Today, I hate religion

Today, I hate religion.

I hate it for defining a way of life for people. I hate it for defining different ways of lives for different people.

I hate it for creating a sense of belief. I hate it for creating a sense that my belief is different from yours.

I believe in God.

But today, I hate religion.

I hate it for creating divides. I hate it for making it okay to divide you and me.

I hate it for creating multiple gods, and believing that mine is different from yours.

I hate it for deciding the way someone lives his life. I hate it for making it okay to demand that a person lives his life a certain way.

I hate it for making it compulsory that I believe in it.Or believe in yours. Or mine. Not both.

I hate it for forcing me to make a decision I really would never have wanted to make. I hate it for making me doubt my decision.

I hate it for making me think about it, to give it importance, when really, there should be none.

I should have hated it a long time ago, when I lived in Delhi or Ahmedabad or Mumbai, and saw the scars religion had left there. I should have hated it the day, when as a kid, a friend showed me photographs he had clicked of charred bodies justified in the name of religion.

But I am a selfish person, I didn’t hate it then. I just didn’t believe it then.

Today, I hate religion.

For deciding my life. For making rational people believe in superiority and inferiority on the basis of religion. For causing rifts where there should be none. For bringing emotions, when truly, there is no place for emotions. For making me stand for a principle I never chose to believe in to begin with.

Today I hate religion.

Because it matters.

To everyone except me. 

And hence it should matter to me.

Dance Diaries

So ever since I was a kid, I really liked to dance.

No, I wasn’t that kid who danced at every function for everyone’s entertainment and parents’ pride. But I was definitely that kid who enjoyed dancing. Even if I couldn’t.

Ever since I remember, I wanted to learn how to dance. In summers, winters, any time humanly possible. My school decided my artistic talents were much more important to follow, and decided my path in that direction. Out of the school, there just weren’t opportunities at the time.

And then came the studies, and more studies, and then some more. And then work. And well. Funny how many reasons there end up being for a person to NOT dance.

Well, that was all of the last 24 years.

Now, I’m back home. The opportunity arose. And I grabbed it.

No studies, no working weekends, no excuses.

There have been two classes thus far. Two very long classes. Five hours, that made me feel very very old, and very very unfit.

For one, at 24, apparently my body doesn’t believe in exercise anymore. So while the instructor is pushing my legs wider apart into what should one day hopefully turn into a split, my body is literally screaming at me for torturing it, and my mind is conjuring up images of a very comfortable bed to cozy into with a book.

And then I look around and see all these teenage girls looking at me with eyebrows raised. On my first day, one walked up to me and asked me what class I was in. When I told her I was working, her exact words were, and I quote, “O-M-G!”

Apparently, it’s no longer cool to say full words.

The next day as I waited for my ride home, these two skinny girls in hot pants looked at me suspiciously and asked not-so-subtly, “How old are you?”. My response was followed by a “Woowwww….”

So there I stand, in a class filled with tiny kids dressed to kill, kids who have been dancing for some time, and have a lifetime left to dance some more. And I stand there, huffing and puffing, trying to keep up, and hoping I don’t pass out due to dehydration.

But I dance.

Because for those two hours, my mind goes blank. All those worries of the whole week, all those feelings, emotions, hurt, pain, disappointment, anxiety…for those two hours, everything disappears. For those two hours, all I’m aware of is myself, my body, my movements and the music. Every pain caused by a stretch in the muscle is a welcome change to the pain caused by a stretch of the mind. Every step not understood is a challenge more motivating than office politics. Every step finally achieved is success, as tiny as it might be, finally. Every emotion not felt, is joy, pure and simple.

And then, at the end of two hours, I step out, tired and sweaty, and the waves of emotions hit me, yet again.

Until next week.

In or Out?

Sometimes in life, you have to put your foot down, and just make a decision.

Because there will come a time, when you’ll finally be tired of all the games, the songs, the reading between the lines.

Sometimes, it’s just nice to decide.

In or out.

It’s just that simple.

In?

Or Out?

If in, then be in with all your heart, mind and soul. Don’t look at what’s happened, the mistakes made, the words said, the obstacles ahead. Be in, because this is what you want now, at this moment, and nothing else matters. Be in because this is where you see yourself in the future. Be in, because it is what you want, not someone else, just you. Be in, because this is what you need.

If out, then be out. Suddenly. Completely. Don’t sit on the fence. Don’t threaten to leave. Don’t turn back. Don’t leave and still poke and prod. Don’t participate in blame games. Leave because you think that is the best option. Leave, because you want to. Not because someone else told you to. Leave, because you need to.

And once decided, stick to it. For nothing is worse than a fickle mind. It plagues your body, and eats your soul. It creates fear and the possibility of ‘what-if’s’.

Just decide, for you will do that favour not to the whole world, not to your company, your family, not to him / her, or me, but to yourself.

In?

Or out?

24 Hours

She woke up, feeling better, more confident, sure that today, she could face this brutal world, alone as she may be.

And then she saw what he wrote.

She went to bed that night, worse than in a long time, knowing she was alone and hurt, and he had never even tried to understand her.

Ok, so 55-Marathon went on a rather sad break. But here's me trying to be back! Enjoy!! :)

Addicted

Addiction.

It’s a weird term.

An alien term.

It sounds  negative, so negative. It sounds like something we hear of / have read about / have seen in others, but it’s definitely not something that could ever happen to us.

If only that were true.

Because in my opinion, addiction has a far wider definition than most of us care to realize. Because most of us, are addicted. Your vice could be alcohol, gambling or cigarettes, it could be shopping or chocolates, it could be porn or physical intimacy, or work, or a person…it could be absolutely anything under the world, only you would know.

But chances are, you wouldn’t know. Because it would be so ingrained into your daily life, that you won’t even notice it. Not until it’s gone. Completely. Suddenly. From your life.

And that’s when the withdrawal symptoms hit you.

This is the point at which you have a choice. You can choose to deal with the symptoms, somehow get through all that pain, and make yourself believe, in your darkest most pathetic hour, that there will eventually be a light at the end of the tunnel.

Or you can look at yourself at your darkest, most pathetic moment and break. And chase your vice. Whatever the cost. It could be your hard earned savings, your family and friends, your self respect, or even your life. And hopefully, if you have enough to give up, enough to match up to the price demanded, you will catch up with your vice, and enjoy another torrid love affair with your addiction.

But addictions are demanding things. They always want more. It’s the weirdest symbiotic relationship. As you consume your vice, thereby erasing its presence from the universe, you erase bits of yourself…slowly, but steadily. You pretend to not care about your vice, but your vice stopped caring about you a long time ago. It’s a self destructive game theory routine. You either live together, or die together. And weirdly, you’re miserable either way.

So which do you choose? Do you choose to battle through the never ending pain, hoping that life might be better without that one thing that you choose to live for? Or do you choose to die, chasing the one thing you want to live for? When do you realize which is the right decision? When the vice is too far away, and life too miserable? Or in your last breath, of regret?

The Butt of All Things

“You did the right thing, reporting this behavior.”

She sighed, feeling better after letting all her troubles off her chest. He assured her of the strictest action.

Smiling, he accompanied her to his cabin door.

“Don’t worry, we feel very strongly about sexual harassment.” And with a hand on her buttocks, he guided her out.

Salad Dressing

Looking at the dinner table, she sighed. The unexpected interruption, had completely made her forget about the carrots she had been chopping for their anniversary dinner.

 “Now see how you distracted me, you cheating bastard!”

Picking up the salad bowl, she bent down to pull the knife out of his bloody form on the floor.

Note:

Okay, okay, after being told I'm either smoking something weird or have psychiatric issues, I promise this is the last morbid one. Okay, I don't promise. But I'll try harder to not kill someone in the next one!!! :P

A Matter of Perspective

With a disgusted sigh, she finally managed to twist the rusty door knob and stumble into the house. She looked up at the limp figure dangling from the ceiling fan.

Slowly, she turned around and walked out to join the broker.

“Okay, so maybe the house with the termite problem wasn’t that bad after all.”

The Last Drag

One last drag, she thought as she frantically searched for her pack of smokes before the nurse came back. Finding it, she held the stick between her parched lips, lusting for the impending drag, and flicked the switch on the lighter. Only then did she remember the oxygen tube under her nose.

One last drag.




P.S. So starting today, I'm indulging on a 55-Marathon. A 55-fiction a day. They're addictive and fun to write. So bear with me! ;)

First Day(s)

Awkward much?

People either absolutely love or absolutely hate their first days. It could be a first day anywhere…at school, college, gym, office…

I don’t hate first days. But I do stress about them. I’m a creature of habit. I like knowing what I’ll find where. I like having predicted all possible outcomes of every step I take, and my exact reaction to each. Spontaneous, is not a word easily found associated with me.

And I don’t mind it, that’s just how I am, over-prepared.

But that also makes me over-cautious about every first day.

What’s worse, is a second first day, same company, different location.

First days anywhere are as awkward as your first day at school. Not your first day in kindergarten, mind you, when everyone was as lost as possible. But that first day you had to endure when you shifted schools in middle school, mid-term, mid-everything. When you were the only new one in this extremely crowded building, the only one lost in the chaotic crowd. And most importantly, with no one to spend your lunch break with.

It kinda gets worse when you’re grown up and in office. You’re expected to be intelligent, social and mature enough to be able to find lunch colleagues.

And if you’ve already been in the company for a while, you’re definitely NOT supposed to be lost.

Some of us, however, with all our social awkwardness and bad luck, don’t.

And you thought high school was bad.

Go figure.

P.S. It’s actually not that bad. I think I know more here than I knew at my old location, am actually slightly less lost here in two days than a year and a half in Mumbai. I just haven’t figured out the lunch buddies bit yet. Because I haven’t met PEOPLE yet. That should get sorted sooner or later :D

P.P.S. I am so so SO tempted (and not in a good way) to write ’company’ with a capital ‘C’. Damn you, gazillion reports that I have written! (XYZ Pvt. Ltd. hereafter referred to as ‘XYZ’ or ‘Company’…aaaarrrrggghhhh!!!) But I shall not give in….WILL POWER y’all!!!