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I Killed Omran Daqneesh

If you’re an ardent facebook-er, I think you must know that Omran Daqneesh for all practical purposes is alive. Yes, he is alive. His heart still beats, the blood still courses through his veins, his brain is functional. Yes, he is one of the lucky ones who survived the air strike that left no member of his family alive in his hometown of Aleppo.Yes, he is lucky that he shall have someone to tend to him at the hospital to ‘clean him up’. Yes, he is very lucky to have lived. But my question is this, what exactly is the standard of living that we accord upon humans today, let alone children?

 

If you have seen the poor boy, you would know that he is in utter shock, after being dug out from under the rubble. What devastating catastrophe must be brewing inside him that he could even muster to shed a tear. What conspiracy is he a part of to be able to wage a war against the Bigwigs of the World?

The tragedy is not one child, whose picture was slashed across social media, it is the pitiful conditions of those who die without any medical assistance, because there is none in cities like Aleppo. It is a pitiful conditions for those children, who survive and are forced to migrate to countries like Turkey where they work as laborers in factories to support themselves and their families. It is a tragedy that the kids are stripped off their innocence and childhood at such a tender age. I recall, at the age of 4, the most grotesque instant that I had witnessed was my brother brawling with a chap making lewd remarks. MAX! And THAT has stuck with me. So I left to wonder , the catastrophic affect the war of men has left on these kids.

Are we in want of another Anne Frank? Are we heading towards another World War? Have we learnt nothing at all? But more importantly, are we even humans?

I write this post today, as I feel slightly responsible for murdering Omran Daqneesh’s and several other childrens’ innocence and childhood. What have I done as a citizen of this world to

today? I do, I grudgingly do feel responsible for it. Because I do nothing at all. I lose faith in MY existence as a human. I am enraged by such behavior, I succumb to their behavior, my eyes become violent. YET, I do nothing.

I am like the title goes, a murderer. I scroll the page up and down when I conveniently want to avoid news which doesn’t please my intellect, or lack thereof. I turn a blind eye to Syria each day, and only write about it occasionally when I see something on Facebook. But what have I done, really? What am I doing about it? How am I contributing to healing this world?

I have no more words to share. No more adages to console you and me.

Hopefully, I will. One day. Till then…

raise my voice against atrocities subjected on civilians who in no way are even remotely related or involved in terrorist activities? Kids? Rugrats? That’s who we think are terrorists

 

I Want To See Boys Cry

Before the boys in the house start hurling shoes at me, I would sincerely request you to read the post, before you proceed. 😛

Hello Ya’ll!

I promised all my lovelies that I shall be writing every Sunday evening, but me being me, I somehow managed to procrastinate and delay it till today. So do accept my most sincere apologies.

Yes! Now to expand on the title. First of all, I have been meaning to write on this topic for eons now. But somehow, I could  not condense the thoughts and give them the tangible form of words. But, I think after quite some deliberation, life events and plentiful reading, I figured that it all boils down to the fact that boys ought to cry more often.

*Saves self from the shoes hurled*

Fine! Fine! I shall explain why I want to see more tormented boys around!

Well, without taking any credit for originality I would like to attribute this post to the advertisement that featured Ms. Madhuri Dixit, which was the brainchild of Vogue India, that we do not teach our boys to be sensitive, that we disallow our boys to cry. We admonish them as ‘why are you crying like a girl’. Slap me, if you haven’t done or thought about this at the least once.

The sex, as I specified in one of my previous posts, defines the roles in our society. The girl has the ‘feminine’ role to play, while the boys tough it out. Since their childhood, we do not teach our boys to be more sensitive, we do not teach them to be more responsible towards their home, we most definitely do not teach them that ‘crying is not a bad thing’. Rather, crying as the advertisement goes is an attribute associated with femininity.These pre-defined roles obscure the unpainted canvass of these poor kids who fight their natural instincts to be more human, and become the pseudo-Macho Man that they pose to be.

Mind you, there is an image that goes with it. And mind you again, that image is alluring to MOST women (okay fine! It appeals to me as well!). And that image is the ‘Bad Boy’ image. These ‘Bad Boys’ as my understanding of them goes, are if objectified and dissected are clad in a white T-shirt,  black leather jacket clad and ride their even more macho bikes(in today’s world, let’s hand them a fancy car instead of a bike), black Ray Ban Wayfarers, walking around town like they care two hoots about the world. Now, COME ON! You fell for that, didn’t you. :P. Well, that’s besides the point. The point being, a bad boy is more appealing and alluring than a regular boy who is more human and understanding. So, believe it or not, we as a society are Frankestein creating these monsters of our own. But what we do not realize is that these monsters that we have created are not a work of fiction, rather unlike fiction, these monsters are actual human beings, one with flesh and bones and a suppressed heart lying somewhere between the ribs. These monsters that we have so conveniently created to fit into their pre-defined roles are not humans who are now void of any emotion or sentiment, but simply those who were forced to mask any kind of sentiment or emotion except those of anger and rage, which bodes well with their ‘Macho Man’ and ‘Bad Boy’ image.For instance, it is manlier to come back home and demand a cup of chai or coffee from your wife rather than helping the tired female in the kitchen. It is manlier to give ‘Maa Ki’ , ‘Behen Ki’ galiyaan (abuses derogating the mother and sister) than apologizing if you dent someone’s car. And yes, the majestic ‘I am always right’ attitude that boys walk around with. Don’t you think it’s manlier to behave in this fashion? 

I do not know about you, but to me, and frankly, I might be wrong when saying this, that this is just a method of masking their insecurities. It is just a cover up for the scared little child inside. Defense mechanism as they call it.

Well, if you and I are still  on the same page, then you would agree that the damage is already done…and if the damage is done, what is the solution to restore or at the least ameliorate the situation?

At the cost of sounding extremely preach-y, I  would like to suggest here, why not sensitize the man in your life. Whoever this man maybe in your life: your father, your brother, your boy friend, your husband or your best friend for that matter.

Why not allow him to be more human, and not just be a man. Why not give him the space and security, whatever role this man plays in your life, to express his feelings, in words. To be able to verbalize what he is feeling. To be express his feelings through his tears and not deride him or cultivating feelings.  Why not give him the space to explore and discover himself. Why not allow them to be whoever they want to be.

That is why I think boys should cry more often, for them to be able to grow into men. To be able to grow into the lives that they are comfortable leading and living.

And that is where I differentiate between boys and men. A man does not shy away from acknowledging the women in his life. He does not fall short of expressing himself regardless of the fact that others might rebuke him as sissy.

A man is well-mannered and understands that tears, just like smiles are ways to let out the humanity in him, to purge himself, to cleanse himself, instead of bottling it up inside. And he understands that tears are not only a medium to express sorrow and remorse, but also joy and happiness. He understands the value of each drop shed, and that is precisely why he does not shy away from crying. He doesn’t quite care what the world thinks of his humanity, but he is secure in his skin and ‘manly parts’ and does not shy away from crying.

Well, that is why I want to see boys cry. Because if boys do not cry, how will they be free from the clutches that we conveniently created for them? How will they escape their baggage of insecurities? How will they stop living in perpetual denial?

Be nice to these boys, will you. They are already suffering a lot, and if they cannot cry, now you can hurl your shoes at me, have your laugh riot and THEN shed a tear or two!

 

My Matrimonial Advertisement

Namaste Auntyji,

“Pairi paunna! Kaisi hai aap? Nahi Aunty abhi shaadi ka koi vichaar nahi hai. I know I will not get the option of ‘pick and choose’ for the groom as I grow older. But thank you so much for your unconditional love and concern. Nahi Auntyji, mein inni soni kudi hone pe bhi apne liye koi ladka nahi dhoondh paayi. Please maafi de do?”

If you are an Indian girl aged in her 20s, you cannot deny that you have at the least not been hounded once by one of the Auntyjis who harrow you with the question of marriage and how we haven’t found one ‘suitable boy’ yet. You have, haven’t you? Well, first of all, all you Auntyjis out there, thank you so much for all of your love and concern for my marriage but I would highly appreciate it that you concentrate your energy on yourself rather than rubbing your bored nose in my personal business. It is just plain nosy. I am more than happy for you that your daughter recently got engaged to her boyfriend of 10 years, but that does  not necessarily mean that the hourglass has turned and time is ticking for me to get married. Thank you very much.

We all have one of these pesky Auntyji who refuse to poke their nose from our personal lives. We have had one throughout our lives. One who compared her children’s marks with ours in school, one who compared which degree we are pursuing in comparison to their own supremely talented kids, then came the comparison qua our pay package and now finally (now because, this is the stage of life I am at, I shall continue the saga  when Auntyji starts poking her nose to force me into pregnancy and so on) of the urgency to have us married. For the life of me, I cannot fathom, whether she considers me a burden on her or my parents, who cannot wait to get rid of me. I know this post sounds like an enraged spinster, very Bridget Jones going home for Christmas-y, but the blunt truth is, I am more than happy with where and who I am right now. And what ticks me off is when I am not remotely involved in your life, what is your concern as to where my life is heading?

Having said that, I am not opposed to marriage, and as the title of the post goes, this is more of a matrimonial advertisement than a rant. So continuing on that course, since I love to write, I thought I would be more expressive on my views on marriage on paper and present a more accurate picture, since the information is first hand and not edited at all.

So here goes…

I am a typical Indian, who has been brought up with Indian Sanskaar, but I think my parents defaulted a little in bringing me up as a human being in comparison to a girl. They should have taught me the difference between the two. And then they went on to commit the monumental sin of sending me to a boarding school where I learnt to be absolutely independent and a free-thinker. *tch tch*. Okay, I think, the rant is still continuing, so I shall try and behave myself a little.

The fact of the matter is, I am an extremely traditional girl when it comes to marriage. It is an absolutely sacrosanct relationship for me. And it is a life long decision, so I cannot fathom the urgency with which the parents or the Auntyjis of our lives want us to be married? I need to figure myself out first. I am starting a brand new chapter of my life where I want to at least finish a page (read: a year or two into my career) or two before I start the next chapter. So what is the rush? Is it the biology? That my time to reproduce is inversely proportionate to my physical growth in age? Or the fact I shall physically age? Or that I might have ‘needs’ which might taint my character? Or frankly, that I might have the option to ‘cherry pick’ the person I have to spend the rest of my life with?

Damn it! This nowhere comes close to a matrimonial advertisement.

Okay, let me try again.

“Dear Future Husband!

I hope I find you, if I am ever so lucky to find a person, with whom I am willing to spend the rest of my life, and you in return, are willing  to endure the absolute madness that I am, I think I would consider myself truly blessed.

I am very tempted to say that you would add meaning to my life, but I have been enormously blessed with a family and a handful of friends who have given my life meaning. (We just found each other, remember?!) . If we are getting married, then you know it is founded on love. I do not know WHEN we will meet each other, but you know by now, I was never the one to compromise. Love and respect are the only two grounds that this relationship holds any  value for me. (For you too, right!). I love you like mad, but you already know that. Because you know that’s how I love. You know I beam when you look at me and that I write letters to you in hand and shall continue to do so, because we shall cherish and nurture our love and it shall only grow with each passing day. Please know, even if we fight, and maybe for days or months together, our love shall be strong enough to withstand any kind of storm. You know I know how to cook, but I rarely do, but if you really want me to, I shall cook for you, mind you, occasionally.

Please know, till last year, I used to walk around with a checklist, searching for a man to fit that checklist. But today, I have grown a little wiser, and I do not love you for the money you have in your bank, the car you drive, the house you have or the way you look. If you have all of this, great, this is all the cherry and the icing of the cake. The actual cake is you and your heart and your soul. And the fact, that you love me a little more than I love you. Because that is all that I want from you. If you do not have any of it, we shall build a life together, and manage with whatever we have till the time we don’t have it. The fun is not in reaching the destination, but travelling the journey TOGETHER, side by side with each other. Please know, I do not want you to hide your struggles from me. I know you are a man and shall be tempted to be protective most of the times,but please know, we are in this together. There shall  be days when you are crumbling, please allow me to be a pillar of strength to you, because I know, when I fail and fall, you will do the same for me. We are partners in this, no?

Please know, I want you to be my home. And that I want me to be your home. A home is a place where you feel the safest. I want our hugs to be like that. And that we should hug each day, even if we are fighting or not talking to each other or not even in the same city! Home is where one feels most at peace. Let us build our own little haven over the years? Say what?

Please know, the only other thing I want from you is that you love my parents as your own. I just have a father and an older left for me. And I would you to at the least value them. And I shall do the same. I shall love your parents as my own. Your family is my family. As I was wisely told in my teens, marriage is not a union of two individuals, it is a marriage of two families. Can we please continue mutual love for each others’ families and take care of them as our own?

I think I have yapped enough, but one last thing, I want us to have kids. And not just human kids, I want pets. Preferably dogs. And our kids, both human and animal, shall be our legacy that we leave back.

Oh wait! I have some more. I feel utter joy while typing this. Because albeit  I have not met you yet, I know I am not willing to settle for anything less than you and if I do find you, I shall marry you in a jiffy, because I know I have found the ONLY person I was ever looking for. 🙂 Hopefully, the same applies to me.

I shall support you in building your career and I hope you will support me in building mine. I know we shall have to make several compromises along the way, for ourselves, our careers, our kids, but let’s not the circumstances of life, affect our love for each other in any way. Because, relationships are much more valuable to me than an x number of notes lying in my bank. No,  I do not mean that my career isn’t important to me, but let’s build each other along the way as individuals in tandem with building ourselves as a unit, because we have been brought up to be independent individuals, and let’s face it, we shall be sick of spending TOO much time together and we need to retain our individuality as well. No? Can we give each other that much space? Please?

I think, I shall end it here, by saying, you know, I haven’t been privy to any happy marriage and that I am afraid even though I haven’t even found you yet. Please allay my fears. I am giving you a precious part of me, my heart. It can be easily broken. Please don’t break it when I am old and wrinkly or when I throw an unnecessary tantrum. Through all of the ups and downs in life, all the celebratory moments and the upheavals, let just two things remain constant: our love and us.

Forever yours,

Complete Madness,

Your Wife”

 

I had no other way to pen down my Matrimonial Advertisement than to be absolutely honest about my opinion on it. I apologize to all my lovely Auntyjis and would like to tell them all that I am extremely traditional about the concept of marriage and value it is an absolutely pious and sacrosanct relationship, precisely why I am unwilling to ‘settle’ for someone who I do not believe to be worthy of a partner and haven’t found one yet. Hopefully, I will find someone like that, but till then, now you know who am I looking for, and who I am not. Kindly, share my matrimonial advertisement if you are keen on finding me a suitable ‘candidate’.

 

 

 

Aam Aurat

Hello My Pretty Pretty Lovelies Out There,

First of all I would like to take this opportunity and wish all my lovely ladies out there a Belated Happy Women’s Day. That being said throughout my adolescence I haven’t really been a big fan of the day. Don’t get me wrong, I am all for ‘women empowerment’ but to designate one mere day to celebrate women according to me is an abysmal travesty. But then I realized in India there are plenty festivals which involve worshiping Goddesses and that too seems  an aspirational   ‘women empowerment’ module. Well of sorts. I deduce that I have met my predicament half way and say that this is an opportunity to assign one specific day to celebrate womanhood.

I think that settles my introspective debate I keep having.

Women today across most sectors are pioneering cult personalities and paving  a way for us to assimilate into what I’d like to call ‘the man’s world’. Most of these keys figures have had to push and shove and reach where they have while in tandem juggling with their family lives. I have been working for what, a year now, and boy oh boy, has the work taken a toll on my life. I am physically incapable of taking care of myself after work. I CRAVE weekends to get household chores done. While these women not only struggled their way through careers, most of the times being mocked and scoffed at, while also sustaining an equilibrium at the home front.Kudos to you.

Lots to learn from them I must say.

While that is the bright side of the day, these are also the times where I hear and read more rampantly about rape cases then I did probably 10 years ago. One particular case that got my attention was of a 15 year old girl who was raped and then set on fire. When I read about it, I was utterly speechless and dumbfounded. I had enraged beyond human comprehension and I wondered what happened to the Justice Verma recommendations which were proposed after the Nirbhaya incident? What happened to the zeal and enthusiasm of the common folk with which they revolted against barbaric and archaic rape laws in our country? Had that fervor subdued over the incessant repetitiveness  of such ‘cases’. I suppose that is what it has become today: ‘a case’.

I think what bugs me more is when I hear “Bhagwaan ka shukar hai mere saath nahi hua/humaari beti ke saath nahi hua” or the self-confessed intellectuals conveniently turning a blind eye towards news like this. I mean for me at the least, whenever I read or hear about such news, I feel someone has mentally raped me, I feel as though someone has mentally stripped me naked and subjected me to a violent act of mental rape,’cause this X person has. He has scarred me.He is scarring me.

And here I am celebrating Women’s Day. While I could be ‘doing something’ about sociopaths like these. I feel at a crossroad on most days when I think of this issue frankly. On one hand, the women force in India is progressing forward shoulder to shoulder with men while there is this issue where the women in the society endure regressive pressure of tradition, customs and such injustice. (Yes! I would like to bracket some of these redundant traditions and customs with the injustice of rape.)

Why do we go to temples when we do not worship the ‘Devis’ residing in our homes? Why do we call ‘Bhaarat’ our ‘Mata’ when we treat Her with utter disrespect? Why do we talk of being protective of our mothers, daughters and sisters when we disrespect the mothers, daughters and sisters of others? Why?

I think I would like to partially blame patriarchy here. We are all victims of it. We think that albeit a woman is working it is HER fundamental duty to the chores at home. We think albeit she is making money, she should not be making MORE money than the boy/husband she is with. We think that after producing a child, it is HER fundamental duty to put her career rust in sabbatical. While on the same hand we also think that MEN should be fundamental strong and care-takers. We also think that MEN should not be emotional and shedding tears qualifies as ‘sissy/feminine’ behavior. We also think that MEN sharing their feelings conveniently retrogrades them as ‘weak individuals.’ We think that MEN are the bread-winners while the women are the ‘HOME-MAKERS’. WE DECIDE THESE ROLES. Does a child through his/her formative years know that he/she is a he/she? We make him/her a him or a her. I think this archaic parameter of role definition and corresponding ‘Sanskar-ism’ based on the gender should be done away with. We need to teach our kids to be good human beings firstly before we define them based on their gender. I think that is enough gyaan for the day. Ain’t it?

Well, that being said,  I would like to end this post by raising a toast to all those lovely ladies out there struggling to define themselves as (primarily as) people in this vastly divided world (primarily based on gender, then religion, caste, creed, state, class etc) and to all the men out there aspiring to be emotionally sensitive (in their own funky ways). To all of you celebrating the ‘Aam Aurat’ : Cheers for better times to come. Here’s to hoping of a ‘Bharat Mata’ living up to the great burden of Her Name.
Cheers.

AirLifted and Awed

Hello my Lovelies,

If you are an Indian, then you must have probably hashtag-ed or checked-in to have watched Akshay Kumar starrer ‘Airlift’ by now. And well, if I am indeed entertaining some videsi (Hindi word for foreign) fellow readers, then let me give you a brief introduction of the movie. Airlift is based on the real event of evacuation of almost 1.20 lakh Indians from the war-torn country of Kuwait when Iraq invaded Kuwait in 1990. And if you have seen Argo, then imagine Tony Mendez aiding in evacuation of 1.20 lakh instead of 6 Indians. This evacuation has been the largest in the history of the world, and necessarily etching India’s name in the Guinness Book of World Record.

What truly enraptured me in the movie was the fictional character of Ranjit Katyal played by the Indian actor Akshay Kumar. Ranjit Katyal has been introduced as an astute negotiator, a cut-throat businessman subserving his own personal interest, lacking in affinity for his nationality or the nation he resides in. Katyal is an elitist who knows how to make money and love his family. He has been portrayed realistically to fret to hear of the news of the war. The first thought is to have his family in the custody of safety. He is what ANY Indian in his position would have done. However, as his wife in the middle of the narrative calls him, he suffers a “malfunction” and he develops a heart for all the Indian who come to his to seek refuge. He sets up a rescue camp for the Indians and aids in their evacuation as if his life depended on it. And well it did. Quite literally. After setting up the camp, he manages to have a fleet of 500 Indians sent through water, while having the rest travel across 1000 km through Iraq to Jordan single-handedly, with the aid of just one Indian Government karamchari (Hindi for Officer) who at the constant behest of Katyal manages to coax the lax Indian Government, rather to coax multiple Ministries to execute the successful evacuation of Indians in such a magnitude.

The movie will grip you and yes you will shed tears aplenty, by being proud of India and Her many bygone, untold feats. But Katyal takes the cake in this movie. And pardon me, if this post looks more like a movie review, well, it is not. Please go and watch the movie and you are more than welcome to decide for yourself.

What I have to say today is about one man stepping up when the world around his suddenly collapses. We are all humans. We all fail at the tests of life. We pose and pretend that we are strong. But when the world around us crumbles, whether we can withstand that, whether in times of our own personal calamity, whether we can weather a storm for the loved ones around us, is what matters. THIS is what Ranjit Katyal was to me. A fictional hero fabulously stitched into a real event of history. As per my research there were certain influential businessmen who played an instrumental role in the evacuation of the Indians back in 1990 as well. Ergo, he wasn’t that fictional after all. He was the mortal form of Hope. He was the flesh and blood of humanity. He is what I would like to believe the Hope that it only takes one man’s undying faith and effort to change the course of millions.

So pardon me if you think I am wrong, but I would like to believe in the reality of these fictional heroes. I Hope that they exist, I Hope I get to see them some day, I Hope I get to be them some day.

 

Till the next time. Have a hopeful one. 🙂

If Only we Were Lanterns

Hello my Precious Lovelies,

I remember the days when even the most mundane objects or days could inspire me. Over the years I lost the light within me that constantly kept me inspired. I’m gradually getting it back, but that’s a topic for another post. I hope you like the following poem that I penned:

If I were a lantern, then the cruel fire burning me

would be my fuel rather than bestowing the burden

of mortality on me.

The cruel fire that burns down forests with its fury,

would be the only reason I could fly.

So why do I call this fire cruel, you say?

Because my entire life, my very existence depends on its existence.

So precious fire of Mine! Never burn out.

Never let my flight end.

For I was meant to fly.

Fly till I transcended beyond the ordinary.

And even if you dare extinguish, which you inevitably will,

let us take flight beyond this world,

so the world remembers us as immortals.

Having had conquered this mortal world.

Let us live our tiny bit if immortality before we extinguish.

Let you and I conquer the sky,

Let you and I brighten this world,

Let you and I leave the mortals gazing at us in awe,

Let you and I live our tiny bit of eternity in this mortal little world.

8 Simple Rules

You know your Mondays are divine when you all you have to do the entire day is watch television or read a good book and simply relax. I ought not bask in the glory of it all too much for work is about to commence soon. Till then however lets rejoice. Carpe diem! Carpe diem! I need to constantly remind myself.

Today as I sat and watched one of my fav early teen sitcom ‘8 Simple Rules (of Dating my Teenage Daughter)’, the paranoid father played by John Ritter had died in the episode. This plot was taken up because he had actually passed away during the shooting of the sitcom. Three teenage kids with a 46 year old single mother. I must have watched this episode a decade back as well but the fact the father died must have probably been a casual plot to me back in the day. ’cause you superheroes (read: Mom and Dad) don’t die right? Or at least we take that fact for granted that they shall always stick around. And not that I wasn’t already hormonal, the parent died, crumbling my existence to the last fibre in my body. Oh Lord! I cried, I cried my eyeballs out. I cried till I could cry no more because my eyes had swollen. I cried cause I missed MY mommy.

Its been almost three years, if you’ve stuck around, you already know. I was overwhelmed. I was devastated. I was reborn with a part of me dead with the demise of my mother. People told me it gets better with time, well, for me, it gets bitter with time. Time does not heal. It just gives you an excuse to cover up your wounds. The first time I had ever heard of death around me was my older sister’s boyfriend when I was 16. I had come back from boarding school for winter vacation and had taken it for granted I shall be meeting with him within a week’s time and the three of us shall have oodles of fun. Two weeks passed and she did not mention him once. And then one day I casually enquired about how he was, to which she matter-of-factly replied, ” he’s dead and we won’t talk about him anymore. Period”. PERIOD. A full stop on my fun, a full stop on never seeing him again. A full stop. But that was that and it did not take me much time to move on from my grieving. But then in 2011 my whole world came crumbling down.

My Mom leaving changed me in ways I can’t even express in words. My core and fundamental beliefs changed. I thought if God has snatched away something so precious from me, he owes me something in return. But he did not owe me anything at all. I built walls around me, I started rebelling, I posed to be stronger, well, everyone around me told me I was very strong so I believed it. I couldn’t burst their bubble and tell them that ” excuse me! you think I have a choice?” No, lets not be rude to the world that is only trying to sympathize. The sitcom brought back horrid memories that I have been repressing these past three years. As depressing as death sounds, which it actually is, you learn to appreciate what you have, on the good days at the least. My sister left no stone unturned to let me be deprived of motherly love and affection. I had recently turned 22 when this had happened. I have always had her. But on most days it scares me, it scares me that my superheroes are mere mortals and they can leave me in the blink of an eye. It is as though somehow stole the discs between my spine and has punished me to stand erect for my entire life. I easily forget to believe. I easily forget to have hope. I feared happiness, I still do. Happiness is somehow incomplete. It feels to have wronged to have felt happy on the rare occasions that I do. There is an element of guilt. There always shall be.

I easily build walls so no one can conquer and have the power to emotionally affect me. I AM strong is what I tell myself, that’s the consolation prize you see.

Have I depressed you enough yet? No?

Have you read the young adult novel The Fault in Our Stars by John Green, where you teens suffering from Cancer fall in love with each other and the boy eventually dies. Oh, you haven’t read it and I ruined your plot? Well, this in any case was a depressing post, remember? THAT was the aim. I read it for two factors: a) the romance, and b) the death factor. Death somehow glorifies romance, does Romeo and Juliet ring a bell? It wouldn’t be half the fun it was to read if both of them hadn’t died. Diverging again. Yes, I am a hardcore romantic. Gimme my chick lit and chick flicks ALL THE TIME. But what I ended up liking most about the book were some of the quotes, which I shall most graciously share with you,

The world is not a wish-granting factory.” 

“You have a choice in this world, I believe, about how to tell sad stories, and we made the funny choice.”

 

“That’s part of what I like about the book in some ways. It portrays death truthfully. You die in the middle of your life, in the middle of a sentence” 

“There will come a time when all of us are dead. All of us. There will come a time when there are no human beings remaining to remember that anyone ever existed or that our species ever did anything. There will be no one left to remember Aristotle or Cleopatra, let alone you. Everything that we did and built and wrote and thought and discovered will be forgotten and all of this will have been for naught. Maybe that time is coming soon and maybe it is millions of years away, but even if we survive the collapse of our sun, we will not survive forever. There was time before organisms experienced consciousness, and there will be time after. And if the inevitability of human oblivion worries you, I encourage you to ignore it. God knows that’s what everyone else does.”

 

If you read the last long quote in Italics, you would probably understand how it humbled me. How it made me realize that we are at the end of the day all mortals. What self-help and books based on reincarnation, which I have read plenty in the last 3 years could not help me do, this teeny bopper book did. It made me ACCEPT death. Not easily. Never easily. But accept it nonetheless. The World or God or the Universe owes me nothing because it took away something so precious from me. Mind you, this book is not the doctor that has managed to stitch the hole in my chest, but it did something different altogether. It made me realize, that the hole is now a part of my chest. A part of me. Death scars you, yes, it changes you. As much as I believe in love and its sanctity, I do not however believe in the permanence of love. Because the only thing permanent in this world is change.

I think death like recovery any sort of addiction is  a life long process for the ones who are left behind.  W.H.Auden was not wrong, as  I conclude from In Memory of W.B.Yeats, if I am not wrong, that it is not the ones who die but the ones left behind who endure suffering.

The Grandma that I am, I usually conclude with an lesson for you all, but today, there is none. Sometimes there are no lessons in life, there is but life. There is no rational to life. Sometimes there shouldn’t be 8 or any simple rules at all governing life. Sometimes, there should be no plan, sometimes you should simply be erratic and do whatever the heck you want to do. There is reincarnation, yes, I do solemnly believe, but I have no idea what God has planned for me in my next birth, so why not enjoy this one while I can, use it to its last drop? Maybe that is the lesson we must all learn from death..to live.

 

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