How can one not be a feminist?!

How can one not be a feminist?

When in one of the most developed nations

Politicians are anti-abortion

There has never been a woman president

And the perfect man is a dominating vampire / millionaire

When you read the newspaper every day

When our politicians say women should not be given phones

When chowmein gets the blame for turning men into beasts

When you see your maid come covered with bruises from the night before.

When you have your ass grabbed in the bus

When you’re too scared to stop to grab a bite after a late-night movie

When the clothes you wear are not what you choose but what you must

When you carry a pepper spray in your bag.

When you think twice before smiling at a colleague

When you grit your teeth at your client’s crass comments

When you let go of self respect and dignity

When you’re told how you must behave.

When the most common words used are

A slut

A whore

Easy

And blonde.

How can one not be a feminist?!

This post was inspired by my cousin, who had put up this question as her status message. And the depth of it just didn’t hit me enough at the time. But then it did. And the question seemed just that simple, just that frustrated. In this world, how can one possibly not be a feminist?

Memories and Some Randomness...

Where the hell is time going?!

No, that is not a rhetorical question. I am genuinely asking, where the hell is time going?! And what the hell is happening to this world?! Like seriously?!?

In Meredith Grey’s scripted words, “We’re adults! When did that happen?? And how do we make it stop?!”

And just by the way, three people, yes you read right, THREE people in the last few weeks have told me Meredith reminds them of me. I don’t know whether it’s a compliment or whether I should be deeply troubled. Like really. But knowing me, I’ll take it as a compliment. Even if it is just the dark and twisties. But, I’m really not dark and twisty anymore (I buried that Shreya in some deep dark dungeon quite a few years ago), so it has to be the pretty, ambitious, and fun-loving Meredith right? Right???

Oh, I went off the topic. But take it as a warning, that might happen rather often today.

Yes, coming back to time and things changing. A few days ago, I found myself walking down the lanes of North Campus with an old friend, after ages. Lanes we had traversed a gazillion times during our three years there. Now, I’m madly, like madly in love with North Campus. I think I had some of the most amazing times of my life there. Just the thought of all those old buildings, the winter mist, the cheap food, the independence, the shady Chinese restaurants…

Except... wait. What the hell happened to those shady Chinese restaurants?! Remember the Soho’s, Noodles, Momo Point, Bon Zai’s in that tiny dirty naali wala lane behind bungalow road?? Remember the awesome shake’s at Keventer’s?? Like…WHERE????

That particular walk was depressing, to say the least. We ended up eating at Bercos (which from our student days we remembered as this AWESOME Chinese restaurant, where we could eat once in a while, if we were feeling very very rich). What we got was the slowest service on the planet, crappy food, repair work drowning out our voices, and music (the playlist was still from our school days…Bailamos…no, not kidding) turned up even louder in the hope to drown out the repair work.

Oh. Well.

In other news, there have also been times when the clock doesn’t seem to move. And getting through a day is an achievement in itself. But this blog no longer pays attention to that. Ok? Ok.

In the last few months I’ve met a lot of old friends, and made some new ones. There have been fun times and boring ones. And most importantly, a LOT of people have been making me get off my lazy and depressed butt and get out and actually have fun.

And, at this point of time, I would like to declare to the world, I am in LOVE with Vir Das. Really. Seriously. No jokes.

Oh, what an oxymoron.

And now that I’m back in Delhi, I’m finally beginning to see the actual city. For I have spent my whole life, well, at home, or north campus, or, well, at home. And there’s so much to see! I think I know more of Mumbai than I do of Delhi, so it’s like getting to explore an all new city. Just that this time around it’s not as a broke kid…and that helps.

And I never realized how much I missed Punjabis! I realized it once, after almost a year in Mumbai, when I was spent and disgruntled, I saw a sardar uncle once, and felt some weird amount of happiness rush through me. It seemed like such a rare sight, and made me homesick. Then of course, I realized I must look plain stupid grinning at him, so I walked off.

When I talked about moving back to Delhi, I was scared. So was everyone else. I have a pepper spray in my bag (Except I’m scared that when needed, I might spray myself by mistake!), and a constant painful vigil in my head. Except for one simple realization.

I missed my Delhi friends. I missed Delhi. It’s like coming home. Except, that’s exactly what it is.

I’m home.

P.S. I know, this post had absolutely no point or direction. But sometimes, neither does life. And you know what? It’s ok.

Dead Inside

I believed the world

A beautiful place

Experienced and loved

And trusted

But I was wrong

And I died a little bit inside.

I believed in people

For not everyone was

Meant to be bad

I believed

But I was wrong

And I died a little bit inside.

I believed in me

My strength, wit and

My intelligence

Emotionless I thought

But I was wrong

And I died a little bit inside.

I believed in you

My savior from this world

I thought I’d smile

Forever

I was wrong

But I lived inside

I believed in us

In destiny, love and fate

Soul mates
Meant to be

I was right, yet so wrong

Today, I died.

Of Dreams & Reality

It’s one of those times, when everything is just so perfect. All that you had always wanted, just within your grasp, and it seems so easy, so obvious, that it was meant to be. All those years spent thinking about it, imagining it, wondering how it would feel, all those years led up to this, this moment, this experience, this dream.

It’s perfection. Almost too good to be true.

And then your alarm shatters through the perfection, jolting you out of that beautiful reverie, bringing reality crashing down on you with the force of the strongest winds and the harshest waves. You search for the snooze button, hoping against hope to hold on to the last threads of your dream, refusing to let reality gain control of you, yet again. You cry out in pain, struggle against the rough grasp of the truth, and hope that somehow, just somehow, you can continue with your dream, untouched, undisturbed, unharmed. Yet, you know, even as you see yourself struggle against the grasps of reality, that somewhere it’s over, somewhere, it had always been just a dream, too perfect, too good to be true.

You wake up. You get out of bed. It hurts, but you realize you’re left with no choice. As the day goes on, you busy yourself, trying to rid your memory of the remnants of that beautiful dream, that perfect world, too good to be true. Yet, you find yourself reminiscing the feelings ever so often. You scold yourself, call yourself delusional, tell yourself to be strong and understand and accept what’s real.

Yet, you go to sleep every night, hoping against hope, to dream that dream, yet again.