Bullshit.

Fuck it.
Whenever everything good begins to happen, shit comes in the way of things.
Why? Because apparently, it's the fricking law of nature. Or maybe, because God's a sadist.
Things were just beggining to settle down with S Jo. For a commitment-phobic, generally boy-hungry girl like me, it's a major achievement to be in a relationship, a steady one at that.
But apparently happy endings don't come to you that easily, served in a silver platter, garnished with joy & peace & contentment.
It's actually served on a weared-down, ugly metal plate, burned and black. Most importantly, its COLD.
Love is damn complicated as it is, and it absolutely sucks when others come along to make it worse.
I knew we'd face problems, with our relationship being 'condemned' or whatever.
But I didn't expect stuff to be as bad as this.

So here's another round of champagne, just to celebrate more bullshit.

Abyss

Slient, desolate streets
Miles to walk on, promoses to keep
Death & loss waiting by the door
Breathe, just move on.

Blank, empty spaces,
Shredded hearts, shadowed places,
Promises were meant to be broken
Breathe, just move on.

Long, empty hours
Wavering faith, pointless wars
Can't even remember your own name
Breathe, just move on

Mighty, lonely pride
Stand alone, alone you fight
Questioning your own choices
Breathe, just move on

Love, Sex, & Rock'n'Roll

Being a teenager is difficult. No, not because my hormones are taking over my body, or school is getting tougher or even that there are more responsibilities.
It's because I'm having to make choices.
Earlier, they were restricted to what toy I wanted to play with, what I wanted to eat, whether I wanted to play first, have my milk later or what I wanted to wear.
But now, life isn't so easy anymore.
Yes I know, I'm growing up. Everyone does. But the problem with today's world is that it isn't so easy anymore.

Today, I'm standing at crossroads. Crossroads of morality & immorality, correct choices & wrong decisions, society & self, conformity & individuality.
I live in a world where drugs are easily accessible, cigarettes and alcohol are sold at every street corner, sex is prevalent & friends are often foes.
I am bombarded with information. I ask questions, but no one answers them. I'm expected to have an opinion about everything. But I don't know who to believe.
I am lost in a maze of people. I am searching for myself in the mirror. I don't have an identity, or maybe I have too many of them.
I can't identify with the people I see on TV. I can't identify with the child I see on the road.
I dress a particular way. I act, think & speak like everyone else.
I don't know whether I should worry about the world, my family or myself.
I am expected to lead the world. But I can't even lead myself.
I am being shoved towards knowledge, but I am slouching towards wisdom.

Terrorism, honor killing, religion, success, greed , money, patriotism, honesty, love, murder, rape, humanity, diseases, death, society, fame, careers, parents, environment, global warming ...
My mind is a whirl of images. A cacophony of multiple soundtracks. Confusion has clouded my senses, and suddenly I can't think anymore.
Everyday, I'm making a choice. A choice about the kind of human being I want to be. Or maybe, that I want to remain a human being.
I don't know the difference anymore.
But at least I get the right to choose. And that brings a satisfaction of sorts.

I'm not going to merely survive in this world. My intention is to live life completely, fully and passionately.


I want to be able to judge human beings, to differentiate between the good and the bad and the wolves in men.
I want to change the world but I don't know how.
But for now, all I can do is peer through the chaos and haze & look for the silver lining.
That would be the salvation for me and my world.

Memories

What would life be without memories? They give depth to our existence. We learn from them, remember them, laugh with them, cry with them. They’re the substance of our mind.

Whenever I think about my childhood, a rush of images, sounds & smells fill my head.

There are a lot of firsts.

My first day in school. Smiling teachers, a lot of blue. I remember being a savvy, happy child, with answers to everything. I left a lasting impression.

My first friends. Laughter, birthday cakes and crayons. I remember tying shoelaces for everyone because I was the first one to learn how. I remember borrowing crayons and never returning them. Going to birthday parties just for the return gift. Wanting a GI Joe, because my brother had one. Watching my hair catch on fire on my birthday.

My first fight. Not understanding anything. Feeling hurt. Crying. Maybe punching someone- that memory is a little vague. Definitely pulling someone’s hair.

My first pet. A bird. A little blue budgie who would cock her head just so. Feroza, the obstinate little thing, who taught me so much about love. I remember walking in the park with her on my shoulder, biting my ear when I walked too fast. Snuggling into my sweater in the cold, & then feeling her climb up again. And when she died, hunted by a cat, I felt pain & loss, for the first time.

My first phone. Having no one to call because I was the only one with one. Showing off a little. And dropping it & losing it & breaking it.

A lot of other memories too.

Holidays. Beaches, water parks, temples, hotels, resorts, safaris, photographs, luggage, shopping & so much more.

Family. Fights. Domain issues with my brother. Shopping with my mother. My father dropping me to school. Watching my brother being lectured about his baggy pants, credit card bills & multiple girlfriends.

My grandmothers home In Agra. The domestic disputes. The aroma floating in from the kitchen- of dal & rice, the staple meal of the household since the 1800s.

The dogs howling at night and then being chased in the morning back into their dens. My grandma’s wry sense of humor. My grandfather, set in his ways, his clothes- a white kurta- laid out every morning. Being given Rs. 10 so I could buy chips from the shop across the street.

Hospitals, because all my relatives are medical professionals, I’ve seen my share of them.

Weddings. Loud, crowded, hot weddings. Dancing in the baraat. Dressing up in Indian attire, loaded with jewelry, feeling like a princess.

Looking back, I remember fondly all the moments gone by. Even now, when I stare at photographs of my past, I remember the laughter & the tears & the disappointments . And most of all, I remember what I am, & and how I became that way.

Autobiography

Writing about yourself is never easy. Opening a door & letting some one else privy to your secrets, your darkest desires, your hidden fears. Revealing your hidden face, letting a stranger peer through the outer façade you have built around yourself. Opening up.

Every other day a celebrity comes up with a memoir or an autobiography often with a boasting title that paints them as heroes & tragedy queens. Maybe such openness comes with being in the public eye so much. After being on public display for years, taking the final step to complete transparency is not so hard.

And how does one know what to write. What could be so interesting in my relatively “un-happening” life that another would be so interested to read about?

Ann perhaps the most philosophical reservation of all—do I know myself well enough to describe my inner world to another person, one who will perhaps judge me & form an opinion of my mistakes and my choices.

It’s not easy.

Telephone.

Waiting.

Staring at the damn telephone and waiting.

It won't ring. It never does.

Butterfly Fly Away

She stopped in the doorway, hesitating. She contemplated entering, her hand resting on the doorknob of the slightly-ajar door. Finally, taking a deep breath, she pushed open the door and entered.

He stood in front of the fireplace, his back to her.

A flash of memory. He would always stand like that, gazing into the dancing flames, thinking seriously. She'd been watching him since she was a little girl. It was his favourite place.

A smile played on her lips as more memories filled her head.

Being thrown in the air and caught again. Being engulfed in the musky smell of hard work, the feel of rough cotton shirt. Feeling protected. Safe.

She smiled more widely now & walked towards him, no fear in her stride now.

This was the man she'd trusted with her every secret since she was 5 years old.

This was her father.

"Dad", she called tentatively. He turned and gazed at her.

"I--", she began.

"Shh..." He shushed her. "You don't need to say anything. You have made your decision. And that's that."

"But I..", she tried again.

"No. Don't try to apologize."

"If anyone should apologize, it's me. You look like you're scared silly, and it's probably because of me. Don't be scared child, you're not making a mistake", he said gently.

"You see, no father wants his little girl to grow up. We want her to be forever the little child in pigtails & ribbon in her hair, who would run up to me with her drawings. The little girl who would need protection from the smallest thunderstorm. The little girl whose world revolved around me."

"But it doesn't work that way. We all grow up someday. And you have. Actually, you've been that way for a while now. I just refused to see it", he said with a little laugh.

Then he sighed. "I guess it was me who hadn't grown up yet. But I need too. To grow up and be strong. Enough to let go."

"But, Dad.." she said.

"No", he interrupted her. "You listen to me now. I want you to go. Take the scholarship. Go. Live your life."

"Just promise me one thing. Don't forget your old man now, alright? Write to me. Call me everyday. I want to know everything. Every little thing."

"Dad", she protested.

"No, caterpillar. You need to do this. A little distance is good for both of us. Don't worry, child. I love you, and I will always love you. But we both have some growing up to do, me more than you. And we have do it ourselves. I can't help you, now."

He looked away, his eyes glistening.

She ran into his arms, feeling her own tears brim over and run down her face. She buried her face into the familiar scent & the familiar feel and she cried.

"Shhh...", he said, patting her head.

"My dear butterfly, fly way now. Spread your wings and fly."