It's not about you. It's about me.

One of the biggest disadvantages of being a Libran is that we're people pleasers.

It is ALWAYS about somebody else.

About going out of the way to make other people happy.

Giving up something that means a lot to you, so you can let someone else have their way.

Not rubbing your beliefs in someone else's face because it might hurt their sentiments.

Always saying the right thing and not because you are afraid of people, but because you are afraid of hurting them.

And worst of all, never ever being able to say no.

A week ago, I got an amazing oppurtunity to be a part of an Art Camp.

I've started taking courses in Colour Therapy and my Teacher seemed seemed pretty pleased with me.

She wanted to sign me up as a Student Volunteer for this camp.

Each volunteer would be assigned to assist an established artist for those two days and basically contribute to the painting.

Considering the fact that I am trying very hard to get in touch with my arty side, nothing could have been better.

But I had already made a commitment to someone else and she wouldn't let me back out.

So what do I do?

I give up the Art Camp.

How do I feel now?

Great.

I learned that people are largely selfish and always do what benefits them.

It doesn't matter to them that you sacrifice more than anyone else would to keep them happy.

So I decided from now on, I'm going to put my foot down and get my way.

From now it's not about you, you or you.

It about me.

Do you really want to live forever?

I saw Chayji lie like a baby in the hospital bed that day. She looked so shriveled up. So tiny. So weak. And so helpless.

Though her frame is petite, she has always had a decent amount of weight on her and a healthy glow on her cheeks. But that day she looked like a bag of bones. Her cheeks were so hollow, that I felt I'd cry if I looked at them one more time.  

The only thing I could see around her was pipes and pipes. Pipes that helped her drink water, pipes that fed her, pipes that helped her urinate. It was as if her whole life depended on them. 

Chayji was my grandfathers rakhi sister. She wasn't related to us by blood, but we always thought of her as an important part of our extended family.

That day she looked us helplessly, trying so hard to place our faces. She couldn't recognise any of us. She couldn't even recognise her own children.

Not that they're worth remembering anyway. She gave up her life making sure their lives were perfect. All they did was make her shuttle between different homes every now and then. None of them were willing to take up her responsibility permanently.

Even in the hospital they took turns to look after her. They knew nothing about unconditional love. Or may be they just didn't love her enough to by her side all the time.

Seeing her like this really made me like she was no different from a baby. Just as helpless. Just as dependent. She had no memories. She couldn't walk and she could barely talk.

You know, when it comes to death, we always hope we can outlive it. We're always hoping for a long life for ourselves and for people we care.But seeing lie like this made me think. Do you really want to live forever?

Anita's tears

Anita isn't someone who'd easily cry. Infact she's so strong, I draw courage from her most of the time. But that day when she cried on my shoulders, I felt my dreams crumble down with hers. I have always thought of marriage as the ultimate symbol of love. Being in a relationship is easy. You know you can walk out of it anytime. Entering into a marriage needs a lot of commitment. If a man is willing to give that to you, he really loves you.

Unfortunately, Anita belongs to the era of arranged marriages. The era in which a woman's wedding topped the priority list and was planned from the day she was born, while education, though imparted didn't even make it to that list.

Of course, right after a good proposal came in, her father without giving it a second thought gave her away in marriage. Did he ask her if she likes him? If he was the kind of boy she had always dreamed of or if she even wanted to get married then? In that era girls were never asked.

So Anita went away to her new house. On the outside it was all perfect right. Big House. A husband who looks decent and earns pretty well. Promise of a honeymoon to a foreign land. And of course many more luxuries to come. Well even the man she married was pretty nice. May be he spoke a little too much and seemed a little immature at times. But as they say 'he had a good heart'.

But is all of that enough for a happy marriage? Can the luxuries keep you satisfied? Can you truly be happy with a person you can barely connect with, no matter how nice he is?

Marriage calls for a lot of sacrifice. When two people completely different in more ways than one, take an oath to be a part of each other's lives until death does them apart, there are lot of adjustments to be done. There is need of understanding and need of adapting. Anita, of course belonged to the era in which women had no option but to comply. I can't say the same about her husband though. He didn't make an attempt to understand her or her family, or the small things that made a big difference to her.

But I guess it is always the small things that ruin relationships. I don't know what it is that he said or did, but when she cried that day, I knew that he had blown the last straw. She cried like one who had lost all hope in life. And the emptiness in her eyes, broke my heart.

As far as tears go, I classify them as 'tears of sadness' and 'tears of hopelessness'. Sometimes I cry to release the pent up emotions. 'Tears of sadness' as I said. And then there are times that my tears tear me apart. I feel like I'm so down, nothing could get me up. Life suddenly seems so glum that, even the brightest of things fail to bring joy. And those are the tears I classify as 'tears of hopelessness'.  

That was precisely how Anita cried. If Anita lived my life, a few minutes after the heart-wrenching sobs would have taken over her body, her phone would ring, a friend would fill her in with gossip and so many random details of the day that for a while she'd be totally distracted. And then she'd be suddenly reminded of a party she has to attend or an assignment she has to complete and her focus would be shifted almost completely. Even if the one thing that bothered her the most wasn't the solved, the many distractions would have made sure the problem was far away from her.

But Anita was forty something. She didn't have a job. She didn't even have a degree. She was six months away from becoming a lawyer when she became a wife. And Anita belonged to the era in which women didn't complete their degrees once they were married. She had two children. Both of them were too involved in their lives to care about her. She had no dreams that were soon to be materialised, no degrees to be completed, no parties to attend, no assignments to finish. All she had was her husband and a marriage that was based on incompatibility that grew every day. 

She belonged to the era in which women didn't leave their husbands, unless the man was a wife beater or a womaniser. Women didn't attend social social events without their husbands. To think that she'd have the courage to strike out on her own was an impossible thought. To think that may be she'd try to seek true love was pushing it too far.

Everytime the sound of her sobs, rings in my head, I think about all the things she deserves, but never got, All the love that was meant to be hers, but never found her and probably never will and how she will be reminded of that each and everyday for as long as she lives. 

As for me, I wish each and everyday I could do something for her, but the truth is, I am just a nineteen year old girl, who harbours the hope that someday with that perfect marriage, I'll watch my life magically transform. And once again the sound of the sobs rise from my subconcious and I wonder if I'm naive or simply delusional.

 

Diwali Greetings to All :)

While I'm not really a big fan of the 'Festival of Lights' and all the damage it causes to the environment, it's that auspicious time of the year and I'm just going to focus on the positives and leave the negatives for another time of the year :)

Here's a list of things I love about Diwali

• Love how I get invited to fancy lunches and dinners everyday
• Love how the house is so full of sweets, there is no place to walk
• Love how I get to wear unreasonable amounts of bling
  
• Love how the streets are all beautiful and lit up
• But what i love the most is how it makes me :)
  

Art and what it means to me

I was sitting in Candies before my exams pretending to study when this couple comes and sits in the table next to us. Delighted at the sudden distraction, i started eavesdropping on their conversation. I'm such a compulsive eavesdropper you know. I love listening to things I'm not supposed to listen to and switch off when I'm actually supposed to listen and absorb. The thrills of the 'Forbidden fruit' I tell you.
Coming back to the point. I was going to tell you what they were talking about and how it affected me. Well the word painting and art seemed to be omnipresent in their conversation. "I sold my painting for 20,000." "His parents wanted so badly to buy my new painting". "Sometimes I feel like I'm possessed. I sit all day working on my painting. And then there are times I can't look at my canvas for days."
It wasn't very hard to relate to what they were talking about. Even as a writer you feel pretty much the same way. But that wasn't why the conversation had an impact on me. It filled me with a sense of nostalgia for the world of colours, paintbrushes, messy hands and beautiful pictures. It took me back to the days when Art actually had some meaning in my life.
From the days in pre-school when I got a chalk-board to draw a picture accompanying the word I was learning, or the days in 7th grade when I tried so hard to make sure my paintings made it to the School board, or the day before my intermediate exam when I refused to sleep because I wanted to practice everything I could get my hands on. My notebooks are a living testimony to all my artwork. They contained less study material and more sketches. Infact the text books didn't escape the attack of the sketches either.
So here I am, years after I said goodbye to an important part of me, making a resolution that no matter what happens I am going to get that old box of poster paints out and sign up for canvas painting lessons before the end of next year! :)

Happy birthday!

No I'm not starting this blog with a post about how someone else should have an awesome birthday and how much they mean to me.
I'm not that kind really.
I am however going to wish myself, because it was my birthday yesterday...
So well happy birthday to me :)

And again I'm not going to make a list of all the things I can do to save the world, conserve water or save the girl child. Which of course at some point of time in my life I want to, but now I'm just going to be a little selfish and list all the things I want.

• Rajat Kapoor. Judge me and die.
• DevD. This really cute professor I had this semester. He had overgrown hair, which he'd ruffle every now and then while explaining something. And he'd come up with the most random theories about space and time. He 'd tell us how he blames Body Shop for the increasing number of terrorists! And other such absurd things. But he's a cutie and he'd make the perfect birthday present.
  
• Farhaaaan. *heart goes flip-flop*
• Pink skyscraper heels. Because every list is incomplete without pink. =)
• Black Stilettos with diamonds. Not the real ones. I am not that greedy. YET. :)
• Gladiatorssss. Well semi gladiators actually. Tan coloured and all. Yea I know I should shut up about shoes already.
  
• Pink Curtains for my bed. (I have a princess bed) =D
• A contemporary looking lampshade for the room.
• Lots and lots of wall painting to put up on the newly painted wall.
  
• May be a nice wall hanging as well.
• Loads of nice scented candles.
• Oh and a nice body mist from Body Shop.
  
• A new Diary!
• 365 days of endless fun.

So my list is pretty short isn't it? Wow, I must be improving. Happy 19 to me again. =D