Quest

You are not pretty. In a moment of weakness, when the masks come off, get a glimpse of your soul. Your very own selfish, ugly soul baring its teeth, threatening to take you down with it.

But that is the truth. You are ugly. You want to be loved. You want to be wanted. Your cry hoarse about rainbows and unicorns and burnt-orange sunsets. And then you turn away and start building those infamous walls around yourself. One brick a day.

Your pillow, damp with sweat and tears, stands testimony to how much cowardice you have dedicated your life to. All the times that might have been. All that intimacy, you would gladly trade for a lollipop. And all those dreams, rising up above you; finding better places to be realized.

Are you really that delusional? The invisible bear on your back has put on weight. Coiling under a blanket does not help anymore. Stop being such a mucking foron. And hope again for that whiff of passion. That dark lining on the silver sky. Those fruity kisses. The slow waltzes. And once again, those saccharine sweet summers. 

Inked

Getting a tattoo is just like going through a breakup. It is messy, painful, you lose blood and some sleep, but it is totally worth it!

Stage 1: The act

The minute the needle starts piercing through your skin, and you lose the first drop of blood, you begin to think if it is worth it at all.  And this is when the tattoo artist starts looking like a dopehead who will not hesitate to plunge his needle right through your heart if you make even a slight whimper.

Scissorhands will scissor your hand right off

Stage 2: Denial

The morning after I got inked, I woke up to a plasma-oozing kitty cat that was now permanently etched on my skin. Permanently. No looking back. I flipped so much and so hard, and my screams rattled the neighbourhood. And then the denial began – Maybe the ink won’t stay. Maybe it will run out.  Maybe my hand will be good as new the day after. Right? RIGHT? No.

Stage 3: Anger

In exactly 48 hours, your beautiful tattoo starts looking like this:

The kitty-gets-dipped-in-slime tattoo

Yes. Scabs form, it becomes itchy, the skin feels tight, and you would do anything to get that goddamn heavy feeling off your heart (and your wrist, in this case). I also wanted to kill Mr.J, my genius friend and tattoo-partner-in-crime for talking me into this!

It did not help that a trip home was scheduled around the same time. If my mother’s glares could kill, all of you would have been sitting across the fire singing Kumbaya for my peaceful passing.

Stage 4: Guilt

So the tattoo is there but it still does not belong to you. After the scabs fall off, a thin transparent layer of skin forms over the tattoo. In tattoo-lang, it is called the onion skin. This does not fall off until the Halley's Comet zips past the sky five times. And then the introspection begins: So, why did I do this to myself? What went wrong? Was the tattoo an overcompensation for my other failures? Does the tattoo really look like a cat? What the hell was I thinking? Do I even like cats? 

Stage 5: Depression

The onion skin just does not fall off. The ink looks faded. Your friends still scoff. WebMD makes life tougher with all those graphic articles about how chemical tattoo dye infections can result in possible amputation. And your hand still needs baby oil every couple of hours, to not look like King Joffery at the Purple Wedding.

My wrist could die a hundred times like this, and my onion skin would still be there!

Okay!! Maybe not that bad. But waiting for this piece of skin to fall off has been the longest wait of my life.

Stage 6: Sweet, sweet freedom :)

And just like that, one day you wake up to this beautiful tattoo, shiny again, beaming at you. 

Inked!

And despite the melodramatic and symbolic crumbling of life that was supposed to be explained through this post, all you have got to remember is that - it always comes back together! And just like that :) 

Can you breathe?

Emotions. Desires. Ambition. Expectation. Death.

And when death precedes them all. When you invite death. When you willingly submit yourself at the altar of everything that ends; how hopeless would you have felt?

How utterly devoid of hope? 

Imagine being locked inside a room. Just a dark room. No windows. No doors. No beginning and no end in sight. You could have called though. One call for help. 

How resolute did you feel when you hid in the bathroom and drank out of the bottle? And later when you cried in pain? And much later when your body started giving up? 

And when the doctors tried to puncture holes in your throat to help you breathe, did you want to fight? Did you regret your decision? Did you think of your favourite song? Did you think of all the great journeys we have had together?

Do you remember the time both of us almost got thrown out of the bus for being raucous? Do you remember the innumerable times you bailed us both out of trouble? Do you remember our long conversations on the sidewalk?

You, with your long hair and graceful eyes, mindful of the boys staring at us; yet dismissing them with a callous flick of your head. You were beautiful even without trying. Have I ever told you that?

You are gone now. Just like that. And I am trying to forget. To forget the shaky voice that told me you were dead.

But, your credit card bills are due. Your message on my phone still remains unanswered.

Can you breathe? I sure can’t.

Women’s Day

Yes I know.. Just another day for the men to get all self-righteous and post ‘Love all women like you love your mother and sister’ sort of messages on social media, and just another day for the women to.. well, gloat :) Not that I am complaining. But, this year, even though it has barely been 60 days, has taught me so many lessons that I feel compelled to share these learnings. So, here goes:

• Never apologise for who you are. You are what you are. You could be short, you could be tall. You could make heads turn with your outfit or falling down face first on a slippery floor. Either way, you rock the show.

• Never compromise when it comes to work. It might mean working on Saturdays and giving up your Friday movie nights with your girlfriends. But, it is immensely satisfying. The high you get after a job done well is pretty much incomparable.

• Learn to let go. Some things are just not worth holding a grudge against. Most of the times they are not even that important.

• It is ok to feel angry. There have been days I have stormed out of my house, because the omelette on my tava did not behave. And that’s fine. Who says you need to be on your best behaviour every single day? Go on, be a grumpy cat one day.

•  Always help a friend in need. Not to mention the karma points, but you gotta give some to get some.

• Clean. Clean your cupboard. Clean your house. Dust the TV. Wipe the mirror. Yes, it is a stereotype, but it is cathartic. Isn’t it liberating to break away from the shackles of living with an empty chips bag under your bed?

• And here comes the big one: It is OKAY to listen to Backstreet Boys. And to crush on Nick. And to wonder if AJ is still single.   Actually it is OKAY to listen any boy band that does not overdose on auto-tune. 

So, HAPPY women’s day! Try singing to the song and feel like a pro :) Gloat away ladies!  

Welcoming the New Year

2013 in review wouldn’t exactly be my favourite topic. Fall-outs, anger, angst, sadness, and rejection took their own time to slowly and dramatically change my life for the better. For the good half of the year, I had no faith in myself and was almost at the verge of settling for something that I knew wasn’t worth my time at all – professionally and personally. However, the miracle, in the form of an amazing job, taught me never, ever to second-guess my talents and never to give up.

The most important lesson I have learnt this year is to never limit myself. We often set so many invisible barriers around us and then wonder why our lives have become miserable. I have been told so many times not to get too comfortable with a city or take up a demanding job, simply because I would never know when I would have to ‘give it all up’ as I am at a ‘marriageable’ age.

So, this year, my dreams are sky-high. I want to adopt a cat, no matter what, this year. I want to learn to drive. I want to learn to swim. I want to read as many books as I can. I want to muster up enough courage to finally meet with a publishing house. Most importantly, I want to stop doing things I don’t care about anymore. So, here’s to a fantastic 2014.

Happy new year!