Petals And Pebbles...

'BOO' says quarter life crisis

2011-04-25T23:00:00.009+05:30

There's so much I want...
so much I do not want...
so much I want to be...
so much I could've been...
so much I could not have been...

'it's been a long time since 20 too'.... then again, life is not over yet. not even close.

'BOO' says quarter life crisis.
Lucky for me, I've got the perfect antidote - very patient friends.

So high!

2010-11-14T01:13:00.006+05:30

Posting this just for the heck of it.

Because I'm so friggin' happy today.

Ad because FB status updates will be gone and forgotten after a while.

And this is a day I don't ever want to forget. Ever. For more reasons than one :)

PS: I love you my darlings :)

PPS: I am so awesome (And this is just so that I don't forget that. Ever again!)

Pic courtesy: http://s203.photobucket.com/albums/aa108/Tine69/?action=view&current=sp_0404_beautiful_day.jpg&newest=1

Hitchcock- in black, white and red.

2010-07-31T11:49:00.015+05:30

My normal weekend would be either working at office or refreshing my facebook page at home or at home, thinking about work and wondering why a particular module failed. Anything apart from this is not a 'normal' weekend.

So when Renie from Indiblogge r called me to tell me i had tickets to watch a play at the Theatre Museum, Chennai, he did tell me that I did not 'have to' write a review for the same. But without resorting to my usual lame excuse of 'crazy mundane IT job' I decided to post this review- even though it comes a week too late (thanks to my crazy mundane IT job of course), because it was a weekend that was not 'normal' after a very long time. And thank God, Renie and Stray Factory for that.

At the outset, i must tell you that I'm not a regular theatre person. So, my review might not comply with standard reviewing regulations! Also, I do not know who played who in the play (not all of them, that is) so I will be referring to the character names here - apologies for that.
Anyway, the play is Hitchcock by the theatre group Stray Factory. It is a compilation of three short plays for 90 minutes based on the TV series 'Alfred Hitchcock Presents' and it has Hitchcock written all over it.- the acting, the sets, the colours, the lighting, the dialogues, the music and of course the plot. The behind-the-screen shadows and silhouettes was a fantastic idea (pardon me my ignorance, but is that a pretty common thing??). And keeping the theme black, white and red- brilliant!
What did i like best? The music, the lighting, the Emcee and the third act.
What did i like least? the second act, the predictable endings, the location of my seat and the mosquitoes outside.
The opening, though a bit late, was charmingly done by the emcee. The bit that i liked in particular was his rather murderous manner of asking the audience to switch their mobiles off. His subtle humour was in true Hitchcock style and delivered with a straight face, it was perfect! -> Like!

Play 1 was 'The Right Kind of House'. The first scene opened to what seemed like a humorous play - Sally and Mr. Hacker, though they sounded a bit too rehearsed were adorable. But as the play progressed to the second scene, the mood and nature took a complete turn and this transition was so smooth and gradual that i really did not notice the first 30 minutes fly by. I must say it was the second scene that I really liked- especially the part where Evelyn (Aishwarya Mahesh) narrates her story and the past and present is shown back to back - while the audience is given enough clues to differentiate between the time frames. I thought the conversation between Evelyn and Mr. White was successful in holding the audience's attention, and both of them were really good, although I'd tip the scales in favour of Mr. White :-)

Play 2 was 'Triggers in Leash'. Now, I wouldn't say I didn't like the play but I liked it the least. It maybe because it did not involve any murder or suspense :-) but mainly because the end was too predictable, plain and quite honestly, i thought it dragged a bit. The cowboy chauvinism was evident in the actors' posture and mannerisms, and Maggie- i would have imagined someone much older and a bit crude to play that part- definitely not someone so elegant! But I thought she did a great job- nice smug smile to the end :-)

Play 3 was 'The Motive'. Definitely the best of the lot. Predictable though it was, I thought the actors did a brilliant job. Mathivanan Raghavan and Vivek Hariharan - *applause applause*. The plot, the music, the acting, the dialogue delivery, the expressions- i thought it was perfect. Although i liked the drunk Mathivanan as opposed to the sober version :-) What i liked best was that this play looked the least rehearsed (in a good way!) and the actors seemed to be very much at ease with the characters that they played. Loved it! As they say, save the best for the last!

To sum up, I had a wonderful evening and enjoyed the play. Kudos, Stray Factory :-)

Ugly Duckling?

2010-05-14T18:00:00.011+05:30

A few days back, a senior colleague of mine dropped me a very thought provoking mail. I was surprised at the onset but I'm glad the person did so. First, it's been a long time since I've talked/mailed about something like this to anyone. Not that it involved much intellectual stimulation; it is a topic that should come naturally to the affected, but to discuss something that had nothing to do with movies, music, career, marriage or relationships was a welcome change. Second, this becomes my first blog post in a long time :)

I am just pasting here my reply to the statement that the aforementioned colleague of mine made. The statement, in parts, was, "...not rooted anywhere and so do not have a solid idea of ‘self’..."
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I beg to differ here. Instead of seeing it as 'not rooted anywhere' I would like to believe that I find my roots in more than one place. Sure it is difficult to come up with a specific place when someone asks me where I am from. My parents are from Kerala. But I am hardly a Malayalee. Then again, I do stand by my culture and customs. I was not born a Mumbaiite but my outlook and thinking are that of a Mumbaikar. And now, influenced by that of a Chennaiite :)
In that respect, I am not fenku. I've had the best of all the worlds :)
[---deleted sentence---]
I believe the idea of self has nothing to with where you are from. It has more to do with what you want yourself to be. Which, in our cases, is easy because we have the choice to be what we want to be- to convince ourselves, if that be necessary, and also to give selective first impressions to the world- who are actually the ones obsessing with communal groupism. Among a South Indian crowd, I am a Malayalee. Among a North Indian crowd, I'm a Mumbaikar. But to myself- I am both. That way, everyone's happy :)
We need not be type casted as the 'typical' crowd. We're the hybrids! Maybe I will agree that we do not have a solid idea of native identity. But that of self, that has nothing to do with where our origins lie.
I am sorry I've ranted on like a wanna-be philosopher. But clearly, one doesn't need to possess profound erudition to talk about such things :)
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It's all perception really. One needn't feel like a misfit for too long.
One is brought up a particular way only till she/he chooses to be brought up that way. After which, maturity makes it become free will.
I do not believe that has influenced or hampered, in any way, my idea of self. I just have a problem with the society's idea of myself :P :)
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But that is my take, anyone to agree or oppose?

My question is, would it matter to someone if a friend/partner does not completely belong to one place, in every sense of the word, even if the person himself/herself is at peace with it?

pic courtesy: http://www.flickr.com/photos/paurian/3707187124/

http://www.flickr.com/photos/paurian/ / CC BY-NC 2.0

The other life.

2009-12-12T13:55:00.006+05:30

" Monica: What's that noise you just made?
Chandler: Oh that? That's my work laugh.
Monica: Your work laugh?
Chandler: Yeah, and if you want to survive this party, you'll need to come up with one too."

" Chandler: Okay, I don't sound like some crazed, drunken pirate.
Monica: I know you don't. But work Chandler does! "

From: FRIENDS- The One With Chandler's Work Laugh

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Now I have a work laugh too.
And a work talk (no talk rather)
And a work smile.
In fact, I'm living a different person's life at work.
And I have no idea why!
I'm hoping it will change though...

Anyway, Hi! I am Work Divya.
Not an avid blogger apparently. She'll come around. Hopefully, soon.

Bah!

2009-08-10T21:42:00.004+05:30

Such hypocrites I tell you!
For the records, I have finally joined Cognizant and am officially a working woman! *taaliyan taaliyan*
So anyway, as I was saying, such hypocrites! Who? Well, here's who:
I am a straight girl, as in non lesbian (just stating a relevant fact, no revelations). So what do straight girls do? They look at guys; attractive guys most of the time. And that's what I did. I happened to spot one good looking guy in a batch of 270 and well, I used to look at him whenever he was around. I'm pretty sure it wasn't the dreamy 'oh-I-wish-you-were-mine' look; I know better than that! Yeah so well, what's so controversial about that? Don't guys ogle at girls almost ALL the time? Like, duh-huh! But when a girl does it, and it becomes slightly(ok, very :P) obvious, people have to create a big hullabaloo. Suddenly there are friends' of the guys inquiring about the girl as to, 'what kind of a person she is'. Ermm.. a normal heterosexual girl, thank you! Suddenly a whole bunch of the guys' batch mates gang up and act like goons when the girl is around, in an attempt to ridicule her. Suddenly the guy has on the spot bouts of extreme unnecessary attitude. Suddenly everyone in the batch thinks all the girl thinks about is the guy and everything the girl does is an attempt to get to talk to him. Hold it you buncha nincompoops! She's already bored of the guy!
Ok, so most of it is just either acts of unconditional immaturity or outcomes of lack of social evolution. But to question the intentions and may I say, integrity of a person just because she (I will not say, he because that circumstance never arises) found someone attractive? That's taking it too far. And why is that it is okay for a guy to check out girls but not vice versa? I don't get it! Such hypocrites I tell you!

The end of an Era

2009-07-07T11:43:00.007+05:30

I moved in to a new flat last month. It's right on the main road. For the past one month, there has never been a quiet awake moment. It's either the loud share autos, or the blaring Pondi buses or the never ending two wheeler crowd...you get it.
But today, as I was sitting in my favourite spot in my room, looking out of the window, I noticed, that one side of the road was filled with vehicles moving away and the other side completely empty. Not a single vehicle, not even a bike coming towards my side. And I noticed that striking resemblance it had to my present life, however cliched that sounds.
Today is a bad bad day. So was yesterday. Sukdi left yesterday. Monk-ey has been relocated. Bhai will leave this month.
This is a bad bad month.
I've been losing my friends for the past one year. One by one, they left; some from the city, some from my life. And there haven't been anyone coming my way. And now suddenly, my best friend, Monk-ey too; and so soon.

I haven't moved out of Chennai; I won't, for a long time. But Chennai, whatever part of it I had come to love, is slowly fading away.

Sigh...

2009-04-27T16:21:00.001+05:30

Life was fine. Not the best possible one could ask for, but I was happy. Heck, I was very happy; with the people I loved, doing things I loved. You get the point!

Then I graduated.

Oh.

Shit.

Wait! And Smell The Roses

2009-03-25T17:44:00.002+05:30

Isn’t it weird sometimes when someone you least expect opens your eyes to something you had failed to notice for a long time?

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I have a new driver now. My old driver left for some personal reasons and now we have this guy who is new to Chennai and knows nothing about the roads, the routes and the traffic. Anyone who has been to Chennai will know what I mean when I talk about Chennai traffic rules. There ARE no rules. You find your way and go ahead, any way! It is hard to find a vehicle here which does not have at least one dent on it

So our new driver, who is used to roads of Dubai and earlier, Mumbai, is extra cautious about driving, waiting for all the vehicles to pass and going oh-so-slow. I mean, very VERRRRY slow!

It was one such time when he was crawling through the roads of Chennai that I lost my cool. I was returning home from a temple and had to get home and watch a movie. And by the looks of it, I wouldn’t have got to watch the movie for a long time!

‘Anthony! Why are you driving so slowly?? You’re letting all the vehicles pass us! Can’t you go a little faster?’

‘Yes Madame, ok Madame’

A minute passed and 10 cars overtook ours.

‘Anthony!!!’

‘Madame?’

‘A little faster!’

Silence.

‘Do you have something important to attend to, back home Madame?’

‘Not particularly, but it won’t harm anyone to go a little faster, would it?’

‘Madame, how many times have you taken this road?’

‘Loads of times. This was the road I took to college, for 4 years!’

‘How many petrol bunks are there on the way?’

‘2. Why?’

‘Ok. What about temples?’

‘Quite a few, around 4 or 5.’

‘Hmmm… and which is your favourite house on the ECR (east coast road)?’

‘Err… I don’t know… never looked so closely.’

‘Madame! You’ve travelled this road for 4 years! And there are so many beautiful houses on this road. There’s the one with a lot of bougainvilleas, the one next to the Muthappa temple, the one with the high walls surrounding it, the one with the tall trees... and you can’t even think of one?’

I was stunned. I knew Anthony had never been to the ECR before. And yet, he had seen all that I had never cared to see. What was I to do hurrying back home? Watch a movie filmed in some faraway land when I didn’t even know what was there in my own?

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And then I was silenced. I saw the old woman selling jasmine strands next to the shop selling home décor and artificial flowers. I saw the women selling fish near the deserted bus stop, yelling at the top of their voices. I saw the lamps flicker at the temple and heard the bells ring. I saw a beautiful house, with a swinging chair in its balcony. It looked like somebody had just left the place; it was still swinging. I saw a woman spanking her kid who was covered in mud or what looked like mud! I saw a bunch of slum kids trailing a foreigner who was trying to dodge them and laughed at the poor lady’s panicked face. I saw a boy and a girl holding hands at the ice cream parlour and that made me smile. I saw a lot of things, and went home and forgot all about the movie.

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Sometimes it helps to go slow and enjoy what’s on the way.

Light, At The End Of The Tunnel (part 2)

2009-03-08T09:28:00.005+05:30

also read Light, At The End Of The Tunnel (part 1):

The first few years were like a dream. Husband, wife, a two year old boy and a half a year old girl- happy family. And then the cement factory he worked for closed. Now that she thought of it, then was probably when things had started falling apart. He had to move to a shady place which was a good 8 hour travel from their house. And so Sunita had to stay alone, while her husband visited her every once a week. She worked as a maid servant in the houses nearby- all for her husband and the children. The work was too much for her frail body to take but she thought nothing of it. Her husband had given her a reason to live and she worshiped him. After all, if it wasn’t for him, she would’ve been working in some sleazy brothel.
Quite naturally, she didn’t see the signs when he took to drinking in her absence. Or when he started sleeping with another lady in the other town. She did not ask him where he stayed the whole week. Or why was it that every week, he seemed to give her lesser and lesser money for the family’s expenses. She did not once suspect him of dishonesty. Her love for him was beyond all such emotions.
Until, when one day he came home fully drunk, swaying from side to side and cursing people she had never heard of. That was the day he had first slapped her and only because she had asked him why he was drunk. He had hit her and kicked her and called her a dirty whore. He had shouted at her and repeated again and again that he should never have married her, that he should have let her rot at her aunt’s or maybe at the place where they had planned to take her. It had made no sense to her then. She still loved him. She said nothing. She could say nothing.
But then it became a routine affair. His visits reduced, so did the money. By the time the third child was born, Sunita had to work at three houses. And when on some weekends he did come home, she had to endure the insults and pain. But still she could not bring herself to defy him, to yell back at him. Her love did not stop her anymore, for it was now buried deep under a surfeit of emotions of fear and gratitude. Her duty was obligatory. Her moral self wouldn’t let her shout back at the man who had helped her at the most crucial juncture of her self. She was trapped under her own feelings of liability that forbid her to even bear thoughts against her husband. After all, if not for him, where would she be now? No, she could not say anything against this man who had saved her from peril, not even when she had heard he had not one but two other wives in the other city; not even when he hit her and robbed her off her money; not even when she suspected he had started hating her. She could not be disloyal to her once hero.
But now, sitting there at the brink of the dirty stream, she thought of everything she had had to endure. Her eldest son was 16 years old now. She had lived with a man turned monster for the past fourteen years. When he wasn’t around to torture her, she dreamt of him torturing her. Why was she living like that? She had suspected for long now that he was stealing from her and giving it to his other wives and other children. He did not love her anymore. As for her, she didn’t know. Even if there was any love left in her for him, it was too far beneath all the fear and hate she felt for him now. Yes, he had saved her once, but he had enslaved her for a long time now. And she could not bear to make it forever. She was working after all, in fact for the past so many years she had been single handedly managing the household, no help from him. She didn’t need him any longer to drain her money and well being. She remembered her mother had told her once that a woman was incomplete without her man. She had believed that and lived by it for so long. But she could not take it any longer. She had three children to look after, the eldest of whom was already helping her with a little income. She was not alone in the world after all, and she didn’t need him.
The sun was out now. It shone with a fierce brightness. She had made up her mind. She felt a small tear run down her cheek, her last minute of weakness she thought. And she felt strangely elated. There was a garbage heap clogged at one side of the stream. She found a long stick and prodded at the heap. She could see the water below, muddy but uncluttered, with an urge to gush ahead.
After all these years of self imprisonment within her own endless heap of complex emotions, she had never thought it possible that she would be happy at the thought of leaving him. But she was. Happy. Very happy.
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CELEBRATING WOMANHOOD
INTERNATIONAL WOMEN'S DAY 2009

photo courtesy: photobucket.com

And so, the story ends...

2009-02-28T21:20:00.005+05:30

Apologies for posting this before coming out with the part 2 of Light At The End Of The Tunnel. But, this just had to be posted today.
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Life changes so much in just a few months. Sometimes, a few months, is a lot of time. And yet, sometimes when you think of it, those few months would’ve just flown by.
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He left by the 9:30 train. She knew it would happen so. What was she expecting for? A miracle? If so, what? She was the reason he had left, and she knew the story was over. Things were back to how it should have been and they were leading their own separate lives. Yet, it felt weird to her, that he was leaving town.
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She hoped for something to happen. She didn’t know what, but something! No, she didn’t want things to go back; no, that was silly. But was she happy this way? She was ok. And she knew ok would turn into happy, some day. She thought of all those movies she had seen, where the hero would dash into the railway station, at the last minute and proclaim his love for the heroine, just in time. And she smiled, at the goofiness of her thoughts. Yet, she wished for something to happen. But she knew nothing would.
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And nothing did. He left. And she went to the temple nearby, to pray for them to be happy, leading their own separate lives.

Light, At The End Of The Tunnel (part 1)

2009-02-26T10:05:00.005+05:30

It was the wee hours of the morning. The sun was just rising and it was still dark. That beautiful time at the start of the day when people woke up to look at the face of their loved one lying beside them, waking up to the chirping of early morning birds that sung sweet tunes of love into the light breeze that carried the mild fragrance of blooming flowers. It was that beautiful hour when any normal person, if awake, would feel blessed for everything that he had in life, especially for that special person. All but for one woman; she sat by the side of the dirty old stream under the bridge, all alone, with a dead look on her face. No, she had no special someone to thank God for. Sitting there, despite the foul smell of rotting garbage from the stream, Sunita felt strangely better than staying in that dingy hut of hers- The hut where she was held captive by her own inhibitions. But what other option did she have?
She looked at the dirty waters of the stream, stagnant, the floating rubbish making it move sluggishly. She closed her eyes and the events of the previous night came rushing back to her. She had had just a moment to look into those brown eyes of the man whom she had once loved; who, until a few years ago was her everything, her hero, her savior, the reason she was alive, her God. She could scarcely stand up, shivering and whimpering in front of her husband, seething, his eyes bloodshot, bellowing at her. She had hardly had time to move, when his hand had come hard upon her, sending her smashing down to the floor, face down. Her head hurt and her cheeks burned but he had not been satisfied. He was shouting like a mad man, dragging her by the hair as she tried hard not to scream and wake up her three kids. What if he did the same to them too? Her nose had started bleeding and she was slowly beginning to lose consciousness. Maybe it was the blood, or perhaps the copious amounts of liquor in him had taken its toll because he had left then and gone to sleep under the only creaking fan in the tattered hut. She had then huddled up in a corner and cried, not too loud, lest he should wake and beat her up again, lest she woke up the kids from their peaceful dreams. She cried the whole night until finally, at some point, she drifted off to sleep.
And now she sat there thinking of all the dreadful things he had done to her. She thought of all those times he had beat her, stamped her, snatched away her hard earned money only to return unstable and violent in the night, his head full of brutal and perverse thoughts that only alcohol could induce. When had it all started? For there was a time, she had loved him. There was a time she had seen love and kindness in those brown eyes. But now she was living with a fiend whom she did not love, who scared her, who had betrayed her, who had enslaved her forever.
Sunita was 14 years old when she had fled with her brown eyed hero who used to work in a tea shop next to where she stayed with her step aunt. He was around five years elder to her and was always full of stories that he heard from the workers who came to the tea shop. He used to tell her that he wanted to run away from there one day and go to the city that his worker friends so often spoke about. She was mesmerized by his descriptions of the magical place he called city. She was fascinated by his words, his voice and the way his brown eyes widened with excitement when he talked of his plans. She hadn’t been in love with him then, or perhaps she was; she didn’t know. It mattered little now.
She remembered the night that she had overheard her step-aunt talk to a big burly man who had come to the house. She had heard only snippets of the conversation ‘….yes grown enough… just the right amount… not bad looking… good money… pick her up in two days’. Sunita was old enough to understand what the conversation had meant. And she had known there was only one person who could help her right then.
And so she had fled, with her brown eyed boy in the middle of the night. He was tall and strong and she had a feeling of utmost safety when she was with him. She was in awe of her hero, who seemed to have it all planned out. It had been difficult, the first few weeks but she knew all was well. She was living with the man she loved and who loved her back. At least, it seemed so at first.
(to be contd...)

Something About Me

2009-02-19T22:23:00.005+05:30

Me: Kangaroo… repeat after me, Can-ga-ru… starts with a K!
Kid: Eye yo… teacher you know nothing! It’s Gangaa-roo!
Me: : |
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Me: c for?
Kid: errr…
Me: carrot. C for carrot
Kid: c for carrot.
Me: g for??
Kid: errr…
Me: g for gate... ok?
Kid: yes teacher (with an oh-so-sweet smile)
Me: e for??
Kid: idli?
Me: no. Elephant! Now tell me, c for?
Kid: c for sun, g for jug (yet another sweet smile)
Me: sigh…
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For a long time now I’ve wanted to blog about what’s keeping me busy of late.
I am volunteering at the Olcott Memorial High School, a non profit charitable organization (I had posted about it earlier here) and I absolutely LOVE it :) I had started off with fund raising work which involved traveling, marketing and lots of ECS forms. Now, I teach. Yep!! I have around 250 of my very own students who call me teacher! :D well, at least, most of them do! The 7th and 8th stds don’t though... they think I’m not old enough to look teacher-ish :| I’m a multi specialty teacher :P -> Math/ Computer/ English… how cool am I! :P *wink wink*
And NOW I know what my teachers had to go through with brats like us!
But even when the students are yelling at the top of their voices, pleading with you to let them go to the toilet (8 at a time!), pulling at your salwar, running around the place, complaining about another student (but teacher, he hit me first!) and what not… they are still adorable (mmm… except for when the little ones get a cold… that can get eeewww!) and the kind of respect and admiration they have for a teacher is worth it all :) Plus it’s a great experience to work with such an organization and to interact with the students.
Anyway, so that’s what I’ve been up to… and I also need to make a special mention of the headmistress here… Mrs. Lakshmi Suryanarayanan… Oh. My. God. What an amazing woman! There are very very VERY few people like her! Think I’ll keep my reason for a next post… there’s so much I can talk about the school and what all I’ve learnt from the place. I’m so happy I decided to volunteer there :)

Happy Birthday P&P!!!

2009-02-17T10:10:00.020+05:30

It has been a good long one year on blogspot for me! wow!

I had started writing on Swati's pestering compulsion :P and had started the blog as a dedication to her, my best friend who has been there for me through thick and thin and not so thick and thin :P who would've thought I'd stick it out for a year! Not me!

But i guess it's thanks to her and a lot of you people. after all, your comments are my incentives ;)

So, first of all it's HAPPY BIRTHDAY to Petals and Pebbles... and here's hoping I never get a blogger's block again, or at least, not much of it :P

Second, it was Swati's birthday on this 16th.. I am a little late, but i was caught up with the surprise we had planned for her... and boy was it worth it :D

HAPPY BIRTHDAY MOTI!!!!!

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Right, so I've decided to spread the joy and pass on a few awards to you. Congratulations and Celebrations!!! :D

I had never known blogger would be a place where i could get so many good friends. I present this award to Arvind, Vinu, Kartz, Richa & Chriz :)
for apart from my blog posts, they have to endure my non stop bakwas over gtalk/orkut too :P

Yep.. truly truly in LOVE with your blogs!
This cute award goes to Swati, Vinu (Conjuring Kreativity being the best, of course :D ), Sameera (Her posts and her templates both!), Chriz, Bhai with Chai, Divinediu & Scribblers Inc.

And another I love your blog award; goes to Trinaa, Kartz, Richa, Ayushi, Farah, homer simpson.

Diana, Sid, Rajesh, Toonfactory, Mahul, Priyajoyce ... I believe you truly deserve the thoughtful blogger award :)

Kochu, HP, Anwesa, Chriz, Princess Mia, Bhai with chai, DivineDiu... cool as cool can be! =D

AND that's about it! Happy people, Happy me, Happy blogposts, Happy Petals and Pebbles, Happy Comments, Happy me again :D

pic courtesy:photobucket.g

LoveStruck

2009-02-12T22:39:00.007+05:30

I have no idea what was going through my mind when I wrote the following load of crap. But since it is Valentines day and I don't want to be behind the rest of the blogging world in writing something dripping with love and mush and insanity, (don't know about the first two but there's loads of the last one), here I present, what is to follow :P

You swim in a yellow candy floss sea.
You drench in a shower of confetti.
Under a merry green sky above,
the purple waters of the calmest sea
rise in tides and rain over the trees.
While the ice cold sun blazes black and blue,
it melts the rocks into sticky glue
that sticks to you and your muddled mind,
bringing close a world you want to be in
and the crazy world that wont let you in.
You smile at the kid who let the butterfly fly
and watch it zig zag up into the empty sky.
The clouds now they fill the voids above;
Your mind wanders onto things unknown.
And you, caught atop clouds of love,
Wonder, has sanity left you for good?
And with a slight shrug you walk away;
A blissful smile adorning your dreamy face.

photo courtesy: flickr.com

and again, hi!

2009-02-02T07:16:00.004+05:30

the winter birds fly away and slowly,
the land of ours forgets them;
till a snow flake falls down again...
sometime...
and he fades away, slowly,
from the good old days;
till we meet ways again...
sometime...

no. i'm not even attempting to come up with a reasonable alibi justifying my absence. all i have to say is, my lappie is back!! :D and hello all :)

2009 seems very interesting indeed. so much has been happening this month.. on the work front, on the higher education front, on the personal front.. so much! do i like it all? somethings yes, somethings i dont know! nothing bad has happened yet so thats a good thing in itself :)

i can't be regular for a while now.. got plenty of things on my mind.. more importantly two very very important interviews coming up... so, sorry in advance.. till then happy blogging y'all! :D

The Memorial in White Marble

2009-01-06T13:15:00.004+05:30

The sun it shines upon you;
your marbled face, your still eyes.
You smile upon us; beautiful
calm, young and lovely your face
and you smile a happy smile.

The darkness fell in the empty alley.
You slept in peace, you dreamt
a dream of love and beauty.
A noise it sounded, loud and that light;
a light so bright, oh the fire and smoke.

And they built you, your marbled face;
the dream still in your eyes, and that smile,
the smile so happy, that lasted only a while
before the life like marble doll replaced
the life in you, O unfortunate innocence.

HAPPY NEW YEAR!!!!

2009-01-01T12:14:00.002+05:30

Thus ends 2008. And I'm happy.

I've hated 2008 for a lot of reasons.

Loved it only cuz college ended. But that had it's drawbacks too, now I realize. surpsisingly, I miss college now. Certain aspects at least.

I miss so many ppl. I miss friends, I miss ppl who were more than friends. I miss so much that 2008 took away from me. And sometimes I hate myself for letting it be so.

I hate the MBA craze. I hate CAT, I hate myself for screwing up CAT.

I want to do something worthwhile in life, make my parents proud and getting a B.E. degree from lousy Jeppiaar college doesn't count in the least.

As for a job, bloody CTS ain't showing any signs of calling anytime soon :(

I hope 2009 holds something good for me.

I hope I never have to part with my friends. I hope I make a lot of new friends. I hope I do something to make me proud of myself.

I'll miss Swati. She will leave one day. I love her a lot, she's the bestest best friend.

I'll miss Rohit if I have to leave Chennai. I love him like crazy. He's the perfect brother best friend (and people think he is my boyfriend too sometimes! haha!). He is the person I care for and love the most in this world (and Unni too!)

I already miss Brindha, and the way she used to pamper me and snub me at the same time. She was like the sister I never had. She's an amazing person. Love her.

And there are the others too.

There are a lot of things I wish I could change, but I know whatever happened was for the best, so I guess I'll do nothing about it.

As for the rest, whatever has to be, will be.

Goodbye 2008.

Happy New Year 2009, all!! :)

what a day!!

2008-12-31T21:16:00.007+05:30

While everyone has new posts out regarding the new year, i thought i'd bring out a post on the best day of my life.. my birthday!!!
and what wow fun it was this year,,..
i got THREE separate birthday parties!!! yay!!!
i want to thank all you nice people for dropping in your wishes... mmmuah!! and a big hug :D
and i want to thank kartz for sending me thisand also picking out this adorable teddy...

thank you soooo much karthi :) a HUGE thanks and hug :D

thank you niceguy251 for being such a darling and sending me a beautiful card. That was such a lovely gesture.. thank you ever so much!

and of course, my dear friend Vinay. Thank you for being such a sweetheart and posting this on CK.. i LOVED the poem... this is one the sweetest things anyone has done for me.. i can't thank you enough!

and there are so many other lovely people in the world i want to thank.. i dont want to miss out on anyone here.
rohit, megha, shilpa, swati, geri, shvetha, brindha, unni, vishnu.. you guys made my day extra special... what would i do without you?? love you.. ooommmah!!! also, arvind for wishing me almost everyday the whole of december :P aye... i like you so much ya! :D big hug to you too..
and also, my family, the bestest family in the whole wide world.. without doubt! ]
undoubtedly, i'm the luckiset prson in the whole universe (nope.. you guys dare not argue! :P)
anyway, here's thanking all of you for wishing me luck and love.. THANK YOU!
and this is for you :)

A-tag.

2008-12-26T12:27:00.004+05:30

John had tagged me loooooong back with this.. was trying to put it off for as long as possible. considering it's the year end and richa has tagged me again, i thought i'd take it up. i've tried to be a smug smart ass with this though :P

1. If your lover betrayed you what would your reaction be?

I'll kill him.. off with his head!

2. If you could have one dream come true which one would it be?

The one where i become Priyanka Chopra :P

3. Whose butt would you like to kick?

Arjun Singh! eeeeaaargh "pataaak"!!!!

4. What would you do with a billion dollars?

geez... i have no idea! hmmm... maybe get a make over. everyone's getting one of those of late nai?

5. Will you fall in love with your best friend?

that's not something you can predict, is it?

never have till now, but who knows what's to come?

6. Which is more blessed: loving someone or being loved by someone?

Loving someone and being loved by the same person.. that's blessed!

7. How long would you wait for someone you love?

Not very long, the moment i realize it's futile, i'll move on.

8. If the person you like is secretly attached, what would you do?

(i don't think i like these qs very much :| )

whine and cry about it, irritate all my friends, sulk for a few days and then move on.

9. If you could root for one social cause which one would it be?

sexual abuse of the girl child.

10. What takes you down the fastest?

bad breath, talking to men who believe beauty is skin deep and when ppl tell me, ohh ur so chubby and bubbly! God how much i hate that!!!

11. What I loathe most in people

It's difficult narrowing down to one single thing you know :P

but picking one thing at random, i guess i'd say, hypocrisy.

12. What's your fear?

that i'd never lose weight!!! :O

that apart, failing at something i desperately want.

13. What kind of person(s) do you think the person who tagged you is/are?

richa: strong, sensible, someone who doesnt fear to voice her opinions and a real babe who believes in the inner beauty of ppl. girl power go go!!

arjun: haven't got to know him much, but from what i know, a sincere blogger.

14. Would you rather be single and rich or married and poor?

ooooohhhh tough one! why why whyyyy can't i be married and rich??

15. What is the first thing you do when you wake up?

scream at my dad for waking me up so early (early being somewhere around 9 :P)

16. If you fall in love with two people simultaneously who would you pick?

the one who is absolutely crazy about me and adores everything i do.. that would be the perfect pick :)

17. Would you give all in a relationship?

i haven't till date, but henceforth, if there is one, i would want to.

18. What's eating you now?

MBA!!!!! eye yooooo :(

19. Do you prefer being single or in a relationship?

i answered 18 questions!! pls pls let me bunk this one? :D

20. Tag 6 people...

right so, if you guys haven't already done this, i tag

yay yay YAAAAAY!!!

2008-12-22T13:32:00.007+05:30

first off, his highness kartz ;) passed on this award to me.. yay yay!! thankooskoos :D =D

i'm keeping this one to myself :P

why??

cuz i'm in a selfish selfish mood!

why?

cuz i'm damn damn happy!!

why??

cuz it's december!!

so??

EET EES MAYII BERTHADAY NEXT WEEK!!! WOOHOO =D

and my friends came over a few days back and gave me a surprise advanced birthday party(YAY YAY!) .. so that i can celebrate my birthday throughout the month.

is that cool or what?? yay yay yaaaaay!!! i'm so so happy :D

Tis' the season to be merry :D indeed!!

Update: stupid of me to not have mentioned... birthday's on the 30th.. yippeee!!! :D

OH MY GAWD!! she's size ZerO!!

2008-12-17T08:26:00.004+05:30

This is a post I should’ve posted ages back, but well I didn’t, out of fear that my close friends would call me a hypocrite. And now I thought I should. So here it is!

It was a fine Saturday morning. I wake up to the birds chirping, sun shining, coffee brewing, a nice smell ensuing, etc etc etc and I pick up the paper. As always, I throw away the main Hindu paper and spread the Weekend section in front of me to catch up on the latest Bollywood/Hollywood gossip. Lo and behold! The main story there is ‘Kareena Kapoor has attained size zero (taaliyan taaliyan!!). Personally I thought she looked horribly anorexic in the pic (apologies to all Kareena Kapoor fans but anorexic is a polite term I’ve used. The precise reaction that my brother gave after seeing the pic, if I remember right, was eeeugh!!) And of course, there was an entire write up dedicated to lolo’s or bebo’s or bimbo’s, or whatever that is she is called, feat. Bravo. Very nice.

And then, sometime later I was watching TV and I came across a very interesting report in one of the leading news channels (darn it, I don’t remember which one it was, would’ve loved to shred the channel’s name and reputation into tiny shreds of parched meat like pieces :P ) . Yeah so well they were excitedly talking about a movie to be released, Tashan (if they had known what an outrageous flop the movie was to be, I’m sure they wouldn’t have wasted so much time on it… or perhaps, going by the present state of news channels, they still would’ve!). And what were the two most important things they were discussing about the movie? 1. Kareena Kapoor’s new vital statistics. 2. Kareena Kapoor- Saif Ali Khan relationship. Wow! I would love to comment on point #2 but that would be digressing from the topic, so we’ll come back to oh-so-thin Kareena’s new size. The protagonist was gushing and blushing and basking in the glory of numerous compliments that were being bestowed on her by the pathetic host, fans, viewers and some ‘inside’ Bollywood people who had (surprise surprise!) to comment on something as dumba-dumb-dumb as this. And all this while, she looked like she was going to drop dead the next minute.

Now don’t get me wrong, I have nothing against Kareena Kapoor. My fury is directed against all those people who are promoters of the size zero bandwagon. Pick up any issue of any woman’s magazine, and I assure you there will be at least one article on how to look sexy/glamorous/thin. Not fit, thin. Yes, I plead guilty; I’m one of those numerous people who are affected by the get-thin-to-look-good propaganda. No I am not thin. I know I’m not fat as per the norms of fat (as my friends have tried to tell me in vain) but in a world crazed by the size zero phenomenon, I’m obese :| and that fact has not been a very comforting one. I may have been a good student at school, a good friend, a kind person, and have had numerous virtues but in a world obsessed with getting thin and looking fab, I was a loser. And trust me; I’m not alone in thinking so. I have known girls who were way worse than I was and who took this very seriously- slimming pills, crash dieting and going to gym till your body cannot take the stress any longer- all this is not new to any one. Most of them are very pretty girls, but God decided to let them have some meat on their bones, (oh no!). Seriously, so what’s the big hullabaloo about?

Media, as always the culprit, and fashion shows have tampered with the definition of good looking so badly that it is no longer what it used to be. Good looking implies being in shape. And if that shape happens to be anything other than an hourglass shape- oops... you’re out! Staying fit, which doesn’t imply getting rid of all that is fleshy from your body, is a forgotten concept. Yes, I agree one has to look good when in show biz, but why the brouhaha about the size? I mean, I had never thought Kareena Kapoor was fat in the past, if anything, she looked better then! The heroines of yesteryears weren’t size zero, and well they looked far better than our present day heroines. So what’s my point? That the obsession with the whole size zero thing must stop. Not everyone is born a model, hell that’s why they are models! So Kareena Kapoor slimmed down- why the fuss? It’s not like she invented a machine that will blow up all terrorist camps with one click of a mouse (now THAT would be worthy of some fuss). If the present day media (and youth) stopped giving so much attention to looks and focussed more on basic intelligence, fitness, general awareness and overall development, we’d probably have a more informed generation next (that knows that our president is not Sonia Gandhi and that Bihar is not the capital of Uttar Pradesh and that Madras is not another name for South India, which is again, not a state), which is by all means a better thing than to have a circus of stick thin, weak anorexic women (and men too, wanting to look muscled up and beefy).

On that note, I’m going to have a cheese pizza and a chocolate ice cream.

(and to all those people who accuse Vidya Balan of being fat, screw you!)

Pic courtesy : bestpicsaround,

yay yay!

2008-12-16T09:39:00.003+05:30

tadaaaa!! and i have been awarded (*mwaah mwaah*), yet again by vinay/ leo.. (a mega huge thankooskoss to you :D) i feel so happy :) (*sniff*)

What is this Proximity award about?

"This award is given to a blog that invests and believes in PROXIMITY - nearness in space, time and relationships! These blogs are exceedingly charming. These kind bloggers aim to find and be friends. They are not interested in prizes or self-aggrandizement. Our hope is that when the ribbons of these prizes are cut, even more friendships are propagated. Please give more attention to these writers! Deliver this award to eight bloggers who must choose eight more and include this cleverly-written text into the body of their award."

AND NOW, the passing on of the award to 8 dear dear dear people whom i have befriended out here :D

swati (cuz she is my bestest friend, and the best there ever can be!)

THE PALADIN'S MOTHER

2008-12-10T23:03:00.001+05:30

It was Meera, Nafeeza’s neighbour’s daughter who had first told her about it the next day. ‘Nafeezumma, did you hear about the bombing and firing? Its all over the news, come home and see it on TV. There has been a terror attack in Delhi.’ Nafeeza hurried over to Meera’s house. There it was, the horrific images playing back to back on the TV. Images of blood splattered across the ground, clothes, shoes and baggage drenched in blood strewn across, relatives of the victims huddles up, their faces grief stricken, many of them crying, some too shocked to react. Fire and smoke were emanating from the building nearby. Nafeeza watched in horror as journalists and reporters frantically tried to brief the viewers on what had happened. ‘How can people do this Nafeezumma? How can people be so cruel? Look at that small kid crying! Why does this happen?’ Meera looked at her old and wise neighbour who always had answers for her. But Nafeeza could not say anything. Indeed, why would anyone want to do all this? She knew the pain of having lost a child. And now, probably two. Why? She had no answer. Quietly cursing the evil times, she left from the place.

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'Ameena, could you come here for a moment?’ Nafeeza called out to her daughter.

‘What happened umma?’ Ameena asked irritably. She was obviously annoyed at having been summoned when she was busy at whatever it was that she was doing.

‘Could you get me a glass of water child? I had a bad dream today’.

‘How many times have I asked you not to sleep during the day? You worry so much and you keep thinking about bad things, then why wouldn’t you have bad dreams? Hold on I’ll get you water’.

‘I saw Afzal’, Nafeeza whispered.

Ameena gave her the glass of water and pretended not to listen.

‘I saw Afzal in my dream Ameena. He... he doesn’t look well’. Nafeeza accepted the glass with trembling hands. She shivered slightly. She looked at Ameena for some response but Ameena remained passive. She appeared to not have listened to anything her mother had said.

‘I’m talking to you Ameena. Can’t you hear me? I’m telling you that your brother is not well and you choose not to listen? How can you not care?’

‘Umma! He’s been gone for 7 years now!! Seven years! We have no idea where he is, no letter, and no calls! If he were still alive, surely he would’ve tried to contact us by now! I’m tired of telling this to you umma. Please get this into your head once and for all.’

‘Afzal would never have spoken to me like that. He was not a good student but he was a good kid, my Afzal. He’d never have let you speak to me like that’, wept Nafeeza.

Ameena looked apologetic now. She sat next to her old mother, ‘umma, I didn’t mean to be rude or hurt you. You are worrying yourself for a lost cause. We’ve been trying to tell you for two years now. Haven’t we searched enough umma? See how weak you have become worrying yourself? Where is that old strong umma of mine? You’re not one to live a lie. All I’m saying is once you accept the truth you might be able to handle it better than being hopeful and worrying yourself. I love you umma.’

‘I have hope Ameena. That is why I’m still talking to you. I will never lose hope Ameena. Nothing and no one can survive without hope. Your brother is out there somewhere and I know he isn’t well now. I’m a mother, I’d know.’

Ameena shook her head. She has known her mother for 19 years. She was not one to give up so soon. And all along when the rest of the family was convinced that Afzal was no more in this world, Nafeeza never listened. She would always accuse them of not caring enough. That, had Ameena’s father still been alive, he would’ve found out about Afzal’s whereabouts. Nafeeza believed that her son was trapped somewhere with no means of escape and no way to reach them. And she fiercely believed in it.

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Nafeeza was old and weak and arthritis had rendered her unable to walk without a limp. If it wasn't for her tremendous will power, she would've been crippled by now. But she wasn't someone to give up so soon. It has been years since her husband died and she had looked after her children all by herself. Her first son had died of a hole in his heart when he was only one. Now she had two daughters a son. The eldest daughter was married to a man and lived in Dubai. The youngest daughter, Ameena, had finished studying and was at home. Her uncles were searching for a suitable groom for her, which wasn't very difficult. Ameena was a beautiful girl, much like her mother and had many suitors. As for her son, Afzal, Nafeeza had no idea where he was.

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Three blasts-gun fires without ceasing-3 terrorists killed-2 still inside the building. Nafeeza was still trying to grasp the magnitude of the event the next morning when her brother ushered her into her room. ‘Did you see the news paper Nafee?’

‘No iqqa, I saw the news at Meera’s place yesterday…’

‘They are looking for an Afzal’, her brother cut her short. Nafeeza stopped abruptly. Her eyes shot at her brother, first with shock and then disbelief. She struggled for a minute to come up with the right words and then slowly said, ‘My Afzal would never be part of such an execrable deed. That is not how I raised him.’

‘Oh Nafee, we don’t know where he has been for the past 7 years. How do you know this is not our Afzal? I’m sure people are talking now Nafee. Everyone knows we don’t know where Afzal is. What do we tell them?’ her brother snapped.

‘Tell them the truth iqqa; that we don’t know where Afzal is. But the Afzal they are looking for is not my Afzal. I know for sure.’

‘Ha! Your Afzal was never good for anything. I don’t think I have any doubts. He is not good for anything else. He was insecure and ashamed of himself. He sounds like someone who would do something like this’

Nafeeza tried hard not to scream. ‘You thought he was dead. You all thought he was dead and gone. How can you be sure it is him now? You never appreciated the kid when he was here. Stop blaming him for everything. He is not with us now; leave him alone at least now! Let him be, please iqqa. I know my Afzal will not do such a heinous thing. He will not. He surely will think of his umma. He may have been an under achiever but he was a good boy’, fought back Nafeeza. ‘Leave me be iqqa. I don’t want to talk about this anymore. You can tell the whole world whatever you want to. But I know it isn’t true. My Afzal is a good boy’, she said storming out of the place.

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There was not a single day that Nafeeza did not worry about Afzal and his well being; even before he had gone missing. As a child, he had been bad at academics while both his sisters where outstanding students. When his father was alive, he would always compare him to his sisters and mock him for being beaten by two girls. He was a subdued child, who preferred staying at home than going out to play. The neighbourhood children laughed at him for being a milksop. But in spite of all the jeering and sneering, Afzal preferred to stay at home, lost in his world of books and poems or talking to his mother. Nafeeza had a natural soft corner for this child of hers. She believed he was timid and was artistic, but artistic men were never recognized in their own time. She believed her son was special and had the makings of a great man, but her husband used to laugh at her when she told him so. ‘Haha! Afzal? No no Nafeeza, don’t fool yourself. He is a shy boy, not fully grown. He cannot survive on his own. Look at him; he prefers sleeping on your lap to getting dirty in the mud. He is a boy Nafeeza, a boy! How can a boy be so?’ he used to say. His father did love him, but never believed he had any special qualities. Nafeeza often suspected that her husband was ashamed of his only living son and that pained her. She loved Afzal more than her other children for he was always with her and seemed to love her more than he loved anyone else. She loved him more than anyone else because he was mocked at by the others, and she didn’t want him to feel neglected. Afzal was her everything. Yes she loved her daughters, but Afzal was special.

And yet, seven years back when one of his uncles had slapped him for not being able to get a job, he had left her without a word. Initially she had thought he had gone to the lodge nearby and that he’d return the next day. But he never did. She waited for days, weeks and months, hoping for a letter or call from her son but none came. The rest of the family tried to search everywhere, or so they said, but Afzal was nowhere to be found. They had no hopes anymore, not after these 7 years that a boy so attached to his mother could stay away for so long. They were assured that Afzal was dead. But Nafeeza didn’t believe that. Something told her he was alive, and now she worried for something told her he was in danger now.

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She was not going to believe her brother. What did he know? He never knew her son like she did. He would never do such a thing. So many murders? Surely he wouldn’t. He believed in the goodness of deeds. He was an artistic kid who loved the beauty of nature and its creatures. He could never kill someone. He was a timid and quiet boy, not a rebel. He wouldn’t bomb buildings and shoot at people. He wouldn’t even hold a gun in his hand. Why did he have to? He would think of her, his sisters and all those people who loved him and cared for him. But then, did he know how much they cared? Had she not shown enough care, given him enough love? Didn’t he know how it felt to lose someone you love? He had heard from Nafeeza; about how much she grieved his brother’s death. He would never kill anyone. No he wouldn’t. She was sure of that.

But the fact remained that he had been missing for seven years. Nafeeza knew nothing about his whereabouts or what he did for a living. What if??

NO! She dared not think about that. She might have had as well thought him to be dead. Dead and gone than be associated with such God forbidden evil deeds. She was confused and old and very weak. Her mind was playing tricks on her. Even if the entire world thought he was a terrorist, she wouldn’t believe them. She couldn’t believe things had come to this, her son, her only son, being termed a murderer.

Even if it was him, it wasn’t his fault. He was a neglected child. No one had accepted him for what he was. That would’ve been the reason he was misled into everything. People would understand that, wouldn’t they? They’d forgive him. He was Nafeeza’s son, everyone loved Nafeeza. She was a nice loving woman and her son had made a mistake, that’s all. But to kill so many people? Was that a mistake? Should she report him to the police? But her only son! What if he was indeed dead? She would be torturing him even in his death. What was she to do?

And she cried, like she had never cried before. She cried for her Afzal, for her deceased husband, for her first son. She cried for everyone she had lost. She cried as the entire nation mourned the deaths of many innocent victims. She cried, hoping that would wash away her son’s sins. She didn’t want to believe it was her Afzal, but iqqa had been so sure of the accusation. What if it was indeed her boy? She cried for long and then slowly drifted off to sleep.

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‘Umma!! Umma wake up. Its Afzal, Afzal is on TV. They are showing Afzal!’ Ameena’s high pitched screech woke up Nafeeza from her deep sleep. She had been dreaming of a happy family of four kids and a mother and father.

‘Umma come to Meera’s house. There is something you have to see. Afzal… he is not dead. His photo is on TV. You were right Umma… he was in danger... He… he is in Delhi…’ she tried to mange before running off to Meera’s place again.

Nafeeza sat still on her bed. Afzal’s photo was on TV. Her iqqa had been right. Her Afzal, her sweet child was a criminal?? Nafeeza felt numb. She had given birth to a criminal? He didn’t deserve to live then. But he was her son. Her favourite child, how could she will him to die? She was torn between morality and motherly love. She sat there, her eyes moist but too dazed to cry. And then she heard another yell, ‘Nafeezumma!’ She slowly raised her weak body from the bed and walked towards her neighbour’s house. What was there to see? Her son being branded as the most wanted man of the nation? What was left in it to see? She aimlessly walked towards the house. And there she saw him, his photo on the TV. She did not hear anyone around her as she looked at the face she had loved so much. She looked into the eyes that had given her hope and sunshine. And she slumped into a chair nearby.

‘Umma Afzal iqqa is a hero!!’ screamed Ameena. Nafeeza was suddenly shaken out of her trance. ‘What?’ she asked, perplexed. ‘Umma look at the caption! Local boy saves hostages. He helped the army! He is in the hospital but doctors say he will live. Umma, Afzal iqqa is a hero! The country is so proud of him!’

Nafeeza couldn’t believe what she was hearing. Her son, her only son was a hero. She had been right all along. She had believed he was alive. She had believed he was not at fault. Her chest swelled with pride. It wouldn’t be long before she talked to her son again. He will come to her, as a man who has achieved something and he will get a hero’s welcome. All was well. She thought about her husband and brother, and a little smile spread across her wrinkled face. She hugged Ameena and Meera and cried.

‘Why are you crying now Nafeezumma? Isn’t he fine? Aren’t you proud?’

‘Yes sweetheart, I’m proud. I’m very proud. I’m very happy. God is kind. I’m very happy’.

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I, Woman Of Today

2008-12-06T22:24:00.002+05:30

Forgive me mother, for I no longer stick to your ideals.

I have foregone the customary path.

Given in to the wildest of wrath,

Come out unscathed and

embraced all that you call fiend.

Forgive me father, for I’m no longer your little girl

or the delicate maiden you thought I’d become.

I am not afraid to walk out into the sun,

in the open to a world that was once scary.

None of those warnings intimidate me.

Forgive me my country of birth;

Forgive me if it is up to you.

For I do not believe endurance is my virtue.

I have endured enough, enough have I suffered;

Now I come of age, wary yet unruffled.

Forgive me world, for I have broken barriers.

I am no longer what you want me to be.

I am no longer the silent voice of mutiny.

For now I speak out in a voice loud and firm.

I fear not your stares or words of criticism.

Forgiveness I ask not of shame or defeat

Forgiveness I ask for I tread the forbidden path

I am no longer ‘the weak’ that you chose to disregard.

Long gone is the day when I wept in a corner.

No longer at your mercy, I am independent and stronger.