Kids These Days

Sometimes I think (sometimes I don't), that us neonate-adults are often underrated. That our elders take us to be mere beer-drinking-denim-wearing-Apple-obsessed morons.

How often have you heard the phrase "tumhari generation ke bachche"? Or the much obvious "aaj kal ke bachche"? Firstly, how do we fall into the kid category? Secondly, hello?? Prejudiced much?

It's sad how, even at 18, we are considered too naive to make our own decisions. I know my peers well, and okay! Save a few, the rest of us have perfectly sound abilities of reasoning and sensibility. Perhaps even more than 2/3rds of the Indian so-called "adult" population.

You know, the only one who sees the real potential in us 18-yr olds is PM Modi. Don't get me wrong. But somehow, all our pro-BJP parents fail to absorb the essence of Mr. Modi's message. Yeah yeah we are the future of our country, have a huge burden on our young shoulders and all, but when it comes to handing me the car keys, I'm well entrusted with driving into a tree, or worse, another car.

Hey, you know, maybe it's time you guys stop judging us for what we're not. Stop judging us on what the general opinion is. It was your world till today, it's our turn now. And we can do it better. Muuuch better. So let us take over. Been long enough.

Just look at the state of the country right now. Who's running it? Us "aaj kal ke bachche"?? No dude. It's "aapke zamaane ke buddhe". Fogey old politicians who don't give a paise's shit to the opinion of the youth. Look at the education system. Laughable. Haven't repaired the roads yet, and are excited about new Metros. Reservations? No comments. Get over it. Ain't your "zamaana" no more.

To be honest, we're more practical. We don't choose friends on the basis of who's from the same caste. We don't have any form of casteist/racist/sexist reservations on Whatsapp groups. We don't judge a girl's morality by her clothes. We don't think every guy's a potential molester.

Take a chill pill, okay?

Why are we always expected to be shallow, indecisive, goofy little jerks? Everytime I'm quiet, Mom HAS to check my head if I'm alright or not. Hey Mom, Freedom of Silence? Like I can't be sober for once. No no, I'm always the joker, eh? If I turn down a movie to read a book, it turns into a major Family News of the Week.

Maybe it's time for us to change this. To do something, on our own, and together, that'll change their views. Today, it's the car keys, tomorrow, it'll be the fate of the nation, neither in our hands. It's going to take some elbow grease to get this country up and running high.

They are assessing us wrong, they are doing us wrong. Call it a Generation Gap or what-ever, but most of our elders do not think we're even capable of driving to the corner without crashing, let alone of taking this country forward.

I repeat; we can do it much better.

Cheers all! To our future!

*toasts with a glass of Pepsi*

Reformations

Really???? THIS is what I've turned into? A bag lady with no care or concern, stuck in the same despicable routine? Ohhh Despicable Me!

That's what she thought looking into the mirror.

She was not the one who took failure and heartbreaks well. She didn't bounce back from rejection too easily. And sometimes, she would let it get to her, and would crumble under the slightest of stress.

(That's how everyone is inside, sadly.)

The past few months had been rough for her. Life, sometimes, can be an A-grade b*tch to even the happiest and sweetest of all people. And for people who've known industrial-strength happiness, it isn't easy to accept.

She'd gained a few pounds (okay, a lot of pounds), ya know, another of us depression-feeders. Her hair had lost its former lustre, her eyes the former glint. She wore a nice, dark shade of exhaustion beneath her eyes. She had that back-off-I-bite-but-I'm-really-not-that-bad-just-a-little-heartbroken-so-all-I-need-is-a-forced-warm-hug-and-a-shoulder-to-cry-on air about her. She would sleep all the time, trying to escape facing her fears each time she woke up. As if dreams were her rehab from reality. Getting out of bed was probably the hardest task of all. Sometimes, she would wish she could just vanish into thin air, if such an event were possible. Because, people, are oh so tiring!

But one fine day, her godmother made her look into the mirror. Gave her a good smack on the head, grabbed her by the shoulders, and pushed her in front of that large piece of glass used for reflective purposes.

"Look there!"

"Yeah what?"

"WHAT do you see??"

"Erm.. Us?"

"No!!"

"No?"

"No!!! I see a pile of clothes hanging on a truckload of fat and stored-carbs, efficiently rich in Tacos from Dominos, and butter chicken, and tubs after tubs of Baskin Robbins Bavarian Chocolate!"

"Umm.. It's tasty!"

"Ohhh yeahh?? And that big round head, with fine bags of grey under the half-dead eyes, which look as if they've stayed up nights in a row, studying hard, when they've actually been washed out crying."

"Ermm okay?"

"What's wrong with you???"

She went and sat down on the bed with a gusty sighhhh.

"I'm just sick of life putting me down!"

"Oh yeah???"

"Yeah! It's like everything's going wrong! People who cared, don't care! People who do care, aren't there! I can't get anywhere in life. I can't bear to look at my books! Lord knows how I'll get into a college! Mom and Dad can't stop pestering me! Sometimes, I'd rather just die."

"Well I hope you do, because someone as pathetic as you doesn't deserve to live, when people with greater life and ambition in them are lying in coma in the hospital! Because people like you just take life for granted! And then they wish they could die!"

"Ummm"

"Don't ummm me you friggin idiot!"

"Okay!"

"Don't okay me either! Don't you see? It's YOUR life! It's upto YOU to make it happy, to make it worth living! When you fight back, I don't think any power in the Universe can put you down!"

*sigh*

"Don't sigh like that either! It makes you cry more! You are the one who can make good things happen to yourself. People come, and people go. Those who are meant to stay, will. Rest of them, are life lessons. You'll just lessen what their worth had been, if you sit like this, regretting the past and despising the present and squandering away the future."

"Screw you."

"Hahaha screw you too bro!"

So the story had a happy, not ending, interlude. Because there's no such thing as a "Happily ever after". Because no one can be happy all the time! There are hot streaks, and then there are cold spells.

The next day, she got up early morning, went jogging with her girlfriend and organised her studies. She washed her hair like normal humans. Got out of bed, not because she was forced to, but because she wanted to. She resolved to be a better person, and tried to learn from her mistakes. In her heart, she believed that one day everything will turn out fine. Just the way she wanted it to be. She'd learnt that what does not kill us, just makes us stronger.

Okay fine! That "she" is me. And there's no godmother, it's me myself. Because one day, I got sick of life putting me down. I don't owe life anything. And I won't let it get one up on me. "It takes a long pull, a strong pull, and a pull altogether before some of us even get our feet set in the right way." One day, it'll be alright for me. For you. For everyone.

The storm will pass, things will get better.

It's pouring now but it can't rain forever.

- A really good friend.

Seagulls

"Do you see that?"

"See what baby?"

"The sea, sweetheart."

"Yes, of course I do. It's right in front of us. I can see it. What about it but?"

He looked at her and smiled.

"It's huge, isn't it?"

"Mmhmm", she nodded, burying deeper into the sand, and his arms. "Mmm. Pretty sea."

"It isn't pretty."

She looked up at his face, staring far out into the horizon, thinking of what, she couldn't fathom. "Why isn't it pretty?" She asked, blinking her eyes innocently.

"The sea is dark."

"No it isn't dark. It's orange. It's sunset time dude. Stop being a jerk." And she laughed.

He pulled away from her and made her sit up straight. He looked into her eyes with a frigid intensity.

"The sea is a dark place. We think it's free, we think it's powerful, but it isn't. The sea is trapped. It can't leave the ocean and go travel the earth. It rages and rages all day, but it doesn't have a choice. The sea has to live with whatever and whoever loves it and accepts it. The rocks on that cliff. Or the sands on the shore. Or people like us on this beach. And those seagulls."

She looked towards the cliff where he pointed. Hundreds of seagulls were crowded there, white and huge and regal. Some perched atop rocks, some taking off, some landing and some merely creating a ruckus in that tiny world of their own.

"Mmm. Pretty seagulls." She smiled at them, and then at him. She tried to go back into his arms, but he kept her at an arm's length.

"Yeah, the seagulls are pretty. See how free, how liberated they are?"

"Mmm hmm."

"They are an awkward breed."

"Why so?"

"They can fly to every end of the earth, if earth had an end, that is. They can fly to Rome, perch on the Eiffel Tower in Paris, tour through the Colosseum or even go shit on tourists at the Taj. But what do they do instead? Fly all over the sea, and return to the beach. Every single day. They have their choices, they have their freedom, but they choose to stay here, loving the sea till the end of their lives. While the sea, despite its vastness, stays stuck, trapped, and in its morbidity, refuses to love the seagull. No matter how hard he may try, he can't love it back."

"The sea is a stupid thing."

"Is it?" He asked her, smiling sadly. If only she knew.

"Mmmm hmm. You can't MAKE yourself love someone. You either do, or you don't," she said. Like I can't make myself, he thought. "Now shut up. Enough philosophy for today," and she snuggled back up to him, where she felt safe and secure. He let her, this once, shaking his head mournfully, thinking Alright, one last time.

She was the blissfully ignorant seagull.

He was the helplessly stubborn sea.

Reserved About Reservations

So yesterday, I was filling up the application form for admission in a renowned medical college of India (not gonna name it, because what if they read this and decide that the only thing this girl can do, is write trash?) and I stumbled across a compulsory field, questioning me if I was a Christian, and if not, then why. Okay, so apparently, if I'm not a Christian, I have three ears and a pair of horns on my head, huh?

Grumbling about it, I scrolled down, and they asked me which category do I belong to. Ummm, let's see, I'm totally crazy, I eat chocolate at lunch and chicken nuggets at breakfast, I like wearing sports jerseys at home, and sometimes I dress like a drug addict. So, no, sorry! I haven't been able to figure out what my 'category' is yet. But ooooh! Look! They're giving me options!

1) General

2) SC/ST

3) OBC

4) Others

Oh. THIS category you mean. Blasted idiots.

(You already know the full forms. Every aspiring Indian student does.)

Without giving a second thought to the rest of them, I clicked on the first, grumbling about reservation.

So I lay at night, contemplating on the vagaries of human nature. Think about it. If you call an asshole, an asshole, then he is certified to act like an asshole only no?

Then if you treat the 'minorities' as 'minorities', they're gonna stay 'minorities' only, aren't they?

But if you call Mr. X, Mr. X, even if he is the same aforementioned asshole, won't the poor soul be delighted to have been accepted as another human being for once?

What would YOU prefer? "Hey Mr. X!!" Or "Hey Asshole!"?

So if you treat the 'minorities' as generals only, do you really think they'll complain?

Does our esteemed government think that they LIKE being labelled as "Reserved Class"? Do they really feel proud when they are marked as outcasts from the "General" society, albeit with certain benefits? When they have to explain to the officials that they have "reserved" seats because their great-great-great-great grandpa decided to pursue a plebian profession? When they're really just as much human as the rest of us? And to think of it, some of them even more brilliant than the entire Central Government put together!

Why aren't they treated equally? Why are they given special "reservations"? Why are they given "reserved" seats? Why do they have a "reserve" quota? Don't they qualify enough to sit in the common seats? Think about it. Treating them as normally as we treat Generals, is it really gonna do them harm? Or benefit them more?

Ironically, the Govt. believes in considering family and religious background more than economic and social status. I mean seriously! What about the poor people on the street with no roof over their heads? Oh no dear they are Rajputs! They can rough it out! They don't need no extra benefits. What about the corrupt politician who avails himself to all available privileges just because he's "reserved"? Shhh honey! He's an SC. He's entitled to it. You shouldn't talk like this.

Arey bhaiya General bhi gareeb ho sakte hain!! Utna hi jitna Reserved waale ameer ho sakte hain. Akal apni khet mein chhod aate ho kaa?

If they go on constantly reminding the backward classes that they're "backward", I don't see how they can bring about any upliftment.

If this goes on, one day we'll be known by our categories instead of our names.

"Hiieee General!"

"Oh heyyy SC!! What's up??"

"Did you hear about ST?"

"Nooooo! Whaaatt?"

"She cheated on OBC!!"

"Haawww! With whom??"

"Oh. With an Other."

Dear government-waalo, this generation is more into worth than value. We like to be judged by our brains, not by the varna system that originated more than a thousand years ago.Please. Distinction, not division. Merit, not reservation.

Yours faithfully,

General/SC/ST/OBC

All up to you to guess

Pretty Woman

"Feminism is just another ridiculous notion, that women are human too."

She's there at your home. She wakes you up every morning when the alarms in your high-end smartphones cannot. She knows where your car keys disappeared, where your Converse high-tops have vanished to, and where in the world your favourite pair of jeans are. She knows just exactly how much Nutella you need to make your day. She lets you make your mistakes, while doing her best that the tally remains limited to the minimum.

She's there in Maa.

She bugs you when she shouldn't. She bursts into your room as if she belongs there. Sometimes, when you return to your room, and find all that clutter miraculously cleared up, she did it. No matter how old she may get, you'll always look out for her. She'll always be your first guide, because she's seen more life than you have. She makes life worth living.

She's Didi.

She is magnanimously annoying. Like climb-onto-the-nerves-and-itch-bad annoying. She sneaks and peeks and searches and shuffles through your stuff to stumble across your secrets. She doesn't spare even your favourite pair of shoes, because what's yours, is hers (in her dreams). She thinks she'll always get away, because she's the li'l baby compared to you. You can't imagine letting a guy near her, not on your watch. She's your source of all evil, and your own spawn of Satan and the bundle of everything mischievous.

She's your little sister.

She doesn't stop talking, and you'd rather she doesn't. She gets jealous every other second. She loses her temper any time she wants and always expects you to make up for it. Sometimes, she puts on her miniskirt and heels, just because she wants you to love her more. On other days, she'll wear her dad's tshirt and shorts because she knows you'll love her anyways. No one can get through to you when you're mad, but one tiny kiss from her can make your day.

She's that sexy girlfriend of yours.

She keeps that roti warm for you every night you're late. She lays out your clothes every morning before you leave. She melts your credit card with all that shopping, she melts your heart smiling. She's the reason behind your success. She's the CEO at home, and you can't deny it.

She's your lovely wife.

But she's not "yours". She's no one else's. She's her own.

Just because she loves you unconditionally, and forgives you each time, it doesn't make her a 'doormat'. You can't decide when to use her, and when to not. You can't walk all over her just because she doesn't complain. She's not for granted. One day, she'll decide she wants to be happy, and she'll leave. And take my word for it, she ain't gonna return.

She's crazy, she's beautiful, each one in her own way. She's a doctor, she's a teacher, a philosopher and she's tall and short, dark and fair, thin and thick, smart and dumb, everything all at once. And you can't take her place.

She wear shorts because she feels the heat too, not because she wants to be whistled at. "Sorry if I'm rude bhaiya, par salwar-kurta bhi pehen lu naa, toh aap utne hi besharam rahenge." If that incites a person to commit a heinous crime, the fault will always be in the mind of the beholder. It's not her fault, and will never be. She drives alone because she's old enough to. She roams around at night, because she's an Indian, and a free one that too, not because she's volunteering to be raped, assaulted and humiliated. She's not your next victim.

She's pride and humility, power and docility, submission and dignity, self-respect and honour. If she wasn't here, you wouldn't be.

She's the woman we often forget to celebrate.

Frustration

And, it's a six!!!!

I sat there watching the match between India and Pakistan, nails between my teeth, almost sitting on the edge of the sofa, Grandpa sitting on the next sofa.

"Why don't you go and study, and come back watch the last over Ashi?"

Yeah right Grandpa. Why don't we just put the fried chicken leg back into the deep fry, and just munch on the bones instead?

And did you ever consider the game CAN end before the 50th over?

"I've never seen you study consistently for more than 10 minutes. Why can't you stay at your desk for at least an hour?"

I'm sorry that you're never awake at 3 am when I've been studying since 12.

"All you do is waste the entire day roaming around the house like a big giant. You have a complete lack of concentration!"

I would love to stay in my room the rest of my life Grandpa, but your wife won't let me go without food. And she freaks out anyways, if I lock myself inside. "Ashi?!?! Are you okay?" (Read: Ashi are you alive?!?!) "Yeah Nani. Unfortunately, yes.

Grandma completely thinks I'm operating an underground spy service inside my room. Right, that too.

"Can't say anything, can you? You're not as smart as your mother. She could memorise anything once she read it."

Yeah Grandpa. Because AIPMT back then was all about people with photographic memories. I'm sorry I rely on my brains these days. Kal se roz chaar baadaam, okay?

"Go away and study. Watch the repeat telecast when you're done."

Okay Nana. Firstly, I'm NEVER DONE studying when it comes to you guys. And secondly, when people discuss the match and ask me if I saw that beautiful cover drive Dhawan hit, then I'm just gonna go, "Oh no buddy! I still have to watch the repeat. Aaj dekh kar batayenge kitna bawaal shot tha." Right?

"You wasted your entire two years doing nothing. Didn't do any questions, no exercises, lord knows how you'll get into a college!"

Lord knows when you'll shut up.

"Those students I taught have reached such heights. And my own granddaughter at home…"

I'm really sorry you got pathetic little ME for a grandkid. But we can't really change that now, can we?

"You still won't answer me! What if you don't get into a college?? What will people say? You'll just waste another year! What about our expectations? You used to be such a good student in your childhood. Now you're just as aimless as those boys on the street."

Maybe if you ever bothered asking what was really going on in my life, and tried to understand, for once, you would know what I'm going through, and perhaps its a miracle I didn't go ahead and do anything stupid. Maybe then you wouldn't really be more concerned about my grades than my life.

"Girls these days have no sense of responsibility. About to turn 18, but no concern about her future."

Yeah coz right now I'm only concerned that Kohli HAS TO STAY IN WHATSOEVER MAY HAPPEN!

"Its all your parents' fault."

"Nana are you gonna let me watch the match or not???" I lose my temper.

"You can either watch the match, or get into a good college."

"FINE! I'll get into a bloody good college."

And I get up, stomp my feet, and leave. Go into my room and shed a few tears of anger because all I wanted to do was watch a stupid match that I had had my heart set on for the past 2 weeks. But apparently, I'm not destined to get what I want. Anywhere. It's that phase in life, where all I do is lose. From personal matters, to a silly little match that mattered much to me.

And that's the story of my life. If you can tell me that you could put up with this, then I'm gladly willing to swap places.

Regrets

Here they sat today, on opposite ends of the bed, stuck like they were in life. Neither too close, nor too far. It ached her heart to be so far apart from him, when there had been times nothing could have been too close for them. What a mightily awkward predicament it was!

She couldn't bear it further, so she stood up and left the room. What could she have said that could have changed what seemed like the thing she most feared. She stood in the hall meditating for a while, then went back and sat next to him.

The sky could have fallen down, but they were not conscious of anything but the heartache.

She held his hand, this time with apprehension instead of affection. "What's wrong babe?" She whispered, for that was all she could afford without letting her voice choke. And she hated crying in front of others, especially in front of him. She was scared he would remove his hand, but perhaps he pitied her enough not to do that. She removed her hand herself.

She looked at his beautiful, silent downcast face as he shook his head and tried to smile.

"Nothing."

It was the hoarse 'nothing' that pained her. He would have told her his problem because he knew she could lessen it, if not solve it. He would have told her anything and everything, from a mere little pimple, to a major life crisis. But here they were, with 'nothing' wrong between them.

And she knew this time she couldn't change it, because he didn't look at her like before anymore. He was lost to her. She stood up and left him alone.

Silently cursing herself, she stood outside his house for a while hating everything she had ever done to him, wishing she could strangle the life out of herself and stop existing, if life was going to be that painful for her from now on. She looked back at his house, hoping with all her heart he would come out and forgive her and things could heal again. He sent her a "Sorry". But the stupid heart that it is! A paper once crumpled can never regain its former beautiful crispness again. Wounds to the heart can only be forgotten, never healed.

But she didn't think of it. The only thing she could think of was that she was about to lose the person she loved the most. And she went back. Again. Stupid girl.

He wasn't there where she'd left him. She called out for him, and found him in a dark corner. Morose. Gathering all her courage she went up to him, and touched his face. All she wanted was to console him, thinking maybe it would comfort him as much as it comforted her. After all, she could very vividly remember the times when simply being together was their favourite medicine.

He moved away and said, "I'm sorry."

She turned around and began to leave. He held her hand, for that was all the poor guy could do. But she broke away and left before the tears could.

Regret, is the most painful affliction of all, because we can never do anything about it anymore. It makes us feel more helpless than animals. We regret mistakes we make. "If only we could have done it differently!"

The only thing we can do about it, is think twice before doing anything. So we never have to face it again.

Pits of Hell

Pain changes a person the way you could never imagine. Each one so tremendous that I wouldn't think you could even measure it, but the truth is: all of us go through it. We're humans. Ordinary O2 breathing mortals, with equally vulnerable hearts, unless of course you're some supreme being devoid of any form of emotional attachments (not naming the ones :P ).

Let me tell you a story: it features a stupid girl, and a stupid guy.

They fall in love.

They break up.

They cry.

They swear never to love again. And they come out heartbroken, sadly wiser, and surprisingly unscathed.

I don't know why I get attached. To a particular little Barbie in my childhood, to a particular little guy in my teens. (In my defense, thats what Pisceans are. Sensitive, emotional and piteously hungry for any form of love and affection.)

I had a best friend. Yeah that one. Someone who understood me better than myself, who knew why I do things the way I do, who could tell what was going on in my mind with just one look, who always knew the right thing to say, who cared more than I ever bothered to, perhaps even loved me more than I ever deserved. Like my own warm and bright personal sun. And somehow, some way, for some damned reason, I lost that particular person. And I've never been sorrier that I screwed it. That was a brutal assault to a friendship of 4-5 glorious years, but the point is: it was my fault. Because I was weak enough to get attached. And let my happiness depend on something, or someone who certainly wouldn't last long. And now I see red every day watching something I was proud of having been mine, now belong to someone else. Stupid envy. Stupid me.

Its been the pits of hell ever since. Months of sitting on the floor against the wall and crying my eyes out, and looking pathetic in the morning, as if I'd been studying Chemistry all night. At times it would hurt so much that I would long to run to my mother and cry and cry my heart out until I could cry no more. Alas! tears are endless, and pain boundless. People (friends basically) would tell me every day every moment to move on, to forgive and forget, but they could say that. Because they didn't know what it was for me.

That bloody wound to my happy little soul scarred me forever. And I'm glad that it did, so I'll always know till which level to trust someone. People aren't pugs. They won't love you unconditionally forever. (I love you too Pogo baby :* ). People change, feelings change. And sadly, even when yours don't, YOU are the one who has to go through devastating trials when you'd rather just stop existing if that helps lessen the aching in your heart, if it means that the damned pain in your chest can disappear.

That one experience turned me into a bitingly sarcastic cynic, or so people tell me. Not really bitter, but sadly wise to the sh*tty world we live in. Not someone hateful, but someone who doesn't believe in love either. Someone kicked out of her fairytale paradise, the likes of which we often create for ourselves.

I am the only one responsible for my own happiness. And I am the only one to be blamed if I let something hurt me. Even if I've been wronged, its upto me whether I let it eat up my soul, or learn from mistakes and move on like a strong-hearted smartass.

Its not just my story. Its yours as well. Everyone loses people they love. Everyone faces pain, albeit of different kinds. I have an awesome set of friends about me, helping me pull through, and indirectly that too, because I know how many of them have been through the same crap. There's that one girl (The Head, mind you) who's always soothing me when I cry, and never giving false consolations. There's my brother, always ready to give me a helping hand, which my own blood brother couldn't have given had he existed. And every single friend helps in his or her own way.

I don't cry anymore. I smile because we had a good run, and I try to let go. Healing, is another long blog in itself. Because that's probably the hardest task ever. But we'll heal. You, and I, and him, and her. We'll all heal once we decide we want to. Once we learn to accept 'goodbyes', if not appreciate them, because, lets face it, no matter how much we hate separation, it can only be delayed, not denied. Once we start believing in the friggin' reality, instead of exulting about in the land of make-believe. Once it sinks in that 'Nothing lasts forever'. Once we realise that attachment is for mere mortals, and we are all bakaits with a greater future ahead. ;)

And the process begins with pressing the 'Delete' button.

Nine Yards

Like a never-ending enigma, the currently prevailing brouhaha about a mere nine yards of shiny fabric often brings the brains of our dear guys down to a state of a plate of Maggi (Read: utter and ultimate confusion).

Us girls, never wait and care to explain why we bother about "THE saree" as much as we do. Probably because we're too busy thinking about matching heels, but whatever.

Dearest counterparts, it's not just an ordinary piece of cloth. It's THE saree, THE farewell saree, a first for most of us, and special for all. Farewell, for us Indians, is our own personal Senior Prom, and nothing can hold back the horses when the girls get to shopping for it. It's not our fault. We are not THAT self-obsessed, conceited, narcissistic, but we just wanna look our best. (And of course, some wanna grab the 'Miss Evening' sash, but that's another story).

Every little girl dreams of being the Prom Queen once in her life. We all wanna glitter and glow as we sashay down the carpets, and we want to make it grand. Never mind the pain that goes into hours and hours of turning the town upside down searching for the one we want, THE perfect saree each girl has set in her mind, envisioned for the day. You must appreciate the effort that goes into endless trials of heels to go with it, and sleepless nights in case someone else bought the same piece. There's breakback Googling of designs and styles, and prolonged calls to the designer. Some keep the colour a secret, others go about singing praises of their best buy till date. Undoubtedly, "THE saree" becomes the most-discussed-analysed-debated topic among the girls for at least a month before the farewell. We bore our moms to death chatting about it on and on. We try our boyfriends' patience by not telling them the colour. Daddy gets sick of all the squealing about the pretty saree, and little sister would rather send it back to the shop and get a night of good sleep.

We? We aren't gonna stop talking about it until we wear it on D-Day and realise the other girl still got a better one.

I should shut up because I know guys still won't get why we fret that much. But admit it, you wouldn't bother attending the farewell if we didn't. :P

As for me, I took half an hour to buy my saree, and another half for heels. Now all I do is sit back and relax, thinking, "That was, by Jove, a pretty bargain." And if you ask me, I'll even show you how it looks. :P