A place I called home

Lately I’ve been having long, intricate, adventurous dreams every single night. The ones that make you feel like you haven’t really slept properly because your mind hasn’t exactly been to rest. I don’t mind dreaming, (in fact, I love it); what I do mind is when the dream vanishes as soon as I wake up. By vanishes I mean, that when I open my eyes, it just slips out of my hand. Poof! Even if I squeeze my eyes shut and try to recall it, it just won’t come back to me. And that REALLY bugs me. It’s like I’ve just seen an entire two hour movie and I’ve forgotten as soon as it finished. And sometimes I just know that the dream was good.

The same thing happened with me today and I just sat and hmpfed. I got up lazily, stretched and yawned. It came back to me when I was brushing my teeth. It just swooshed right back at me! I remembered my dream after all! I stood still for a moment as I remembered how beautiful it had been!

I was back in school again. I was there with my college friends, but the funny thing was: I was a kid. I couldn’t see myself, but because it was my dream, I knew it. It was the same field again, the same premises, the same old swings; the merry-go-round. How many times had I dared to swing myself upside-down on that monkey ladder, just to prove how brave I was to my friends even though I personally used to hate doing that? The grand old swing which we used to call ‘phisal-patti’ as toddlers. How many times had I been pushed down it by that big bully back in LKG? The church, the beautiful buildings, the Claudine Block, the gorgeous statues of Jesus and Mary and the lush green trees all around. My school it was. My second home for fourteen long years. I hated it, I loved it. I dreaded it, I was eager to go to it.

Everyday was a new adventure. My class was the perfect smorgasbord of kids who were lovable, naughty, absurd, irritating and plain crazy. My school made me what I am today. The small problems I faced there, taught me how to deal with the bigger issues in life. The little lessons learnt in those Value Education classes, did prove to add to my character. The amazing English teachers that I had are the ones who inspired me to write in the first place.

(The garden in front of the Claudine Block)

(The old building and the old Basketball court)

“Wow, our school looks so beautiful and peaceful in the evening right? Without all the hustle bustle and the noise?” I said to my friends sitting with me in the dream, who did not respond. I smiled as I lay there on the ground. Right under the neem tree where we used to sit together when we’d get tired of playing ‘Red Letter A’ and ‘Crocodile Crocodile’. There was a cool breeze blowing, and the sky was orange and purple and cloudy. There were birds flying over the graveyard. It was all so fresh and so clear.


I thought of the teachers, singing Christmas carols in the warm winter sun, sprawled across on the corridors against each other during free classes, the free spirited, sweet innocent two-ponied girls trotting about and later, the surging adolescent female hormones and the cat fights, free ice cream and secret santa, the feast of Dina Belanger and St. Claudine Thevenet. It was a completely different world altogether. So distant from what it is now. Nostalgia shrouded me like never before. I closed my eyes and sighed.

I feel like I haven’t valued my school as much as I should have. I need to visit my school again. I need to see our names within little hearts, engraved behind the field, on the wall of an old water tank. And I need to meet those four stupid friends of mine, whom I haven’t met properly in ages. They’d know I’m talking about them if they’re reading this.

I know I should have said this earlier but, Arrivederci St. Patrick’s Junior College. I miss you. 

(Last day of school)

Joypur Ahoy!

(Our team at the first Local Committee Meeting)

If I leave out the episodes that took place right before I left for my Jaipur trip, and the episodes that soon followed it, I would like to say that it was one of my craziest and most entertaining trips so far! Things became a little interesting since I joined AIESEC—the world’s largest global youth organization. It is already running in 22 cities all over India (and in 110 countries worldwide) and I was more than glad it came to Agra as well. One of the good things about AIESEC turned out to be the excitable, energetic people I met from all over my own city who I had no idea about. During our first training session, when I first interacted with everybody, I realized that I had underestimated the people in my town. All of them were bright, friendly, enthusiastic young people and it was a pleasure meeting them all. But more on this later; this post is about the trip.

Last month, the AIESEC Jaipur team conducted their Annual social event ‘Utsav’ on the 30^th of April and they invited all of us as well. It’s an event where around hundreds of underprivileged children get to showcase their abilities through cultural performances and they get to spend an entire activities-enriched, fun-filled day.  After a LOT of mind-numbing ‘will-you-go?’ and ‘should-I-go?’ sessions, finally it was decided that I was going. It turned out that I was the only girl amongst a bunch of guys who agreed to go. It did seem odd, trust me, when I woke up in the morning and thought to myself “Okay, so I’m going with four other guys in a taxi and I don’t even know them properly.” But then I told myself, “Look, it sounds bizarre, but it also sounds fun. You wanted to be impulsive and crazy, here is your chance. Just go for it!” And I did.

It wasn’t like they were complete strangers anyway. The car ride turned out to be amazing. The road was ever so smooth and the scenery was so picturesque, specked with the Aravalli hills. I sat in the front while these four bubbly, boisterous boys sat behind me; ever babbling, ever bickering.  There was Sid Singh, aka Dexter- a dreamy, lazy, slow guy; but also, extremely interesting and has good taste in movies and books (oh, and he has a blog as well!) Tariq Khan, this guy is funny, quirky and speaks really fast (and a good singer) and passes the funniest of random statements that make me laugh till tears spill out of my eyes. Aman ‘Cut-y’all’, a dimpled, sweet guy who is like so totally sincere about his studies! :P He is awfully teasable and the only non-kid-guy in our group, I felt.  Finally, there was Udit Jain. Cute, funny and very gullible. Oh, and very helpful. From the word ‘Go’ we were chattering away like monkeys who were suddenly given the freedom to speak after weeks of being voiceless. What I really felt good about was the fact that all these people had very good taste in art. We had a blast talking about movies, and music and singing along listening to Coldplay and the likes. We were talking nonstop from the start to the end until the driver had to yell at us to keep it down! On the way, we stopped at a dhaba where Udit and Tariq ran into naked ladies having a bath! Crazy!

We entered Jaipur and were greeted by its perfect blend of monuments and malls. That is what I like about it. It’s historical and modern at the same time. After meeting the rest of our members (Suyash, Rakshit, Amar, Uday, Navdeep, Apurv) at our Committee Coordinator Mansweeny's place, we were off to the venue. For the record, Suyash is one of best people to have been recruited for AIESEC. His energy, fervour is just amazing. Uday and Rakshit are these fun-loving, ‘don’t-give-a-damn’ type of people; while Navdeep and Amar are a little mellow, but always ready for anything. I was blown over when I saw the scene. Hundreds of little kids were swarming all over the place! They were running, squealing, laughing, chattering and some of them dancing exuberantly on the stage while the volunteers were interacting with them, serving food to them and had become little kids themselves. There were about a thousand kids, who came from schools and some NGOs. The venue seemed perfect, there was a stage, a lot of big steps which provided a huge space for the kids to sit and play around and there was a big field as well. We just stood around jobless for a while and met some of the Jaipur AIESEC people we knew and then we were ushered to do some volunteer work. We made the kids stand in two lines while they went and got the food served to them on plates. But the whole line-making scene got a little messy, so we took the plates and served it to them where they were sitting. It felt good, when they smiled in the cutest way ever and received the food.

(Left to right: Amar, Suyash, Tariq, Navdeep, Sid, Mansweeny, Uday, Moi, Udit, Aman, Rakshit)

(Forming lines)

(They'd got the moves)

(Serving food)

There was a drawing competition for the kids. They were provided with sheets, pencils, colours and were asked to draw absolutely anything. They were happy, eager little kids and they all chose a spot where they sat down comfortably; wore their thinking caps and began to draw. I was seriously amazed at AIESEC Jaipiur members’ spirit. Even though it was a scorching hot day, they were full of enthusiasm; they were talking to the kids, motivating them and just having fun. Suddenly I was perked up as well. I went around and saw the drawings the kids were making, talked to them, asked them their names and about their school and their lives and complimented their drawings. Some of the kids actually used their imagination and drew beautifully. My favourite ‘draw anything’ drawing used to be angular mountains at the top, the sun peeping out smiling, a house with chimney and smoke, a river with ducks swimming in it, a tree with mangoes falling off it, and a few V-shaped birds in the sky. Very original, right?

The kids were just adorable, they flashed their teeth as I walked around, showing off their drawings proudly. This one kid in particular I simply loved. His name was Deepak and he made a lot of colourful circles on the paper. I sat down beside him and asked him “ye aapne kya banaya hai?” Pat came his reply, “rang birangey laddoo ki barsaat” and just smiled in the silliest way possible. I couldn’t stop myself from laughing and hugging him. After every ten minutes he would come running up to me and give me updates “didi mere dost ne meri drawing ki cheating ki, par prize to mujhe hi milna chahiye!” He was just so cute and energetic, his eyes were big and bright and full of life.

(Tariq \m/)

(The face of innocence)

(Apurv with the kids)

(Sid's super'vision')

(Tee hee!)

There were sprinklers on the field and the kids were playing around them, getting wet, laughing and dancing. I just looked at them. They were just so cheerful. So innocent. So blissful. There were some deaf and dumb kids who gave a dance performance. It was absolutely brilliant. The little kids were reciting poems on the mic. They were the cutest, most delightful things I’ve ever heard. I was amazed at the energy reverberating throughout. The kids with the best drawings were given prizes. Before we left, Deepak came running to me and yelled a jolly, high-pitched “BYE” and ran off. The whole thing was nothing like I’ve ever experienced. The idea was to give those kids a day where they can have fun, be free, and show their abilities.

On our way back, we stopped at a lounge called Orca where I tried kiwi-flavoured Hookah for the first time! I didn’t get how to do it at first, but later I could make them, big smokey puffs =) We all sat, talked about the day and had a good time. We went home and in the evening we went to have dinner and we went bowling. We were invited to this terrace party and the set up was beautiful. Cozy, illuminated, amazing; and can you believe they were playing Radiohead? ‘High and dry’. I was in love with the place. We just leaned over the railing, felt the breeze blowing on our faces and looked down at the city lights. The traffic, the people, everything seemed to be in such a hurry from up there. On our way back, there were fourteen of us who squeezed into a single auto! It was unimaginable. Four of them were hanging on their arses at the back, and one of them was actually lying over us. It was hilarious and we laughed all the way.

(At Orca)

Back home, we changed, relaxed and just talked. I did not know that the fun wasn’t over yet. We went to the terrace where they played heavy trance music and we played games and danced. (It would not be proper if I divulge into all the details though) Erm, yeah, so all in all, it was ridiculously bizarre and I don’t think I’m ever going to forget it.

The next day we got up at 8, but missed the AC bus and had to buy non AC bus tickets. We were hungry, but nothing was open so early in the morning and we were sitting like beggars in front of KFC.  That was also a fun experience though. Tariq almost fell in a manhole! When the beggar kids came to us to ask for money, Tariq said “agar hamara paas paise hote toh hum aise baithe hote kya?!” The kids seemed quite convinced and none of them came to us again! :P

The bus trip was epic. It was extremely hot and we were surviving on Lays and Nimbooz. We chattered about the previous day, but as it started getting hotter, Sid and Tariq’s energy levels started to come down. Mid-way we stopped at a rest room kind of place and we had ice cream. Sid bought a bottle of Coke and hardly had a few sips when it turned hot. He was so frustrated at that, that he threw the bottle out the window. Udit and I started laughing when Tariq (this guy cracks me up) said “yaar tum log itni garmi mein hans kaise sakte ho?” with the most dejected, ‘I-m-going-to-drop-dead-anytime’ kind of expression on his face. I burst out laughing and laughed till my stomach felt like it will explode with the pain. I had tears in my eyes as I laughed like a maniac while all the other people in the bus looked at me like they were ready to throw me out the window. Thankfully, I slept for a while and we reached Agra. By the way, no matter how much you hate your city, it always feels good when you’re greeted by those familiar roads and places again.

We were welcomed by fresh cold coffee made by Udit’s mom at his place. After two hours of drinking boiling hot water, it was heaven. Back home, I told my mom about the trip. “Good that you had a good time”, she smiled. I DID have a good time. Leaving out a few things, I’m sure I’m going to look back upon that trip years later, and smile thinking of how crazy and young and stupid we used to be :)

P.S. A special thanks to Dexter, for his awesome camera and the awesome clicks! :)

Homo sapiens?

If you are reading this post, then I can safely and confidently assume that you’re a human being. (Or are you?!) Then I’m sure all of you will be able to relate to what I’m going to write. You all know how complex human emotions are. How humans have a tendency of misinterpreting things that people say and making mountains out of molehills. And how they think and overthink and chew over a tiny issue and let it get to them. A tiny little thing can disrupt relationships and uproot all the love a person develops for someone. What’s even more complicated is that every human is totally different and unpredictable. You can never say how he might construe something that he hears or sees. It makes me wonder how it would have been if I were an animal.

I’ll tell you how it would’ve been! It would’ve been awesome! I could have been a handsome giraffe, living in the interiors of a glorious green rainforest. I would have been free and happy and I would have eaten juicy green leaves off trees all day! What fun! Or I could have been a hippo. Lying in the marshy mud waters all afternoon, sleeping and eating and lazing around. Actually, I would have been great at being a crocodile. Because lying on my bed, doing nothing is what I’m best at doing. I would have loved to be a penguin too, a female one. I would have played in the ice, dived into the water and caught fish and my husband would have to take care of the kids! Hah! Ooooh, or I could have been a koala bear! I would have been cute and cuddly and huggable! Eeeeeeee, what about a kangaroo? I would have hopped and hopped and would talk to my little baby inside my pouch. So cute! Actually, I wouldn’t mind being a bird too. Flying high, high, high into the sky, building nests and laying eggs! Oh, I know! I could have been a pig! Going ‘oinky oinky’ and, umm, do you guys know the thing about female pigs? (kheekheekhee) *blush*

Wait, I got it! I’ll be a lion! All the animals would be afraid of me, and all I’ll have to do is sleep, eat and mate! Ahh, that’s the life! Do you see what I’m talking about? All these animals, they don’t have to care about relationships and hurting their partners, or getting married or divorced. They don’t mull over something stupid that a loved one said to them. They don’t pass snide comments to each other and cook ways to hurt the ones they love. They don’t have to cry their eyes out over a break up and have mental breakdowns and then go and visit the shrink to get their heads straight. Is it really such a good thing to be a human being?

Yesterday, while I was thinking about something stupid I said to somebody and feeling all guilty about it, (while also trying to study for my exam) I noticed my dog sleeping peacefully on the floor. She’d kept her face on her paws and she looked so contended. I would want to be her. (I would love to be a tiny puppy!) She gets to eat, she gets to play, she is loved by everyone and all she has to do is sleep and wag her tail. She doesn’t care about studying, or mugging up those stats formulae, or scoring good marks or making her parents happy. Then this one question rang through my head “Why did I have to be a human being?!” Automatically, I thought of ‘The Animal Song’ by Savage Garden and when I listened to it, I realized that was exactly how I was feeling.

“I am having difficulties keeping to myself,

Feelings and emotions better left upon the shelf.

Animals and children tell the truth, they never lie,

Which one is more human, there’s a thought now you decide!

I want to live, like animals; careless and free, like animals.

I want to live, I want to run through the jungle,

The wind in my hair and the sand at my feet.”

So true, right? You wouldn’t even have to live such long lives, full of struggle and strife. Break away from this chaotic, messy, crowded life and go live in the Savannas. Run free and happy and liberated! Have simple, happy, short lives!

But then the next day, I contradicted myself. I AM glad to be a human being. I DO feel lucky to feel all these emotions. How I had this sudden change of views? I came across something which made me feel all happy and warm again! I will share that something with all of you in my next entry. For now, I’d like to dedicate this post to all the wonderful animals the world over! I love you all and you make this planet a magical, exotic, exciting place to live in! Cheers to our wildlife!

Darkness to Light

(Radiohead's logo behind a drawing made by its lead singer- Thom Yorke)

And it happened again last night. It is enormously maddening when insomnia strikes during exams. Some of you might think that’s strange, because for most people, the mere sight of text books lulls them to sleep. But no sirrreee, that’s not for me. After I’m done with whatever I plan to do for the day, I shift all my books and notes and everything to the other side of the bed, switch the lights off and stretch out in the hopes of catching a good night’s sleep and then getting up and revising everything the next morning. Hah! In my dreams (that’s a paradox!) I let my mind wander off in the beginning. It’s okay to gather up your thoughts at the end of the day and reflect on whatever happened or reminisce about the good ol’ times.

But, as luck has it, even though my body is unmovable with exhaustion and every pore is screaming at my brain and telling it to release those stupid sleep chemicals and put me to sleep, it just won’t happen. And the weirdest part is, I think of the most bizarre things imaginable. I think of what was, what is and what could have been. About what’s going to happen and about those damn ‘what-ifs’. Why do we do that? Why do we even need to think about the future at all? Or the past? Why is it so difficult to live in the present? Why do we have all these expectations and apprehensions when we know it’s only going to hurt when they come crashing down? Similarly, mulling over and regretting my past is another thing I have got to stop doing. I keep juggling with my past, present and future, worrying over nothing.

Sometimes I think so much I feel like someone is chewing my brain up. I just lie there, like a crumpled heap of dirty clothes, lost in my cornucopia of thoughts and speculations. Last night, for some reason I was thinking about the time when we had gone to Manali and how I had stood under the sky and felt the snow falling on my face. I could actually see it. When you look up at those tiny wisps of snowflakes falling, you feel like you are rising up; instead of them coming down. Pretty cool, huh? It’s almost hypnotic. I was thinking of how cute it would be if I were a little Labrador puppy. I would find myself so cute I would probably eat myself up. (I’m not joking) Also, (and it’s going to sound like I’m a freak) sometimes I hear lots of people talking together in my head. I can’t make out, but it feels like I’m in a crowded, noisy room.

I try to listen to music usually, but yesterday even that didn’t help. Listening to Radiohead makes me extremely emotional, nostalgic and dreamy. Actually, that might be one reason why I don’t fall asleep easily. The songs are hauntingly beautiful. It’s like every time I listen to it, I realize how addicted I am to them and how much I love them. Anyway, helpless and disoriented, I just lay there, paying attention to every sound, every instrument, every word and soon enough, it was almost morning. I saw the soft rays of sunshine entering through my windows through the curtains. A new day brings with it fresh thoughts and positivity; but ironically, I was thinking about not-so-sunshiny things. Recently, I saw Black Swan and I loved it, for obvious reasons. Darren Aronofsky has played with my mind earlier too with Requiem for a Dream and he did it again. I was trying to figure out how much of a Black swan I am. Is the White swan in me more dominant than the Black one?

Then I realized that it’s extremely difficult to assess yourself honestly. You’re always trying to defend yourself. You can point out a hundred mistakes in another person, but for you, you’re your favourite. I figured out a few things about me might put me in the Black swan category. I am selfish. There, I said it. Not always, but most of the times. Many times when doing something for someone, I’ve found myself asking, “Wait a minute, why am I doing this again?” Also, I can be extremely impatient and crabby with people who I have a low tolerance level for. Out of the blue, I go into these phases where I stop talking to people completely, then spring back into the old form and expect them to talk to me as if nothing happened. I expect a lot from people, and end up getting hurt if my expectations aren’t met. I don’t spend a lot of time with my family members; especially my grandparents. It bothers me, but I just do not put in the efforts.
When I’m going through my mood swings, I want people to get me and understand me and support me, but rarely do I ever do the same for them. I’m lazy. Lazy to the point of being insensitive.

I guess it’s enough for a day. I know I need to change a few things about me. Nay, many things about me. I’ve got to start pushing, making efforts, doing things worthwhile. I have constructed this little separate world of my own. In my room, on one specific corner of the bed, where it’s me, my netbook, my phone and my music. I couldn’t care less about what’s happening in the rest of the world. I’ve got to start caring, and break out of this shell.

You know it’s not entirely a good thing to be a spotless, sparkling white swan. You need to have a few flaws, a few shortcomings that make you human. But then, I’d like to be more on the white swan side just to be safe :)






P.S. And NOW I'm feeling sleepy. Great :|

Reaping the Benefits

The sun was a big, deep orange, harmless ball and the breeze was blowing gently. I looked at my hands, they were covered with mud and the small finger of my left hand was bleeding a bit. It hardly mattered at that moment. I was enjoying being there, I was enjoying the sweat sliding down my neck, I was enjoying the incessant deep voices shouting into those police-type speakers, “kaatiye bhaisaab kaatiye. Rukiye mat, kaatte rahiye.”  I was enjoying the relentless, pleasant “khach khach khach” sounds all around me.

I moved my sickle around the wheat stalks alongwith hundreds of women and girls all around me. As I removed them and kept them aside, I could see the bugs and the beetles scurrying about; shocked and annoyed at the sudden exposure to the sunlight. The fields were swarming with people. Thousands of men, women and children; so many hands moving together. Some were collecting the stalks and some were tying them up into bundles. It is uplifting to see so many individuals working together, selflessly, for no personal reasons; but just because they want to, because it is noble. The students, the teachers, the uncles, the aunts, the cousins, the friends, the relatives; everybody working together trying to accomplish one task. The vast expanses of fields which were covered with a thick fur coat of golden brown wheat stalks not so long ago were suddenly getting bald, at an alarmingly rapid pace. I looked over my shoulder, to see the patch I had cleared and smiled proudly. It was humbly satisfying.

I was humming the tune of one of my favourite songs and it shockingly and suddenly reminded me of a poem we had in our course in the sixth standard. It was called ‘The Solitary Reaper’ by William Wordsworth.

“Whate’er the theme the maiden sang,

As if her song could have no ending,

I saw her singing at her work,

And o’er the sickle bending;-

I listen’d, motionless and still;

And, as I mounted up the hill,

The music in my heart I bore,

Long after it was heard no more.”

And then I saw Him, working at the far end of the field. Cutting, collecting, keeping, never stopping, never tiring. I felt a bubble of respect and pride rise inside my chest. Soon, the sun was beating down fast on my back and my hands had started to get blisters. I ignored it and went over to greet a friend. The work was almost over and people had begun to relax, they sat beneath the trees and talked, while some walked around, laughing and talking. Only the task of collecting all the stalks and tying them into huge bundles was left which is usually done by the gents. Their spirit of camaraderie blew me away. When all the wheat was finally cut, they suddenly charged out of nowhere, shouting and hooting and began to tie the bundles, carried them over their shoulders and loaded them on the trucks with tremendous efficiency. This is what we call the undying ‘DB spirit’. They were charged up, eager, happy, blessed to do the work, to do seva.

After a couple of hours of using the sickle I was spent and I just sat, right there on the freshly shaven field, amidst the beetles and bugs and looked around me. It was a beautiful day. Everyone seemed so happy. I sighed contentedly and moved my fingers lightly through the mud. It was glittering in the sunlight. Even my little wound had covered itself up; it was hiding somewhere on my mud covered fingers, as if closing its eyes and smiling. I felt my sweat evaporating as the breeze blew across my face. I was close to nature. I felt humble. I felt glad to be alive.

I had never felt more human before. 

Life in plastic, it's fantastic!

Big blue eyes and shimmering blonde hair. Perfect 34” 24” 36” figures and an exquisitely sophisticated wardrobe. Eternal, ceaseless smiles embossed on cheerful plastic faces. They were my world. And what a flowery, glittery, dazzling world it was!

I got my first Barbie doll when I was eight. (Before that I used to use my sister’s old ones, so they technically weren’t mine) I was so thrilled that I did not/could not study for days. I named her Annie and I would spend hours and hours dressing her up, changing her clothes, brushing her hair, having imaginary conversations with her and would take her everywhere. (Yes, she used to sit with me on the dining table, even though mom would tell me not to do that everyday; and I would make her eat the bite first before I ate it myself. Go ahead, you can snigger) Soon after, I got my second Barbie who I called Nancy. After coming back from school, I would spend my entire day playing with them. A couple of years down the line; I had 6-7 Barbie dolls (their names were Caroline, Shania, Harriet, Vicky and their puppy who I called Michu) their car, a hoard of dresses and countless accessories (and they had their own house, with a bed, a lamp, an bookshelf, chairs and all the works)

I never got around to buying a Ken and so I would have to team up with my bro to play because, come on, they needed to have male friends! So my Barbies would have to do with either a masked scary-looking, red and blue guy who had a big black spider scrawled across his chest; a semi-nude heroic warrior with crazy yellow hair who could not survive a second without his shield; a half turtle-half man freak who lived in the gutters; or a superhero with two pointy things on his head and who would only come out at night to save mankind.

But actually, it turned out to be a lot of fun. I would get really serious about the characters, their roles, the plot and the settings. My bro would make a face at the idea of his super awesome Batman (who was not even half as tall as my Barbie) being Nancy’s boyfriend. “Why can’t he be her brother or cousin or something?”, he would say. But I would always make him propose to her and make them kiss (while making kissing noises) and would make him save her from gundas at night.

I used to make proper arrangements for the sets, stitch appropriate dresses for the Barbies according to the stories and prepare proper dialogues. This one time, we had a water park scene and I had actually used my bro’s Hot Wheels yellow tracks and my mom’s china to make the water slides! There used to be twists and turns and kidnappings and accidents and murders and love triangles and love and tears and what not! Those toys have had a blast with me! And now they’re just lying in boxes. With their ever-smiling faces and their long shiny hair.

As I grew up, I realized that it was an artificial and a make-believe world I had created for myself. You don’t grow up to look like your favorite Barbie doll. You get pimples and your skin doesn’t glow and your nose is big and your teeth aren’t straight and you don’t have flat abs and your hair isn’t silky shiny. Also, I developed an aversion for the colour Pink. It's just so... pink! It turned out, that I started to become more like a tomboy as I grew up (and thank God for that!) I don't wear high-heels or pretty butterfly clips or make-up or go "aww my koochee poochee poo" at every baby I see. On the contrary, I may have turned out to be rather clumsy and unsophisticated. I drop things in the most disgraceful way possible, I fall and stumble while walking, my mom tells me I don't know how to dress up and act like a girl, I laugh like baboons and sometimes I'm just a loud, crazy chimpanzee who has lost it's nuts and bolts. 


But I was just thinking, maybe I’ve always been like that since I was a kid; lived in fantasy. Ergo I’m still like that somewhere. A dreamer. I love fantasizing. I love to imagine. I love to envision a world where there is love and peace and happiness in abundance. And if something happens to disrupt that image, BAM goes my little heart. 
I used to write elaborate, endless stories about my Barbies where they would travel everywhere and anywhere and have the time of their lives and suddenly there would be an accident, or a wedding, or they would set off to solve a murder mystery! (they were basically inspired by Nancy Drew and Mallory Towers) but in the end of the story, everything would be okay and everyone would be happy! I still have them and I read them sometimes because it makes me smile to see my childish cursive writing and it makes me realize how much of free time I used to have. (And how stupid my stories sound now) My sister and my grandfather used to read them regularly and correct all the grammatical errors (I never used to make spelling mistakes) My sis actually used to ask me to write because she would want to know what would happen next! True story! And I still love her for that! That actually gave me the motivation to write. I remember when I was twelve, I had written a 'novel' and had full plans of getting it published. Kheekhee. 

Back then, after a hard day’s work of playing and thinking and dialogue-delivery, I would feel so satisfied, so happy and so... important. Like I’d achieved something. How easy it was then to feel like that. Painting a birthday card for mom, cautiously colouring a picture in a colouring book, successfully making a paper flower, reading an entire Enid Blyton series, winning a round of Business King.. all these were achievements. Little moments of triumph. All those were things I wanted to do and I did and felt a sense of pride. And how often do I feel like that now?

Rarely.

We usually don’t get time to do the things we love or we don’t love the things we do. Even if we have free time, we squander it all online or just wasting it away. True, we have other bigger, more urgent things to worry about, but surely we can make some effort to be those free-spirited, carefree kids we used to be! I wanna get out! I wanna be impulsive! Time is slipping away and soon I'll get so busy I won't even get time to write blog posts! Maybe it’s time I figure out what it is that would make me feel joyful again. Take time out and just DO it! Shed my sluggishness for once and actually do something to feel like that again!

Draw. Sketch. Paint. Write. Dance. Be creative. Be crazy. Something. Anything! And most importantly, let my imagination sooooooaar!

P.S. Just for your information (and for fun) Barbie's full name is Barbra Millicent Roberts!

P.P.S. Just for fun, a kiddie picture of my brother and me! :)

Emotional much?

(A self-picture I clicked on a lazy Sunday afternoon)

Okay, so there’s the thing. I hate to admit it, but I’m a wimp. Erm, quite a big one at that, I recently realized. I haven’t always been like that. I guess back in the day I was one of those annoying little high-pitched girls who whine and tantrumize* their way into getting what ever they want. But I’d become quite sensible and sane when I grew up. Just when I developed such a high level of EQ I fail to understand. Maybe it was during those idiotic, early-teen years, when you’re stupid and wistful and “I-think-I’m-totally-in-love” types. Hmm.

Anyway, whatever it was, it really loosened up my tear glands quite a bit and since the past two days they’ve been on a roll. Yeah yeah, it was just ‘one of those days’ and I got over it. But it’s not only days like these. I cry at the lamest of things. Make me watch an emotional, mushy movie and I’d be sniffing my way towards the end, all red-nosed. Make some friends throw a surprise party for me and I’d jump on all of them, delirious and teary-eyed. Make me read a warm, soulful book and I’d be wiping my tears on my sleeves. That’s just how I am.

I agree I did change massively over the years. But a few things don’t change. For instance, I’m still extremely loopy when it comes to love. I go ‘Awwwwwwwww’ when I look at other couples or when I read about two madly in love people getting married. In fact, I once cried (almost sobbed) at a friend’s cousin’s wedding. I mean, what the hell? (And that attracted a lot of name-calling and fun-making which I had to endure for the next two days) I feel an old couple sitting close on a park bench is the cutest thing in the world. And I feel that sometimes you just find someone who you just click with and the rest becomes history. The whole Dil to Pagal Hai ‘Someone, somewhere is made for you’ theory is true. I believe when someone is born, there is another person who also enters the world, and destiny makes them meet somehow. I love love. And I love the feeling of being in it. I love it when it makes me feel warm and gooey and happy inside.

I love daydreaming and long phone conversations, and stifled laughter and wacky jokes. I love bizarre confessions and early morning SMSes and wake up calls. I love random e-mails and dream discussions. I love ugly-face competitions and hand-holding and midnight whispers and spurts. I love serious Gmail chats and undecipherable Facebook wall posts and colon-phies and little hearts. I love the fluttering butterflies and the little smiling at inappropriate situations.

Whoa, I didn’t see this post going in this direction :P

But oh well, anyway. So yeah, I admit it. I’m twenty and I’m sensible and smart too, to an extent, ahem, but I’m a loony, unrealistic, starry-eyed day dreamer and a sucker for romantic movies and books that make me weep.

Uh oh, I guess I still am stupid and wistful and “I-think-I’m-totally-in-love” types. Hmm.

:D

[*a new word I invented, amongst others. I believe my words will be a rage when I become big and famous and rich and will go and shop in Paris. Geee :D]

Marriage on the 'credit' cards.

This post is about a cousin of mine who’s about to get married sometime in April. I was really happy for her when I saw her engagement pictures on her Facebook profile. Everything and everyone looked so bright and colorful and sparkling. They were pictures of a typical Indian engagement. There was food, faces that had so much make up on they looked like dolls made of pancakes, flowers and lights and family members flashing wide grins posing besides the bride-to-be and groom-to-be. Sequined, heavy lehengas and resplendent sarees were predominant in most of the pictures. But only yesterday I came to know about the hideous truth behind all the glitz and glamour. Her fiancé’s parents actually asked my cousin’s parents for diamond and gold jewellery, a brand new car in return for getting their son married to her. AND they also want them to get their house refurbished. Wow guys. I’m so impressed I want to applaud. What an easy way to make money.

I’m amazed, nay, I’m absolutely awestruck at you for having the balls to shamelessly announce your demands and keep them in front of the family who’s giving their daughter to you. It’s difficult enough for her parents to get separated from her who they have looked after and adored and loved for all these years and on top of that you want them to fulfill your selfish, pathetic, materialistic desires. Seriously, WHAT world are we living in? I was under the impression that these things ceased to happen somewhere in the 90s. Clearly, I was wrong. Apparently, dowry is still prevalent in many parts of our country.

It’s almost like parents sell their own sons, rubbing their hands wickedly with a gluttonous glint in their eyes. “Oh you want your daughter to get married and find a well off husband so that she can live a happy and safe and secure life? Well, then, out with the moolah!” It’s like a goddamned trade! Buy and sell. Pretty girls, less dowry. Ugly ones, oh good, let’s get rich.

The older and plain-looking the girl is, and the more desperate her parents are, the easier it is for them to extract money out of them. It’s not like their sons look like Brad Pitt. In fact, if he is so okay with his greedy parents extorting money out of the girl’s parent’s pockets, then he doesn’t even deserve her in the first place. I cannot believe how brazenly lustful for material goods and money people can be. Frankly speaking, I was surprised my cousin’s parents agreed to get her married in such a family. But I’m sure they had their reasons. The guy’s parents very cleverly stated that they have to maintain a standard and they want a lavish five-star hotel wedding. Yeah right. Some standard.  

Her parents are under a lot of stress and pressure because they are scraping off every penny that they had saved for her since the day she was born. I’m talking lakhs and lakhs of hard-earned money that they would have to depart with, in order to buy things for THEIR family and THEIR house just to get their daughter married to THEIR son. Tell me, HOW is this fair? Why do you even need to blow up so much of money just to get, um, married? I mean people actually invite so many people (half of them they haven’t seen in years and many of them they don’t even know) and feed them. Err, hello? In our community, and according to the religion we follow, dowry is completely banned and there is a strict budget we have to stick to and limited guests we are allowed to invite. This makes so much of sense. Fine, you’re getting married. Yay! But what’s the point of it if you squander so much of money away that you’re left with very little to enjoy? Pretty absurd, if you ask me.

Such is life in India. While we boast of long-lasting married couples and closely-knit joint families, we conveniently forget to reveal the ugly side. The revolting social evils that lurk behind in the shadows of these iridescent, glossy facts that we so convincingly choose to believe.

I’m suddenly reminded of the Govinda song we so loved to hate, “This ‘happans’ only in India.”

Illusion

The images come to a screeching halt as the mind breaks into consciousness. The ears feel still numb as the deafening noise slowly fades away into the distance. I hear my own raspy, shaky breath as I swallow mouthfuls of air. The pictures are distorted now, they are moving away. Eyes snap shut again as the breath comes out in heavy gusts, beads of perspiration trickling lazily down the neck. The image was close. Very close. Too close. Too lifelike.

My forehead breaks into a frown as I try to comprehend why I can’t focus my eyes. Was it brighter before or did the room suddenly plunge into darkness? Was the music actually playing or was it just in my head? I could still hear the soft violin somewhere in the background. Like someone is crying. I shudder as I think of what I had witnessed moments ago. I bury my head in my knees as I swear to myself I could have reached out and touched him. I could feel the emotions brewing up. Slowly, like a placid candle flame, before it becomes wild. He was in a picture, a picture that was torn and ragged and black and white, as if from a time long ago and from a place far away. Yes, he was right there. That one sided smile was still intact. The soft chocolate brown luster in his eyes. He opened his mouth to say something and then he looked away. It seemed as if I had stopped him, asked him to go. And he was leaving. “Why are you going away?” I wanted to shout. Everything turned bright. So bright, my eyes began to hurt.

And then I heard someone whisper in my ear, “Get up, it’s late”. It was a different voice, and yet it was so familiar. I turned my head to see who it was, but all I could see was a white wall. I didn’t want to get up. I found myself in an unrecognizable place, a vast stretch of land underneath a murky, starless sky. I was screaming and I was not. I was walking and I was not. I was breathing but I could not. And yet I could hear the violin playing. As if someone was hiding somewhere not too far away, looking at me, with melancholic eyes. Foolishly, I dug at the ground with my bare hands, in a futile attempt to find a way out of the mess I was in. “What was I trying to do?”, I thought to myself, as I saw my nails getting clogged with dirt and grime, “to look for somebody or to bury myself in?”

I take a long breath and exhale a sigh of relief as my feet touch the cold floor. It was nothing but a dream.

To Heaven and Back!

Impromptu, spontaneous plans are always the best; but ours definitely wasn’t one. We’d been planning for weeks, my sister, cousins and I; changing the prospective destination numerous times. When finally, thankfully it was decided we’d go to Manali. At first the feeling didn’t sink in; not when we booked the taxi, not when we were all sitting at CCD making a list of what all we’d pack before going to Himachal Pradesh and getting our asses frozen; not when we packed our bags. It finally hit in the morning before we left! Yes, it was happening! We were going for a splendid trip WITHOUT any grown-ups! There were just six of us, and we fit very comfortably in the Innova we had booked. We were all in high spirits when we started off, jabbering away and laughing our heads off and listening to music. When we came out of the car to grab a bite at a roadside dhaba, that’s when we realized how cold it was gradually and consistently getting. We hadn’t realized it in our heated, cozy car! The time we stopped at Delhi and went to a restaurant and had rest went by in a blur. All I remember is that we were all equally excited and looking forward to the exciting journey that lay ahead of us. We set off at 3 in the morning, cheering and yakking away and listening to music at an ear-damaging volume. Most of us were half asleep and half dead by the time we reached Chandigargh. We stopped at this beautiful hotel which overlooked a river. Soon after that, the roads started convoluting and we finally entered the mountainous area. It was beautiful after that. The valley continued to deepen as we went higher and higher up. I’d begun to feel a little woozy and kept drifting in and out of sleep. Up and up and round and round we went, until we reached Manali in the evening around 7. My GOD was it cold! And it was raining on top of that! We quickly rushed inside and I straight away got inside the quilt and was dead asleep in no time.

The next day, when it seemed humanly impossible for me to accomplish a feat like getting out of bed, someone screamed that it was snowing. And I said “Yeah right” and pulled the covers closer. When the owner of the guest house confirmed the fact, I sprang out of my bed in an instant, accompanied by my sister, squealing and jumping and went outside! Yes! Yes! Yes! It WAS snowing! I stood under the sky turning round and round and round and shouting, “Wow! Snow! It really is! SNOWFALL! Look at this! Amazing!”, only to realize that a hoard of people was staring at me as if I’m a lunatic on the loose. Sheepishly, I shut up and went inside.

After that the snow simply refused to stop falling! It continued to fall throughout the day, increasing in intensity and thickness! By evening everything was covered in snow. I’d never seen a sight like that before. Heck, I’d never seen snow in my life. It was beautiful. Of course, we would never resist the temptation to go out and play under the snowfall, but when we would come back into our rooms, the cold would suddenly hit us. That would be a pain. Our coats, gloves, caps, shoes, socks would all be wet and then we'd dry them up by hanging them in front of the heater and they would take their own sweet time to become wearable again. We walked on the snow-covered ground, amidst the snow-covered trees and the snow-covered mountains and houses and cars. We threw snowballs at each other and hung around with chubby dogs. It was simply breathtaking to merely look at the snow fall outside when we’d sit inside our cozy warm quilts. I remember leaning on my bed looking out the window at the snow falling from the sky as it soon turned to dawn and sighing, “Man, this is life.”

The snow probably got so ecstatic witnessing our extreme reactions that it completely LOST it. It kept on falling relentlessly, clearly oblivious to the fact that our hands and feet and noses and ears were practically so cold we felt they would break off! Oblivious to the fact that we were shivering so much it was as if we were on continuous vibration mode! Oblivious to the fact that even though we were wearing five layers of clothing we felt like we would turn into frozen popsicles! Just when we had begun to suspect that it was not possible for it to get any colder, the temperature dropped to a minus seven degrees! Holy cow, knowing that fact made me feel even colder! The next morning I remember there was more than three feet of snow and it was all of us were 'brrrring' and the temperature continued to fall sharply. We were advised to evacuate as soon as possible or else we would have been stuck there amidst unimaginable amount of snow, cold, and no electricity. So without losing any more time we packed our stuff and went out. Could you believe my shock when I stepped out and actually FELL knee-deep in snow?! Man, that was something. I was wading through snow, snow and snow! I then got to know that because it was absolutely impossible for our car to come up to our guest house, we’d have to trek all the way to the car! Which was around 2km! Because, walking in such think snow would make our shoes and socks all damp and wet, we had to tie polythene bags around our feet and then wear our shoes; which felt really funny! :P

When we started hobbling through the snow, carrying all our bags and luggage with us, I had to stop for a full five minutes just to take in the entire view. I wanted to absorb it, drink it, soak it all up. I wanted to live there, and die there. I wanted to laugh and shout and jump and cry. It was breathtakingly, majestically, spectacularly beautiful. Everything around us was white, the snow was still falling softly, and there were white, snow-laden trees all around. Beyond all of that, were huge, magnificent mountains, all shining and sparkling white. All of us were making our way through, awe-struck and mesmerized.  It was as if the snow had transformed the whole place and had given it a stunning grandeur. The entire trek was the highlight of our trip because none of us had ever seen such a sight before. And because all of us fell at least thrice and chortled at ourselves! When we reached our car, we snow-fought some more and then embarked on our journey to Kullu to celebrate New Years.

Even while we were in the car, we were all constantly looking out, “oohing” and “wowing” looking at the imposing, white peaks and valleys and trees. It was a sight, it really was.

We stayed at a fine hotel in Kullu and went out for a drive and dinner on the 31^st. When the clock struck twelve, we were all sitting in front of a traditional coal-heater warming our hands up. Yeah, we didn't really have a grand party or a big bash, but we were glad to be with each other and just.. sit around.. relax, talk. That was nice. The return journey was comfortable and I did not even come to know because I slept for almost 8 hours straight in the car. Even now, when I think back about my trip, I can just close my eyes and imagine the entire scene in my head. Me standing underneath the sky and feeling the flakes landing gently on my face, the whiteness all around me, all of us warming our hands on hot cups of tea amidst silly, ridiculous conversations, and sniggering and laughing at the stupidest of things, and of course, the immense, bitter, could-almost-kill-you cold. It was worth it. Every teeny weeny bit of discomfort, the shivers, the long 800km journey, the time where we had to cross a slippery, risky patch and we almost fell in a valley, the car sickness; all of it. I know I’ve seen enough snow to last me a lifetime, but if I’m given a chance to go to a place like that again, YES, I’d say a thousand times over; I would, I would, I would! :D