I’m not cool and I like it. I’m not hot either.

I’m awkward where I’m supposed to be cool. I don’t really know my stuff around the most happening pub, neither do I wear the hippest clothes. I don’t gulp down alcohol because it may be free, hell I have enough at home to be a drunk for a week and still be left with surplus. I don’t listen to songs which ask me to first take a selfie. I don’t know what I’m supposed to do with instagram. I find twitter boring. I refuse to use hash tags and I would rather watch an art film in my native language than watch a flop Hollywood movie because it has machines in it.

But, I’m one of the first to visit a good website if it uses good words to frame the expressions. I’m the kind with a bookmark in three different books at the same time but read only one at a time. I gauge my men the way I gauge these books. I start several at a time but linger over the one I like and complete it. If I like it a lot, I don’t pick up another book for months, even if that book (chapter; good analogy?) was over. I’m the kind who’d wear high heels for five days a week or sneakers at a party and still be okay with it. I have only recently bought coloured trousers and the colour is teal. Mustard is really not my cuppa, neither is a red. I’m the kind who knows what good coffee tastes like but wouldn’t know jack between a lager and an ale. I like like the occasional nonsensical songs, but my play list has classy numbers. Well, most of them..
I click photographs because I want to. I look at them while sitting huddled under the duvet during the half-time of the world cup going on at Brasil. I don’t want the entire world to know what I ate for lunch and I have repeatedly been reminded to ‘instagram’ the image I took. And, then I oblige, sans any hash tags, of course. I don’t tweet because 140 characters couldn’t possibly be enough! I blog. I scribble. I draw.. I went 12 kilometers away to buy rosemary, thyme and sage leaves for an art work I’m planning!

I’m not cool by a lot of your definitions. I don’t smoke up. I don’t smoke. I can’t accessorise my outfits because I seem to look like a villager when I do, I guess, but people have claimed otherwise. I cut my hair short because I could not bear the heat and, that it was enough with the cliché of long hair on my head.

And you know the best part? Those things really don’t make anyone cool.
You’re cool if you’re cool. If you need beer to make yourself interesting, you have major issues. If you need beer to make me interesting, well, why are we friends again? My snap chat score doesn’t determine how popular I am. Hell, I had a display picture of Ozil and Muller on for three weeks and it got one like, and a slutty picture with my neck showing seductively gets 99? The world has serious issues.
I love my books and shoes and weird out-of-place-ness. I don’t care if I don’t look hot or even if I look ugly to you. If I think I am doing fine, I am freaking pleased and will trot out *toktoktok* in my favourite stilettos.

This is not a shove on those who do these things. I’m just tired of everyone judging themselves by these bars. So many kids feel like they just have to do all these cool things to be cool and hip and accepted and popular.
The world doesn’t really need to know where you are at this moment. Everyone’s seen that heart warming video, shared it too ironically.. bloody well time to practice it?

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The X-YZ of things.

I am bitter and not feeling very bright at the moment, so pardon the hatred. This is almost exclusively for a particular set of people in the world and that is, surprise surprise, the ex. It could be an ex boyfriend or a girlfriend or heck, even a friend. It is human tendency to do two of the things that I will write about here, post an ‘end’ to the said relationship.
First, you would want to claw back to the person (assuming that you re the one who was dumped, obviously)
Second, you would bad mouth that person or, listen to others talk bull about them.

Let’s go serially:
The clawing back phenomenon is very common. Obviously, they were an important part of your life and without them it feels empty and you want to fill their void only with their presence. Everything that you would have taken for granted suddenly becomes about them. I read a comic strip on Facebook a while back which went something like this-
Person A-“Yes! I am finally over her. I can live now”
Friend- “Great! Hey, want some water?”
A- “OMG SHE LOVED WATER :'(”

Yes I know It would look better with the comic strip, but I can not seem to find it. Blah.

Anyway, the point is, the feeling is normal. You would do everything in you power to get them to like you again. It is not your fault. It happened to me too when I was dumped, long long ago. I was heart-broken and sad and whatnot. At one point in time, I assumed that person to be someone without whom I would not be able to live, but look at me now; living and all. Ha!
But there are some of you who take this to a whole new level. Don’t play the sympathy card with their friend(s). Yes, the sad part is ‘you still love them’ despite the fact that they ‘mutilated’ your heart and stomped on it, repeatedly. Don’t do that. It isn’t healthy, not for your ego or for the friendship. Just because they took the call of ending the relationship does not mean they aren’t hurting. It does not mean they have a stone cold heart.

The usual protocol after a break up is to not talk for a couple of months, preferably years. Maintain it. Only because a person was your everynight-phone-companion, does not mean they will remain so for life. While dating, people say a lot of things
– I will always love you
– I will watch our grandchildren grow old with you
– Let’s go to switzerland
– Buy a dog
-Laser tag is a sad sport
Making lists is fun (…but I digress)

But don’t hold it against them when the break up does happen. I mean seriously, are you new to the dating world? People say things. It doesn’t mean they did not mean it while they said it! So don’t play the sympathy card. Don’t try to rope in all of their friends on to your side. Remember, a break up always has two people involved. The one to call it quits may have started the process earlier but they need their friends too.

break_up_by_LNePrZ

The second:
And if you DO end up playing the fool by pretending to be the one who is the victim, like they announced war on your tiny heart, grow up. The first rule to move on is accepting the fact that you need to. Pretending to be ‘fine’ and acting ‘cool’ is not helping anyone.
Also, learn to differentiate between those who really want your good and those who just want to laugh at you behind your back while you grieve. Let me tell you my story. Long back, when I broke up with this guy, I was in regular contact with one of his friends. After the break up, the guy had only sad, sad things to tell me about the said boy. He filled me in with snippets of false news that made me pity my ex. The friend told me all about his grades in school (they were low) and  spats with teachers (thee were many), popularity (hated by all class mates) and simultaneously, the friend kept praising himself (high grades, and I assumed he was a teacher’s pet and student of the year). At that age, the three criteria that were mentioned to me were important aspects of a student’s life, the fact that a boy once dated was flunking grades disturbed me. Two months later I came to know how the friend was really trying to make me fall for him. Every word that he uttered about the ex was a tweaked version of the truth, a lie actually.

^the moral there is don’t believe everything people have to say. Also, don’t go on spreading rumours and make the poor -ex an anomaly to the social structure. Respect the privacy. Understand the dynamics of the people. By telling everyone that you love them despite the horrendous way they treated you and describing how you JUST know they never loved you, makes them the bad person . What have they actually done? Broken up with you and not spoken? THAT is the crime you are holding them responsible for and therefore that makes them heartless? Then yes, maybe they’re guilty in YOUR court of law. I have done it myself too, when I was new to this world. But now, I have matured. And I hope you do too.

Post Break-up Syndrome.

The world seems to be collapsing around you while you desperately try holding onto whatever you can lay your hands on- his favourite band, his favourite poem, the book he last dog-eared or the perfume you never really liked. You look around your room and spot his nail cutter on your dressing table or you look at an advertisement you had both laughed at, together, and then it happens- you feel a rush of tears stinging your eyes, your cheeks go warm and you repent your decision of ending things with him.
He wasn’t that bad after all, was he? All he wanted was for you to cut your hair or grow your nails. All you had complained of was him being an hour late sometimes and surely that can be worked out. All the differences and reasons for the ‘premature’ termination of your relationship begin to seem superfluous and frankly, childish. There is nothing a glass of wine and good conversation cannot sort out, is there? This is the Post Break-up Syndrome.  It is characterised by reckless dating, excessive drinking, excessive shopping, stalking your ex boyfriends, a high sugar diet, self-doubt, prolonged sleeping hours, regret, irritation, reading break-up quotations online, understanding song lyrics and most of all, the need to get back.

So, you call your best friend and ask her if the haste made waste, if the dog pooped early, if…okay, I am out of metaphors. Simply put, you ask her if you were wrong. She will not give you advice but hear you out while you figure out your own mess and while talking to her, and in turn talking to yourself, you hear the reasons out loud and you realise that the decision was in fact right. A difficult choice to live with, but a correct one indeed.

So how does one get over a significant other? You can delete his number, block him on facebook and hide the photographs. You can remove his physical presence from your life, you can pretend that he doesn’t exist and all of this will go on perfectly fine till that one day where you suddenly listen to a song you both danced to, or an old message in you inbox that got ignored while you were on a deleting spree or the news of him dating someone else reaches you. The world will be a perfectly rotating spheroid TILL THAT DAY, after which all his ticks and non-sensical habit will make sense. You will see that you’ve grown and have matured enough to accept the mistakes he had made 7 months back and you will ache to get him back but it is too late. He has moved on, probably as painstakingly as you have (or may be not) and he won the break-up game.

But that’s what popular belief says; that the one who dates first is the winner. I do not agree- I believe that the one who ends up happiest is the winner. Yes, there will be hiccups in getting over him (for god’s sake you loved him once upon a fairytale time ago) and you will question the choices you made. Yes, there might be a chance that ending it was a mistake, you probably should have waited a day or two more, maybe just maybe things would have turned around.

And then you will read something. Something so life-changing that you feel happy and light, like cotton. You’re a reader and he was not. You sing in the shower while he just, showered. You asked philosophical questions and answered them with candy-floss analogies while his dream interview is with Smith and Wesson. You looked at the stars, he saw the dark, dark sky. And then, you call your best friend again, to share your epiphany and she calmly makes you understand that two halves make a whole. That, while you focussed on the stars and he looked at their background, while you read all the time, he read the newspaper (and that’s the point where you make a face and disagree- newspaper is not reading duh!).
Then, once your BFF is done explaining to you why opposites attract, you say just a few sentences to her and she knows that you’ve won the argument-

I need a man who knows what poetry is, how beautifully one sentence flows into another. I need a man who carries a handkerchief with him, not to wipe off my tears but to clean the ketchup that I accidentally dropped on his shirt. I need a man who reads out Beethoven to me, instead of making me listen to his symphonies. I need a man who can make me lose an argument. I need a man who shuts me up by kissing me. I need a man who understands my fascination with House. MD. I need a man whose words seem like a song, whose voice makes me tingle. I don’t get that in him, sweetheart. I get a lot of other things, but not these. I can put in a handkerchief in his pocket and make him watch sitcoms but can I make him feel the beauty of Haiku? Can I make him stir his soul like a good book stirs mine? I am incapable, not him.

Till the time you reach an epiphany, the post break-up syndrome continues.

-All the best, I hope this helped. And if it did not, boo hoo, just start to not care and you’ll soon find another jerk who’ll also leave you 🙂

love_268___break_up_v_by_theplatypusgallery-d333g4a

Fuck me, I have a vagina.

Have you ever been so angry that you felt tears sting your eyes? So angry, that your lips shivered and your fists tightened into a pale white? So angry that your heart beat quickened and you could feel blood gush to your head? I have.
I am. I am that angry. I am that angry because I refuse to understand any justification given by the administration and government for the lathi charge and water cannon firing by the police on innocent protesters. They weren’t agitators who needed to be shooed away, they were regular people of the city who felt so moved by a singular event (of a gang rape) that they all stepped out unanimously and asked for a solution to a problem that has been tainting the reputation of not just the city and the country but that of the men as well.

Treating the symptom instead of the the disease is the solution the Delhi Police chose. When the young girls of the capital city of India reached the gates of the authorities at the Rashtriya Pati bhavan, no-one stepped out, not one authority and instead the people of the nation were hit, mistreated and manhandled. I find it funny, to believe, that the girls protesting against a gang rape were themselves hurt and bruised by the Police.

Switch on your television sets. See what is happening to those who protest. Instead of feeling scared, feel angered and step out. There is a peaceful march on 25th of December at Park street. Make this Christmas of yours count. Show up with a candle and walk.

In a country where women are given the position of goddesses, I don’t feel safe in a room full of men, my mother doesn’t let me travel alone post sundown and my father is worried about my well being solely because I have ovaries instead or testicles.
Do I really want to be known as ‘Sweta, the one from the country of rapes and no action against the rapists’? I had been to Thailand, BKK to be more precise, in October and in a country like theirs where prostitution is open and hormones run amuck, I felt safer than I do in India. No-one felt me up even in Walking Street. No-one uttered one lewd comment while I wore a low neck cleavage showing dress. No-one even noticed that I was there, wearing minimal clothes, why? Because everyone knows how to behave and because everyone is comfortable with seeing skin.

Our country, India, has a long way to go in accepting this visual display of skin and hell, even affection. But before this acceptance kicks in, the tolerance against those who cannot keep it in their pants needs to be reduced. Zero tolerance is what is required. What is my fault to have been born with two X chromosomes? Just because your mother couldn’t get through your thick skull and teach you manners, just because your father couldn’t make you behave in front of your girl cousins, just because you are a man, you can not rape me. And unfortunately, this certainty of not being raped will not get into our heads either until there is a zero tolerance that is developed towards those who commit any sort of crime against women.

No, this is not feminism. This is not me, demanding for special laws for women. This is a girl,  demanding for simple laws for a human being. The scenario has reached a stage where women are special human beings, where men are the only ones enjoing the benefits of human laws and women, are outcast. Or else, why would a rape victim be forced to prove herself of being raped? Why else would the authorities dilly dally in hanging the ones who have so openly raped a girl in a moving bus? Why else would the government let a man shoot Jessica and get away with it for so many years? Why does justice take a such a long time to get served?

The outrageous number of rapes that happen in Delhi, Mumbai, Kolkata combined make me shudder with fear sometimes. Make the streets calm. And make the police shove their lathis up their you-know-where.

Section 144 is not the answer to ending the protest. The only way to end these processions demanding justice, is very simple. Provide justice. Barricading the area an protecting the President will not serve its purpose because India is a huge country with an even larger population. If all of us decide to come together, no amount of force will be able to stop us. They couldn’t stop us 7 decades ago when the British were here and they wouldn’t be able to stop us now.

What men need to do and how they need to behave as been enough emphasised on and I will not write about it. All I am going to say is make his country a safer place. Make it a place where people, especially women, from other nations feel safe. Make it a destination where girls can travel when they want and not get raped. Change the people or change the laws. Or both, if possible.
And men, be the change you want to see. The next time you compliment a girl, make sure it sounds like one. And girls, fight. Fight with all your might and make India a better place.

It isn’t a crime to protest. This is not a case of one girl suffering in the ICU. (She is currently better but has a respiratory tract infection and will have to live on intravenous nutrition for the rest of her life if her intestine isn’t transplanted..and even that has its side effects.). This is a protest against all crimes towards women. This is a fight of every women. The question do you feel safe should be answered with I AM NOT SAFE.

-make the world look down upon India for this day so that we are forced to look down with shame and by we, I mean the government. Make the world change India.

Boys, I tell you.

There is a college right beside my room in the place that I live in while attending college. Raj college. And it is blaring out songs at full volume because of its fest. And I can’t study. The thyroid isn’t half as interesting when a not-so-melodious singer sings remix Hindi songs. And my roommate is out, she’s watching her professor perform some surgery and the other flat mate is a boy, so expecting him to be a little considerate and be there with me while I get bored even after telling him so is useless because he is sleeping and because he is a boy.

Q: Are all boys like this?
A: Yes.
Q: Men too?
A: Yes!

Take any boy you know, however mature, they are irresponsible and irritating and sing weird un-tunely songs proclaiming themselves to be the king of the world. Sorry, I got carried away by the songs being played. But either way, boys live in a pseudointellectual world of their own where the world is all chilled out at relaxed and no work needs to be done in time. They have their own schedule and own timetable, completely ignorant of the other half of the world; females, and therefore oblivious to the harrassment we have to face simply because they decide something isn’t as important as the PS3.

All humans with penis are the same at the basic level. Some may understand more than the rest, some might care more than the others but the problems remain the same. The mature ones aren’t good looking. The handsome mature ones aren’t your age. The ones that are your age are short heighted. The tall ones are too tall and the absolutely perfect ones don’t exist. Well, some do but who cares cause they aren’t available in the first place.

Boys don’t know how to converse. They don’t know how to talk. Hell, they don’t even know language. Very few know how to write. And even fewer know how to interpret.

Bleh. I hate the songs that are playing and I am VERY irritated and I’m lashing out on men. No, they’re actually nice things and deserve to be treated with care and fed biscuits and patted from time to time. There essential to the human race and did I say I hate the songs?

I’m hating them more because I am alone and my roomie is a spoil sport sometimes and doesn’t dance with me when I want to. The party and the fun always happens when she is in the mood. I’m sure, when she comes back she’ll not be super enthusiastic about it when I ask her if we should get up on the bed and dance our killer moves. All she’ll say would be- ‘No I have to study cause sir will ask questions tomorrow’ and I will have to go to the other room so that she can study in peace and I’ll be technically alone again 😦
Only if she is in the mood to have fun, we have fun and I hate it. Urgh!

– crossed. tangled. whatever.

Memoirs of a Memory with a Song.

Don’t you just detest it when a perfectly brilliant song is ruined because some jack-ass halfway around the globe decided to make a memory with you precisely when that song was playing and then BAM! three months later he isn’t there and the perfectly brilliant song is pooped. Yknow, there are categories of songs- the mediocre, the good and then, there are the brilliant.

The mediocre are the ones which find their way into your playlist because
– someone gave them to you via bluetooth
-a dude shared his playlist with you to get you to listen to grunge rock
-a break up
-PMS
-by mistake
-really sad sitcoms which make you think ‘wow that song is brilliant’ and then you download it and listen to it on repeat for 567 hours and then, by the end of it you are ready to puke.
-initially a brilliant track which slips to the mediocre because of *surprise surprise* the MEMORIES.

The good ones are good primarily because they are cult classics, I mean, Pink Floyd will never become mediocre because a d-bag decided to ruin it for you. NO! You always come back to life after Pink Floyd, literally. And then is John Mayer and Coldplay and ABBA (and ronan keating). And Death Cab For Cutie (at least some of their songs. I don’t know why they decided to sing for Twilight- the Meet me on the equinox). Some songs never die. I mean, yeah whatever some guy might ruin one or two of those ‘classic’ songs but forgive them. They know not what it means to dance to ‘I will follow you into the dark’. Word of advice, limit these classics to those you know will NOT let you down. Ever. EVER. Like best friends or parents or children. That way, no one can ruin good songs for you. 🙂

^that is a really cute rendition of I Have A Dream, ABBA. Watch it :’)

Then come the brilliant ones. These are comprised mainly by The biggies themselves, each of us have our personal favourites and I wont name mine but you would which songs figure in your list of brilliant, wouldn’t you? The ones which you always listen to, anytime all the time. Like I could listen to Fix You for-evvvver and never get tired of it and I would not let anyone ruin that song for me. No one is allowed to dedicate it to me. No one is allowed to expect it from me. This is MY song. and will remain so because it is too precious for me. The words are too personal. If this song is dedicated to me by someone I love and then he breaks my heart (or whatever) then these very words will prick me and make me bleed. So I wont let anyone burst my bubble. And if you really love me, you wont dedicate this to me.
You could, however, dedicate a ‘Baara maheene mein baara tareeko se’ to me because that song is already hopeless. It means all that you want a love song to and then too it doesn’t stand a chance of getting ruined with a memory because the song already is at the lowest level of music. Seriously. LOWEST.

^Don’t watch this if you aren’t ‘READY’

Now, it isn’t just sad memories that attach themselves to songs. there are songs to which you have joys and birthdays related to. There are songs which make you smile no matter what. there are those songs to which you danced on your first night stay or the song you sang to your BFF after the epic fight or a song you dedicated to your mom on mother’s day. Some songs become good from the mediocre scale because of the memories so never underestimate those underdogs, you!

^Like this one, that I’d love to sing- fights or no fights, we are stuck with each other Pie. Oh, Happy Birthday! 😀

But getting back to the sad stuff (because sad things always appeal more, sadists we are),
I missed out one more category of songs. they are the happy songs which mean nothing. Or sad ones, the blues, which say absolutely nothing to you. Yknow, the kind to which you were introduced to because someone dedicated them to you. The conversation goes like:
Random person who knows you- ‘Hey, this is a nice song and I, in my right senses dedicate this absolutely nonchalant piece of music to you!’
You- ‘Oh, alright gracious man/woman/person, I shall listen to it right away’
And then you and that person become really good friends, lovers, pals, siblings, online facebook open relationship partners, whatever, and slowly you drift away BUT the song still remains on your iPod/Walkman/Really awesome phone like SGIII. And while you’re on a long journey the song begins to play and you remember that friendship (or affair) and just…smile. No bitterness, no joy either but just a memory that does not affect your emotion.
Like, right now, I am listening to ‘Addicted’ by Enrique. No, don’t judge me it is a really nice song okay, whatever. And  this song has become rotten by all the so-called dedication but still it has managed to remain on my playlist and I have no memory associated with it whatsoever. None!

So, lesson to be learnt is just one:

Nothing fixes a thing so intensely in the memory as the wish to forget it.

Don’t fight the memories and don’t fight the world from making them for you. If some guy, in his mushy weakness dedicates ‘Perfect two’ by Auburn to you, just smile and listen to the song. And then, remember the song. Memories are a part of life. We wouldn’t stay up at night if it wasnt for those wretched memories and future-planning. Happy or sad, songs and memories are intricate and you can’t argue over the fact that a little bit of heartache makes the songs even more beautiful, ’cause lets face it- even though you categorise them as mediocre because of the sourness attached to them, they are still there on your playlist, aren’t they?

Let life play itself out. 🙂

A final treat for you-

-entangle.

Dude, we ARE free! So, Happy Independence Day.

15th August was India’s Independence day and I came across at least 7 (i did not count) posts asking if we are ‘actually‘ free. Every one questioned the existence of freedom in the true sense of the word. So, I googled the word and tried to answer (and justify) to myself that India, is in fact free and carries forth this message across to her inhabitants.
According to the Oxford dictionary, freedom is defined as the following:

  • the power or right to act, speak, or think as one wants
  • the state of not being imprisoned or enslaved
  • (freedom from) the state of not being subject to or affected by (something undesirable)
  • archaic familiarity or openness in speech or behaviour

The country deserves to be respected for what has been tried. 65 years is young. I agree that we have a long, long way to go, but India, has provided for a lot of what we enjoy. We know how badly rotten the system gets in here because we ‘know‘ it. How many of us actually, truly, diligently follow world news? Unless there is a major scam or err, the Olympics, do we really care about how China, or USA are faring? No. Not until our money is involved in the economic meltdown that happened a few years ago. No. Not until our children were working in their nations and got laid-off.

So, no. It is not fair to compare the ‘freedom’ in our nation to that in theirs. A parent shouldn’t compare two siblings because however similar they are genetically, they are each different. Similarly, every country has its history and its unique set of issues and problems.
The American constitution was written in the year 1787 and they have the advantage of more than a century (i suck at math) to themselves!
So quit comparing ‘how fast the internet is’ in the two countries to judge how free WE are.
The political issues there are not even close to the number of issues we have, point noted. The number of political parties which actively participate are TWO. Just two. The number of people in the House are lesser. Whereas, in India, there are this many parties. I could not fit all the parties in ONE screenshot, so you can do the math without me having to actually go through the mammoth task of counting them out for you. I also agree, that this volume is no excuse to be corrupt. Of course it isn’t. Nothing can be an excuse to be corrupt and gobble the money paid by the citizens as taxes. But it also doesn’t state that we are un-free. We are! If this isn’t freedom then what is? If you have a cause, make your party and stand for it, contest elections, win and then, change the nation.

source: wiki

As for the corruption that everyone is SO constipated about. Don’t blame freedom for corruption. If people are dishonest and have questionable morals then what role does freedom has to play in it? It is our sad luck that we are taught the art of bribing. I see many of my friends bribe police officials to get out of traffic hassles and then I see the same friends write status updates on Facebook regarding the Anna hazare issue and voicing how strongly they feel about (or against) corruption. The change has to come from within. You cannot keep asking the same and incorrect questions year after year. Ask if this nation is honest, and there will be an answer in the negative, because ‘honestly’, no one is honest. Not in india and not abroad.
So if your quest is to live in a world free of dishonesty, cheating and liars then you my friend, desire a utopic world, cuz let’s be sensible and understand that this world is not going to happen. WHY? Because there is always a person who will cheat and lie and that ruins the entire cycle of honesty.

And then, let me come to the whole ‘rape’ ‘murder’ and crime point of freedom. According to statistics, 1 in 200 women in the United Kingdom have been raped at some point in their life. Remember, the population in India is far higher than out there, so the number WILL be higher. What is wrong in this country is the Justice system, which is slow. There, because of whatever reasons (efficient jurisdiction and laws?!) the processing seems to be quicker. I’ll need my lawyer friends to guide me through this, so I shall refrain from commenting on this further.
Now I stressed on the word ‘seem’ because I don’t know how fast or quick it really is. It is quicker than ours, especially if we take Kasab’s example! Again, women are allowed to wear what they want and wander on the streets when they want. What we need ‘freedom’ from is the constant fear of being raped. The solution to this problem is NOT running away to a foreign country and pretend like we have gotten away from everything that was possibly ‘wrong’. Men are there everywhere and so is crime. Face it. The chances may reduce but never diminish to an absolute zero. Click here to see how many women feel something similar to, or are actually raped every year in different countries. What needs to change is HOW we think. What needs to change is actually, a lot. But why question freedom?

I recently read an article about how a Hindu family was split in two fractions because their house was exactly at the Indo-Bangladesh border. And no, they were not allowed to stay together in the same nation. Most of the family which was in the West-Bengal region of the house slowly joined into the state. After 65 years, when the grandson went to visit his ‘siblings across the border’, he was astonished to find that they had all converted to Islam as they found it increasingly difficult to live in Bangladesh as hindus. Aside from Shiv Sena’s example in Maharashtra (which was highly criticised as it is), I haven’t heard of any such personal event of forced change of religion. If anything, the minority is placed at a pedestal in India, with all the reservations they get. I don’t wish to get into any of the debate encircling this topic, but hey they’re free here aren’t they?

[On a side note: As far as education abroad goes, yes the universities in certain countries feature in the world’s best whereas ours don’t even feature in the top 200. Agreed. But tell someone from Harvard that you’re from a university in India and they will look at you with an admiration that will make you glow. Trust me, because I have felt it myself.]

I have only touched upon some very basic and fundamental topics here. My aim was merely to tell all my extremely educated friends that questioning isn’t the way out of everything. I know, that joining the politics isn’t possible for everyone (it is not for me) and neither is changing the country possible single-handedly. Yes, maybe the roads abroad are cleaner, but by abroad do you mean just the USA and UK or do you also count Ethiopia as abroad? It is narrow, the way we think. India may not be as good as ‘them’ but we aren’t half as bad either. Give this lady a chance before you run off to a foreign nation on your folks’ money and earn in dollars. She will surprise you. Also, I request you to change your parameters of judgement. Don’t compare freedom by the success that we’ve achieved. Freedom is different. Freedom is when you’re allowed to be who you are and feel what you feel and say what you want to.
What everyone is asking for (non-spittable roads, non-urinated sidewalks, clean government and you-know-the-drift) requires a dictatorship and then, we’ll see how many want the ‘freedom’ back. Aha.

The biggest test of freedom is in the freedom to criticise

So is India free? Yes.
Are we free? Yes.

Don’t stop questioning. Just change your questions and strive for what YOU can do.

-love, stay tangled.

Happy Independence Day!

School, as they made it..

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They are my friends from school and they kinda made the last few years in it. Fights, break ups, crushes, laughters, tears, jokes, sports, medals, honours, punishments, suspensions, photographs, surgeries, spellings, injuries, phone calls, letters, this that and the other. Sugar spice and everything nice! I love you all. And I can’t wait to meet you all in October..or sooner!

The kind of man I want.

The usual handsome, intelligent, funny, witty, rich categories stand true for every girl. It is different issue, how many actually get the man whofulfils the aforementioned criteria.

I look for certain things, certain qualities in men and I realised this when I found myself thinking about something totally opposite- thebkind of women I don’t prefer. That being said, how should he be?
Physically: he shouldn’t be buffed up. I find men with extreme built to resemble an inverted cone and no brains. Yes, I generalise but somehow I’d like a boyfriend and not a wrestler/ boxer. But if Vjiendar comes over to me I wouldn’t mind. Oh what looks! He should be fit and lean. Anyway. The men I find myself attracted to have good hair. By that, I mean hair which is straight and slightly brown. And it flops on their forhead while they are concentrating on work and it keeps annoying them but they’d never let go of it.
He should have a gait. No, he shouldn’t walk like a girl or walk extra fast. He shouldne take tiny steps or take gigantic leaps. He should walk with an air of confidence around them and a gait that shows how much of a man he is.
When he holds my hand or when he shakes hands with me, the grip should be firm. Not hard or hurting but firm.
He should be taller than me. The height of a man is a big brwnie point but..but he should be a giant. 6 feet is where I draw my line. And must not have thin bony legs with lot of hair.

Appearance: I don’t like hippies or guys with swag. Come on. Swag is for kids, for those who have an identity crisis. You are a man and so, you should dress like one. He should wear shirts and shorts alike and he must know how to carry them off. He should know what he likes and dislikes so that I can purchase things for him accordingly. He should not wear purple with yellow. Purple is my favourite and so is red.
He should have clean, neatly cut nails on both his fingers and toes. His feet shouldn’t be filthy. He shouldn’t be dirty. Bathing is important, however useless it is in the end of the day. He should have clean bathroom habits. His hair should be nicely cut to suit however his face is. I like short hair but he may grow it and pretend to like a buffoon for a while.

Spirituality: He shouldn’t be a bhakt. I have nothing against it but somehow, religion and I don’t gel. He can pray and believe in his God. Ofcourse, it is his choice but he shouldn’t make me pray with him. Sometimes, sure. Not all the time.

Food: He has to be a non vegetarian. If not, he has to let me be one. I’d love it if he is one cuz that way we can travel around the globe and eat weird food! If he’s a vegetarian, I’d eat what he likes too, along with chicken and eggs 🙂

Hobbies: He should have one passion in life. He has to be into something other than work. And he must read books. Reading is an essential criteria not just for men but for human beings as a whole. And when I do write something he should understand it. I communicate best in English so his English must be good. And that is the only reason I harp upon this fact so often. Communication I essential. So it is either Bengali or English. Also, music. The choice in music has to similar. He can listen to all the metal and grunge rock he wants to but I must be able to listen to my blues and kishore kumars as well on the Bose.

He must love babies. Like, he must absolutely adore them. Not because I want them for myself nut because how in the world can you not like babies? I run towards any random kid on the road and cuddle it. He must share this. Must. Must. Absolutely must. He should also be good with them!
And he has to have his career in top priority and he should keep mine in there, with his tip priority as well because my career is as essential as anybody else’s.

And then there are the miscellaneous brownie points which accounts for the individual differences. In the end, he should make me the centre of his world and I will make him the centre of my universe.
🙂

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This is my idea of the perfect looking man. *drools*

-feel the love!