Blue Coloured Walls...

When I woke up today morning, little did I realise the nightmare that woke me up was not just a dream. That someone from family indeed left us. I think I would like to believe that you visited me in my dream and blessed me one last time. I am sorry I couldn't be a good granddaughter. But I promise I'll try to be a better daughter. I hope you rest in peace aaji.

Darling Orange, Let's Elope!

(Long post. Feel free to skip)

The other day I heard someone say that she wants to be a CEO someday. And I was like, wait, how come *I* never dreamed of being a CEO? I mean, yes I always wanted a fabulous career where I get to wear Prada and carry a Birkin to work with a city view from a three inch thick carpeted office with rosewood desk and a leather chair with a mini-bar in the corner, but heck, WHY did I never dream of being a CEO!

And I realised I always dreamt of having love instead. That was my dream as a little girl. Not a CEO, a wife. Which is shocking considering how scared I am of marriage. And hated men for my entire teenage life. And still don't like kids much***. But hey! like they say, give a capricon girl a good marriage over a good career and she'll start drafting her resignation letter, I guess it no surprise then. And yes, I don't believe in astrology.

Anyway, M has been behind my life for me to get married. Like I am pull-my-hair-out frustrated with his "Shaddi kar lo yaar". And so owing to the fact that he has loads of friends I asked him to look for a guy instead of just giving me some mindless marriage gyaan. Like I can write a thesis on marriage too dude! Who needs free consultation? And so I drafted a list. A list of my must-haves. That should shut up him nice I thought. Here goes!

He has to lurrrve reading. Sorry, I never had this as a requirement, but I realized it's necessary. I remember this one time S told me he was reading a book, which in itself was a miracle. He hated reading anything that was 2 paragraphs long. So I, all excited, asked him which book! And he said Chetan Bhagat. Yes, yes I am a snobbish. But that broke my little book heart. It killed me to know that while I was *trying* to read Goethe, he was reading Chetan Bhagat. Like really? Chetan Bhagat? (but hey I still loved you!)

He has to love travelling. There's no fucking way I am settling for this. I'll marry a dog and take him on road trips, but if I don't find a man who loves travelling, I am not marrying. Period.

He has to love food but hate cooking and more importantly must know how to appreciate. I hated that S could cook so well. When do I get to show off then? And if he also loves cooking, there's going to be competition. He's always going to claim his stupid salad is better than my strawberry delight in front of the guests. No way lettuce, I am not sharing my limelight, I want it all baby! But yes, he can clean the kitchen. I am quite nice that way, see? I'll even do a 9 and 1/2 weeks if he promises to clean the kitchen every day.

And appreciation, well, since the time I started cooking, my dad has never ever said I cook well. The only way we know he loves my cooking is cause he always takes a second helping, which is unusual for him. I like cooking for people but they also better appreciate the cooking, unlike my mom, who'll say, "yeah it's okay, the carrots are still undercooked but you can make this for my next kitty party, my friends will love it." Yes. Thank you mom. You see? I am literally cooking for an ungrateful bunch of people. I would like some gratitude from my better half or he's eating in a restaurant.

Who lets me dress up. Yes, I am tired of men who want me to "just wear jeans". I want to wear a "dress". Yes, I am insecure. So till I find my inner beauty, let me wear that red number, ok gingerbread? Once I stumble upon my beautiful soul I promise I'll wear a sack.

He has to be a good conversationalist. I love talking. So I should ideally look for a great listener. This does not make sense, but whatever. I wake up everyday hoping to have a good conversation, and if I am marrying ever, he better be good at talking.

This one is so clichéd, but he has to be funny. I am not funny, so there has to be someone making the jokes right? Not at my expense though. Didn't I say I am insecure? If you are going to laugh at my ass you're sleeping in the bathtub. Simple.

He has to be passionate about something. Anything. Music, sports, Mac, the colour black, cars, Star wars, DC comics, butterflies, match boxes and sigh,  I'll even take diamonds (A girl can't be too choosy after all eh?). But men who have no passion in life are as interesting as a man talking about masturbation. No one wants to hear them.

And the last one, and this is like the filter test, he has to be intelligent. I am not. So the only hope for my kids is that their father has some gray matter. I realise it's a 50-50 thing, I mean what if they take after me? In that case I have a plan. I am giving them up for adoption. First come first serve basis. If the husband does not like it, he goes on sale too.

That's it. I promised it won't be huge. I am a girl of simple tastes after all.

***Every weekend we have these video chats with my sister where the nephew gets to show off and everyone gushes over his tiny arm movements. And where mom chastises me that I am a very horrible aunt who never talks to him, the kid. And I am like, what the hell, he can not even hear me! Or see me! He doesn't even know who I am or what I am talking. What am I going to talk to him anyway? Did you have lunch today honeybun? And oh you had oatmeal and gripe water! What a wonderful lunch you had! Isn't mommy the best? What? Why should I baby talk? I'll talk to him when he grows up and can understand me. Till then I am just going to laugh every time he tries to sit and falls on his diaper-clad tush. Haha, it's quite cute.

Now I Lay Thee Down...

I think being in love takes practice.

Or maybe it's some skill I am yet to acquire. Something I have not mastered yet.

I wondered for days if what I am feeling now was right. Was it one of those ways masked to help me "cope"? Misplaced feelings? Or anger wrapped up in something else? Was it a wrongly diagnosed symptom? I wonder if today you know how I feel, I wonder if you'd be hurt. I hope that maybe you'll feel comfort instead. I know you felt guilty, and I hope you can feel happy instead cause I see what you meant.

I know now what you meant when you said you did not want me to change. But the sad thing is that I changed. I changed so much. I changed beyond recognition. They all told me that I was changing. And I felt happy when they said that. Love is such a stupid emotion, no? I should have been wary, but I instead embraced it. I wanted to be perfect for you, but little did I realise I was instead getting closer to imperfect. That I didn't need to change. That I was good, the way I was.

And it took me 365 days to pull myself out from the debris, rubble made of up broken little pieces of me. And when I did, I was shocked to see what had become of me. And it's only now that I can feel alive again. That I can feel the wind flow over my body, that I can breathe.

On one hand I am happy that I could love someone so, truly. That when you got hurt I felt physical pain. That I loved you more than I loved myself. But in that process I forgot who I was, or what I stood for, or what I liked or disliked. I forgot what made me, me.

I am happy that I made you happy, but I dislike myself for letting your rejection matter so much that I started hating myself. That I stopped loving myself. If only I had shinier elbows, unblemished knees, that if only I was a born a few days later. That I thought I was unworthy of any man's love. That even when someone wanted to love me, I thought I was not good enough.

I find it shocking that a woman of my generation should feel like this. Am sure you would too. That I should think like this. How am I better than the women of my mother's generation? Atleast in their defense, they truly were helpless, restrained, bound. What excuse do I have? Why should I feel the need for a man's love to validate myself? Why should your "you're an amazing woman" matter so much? Why should I need your[man's] hand by my waist to feel desirable? Why should I feel helpless without your presence in my life? How could I define my future with your aspirations? How could I paint my walls with your dreams? I don't like the fact that I fell for it. That I am just like all those countless women I despised. I called them weak. How am I any different? And I am supposed to be. Cause I know better.

I find myself in a difficult spot. On one side, I want to love a man, to be completely his, and on the other, I want to retain my individuality. I want to be his woman, but I still want to be me (and I know it's possible). On one side I want a man's love and on the other, I want to bulldoze over all these ancient temples we have built for the men. On one side I want to be soft and feminine and on the other, there is this belligerent side of me that can slice open a man's heart should he treat me any less. I need to find a balance. Am I the soft peachy woman who melts in a man's arms? Or am I the strong one who does not need a man's arms to hold her steady? I realise neither. I am somewhere in the middle.

Being in love is lot of hard work. Atleast for me it is. I hope the next time is easier. And I hope I will not be like clay like the women of my mother's generation were and the women before theirs, but instead like steel. I'll bend and I'll fold, but I will not cleave. I will not crumble into dust again. That I will always be me.

P.S: I am really touched that some of you get worried for me but this is just to let you all know that I am not unhappy and that I am not going to jump off some cliff any time soon or slit my wrist and wait for all blood to drain out of my body. So relax, go get yourself a cup of tea or coffee or a peg of whiskey and enjoy your evening with a loved one or even a good book.

And if my not so cheerful posts make you feel bad for me, then erm, I am looking for the perfect cheerful yellow dress, buy me one? 

Eryngium...

"Pretty is something you're born with. But beautiful, that's an equal opportunity adjective."

*****
People hate me when they meet me for the first time (and sometimes they continue to do so ever after, well, who's stopping them anyway?). And I realise it's because I am always challenging the world. To prove to me that their worthy enough.


I realise it's mighty arrogant of me to do so. I believe both my respect and love are precious and I certainly am not going to dole it out to any tom, dick or harry.


But all these past months, as I sat there with pieces of me, trying to glue me back, I realised, I wanted them to be nice to me too. Give me another chance. A second chance. A third chance. A fourth even.


I wanted them to understand me. To say, "It's alright. You're okay. I am not going to judge you." To accept me.


I guess I am never going to judge anyone so quickly and as harshly ever again. You really can not know anyone. You really can not know where they are coming from. Why they behave the way they do. Their eccentricities, their fetishes, their interests, their likes, their dislikes, their anger, their love. No, not as quickly. Not so superficially, you can not look and know. You'll never know why they made the decisions they did. Why they made the choices they did. You'll never know what choices they had in front of them. If they had a choice at all.


You'll never know unless you stop judging them.


Give someone another chance today. Maybe to the one you think does not deserve it. Maybe he's the one who really needs it.

Miracles...

"Good relationships don't just happen, they take time, patience and two people who want to be together."

An Empty Night...

I have started to believe that the only reason women get married is so that they can have someone permanent whom they can bitch and whine to about the day. And for that unparalleled pleasure, they will even take the trouble of making a delicious meal so that the husband just shuts up and eats and the woman gets her uninterrupted 1 hour to simply jabber.

I really do.

Cause anyone who has seen two girls talk at the end of the day will understand why we need men. It's really painful when she wants to tell you "you know, what happened to me today?" when you also want to tell her, "but wait, guess what happened to me today!" We need men. We do. They are such good (deaf) listeners, it's wonderful.

*****

Diamonds are a girl's best friend. Dogs are a man's best friend. Now, who's the smarter sex?

I think men win this hands down. There simply can not be a comparison no? I have never had a pet-sometimes I wish I did-but even so, I have seen friends with their animals and the love these creatures have for us humans, there's no way a cold stone can replace the warmth of an animal's unconditional love.

A diamond's brilliance might you a high, but at the end of the day when you open that door and there's your pet wagging his tail, waiting to greet you, jumping all over you, licking you, or that cat who not  so clamorously demonstrates her love for you, maybe by quietly sitting next to you, rubbing her body against yours, you know if no one, you're wanted by these. And at the end of the day, you don't need bling and glitter, everyone needs to be feel loved and wanted.


Men got it right this one time.

Kill Joy...

Dear Diary,

Don't be shocked if one of these days I really just murder someone! Like slice open their body with a blunt knife, rip out their heart and tear out their intestines with my bare manicured hands!!!

Cause really, I need to stop being so sensitive. I mean the smallest and silliest things will make me cry. WHY? I was always a very sensitive person, but now, it is pissing me off. Big time.


Take today morning. I am riding to work and I see a herd of cows on the road. A very common sight in our country right? Nothing unusual. But then, a few meters away, I see another cow, limping. Way behind the herd, it poor thing was limping, and I cried. I mean how can the rest of the cows be mean enough to leave the poor injured cow behind?! Why can't they all match their pace with the poor cow?

Then this video made me cry!




I had to sit myself down and talk to myself and make myself understand that there was nothing, remotely nothing, in that video that warranted tears. And I was like, but those poor kids! They are so smart! And this is so awesome! In 10 years, we'll have a whole new world of educated kids...and I am overwhelmed with happiness and the tears start to flow again.


And it's not even that time of the month when I cry just because my hormones are screwed up.


No no no! I want to be all bitchy and heartless. I am tired of this crying!!!!!! I want to stop being so freaking sensitive!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!


I think I know what my problem is. You know these days I am always talking to G and like I said before, she's one sweet girl. She wouldn't harm a fly even and I am all nice these days thanks to her. I go to the Gurudwara with her, almost daily, and I pray and I behave like a good girl. But dear god! I miss bitching! And I miss making fun of people! And I miss being snobbish. Gawwwwwwwd! I miss it!

*sigh*


You know Dear Diary, being nice is tough. Very very tough. Don't try it.