Eight year old me washed her hands,
Several times a day…
In the hopes of making them,
A few shades lighter….
Sixteen year old me, cursed the pimples on her face,
for making her invisible to the cute guy,
The one she had a crush on…
Twenty four old me,
is still struggling with scars…
Both on the body and mind,Looking at her imperfections,
Wondering what beauty really is,
And if she would ever fit into this perfect world
With its glorious perceptions of beauty.
Years have passed but the standards have been unchanged..
From the red-cheeked , long-haired girl in school,To the tall, fair,kohl-eyed girl in the metro…
The world hasn’t stopped making her feel (not) beautiful…
I remember the day when my parents left me alone for the first time. I was 18 and my dad was transferred out of Bangalore. As I was in my first year of college, I couldn’t go along with them. I had to stay back at my college hostel.
I remember how devastated my mom was with the thought of leaving me alone in a big city. For her I have always been a kid who is unable to look after herself. Even after eight years she probably thinks the same. As for me I am not very clear about my thoughts of staying alone. In the initial years I probably enjoyed all the freedom I got. I remember, I didn’t feel like going home that often during my graduation days. However things took a turn when I was in post-grad. I would eagerly wait for Durga Puja holidays so that I get a chance to go back home. I used to make a sheet with the number of days left for holidays and strike a date everyday. The more I was growing up, the more I was getting homesick.
Now that I am in Delhi and thus, a little closer to home, I do have the option of going there as often as I want but I still do miss being at home on important days such as festivals. In the last eight eight years I have been home for Diwali only on two occasions. The same is true for Holi, Rakhi, new years, etc. Apart from the festivities, food has really been a major problem. Every day has been a struggle to find food. First there was the hostel mess, now either restaurants or self made food. It’s like as soon as it is lunch or dinner time, my search for food begins. I feel like I am living in a pre-agricultural society where you can’t get food until you hunt an animal. Added to that there is the struggle of finding food with as less money as you can spend. I have probably spent more money on food than on clothes, and there are more food apps on my phone than photo editing apps.
You know I am just tired of living a nomad life. I have always been a girl who likes to be alone, a little isolated from people but I do crave for a family sometimes. Sometimes I close my eyes and relive those moments of the past;the fights over dividing a five rupee chocolate using a proper scale, buying new dresses on Diwali, and clicking a customary Diwali photograph with my siblings, running to Gandhi Chauk to buy an ice cream worth one rupee, asking for a two rupee commission for anything elders ask you to do.
Ah! I had such a great childhood. If only life had remained the same. But then I wouldn’t have valued it so much. It’s only when you lose something, you realize how lucky you were to have it.
Cecelia Ahern, one of my favorite authors has rightly said, “home is not a place, it’s a feeling.” For me, home isn’t just a feeling, it is probably the best feeling I could ever have.
There’s a exhaust fan in our kitchen which surprisingly seems to be an attractive nesting place to mynas. Every year a couple of myna build a nest in my mother’s kitchen, breed and feed their young ones and fill the place with their droppings and feathers. My mother naturally is annoyed to clean the place everyday, with the constant chirping and mostly with the inability to use that exhaust fan. One day when I was home during my college holidays she told me how she misses those birds, their chirps and seeing those young ones trying to fly,how it is no more annoying to clean their dirt and how she waits for the birds to come again the next breeding season. The same moment she looked at me and said, “just like these birds all three of you too flew away from me, miles away from home.”
Every time I see these birds, there is a lump in my throat, my mother’s sad face in my mind and a sudden wish to leave everything and go home.
Posted for: Weekly Photo Challenge
My absence from this blog is a sign of either having a busy schedule or being happy and this time it has been both. There was a dialogue in the movie Rockstar which roughly translates to, “it is necessary to experience heartbreak to be a rockstar”. For me, on the other hand, it is absolutely necessary to be sad and depressed to write anything here.But today is a different day, it is an effort from my side to be a writer, any time, any day, under any circumstance.
Well, coming back to my life, it has been good. It is exactly one year since I relocated to Delhi. And in this one year I have moved an inch closer to that “something” I wanted to do. A fortnight ago I got a good news and for the first time in life I felt like I actually have the ability to do something worthwhile. It’s a long way to go from here, a really tough journey but I am trying to move on one day at a time. A week ago I was so scared to face this new challenge that I really wanted to quit everything and run away from all these difficulties. My parents came to my rescue, calmed me down and reassured me that they are always going to support me no matter what. In a world full of judgemental people I am glad to have my parents, my family and friends who have always tried to understand my ambitions instead of lecturing me over life. Did I tell you how lucky I feel sometimes?
Whenever I read my blog I feel a sense of awe over how I have changed over these years. Just four years back I was a kid who hated her parents, cried over friendships, and blamed God for her miseries. Things, however, have taken a new turn. I cant think of a life without my parents, I have let go a lot of friends and I have realised that whatever I did or didn’t get in life was entirely my fault and not a fault in my stars.
Do I sound odd or is it the same me?Well, I am still the same confused girl who had no idea about what she wanted from life. Apparently that feature is my blog’s usp, as many people have written me mails about how they identify with me, being in the same age, undergoing a quarter life crisis.
How have you been? I have hardly been here. Hope I stay here for long this time. It feels great to write again.
There is this general perception that one can never understand a woman. I have no idea why is it so. We women are the most vocal species on this planet. We are more expressive as compared to men about the things we like or we don’t like. Added to that we keep on giving you hints about what things do we want as gifts on specific occasions. Remember when we told you how good that blue bag displayed outside that neighborhood shop looked, or how awesome was that watch with a round dial we showed you on Amazon. Yet you didn’t listen and bought a brown bag and a rectangular watch instead.
The problem, dear men, is not about understanding, it’s about listening. You must carefully listen to the words that come out of our mouth, every single one of them. A moment of disinterest might make you to miss the color of the sandals that would go around with a specific dress and you might end up having an argument.
So the other day, I asked my guy to get me something. Something very cheap like under Rs100. And I still have no idea why but he brought me color pencils! I was speechless. I mean he could have bought me a pen and that would have made some sense but why on earth did he give me color pencils! I never draw. I have never drawn anything since school got over nor did I ever express some sort of dream of drawing something in my life. But here we were having an argument over color pencils. He ended up being irritated as he never understands what I want from him and because I never like his gifts. To pacify him I thought of showing him my great artistic skills using his gift.
And I made this! Well when he asked me why I made him look like a psycho killer torturing a little girl, I told him not to insult my “art” and to find a deeper meaning in it. Haha. That was the end of our little argument.
I haven’t touched those colors again as I don’t want to torture the future generations with my artistic skills.
To all the guys who find it tough to understand a woman, just listen to them. They do make sense especially when they want something from you.
And to all those people who celebrate Valentines day, have a happy weekend. May your life be filled with love and laughter.
… an old couple trying to use the escalator for the first time. The woman succeeding while the man giving up and using the stairs instead.
… kids playing ghar ghar roadside, cooking ‘lunch’ in an earthen pot.
… a young couple in the neighborhood walking hand in hand every single evening.
… a girl writing with an ink pen.
… a homeless kid feeding bread to a stray dog.
… a pigeon sneaking into my room and sleeping on my bed.
… a sparrow on my windowpane.
… a little girl asking her dad to get her a chocolate from the magic (vending) machine.
… In the chaos of Delhi, I found Love… Life.. Laughter…
Three days away from being 25 and relying on a comic strip to learn how to lead an “adult” life…
May be some people aren’t born to find a destination… May be they are destined to just roam around… To live the life they find themselves in, the best way they know how.
*all images from pinterest.