Open letter to my mother

Amma,

You’ve always been with me. A constant presence in my life that I could not do without. The one who I follow around at every party where I see strangers I am related to but I don’t know. The person who gives me delicious food everyday, even though I may not fully appreciate the greens. You called me your sweetie, your smart princess. The one jewel you loved over all other.

But amma, when did I stop being that to you?

I used to love dressing up and showing you just so I could hear “pretty” from your lips. But now everything I wear is either slutty or old-fashioned. Suddenly my dresses make me look young, some make me look old and others make me look oddly thin. Some are too boyish, others are just ‘wrong’. Amma, why do I now have that one moment of fear before I show you the clothes I like? And even when I succumb to your wishes and wear something I hate to see myself in, why do you not call me “pretty” anymore?

Amma, it means more to me from you than from anyone else. 

Of little girls and the masks we all wear

Whenever my parents speak of my childhood, they start with this one particular story. I was barely three, and they’d taken me to a wedding where we scarcely knew anyone. They took their eyes off me for a few minutes, and I disappeared. After searching for me frantically and nearly giving my grandma (who was at home) a heart attack, they found me in the midst of a group of kids almost thrice my age. They’d all gathered around me, patiently listening to some grand story I was telling them in baby-talk. All of them came to wave me goodbye when it was my time to leave.

And then they turn to the present me with a sigh, and remark “Where has that little girl gone now?”

I dont know. I like to think that she’s still hiding inside me somewhere

Protected: Of Mosquitoes and Drama queens

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On Love, my Faults and Mitty

Having been a student of an all girls school for about twelve years, my interaction with boys had been minimal, to say the least. I had had a childhood friend who I once had a crush on but later it grew into a more brotherly affection (at the precise time he started seeing me as a woman. Timing is a bitch). I had had a few guy friends I played Cricket with near my house, but I lost all contact with them once I ‘became’ a girl. A bunch of guy friends at tuition classes, but not many I knew well enough to be versed in ‘male psychology’.

Being in a Catholic girls school gave me the added ‘advantage’ of seeing any male who was even remotely interested in me through tinted glasses. From upper primary classes I’d been taught time and time again that men are strong, scary and sleazy. I had also had a few frightening ‘encounters’ with guys by that time, so I was convinced that nothing good would come from being in a relationship.

And yet, I kept inhaling shoujo manga and certain fictional romances like Pride and Prejudice. I idolized Sakura and Syaoran, a fictional couple who seemed to me have the perfect relationship. It was sweet, understanding and most importantly, they had maximum trust in each other. I desired to meet someone who’d see me in that way.

I mean… look at them!

But that was inhibited by my above mentioned man-fear and low self-esteem.

When I went to college, for the first time (in a looooong time) I was regularly sharing a classroom with guys. They weren’t as scary as I thought they would be. In fact, I found most of them

Going the ‘XX’tra mile

Today, we had a group discussion in my civil service coaching class concerning female empowerment. This was a topic of great interest to me as I am biologically female and would probably continue to be so for the rest of my life.

It is during discussions like these when you see the ugly faces of the people you study with. People show their inner prejudices clearly (albeit unconsciously) when it comes to discussing woman rights, racial discrimination and religion. So from the second the topic left our sir’s lips, I had prepared myself for some bullshit or the other. And rightly so, because nearing the end an otherwise obliging ‘brother’ decided to belt out some ‘facts’ that would mean that female empowerment was actually happening, and in his words, had happened ‘enough’. A fact that would have otherwise made me happy, but for him only referencing certain regions and certain nations while leaving the majority untouched.

Heck, he even brought in American politics and how a woman was going to lead the nation. I was itching to point out that the election could still go either way, and

On Family and Why I don’t want Children

WARNING- highly emotional rant ahead.

So, I’m going to state a really unpopular opinion of mine, simply because I’ve held it in for so long that its threatening to devour me from the inside.

I love my family. I truly do. But I am not a fan of how they treat me at times. Actually, I absolutely despise their actions at many occasions.

There are instances where their words leave me gasping for breath in-between crying sessions all alone in my room, and then there are happy times when we sit together watching reality shows and make jokes at the expense of the participants. My mother is amazing at juggling work and house work, my dad is the softest person I know and my brother has the most amazing memory. We have so many great family moments that I feel like a little bitch for ever thinking that I want to move away from them.

But I do. Oh I do.

Recently,

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.

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

Trip to Magic Planet

So dad decided to surprise us with a family trip. Since I was in the middle of a ‘friendly’ quarrel with him (I’d had other plans that day, and I was a bit pissed at having to drop them) I didn’t ask about the destination.

Imagine my surprise when we drove up to this

Not many people would know about this place, even in my home town. So here’s the gist.

Magic Planet is a theme park dedicated exclusively to magic and its practice. It prides itself as the world’s first magic mansion, and was established by magician Muthukad.

Nightmare fuel 1 😐

There was a bus deployed just for taking us visitors from the parking area to the park gate (very walkable distance, but hey, whatever floats their boat)

Successfully Adult-ing

Firstly, I would like to make clear that my title has nothing to do with adultery, and that people who do that are ‘shame-shame’.

Today I talked to someone whom I hadn’t conversed with for a long time (and with good reason. He figuratively sucks as a human being). After what one could call a ‘civil conversation’ he made a very patronising remark.

“You haven’t changed at all”

Now normally, people would feel flattered when told this. After all, who wants to get older except the young? Once we reach a certain age, we realise that adulthood is quite possibly the worst ‘disease’ one can catch.

But here he was, a person who leered at how I had stayed immune to it.

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.