Mortal Inferno

How do you burn someone

Whose soul burns every day

In the inferno of her will

Sorrows perishing away

How do you ignite

The one with the fire in her eyes

Lighting you up asunder with a glance

Lighting up your darkened lives

How do you tell the sun

To stop shining today

When she blazes with all her raging power

Charring down her banes

She is the heat, the light

The days and the summers

Lava which passionately boils

The warmth which simmers

You can’t burn her down

She burns up everyday

Into the ashes of your fourth cigar

In the blackened ash tray

You can’t kindle her

She is already ablaze

She’s got the hunger

Of famished flames

She is the sun

You fear to look up at

She is the sun

And you can’t tell her

To stop shining.

Inebriated Blank Verses

All the times you dropped down drunk

Because you've had a great time, it's been a great night

When the autowala refused to let you in

Because he thought you'd throw up

But he didn't know

You've had harder nights and harder drinks

He doesn't know your capacity, the one you built up with so much care

He doesn't know of the friends who took you home

Held your hair back while you threw up

Made drunk videos, listened to your bullshit as you laid your heart bare

Who hid your phone each time, until you were strong enough not to make drunk calls

Who saved you from the warden and her ugly, judgmental glares

Who signed for you when your sight went all double

When you couldn't walk a straight inch to save your life

Who stood by you, and kept you outta further trouble.

So it's okay, each time, every time

You love the music, you love the lights

You love the sound of the rocks falling in the glass

You know the taste, you know the burn, you've been here before

Your very own safe place

So don't count the glasses, just bottoms up

It's nothing special, your old friend

That Old little Monk

Every glass is YOUR choice

Every sip your happy hour

Your very own blank verse

So get into the auto, you know you're not out yet

Grab a bestie's hand, you know you're not alone

You've had a great night, your snapchat's bursting

So please don't throw up yet, it's time to go home.

The Perfect Place

Where deserving dreams have the power to materialise

Where struggling labour bears the fruit of time

Where the darkest secrets are revealed

Where the truth of life lies unconcealed

Where serendipity brings the lovers to meet

And adulation knows more than sinning heat.

Where hopes belie the stormy math,

Of the dreary past that humans have.

Where chances we get to amends make

Where we can relate the real and fake

Where the price of smiles is not too high

Where wings we get for higher flight

Beyond the covetous, beyond the hate

Where lives aren't in the hands of Fate

Where reason resides in every mind

Where we can hold the sands of time

Where we can love and be loved true

Where I can lay my trust in you

Where we know our inner selves

Where we can match our steps to pace

Beyond our dreams, beyond bookshelves,

We all search for that perfect place.

-A.

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

School's Over

For all my fellow classmates, besides all the glee and exuberance over the sudden onset of winter vacations, did you realise, that school, as we knew it, has come to an end?

Have you ever pictured a life without school? No more bunking classes in the name of events and schoolwork.

No more politics and catfights over badges and posts.

No more hanging out in the computer lab and organising events we could devote our lives to.

All those unannounced substitutions and then going out into the field to play.

Quietly snickering at the absurd behaviour of the most ridiculous of our teachers, albeit with all due respect. (Science students read: Physics period :P).

English registers.. Hey bhagvaaan! :P

Ganging up against a certain person, a new victim everyday. (My personal favourite: Maria :P).

Teasing one another over something that may or may not be true (Bharat get that? :P) or unnecessary bickering with someone over the most plebeian aspects of life (Achint my childhood buddy :P).

Remember greeting each other with the very sarcastic version of our traditional namaste? (Ayush Singh _/\_ I'll never forget :P ).

YashRaj You crazy guy. Allll those pathetic jokes you make. :P And I still find them soo funny.

That amazing photo we really liked so much Pratap.

I could never thank you enough for that amazing t-shirt Umar.

Anshika thankyouuu for always being ready to play with me. Be it rain or shine. :P

Getting the so-called boyfriend-girlfriend to sit together. Dumb.

Mitali Laughing at your laughter. Because I love the way you laugh.

Making brothers who are not your brothers. Shriman bhai I really really love you broooo :) My endless support <3

Even though this blog was specifically for my classmates, I'm in love with my "favouritist" junior Chinab. I didn't know a girl could ever be interested in listening to someone else besides herself, but honestly, I could sit and listen to you talk for hours :P.

Trisha I know I annoyed you a lot because honestly, I don't really remember how to play the guitar anymore. :P But thank you for putting up with me and my never-ending demands.

For all the budding bakaits, Anubhav, Sachin, Astha, Aashna, good luck in life. :P And better make sure our farewell turns out awesome. :P

Teasing bevda Lakshya for all justifiable reasons (Sorry Sunflower. You're awesome :P)

20 people eating from the same one packet of Lays. (Biswas: I hope you remember me every time you eat Lays in life :P)

Nishi meri favourite padhaku ladki, my personal studying-strategist, over all those momos and orange we've shared.. Need I say more? :P

Rishbha that awesome model we made together.. And thank you for the help you've always given me. Without any questions. I love you Miss President :*

Poor birthday boys mercilessly kicked for simply having being born on that day. 

Our never-wavering solidarity against surprise tests and the extensive syllabus.

All that insanity in the schoolbus. (Water fights ohh lord). Rashi Rasika love you two sooooo much :*

Padmakshi Selfie Queen, we still need a proper one together :P

Revering the most talented person in the class (Pranshu --> respect :P).

The best workaholic Vice President I've ever met, and also my favourite non-vegans (Ankur and Sana) :P

Bitching about the very person sitting next to you.

Secrets and gifts that could not be exchanged over the phone.

Know what Goli..? I'll miss my "bestest" friend, the "bestest" guy on earth the most. More, most, mostest. And also, I'm sorry.

Free car rides anytime of the day. (Or night.. Thanks Ojesh :P)

Anushka thank you for making the Tamanche Pe Disco song so special for me :P

Staring lovestruck all day at your crushes.

All those WWE sessions over Bhalla's tiffin. (Read again science people :P).

There's someone all of us forget: Kartikeya who, even though, different, never lets us get bored. The dear boy I've known since the 1st grade, its about time someone acknowledged how special you are. :) :P

Every interhouse event. And the efforts which went into it.

Farewell 2014. *sigh* So many incomparable memories.

Our Word of the Year: "BAKAIT"

The point is, while we are at home thinking about our future and the possibly messed-up present, the past slips out of our hand, and before we know it, we are left with memories which we render priceless, but let them fade. So many mistakes made, so many regrets to live with.

I'll miss school. I miss my school already. I couldn't even name all of the remaining thousand people who were the reason I got out of bed everyday to come to school. So many people I've missed out on mentioning. So many memories I cannot even recollect more. The stupid dingy corridors. I've had many embarassing moments in there. The always crowded canteen only a braveheart can enter. But my school was half my life. All my life until now, in fact. I loved, I lived, I lost but above all that, I learnt. We grew up in here, discovered ourselves, and are pretty much on our own now, away from one another. Let not these memories fade, for they made us who we are. All of the above, isn't gonna return for us now (unless of course you're planning on flunking). School's over now. School days are over now. We're about to pass out.

I'm sorry. I'm sad. But mostly, its good riddance.

P.S. If I've missed out on someone, I'm sorry.. And it doesn't make you any less special for me. :)

Dear Boys

Dear Boys

This is to provide a brief insight into the mind of a girl, in the confines of which you often go astray, clueless creatures that you are. Strangely enough, you claim that girls can never be understood when you haven't even fully explored your ownselves.

Girls take a long time to get ready. But obvious. You would empathise were you the proud owner of a million shoes, not to speak of the zillion outfits we have to choose from. The simple dilemma of selecting a scent to complete our attire has our minds all boggled up, and to add to that, your whining. You have no right to complain, having no proper clothes to call your own. If YOUR closet consists of a blue shirt, a pair of muddy football studs and twenty million video games, WE aren't to be blamed.

We are about as interested in FIFA as a hardcore non-vegetarian would be in a lettuce salad. Do we blame you for not having read P.S. I Love You? Don't even make me start on last night's episode of Desperate Housewives.

Dear guys. We don't like waiting, even if we are 2 hours late ourselves. We only pretend to like your car and your sermons about its carburettor, because you are really really cute. Our silence isn't always anger. We need peace after 12 hrs of incessant chatter. And we only talk nonsense nonstop because we like the way you look at us and just listen. You think we don't notice, but we can tell when you're looking. Here's a tip for your annoyed girlfriend: No girl will not melt when sincerely appreciated. And no we don't care what you think, we are ALWAYS fat to our own eyes.

We are not jealous, but simply protecting whats ours. Every girl is insecure deep inside her heart, and if you can find me a girl who isn't, I promise I'll take my blog down forever. And never advise anyone either.

All of us want to be loved, and every girl loves it when a guy is crazy about her. We find it really adorable when guys get jealous, and secretly love infuriating you. Maybe not to you, but anniversaries and birthdays and Valentine's Day matter to us. And not just because of the gifts. But the sentiments behind them.

Even though it bothers you, sometimes we would rather be alone. It's really crowded inside a girl's head, and you need a highly upgraded app to sort it out. Even if we value branded shoes more than your silly gadgets, we still adore the way you are always hooked to your Playstations.

A chocolate can always smooth out the rough patches. A kiss always heals the biggest wounds. A hug can make even the most egoistic girl realise her follies. The best part is us belonging to you. And owning you the same.

We love laughing at your pathetic jokes, and sometimes we do that even if its not funny at all. Because its really sweet the way you smile. We don't need guys only to make boyfriends as our perennial sources of income. We need you guys to make us laugh and feel special when no one else can.

We love guys who understand. And listen. :)

Lovingly yours,

Apoorvi

P.S. For all the guys in my life. From friends to enemies to brothers :P

Deadline

Seated round the rounder tables

Singing songs narrating fables

Sharing secrets, laughing, crying

Teasing talking walking flying.

While in their hearts, despair grew

As imminent separation slowly brew.

The pretty, little girl, and the smarter one

The shy, big guy and the taller one

The rowdy jerk, and his quieter buddy

The boyish girl with her shoes really muddy

The guy who always had his nose in a book

The boy who'd never really cared for looks

The best striker of their school team

The girl who kept them ripped to the seams

The two love-doves who never left hands

The three hot girls who played in the band

This group of friends (which stays unnamed)

Sharing laughter, food and games.

Poking fun, selfies snapped

Made some jokes, and codes were cracked.

Teachers mocked, singers praised.

Talking how well Messi had played.

Teasing the guy who never bathed

Mocking the striker that he shouldn't have played

Pulling the book from under the guy's nose

Trying to get the lovers to not sit so close

On the face, the mirth that sits

In the heart, it lives in pits.

Happy as happy they could be,

They knew there would come a time to leave.

They shared the past and memories through

Doubted if they had any future too.

All good things must come to an end.

The road of life is beset with bends.

And though it seems to be full of fun,

Life has a limit under the sun.

People come and people go.

Some change us forever so.

A chance to be happy, we should never miss,

Nobody knows when the last goodbye is...

Questioning God..?

I enter the temple premises with a steady gait, walking head upright, nose in the air, like I have a purpose coming here. Like I'll come in with a confectionery bribe worth 21 bucks, and a garland worth I-don't-really-care-how-much, and God will look down at me and go, "That's the spirit sweetheart. Come on! Tell me! Whaddaya want?"

Yeah.

Right.

Reluctantly, I walk ahead, pushed forward by Maa, Naani, Daddy and my exuberant little sister of 11.

It's a temple in Kanpur. Yeah, so it's pretty.. Kanpur-ish.

One real weird looking bull snorts at me. Like I'm a Spanish matador. Why, WHY did I have to wear my red shorts??? Hey dude! Don't do that man! I'm not here for dibs on your milk. I don't even LIKE milk. It stinks. Well.. Unless its chocolate.

Wait. Bulls don't give you milk. Idiot.

VERY carefully, I wade my way away from the brutal creature praying to my host that he'll save me from its horns.

I reach the humongous gates, paving my way through the endless sweet shops and other vendors selling tidbits which usually appeal to my maid's little daughter, and sweets covered with so many flies I can't decide its the flies on the food, or the food on the flies. Naani presses me forward and I bend to touch the entrance.

Seriously. Our god lives in marble floors. "Hey cool dude! Down there?"

There's the priest, behind the counter, because that's where he sells the blessings from. No really! You go upto him, hand over the bribe basket to him, and if he likes your face, he might just return the box with an extra laddoo in it.

He smiles at me, and for some reason, I'm reminded that I have to buy a new tube of toothpaste.

Maa folds her hands and stands there, eyes closed, murmuring something. I can bet its "Please get Aashi into a good college. And please make her get over her addiction to her phone."

Daddy follows suit, and from his demeanor I can only decipher that he begs God "Please make Aashi stop begging me to take her driving. And make her cut down on the phone bill."

There are people lying flat down on the floor. I've seen classier yoga postures. Seriously! Murmuring and chanting the hymns, the temple resonates with their sound. And I don't like it.

"Are we done Daddy?"

"Just a minute. Ring the bells first."

Waking up dear old God, eh?

We go around the building two times. There's this disabled guy who sits in the corridors. He's been there for as long as I've lived. Or perhaps even longer. Earlier when I was just a kid, and so was he, he'd sit in that blue shirt of his and stretch out his hands to beg for alms. Maa would always give him a laddoo out of our prasad. Now, that I'm older, and so is he, he sits in a kurta and a saffron coloured shawl and hands out little books of holy songs in exchange for a little money.

There are monkeys. And there are monkeys. Scattered all over the place, as if no one ever heard of population control. Some of them keep snatching the sweets from the poor devouts, some of the younger lot keep jumping around spreading the waste on the floor. C'est la viés, món ami.

I watch people pouring milk on the deity, literally pushing one another to get to their turn. The milk flows down in front of my eyes into a channel that ends into a drain. Oooh! Faith much?

I DO believe in God. Trust me, I do! Almost every night when I'm sad, or in my darkest of despair, I lie down and stare at the fan and talk to Him.

"Was it my fault? Or maybe I shouldn't have done that! Should I do this or not? Am I doing the right thing? Am I making a mistake?"

But I never understood why He needs to be buttered for answers. Why an idol needs to be bathed in gallons of milk that ends up in the drain, inevitably going waste. Why, if people are so God-fearing and religious, do they need to spend shitloads on prasad and milk and other edibles for a deity instead of giving it to the poor and the needy? Why, if they have so much faith, do they need to visit a commercialised temple to prove it, and not pray within the confines of their own houses?

As we get ready to leave, I say, "I'm never coming back here Maa! There's just no logic!"

She glares at me.

"What? I didn't find no God here!"

"There IS God, in case you were wondering, young lady! You just need to believe in him. He's everywhere."

"Agreed. Then, why do we need to come HERE for it?"

*silence*

"Stop it. Don't question God."

I shut up my trap and walk silently behind them.

Never questioned God, Maa! Just his fanatics.

The Spider In My Bathroom

I'm talking to the spider in my bathroom. Mr. Spider, it turns out, is an avid listener of mine. Has been since I took over the bathroom, his former territory. I just didn't notice his acknowledgment. Now that I have someone to listen me out, it feels relieving to share my pain with someone.

Not something.

Someone.

"It really hurts ya know.."

Silence.

"Why doesn't anybody understand my feelings?"

Silence. Crawls forward. Closer to me.

"I know it was my fault.. But is it ALWAYS my fault?"

Crawls a bit away.

"See! It isn't! Even you agree! Right?"

Crawls in closer. Dangerously close.

"Hey! Hey! Now keep your distance mister! My broken heart doesn't give you the right to come so close."

Stays in place.

I shed a few tears. Curl up and pull my knees closer to my chest, lean my head back against the wall. Let the tears flow.

Then I turn to look at Mr. Spider. He's staring back at me, and I feel a connection. Both sad, forsaken, lonely beings, trying to find their place in the world. The cold, cruel world.

And the moment I put out my hand to stand up and leave, I see him crawl away.

Leaving me behind. Alone. Once again.

Forever

She rang the door bell twice. No one answered. Staring at her chappals in despair, she rang the bell for the third time, and as she turned around to walk away, the door was answered.

"Yes?" An old man with a trembling voice stood there. He wore a shocking white kurta and pajama.

But of course he's wearing white. And he's just the cook.

"Baba! May I come in?" She asked softly.

"Umm.. Beta.. You know.."

"Yes. Yes I know baba! I need to be a part too."

"You're here for the funeral?"

"Yes. I'm here for.. The funeral.. Yes.. Yeah probably for that."

And for one last goodbye.

Tears filled his eyes as he opened the door wide to let her in. She ignored him, as her lips trembled. Taking off her chappals, she entered the house, smoothing out her own starched salwar-kurta.

The scene hit her hard.

A lady lay on the bed, yelling and screaming, sobbing at a loud volume. Several other ladies weeped along with her and tried to comfort her. The men were huddled in the verandah, except for one, probably the father, who stood in the garden, his arms wrapped around him.

She dared not look towards the hall, where the body was kept for the final rites. Her heart caught in her throat.

"Namaste Auntyji!"

The women stared at her, but the lady kept on crying, oblivious to her surroundings.

She spoke further, folding her hands together, "I am.. Was.. His friend.. I'm here to.. Umm.. Pay respects to.. Umm.."

One woman narrowed her eyes at her, and spoke through a choky whisper. "What do you want beta?"

"I.. Umm.. I'm here.. I was.. I was his friend."

He was my friend. He was my love. He was my life. He's the reason why I'm still here.

But he's no more.

How can I explain it to you????

The women ignored her. The man in the garden beckoned her to him.

"Namaste uncle ji!"

"Namaste beta! May I help you?"

The warmth exuding from his voice reminded her of his son's. The way he would whisper 'good night' into the phone, or yell at her to stop drinking, or teach her some new theory in maths, the voice she had spent 8 years listening to, the voice she had hoped to listen to for her remaining lifetime.

"I was his friend."

The man uttered a name.

"Yes, the very same," she answered, slightly comforted by his familiarity towards her.

"I'm sorry beta!" The tears finally escaped his eyes as he put a hand on her shoulder, and left.

She walked upto the door of his bedroom. So many times, she'd walked up to that room like she belonged there. Now she didn't feel the same way.

Entering, she felt a sudden hollowness, like the walls were closing in on her. She closed the door behind her, sat down on his bed, and broke down.

She spent a few hours in there. Everyone was mourning. No one disturbed her. She went through his closet, fingering his clothes, taking in the smell of the very familiar cologne. She went through his baggages, toying around with every item, shedding innumerable tears at every nostalgic reminiscence. Something had ended. The feeling of emptiness clawed through her heart as she sniffed at his handkerchief.

She opened the drawer of his table, and rummaged through the clutter of infinitely dysfunctional pens and stationery. She liked the sound of objects clinking against each other, and was shuffling a little bit more when she found a small crumpled piece of paper. She immediately recognised his microscopic crawly handwriting.

Something about you, sweetheart, reminds me that we have forever.

So I'll love you.

Forever.

She folded the note back as a tear fell on 'forever' and blotted the ink.

Made-ONLY-For-Each-Other

"You are just like your daddy! Always leave the wet towel on the bed! Always leave the charger in the plug! And abhi kuch bolo do, toh kahenge subeh subeh badbadane lagti ho! Bola tha jaldi kariyega!! But no! Ab dekho! Late ho rahe hain hospital ke liye! Par fir kuch bol do, toh kahenge subeh subeh ladna chalu kar deti ho! Huh!"

Maa goes on grumbling as she frets about the house, picking up things and leaving order behind.

It's the morning everyday in my house. Maa grumbles at Daddy, Daddy grumbles at Maa.

It's always been this way. Mom and Dad were never the usual couple. No romance, no gifts, no i-love-yous, nothing. Hell, the simple mere idea of my parents being in love is revolting!

Two crazed-out super-ambitious eminent doctors of the town, my parents consider 'expressed love' as the most outrageous excuse for an emotion. Maa laughs at all my romantic notions, and Daddy vilely threatens to murder any guy who dare get too close to his daughter.

But I know they love each other. I watch them express it every moment.

When Maa lays out Daddy's clothes for him before he returns home, or makes sure his food is never cold. When Daddy massages Maa's aching head in one of her many migraines. When they sit together in the hospital for a cup of tea in between rounds of the O.R.

Maa has always been Daddy's strength, through thick or thin. Everytime the man of the house broke down when the world became too hard, Maa got into his shoes and made sure he had her steel-strong support everytime. Times were tough, the family in crisis, Mumma and Daddy stuck together, making sure no one grew weak. When consequences were against Daddy, Maa would never hesitate in uttering an expletive or two, at the people who'd messed up his life. Never mind the ideal Bhartiya naari. I watch them work together, struggling to keep their patients alive, and they almost always  succeed. Sometimes, Daddy brings in a little gift for her, always the gentleman. Maa's a bit of a nut. She sent Daddy a "Happy Birthday" on Valentine's Day when I forced her to wish him. And then shrugged, blushed and said, "Kya farak padta hai? Wish toh kar diya na!"

They jab at each other, mock each other, tease and joke around as if they're newly married. Sometimes, they make me sit down and lecture me about something or the other. Sometimes, they tell me and my sister that we are the most precious treasures they own.

Mumma and Daddy have been through the hardest struggles of life, side by side. They've climbed the ladder of success, matching their steps, one at a time. I've never believed in arranged marriage. Never understood the logic behind being tied down to some one you've never known before. But sometimes, when I look at these two nutcracks, I understand, that it never made a difference. It was a match made in heaven, and it keeps me hopeful, that I might have MY special someone out there too. That when I'm their age, I can be just as happy. 

*touchwood*

Happy Anniversary Mumma and Daddy! Love you guys! :) <3

Lessons

Here's some lessons I learnt since I turned Sweet Sixteen:

1) NEVER fall in love!

Love is the most pathetic excuse for an emotion. It's the most powerful feeling that can ever overcome you. You think anger paralyses? Have you ever been in love? Love can send you into a coma. A never-ending one that too. You're blinded and suddenly, the world's too good a place. Suddenly, you're not a good girl, who doesn't deserve the guy, and you're all up for becoming better. There's a lot of effort you put in. And if it's not the right person, you end up hurting yourself. And finding the right person at 16, is like… Finding a perfect road in Kanpur. "Nearly impossible". (Although I'm a fine one to speak because I believe I've found my perfect road ;) )

2) DO fall in love!

Love is the best thing that could ever happen to you. :P Yes, the world suddenly seems too good. Nothing can go wrong when you have the one you want, and it's like spring season throughout the year. You dance about for no reason, smile like an idiot at your secret, and it makes you a better person. It makes you WANT to be a better person. And believe me, that's what the world needs.

3) NEVER buy clothes that are too loose!

If you think you are fat (If you're a girl, then I know you do) and you buy clothes a size too big, it's a mistake.

I lost 17 kgs since last April, and I'm paying now (even though I finally look good now :P) because I literally have to tie my jeans with belts, and I sometimes fall short of punch holes. I had to buy a whole new pair of school uniforms. And all the pretty clothes I had, don't fit me anymore. Always buy the fitting size.

Same goes for shoes.

4) NEVER think that friends last forever!

Nahhh.. Never! They don't.. So that'll be a big mistake! The moment you enter class 11th, all your so-called "social circles" fall apart. Everyone works and lives for their personal benefit, and if you think they don't, then you deserve a kick on the ass. Better learn to be selfish, or you end up getting hurt.

There were so many more. But these ones really took me out on a roller-coaster ride. Yes it was the best year ever. And the worst yet.