Feel

The bulb flickered. The rain smashed against the windowpane, the force, alarming, the noise, deafening. But the silence was worse.

She looked at her flickering shadow on the wall, and realized the temporariness of its company. She hugged her knees tightly to herself as she shivered in a corner on her bed. The bed that sometimes was the most comforting place in her life, and sometimes was nothing more than a plank of wood disguising as comfort.

There was no trace of sleep in her eyes. It wouldn’t come. She didn’t even try to invite it.

She felt a hot sting in her eyes, and inhaled sharply. The noise disturbed the silence, dissolved in the rain.

Her mind rushed to the safe haven it had once known. The place. It knew the place so well. It had been there so long. It had been safe, protected, defensive. Nothing could ever hurt it in that place. Nothing could ever reach her.

She wasn’t sure when she discovered the Place. But she had, and she would visit it often. It was tempting at first, the nice numbness, far away from reality. The lack of emotions. The clear distance from love. The Place looked after her. She trusted it.

But the Place was a prison, one she simply could not escape from. And she didn’t really want to. There was nothing out there in the world to make her want to break out. It was never worth it. People didn’t know about the Place, until it was too late. And all the while, she stayed there, safe, protected like a a little baby protected by her mother.

But life, and fate, eventually caught up with her. She saw a helping hand extended towards her, and she realized how stifling the prison really was.

And she cried.

She cried like she hadn’t cried for years. She cried emotions, feelings, love, and sadness. She let them engulf her, drown her, resurrect her. And she ran. As far away from the prison as she could. Far away to never ever come back, to never let go of her helping hand.

She rocked slightly, as she crouched in one corner of her bed. Back and forth, back and forth. She felt the sting in her eyes. She felt a trail burn down her frozen cheeks, as first one, and then another tear rolled down. She felt the pain cut deep into her. The prison was destroyed, forever.

She smiled.

And waited for the doorbell to ring.

In the Eyes of the Beholder

This blog post goes out in public interest. To share a horrifying experience I recently had in Delhi. It takes me all my will to come out and write about it, but I know that out there, there have to be other girls, who have gone through the same nightmare as what I faced recently.

This is for all of you, just to let you know, you’re not alone.

The trauma of entering a beauty shop.

I don’t know how many of you are familiar with what most beauty shop set ups are like, at least the ones I’ve been to in Delhi Lajpat Nagar market and such. One shop, with a counter which extends straight inside, with salespersons (or in my horrifying case, all salesgirls) dedicated to different kinds of products, starting from shampoos to lip balms to cosmetics to finally the last counter: the rather embarrassing lingerie collection (where you can find everything from the stringiest thongs to the stretchiest tummy tuckers. But that’s another blog post some other time). What this store structure essentially means is, that you have a narrow passage way to navigate, cross all counters till you find the correct counter for your need, with only one door: the entrance, and more importantly, the exit.

Now on a usual day, these shops are packed to a suffocating hilt, with kids running around asking their mums about lipstick, women haggling over shampoos, and embarrassed husbands trying to keep their gaze away from that rather enigmatic last counter. Now these are the good days which simply require you to follow a simple process:

1. Breathe in
2. Enter shop
3. Locate correct counter and salesperson
4. Fight a few aunties, kick a few kids, reach the counter
5. Ask for product
6. Receive product
7. Thrust money at the counter
8. Get out
9. Breathe out and thank God for still being alive

And that’s the process I went over in my head before I entered the beauty shop near my home in Delhi, recently.

I took a deep breath and entered the store.

And it was empty.

And there were four saleswomen.

And in unison, their eyes suddenly rested on me.

I was sucked in before my brain could go from step 1 to 2.

“Yes Ma’am how can we help you?”

I…erm…wanted a kajal…

“Sure Ma’am, right here!”

I turned towards the three different counters which chimed up the last line.

Now I do not have a complete recollection of what happened next. It is but a blur. The doctor said something about selective memory as a defence mechanism of the brain against trauma.

I do vaguely remember my arms being pulled out on both sides. And then I remember feeling a lot of random liquids and brushes and pencils being tried out on my skin.

And suddenly, I found myself the subject of a group discussion, much like the ones I hated throughout my placement season in college. Now, if you have ever participated in a GD, you would realize that every GD eventually has certain kinds of people...

The one who starts the GD, and lays down the basic problem being dealt with:

“Ma’am, you have really oily skin!”

And then the one who isn’t really satisfied with the introduction, so he redefines the problem and tries to point out a new angle:

“Ma’am, so many pimples!!!”

And then the problem-solution guy. This is the person who will point out another problem altogether, and give a solution to the same. So he’s the all rounder you hope to recruit. He has a problem, and he has a solution, just not necessarily the one you wanted to discuss to begin with:

“Your hair are so frizzy, you need this leave in conditioner.”

And then the few who really don’t know what to say, and will try their best by piping in one or two not such important points and repeating earlier said points in the hope to get noticed:

“So many black heads on your nose!”

“But as I was saying, that’s because of oiliness.”

“Arre can’t you see all the pimples?”

And the concluder, who aims at getting the maximum points by summarily summarizing all points not necessarily his own:

“Yes, so in conclusion I would like to say, that a very pimply specimen with crazy frizzy curly hair has just walked into our shop. The root cause of her predicament seems to be oily skin, caused probably by bad food habits and an unhealthy lifestyle, or just a really really late attack of puberty. We have of course, by way of this highly unproductive and also a bit insulting discussion realized that the best course of action is to bombard her with a list of beauty products which will probably cause her skin to break and fall off by the time she is 30. Thank y…”

And finally, the one guy who never lets a discussion conclude peacefully, and always comes up with a point at the absolute last minute, causing the almost tamed discussion to go into a tizzy:

“Ma’am, some weight reduction lotion?”

That was the last straw. That was when I banged my bag down on their scratched glass counter and finally looked at them with a stare meant to murder, resuscitate, and murder even more cruelly all over again. My words cut through them like the knife of a brutal butcher who loves his work a little too much. By the end of my five minute monologue, there was fear, there were tears, there was enlightenment. The poor ignorant souls had been introduced to the concept of inner beauty, and their lives had been changed forever.

Sure. Or at least that’s the way I like to remember it.

What I did do was pretend to get a call and run out of the store.

Learnings:

1. There are some things that can manage to cause an even lower self esteem than Cosmopolitan magazine.
2. Multi-purpose chemists are rather awesome, specially the ones that sell kajal.
3. Pimples eventually do go away. I think.

The Week That Was...

In one week, I bought 2 dresses, 3 belts, 1 pair of pants, 1 shirt and new shoes. This was after I thought my shopping for the year was done and over with. You have to be a girl to understand the kind of pleasure that brings. Or maybe a closet shopaholic guy.

In one week, I travelled comfortably all the way across town to watch two movies.

In one week, I stayed as dry as possible and walked in the rain. By choice.

In one week, I’ve had chicken omelettes, sausages, juice, special scrambled eggs, innovative French toast, sautéed mushrooms, marmalade, cranberry, pineapple and mixed fruit juice, chicken barbeque steak, chicken curry, butter chicken, chicken biryani, pahadi chicken, Caesar’s salad, tequila chicken, pesto chicken, Philadelphia cheese cake, New York cheesecake, Merci, Toblerone, and extremely gooey chocolatey cake. This isn’t even the whole list. I know. Like wow.

In one week, I’ve worn my favourite pair of pants to work every day. Might sound gross, but it made me feel nice.

In one week, I’ve realized I’m comfortable, warm, nourished, the recipient of a lot of affection, have belief, a fragrant life and can now document all these memories ;)

In one week, I’ve realized just how special my friends are.

In one week, I have been happier than ever before.

In one week, I saw life just the way it should be. Always.

Words cannot possibly do justice to this one week.

Because that’s how super-amazingly-ass-kicking-awesome this one week was.

Thank you.


P.S. At the end of the week, through all the happiness, I somehow firmly believe that my flight got delayed yesterday cuz all my extra weight caused the jet to lag (getit?? getit???? Oh come on!)


P.P.S. Ok, fine, so I added the 'P.S.' just to try out my awesome joke. Hmph!!!

When the World goes Round

Over the months I realize that I’ve fallen into one lazy rut. I wake up just in enough time to get ready and reach office on time. I work. And then some more. I sail a few seas. And I go to sleep. Late. And wake up just in time to get ready and reach office on time.

Believe me, I’m not cribbing. Life is rather perfect right now. Just like this.

But one thing that this routine routinely misses out on is reading the newspaper.

Blissful ignorance it was, as I learnt today.

I did pick up the newspaper after long. And this is what I learnt:

• The economy and stock markets are scary terms, again.
• London is up in flames.
• Juhu is black.
• Mumbai has potholes.
• Delhi is scary.
• TOI has decided it’s ok to use random abbreviations in headings (fgn, oppn, really?)
• We are apparently still obsessed with how Jennifer Aniston’s heart was broken by Brad Pitt.
• Rakhi Sawant is asking Sonakshi Sinha to follow her special diet.
• There is yet another Blackberry in this world.
• Aarakshan is still in controversy.
• There are mutant rats that just won’t die.
• And some usual cricket crap.

You know what I want? I want to wake up, and not have to start my day depressed. One day, I think I’ll start a paper which has two parts: the happy, and the sad. Want a chirpy morning? Here’s the nice sunny section which tells you how awesome your country is, how the weather is amazing, how the education system is improving, how opportunities are growing, how amazing the T3 airport is, how inspiring some people and their stories are.

A little further in the day, ready to face the real brutal world? Here’s the section that tells you that you might lose your job, trip over potholes, get raped on the street, feel fat over not following a Bollywood diet, and come back home to super ninja rats with kung-fu moves, which are apparently immune to poison. Oh, and some usual cricket crap.

Whatsay? Any takers?

P.S. No offence meant to the usual cricket crap lovers.

P.P.S. If tomorrow, I do see a happy-sad paper in the market, I will hunt you down and sue you.

But it Rained.

Sometimes, just sometimes, it should rain.

Sometimes, just sometimes, you should get drenched to the bone.

As the rain hits your skin, little determined needles with just one passion in life,

To break you.

To break your resolve, your belief, your tough exterior.

Sometimes, you need the rain.

To take away the shock, to let you feel the pain.

To reach into the darkest side of you, and wrench it out in slow graceful moments.

To remind you, that suffering is important.

To make you understand, that at this very moment, you are alone.

In the dark.

In the rain.

And then to softly caress each part of you.

To tell you it will all be alright.

That you are not alone in the downpour.

That this is but a test, for everyone.

To wash away your tears, for they are but worthless in its sea

To show you, that there will be a sun.

That at the end of the road is a dry haven.

That you’re not a fool for believing.

To give you hope.

To let you love.