Because No One Else Will

I turn my head around to find tears streaming down her face. I extend my hand to put it on hers but she pushes it away. I try to console her by saying, ‘It’s alright… don’t cry. Your father told you that you’ll get a chance to sit in the front seat in the ride back. Don’t spoil your mood, Tanya.’

‘But it’s not fair, mom! Rohan always gets to sit in front!’ replies she.

‘I’m sure that’s not true… now come on, stop crying.’ I hand her a tissue from my purse. She wipes away her tears but still mumbles about it not being fair. I try to make eye contact with my husband, Sameer, in the rear view mirror in the hope that he will calm her down but all I see are his dark-tinted sunglasses covered eyes. I cannot read their expression.

After the film, we move towards our car in the basement parking lot of the mall. Tanya, just to be sure, races Rohan to the front seat of the car. She reaches there first and is just about to open the door when Rohan pushes her out of the way and seats himself there. Tanya starts to protest and refuses to get in the car. I try to strike a compromise between them but no one pays any attention to me. I look at Sameer to see what he plans to do about this situation but he just ignores the entire scene and proceeds to put his sunglasses on and gets in the driver’s seat. I somehow get Tanya to sit in the backseat with me.

‘This isn’t fair! Dad, you promised that I’ll get to sit in front... please, say something! I want to sit in the front! It’s my chance!’ says Tanya.

I try to hush her but she again bursts with- ‘No! It’s not fair! Dad, you promised-’

Rohan interrupts her by saying- ‘Oh shut up, will you? I’m taller than you and I need the leg space. That’s why I get to sit in front.’

‘But you’re as tall as mom and she always ends up sitting in the back with me!’

‘That’s because she’s mom. She doesn’t mind.’

‘Dad! This is not fair!’

Suddenly Sameer stops the car on the side of the road, swivels his head towards Tanya and shouts, ‘Both of you, keep quiet! I’m driving and I don’t want this tamasha around me.’

‘But dad-’ Tanya tries to say but is interrupted by my husband who says, ‘I said- QUIET.’

My husband starts the car and continues to drive. Tanya stops speaking but cannot she control her tears.There

Hence ends another family trip.

The car turns in to the driveway and my husband parks it. As soon as it stops, Tanya shoots from the car and runs into the house. I get out and follow her in. I know she is headed towards my mother’s room. I go up to the room and knock on the door. Without waiting for a reply, I open it and find Tanya’s head buried in my mother’s lap as she cries and tells hernani about the 'sorrowful injustice' done to her. Mother pats her head and tells her to stop crying. I look around the room and notice that mother hasn’t finished packing. She had come to stay with my family for a month. She normally stays with my brother who has gone to Bangalore with his family for a holiday and returns today. I decide to finish packing for her. I go around the room doing that while my mother consoles Tanya. When I complete my task, I turn around to find a sleeping Tanya on the bed. I sigh and sit next to mother.

‘Bringing up a child isn’t easy. It’s alright… you have to handle such things at times,’ says mother.

‘Yes… I know that,’ I reply, ‘you know, things like this remind me of the times when you acted as a mediator between different members of our family. Remember that one time when I wanted to get a tattoo and papa totally blew it?’

My mother laughs and says, ‘Oh yes, I remember it very well. That argument went on for days and our home had lost its peace for that entire time.’

‘Hmm… he forbade me from getting it because he thought it looked cheap. I asked him what he meant by that... I was horrified when he said that the family I would enter in the future may not approve of it.’

‘Yes, he said that.’

‘I could never understand it then and I can’t understand it even now... why should anyonehave the right to say what I can or cannot do with my body?’

‘Parents have to think about such things, sweetheart.’

‘Not parents… if I remember correctly, you took my side in the argument. You supported me.’

‘That’s because you told me what that word meant to you and I understood. I still think it looks nice.’

I cast my eyes down to look at my inked wrist which reads- dream.

‘And anyway, we women have to stick up for each other, you know… because no one else will,’ says my mother.

I look into her eyes and then turn to look at Tanya sleeping, tired from crying for so many hours. I get up, walk towards the bed and bend down to whisper in her ear, ‘Tanya, do you want to go for a drive? Just you and me.’

She opens her eyes, beams at me and wraps her arms around my neck. I scoop her up and walk towards my car. I put her down in the front seat and shut the door. I look at her excited face as she wipes away the tear marks. I turn around and go back to my mother’s room. I hug her and whisper, ‘thank you’ and she smiles at me with a twinkle in her eye. I leave the room and go to the car and buckle myself in. Tanya asks me, ‘What was that all about?’ and I smile and say ‘nothing’.

She nods and says, ‘Thank you for doing this, mom.’

As I sit in the driver’s seat this time, I say, ‘It’s alright, sweetheart. Anyway, we women have to stick up for each other, you know… because no one else will.’

And I drive on.

Static Connection

Finally, some peace.

He walked on the bridge which connected the busy roads of the city to a small piece of extended land upon the sea. According to all the fancy bridal magazines, it was considered to be the ideal spot to conduct a wedding ceremony due to its exquisite lawns but that was not why he was headed there. He left his house a half hour before and followed the scent of the sea… it brought back so many memories.

A sound. He stopped in his tracks and turned back to look for its cause but nobody was there. He was safe; there would be no one to disturb him from his reverie at almost 2 a.m.

He stuffed his hands in his pant pockets to protect them from the freezing cold and resumed walking. He matched the rhythm of his footsteps to the crashing of the waves against the bridge but he was too lost in his own thoughts to actually notice this. Suddenly, he heard a sound which didn’t fall in with the melodic pattern around him - a crunching of something beneath his right foot. He bent down to look at what he had stepped on and found a bouquet of white roses, which although, were a bit worse for the wear, hadn’t completely withered away yet. Someone must have dropped it only a few hours before. He brought it to his face and closed his eyes.

A faint scent of baby breath.

He looked ahead and it struck him for the first time that he was almost near the end of the bridge; just a couple of meters distanced him from a huge wrought iron gate which led to the lawns. He jerked up and looked around and really saw his surroundings for the first time. He brought his hand to his face to feel the drops of the waves that had landed there.

Reminds me of those years when dad used to take me fishing with him… it’s been quite some time since our last trip.

It had, in fact, been eight years since they had gone for this father-son bonding ritual. The most prominent part about the memory, which still seemed to cause a knot to rise in his chest, was the disappointing look his father got in his eyes for a split second when he, his own son, wasn’t able to catch a fish. He had never really been athletic and his father would always push him at some sport or the other in the hope that he would excel at something.But, then again, his father always told him to keep on trying and he said he would always love him, no matter what.

All of a sudden, he moved ahead with the bouquet still in his hand and in a few strides, he reached the gate. He pushed it forward and entered. There was a group of men packing up tables, chairs and a huge white tent.

A wedding… but it’s over now.

They left their work to glance up at him but he seemed harmless enough so they didn’t give him much thought and went back to work. He cast his eyes in all directions and when his searching gaze found what it was looking for, he strode ahead. As soon as he reached the altar, he clutched its pole and took in a huge breath.

I can do this… He won’t hate me. Please, don’t hate me.

With this hope residing in his heart, he took out his cell phone and dialed a number. It started ringing. His grasp on the bouquet became harder and harder. The call was picked up on the fifth ring.

‘Hello? Is everything alright?’

‘Yeah, dad. I just wanted to talk to you about something.’

‘What’s wrong? Are you fine?’

‘I’m okay. Dad… do you remember how you used to tell me that you would always love me and be proud of me, no matter what happened?’

‘Yes, son, I do.’

‘Dad, I need to tell you something… I hope you will still love me.’

‘What happened, son?’

‘Dad… I’m… I’m gay, dad. I'm in love with Tom.’

‘I can’t hear you. Your voice is breaking up. What did you say?’

‘Dad? I said I’m gay… hello? Can you hear me? Dad?’

‘I can’t understand what you’re saying… Hello? I can’t hear-’

‘Dad?’

The connection cut and the call ended.

The Little Things

I wrote this verrrryyy short story (if you can even call it that) in an hour at the Creative Writing Competition conducted by Janki Devi Memorial. The theme of the competition was 'Celebrating 100 Years of Indian Cinema', and we were asked to change the plot/scene of any one of the 14 topics given to us, which included names of famous Bollywood films, iconic dialogues and songs.

I found that I wasn't exactly in a very filmy mood (I know, I was surprised too!) so I chose to risk getting my piece disqualified by not adhering to the form, and took inspiration from an iconic quote from DDLJ- 'Badhe badhe shehron mein chhoti chhoti baatein hoti rehti hai'.

I was awarded the First Prize for it today- I received a HUGE Rolling Trophy for my college and Rs.3000 in cash for me. :D

The judges, in fact, mentioned that the piece that 'soared at the top, above the others, had nothing to do with films but was an entire reworking of the dialogue' and they appreciated that.

So. Yay!

The Passenger noticed her as soon as she stepped on to the bus. A first timer, for sure- he could tell by the way she clutched her bag close to her body and kept her eyes frozen to the ground. As she paid the conductor for the ticket, she moved towards the back of the bus to where he stood. He knew that this was his opportunity. He strode ahead and slightly grazed her arm with his hand. He couldn’t contain the smirk that appeared on his face nor could he stop it from spreading into a grin as he saw her wince.

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The Security Guard saw her approach him from the corner of his eye. Being much too engrossed in his newspaper, he didn’t turn to face her until he heard an ‘Excuse me,bhaiya’. She was lost, she said. His eyes shifted from her moving lips to her breasts. He heard her pause and he looked back up at her face as she shifted her weight nervously from one foot to the other. She was waiting for an answer. He told her he didn’t know but pointed her towards a vague direction. As she thanked him and turned away, he couldn’t help but glance at her swaying back before he shifted his attention, once again, to the screaming headlines of the day.

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The Neighbour heard her exclaim, ‘Please, stop!’, and he slid his hand in between the closing doors of the lift. She thanked him and entered the small space. He turned to his left to look at the flustered girl and asked her if she had taken his advice to try modeling as a career. He noted how her expression changed to one of controlled gleefulness, or at least that’s what he thought to himself. She suppressed the grimace and answered by shaking her head. They had already reached the sixth floor. He extended his hand and gently laid it behind her waist. He told her that he thought she would make a great model. She took half a step away from him, and as soon as the lift doors opened on the eleventh floor, she stepped out. He shouted a ‘good night’ at her but she did not respond to the closing doors. She walked towards her apartment and met her father at the entrance. He asked her who that was and she answered by saying, ‘Mr. Raheja’. He admonished her for not wishing her elders as she walked past him into the living room.

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She entered her room, dropped her bag on a chair and turned to look into the mirror. She walked towards it slowly… closer and closer… until her face was a few inches away from it. She gazed deeply into her own eyes and whispered,

Badhe badhe shehron mein chhoti chhoti baatein hoti rehti hain.

What's Best

Her mother entered the room and asked Rashi to switch on her brand new computer so that the former could use it to access her social media account. Rashi, without looking up from the page that she was reading at the moment, asked, ‘Why aren’t you using Krish’s laptop?’ to which she received the reply that the site said it was down at the moment. Rashi sighed and muttered, ‘Wait, I’m studying,’ from behind her course book and shooed Mira out of the room.

It had been adorable when the older woman, now in her fifties, painstakingly learned to use the computer a few months before but her tech-savvy children now found it infuriating at times that she was satisfied to only grasp how to operate her online profile. Like now, for instance. There was no use in explaining to her mother that if the site was down, it would be on all computers.

Her phone pinged suddenly. A notification- someone had Liked her status.

About an hour later, Mira spoke from her daughter’s bedroom doorway, ‘Is your profile working?’ and Rashi returned a distracted ‘yes’. She was so far behind her schedule- she’d reached only page 27. The former entered the room in a flurry now.

‘Switch on your computer right now. My profile is still not opening.’

The demanding tone pricked Rashi. She shouted now, ‘I’m studying! Can’t you wait for sometime?!’

Her mother ignored this aggressive reaction and sat down at the end of the bed. ‘I wrote something about the police yesterday.’

Rashi’s expression changed now. She sat up, got off her bed, which was her usual place to study, and pressed the ‘on’ button.  She knew her mother’s account and password, being the one who set up her profile and drove her towards this new obsession, so she entered it. A new page opened which stated that the site was undergoing some changes to improve the users’ experience. She entered her own account and password and it swiftly opened to her profile.

‘I think they’ve banned your profile temporarily.’

‘Are you sure?’

Rashi stared at the screen and tried to view her mother’s profile from her own account. The screen just had the recognizable blue banner at the top and a blank sheet underneath. Refresh. Same result.

‘What did you write? You were screaming at Krish yesterday for sharing a newspaper clipping about the violence that resulted from the death of that leader… how could you do something stupid like this yourself?’

Mira exited the room. Rashi could hear the different notes from the landline keypad being pressed. Her mother was probably calling her father or brother. She overheard her trying to convince them that she wasn’t paranoid or mistaken. She refuted by saying that Rashi had reached the same conclusion. Rashi graoned. Like that would have helped to convince the men.

She sat on her bed again and picked up her book. Dario Fo. The text blurred in front of her eyes as she imagined the police thumping on their door to arrest her mother. Rashi would scream at them, of course, and throw all the knowledge that she’d learned from watching all those Lawyer Drama TV shows in their faces. Wait, those laws might be different for the US and India. What if they just forced themselves in and didn’t care to show a proper arrest warrant? Her father would save his wife somehow. And Rashi would then protest in the streets against this act of injustice. But then another thought hit her- how many days would this take? Her exams were approaching; she just had two more weeks to prepare. And these internals counted for 25% of the total mark so she couldn’t even miss them! The teachers would sympathise but wouldn't really be able to help.

She shook herself out of this reverie and turned her eyes back to Accidental Death Of An Anarchist.

‘Krish is refusing to take down the posts that he put up,’ said Mira.

‘Mama, what did you write? And where?’

‘You know Suneeta aunty, right?’

‘No, but tell me what happened!’

‘Her purse got snatched recently but it was returned yesterday by someone. It still had her cellphone and other things but the cash was gone. She wrote a post about this online and I commented on it saying that something similar had happened to another friend and she’d later found out that some policemen usually work with these criminals… they distribute the cash amongst them. So I asked her to find out.’

‘Mama, are you kidding me? Why would you write this on a public forum especially with all that’s going on? Two girls got arrested a few days back for protesting…’

‘Can they see my comment and block me?’

‘Yes! Censorship, hello?!’

‘What if something happens with the police?’ Mira genuinely looked worried.

Rashi comforted her by saying, ‘No, no… nothing like that will happen. Everyone is going around criticizing the incidents of the past few days, why will they focus on you? Most likely, some terms you used got on their radar and they’ve temporarily blocked your profile,’ and suddenly something struck her, ‘Wait, do you have that aunty’s number?’

Her mother nodded.

‘Then call her up and ask her to delete your comment. Don’t tell her that this is why you think your profile has been banned; she’ll think you’re crazy. Just tell her that with all the political tension that’s going on, you feel it’s best to keep away from controversial topics right now.’

Mira agreed and walked out of the room, and Rashi could finally focus on her studies and read her course book in peace.

Wonder

She squinted her eyes at the sound of the chalk on the black board. The teacher thought it’d help the kids understand what a tributary and a distributary was if she drew a diagram. The girl, however, was too busy staring at the marvel that was her 1.5-inch long pencil.

She wondered how it got to this. She hadn’t intended it, not at all. She sometimes misplaced her pencils but mostly, her classmates borrowed them and never thought to return them to her. The class’ Stationery Shop- that was the term of endearment her fellow students used for her.

The teacher stopped drawing and turned back to the class to begin her explanation again. The girl only paid a bit of attention; just enough to grasp what was being said. She turned the pencil round and round between her fingers and gazed at the waves the pink flowers on the white background made where the pencil had been sharpened. She suddenly heard the tone that teachers usually use when they dictate notes, and she turned her attention back to her notebook and to what was being said.

She couldn’t help smiling at the way her fingers clutched on to the tiny pencil while she wrote. She always had a different grip from anyone else she’d ever met; she used four fingers to write instead of the usual two or three. She wondered how much longer she could use the pencil- she’d never used one until its very end. Of course, she knew she couldn’t finish the entire thing up, that was impossible, but she just wanted to see how long it would last. The poor longer ones in her pencil case must await their chance.

All of a sudden, she realized that the voice booming the definition of a delta was coming from above her. She lifted her head to flash her teacher an innocent smile when the voice stopped and lowered its volume to whisper to her, not in a harsh way but perhaps in a rushed one, ‘What are you doing? Throw that pencil in the bin right now. Grab a normal one from my desk.’

‘No, ma’am, I’m able to write with this and-‘

‘No no, just throw it. Take another one from me.’

‘I don’t need a longer one, ma’am, I have them. I just wanted to see-‘

‘No more arguing. Go, now.’

The girl sighed and started to walk up to the dustbin at the front of the classroom. She so badly wanted to see what would happen to the pencil if she sharpened it a bit more. Now, she would have to start all over again with another one. As she neared the bin, something struck her. She casually turned her head to locate the teacher who was busy chastising a student about his bad handwriting. She made a motion as if to throw something in the bin while she secretly stuck the pencil in her skirt pocket. She tried to control the smile that was creeping on to her face and hoped that she was instead projecting a disappointed self as she mused, ‘I should try magic tricks next.’

A New Game

His eyes were fixed on the puddle that had suddenly appeared beneath his foot. It spread wider, slowly and slowly, and he knew that that didn’t make any sense because it hadn’t rained in weeks.

He turned his head to look around at the equally shocked faces of the others on the busy Monday street. Their movements had altered; the fast paced morning office crowd had now almost slowed down to a halt. Something was definitely wrong.

He moved towards the elderly woman to his left, who was clad in fuchsia from head to toe, and directed his question at her flabbergasted expression, ‘Excuse me, ma’am. What’s wrong?’ She simply replied, ‘My Poofy,’ in a dazed tone. ‘I’m sorry?’

She repeated but in a shriek this time, ‘My Poofy!’ and held out her arms, which were covered in a sticky white goo that was the remains of her beloved poodle, ‘He’s melted!’

This can’t be happening, he thought as he raced to his grandmother’s house. This just can’t be. He passed the melting spots around him in a sort of daze and wondered what each one once was- a tree? A car? A house? Or perhaps a person?

He burst open the front door and screamed out for the wise, old woman. He didn’t wait for an answer and followed his gut, which directed him towards the back door. He stepped on to the porch and saw his grandma swaying calmly on the rusted old family swing with her eyes fixed on to the bright blue sky. Without turning her gaze right to look at the entry of her sole grandson, she said, ‘I’m afraid that the day has come.’

He seemed to lose all muscle control as his knees buckled and he half-fell and half-sat on the porch floorboards. He turned his empty eyes to look at her and whimpered, ‘But I thought that we were doing well. We’ve been good, haven’t we?’

She simple nodded. He further questioned her, ‘We thought that changing ourselves for the better would end all this misery in our world…?’

‘Yes, we did.’

‘But then why is He abandoning us?’ asked he, baffled.

‘I’m afraid that that’s the problem. We have been good,’ replied she with a deep sigh.

Taken aback by this response, he muttered, ‘I don’t understand.’

She finally shifted her gaze from the melting blue sky and turned to look at him with a sad smile and said, ‘I think The Writer is simply bored of us.’

Stunned, he shot up to his feet and covered the few meters separating them briskly and asked her what she meant by that. She raised her melting right hand up to her eye level and replied solemnly, ‘I think he needs a new game.’

Another Story To Be Told

Another story to be told.

Her friends laughed when she said she could die of heartbreak. How would they know how she felt when the pain travelled through her left index finger all the way to her heart? A pleasing pain. A pain she missed at times. It didn’t require much for it to be recreated- just a magical scene in a film or a book. Sometimes, even a song. And the pain would shoot.

‘That would be nice to see. Someone dying like that,’ he told her. She smiled, knowing that he didn’t understand but she didn’t care at the moment.

‘Their love would have to be epic!’ he declared.

She simply nodded in agreement.

Funny, she thought. Because she just might find out.

The one who had to have control over everything acted on an impulse, just once. She closed her eyes and reached for him. For a second she didn’t know how he’d react… he held her back.

‘I’m sorry,’ he said.

She said she understood. Of course she did. Theoretically, it all made sense. But that wouldn’t control the pain that shot. He smiled and walked away.

That would be nice to see. Someone dying like that.
Their love would have to be epic!
But how could she tell him the story needn’t be? It didn’t need much- just a magical moment.

Perhaps this would be another story to be told.

The Things I’d Like To Say If I Ever Saw You Again

Hi, I’ve missed you.

And although I’ve missed you sorely, I’ve been fine.

I know that we both messed up, and I’m sorry for hurting you so.

But let's not talk about that once more.

You know, I’ve dreamed of meeting you again-
We make up and laugh hard.

And when I woke up, it struck me it was just a dream,
And it took me a half day to move on.

I still hear about you through my friends,

And I still pretend to not care at all,

And just shrug and smile at their comments small.
‘Cause although I’ve missed you,
And I’ve missed you sorely,
I don’t know if you have missed me too.

I dreamed a li'l dream of you

I did as they told
Them songs, them films, them tales of old
I dreamed a li'l dream of you
And now I wonder what I should do
To remove memories of us
From my mind and stay in this moment, motionless

'A Bad Dream'

You ever get the feeling that this is it? You don't know what lies ahead so you're not sure if anything even does. This might just be my 2012-Apocalypse side writing this out but I honestly don't know what's going to happen next.

And no, this isn't a post about how not knowing what your next step is the most liberating feeling in the world because that's all lies. I'm in fact so caught up with figuring out what to do after my final year of college that I just want this last year to pass on... I'm not blind to the fact that I may not be living in and cherishing the present.

This hasn't been a great year. I've lost some people I really care about; I don't think I feel close to those who are still kind of sticking around; and the only break I've caught since 2012 began was the last 2 weeks of summer vacation (Exams, assignments, projects, exams, internship. Yep.)

I'm in such a hurry to grow up- whether it's moving on to my Masters in Creative Writing or working. Hopefully it's the former but I need to visit the Career Counselor to figure out the details and I think I'm delaying that because I'm scared to find out what exactly my chances are- because of my marks (2nd Year DU screwed me over), my abilities and of course, the finances because OBVIOUSLY India doesn't offer these kind of courses and therefore the places that I'm looking at are in the US.

And some of my posts (or maybe all) may depict me as this depressed and disturbed person but I'm not like that. At least, not always. There are things that bring out the worrier in me and this, my not so-mid life crisis, was sparked on by a song I heard recently and cannot stop listening to- A Bad Dream by Keane.

"I wake up
It's a bad dream
No one on my side
I was fighting
But I just feel too tired
To be fighting
Guess I'm not the fighting kind
Wouldn't mind it
If you were by my side
But you're long gone
Yeah, you're long gone now"

That being said, if you've got the time, you should try listening to the band. Hopefully, the song won't have the same effect on you as it did on me. But maybe that happened to me because the friend that I've lost is the one I used to share the music I discovered and liked with... and now I don't know who to do that with anymore. Unfortunately, my mother isn't the kind to appreciate English music and the only way I could make her watch their video was by telling her that the vocalist resembles one of my cousins whom she adores.

So. Yeah. Welcome to my life.

Fantasy > Reality

I saw this picture on Facebook today and it struck a chord in me. If I start counting the number of times I've finished a book or an episode of a TV show and mourned at the fact that I could never be with a particular fictional character, we'd be here all day.

Yeah, you may scoff at my statement and call me deranged but you'll be surprised at how many people feel this way (I got 7 Likes for the picture in the first 5 minutes after I re-posted it). However, I may have taken this to an extreme. I'm someone who has had innumerable crushes in school. I can't recall a time I DIDN'T like somebody. I think the first time that happened was in class 12th but that didn't end for long. But since I've joined college (an all girls one, thank you very much)- I'm so disinterested in the whole thing. It's so hard for me to get excited about guys I know... I'd rather spend the day watching Dean Winchester on Supernatural.

And in case you're wondering, no- exposure to so many boobs at the same time has not turned me into a lesbian (wouldn't life be so much simpler if I was though? Well, except the whole part of traditional parents bawling their eyes out/ kicking me out of the house).

The other day a close friend even tried hinting at the fact that my obsession with fictional male characters who are bad boys on the surface but with a potential to be good has infiltrated my real life and I don't realise the extent I'm taking it to. To quote her, 'this isn't some fantasy... it's real life.' But you know what, screw real life. Yeah, I said it- SCREW REAL LIFE. If I want to spend my time around potentially making a mistake, that's alright since I'm having a great time doing it.

And what if I need someone who excites me in the way FICTIONAL characters do? We're all flesh and blood and I don't think any writer can capture the complexity that we are... And if I have to wait around for someone like that, hell yeah. Totally worth it.

Mindf***ed.

I've literally taken internet quizzes to help me figure out whether I suffer from depression or if I have OCD or to even check whether I'm bipolar. I'm sure many have done that... right? No? Well, whatever.

It was my parents' anniversary today (I guess it still is... 12 minutes left) but they didn't do anything today because-
A. They were supposed to attend a puja for the passing away of my dad's cousin but it got postponed (I didn't know that could happen).
B. My brother went to Agra for the day with his office buddies.
C. My mom wasn't in a great mood after hearing about the random health issues I've apparently got after the doctor's visit yesterday.

And I spent the entire day calming myself down by mental pep-talks ('cause talking to yourself out loud makes you a weirdo... which I'm not. I promise!) because I kept on freaking about losing a friend recently (Don't worry, he's fine. We just stopped talking.). I keep telling myself I'm fine, which I guess I am. But whenever I get any free time to myself, it's hard to distract myself from the fact that one of my best friends just stopped talking to me one fine day. We'd been having issues for quite some time now and it's not like I didn't think this wouldn't happen at some point but when you learn of this fact not from the friend himself but another mutual friend ('mutual' because I introduced them)... it's not the best feeling in the world.

I guess I would've moved on sooner if he still wasn't a huge part of the lives of my usual group of friends. It's weird knowing that someone whom you knew and befriended first refuses to acknowledge your presence but is a close friend of people you hold really close. But I've kind of been through this one before. I know how I can ride it out... by not freaking myself out and just getting on with things I have going on in my life.

What I really find amusing is that I might not give half a shit about breaking up with someone as I do about losing friends. Not that I have immense experience in that area. But when my ex and I broke up, I expected myself to cry. Hell, he knew what a big cry-er I was and he kept on consoling me by saying- 'It's alright if you want to cry, I'm here'. And I just stared and said- 'Nope, I'm alright.' (that really bruised his ego by the way). A few days later, I literally sat and WILLED myself to well up thinking I might be bottling up my hurt inside and it'd just be better to let it out and I was so close... so close! But then I pictured my face with what my half-assed attempt at crying would be doing to it and I burst out laughing.

Even though it's been almost two years to my one and only relationship (Hey, well, excuse me! Why don't you try studying in an all girls college?), I never once cried or looked back at it wistfully. Yet, I mindf*** myself with the friends I've lost along the way. Ah, well.