Me?

Don’t try to figure out what other people want to hear from you; figure out what you have to say. It’s the one and only thing you have to offer.

-BARBARA KINGSOLVER

And then there’s this.

“Beta apna black shiffon wala suit pehn leyna… acha apna kamra bhi saaf karlena zarra..  Achi tarah tayyar hojana.”

Of To-Be-Brides and Goats.

Saturday was Eid day. For all those who don’t know, Eid is a day of festivities for Muslims. We sacrifice a goat, which always saddens me, but then again looking at the story behind it, and the consequences of it, i’m okay with it.

Anyway, so it was the day before. Everyone had bought their goats or were out searching for the right ones. If one had the opportunity to hear what the potential goat owners were saying, one would probably hear things like:

‘..this isn’t big enough.. Looks like a chicken! Sacrificing a chicken would be better than this..’

‘oh my my, lovely bakra. Its so tall and broad. Just think of how good the meat would be..’

‘..i’ve found the perfect pair for you bhai jan! Let me send a picture to you with my blackberry right now! They’re beautiful!..’

‘.. Its a very good find.. Tall and well built.. Nice and sturdy.. Has four front teeth.. I’ve sized it up from every angle and i think everyone will be very happy to see what a treasure i found!’

And people say the funniest things, but they escape me at the moment.

*

Since my mother wants me to get married and i’m fairly new to the whole meeting people and judging them concept, i find it hideously funny. And sad. And despicable. And mind boggling.  But mostly just disturbing.

The other day my friend was telling me a story of what happened when people came to see her for their son.

‘Come come sit with me.. So tell me can you cook food? Okay what else do you do? Okay now tell me how tall are you?’ and then she beckoned to her daughter.. ‘Pinky* go stand with her! No, stand closer i want to see how tall she is!’ After alot of more awkward moments, they decided to leave.

When saying good bye, the aunty, who was henceforth named as ‘the inch-tape aunty’, pulled her closer saying, ‘you, come closer and meet me! Stand next to me let me see how tall you really are hm?’.. Appalling. Stuff that only horror movies are made of.

Here’s snippets of a purely fictitious conversation she might (probably) have had with her relatives and friends.

‘i went to see the girl for my Laddu*. Oh no, she’s not bad looking. Tall, well built  Nice teeth.. Oh no no, she wasn’t wearing heel! She’s tall i’m telling you na.. I made her stand with me and Pinky just to see.. 5’5.. That’s what she told me, could be lying.. These girls today. Anyway i saw her from every angle, i like her.. Laddu will be happy to see what I’ve found. ‘

So, where i come from, you assess a sacrificial goat and a future daughter in law by almost the same standards.. Actually i think there’s more standards for the girl. Sighs.

*Pinky and Laddu are names that i just made up. Im sure the son and daughter had better names. Fingers crossed.

 

To live or not to live, what a stupid question.

Yesterday, i wanted to die. I’d had enough. I’ve lived too much, i thought. I can die now. I should die now.

After a horrible day, i went to sleep.I woke up in the morning, fresh as a daisy. My mother and grandmother cooked me breakfast while i sat at the breakfast table, sunlight pouring in. I liked the kebabs and told them so, and they both went to get some for me so i could take them home.

Then i showered and got ready. Looked relatively pretty-ish. Went to my great grandmothers place. My grandmums brother was there, spreading joy and laughter like he always does. If i hadn’t lived through him losing his son in law and nephew just a few months ago, i wouldn’t have believed it.

I played with maccaws. They’re gorgeous. Vibrant. Sheer happiness. Went to dads friends place. Saw a billion pictures from their trip to america. Funny moments happened which left me in tears of laughter.

I took pictures of my mum, modelling with her friend. Being finicky about whether or not they looked hot. We went to meet more relatives. They kept telling me how amazing my cakes are. Then i fell in love with a yellow foxy, an old volkswagen beetle . Which had no roof, a huge speaker in the back and lights inside the rims.

Then i went to watch a movie with my sister and my cousin. Then we went to a Chinese restaurant, which is my favorite cuisine. And then for ice cream.

Its twelve and i just got back home.If i’d died yesterday, i’d have missed all this. I don’t think i want to die anymore. For a little while at least.

His story.

He’s .. different.

I think that sums it all up pretty nicely.

Part 1.

Time: Just before the start of the second year at university

I was at my best friends place, rolling around on her bed and Facebook stalking people when she suddenly goes, ‘OMG! i have to show you this guy! He’s coming to our university!!’. Since our tastes differe substantially, i wasnt verrrry excited. But then again, given the OMG, i was undeniably curious.

So she showed his pictures to me. And MAJOR crush happened. As major as facebook-picture-guy crush can go.

*

Part 2.

Time: First two days of the second year of university.

I saw him. Omg. Hot.

Oh crapppp, hot.

He is technically junior to me. But not really. He was studying engineering from this other university. But he had to leave and start over.. here. Which sucks. I’d hate it. But there he was.

So i convinced my best friend to take a walk with me. And coincidentally, we walked behind him all over university.

Such stalkers we are. I am. Whatever.

*

Part 3.

Time: First month of the second year of university.

I showed him to another friend of mine. And she thought he was cute. Mm. The thing about that particular friend of mine is that if she finds someone cute, she moves whatever, wherever, just to make sure she’s friends with him. Teeny tiny mistake on my part maybe.

*

Part 4.

I thought him a little bit too arrogant. And since he’d look right past me and i have the whole attention-deficiency-mood-swings thing going on, i left it at that.

*

Part 5.

Time: The beginning of my third year at university.

They were friends. That particular friend and him. And she would talk about him constantly till i’d say, ‘Please dont talk about him with me.’

She knew i thought he was cute.

But, whatever.

*

Part 6.

Time: The beginning of my third year at university.

I was standing with that friend and he was there too. This happened a lot. But he ignored me. Completely. Oh well. Whatever.

*

Part 7.

Time: A little after  the beginning of my third year at university.

I was standing with her and her friends. And he was going on about accepting people. ‘I accept you people! S*** you’re fat, A*** you’re short and You (looking at me) , I don’t know but I’d really really like to..’ and that’s all I heard. BAM. Outta nowhere. Happy day. Very.

How sad am I?

*

Part 8

We spent two hours, walking all over my university. Did i mention he talks really well?

*

The rest of this story is downhill. I don’t want to write it at the moment.

Sighs.

I miss him

I wish i could move on. But relationships are never really over are they?

Elvis has left the building.

Twisted Temptation.

My blog is pretty anonymous. I haven’t given the link to anyone.

The only people who know about this are:

1. My sister, because she uses my laptop. It was kinda inevitable.

2. My stalker bestfriend/exboyfriend, who googled one of the titles of my posts and stumbled upon this lovely piece of literature.

3. This writer friend of mine, who is totally awesome. Mostly. So its okay for him to have it.

 

… and thats about it.

But yesterday i got tempted to give it to him. It was really sad. I’ve only known him for a week. sighs.

Its been a happening week.

*

His story, i shall write in detail. In my next post.

commitment.. or something like it.

An engagement is a commitment to get married. It means that the guy and the girl like each other well enough to get married. To be exclusive. To think about each other when they plan out their future. Or carry out the present.

Marriage is a bond. Not one that someone can force you in easily. Something sacred. Religiously, morally and socially. Something that shapes the society.

Its the promise of commitment. An endless compromise. A promise to be selfless. An institution that has many factual reasons for existing. It is. Simply because we as humans, need a companion.

Here in my culture, marriage is everything. You have a son, you try your best that he makes something out of himself, and you start looking for prospective wives or he comes and tells you he wants to get married and you go get the girl. You have a daughter, you teach her everything you know and when she hits her twenties, you start looking for the best suited guy for her.

But this post is not about marriage. Or its importance. I think whatever i wrote above bears testimony to the fact that its important.

The reason i’m writing is, my mind is a whirlpool. Everythings getting sucked down into something i dont know about. Whats at the end of a whirlpool? Darkness.

Too much drama? I know. Does noone respect the sanctity of a commitment anymore? Does being engaged mean you’re free to like whoever you want and get really close even though your fiancés probably counting down the days till you get married?

And after you’re married. Do you seek happiness in people other than your spouse? Do you pretend like you’re not married and tell other people you love them?

Not even the friends wala love. I’m talking about ‘i’ve never met someone like you. How i wish i’d met you before i got married’.You thought the same way about your spouse i’m sure. Even if you didn’t, you’re the one who got married willingly. You have a kid. Is it really that hard to be true?Even if you didn’t get married willingly. You did get married. With all senses present. You’re fucking married now. Act like it? Dont make a mockery out of it?If staying sincere is so hard, then break it off. But dont.fuck.it.up.

Making sense of the world

‘what the FUCK no fucking way what the FUCK’ and she got down to her knees in the middle of the campus parking. A friend laughing in a worried way told her to get up which only made her sink lower and put her face in her hands. She might have stayed there, had it not been for the sound of an engine revving right behind her.

*

I put my hand in hers and got up. She didn’t really know what to say. Nobody can deal with my breakdowns and if my breakdowns can be compared to movies, what happened today was not even a sneakpeek.

*

Even though she’d gotten up and started walking, she’d stop and whine every thirty seconds. It was amusing, for an outsider, to see how hilarious she looked, dragging and stamping her feet, brows furrowed and mock crying. Looking as though she was in control one minute and completely losing it the next.

*

‘i don’t KNOW man i SWEAR TO GOD don’t discuss this with me IT FUCKS ME UP IT DOESN’T MAKE SENSE TO ME WHAT THE FUCKK’, and then a look of helpless silence. People had started to stare, but she didn’t really care about anyone saying anything at that moment. That much was evident.

*

I couldn’t help it. Whatever i was doing was freaky shit but i couldn’t stop. Not when there’s five bombs in just one week and it feels like each one is dropping on my head. The funny thing is, i cant even say that any of them is affecting me. Except one maybe. But that’s not the point. I think dodi was right. I AM a control freak. Taken to the next level. If its something i cant understand or make sense of, i start to lose my mind.

New people, Old people and unconditional love.

Everyone has problems. Some are massive. Huge. Of infinite proportions. Some are minor; the ‘I broke a nail and I can’t go out with my friends today omg’ sort.

Of course the intensity of the problem depends on how the person likes it. Either you can fall into that abyss and stay there or you can pull yourself up and pretend like nothing’s wrong. Compartmentalize. That’s the word.

Push your problem so far away in your mind that it doesn’t have the strength to crawl up your ass again, to resurface. And then hope for the best. Fingers crossed and all.

*

I know you’re under pressure. I know you’ve got a billion things screwing you up. But that’s not something that gives you the license to fuck with me. I’m your friend by choice. Because I think you’re a good person. Because you’re fun. Because I enjoy your company. Because I trust you. Because I genuinely admire you (mostly). And because I think you need me around. That’s what friendship is really about isn’t it? A mutual need and want?

But. Don’t make this about you. If I tell you something cause im ecstatic, be happy for me instead of being a sarcastic little prick. Listen. If you still dislike what I’m saying, don’t rain on my parade. Say one positive word and that’s all I’m asking. I’d be happy.

If you say condescending things however, and generalize me based on the negative in what im telling you, and say stuff like ‘tum tau ho he khuaar’, then do you honestly think I’ll tell you anything later? Or ever? Or that I’d even want to talk to you?

If I do something stupid, then yeah, you have the right as my best friend to berate me. But if you start belittling me every time I open my mouth to talk, well then call me selfish but we won’t be talking much.

*

Getting to know someone new is fun. I’m not social. I don’t make an effort. But if the other person does, then I’m, like, the soul of amiability. Amicability. Fml. Screwed up vocab.

*

You’re unique. Maybe cuz life’s been tougher on you than anyone else I know. Maybe cuz you’ve screwed up too much. Maybe cuz you’re still living in your own personal hell. But the thing about you is that you make people happy. Deflection, maybe. An escape, probably. But at the end of it all you have to have something that’s keeping you going. Hope that gets so much stronger.

Also, you need to eat.

*

Im probably the worst thing that could’ve happened to you. Or anyone else for that matter. I’m kinda sorta really selfish. Maybe its cuz I used to be the exact opposite and that didn’t work out for me very well. Maybe its just who I am. Either way, Im sorry. Really really. In this case, it actually not you. Its me.

*

Im shit scared of losing my dad. SHIT scared. I’ll not be able to deal with it.

It’s true that I can’t figure me out. But this is one thing I know for sure. I won’t be able to deal with it.

*