All i want is........to be ME!!!

Hello friends......here I am back to my space again after sabbatical of about a month I took for god knows what. Although I may say that the over spilling work on my desk, workstation and all the tit bits of places I tend to visit averted me to pay a visit to the cafe and post the stuff. But since I have my own laptop now, it leaves me with one excuse less I give for seldom updating.


But these sabbaticals I take are always for good (at least I feel so) just as my new tag line. Isn’t it unconventional? No matter what ever u guys say or feel about it, I just love it. It didn’t pop out of my filled to the brim head. There is a story behind it. I discovered these lines about 2 weeks ago when I was going back to my hostel and was getting hysterical about waiting for the train which showed no interest in following up the schedules. Once again books came to my rescue and I quickly found my way to the nearest bookstall. Though I was carrying enough stuff to gulp down, my resistance towards books comes down to zero at the very sight of a bookshop. After a long battle on the prices (desperately wished I carried my mother’s bargain gene at that very moment) I settled myself with a copy of fountainhead by Ayn Rand and Femina. I immediately treated myself with a space to sit in the overflowing platform (believe me it was indeed a treat) and got caught in the prejudice attached to magazine reading. During the course of turning and twisting I felt the sensations of euphoria and despair both.

These sensations made be prowl on the platform aimlessly and i felt like a bride who was trying too hard to hush something up. Then I realised I needed something to vent this or else it would have given my mother nightmares who was accompanying me. That something came in form of a pen which by default always happens to be in my handbag. (Yes yes I do carry one). I took the pen out and it made its way to back cover of the magazine as desperately as it was just dying for it. Then the words came through its .5 nib “all I want is......to be me”.

“Me” was never such a powerful word before the way it was the very moment. You must be wondering what it was that made such an incredible impact. So guys for that you will have to wait for the next part of this ‘me’ series.

P.S. A very happy women’s day to all the important and also the unimportant women in my life ( wishing you because you are women). Go out and celebrate this day and dedicate it just to yourself. And please don’t commit a blunder of going out with a guy. (Though I am not a bra burning feminist but can surely be on this day)

Broken Dreams........

I was skimming through the pages of the new edition of India Today yesterday as I had nothing in my bookshelf which could have comforted me after the erratic schedule of the day which kept me on my toes( I ll tell the story some other day). The issue was concentrating on all the major events which affected our country and its people in past 30 years. I am not fond of reading magazines; I only buy them to feel envious enough of the svelte and slim models. I carry this notion that this activity may trigger my will to shed that extra flab which is currently giving me nightmares.




Suddenly I found my eyes glued to the page featuring the happenings of the year 1994. A wave of nostalgia pushed me back into the past lanes where I was just a nymph coming out of the cocoon to fall into the lines of a caterpillar. Colourful and vibrant wings were out of sight and unimaginable. The page featured glimpses of Aishwarya Rai and Sushmita Sen flashing those rehearsed smiles with gleaming diamonds on their heads. It stirred the pieces of bitter sweet memories lying in some remote corner of my heart.

I can never forget that day when I first fought the rage inside me. I was about 3 at that time, rowdy cranky and naughty. My mother still cribs about the sleepless night I used to give her. It was a sunny bright morning I woke up to. I hated to get up in the morning (I still do). I was still grappling with partially open eyes when the newspaper lying over the petite corner beside my cosy bed caught my attention. The front page was carrying the news of Sushmita Sen wining the miss universe title, becoming the first Indian woman to carve that niche. I couldn’t read at that time; no 3 year old can do so. But I instantly got attracted to those pictures like a magnet to an iron bar. Later that day I quietly sneaked into my mother’s bedroom and spent hours scrutinising every inch of my face in front of the mirror. I even wore my mothers mauve stilettos to walk like those poised and beautiful girls do on TV. Somewhere inside the seed of the dream of holding that crown with hands on mouth awe pose was sown inside me.



Today I when I look back I have to admit that the seed sown could not grow into a tree because of the genetic seeds I m carrying (you ll understand only if u have studied biology). I am currently all content with the pace and directions of my life. But shards of a broken dream sometimes make me go all shrivelled up inside like a nut. Yesterday when I told my mother about my long lost dream, she said,” there are few things which appeal to us only from a distance. Nothing can be compared to the moon and the milky twilight it illuminates but if you try to go near it, all the beauty and the charm seem like false fables. It sounded good to my ears but couldn’t reach out to my heart which still refuses to junk off those pieces.