To Be Called “SUMMER”

11

I have been through quite some changes (drastic I might add) in the past few years. Getting engaged; being voluntarily unemployed; visiting another country; battling weight loss, bad dreams, negative thoughts; identity crisis; getting married; change of lifestyle; shifting to another country were just some of the changes I had to go through. Ya sure my life on Social media, what according to some people was ‘living the dream’. But in reality it is way different.

I am juggling a lot of balls in the air. One drop and it all goes in the drain. I would say I am not good at this job. I keep messing it all just because it is difficult to deal with the identity crisis. Right after I gave voluntary resignation from my job, I started having my problem of identity crisis. I felt of no importance. I feared I would be forgotten by the world. I feared I would be thrown out of the world of importance into nothingness. I feared people would stop hanging out with me because I got boring because I had nothing new or important to talk about.

But with all these fears, I instead stopped hanging out with people. Period. It was for various reasons, but majorly it was because I feared people would now find me boring. I made excuses, ignored calls, basically avoided everybody. And the people who clawed there way to stay in my life at that point irritated the hell out of me. I apologize for that and I am thankful to you all.

Fast forward; a couple months in the marriage and still unemployed. I have a complete new wardrobe, new address, new roommate. So the new problem was dealing with the identity crisis and on top of that i yearned for something from my old life. Not everything was supposed to change. From being the kid in the house I was now the caretaker of the house. From being okay to forgetting things now I had to take care that my husband does not forget things. From being lazy and crazy I had to….. no sorry, I am still lazy and crazy 😉 But to sum it all almost everything changed.

The yearning of my old life has increased manifold. I had to give up my scooter, my room, my job and my identity. I started to feel a bit blue and a lot gloomy. It was like suddenly going from being emotionally strong to being emotionally exhausting. I wanted the old life so bad or even a part of it would do. The feeling of my mother being near and available to all my beck and calls. To be able to ride my scooter once again. To get ready in the morning to go a place where you have a designation or title. The lanes, areas and places that I have known for over 26 years.

In the middle of all this, I got a message from a friend that read, “You know Summer, I hate you!” And all of a sudden I found myself crying. No, I did not cry for the reason you think it is. See, because we talk to each other this way and it is normal for us. Tears formed from a familiar person calling me with a familiar name. My name translates and means Summer season, warmth. It was when I had told the friend about this meaning of my name that he decided he would call me Summer. And him calling me this even after a really long time along with the familiarity of it all made me cry and in a mysterious way I found something from my old life.

A small thing, but enough to give me strength. Just food for thought, for all those who have felt that yearning for something lost; make sure you try to give others what they yearn for. It doesn’t have to be anything big.

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Pinch of Salt

Pinch of salt

So… turns out that I have the saddest people living around me. Okay, don’t be so quick to judge me. Read the entire thing at least.

All sulking or cribbing about their problems and always. And how when life gives you lemons it gives you the most rotten lemons so that you cannot even make lemonade out of it. I am included in this vast sad sea of sad people or else why would I attract or tolerate people who are sad.

I made this interesting revelation recently. It so turns out that whenever I keep those shitty sad quotes or lines about how life suck or specifically how I suck in general as my statuses on those instant gratification social media platform, I get a lot of reaction and not concerned ones at that. It is more like “Oh! Haha, So damn true.” Or “I know, I feel that too.” But never oh so what happened, or why so sad. More surprising, I almost never get a reaction when I post something happy. Happy doesn’t work anymore. We don’t get an audience for happy stories anymore. This world survives on sadness and darkness now.

Turns out that we all are so happy being sad that we have stopped looking for that eternal happiness. Sure we laugh on the outside or have the greatest trips ever but we derive the real satisfaction from the sad parts of life. We thrive to tell our stories. We seek out people when we are sad not to share and unburden but to gloat about the fact that my sadness is deeper than your sadness.

We are quick to criticize any effort or demotivate somebody at the word go but we are not that quick at appreciating others. Absence of something affects us more than the presence of that thing. The biggest example is that of the smallest and most negligible thing in our life: “Salt”. (Completely my perspective) A pinch of salt is the most understated ingredient of any dish. Its value is not with its presence but its value lies in its absence. Salt is the most underappreciated or unappreciated ingredient used for cooking.

We don’t do things that fill our souls anymore. We do things or go places not to be happy anymore but to run away from our sadness. There is a difference between both. Well what do I know; I am surrounded by the saddest bunch of people.

Don’t judge me, because I am judging myself the most right now! Maybe I am the saddest pea in the pod.

Patience Unlearned

Why in this fast paced world, people have learned to run fast but unlearned the patience to wait for anything?

Why have we all turned to become such impatient doers? We do something but can’t wait for the results. When did we stop being patient towards others and to ourselves? I still remember the quote said by Lord Krishna, mentioned in Bhagwad Gita that we were taught as children; “Karma karo, fal ki chinta mat karo”. Which roughly translates to, “Let not the fruit of action be your motive to action. Your business is with action alone and not with the fruit of action.” But in this date and time what I have observed is that people are not patient enough to wait for the outcomes. They first want to know the rewards and then accordingly put in efforts. The bigger the reward more the efforts put in. We want fast results and even faster processes to get those results.

By not getting desired rewards people fail to keep the patience to try again and commit suicide or do something regretful. Adding to this is the instant gratification that we get by our online social media accounts. “I have posted this photo 5 minutes back, why haven’t I got a single like yet?” It’s basically when you want it, and the problem is you want it now.

We as a society have lots of loop holes. But that’s how the society works. We have loop holes but we work hard to develop and evolve from those loop holes. Ironically, due to lesser patience now, we have learnt to do the wrongs and justify ourselves by saying that the society is not perfect and that it has its own loop holes.

In this obsession of fast rewards or instant gratification, we sometimes hurt others. And to top that we then don’t have the patience to let the hurt person heal. We, as human beings are intolerant towards mentally challenged people or people dealing with depression or unsuccessful people. We don’t like to associate ourselves with them. We see them as a hindrance to our leading normal lives or achieving desired results.

Loss of patience then has its own consequences. There is an increase in suicides, drug abuse, alcoholism, depression to name a few. Dark and twisted thoughts come in mind. We stray from the right path. In the process we tend to hurt numerous people and feel less remorse about it. Unlearning patience has encouraged the seven deadly sins: Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Gluttony, Pride, Lust and Envy. Thus making it a bad place to live in.

It took millions of years for man to evolve from monkeys. Why are we so desperate to go back being a monkey by not having patience? Lord Krishna said (loosely translated), “This is Kalyug. When the pot named earth will grow tired of the sins of the world, I will reincarnate and bring balance to earth again,” Well all I have to say is the earth is losing its patience, if you are coming then you have to come fast. Until then, humans will have to be patient towards themselves and towards others. Because a planet with no patience is not a good place to live in.

The Strap On Her Shoulder

“Psst! I can see it”, he said.

“What can you see?” she asked in similar hushed tone.

Then started some sort of Kathak (Indian classical dance) with his eyes. She assumed he wanted to point at something. It clicked after some attempts that her bra strap was showing and it was making him uncomfortable.

“I can see the strap”, he said meekly.

“You’d rather I not wear any then? Don’t wear it, won’t see it, right? Grow up please” she said irritated by her friend.

We are talking about sending man to mars, fighting cancer and AIDS, talking about concepts like feminism and equal rights; yet we are still threatened by the mere sight of a strap on her shoulder. It is still a taboo topic: The Bras. It can easily be the title to a horror movie.

Isn’t the embarrassment of buying it; dreading to wear the torturing device all day, everyday; enough that we have to tolerate the tantrums of the opposite sex over the mere sighting of the bra?

                                                                                                                                                           

Only if Bras could talk! What would they say? We could hear them talking things like “Babe are you delusional? You know I am going to pinch you.” “Mind if I dig a little more in your chest?” “Oh honey! The red bruise marks on your shoulders are just to remind you of me!”

Our Frenemy, can’t live with them; can’t live without them! They dig, they pinch and they bruise. Imagine a belt of thorns tied around your chest for almost 16 hours of the day. But none can do without them. So, once home it is bound to come open. The jail is broken!!

                                                                                                                                                           

Oh and the embarrassment of bra shopping! The instant rush of blood to your cheeks when the salesman simply by looking at you can judge your size. And to our amusement it will be spot on more than we’d like to accept.

Then there are different types, different materials, different designs and colors of bras that are available in the market. But somehow even if you want to buy it just to make yourself happy the “shop wala uncle” will give you judging stares. And out of shame you will once again buy the same old sports bra when in reality your heart is aching to get the bright red push-up bra. OH COME ON; like I can’t treat myself to a good looking luxurious bra just for myself. It has to be for the boyfriend or the husband who couldn’t care less for it! (This would be the point where I’d be rolling my eyes)

                                                                                                                                                          

I know for writing this piece I’d be getting lots of “OMG” what did you write this for. It’s supposed to be a CIA level secret that even CIA can’t know of. All the aunties and relatives will burn their cheeks red and give me glares wishing the glares can reduce me to ashes for writing about the Taboo Topic. And the first one to do so would be my mommy dearest!

But lo-behold, everybody in this world know what bras are. Half of them go through the pain of wearing them and the other half secretively makes fun of them or unwilling cash out for them. So I am not sorry for writing about it! Sorry 😉

What’s in a Name?

What’s in a name, they say.

Well ask a girl who has to change her identity to take up her husband’s family name. Not that, people don’t change their names or that it’s not that common. But still. Changing a name is not mere losing one name and taking up another name. It means change in identity, changing the way you have lived for all those years as a person.

Lucky are those girls that marry guys with same surname. It is argued that if you know her by Emma or Ellie, she is still the same person. Well that stands true for the opposite person and not the particular ‘Emma’ or the ‘Ellie’ in question. An Emma would still like to be called as Emma and not Ellie.

When I was to get married, this was not an issue. I was okay changing my name and taking up my husband’s family name. Or I thought I was okay with it. Now that the time has actually come to change my name, I don’t know why I am a bit hesitant about it. I was never particularly in obsession with my maiden name (surname in particular). I always liked to be called by just my first name. But this whole incident of changing family name has upset me a bit when it transferred from just an idea to reality. Not that it is that big a deal, even my mother took up her husband’s family name. So it’s not that I am asked to do something absurd.

All of a sudden it isn’t just about a change in name. It is about losing of the identity I carried for over 26 years of my life. All my school certificates, my college degrees, my work papers bear my maiden name. That defines a part of my life. A life that I had enjoyed to the fullest. That is who I was. Now just because I got married, I have to leave my home, let go of my room, my family and now even my name. And the past life will be just a memory fading in time.

Not a feminist, not a rebel, but it is difficult. I can say this for myself because I am currently going through this situation right now. Just like a new place, a new job takes a while to adjust and to adapt for any person; this idea will also take a little time. Just like I got a new home, new family, new roommate 😉 I will be getting a new surname.

But till its official, let me bask in the moment of holding my name for a little while longer.

Hello from the Matrimonial Site

As the wedding season has kicked off in India, I thought of writing a little about the same topic.

Basically there are two types of marriage: Arranged and Love. Then there comes the permutation and combination of these two options. Like how people claim that they had an arranged love marriage where it was an arranged setting and they fell in love or there is love marriage which the two chaps set up as arranged. Confusing right!!

In today’s virtual world there emerges a third kind which is “The Matrimonial Site” kind. Half of the eligible population can be found on matrimonial sites. Usually when the family connections prospects list gets exhausted, they resort to these sites. Very advanced! Going beyond the boundaries and reach of family and social groups. It can be kind of an interesting experience. You meet a lot of people and a lot of confused or sorted expectations. But, you will for sure get a lot of funny experiences to remember a lifetime.

I’m here to share mine. Well, a year and a half spent in this process and I have a tale to tell. On a scale of good to crazy, I would like to say I walked almost the entire scale.

Disclaimer: Names of the cartoons will not be mentioned here for obvious reasons!

 

So as I turned 24, my parents at the very concerned observation of the society, declared that it was time to find a groom for me. Completed my masters I was already doing job. So now I didn’t have any excuse to give the society that was fit for them. “Maybe I wasn’t ready yet!” The counter reasons that come were something like “Oh! These things take time.” “You’ll have time to decide.” “If you start searching now, then you’ll get married by the time you turn 26.” “You aren’t getting any younger now.” It was funny and after a point it was frustrating. I don’t care about the society, but my parents do. So they gave into the society pressure and indirectly so did I. Then started the circus of the showing and seeing of prospects. Some came with an entire team to see the prospective bride for their precious son. Eat snacks, have refreshments, talk about the weather and politics and after an awkward hour they bid goodbye with the promise of calling and letting us know their decision. This is a typical arrange marriage situation. And if you are anything like me, you’ll find it quite hilarious.

After a few months, the idea of these matrimonial sites was dropped by a friend of mine. I said why not try it. Doesn’t hurt, right? So my photos were smeared across 3 biggest matrimonial sites in India. Creating a profile I learned that there is so much to this than it actually seems. It might feel like you are filling out some government form or applying for an account in the Swiss bank. Until then I never knew that there were regional and caste based matrimonial sites as well. I didn’t want to narrow it down to all that, so I signed in 3 generic matrimonial sites. For creating a profile, you have more categories than filling out a bank form and more options than an ice cream shop. You have the basics like, age, height, weight, complexion, education, work experience, and an essay space to describe yourself. You then have filters for your requirements of qualities you are trying to search in your partner. In short a checklist. It’s all advanced. You have mobile apps and even offices of these sites where you can also pay an executive to find you a prospective match based on the requirements you’ve written. So personalized I say! I did not pay any other executive, but went with the madness on my own. The cherry on top was that apart from these caste based branches of the sites, you actually also have something exclusive for the elite class. And it is also known as “elite matrimony site”. I learnt a lot.

After the initial profile making and learning about the app and the working of it, the requests started coming in. I kept the place filter open. So the requests flew in from near and far. I accepted a few prospects. Some panned out some didn’t beyond this stage. Surprisingly I found that all the 3 sites had the same products on display. I connected with a couple of guys on chat. In India, you don’t only need a good guy, a good family from the same caste but you then have the requirement of matching the guy and girl’s horoscopes. So after the initial contact, I had to procure the guy’s horoscope and get it matched. If it matches then and only then was I to talk further. So you can imagine, like an ocean of prospects from which there might be a river of contacts of which choices stream down to the form of tributaries because of the horoscope match and all this in hopes of getting yourself a glass of water according to your taste or liking.

I talked to a lot of guys but in the year and half I only actually met 4 of them. One of which is here to stay! Yay! I found him on the site itself and well he was least of the weird lot. And so I picked him. But this article isn’t about him. Sorry SQUISHY… This article is in fact about the funny incidents that I’ll live to tell. So here it goes.

Sometimes it happens that the parents contact first; sometimes the guys themselves. I wasn’t disappointed just by the guys, I did talk to some really weird parents as well. One instance was where a mother got in contact with me, took rigorous follow ups also. Every second day. Finally I decided to at least talk with her. So there it went, bio-datas and few more photos exchanged. And then came the bomb! She rejected me because I had reading spectacles. I don’t wear them all the time, nor do I have contact lens. But still she went on saying that her son was not ready to talk yet. I had a good laugh and bid her adieu.

Another came. Overseas guy. Talked for about a month on call. Good guy. Sent parents to see me. Parents came. Talked. Loved me. And then a week later said that it can’t work just because I was not a “Patel” (A kind in Gujarati caste. Americans will recognize them easily.) Well, surprise surprise, I wasn’t a Patel before as well. Then why the hell did they even let him talk to me. He said sorry and excused himself. Another lost case.

Another yet, guy settled in USA. Parents were in India. They sent the request. The first question asked was whether I had a visa or not. I reside in India, they were aware of the fact. Then why on earth would they expect me to have a visa. I mean is it that I knew a proposal from them would be coming my way and in anticipation of that I just happen to have a visa ready for them. So now I was rejected because I was stupid to not get a visa even though I did not know of whether I am marrying somebody in India or in USA. The funny thing here was that after a couple of months, the father contacted me denying the fact that they had ever contacted me before and also rejected me. Me being me, after a point of trying to make him understand this politely, I actually had to send him a screenshot of our conversation leading to which I got radio silence from him.

Moving forward, I talked to weird guys who asked me for a selfie in the middle of the night; then there was a clingy one who called my parents and told them how happy will he keep me after marriage, no introductions exchanged. I even got relatives (brothers, sisters, dads, the whole lot of them) messaging me on facebook, some even dropping creepy messages like how absolutely they love my smile and will never let that fade away. No, all this does not look good in the introductory message. Not saying I was the best the site showed, few people might have found me weird, but well it’s my story.

By the end of it, I was just so frustrated, I couldn’t do ‘what are your hobbies, which is your favorite color’, conversations anymore. It got so bad that I had decided I’ve had enough. So when the same old ‘Hello from the matrimony site’ message pinged up on my phone again, I gave the poor guy shit. I was so full of attitude, I would almost get angry at every discussion I had with him. Didn’t think it would last a week also. But his patience and my attitude finally got me my kind of weirdo. Yes, I am engaged soon to get married even though I have spectacles and even though I am not a Patel. The process finally ended on a good note with lots of funny incidents that I would most definitely tell my kids “…and kids, that’s how I met your father!”

 

The Homecoming

I returned home to India a week back. The sense of familiarity was so overpowering that I thought I might die of happiness. The hot and humid weather, the unclean roads, the eager to be disappointed people, all felt so familiar and pleasing. After all it was home!

I reached home around 3 in the morning to be greeted by dust covered beds, no-water bathroom, no essentials and no food. But I was too pleased to be home again to complain about all this. We tried to rest for a while before we started the chores of making the house livable again. We all couldn’t sleep so after struggling for an hour or so, we got up and started working. There was just so much to do.

Two days down the line, work around the house was still piled up, and in spite of cleaning the entire house we could still feel the dust. Now the feeling was that we have moved in some rented house rather than coming back to the same old home. But this feeling eventually faded off. And finally we were home.

Home before was a place where neighbors used to ignore me as they were married to a US based individual. But now when I returned from their dream land, all of a sudden my value elevated.  So much so that those same people now became clingy. Just because they in spite of being married have yet not got the chance to go there and I went there and returned also. First I thought of giving them taste of their own medicine, but as I have a good heart, I later on gave in and talked to them. Home was now a place where people died to hear the stories of the mysterious land of Mr. Trump. Even though there is nothing mysterious about it.

In spite of the newly found fame, the comparison between India and USA started. And I found I am much happier to be back than I was before. Now settled in the home, I have decided to cherish the few months I have left here, before I get married and move to another country all together.

Home is where you can fart comfortably; so truly said. Now wait before you roll your eyes. Yes, girls also fart. We don’t shoot rainbows off our asses. So yes, home means comfort and warmth. Home is where I can wear shorts, sit unladylike, and create mess in my room and nobody to say a thing. I missed my room the most. The creaky door hinges, my old worn out slippers, rugged bed sheets. It all has its own charm now more for me. All new clothes are now sitting at the back of my cupboard because I am busy enjoying the memories of my old clothes.

As truth be told, Homecoming never gets old.

A Gujju’s American Dream

A Gujju is a creature, originally known as a Gujarati, known for their awesome food and stringent mindset. From time unknown a Gujju has had few basic ambitions in life. One is to do their own business (main aim to earn lots of money to be more stringent about and to not work for anybody else). Second is to go to America. Time has changed but these dreams remain the same. Mostly every household has at least one member living in America. With time the boundaries have changed and the Gujju’s have expanded their dreams to Canada, Australia and New Zealand to name a few. But America stays in the heart of any Gujju.

Well, I being a Gujju have temporarily shifted base to the United States of America. No-no; I had no plan to stay here but my brother has been here for some years now and it was time for me and my parents to visit him. Despite of the fact that I never wanted to leave my home-town, I am now engaged to a person who also resides in the United States of America (As they say, it’s not about the place, it’s about the person). So sooner or later I’ll have to permanently shift my ass here.

Arriving here in America as a first timer, I had lots of observation. Some things disappointed me, basically failed to impress me. When people got to know that I am soon flying out to USA, honestly, their excitement level exceeded mine. Their “Ohs” and “Ahs” made me feel so dull. Anyways so I flew out somewhere in April. First time in an airplane – check; foreign destination – check; low excitement – double check. I figured the low excitement level had two reasons, first that America is too hyped in India and second I had seen it all in movies and stuff.

I was right, as I had seen it all in movies and all I wasn’t as alien to the ways here as expected. I wasn’t wowed about it all. I knew that you had to push a button while waiting on the curb for signal to turn red so you could walk across; even though the button basically does nothing. I knew that you had to tip each and every person (which broke my Gujju heart). I knew that one simply does not shout or honks down on the road as we are so accustomed to do in India (I frankly miss the traffic noise of India).

But yes I was more of a house guest here than a tourist. So I had stayed at home here as much as I had travelled here. And as against people’s expectation no, no one goes to discos and clubs or are out partying late at night every day. Most extravagant and extended plans are formed for the weekends. But America is not superior or inferior to any country. It’s just different here. America isn’t something to be intimidated of. Of course as an Indian or an immigrant a person has to stay in fear because of the visa status. This is what I found the most annoying. Many people want to stay here but stay in constant fear, and well, the Trump situation has only made matters worse. To each his own!

Not everything here is bad as well. I mean sure it can be a onetime tourist thing to satisfy the travel bug in you and to put it off the checklist. I saw two states very minutely. Both are very different. Boston is more like a Karan Johar film, larger than life picture with big and old palatial homes and sophisticated people (majority of them clad in suits). Whereas New York is more like a Madhur Bhandarkar film, lots of people, commotion and shows the real face. I enjoyed the small eating places, new food (even though I miss the sev-puri, dahi-puri type food), and people performing on streets more than the touristy spots. So I won’t go in detail about all that.

But I want to share all the small annoying things that make India definitely a better place to stay. Basically people come to America with the dream that you become independent. Here nobody will interfere in your life, no one will comment on how you dress, what you wear and no one questions you. THAT IS ACTUALLY TRUE. No one asks you anything. Imagine putting on a 100 bucks dress and do make-up to kill for and literally no one asks you. As opposed to India, you cannot simply knock on the neighbor’s door and ask for an onion or a cup of milk just because you are in the middle of cooking and realize that you haven’t got it at home. It does not work that way. If you are not working or studying, you are honestly cooped up in the house entire day. Basically, have to wait to your significant other or your children to come home so that they can take you out. Ironically, one comes here searching for independence but gets everything opposite of it.

The thing that bugs me more than anything else is that you wake up in the morning and have to find the perfect balance of hot and cold water to wash your face. It still takes me a couple of minutes to do that every morning. The kitchen here is built as per American cooking style which is not as elaborate as Indian cooking style. So first the problem was of the gas temperature, as most homes come with coil or hot plates. Initially, most days the food got burnt. Then comes the so good machines to make life easier – the dishwasher!! Sounds god sent, right?? Let me tell you a secret, it doesn’t work for Indian style cooking. I mean sure all the plates, crockery gets cleaned there, but only after you rinse it once. But all the non-stick pans, pots and cookers are a big no-no. All the grease and sticky leftovers won’t get cleaned in the dishwasher. So, since here I do the dishes a couple of times every day. I did not even rinse them when in India. For that we had our god sent maid. I now understand her importance. Again, you do the laundry and the ironing. I just can’t shout “Vinod” from my veranda to call the “Ironman” of our society, to ask him to take the clothes for ironing. Gosh! We Indians are so pampered and spoilt. Then the using of tissue to wipe your tooshie, the bra-less girls walking confidently down the road or mostly nude girls standing at the Times-Square and other stuff does add to the cultural shock for any Indian, especially if you are travelling with your 60 year old parents.

Sure, America is all clean and non-polluted and Indian streets are as dirty as a garbage can. Sure, here if the neighbor gets married no one even comes to know about it, while in India we can hear what time our neighbor brushed his/her teeth. Sure, America is all silent and India is known for its hustle-bustle. For me India is the best place to live for any socially inclined person. America just didn’t appeal me as much as there is no human touch here. Sure they will exchange pleasantries and talk to you as if you are the most special person but it is all empty.

And the worst is that the Indians here are the most selfish, rude people I’ve met. The American dream is as empty as it is beautiful from the outside. In other words, the grass is always greener on the other side.

Blocking Writer’s Block

Laptop fired up. Spectacles perched on the nose. Deep breaths taken. Mind cleared. But no words come out.

Thinking about what topic to write on. Since I started writing the blog, I’ve had people come and tell me it’s so cool. No, not because of the creativity or voicing my thoughts; but because they think it’s so easy. It is thought that it is easy to be a writer. What does a writer do? Sit at home; Sleep; Eat and be merry; put up the legs on the table and write. That doesn’t sound that difficult, now does it? Whereas others are stuck in a 9 to 5 job. Well let me just tell you, it’s not as simple as it looks.

Technically I am not a full-time writer. I had a job that I enjoyed. It was fun. It was a typical 9 to 6 job but some days I spent almost 10 to 11 hours there. Somehow I am now at a stage where I had to leave the job and have some spare time on my hand (6 to 8 months mostly). I can’t begin to say how much I dread it. But well, no option! So it all started then, everyone started saying you’ve got time, pick up writing as full-time. “It’s so easy,” they all said. But what they don’t get is, if I don’t have anything to do, no activity, how am I going to get ideas/topics to write about?

Also then I am not a well-established writer. I am just taking baby steps at it. It’s just what I started to do because it made me happy. So now with nothing to do all day long, I have drained all my creativity. All that is there is bottled up anger. A writer gets inspiration from happiness, depression, imagination and anger as well. But this anger has given me writer’s block.

Writer’s block is when the writer wants to write but is unable to. My block comes from the point that I come from a country that easily get offended at pretty much everything. India is a place where most things are run on basis of one question only, “Duniya wale kya kahenge?” (What will others think about us?) Then comes the people i know – family, friends and acquaintances. What have you written? Why did you voice it publicly? And so on and so forth. Whatever topic I think of writing now comes from my anger and then I have to ask myself will somebody reading my post be offended? What will my family have to say? So my writing goes down the drain. The bottled up anger leads to inner frustration which ultimately shows in my behavior. I am angry at everything and every person. It’s a very unhealthy way of living.

Well I don’t want to stay that way anymore. I will write to my heart’s content and about the topics that make my heart sing. Maybe I’ll be the field of sunflowers or the deserted alley. Maybe I’ll write about happy topics or on dark twisted plots. I’ll give my heart whatever the hell it desires. I am forever more blocking this writer’s block.

Pick your Poison

It’s always difficult to choose a path. Good or bad, right or wrong, walked or undiscovered. It’s always difficult. But you do. You don’t or rather you can’t walk on both. You have to choose one. You have to pick your poison.

Off lately I have had a few people in my life who gave me difficult options to choose from. And the options that I have is either to fight with them, get all hot-headed with the shouting and crying or simply stop caring and giving shit about such people by ignoring them. To be honest I have tried both.

The thing is I hate people coming up after years of silence and acting as if they care about me. I mean you can’t just turn up after years and decide that now you give a shit about my life. I want to ask a question to all of them, where you were at my times of need, or when I was happy. Do you know what makes me happy now, what is my favorite color and food?

I agree we might have been close friend, relative or confidant at some point in life. We might have spent some good times together which are still good memories for me. But I have grown as a person since the last time we possibly were close. One seriously can’t expect to barge into my life after 10 years of silence or 10 months for that matter and demand my time or my attention. I understand it is not possible to talk every day as we all are busy building our lives brick by brick, one day at a time. But the least you could have done was to maintain continuous contact to be in my life.

Since the last time we saw or talked to each other I have evolved into another person. So now you demanding things or space or asking personal questions makes me uncomfortable. Sure, I am familiar with your name and your face, but I am not familiar with you. And so now you are no different than a stranger to me. And as far as I go, I don’t share stuff with strangers. So if you have maintained a distance from my life for some time please continue doing so. I don’t hate you, it’s just that you no longer matter to me. I am indifferent to you.

In such situations one can pick either to fight and try to mend ways with the estranged friend, relative or confidant; or you can simply keep silence and ignore them. Both are poisonous options. Why poisonous? As either way you’ll be the bad guy at the end of the day. As you fought or you ignored. As much you would like to mend ways and keep the person close, you can’t as things will have changed tremendously between the both of you.

So, whatever the case maybe, you have to pick your poison.