled. He seemed really pleased with himself.

"Nobody knows it till today. Except you, of course. Ah the tales I could tell."

And before I knew it, I was sitting beside him, laughing at his tales. Stories about spoons, his first crush, his first job, his first failure. He was such an amazing storyteller! I had forgotten that he was probably a figment of my imagination. I was probably sitting at the edge of the bed, because the next thing I remember is falling.

Thud


Ow. My hand. Oh god, the floor is so cold. I don't wanna get up!

I partially opened my eyes. I could see floral motifs.

Oh right. I painted that. Not bad at all!

Shradhaaa. Shradhhhaaaa. SHRADDHHAAAAAA!

"Whaaaatttt!"

"Come down, now."

Uggghhhhhhh. 

I got off the floor and stretched. That was definitely the weirdest dream I had had. Since the dog-horse one anyway. I was still half asleep as I trudged down the stairs. Someone was watching the news.

"......has left 31 people dead and many more injured. The Taj Mahal hotel in Colaba was opened in 1903...."

That sounds familiar.

"Pa, what happened?"

"There has been a terrorist attack at the Taj in Mumbai. Its all over the news."

"Did she say 1903?"

My dad mumbled something. And suddenly it all came back to me. I ran as fast as I could. Once I reached the room, I looked around. For a sign, anything. And there it was. Glinting in the sunlight. Right next to my bed. Silver and everything. I went and picked it up. A little warm from the sun. The slender stalk had TAJ engraved on it.

Rinse and Repeat (Not Really)

Conditioning. No, I'm not talking about 'please apply to shampooed hair and leave for 3 minutes before rinsing'.

I'm talking about being strong enough to take on whatever the world throws your way. It doesn't have to be a gigantic ball of fire. It could be something as simple as a wet paper towel. The problem with a wet paper towel is that, you can just wipe it away. The feeling that it was there, lingers. There, but not really. It takes a while to go away. And you know what's worse? You are not entirely sure that you want it to go away. So basically you are left in this state of limbo that isn't really limbo, because it just isn't. This feeling is a bitch. You can't do anything else in the world because it keeps nagging away at one tiny corner of your mind. Sometimes I just want break something on my skull, hoping the nagging would stop. But I think we all know that neither is the nagging going to stop, nor am I brave enough to attempt.

Masterchef Musings

Can I just say how really impressed I am with the people at Masterchef Australia? I've seen my fair share of reality shows (like a grandma, actually) and I've seen the kind of things people do to sell the show. Think Hell's Kitchen. What a LOAD of bull. And then came Masterchef and it was novel and intriguing. As the show went on, you realized that these people were actually real. Genuine. I mean, I was in LOVE with Georgie and Gary and Matt was that man in pink pants who was scary but adorable. So not only did you get to learn fancy culinary terms, you got to watch some good food, amazing cooking techniques and great showmanship. Then comes along Junior Mastechef. The first time I saw the commercial, I was skeptical. Kids can be quite annoying (yeah I'm one of those) and watching such amazing chefs patronize kids would be plain sad. And then I saw the second episode. With a huge chunk of cheesecake. So that I could concentrate on the cheesecake if it got too boring. What actually happened was something I never expected. By the end of it, I had said awww so many times that my cousin was begging me to shut up. And I'd eaten one spoon of cheesecake. One. It had never happened before. I was gobsmacked.

What exactly was it that made me like it so much? I loved the fact that they were treating them like adults. And due credit has to be given to the kids too. They didn't throw hissy fits and not one of them cried when they got eliminated. They were mature without being cocky. (Where are these kids in real life?!) Even grown ups don't handle it that well. All the challenges have been set well too. Its easy without being pre-schooler and the kids manage to put up such lovely versions of it. The warm and fuzzy factor kicks in when you see a kid in distress and the chefs help out without making it look like they did. And they have something nice to say about everyone's dish! And yet when it is undercooked or lacks seasoning, it will be put across. Could one ask for more!?

It simply too heart-warming. Love it. Now what worries me though is Masterchef Australia itself. What if the grown-up version just isn't good enough anymore?

Strange and Stranger

I don't like it. Not one bit. I can't tuck it away in a corner and just work around it. It doesn't seem possible. Hell, it simply isn't possible. So I'm just going to let it linger and ignore it for a while. Get something done, anything at all. And then get back to it. Because it, this strange feeling, doesn't like being ignored. No siree. It will come back and hound you worse than ever.
Scariest part is, this strange feeling just found itself a beautiful stranger. 

Paradise

It is quite unfair how we belittle the word. Almost anything is paradise now-a-days. Eating a piece of sinfully delicious chocolate isn't paradise! It's just....wonderland maybe. If you really want to call it something. Even Coldplay didn't commit to calling it paradise. This could be para-para-paradise, is all he said.

I'll tell you what paradise is. That one place that gives you happiness.... the sort of joy you can't really describe. Blind and gushing. Glee. It doesn't have to be a place really. Just a feeling. A memory. That you can keep going back to. You want to know where I found my paradise? Somewhere in the corner of someone's heart. 

Sorry Status

The power of social media is really something. I recently heard about a certain someone being asked to leave a city over a Facebook status message. In the beginning it seemed simply bizarre. A...status message? Really!? And then I heard the full story. Apparently she said something distasteful about said city. I read the message too. Quite distasteful. It would've been funny probably if it were worded a little more sensibly. Whatever it was, it definitely was unnecessary. But what the hell! This is Facebook! I've heard one of my most favourite people say that opinions are like assholes. Every body has one. So she had an opinion and it was quite shitty. Is that reason enough to throw her out of a city!? I mean come onn! Does every single thing in the universe need THAT much hatred? Lets be a little considerate. Report abuse and move on man! Geez. 

Such an Ass

Okay so I've been taking things lightly and basically been an ass these past few months. And I have no one else to blame but myself. Every once in a while I need these Jhatkas to wake my dumb fuck of a mind. And I guess it has happened. Kind of. Now all I need to do is prove myself, to prove that I am actually not an ass, just behaving like one for no reason.

I shall do this for selfish reasons of course. So that I get ahead in life. So that i learn my lesson. So that I do what I am actually here to do. Learn. To be a good writer. Half as good, as a good one at least!

If you must

Insecurities. Every individual on this planet is rife with them. Some a little more than the others. Why am I any different? I have them. And they're pretty unreasonable too. They seem perfectly stupid to anyone who hears it. But let me assure you, they're as real as the skin on your cheeks. And when you are faced with a situation that is not just the epitome, but a glorified stage show of your biggest insecurity, you crack. Like a knuckle under the force of the hands of determination.

So, if you must do it, decide. If you must crack, crack out of that glorious shell. If you must undergo pain, do it so that you come out stronger. And if you must listen to others cuss at you, do it to learn from it, not to bow down. But most of all, if you must love-be it something or someone-do it for yourself. 

Blush, Blush, Crazy Rush

The butterflies

The pink cheeks

The sudden smiles 

The crazy rush

They all come in one big burst. There is no stopping it. And there is absolutely nothing you can do about it. The worst part is, I'm terrified of it. It never went anywhere good. Not that it has gone there many-a-times. But one never knows. And there is this constant vein of fear, running through the mind. Everything is all good and before you know it-Crash. Boom. Gone. All that rush. But she doesn't leave without finding a replacement. Oh no. That whiny, self-obsessed co-worker you always had, she replaces Rush. Who, you ask? Pain? Self-pity? Probably.

Call it what you want. Makes no difference. What makes a difference, is deciding to go through with it, even after knowing who the replacement is gonna be. And strangely enough, you learn so much from it, that it was all worth it anyway.

So where does that leave me? Going through with it or not? I don't know. "Go with the flow". That's my motto right now. ;) 

So I remembered that I had this question: what exactly is the joy of giving?

Now that I am older and more mature *cough cough* I think I have an answer. It doesn't matter what you give. And no, I'm not talking Diary Milk or Toblerone. I'm talking tangible or intangible. As long as you give someone what they need, be it a helping hand with their luggage, change for a 100 rupee note, some of your absolutely delicious lunch or one of your earrings (yes I have done this), they're happy and you're happier. Sadly, it also matters when you do it with a smile. And let me be clear, it has to be genuine. People always see right through the fake ones. Trust me! So if you feel like you've done nice things for people but haven't done it with a smile, maybe you should go apologize (like I'm about to). Because you just made them feel like an ass for asking you.

As long as you have the right attitude and the willingness to help, it always feels good. It is, after all, all about feeling good, isn't it?

Too preachy? I should stop that.

Wind Chimes

Sitting on the sand, watching the sun go down
With nothing in your hands and nobody around
The waves crash and dance around the shore
Suddenly you realize you're not alone
Tremors of panic shake the heart
Heartbeats thunder loud, barely even apart.
You turn around in a flurrying second
Only to find a gust of wind
Rattling the wind chimes in your car
That weren't there when you parked her.

Life is full of surprises. That woman in the bus who offers to hold your bag. That guy who lets you have his spot in the queue. That child who would rather play with you than the PS3. To be honest, I wouldn't expect anyone to do anything for me. Why should I? It is after all a do or die world. And yet, someone has been kind enough to consider another person before him/herself. So, it is only fair that I also do something in return for someone else. You know, full circle and all that. Have you done something nice for someone today?

Ranteroo

Okay so I did not want to do whatever it is that I did. Yes, I did not expect to get..... carried away. But it happened. And I have to deal with it. Consequences, you ask? You ask well. *glares* If I had thought of those, we wouldn't be having this conversation right now, would we? Wait. This isn't a conversation is it?

No.

It is one person's rant-eroos to the internet about an issue she herself is unaware of (yet). But she is fully aware that this apparently non-existent issue will come to light soon enough. And will probably come and bite her in the behind.

That is the beauty of this. I know that there might come a day when I will be judged based on these very words I'm typing and I have realized that I don't care. I don't give a flying rat trap about what is going to be thought about this particular post. Because the rantings of a woman annoyed are meant to be hated. They are supposed to be despised and progressively burned to dust.

But you can't burn the internet, no? *evil grin*