The Golden Light

I hope that in the future they invent a small golden light that follows you everywhere and when something is about to end, it shines brightly so you know it’s about to end.

And if you’re never going to see someone again, it’ll shine brightly and both of you can be polite and say, ‘It was nice to have you in my life while I did, good luck with everything that happens after now.’

And maybe if you’re never going to eat at the same restaurant again, it’ll shine and you can order everything off the menu you’ve never tried. Maybe, if someone’s about to buy your car, the light will shine and you can take it for one last spin.

Maybe, if you’re with a group of friends who’ll never be together again, all your lights will shine at the same time and you’ll know, and then you can hold each other and whisper, ‘This was so good. Oh my God, this was so good.’

– Iain Thomas

(Random things we read in the Internet sometimes fit perfectly in our own life)


I felt stupid after writing my last post. I realized how I am always cribbing about all the things that aren’t right in my life, while completely ignoring all the things that are in fact good. So this is an attempt to write something normal and save you from the depression.

  1. I love music. I mean I have a song in my mind for every situation I encounter. “We The Kings”, though not so popular is my favorite band. I can listen to their songs forever and never get tired. I am in love with 90’s Hindi pop songs. Lucky Ali takes me into a different world altogether. He was one of the best things that happened to Hindi pop music. Euphoria, Strings, Jal, Indian Ocean, these are the bands that make me feel like I am dreaming and living in that old 90’s world again. Ah, the nostalgia. And then there are old Hindi songs and their lyrics…

“Pal pal dil ke pass tum rehti ho, jeevan meethi pyaas ye kehti ho,

Har sham aankhon par, tera aanchal lehraye,

Har raat yaadon ki baarat le aaye…

Mai saans leta hun, teri khusboo aati hai, ek mehka mehka sa paigaam lati hai,

Mere dil ki dhadkan bhi tere geet gati hai…”

 Kishore Kumar and his melodious voice, a healthy way to beat depression. Always.

  1. Though I have no clue about my own future, I am known among my friends as a great counselor. Some of them consult me for every step they are going to take in their life, be it career, love life or family. Many people have complimented me for my great listening skills, and for the fact that I understand them. Though, I have to admit that I have a pretty bad memory and most of the times I forget people, their names, their problems and even the advice I gave them.
  1. I hate it when somebody calls me “dear”. And I cringe with disgust when girls, in particular write “Love you, muah muah” in social media to each other. What’s with so much loooove!!!
  1. I can’t pout. I see my friends and even their dads posting such pretty duck face selfies on Facebook. I have taken countless selfies to get it right, but most of the times it looks like either the duck is dead, or is mentally retarded.
  1. Talking about pictures, I am very photogenic. Sometimes I look at my pictures and think, “Whoa, this is definitely not me! I don’t look like that in reality.” My pictures are highly deceptive. And yes, I am illiterate in the makeup department. The only cosmetic I know how to use is Kajal.
  1. I have always wanted a pet goat. I think goats are adorable. May be it has something to do with me being pahadi, but I grew up demanding my mom to get me a little baby goat. When I was a kid I used to bring stray dogs from roads to our house and my mama and mausi had to keep them at their place just to make me happy. I had a dog named “Bush”. I named him Bush because someone told me that George W. Bush has named his dog “India”. I have no idea how much of that story is true. I even had two pet mice in my childhood named Chintu and Mintu. Someday I am going to have this big farmland in my village full of goats, chickens, dogs, cats, rabbits and other adorable animals. And yes, my friends have suggested me to build my career as an animal care giver, because I have saved many girls from the “dangerous” cats and dogs of our campus.

Oh, this is turning into a huge post. I haven’t written 600 words with this speed ever. I should probably stop here. I am thinking to start a new memories section in my blog to write about my childhood and college life. Let me know if you think that’s a good idea.

The Tale Of A Broken Dream

As far as I remember I have always seen my mother struggling with a disease or two. Even before I was born, the valves in her heart didn’t work properly. Then there was always the case of hyper acidity and migraine that never let food remain in her stomach (and has been genetically passed onto me). Then came the disastrous paralysis attack which not only left her half dead but significantly changed my life too. Now, there is slip disc, frequent episodes of menopausal hot flashes, constant pain in her legs (reason unknown), and all the side effects of those numerous medicines that keep her alive. I have literally never seen my mom healthy, and I feel in some way because of that I never had a normal life. I know almost every doctor in town, the cute neurologist who looks great in a light green shirt, the I-have-no-time-to-breathe cardiologist, the orthopaedist who talks way too much, the old ENT specialist who has a big white house, you get the picture, I know way too many doctors.

 I stayed in Bangalore for seven years and I visited almost every hospital one could name. Manipal hospital is my favourite because I believe it is where my mother got her second life, even though only half of her body worked but she survived and got better. It was the last year of school and during the last three months I spent numerous evenings at Manipal hospital. I would sit by the stairs and practice mathematics. We would eat dinner from the hospital canteen when my sister didn’t feel like cooking. I skipped school almost every day but my teachers didn’t care much as skipping school was allowed for the “good students” so that they can prepare well at home for the Board examinations. I mostly spent my time watching television because it took my mind away from my dying mother. By the time she became healthy enough to live, I had almost lost everything. I messed up my Boards, all my entrance exams and any chance to have a normal career.

For eleven years from Class 1 to 11th, one would always see me on stage collecting my report card, prizes, merit scholarships amidst claps and cheers but in that last year, the year that mattered the most, whoosh…. everything was gone…. Just like that…. All my dreams shattered. In a flash …

I missed getting into a medical college by a single mark.

Counselling day. Rank number called. With a smile on my face I go ahead. He asks me to sign. I search frantically for a pen. He says, “sorry, last seat thi,chali gayi”. And I start crying.

Seven years have passed by but I go back to that moment all over again. There are so many what ifs in my mind…

What if the attack hadn’t happened? What if the 17 year old me wasn’t forced into a career she didn’t like? What if they had given me one more chance? What if I wasn’t so arrogant and angry with everything?

He gave me my mother…. He took away my dream.

I need to do something for those eleven years, for those years when I knew what I wanted, when I was determined enough to overcome any obstacle in my way to success. I need to forgive my parents. I need to forgive myself for not trying hard enough. As I sit here and see my mother trying to sleep in spite of a terrible headache I need to find a new dream and let go of the old one. I can’t carry the burden of that broken dream anymore. I can’t let it ruin the rest of my life.

I have to move on.

P.S. Writing is therapy. I feel better.

The Kids With A Spare Tyre

Sitting in my air conditioned room,

With a smart phone in my hand,

I googled for ‘ways to be happy’,

But then right outside my window,

I saw these little kids,

Playing barefoot with a spare tyre,

Their faces gleaming with joy,

As it went round and round,

through the muddy path

I went outside and captured that moment

in my camera…

For someday,

I would like them to find happiness,

in their own past,

Instead of searching for it,

On Google, using a smart phone…

IMG_20150906_105559Written for Indispire.

Two Hilly Girls In High Heels

If only I had the money,

and you had time

We would travel,

off to distant lands,

and roam around streets,

valleys and mountains,

just the way we wandered,

around the narrow lanes of Dharamshala,

after school, in childhood.

If only I had the money,

and you had time,

We would be two hilly girls,

in high heels,

hitch hiking to Ladakh,

dancing to the tunes of

Rajasthani folk music,

and eating at road side dhabas,

just the way we did,

with our pocket money,

after school, in childhood.

If only I had the money,

And you had time,

We would go back to,

that place called home.

sit under the stars,

giggle over boys who broke our heart

and reminisce about,

good old days that passed us by,

we would be two hilly girls

in high heels,

reaching up to touch the sky…

Image courtesy:

Image courtesy:

Finding The Perfect Man

It’s hard isn’t it, to decide what you want from life, especially in cases related to your heart. I mean how do you go about finding the right guy for you? Who is this perfect man every classic novel, every chick flick raves about? One guy is hot, and the other one is oh-so-smart, one is the-nice-guy, and the other one is witty, but all in one, oh no, he doesn’t exist.

There was this one guy in school I had a crush on. Even if it isn’t the right adjective to describe a boy, but man, he was oh-so-beautiful. His cuteness level was beyond 100 on a scale of 10. But, he always treated me like some Goddess you know, and not in a sexy kind of way. Actually I was a class topper while he sucked in studies, so he always addressed me with all this respect like I am some kind of a nerd or something. He still does it, even when we are like almost a decade away from high school.  So, all his cuteness just withers out.

Hell yeah!!! Cute guy spotted...

Hell yeah!!! Cute guy spotted…

Then there was this really hot guy who went to the same tuition as me. It has been seven years since I last saw him but I still stalk him on Facebook. He’s in the Navy now, and that uniform has only added to his hotness. I really don’t know anything about him other than his apparently hot-looking-bod on the pictures he posts in Facebook but that doesn’t seem enough to hunt him down.

Yup..It's my hobby!! Deal with it.

Yup..It’s my hobby!! Deal with it.

The third crush of mine was this typical nerd from 11th grade. He was this shy (nice) guy who became my friend after leaving school. We bonded over orkut, emails, and my sad stories about life where I used to do most of the talking. The problem here was he fell in love with a friend of mine, and I chose to remain silent about my crush. I guess it was for the best, we ended up being good friends.

Next was this blogger, I met here on WordPress. From cheesy mails, to supportive calls and his funny pjs, he seemed to have it all. He never looked good in pictures, except this one photograph where he looked kinda sexy. But he was proud and the timing wasn’t right and he never seemed to like me that way. And we ended up being friends (again), and I treasure our friendship because he was there for me in the worst phase of my life. (You were near perfect, my friend.)

Moving on, the next one is a guy I met in college two years ago and the only thing I wanted to do was to kiss him, nothing more, and nothing less. He’s what a friend of mine describes correctly as “just a pair of lips” and not a human being for me. It was insane, I didn’t like him at all, he was a male chauvinist, full of attitude but I had this huge “kissing crush” on him. I thank my stars that he left college before I could do anything stupid because I would have ended up regretting it all my life.

And then, my last one (until today) was a guy in college, a doppelganger of a Bollywood star. He was tall & handsome, with this sexy stubble that only added to his charm. But he was three years my junior and I was scared for being termed a paedophile (haha). What if he thought of me as this desperate spinster who stares at him, especially when he had the option to choose from so many hot girls around? Seriously how would you feel if this average looking senior checks you out?  The only respite was that he was dumb (that’s what his batch mate told me), and probably never got to know about my crush.

Let me have a look at him...

Let me have a look at him…

I have had many crushes since I got past puberty, but none seems to fit the “novelistic” perfect guy criteria. You see, the cute guy who respected me way too much, the hot navy guy I know nothing about, the nerd who talked way too less, the smart but proud blogger, the kissable male chauvinist, and the dumb Bollywood look alike, they were all good but weren’t perfect.

And what is perfection really? Isn’t it different for different individuals? I, for instance ended up falling in love with this guy who isn’t cute, funny, or has an amazing body. We are two average, ambitious yet lazy individuals who complete each other. While I am indecisive, crazy, and fickle minded, he sets definite goals in life, works on them and feels content with whatever he gets. He talks less, I talk way too much. I write, while he sucks at it. He is into gaming, while I am technologically handicapped. It’s like separately we are disasters but together we are a perfect team. And maybe, just maybe it is not about finding the perfect guy/girl but about finding the perfect combination. What do you think?


(All images from google)

Lost and Wasted

It’s Monday night, you finish a novel you started reading just three hours ago and you end up crying. Not because the story made you feel sad but because you don’t know whether you’ll ever get your happy ending.  And you don’t know how to define “happy” here because what made you happy three years ago doesn’t make you happy anymore. You have moved on from the phase where a Taylor Swift song defined your life, you have tried a lot many bands but none seems to describe what you feel. Finding a meaning to your life through a song feels like a foolish thing to do, yet you keep on looking for quotations, last words of famous people, for coming of age movies, for those books that will change your life forever but none seems to help. You keep on waiting for that one moment which would divide your lifetime into two parts, for that point where your story would turn into a beautiful tale you always wanted to live but that never happens, the wait never seems to end. And you wonder whether all your dreams are nothing but a labyrinth that is too complicated to escape. You feel paralyzed by your own thoughts, thoughts that are too many to handle, and you look out for that one person who would ever understand you, who would know that you aren’t strong just because you act to be so, and that you aren’t weak just because you show your love, your vulnerability. What would you do if you find out that you are the only person that understands you? What would you do if you realize that you are your own hero and that no one is going to save you, except you? Would you be happy or would you be sad? Would you live or would you die?

As for me, I would put on my earphones and listen to,

“Remember when we were lost at sea?
We would look at the bright night sky
Thinking of, what we could be

What we could be
How to spend our lives
Remember when we had nothing left?
We were strung out in the cold
Holding on, trying to save our breath
Trying to save our breath
We would not let go
Through the good, through the bad and ugly
We’ll conquer anything
One day we’re gonna come back
And laugh at it all
One day we’re look at the past
With love, love
One day we’re gonna come back
And relive those thoughts
One day we’re look at the past
With love, love
With love, love… “

(American Authors: Love)