Hold on your breath oh Universe! Change ahead...

I just got an email from a site, which allows you to write emails to the future you.

In that, I had written a lot of things that I was insecure about 2 years back, when it was my first day in the college. And I was surprised because all of those insecurities have come true. I am wondering if this is an extreme case of intuition gone right, or a case of presumptions beliefs and insecurities that you surround yourself creating a cloud of doubt and suspicion inside you to ruin you to the core, to the extent that your efforts seem dented and half-hearted.

In a book called Harry potter, I remember reading “Harry, never forget that what the prophecy said was only significant because Lord Voldemort made it so.” I can relate to it so much right now. It’s as if I had prophesized for myself, that these adversities will happen, and it’s as if I started acting on that same belief (that they will happen), and that belief ate up all my efforts, restricted my imagination of how not to let the Prophecy come true.

Similar to this, and from a totally unrelated sector, somebody recently told me how whatever you declare to the universe, comes true because universe conspires to make it happen. It’s as if I declared that I would fail, in relationships, in friendship, career-wise, and that insecurity made it happen.

I don’t know if you are able to relate to what I am saying, but I’ll end up on something that you might understand.

Take my advice, and don’t restrict yourself to the boundaries that a certain fear, an inferiority complex creates around you. Declare to the universe what you want, and if not the universe strives to make it happen, that declaration will atleast help you make it happen, to put in whole hearted efforts into that declaration. Pessimism has worked fine for me in the past; I always took the worst case scenario and strived to convert into the best case. But Pessimism could only bring me this far, now it has turned back onto me to leave me with “I am being victimized” attitude. Now it’s time for optimism, hope, passion and determination. I am not telling you to go into the war without a fall-back option, but I think fall-back options only keep you from making full efforts.

How I now wish I hadn’t thought of these adversities, then I wouldn’t have feared them, and I would have lived as a free bird, striving, taking each day as it comes. But I guess it’s never late to start with good habits…

In search for the lost something...

I'll find my strength, don't worry I'll pick myself up.

I was walking alone, so I fell and lost control, and that's just it.

I believe I had been stupid to think a mere stick of faith will take me through woods.

But don't worry about me, I shall be okay. I can walk well even after falling.

Though please look for my dream, I dropped it somewhere in the woods.

I believe it must be broken now, I toppled over it I think.

Although I don't have the strength to pick pieces of it bit by bit.

And I even don't know if I'll be happy without it by my side, in the night.

But I know I have to keep walking for the sake of it, 

And hopefully someday I'll see it again someday by my side.

It has been a season of failures, rejections and even heartbreaks for me. And you know you deserved it when the people who mentor you start pointing out mistakes and lacquinas in everything you do. You don't even get to blame the luck because hell, you know you went wrong at so many places when people warned you not to.

And this is not it! Turn to anyone for help in such dreadful season and you realize that there are not many who'll put up with your insecurities, or even put some consolation in your way. Not to mention the pricks who'll enjoy in your sufferings, probably even gloat of their achievements while all you are left to do is lick your wounds. Not even questioning the humane side of those who ruthefully declare you a failure, a loser, more hurting is the responses of those who have been there and done that, but they refuse to help blatantly enough, further rubbing the failure in your face. 

And that's where the life gets tougher, the plans go down the drain, and while everybody else is looking forward to moving on, you start to dread the farewell day, and wonder what should be the rescue plan.

Or should there be any rescue plan? Is it absolutely necessary for life to go on as you had planned? Is success elusive if I take a road that I never planned to? Do the dreams of success drift away with just a waft of failure?

I wonder what if I didn't have that dream in the first place, or if I had told it to not be so stubborn, and keep room for failures and setbacks with it. I wonder if I will be left to chase that stubborn dream forever now? Or if I will be able to catch up to it. Or if I will catch it, then I'll feel it, discard it and start chasing another one.

Just wondering how and when this turbulence is supposed to end, I have been working for it to end since very long. I hope that even if life can't give me my dream, my success, then atleast it shows the decency to give me strength and patience to work towards it.

What’s love but a second hand emotion.

Oh, What's love got to do, got to do with it 
What's love but a second hand emotion 
What's love got to do, got to do with it 
Who needs a heart when a heart can be broken 

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=YqWkFF-TbMU

I have never been able to understand the intention of Tina Turner behind singing this song. Why in the world did she call love a second hand emotion when it is nowhere to being second in our minds?

Is it Second hand emotion in the sense that it can be used for everybody et al. As in, people do use the word “love” when they want to show their affection to their parents, to their siblings, friends and ofcourse the girlfriends, boyfriends, spouses and husbands/wives. So it’s a word that appropriately fits in whenever you want to show good kind of emotions to any kind of person.

Or is it a second hand emotion because well… you do “ishq wala love” with multiple people before finally settling onto that particular one, if you settle at all that is. To describe in a way that man is polygamous by nature. So there’s first hand love, the second hand love… and infinitely carrying on the same progression till the last one. So we have the word “love”= second hand emotion.

Or is it a second hand emotion, because love is something that can be used and reused, for what, as an excuse? An excuse for physical intimacy, an excuse for sexual cravings, an excuse for the weird, lost state of mind, an excuse for cat fights and dog fights, an excuse to avoid everybody questioning your sanity, or the absence of it otherwise.

Has the use of word “love” been overdone to describe all existent teenage problems, the reason for people failing in making a career. Has it been exploited too much to give a reason for sad days, depressed nights and stupid suicides? And what when this same word is used to describe the reason behind acid attacks, rapes and infidelity, is it still not misused?

So probably love IS stupid afterall, and probably more so because of all the peer pressure and focus put onto it. So there's this whole Bollywood industry running just because this word exists, and twitter feeding millions and millions of tweets because love exists, or does not. And well, isn't it the reason for this STUPID blog as well?

But again, I ask the question. For all of the above mentioned

Oh, what's love got to do with it

What's love but a second hand emotion

The Dumb A(ss)xe effect

So, a boy, just out of shower, his towel still around him, sprays tonnes of Axe deo on himself, and waits for women from around the world to run/fly/ ride or just drop from the sky and hit on him!!!

I say what an advertisement sirjee…. Because you think that women all over the world are more dumb than that guy in the advertisement, dumb enough to pull their pant(ie)s down just because that guy smells “oh so aw(ful)some!” and probably doesn’t bathe daily.

And this is how, Sir, you have succeeded in demeaning women publicly…

The anger is not with that looser of a guy in the add, it’s neither with the maker of that add, neither with boys who spray axe in the hope that girl might actually drop from the sky for him. The anger is with the thought that people worldwide have accepted that add, and that they find nothing annoying with it.

On the other hand, I wonder if the makers of the add have succeeded in cashing on the mentality of the society.…

I remember a friend mentioning how he wanted a girl with “all hearts and no brains”, and yet another one mentioning how a girl “with brains” is the family wrecker than a maker. So they’d rather have a girl who can easily be seduced by their charms and chatter, or even big moustaches rather than by IQ, EQ , killer guts and instincts and etc etc. (I seem to have defined what entices me!!).

I am surprised how the above mentioned add or the incidences clearly are the echo of the trend in our society, that how women are (or are supposed to be) the “Brainless” objects, typically to sit at home, wait to cook the menu that their husbands order for, then clean up after he eats, later make his bed and then sleep with him. Only if it ended here, she then goes on to bear his children, who will bring fame to HIS name, feed them, nourish them, only so that when they grow up, to be asked “aap beech mei mat bolo, aap ko kuch pata bhi hai?”

Its almost indecent (I consider it demeaning too ) how traditionally women are considered to be just the objects of beauty, to be showcased by the armchair of the king, or the head of the family. How they are supposed to accept the husbands their marriages have been arranged with, and oh of course “Your man is your God” type preaching. It’s strange that they are taught not to speak in a male dominated discussion, and to take a pallu, and to cover themselves in every way possible. Not to mention that they still get raped (even after they are covered from toe to head), and then are solely responsible for their own rape.

Why yes, the men are never at fault. Afterall, their gender gives them full right on every woman that they can man-handle, any woman they can rape. Women are, like wealth, their properties, theirs to keep, theirs to protect, theirs to sell and theirs to use.  Women must not, rather they don’t have any say on the matter of who must touch their bodies, who must live with them for their lives, who must they love and who must they fuck.

People might argue the situations are changing for good now. I totally agree, now many (Not all, mind you) men, instead of forcing themselves on us, will try to entice us with stupid attributes like chocolaty smells, because even now, women might be willing to overlook their dumbness, idiocity and brainlessness, just because they smell good.

(I assume that woman makes love only to those she loves, and not to anybody and everybody who comes their way.)

I changed when….

Once upon a time I was a girl, a charming one people say. I changed into a teenager when the air of love flew in. Sweet smelling and strong, it helped me built the castles of dream on it. But those castles were built in the air, they broke.

I changed into a conscious and careful girl when they broke.

The conscious teenager entered into the big bad world outside school, and the air was now that of politics, mistrust and danger. Worries for future and expectations from parents infiltrated it. Along with it I could smell the play of power and the filthy game that it leads to. I was an aware but an insecure just out of my teens girl. I was now rebellious, desperate to make it out of this filth and into a prosperous world. With love-life put on hold, friends gone astray and college coming to an end, the air had become difficult to breathe in.

I changed when God gave me another chance, I changed into an optimistic girl.

 I now smiled, and made friends again. I had now come to trusting people again, sharing feelings was considered to be okay again. An acceptance had come to me that everything that happens is always for the “greater” good.

But change had to come again, I changed when I made a choice to leave that position of comfort.

I changed into a business woman when I traded that world of friends for a world of stretched limits, clever businessmen and new opportunities. People say it is a world where, you study the world and you study the self. You accept the weirdest, and question the simplest. I changed myself enough to fit into that world.

I am changing now, again. I am learning to do things for myself rather than to keep others happy. This learning has brought back the long lost sense of security, a sense of pride in self.

This change is the first of its types, which I have welcomed.

It has brought the belief that life was never meant to be fair, but that's why it is beautiful. I have realized that people will leave you heartbroken, not because they are ruthless, but because they never understood what you expected out of them.

Oh what a relief it was to realize that Its okay to cry for the ones gone. Its easy to move on when done so without resentments.

Resentment is good too, only till it doesn’t break you down into pieces. Its okay to be selfish, it’s okay to be weird, and want things that others never dreamt of.

Its okay to let go of the rotten past. I realized, in the 6 years that I have feared my future, the past never mirrored the future, my life has never shown me days I have always been worried of. And my failures of the past have not crept into the present yet.  

I guess there have to be new beginnings every time season changes, there are new friends every time old ones are lost, the heart always finds new loves to toy around when the ex’s break your heart, there are new bosses waiting to dictate new terms when the old one throws you out.

He always has the Plan B for us if one doesn’t work out, or maybe it’s the way we are, that we figure out new ways to make everything right.

I am just looking to making everything "right" now, and writing this has just put everything into perspective.

And hence leave you with this wonderful song.. http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=a4VEAh1-kpU

When all things dear in the world were lost

There was a world where tying rakhies to guys not our brothers was easy.
There was a time when friendship happened with just a shake of hands.
There were days when crying for the one you love was not a shame.
There were days when asking for help was done without much fretting over.

Calling friends, going to their place, dancing, eating chocolates, everything was just so much easier to do. There were no second thoughts about one’s intention, no doubts about anyone’s willingness to help. Hesitancies had no place in friendships. They were the best in the world, hell they were the world. 

I remember playing pakdam pakdai with them, the game of posham pa and hide and seek. The playgrounds were the world we would conquer, the collected chocolates would be the prize money. Doing each other’s home work, sharing the ghost stories, watching alladin and ginnie cartoon series together in the evening. All was done along with friends, in their company.

These are the days I remember today, when I have grown tired of losing friends. Today, when trust comes after a lot of effort, and where intentions have to be cleared at every point.

I say that the sense of sensibility that we grown ups have is very sad. A help given, which was not asked for is doubted while advice is paid for. Talking to shrinks is far easier than calling someone close by and sharing with him. Paying to talk to someone seems like just the thing we needed in life.  Saying sorry is so much more difficult than texting it/ mailing it. Neighbors are the first strangers we know. Smiley’s are the most free form of expression today. I so hate this world of grown ups.

At this point of time in night, I can count atleast 20 people I would like to call right away and talk my heart out with them, but I am not supposed to do that because I am supposed to behave like grownups.Trust me I could give away so much just to meet the people I am missing right now, clear out all the air, and gossip with them for hours, the way I remember I use to do with them.

But I guess this is why derp once told a kid not to grow up, said it’s a trap. Growing up is a trap where office is filled with politics rather than with friends, love has become synonymous to sex rather than the surprise gifts, coffee shops and evening walks. Going to nani’s is not a fav holiday destination anymore.

I so wish I could bring that world of ease and peace back. Go there, take along a few souls from this world, mend relations with them, make a healthy and happy conversations without the if’s and but’s. Let them know that I would always be there for them, without clinging to them when they would want their space. And so like hell demand the same out of them.

Maybe this post has been created out of emotional outburst, but I think its more of something that I have been wanting since last 3-4 years.

I lost the Kabulliwallah- my story teller.

“Kabulliwalleh…Arrey oh Kabulliwalleh? Where had you gone yesterday? Why didn't you come? I missed you.”

The girl shouted out as she narrated the story to her friends. The story was that of an Afghan trader of dry fruits, who use to visit a colony in India to sell dry fruits. She told them how the Kabulliwallah had made friends with a toddler, chatting with her in his free time, gifting her free cashews and nuts.  Crying, she also narrated how the time did them apart, the kabulliwallah went to the jail. The toddler grew into a beautiful girl. The Kabuliallah never forgot her, while in the lost time she never remembered him. She then narrated the day when Kabulliwallah knocked at that girl’s doorsteps, and how that girl wondered if that starnger ever belonged to her past! And if he did belong to her past, than did she miss the sweet chats that she had with him.

The story finished, the audience applauded. Some were crying, some were still lost in the world of Kabuliwala.

She, the girl narrating the Kabulliwala story, got praises, felt proud, and confidently prepared for the next round of story.  She always knew what she was…

She was a story teller. A story weaver, who along with words weaved lives of fairies and angels, of businessmen and thieves, of wonders and grieve! She touched people when she spoke, bringing them in synch with her thoughts. She spoke with drama and tears, with the voice of both brave hearts and fear!

The world was a big bad place, which she knew she would not have to live in. She was going to change it, make it as wonderful as the world of her stories. She was going to make it worth living for her and her close ones. Her daddy use to be proud. He was proud when she spoke on stage fearlessly, he was prouder when she became the monitor. He was proud when teachers praised her!

But who cared, she knew she was meant to do more. She was meant to be a story teller!

But sadness happened, she grew up. She came in high school and the standards changed. For Dad, his awesome girl became the usual, he wanted more, he wanted good marks! Along with Dad, the world which she had dejected, turned around and bared its teeth. Its High school kiddo! Its not a joke! Just this one year, and your life will all be set. 

Scared, she listened to them. The story telling had to wait. The situation was urgent, demanded immediate attention! The world was big and the time was less, a lot of it had to be conquered! Lot had to be done to prove to the world that she has it in her what it takes to become what she want to be!

10th, then 12th. They passed in a jiffy. Did she get good marks? Yeah, maybe! But you need a degree for survival, just marks don't get you to money! Dad’s of the world boasted of the luxury and life they gave us, and which she and the likes of her might have to arrange for their kids. And she became nervous. She could do as well as her dad did right? No, she would do better! And hence she set upon the task of proving it to herself that she could do better than becoming “just” a story teller!

Engineers became MBA’s, MBA’s would become fathers and mothers. In the meanwhile, there were loves to cry over and friends to fret for. In the midst of all this, the story teller got lost somewhere. It got lost, lost in that same world it once wanted to change. She still wonders if it were her own choices that made her loose that story teller, that story teller in her? Or was it a sensible grown up in her that made that choice, of consciously forgetting the story teller in her? She wondered if the story teller in her was as weird and vague as that “kabulliwallah” or the “Prince Charming” of the childhood stories. She wondered if it was right for her that that story teller had departed.

The link to the summary of 'The Kabulliwall' in case you might want to know. http://www.imdb.com/title/tt0055039/plotsummary