He is

I am a dull night and he is the star that kills my monotony.

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Gave Up

I had never been happier,

Felt like the world was by my side.

I wanted to flood you with the waves of my love,

And then, cherish you being my guide.

My prayers seemed to have worked,

When you made roses shower on me,

When you whispered love in my ears,

When you injected our moments with glee.

But it wasn’t a forever,

So the love went down in flames.

You weaved strings of Never,

I could not endure those heart breaking games.

Yet I could not go,

I could not set myself free.

But thank you darling, for you found someone else.

And then, you gave up on me.

Social Media and its influence on my life

 

Social media.

What does the term exactly stand for? What does it mean?

Well, according to the renowned know-it-all, Google, social media is a “collection of internet based softwares and interfaces that allow individuals to interact with one another, exchange personal or professional details, share photos as well as up-to-the-minute thoughts” and since Aristotle once very rightly said “Man is by nature, a social animal”, it now plays an essential role in the survival of the 21st generation human.

However for me, social media is a hideous monster, like the creature Victor Frankenstein created. It is a monster with millions of ferocious arms like Facebook, Google Plus, YouTube, Whatsapp, SnapChat, Instagram so on and so forth.

It is a kidnapper who lures me in by letting me view how rapidly my old friends are growing up to be beautiful women and handsome men. And the next moment it mercilessly shoves me into the black abyss of peer pressure. Suddenly, I too wish to cover my dark nude lips in red, capture my ‘glamorous’ pout using an expensive smart phone and SnapChat it with the caption “#Red #Selfie”. A stubborn urge to attend After Parties, be a seemingly significant part of the photographs taken at the pricey clubs also arises inside me. It makes me want to follow the crowd.

Social media constantly pokes me,whispering into my ears its wish of seeing two hundred ‘friends’ give my physical appearance their approval in the form of ‘Likes’ on my Facebook profile picture. It feeds into my head the delusion that I am not gorgeous until a guy with three hundred followers has ‘commented’ so. It persuades me into falling into the envious trap once my friend manages to earn more ‘Likes’ than me on Instagram or when my best friend’s tweet is re-tweeted while mine is simply viewed and scrolled away from.

Social media is a despicable trap where it takes advantage of my naïve self. It fools me into thinking that I have four hundred and twenty two friends to be there for me. I am added to five groups, we have never ending conversations while I ignore a life outside my 6 inch phone screen. I feel included yet at the very same moment, I am deluded. I am deluded into believing that they all know, comprehend and care for me; that they will be there to offer a shoulder in times of need.

However, the truth reveals itself when I need someone to accompany me to places uninteresting for the social media critics and all those friends of mine disappear into thin air. I am left with five out of all those people,five people who do care.

Ah,social media.

Proud Of You

In response to The Daily Post’s prompt “Proud

Honestly,my first thought to this prompt was “Oh my god.This is the easiest prompt everrr!”

However,once I had opened the ‘New Post’ page,I sat for several minutes thinking when I had actually made someone proud.It wasn’t easy.

It wasn’t that I had been a disgrace to my family by being that clichéd smoker/drinker/druggie teenager,neither had I turned into the rebel kind,bad mouthing my parents,sneaking out to after parties or breaking any other belief of our middle class ‘society’.But I also had not been able to pass exams with flying colours.I had not given my parents a chance to brag about being my parents.

That being the case,no matter how hard I thought,I could not recall the last time they had said they were proud of me.

So how did I complete this blog?

Well,I waddled into the kitchen to find my mother,wrapped in a blue and white apron,preparing tonight’s dinner.Beside her,stood my father tightly clutching a goblet of South African red wine.

“Need anything beta?” my dad questioned.

“Yes,I do” I paused “Have you two ever been proud of me? When exactly have I made both you proud?”

For a couple of seconds,both of them ceased doing what they were and stared at me as if I had asked them about ‘the birds and the bees’.Next,smiles appeared on their faces spreading from their ear to ear.

“The time you got your results” said my father before being interrupted by mom.

“And when you became Ms.Podarite

“Also whenever you are on the stage dancing your heart out and every single person in the crowd watches you without blinking”

“We have always been proud of you and we always tell you that” replied mother.

“You just doesn’t remember it”

Dummies guide to Over-Thinking

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “(Your Thing) for Dummies.”

Over-thinking is a skill that is rather easy to learn.All you need is the ability to imagine things and something to chew over till it drives you insane.

Here’s an example for the dummies.

Like every morning,after sending the little ones off to their school,I sat cross legged,by the phone desperately awaiting my husband’s Good morning call.

We were in a long distance marriage,you see.It was the only way I could carry on with my dream job while he completed his overseas project,earning him a well deserved promotion.It was a happy marriage,without many troubles or issues.Whenever there was a problem,distances were not a reason behind it.I was.

So I waited for his call till it was not morning any longer,clueless about the fact that he had successfully pulled off that magic trick of disappearing off to one of his endless meetings.

Unaware,I waited and waited till I ran low on patience.My mood deteriorated at the speed of unrefrigerated food rotting in summers and before I realised,I was imagining his despicable hourglass figured secretary wrapping her lanky arms around his neck.I could hear the sound of her five inch stilettos striking the wooden flooring.I could see the smirk on his face.

NO!

No,my husband could never think about doing such a thing.

So next,my disgusting over thinking self created an image of him being involved in a terrible accident.The anger that had taken over my senses due to the previous mental imagery instantly replaced itself with fear.I grabbed the phone and called him only to hear “The number you are trying to reach is switched off”

Could it really be? My goodness.

My thumb pushed the redial button over and over again.The same message.

And suddenly,the message faded away.Blackness covered my  eyes and I fell to the floor.My eyelids were seconds away from giving up when there was a different voice on the phone; an unrecorded voice.

“Baby,I’m so sorry.I was in a meeting”

“Yes yes,I know.I should have informed you sweetheart”

Jaan? Talk to me”

“Honey?”

See? Over thinking isn’t so hard,is it?

This Irreplaceable individual :)

In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “Do or Die.”

You have three hundred words to justify the existence of your favorite person, place, or thing. Failure to convince will result in it vanishing without a trace. 

There is a person in my life, a person who introduced me to what I call family.

This individual held my hand whenever I stumbled on the staircase of life. Every time I collapsed, this person pulled me up, back on my own two feet. She sacrificed countless hours of slumber to ensure I slept well. She taught me to embrace my femininity and also, at times, to free myself from the clutches of being a woman. She told me that I was, by no means, perfect and that I did not need to be. And most importantly, she made me fall in love, with the one who confronts me every time I look at the mirror.

This person is aware of even my unsaid thoughts. She is aware of my deteriorating mood before I realize it. Unlike individuals of her kind, she does not for a moment, hesitate to answer the questions of mine; questions on subjects that our society has categorized as taboo ones. When life throws stones at me, she is my shield. When my heart is mistaken for a toy and tossed around, she is there to mend the wounds.

She plays not one but myriad roles. She is not just the figure who brought me to this world, but she is also my father’s exceptionally loving wife, my grandmother’s extremely caring daughter-in-law, and my irreplaceable friend. Without a single complaint, she puts her wishes aside to ensure smiles on the faces of her loved ones. She is not only a mother, she is an inspiration.

She is a beautiful gift from the Lord who sits above.

She is amazing.

And it goes without saying, that without her presence in my life, my life would be an abyss of nothingness. Without her,I would be incomplete.

Feel Alive

I want to exclude myself from this teeming metro.

I wish to separate myself from stress and tension.

I want to escape to unknown destinations with the one I love.

I wish to go on adventures I’d be proud to mention.

 I wish to let the cold breeze blow through my dark hair.

I want to hear him hum to our song.

I wish to eat at small eateries and forget about calories.

I want to feel like it is here I belong.

I wish to see the scorching sun dip into the horizon.

I want to feel little raindrops on my palms.

I wish to hear the melodious chirps of birds.

I want to fall asleep in his arms.

I don’t want our moments to be interrupted by official calls.

Yes, I wish to skive.

I wish to let myself fly.

I want to feel alive.

Dilwalon Ki Dilli-Is it really?

Around twenty five thousand rapes occur in India every year.It has become so common that to read about rapes and gang rapes on trains,buses,in taxies by strangers,uncles…brothers,fathers, has become part of the every day life.Men cringe,while women sigh at their helplessness.Not all rape cases make their way into becoming national news though but when they do,the fear returns.

Mimicking the December of 2012,December 2014 bought fear back into the hearts of Indian women.Once again,flashed on every single news channel,the heinous news of a woman who was raped by the driver of the cab she had hired in the ‘not-so-Dilwalon ki Dilli’

Now,hold on.

Before you start to fume with anger,sigh or cringe,think of who should really be blamed.Oh,not the driver of course! It was her,who made the mistake of travelling when the sky had been separated of light and then falling in the peaceful hands of slumber when the hungry gaze of this wolf was fixed on her and her body!

It was her who fell asleep when she should have been sitting cautiously upright even after a exhaustive day.She should have been making sure her clothing do not reveal her legs and her breasts remain still.She shouldn’t have let the breeze blow through her tresses and fall over her face.She should have been equipped with pepper sprays and a taser. Her fingers should have been trained and ready to dial 100.

Wasn’t she taught of all this since she was just four years old? Or did she simply forget that she was a woman?

And just why did she make a complaint against the cab driver? Perhaps,she expected she would get justice.Oh, how silly of her.A man who spent merely seven months of his life in prison-when he ruined an innocent’s entire life in nothing but twenty minutes- three years ago,would not care to spend another seven months in jail. Saat hi mahine to hain yaar.Aise guzar jayenge.

She,on the other hand,will now be mocked.She will be treated as an untouchable.Unless gold hearted prince do exist,she can kiss her dreams of marrying,goodbye.Because nobody wants to marry a rape victim.
The middle aged women in her neighbourhood will use her as an example to warn their daughters and cage them in rules and restrictions.They will tell their daughters not to converse with men,not to wear shorts and skirts,not to travel alone,not to go out once the sun has departed.

However,there is one thing hardly any of them will do.

They will not tell their sons to not see women as sex toys.

They will not tell their sons to respect women.

Miles Away..

“Wait. You reside in that building next to Reliance?”

“Yeah”

“My building’s just opposite to that. I guess we’re kinda like… neighbours then!”

That’s when it all began. The first day of tenth grade and I had discovered he lived right across the street!

So every day,at six thirty in the morning-when the sun was still under it’s blanket of clouds-we awaited each other’s arrival; our eyes craving some more sleep.Together we dragged ourselves to school, arrived late but rarely got penalised for it. He did ditch me on a few occasions though, but that was all okay.Girls do take a lot of time to get dressed,I was no exception.

After long,tiring days at school,when school bell gave us the permission to leave, we stealthily snuck out of school- to avoid those assumption making individuals- and travelled home, lost in our own world. He listened to me blabber on and on about my celebrity crushes with breath taking physiques and my imaginary husband, Jay Sean. I listened quietly while he told me about his obsession with Chelsea(the football club) and it’s legendary players.

Our conversations continued on Hike messenger which transformed into late night phone calls soon enough.Talking about our past, laughing about the embarrassing moments of our lives,planning day-outs, calling each other silly names- our conversations were endless! On some dark and lonely nights,I made calls to him and cried my heart out.Instead of slamming the phone,he remained,consoling me and reminding me that every cloud has a silver lining.His sense of humour and extremely high sarcasm levels ensured the smile on my face remained even when my eyes were red and swollen.

Together,we watched several movies,even ones that were too torturous to endure (i.e Man of Steel).We made several journeys in the overcrowded Mumbai Local; our bodies swaying to the beats of the train. I dragged him into girly stores on various occasions out of which he ran like a rocket on fire.We sat on dirty pavements under the dark, starless sky talking about all the things life threw at us.We took long walks on roads with muddy puddles monsoon brought along with it; our minds constantly plotting ways to push each other into them. I did succeed several times, although the ratio does not lie in my favour.

Wherever we went, heads turned, as if questioning our relationship.We didn’t care.We knew what we were.There was no need for justification.

They are absolutely correct when they say time flies.

Time flew and it flew fast.

Now my best friend and I are distanced by six thousand two hundred and twenty four long miles.Our conversations have gone from Hike to Whatsapp and phone calls to longer phone calls.Skype and Viber are now built-in applications in our new selves.

Time flew and now he’s turning eighteen and I’m not there to irritate him.
He’s turning eighteen and I’m not there to persuade him into taking me out to a restaurant for a birthday treat.

He’s turning eighteen and I’m sitting here typing this as this is all I have to give to him on his special day.

Let’s hope he likes it! 🙂 *fingerscrossed*

Ps. Apologies for any grammatical errors.As they say in Hindi “Shabdo pe mat jaao,bhavnao ko samjho”