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.