Chronicles of a Good Girl

I was a good girl from birth, I was told. I never fussed for eating, I never broke my toys. I held my grudges and never spoke of them. I always smiled at sorrow and helped maintain peace. Then came the time when I was to be judged. Adolescence was waiting to test my resolve. I skipped and I turned and I shut my eyes tight when there was a scare of my ruination. I shooed away guys who confessed their liking. Told they had an issue deep within their psyche. I grew up and married and loved my husband dear. He was the one I dreamed of, we settled for the best. Our families were happy, they blessed us for life. We both had our kids, our little spoilt brats. When once came a neighbour, sexy in her jeans. She strutted her body, in full abandon. I shunned her broad manners and her loud laugh. She lures the men to her, I called her a slut. She then cried away for one her stories. I was happy, my judgment was never to be wrong. She moved from my building, good riddance, I thought. Her influence would no longer spoil the brats. I grew up and made my children be gentle. I gave them the knowledge of right and wrong. They grew up too, soon, and went on adventures. Their life was no longer tied to mine. Relief spread across, a life I had lived. Full of joy, full of fun, a long happy one. When on my deathbed I had the flashback, I thought I did good and closed my eyes. I was a good girl right from my birth, and was a good girl right to my death.

Erosion of innocence

I remember you darling. You were there. New to the place. Crying your eyes out. Your sobs uncontrollable. You were shy. You were the boy in the corner. I smiled, I made you half-smile. Your eyes dug deep into my heart.

We met again. You were playing. A lone game. Some fantasy world. You came, sat next to me and told me your affairs. And I listened. Your smile made me crave for your innocence.

You grew up today. When I saw you, I hunted for that spark of recognition. You were ashamed. You looked down. And moved away and did a stunt. Told me that you didn't need me. After all, what have I done but smile? Your sorrow was yours alone.

I acknowledge. We are never to look at each other again. 

I walk. Therefore, I am

When I walk, I shift the imbalances. The imbalance of one step cancels out the imbalance of the one before it. When i am steady, sure of my place, I stay. There's no progress in it. A series of steps, each out of balance, each a risk, with every potential of falling down, are what makes us travel.

When I walk, I move. I incorporate the changes around me. Else I remain static.

-Inspirations and learnings from Bhutan

The Walk of Fame

When I cross the road at 7 pm, I am a celebrity. Headphones plugged in my ears that play the background music of my life then.  The hot headlights are the blinding flashes of the annoying paparazzi. I am in a world of my own. Swaying my butt in a sexy swagger. Almost a catwalk. Then comes my moment of truth, when a biker almost crashes into me.

Thanks! I didn’t know that cussword, you moron. 

The hypocrisy of morality

I believe morality is imbibed in us when we are kids.

One might not brush one's teeth twice a day, but would hesitate when causing someone harm. That
is my personal definition of a refined human being. Separating them from the fanatics.

By a chance encounter, I came to see how kids are taught 'Right' and 'Wrong'. 

Twelve year old kids spouting poetry beautifying the effects daroo and nasha in their romanticised imagination. That goes unchecked. Even encouraged at times for it's poetic value.

When a molestation was broadcast over a gazillion news channels, the kids noted the elders saying - 'that woman has been put to her place'.

Movies of pure dreaded violence are screened without a second thought. And I'm not surprised that some of the kids' aim in life is to be a Don.

The hypocrisy comes to light now. When there is a scene showing two consenting adults making out on screen, that is blasphemous. The channel is immediately changed and the kids are shoo-ed away. The unspeakable has been brought to light.

'No no Madamji! We cant play with the values of the children'.

Of course. 

We The People shuns love. And lauds rapes. 

Peace be to the Bhartiya Sanskar.

Serotonin.

The Love Drug.

Some say 'it's all in the smell'

How do people never seeing each other love then?

Those shiny posters of hunky hot bods in my room

Isn't that love then?

If not, 'the character it is'

Sounds reasonable. But not valid.

How do I love a baby then?

'the way he looks'

I'm blind. Yet I fall for you.

'It's just an idea', they say.

Yet I love You; and not Him.

'A connect of souls'

I don't think my coffee has a soul.

And i don't just like it.

That's love too.

I guess I'm done defining.

Hate is better.

You hurt me. I hurt you.

Period.

The Mane Point

This has to be a cliched post. The before and after of a hair-cut. For a girl, that is, obviously.

Now, I am one of those kind of people who have forever wanted long hair. So I try nourishing it, nurturing it and finally bringing the length down a few inches below my shoulder line. This feat takes a year (some slow growth I say!). And by then, it is summer.

Now the problem with summer is, it one season when my hair decides to have a mind of its own. Therefore, heavily damaged hair is what I end up with by mid-summer. And then comes my pilgrimage to the Salon. The stylist tells me how damaged my hair is (yes I know!), asks me what hair products I use (the most embarrassing  question for some odd reason) and tells me he/she'd chop off my damaged hair (yay!). I get all enthusiastic and give the thumbs up for Short Hair.

A few hours later, I stare stupidly at myself in the mirror.
Oh yes, I've done the same old familiar mistake again. And that is why I never will have long hair. Period.