Lead us to Light - Happy Diwali!

Any protracted journey, through capricious paths will have dim tunnels. But every tunnel will end (has to end), and at its end it will lead us to the light, signifying what our life is meant to be. We’ll fall, slip, and rise up again. We have to make a choice – to mark our lives with the falls and slips or the number of times we had the courage to stand up, dust off the muck and forge ahead. We’ll participate in the sacraments that someone, a long time ago demarcated for us, or we can have our own connotation and make our own definitions about what this day means to us. Hold hands, and walk together; maybe that’s all we need.

This is a time to create your own implication of what light means to you -For this is a festival of lights; while traditions may ask of you to revivify your environment; take time and benefit of the day off (if you have it) to derive sense from meaning of light.

Other than what it perceptibly shows you, try and see what it wants you to see in its Illumination and Grandeur.

This is not the time to lodge in the past. Soon, the calendar will change and we can let ourselves hope for better things. Most importantly, we can pursue something better.

Wishing you very Happy Diwali.

Thank you for walking with me, and enjoying the light together.

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Letter to the World - On my Son's First Day to School

Dear World,

My son begins his first day at school today. It's going to be unusual
and different to him for a while.
And I hope you would somewhat treat him mildly.
You see, until now, he's been king of the roost.
He's been boss of the yard.
I have constantly been around to fix his pains,
and to pacify his moods.

However from hereon-things will be different.

This morning, he's going to march down the road,
wave goodbye and begin his great escapade
that will doubtless consist of conflicts and heartbreak and distress.

To co-exist and live his life in the world, he will need
belief and affection and valor.

So, Dear World, I hope you would embrace him by his little hand
and explain him the lessons he will have to know. Teach him-but softly, if you can.
Teach him that for each crook there is a superman;
that for each twisted politician there is a devoted leader;
that for each foe there is a friend.
Teach him the miracles of books and show him a whole new world that they can open for him.

Provide him quiet time to wonder about the timeless secret of birds in the sky,
flowers on the distant hill and bees in the sun.
Teach him it is far more worthy to be unsuccessful than to be a cheater.

Teach him to have conviction in his own philosophies,
even if everybody else tells him he is wrong.
Teach him to trade his brawn and brains to the premier bidder,
without ever putting a value on his heart and soul.

Teach him to shut his ears to a wailing multitude...
and to stand and combat if he believes he's right.

Teach him softly, Dear World, but don't cosset him,
because fine steel is made through test of fire.

Dear World, I trust you.

I am giving you my heart and soul – My boy.

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We - The Women

“Gang Rape”, “Women’s right”, “Sexual Assault”, “Rape Culture” etc. etc. So on and so forth. It’s been a while I have been reading about the various stories – especially heinous crimes related to women in India. Can’t stop wondering, what the heck happened to the male libido all of a sudden in India? Can’t deny I am not disturbed or unaffected reading about these stories, inspite of the fact that so far – I feel “safe” staying far -far away from being exposed to these atrocities against women – in USA.

It's difficult, as a woman for me, to even react to this.  I'll go forward and dig out an imperialist container of maggots and advocate that we invest excessive time talking about and fostering developing economies and not adequate time on developing societies.  What we're receiving, consequently, are bigoted democracies bouncing up around the world.  People are electing representative forms of government but those governments are representing disconcerting guidelines and principles, at least if you have absolutist opinion of civil liberties.

That said, the lives of Indian women persists being  treacherous at worst, and distressed at least, in ways that warrant responsiveness. Lately, the issue of women’s security has been doing rounds yet again –this time in reaction to the 23 year old student who was brutally gang raped in a moving bus by 6 men. The episode has left many, especially women inquiring ‘it could have been me?’ ‘Am I safe in my own city?’. The reason being, that this Delhi victim was indeed one of us – which is why we are so angry and outraged about it. Just like writer, Sonia Faleiro has mentioned in one of her recent articles “The Unspeakable Truth about Rape in India” (http://www.nytimes.com/2013/01/02/opinion/the-unspeakable-truth-about-rape-in-india.html?smid=fb-share) that although this Delhi victim’s name is anonymous but she is not faceless. All we have to do is look at the mirror.

Well, essentially, it happens innumerable times every day, every minute, every hour across India. But it’s still being speckled across the TV screens, the Internet, the newspapers and magazines. The analysts are out in force and few frontrunners are spewing up the same frivolous commentaries. Again. Like waves roaring on the seashore, the sexual oppression and humiliation of women in India never culminates. And every time it makes the news, it makes it seem even more interminable.

I remember my growing years in Lucknow ( a small city of Uttar Pradesh in North India )where practically every day, elderly and young men made ‘smooch’ noises at me as they passed on their motorbikes, shouted vulgarities from cars and buses, and gazed at me in a manner that made me feel dishonored without even being touched. This happens to every single woman I have known. It happens to we – the women , every day.

I was taught by my parents, especially my father and sister, to be fearless. I was bought up with the thought process to be well aware of the evils of the society, to raise my voice against the atrocities or the so called “ eve- teasing” which has been often described as harmless and “acceptable”. However, today I fear raising my voice, lest I accept being raped in India.

Here’s the tough truth. A woman in our egocentric, orthodox-ion and packed of jungle laws, which we so dotingly refer to as a “society”, is only but a tool. A “tool” of mass pleasure, of countrywide eve teasing, of taking the country on top of the chart by adding to the already unrestrained populace, and if she is wedded, then she becomes the definitive tool of domestic chores and a toy engraved out of card-box, which then is being used by family members as per their desires.

I recognize that this happens all over the world. I know that, even in USA ( where I currently stay), women are raped and trampled every day. However, having lived here for over 4 years now, I also know that it is poles apart a situation than what it is in India. It appears to me that what makes it dissimilar here is the public nature of the assaults on women, the reaction to these cases, and most prominently the consequences of punishment and the swift pace of justice meted out here.

Amanat’s ( as the nation refers to the Delhi rape victim) horrendous death is just another indicator of a country which does not consent women to exist,  live, flourish or be liberated. And although many laws have been formed to defend them, sadly enough few are actually executed.

Additionally, I have been reading a lot about "rape culture" in various articles these days. There is something within me that agitates and angers me against its use. It brings to mind the awareness that rape is so predominant in our Indian cultures? As if it denotes that if we , as women dare to be “adventurous”( As stated by Delhi CM Sheila Dixit, in reference to the murder of a news reporter)  rape is and will forever be inescapable. The sad truth about being women in India is that all women are destined to endure some familiarity of rape, just by the default of existing in a “rape culture”, even if they are not theoretically or bodily raped. There are enormous glitches with this hypothesis; it is intended to induce rage to the point where people are stimulated to transmute the “rape culture”. But before it arouses fury, it induces something larger and more instant: terror and fear. It transforms all women into victims, in prospective and in actuality. We all are rape victims; it's just a matter of time before the concept of rape transforms into a somatic reality, and we can do little to evade it.

In the kind of society we live in, it is not easy to affirm that a woman’s body is at all times her own, not available to be “used” at the impulse of any man without her approval. It is far easier to snub the feelings of women, to assert that they should sympathize with the man, that they should be submissive and surrender-  and just “go along” with it. And the sturdier the power structure backing up the man, the more problematic it becomes to act otherwise. Recently, a woman leader from Congress had commented that the Delhi Rape Victim, should have “surrendered” to her predators, so that at least her intestines would have been saved and she would have lived. So my point is, that we – the women, are raped everyday – not just technically and physically – but we are raped of our thoughts and suppressed even before we think of raising our voices. As we see these disturbing cases reported, I know that we- the women, often feel as if we are just being crashed back down into our ‘proper’ place. As we hear government, cops, and even women leaders, advise us to stay inside our homes, not venture out after it’s dark or to dress suitably, again, we know that we should just shut up be thankful that it hasn’t happened to us – or worse still wait and dread for our turns next.

The failure of law and order from snowballing corruption can only imply that things will become even more problematic for women in India. The truth is that they are protests are stronger and people, especially women,  are beginning to raise their voices. The tragedy, however, is that no one is listening, no one really cares and nothing will be done.

As a woman, I feel safer here , in USA,  far away in a country which is not my own- as ironical and selfish as it may seem and sound. I dread returning back to India, thinking every day that this might be my unlucky day, when I venture out of my home.

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With each other or half a world away ?

I gaze at you but I fail to see you there
my senses and eyes are sealed over
dashing obliquely
petulantly looking at my phone
anticipating an alert for notification of
A comment, a tweet, a like, a status update.

I hear you however I fail to listen
my senses and ears are tweaked into music
from a distant land
Intermingled with ting-a-lings

Those convey it to me that I have an unread message waiting.

I am with you but my brain is elsewhere
with somebody more fascinating
more likeable
Somebody whom I am yet to meet
Somebody I am yet to talk to in person
Somebody, whose name I barely know

I relish the manner we snuggle in front of the television
while I celebrate in the limelight
from co-Facebookers, co-tweeters, co-Instagramers
and chortle mutely when my opinion is liked
retweeted or climbs the popularity charts.

I treasure our time with each other
I see your face shining with love
and mine in the light of my
valued device.
We seem picture-perfect for each other.

------------------------------------------

It’s astounding how much has evolved ever since the late 80s and early 90s when Zack Morris (a TV show character) was given a mobile phone the dimension of a sandwich, and antennae and phone boxes were fitted in cars so that people could enjoy a “car phone.” 

It has virtually fully converted to a different world since then. And what’s also most interesting is how much the world spins around their smartphone comrades — phones like Droid and iPhone. Debate between which one is better is another story.  These smartphones are now hardly used as just phones – you know the kinds we used a few 10 years back – the kinds which could make and receive calls and send messages?, These smartphones are rather portable computers. The propensity for people to detach has considerably amplified, not because it’s preferred, but because it’s just too simplified now. There may still be the yearning for a relationship, but it’s become tougher to get driven when it’s easier to self-distract now.

The Internet and smartphones have fundamentally become a lifestyle in an alternate reality. How much devotion and focus is invested in playing a game on a smartphone or cell phone rather than spending that valuable time with family or friends, or making sociable banter in queue at the grocery store, or on bus stop?

Understandably, the solution isn’t to surrender our social media devices. The concern seeps in when our dosages of alternate reality and real life become imbalanced to the stage where the alternate reality conquers us. We find ourselves relating more with the technology in front of us — even if there’s a living person on the other end.

Finally, a slight disconnection expectantly will lead way for a reconnection to those epitomes and objectives that are most imperative to you, even if those epitomes were formed in a world massively diverse from the present-day.

Don’t have a smartphone? Don’t fret! Because you have what others do not have – Time for yourself.

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Small Joys

And then life is full of some small joys that never cease to make you smile.

• An unprompted hug from your child without asking for one.

• Getting an unexpected call from a friend when it’s not your birthday.

• Discovering a long lost thing unpredictably while cleaning your closet.

• Realizing that you are in someone’s thoughts and prayers always.

• Waking up early on a weekend and discovering you can go back to sleep

• Devouring hot pakoras, made by someone – especially for you on a rainy day.

• Gazing at the dazzling sun high above the clouds while seated in an airplane, when it’s grey and cloudy on the ground.

• Sand swarming from under your feet at the seaside.

• Gazing at the vermillion, golden tinges of sunset, while the sun fades away in the ocean.

• Your child’s hand clasping your finger tightly while he sleeps.

• Finding a fresh new green leaf in your plants.

• Leaning on a welcoming shoulder when watching a movie.

• The house smelling of food someone else cooked when you return home from work.

• When the radio plays your favorite song unexpectedly.

For happiness is never stopping to think if you are. Experienced any unanticipated small joy lately?

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Do you know what you want?

I wish my leading eye-opener this year is that I don’t actually know what I want.

Let me explain.

We grow up believing we recognize what we yearn for, but we’re mistaken. We all begin with the erroneous thought about it. Your entire life, society has guided you about the things you want in your life. Others recognize what they want you to want. Your relatives, family, your spiritual societies, your politicians and your bosses know precisely what they want you to want. You’ll acquire everyone’s idea except for your own, but these unfamiliar ideas will amass, and in the deficiency of your own they get you pursuing things.

We are not born being aware of what we want, either. Society presupposes they ought to know routinely what we want, which happens to be whatever the caucus it is in our traditions. For few it could imply marrying off to “a great provider”, for others it could imply striving for a higher management position, for others it could mean to earn money.

Then we grow to be adults and, if we’re fortunate, gradually discover that no one can train you about what you want. You trip upon it on your own- provided you do a lot o tripping over that is. Your parents weren’t aware what you wanted, they presumed it’s the same as what they wanted. The solitary thoughts they can offer you of what you must want are the needs they can recognize. Advertisers, for instance, do not know what you want, they look for it. The sole idea they can offer you is what they expect you want, which is to purchase their product or service from them.

Your individual idea emerges only when you have the real familiarity of what you want. You can’t distinguish until you experience it.  How promptly that happens depends on how frequently you do what you’re not accustomed to doing. That implies travel accelerates it, and habits repress it. Doing scary and unfamiliar things hastens it, doing comfortable things stifles it.

I’m gradually learning what I want, and I just started to learn, actually learn, once I found out that I don’t already identify what I want — that the things I’ve been pursuing all this while have infact been other people’s needs.

Some things I recognize I want, even if no one else wants me to want them are:

I would like more driving with the windows turned down and music turned off

I would like lesser time on smart phones and more time talking

I would like extra one-on-one coffees and brunch outings with friends

I would like more walking, less driving

I would like more relishing and less guzzling

I would like more floras

I would like to dress in outfits that let go of my inhibitions

I would like more time with a paint and brush in my hand and less time with a kitchen spatula

I would like more conversation and less thinking

I would like color synchronization

I would like baths with ambient melody playing in the backdrop

I would like to surprise people as much as I can

I would like to modify plans without worrying about it

I would like to transform the way you ponder about the significant things in life

—-

So what is that you want in life? Tell me, but don’t respond too hastily.

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On Inflated Egos and Excuses

Each dreadful exam score, blown cut-off date and botched venture offers a brand new prospect to try out fresh excuses. It was an explosion at home. An ailing dog.  An urgent situation at work. Not to forget the roadways: if only they hadn’t been so frosty.

This type of conversation is so common that majority of the people hurriedly dismiss it, even when it comes out of their own mouth.

This is the primary cause that valid excuse artisans — and there are zillions of them — don’t hang around until after choking to carry out their expertise. They shuffle themselves, in intense, prior to chasing an aspiration or delivering a performance. Their excuses come pre-glued: I didn’t get enough time. Luck didn’t favor me. I was given a fair chance at the interview. I had no clue what the college application actually required.

We all know them – extremely self-assured, bigheaded people with overblown opinions of themselves. They swagger and strut, ostensibly unreceptive to critical views, intimidations of failure or the glare of self-consciousness.

These are the people with a big fat ego, which is fed only by their illusions – about themselves. The "ego" is an invented mental state, a delusion. Your ego is something that consents you to think that you are superior than who you really are; it’s a disguise, a band aid cure for a lack of self-confidence. This is the self-doubting feeling will always cause roadblocks for you.

Let's be frank. If you go and approach and you face refusal, there is a rationale behind this. You most probably are deficient in the expertise and experience and your insecurities conquest and clutter you up.

To have self-confidence is to have neither too soaring nor too squat an opinion of oneself. It is to value one's veracity, to be competent of humiliation if one fails to stand up to one's own outlook of what one should do and how one should be.  Self-esteem is the basis of value for others. One of the most adverse consequences of an inflated ego and prejudice is that it leads to lowering the sense of worth.

In the end, it’s always about the choices we make. Discern and value your strong choices. You can opt right away - to think about a stimulating idea. The aptitude to choose is what differentiates us from animals. Nobody else can do this for us—no psychotherapist, counselor or medication. So bestow yourself with some soul food today instead of feeding the inflated ego.

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I AM

We all have an Ugly Betty living inside us. A flawed woman, an imperfect woman fanatical to make herself more ideal for someone else, to be what somebody else expects them to be, somebody who is at times swamped by the traits/features she doesn’t own  but longs to live a more satisfied life and feel more comprehensive. As frequently as a woman we live our life indefatigably fighting what is expected of us and what we envisage of ourselves. But more frequently, I have learnt how to value the imperfections, the flaws that make me the woman I am today. There is something organic, unadulterated and inspiring about accepting the flaws that make you who you really are. But it’s even more triumphant to stop trying to be perfect; to stop evaluating yourself with the yardstick of another woman’s splendor, body, accomplishment, recognition, prosperity, success or peace.  Being a flawed woman is living a complete contended life.  It is so much like plunging your fingers deep into the jug of life and licking each emotion off, one finger at a time. It’s accommodating the tang of bitterness, enjoying the flavor of serenity, resisting the flavor of spite, teasing yourself with the whiffs of victory, savoring the cracks of unselfishness, swallowing the seeds of trepidations, biting down the crumbs of prejudice. I am an imperfect- a flawed woman and I don’t constantly manage myself with equanimity and composure. I go awry, I fail, I get angry, I feel scared, I cry, I snigger and I brawl and I am happy accepting that. Given that, it’s all these flaws, imperfections and blemishes boxed up together that make me, the unique me.

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A Long Night of Anguish

Those dehydrated, painful, gasping coughs carry on as I search for his little sippy cup kept on the bedside. In the gloom of his sickness and mine too, my hands nervously hit beyond what seemed a zillion bits of paraphernalia on the table kept by the bed. Tylenol , Ibuprofen, Vicks, Napkins, Humidifier - My armaments against the battle on my son’s ill health. I’d noticed the indications timely and promptly and tried my best to strengthen the barricades, excavate channels, and fortify the guard. Alas! It was of no use. My son’s resistances survive little chance compared to these painful plunderers so pervasive to his gentle age. I feel kids put up a great combat but are unfortunately the first to get knockout. Like a soldier without his armed forces.

Drier, excruciating coughing follows. The spell lasts 3 minutes this time with more howling. Its 2am at night and with an anxiously helpless mind, I look at his face as he looks on to me, seeking help. His face is distressed, despairing, fatigued. My sleep-deprived mind yells atrocities. Irrational, unreasonable squalls of fury focused at nothing particularly; best restricted within the curbs of my brain for fear that they tangibly damage something or somebody. My fury against the sickness, is making me call it names- but its in vain, because it goes on desolating my son’s health, taunting at my vulnerability. My incapacity to slit my son’s pain out of him is making me more miserable. I wish I could cut a part of myself, if that meant to ease his pain in some way. Sadly, these are meager imaginations. His anguish isn’t. This is actual.

More coughing. More crying follows. His petite, tender body staggers, tugged from its condition of respite by an invisible power. He climbs on my chest, close to be to breathe better. I hold him tightly; assuring I sooth his back whenever the cough spells strike again. He finally gets 5 minutes of breather. That’s almost like 30 minutes of relief to me.

As I hold him close to me, on my chest, he is still hot. I begin singing him his favorite lullaby with shaky voice and teary eyes. His warm arms were spread out around my neck tenderly. For a moment, he held his head up high to look at me, as if he is saying “Mamma, this is toughest thing I have done in my life. Can’t you make it all okay for me?” and then — in one instant, vivid gesture — he rested his head again on my chest softly.

That painful warmness of his complete body seemed like holding an enormous hot water bottle; the absolute dependency he had on me in that instant; and my heart just shattered into pieces.

I understand that I possibly can’t stop my son from getting ill. I can’t avert his growing up and going through the pain himself. But what I can do is - when he needs me at 4 am in the morning, I can pat him until he falls asleep again, and softly whisper in his ear – “it’s okay, Betu. It will be fine soon. Your mamma is here with you.”

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The Plunge

Isn’t there constantly something?
A target to be achieved
a cut-off date to be met
a promotion to be earned
one more tread to be mounted.

A wedding, a birth

A home

Responsibilities, obligations

Worldly wise ambitions

Purposes, roadmaps

Activities

Awards and praises.

Isn’t there constantly something?

An assessment to get ready for

a car purchased or sold

an itch fulfilled

a mirage — the conclusion of the road.

It never seems to end

The constant and ever going rat race

Or the social commitments

Who you really are

what you really do

where you really go

is decided

not by things around you

or those who are around you.

The start

is now

The hope and the future

is ahead

Take the plunge

For if not now…

then when?

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Falak Se Chaand Tak ( Sky and Beyond)

Like a reverie one wakes up from, Baby Falak will vanish from our conscience and our lives will go on, the way they were.

I still quiver when I recollect the horrific images of dreadfully defaced and abused women and children, some of them hardly 2 or 3 years old. The deep shame and disgust I felt with the male of the species, the main perpetrators of such crimes, is yet to leave me.

When I woke up to the news of Baby Falak passing away, my instant response at the time, nonetheless, was fury. Antagonism - not just at the perpetrators capable of such malevolence, such wickedness, but also at the law structure which permits them to subsist. Regardless of laws and regulations against parents deserting young children, against child abuse, against sexual abuse, against kidnapping – yet such crimes happen right infront of us. I wonder if Baby Falak was infact born to just show us how dead we are as a society.

If there’s a sole thing that makes me advocate the capital punishment, it is this.

Rapists and child molesters have no right to live. They ought to have an agonizingly painful and public execution. Given that the damage that they cause cannot be expunged with just a death penalty.

My verdict: If we were to lengthen this further, shouldn’t all those who abuse, exploit and prey upon the frail, the infantile and the vulnerable—in whatever way – also witness a similar doom?

Hopefully, Baby Falak was fortunate enough to wake up from this nightmare to find her in a better world.

Rest in Peace.

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Where are those Days?

Wondering...

Where are those days
when we could
put an upturned
container on our heads
and act as if to
we were a fireman
or a dreamer
or robot?

Where are those days
when we could
giggle absurdly
and roll on the ground
accredited to a
fart or burp
or other bodily sounds which seemed so funny.

Where are those days
when droplets
enthralled us and
the famous “Chanda mama” excited us
no end; when a
fountain was all
we required to
make our world complete.

Where are those days
when everything was
new-fangled and held a hope
when we didn’t know
what tomorrow will bring
but we knew it
would be as happy
as today?

Where are those days
when we candidly
hugged
and kissed
those who made us
feel loved and unique.

Where are those days when
the loss of a favorite pencil
was life’s leading catastrophe
of our lives
and the acquirement
of a new one
our biggest victory.

Where are those days when
we could chuckle
and weep wantonly
when we could
love with
paramount fervor
when we could
pick ourselves up
dust ourselves off
and continue
with the same
zeal.

Where are those days when
we didn’t know
the significance
of intolerance
goal
aspiration
principle
remorse
hate
sorrow
envy
or adversity?

Where are those days
when our life
was uncomplicated
our requirements fundamental
our wishes
confined to a chocolate
and one more ride
on a giant wheel.

Where are those days
when we were
actually, really, truly
contented.
When we lived
the meaning of
contentment
and didn’t just
read superficial quotes about them
on internet, to post them on Facebook.

PS – This post is a consequence of a nostalgic frame of mind, while going through some of my random lines that I wrote in a diary – The days, when we actually knew how to write with a pen.

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I love being Married

If you wish to enjoy being Single, Get Married! No seriously. Read on.

I just recently read a hilarious post on Being Single by http://localparty.tumblr.com/post/16341669795 author of Local Tea Party – A truly hilarious fellow.

This further prompted me to write this blog post. So this is for all of you who might be looking, or still in the dating game, already hitched, or on the threshold of a relationship — my heart reaches out to you all.

No don’t get me wrong. That’s not coming from an arrogant-married woman who is trying to boast a flawless life of a happy life with a husband, a baby and a great friends and family to brag about. I am saying this because I have the one sole thing that you all don't possess so far — the liberty to be rude. To be so me. To utter what I feel and escape with it. For the reason that we have our whole lives to make up and neither of us is going anywhere.

Well, I have been pondering over it for a while and realized—this entire seeing each other/courtship/being in a relationship thing is surplus of politeness. It’s always about letting the other person have their own standpoint. Their choice of menu. Their choice of places to go for shopping. Their choice of who to make brunch plans with or which movie to see.

Pointless to say, you end up doing many such things which you actually don’t wish to do secretly, and do so just because there is all this stress of being nice, being the good fellow. About being responsive and sensitive to your partner’s feelings etc etc and all the mush. For the reason that after all, you are in it for the long tow (or at least, that's a better way to go about it)

It's always about, "Bay-bee, would you like to do the grocery store today?” And he is like, "Sure, when would you wish to go?"

Initially it’s always a bargain of choices. A few years ago, it use to be like, “Hon, can we switch on the room heater as its getting cold in here?” Pat came the reply “Yeah sure bay-bee, but let’s switch it off after a while as I might feel too hot?” Okay. Deal. Done

However, things transform after marriage for obvious reasons. Now there’s liberty. Liberty to say no. Liberty to prohibit. Liberty to veto. Liberty to communicate your opinion about their lifestyle, their friends, their way of interacting socially, their clothing styles, their idea of a good time, their food habits – everything!

Now it’s more like, “I’m baking here, I need to turn off the heater tonight!”

“But I am freezing?! And it’s raining cats and dogs outside. It’s so cold”

“Well why don’t you wear a sweater and sleep then!”

“Well why, don’t you get rid of some clothes in that case?”

Marriage is no stress test at all, its liberty. It’s how it was meant to be. Eat whatever you want, you are allowed to be angry sometimes ( many times), you can be nasty occasionally, say what you wish and never say what you don’t wish, and all will still be very well.

Now it's more like, "Bay-bee, I am going out with friends for a poker night"

"Kewl, take your own keys and don’t get back before 1 am atleast, so that I can enjoy my movie night here at home."

"Ummm okay"

Marriage therefore is liberating indeed. You don’t have to be pretentious. You don’t need to drag yourself to be good all day. You can be rude. You can be nasty. You can take for granted and you can be taken for granted. You are allowed to be messy and untidy and sometimes way too organized and prim and proper – yet you will be loved the same way. It's not about holding hands all the time you walk outside, but it's about about not forgetting to kiss goodnight before you go to bed. No matter what. It’s like a getting back to a place called Home – and it’s yours and will always be.

O by the way, a baby gives you supplementary room to be rude. Any abhorrent attribute inherited can be attributed to the spouse, and the good manners and brighter traits can be gloated over as stemming from your gene pool. So suitable, no?

I love being married. I finally got that one someone to blame all my life!

Anshul, this is for you – bay-bee.

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Auteur

PS - The image is contradictory here. But that's the fun part, you see.

The Big 30

Okay. So this post has been delayed. I intended writing and posting this around my 30^th Birthday, so sooner or later, its here.

I have never feared turning 30. A few years back, I use to infact look forward to take a leap into the Third Tier, anxious to abandon the immaturity, self-distrust of the 20s.

As I mentioned earlier it’s been more than a month now that I turned 30. “I don't feel like an old duck. Infact, I don't even feel grown-up,” I said to myself on the morning of my 30th birthday when everyone wishing me was asking me “So how many years?” I don’t think I have arrived, still time to reach there. But I can see the target. It's still on a hill, and fortunately I no more look from the bottom of the valley any longer. I can shape a comprehensible trail if I stay focused.

So, in to celebrate a much awaited milestone in my life, I jotted down a few things women should be acquainted with by the time 30 comes knocking. This is the (half-done) list:

*Love is a verb. Love devoid of emotions, feelings etc means absolutely nothing and can stand null and void.

*Rage does not equate to being stronger, it equates to being angry. Loud does not mean right and wont set anything right.

*If he is The One, he will be The One. When you're being pushy and compelling him to be the one it, you’re not doing it right. Take a break and search for the Next One to be The One.

*Discover treating people with the same perceptive and understanding you would like to receive. You're cannot be perfect. Neither can anyone else be.

*Be a globetrotter. Go around exploring the untouched places, food, cultures etc. Learn how to greet in a native language, and especially learn to say “Thank You” with a smile in their language.

*Enjoy your company. If you don’t like your own company, how do you suppose anyone else will? Begin with a film at a theatre; then move on to lunch, then dinner, all by yourself. And then maybe someday graduate to going to a destination all by yourself.

*Begin trusting yourself. A billion people will narrate you a billion stories -- few factual, few fabricated. If it sounds like a lie, it more often than not is. If it sounds right, it could be. Give credence to your gutfeel.

*Mistakes are lessons in disguise. You’re allowed to make mistake, even blunders but if you learn from your mistakes, your mistake is not useless. Avoid saying sorry for the same thing more than once

*Welcome old age with open arms. There can be nothing worse for a woman who doesn’t age charmingly. If you’re envious of the youth, take comfort in that – By rule of life and God’s grace -- young people ultimately age too.

Most of the above mentioned things, I have accomplished. Some I need to.

What else do you feel should be on the list of what women need to know by 30? Share with me.

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Auteur