The W words

You know what I think are the nature's best wonders/gifts? Winter and water. They're both so beautiful.
You know why I think so? Because they both make me feel at peace with myself.

The classic and rare 'And in this moment I'm happy' feeling.

The winter brings a warm fuzzy hug-yourself sensation with it. I've never seen snow but I bet that it would be breath-taking and put me totally in awe of it. Just the thought of sipping hot chocolate at a cozy neighborhood cafe clothed in hoodies and woolly scarves (maybe reading a book) makes me smile with elation. The blanket becomes a closer friend who I just don't want to leave. I start to think colorful socks is the best man-made clothing ever. And not to mention during the end of which, I start to dread the summers.

Water. It takes me just a shower to brighten my day. That's how irrevocably I am in love with water. Well, the smell of shampoo also has something to do with it. Seriously though, nothing can calm my nerves more than taking a warm shower and finishing it with a rinse of stone cold water. When I go to a beach, this feeling escalates as I dig my feet into the sand and let the waves wash it off. At least for once, try getting to the middle of sea and jump off from your boat (wear a life jacket, it isn't a death wish!) and just let yourself float and smile at the sun. There! You just met tranquility.

Pick up your safe haven and keep visiting it, maintain sanity. We all need it.

Till more. 

Be There. Do That.

After reading hundreds of opinions, comments, views, ideas and obvious political quotes by people who run the nation on the recent unfortunate and shameful gang rape incident, here's one of mine.

I'm yet to figure out why this particular gang rape case shook the nation while so many such occurrences are reported every week. But then again, some day or the other, the safety of women in India had to become more than just a major issue.

I'm not here to say how atrocious the reaction of the Government of India has been. The only way to staying safe does not simply lie in prevention. Preparation asks for a fair share too.  Murphy's law, remember?

Face it womenfolk, you are alone. No one can help you as much as yourself. This may be applied for almost all cases and scenarios but especially so when it comes to self-defense.

Someone tried to grope you? Show that son of a bitch what an injured groin feels like. He won't forget that for life, that part of him won't allow of it. Even better! Humiliate him publicly (This one is for your own pleasure. You will feel like Batman at the end of it!).

Don't let anyone tell you that it isn't worth the trouble. We know the Government is messed up, the consequences; not too rosy. There is something beyond all that which will exhilarate you.

And let me tell you, the worst thing you can do is let it go. You will never be able to forgive yourself.

Store the numbers of police/women's helpline, just in case and in hope of never having to use it. Because really, if you are in a position to actually want to call for their aid then you know how pathetically desperate you really are.

All such incidents/happenings might not give you a chance to strike back. But when it does, grab it!

Been There. Done That.

Such is my love

If someone asked me what is love? At first, I would draw a blank expression.

Later:

I've experienced love of so many kinds.

For my immediate family, I feel intrinsic and somehow almost automatic love.
For my friends, I feel connecting sparkle-filled love.
For my cousins, I feel accompanied demanded love.
For my things, I feel accustomed love.
For my someone, I feel mysterious, unlabeled, impatient love.
For my pet parrot, I feel animated love.
For my passion, well, that's just pure plain simple unaffected love.

Love of all sorts continue to create so many memories.
Memories that will take another lifetime to forget.

The being and the book

 It's a beautiful monsoon afternoon as I sit here in a cold dim computer laboratory. At this moment, I feel nothing but peaceful. That's something because how many times in a year do we feel so? At least, I don't.

I just issued a Charles Dicken's novel from my college library to add to this calm day. Dicken's novel always gave me the feeling of being in the 1800's like no other. Not even Jane Austen or Margaret Mitchell could do that to the finish. Somehow, reading these vintage novels gives me a sense of nostalgia.

I've been putting off reading for quite a while. No time days, busy schedules, etc being the excuses for the same. I began reading The Inheritance of Loss by Kiran Desai but only read about 10 pages. But not this time, no. It's a perfect weather for reading and a classic novel at that. The smell and softness of those old pages, turned and visualized by many.

A novel, a cup of coffee and maybe a little solitude for a while. At this moment, I have peace.

Till more.
x

She and She alone

(I have imported this post from one of my other blogs because I think it's a fine piece of work. It might need a little brushing up but here it is....)

Lately, I have been thinking about her a lot.

I haven't spoken to her in a long time. It's been almost 3 weeks since i've heard her voice and only 4 days since I've felt guilty about it.

I'm awfully broke this time of the month and less or no money in my wallet makes me feel insecure in a weird frustrating way.

So this means, I do not have enough balance on my mobile phone to make an international call. There is only so much you can do with Rs. 20 in your cell.

As I'm taking the guilt trip, I subconsciously start thinking about every remote little thing that reminds me of her.

I was in class. I think it was culture and communication or may be not. I realized that it's been a long time since I passed on a note to a friend during a lesson. So, I start scribbling into a piece of paper.

This is how it went:

Me: 'Hi, What's up ? Did you get pasta salad? Is mom back?'
Khushboo: 'Yes ! Mom is back !'
Me: 'Lucky girl! You know what? I want to eat mutton biryani. Not just any. My mom's mutton biryani. She puts so much thought into it. After cooking, she serves me first in the entire family. I switch on the T.V. and browse channels as I put the first morsel into my mouth. I do not realize that she is looking at me in anticipation until she asks, "Well! How is it?" and I look up and say "Oh! Brilliant as ever. I miss your cooking, Ma".'

On the same day, I'm having one of my frequent heart to heart conversations in my room. Only this time, I'm the one who is doing all the talking.
I tell my friend how much I miss my mother. And I start to narrate to her the same incident I wrote in my note. This time with more emotions attached to it. I explain it with the intricate details. I picture the scene in my head while talking.

My mother is standing with the spatula still in her hand, sweating. The look of anticipation is replaced by disappointment. She disappears back in to the kitchen. She comes back with mutton fry and makes sure I get the small tiny pieces as they are my favorite. This time, she doesn't ask me how it tastes.

I realize I've always taken her for granted. How much ever I remind myself to behave better with her, I end up losing my cool easily.

Now as I sit in my room, I look at the sweat dripping from her face because of the heat in the kitchen. I notice the spatula in her hand. She hasn't finished cooking yet. It's just that she did not want to keep me waiting. So, she decided to serve me first. I see the change in her expression, the one of disappointment strikes me hard. Those emotion less words, "Oh! Brilliant as ever. I miss your cooking, Ma". Worse, when she gets me the fried pieces and picks my favorites out for me.

It all comes back to me.

The days that I would come home after school, annoyed by the hot weather and famished state. The lunch wouldn't be ready and I would yell at her for not preparing food on time. While she serves me food after exactly 30 minutes she explains that she wants me to have warm food, not food that's gotten all cold and that's the reason why she likes to start cooking late. And all I gave her is the rolling of my eyes.

What am I ever going to do for the woman who dedicated her entire life to me ?
As she always says, "She lives for her daughters".
How dramatic, I thought then. How much truth there is to it, I think now.

My mom does not have any friends. She did have many at one point but not since a really long time. My mom does not attend parties. My mom does not discuss soap operas over the phone with her friends. My mom is a pure vegetarian. My mom is my first drop of monsoon, first ray of sunshine and first flake of winter.

My mom, well, she is the best woman I have ever seen. 

Days that were.

Perfect circle shaped pancakes made with the equally perfect blend of eggs and batter almost completely immersed in dollops of maple syrup served with strawberries on the side or you can choose watermelons if you are me.

Sumptuous amount of scrambled egss. Well done sausages. Brown bread toast without butter with a choice of cheese. 

Warm baked rice cakes kind of things which is an inevitable meal if you are, by any luck, a South Indian. Served with Sambhar (can choose to swap it with spicy Idli powder) and a wide range of chutneys to choose from (recommended: mint, oninon-tomato, onion, tomato and not the coconut. I repeat, not the coconut!)

Long noodles mixed with one of these: corn, carrots, cheese or sausages. 

Double chocolate muffins strongly recommended to be had with fresh cold milk right out of the refrigerator. Also, if available, top the muffins with Hershey's chocolate syrup. 

Sunny side up. No, not the gooey one that leaks when you just about look at it for too long. This one comes completely cooked or you may refuse to eat it, once again, if you are me. These are cooked to perfection with lots and lots of freshly ground pepper. Served with or without brown bread toast, choice is yours. 

All the above mentioned items come with a choice of drink: Warm bitter-sweet coffee, cocktail juice, red orange juice, fresh cold milk and chocolate milk.

                  _______________________________________________

This, my friends, is the breakfast menu if you ever have the misfortune of staying at my place. And this, i miss the most about home. Regular good wholesome breakfast. Best thing about it? effortless on my part. Did not have to lift a glass. Served to the place where I had parked my ass. Home, where daddy and ma did things for you which you can't imagine doing for yourself.

Good dear home where I started to study at 11:00 p.m. and wrapped up by 6:00 a.m. Next spotted at the kitchen, caught pouring cold milk in a fat glass by Daddy who gave me a look that can only mean - WHAT THE HELL IS WRONG WITH MY DAUGHTER?! Why would she be up all night studying? Goddamn, this school! Pressurizing kids so much! and why oh why is she having cold milk? but all he said was - 'You studied through the entire night?! Why, ma? Come on now put that thing in your hand away and let me make you some tea.'

Daddys, I tell you. They know so little about you especially when compared to the intuitive truckloads of details that your Ma knows about you.
I wanted to tell him, 'No, Daddy, I do not drink tea. I stealthily have cold milk almost every morning and honestly, I did not just study throughout the night.' But of course all I did say was, 'Thanks Daddy! No worries. I'm going to go sleep now. Good day at the office! Bye!' 

*runs quickly out of the kitchen and tucks herself under the blanket*

P.S. Breakfast in bed is a complete no-no! (psstt..not really!) ;)

Unearthly hours

It's 04:44 a.m. as I sit here in the room giving my age old blog a complete revamp. The one you are reading right now.
Something that I really shouldn't be doing at this hour but it's never a good idea to not write when you feel like it.
As I sit here, typing away at full speed, I can't help but wonder what other 'normal' people are doing.

Some I know have just woken up from deep slumber to study for exams. Others, tweeting too loudly to have even considered sleeping. Like this one: 'studies have made me forget how to sleep :/' which by the way was retweeted by a fellow batch mate. Yes, there are so many of us. Nocturnals. 


We are normal too. We just don't function the way it's always been. It may be because we like the quiteness of the dark, the chill of the night or maybe for reasons that are not even remotely that poetic but whatever it is.
Here I am, not slept a wink and have an exam to give in about 5 and a half hours.

Maybe I should get some studying done myself.

See you later. See you soon.