The Land of Dreams et al.

I can feel it in the very essence of my bones. Resonating through the frayed nerves, mixing with the very base of my blood and existence.

I always feel it, and it takes all my will power to keep it within me.

I’m about to lash out. Illogically and emotionally. Big time.

Bollywood.

That amazing land where singing is second nature to everyone from a baby to the 200 year old granny, and dancing around trees is commonsensical to one and all.

The land where the spoilt rich girl falls for the oh-life-is-so-poor-but-beautiful servant.

The land where forty year old men can pass off as college students.

The land where the spot boy becomes the film star.

The land where life is beautiful.

Don’t get me wrong. I love Bollywood as much as the next person, and pay amazingly huge amounts of money every other weekend to contribute to the ever growing pockets of the producers. But oh -my-God. How in this whole wide crazy world can people give Bollywood the right to define their lives????

Or worse…expect it to define mine?

How is it that there are so many people in this world who believe that life is meant to be beautiful? That life is about seeing the beauty in small things and the people and that money doesn’t buy happiness? That it’s good to be romantic and see the romance in every freaking thing in life? Getting drenched in the rain, little cute kids, the mountains and the sea, the first smile, the first kiss, the view from the top, the wind, the inspiration from the road, the love and the villain, the sexiness and the lust, the crowd and the local train, the first time the eyes meet…the description of everything in life in terms of visuals and the feelings they inspire, rather than vice versa.

And believe me, till here, I’m still perfectly fine with things. To each his own. After all, Bollywood wasn’t created out of thin air, it is, I’m assuming, based on popular thoughts and beliefs.

But what really gets to me is the stubbornness of this lot.

If I can accept them, why is it so difficult for them to accept me?

The fact that I don’t see beauty the way they do? That I prefer my life unpopulated and clean, comfortable and cool, with money and without emotions, far away from the maddening crowd. Why do I disappoint them so? And why is it so difficult for them to believe that I can be happy in ways very different from them? And that, for God’s sake, it’s not their responsibility to show me what happiness is, and how I should go about achieving it?

Why is it so difficult to tolerate my views and my perspective?

And believe just for a tiny little second, that a thought and a feeling might just come to me before the ideal visual from a movie does?

Believer

I have been called a pessimist in the past.

Yeah well.

That part is true.

But what is also true is that I have never believed in luck, fate, destiny et all.

But today, as I sit at my now yellow desk, my head pounding, back hurting, and legs aching, I beg to differ.

Disclaimer: I am about to crib. Big time. I am about to wallow in self pity and be the most negative person on the planet. Because sometimes, just sometimes in life I should be allowed to. Because sometimes I feel like I’m jinxed. Sometimes, it all gets a little too much. And I need to let it out.

So I’m going to recap to around a year ago. Just to put it down on paper. Officially.

My awesome luck.

I got through to the highest paying summer internship. I got the hardest project.

I got the Second Best Intern award. Everyone other than me landed the final job offer.

I let go of most companies for placements. I got beat by a chatterbox in the final stage of my dream company.

I slogged throughout the year for the college fest. I didn’t get to attend the college fest.

I’m from Delhi, I moved to Mumbai for my job. He’s from Mumbai, he moved to Delhi for his job.

I never ever wanted to work on TAM again. My first stint in my company was with TAM.

I got to work directly with the CEO of my company in my first stint. I didn’t get to work.

I joined this company to work in a certain department. Half the department moved out.

I finally shifted to my dream department in the company. The movie I was supposed to work on shifted out of the department.

Moving onto more mundane, and yet more annoying things in life:

5/6 of the time, I don’t manage to get an auto home.

2/3 of the time, I influence the luck of people I am with to not get an auto home.

I waited for months for my birthday this year.

I spent half the day standing in the heat at the RTO office, waiting for my driver’s test.

I spent another hour standing in the heat waiting for Tomato, who was right there.

I broke the zip of my brand new dress, bought and saved specially for the day.
Oh and my license arrived a week later. It says SHERYA Shively.

I spent my last weekend in Bangalore.

Meru in Mumbai went on strike the day before I had to leave.

My Easy Cab cancelled on me 45 minutes before I was due to leave.

It was 3.30 in the morning.

I ended up paying three times the usual amount, to be able to catch my flight.

Thankfully in Bangalore, there was no Meru strike.

My Meru never turned up.

And I know this seems to be a bit of a stretch, but on arrival, my bag, and I kid you not, my bag was the absolute last bag to come on the conveyer belt.

My auto guy made me get off outside the airport once he realized that I knew a bit about Mumbai. By a bit, I mean the fact that the meters actually work, and that it doesn’t take 300 bucks to reach Andheri.

I dumped my bag and headed to office.

The lifts weren’t working. I work on the 6^th floor.

Again, I kid you not, but the moment I planted my ass on my chair, the lifts started working again.

Now I know most people will say I’m just looking at it the wrong way…that I’m not paying attention to all the good things in life…that the glass is actually half full and all that crap.

More than a year of this.

Think about it.

Am I really crazy for freaking out right now?

Is it that stupid to start believing in my lack of luck?

And to be scared?

Expectations

To behave like a girl
To be emotional
To be logical
To think


To appreciate my talent
To follow fashion
To lose weight
To be nice


To always follow self control
To not be controlling
To be independent
To need someone


To care about what people think
To live up to expectations
To be normal
To fit in.

Crash

What happens when the very things I believe in, the very things I rebel for, are the very things I realize I no longer believe in?

What happens when I find myself incapable of being passionate about anything…anything at all?

What happens when the one person I’m out to prove wrong turns out to be right?

What happens to my identity?

What happens to me?