I'm Definitely Blogging Again!

So I spent my Sunday morning reading some very old posts on this blog. What it did was that it took me back in time. I smiled about things I hadn't in a while, I thought about people I'd blocked from my memory, random incidents came back to me and then I realized - I need to document my life again - or the lack of it.

My blog turned 5 in Feb this year! Happy birthday, baby. I love you. I really do. 

Love.

Everyone wants to believe in love. It sells. 

Regret.

I do live with one major regret - losing her because of my own doing. How could I let a decade of pure love and trust crumble to shreds just like that? What was I thinking? Was it just the need for "excitement"? Was it just the need for a story? I hope not. 

I've not had the guts to speak about this with anybody either. I feel like over time I've tried and blocked the memories in a way that even I don't remember for sure what exactly happened. Is that a healthy way of dealing with things? Who is to say?

The whole thing really did change me though. It started with the acute self realization of being a horrible person. If I could do it to her, why was anyone to trust me for anything at all? Slowly but surely that turned into a conscious decision of living a life I was more proud of. To go out of my way to ensure that nothing I do hurts anyone in an irreparable way. 

I've always maintained that none of the amazing things that have happened to me in the last decade would've happened if it wasn't for her. I still have her picture up on my wall because I can't possibly throw it away. Or her. She is still listed as my sister on Facebook, for crying out loud! And even now, I'd drop everything and tend to her if she ever needs me. 

I think about him and her every now and then and I hope that after all the drama, at least they've found the love and compassion to be with each other. I heard from someone the other day that he hates me and wants to kill me and somehow, I didn't even feel bad. It's been so long that his hatred seems like a small bargain for their happiness. And none of this is me being a martyr. 

Don't understand the point of writing any of this down. I guess it needed to get it out of my system. And this is the first time in years that I've found the gumption to do so. 

I guess all I really am is terribly sorry - to him, to everyone else who had to suffer without being at fault and mostly to her because she was my entire life. And I get that she might never want to forgive me... because I can't forgive myself either. 

Should I Get Back On The Dating Scene?

I think I'm going to get back on the dating scene.

I used to be so good at it! And the false sense of validation would really rock my socks. I don't know how or when I just got off it. I think it happened because I got into a serious relationship with this woman I love and after that didn't work out, an annoying fuck aka Rebound Guy was part of my life exclusively. When that ended, I was on and off Tinder to get laid every now and then, but the zest for finding someone to have fun with just ended. Not that I'm looking for the "someone to have fun with" just yet, but I could do with some exciting dinner plans, heavy drinking and deep yet meaningless conversations with strangers.

I've never really been scared of strangers I think. I guess that happened when the "familiar" has never really worked out in your favour. 

Stoned Face.

I like my face when I'm stoned
Somehow the skin glows. Radiates more like. And the bloodshot eyes add a little color.
The lips shine just a little bit as they hold onto the last bit of moisture in their mouth
The mole under my eye seems prominent
And I see how my front teeth may discolor soon
Don't know what it is about it?
Maybe the calm
Maybe the stability
Maybe the music
Maybe the friendship
Maybe everything I never had
But I like my face when I'm stoned. 

Drunk Writing.

I'm trying something tonight. I'm documenting my drunkness.

You know how they say "write drunk, edit sober''? It makes a lot of sense unless you, like me, take a while to get drunk. Or actually that was back in the day when I was a party girl. Now I need three solid drinks after a full day's work and I'm knocked out. Anyway, tonight I'm homealone. And that really is a luxury when you share a 1BHK with two friends in Bombay. So I've decided to drink myself to write. Yup, I'm pretty sure that's a phrase.

Let's see how this goes...

60ml Whisky x 1

Nothing yet. Like I said I take a while to get drunk. I feel like this might have been more fun if anyone actually read this blog like they did a few years ago. I remember getting so excited each time I got a comment. Anyway, I'm thinking of chugging this one, Just to set the ball rolling.

60ml Whisky x 2

So I just told one of my closest friends about my plan of documenting my drunkenness on my blog tonight. She is definitely supportive. She's hoping I drink as many as 10 large pegs tonight. Slim possibility of that. I'm not 19 anymore. But I remember when I was. I don't even know how T and I got through grad college with the amount of alcohol we had in our systems. Good times - it seems like another century altogether. We really are growing up.

Anyway, I must tell you about this friend of mine. I met her about two years ago when I was studying Journalism for my post-grad in XIC. Honestly, I don't think XIC added any educational value to my life at all, but what an eventful year that was! But that's another story for another day. Coming back to this friend, I love her; I really do. I don't know exactly when we became friends but I feel like my main attraction towards her is the fact that she seems eerily like me - and that's amazing for someone who is as narcissistic as I am. We live in our own heads and have very strong opinions about things. We'r okay if other people don't accept this opinion - we're not looking for that validation. We believe in the idea of love, but are too practical to give it our all just yet. We value relationships and are very clear about who our "friends" are - even if we're guilty of throwing that word around loosely. We are bloody good at our jobs and most importantly, we are hilarious women.

Honestly, I don't think I can put my finger at just how close we are. But I know each time something monumental happens in my life, I think I'd like her to know :)

60ml Whisky x 3

Okay, this shit is working now. I love when plans work out. I'm already apologizing for typos that may occur going forward.

I have a nice buzz now.

My relationship with alcohol has got to be one of my most consistent relationships ever. Unless you count my relationship with "Ross." Actually you can't - it was/is anything but consistent. I feel like I still think about him or talk about him purely for nostalgic value.

OMG! Deepika Padukone just tweeted this photo and I'm dyinggg!!!
http://www.missmalini.com/2015/11/07/deepika-padukone-just-posted-photos-of-ranbir-kapoor-ranveer-singh-no-really/
This is like the Shah Rukh - Salman Iftaar hug, but better!

Oh well, I love Bollywood, BITE ME!

Time for another drink... I'm definitely not sober now.

1 Cigarette 

Hey hey hey! Look what I found - a cigarette!

Technically, I quit this year.  Which means that I only smoke when I drink now and that too, I try and share a cigarette with a smoker friend. I think it's pretty clear that tonight is not a sharing kind of a night.

next drink

I've done the craziest thing. There's this guy I talk to on Twitter sometimes. Purely platonic. We DM flirt every now and then. And I can't stress on this enough - purely platonic! However, I don't understand what happened right now exactly, but I'm homealone (as I mentioned already) and he is coming over. Erm.

Did I mention this was platonic?

SO THAT'S WHY I'm not supposed to be drinking by myself? Riiiight.

OMG, he's here!

More tomorrow...

Zen

I feel like I am at a point in my life where I'm spending way too much talking to myself and even more time taking personality tests that don't tell me squat. Is this what they call quarter life crisis? I don't think so though because contrary to what I thought my life would be like when I'm as old as I am, life is pretty fucking good.

I would like to believe I'm killing it at work, I have found the friends I'd like to spend my life with (or so it seems), I am actually eating healthy ( let's see how long that lasts), I am having enough sex (mostly virtually though, sigh) and I am mentally not cluttered.

I can't remember the last time this had happened.

Former Party Girl

I used to like going out. No, cross that - I used to love going out.

I loved parties and large gatherings and people din't scare me. I don't think they scare me now as much as they annoy me. It takes too much effort to fake interest in their small talk anymore and I'm not naturally drawn to the "broken" ones who nurse their drink in the corner of the room anymore. About two years ago I'd walk into a room full of strangers and do a stand-up bit of sorts. Everyone would fall in love with me and I'd thank Mrs. Liquid Courage for my star-like quality.My Instagram would flood with #aboutlastnight photos and strangers from the night would hit me up on Facebook the morning after.

I don't know when I got over the whole thing. I don't know when I realized that it doesn't really do anything more me. But as I type this I can't help but wonder if the realization came to me, or did the parties stop happening.

I've always known a lot of people in varying capacities of intimacy. Some probably got busy, some probably I lost on the way, some probably just didn't do it for me anymore, some probably started exploring ewer interests that didn't excite me and some probably started hating me. Maybe it was the lack of parties that forced me to prefer staying in.

I'm sitting here on a Saturday night with a glass of whisky by my side while my roommates are out for a Diwali party, trying to resume this blog, And I actually don't mind that.

When did we get here?

Old-age, is that you?

One of my closest friends was in town and she asked this girl if she got along with this other guy she wanted to have lunch with, so that all three of them could hang out. The girl said most nonchalantly "It's not about getting along, everyone can get along... but what's the point if I don't have fun?"

That's that, I guess. I stopped having fun.

And what a tragedy that is.

I Remember My Dream! aka TOW Too Many Parenthesis!

Oh my god! This has literally never happened before - I actually remember a dream I had last night with fair clarity.

It was midnight and I was outside the house I grew up in.

Wow! "...the house I grew up in" Who would've thought this is something I'd ever get to say. It's funny how things turn out; I actually have a house I grew up in. How old am I? 80?

I was walking in search of fairly lights. That's right! For some reason, I was walking on an empty road in Delhi, outside the house I grew up in, to buy lights.

Fairy lights are awesome. We need fairly lights.

I crossed the spot I spent years of my adolescence at.

Looking back, that spot is 'the spot' in my growing up chapters. Such monumental discussions, controversies, gossips and moments have happened in that spot that I'm actually smiling as I type this. Like, the time I kissed him on his cheek and it became the fodder for the aunties for weeks after or the time my mum caught me chilling with my friends there when I was supposed to be at the gym. Good times... 

There was no one on the streets; no one important, anyway. I don't know if I was home for a break or for good,

I hope it was a break. I don't think I can do Delhi anymore.

but I called him. True to character, he promptly picked up. I asked him who he was with and he just refused to tell me. I told him I'm in grave need of some fairly lights and I must have them asap. He laughed at me saying how amazing it is for me to believe that I'd get that anywhere at this hour of the night. I told him very confidently that I know a place in Santa Cruz that sells them and I'm sure they're open at the moment. "Will you take me there?" "Ummm... chal aataa hoon! Meet me at the spot"

Catch: Santa Cruz is in Bombay.

The dream changed plot after that, so I'm not sure how this one concluded.

When I texted him about the dream today, this is what he replied:

Do I believe he dropped everything (including who he was with) to drive me from Delhi to Santa Cruz, Mumbai for fairy lights? 

I mean, I want to!

What a fun story that'd make!

I'm A Woman, Hear Me Roar!

I am starting to have a serious problem with how everyone talks about women. I am starting to have a serious problem with how women relate to women. Just, when did we get so bitchy? Perhaps, we always have been and the glaring realization of it all has only just struck me. Sorry for joining the party late, I guess. 

A few days ago, a fairly normal, educated lady told someone "why do you think all the crazy nutjob hot girls get the most amazing guys?" WHAT DOES THAT EVEN MEAN?!?!

Why can't she get a "hotter" guy because she's not "attractive" (to you!)? What do you mean she "looks like a lesbian''? So you're telling me you like her "even though she's fat"? Why is it so hard for everyone to accept the possibility of a woman having made it without sleeping her way to the top? And even if she did, isn't the sexiest thing in bed consent? And about that... there are way too many rape jokes doing the rounds and the thing is, just who can we possibly blame for this? The media alone? I don't know. 

And then today, I happened to watch Avril Lavigne's Girlfriend video and cringed. Not so much at the video as at myself for watching this on loop growing up without stopping for a second to really see what the video is advocating. It makes me sick! How is it possible that only Shraddha Kapoor with her beautiful baal and pokyy-free hair piss me off when I've been a media consumer since birth? Is misogyny really that internalized? 

And dare I say any of these things to anyone without being called a 'feminazi'... yup, not a feminist, not a humanist, not an equalist; a femiNAZI. 

Do you even know what Nazism was and its endless repercussions on humanity? Ugh. 

On Most Days.

T and I have been friends for close to a decade now. Actually, cross that - We've known each other close to a decade now and that's really not the same thing. Especially, if you're like me and have known a lot of people over the years. 

When did we become friends exactly? I don't know. What made us identify each other as best friends exactly? I don't know. Why are we still friends exactly? I don't know. 

But I do know that she's feels like home (on most days, anyway). 

I realized it after living with her for about 6 months that we've actually been on a super long sleepover. Late night conversations, morning selfies, weight loss plans, pasta making, way too much alcohol and one too many cigarettes. Nothing has seemingly changed except now we can actually light up in our bedrooms, as opposed to sneakily smoking in her bathroom because her parents are in the house. 

It feels like we've grown up together. Just the other day when I was reading some stuff she wrote back in 2012, I realized just how much the both of us have changed. Is it commendable then that we still are what we are, despite the changes?

We don't like the same kind of people, food or activities. Hell, our go-to alcohol isn't the same anymore either! But, like she put it so beautifully - We may hate on each other all day and she may not approve of most of my life choices, but she tells me if anyone else does the same, she's going to break his face. And I believe her, mostly because she did kill a snake once. True story. 

Would I be friends with her if I met her now? I don't know. But I'm glad I am friends with her.

Because I do know that she feels like home (on most days, anyway).

Choosing Your Family.

Write! It really is that simple!

I guess I do this without even realizing. Who can I possibly blame for this? A family that was a little too "practical" for its own good?

I sometimes feel that I, subconsciously, go through life trying to find someone I can be a sister to or a dad who'd be ideal for me, You know how they say you choose your friends, but your family you're born into. I think I'm sometimes trying to choose the latter (not taking away anything from the brilliant one I have!); with great failure, might I add.

A man came into my life a few months ago in a work capacity. We got along well enough for two professionals and were comfortable enough with each other to share funny life anecdotes from the past. I don't know when it happened exactly though, but I feel sometime between a story about his grad days and our last shared cigarette, I started looking at him differently - as a father father figure.

Months later I woke to the rude shock that I may have, in some weird way, overstepped. 

Toothpaste.

We were fairly young then. Old enough to show off our elder siblings' prowess to our friends, but too young to have any of our own. I was never quite part of the show off group back then and I think I have no one but my brother to blame for that.

Anyway, I remember we were sitting in the school field and Mokshita and Ananya were fighting over the result of a Science experiment their sisters (who happened to be classmates in the 11th grade) had performed. It was to test which toothpaste is stronger - Colgate or Pepsodent. I don't remember the details of this conversation or the experiment, but I do remember that both the sisters (young and old) had derived different results from the experiment. It was then that I thought that Science, like everything else, may or may not be absolute at all times. Both the toothpastes must be similar and the results probably differed based on things that were unfathomable to the human mind. This might just be a fact.

Years later, my brother was visiting. I was fairly old then. Young enough to feel inadequate about myself, but too old to show it. I think we had Colgate (or Pepsodent?) for toothpaste. He randomly said we should get Close Up instead because it's not white and dull and the gel thing is better for the teeth.

I then realized I may have more in common with my brother than is accounted for - we both make up facts.

Regret.

I have forgotten how to write. And to dance. 

The One.

My life's biggest truth has been my love for this particular man. He was the first boy to have ever made me feel things and I always secretly hoped he'd be the last man to do so too. Many men and one spectacular woman were kind enough to indulge me and my idiosyncrasies after him, but he remained... lurked in the background almost.

You know how after a point you're not around people, but around versions of them that suit you. Like, your boyfriend may not be the best sex you've had, but you pretend like he is. I think I did that with this man - created a version of him in my head that always comforted me when need be. We'd always talk like no time has passed, he'd always fuck me as if he absolutely knew the moulds of my breasts, I'd smoke doobs with him and really feel the highest I've ever felt each time. It was is love!

Like I said, my life's biggest truth has been my love this particular man. Love so profound that all I've ever wanted is for him to be happy - with or without me. That's why when I was told that he's practically engaged to get married to this girl (who has nothing on me, I feel!), I was overwhelmed. As painful as it was for me, I think I took it quite well. I believed after years of fucking around, the love of my life deserves to settle down with who he sees fit. But she broke up with you this year after 4 long years, but he didn't tell me.

You know the most fucked up part? I just knew! I don't know how, but I just knew he had broken up. What the fuck does that say about us?

Satiate.

I am not going to live to be a 100. Still, if by some miraculous fluke I survive alcoholism, questionable food choices, potential STDs and general lack of healthcare, it'd be pretty cool to have a kickass 100th birthday party. And anyone who knows me knows just how much I love my birthday. I wonder if that'd change by then though, considering we are all continuously evolving. Yawn.

Anyway, I digress... 

Assuming I live to be a 100, I have lived about a quarter of my life so far. I would like to believe I have led a fairly full one and yet, when I come down to it... I mean, really come down to it... most of my significant life memories are with these two men I used to know. One of them still manages to make some fucked up appearances in my life from time to time, but this memory isn't about him.

It was January. It was a little over a year since he'd hit me that I met him at a gathering. It's been more than five whole years since the incident and yet something about typing this out makes me feel about 18 again. So when I did meet him so close to the episode, I was immediately transported to his home and mental images of me sobbing hysterically on his white tiled floor. The previous year had been spent completely avoiding and getting over the asshole by finding solace in cheap booze and cheaper men. However, I did thank the Universe for ensuring that when I did meet the 28 year old love of my life, who had laid his hand on me in a fit of rage, I looked amazing. If only I felt amazing too!

I don't know what it was - him, me or the rum; but I texted him to meet me the next day.

When I entered his hauntingly familiar white tiled abode, we made love. I won't forget the day for a long long time. We made love twice and then we fucked several times through the day. I curled up naked on his lap and cried. I told him he needs to get out of my system in every possible way. I told him I'm not cool enough to pretend that I'm okay making polite conversations with him at parties. I told him I hated him from the core of heart. I told him that that's the same place I loved him from.
He just held me and breathed on my neck. 

We made love for one last time that evening. We bid our final goodbyes and I left to never look back again.

After a year of going through men like toilet paper, I was finally satiated.

Emotionally. 

Goldilocks.

I am very easy to tick off. Now, don't get me wrong. I rarely get angry. However, very little things annoy me. I snap at people if the climate is too hot, I don't put up with bad food, I zone out of conversations that don't interest me... Everything needs to be 'just right' for me. What do I tell you? I am Goldilocks.

I am also a staunch follower of the 'live and let live' philosophy and over the years I have come to the realization that if something (or someone) bothers me, it is my issue entirely. That's the great thing about this philosophy - the serious understanding of the fact that you have absolutely no control over what anyone else does. So it's probably just smarter to find it in yourself to ignore it, or function despite it.

And for once in my life, I can say without a shadow of doubt - it really isn't easier said than done.

Goodnight. :)

Parity

So as part of my promise to make this blog more consistent again and to not disappear on it for too long, I've asked some of my favourite people to guest blog for me. They've been given the freedom to blog about anything and they don't have a deadline. Let's do this!

___________________________________________

A couple of days back, I met an old friend; the person who you wish you could be when in school, the person who everyone knows about, that every time there is an activity, his/her name is called upon. The business class of a commercial flight, the front row on an opening night...

But now after so many years of friendship, lest of insecurities or envy, that person still stands ahead with each step we take. Busy with all the work around, busy with people who are fond, like a worm in a fish full pond. I’m aware it’s a different life and a different stage, but didn't we all start at the same age? With the books read, movies watched, and drinks on round, there is always a different vibe similar to that popular sound.

But now when I look at these things, I realize that my mind and thoughts have got their own wings. Evolved and calmer they are, but still left with a few pride on those wee hours.

“These things aren’t of any cause; we drink, we travel, we chill and eat chakli with schezwan sauce”

A couple of days back, I met an old friend. Let’s see what he has in store for me in his news bulletin. 

*Guest Blog* Attempts At Humour

So as part of my promise to make this blog more consistent again and to not disappear on it for too long, I've asked some of my favourite people to guest blog for me. They've been given the freedom to blog about anything and they don't have a deadline. Let's do this!

___________________________________________

My story is not similar yet not very different from the stammering comedian from the Nescafe commercial. They are similar in the sense that we both haven’t given up exercising our humour muscles. But they are different in the way that unfortunately I do not seem to have any. Wait, now that’s not completely true. I think I have do them, they just might be malfunctioning ones.

‘Don’t frown so much Roshni!’ was what my grandmother always said while she was still alive. Growing up I was always the serious and maybe even slightly uptight nerd of my school group. No matter how hard I tried I could never match my friends in the social skills. I wasn’t witty, I wasn’t charming, I wasn’t cute and I wasn’t Funny.

I was always trying to fit in. It is a horrible habit, one which I wasn’t able to kick for the first 20 years of my life. Being a socially awkward fat person with an unimpressive personality can be deadly, quite literally. I often imagined walking onto a busy road and getting hit by a passing bus and then the scene would play out in my head, comic book style, ending with floating bubbles over my still upright body; they read ‘Fuck! I am so fat I dented the bus.’

But through it all, I found myself never giving up. I would shut myself from the world believing that I could be a recluse and it would make me happy. I found that it had the opposite effect. I wanted to meet new and interesting people, I was curious about the world beyond my little city.It came down to a simple choice. The acceptance of the fact that I wasn’t the recluse I had thought myself to be.

 It started with going on a blind date and never looking back thereafter.

I would sit silently at a table full of people and observe; melting into the background and furniture, sitting still and silent for hours. But I went out. I met new people. This continued for a few months and then I decided to move to a new city to go to graduate school.

Once again I tried to fit in, I would drink for hours, sit and listen to people talk. Sometimes alcohol gave me the courage to talk and I would talk too. At times I was slightly witty. But I was a sucky storyteller; I couldn’t get people to stay interested in my story for long.

It was hard to accept. I have fantasized about being a story teller from the early dark ages of mankind. Sitting around a fire, lit with its glow and reciting a story to an enthralled audience.But my stories have too many hiccups; take too long to get to the punch line. I struggle with clever retorts. It is like my brain freezes, I think of a million things to say but nothing makes sense, my heart starts beating quicker than its usual pace, my mouth goes dry. The worst thing follows; a worthless ‘ha’ escapes my mouth, sounding the siren of my defeat.

But I haven’t given up. I still go out and meet new people. I talk a little more than I used to. I recite long silly stories. I try to crack jokes and play silly pranks.

My darling roommates, I call them that with a lot of sarcasm tipped love, have termed these efforts of mine ‘Attempts at Humor’.

-Guest Blogger

The Rebound.

I don't want to resent him. But I do. In my defense, he was a rebound. I guess they can't help it. They're often brought on board to fill the void someone else left in your life. It really isn't their fault. Mostly, it's not.

I don't want to resent him. But I do.

Very often when I look back at our time together, I feel really angry. Angry because I think he robbed me off my youth. I know I'm being a tad bit too dramatic, but that's really how I feel. He made me part of a boring old couple who fucked only in the missionary position and spent weekends together with each other's friends. There wasn't anything really wrong with him... except that he was insecure about every man I ever even spoke to; except that he didn't just want to impress me but all my friends; except that he was secretly always smug about winning against this other guy I knew, except that I know he was insecure about the size of his penis; except that he tried way too hard to please me in bed ; except that he loved me way too much in very little time. I was exhausted!

I'm not lying when I say that I started noticing physical changes in me. My face was becoming paler by the day and my waistline bigger. My boobs didn't feel sexy to me anymore and I stopped pouting in pictures. I stopped going to parties because it meant him getting weird about me not wanting to sit in a corner and text all night. You know the weirdest part? "I give you your freedom!" he said. My freedom is not yours to give, asshole!

And then there were those conversations. I mean, I was with the guy for months, and I don't remember ONE stimulating conversation with him. And we used to talk all the bloody time. In retrospect, I think all he ever said was how much he loved me. I have loved a lot of people in my life at various times and in various capacities... is it really love if you've to say it out loud so many times? I think not. He was so fucking vanilla, it makes me want to cry. And I was some big ego trip for him.

I don't want to resent him. But I do. Especially because he wasn't a virgin when I met him and he lied about it! And also because, he wasn't cool enough to be my boyfriend. Ever. 

There, I said it. 

Dear Me

So everyone is doing these #DearMe videos on YouTube and because I don't feel pretty enough for camera today (or ever) and because I don't have a YouTube channel, I thought why not fill this oldie up! In other news, my blog turned 5 whole years this February. Amazing, right? 

***

Dear Me,

Enjoy judging people who get shitfaced every weekend while you still can, because pretty soon you'd be one of them. Don't lose sleep over getting 'his' attention months after you broke up, he will always be a part of your life in some twisted way. Thank your Math and Accountancy tutors every day because it is them who'd get you through school.

Try and fight less with your father... you're doing some irreversible damage to the relationship that could've been. Don't quit your dance classes because you don't find them 'cool' anymore; you'd regret it for the rest of your life. Leaving dancing will make you gain a hell lot of weight, see this as a sign of resuming class because otherwise, that weight aint goin' nowhere! Spend more time with your family while you still can. Don't 'try' smoking!

It's okay to want to sleep with more than one person at the time, don't get this bothered by slut shaming. It's okay to not make out with someone too even if the moment is amazing, don't try this hard for validation. Since we are talking about sex, always use a condom!

I know it's very important for you to be 'popular', but don't overdo it. Most of the people who're giving your the ego boost you want right now didn't make it very far in your life. Care slightly less about your 'image' and don't feel embarrassed to cry if the need be. Definitely sing more.

Don't hate on social media... you're on your way to becoming a Social Media Whore, so. Your hair should be the least of your worries right now because eventually people are going to fall in love with your natural curls. Be meaner to Mrs. Jain at school, she deserves it.

Be less afraid to love.

All in all, you're a cool kid. I've seen the future, it works out reasonably well.

Love
Me. 

I Am The Sociopath At The Airport

The first time I ever took a flight was when I was about 20 years old; so not too long ago. Since airports and planes wern't really a part of my childhood,  I think in my head I presumed only real important people who have to go out there to accomplish real important tasks, lest the balance of the world suffers, take flights. The rest of us lower mortals could waste our lives sitting in trains holding our pee. It's not like we had some place to be or anything.

So when stepping into an aircraft became a regular occurrence for me, somewhere deep down I always questioned if I deserved to be there. I think it was then that I became a sociopath.

I reach the airport hours before I need to be there and this has very little to do with the fact that I have missed two flights in the past. My charade starts some time between my entrance into the airport and getting in line for my boarding pass. I look around, make eye contact, smile at strangers, fake a phone call or two and really pretend like I am moving to Switzerland for good or something! Once the boarding pass and security procedures are out of the way, it's time for the main part of my act.

I like to call it 'The One With The Bar.'

I find me a seat at the bar, order a large whiskey (because what else would a "real important" person drink?) or a Long Island Iced Tea and fake a phone call. The call usually entails me talking to someone about a meeting that needs to be taken care of or about the presentation that I am not impressed with; depends on what I'm feeling that day. When the bartender gets me my drink, I say "cheers" to him with the best brand of my feigned fabulous. The bartender chats me up and I make him laugh in return, with careful blushing every now and then.

Scene is set. Now time for the stranger.

It's almost always a guy. It's almost always not Indian. He comes sits next to me and we get to talking somehow - about our delayed flight, about our common preference in alcohol, about the plight of women in India.
For absolutely no reason, I give out a fake name and generic sounding false professional details. I also tell him a life story that didn't really happen but he laughs anyway. He asks me tips about travelling in India and I dish out insights I have gathered from friends' Facebook albums about the Kerela backwaters and Hampi.

As my head buzzes from alcohol and conversation, we go to the smoking room. I half smoke my cigarette and stub it because it is now finally time for my flight and for my last act.

We say our goodbyes as easily as we said hello and I walk to my boarding gate. I step on the plane, find my seat, smile at the stranger sitting next to me (my last one to a stranger that day) and fall asleep.

I then wake up in a new city.

The Almost Promise

And I am back with half meaning promises of being more regular with this blog. But when you're churning out way too many articles for the popular website you work for all day, the writing section of your brain is exhausted by the time you get home.

The thing with not having written (for yourself) for a while is that the struggle to express oneself becomes far too real. But here I am with my almost promise. My life could be a series of 'almosts'. The time I almost went for a jog, the time I almost got laid, the time I almost fell in love, the time I almost didn't cheat, the time I almost cried, the time I almost laughed... you get the gist, right?

This teacher (friend?) had told me when I got my job at the website that if I don't continue writing for myself on the side, the website's voice will become my natural voice. And no one wants that. Least of all, me! I made an almost promise then. Evidently enough, I couldn't stick to it.

Recently, I met Vir Das for an interview. When I asked him if he had tips for aspiring comedians, one of the things he told me was that a comic needs to write each and every single day. Even if it is for a small amount of time, but the process of writing (it IS a process) must happen each and every single day.

Now I am no aspiring comic, unless you count the times I have been told  I should try my hand at stand up by my friends, after their fourth drink, but I see what Vir means completely. You don't necessarily need to be a good writer to be a good storyteller, but you can't be a good writer, unless you're a good storyteller. And who are we, but our stories?

Which brings me to yet another almost promise of mine. This time, the promise isn't about writing, it's about storytelling. Let's see if this one will see the light of the day...