"You're living for nothing now. I hope you're keeping some kind of record."

I find it very unnerving when I set out to say something and suddenly conversations take ugly turns. I feel the control in my voice wavering and in this case frantic Whatsapp typos. My stomach begins to churn. I’ve always been very afraid to push the boundaries when it comes to interacting with people. I don’t like to feel vulnerable. I’m pretty sure nobody does. (I also don’t like to rant, which I’m doing now)

Sometimes I don’t communicate with people because I anticipate a certain kind of response from them. I have these probable conversations running in my head that suffice. I think I've been afraid because it is quite a task to understand someone completely.

But of late, I've become brave. I’m doing and saying things I didn't expect myself to. I’m not being afraid of what I feel about certain people and I’m not being afraid to say it. I’m failing and falling. I’m learning to not be afraid of falling. I’m beginning to take action. I’m trying to understand loneliness. I’m forgiving myself for writing too many words to express myself. I’m not being afraid of writing. I’m not being afraid of writing shit. This will diminish the idea of self I have in my head because I've always expected myself to be a certain kind of woman. I’m learning that I can live up to my ideal by just taking action every day and by taking responsibility for my action.

I’ll handle it. 

For Your Free And Easy Love

Close your eyes and open your mouth.

Your hands will briskly find somethings to gauge.

Some other things you'll have to do without

But that's the collateral damage.

I am not pretty. I am not beautiful. I am as radiant as the sun.

-Katniss Everdeen

Today I lied down in the basketball court of my college and saw the sky change its moods

And struggled with the thought of being without you

                                                               

"Can you feel it?

It`s the excitement of your mind
The old being left behind
And the new blowing your mind

Can you feel it?

It`s the universe in your eyes
The spirit realizing old lies
The nature expanding inside
And the seeds scattered outside"

G. Njaim

How to Write Nothing

I’ve walked into a book café for the first time with the agenda of writing something spectacular while sipping on hot chocolate and looking intent. Too much pressure.

The first floor has the kids reading section that leads to the café. Some of them are running around and I’m getting more and more miserable at keeping a sexy intelligent look about me. There is a young couple sitting across me. They aren’t talking. There’s also a very old man sitting beside me who has been shakily but determinedly turning one page every two minutes of these expensive magazines. I pick up on too. Not Vogue, no…I pick up The Economist. I browse through the Contents and select a story I would be able to fully understand. For the first time in living memory, inflation will drop below GDP growth. That’s a good thing. Growth is great. Now that I know the good news I decide to skim through the article…compares with $9000 in China…continental shift…yes yes, very well. I decide to study the graph, bend real low and peer closely- the blue and green lines begin to blur and I almost fall on my face in the book.

Perhaps this was a bad idea. I pick up Vogue and count eight different ways to put eyeliner. Across the road, through the glass pane I can see a woman with long brown hair and big pearl earrings (they must be really big because I can see them from across the street). Her office is furnished in white and she’s fixing her hair.

Twenty minutes after staring at disturbingly chic outfits in the magazine, I look up to see that the woman is still fixing her hair. I snap the big book shut; it must weigh five kilos and it costs a shameless 800 rupees. Back in Delhi, I had stopped buying glossy magazines because my grandmother couldn’t keep herself from tearing the pages to put them inside cupboards under expensive crockery. In case of magazines like Vogue, she would arrange the papers systematically in her attempt to keep the izzat of the half-naked women intact. 

God I miss her.

I wish to sit on the floor at home and have her lovingly massage my head. And as she rubs the mustard oil in, I wish she rubs in a fantastic story for me to write as well. 

(E)motion Picture

I like how in the movies, they have these songs playing in the backdrop as the credits roll. A song or a tune to affirm your lingering sentiment related to the movie or the person that movie makes you think of. You amble towards the exit door of the theater- a light at the end of the tunnel, beckoning you, making faint promises to you about how you will be able to see the world differently. Even if for a few minutes.