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Posts Tagged ‘love’

Monikers… We’ve all been familiar with them. Ever since our birth, we’ve owned more than a dozen such nicknames : Golu, Sweetu, Pintu, Mintu are just to name a few. But those were by the ones who loved or cared and would never really tarnish your self esteem. What I’m trying to talk about are the ones that some people subject us to just because we have some sort of a physical feature which doesn’t yet fit their definition of okay-dokey. I’ve been a proud owner of many such names : Pumpkin, Balloon, Fatso, Fatty, Leech and the weirdest of all, Caterpillar. Some of them were just meant as a way of informal, intimate addressing. Some were meant as derogatory. And others were just because a bunch of guys couldn’t stand me being good friends with the girl they kinda have a crush on so they just had to make me the laughing stock of the class… But what really happened? Did any of those affect me? I wouldn’t lie, but they did at one point of time until I realized, they shouldn’t. Just because someone else calls you something doesn’t necessarily mean you really are or in any way will turn into that thing. Did you notice, every other tree that you come across, every other flower too has a good name and a nickname. Hence people will call you names, it’s pretty much natural and you can’t stop them but you can stop yourself from reacting. .
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Thank you so much people for your love and support. Please continue the same for future.

Took a month long break. Will be back soon.

Thanks guys.

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12th of July was not much of a red letter day (except of course it is your birthday); but for the rest of us, it’s just another day and for me, it’s just my date night. Which, I decided to make special by actually dressing up, masking my face with make-up and attempting to bewitch my boyfriend. So I put on a little blue dress, matched it with a pair of star shaped earrings and a pair of blue wedges. To top it up, I applied light make-up: just some kohl, pink lipstick and brushed my cheeks with some foundation. Yet to successfully lower my spirits, my boyfriend didn’t even react (not that I wasn’t acclimatized to the reactionless, non-romantic charm of that guy whom I had hand-picked to be with). But that day, I had dressed up. And if not a “Wow! You look beautiful”, the least I was expecting him to say was “You look different”- thus proving that he had noticed, thus providing ample testimony to the fact that he still did care and most importantly, thus making me believe that I was beautiful.

Now do you get what I’ve been trying to say? If not, then let me explain further: the next morning, after a night of feeling hopeless about my looks and finally deciding to do away with my blue dress, a friend of mine complimented: “You looked good in that blue dress”. That was the “apple to my pie, straw to my berry”. And I’m keeping that dress!

‘I do look good after all’, was my first thought, even before I smiled a heartfelt thank you.

But that is not the way I looked any other day nor was I comfortable wearing the kohl (I couldn’t rub my eyes for the next three hours). I was just trying to fit in the utopian definition of beautiful. Make up is every girl’s birthright and I in no way am against it. But the question here is, are the ones who don’t choose to look fair, pluck eyebrows, and straighten hair ugly? Or maybe it is just us who have defined beauty as having perfect eyes, nose and lips. And it is also us who go out of our ways to get that approval from others despite knowing the fact that what others say doesn’t matter as long as I feel the same from within. Even the most gorgeous person might feel ugly from within. And even the one with a big mole over her lips may walk with her head held high emanating a beautiful aura.

Dear girls, we are all beautiful- with or without face paint, we are beautiful- keep this at the back of your mind- even while you nod to others kudos or denigration. We don’t need others to approve of our magnificence. We are beautiful being just us. As long as we can brighten up our surroundings and lighten up others, we are beautiful. Now if of course, plastic defines the very aura of being beautiful, then we all can be that, if we choose to be.

So next time you wear a dress and no one comments, don’t be disheartened: you’re beautiful.

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I’ve been going through an internal turmoil,

The man I love

Is also the one I would not like,

I wish to splice my soul

Into two – let a part love

And the other dislike.

But my heart beats for both –

Love and it’s counterparts,

And I still don’t know

What this shall become.

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Today I’m gonna talk abt a guy. A really, really handsome guy. I’m already blushing. He’s the kind of guy who I’ve always wanted to date. He’s the kind of guy whom I’ve always wanted to be my life partner. He’s the kind of guy who perfectly fits my definition of Prince charming. He’s a bit older than me. But he’s puts in a lot of effort to prevent any issues of generation gap from ruining our relationship.
One of the best qualities in him is that he respects my mom and me a lot. He is always open to our ideas, no matter how out of the box they are (especially mine). Never has he ever shown any form of masculine dominance nor has he ever imposed any strict rules on me.
His life is a tale of sacrifices and hardwork, more than half of it being for his family and beloved. Not a singer but he has quite a collection of lullabies and bed time stories.
He’s not much of a cheerleader but a subtle supporter who tries his best to protect his family. If my mom is my superwoman, he is my superman (without capes of course). And by now you must’ve guessed, I’ve been talking about my dad.

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In a kindergarten school, you will find varieties of kids: to one class will fall the notorious mischief makers, another will include the hyperactive extroverts who would always talk their opinions loud in the class and a third class which would accommodate a rather smaller crowd of kids who would look around and observe things in silence, who would shout their views  in their childlike brains and would actually be omnipresent without actually giving a slightest hint of their omnipresence; a rare class to which people like me would fall- the introverts.

As a kid, I was an introvert; and not the kind of introverts who would post “#iamanintrovert” on social media shouting out loud to the world of them being introverts, but the kind which by law fitted the definition of being “a shy, reticent person”, the kind which chose to sit alone watching the other children run around and play. Back then, I didn’t know if being that much of an outcast was much of an issue. Even now, I’m not sure if being an introvert is cool or a stigma; there would be one opinion less in the world and it, in no way would endanger the world of being turned upside down.

I had just this one friend who would, be it rain or shine, stay with me, as we walked around haunting the playgrounds like ghosts. She too was more or less like me: soft spoken, monosyllabled opinions. Introverts understood introverts, like two peas in a pod. We were inseparable. As the other kids played, we sat under the trees, sometimes talking, sometimes just chewing candies- two introverts made for each other.

Then, one fine day, she decided to play with her elder sister, two years senior to us. She invited me to join her too. I wasn’t sure if it was a good idea: two kindergarten students with a bunch of grade two hooligans. But needless to say, I had this one friend (one of the many side effects of being an introvert) so I reluctantly followed her.

The game was called “Catch the thief”, as simple game of one girl (the thief) being chased by a bunch of other girls (the police) – like a cat and mouse chase. With some kind of cross paper scissor done, my friend was chosen as the thief and I with the bunch of seniors was a police. The game began. I ran with the others, trying to match my steps with them. Imagine a cat running along with a crowd of lions. My dear introvert friend ran as hard as she could, with her little feet flapping along the floor. But can a cat outrun a pride of lions? One of the seniors caught hold of her pinafore. Another went after and blocked her front. I tried to run fast too and I did, I was close when I felt a sudden lateral drift and a bash from behind.

The next few seconds went in daze: I lay flat, pressed on the floor- as I felt a heavy weight get off my body, I struggled to get up- the first thing I saw was another senior tumbled sideways from my body, her mouth wide gaped- someone scream, cried- the nurse rushed toward me, pulled me up and pressed my nose with her thumb- every single student in the hallway gazed at me- she carried me to the sick room- still pressing my nose, she washed my face-and as she removed her thumb, there was blood, all over it- she bandaged the wounds on my knees. And only after she handed me a glass of water did I realize it was me screaming, crying. The water tasted metal, not just the glass of water that I drank but also the rivulets that dripped down my face, into my mouth. Something was bleeding. But what?

I missed the first class after break, lying on the sick bed. Later I was just an hour before school got over was I taken to my class. I was asked to sit back with my head titled behind, resting on my bag.

Dad was horrified to find me in a white shirt that was now vermillion from the collar.

Only at home did I come to know that I had broken my nose. That day was probably a turning point in my cosmetics. I had a nose with a deviation to the right. The nasal septum deviation, later blessed me with more problems of rhinitis and inferior turbinate hypertrophy.

I guess it was a part of growing up. A traumatic part, but still a part of my kid- life.

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Hope shall still shine, even if someone has pushed you down, and another crab has pulled you right after. Mind you, they can knock you down but they can’t knock you out unless you let them do it.

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