The Secret

I should be studying, I know. But since this literally smacked me, I’m compelled to put aside my books and write type this down.

I was, actually, just wondering, whether I should or should I not reveal this tiny secret that often comes about pricking my self-esteem. But this is, anyway, rather funny. Beginning with some depth in it, it’ll gradually stir into embarrassment and ultimately cool off in good humor.

It was a long time ago though, but my luck has always been pretty good when it comes to being acquainted with the ‘wrong’ people. With previous matters still running in the background, this time, once again, a new (though short) chapter was introduced; and I almost, “virtually” became acquainted with yet another wrong person.

Skipping the long epilogue, the secret could be revealed as simple.

Having a friend of a friend’s friend, the ‘good-looking’ guy interested in me created the air of self-admiration (get the hint that I’m not exaggerating). Because yeah, well, one of the sad parts about my life is, I had always received messages (on facebook) from the rookies and untidy, funkie “kool” guys (not that if they were the ‘good’ kind, I had considered them even then).

So anyway, yes, I wasn’t even spoken to (sigh) neither any practical approach was made; for which I was very much thankful since that was something I really didn’t want. It was all fun and game, all in the head and just among us friends. A couple of months passed and the ‘sizzling’ issue cooled off like anything else.

One day, very randomly, I logged into my facebook when to my immense surprise I was notified that ‘THIS PERSON has POKED you.’ I jumped in amazement, exclaimed with joy and (almost) danced with excitement! Though personally I was moved by his laziness, for seriously, it took him three months to poke? But never mind that.

I was poked two days ago from the day I logged in. Two days. The question that occupied me was whether to poke back or to show indifference (which was honestly, very difficult). I also pondered over the various possibilities, one of which was what on earth would I do if in response to my returning poke he messaged me? I didn’t want that, definitely. Now, the sort of over-thinker I am, who happen to regard a disgusting timid lizard equal to a reptile invasion, it wouldn’t be that difficult to imagine how I must’ve treated THIS which comparatively WAS something big enough.

I (still breathing the air of self-admiration) assumed that he must be dying, waiting for my response, eeeeh.

After further two days, having received multiple advices and working out against majority, I poked back. Now if you honestly ask me, the moment I did (this was the second time when I got this gut feeling), I knew I shouldn’t have.

1/3 This was the picture (out of an entire album) my friend uploaded later to add to my embarrassment

My estimate was of three days, maximum; in three days, I’d receive the response, or even early. Those three days passed like three centuries. With every day, with every passing century, my anxiety grew –the poke never came.
A week passed and the fog of embarrassment slowly descended down, encircling me. To console my declining spirit, my friends tried justifying, “he probably hadn’t logged in ever since. And also, they’re having exams, ya’know.” But immediately, in a playful mocking tone, they’d add, “don’t lose hope…”
I on the other hand had lost all of it. Two weeks were gone and the poke was still missing. My dreams had shattered and the ‘air’ of self-admiration vented out completely, leaving me suffocating in the atmosphere of ‘betrayal’. OK, exaggerations apart, I was disappointed. The faint feeling of embarrassment had by now (you can obviously imagine) turned into an aching insult. I went back to regretting the moment when I had poked him back.
So one day, just to be sure, I opened his facebook profile and decided to take some risk. I thought since my ego has been destroyed, might as well bury it now. The settings suggest you cannot poke the same person again unless he had either removed your poke or responded back.
Just to check, I clicked at his ‘poke’ tab, and to my devastating surprise I was notified:

Your Poke Has Been Removed.

Has Been Removed.

Been Removed.

Removed.

SERIOUSLY!? REMOVED?! What did I even do?! My bubble was busted. I wanted to drown myself. It felt like I’ve been stabbed by a rusty dagger! He removed my poke? Come on! Why did he even poke me then? Was this some kind of nasty joke? I was fuming in rage. I angrily left his page and immediately (like always) informed my friends about the intense, epic moment of discovery that I’ve been “virtually” dumped.

My friends, the ultimate Gurus suggested me to block him. Seriously? If I’d have blocked him, how was I supposed to get my poke back, ever? I didn’t listen, of course, like always.With the hilarious jokes (I never wanted to laugh at those jokes, but shucks, I did), mocking yet humorous comments, fake assumed stories of ‘what might’ve prevented him from poking back’ and consoling remarks, my “wound” healed faster and the fog of embarrassment gradually lifted.

Now, when quite a long time has passed, it seems extremely silly. Who was he anyway? An average looking, mean guy? Might I add, a confirmed psycho? Feels funny. Though still, somewhere deep down, I’m still hoping for a poke back, but this time, I would be the ditcher. I’ve got a good plan to avenge myself.

2/3

(I seriously, earnestly, with all my heart, hope that he may NEVER come across this post).

3/3

So much for a poke. They should bloody remove this poke option altogether. No, wait... Nah, they shouldn't (if you know why). *winks*

My Life These Days

Since past two years, March and April have been seriously unpleasant months for me. And this year, they’ve proved to be no different. Dull, tiring, stressful, disappointing and upsetting in many possible ways.

My life these days is pretty damn hectic and stressed. There’s so much to do and there’s so little time. There’s so little time, and there’s so little will; and no hope.

From planning for a big family event that’s due for the first week of June, to attending my best friend’s wedding. From preparing for terminal exams that are scheduled in the mid of May, to dealing with the anxiety of presentations. From making peace with my past, to managing every day of my present in a slightly better way.

From struggling to make myself forgive somebody, to asking for forgiveness from the Ones-who-are-still-watching-over-me. From working to get my health back, to attempting to unknot  the misunderstandings.

From making efforts to tune out the unnecessary unpleasant stuff, to mending many other intentional and unintentional damages.

As busy as this week that had passed was, it was equally and unexpectedly pleasant. Happy, in fact. I went out shopping (I do enjoy shopping, especially when it concern weddings), celebrated my brothers’ birthday (I was disappointed when they were born because I had always wanted a sister; height of thanklessness. But honestly, when I gravely needed somebody to talk to, like those very few people who were there when nobody was, my brothers too came as saviors), planned a family gathering and attended my dear old school friend’s wedding. In this one week, I relived my life that I had back till 2009. I was back with my school friends, who were and still are the best people of my life. We exchanged the same old smiles, the hilarious laughter, the lame jokes, rejoiced the old memories --sharing some happiest moments. In this one week, I forgot about the heap of unfinished work. I forgot, that I had to go back to a place, where I’m not genuinely happy.

From missing dear old and genuinely concerned friends, to trying to fit in among a group of new and different people.

I have a whole stack of papers to fill –notes to make, writing assignments to complete, anxiety of presentations to deal with (I’m stage/audience/attention phobic), social life to manage (people actually complain) and pieces of myself to gather, everyday.

It’s Sunday (technically well, it’s Monday now), the week has already ended; and I once again stand at the verge of another week filled with more anxiety and more stress, looking forward to another week to bring some more of it, and another. And another.

But even when I’m so tightly bound with my routine, I still often find myself wandering amidst the golden fields of mustard… Or flying freely like a firefly in a dark summer night... Or swimming carelessly like a sea turtle with the current... Or lying underneath a starry sky… Away, from all the battles and free of all the shackles… And sure enough, it doesn’t take long for me to realize that this is yet another illusion, and I have several more battles to fight before I finally take refuge.

With the air of good memories lingering around me and the remembrance of good sincere people within my heart, I once again, like many other times, set off to fight yet another battle. Alone, but not really alone.

Happy exams season everyone.

Rediscovering

The story of my life can be told as simple. Not much crossroads or anything spectacular; a bundle of mistakes, a bunch of special events and a chain of memories. Everything simple and ordinary, yet cherishable –probably because I take life as it is offered. Everyday.

I remember things quite well. All the people I’ve met all this way are stored in that specific corner of my mind. I relish all the activities and moments that I’ve shared with them. There are people who have stained the canvas of my life with some dull gloomy shades, but the multiple strokes of unique shades are brighter to outshine them. I had, however, forgotten the little details that I had then noticed but somehow slipped away.

Then, a few fine days ago, when clearing my closet, I found some old journals. Or should I say a collection of journals and what I used to call “slam diaries.” The multi colored slam diaries that I had created almost a decade ago. And I (almost) jumped and (almost) danced in the rain (if it were raining) like Anjali Sharma (if only I were)! The shackles holding nostalgia were loosened and memories came about gushing! It suddenly occurred to be for how I used to make such journals recording each day’s episode and diaries having questions, demanding autograph and a ‘signature’ in the end. But, what brought a smile to my face is that it provided me a sketch; a chance to revisit the lane that I had crossed ages ago and recollect the details that had slipped away.

Leaving the closet unclear, I sat at the messy maroon marble floor with colorful diaries scattered around, laughing at my own ‘creativity’. The vague handwriting, the irregular patterns at the bottom of almost every page, the extra-long signature and some hilarious questions that were asked with the sense of great intellect. Like, “what is your favorite vacation spot?” “If you get a chance to go to Sindbad and get a free ticket for the whole day for that one ride, which one would it be?” (And almost everybody answered ‘the crazy bus’, including myself). Or questions like, “if you were an alien, which planet would you be from?” “Which are your favorite color, drink, dessert, and flower?”  And the winning question: “how do you like to dress for occasions? A) Simple. B) Decent. C) Too fancy. D) Accordingly.” WHAT EXACTLY WAS I THINKING! LOL! 

The journals contained series of random events that meant so much, back then. I recorded in July 2003, for how amazing and ‘exciting’ my day had been since we went out for dinner at Usmania Restaurant and later had “four scoops” of chocolate crunch ice-cream from “another” restaurant. (Yes, I had emphasized on ‘another’). In October 2003 I recorded how much I love doodling with crayons and that putting random strokes using bright paints make me happy. Another journal contained all my 'sad' thoughts and rambling that my parents don't love me and stuff like, I think I'm an adopted child (the reason being the arrival of my twins brothers and attention being diverted from me being the only child to the additional troublesome two).
In February 2004 I confessed how much I love the people who are in my life and the friends who make my world so beautiful. December 2004 I had expressed my grief for this year that has gone too soon. There were various recordings of such ordinary things from the year 2002-2005 in different journals which are irregular and incoherent.

But then again, it was not just a handful things, it was an entire portray of somebody that I used to be, that was washed out with time. Probably that was why I always felt like I lost certain parts of myself and bits of my life. Probably that was why if somebody asked my favorite color or zodiac sign it would feel weird and ‘childish’. Probably that was why having a cup of coffee or ‘four scoops’ of ice-cream seemed usual and ordinary. Probably that was why somebody’s departure would trigger an unknown feeling. Perhaps that was why paints and crayons were used rarely without a spark of joy. In short, probably this was the answer to that knowingly unknown question that kept hitting but never really came to me, and that was why I didn’t ask.
The portfolio containing one major era of my life that was covered in dust, hidden under piles of other note books and journals was found once again, at the right time. Rereading them somehow helped me retain the purpose. It also mirrored the contrast between who I used to be and who I’ve become.

 The reason I sat down to shape this ordinary (as it may seem) incident to words is pretty simple. There is always a way to find yourself back again. Go back and indulge yourself back again into whatever that stirs your curiosity and brings you joy. You might uncover the brilliant you or rediscover what has long been lost. Or maybe able to undust what used to be the better-you. It is never too late for anything.

Airport

Faces. Happy faces and sad faces. Anxious faces and worried faces. Faces glowing with excitement, faces dimmed with despair. Hundreds of faces and hundreds of lives; hundreds of stories, hundreds of emotions, and hundreds of light bulbs. Yes, light bulbs. It was around 8:30 in the evening and here I was, standing in bright light, totally exposed, among hundreds of strangers at the airport arrival lounge.

As much as airports fascinate me, equally, I find them confusing. They make me wonder. Like, where to go? Where’s the washroom? Where am I supposed to wait? What do those big black screens flashing numbers indicate?

 Or, why is coke’s disposable and club sandwiches so expensive than usual here at the airport? And that one particular fear that always get to me: How am I going to find my person that I’ve come for? Or how are they going to know where I am? What if I am waiting in the wrong lounge? What if they never found me? What if I got lost somewhere here? –Pure paranoia. Childish paranoia.

So yeah, here I was, with that particular fear, standing consciously in the middle. Her flight’s time was 8:45, so I decided to take a seat at the waiting instead of making a fool of myself. So, very carefully I walked to the series of jet blue seats that were fixed to the ground –smart, I complimented –and joined other people who were already seated there. Just as I sat down, I secretly expressed my dismay at the plastic seats. Couldn’t they have kept foamy couches instead? That would’ve been more comfortable. Totally inconsiderate management. I took my compliment back. And probably I wasn’t the only one who found those plastic seats uncomfortable. The uncle sitting next to me had the same annoyed expression. Or maybe, I was over-thinking, just so I may not feel alone.

Actually, airport is the only place where you can never be alone. People are continuously coming and going, arriving and departing; personifying our world, our lives. Smiles exchanged at the arrival, tears shed at the departure; like happiness is shared when a new member is born, and despair is absorbed when a dear one dies. From one destination to another; lives in constant motion…

My thought processes were interrupted by the loud cries of a kid –such a shrill irritating voice it was! I couldn’t help but turn around to see what’s wrong with her. Dressed in a light blue printed frock, she had tears rolling down here plump cheeks. Her hair which was a mixture of golden and copper color was tied neatly in two ponies. I would’ve called her cute had she not been crying like this. I saw her mother and immediately realized from where the girl has inherited such beautiful hair. She called a boy who was playing at the elevators; he was most definitely her elder brother. The mother asked him to take his little sister to the elevators. And I already guessed the reason for why she must be crying. He held her tiny pink hand in his with affection, and walked her to the elevators. For some unknown reason, I followed them with my gaze. They stepped on the elevator together with a bunch of other crazy children. I watched in amusement, how her tears vanished, her lips twitched and curved up into a smile –the smile was distracted when for a second she lost her balance, her brother quickly took her hand again– the smile returned, and I smiled with her. It’s true; sometimes all we need is that one hand to hold –that one hand, which could save us from falling. Sometimes all we need is that assurance that at least somebody’s there to watch over us. A little assurance, that no matter what, that one hand will always be there, to guide us out of dark, to help us walk through the foggy lanes, to mend us and help us run in one piece all over again. It’s true, that one hand can really save us from falling…

They came running and screaming in joy from the other elevator, debating over who will push the luggage trolley when grandfather would arrive. I smiled again. Those kids over there represented a part of my childhood that is long lost…

Hundreds of shades of life; all exhibited together at one place.

My eyes were moist, because when I looked up to see who it was, the picture was blurry. It took me a little time to realize that she had finally arrived, and had found me.