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.