So, I was supposed to be on a train right now, going to Ajmer, but the trip was called off due to trains running late and some conflict in Rajasthan. I am not particularly inspired to write right now but I always write a new year's post so I thought, heck, why not.
It's not just the end of a year, it's the end of a decade, an era of sorts. I've grown from 13 to 23 (!), finished school, graduated from college, moved country twice, lived on my own in one of the biggest cities in the world, earned a diploma in Creative Writing, gotten published locally and internationally, in print and online, styled my hair from the boring style-lessnesss it hung in for years, let go off childhood grudges, held two jobs, fallen crazily in love,had my heart broken, learned that I am terrible at flirting, and pretty good at writing (:)), grown apart from friends and accepted it, grown closer to some friends even over distances, realized what I really want in life, tried certain things I always wanted to, started writing a book, gone on a somewhat blind date, done something terribly sneaky but funny at the same time, fractured my foot, fainted from a hypoglycemic attack, befriended strangers online and met them in real life, laughed a lot, cried a lot, philosophized a lot, planned a lot, despaired a lot, cried some more, written a lot, often impulsively, fought a lot with someone I love, been really angry, accepted that hurt is a part of life, accepted that some people are liars, realised that everything haappens for a reason, also realised that I like to believe that because it makes me feel better about things that are beyond my control, decided that I will think a lot before I marry someone, decided that I will travel a lot, grown from being a Shahrukh fan girl to an insane Shahid fan girl, from Kuch Kuch Hota Hai to Jab we Met, from 7th Heaven to How I Met Your Mother, from reading Sweet Valley and Sweet Dreams romances to Paulo Coelho, Khaled Hosseini, and Khalil Gibran, from hi5 to Facebook, from a Siemens god-knows-what-model super cheap, featureless,cheesy-looking, mobile-phone, gifted-by-some-uncle to a bought-by-my-own-earned-cash, sleek and sexy yet still affordable Nokia Xpress Music that I love to bits, from an ancient Windows 95 desktop to a Dell laptop that is already kind of old and ailing, from Hotmail to Gmail, from boot-cut to skinny jeans, from Nairobi to Toronto to Ahmedabad, from NRI to desi, from drab to chic, from reserved to friendly, from scribbles to Sempiternal Scribbles.
It's been an eventful ten years.
Or so it seems.
What will 2011 and the next decade bring along?
Perhaps the end of this world as we know it, if ancient predictions and Hollywood are to be believed?
Well, que sera que sera. What will be, will be. For the time being, have yourself an awesome time. :)
And don't forget to leave behind the past and move forward, and reach for your dreams, no matter what anyone else says or does. :)
P.S. I wish I was away on some beach like this, don't you? Ah well, I shall go, when the time is right. Ciao, people.
3 years, 208 published posts, 1267 Comments, 79 Followers, 82 Fans, innumerable anonymous readers, and so many friends made! Happy Birthday to Sempiternal Scribbles! Thank YOU who are reading this, for making my blog such a success and making me feel like a true writer. I wanted to write a special post but I am really caught up in work so couldn't.
Plus, I am going on a long overdue getaway over the New Year weekend, before which I have a lot of deadlines to meet. So I'll catch you all on the other side of 2010 people. Stay happy and safe this festive season, and I wish you an absolutely brilliant 2011!
I'll be back with a special birthday-cum-new-year post and will be catching up on pending reading ASAP.
Once upon a time, not so long ago, as a young boy sat at his desk one wintry evening, browsing the internet, he met a girl. Well, virtually, that is. He came across a profile on a social networking site and was intrigued. Although there was no photo of her, he was not deterred from perusing her page. He found it quite interesting, how she had painstakingly and creatively expressed her personality, her likes and dislikes, her interests and activities. She was from a foreign country but Indian just like him, and she was a writer. Boy, was she a writer! He was more and more impressed as he followed the link to her blog and read all the innumerable things she had penned.
There was nothing to stop him from inviting her to his ‘friend list’, though he didn’t send any personal message with it, instead wanting to see her reaction. Would she turn it down without a second thought like most sensible girls do? Or would she abuse him and create an issue like the hot, snobbish ones do? Or would she indeed accept and proceed to flirting in abundance like the despo ones do? He thought the first option was most likely, considering the mental picture he had built of her from the profile and the blog.
So he was a little bit surprised – pleasantly, of course - when she accepted and left him a message, asking who exactly he was.
He replied with the truth – that he had found her profile interesting and thought it would be nice to talk to her.
She added him to her chat list and that was that.
Though they did not actually chat for months to come. Truth was, the girl didn’t really fancy talking to strangers, especially in cyberspace where of course no one could be trusted. It was the first time she had accepted an unsolicited friend request and didn’t quite know why. Perhaps the boy in question had just seemed more sensible than the usual ones who spoke terrible English, asking her to be their ‘frand’. Or the despo ones who kept re-adding her tirelessly until she finally took to blocking them. Or the stupid ones who bragged and bragged about how truly sexy and awesome they were when the contrary was very apparently true.
THIS boy’s profile for one had some substance. He was a student at a well-known institute of higher education, so obviously he was smart. And there wasn’t a single word of superficial arrogance or self-praise in his personal description. Plus, the girl had not been seeing the best of times, and the prospect of a new, unknown, friend to confide in seemed somewhat comforting.
Then why didn’t she do it? Why didn’t they talk at all for months despite ‘being there’ on each other’s chat lists?
Well, I don’t have the answer to that. Perhaps it was just the way things were supposed to unfold. You know how some things are just meant to unfold in their own way, right?
The important bit is that eventually, they did talk. They talked when one fine day, he was due to take a trip, coincidentally, to the city where she lived, and so he finally messaged her again, breaking the long silence that he had let prevail ever since that ultra brief initial exchange.
And she responded with enthusiasm, giving him her number when he asked for it, and expressing her pleasure at the prospect of meeting up with him when he arrived. Even though inside, she was more unsure than ever before. Maybe she should have talked to him all this time, gotten to know him better, so that it wouldn’t be so intimidating to meet him. What did she even know of him beside his name and educational pursuits? He could be weird, or a pervert, or criminal, or rapist or psycho! What was she thinking agreeing to meet up with him?
***
It was Christmas Eve when he rang. She was surprised to hear his voice. It was a nice voice, husky, deep, yet with child-like undertones. She responded to his small talk as best as she could. It was strange talking to a stranger on the phone, though later she realized she did all the time at work without feeling the least bit awkward. Ah well, professional and personal lives are two very different things after all.
They agreed to meet the next day, at a place she suggested. She deliberately picked somewhere popular which was also very close to her best friend’s house. So in case anything at all went wrong, she would be able to make a quick escape.
As anticipated, on Christmas day, the place was crowded. And he was late, which gave her extra time to emotionally calm and mentally prepare herself. He had been referring to the meeting as a ‘date’ on the phone the previous day. And even though the word made her uncomfortable, she had to admit, it was indeed a ‘date’. Her first one ever, at that. Whoever had heard of a first date with someone you didn’t even know! She was so nervous and so excited (though she didn’t admit the latter to herself) that she was beginning to regret coming and contemplated fleeing before he arrived.
But then he did arrive, before she could do any such thing. And boy, did he arrive. She was totally taken in. Right from the way he was dressed to how he talked a mile a minute and kept her engaged in non-stop conversation, she instantly liked everything about him.
As for him, he thought she was sweet. And innocent and smart, a quintessential ‘nice girl’, just like how he had anticipated her to be.
It was an Xmas to remember, for both of them, albeit without any beautiful white snow or twinkly decorations or exchange of presents, or kisses under mistletoe. In fact, there was no kiss at all, or any such physical contact, it was an Indian first date after all, not one from a Hollywood movie. They simply talked, and he subtly flirted, which made her giggle, like a child, and get embarrassed. She was a young adult, yet why did she behave so juvenile? Perhaps because she had never been flirted with before, so didn’t quite know how to react. Like I said, it was not a Hollywood movie, or a Bollywood one at that: there were no dialogs or directions to guide her. (Or him, but he didn’t seem to need them the way she did.)
So after a memorable rendezvous, it was time to depart, like it always is, eventually. And he was leaving the next day, returning to his city, so it was almost as if they were bidding adieu before they had even said hello properly. At least, that’s what she thought. She would have liked to have had more time with him, even if it had been SHE with the crazy initial apprehensions. They’d all magically melted away within moments of being in his company, he was just so charismatic, so charming. It made him appear attractive even though he didn’t look particularly handsome in any way. She was the kind of girl who rated personality over looks: something she had learned from her only previous experience in love. But wait a second, why was she even thinking of love? Whoever said anything about love?
Well, this is another one of those things I don’t have an answer to. Perhaps it was just the way things were supposed to unfold. You know how some things are just meant to unfold in their own way, right?
So anyhow, he went to back to where he had come from and she returned to her mundane daily life. But something was different for even though she was still not seeing the best of times, she was strangely happy inside. She kept thinking of things he had said to her and how he had smiled, and the thoughts made her smile too, randomly, appearing somewhat unhinged.
They had several more phone conversations and innumerable online ones. And each time, she would eagerly look forward to the next one. She liked him. And she liked to think of him as her one and only Xmas gift from God Himself. He had brought cheer to her life, unknowingly, unexpectedly, and she would thus always deem him extremely special.
The question was, what would he deem her?
Not much apparently, if the gradually dwindling phone calls were any indication. He was getting more and more focused on his studies and his goals and his own life, in which she didn’t feature in any special way, unfortunately.
She noticed as much, of course, and got upset over it, but never questioned him, for who was she to question him anyway? Just a stranger he had met online and by chance in real life too, once. There were probably innumerable other girls just like her on his friend list, so why on earth would she be exceptional in any way? Why, for all anyone knew, they would probably never even meet again! The thought made her sad, but she pushed it away, like she did all sad thoughts, and instead continued to live in hope…hope that he would perhaps go back to being the boy who had first added her, impressed by her profile and her personality and her writing; the boy who read her blog regularly and inspired her to keep writing, the boy who effortlessly and abundantly made her feel great about the girl she was, the boy she had met one lonely Christmas day a year ago.
Yes, a year has elapsed. And it’s Xmas again, which makes her miss him all the more, as she reminisces of how he came, spread cheer, and left. Just like the festive season.
And as she sits at her computer, one wintry evening, browsing the internet, she comes across a song that says exactly what she’s feeling:
"I don't want a lot for Christmas, There's just one thing I need. I don't care about the presents Underneath the Christmas tree I just want you for my own More than you could ever know. Make my wish come true, All I want for Christmas is... You"
My blog creates so much drama in my life sometimes; I really have to be more careful of what I write from now on. I guess a lot of stuff I just say here without a second thought has the potential to get me in awkward situations, even troublesome situations at that, but then, what’s the point of this being my personal space, eh? Maybe I should start another anonymous blog especially for those things which are better said incognito!
Anyhow, for all you lovely people who were interested in knowing what I was referring to in the 'Who Am I?' post, I am thinking of pursuing a Master’s degree in English next year. Why I want to do it is because mainly, I want to get a hot-shot job in the world of media. I would love to write full time for a magazine or newspaper and apparently I can’t do that with the degree I already have (Yes, I suck at career planning, don't I?). Secondly, I think it will be pretty cool to get back to college life for two years AND it will possibly give me time to develop my freelance writing/work on my dream novel. Also, I might move to another city – Hyderabad – because the university I’ve currently narrowed down on is located there.
It’s called the English and ForeignLanguagesUniversity, formerly known as the Central Institute for English and Foreign Languages. It offers the kind of course I’m looking for without the astronomical fees of the likes of Symbiosis and Times School of Journalism and all the other elite places which I can’t afford in ten years time! So, if YOU happen to have any information at all about EFLU, please, please let me know through a comment or an email because I am on a desperate hunt for more information but haven’t been able to find much as yet. Good stuff, bad stuff, ugly stuff, if you could tell me anything at all about this institute/university or could find out from someone, I will be extremely grateful! Feedback on Hyderabad as a city is welcome too. (Though, please don't be cheeky/silly enough to suggest that I Google it because being the totally tech-savvy Google-fanatic that I am, I have already done it in fifty different ways possible, thank you very much. Okay, maybe not fifty, but you get the idea right?)
Gosh I’m excited by the prospect of living in a hostel though kind of nervous at the same time. Plus, I don’t quite know anyone in Hyderabad which again is exciting and nerve-wracking all at once. Of course, considering how much I whine and complain about my current city, living in a hi-fi metro sure seems appealing! Ah, life is taking such a different course from any I had ever imagined.
Gee, look at me gushing on and on. There was something else I wanted to say in this post which I have very conveniently forgotten now. God, what was it, what is wrong with my memory? Damn.
I really can’t think of it so I guess this is it for the time being. If you like, do let me know the answers to these questions:
Is it a good idea to do a master’s degree? As in, will it be ‘worth it’ as they say?
Do you think Hyderabad is a nice city?
Do you think I am awesome? Oh, of course you don't. I am more than awesome!
Sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me. I will stop blabbering now. By the way, a warm welcome to my few new followers. Thank you for being here and liking my sempiternal (typed) scribbles. Apologies for the total lack of content in this post. With the prospect of Monday morning just a few hours away, my creativity is dead. Oh did I mention, the real reason I want to go back to college is because I am sick of professional life!
Okay, no, not really. Earning money is kind of cool. I just wish I didn't have to work so hard for it. :/
I wonder when will I finally pull a Chetan Bhagat and be able to quit my job for the pure joy of writing novels and, if recent reports are to be believed, get into film-making with the likes of Vishal Bharadwaj! Gosh, I am SO jealous, (surprise, surprise) but for the record, I hope to write better books than him, not that I'm being all prissy and stuck-up, but come on, isn't he WAY too repetitive and stereotypical in his stories? Okay, I shall stop now. I'm again getting into the kind of stuff which should go on an anonymous blog and not one that has so many links to my personal email and social network accounts.
I was dressed in colours. Bright colours. Sunshine yellow and lime green and burnt orange and summer-sky-blue all amalgamated in the graphical print of my kurta, which I'd paired with basic jeans. I looked good, I thought, the colours went well with my fair skin. Plus, I had my favorite dangling earrings on and my hair left loose, which added to my confidence.
Yet, watching you from a distance, I was nervous too. It was a strange feeling to be apprehensive and assured all at once. Perhaps it was a sign of how I would go on to always feel strange around you, how you would always evoke in me two polar opposite emotions simultaneously, two extreme intensities at once: ease and tension, peace and conflict, comfort and pain, happiness and sorrow, love and hate, desire and disgust.
My friends egged me on:
"Go on and talk to him."
"Come on, you can do it. You MUST do it!"
"He's all by himself. It's a rare perfect moment. Go!"
"Go, go!"
And I did go. But alas, what would I say? I had no idea yet some unknown force propelled me forward, towards you.
You were wearing black. It really suits you, in my opinion. What happens when colour meets black? It stands out I guess, initially, refusing to blend. But gradually, black takes over. Black always takes over, just like evil, engulfing the colours into its unfathomable depths to become blacker, deeper, darker. It was all symbolic, I suppose, but I was too distracted, preoccupied, crazed to notice. Too engrossed, overwhelmed, possessed by the million thoughts running through my head so fast I couldn't hear any of them, by the rush of blood I could feel coursing through my veins, by the abnormal thumping of my heart, by the way my insides were squiggling, in excitement and fear and something else, longing perhaps.
You looked up as I approached. And you smiled. And that was it: The beginning of the next four years of my life. I was besotted. Completely, utterly, madly, irrevocably, head-over-heels besotted by you, the boy I knew nothing about.
We exchanged pleasantries. And small talk. But it felt like the best, most special, most significant, most memorable, most cherished conversation I had ever had. Never before had I paid so much attention to a voice. Or noticed the minutest details of a pair of eyes. Or liked the look of a rugged, manly hand. Never had I fallen in love like this before. And who knows if I ever will again, in quite the same free-falling, reeling, knock-the-air-out-of-me, exhilarating way?
I was lost, apni hi dhun main, apne main hi mast thi.
Ye Mujhko kya hua hai, sab kuch lagta naya hai,
Kya ye wohi hai, jisse kehta hai love?’
Nahi. Isse kehte hai life.
There’s almost a spring in my step these days. Because of something I am looking forward to eagerly, after a really long time, something that I am planning, anticipating, praying for, fussing and fretting about, a newfound goal that formed all of a sudden and has now taken over my mind and my heart. Thankfully, this time, it’s not a person but a mission, a very constructive one at that, which will hopefully culminate fruitfully and drive me towards greater things.
“Dear God, please grant me this opportunity, this happiness, I deserve it,’ I hear my mind implore over and over again every night when sleep just does not come, and at random intervals throughout the day too.
And almost simultaneously, a smaller, patronizing voice pipes up: “And who exactly do you think you are, declaring what you ‘deserve’?”
“I am me,” the internal war of words goes on. “And come on, I DO deserve it, ok? I have been in a bad phase far too long.”
“Ungrateful! Despicable! Avaricious! Things could be much worse. Appreciate what you have and quit wanting for more all the time.”
“I do appreciate it. You know I do, but…” trails off, realizing that there is no point in continuing the argument. And anxiety takes over and I twist and turn and twist thinking of what in God’s name the future is going to hold.
I don’t want to hurt anyone. But I may just have to, if I want to live my life my own way.
It’s time I proved that I can take care of myself. I think I need to prove it to myself the most. There’s just so much I want to do, to achieve, to experience. I wonder whether I’ll do even half of it, whether I have the courage, the ‘balls’ as is said in current lingo. But then, I’m not supposed to have balls. I’m not a guy. Ok, bad joke. Sorry. It’s all because of life and how very confusing it is. Sigh!
What is so confusing, you ask? Well, decisions, for one. You won’t believe how bad I am at making decisions despite having a degree in psychology. I’m supposed to be well-equipped to help people make effective decisions, and I do to a certain extent, but when it comes to myself, I’m just such a bumbling mess inside. And there’s just one person who knows that side of me, and he thinks it’s immature and senseless. Does it matter what he thinks? I wish it didn’t but it kind of does. I wonder why I made him such an important part of my life. I shouldn’t have but I didn’t have much control over it. There are some things you just can’t control, right? Like love? Or can you? No, I don’t think you can. If love could be controlled, there would be no heartbreak. And of course, there is plenty of heartbreak all around. I think I have finally moved on from mine. Even if I do think of said important person every night and long for him ever so slightly. Even if I still doubt whether I will ever love like that again, whether I will ever be able to truly, surely NOT hurt whenever I think of all that happened. First love is special, supposedly, but sometimes it’s a special disaster that leaves you marred for life. Even if someone else comes along and tries to heal the wounds, the scars remain and throb now and then, reminding you of what a royal fool you once were and what a blistering blunder you let yourself get involved in.
Sorry, are you getting bored of my pointless banter? No, of course you’re not. But I’ll stop anyways and leave you with this beautiful song which by the way, is from a really cute teen romantic movie called Mp3 or Mera Pehla Pehla Pyar.
I feel jealous and I admit it too. Though, my envy is not of the evil type that curses people, but rather a motivating type that drives me to do things that will make me happy too and counteract the negativity.
In a fiercely competitive and unanimously unfair world, isn’t it really tough to NOT be jealous of other young people who have so much more success or money or opportunities, be it through their exceptional talent or hard work or influential backgrounds or just plain luck?
I mean, think the likes of Justin Bieber and Daniel Radcliffe and Taylor Swift and Mark Zuckerberg and Sonam Kapoor and Saina Nehwal, to name a few.
Or people who publish their first novel in their teens or end up on television game shows and win loads of moolah.
Or even just friends or acquaintances who live lavish, easy lives, blowing their parents’ money or striking it lucky on their own, over and over again.
Amid millions of people who are my age or younger than me and have lives I can only dream of, I’m sorry but I can’t help feeling the green eyed monster stir within me every now and then.
I am jealous of celebrities, some of whom are downright stupid yet get paid for it.
I am jealous of people who get to jet set around the world while I am forever stuck, working my ass off, worrying about the future, and just hanging in here all the time.
I am jealous of lovey dovey couples, and sexy singletons who are always getting hit on and flirted with.
I am jealous of people who travel first class on planes. And who shop for designer clothes without a care about dwindling bank balances.
I am jealous of people who get to go abroad to study and then land overpaid jobs.
I am jealous of way too much, I know. And it makes me mad and pushes me to keep working, to keep going, because someday, hopefully, god willingly, I’ll have my day too. Not that I’m a dog. (With reference to the saying “Every dog has its day” – gettit?)
That’s why I like to believe in fate/destiny, I suppose. I like the idea of knowing that sometimes, life has a plan of its own and that it will give me what I want, or far more than what I want, when the time is right. I just have to be patient and keep working, keep pushing myself further, without letting the inherent jealousy take over or eat me up inside. I just have to believe and never lose sight of all that is really important to me.
Well, Amen to that.
I leave you with this Danish proverb: "If envy were a fever, all the world would be ill."
And don't forget to leave behind the past and move forward, and reach for your dreams, no matter what anyone else says or does. :)
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