Darkest HOur

Hot temper.. Is is always incorrect to flare up? Should you always deal with unjust situations staying tight lipped? Well, these are the so called "ideal human being" rules I had laid down for myself positively.. But then, a horrifyingly mean incident barged through my vexatious day,  making it even more unpleasant.. And now, I am typing this down in a state of pure hatred - a state which I have never been acquainted with.. 

  "We are getting late, all because you wanted to practice so long!", N said to me without a tinge of shame. I scowled at her words, gulping down the morsels of food mom was feeding me with her own hands. Even Mom felt worried that I was constantly put under so much pressure. It was me who had aided N during her crisis, agreeing to give her a lift. Instead of showing gratitude, she unabashedly picked faults and passed sly remarks subtly. Ignorance is bliss.. I must not lose my temper, I said to myself. 

Riding the scooty, we went until the next colony's gate, when a security officer started waving at me frantically. By the time I realized that I was being called for, the scooty had throttled up a little distance ahead which compelled me to take a U turn and go back.. "Don't you listen I calls when? You has no manners?" the ill tongued, uncivilized security officer burst out shaking his fist. I was truly alarmed. I gulped down the bile that rose in my throat and asked him " May I know why I have been stopped?"( You wanna speak your English Mr, illiterate? So can I!) His eyebrows rose " You questioning me? You will teach me my job, huh?" I lost my nerve. I repeatedly went on asking why I had been stopped to which he never bothered to reply and went on with a list of threats and spiteful insults. As I had oathed to be a little miss polite birdie, I started crying bitterly like a snotty baby. An aunty passing by (who is a friend of my mum's) came over and spoke in favor of the officer, to my astonishment. " He is a senior officer dear..He is just doing his job. You must cooperate" Job? Yelling at people for no fault of theirs? Finally, he pulled out a register noting down my name and address. That's when I learned what his job was. He had just been ordered to note down the names of all people passing through the gate that day. I was disgusted. What kind of a world was this? Where people use impolite language for no reason, treat every person as a criminal, where a little innocent girl is being yelled at unmercifully and no one volunteers to at least wipe her tears. When a woman like that chooses to speak in favor of an irrational ungracious man rather than consoling a weeping girl, why do we even expect men to respect us? 

When did we move on to the barbarian era that was scraped out of basic humanity? Where friends just have their valuable work done by you and throw you away later, like a piece of dog's bone..  "You shouldn't have back answered him dear.. It was your fault too.. We must respect elders.." N said making a "Mother Teresa" face, after I dropped her home.. I suppressed my shock and turned away without a word.. 

                The one who has no enemies has no character. It is rightly said, I realised... 

The butterscotch heart

When I write stuff without thinking, this happens... Here goes a poem..

The girl in black,
She tripped, she knew, in the corner
of her butterscotch heart,
that this fall would aid a rise,
A revolution, a success, a start

Is this right? Seemed least apt,
to falter for the better, since
When there are no break-evens,
the heart ain't going daft

Gathering it up, she unstrapped the glitch,
The glitter of the smokey tear bedimmed eyes,
evinced the faith in her butterscotch heart,
that she could climb the caramel ditch

The butterscotch heart shadowed the fear and doubt,
Drenching her in its divine sweetness,
Making her face the battle with an almond sword.
Giving the bitterness her best skilled shot

The girl in black had a butterscotch heart,
She despised the idea of freezing it,
Cold proclaimed war, warmth conveyed sacrifice,
Both had ways to part

The headgirl listens to her gut in Malawi

Little issues bind themselves together to form fantasies and imaginations. It is our wish whether to succumb to those or choose the yellow road instead. I don't think I opted for the yellow road of practicality. So, I became the head girl. And let me tell you frankly, it is merely an honorable thing. I have least duties to perform, apart from commanding the assembly. Sometimes, few decisions make you feel  faltered.Yet, they make you susceptible to flattery. You try giving your self millions of reasons and go on with it assiduously. In that case, what road are you actually traveling? 
The ceremony was celebrated with pomp and show. It was quite similar to the crowning ceremony of a king. The biguls, drums and trumpets on the back score, along with oaths and the flag pulled me back to some ancient era.. I suddenly thought of Darell Rivers, the head girl of of Malory towers. I had always looked at that Enid Blyton character with awe and admiration. As soon as I reached home, I poured myself over the novel again. Inspiration flew back within me when I found answers to the reckless choices I had made. I had indeed chosen the yellow road.. I had listened to my gut. It's true that I fulfilled my childhood fantasy but then, I got what I wanted. Which is one of the rarest things... Because, heeding to your heart can merge those roads sometime, untangling you from the regular dilemma.
After an hour of Grey's Anatomy, I tell mum, "After growing up, I am gonna adopt a baby from Malawi like Meredith Grey and transform her into a child prodigy." She gets a deja vu. "I am gonna be the head girl like Darell Rivers someday", a little girl of 9 had once told her. She had said " Yes, you will". The fantasies will never cease... "check" to the first one in my life...

That's why, I flipped

"Silent waters are very deep". Okay I did not type it down from my own memory. I suck at proverbs. It is in fact a phrase a really good - soul (may he live long.. hahaha) used to describe me after reading my blog. I've been writing and updating this blog for the past 6 years and never once have I come across such a unique.. well.. compliment. I have never bothered much to publicize my blog and I am never perplexed about the scarcity of an audience. I seldom check my stats. After hearing this phrase, a realization, stranded in some barren island of my ocean-like mind , dawned upon me. The answer to a spontaneous question.. "Why do I write?" Simple. Because in the process of writing, I lose myself within the depths I've conquered. My life is so enormous, diverse and eventful that I frequently get urges to save every single moment, feeble or gigantic, as some video perhaps. But the video is hideous, washed out and vague when it gets registered in my mind. So I greedily capture every single scene and transform my film into a script.
"Dadda I want to become a writer like Enid Blyton! Talk to a good publisher and print my book. Now!", I told daddy when I was in 3rd standard. "But baby, you are too small to become an author!" he said, smiling. "NOO!", I yelled stubbornly, showing him the Milly-Molly-Mandy book . "See, this stupid girl named Joyce who wrote this book was my age! When some hill-billy published this boring book, why can’t my mystery story get printed?" Daddy just smiled. I was very persuasive yet I couldn’t convince my mind to wait or give up. I penned down everything in diaries, then typed down millions of ms word pages and one fine day, started my blog.

But my dream of becoming a writer still lies afresh. I draw inspiration from loads of writers. Each one possesses an unusual style which anyone can instinctively identify and that’s what adds to the beauty which their work projects out. But strangely I admire the unsung writers more than the infamous ones like Shakespeare, Charles Dickens, Agatha Christie, Jeffrey Archer or well, Chetan Bhagat. I am addicted to Eva Ibbotson, Meg Cabot, R.L Stevenson and many other writers whose names I don’t even remember. What I see in them is just plain versatility. Eva Ibbotson literally sways magic across the reader's mind when she describes the flamboyancy of nature blending it with a tinge of romance. Her stories set at the amazon basin are so brimming with passion that I would do anything to be the protagonist of her novel. Meg Cabot, on the other hand is peppy and humorous. I have to say, I am irrevocably in love with her subtle yet amusing way of expressing a scene. She doesn't use bombastic words but her stories usually revolve around teenage "damsels in distress" and how they kick off their problems with their supercool attitude and "ooh - aah" charms. That's what makes her a heart - throb!
So, coming to RLS, the sight of his books might be repulsive to an average teenager since it requires a dictionary in supplement firstly, and loads of patience. People give up even before reaching the dead man's chest and the bottle of rum stuff. I mean, there's a scarcity of women in his stories. And you can't even accuse the society being male - chauvinist.

So, with regard to the “I- wannabe- a- writer” thing, that phrase really triggered something in me. And it rejuvenated my writing skills. Since 7^th grade, as my mind grew, my writing progressed, my styles changed bit by bit and my blog showcases every tiny phase of my teenage life.  Wondering how a little thought can perform such multitasking? Well, mind is faster than the TRANSLTR in Digital Fortress. Thoughts keep whirling about until they get decoded. So, the thought process would never cease, nor would my writing . There is still plenty to explore, millions of issues to ponder upon.

Ties and bonds..

Being with family is pure bliss.. It makes you feel like there is nothing else other than love and happiness in your life. And in my case, where I don't get the feel of it throughout the year, my quota gets richly overfilled when I get loadsomes of family lovee in jst 5 days... And believe me, it comes like a "lottery", stays on like a "picnic" and won't let go like a "croc's huge mouth"!
Well, as you can see, I just initiated my post like I always do but this time I plan to narrate the experiences differently, embedding every moment in a emotional frameset..
Gayatri aunty held up a box and told me to open it. There were two pairs of earrings, not ordinary ones rather extremely phenomenal looking. "Pati made them specially for you!" I looked at pati, amazed at her skills, holding the piece of art which was made using tatting technique near my ears. "Its very beautiful!" That was all I could say and I said it again and again since I was entirely taken aback when I saw something made with so much pain and love just for me. Wearing those earrings paired with a light floral print kurti, we marched off to the women's exhibition.. We picked up my beautiful dolls on the way - Mahathi and Adhithi.. When your with these adorable darlings, you just bid your "etiquettes" goodbye. Playing ball and catch at the cosmetics section, stepping on upholstery with shoes on or running around in the maze of shops did turn some questioning eyes towards us but Adithi's innocent monkey grin and Mahathi's merry blabber can instantly turn off any cross mind. Everytime I arrived, Mahathi jumped on one of my legs deftly and clung on to it like mowgli till I tripped. Her tight hug , her look that says "I wanna be with you", her cute precocious gestures made me realise why I was standing in Chennai in the first place.
That evening we went to "Abbiii's " place, like Adithi says.. And I have to say I am pretty jealous of Chota Bheem and Abhis' (lol) because the sight of both make my sisters look at me like an alien from the planet INVISIBLE. But then.. every little girl has a "cool big brother" fantasy like me; my sisters are just the same. Its just very sweet the way Adithi says "Anna-anna" in her teddy bear soft baby voice and it definitely made her annas go crazy, grabbing her and give her a gleeful airspin!
Arrival of krishna mama was the prime thing which made the trip eventful, awesome and lively. We went to the Marina beach, sat on head-spinning rides, got drenched in huge waves and admired snapshots clicked on time by Gayu mami. MOving to shek-jeet's "home sweet home" brought us all nearer and gave me a totally different experience.. Also we we splashed about in Queensland resort, went to watch "ethir neechal".
So, I started off placing everything in an emotional frame, wavered around in between and to conclude.. now I would say that this trip made me look at bits of my character reflected in every family member I met. Gayatri aunty's way of interpreting things in life, her views about religion, art and lifestyle coincides with mine.. Gayu mami's personality, the way she carries herself  was very similar to the fashion in which I pull myself...I saw my sharpness multiplied ten times in Mahathi and my physique dated 15 years back in Adhithi..In Jeet anna, I saw my warmth.. Well, it must be because he has his own contributions making me a kindhearted person like him.. He has always corrected my little flaws and indirectly taught me that appreciation should never be faked... Coming to Abhishek, well, our career ambitions are somewhat similar and the way we approach anything naturewise is common as far as i've noticed. Also, he can always switch to being a "smart cool guy next door" apart from being grim and silent. SORTOF LIKE ME!
I hope am not being judgemental I guess, I just said what I felt..
But the only person who stands out in my character crowd is Krish mama... HE is everything I am not and everything I want to become. I can never believe in anybody's advice other than him and I can trade anything in my life to become successful so that he feels proud of his 1st daughter (hope mahathi doesnt read this .. winks ) ..
So, here I am feeling vivacious, floating in the state of beatitude, running short of bombastic synonyms for the word "happiness" .. and I feel very lucky to be a part of this beautiful "damaged" family, like mama calls it...