We are not essential

Children are promoted to the next grades without any exams, everyone including the suits are shut indoors, well the world didn't end, did it? Atleast yet. Turns out our jobs and what we do and how we score and what you think of me, is after all non-essential in the face of life and death. Remember when the world wasn't so clearly divided into essential and non-essential? When we thought that a one day or a week off we take from work will be the end of us, what will the boss think? will my work be rendered worthless? Worse, will the workplace stop functioning without me?! Ah well this is a cruel joke by life, a very tangible material insight into the fact, that we all are infact, dispansable.
The world can make do without you, whoever you are, you're better off indoors. That's your current biggest role in society, to move out of the way of those who we always believed to be "low-skilled" workers. Guess who is holding it together for y'all. Take that, suckers, life must think. We need to know our places, to stay rooted and give back to those who're not so lucky as we are. Sometimes when we are too daft or screwed or our wisdom is too clouded by "non-essential" issues, nature steps in to do the job.
Not sure, if we'll survive the disaster, but if we do, there MUST be a perspective change. We are NOT the centre of universes. Take care of your loved ones while you still can and don't be an idiot. Patience, empathy and not being an asshole will get us through. 

मै ठीक हूं

हुआ यूं है कि मेरे अंदर एक पूरी सदी बीत गई है
कई तूफान आकर गुज़र गए
कुछ किस्से अधूरे चोड आयी
कुछ किस्सों ने मुझे चोड दिया
एक तारा मर रहा है मेरे अंदर
तुम्हे शोर सुनाई देता है?
यहां जो मै खड़े होकर तुम्हे सुन रही हूं
क्या तुम्हे मेरी हसी आंखों में दिखती है?
ये जो विरान रण भूमि है मेरे अंदर
उससे कहां भागूं?
मै जब ठीक हूं बोलती हूं
क्या मान जाते हो तुम?
चलो फिर मै ठीक हूं ही सही

To unhide

I write to unhide. To strip naked. To let you in and display my imperfections in its grandiose entirety. Do you see these demons? This scar here, that wound there? Do you see all the unsent love letters because I was scared of letting my guard down, of being left broken when it ended? All the times I said I was fine and we both knew I was for fucks sake not fine, but oh well. I unhide from all the defense mechanisms, from all the jokes meant to fill the silences, to distract from the reality. I strip naked in front of you, without a blink of an eye, unapologetic, unashamed. I will not hide the wounds that I'm nurturing like a pet refusing to let 'em heal. Romanticisng pain and drawing a false strength from this stupidity. See. Behold. I'm as human as you are, made of mistakes and flaws and bodily imperfections and I finally think, this is exactly what makes me and you, beautiful, dont you think? I refuse to hide anymore behind modulated tones, intelligent gestures, grandiloquent sentences, smart ass comments, pretense, feigning strength and laboured small talks. I dont have the heart or energy to pull it off any second more. Take me as I am, if you will for I refuse to hide.

Ask a lover what's in a name

I say your name and my entire body starts functioning differently. Breaths too many too fast. Lips parched. Heart beats stop and come back a million times. The color of the sky changes. The sun tears the night sky apart and is forced to rise. Oh, you are oceanic waves' colossal energy slapping me every minute of every hour for perpetuity. Yet I stay. Afixed on the shore. Ready to be destroyed. Things we do for love. Sometimes, I want to leave. I do. Run away from you as far as I can get with whats left of this frail fragile set of skin and bones, but can't. My skin leaves my bones, but refuse to leave your side. You are entwined in my veins. Present in every fragment of my bones. Where do I run away from myself? I guess, this is what love is after all. You build a pyre and I get ready to burn in it.

What the hell is wrong with the world?

“What the hell is wrong with the world” this is one phrase that’ll always be valid under all circumstances. Every single time. It has been valid for as long as I’ve lived and it’ll be valid for as long as you and I will live. Every day. Every minute. Every second. I remember watching Anjaam, the movie starring Shah Rukh Khan and Madhuri Dixit where tragedy after tragedy befalls the heroine and I remember being pissed at the movie for being so unpleasant and over-the-top-not-real and exploiting their exaggeration rights, I mean so much bad cannot happen. Can someone be so cruel, so twisted, so diabolic? Is it even humanly possible? I dismissed, ignored, labelled it as a bad movie and moved on with my life. I could sleep on it, thinking its just a movie, not real life. But, wow. Boy, was I wrong. The world is slapped with this reality day after day after day. We are so broken. So broken that we’re capable of inflicting and enduring so much pain and yet go on with our lives. The poor kid, all of 8 years old, had to go through so so much. It's unnerving. And a million other girls. We have failed so much, we couldn’t teach our kids. We let them grow into monsters. I cannot turn a blind eye, not this time. Yet, there’s nothing I can do about it, or about the news, I’ll hear tomorrow or the day after, every single day. I cannot do anything. We are drowning every single nanosecond as a society and not even a miracle can save us. No magic wands. No good books, no poems, no cheerful kids, no charities, no good deeds. I wish I had no brains, that I was a uni-cellular bacteria alive just for the heck of it. Candle marches and protests and burning ‘em alive is good but they did it, they thought about it and executed it. We can remove them from the face of this planet and tomorrow, a thousand others will pop up. Before teaching your kids trigonometry or the intricacies of PB Shelly's works or about a certain mineral found in a certain state, teach them to be fucking civil, too hard? Teach them about consent. About becoming a human being before a doctor or an engineer or a weatherman. You can go ahead and screw their dreams and their education but not before turning them into civil beings. Please. Respect. Don't rape. Seek consent. Fuck religion. Don't hurt-physically, mentally. That's it. That's all there is. That's our best shot as a society. Our only shot. May or may not work, too many variables, too many external factors, but worth a shot.
I’m sorry, I’ll end this hanging loose. There’s no closure. The nation didn’t get a closure. The parents will never get a closure and there’s no reason this post should get a closure. Yet another loose end, we’ll sadly learn to overlook.

All the beautiful things have stopped hurting..

I cannot write without getting overwhelmed with everything that surrounds me. I cannot write and it has stopped hurting me. Oh, the noise, so much noise. Is there one place I can run to?  I ran, I ran like a mad dog, trying to escape the madness, the chaos, people, their complaints, their self. I ran, it followed. "Faster, faster" I cursed and kicked myself, the faster I ran, the closer it got. What the fuck? my brain failed to comprehend. "It’s in your head, asshole", the heart gently slapped it on my face. What? how does one get away from that? Run from their own physical self? I’m exhausted. All the things, beautiful so beautiful that they hurt have stopped hurting me. The quiet of the night, the smell of the wet mud after the rains, being caressed by a lover,  stealing loved ones away from city madness for a picnic in the winter sun, the sea of stars in the dark of the night, reading in solitude, a glass of golden whiskey in the wee hours of the night with your favourite song playing on loop. It has stopped hurting me. The older I get, the more whites and blacks seem to merge into one another, the lines get more blurred, the more I cannot separate rights from wrongs. The world spouts platitudes and I have no heart and energy to pretend. To listen, to care, to acknowledge, even to respect. Let me be. Let me fizzle out into oblivion and I promise I’ll come back better equipped to deal with y’all and the world. I hope, I do.

P.S. Who knew you could be your biggest and the toughest enemy? 

It was good to know you.

I have always known but very recently dramatically realised that I don’t have to take shit from any of you, anymore. For years, I’ve put up with bullshit from people who matter and the ones who do not, thinking building on my tolerance was a consolation. Now I don’t care much at all about it. If it’s anyone who makes my life living hell, pushes me into an abyss, emotionally saps me, makes me feel bad about myself, it has to be me. NO one else. I will fuck up, screw up, waste my time, not you. I am done, Thank you. You think I’ve become fat? tall? short? ugly? thin? why don't you go write that in your journal? would that make you feel good? I genuinely hope it does. I’m too irresponsible? Lame? Lazy? Wasting my time? Aap jaa sakte hain, namaste. I will not waste my time, emotional intelligence and peace of mind over your bullshit, I'm getting old and it's beyond my physical and mental abilities to stand you anymore. Simply, because I don't have to. I have no energy to fake a smile and pretend to be courteous when you're saying something totally hilarious and crossing boundaries, no drama, no pretence, a very simple-please show yourself out. Life’s short and I’m so done with this. Please let’s just let everybody breathe. It’s not easy for everybody alike. Yes? I don’t want women’s day discounts on make-up, spas and everything you think I should be doing to look like you think I should look like. What a farce. Don’t gift me raspberry flavoured lip-balms on women’s day Please, for fuck’s sake. How can one not see the irony? Why aren’t we tired yet? I am. I am more than happy and respectful of your idea of a daughter, a daughter-in-law, a wife, but why should that be mine? Why should I fit into your idea of these roles? Can I peacefully be a fuck up wife who is clueless about marriage and work my way through, the natural way? Please do not tell me to behave a certain way. I don't know and don't want to know what a good wife or a daughter is/does, I just want to do what I do, the best I can, till I drop dead. It’s not very hard to mind your own fucking business if you try. I’ll help, promise. Till then, don't be seen and definitely do not wish me a Happy Women’s day. It was good to know you.

Dear Brain,

Ssup? Let's cut to the chase. Stop bullshitting me. YOU ARE FINE. Say it, SAY IT. I don't know about you, but I have had enough. At least make up your mind. Be Okay or be NOT. One moment I'm on cloud 9, the very next, I'm in deep frigging dark waters, encapsulated, drowning, and not even trying to swim my way to the surface. It's not even funny. You find it entertaining? Can't even shoot the fuck out of you, because, well, you are me. I can run from the world, but can I run from you? So, I'm just writing in to put it on record that it's not cool. Oh, so not cool. If you weren't me, I'd have killed you. Can't believe I'm saying this, but even the uterus is better than you. Yes, I said it. Oh, despite the fact it's so dramatic on losing one egg which'll be produced again in a few days for the rest of my life (Well, till menopause). There are tears, there's pain, there's blood, it's a fucking crime scene. Hell breaks loose. YET, you are worse.  Stop messing with me. Let me be a simple girl who gets her soul sucked to earn money to be able to eat at an overpriced fancy restaurant only to have a bite or two and leave the rest and feel guilty later seeing the homeless and the unfortunate on the road. Is it too much to ask for?  You be the judge. And I'm not a fan of drama. No, sir. You want attention? You can seek shelter elsewhere. Now be a good boy and let me enjoy my aimless, meaningless existence and in return, I promise to feed you with good reads and steer clear of Ekta Kapoor crap and the likes of it. Deal?

Vulnerability

It's been so long since I've written that it almost feels like the first. I've been kicking myself for not being able to add more noise in the world which, like other things, is not worth a penny, but one does what one does.

I'd be lying if I say, I've been okay. Meet me and I'll do everything to conceal whatever my demons are doing to me. But, I can't write lies. I was caught off guard, to say the least. Struggling since months to not drown, to come out of the fucking goddamned tunnel. I will, one day.

I'm trying to come back. I haven't known anything harder.

Wish me luck, maybe?

Down and Out..

I’m no Padukone, and the world doesn’t give two fucks about what I feel and how I am, yet I decided to talk about it for the heck of sheer documentation so you’d know why I died, if I do. No, I will not kill myself. But do people die of depression? It certainly feels so. Anyway, this monster wouldn’t leave me alone. Never. Worse than pados ki aunties. It sleeps with me and wakes up with me. It pulls me down every opportunity it gets. EVERY. Right now I feel like I’m falling in a bottomless abys at the speed of 1000 kmph (Please be sensitive and don’t point out the technical flaw and impossibility of this, I FUCKING KNOW). Everyday getting up from the bed and showing up is the hardest task. I cannot, just cannot participate in real life, I cannot laugh at your jokes and smile for courtesy, I cannot indulge in small talk. I fucking don’t care. Yet, every day, every day I drag myself out of the bed, put the make up on and prepare myself for the world outside for yet another tamasha. It’s the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. I could use a mountain and reach the top to shout my lungs out or slap Uday Chopra (fine, I’m sorry) or cry my heart out. I have tried one of these three things and no, it did not doesn’t help. One might ask, what the fuck is bothering me, while I might say that is a very good question and a very relevant at that, I have no answer to it. None. In all probabilities, it’s me. I make people bother me (Lol, what a fucked up thing to say, right? THAT’S my state of mind, Yep.) I feel like I’m in the middle of deep waters, with my eyes and ears shut, and all I can see is jet black of nothingness, you know what I mean, dear non-existent reader? I really hope you don’t. My parents probably think I’m plain sad and generally broken, and oft get irritated about this state, I don’t blame them. For the past one year I refused to acknowledge the fact that I fucking need help because after all you are the master of your brain, it’s all in your control and all that bullshit. 13 months down, turns out the joke is on me. It gets worse every passing day, and I cannot control it, No. I will have to grow some balls to see the damned shrink and hope to get back to normal recovered. It almost feels like a shenanigan; I mean why would I be depressed if I have every fucking thing in place? Parents by my side, a job to pay my bills, amazing food and right education, what else do I need? A zillion dollars? I concede. I need somebody to figure that out for me. It’s sad and incredibly frustrating to realize that it’s out of my hands now. Having said that, I have to have to seek help. I cannot waste another year of my life sulking. No. There are bigger, better things to do. This is one life. Till then, I will try my best to get back to the surface even if it takes everything I’ve got. I’ll try not to drown deeper.  

The light has gone out of our lives

Baba has left. My brain agrees it is probably for his good, he is relieved of all the pain and suffering and that he was ready to go and lead a beautiful content life but my heart refuses to acknowledge. I cannot believe this is permanent. Is this what every book, every scholar, every clichéd drama, dialogue, every person on earth talked about? How does one deal with death? This pain is like the cumulative pain of every loss I’ve ever known. The moment he was gone, stretches unbroken. I’m advised to deal with this like an adult and take care of my younger sister who isn’t doing very well herself. I can’t face her, I can’t. I just can’t. It’ll take me a while to get back to life. To stay afloat. I cannot be the elder sister just yet. There’s nothing I can say that can make her feel better or undo the loss. She took care of Baba selflessly, taking care of his every need, just being there for him when he felt lonely, sensing his tone when he couldn’t talk with an incredible patience and tolerance and she’s all of 20 years old! She’d cancel catching up with friends just to take care of baba. Apart from all the love, she has my highest respect and has taught me the greatest life lessons. I bow to her for doing whatever she did, there are no words. I’m forever indebted to her and incredibly proud of the person she’s become. On the opposite spectrum, I failed. I don’t remember the last time I talked to him, I don’t remember being there for him when he needed the most. And now he’s gone, his stories are gone. I hope he forgives me. I hope I can forgive myself. His absence will be the biggest void in our lives which can never be filled. Is this what life is all about? One calamity upon the next? Let me grieve my loss, I don’t need to be consoled. There’s nothing that prepares one for loss, nothing at all, you have to face the dragon head on. You have to drown, you have to fall. I hope we remember his stories anew every day. I hope we gather the strength to pick ourselves again and live a happy and fulfilled life just the way he wanted. I hope we have the wisdom and humility to realize whatever we are, whoever we have become, is all because of him, because he chose to make it happen. I hope we never let him die in our memories. For me, the next biggest task is to crawl out of this mammoth abyss and move on as they say. Zip up, pull up the sock and carry on. And finally, maybe I can sleep.

Rest in Peace, Baba.

What do you want?

Do you ever ask that to yourself? On that note, I'm back. Back to Delhi. You can't even call me a musafir seeking something or trying to reach somewhere or cherishing the journey. No. I'm running away to nowhere. As much as I love him, I couldn't deal with the identity crises anymore, couldn't look at the person that I'd become. I was a no one. I wanted out. I ran off to home only to realize it didn't feel like home anymore. Where does one go when one does not want to go anywhere or stay? No place feels like home anymore. I'm left with a handful people who're home to me. And he is not with me. I'm home away from home. What do I want? How does one weigh things? prioritize? what is more important? what is lesser? I'm running away from all the noise and madness of the world only to get jolted by silence. Isn't there a balance? Can't I love him and be myself at the same time? me, my fucked up, messed up self, but me nonetheless. I donno if that's a lot to ask for. These lines by Kahlil Gibran touch me at all the right places, strike all the right chords.

      Let the winds of the heavens dance between you. 
      Love one another but make not a bond of love: 
      Let it rather be a moving sea between the shores of your souls. 
      Fill each other's cup but drink not from one cup. 
      Give one another of your bread but eat not from the same loaf. 
      Sing and dance together and be joyous, but let each one of you be alone, 
      Even as the strings of a lute are alone though they quiver with the same music. 
      Give your hearts, but not into each other's keeping. 
      For only the hand of Life can contain your hearts. 
      And stand together, yet not too near together: 
      For the pillars of the temple stand apart, 
      And the oak tree and the cypress grow not in each other's shadow. 

Baba is sick, sans an illness

Baba is sick without an illness. It's called old age. It is shattering to fathom what he must be going through. His brain, over 9 decades old has stopped making sense of things, living— non-living. His memory is wiped out, he’s started hallucinating, he chats with imaginary people, is it because we weren’t there to talk to him? It breaks me. When we tell people, he’s suffering, he’s sick, almost everybody says, yeah must be old-age, very indifferently as if it's okay to suffer if you’re old and weak and fragile. It hurts me, but I know it's not their fault. When I was growing up, he had hundreds of stories to tell us, one can imagine he was born in 1922, he’s seen everything,  he lived in the era that we studied in history! We would sit around him and he’d tell us his college stories, of India’s struggle for freedom, of uniting one India post Independence, of his office days under the British empire, of how he raised his five sons, sans any money but loads of values, one could see his eyes glitter when he used to talk about the bygone era. But now, he remembers nothing.  He doesn’t remember my name. He doesn’t remember what year is it, he doesn’t remember anything that he’s experienced in the past 95 years, they say, it's the old age. Indeed, it is, but imagine the suffering. He was living with memories all his life and what does he have now? Is it okay to suffer if you’re old? I feel helpless, like never before. It sucks. Why not me? Why him? Why can’t I change places? What do I do to make him happy? He has swollen foot but doctors say, they cannot treat it, because it's apparently natural, its old age. It's something to do with the kidneys, they say. Why can’t we help him? The other day, a very independent 95-year-old man shat his pants, and cried of embarrassment, what do we say to comfort him? How? It breaks me in the most unimaginable way. It’s like saying a thousand goodbyes together. Yes, human body is fragile, world is unfair, shit happens, but this is soul crushing. May we have the strength and wisdom to make him feel loved and special while we can. He is a major part of who we all are. He is the root to the tree touching skies, he has nourished us, all his life selflessly, he is the reason we all exist, of who we are and what we’ve all become. May we gather the strength and patience to hold him and not let him fall because old or not, nobody deserves this. 

Shaadi ka laddu

Not much has changed post marriage, only everything .One year, 3 months and 11 days into marriage I now know what the fuss was all about. All the jokes, all the shaadi ka ladoo metaphors, all the hype, I don’t shy away from concluding, at the risk of concluding too soon, that marriage sucks. It makes one bat shit crazy. Its hell lotta work and no, I was not and am not a fan. There! I blurt it out. Its outta my system. I love him, I love him but marriage sucks. I might sound like Mark Antony but I really mean it. I’ve read and thought about the box metaphor where it is proposed that, marriage is a box wherein you mustn’t look forward to take away things but put in it together to help your marriage grow and sustain and bla bla. The more I think about it, the more it drives me to insanity. But ab pachtai hot kya jab chidiya chug gayi khet? Which is why I’ve decided to not cry over things and begin to accept shit as it is, served cold, salty or bland—Eat it!

I’ve quit my job back in Bangalore and relocated to his hometown—I was told I’m crazy for doing this and that this will turn to be a nightmare etcetera but some things are neither right or wrong and you must do it for your soul, I don’t regret my decision one bit but this is the most difficult phase of my life, hands down, his hometown,  the steel city of Orissa, encircled by rivers and pretty hills. I wake up every day to the chirping of birds and a sight of a gulmohar tree blossoming red flowers. But not everything is pretty, for the uninitiated, I do not know the language, Odiya, which is a blessing in disguise of sorts. On the first day, I was asked to wear a saree with silver toe-rings, anklet, red bangles, mahroon sindoor and a ghunghat, I suddenly felt like my teen self, the girl who cried when she was first hit by the monstrous menstrual cycle, mostly out of embarrassment and not being able to comprehend what the fuck was going on. This time, I felt a similar discomfort, a feeling of disconnecting from my own self. It was like putting on a garb and woosh, in a split second I was someone I didn’t know. “Its just the clothes, don’t make it a bid deal” I told myself repeatedly after weeping in his arms for hours. Of course, he had no clue why it was such a big deal for me. Apart from hating the hideous clothes, which wasn’t that big a deal, honestly, being told what to do and wear was what hit me the most. I’ve always hated being told what to do, wear, eat, not proud of it, but that’s how I’m wired. That’s how I function, I know no other way. I am was convinced that in this quagmire of subservience, I’ll lose myself in the most dramatic way ever. I wake up depressed most of the days, having the hardest time just to survive one more day. When I manage to survive a day, its like crawling up a pitch dark hole, only to lay flat on the surface staring at the clear blue skies, thanking the lord that you didn’t die. I hope I make it till the end. 

What a fighter she was!

“You look so pretty after marriage!”, she said holding my hand with a gleam in her eyes. I managed a smile, fighting myself to hold back the tears. “How are you badimummy?” I asked, I knew how she was. Fighting to live everyday, with the strength I’ve only read in legends. What else heroes are made of? And here I was feeling so weak and vulnerable, I wanted to cry my heart out, only I couldn’t. I’ve never felt so naked about my emotions ever.  There were so many thoughts slapping my head that I was almost going insane. How could life be so unfair? How can she smile with so much pain? How.Why. Of course, there are and will be no answers to such questions. She was still holding my hand, moaning with incredible pain, that one can only imagine. “How is S? He’s a really nice guy”, she smiled, I couldn’t hold a conversation and hated myself for acting so childish. Act Normal, Nikita. Hold back the tears, she doesn’t wanna see them! I would remind myself, frustrated. Often, I’d excuse myself with a fake phone call. It was so much harder than I thought, that maddening thick silence engulfing us all. Outside in the waiting room, I wept profusely, people saw, they turned back and saw but I couldn’t stop, I couldn’t care. I couldn’t masquerade strength, I could see myself all over the place, crying like a baby, even in front of my lil sister when I should’ve been there for her. I couldn’t, I was breaking in the most ugly way one can imagine. Some patients were in the corridors, walking, some were in the well lit waiting room and seeing somebody weep like that was probably the last thing a cancer patient wants to see, I failed.Miserably. I went back to her room, we were all trying desperately to strike a normal conversation, cracking silly jokes, pretending to laugh, “Shivi you remember that hindi language essay that you wrote in class 2?”, bhaiya asked Shivi. “It was genius”. She smiled and in a fit uttered, “bhaiya stop it, it wasn’t that bad”. Everybody laughed. Badimummy laughed too, it was a pretty sight. “You guys must be hungry, order food, P”, she asked her son and soon the rice and the noodles arrived. We couldn’t eat, how could we? She hadn’t eaten in 30 days. “You’re not eating, please take some more” she told mom. Amidst so much pain, she could think about all this, I could not believe. How can someone be like that? I was unlearning everything I’ve known about life in these 25 years. You need to shred every strand of your existence to understand death and how much nothing else matters. How everything falls flat in the face of death. I hadn’t seen death from so close and she was living it with so much positivity and courage. We all know death is an inevitable end, but I wasn’t prepared for it. Who is? That day I learnt how much it means to give and to smile and what strength does for us.  When we were leaving, she said, “I’ll soon come to Delhi” but sadly, she never will.  We lost her a week after I relocated to Orissa. I couldn’t eat, couldn’t sleep for days thinking I hate this place  and this is what quitting job is doing to me. I couldn’t write. Until today when I wrote this. I’ll never forget what she taught me in her silence. May her soul rest in peace and inspire us all till the end of our days. 

Hitched!

Ssup Ladies and Gentlemen,

If by any chance, you've missed my embarrassing wedding photos on our very own facebook, chances of which happening is lesser than finding life on Pluto (Side Note: Please go and like them, this is JUST the reason I got married for) and if you've recently spotted a girl woman wearing the shinniest pair of red bangles with shirts and trousers. Yes, that's probably me. People say, women get hotter after marriage, I don't know what I did wrong. And for those who've been asking, one month into the marriage, life hasn't changed much, except people have started calling me aunty, I care about padosi ke bete ke bowels movements more, by the way and oh, yes! I've got a husband too.So, yes new set of people, new set of questions, good news kab hai? Don't even try asking me that, it is not funny. I'd poke a needle in your eye, worse I'd sit you down to watch Amrita Rao's dialogues in slow motion in your favorite, Vivah, the movie. So yes, social acceptance and all that jazz. Again, I care about Chintu's bowel movements, more. Fun fact though, there are still parts of our nation, where kids in school are prohibited to talk to a child of opposite gender and when they are to marry, they're sent off to a mysterious dark tunnel just because the gates look shiny. No, I'm not saying anything.Anyway, this post isn't about my life or yours, it's a work of philanthropy, my bit towards humanity. How those 3 days were the longest 100 years of my life, why you must choose for a court marriage instead, I tried though, good luck!

• Rituals: If you're born in a hindu household and marrying the traditional way (I'd not take the liberty to talk about other religions) sire, you'd be royally fucked.The unflagging pursuit of conducting rituals that are a pain in the ass for everybody. There'll be 10,000 rituals that'll add no value to your life, or your marriage, that's no fun, not for you, not for your family, not for the priest! And makes no sense whatsoever, Honey Singh's songs make more sense, but but but, you have to do it! Why? Because that's how its done, everybody does it! Why? Because god. I rest my case. Fun Fact: I heard mantra and shlokas in my sleep for good 5 days after the wedding, I would wake up sweating, would anxiously look around for the brown shit powder that we inflict upon the havan-kund, that's when he'd break my trance and say, it's over, with a dramatic pause. The saddest part? I'm not even kidding. I wish I was.

• Haldi Ceremony: Yes, the one you've watched in the movies. Deepika Padukone in yellow, designer lehenga, pink, can I call it choli?  But, stop flattering yourself. You are not Padukone, the bride is oiled and greased (and made to feel ugly on her wedding day) and made to  sit through pointless sessions of pooja which finishes just a second before her physical and emotional break-down. What timing! But I'm not cribbing, so much fun! You can't wait to get married, right? :)

• Photographer: This guy, manages to single-handedly suck whatever life is left in you. He'll ask you to semi make out with your guy in front of 300 guests and be okay with it. Are you okay with it? I was fucking not. And if you happen to be the bride, god save you. You'd be asked to hold a bouquet of flowers, hold it with both your hands and place them near your cheek and bend your head towards it, uh-no, not just any angle! The perfect angle that he prescribes, and all this to make a complete fucking fool of yourself. I can't think of anything else under the sun that's more lame. Can you?

• So-Much-Attention: I'm sure if I'd have won the Nobel prize for inventing flying cars, nobody would've given so much fuck. But no, marriage is larger than life! It was embarrassing to get so much attention for just a wedding, I mean, have I written a book? Won a prize? achieved anything? No.  I'm just spending my parents' hard-earned money, in one single night. Was I proud of it? NO. I felt like a mini Shah Rukh Khan.Well, but the ways of the world. 

• Kuch toh log kahenge: Now that we were getting married, every Ram, Shyam, Ghanshyam, paanwaala, chaiwaala assumed its their birth right to talk about our relationship. Everybody around, either had an advice or an opinion. I know life will change in multiple ways, a new set of people would be introduced, our equation would change, our fates would be intertwined and the decisions, good, bad, ugly, would affect both of us. Shit will change. But does that mean you get the right to talk about it? No. Kindly shove your valuable words of wisdom in your asses. Thank you.

P.S. Jokes apart thanks for coming to the wedding with last year's diwali's left over casserole sets wrapped primly with the shiniest piece of wrapping paper, they've truly touched our hearts and changed our lives :)

Friends with benefits

"I love you too." he said looking like a wall, straight, emotionless. He said it like it was a daily chore that he had to get over with. She immersed deeper in his arms. "Can you please stay tonight?" She pleaded. She hated to sound that way, desperate, weak, needy but there was little that she could help. She was impulsive, she was always ready to be burnt, ready to say the dangerous things, out loud, without a thought or the fear of being judged. She'd easily give in to the moment. "No. Please don't expect anything from me. You don't get it, do you?"  "I'm Sorry.", she said ashamed and embarrassed, cursing herself for having asked for something like that. "Whatever", he turned away from her. Being with him was an emotional roller coaster ride for her, like running madly in a tunnel reaching the darkest of corners and open spaces with lights, slapped between extremes, "Don't stay then, leave." she said trying to collect whatever was left of her self respect. "Come here baby, I snap easily. Sorry." he eased out and looked a little human than before, he embraced her in his arms and that one moment for her extended till eternity, unbroken. This was a pause that she never wanted to break. The way his fingers ran through her hair and his touch on her bare chest made her feel alive than anything else in the world did. She'd transcend space and time, when in his arms. Just then, in the mid of the night, his phone rang. He instantly rose and dressed himself. "No, please stay a little longer." again, she cursed herself for saying it out loud in open with such desperation. "I have to. My wife just delivered a baby.You can stay here tonight, I've made the payment." He left leaving five grands on the bed, closing the door behind him.

Periods.

Its that time of the month again. When I blossom like a flower and my femininity flows out of my body like a mad roaring river, I love it. Every bit. They ask us not to enter the temple, because it's a holy place, not to

enter the kitchen, not to worship because lets face it, GOD, the imaginary friend, the stone statue, the hit-me bear must be respected and I'm dirty. I'm so overwhelmed with humility and warmth, I feel so respected. I love

periods! Hey, did I forget to mention the cramps? Oh, they're are just.beautiful. Your body hurts everywhere, parts that you didn't even know existed! I feel so alive. The pain. Back, legs, abdomen, upper abdomen,

lower abdomen, chest, you name it! So why all this happens? Every month uterus assumes, I'd let a guy put it in and have his sperm fertilize with the egg and make babies! Wow! Every fucking month, did you hear me?  EVERY FUCKING MONTH! Who does that? At this rate even Gandhari wouldn't have produced  babies. Anyway, so anticipating an arrival of the jerk's sperm (Universal truth: All men are jerks. Out of context? Fuck off) it thickens the uterus wall to cushion the fertilization, but of course when it doesn't happen, it breaks the hell loose, sheds the fucking cushion and there it is! in front of your eyes, like a crime scene. Blood, everywhere.

EVERYWHERE. And the best part? Its coming out of you! gushing out at the rate of thousand litres per second. And it's so adorable.Its on the bed sheet, its on the skirt, on the pants, on the floor, its in the universe. It's like a cosmic joke on you. Yes, on you.  And you're supposed to act all normal about it. Like nothing happened, oh does it hurt? It's okay. Its normal.  It'll happen next month too, and the month after and the month after until one day when an accident happens and you forget to use the condom or the fucking pill or you're hit by lightening and decide on having a kid or that font size 5 disclaimer on the condom box decides to fuck your life, that day, THAT day, it stops and then begins a new episode in a woman's body. A tale of blood and gore. Don't even get me started. All this to give birth to a child. A kid! A kid who grows up to be an asshole and spends all this time trying to impress a dumber kid. And after years when the torture finally ends and you look at your kid and back to all the years of pain, every month, it'll be all lame. The freaking dots will not connect. Your life would stop making sense. Not that it ever did. That day, woman, buy a bat and pick up a random man from the street and beat the fuck out of him and don't ask why. Women are after all illogical, unreasonable, irrational, think about every man who ever said that to you and there it is! your happily ever after!

P.S. I'm not PMSing

We could use some life. No?

So, like most of of the minions, I have a job, I do stuff that I'm told to do that most often than not, makes no sense to me, adds no value to my existence, doesn't even justify anything, its probably discarded off at the end of the day, yet I do it, in return of money.No honor, no pride, ghanta skill, for money.Simple. The usual format everywhere, I reckon. I fail to understand though, how 7 billion people of the entire world, are completely okay with it. Do you not want to scream the life outta you? 10 hours a day in a cubicle. How is it okay with you? I bow to thee. Immense respect. I, however, cannot, just cannot sit in an office and be told to do something that I dont give a shit about. I'd rather watch Deepak Tijori's movies or talk about how my life changes at the prospect of having a north indian-south indian debate with you, or how much I care about what Arvind Kejriwal is up to or what an incredible asset Gandhi has been to India or Tusshar Kapoor's prolific acting in no movie at all. You get the point. Peanuts. I donno about you, but I get peanuts in return of selling my soul, squeezing the life out of me, and that is made to sound like a fair deal. Did you ever notice? I'm sure you'd have.  I graduated with a farce idea of independence, of freedom and here I am, fettered by money. I kill my soul to earn money, money to be happy. See the circular logic? I see it in my dreams. And whoever said, slavery is abolished must be really wasted. I slave my way into life every single god damned day. I could pull it off by being drunk all the time, but I'm getting old and I have a social responsibility of talking big and doing nothing and pal, that ain't happening being drunk. So next time, you get a life, even for like a millionth of a second, invite me. Please?

Dear Parents,

Have you ever given a thought, why a kid grows up to become a fucktard? Oh, I mean, yet another fucktard. No, right? Because you made him. Parenting in our country is like our National Hockey team. If you were wondering, yes Ignored. I’m a little more than two decades old and I’m taking the liberty to tell you how you ruin lives and eventually our country’s future. Ofcourse, those who’re already offended can stop reading and go back to whatever fuck they were doing. Sharmaji ka beta kya kar raha hai? So help me understand when you give birth to a life, do you have a plan in mind? or is it like watching Vivah the movie, where nobody knows what the fuck is hapening and the end result is really really fucked. I mean she asks jal piyenge? in 15 fucking minutes. Who talks like that? You can take 10 back to back history lessons and the movie still just wouldn't end. Get the point? Anyway, coming back, do you ever have a plan in place? or do you nurture kids like one of the contestants in Takeeshi's castle, stumbling, falling, having no idea whats going on and eventually giving up. Dear parents, if you want kids for coochi moochi, please buy a doll instead, because the damned thing will grow up, utilise depleting resources and will add to the ever growing population. It'll grow up to be thankless, stupid, pretentious, hypocrite, disrespectful, ungrateful and so on and so forth and one of them can meet me and I wont think twice to slap the fuck outta him. In case you still decide to give birth to a child, do you ever teach your kids how to question things rather than answering shit that they don’t understand? You’re kidding with a kid’s life and a country's future but ofcourse you are an aware citizen, you will outrage about everything and anything because that's what you're best at doing. You give them wrong lessons, flawed methods, unscrupulous ways to succeed and grow up to become a corporate slave. Have you ever taught him right? Have you ever asked him what he aches for, rather than asking what he wants to become when he grows up, all the fucking time. Do you ever tell your daughters that rapes and molestations are not their faults? You might've taught them their body is a temple instead, no? Do you ever slap any sense into their brains when they disrespect women? Do you make sure you respect women? Do you still suck the lives out of their souls when they score less? Are you still teaching a crocodile to climb a tree? Well, good luck with that. Have you ever appreciated them for their small acts, when they help elders? No? They'd stop it. You see what I'm saying? Rocket Science? Parenting is very very difficult, it shapes or breaks someone's future. It shapes characters, how they view this world, how they treat people, how they live their lives. Whether they grow up to become Tusshar Kapoor or Shah Rukh Khan. Bringing a life in this world, shouldn't be an experiment. Also, you deserve immense respect for the unconditional love for your child and for everything else you do for them without weighing and for tolerating their non-sense, it'll be an epic shame if they don't realise this, they'd never value anything else ever. Make them realise. If they still dont, throw them out. Please ask your boys not to rape and your girls, its not their fault. Do this and you'd bring a change in society, a change that'll matter. 

P.S. My parents are awesome. Despite my fuckeries, they still haven't thrown me out.

P.P.S Burn your kids' room if they listen to Yo Yo Honey Singh. No seriously.

Thanks.