I precisely have been the kind of person who has never had any friends until recently,
But life has been a far lot bearable with them.

We have thrown chappals at each other,
have played the first Snake Xenzia together in the then newly arrived Nokia1600, have crossed roads holding each other’s fingers, have seen each other passing our boards and getting into college, getting into relationships and even coming out of them.
Be it telling lies, going on a morning walk and coming back at 12 in the noon ,running barefoot on the concrete road, and walking together in the rain when the one who is wearing the thickest jeans has to keep all the cellphones and watches,
It’s been 18 years of growing up together.

No matter if you are slim or fat, passing or failing, Sharif or harami,
In all the phases of your life , they always love you the same.

They hide all your secrets, click good pictures of you, drape you in a saree and make you look like an idiot.

The seniors always maintain their swag,  ask you things like:
“Who dared to be your boyfriend?”
And remind you that
“You are a kid. Stay like one.”
But they would even steal books for you and watch out for you while you are talking to your boyfriend.

While the juniors make you feel old for the first time in life.
You teach them the secrets of a happy life and lead them to their enlightenment.
From changing their diapers to
making their school project,
giving them relationship advices and patting their back when they abuse for the first time,
This is how we all enter the squad.

Neither do our habits match, nor do our choices. But we still hang out together and always end up fighting on which game to play and what to eat with the little amount of money we’ve got.


Free will.

Nissim Ezekiel writes:
“The door is always open
But I cannot leave.
I mock myself here
As if my very existence
Is a presumption.”

In your relatively brief lifetime,
It must have happened at least once or maybe even several times that life looked you in your face and made you know how small you are, how powerless you are in this huge universe.
you must have asked yourself that question at least once:
“Why things are the way they are?”
And did you get a perfectly reasonable answer? Nopes! Because there isn’t one.

You don’t get to decide the things around you.
There is no such thing called free will.
What you clearly see is an individual act that you believe to be yours,
But what you don’t see is the reasons, the thought process, the experiences that it takes for that act to happen.
Those are things that are never entirely yours in the first place.

As we read in the communist manifesto:
“Does it require deep intuition to comprehend that a man’s ideas, views and conception changes with every change in the conditions of his material existence, in his social relations and in his social life?”

They say that experiences shape you.
But do you always get to choose your experiences? Do you always get to choose the people you meet in your life? Do you always get to choose how your relationship will turn out? Did you get to choose your skin colour, your height, your gender and the experiences that came along with it?
So, did you get to choose how exactly you are shaped?

And it’s how you are formed that solely decides the decisions you take or the desires you possess.

What if that ex of yours would never have left? What if you would never have met the person you so dearly love or hate? What if you would never have gone to that school of yours?
I bet you wouldn’t be the same.
You could have easily been the people you despise or laugh at, if only you had a little different set of experiences.
You sure as hell would not have been the same if you were born in America or Afghanistan or even in your opposite gender.

Most people never get to enjoy the benefits that you are born into.
Some people are always smarter.
Some are always prettier.
Some can stand in front of an audience without an ounce of shyness,
While some still fear doing that.
Some have naturally good hair. Some don’t.
I get the point that you can improve your conditions, your speaking skills, maybe even your hair.
You may struggle a lot. You may even succeed.
But the point is that you don’t always get to choose your struggles.

And there is a reason why we don’t realise the graveness of it.
Dan Brown writes in his inferno:
“Denial is a critical part of the human coping mechanism. Without it, we would all wake up terrified every morning about all the ways we could die. Instead, our minds block out existential fears by focusing on stresses we can handle, like getting to work on time or paying your taxes.”

So you see, you are essentially programmed to deny, to overlook your own slavish existence, in order to serve the demands of this world.
You my friend, are a slave in the hands of reality, in the hands of this world.

Writing about writing.

You sit to write. But you don’t know what to write about..
You think of all the topics that your 19 years of experience can allow you to think of.
You choose one. But, That seems like a bad topic.
But then you know that there are no bad topics. You just have to stick to one till the very end to make it worth reading.

You write something and realise  that’s too personal. So you leave it there.
You look at the trees outside of your window, at that puppy on the road, at that little table fan which is relentlessly working to keep you calm and to keep you from throwing your notebook into the dustbin.

And then your mom calls you for breakfast and you tell her that you haven’t even brushed yet. She goes away murmuring something about how much she regrets bringing you into this world.
But you don’t care. You’re still looking at the trees.

You want to put in all your frustrations, all your fears, all your complaints in those 300 words.
But then you stop yourself, because Sachin Mishra told that’s an idiotic thing to do. So you look at the trees again.

You open your quora in order to get some topic to write upon. But then it demands an update and your phone doesn’t have enough space. Seems like the world is conspiring to not make you write!

You know you have to finish it up really soon as those e-books in your phone are awaiting to be read.
So you end up writing about writing itself.

The unheroic heroes.

This man doesn’t know how to speak in English, can call you at 6 in the morning over a Facebook profile picture and is always concerned about the “family honour”.
But there is no denying the fact that if this man would not have been there, I now would have been cooking meals for some male-chauvinistic husband of mine in some remote village of Bihar rather than writing this blog over here.
He started working at the age of 12.
An age when we were watching cartoons.(at least I was.) And although he could not manage to get “modern” like most of us,
But made sure that his children get a chance to do so.

Now this lady..

Although it’s quite hypocritical for someone like me to write this,
But  while I constantly complain about her not being so open-minded, I forget to realise that she did all she could to eventually get me to become sensible enough to resent her conservativeness.
(Not that I have surprisingly started loving her, but that’s just a fact even I can not deny.)

(Can’t insert the pictures.)

But I know some people who give tutions to support themselves while I plan my next trip or hunt for a new pair of shoes on an online store. I know some of us who are battling their way out of depression but always wink at others with a smile, some who have had terrible heartbreaks but still believe in love, some who hate even looking at themselves, but still show up everyday and some who are always there to make it a little easier for the others.
They are all heroes.
It obviously takes a significant amount of heroism to stare back at life and letting it know that you ain’t gonn’a give in.

So, While idiots like me are busy finding bigger meanings, and fantasising about doing something really great in life, they are the ones who actually do it.
They are the unheroic heroes who never get recognised, never have a following count in several K’s, but silently in their “not so great” lives, they make a “really great” difference.

While we brag about how much we hate being average, they are the ones who remain average all their lives but actually are the real heroes.

So next time you find someone average or not that great!!
Look harder.
You may find an untold story of heroism.

Bitch please.

So this is about girls.
Girls who look like angels and can sweep you off your feet.
Girls who have an hourglass figure but are emotionally bloated.
The self-proclaimed princesses and queens who imagine themselves as god knows what unique snowflake.

As they correctly put it,
A “don’t you wish your girlfriend was hot like me” kinda girl..
The ones who are always trying to assert their sexuality on the expense of almost everything and everyone else.

Although I have no offense against beautiful women.
Because, (finally!) I am one too.
I am only talking about the ones who try their really stupid tactics and think that noone else understands them.

Not all of them are like that.
But most of them are.

They are the inevitable products of our contemporary consumerism.
In an appearance driven world,
Where the worth of a person is determined by the number of likes on their picture,
It’s not their fault if they grew up to believe that they aren’t pretty enough unless they are wanted.
I am sorry that they feel that way.
I know what made them what they are.
But that does not make me detest them any less.

Girls like that are suffering from some kind of attention seeking syndrome.
And they even get that attention too.
They are widely admired by
men who actually lack imagination.
men who can’t see beyond a pretty face.
men who never really get anything out of it,
but the false prospect of an impossible possibility always keeps them up..

Those girls don’t necessarily want to sleep with the man they are doing this to.
But they want him to want to sleep with her.
Or if you want me to put it a little decently,
They don’t necessarily want the man they are flirting with.
But they want him to want her.

The existential validation,
The surity,
Or I should say
The “entertainment” which they seek
is of a very peculiar kind..

Sexuality and Womanhood in the hands of those immature idiots
is like putting nuclear missiles in the hands of a monarch..
He simply wouldn’t know what to do with it.
He can only misuse it.

But I don’t wish to impart any morality here.
After all, Morality is not even what they lack.
It’s integrity that’s truly missing.

But then, it’s not a crime.
It’s normal..
All of us have done that at some point of our lives.
All of us like to be admired.
(even if it’s a second-rate admiration.)
I am okay with all that.
I only start having a problem when a girl like that tries to insult my hard-earned life wisdom by enjoying this silly notion that I can’t understand what she is trying to do.
So babe, DON’T EVEN TRY.
You have no idea whom you are messing with.
I’ve experienced far too much to not notice the regular shit you are desperately trying to sprinkle over here.

I myself am a woman.
I very well know that sexuality is a woman’s strength.
Flirting is an art.
Maliciousness is all right too.
But let me tell you this as a woman.
“Don’t ever try to shove your ass somewhere where it doesn’t actually belong.”


There are days when I love.
And there are days when I hate.

There are days when I live.
And there are days when I die.

There are days when I breathe.
And there are days when I choke.

There are days when I dream.
And there are days when I doubt.

There are days when I devour.
And there are days when I starve.

There are days when I forgive.
And there are days when I avenge.

There are days when I am content.
And there are days when I am hungry.

There are days when I stand.
And there are days when I crawl.

There are days when I cut.
And there are days when I dance.

There are days when I am honest.
And there are days when I cheat.

There are days when I am ignorant.
And there are days when I notice.

There are days when I act like an angel.
And there are days when I sin.

And I am a product of all those days.

I don’t know what I actually am.
But I am everything which I am not.

A visit to Taliban.

Okay that’s an exaggeration..
I am talking about my home.

I went home for my vacations.
And completely contrary to the expected expectations, it had been an exceptionally amazing stay.
All due to my persistent efforts and perfect precaution.

All I had to do was:
-Get up on time.
-Always say yes.
-Never mention a male friend.
-Forget that there is a cute device called cellphone.
That is how it worked. As easy as that.

My patience did lose sometimes.
But I still somehow managed to maintain my external composure.

I infact behaved so sweetly sometimes that I even started seeming like a stranger to myself.

Both mumma and papa were nice beyond belief.

My dear father, who has never been to any war, but is surely the bravest man who ever lived,
because he seriously could tolerate my mom for about 25 years.

My mom, who is a troublemaker from way back, was way more loving and way less watchful this time.

In order to impress upon my youthful mind the importance of homemaking, She tried to assign me some cooking assignments, at all of which I failed miserably.
She forecasted about what a wretched marriage i’ll make because I don’t know how to cook. And I somehow suppressed the urge to let her know that my boyfriend is actually a very nice cook.

Both of them remained completely unaware of the progress I’ve made in the last few months in becoming exactly what they told me not to become.

To my utter disappointment,
Noone checked my phone this time.
I tried so hard to clean it.

The only point of suspicion arose once when I was struggling to control my blushes after getting a text from my Mr. Boyfriend.
Seeing me so exceedingly delighted, papa came closer.
He saw Mr.boyfriend’s picture on my phone’s wallpaper and asked me who he was!
Finding no better answer,
I immediately said that he was a rock artist.
And to my own disbelief, he did believe me.

So, it was just a ten days stay which actually seemed like an eternity.
But this time, I actually enjoyed this tom-n-jerry episode.