The Inexplicable Hardships of Finding Love

“Well. Good bye then.” I tried to smile, but it turned out a grimace.
My date, whom I’d just dropped off, didn’t seem to notice. Mostly because she was looking everywhere but at my face. And no, it’s not because she was shy.

“I had a… unique time.” She said. I knew what that tone meant. I wasn’t getting a second date. I’d learnt to recognise that tone ever since I ventured into dating. Women seldom wanted to see me again.

“I’ll call you.” She said by way of custom. She didn’t even have my number.

“Sure” I muttered. Too bad. This one was actually pretty.

I was thirty one, and I was going home to nothing but an empty bachelors pad. When my fellow workers complained of marriage, I wanted nothing more than to punch them and their home-made lunches to pieces. Living by myself even after thirty was rather…. boring.

Who am I kidding. I’m utterly miserable.

Only, when I turned the door handle, I heard a decidedly masculine burp from inside.

There was someone in my house. Someone male, and rude, judging from the gastric outburst.

I held my umbrella with both hands and nudged the door open with my shoulder, preparing to strike.

Only to be greeted by a half- naked baby chugging what looked like alcohol while lying on my sofa. My once pure white sofa.  Continue reading

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Thinking (aka Why I’m going to cut down on my coffee intake)

So we malayalees have this holiday where we’re not supposed to read, write or learn for a whole two days. I ended up sitting in my room, looking out my window and sipping some black coffee, thinking about, well, me. And here’s what I found out.

funny-coffee-serum-bag

I’m a very weird person, and I don’t mean it in a I’m-so-interesting-and-different way or a I’m-human-trash way. Everyone is strange in their own little ways- most people are just great in hiding it. The problem with me is that though I am rather good at acting in plays, I cannot pretend to be something I’m not.

That kind of thing is nowadays romanticized in films and books. Its like ‘Oh that character… I know she has a sharp tongue, but she keeps it real and I like how truthful she is.’ In real life, stuff like that gets you hated or at least makes you the irritating one amongst a group of friends. I truly believe that in order to have a fulfilling life as a human being, it is necessary to have the ability to mask one’s true feelings. And by that, I only mean cases where doing so is advantageous to yourself and/or the others involved.

I sometimes forget Continue reading

On Depression and Desperation

So recently I met someone who told me something interesting- that she had utilized her depression as a way to bond with similar minded individuals. The concept itself baffled me. Every time I’d brought up the topic around people, their reactions could be easily sorted into these categories:-

1- Extreme pity. I’m talking ‘BooHoo you broken soul…talk to me when you feel depressed again’ level of pity. ‘Say something nice at the moment and then forget it’ pity.

2- Disbelief. ‘You seem too happy to be depressed’ or ‘Girls this young don’t get depressed’ or even the occasional ‘You have everything! Why would you feel depressed?’

3- Accusations. ‘Oh the special snowflake syndrome’ or ‘You’re just trying to get attention, huh?’

4- Awkwardness. Followed by sudden change of subject. ‘Oh so you were once depressed, huh… Ever heard of the Great Depression of Europe? I’ve always wanted to visit Europe’

Sometimes I think to myself, why do I even bother? When people ask you ‘how are you?’ they expect an ‘I’m fine, thank you!’. It’s more a matter of politeness rather than genuine interest.

I’ve been living with depression for a very long time now. Continue reading

To Take a Chance

Not quite the love story you’ll expect 😉

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When she woke up, it was still dark outside. Not much time had passed since she’d managed to fall asleep. She had had a decent dinner, but her stomach still rumbled in hunger.

She lay on her bed, a million memories flashing through her mind’s eye when she thought back to happier times.

There were no butterflies in her stomach. No smiles on her face. She knew that she was about to do something stupid, but the urge was too strong to ignore.

A thousand ‘what-if’s danced around in her thoughts. It would be so easy to punch a few buttons, and maybe someone would pick up the phone even in this ungodly hour. Continue reading

A ‘non-cliche but still slightly cliche’ Love Story

Being short is the single most annoying thing ever. It doesn’t matter if you’re a kid, or a teacher or even a freakin’ president- you always have to deal with those ‘Oh dear lord look at that cute little thing’ eyes taller people regard you with.

And that’s exactly why I hate Dhruv. The guy is in my same class, but still has that air of superiority around him whenever he so much as looks at me.

Like, it’s not my fault I’ve done little ‘growing up’.

Unlike my few vertically challenged friends, I am not only short but I also suffer from a severe case of ‘baby face’. I hear that its chronic, unless you are filthy rich and don’t care about paying doctors to mix and match your bones.

But I’m broke, so…

Anyway. This guy. He is infuriating. Especially because I used to have a teensy weensy little crush on him when I was young and stupid.

I know, I know. It all adds up to this cliche ending of us falling in love with each other and me pumping out his babies. Not gonna happen. For one thing, I don’t like like him anymore. Also, he happens to play for the other team.

Continue reading

On Harley and Watching People Sleep

We’re no strangers to abusive relationships. Most of us have had our fair share of them, be it physically or emotionally. Even well educated individuals find themselves falling head-first into the depressing pit such relationships create for us. Now I am no psychologist, and hence I cannot comment on why and how these happen to the best of us. I am, however, an avid reader and so I will limit my commentary to how such bonds are expressed in literature.

Wuthering Heights is Continue reading

Sensible Cinderella

When Cinderella turned eighteen, she became her step mother’s slave.

Her father had followed her real mother to death just a few days before she had reached adulthood. Her step mother was a lazy old broad who had Cinderella wait upon her head and toe. Her step sisters were less bossy, but they weren’t the sort she’d willingly spend time with. They found merriment in obsessing over celebrities and parading around in new clothes.

The kingdom they resided in was a peaceful land ruled over by a king who was a staunch believer in the ideology that he was always in the right. In fact, he had taken it upon himself to find a suitable bride for his son. The boy, on the other hand, was indifferent about the whole affair. He was at the age where he would be happy with anything pretty and female.

The king decided that the most logical manner of securing a wife for his son was to host a ball ,force all eligible ladies to attend it and hand pick the prettiest one.

The whole kingdom dressed up for the event. Cinderella, who had never been to a ball, was interested as well. She longed for a day when she wouldn’t have to cook her own food and be pampered by others instead.

But the evil stepmother locked her in while she and the rest of her ugly family waddled to the carriage.

All Cinderella could do was sit on her stool and pray for a meteorite to fall on their vehicle in particular.

But lo and behold! There appeared before her, her fairy Godmother. The obese old lady promised Cinderella the makeover of her life.

But Cinderella didn’t care much for makeup or carriages (nor was she sure about the strange lady’s ‘magic’), so all she sought from her Godmother was a decent dress, a pretty little chain, some eyeliner and a container, in case she found some food she’d want to bring back. She also chose some sensible shoes. As soon as her Godmother had finished warning her about the longevity of the magic, she set out to the palace by foot as it was quite near.

The guards were suspicious but inebriated, so they let her in anyway.

She stood out in the mass of girls with putty on their faces. The prince was immediately drawn to her, and managed to egg her into a dance.

She struggled to not let her disgust at his hand positions show. The prince pulled her closer than it was necessary and whispered “You’re beautiful. Imagine how amazing you’d look with a bit more makeup!”

When the dance ended, Cinderella ran away from him as fast as she could. She found her solace at the buffet table. As her hands shifted over to a basket of bon bons, another hand adorned with a silk cuff met her halfway.

“I’m sorry, dear prince.” She said irritatedly, without looking up. “I’ve already had my dance with you.”

“I’m no prince”

Cinderella looked up to see the most beautiful woman she’d ever seen, gazing at her with what seemed like amusement. “The royal princess!” She breathed.

The rest of the night she spent at the balcony with the princess, sharing the food they had smuggled from the tables and exchanging stories and interests.

When the clock struck midnight, Cinderella rushed outside in a mad hurry and left a single sensible shoe behind. The prince and the princess could only look at her retreating back helplessly.

“Sister, let us search every house in the kingdom for the maiden who fits this shoe!” The prince exclaimed, “That is sure to be the lady who has run away with my heart!”

“You keep the shoe. I remember her image very well, and I doubt I’d need her foot measurements to be sure.” The princess replied.

And so the princess was the first to spot Cinderella in a crowded marketplace. They dated sensibly for three years before finalizing the engagement, and then Cinderella and the princess lived happily ever after.

Stage Fright

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(Oh the things I do to upload an image when I can’t afford a scanner :3 )

So word on the net is that stage fright is one of the most common fears, and I completely understand why.

A person is kind and thoughtful. Put a bunch of people together, and they revert back to their pre-historic predatory selves. A single mistake could ruin your night if you’re ‘blessed’ to have the opportunity to address a huge crowd.

The internet gave me some crappy advice- namely, to imagine my audience naked so that they’ll seem unimposing. Instead, that ended up making me even more nervous (and rather distracted, ifyouknowwhatimean)

This is for every person who suffers from bone=less knees at close proximity to a raised platform. Like me.