Vanilla

Hmm....so i decided it was time to start writing my fifteen minute stories again, in which I just pick up a random friend and then spin a story around him/her in fifteen minutes. sadly my writing skills seem to be rather rusty, and I ended up writing it in 25 minutes, and it didnt even turn out great. Oh well.... haven't blogged for a long time....so thought I'd put it up. Please do tell me your views...um...criticisms...whatever!







Amit closed his eyes and took a deep breath, taking in the thick salty ocean air, feeling his lungs slowly inflate with a heaviness he had never been able to comprehend. He had missed this so much, the sounds, the smells. Taking off his shoes, he rolled up his pants and started walking along the beach, the wet sand curling warmly between his toes, only to be washed away by a frothy wave. He looked at the horizon, wondering what all lay beyond his view, beyond his reach. And as usual he had that odd feeling that there was something awaiting him out there, right beyond the horizon, hiding from him, teasingly calling him towards itself.

Seating himself down on an expanse of smooth black rocks, he sighed. Why was he here? This isolated beach was peaceful, yet it brought no respite to him. He knew there was something here for him; he just had to find it. Looking out at the endless expanse of water, he thought about his life. It had been rocky, and uncertain, but now it was stable. He was rich, had a beautiful wife and kids who loved him a lot. What more could he possibly want from life? Satisfaction eluded him, however hard he tried. It was like a constant itch, which kept reappearing at odd spots every time he scratched it.

There was a pleasant wet sensation on his cheek, and he sat up with a jerk, surprised that he had dozed off. He turned around to see a golden retriever next to him, tongue hanging out and panting from a recent exertion. Patting him, he looked past the animal to identify the owner, but the beach was empty. It was only him and the dog.

“Where did you turn up from?”

The dog barked, wagging its tail twice as fast. It nestled up to Amit, and after a few minutes, deciding that it had had enough adoration, let out a woof and headed off.

“Wait!” Amit looked at the dog, now running away from him. He didn’t want it to leave, somehow, not wanting to be alone with his thoughts again. Then, without thinking twice, he headed after the dog. They left the beach and headed towards an expanse of land with dense overgrown trees that Amit had always assumed was uninhabited. But as he made his way through the thick undergrowth, a small cottage came into view. It was old and tattered, yet there was a homely feel to it. As the dog headed straight through the open door, Amit paused, suddenly very uncertain. As he turned around and started walking back to the beach, a voice called out to him,
“Oi! Where are you going?”
An old man had appeared from inside the cottage, the retriever bouncing along behind him.
“Um… Actually… I was just…”
“Why don’t you come inside?”
Amit looked at the old man. He seemed too frail to actually be dangerous. Finally, realizing that it would probably be an interesting experience, Amit nodded, and followed him inside. The cottage was small, but cozy. The wall was adorned with framed photographs of picnics and what appeared to be the old man’s family. He pointed to a small wooden dining table, and Amit took a seat, the retriever now resting its head on Amit’s lap, looking up at him with sad gleaming eyes.
“That’s Brutus.” Said the man, in a gruff voice. “And I’m Suraj Patel.”
“Amit.” He paused, wondering what he was even doing inside this house with a stranger. “I’m sorry Mr. Patel, I didn’t know anyone lived on this beach. I hadn’t meant to disturb you”
“No no!! Not at all...” Mr. Patel shook his head as he walked slowly towards the kitchen and opened the fridge. “It gets very lonely here at times. Mind you…I love this place, but it’s always nice to have company every now and then.”
He removed a huge carton of ice cream from the freezer and placed a bowl in front of Amit.
“Here… You’ll love this.” And with that he started scooping out huge chunks of vanilla ice cream.
“Um.. Thanks, but no thanks.” Amit hesitated, wondering what was the best way to refuse without being rude. But then he just went along with the truth. “I’m not really fond of vanilla.”
Mr. Patel suddenly stopped, the spoon in his hand frozen midway between the carton and the bowl. He looked at Amit with a very odd expression, whether it was anger or shock, he couldn’t tell. Weirdly, it seemed almost like…amusement.
And then suddenly, the old man’s face broke into an understanding smile. “Aah… you know, I was very much like you when I was your age.” He paused, served out the ice cream for himself then took a seat opposite Amit, who by now was feeling quite uncomfortable and confused.
“In what sense?” he finally asked.
Mr. Patel took a bite of the ice cream, and his face relaxed into a serene expression, one of pure pleasure. “Well, I just didn’t like Vanilla ice cream. I liked fudge, and black current and all those other exquisite flavours, but never plain Vanilla.. it was just too….well…vanilla.”
“Hmm..” Amit couldn’t really think of anything else to say. “It’s not a big deal. I’m just not too fond of the flavour.”
“Oh but it was a big deal for me.” Continued Mr. Patel, still extremely engrossed in his bowl. “Ice cream was an obsession for me. Sadly, my house always had only vanilla stored in it. So I would go out everyday in search of new flavours. And oh my, did I ever come across the most delicious flavours! Butterscotch, cashewnut, mango, truffle, choco chip, strawberry, raspberry…everything imaginable…even bubble gum flavoured ice cream!”
Amit opened his mouth to interrupt but changed his mind halfway. The old man was obviously off his rocker. It was probably better just to humour him for some time and then leave.
“I would set out everyday, to new places in search of more exotic flavours. It was exciting, everywhere I went, I knew there was something better waiting for me out there. Hundreds of ice cream makers around the world, thousands of flavours… but everytime I returned home, I would find the freezers stocked with the same old vanilla ice cream. I didn’t even feel like touching it. Why should I, when I knew there were much better flavours in the world.”
“I travelled around the world, tasting everything possible, the best ice cream makers in every country, and they were delicious. Yet, none could satisfy me for long. I still hadn’t found that perfect flavor, the one that would give me enough pleasure to suffice for life, which I could stock up on, and remove that awful Vanilla which would just not budge from my freezer.”
Amit wanted to ask him why he didn’t stop stocking the Vanilla ice cream, but Mr. Patel went on, by now seemingly lost in his own world. He seemed to be narrating the story to himself, only briefly aware of Amit’s presence.
“I knew I was going to find it, it was only a matter of time. But time was running out. I was starting to grow older, and the obsession for the perfect flavor seemed to have taken over me. Until one day, when a storm came, trapping me inside my house. However much I tried, I just couldn’t get out. The thought of all the pineapple and sundaes and splits out there tortured me day and night. And the very thought of vanilla revolted me. But as the days moved on, and the storm didn’t seem to b showing any signs of giving up, I felt defeated. I dragged myself down to the fridge and took out the vanilla ice cream and took a tiny bite, just enough to keep the bad dreams away for some time.”
Despite himself, Amit felt a slight curiosity arise within. “And you liked it?”
“Weirdly, my boy, I absolutely loved it. I couldn’t believe that the perfect flavor had been right there in front of my eyes the entire time, and I had kept leaving its comfort and going to far off places to search for it!”
But then, it was after all, just vanilla.”
“Just vanilla? Are you crazy?” the old man seemed hurt, and Amit wished he had kept his mouth shut. “Don’t you see the beauty of Vanilla? It’s simple taste, without which no other flavor would be possible? The slight saltiness mixed with the sweetness… the peaceful and comforting colour… and you know what the best part about vanilla is? The amount you can do with it!”
Amit raised his eyebrows, wondering why he was still sitting here listening to a batty old man. Yet, he stayed glued to his seat.
“You can add nuts to it, all kinds of them. You can add chocolate sauce on it, or make milkshakes or mix it up with other flavours, or add strawberry syrup, or…”

Amit sat on the rocks, staring at the horizon, waiting, for what, he wasn’t sure. He was so used to it by now that he barely felt anything wrong with sitting on the rocks and gazing at the sea for hours. Yet something was nagging him, a constant weight inside him, but he couldn’t understand what it was. It had been there for quite a few days now; it had been tugging at him, following him wherever he went. It stayed in his mind even when he sat on the rocks, or when he slept. Nothing seemed peaceful anymore. He wanted to get rid of the feeling, yet however much he’d try, he just couldn’t go back to his old state when he used to come to the beach. As the sun set over the horizon, casting a red blanket on the surroundings, something in Amit’s mind clicked, and he finally made a decision. And he knew it was the correct decision, the weight inside him already seemed a bit lighter.

He went back to his room, and within fifteen minutes had packed all his belongings back into his backpack. Getting into the car, he took one last look at his surroundings, and for once didn’t regret it at all. This time things were different, he could feel it, he was different.

He drove back home, back to his family and his life, humming to himself all the way, stopping just once, to buy himself a tub of vanilla ice cream.

Paradise Gained

Everyone has a favourite place…. That place that is almost paradise…. Which gives you satisfaction, happiness, peace, a rush, calmness…all at the same time. And when you’re there, time comes to a standstill, and nothing other than the avalanche of conflicting emotions matters anymore. This place could be anywhere, a specific spot in the city, a park, a coffee shop, or even your own room. Everyone needs such a place – an escape from the rest of the world.

I get my thrills from the wind. I know it sounds weird, but just the feeling of something hitting hard against my face, blows away all my troubles and worries. So I love sitting at the terraces of high buildings, or opening the window of the car while driving at top speed through the city in the middle of the night.

It’s the only time when I love being alone. Standing near the ledge of the terrace, looking at the world below me…the one time I realize that I don’t really need anybody. Thinking of people who have hurt me makes me smile. But at such times, I have nothing against any of them. None of it seems important anymore. All that matters is that beautiful feeling that slowly spreads throughout my body, and more importantly, through my mind. It’s the most amazing experience in the world. A natural high. Nothing other than that moment matters.

I was warned by my friend yet again about my goals in life. He said it gets lonely at the top. I stood at the ledge, cell switched off, arms spread wide, as that beautiful wind stroked and kissed every inch of my body…and I smiled.

Divide and Rule

Recently, a friend of mine messaged me at night asking for help. He had been out for dinner with his friends when they were approached by a friendly Afghani man who was in Delhi for his father’s treatment. They chatted with him for quite some time, and before leaving he asked them for their phone numbers. Silence. Nobody said a word. Perhaps feeling the awkwardness of the situation, or perhaps without any thought, my friend gave him his number. Later, all his friends kept telling him that he shouldn’t have. Now, a little disturbed, he asked me for my views. Did he do the right thing?

My first reaction – What??! Are you crazy????
After a few minutes – Well….you shouldn’t give your number to any stranger, let alone an afghani man.
And then – Oh relax, he can’t do much with your number you know. He probably just meant well.
Followed by a few Taliban and terrorist related jokes.

Later, I couldn’t help but imagine myself in that man’s shoes. Here he was in an unknown country, probably because he didn’t have a choice but to get his father here. Yet, everywhere he went instead of finding help or friends, he ended up getting suspicious looks and cold stares. What was his fault? He was from Afghanistan.

What struck me was that this was the condition in India – a country where Shilpa Shetty became a national hero for facing the so called racial discrimination at the hands of Jade Goody. My views? The comments weren’t even meant to be racist and were simply said because Shilpa was acting like a pompous bitch. But coming back to the point of this article, what right do we have of accusing others of discrimination, when we ourselves are no better? Be it the roadside Romeos hitting on the “Gori chhokri”, or the recent quota for OBCs, discrimination on the basis of race or caste, we are as much a party to it, if not more, than any other country.

No, you’re not a road side Romeo, nor did you implement the quota, so obviously you have nothing to do with discrimination, right? Think again. How many times have you used the term ‘Chinks’ for all the students prevailing from the East? Whether they’re from Assam, Nepal, China or Japan, they’re all Chinks. When I pointed this out, one of my friends said that he didn’t mean it in a derogatory way…in fact it was rather cute. Agreed. But I doubt if they find it cute. How is it any different from being called a Black? Its discrimination, pure and simple.

I’m not saying that I’m perfect and don’t engage in discriminating activities, the very beginning of this post shows that. But maybe, we do need to think a little more into ourselves, before pointing at others.

Have you ever....

Ok, so i really wanted to tag myself for this one...but didn't, cuz I was sure it would turn out damn boring with me saying "no" to most of the things. But then I'm vella, and I promised someone a post today...so here goes!!




Smoked a cigarette?: No... Somehow, i find that equivalent to sticking my head up a chimney....so the idea never appealed to me.

Crashed a friend's car?: Uh...this is embarassing...I still don't know how to drive!!
Stolen a car?: So I obviously cant steal a car....

Been in love?: Am in love.

Been dumped?: Sadly, yes, once.

Shoplifted?: Nope, I was a nice innocent little kid.

Been in a fist fight?: Yes, once....back in the second grade. typical fight between a guy and me - something about boys and girls, how girls can't fight - so i punched him. One of the best feelings in the world! What I hadn't counted on was him punching me back. One of the most embarassing feelings in the world.

Snuck out of your parent's house?: No.... it was always very properly locked.

Had feelings for someone who didn't have them back?: Yup.

Been arrested?: No!!

Gone on a blind date?: No... Came very close to it once, but backed out at the last minute. Thank God.

Skipped school?: If that means making an excuse and staying at home, then yes, loads of times!!! If it means leaving the house but never reaching school....then no...like I said before, I was an innocent lil kid!

Been on a plane?: Yes... Quite a few times. I just love the feeling of take off.....

Seen someone die?: Yes.

Been to Canada?: Nope :(

Purposely set a part of yourself on fire?: I'm not crazy!! (No offence to Jayant) Though i did set the kitchen on fire once...BY MISTAKE (I swear I didn't do it on purpose!)

Been jet-skiing?: Sadly no...

Met someone in person from the Internet?: Nope

Taken pain killers?: Yup...but for pain. I did NOT take it in pepsi, unlike some of my friends.

Flown a kite?: yes...but I can never manage to get it up in the air... Once someone does that for me, then i can fly it....which means i can stand there holding the string.

Built a sand castle?: No... :(

Gone puddle jumping?: Yes!! Used to love doing it...much to my mums irritation...since she's the one who had to wash my clothes n dry out my shoes....uh...i still do it....

Cheated while playing a game?: Yes... and still lost. Bah!

Been lonely?: Yes...very. And thats the one thing that scares me. I really admire those people who are just so comfortable being all by themselves.....

Fallen asleep at work or school/college?: Both in school and college.... Some teachers' monotonous voices actually have very soothing effects....best dreams ever.

Used a fake ID?: Nope....never went to a place that needed an ID....ya....i know....sad.

Felt an earthquake?: Living in delhi, i think thats inevitable. Though I do get freaked out quite easily now...everytime the window of my room rattles...usually due to an airplane....which passes over my house, like, every 5 minutes. (Disadvantage of staying next to the airport)

Touched a snake?: No... reptiles freak me out.... Though I did touch a fish's eye once....in a fish market....felt eeewwwey.....But I guess that doesn't really count for this question does it??

Slept beneath the stars?: Yes, loads of times!! Everytime there wasn't any electricity at night, we used to sleep on the terrace....It feels amazing. But then the thoughts of a certain Monkeyman scared me out of my wits, and haven't slept on the terrace since. Yes, I get scared VERY easily.

Been robbed?: Nope, thankfully.

Been misunderstood?: ALL the time. Even when I'm not sarcastic, and am actually saying something nice, people just don't believe me. Hmph!!

Won a contest?: Yes, on FM once.... Had to call them and tell them the name of Tintin's dog....and i got free movie tickets as well as loads of candies.....quite cool!

Run a red light/stop sign?: No. Do you havta rub it in???

Been suspended from school?: Nope. Sweet innocent lil kid.

Been in a car accident?: Nope.

Eaten a whole pint of ice cream in one night?: Yes!!! At a wedding.... had a bet with my cousin about who could eat more icecream.... I won!!!!!!! (No snacks, drinks, or dinner that night)

Walked the streets drunk?: Erm....next question please.

Had déjà vu?: Every few days.

Danced in the moonlight?: Yes. Having a terrace can make you do weird things. Actually loads of fun. Another activity thwarted by the fear of Monkeyman.

Witnessed a crime?: Nope.

Been obsessed with post-it notes?: I'd rather not answer that question. I am rather obsessed with all sorts of stationery.

Squished barefoot through the mud?: Yes. Dramsoc workshop. I did NOT like it.

Been lost?: Nope. Sensible, innocent lil kid.

Been on the opposite side of the country?: Only as far as Bangalore.

Swum in the ocean?: Yup!!!! Though couldn't swim much cuz of the waves....

Cried yourself to sleep?: Yes.

Played cops and robbers?: Weirdly....considering I've always hung out with guys...no.

Recently coloured with crayons?: Yup!! Sometimes I show my hidden artistic talents!! :)

Sung karaoke?: Only when the lyrics were displayed on TV.

Paid for a meal with only coins?: Yes!!! And this is a must....the dirty look the waiter gives you is really worth carrying all that heavy change!!

Done something you told yourself you wouldn't?: All the time. Not too much of will power.

Made prank phone calls?: Sooooooooooooo many!!!

Caught a snow flake on your tongue?: Have never been anywhere near snow....let alone lick it.

Written a letter to Santa Claus?: Yes!! And then put it on Mums bed. I wasn't dumb. I knew how to get my presents.

Blown bubbles?: One of my favourite hobbies!!

Bonfire on the beach?: Nope.... but bonfire in the hills....fun!!!!

Cheated on a test?: Yes...once.....and i flunked that test. Have never cheated since then.

Gone skinny-dipping in a pool?: Nope....in a tub with my cousins, yes...but not in a pool.

Lessons Learnt

Tired of traveling for almost two hours in the extremely crowded Dwarka metro, I finally shifted to a hostel in North Campus. Now the first question that most of my old friends asked me was, “Is it a co-ed hostel?”
“Obviously not!!”
Shocked looks…doubtful faces….Are-you-crazy-you-wont-last-a-day expressions.
Ya…thanks for the huge amount of support guys.
First weekend home after a week in my hostel, Dad asks, “Have you fought with any of your room-mates yet?”
“No!”
Man….nobody could believe that I could actually survive in a girls' hostel. You should’ve heard the number of warnings my dear old sis gave me before shifting, requesting, nay, telling me till the last minute that I was making a huge mistake.
And so, among all the friendly advice and goodwill, I finally shifted into a hostel in November.
And of course, I’m still there, and I barely have any complaints.

Now having been in such close contact with girls, for, pretty much the first time in my life, I actually learnt a lot of things, some things which I knew and were confirmed, and some that I had never thought possible. So here it is, my list of lessons from a girls’ hostel:

It’s confirmed, girls are the screechiest and noisiest creatures on the planet.

Contrary to popular belief, girls can be extremely dirty (I’m talking weeks of pending laundry, which stays pending until the almirah starts stinking. I actually know a girl who lends out her clothes to other girls quite happily, in the hope they’ll wash it and give it back).

When a girl says she’ll take just two minutes, she really means at least fifteen (This gets doubled if she said it for the amount of time she’s gonna take in the bathroom. I have never reached college on time if my roomie got to the bathroom before me).

All those chick flicks (Never been kissed, Mean girls, She’s all that etc.) do not exaggerate anything, some girls are just pure bitches and need to be smacked.

Nine out of every ten girls have a boyfriend who apparently has unlimited balance on his cell, so they can talk all day and night. Now the ratio for guys is something like four out of every ten have a girlfriend. Quite interesting, considering that the Indian Planning Commission is worried about an adverse sex ratio… Maybe the census isn’t accurate enough.

Boyfriends are THE highest priority. Nothing else matters. Period.

Girls tend to go a tad bit crazy (read: extremely asylum suited insane) around Valentines Day. They actually make groups, exchange ideas about heart shaped balloons, heart shaped cakes, heart shaped photo frames…you get my drift…. If boyfriends actually got together and compared their gifts….well they might just be almost identical.

Cat-fights do take place in hostels. I was fortunate enough to witness one on my first day in the hostel. It consists of slapping, pulling hair, shouting, screaming, abusing… all the abuses in the world won’t really make a difference, but never, NEVER call a girl a BEHENJI…. THAT’S what makes the fight really serious!!

A MAJOR advantage of staying in a hostel: your wardrobe gets extended to ten times its usual size….sharing is one of the simplest things our parents taught us.

Girls are also capable of doing crazy stuff, be it dancing on the terrace, or writing their names with fire and deo on the walls. (That actually comes quite close to my brother burning lizards in his hostel using the same apparatus, we’re just not that gross)

Girls are sweet enough to clean your puke when you’re drunk, and stupid enough to pour water on your head to make you stop puking.

Bitching IS fun.

Being bitched about isn’t.

Living with girls for so many hours does tend to turn one, well, into quite a bit of a girl.

At the end of the day, when you’re low, when your boyfriend acts like an ass, and when you feel like crying….. I guess…. Girls are a LOT better than guys to make you feel better.

Don’t misunderstand me. I still prefer guys to girls any day. And I resent being called girly, which is what my friends have started calling me recently. But my patience and tolerance level with girls has certainly increased. They’re not THAT bad after all!

Should I?

I shouldn’t mimic people, simply because my friends are better actors than me.
I shouldn’t sing, because my voice isn’t as good as theirs.
I shouldn’t voice my opinions, for I simply can’t match the intellect of others.
I shouldn’t read Jeffrey Archers, they’re just too kiddish for my age.
I shouldn’t dance, probably because you don’t think I can dance.
I shouldn’t act weird, reason….who wants to be weird?
I shouldn’t hang out with him…who wants to be seen with someone weird?
I shouldn’t go wild….who wants to be called a slut?
I shouldn’t wear skirts…. My legs aren’t good enough for it.
Why shouldn’t I do any of these things?
Things that I love?
Because all that matters is your image, she says.
Image my dear friend?
I look into the mirror and it’s blank.

What Makes You Laugh

WARNING : This is a long and dull post... i do not want abusive comments from some of my particular...ahem...friends!!

I grumbled as the nurse helped me onto the wheelchair. It wasn’t an easy task after all. Come to think of it, it must have been a very unpleasant task for a twenty-year-old girl to pick up an eighty something lady against her wishes onto a chair that won’t keep still. But she did it without complaining.

The Asha Home for the elderly was full of grumpy old people like me. Most of them were ill, the pain making them difficult people to please. But some were just sad, sad because they felt that their family didn’t want them anymore, or sad because they didn’t have a family left.
The nurse wheeled me out into the sunlight for the afternoon. Even after my telling her repeatedly that I hated the sun, she never did seem to remember to leave me in the shade instead. As I closed my eyes to block out the sun’s glare, I felt something heavy being placed on my lap. I squinted at the untidily wrapped package the nurse had handed me, and as much as I hate to admit it, actually smiled at her. It was from my grandchildren.

I opened the pink envelope on top to find a card, which had a lopsided cake drawn on it, with as many candles as would fit on it. Just how old did they think I was? But that thought didn’t bother me much. What mattered was that they had remembered my birthday when I myself had almost forgotten! And for once, the “Happy 100th birthday!!” scrawled across the page by my ten-year-old grandson, Nikhil, just made me laugh.

I put aside the card, being careful that it was in plain view for everyone to see, and unwrapped the bulky package. It was a huge black book, it seemed old but vaguely familiar. I opened it onto the first page and read the note, which my son had written in his neat italic handwriting.

I have always adored you for your zest for life. And I often miss the dinnertime stories you used to tell me of my childhood, and even better, of your childhood. I must admit, I had forgotten how funny and delightful those sessions had been, and was recently reminded of them when I came across your old photograph album. So here it is, mom, I hope you enjoy it.

It had been a long time since my son had written to me. It isn’t like he had forgotten me, he visited me about once every month, that’s a lot more visits than what half my friends got, but when you’re my age, you don’t really have much to do but to count the hours, and even a month seems like a really long time.

I turned the page over and smiled, it was my first photograph ever taken. A bald baby who hadn’t even opened her eyes. As I kept on turning I couldn’t help but laugh. The girl staring back at me had the naughtiest gleam in her eyes I had ever seen, and a smile that never seemed to go away. I remember being thrown out of classes so often because I couldn’t help laughing at the tiniest things, may it be a silly joke cracked by the boy sitting behind me, or the expression on the teacher’s face when I burst out laughing in the middle of his class. Life was fun and every moment was to be enjoyed. The one time I laughed the most was when my father had taken me to the circus. The clowns, with their wide smiles (which I didn’t realize were painted on) and their funny antics had me laughing until my sides hurt. I found it weird that my father didn’t laugh, just smiled, and that too not at the clowns, but at me.

The next photograph contained me holding a pink bundle, and for the first time, I saw my mothers arm around it too, making sure I didn’t drop it. I found my baby sister extremely funny. After all, even my dolls didn’t have such small pudgy hands, and amazingly fat legs. I remember the look of horror on Mom’s face when I claimed that if I felt hungry at night, I could just nibble her ears.

As I turned the pages of the album, old pages of my memory also opened, things I hadn’t remembered for a long time. High school was fun until the last year, the year I turned seventeen. My father was killed in a car accident, and as the case usually is, by no fault of his own. I remember swearing never to drink in my entire life, one of the few promises I have stuck to. Till then, I had had no responsibilities on my shoulder. My mother’s health was affected poorly by the shock and suddenly I realized just how much depended on me. I had to study hard and get into a good college if I expected to get a decent job, something my family was in dire need of. Now that I looked at the photographs of that time, I noticed the major change that had come over me. The naughty smile was gone, to be replaced by a few lines on my forehead. Come to think of it, that was probably the year I laughed the least.

It is weird, how over the coming years things seemed to change, not just for me, but for everyone around me. The happy go lucky kids turned into duty bound cynics. There were no more whole hearted laughing sessions, for the man next to me in office definitely didn’t crack any jokes in the middle of a meeting, and I didn’t dare laugh at the expression on my boss’s face either. Every thing around us seemed to become fake, with strained friendships and forced laughter.

No, this story does not have a dark ending. After all, no human being can live his entire life without laughter and happiness. There is always a silver lining to everything. At the age of 26, I got married to one of my colleagues. But the time that a broad smile finally lit up my face was when I saw my son sitting quietly on the terrace for an entire hour because there was a butterfly sitting on his knee, and he didn’t want to scare it.

Outside the house, I was a hard-shelled workingwoman who was part of a rat race, and did not want to be left behind. In the breaks I may have taken I laughed at the foolish people who sat around wasting their lives, dreaming of a better tomorrow. Couldn’t they see that there was no such thing as a better tomorrow if they didn’t hurry up and join the race as well? How did they expect to support themselves and their families, and pay for their children’s education?
But at home I was the loving and doting mother I was supposed to be. My children helped me find the sense of humour I had long since lost. I laughed openly at the same jokes they told everyday, and I laughed in private with my husband while discussing the various tricks they had played on each other that day. But probably the time the entire family laughed together was at dinner on Sundays. It is amazing how tales from your childhood can amuse your kids a lot, and its even funnier to see the looks on their faces when they are told of their own antics. This was a tradition we followed for as long as I remembered, one we reverted to at family gatherings even after they were married.

Once up the hill, time seems to take you down the hill quite fast. I soon retired from my job and spent my time with my husband, watching television and bickering with each other. As much as we enjoyed each other’s company, the highlight of the month was when our now 40 something ‘kids’ visited us, with their own kids. The old tradition was still followed, but now the stories were about our grandchildren.

After my husband died, I reluctantly agreed to shift into a home for the elderly, after all, my health was deteriorating and nobody had the time to look after an elderly lady who needed constant attention. Like I mentioned before, the Asha home for the elderly was filled with grumpy old people, filled with sadness and pain. They had, after all, once had a life that was filled with gay laughter.

With wet eyes I closed the album, the last photograph being one I would cherish forever. It showed the entire family, complete with five grandchildren, all grinning at the camera. And I was pleased to notice that there was one common trait in almost all the faces. The naughtiest smiles I had ever seen.

I complained to the nurse all the way to the living room, after all, she had left me out in the sun again, even after my repeatedly telling her I like the shade better. Considering the fact that in old age, people started repeating things without realizing that they had said it before, it seemed I hadn’t said it enough times.

But I soon forgot about my inconsiderate nurse when I entered the living room, to find it decked with streamers and balloons, and a big cake on the center table. But what pleased me even more, was the sight of my children behind the cake, holding up their children who were gaily waving at me. The party that followed the cake was probably the best I ever got, this time with all my toothless friends. The room burst out laughing when 89-year-old Mr. Raman, got up and started dancing with Nikhil, waving his walking stick in all directions, knowing that he would be paying dearly the next day because of this vigorous exercise. Soon, most of the crowd had joined in, and squeals and snorts filled the air. Maybe, that was the day I laughed the most.

Once somebody asked me whether laughter dies away with age. I often wondered the same thing, but finally realized that it doesn’t. Of course there are times when we forget how to laugh, but we soon remember, thanks to small things. In my case, it was just a naughty smile.

The Answer

I took a deep breath and looked up at the ladder. It was high, very high. And yet, climbing it wasn’t that difficult. Slowly and steadily, I moved further away from the safety of the earthen ground of this amazing circus called life. I could hear the chattering of the crowd, and I knew they were talking about me. I could feel their eyes piercing every inch of my body.

I finally reached the platform, and clutched the railings for support. I had never intended on coming this far, of reaching this wooden lifeless platform. I could hear snippets of the announcement, “Dare-devil act… 30 feet… bucket of water… will she survive?”

I looked at the tiny round shape on the ground, the water glittering mischievously. Will I survive? I started feeling dizzy at the height, the noise of the crowd filling me up.

But then I took a deep breath again. I tuned all the chattering out. I looked down at the water. I had to think clearly. I knew I wanted it. But it was a big risk. What if I didn’t make it? I turned back to look at the ladder. It was so easy to turn back and reach the ground safely again. I could run into the crowd, who would even notice me again?

I looked around at the crowd, which now was no more than a blur of faces, emotionless, yet waiting with baited breaths and watching my every move.

I took a step forward, and heard the collective intake of breath from the stands.

I looked down again, and this time, I saw the water waiting calmly, a soft bed waiting for me…

That’s when I realised, I trusted the water.

So I closed my eyes and jumped.

Total Control

As I walked in, my eyes met his, and he smiled. It wasn’t the sweet smile that one gives to their friends, but a mocking, almost evil one. The same smile he had given me the last time I was with him. He knew I’d be back. Despite all my fears and hesitation, he knew I’d come back to him again.
I looked around the room with apprehension. Tables covered with instruments of all shapes and sizes took up one side of the room. The photographs on the wall took my attention as always. People posing in different styles, some of which were actually painful to the eye. And yet I had chosen to come here again, and be in the same position as one of the girls in the photographs. I tried to dissuade myself, but I couldn’t stop thinking about my last time with him. I had been scared then too, but in the end, it had all been worth it.
He pointed to the chair in the middle of the room, and I silently walked towards it. Sinking into it, I looked up at him and tried to relax. I trusted him a lot. He knew more about me than I cared to admit. He knew about my likes, my needs, my limits. And once in this room, he was in control of everything for the next hour. Yes, I trusted him a lot.
Silently, he approached the chair and picking up a silky cloth, tied it around me, not tight enough to hold me, but enough to let me know who was in charge.
He ran his fingers through my hair gently and asked, “So, what can I do for you this time?”
I sighed, and smiled up at him.
“Cox.”
He looked at me with one eyebrow raised, as if he hadn’t understood. But I knew he had, he always did. He just wanted me to say it again.
“I want the same hairstyle that Courtney Cox has. Can you manage it?” I asked. I knew I sounded scared, just like I always did before going in for a haircut.
He just smiled at my nervousness and picking up a pair of shiny scissors, went to work, whistling as he chopped off chunks of my precious hair.

@#%$!!!

What's the Point of being nice to people?

They just take advantage of it and screw you all over again.

Damn it.

About a Day

Now, I usually criticize blogs which go on about what the blogger did that day, what time he got up, what coloured shirt he wore, which flavour of cereals he ate etc etc…. But once in a while, I guess I’m allowed to write an equally boring post about my day.

Till yesterday, I had never realized how much I had changed in college. I always used to find it amusing to see friends go through amazing transformations, some for the better, n some definitely for the worse. And yet, all this time, it never occurred to me, that it was possible for me to have changed as well!

So yesterday, some of my school friends came over to my place for the day. Except, this time instead of the sweet innocent girl, the weirdo geek, and the geek with an inflated head, I met, a not so sweet or innocent girl, the suddenly cool dude, and well… the geek with a slightly more inflated head!! We spent the day chatting ( a lot! ), eating (oh, a lot!) and catching up on each others lives; lives that were so different now it was hard to imagine all of us sitting in the same boring Chillz class just a few years ago. I never had a great life in school, until I met these guys, and yet even after that, I had never missed school. And since I knew that everyone had changed so much, I never thought I would miss it at all. And yet, by the end of the day, there was one thing that hadn’t changed in any of them… they were still the wackiest and weirdest kids I knew! And for the first time, I missed them more than anything else in my life.

It was only after they left that I started thinking about the day. I hadn’t laughed that way for a long time. I hadn’t been sarcastic for a long time. I hadn’t done weird things for a long time. I hadn’t heard tales about the third hair in the left nostril for a very long time. And then it struck me, I hadn’t been me for a long time.

It’s natural to adapt to the new culture and people in college. But what happens if you just don’t find your type of people? Do you look for them outside your college? Do you turn into a loner? Or do you just change yourself to be more like them?

I guess like zillions of other people, I chose the last option. And somehow I never even realized it, until suddenly I found myself almost a stranger in my old world.

Now, perhaps I should go on about what I thought and how I reached a decision (which can actually be interesting, considering that my brain works in the weirdest ways!), but I’m sure I’m already going to get a rude and sarcastic remark from a certain somebody… So I’ll spare all of you the torture…

All I havta say is…

Beware world…

Cuz hey….

I’m back!!!

:)

Choice

I went through my music collection and sighed – all of them were love songs. For the first time I wished I’d taken a little bit more interest in rock, or maybe even metal. Half an hour of going through CDs and cassettes, and I knew it was a futile task. There was nothing there to get me out of my current state of depression.
I moved out of my depressing room and switched on the TV; 7 o’ clock – time for F.R.I.E.N.D.S. This particular sitcom about six unusual and yet so familiar characters was bound to get my spirits up… Ten minutes into the show, and I knew I’d made a bad choice yet again. I felt like shaking the television set, or at least throw something at it – How could Chandler and Monica, Rachel and Ross, Phoebe and Mike, Joey and Rachel… too much love, too nauseating. I looked around for something to destroy, something to make that crappy idiot box shut up. Thankfully, I found the remote control before the paper weights…. Or I would’ve been in bigger trouble, and would have had proper reason to cry then!
I walked around the house, on the terrace, covered every inch of the apartment, but still couldn’t clear my head. Thoughts, memories, oh such sweet memories kept torturing me. Things I had till a day ago.. things I could never have again. Should I be angry? Should I hate Him? Should I have gone ahead and hit Him, the way I’d always imagined I would if someone did something like this to me?
No. it wasn’t His fault. He couldn’t help it.
Not His fault? What total crap! All those things He used to say, they were just lies, weren’t they?
No. He had meant it then. Things change, people change…
Shut up! Shut up! SHUT UP!
It was so much easier to shut everyone else up, but what was I supposed to do to escape from my own thoughts? I looked at some kids playing in the park – so innocent, so carefree, so happy.
Happy. He was happy as well the other day.
I waited for my conscience to come up with a rational explanation for that, something to make me feel better this time.
Blank.
Blank? That’s it? How could it be true? How could he be happy…. without me? a tear escaped from the corner of my eye, and I didn’t wipe it off. I was too used to it now. I’d barely ever cried in my entire life, and now I seemed to be making up for it. My thoughts were interrupted by a familiar sound, the melodious ring tone of my cellphone. I rushed to it, eager to hear his voice… no, it wasn’t him. Just a friend, wanting to talk about her boyfriend probably. No, I didn’t want to tell her. I didn’t want her to pity me. Poor little me.
Books, orkut, friends, music, people, emotions…. Zilch.
I didn’t need these things. All I needed was Him.

Yes, I needed to get away. Away from all this pity, away from my friends, away from everything acutely resembled my life. Yes, I should talk to someone who wasn’t like me at all, so I called my new found almost non-existent friend. But as I sat stirring my mocktail, which like everything else didn’t turn out to be the way I’d expected, I felt my friends eyes boring into me. No pity, no affection. What was that expression on his face?
An unexpectedly good day, and I felt thankful to be able to call someone when I needed to take my mind off things. But my friend’s expression still bothered me. As the time to part came near, I finally looked deep into his eyes and was about to ask when he spoke instead… “I’m never depressed, cuz I choose not to be.” He left. I don’t know when I’l speak to him again. As always, we would probably lose touch for months…
On the metro, I impulsively called Him up, simply because that’s what I always used to do. Short conversation. Thoughts began to creep back. I could feel a tear balancing precariously in the corner of my eye, about to spill out.
I’m never depressed, cuz I choose not to be.
I smiled. I wiped my tear away. Not now, not for a long time. I laughed. I looked out at the beautiful sky. I closed my eyes and listened to the music playing on the radio held by a wannabe some seats away. I opened my eyes. It was night. And yet, it was a brand new day.

Useless

There comes a time in everyone’s life when one stops and simply thinks… what am I doing? This may come in middle age, or maybe at the time of retirement, or maybe even in your teens. The important thing, when it does happen, what do you do?
I guess that will depend on the answer to the question I mentioned in the beginning, “What am I doing?”. If you’re satisfied with the way things are going, you’ll probably just smile and continue doing exactly what you have been doing your entire life. Others, who might not be fortunate enough to be satisfied, would probably go into a depression about how their life sucks. And then there will be those who will be depressed for a while, but will soon decide that it’s not too late to change things.
I just realized that what I’ve written is utterly boring, and anyone unfortunate enough to actually read all this is probably cursing me right now. But what I really wanted to write about was simply a problem that might crop up after this stage.
So suppose you decide you’re going to change things. You realize that your life has been pretty useless till now, and you make plans to make it better. And when the time finally comes, you follow your plans. Or at least, you try to.

What do you do when after trying to change your life, you realize you can’t?
What do you do when till now you thought your life was useless, but now you feel that it is actually you who is useless?
Do you try to change yourself?
Or do you wish you had never reached the point of questioning your life?

Grief

Is it the pain, that makes you wish you were dead, just so you wouldn’t feel it?
Is it the inevitable depression, that endless pit, which has no beginning nor end?
Is it the loneliness, the numbness you feel even though you’re surrounded by friends?
Is it simply an emotion, which changes with time, yet leaves a timeless imprint?
Or is it the loss of the silver lining on this very cloudy day?

Deep Blue Sea

Ok, so my post has nothing to do with the movie about modified sharks, or even anything to do with the wonders of a beautiful sea. And I must warn you right now that it will probably be one of those posts where I just go blabbering to myself, trying to figure out stuff, not really thinking about making it interesting.

There are many kinds of people in this world. Okay, let me narrow the sample space (!!!)… there are many ‘kinds’ of kids. The popular fake kids, the fake kids, the popular kids, geeks, geniuses, simple normal kids, simple weirdoes (me!), the intellectuals and many more. It will take me the whole night to categorise them all. Now that I think about it, I can just make this post about whether we are individuals or actually fall into categories.. but that’s not what I wanted to write about. Maybe I’ll bore you with that later.

Till now, I have never really been bothered by others, I’ve always been satisfied with who I am, even though I have never been exceptionally brainy or intellectual or popular. No, I’m not complaining about not being popular enough, I’m perfectly happy with the number of friends I have. But recently, I have started doubting my way of thinking. I am an extremely self obsessed person, and am not really that bothered by the ills of the world. I’m not happy with the way things are, and definitely try my best to be part of the solution, yet, I don’t waste sleepless nights pondering over them. I have always admired those people who feel passionately about something, and then have full knowledge of it. Talking to them, you can see that they have spent time thinking about it, trying to figure out a solution. And of course, they have this vast amount of knowledge about everything, something I’m extremely jealous of! But then, what’s the difference between me and them?

It shows in everything I write as well. All my stories are simple. Actually, they’re shallow. They’re almost like a run of the mill bollywood flick. What you see is what you get. There is no inner meaning to what I write, there is no deep thinking involved. When I feel about something, do I actually think about the deep rooted cause of the problem? No. my thoughts proceed in the following way: What is it? Why has it affected me? Why are things so unfair?

That’s it. That is simply it.

All this time I went about laughing at these girls who were only concerned with the way they looked and the latest gossip, and I called them shallow. And it just never occurred to me.

I am shallow.

But then I ask, what’s wrong with being shallow? Why should I not be concerned with myself? Why should I look for deeper meanings everywhere? Why can I not write simple things that just entertain readers. Will I be considered good only after I write things in which you need to read between the lines? Articles and stories that I haven’t given a lot of thought to. Stuff that people don’t really have to think about.

So I ask, whats wrong with being shallow?

The Real Problem

The entire country is in an uproar over the plans to increase reservations. Protest marches, hunger strikes, lathi charges form the front page headlines everyday. What are the students worried about? Why are they protesting? Is it actually because they’re concerned about the quality of students passing out of India’s premiere institutes? Because they don’t believe in reservations? Because they think it’s highly unfair? Not really. Though all these reasons are extremely valid to argue against reservations and quotas, the real reason is simply that all of us can see chances of our bright future slowly slipping away from us.
But somehow, I don’t agree with the way people’s attitudes are changing. Everybody hates Arjun Singh and the government right now. The protests are obviously aimed at him. I receive at least five messages everyday making fun of arjun singh and his quota plans. Here are a couple of examples :

Why does Arjun Singh have sex only 3 days a week?
Because the rest 3 days his wife is reserved for OBC n for Sundays for SC/ST

Ok… that did make me laugh.

New rules of quota system in Indian Cricket:
1. boundary will be 15 yards shorter for SC/ST/OBC players
2. SC/ST/OBC can take one bounce catch of any batsman
3. SC/ST/OBC scoring 20 runs in a practice match will qualify for national team
4. SC/ST/OBC player scoring 60 will be counted as century
5. over for SC/ST/OBC bowler will consist of 3 balls
6. 50% players in cricket team will be from SC/ST/OBC.

Hmm… I did not find that funny.

These messages progressively seem to be becoming against OBCs rather than the government. Fine, people are angry that this section of the population is getting advantages that most of them don’t deserve. But they are not at fault! Is it their fault that they exist? Is it their fault that Arjun Singh is looking for votes? They did not choose to be OBCs, we gave them that classification.

I agree that it is unfair and that some SC/ST/OBCs use these reservations even if they are from higher classes who can afford their education and have the same opportunities as us, if not more. But seriously, if suppose, we were offered a reservation, which made it easier to get into the best institutes in the country, would we not use that reservation? Would we not campaign FOR that reservation and support the government?

My point is…. Protest against the government, not the OBCs.

The Rose

Sumant looked at it. It was just perfect. It had just flowered properly and all the petals were spread out at just the right distance. It had taken him half an hour to find it in the garden and another fifteen minutes to clear it of thorns. But at last it was ready.
Priya was going to love it, he could feel it in his bones. Sumant couldn’t wait to see the delighted look on her face, when he handed it to her. So he put on his bag and carefully holding the rose in his right hand so that its shape didn’t get spoilt, headed out for college. But he had hardly taken ten steps when he felt something tugging at his shirt. He turned around to see a small girl with long curly hair, looking up at him with light brown sparkling eyes. “Please Mister, can I have that rose? I want to give it to my mother.”
Sumant shook his head and turned to leave, but then stopped. He looked at the tearful face of the girl, the glint in her eyes, her rosy red cheeks and smiled. Bending he handed her the rose, and patting her head, went off whistling.
Aanchal, clutched the bright red rose tightly and ran towards the grocery store in which her mother was shopping. Reaching her mother she held up the rose as high as she could and shouted, “Look at what I got for you Mommy!” the mother took the rose and hugging her daughter, kept it on the counter with her groceries. Then picking up the packets they left the store.
Pranay picked up his bag and started walking out of his parents store when he noticed a long stemmed rose lying on the cash counter. Picking it up, he headed off to school, absent mindedly playing with it all the way. Rushing though the school corridor, he banged into a surly looking girl who was taking out something from her locker. “Sorry Tanya! I’m kind of in a hurry!” he shouted as he paused just long enough to pick up her book and hand it to her, but it was long enough to see the expression on her face.
Tanya frowned and turned back to her locker. She toyed with the bottle of sleeping pills as she pretended to search for her books. Nobody cared about her, they wouldn’t even miss her once she was gone. Today, she would finally find the courage, and get it over with. It was only for the best.
She gloomily walked to her English class and took a seat in the back row. Just as the bell rang she saw Pranay walk in. He looked around and spotting her walked towards her.
“Hey, I’m really sorry about before, I must’ve really bashed you up.” Before she could say anything he placed something on her desk and said, “Here, this is for you.” Smiling, he walked off.
Tanya looked at the pretty rose on her desk and smiled, something she hadn’t done for a long time. It made her dark face light up, giving her a pixie like look. She happily clutched the rose throughout the day.
Sumant came home that night with a sinking feeling in his heart. After all, he hadn’t been able to give Priya the perfect rose. But as he got into bed, he couldn’t help but have the weird feeling that he had helped someone, somewhere. Smiling, he turned off the lamp and called out to his sister in the next room.
“Goodnight, Tanya!”

The Final Plunge

Even though I was trembling, my eyes sparkled with determination. I had spent a long time thinking things through, trying to find a better solution, but all my efforts had failed. This was the only option left, to end things, once and for all.
As I started climbing, I became very conscious of how overweight and unfit I was, just one of the problems in my life. My feet seemed to be made of lead, each step taking my utmost concentration and determination. In my life, I’d chickened out of a lot of things, but not this time. Well, at least after this, they’ll feel sorry for all those times they teased me.
I felt the wind ruffling my hair as I reached the top. The view from such a height was breathtaking; everything seemed so calm and peaceful, as if there wasn’t a problem in the world, so fake. For a moment, I forgot my purpose for being there, and just stood there, enjoying the freshness of the morning air. But another gust of wind soon brought me back to my senses. Slowly, I made my way towards the edge. Peering over, I suddenly felt a knot in my stomach and quickly stepped back, afraid I might throw up. Dazed by the height, and the thought of what I was going to do, I crouched down, holding on tightly to anything I could find, one last time. I closed my eyes as shadows of doubt started creeping into my mind, and reminded myself of all the reasons I was there, of why I had to do this.
Shouts from below snapped me out of my reverie, and I heard footsteps behind me. Turning around, I saw him, the only person I had ever looked up to, in fact the reason I was here, doing this. For a moment I felt relieved, but the anger in his face made me freeze. At once, I knew I had failed him.
As he reached me, he held out his strong arms. I streched my arms to hold onto him, but to my surprise, he did not hold me. My eyes widened as I suddenly felt him push me, his face more determined than I had ever seen, his eyes almost red. As if in slow motion, I felt myself lose balance, my feet sliding off the edge, arms flapping wildly, hoping that by some miracle I might be able to fly. And then I felt the weightlessness. My life flashed before my eyes as I fell down, gaining speed every second. I was just about to say my last prayer when I hit the hard water, head first.
It took me a few seconds to realize what had happened. I quickly surfaced, gasping for air and swallowing huge amounts of water. Through the buzzing in my ears, I heard people cheering, and turned around to wave at my friends. I looked up into the sky, and saw my swimming coach standing on the diving board, looking satisfied. I had finally done it. I had finally gotten through my first dive.

The curse is back

After a long time away, which I can’t truthfully say was for studies, I’m finally back. A lot has happened in the past year, and I think just about everyone I knew in school has changed a lot. Or maybe, I have just changed a lot. No, college life didn’t suddenly get to me, though it is a lot more fun than school, and definitely has a lot more perks. For the ill informed, I’m currently doing economics honours from SRCC. And even though I was sure I was gonna hate this geek filled college, as it turned out, there are still a lot of cool and genuinely nice kids here, who do everything but study! Neway, have made a lot of really good friends, and have managed to have my share of pending fun, what with bunking classes (which of course I realized, a little too late, isn’t all that great a thing once exams are on) watching way too many and too crappy movies (shaadi no 1 being one of then, need I say more?) and basically becoming even weirder than before!
Now my first year of college is over, a little too fast t seems, and I look back, and somehow feel disheartened. What have I really achieved? Many years later, when I look back at these days, what would I actually be looking at? Studies are the last thing on my mind these years, really not a priority anymore. So what am I doing other than that? Actually, you know what, I had been planning on writing a lot on that, but at the moment, I have only questions, barely any answers. And I also know that no one else can ever answer them for me. So instead of boring all of you, like I have done so often before, I guess I’ll keep it to myself.
Oh, by the way, I’m part of the team of Candid Expressions, a magazine started by some of the seniors in my college, basically for students to voice their opinions without having to old back. So if anyone is interested in writing in, do tell me.
So, cya people…
I’ll keep the blog updated…
Like I said, the curse is back…

Long time no see

I'm guessing that everyone's really really busy with their college stuff, cuz all blogs have been static for a month. Or maybe we're too lazy....

Anyway, I am wondering what everyone is doing with their lives so it would be nice if someone would tell me!!!!

I'm lazy too, so i'll write again later.

Cya!