Passing by the street, his eyes were again locked at that watch in second-hand goods shop. Sam glanced at the watch and he felt as if he has lost the track of time, but a mere look at the price tag brought him back to reality.
$5 may not seem too high for a watch carved so beautifully studded with star shaped pieces across its circumference, but is was way too much for Sam, an orphan, a street rat who worked day and night just to fill his stomach.
Days, weeks, months came and went, Sam passed daily in front of the shop wishing to buy that watch, one look at the watch was enough to mesmerize him to send him to the good world of his thoughts, but reality was not that good as he was not able to collect $5 , all he had was $3 and 70 cents which he collected all his life but spending as little as possible, sometimes he slept empty stomach or else stole food from the streets in order to fill his stomach as it was not possible to eat daily in order to save money.
“But what will this street rat do with this watch?” asked the worker at the store to his employer; “only heaven knows” came the reply.
But one thing both the owner of the shop and his employee knew was that Sam glanced at the watch daily for hours and gathered courage once in a month to come inside the store to enquire about any reductions in the price of the watch.Months passed and Sam was getting closer day by day to attain that watch.
Months passed and Sam was getting closer day by day to attain that watch to fulfil his dreams, $4and 95 cents as he checked his life savings again and that sense of happiness was visible on his face as he was going to get what he wanted all his life. With that smile on his face he started to go to work, Sam was a chimney sweeper who risked his life daily to clean soot from the chimneys of the rich, although the day was tiring and he had to clean so much still that smile prevailed on his face and when he got his 5cents. He couldn’t wait for another second and ran towards the shop, he was like the happiest human on the planet and didn’t even thought of eating fruits which were on the tree, he reached the shop with a sparkle in his eyes but in a moment his world was shattered, the watch was not there.
Sam fell on the floor in front of the shop his money dropped from his hands and tears flowing from his eyes, the owner came to him and enquired what happened, on Sam’s reply he asked “why did you want the watch in the first place, what will someone like you do with that watch?”
These words from the shopkeeper took Sam back in time, in the world of his memories, his childhood when his mother was alive and he used to lay in her lap happily with no worries about the world, she was a poor women rich by heart, raising her son alone after her husband’s death and no relatives to support her but she was happy, her son meant the world to her and he remembered her wearing that silver watch on her wrist all the time, this watch was his mothers only memory he had, which was lost the night she died in an accident on the street leaving him all alone in this world.The shop owner couldn’t stop himself from helping the boy, he searched his registers and gave the address of the man who bought that watch this afternoon, Sam got up and rushed to the address and told his story to that man, and asked him if he would be kind enough to sell that watch to him for which he had worked hard all his life and which meant to him more than his life. The man told him I bought this watch for my 12 year old daughter and she has gone to play in the park and only she can decide what she wants to do with her present now, so Sam waited at their gate for almost an hour until the girl returned. He got up and went to her father and the girl’s father said “Maria, I want to talk to you about the watch I bought u this afternoon”.
The shop owner couldn’t stop himself from helping the boy, he searched his registers and gave the address of the man who bought that watch this afternoon, Sam got up and rushed to the address and told his story to that man, and asked him if he would be kind enough to sell that watch to him for which he had worked hard all his life and which meant to him more than his life. The man told him I bought this watch for my 12 year old daughter and she has gone to play in the park and only she can decide what she wants to do with her present now, so Sam waited at their gate for almost an hour until the girl returned. He got up and went to her father and the girl’s father said “Maria, I want to talk to you about the watch I bought u this afternoon” and she replied, “oh the stupid silver-colored watch, what about it, anyways I lost it somewhere.”
In a moment she lost a watch and, Sam lost his world!
Anant Bhardwaj is currently pursuing law from Faculty of Law Delhi University. He is a dreamer who is mostly lost in the world of imagination, movies and poetry. A big time TV series enthusiast and a huge huge fan of NBA, Anant is fond of writing short verses and heart touching stories.
NOTE: This post is dedicated to a lizard. Yes, I repeat a lizard.
I once read somewhere on the internet that those we meet can change us, sometimes so profoundly we are not the same afterwards. Today, I feel the same. It was just three-four days ago I was attending a lecture at North Campus on Meta fiction. What I had gained from the lecture was the power of epiphany and how the stories written in books and enacted in movies are one way or the other inspired by somebody’s lives.
Writing about life- It was pretty boring from the past week because, to begin with, the writer of this post had achieved the superlative degree of laziness in her life. Yes, I was sluggish, inactive, not willing to use my energy on anything. Five days passed from the calendar of the month of fall and not even for once, I did make an effort to go out and do some work. The assignments, meetings and commitments were piling up and I didn’t seem to care a bit.
For me, an entire day was all about glueing at my laptop screen for Netflix and futile stuff over the internet. Dates kept on changing and my monotonous life was made up for researching all about terrorism, sex and what imbecile articles I could read while eating French fries and sandwiches in bed. That’s actually not a 21-year-old plan on when she has a job and freelance articles to submit.
After, I was done watching the videos, movies and documentaries – (I was not done, the laptop’s battery dozed off), I just stared at my ceiling for hours to recollect how to dissipate my days were. It was happening for the whole week and it just had to stop. I forgot I did take showers at 7 pm in the evening to stay awake the whole night – writing.
So, today the day was going exactly like I UN-Planned. But, I did alter it a bit. I decided to shut down the laptop and bang on the treadmill at the gym. I went straight to the kitchen after a hot bath and boiled some water to shed a few calories – never helps! After almost ten minutes, I had bygone about the water. I turned off the burner and thought to cool it down.
With almost very strong hands, thanks to the dumbbells I lift up. I began pouring out half the water in the vessel down the sink. In half a minute, I literally had tears in my eyes. I was burned (from inside). I saw a tiny lizard hopping and jumping in pain because of the water that I was pouring on her. It was unfortunate. I swear. I felt awful and suffocated. The immediate moment post that; I turned on the tap and helped lessen her pain with the cold water. She tried to twist for seconds and then went numb. I had nothing but tears and tears flowing down from my eyes. I just couldn’t do anything, knowing that I had burnt her. I had not. I was deeply sorry. Tears kept on flowing down and I kept mumbling ‘I am so sorry’ to her.
I had no courage left to even touch her. I ran away from the kitchen and stood out in the balcony desensitised for half an hour. My eyes fixed on the ants near the Tulsi plant. I kept thinking about LIFE and immediately terrible thoughts had begun a marathon; one after the other. For the record, I am a vegetarian and I have never seen an animal being brutally killed in my entire life of 21 years. I have seen humans dying in hospitals and people tell me that I am strong. I know. I do not need anybody’s validation to feel that. But, I felt a lot different today. I am still figuring out an answer while writing this.
They say, when a person dies he/she gets seven minutes of his ending life to recall back the whole of life. I compared us with a lizard. Did she have that too? I mean her life. I don’t know if that was about eating flies and insects on my house’s wall or latching out of the eggs or even about sleeping in my kitchen’s sink. I felt sorry and traumatized. It was an accident a friend of mine tells me over Whats-app, who once accidentally killed a pigeon in his balcony. But, I just cannot forgive myself for pouring out that hot water. I should have looked in. I don’t know.
This feeling. This agony- I had to put an end to it. I wore stupid clothes and went out when the city was all wet. The smell of rain rationalized my senses a bit and I did my part to feed the dogs at my street and also the beggars who stopped near the auto I was travelling in. I was literally wishing something exciting and extravagant to happen in my life, lying for days in the bed. But, not this way.
People will tell me that more than half of the world’s population is non-vegetarian but I know that we all are designed by somebody up above in a special way. Also, I will have texts on my phone yelling out ‘You are a dumb kid’. I am unaware of emotions in animals/insects but I do know that they feel something too. Even if science and technology tell us that we are animals too what makes us different is that we have a brain!
All living things do contain a measure of madness.
PS: When I got home, my mother told me that there was nothing in the sink.
“A girl’s life was defined by lines: fine lines, hair-lines, bikini lines, class-lines, the tightrope line between being a good girl and a slut. But there was always a moment when the lines blurred and a good girl had to decide whether to toe the line, cross the line, or stay safe behind the line that guarded her virtue.”
A girl often called the most beautiful creation of God is an old adage but with the passage of time has completely lost its significance.
Why? Why has it happened? Why isn’t a girl treated like a princess anymore but a maid! A hanger, a chewing-gum! Why? Such questions arise!
The answer to them I found and today after hearing from so many people I have gathered up the courage to just vomit out my anger, my views, and my thoughts on the most beautiful creation of the Almighty!
Congratulations. “The new angel shall spread smiles and warmth in your family. Enjoy your God’s gift. My best wishes are always with you”. Unfortunately, these aren’t the greetings which a mother gets when she gives birth to a baby girl in a country like India. Why is the mother tortured? Why the hell she has to hear from everybody? “Beta hota toh aj yeh hota aj wo hota”
Why a girl is neglected every time? Why she has to become the prisoner of the deadly restrictions? Why she has to leave her parents’ house after her marriage? Why she has to adopt her husband’s surname? Why our blessings say “May you be the Mother of 100 sons”.
Why is she tortured? Why is she harassed? And last but not the least why she is R-A-P-E-D?
Ever since December 16thincident happened, things haven’t been the same. Residents of other cities have started to think of Delhi as a haunted city worst A RAPE CITY! Girls who always wanted to get into DU are now scared enough to compromise with their education and to decide not coming to Delhi from their hometowns instead flying overseas to pursue their education.
Why is it so? Our coming generations are sacrificing just because of some obscene acts of some motherfuckers. We are not allowed to move outside the house after 7. We have to carry a packet of red chilli powder just for the sake of safety! And By the way Safety from whom? Safety from boys? Or safety from the evil minded devils those are just hungry for lust and end up in mole stating innocent girls. Well, the latter part is sadly and unfortunately true! Girls do not feel safe because of the devils and not from the boys. There are just a bunch of evil minded people who should be punished so brutally that they never forget in their next seven births. But we live in India where the only step govt. took while the country grieves; the govt imposes sec 144 & shuts metro stations. Incorrigible!!!We are a country that kills little girls before they are born.
“ Ek Mahila ka rape hua”
“ Chalti Bus mei student k sath rape”
“Boss ne kia apni assistant ka rape”
“ 40 saal ki mahila ka rape”
and sadly but the truth
“ 5 saal ki buchchi ka rape” ?
5 years? She is just 5! We don’t even know what we were when we were five. And that small angel was continuously screaming at the top of her voice in a room full of rapists. What was her fault? She wore revealing clothes? She trapped a rapist in her lusty charms? No!! As I already said this is just a state of mind. If a girl is fat she isn’t called sexy, why? Because flab is never in! And the skinny one is the one who everybody dreams for. This is the state of mind. If she wears Salwar Kameez she becomes an aunt and when she wears shorts she looks Hot! This is the state of mind. If her cleavage is visible she is a slut and if she hides behind several drapes, she doesn’t have a figure for jeans. This is the state of mind.
Why she has to look hot? Why she has to show her cleavage? Why she has to travel in the ladies compartment? So that boys notice? No, my dear, you are sadly mistaken! She can do anything because she has the right to because she is confident enough she won’t get raped. But ironically living in a metropolitan city and being afraid of men is just not weakening herself, but weakening the whole foundation of the women society.
If she dates more than 3 guys she is labelled as a slut and if he is surrounded by a bunch of girls He is the “CASANOVA”.
Who are too we blame?
Do you know what is happening on the fifth floor in the last house on your street? Then how come a policeman knows what is happening to a five-year-old in a room of Gandhi Nagar. We call them corrupt. Aren’t we corrupt? Don’t we occupy a seat in a college by means of fake certificates? Don’t we watch pirated videos after their release? We all have been under the influence of corruption once in our lives. So we can’t put the entire blame on the cops neither on boys. This is just a state of mind. If this post occupies even a 0.5 % of your brain then my mission will be accomplished.
We have to reply strongly. Change begins within us. Change begins with our steps. When we will change No Jiah Khan will commit suicide, in fact, no heroine will commit suicide. No boyfriend will use and throw a girl. No Damini will be raped and girls will walk freely on the roads, the other compartments will be full of girls. We will not have to buy a shrug for a tube top. We could live our dreams. We won’t be marrying young. Take the first step!
We are glad to have on our set the bestselling writer of ‘Life after him’ – Mrs Anjali Arora, whose novel has sold over a million copies nationally and abroad, is present among us to give a few tips to the amateur writers of the nation. Her book is soon to become a big box-office hit.
The interviewer announced my presence at the interview with sheer excitement.
So, Mrs Anjali How did the idea of penning down a book pop up in your head at the age of 52? The interviewer initiated the interview with her first question.
Well, Writing has always interested me and if I don’t write to empty my head I’ll go insane. Writing a book was never been my cup of tea because I always imagined myself as a homemaker residing in a countryside with my husband.
But your articulation of speech has made your readers (especially women) run head over heels after you and they’re expecting another masterpiece from you soon.
I laughed. Well, Yes! I write for women empowerment and if we take a glance at the current system of the country; my book is definitely a ray of hope for a few.
What is the story of your success? Your readers desperately want some fodder from your life and would like to know how you inspire them so much?
Ok. I haven’t spoken about it till now. There is a sad story behind my success. There have been a few incidents in my life which have shaped me into the person I am, today.
Please tell us the story Mrs Anjali, this time verbally, on air. She said pleasing me.
It happened two years ago.
“We need to perform a few more tests on the patient; there are no signs of recovery” said Dr. Mathur.
I nodded my head before him, giving a helpless consent to save my husband. I rushed downstairs towards the reception of the super specialty hospital where my husband was being diagnosed for Liver-failure. Fifteen long days in the medical I.C.U and no hope of recovery. He was not even in his senses from the past week.The ventilator on his body was constantly giving him life-support and never once in a week did he gain consciousness and blinked an eye before any doctor. His condition was critical; none of the doctors expressed the belief for his betterment. I was left with no option but to agree to the doctor’s decision of keeping him on the ventilator and the treatment by the lifesaving drugs. I stood fourth in the queue of the billing section. Within a few minutes, other attendants left the space and an old lady sat before me wearing spectacles; her eyes glued on the computer screen.
“Yes Please”. “Patient’s Name”? She asked in a low tone.
“Deepak Arora”, I replied. “I need to submit the money for the X-Ray, Hemoglobin test, Liver Function Test and RBC count test. I stammered before her the names of the tests trying to understand Dr. Mathur’s handwriting.
“Give me the prescription”. She said.
“Here, here it is.” My mind battled with the thoughts of my husband on the ventilator; how he must be feeling? Does he know that he is getting support from a machine to breathe? Has he been sleeping from the past seven days?
My disbeliefs were disturbed by her instructions…“Six-fifty rupees mam” She gave away the prescription with her signature to me. I completed the formalities and rushed back to the medical I.C.U. on the ninth floor. The security guard stood before the gates of the I.C.U. and I was just a door away from my husband. But, I didn’t want to see him in a precarious condition; I had never imagined him, fighting between life and death on a hospital bed. Never ever in my worst nightmares!
“Bhaiya, here is the receipt of the tests, please hand over it to Dr. Mathur, for patient ‘Deepak Arora’, bed no-3”. I said panting my breath.
“O.K. Madam” He replied and went inside the I.C.U., I saw my husband’s bed from the closing of the door and the machines which occupied him. He returned after a few minutes with tensed expression on his face.
“What happened Bhaiya”? “You didn’t give the receipt? It is still in your hands”. I asked him embarrassed.
“Madam, Dr. Mathur has called for you, there is something serious”. He said looking at my face in a weird manner.
“What happened?” I repeated my question.
“Please go inside Madam” He replied opening the door.
As soon as I stepped inside, my heart beat thumped; I felt as if I would faint the next moment. Each step near my husband’s bed made my mind thought of the worst, while my heart prayed for the best.
“Has Deepak left this world”? Shut up Anjali. He might have re-gained consciousness. Think Positive. Stay calm. He’s alright. He’s alright. Everything is alright. God is listening to you. He’s alright.
Dr. Mathur’s gaze made me uncomfortable; I would hear any bad news the next minute. I tried to divert my mind from his gaze and my eyes shifted on to the ventilator. It wasn’t running anymore! The lights were shut down and there were no beep sounds coming from it.
My hands went cold of the most horrible premonition.
“Wha-what Happened Doctor”? I asked. My eyes welled up with water, I was half aware of what he would speak next.
“We are really sorry Mrs. Arora. Your husband is no more, we couldn’t save him”.
My eyes became red in a minute, and I turned my neck towards my husband’s body. He didn’t breathe. It was a dead body. Has he left? For real? He’ll never come back? Never? For always? My Deepak. My baby.
The auspicious day of our marriage, flashed before my eyes on hearing the news of the demise of my love. How beautifully I dressed up as the bride and we were united by the Hindu rituals.
“Mrs. Arora? Mrs. Arora? Are you alright?”
I didn’t know what happened post that tragic news, everything appeared black and dim to me. Dr. Mathur’s face faded before my eyes and the least I remembered was; I fainted in the I.C.U.
I tried to open my eyes but the brightness killed me. My head ached as if somebody had blown a thousand hammers in it. I hadn’t slept for seven long days. My eyes didn’t open while my ears processed wails of some women in my house. I immediately expanded my eye lashes and the crowd at my place looked at me with mixed response. The lady in the green suit pushed me up and made me sit on the bed. I started remembering everything,
‘I am sorry Mrs. Arora; your husband is no more’.
The words replayed in my mind again and again. I became the center of attention in everyone’s eyes; women in my house came up to me and hugged me crying heavily, making depressing noises in my ears. I didn’t know how to react.
Deepak! Something has happened to Deepak… No!!!!! He had left me alone.
The memories of him breathing his last on the ventilator came back flooding and a tear rolled down my cheeks. I got used to the aroma of my house on my husband’s funeral. I was no more a married woman, but a widow. Lied ahead was a bumpy road of loneliness with nobody beside me, my daughter had settled abroad and I had nobody after her except Deepak.
“God needed your husband beta, more than you, and so…” Said my aunt in a monotone. I felt like slapping her. I didn’t want to hear anymore. I just longed for Deepak to come and shake me up, to comfort me by saying that all this is a lie!
My husband had died, died…
I was furious with God. He took away my husband. How could God do this to me? Taking away my life from me? I cried blindly, sobbing my heart out.
I went closer to his dead body. It was covered with a white sheet. I didn’t see his corpse; I just knew that this is a body. This is my husband’s body. I could not summon up the courage to touch him. My face went all sweaty and I breathed heavily, there was another panic attack rising up in me. My grief was so intense that I couldn’t bring myself to ask for a shoulder to bank on. Not even when my relatives and extended families offered solace.
After all the rituals were performed at my house, the place seemed to me like a cage with no exit points. One day, my mother came over to my place to check how I am coping up after the loss of my beloved. She decided to stay with me for a few days until I got over the shock. She got me books to read and made several attempts to distract my mind from Deepak’s memories.
I sat in my balcony for hours crying while turning the pages of our marriage album. I didn’t move and kept staring at one thing or the other for long hours. I became a walking corpse, the house was empty and quite, I felt scared and felt as though I’m going insane. Cooking alone pained me and eating alone killed me every night. I threw away the food with disgust. Relatives tried to comfort but unless they hadn’t experienced loss, they couldn’t fathom the sick, gut wrenching feeling that comes with losing someone you love so much. My husband was everything to me, he took good care of me in every way and made all the major decisions, and I felt so scared and alone to be doing all I need to do, things I’ve never done before and not having my greatest supporter by my side. I’ve often wished that it could have been me instead of him, but I don’t wish anyone to go through this nightmare. I just didn’t know if I would ever get any joy back in my life, I thought. He was truly my soul mate, someone I wanted to live my life with, all the plans we had, all of them made no sense now. I was a lonely widow.
I had a small part time job. When I came home at night I cried all alone. No one to say ‘Hello Anjy. My beautiful wife’.
The weekends were the worst, I felt isolated in a room full of people and watching other couples eat and drink together in parties and meetings made me cry all alone in my heart. My neighbors started getting fed up with me as I was so down and they did not know what to say to me. A few ladies made ugly faces while I walked passed them and pitied me. I wanted to run away from that society.
The lonely, lost foggy feeling was sometimes unbearable. There was never a day after his demise that I slept smiling, my mother who was most close to me after Deepak was worried about me. She wanted me to attend therapy sessions but I refuted. One day while cleaning my closet she found a pile of diaries between my clothes.
“Anjali, what is this”? She asked confused.
I was taken aback. They were Deepak’s diaries. We used to write together every night about our day from the morning to the night. I had kept them safe and now they were in my mom’s hands.
‘Mom, give them to me’, it’s Deepak’s diaries. I snatched away the diary and rushed towards my room.
One by one I started turning the pages of our love story and how had life taken an upside down turn after the birth of our daughter. There were moments I shed a tear reading our fights written by him whereas his handwriting and spelling mistakes bought a smile to my face. His diaries were more than enough to get me back to life. I put them close to my pillow as if Deepak was alive in them. I took care of the pages as if they were my small babies. I smiled reading our words whenever I felt lonely. A thought popped up in my mind while coming home in the metro one day.
‘Why not write again’? Life is indeed giving me a second opportunity to stand up and fight against all odds!
I desperately waited for my station to arrive. When the train stopped at the M.G. Road station, I DE boarded hurriedly and ran towards my house as if it had been set on fire.
I unlocked my house, the keys lied on the dining table and I searched for my laptop in my study room, there it was! I typed the first word on the Microsoft document.
I lost track of the words I typed in a day and without eating a bit I kept writing. It seemed as a refuge to me. I created a blog for myself – An online diary where I would pen down all my activities and thoughts. God had closed one door for me but I had the potential to open thousands on my own. I published my articles and stories online on Life and its true colors. I started to gain readership and within a span of three months my blog’s link went viral on the social media. I had a life to live. Writing became my life. I didn’t feel gloomy anymore thinking about my loss. Penning down incidents became an escape; I could escape into a world of my words. I used to come home exhausted and immediately after my dinner I sat down on my table to write and answer to my readers. Reading and writing became not only my hobbies, but passion!
One fine day a fellow reader commented on my blog “When are you planning to write a book”?
The question seemed rather odd to me, me- A Writer? But after signing out from the blog I gave the comment a thought. Without a second thought and with full zeal and enthusiasm I penned down my book ‘Life after him…’ in a month.
Writing was a passion to me and I just had to give that passion a push. I wrote non-stop in the day, in the metro, sitting on the balcony and even while cooking food! My literary work with emotions required hell lot of dedication. There was no time machine to bring back or visit Deepak but I could make him live again through my words.
Life started to make sense to me now. My laptop became my only friend and Deepak’s diaries my inspiration. What had begun as a journal of events, slowly turned into a book of feelings towards life…
I went for long walks in the park smiling at the trees and the birds. No worries about life at all. Those were the moments when I became close to being happy.
I sent my manuscript to the biggest publishers in town and it got accepted within a month. That was a blessing from Deepak. If he wouldn’t have been there, I wouldn’t have accomplished so much in so little time. Writing had become an abiding interest and I wrote about everything which I saw in my solitary walks.
Life of a widow made way to my poems. I filled my diary with funny anecdotes about the patriarchal system of the Hindu society. My books, articles and poems received greatest response and were enough to make me re-live. I got paid a hefty sum for my articles and I saved them for my NGO. I planned to open one just for the widows of the nation. Deepak lived again through my words because I didn’t let this second chance slip out of my hands… Sometimes, when life throws curve balls we should never surrender before it. Rather, we should breathe again, smile at ourselves, forget the past and begin again.
There was pin drop silence in the studio after my narration. I glanced at the crowd and each individual exhibited emotions of agony and enthusiasm.
The interviewer gazed at me with sympathy and she sighed…
That was quiet a motivating one Anjali. Well, Now that I respect you more Anjali! After hearing your story. I’ll end up the interview with one last question. Please leave a message for our viewers.
Loss of loved ones is sometimes for the better. We are never too old to fulfill our dreams and never too lost to find inspiration among ourselves. I found my inspiration in me and my husband’s words. People will try to drag you down but you just have to keep going. Time heals all wounds. You also find one in yours. Just take a glimpse at the positive side of life and give yourself a second chance.
– Mrs. Anjali Deepak Arora.
The audience at the studio clapped enthusiastically, some even cried asking for autographs and then I took a bow!
PS : THIS IS A FICTIONAL STORY.
AUTHOR : SAUMYA KAUSHIK.
To my readers (if I am left with any). Seriously, guys, it’s been ages since I have blogged or expressed my mundane, INSANELY SANE thoughts with you. Hey! Hello! Namaste! How have you guys been? I know… I know… I am beginning my post with super boring clichéd lines. Actually, I had almost forgotten that I do have a blog running, and there are people in Iceland and Antarctica, desperately waiting for an article. So! Like I said; it has been a humongous ride – The journey from when I got a day job and my debut novel got published and then I got to play many roles post its release. To brief this all up, I would like you people (haters included) to know that I have not changed.
I DID NOT lose weight but yes! I lost two teeth and now my jawline is more chiselled than it was. I tried becoming a better person though, I swear! Read amazing books, met super-amazing people, shopped at amazing places only for good shoes and I hope this post also turns that amazing, now that I have bored you enough with (I) tag. (I) am not endorsing Apple. 🙂
On a serious note, now that I have almost made a comeback, I have got some serious, non-serious stuff that has helped me shape in a better way. I would like to remind you all, I will be turning twenty-two (22) this April, (Do Not forget to wish me) which saddens and surprises me because; half of my friends on Social Media have found the true soul mates of their lives. True Soul mates bole toh Pati-Patni and here I am; still figuring out to make this post a bit funny. Guys! I think there is some problem with a few of us out there; that we are simply forgetting our individuality and voluntarily gifting it to some (XYZ) for the rest of our lives. I do not understand the concept of tying the knot so early; yes! I respect somebody’s decision of living together but Marriage is really the last resort. I wonder. Is it a question mark that is no more haunting us? Forget girls! Guys! What’s with your macho attitude? Where has it gone? Don’t tell me you will not cheat on with somebody else with your wife. Girls! Do you really in the world feel happy posing before a person with DSLR in hand and the showing it off on the social media. Ok! Let’s peep into your plan… You get married. You have two kids- One boy and one girl, as per the plan. And then? Potty Training? Then.
I better stop writing now.
Working on this post made me realise that so much of our experience is rarely spoken and yet shared by us all, and for that reason, it’s not been any easy thing to write. How does one write about thoughts that only live in our subconscious? I hope and I so hope that this post encourages you mid-twenty guys and gals to go out and find the right answers in your life. Obviously, I am not Steve Jobs to lecture you on Success. I read this quote somewhere and this sentence defines my life each day: “Tell me; what is your plan to do with your one wild and precious life?” Please DO NOT Answer: – GET MARRIED. Do you really have an answer?
Our hopes and dreams never become fixed, it’s a lifelong process. Get a job. Earn some money. Be a part of competitions. Make a wish list. Travel. Eat. Breathe, Read, And Dance. Make Love and please say “thank you” to me later.
The stigma of being a single woman is so subtle that we don’t even feel it pervading our minds and spirits. Society wants to define you by who you belong to. If you do achieve, you will be targeted. So, don’t take it personally. If you’re a woman running for office and you’re married, they’ll say you’re not taking care of your man. If you’re divorced, they’ll say you couldn’t keep your man. If you’re single, they’ll say you could never get a man in the first place’. People will Judge You. So Fuck Them. I repeat fuck them! Men are taught to choose. Women are taught to be chosen. Marriage is not a cure-all for the problems of your life.
Don’t wait to find someone. You are someone. Marriage does not complete you. You complete you. Love is profound. Marriage is not.
Courtesy: Joy Chen – for the quote.