Who ever said physical appearance dont matter!

The mirror cracked. Eyes starred as I walked home.

My roommate: “It’s not that bad. I know it might be hard in India but people aboard would show a more positive attitude.”

I run into my room, shut the door, cover my head with a blanket and sleep off; hoping all of it was a nightmare.

Next morning, tears roll down my cheeks as I brush. I wish there were no mirrors around me.

Office was the last place I wanted to go, but I had to be more audacious. I reach office.

Colleague 1: “How? When? Why?”

Colleague 2: “I know it was not in your hands. Just let it go.”

Colleague 3: Has a disgusted look but talks of the fine day; looking away from my face every 2 minutes.

Colleague 4: Passes by as if I were a different person.

I hurry to my cubicle and hoped there was no meeting.
(damn the fring hair cut!!! ;))

Does a TRY count?

I stayed up all night and TRIED to finish the piece of work you had assigned to me, but I could not finish on time.

Thought: Maybe one day isn’t really enough.

I TRIED so hard to study that concept, but it’s just not in me. I think I’m better suited for Engineering.

Thought: Really?

I TRIED my best to learn the chores of the house, but I think it’s just not in me.

Thought: My best??

I TRIED living happily everyday, but life is so complicated that I have to accept it the way life comes to me.

Thought: Yup that’s the solution!!

I TRIED to impress her, but I guess I’m not her types.

Thought: Do you really like her?

I had read this a couple of days ago: “You haven’t failed until you have stopped trying.”
You hear these sentence everyday. We use “TRIED” so often that “TRY”, “TRYING” and “WILL TRY” have lost their value. Make a “TRY” count.

The misery of ‘ONE’?

There are a lot of people who are scared of ending up lonely. Well, frankly even I was one of them. One of my worst fears was of being alone for the rest of my life.

Well a lot has changed, and single is not that bad. It is definitely not impossible. After all, there is always an allowance for a singleton tag (I apologize for the nerdy thoughtJ). I was just trying to say that there needn’t be someone to complete you; you can most definitely have a beautiful single life.

I would not have written this post if I did not experience both sides. I used to enjoy having company all the time, having blasts on my birthdays with cakes and gifts, having someone to share a whole days experience, having someone to hear out my worries...….Well it didn’t last as long as I expected. The first few days were terrible. I cried for hours. I kept myself occupied. I suppressed my thoughts and my actions. Then suddenly, it became a part of who I am. I liked it this way. I guess people would categorize this as ‘learning to live’. Well, that’s why I said it’s not impossible.

Note: Not divorced, No tragic incidents, No bf problems, Not depressed in life, Not a maniac:-D (Just wanted to think of life from another’s perspective)!

AUNTY IT IS!!!

Its only when you grow old that you realize the joy of being a child. A child is forever eager to grow up, finish studying begin the "joyous" office life and earn money. Hardly does the kid know it only gets worse. The justification in favor of the child is his “maturity level”. Therefore, a child can get away with trying to act old because he is immature and let me put it this way… its just “Aww, so cute!!!”
As you grow older this “maturity level” increases (atleast is expected to). So it would be immature if a grown up would want to be a kid again (lets be practical, forever, is just plain annoying). It is considered immature if you want to play a silly prank, even if it makes people laugh, its immature to hop on a swing and sway till you have forgotten all your worries, its immature if you still like licking a cone ice cream rather than using a spoon, its immature if you still like to hog on your chocolates and candy bars, and so on….

It would be considered immature to desire for childish happiness even if it is once in a while, even if, for that moment, it is all that you happy, because lets face it-- you are 30, and well you would rather be called aunty than play a game of snakes and ladders :)

Which half would I belong to?

I don’t believe people on TV with their live telecasts, interviews and reports
because they hide and they exaggerate.
I don’t believe in prices, quality, amounts and discounts.
because these terms revolve around money and people.
I don’t believe auto drivers when they say they have no change.
because they know coins add up to notes.
I don’t believe beggars when they beg.
because people have given up on determination.
I don’t believe a child when he is lost on the roads.
because he might lead me to a trap.
I don’t believe people who want to help by carrying my luggage.
because they might just take it and run.
I don’t believe that people with dark glasses and sticks and blind.
because they know everyone feels sorry for them.
I don’t believe doctors when they say “Everything will be fine”
because it means IT WONT.
I don’t believe donations go directly to people who need it.
because poverty doesn’t seem to be decreasing.
I don’t believe people when they are too nice.
because I have come to believe: too nice = = horrible
I don’t believe people when they say “I like you”
Because it might complete in their head with: physically/ because of your money.
I don’t believe in mankind
because one half makes the better half look bad!

How dare you, without me !!

The henna still faint red on my hands; my fair neck doing justice to the newly threaded black beads displaying the dimension of each bead used in it; I stare deep into the rear view mirror as the car came to a halt. The jerk woke me up from whatever that it was that I was thinking of. Something else caught my attention- our duplex house. I could not wait to take a look inside. I ran towards the door, pushed the keys into the keyhole and unlocked the door. As I approached to turn the knob, I heard his voice from behind, “how dare you!” He came running, swiped me off my feet, smiled and said, “How dare you, without me!” He carried me into our house. Everything was still the same yet new. I was still the same, he was too, yet a year made the difference…every year it was the same, yet 25 yrs made the difference.

THERE’S A LOT WE ALL CAN DO!!

We both grew up in the same slum area near Mumbai International Airport. We went to the same government school till 6std. We weren’t really friends.

I continued till I was done with 10th. For 11th and 12th, I moved to a CBSE school 2 hours away from the slums. I spent 4 hours of my day in the ladies compartment of the local train.

I was forced to quit school and do house work. I had failed 5th twice. My parents considered me good for nothing.

My parents encouraged me to study harder everyday. I felt very bad that they had to pay 20% of my fees. The rest was taken up by kind NGOs.

I started working not only in my house but other houses too. A very famous actor in Mumbai gave me a job at his farm house. I was officially a baai then.

I studied very hard for my boards and then for my entrance exams.

I cooked, cleaned and took care of the little ones (not only the actor’s, but also my numerous siblings).

I was 18, got into IIT Mumbai, Computer Science branch. My parents were very proud of me.

My uncle convinced my parents that I was too old to remain single in the slums. I was soon to wed a 40 year old man.

I worked my way up, got a big job. I and my parents shifted out of the slums.

My husband got bored of me in four years. He sold me out for Rs.8000 in Hyderabad. My parents thought my husband got a job abroad and found me one too.

I enjoyed with my friends and parents for a few years. Like they say work hard, party harder. I actually had the money to do the 2nd half. I found nice young man and we got married.

I danced, smoked, drank and did my “job”. I earned enough to satisfy the people who kept me “safe and happy”.

I was on a business trip to Hyderabad.

I tried to break out.

We bumped into each other. She burst into tears after what she had told me and what I had told her. I could have been her or she could have been me. She said, “You are really ambitious and hardworking. You deserve it all.” Well, I told her what she said was true but I got a lot of help to make it true which I hadn’t mentioned earlier. I was a sharp girl but it had something always to keep me sharp. From 6th, I got free tutions from a bunch of girls staying at a PG. My mother worked there as a cook. Later they found me NGOs financed which my studies and the girls who thought I was a great kid didn’t hesitate to make their contribution by providing with the necessary books and study material. There’s a lot of effort put in by a lot of people. These girls also helped my parents understand how important education was. They let me go ahead with it. It is true that I deserve it all, but the complete truth is everyone deserves education.” We hugged and I took her back to Mumbai with me.

I live with my big happy family, my parents, my husband, his parents, and our kids. I take tutions for kids in the slums every weekend.

I have learnt to read, write and speak English. I have adopted a child and work at a garment factory. My child goes to a private school.


Try and educate kids around you who can’t afford it. If you have a cook, a laundry person, a watchman or any other persons whose kids need tutions, offer a little bit of your time. Every kid has the potential to go a long way. Education is the only way to eradicate poverty and terrorism and lower corruption!

Anger Management

I, Seema Menon, will say the TRUTH and nothing but the TRUTH.

The court session began. The judge proclaimed, “The prosecution may begin with the court proceedings.” A man, tall and rugged approached me. I was glad that the witness box was designed to be at a height and that the wooden separation gave me the courage to stand within that space. My dad was sitting in the audience, fear written all over his face. He wasn’t busy for the first time. He was here just for me and he was worried. He starts, “You know that the gun has your finger prints? You were present at the murder scene too. You called the police. You haven’t spoken a word since.” I just stared at nothing in silence. He questioned, “So did you do it?” I didn’t utter a word. “Your honor it is crystal clear that this lady has no regrets and has murdered her husband brutally.” My face turned pink. I started sweating. A drop of sweat dripped from my head onto the wooden enclosure. “That’s all, your honor” and the defense took his seat. My lawyer jumped off his seat and said, “Objection my Lord!” A wave of relief seemed to have crossed my dad. “Her silence doesn’t make the anything obvious. The gun was licensed under her name, so it’s obvious that there would be finger prints of the owner. There was no eye witness. When the police arrived at the crime scene, the body was lying in a blood pool and Seema was sitting next to him staring. Nothing can be concluded.” My dad always believed I that I could never do anything wrong. He always thought of me as a perfect daughter. I was and will always be. Thus, he had hired the best lawyer in the city. He had the power to buy out the judge too but he knew for sure I couldn’t have hurt anyone. The court session ended and the decision date was a week later.

I sat in my furnished jail quietly for a week. I dint eat. I kept fainting. My dad tried talking to me all week. He kept telling me I would be free in a week. The day came. The court session started. The judge commenced, “Would the victim like to say anything in her defense?” My dad was sitting on the corner of his seat, hoping I would speak. I held onto the wooden bar tightly. I started sweating. My heart rate increased.

My husband got back from a meeting. It was 2:30 a.m. When I enquired, he told me the same. It seemed like he had late night meetings every night. I pushed off the blanket covered over me, jumped up and said, “How long will you give me the same story? You are never here for me.” He replied, “You are insane. Why can’t you believe the truth?” I knew he wasn’t lying. It just pricked me that he dint have enough time for me. He went on, “You know what your problem is. You want me to be around you 24x7. You want me to keep saying you are perfect. You want me to tell you how much you matter to me.” I rebutted, “Stop! That’s not true!” I roared. “You want me to give you more than 24x 7 actually; you want me to compensate for your dad too.” I ran to the cupboard, crying, flung it open and fished into it. I could hear him go on. My hands fetched out a pistol. My heart rate speeded ahead. I started breathing hard. I raised it towards my husband, my fingers clutching the trigger. It angered him more and he said, “So you want to shoot me? You know what, you aren’t perfect and I wish I hadn’t spent these two years with you.” I pulled the trigger. The intensity of my aggression increased and there was a loss in self-monitoring capacity. My observability reduced and I pulled the trigger again, thrice. I screamed as I shot one after the other, right into his head. He fell to the ground. I threw the gun and sat silently near his body.

The judge spoke after a while, “Since the victim is silent, I assume she doesn’t have anything to say. Taking account of all the evidences, I consider the victim not guilty.” My dad let out a huge sigh. “The court session has ended.” I fell to my knees. I burst out crying. I knew I was guilty. I knew I was a terrible person, but I was still perfect according to my dad!

A week later, I talked to my dad for the first time after the incident. I told him I wanted to start anger management classes and he never understood why.

UNDOING REGRETS

I am falling freely with my back facing the ground and my face fixed on the man crying out for me on the top of the light house. I lost control. He screamed, “I am sorry, I love you, don’t do it.” A figure barged out. I heard the door flying open. I prepared myself to let go. I was standing on the edge of the light house, my heels protruding out of the edge.

I thought of the accusations. I was wiping off my heavy tears as I struggled to climb the last few steps. I was mourning. I started climbing. I looked up to find a never ending stairway. I made my way against the unkind wind to the door. I slammed the door of my Scorpio shut. I pulled the breaks left the head lights on and hurried out. I rode full speed towards the beach. I took a sharp turn on the straight road from my villa. I left the house, brushing my fingers against the name plate on the gate which read – Radhika Venkat. My clothes drenched with my tears. I fell to the maroon carpet. I recollected that he never flayed a hand on me all these years of our marriage. He never asked me anything, never an explanation for my actions. I was quiet. I dint want to explain anything. I dint have anything to show in my defense. He confronted me. He asked “WHY? Tell me why you did it? In what way have I not fulfilled you wishes? Why did you cheat me?” He got up from the dinner table and said, “I know!” I was serving dinner at 8:30 p.m. as always.

I regret what I have done. I know I have made the mistake of cheating a perfect husband. I don’t deserve him, but he can forgive me and start over. The pain I can see on his face now makes me regret what I have done. I want to go back and undo it all. I feel a splurge of pain.

60% of the reason is YOU!

I open my eyes every morning because YOU take the effort to wake me up.
I get up from my bed because YOU work better than my snooze alarm.
I consider grooming myself because YOU remind me that I look shabby.
I remember to my watch on and put in my wallet because of YOUR daily interrogations.
I work 40 % of the day sincerely because YOU are there in my head 60% of the time.
I want to get back home because my 60% awaits me.
I wish I could sleep always because YOU are there always and I know YOU will make my tomorrow as great as today!

What ever I do, 15% is because I have to do it, 5% because I want to do it, 20% for whom so ever concerned and 60% of the reason is YOU.

Forty Stories to reach the Top

I have always loved my work. Beating the thirty-nine storied, glass enclosed escalator at Floating Garden Observatory in Osaka’s Umeda Sky Building, I sought the challenge of going beyond to making a forty storied building’s escalator. I worked assiduously; maps of the building, the land, the area, researches, everything! There were drawings all over. After six months, the design was complete.

The construction started. However, I wished to see it ready and running. One morning, after two years, I found an invitation waiting at my desk. It was an invite to the grand opening of the Palais Grande, advertising the escalator that broke all records till date.

The most awaited night arrived. I had the most beautiful vision of the escalator as I was driving my car, just when a gigantic lorry came towards me from the perpendicular road. I woke up in the hospital to find that I could neither see nor hear anymore. I went to Palais Grande on 2-April-2008 for the first time. I could not see anything, I could not hear anything, I could not hear myself scream in agony.

Today, ten years since the accident, I have been using the escalator twice every day. I am thrilled every time I hop onto it now. I still have the image of the escalator as I did ten years ago. I can feel the conveyer belt, the velocity, its height, the gravity pulling me back, the elevation, above all the feeling of accomplishment on reaching the top.

THE EXCUSE: JUST HUMAN

I would rather be envious than be glad for some one else.
I would rather care less than fret myself.
I would rather sob in guilt than accept my mistake.
I would rather laugh than show my tears.
I would rather break a guy’s heart than deceive my parents.
I would rather lie than get caught.
I would rather borrow than buy one of my own.
I would rather steal than beg.
I would rather kill than get killed.
I would rather give up than try harder.
I would rather orphan my children than nourish them.
I would rather bribe than follow rules.
I would rather submit to greed than stick to my principles.
I would rather run than try to save some one else’s life.
I would rather complain than do something about it.
I after all will always remain just human.

Complexity of a Woman!

She is most faithful to people who trust her.
She thinks more about her loved ones than herself.
She is the happiest when her close ones are content.
She is the most miserable when her cherished are sad.
She is most helpful when he beloved needs her.
She is just a simple complexity.

So is it really that hard to understand her?

Jerk #1

I decided take a break from the brutal tronix life. I headed off to my cousin’s place in Belgaum. I thought of the pleasant weather, the long hours of sleep, the food!! My uncle asked me to take the direct bus from Sirsi to Belgaum- an eight hour journey. He came to drop me at the Sirsi bus stop. Since it was a long journey to Belgaum, he insisted I took the first bus that came so that I would reach Belgaum when there was still daylight. The bus came around 11 a.m. It was the red K.S.R.T.C bus. He made me sit comfortably on a two seater. The bus was pretty empty (at least that’s what I thought). Just as I placed my bag on the seat next to me, a huge lady, (looked liked she was in her mid fourty’s), wrapped in her pink printed saree, stood tall next to my seat. Her eyes commanded me to make space for her. She sat next to me, half her body protruding out of the seat. She had a grumpy look on her face. How much could I move? I couldn’t jump out of the window. I was already sticking to the wall of the bus. The bus started and the air blowing in through the window kept me from passing out. After a few stops, people started getting down. A couple in front of our seat, sitting on a three seater, got up and left. The lady sitting next to me literally ran there. She was content with the two whole sesta that she could occupy.

I enjoyed my dusty, bumpy bus ride till the next stop. More people got on at the stop; a guy sat next to me and very decently maintained a distance of a few inches from me. I was busy messaging and dint really pay attention to anything but my bag which I protected (basically protected two pairs of jeans and two tops). The bus arrived at its next destination. I realized that I had no range on my phone, but the guy next to me was happily chatting away. He answered to the confused look on my face- he had a BSNL line whose range extended to most towns in Karnataka. He was a guy in his late twenties. He had trimmed his beard and was light skinned. I nodded my head and looked out of the window.

After the conductor and driver had their breaks, the bus started. I felt the guy shifting closer to my seat. I looked at him and he starts off his conversation with a huge grin on his face. He asked me where I was headed to, what I was doing currently, who I was visiting etc to which I answered (not honest with any of my answers). Suddenly he got a call, and I hurriedly checked my cell. I still had no range. I couldn’t help but to over hear the conversation (after all he sat next to me and he spoke like he had a mike forced down his throat). He spoke to some ‘bhai’, explaining the purchase of pipes to a factory. The conversation involved a splash of a few lahks here and there. I was glad his phone kept him occupied for a while. Once he was off, he moved closer (taking advantage of the uneven roads and reckless driving), his first question was- “Would you like to work in Dubai?” I almost burst of laughing at the question. Anyway I managed to bring out not more than a chuckle. I replied explaining I was glad with what I have right now. He went on about how he wants to go to Dubai and earn loads. I unfortunately did listen to all of it.

Just when the thought, “when is this ever going to end?” passed my uninterested mind, he got up. The conductor announced Hubli. As the bus entered the swarming Hubli bus stop, the guy says: “Can I have your number? We can be “messaging friends!!” ”.
I: “I don’t give my number to strangers, Sorry”.
I couldn’t stop laughing in my head. How more absurd could guys get! (No offence to the whole lot!). He got down. I had another 3 hours to go and I was glad no one sat next to me after that.

Why Can’t It Be The Other Way Around - 3

I work as the Finance Head at L’oreal. I have been happily married for 4 years. I am awakened every morning at 9 a.m. The first face I see is that of my husband’s. The first things I hear: “Honey breakfast is ready!” I manage to push the blanket away and stand up with a smile as wide as my lips can stretch. I realize I might get late for work and hurry off to the bathroom. When I am out, our bed’s done neatly, my suit for the day waiting ready on the bed. I get dressed quickly and seize my leather bag kept on the table across the bed.

I rush down. I can hear the sound of oil being splashed onto the dosa tawa. I can smell the aroma of the curry leaves in the potato curry. The dinning table is set, freshly squeezed orange juice had already been poured into my glass, a plate with adequate amount of chutni and potato curry served on it. As I take a seat and open the newspaper, my husband arrives from the kitchen with a plate of freshly made dosas and takes a seat next to me. He is smartly dressed in a black shirt with thin grey vertical stripes and navy blue denim. We eat our sumptuous breakfast discussing the headlines on the newspaper. We finish our breakfast and he asks me to pull out the car from the garage as he finishes washing the dishes.

I pulled the car out and honked twice. My husband walks out shuts the gate behind, sits in the car and fastens his belt. Then he turns towards me and in a raised voice says, “You forgot your phone as usual!” I apologize, put the cell in my bag and start driving. I drop him off at his office. He works as a Senior Engineer at a start-up. I wave a bye as he walks away and head off to my work station. I have a lot of work pilled up for me as is everyday. My husband is done by 8:00 p.m. everyday. I take another two hours. He waits till I’m done. At around 10:00 p.m., on the way back home I pick him up and we drive home together. I take my own sweet time to change and till then he serves dinner. We have a nice short dinner and occasionally we take a long night stroll to the ice-cream parlor a kilometer away from home. We get back, just finishing the last bit of my ice-cream and I have more work to complete. He goes off to bed and I take a few more hours.

Every night before I sleep, I pray that we always remain happy.
So why cant it be the other way around? Why is a man’s massive ego hurt if his wife earns more than him? Why cant a happy couple exist where the woman of the house earns double as much as the man, where the man of the house takes care of the house and other chores, where the man understands his wife will love and admire him for what he is and not for his pay package?

The Story Of…..

I shivered in the dark. I felt I had slept enough but I dint feel less tired. I wanted to check what time of the day it is. The only part I wished to move is eye and the skin covering it. I found that difficult too. I felt like something was obstructing me from opening my eyes, like a bee had stung me just below my eye and the swelling obstructed me from opening my eye completely. I managed to take a peek of the dark tiny room. It seemed like the early morning light entered through the petite holes in the moss ridden moist wooden door. I want to get up and open it completely. I try getting up but I don’t, I can’t. My long thin hair seems thinner. I want to chop it off, but that would be a sin I guess. I have to get up. As I try to move, the thin cylindrical legs of the palang creak. The rope crisscrossed between the rectangular frame of the palang is pressured down by my weight. I try to use my left hand to sit upright since my right hand seems lifeless, but my left hand too feels like it’s drained out of blood. I fall back on the palang, it hurts my shoulder, my body. I try to remember what had gone wrong, I couldn’t. I fade out.

A bright beam of light striking my face wakes me up. It seems like noon. I felt myself. My blouse was ripped off at the shoulders. I felt deep cuts with dried blood around it. I could hear the buzzing of flies. I could remember now.

Last night I had walked into my mud hut, happy and cheerful, for me and my little son. He was about five. I walked into the tiny shelter at around 8:30 p.m. where I saw my little one waiting for me. His eyes sparkling with happiness as he saw me walk in. I walked 2 steps and hugged him. I said “I promise you will go to school now. You will study and grow up to be a respected rich man”. I lit a flame by accumulating the trash I had collected on the way home. I kept a blackened, deformed, steel utensil on the flame. I hardly noticed the water boil, I was dreaming of a world, far from these slums. I saw a shadow rise behind me. I turned. Before I could completely get a glimpse, I saw a huge dark palm coming right at my cheek. I hit the ground. I could smell alcohol all over him. My son began to cry. I looked up, it was my husband, muddy white shirt loosely hanging over his kaki pants, drunk and not satisfied. He grabbed hold of my hair, pulled it to make me stand, and mumbled something in his half conscious state. When I dint reply he smacked me across the face again. I fell to the ground, my head hitting the palang hard enough to cause a bruise. Before I could get up he was kicking me with all his might, his shoes piercing my stomach, ripping my saree. He was yelling, he wanted the money I had earned over the month, cleaning dirty toilets all day. When I refused, he retrieved a knife from the side of his pant, slashed it over my shoulders, again grabbed my hair and banged my head against the wall. I still wouldn’t give him the money I had collected for my son’s school. My son was wailing away at the corner of the room. My husband charged towards him, crushed the collar of his shirt. I tried to push him off. He pushed the water boiling towards me, it burnt my feet. I fell on the palang. He stabbed my son three to four times, right in front of my eyes. I remember my son squealing, him trying to pull out the money pocketed in my blouse, me letting go.

My son’s bloody body lying cramped at the corner.

The Genetic Lottery

If I talk to the guy next door for long, I am looked upon with disgust.
If my best friend is a guy, it’s like cheating on a husband who doesn’t exist.
If I scream at a guy who was misbehaving with me, I have no manners.
If I smoke or drink, it’s more disgusting than people’s heads being chopped off.
If I wear the clothes I like, even though I’m an adult, and guys check me out and pass comments, I am shameless.
If I’m seen with a guy, (even if I meet him while passing by), I am the center piece for all rumors.
If I go on a bike with a guy, (be it for any work) I have sinned.
If I run away with the man I love, I have shamed my parents, I’m assured hell.
If I am kidnapped and get rapped brutally, I have lost all my pride.
If I can’t cook, I have no qualities at all.
If I’m not fair enough (white!), I’m hideous.
If my engagement breaks, the reason will always be me.
If my child turns out ugly or dull or dunce, it’s only my fault.
If my husband dies, I killed him.
If I’m a girl, I have lost the genetic lottery!

NEXT TIME YOU THINK I LOOK PRETTY, YOU RATHER COMPLIMENT MY MOTHER!!

I walked out of my gate, smelling of fresh roses. My black curly hair bouncing on my shoulders, I draw my shades from my purse and cover my hazel brown eyes, my pink cheeks seen distinctly off my fair skin, a sparkling tiny stone on the right side of my nose. I wave my hand out into the street for an auto. I was late for lunch. My fiancé was waiting at a restaurant with the first copy of our wedding invitation.

I got an auto almost instantly. I told the driver to hurry up. I reached my destination in 15mins. I hurried out of the auto, not realizing that I didn’t pay the auto guy. The auto guy calls out for me. I run back, my heels making irritating noises. I rip open my purse and start fishing for change. The auto guy could not stop complaining about how long I was taking. I found the change in my huge tunnel-like purse. I was handing over the change and just then I could hear a loud speeding noise, I think a car hit my leg. I flew because of the impact. The left side of my face hit the left rare view mirror of the auto and broke it. I felt the glass piercing through the skin on my face. I fell to the ground, I couldn’t open my eyes. I couldn’t move.

I find it hard to open my left eye, I try. I remember the accident, I remember fading off, I remember my fiancé’s face; I start crying. People rush into my room. I can see my mother running towards my bed smiling and crying at the same time. She seats herself on my left and my dad takes the right. My mother tells me how glad she is to see me awake. My entire left side hurts. I manage to look towards her and ask “awake?” She told me that after the accident I had gone into a coma. It had been 4 weeks since the accident. The left side of my face felt like it had holes in them and fire was lit into those holes. Ignoring the pain I look around for my fiancé. I don’t ask my parents though. I stay awake the whole day waiting for him to rush into the room with a huge smile on his face and a bouquet of violet orchids in his hands. Its night and he isn’t here. I have bad thoughts in my head. It hurts to even think. I gather the courage and ask my mother. I shouldn’t have.

A week after my accident, my fiancé had told my parents that he couldn’t wait for me to wake up and even if I did wake up, my face would be ugly and he made it clear that he wouldn’t be able to live with that. I quickly asked for a mirror. I looked into it. I found no difference. I still found myself in it! Yes the face my mother had given me was gone, but what I built for myself over the years was still there. My mother told me he was getting married in a week. I dint shed a tear.

I recovered slowly. The left side of my face had permanent scars, my left eye seemed smaller than my right eye, and the left side of my lip had a slight tear. I wear a plain salwar, one evening, and take an auto outside my house. I get down in front of a wedding hall whose huge board at the entrance reads MADHU WEDS RISHI. I smile and walk in, uninvited. The bride and groom are seated straight across the room. I walk towards them, I knew everyone was staring. I could hear whispers. I smile at the bride, wish her GOOD LUCK and leave.

Why Cant It Be The Other Way Around-2!

One fine cold morning, I stick out my right hand from the blanket to shut off my blaring alarm. I manage to get out of my warm blanket and sit up. I walked to my bathroom, about five steps away, to take a quick shower. I brush my hair neatly, position my bindi right in between of my eyebrows, set my dupatta, reach out to my purse hanging on a hook nailed to my door and hurry to the kitchen. I pour myself a cup of guava juice, stuff two slices of bread into my mouth and walk five meters to the main door. I open the door and shut it close behind me on the way out. I climb down the stairs, slightly out of breath on descending just 20 steps. I walk out of the gate. I can feel the warmth of the sun. I walk into a small galli, my shoulders escaping the walls of the opposite house by a mere five centimeters. I realize it when I take a left turn, three steps later. I walk around two hundred meters straight on the bumpy road; I feel my shoe stepping into something soft on the way but I don’t bother much about it. I take a right and walk towards my bus stop which it also almost the same distance as I had already covered. I can feel the dust blowing into my eyes, I look down and walk. Just as I reach into my purse, I collide with someone. Before I could turn and look, I hear a couple of things falling to the ground, it sounded like steel utensils and I hear a deep angry voice scream, “Are you bloody blind?”. I turn towards him, withdraw my hand from my purse clenching a foldable white stick in my hand and I say, “Yes Sir, I am”. He apologizes, I can hear a bus stopping, and I walk towards it. Now my stick being my only savior, I ask the driver, “HAL?” and when he confirms I get in. A kind lady gives me her seat. Again I start my day with the same question in my head:- When a person (assuming he’s not blind) makes a mistake say bumps into someone or crosses a road with a bike approaching, the person gets yelled at enquiring whether he/she is blind (like it’s an insult); I wonder if a blind person wouldn’t bump into anything on the way or managed to cross the roads as well, would he/she be patted on the shoulder by the same people and asked “Are you not blind?”.

THE GOOOOD THINGS IN LIFE!!!

A layer of plain chocolate mixed with nuts melted on a layer of wafer enclosing smooth, creamy chocolate with a whole hazelnut in between; a boat shaped bun slit into half to three quarters, chocolate cream spread evenly on the inside, vanilla smothered on the outside; a sphere whose volume is mostly covered with vanilla ice cream with small juts of bits of Oreo biscuits, depressions in the form M & M s flooded with chocolate on the top; the half baked large cookie, with hot oozing chocolate syrup poured right at the center and a scoop of vanilla to go; a piece of black forest cake literally sinking in chocolate syrup, a scoop of vanilla and one of chocolate and finally the ground roasted cashews to top it all; the vanilla cream so finely whipped that streaks of orange jam on it would do the trick; the perfectly shaped, beautiful brown colored deep fried balls floating in sugar syrup, dressed using finely sliced pistachios; the thick sweet milk colored with saffron with elliptical malai patties drenched in the same; the hot combination of over cooked rice and thickened milk, with every bite containing a cashew and a raisin or more; the bright orange crispy swirls having no fixed pattern dipped into hot thin sugar syrup; a hard coating of milk chocolate for the most extra ordinary flavor of the creamiest milk chocolate…… add on!

Why Cant It Be The Other Way Around!

This is a story of kingdom A where the heir to its thrown was just born. Kings and Queens of all provinces, far and near, wise men, magicians, wizards and witches, were all invited. As the ceremony to bless the most beautiful baby in all provinces began, the skies turned black, it grew cold, the tinted glass windows shattered and from thin air appeared a witch dressed in a black tattered gown, her finger nails long and dirty, her long jet black wavy hair touching her knees. Offended by the fact that she wasn’t invited to the ceremony, she put a curse on the kingdom and the new born. Once the royal hand is cast on a spindle, the whole kingdom shall sleep, till loves first kiss awakes the dead. The witch vanishes leaving the room with echoes of her evil laughter.

The child grows, inheriting the good looks and honor of the king and the queen. Then the day came, which was feared by all in kingdom A. The child turned 20. Curiosity pulled thee to the sharp point next to the spinning wheel. One touch and everything was over. The whole kingdom went into deep sleep; the trees stopped growing, flowers stopped blooming. The young heir was placed in the highest room of the tallest tower of the kingdom by the wicked witch.

Years back, kingdom A and a far away kingdom, B, had engaged their children (considering the curse). Kingdom B’s heir grew up to become a fine warrior, known for thy courage and strength. Locking thy armor to the back, strapping thy shiny, long sword to the right side, wearing thy helmet, the warrior hops on to the back of a clear white horse, known for its speed and loyalty in all kingdoms. The warrior sets out to kingdom A, promising the people of B to return with the one awaited.

Riding for days and nights, the warrior finds kingdom A, dull and gloomy, deserted roads, no chirping birds, no kids playing, no life! As the horse steps in, a storm rises; the wicked witch appears and warns the warrior that stepping into the kingdom would cost the warrior’s a life. The warrior unshaken, bravely rides inside. The angered witch transforms herself into a fierce, fire breathing dragon. The fearless warrior retrieves thy unmatchable sword and plunges it into the dragon’s neck, killing the dragon. The warrior makes thy way to the highest room in the tallest tower of the kingdom. The warrior removes the head gear, her golden hair falling on her unbreakable armor. She walks into the room to find her love sleeping soundly. He was so handsome. His fair face, muscular shoulder protruding from his cape, his tall body lying straight, untouched! She moves closer reaches out and kisses him. He awakes to see the woman of his dreams, her face dirtied with the smoke and ashes, her bony jaws, her strong arms, her brave eyes; the mighty one who had rescued him and saved his kingdom from the dreadful curse. She took her hands in his, raises him and holds on to his toned abs. Soon after they were wed and they lived happily ever after.

Why would a kid enjoy it the other way around?

To Be Loved Unconditionally

To have a sister is to find the greatest happiness in touching her soft, miniature fingers and toes; to carry her for the first time with your clumsy hands; to realize that your want to hold her for longer conquers the fear of dropping her; to feel the joy of being acknowledged for the first time when you clap your hands in front of her big, wide, curious eyes; to smile as she gives a big toothless grin when fed the first piece of chocolate; to want to hear her call you for the first time; to have fun even while brushing her barbie’s hair; to fight and not talk; to cry and then laugh; to get irritated when she wants the exact same things and then to feel proud that she wants the exact same things; to save our chocolates for each other; to not enjoy a burger when eaten alone; to act unaffected by the thought of putting on weight and going running together; to paint cards and tie ribbons on them; to play uno and then master mind and then holiday and then…. the whole night; to make puzzles and remember old times; to eat twix ice cream and watch a movie at 12am on New Years’ under the quilt; to find the patience to teach her; to wait months to see her; to wait for the clock to strike 9 to talk to her; to flaunt money on her and not care; to fulfill every request on her wish list; to love opening all the cards she had made for you over the years; to be interested in everything she is into; to dress her up like the princess she deserves to be; to make sandwiches together on days she wants to; to be proud of what she has accomplished; to be blessed to have someone as special to love you unconditionally!

The Mindless Mind

Every individual has the right to a strong thought, a strong opinion may be a good one, may be an evil one. How strong should a thought be to put it into action? Is it enough to take a New Year resolution? Is it enough to take an oath when you pass out of military academy? Is it enough to think of losing weight sometime, and actually start a month later? Is a night enough to decide to blow up the city the next morning?

For me right is something which makes me feel good and wrong is something which makes me feel bad. I believe that wrong and right can’t be defined universally, everyone has the freedom to define these words. Considering my definition of right, how can someone be happy blowing up hundreds of innocent people in the name of God knows what. Does it just take a plan, a plot? Does it involve considering how many people might die? Do they have a wide grin discussing this? Do they have a 5 minute laugh imaging how many people would lose their loved ones, how many orphaned, how many ambitions and dreams they will be ending? Do they even venture into thinking how many people kill themselves everyday to see another day, to give someone else a better life? Do they brag about how many people they get to kill?

In my view the worst thing God has created in this big wide world is the damn human being and worse gave him a big mindless mind!

A REAL MAN

Tall, dark and handsome. Is wanting this in a guy make a girl shallow? Why is it bad to feel weak when your friends don’t think you and your fiancé are not a handsome couple? Why is it cheesy to want a guy from your fairy tales? Why is it hard to accept that you want to be envied by all your other girl friends? Well, it is definitely a personal choice - of a ‘girl’.

Once out of high school a “REAL MAN” would be what she’s looking for. So what is a “REAL MAN”? Is he the one you see outside your window when you wake up and make yourself a cup of hot coffee, pumping his muscles early in the morning? Is he the one who you see at the temple, with neatly done hair and a spotless white kurta, on the way to work, feeding the poor and hungry? Is he the one who passes by you at work everyday in a neatly pressed formal shirt and trousers, giving you a dashing smile and a wink through his smart glasses, saying “HEY GOOD LOOKING!”? Is he the one who offers you his pen boldly in the middle of a meeting? Is he the understanding one who supports you on your decisions, no matter what? Is he the one who offers to drop you home courteously after a long hectic day at work because it’s late? Is he the sensitive one who offers you a shoulder to cry on when you are upset? Is he the one who takes you to night clubs and discos, dresses in a hep shirt and jeans, with his hair made (not over gelled) and gives you the night you always wished to stretch your legs? Is he the one who would take you to a dhabha on a cold winter day and get you hot pakoras? Is he the one who takes you shopping and shows a little interest in what you are buying? Is he the one who wouldn’t let go of your hand in a crowd where you could get lost? Is he the one who is always with you, your closest friend?

I bet most women can’t categorize their “REAL MAN” into any one or all of the above questions but I can say for sure they can categorize their ‘guys’ into one of the above. “REAL MEN” are “REAL RARE” (hopefully rare and not non existent!) and therefore probably hard to find (no offence to any guys reading this)

There’s more to HER than meets the eyes!

There’s more joy than relief when you are born,
There’s more brightness in her eyes than the sun every morn,
There’s more strength in love than nylon ties,
There’s more to Her than meets the eyes.

There’s more trust for you than you deserve,
There’s more devotion than you can preserve,
There’s more she can cook than just pies,
There’s more to Her than meets the eyes.

There’s more warmth in her arms than a heavy quilt,
There’s so much more bloom in her circle than anyone within that periphery can’t wilt,
There’s more color than strong dyes,
There’s more to Her than meets the eyes.

There’s more concern than plain rage,
There’s more written for you than just a page,
There’s more reception than dreadful byes,
There’s more to Her than meets the eyes.

The One who makes a Mammoth look Minute!

When I was little and found walking impossible,
When I was little and found crawling inevitable,
He put forth his hands and said “A Mammoth can look Minute!”

When I needed my first tooth extraction and the agony of sitting in the dentists chair was suicidal,
When I got my first vaccination and one look at the needle brought my pulse down to fatal,
He squeezed my hands tightly and said “A Mammoth can look Minute!”

When I lost my favorite birthday dress and my crime could not go unpardoned,
When I left most questions in an exam and slashing was what I was destined,
He let me hide behind him, turned and said “A Mammoth can look Minute!”

When I despised my new school,
When I hated my teacher’s tool,
He re-installed hope and said “A Mammoth can look Minute!”

When I lost out on grades,
When I felt my future needed frequent raids,
He stood beside me and said “A Mammoth can look Minute!”

When I was older and he subtracted 2 years from my actual age,
When I was older and detested my life’s lonely stage,
He chats, mails and revives me and says “A Mammoth can look Minute!”