I am going to write this down so that I can read it in times of pain, and in times of sadness. I am writing this down so I can read it over and over again, each day, everyday. And is a mild attempt of inspiring those reading this to do the same.
My family loves me.
My parents are proud of me, and my siblings look up to me.
I make those around me happy, and I help all those I can with whatever I have.
I smile at everyone I meet, and I am compassionate to people, especially children.
I take care so that I do not hurt anyone with my actions or words, and if I do, I say sorry and mean it.
I tell people who I love how much I love them and I thank them whenever I can for being a part of my life.
As a human being, I think I am doing enough.
And that makes me happy.
P.s.: None of the above statements are exagerrated.
Only if everyone was able to be whoever they wanted to, love whoever they wanted to, and worship whoever they wanted to; if everyone had freedom in the real sense, the world would have been much more peaceful today.
The simple and astonishing truth about India and Indian people is that when you go there, and deal with them, your heart always guides you more wisely than your head. There’s nowhere else in the world where that’s quite so true. – Gregory David Roberts.
Today India smells singular. You could smell it before seeing the sunrise and before the bird starts singing their sweet patriotic melody. It is the sweet, sweating smell of hope, which is the opposite of hate; and it’s the smell of pride and unconditional love, which is the opposite of greed. It is the smell of gods, demons, empires, and civilizations in resurrection and decay. It is the blue skinned smell of the sea, no matter where are you in the country, and the blood-metal smell of machines. It smells of the stir and sleep and lives of sixty million animals, more than half…
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“Why do you still love me?”, you asked me today. “In spite of all the fights, all the arguments, the screaming and the shouting? Why do you still come back to me?”, you asked again.
This might have been the third time that I did not answer that question. I did not have an answer, you might have thought. The truth is, it’s not that I do not have an answer, not that I do not know. It’s that there’s so much to it, that words alone will never be able to express what I really want to say. Words have power, they say. But, they fail me, love. They fail me every time I try to describe the magic that I feel, each time I hear your voice, each time that I feel like you are right next to me, each time… that I feel you are mine to…
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All I want is you, my love,
All I want is you.
In tears of joy and moments of pain,
Only if you knew.
Only if you knew, my love,
How much my sad heart aches.
Knowing it will never be yours,
A thousand times it breaks.
A thousand times it breaks, my love,
In a few days I’ll be gone.
Although we’ve always been apart,
Now the distance will be long.
The distance will be long, my love,
But I can’t break myself free.
Can only promise that I’ll always love you,
And forever yours I’ll be.
I really want to be able to tag other bloggers in my posts. Please make it happen. Please? ♡
A month into journalism, and I have spent way more than I was supposed to, resulting into financial chaos in my life. Although the attention, the star-like feeling, and the power of writing is all great, the money is no good. Even though it is almost the same as my last job, being a reporter also means additional expenses on petrol, and the food that you have to eat whenever you can … which means anda bhurji, which is not below 50 bucks these day, and chai, which once used to be 5 rupees, now at 25.
And how can I forget the Internet, because that is what is looting me. As if the vanishing act of the money in my wallet was not enough … unable to realize something was getting downloaded on my phone, I was robbed off of 500 fuckin’ bucks yesterday!
So, two years of working and no appraisals later, here is how I feel:
Like that housewife whose husband just won’t make enough money. Except in my case, my husband is me.
Like that model who gets into the fashion world, all confident that she is going to make it big, only to realize she can’t, and will have to do the Rin Supreme ads after all.
Like it is no use to have talent, unless you are filthy rich. A lot of amateur, roadside painters paint a lot better than Salman Khan, you know.
Like another writer, who is going to go down the drain. I should have chosen the safer career option, like every other (middle-classed) Indian.
Like maybe my parents were right after all … That following your dreams is maybe not always the right thing to do, at least not unless you are one of the characters in a Chetan Bhagat novel.
Like I am always going to have to wait for my red dress, my black heels, those amazing Chumbak bags, and that cute skirt in KP, and those colorful decoratives from Abstract World, and … and … (I’ve been waiting for a long time, you know).
And like I am never going to get out of the I-am-broke phase.
Well, it is really not that hard. Except that we have no cooking oil in the house, and that is giving me a very small-hut-no-electricity-lots-of-children-to-feed-and-absolutely-no-money kinda feeling. Also, because of the aforementioned getting robbed by my service provider, I cannot afford anymore data packs which is making it really hard to blog, and so I am having to beg roommate for hotspot each time I have to post anything.
And don’t even get me started on the new year’s plans. With the way things are going right now, I might as well be celebrating the new year’s eve in a box, with no family and definitely no friends (well, everyone likes free beers, and those who can provide them have the maximum number of friends. 😀 )
So, the only way out of this is definitely robbing a bank. But that again means I have to hire someone who has the expertise, which again, will need money. I am doomed.
Hence, the post … to lure my readers into reading this amazing post and asking their friends to read how awesome I am (even when I am broke), and eventually making me famous so that publishers give me a big fat check to write a fabulous book. Hey c’mon, don’t judge me, I will thank you all when I am done writing my book. And no, it’s not a long shot.
Coming back to reality, let’s hope either of these things happen:
1. I win a lottery.
2. My dad reads this post, is really touched, and deposits a huge amount in my bank account.
3. Some really rich person reads this post, is really touched, and deposits a huge amount in my bank account.
4. My boss reads this post, is really touched, and gives me an appraisal.
5. My readers manage to make me famous by New Year’s Eve.
I make it through without any money after all.
Keep your prayers with me, people.
Broke. Homesick. And still smiling,