Photograph

Valentine's day. They gathered around the centre. I followed the friend who had brought me there. She spoke. I was drunk. Everyone poured their drink in the bin. A fire was lit. One by one, they put in a piece of paper. A photograph. I did too. I let go of your picture. But memories?

Written as a part of #55WordStory. Promote given by @vivekisms. For the rest of the themes check this

Prompt 1

Love, River, Wedge, Reflection, Betrayal , Cunnilingus, Pch, Doormat, Lust, Fish :

"Love is over-rated," she said looking at the reflection of the mountains in the almost frozen river. "Drama. Drama. That's all there is to it. Pch. Lust is simple. You have the power. No-one uses you as a doormat. There is no betrayal. No misunderstanding. No wedges between people. Simple sex. I would give up fake love for real orgasms. I could live my entire life on cunnilingus."

Yes. I would.


Love - Anju
River - Zenrainman
Wedge, Reflections - Nive
Betrayal -Naivette
Cunnilingus -SS
Pch - Dr. McNinja
Doormat -N. C
Lust - Laalfirangi
Fish - Mandar

I thought. I typed.

Have you ever laughed so much that you cried? Cried because it hurt and the laughter broke the emotional dam you had built?
Yes, that happened.
I had no reason to cry. I had a 100 blessing to count for.
But yet here I was. Cranky. Stupid. And feeling like an outsider.
I can't decide where I belong. Not here and not there. Home is where the heart is but where is the heart? Is there a heart?
A friend called. He was perplexed. I gave him advice like I have been there before a million of times. Have I? Welcome to the other side, I told him. Where the view is awesome but the cost is your soul
Where is this heading? Where am I going? Do we all have days like these?
It will get better.
Yes.
Or it will get worse.
Whichever. I can't control it.
I just move on.
It is funny how I try to end all my posts on a happy end. Just so that I end up feeling better once I put the final full stop. Most often, I actually do feel better.
On an unrelated note, there is something I decided to do before I leave Chennai and yesterday, the stage was set beautifully for it. But I literally had to bite my tongue to wait for the right time. The right time is such a random concept. In this case, I need a few more months to deal with what is going to come with it.
In the excitement of what might not be, I put this full stop.

When I say nothing at all.

I have a well meaning friend. He is awesome (Just for the record) but is misinformed by all the email forwards, I believe. On a slow, non-verbose day, he pings me and immediately got worried about why I was replying in monosyllables. I am all of asking the person if everything is okay but also, please believe me when I say nothing?

I have been at it for 10 minutes trying to explain to him how my leg doesn't hurt, how I am not worried about missing my exams or that I get the rest of my reports tomorrow. I am not. I am just not verbose today. But apparently when girls say nothing, they mean, something.

To all those girls who perpetuate this thought, you are stupid. Stop playing sweet boys who make awesome friends to girls like me. Say what you mean and mean what you say.

For all further reference,

This is not true.

This is

I judge you.

I judge you, my dear.
I judge you.
I judge you for the choice you made.
I judge you for the comparisons you forced me to make.
I judge you even though I said I never would.
I judge you and it's something you taught me to do.
I judge you and yet, I will let nothing change.
I judge you but I shall support you.
Someday, I will stop, I hope.
One day, one of us will realise that we were wrong.
I hope that one is me.

One more.

I think I heard something tonight.
1. It could be true.
2. I could be imagining it.

Either way, I have to explore if words said or unsaid, are they words I wish to hear?

This thinking of stuff that I decided not to do anymore is coming back to haunt me.

Crash

Please read the important announcements at the end as well?

-------------
It all started with this weird knee pain on Friday. It all started the day before the day I was hoping to be on my knees a lot.

Soon, it was Monday and the pain had reduced but not gone away. This can't be good, I thought and decided it was time to stop putting off going to the doctor. I telling myself that it was a ligament tear. Two of my friends had the same thing. I hadn't realised how contagious thing really was. I would have to limp all of this semester IF I was allowed to walk.

The doctor only confirmed my self diagnosis. It most probably was a ligament pull or tear, an Xray would reveal the extent of the injury.

If I had a superpower it would be that of over thinking. I already had begun thinking of when I could schedule the surgery. Yes, end of the semester. Hopefully, it should not be that bad. If nothing, I will repeat this semester next year with all my juniors.

I managed to get my Xrays and CT scans done and walked in confidently into the doctor's office. I already knew what was waiting for me. Ligament tear. Surgery. Being trained to walk again. Maybe this will teach me not to take exercise lightly. I might start running. Yes, this way all the pain will mean something. Oh my, it is going to hurt a lot, isn't it? Also, whee, painkillers.

The doctor looked at the Xray and stared at it for a good 10 minutes before he said, “It is not a ligament tear or a pull”

SAY WHAT?

“It looks like there is a growth here. I can't see it properly. You need to do an MRI.”
I don't like being wrong and telling me my ligaments are okay after I was planning to run and win the marathon? That is cruel. But wait, a growth?

“What kind of growth?” I ask the doctor giving up the dream of being on the podium of the Mumbai marathon with the Kenyan and Ethiopian runners.

“It mostly is benign tumour but I need an MRI to be sure,” he said.

Mostly? Gulp.“There is less than 10% chance that it will be malignant”

WAIT. Why would you say that to me? To a 23 year old? When she is alone. I walked out of the hospital listening to Video Games by Lana on loop. Reached home and crashed on the bed. My dog jumped on the bed to greet me. Will she miss me? My family. Why am I surprised?

Cancer runs in the family. But with all the smoking and drinking, I expected my lungs or my liver to give out but not so early. My knee? Really? That's what is going to kill me? My grandmother, how will she take the news? Will my brother miss me? Will my Dad? It is a good thing my grandfather doesn't realise what is happening around him. He won't realise that a giant truck just hit the family.

“Dad, I need to come home, NOW. Can you book my tickets?”

It was a wonder he caught the urgency in my voice and 15 minutes later, I was driving to the airport, looking at everything like it was my last time. Good bye, Chennai airport. Good bye, awesome friends here. I will haunt you soon, I swear.

I wondered about how much chemo hurts while I checked in. Finally, I will get to lose all of that weight. And my life long dream of going bald. Awesome. If only, I don't die immediately after. But what are the chances of that happening?

Have I mentioned how much I love painkillers? Boarded the plane, took one and immediately fell asleep.
The next thing I know is this sharp pain in my head. Head? I felt whoozy. Like I was being thrown around. I looked out of the airplane window, we were falling. I could hear the Captain say something but my head could not process. What was happening? All I remember next is a loud crashing sound and everything going blank.

------------
Apparently, really important announcements relating to this post.
1. I am not dead. This post is not from my grave.
2. My knee is acting funny. There is some kind of "bony projection". I am heading to Mumbai for further investigation. I DON'T HAVE CANCER, yet.
3. This was a stupid attempt at dry humour but I suppose I hit too close to home. I am sorry to all those that I got worried.
4. If I were writing a post about real things (non-fictional), I wouldn't write about my smoking, drinking or my sex life even if I indulged in any or all of those things. #justsaying.
5. I love all of you who actually called. Yay, I have more than one reader of the blog.

That dream

That achievable dream that suddenly within my grasp.
That far fetched destination that is closer than ever, only getting closer with time.
That everything that can be mine only if my grasp is strong and heart of steel.

If only....

Rant number 1034

It is never easy to re write what you already have. It never easy to tell a story that exists only in your head. It is never easy to do something that isn't in your nature. It is never easy to complete unfinished business.

But yes, you have to go on. Because of what you want in the end, might just be worth all this effort.

Sometimes, it just is better not to ever say, never.

Yes?

Apparent Talent

That cobwebed easel in the corner,

The guitar that sits collecting dust,

Shears that lay abandoned in the mud,

she looks at them one by one

with eyes of want.

A talent, an apparent one,

the one to show off,

the one to celebrate,

to win laurels and all that.

She want one, one of those,

She sits on the floor,

staring at each of them,

wondering if they'll ever talk back.

She stops, picks up a pen and

writes her feelings off. 

PS : Thanks, M and Vishesh for making sure I write. 

The stranger in the car

It was probably the first time in ages that she sat so close to him. They were cramped up in the back seat of the car with his grown up son. She looked at him  lovingly and they were soon deep in conversation. He was totally out of this equation. Slowly, he saw, she grew tired and her eyes began to droop. He hadn't seen her so tired in a really long time, he actually hadn't noticed her at all in a really long time.
Soon, as he was lost in thought about the years gone ago by, he suddenly realised that she was fast asleep. Her head on his shoulder, something she hadn't done in long time. He realised how a lot of things hadn't happened in a long time. Her face looked different, of course. Her eyes, the same. The calm that face showed when she was asleep, the same.

It felt like he knew her forever and for her, it really was forever, he chuckled.

When did they stop talking like they used to? When did they grow apart? He couldn't pinpoint a day or a time that it happened. It just did. All he knew was that today, she was a stranger.

She suddenly woke up, looked at him with surprise at the way he was looking at her and said with a chuckle, "Sorry, dad."

Yes, she was a stranger who he had raised.

Lucky 13 - Part 3

‘Sex, Drugs and Rock-and-Roll’ – That’s how I define the last eight years of my life. I had an introduction to alcohol at 16, drugs at 17 and women at 18. I’ve gone to the darkest places one can imagine; borrowing money I could never repay and stealing things I didn’t need just so that drugs could flow through my veins. Even during Colonel’s funeral, I was lying in some alleyway with a needle stuck in my skin. If it weren’t for my connections in the department, no one would’ve even considered giving me a try.

Jason gets off his laptop, and is met with the disapproving look in his father’s eyes. The near 25-year old didn’t wait for another moment, pleading his case to his father, who looked happy but his son knew he was anything but.

“Dad, it’s been over a year since I touched any of my vices, and I plan to never go back that route. It’s been quite a struggle but I feel like I finally have some control over my life. Of course, Becky has been helping me get through all of this. She’s the one who gave me the push I needed to join the police department. It’s where you spent your final few days working, so it’s fitting. I want you to be proud”.

As Jason plays back, in his head, what all he just said, he moves his hand towards a photograph placed on the shelf, right in front of a large group of books. He picks it up and slowly stretches his arm, so the picture is at a proper arms-length from him, and right in his eye line. Spending a brief moment staring at the picture, he murmurs – “I wish you had seen this side of me. I wanted to make you proud”.

As soon as he finished his statement, he heard a familiar voice at the foot of the room. Turning around with a bright smile on his face, he let go of the sad tone his voice had earlier. Becky was the only person who meant something to Jason. She was a neighbour, but was closer than any family he had. While everyone else had given up on him, she reminded him that his life mattered. He was in love with her since the first time he saw her, but never found himself capable of asking her out.

“Oh, you are already up, and here I was perfecting my ‘Wake Up, Poop-head’ chant”, the tall, pale, ginger figure of Becky laughed walking towards Jason. “Whom were you talking to this time – your mom or Mr. Leigh?”, she asked genuinely curious to know. This had happened numerous times before; every time Jason was in trouble or took a step ahead in life, he would talk to his parents as if they were standing alongside him.

“I will never understand why you refer to my dad as ‘Mr. Leigh’, when you are very comfortable referring to mom as ‘mom’”. Jason already knew the answer, being constantly reminded by Becky’s father to call him ‘Mr. Harvey’ because he took part in the Civil War re-enactment from time-to-time.

Becky walks into the kitchen, and Jason follows. She had been preparing breakfast for him almost everyday, so it was nothing more than a daily routine. Those two months when she was out of state were as hard on him, as they were on her. She couldn’t wait to get back to him, and he couldn’t wait for something other than McDonalds and Burger King. Out of practice, Jason is almost at his seat awaiting his food, only to be stopped in his tracks. “No, no! There’s no time. You can have your breakfast on the way, in the car. You are expected at the shooting range in twenty minutes. I'm driving you there."

Why Criminology?

The BFF (who is meeting me in person after 5 years) pointed out that I don't blog as much as I used to. Put it on twitter and I got a prompt asking why I study what I do.

Now, if that doesn't spring me into writing mode, nothing will.

My interest in Criminology happened because 1. It sounded cool. 2. I got to leave home to be closer a particular someone. A year and a half later, it still is damn cool and the particular someone is nowhere to be seen.

What has changed is my interest in the subject and how it fits in perfectly with everything I have always wanted to achieve. It is a perfect mix of practical and research options. Not only that it lets me feel like a superhero. Preventing crime and sending the offenders to jail and all of that without wearing my panties over my jeans.

It exposes to me to so many issues of the real world that it has burst my comfortable bubble. It makes me sensitive and aware.

There's this subject in particular called Victimology that I have my mind on. It is awesome. (Yes, I use that adjective a lot) There is such a lack of awareness in this field. The offenders have a lot rights. There is a minimum standard rules that have be adhered when it comes to prisoners but there is nothing like that for victims. Indian law too looks at victims as mere PW1 or public witness number 1. There isn't any special consideration given.

While the accused can avail of a number of schemes and things, what does the victim get?

For all that and more, I love Criminology. Yay.


(This took so much effort to write. I must write often. I need to get into the habit.)

I have a dream

I have a dream. It is far fetched and totally possible. If only, I had enough money. Will you fund me?

I have always been intrigued by the idea of a non profit company. An industry that does good without relying on outside sources of money. Studying criminology has only strengthened this aspiration. And now, it has more form and shape than ever. (Of course, there is still a long way to go)

The idea is to start a prison industry. No, that is not a place where prisons are manufactured. Rather, an industry that functions within the prison. Yes, there are already many of those already. But this goes one step further. Not only, are they trained and given employment within the prison but when they get out, a similar set up outside gives them the same job for a period of a year. They are given accommodation and a job. It will function as a half way house. They have training, they have a job for a year.

Once the year is up, they are "let go" into the world with a letter of recommendation and experience. They are ready to fight this cruel world.

What this industry will do is a big question and that is yet to be answered. But if I have so come so far with this, I hope I will go all the way....

What do you think?

Dowry

It all started with a simple question. A simple question that was meant to kill time during a presentation which I was severely under prepared for.

I had to present on dowry laws in India. 20 minutes later, I asked the class comprising of 15 boys and 3 girls, would you ask for dowry. Silence.

Okay. "Would you accept it if it was given willingly?"

Most guys said they would.

This wasn't as disturbing as what was to come next. I asked the girls if they would walk out if the guy asked for dowry at the last moment. Only 1 of the 3 said that she would walk away. The other two would actually through the wedding. These are smart women doing that PG and no less than criminology and yet, they would adhere to a social norm so devious.

It is disturbing to think that people actually have to put thought into whether they would accept/give dowry. Why? Why do men think they are so incompetent to support themselves and their families on their own merit? Why do women associate their worth on the money that they are given in a day and age where women work, earn and fend for themselves?

This is probably because (as my prof pointed out) we leave most of the decisions pertaining to marriage to the parents. We accept our families to accumulate wealth for us and hand it down once they are gone. We live in a society where we decide our worth on money earned for us by someone else. WHY?

Imagine a marriage that begins on demands, rather it is based on it. Where does it end? First it is a car, then a flat, then a bigger car, this much gold, this and that. When does it stop?

In conversations about this on twitter, two important points came up. Pooja tells me that a highly educated girl would need an equally or more qualified boy and hence, has to pay more dowry.

Somehow this goes against what I would have believed to be the reason for the custom of dowry to have begun. The other point that came up was made by Suraj who rightly says that it now just tickles down to the fact that people want to show off. It is just an excuse to show the world their spending capacity.

A marriage, a union of two people and in most cases, of two families that can be so special and precious is being sold in market like any other commodity. Pooja tells me they is actually a term called going rate used for grooms.

Well, the way things are going, the husband mall might not be that far away.

If you want to know more about dowry laws in India. Read this.

Thank you, Girish and Aditya for actually making me write this and not die like a rant's death on twitter.