Love is evil

Love is the purest feeling they say. They lie, I say.

That day I saw you for the first time and the way you were looking for an excuse to speak to me…I knew right then that you had fallen for me. Remember how you felt that I didn’t even notice you…I faked it…I noticed you…everything about you. From that small scar on top of your eyebrow to the small mole on your upper lip…I noticed it all. Love is not truthful all the times, it lies sometimes…it fakes.

That time when I flatly refused to be the least interested in you…I totally was. I just wanted to see if I mean so much for you that you’d wait. Love doubts…it mistrusts.

When you told me that you might have to go to a different college, because you got selected there and it’s way better academically, remember how I acted all ‘oh-I-am-so-happy-for-you’. I wasn’t completely happy for you…a huge part of me grieved…grieved for itself. I didn’t want you to go. Love is selfish…just a bit…but it is.

You know those times when I act all broadminded refusing to give a damn about you being close to those REALLY pretty girls. I actually do give a damn…way more than that. A part of me burns when I see you treating them even remotely close to the way you treat me. Those big talks about giving ‘space’…I don’t know how they go down the drain so quickly. That’s when I realize that theory and practice are two very different things. It takes a lot of self-persuasion to tell myself that you have all the rights in the world to be very close friends with a girl…even if she is insanely beautiful. Oh, love is a jealous thing…and possessive too…very, very possessive.

There are these times when I pinch you really hard with the bitterest things in the planet. I do it on purpose. I just want to see if you would STILL love me…if you would still love me as much. Trust me, I am not this mean or heartless. It’s just love that makes me do this. It can be heartless at times.

And most importantly, remember when I say that I’d always love you…that is the biggest lie. The truth is that I’d love you only as long as you’d love me or maybe a little longer or maybe, a lot longer. But, then gradually it’ll begin to die…and that love for you will transform into hate. Hatred will meet a similar fate…it will grow only to diminish again. Eventually, they will all be replaced by one feeling-indifference and that will sustain forever.

Love is evil…I tell you…it’s pure evil!

It's a girl

I must have been three or four when I got a vague idea about ‘gender’. I understood that girls and boys are different…that they have different behavioural pattern, different likes and dislikes, different physical characteristics, etc. I took immense pride in being a girl then, I loved the fact that we were the prettier gender; had a wider range of dresses to choose from; the princesses in those fairy tales were so fascinating-way more than the princes and my parents’ never slapped me for my mischievousness(you aren't supposed to hit girls, they said), unlike my brother who was slapped and hit too often :D. It was a beautiful world for the girls in those years.

I grew up to understand the term gender a little more clearly. It was certainly beyond having different kinds of dresses to choose from. I figured it had something to do with them being stronger than us. There was this hint of fear when I saw a big group of them standing…if they had to play cricket in the playground and we had to play badminton at the same time…we would immediately vacate the ground for them. I never completely understood why it was so. We had to come back home by 7, while they could be out till 10…that was another difference I witnessed. We fought back at times, only to be told that we were more precious and thus deserve more care, and that used to bring a smile on our faces.

I grew a little older to understand that there were more differences. I understood that they were entitled to a little more pocket money than we were ( because, we get you everything you ask for sweety…why do you have to go wasting your time to get it yourself), that it was expected from us to develop culinary skills-it was probably supposed to be in our genes(in that extra X chromosome that comes along), that there were some behavioural norms for girls:

·       Whistling is not permitted-It is only meant for the boys. Girls can just be whistled at-not whistle…no, they are not allowed.

·       They should be soft spoken. Loud behaviour is for the boys.

All this dwindled the love for my gender a little bit…'Why, can’t I have it all', I wondered at times. I consoled myself with things like-maybe, we are the better-behaved, more civilized gender…and I must keep up the good behavior.

I had to reach the edge of my teenage to understand the biggest difference. The slut-factor.Girls could be slut for a lot of things. They could be called a slut for any of the following:
·       For being too outgoing.
·       For having too many guy-friends.
·       For flirting around.
·       For looking sexy.
·       For being in and out of relationships a little too often.
·       For being appealing to guys.

While the set of rules would be completely opposite for men- they would be treated like a hero of sorts if they could woo too many girls, it’s an achievement, each girlfriend that they’ve had adds to their trophies…it’s something they can flaunt and take pride in. It was the other gender which had to worry about the ‘character’-oh, yes…it is the most important word in a woman’s life…they must go to any extent to protect it...to make sure that it remains unscathed. Men never have to worry about it. The Y-chromosome that they have gives them inexhaustible freedom to do anything they feel like, they are accepted this way, it is attractive for them to be big-bad boys…it adds to their oomph quotient. But, we lovely ladies- we can’t even dare to think about it.

My gender had started suffocating me a bit then…I hated a lot of people for it…the society, the customs and most importantly…the men. I loathed them for being hypocrites, for having two sets of morals-one for themselves and the other for the women and most importantly…I envied them for enjoying the limitless freedom.

As I grew up a little more, the hatred for men gradually subsided, the restrictions imposed were questioned and opposed, the dual set of moral were sneered upon and rebelled. I stopped being weighed down by the norms and started loving my gender just the way I did when I was a little thing. I started defying the rules. I picked up a battle with the world. I was never to be succumbed. Happiness doesn't always come as a gift…sometimes, it has to be earned. I was ready to go and earn it for myself.

Maturity gave way to this changed perspective…breathing became a lot easier…the suffocation was gone. ‘Being a woman is the best thing that has ever happened to me’, I thought. I was going to tweet this, when suddenly I saw a tweet about a young girl who has been gang raped in a moving bus. It shook me from within, just the way it shook you. It enraged me. I wanted to murder those rapists. It killed a part of me…that part which took pride in being a girl, that part which wanted to fight with the world, that part which wanted to defy the rules, which wanted to liberate women. It murdered all those parts within me. What was left was a weak , vulnerable, helpless young girl who knows that things can never be the same for the two genders…that as long as barbaric men like those continue to exist, there will be lines drawn, lines that you can cross only to regret it later…that things were destined to be different from the moment the doctor said, “It’s a girl.”

Was it the first rape that I heard of? No. Was it the first time a barbarity of this sort has been conducted on any woman? No. Was it the first time I felt insecure about being a woman? No. These are emotions that swell and crash, swell and crash. One day, hopefully…there will just be one emotion associated with my gender…immense pride about being a girl. These emotions will only swell one day, not crash. One day, it will happen…someday!

Why you should NOT date a vegetarian(If you're not one, of course)

You’d be in maniacal love with non-vegetarian food if you’re one. Pretty naturally, you’d feel like ordering non-veg every time you go out to eat (in any case what choice does vegetarian food has to offer you-Paneer, paneer and more paneer…phew!).How do vegetarians survive…I mean, seriously…there’s so much of awesomeness that they’re missing in life.

Anyway, coming back to the point…you have two options when you’re eating out with your girlfriend/boyfriend.

Firstly, throw yourself on the altar of sacrifice and order vegetarian food. Then, keep looking at the other table’ s succulent chicken and fish dishes with coveting greed. And suffer, or choose option two-so, what if your partner is a vegetarian…you can always order non-veg for yourself and enjoy your meal. And, that is where you get it all wrong…you can never completely ENJOY your meal if you’re with them…following are the major spoilers:

• They would refuse to look at you and your plate…making you feel like an untouchable.
•  Every time you’d pick up a leg-piece, they’d give you those, ‘you-have-committed-a-MURDER’ looks.
• You’d almost hear them say to themselves, ‘You know that lovely animal (s)he’s chewing away to glory, he was playing hide and seek with his friend some time back. Exactly then, this cruel woman/man groped that poor thing away and dashed his brains out. She/He did not even let him finish the game. Oh, what horror…what horror!’
• They’d be this point when you will start hearing voices like, ’They say human flesh is the tastiest and softest. You never know, today it’s that poor little chicken…it may be me tomorrow.’
• They won’t share their shakes with you, saying that you cannot use the same straw.
• They would not come close to you, complaining that you SMELL of non-veg food!
• They would keep sending you animal slaughter videos.
• And, the MOST IMPORTANT…they would refuse to kiss you. Because, logically kissing you would mean that they've turned into non-vegetarians too :O.

And, then…even after choosing the second option…you would suffer! So, there’s clearly no-escaping the suffering.

But, then in case you do end up with a vegetarian, there are some points which can make your side stronger in case you are arguing over the immorality surrounding non-veg food. You might just use these points :

• Having non-vegetarian food is necessary…because…umm…otherwise…the food-cycle will get disrupted…the ecological balance will get ruined and then they’d be too many herbivores and they’d eat away the entire grasslands…and then…the world will turn into a desert…and…then…we’ll all die…earth will die. So, clearly we are having non-vegetarian food to save Mother Earth…it’s for a noble cause :D.
• Humans are supposed to be omnivores…didn't you study that in the Biology books in class 5…so, it’s natural for us to each flesh. If, it wouldn't be natural and ethical, they wouldn't have mentioned it the NCERT books. Blame them, not us.
• Plants have life too. Just because they can’t cry out in pain doesn't mean they can’t feel it. So, if eating them is justified, then eating animals is justified too.

     I think one of them might help! :D

P.S-No offence meant to anyone, my favourite people are vegetarians :) . 

Mistakes are good :)

The worst thing that you can do to yourself is to grow old with regrets. They almost kill a part of you, snatch the happiness away and keep reminding you each day like sadists why you should or should not have done ‘that’. You can’t let it happen to you…and you won’t.

But, it’s all so easy said than done. It is very easy to share those posts on facebook which say, ’Never regret anything in life, because at that point…that was what you really wanted’ and 'blah-blah', and to get that enlightenment moment, feel like a changed person, only to realize later than not much has changed.

Sometimes, you’ve made such huge blunders that it’s very hard to not regret. Just tell yourselves that it’s okay to make a few mistakes, it’s okay to act stupidly at times and  forgive yourself for it. But, what’s not okay is to regret it, to keep digging on that wound over and over and over again and leave it unhealed forever. Yes, it’s not okay to this to oneself.

Mistakes are life’s way of teaching us how to do things right. It’s life’s way of bestowing us with wisdom. Remember that stupid guy you fell for…who hurt you real bad. He was not a mistake…it was life’s way of telling you to become a little more cautious, a little less gullible and a little more strong. Trust me; it was necessary for life to do this to you.

That career choice you made, which failed tragically for you…was the opportunity for you start again from scratch at something that you can excel in.

That friend you never called back because of your ego… trust me, it’s never too late…NEVER…if they’re really meant to be in your life…they’ll come back…you just have to take that one step. Because there’s nothing to lose either way.

That girl you could never approach because you were too shy…maybe she was never meant for you. Destiny will make sure the one for will come into your life. Trust destiny…it answers all your questions amazingly...sometimes a little late, but the answers certainly come.

That night when you screwed up badly because your drinking went out of proportion. You just have to act a little more responsible from the next time…just a LITTLE.

They are so many HUGER regrets that we have. No matter how obscured the silver lining may be…it is there, very much there...you just have to look for it a little more keenly.

You must be wondering who I am to tell you all this. Have I done everything right in life! Am I an achiever of some sort! No, I’m not. I made mistakes…too many of them, way more than you have. I regretted…way more than you did. But then, I learnt. Life taught me, and compared to how I lived life back then, I am way happier today. Maybe life’s whispered to you too…you just weren’t paying attention then. Or maybe it wants to reach out to you through me.

I dont love you !

He told me he didn't like my eyes, but there is something about the way they could see right through his soul that captivates him;
There is nothing too attractive about my lips, I was told...but when they spread into a smile, he loses a part of himself;
My hair look bushy to him, unless a strand would fall right on my face which could arrest his breath for a moment;
I don't look beautiful to him...but there's something about me that could make him stare at me for hours and still want more;
He told me he didn't love me...he just likes to morbidly think of me all the time;
I believed him;

I was fooled.

The Lost Vermillion

This is an account of my imaginary friend Nidhi, who could be this woman that you may come across someday-because, you know what…she’s not completely imaginary. If you are reading this, you have to make a promise to me…promise me that you’ll do the same things that I did, if you ever meet her. Make a promise!

I stood outside her door, my hands trembled as they reached for the doorbell. I wasn’t sure of how I’d be received, wasn’t sure of how I’d be able to comfort her yet again, today, wasn’t sure of anything. Somehow, I mustered enough courage to press the doorbell.

How she looked to me pricked me very hard, the way it did every time I saw her. She was in the plainest clothes that I’ve ever seen, that anyone would have ever seen. The earrings pulled out of the ears, chapped lips, rough face, hair tied in plaits, bitten fingernails. No, that was not what Nidhi was about, Nidhi was about layers of makeup, dresses so bright and vivid that they’d hurt your eyes, about nail paint shades that would even make a teenager look old…yeah, that’s how she was-vibrant, colourful, flamboyant and full of life. She had started looking so different that if I wouldn’t have read her name in block letters on the nameplate, I couldn’t believe that it was her.

Even after three months of her husband’s death, she remained as miserable. It pained me to see her like this. I wanted her to get back normal again. I wanted her to embrace life again. I told her to stop doing this to herself, to stop wrapping herself in clothes and memories that radiate grief and gloom. She had a long life ahead of her, and I wanted her to live it not merely survive it.

I tried talking to her without unnecessary sympathies and ‘It-will-all-be-fine and I-am-always-there-for-you’ lines, that time. I told her that it was time she took charge. It was time she pulled up her socks and stood up strong. It was time to accept the past and learn to live with it.

I told her to open her dust-layered wardrobe, shut the mouths of the ‘Indian-Society’ which expects a widow to dress up with forced ‘demure’ and pick up her favourite dress and wear it, to throw away the pile of dull whites and creams from her wardrobe, to apply that kajal on eyes again, to wear those earrings that she loved again, to put those vibrant nail-paints again, I told her to LIVE again and most importantly to not feel guilty about it.

None of it happened all at once. I was slapped back with allegations of being heartless and selfish, ‘How can you expect me to dress up like old times. The kohl in my eyes, my lip gloss, the lovely dresses that I used to wear..they were all for him. My life...it was for him, too. Because, you know what, I was his.’

I could see so many Indian women in her right then, whose lives are nothing but an extension of their husband’s. They live for them, and pretty similarly even kill a very huge part of themselves, after their death. I could understand what she was saying, not completely,but most of it. How losing someone who meant the world to you, could kill the meaning of your own life. And, justifiably so.

But, I could not let this happen to her. I made her promise me that she’d do exactly what I ask her to do for one week...just one week. She reluctantly agreed. That one week, I made her dress up in the loveliest dresses, took her out to her favourite restaurants, forced her to put on makeup-look beautiful, hung out with her like old times and did everything else that she didn’t even come close to during those three months-partly because she didn’t feel like and partly because widows weren’t supposed to!

I could see the change in her, I could see that she learnt to smile again…that she had started embracing life. She started reasserting her identity…started changing it from Mrs Nidhi Sahai Sharma to Mrs Nidhi Sahai. The next time she dressed up, she looked in the mirror and told herself, “This is for me, because I want to look beautiful for myself.”From looking beautiful for her to starting to live for herself to being happy for herself and not feeling guilty about it…it all happened gradually.

The void that the loss of some people leaves in our lives can never be filled. Their loss is irreparable and irrecoverable. But, we must understand that we should not completely lose ourselves in their loss. Because, above everybody else, we have this responsibility towards ourselves…the responsibility of making sure that we are happy. The responsibility of living for ourselves. This does not mean that we are selfish, it just means that we are treating ourselves the way the Lord wants us to be treated.