Jostling for space, day in and day out

They jostled for space.

She, the fiancée of a passenger travelling by the missing airlines flight MH370. She, who has been receiving a series of death threats and several distressing phone calls.

He, a student with 'special needs,' whose quaint cupcake store that has inspired many owing to the store's policy to employ staff only with special needs.

They, whose family friend and neighbour is schizophrenic and fighting for her life after being brutally assaulted at the hospice she was institutionalized.
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"Not only is this alarming, but people ought to know about it, this needs to stop immediately!," Amina justified, convinced that her story needed to be heard.

"Oh, pish posh applesauce! That plane's been missing since over two months, nothing new in the story. And 'death threats?' Woman, please!," Ryan scoffed, adding, "Yours (story) is nothing but the same facts being repeated over and over, only with a crisis actor in the picture now," he went on. "MY story is a positive one - it draws patrons to the store and inspires them to share the novel idea!," Ryan concluded, confident that his story was the most worthy of being known to people — after all, it was Autism Awareness month globally!

Revati and Jayanth just rolled their eyes during this heated exchange of words and, when there was a lull in the conversation, Revati spoke up. "No offense, you lot," she pursed her lips, and went on, "Ms. Vyas has been battling her demons throughout her life, and has to now battle for her life, in fact!"
Seeing the puzzled expressions on Amina's and Ryan's faces, Jayanth offered an explanation. "What Rev means is that what Ms. Vyas has been through is not only appalling, but should be openly discussed at length. Stories about mental health issues are still shunned away and covered up," he explained. Not finished making his point, Jayanth concluded, "Rev and my story really should get its due importance. It is the only way there'll be any difference in the statistics."
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Well, Mr. Majumdar had other plans in mind. It didn't matter that the four youth jostled for space, for, staring at the reader(s) from the front page of the following day's edition of The National Chronicle was a white-haired, bespectacled, saffron-clad man, with a brooch of the national flower pinned to his shirt's left pocket.
Evidently, while the campaigning is restricted to the streets, moneyed contenders crowd one's home — and a full, front-page advertisement in the country's leading newspapers is just one of the many ways.


Needless to say, they continue to jostle for space on the front page, whilst journalists Amina, Ryan, Revati and Jayanth are rendered helpless, seeing as the said politician and other wealthy candidates are, after all, the "holy cows of the media world."

"..there is still no cure for the common birthday" #22

"Despite all the advances in science, there is still no cure for the common birthday"

I've lived (and sworn) by that quote by John Green ever since the eve of my sixteenth birthday, which, ironically ended up being anything but sweet — I wasn't allowed to cut a cake in school (which was a HUGE deal back then). Alright, I'm digressing.
Each year, when the tenth of April rolls around, I become rather irked because that means turning another year older, having added responsibilities and therefore supposedly wiser - if you know me, you'll know the latter bit doesn't hold true about me, for the most part. The past four years in particular have marked a few milestones in terms of my biological clock - my eighteenth (a.k.a the obligation of voting responsibly, acquiring a legal permit to drive and to get married *gags at thought*) and my twenty-first (a.k.a legally being able to purchase and consume alcohol in 14 Indian states).
Still, despite my many misgivings, I had the best start to my birthday in years, thanks to my room-mate and three of my closest friends. In keeping with tradition, they gave me a cake, a notebook and a cute little note/photo-holder - all of which I absolutely love! Since having 'Happy Birthday' iced on the cake is too mainstream, they got "Possum :3" written instead. (For the significance of that, check out the roomie's blogpost about me here.) I couldn't quite tell what I liked best about last night —

• The fact that after planning with said friends, my room-mate went all the way to the city (our campus is 45mins away from civilization) and instead of meeting her parents (who have arrived in Pune to pick her up, now that college has ended), arranged for my cake (Death By Chocolate - what can only be described as divine!) from one of my favourite patisseries.
• The notebook and note/photo-holder that she and Hippoh gifted me.
• As if that wasn't enough, the fact that they got the confectioner to write "Possum :3" on the cake - which made me giggle because I'd imagine the struggle they must have gone through, to make the former comprehend their request.
• Or, you know, that my face wasn't smeared with cake. Hah!

I can safely say that this had to be the perfect end to a less-than-perfect journey that was SIMC, and I have my friends to thank. :')

*******

PS: Apart from Bingo, 22 shall remind me of the song "22" by Taylor Swift - "It feels like a perfect night for breakfast at midnight," so excuse me while I go raid the remaining grub left in my wardrobe.

*tears opens a packet of Chocos*

I Can Only Wonder.

Mantra 2014

Initially, when I wrote this post, I thought of writing something rather dramatic as the caption, along the lines of:
“Had I read this earlier, I probably wouldn't be sitting here with tear-stained cheeks and barely-suppressed sobs.”

I'm not sure that’s entirely true, for I don’t think I wasted my time here. Sure, I wish I had done certain things differently, but I’m glad I made the most of these two years. At least I hope I did.

This time, in 2012, I’d have been freaking out about the GE-PI at SIMC. Two years from then, I’m finally here. My final month up here, at Lavale. Up, on this beautiful hilltop that’s been my home and workplace for the longest and shortest possible time – does that make sense? Longest, because I feel I've evolved immensely since I first moved here: Initially, even the thought of living away from family and amidst ‘strangers’ would cause great agony and a flurry of emotions. Soon enough, I would learn, these very ‘strangers’ would be akin to family, albeit temporarily. And, in that sense, the time spent here has also been the shortest. With assignments and projects dominating our ‘free’ time, and workshops stretching well beyond dusk, we hardly get any time to do much else. Four semesters flew by so quickly, and we soon became the ‘old’, intimidating seniors we once disliked – though I reckon “intimidating” and yours truly don’t exactly go together.

I remember being supremely ecstatic after getting to know I was on the first Merit List after the results of the GE-PI was declared. Soon enough though, I was filled with dread, for this meant I would be staying away from home. This time around, it’s the ‘real world.’ The Placements scenario is nothing compared to what lies on the other side. With no second chances and almost no scope for goof-ups. I know for a fact that there are far greater obstacles in store – all of which WILL be overcome, and these final few weeks will be fondly remembered.

When I first started writing this post, I thought of writing about unity and how close I've become with so many people over here. In retrospect, I don't know if that necessarily applies to us. Instead, I think we've all become close because of who we are, individually. In 10 years, we won't be complaining about how much sleep we sacrificed to meet certain deadlines, or how tasteless the mess food is on any given day, instead, we'll reminisce about the individual relationships we've formed, and the memories that will remain etched in our minds.

There really is something about living on a residential campus that I haven’t quite been able to put a finger on. Initially, I thought staying with the same people throughout the course of these two years would be tedious – boring; seeing the same faces every day, facing the same drama, knowing how a certain person is going to react to something. I see things slightly differently now. I have gotten so used to everyone’s idiosyncrasies, that I can’t think of certain things without somehow associating it to a friend I've made here. I won’t be able to see sunsets and mountains, green valleys and brown, crunchy leaves, or even torrential downpours and clear skies the same way again.

Sitting on my bed, furiously typing away all the thoughts that are flooding my mind at this point, the fact that THIS phase of life will end in a few weeks, is hitting me like a tonne of bricks – Nay, a million tonne of bricks. I've become so accustomed to ‘WhatsApp-ing’ people asking whether they’re going to the mess for tea or dinner, or even for an 8:30 AM class, that I don’t know how I’ll be able to adjust to not doing any of these – I don’t think I even want to.

How, HOW does one get used to not seeing the people that were one’s family for two whole years, any more? These are people we used to spend every waking hour with – in the case of our room-mates, every sleeping hour too – eating, drinking tea, laughing, making people laugh, craving home-made food (but settling for overpriced city-acquired grub instead), craving home, craving the hustle-bustle of city-life (traffic, pollution, et al), complaining about the workload, watching sunsets, staying up and watching the sun rise, counting shooting stars, making plans, executing barely half of them, getting chastised by the campus administrator, EVERYTHING. Heck, there wasn't a single moment up here that I wouldn't be spending with a friend – even sitting at my desk in my room typing away this blog post is coupled with the sound of my room-mate’s music blaring through her earphones.

Needless to say, the people here have affected me in some way or the other – and will continue to. There’s no way of telling right now what half these people will become in the approaching years – CEO’s, film-makers, teachers, script-writers, managers, media persons – and, aspiring for a career in the media industry myself, I know our paths will overlap. I hope they do.

Two years of books, UNO games, music, dances, Charades sessions, sporting events, field trips, will all culminate in March. That’s a month away and I am not ready. Thinking of all of these, I'm fighting every fibre to not ‘launch the water-works’ so much in advance, I am filled with dread thinking about how I'm going to feel this time, next month.

I can only wonder. Sigh.

"I'm Not A Virgin, Will You Marry Me?"

Almost two years ago, I had written an article for 21 Fools on the social stigma of not being a ‘virgin’ pre-marriage. It featured on BlogAdda’s Spicy Saturday Picks on the 14th of April, 2012. Needless to say, I'm rather proud of it. The original article can be found here. Do give it a read.

Boomerang Love

Her wavy, russet hair
The way her eyes danced and her mischievous grin
Her strongly-worded opinions
The electric blue that framed her eyes
Her secret love for jazz music

He marvelled at it all
Sighing, he leaned in carefully.
She bit her lip and tilted her chin upwards, beaming

'Oh God,' he thought, 'her smile!'

Desire which was suppressed for far too long, finally culminated
Their lips parted, hers slightly more
He was gentle, yet passionate in his movements
His hands caressed the crescent-shaped birthmark on her midriff
Her fingers traced the contours of his chiselled face and she smiled

He pulled back slightly and gazed at her
It was his turn to beam,
'She smiles when she particularly enjoys it,' he fondly thought
She looked deeply into his thickly-lashed eyes and realised that all that she ever wanted was in front of her

He loved her, he loved every bit of her
Pulling her closer, he decided it was time she should know, 'if it isn't obvious by now,' he mused.
"I think you should know something," he whispered into an ear that was tingling with excitement, "I am in love with you, Mio Carino," and proceeded to kissing her again.

She didn't immediately reciprocate and slightly frowned through her smile, "You've never called me that before," said she.
"I like it," she decided, and whispered, "I love you too."

Too late. The muscles on the nape of his neck were taut, his eyes glazed.

The façade collapsed and the damage was done.
Because it was in that moment, he realized. He knew it all along, but it was never as lucid before; Or as crushing.

But to have it hit him like a ton of bricks, was crippling.

He now knew with a certainty he's rarely had before.

She was a rebound. And he was in love with her.

What slowly began eating him inside wasn't the beast that ravenously lashed within him moments ago.
No, this monster was far more brutish.

He sat with a thud on the edge of the couch they had been slowly inching towards. He was paralyzed with heart-wrenching despair, for he didn't know who he was in love with.

In retrospect, he thought, 'it’s her, it’s always been her.' But too much time had passed.


Karma, it seems, ricocheted; in the most potent way.