SAY

Having lived twenty years of my life (almost half of it in vain), today I wonder what turning fifty would be like! I wonder if I’ll still hope for a silly birth day surprise. I wonder if I’ll still have friends who would stay up and wish me at midnight. I wonder if things like that would even hold importance anymore. I wonder if I would have put a huge check on my Things-to-do-before-i-turn-50-list. But more than everything I wonder if my family would still be around to call and check on me and ask me if I'm doing all right.

It’s my Mommy dearest’s 50^th birth day today and as I take my own time to let the fact sink in, I must have thought of her a million times. I have missed years of my life being miles away from her. Years of my life missing out on all the things we love doing together; the little things that she continues to remember and how she mentions them every time we meet ; how she prepares every meal, plans all of her days according to me when I am around. 

Nostalgia makes me wish I had things some other way.

It’s probably the exhausted me talking here, but I wish we told people how much they meant to us more often. It’s weird how we always consider the most important of stuff understood until the need arises to express and explicate.

As for me, I'll once again let words do the talking. 

Monkey Business

After changing half a dozen schools and moving across cities, the potent yet fragile nature of friendship is something that I have come to familiarize myself with. By now, I believe that it’s likely to spend a year with someone and be best friends with them for the next many years. It’s likely to stumble upon someone who gets you like your childhood friend never did. And it’s completely likely to care for someone irrespective of how crazy they might be.

Well, this post is about a friend that I know for two years now. Being a fellow proud north eastern, I was a little sure my heart would sway her way the very first time that she introduced herself. She was so tiny and yet so confident. Little did I know that she would turn out to be the monkey person who’d torture me to death with her lame-ness. I kid. She cracks the funniest of PJs and she cracks them darn well.

In the last two years, she has been the worst kind of influence on me. We have discovered infinite restaurants and coffee shops, shopped to being broke and drank to insanity together. I wonder how richer, thinner and saner I would have been if not for her.  Sigh.

Well, I wrote this not ‘cause she turns 20 in another four days; not because she had once told me how much she would love for someone to dedicate a blog post to her; not because she took me to the best momo and brownie place in town; not even because she is extremely adorable and has cared for me like no one does. I wrote this because if I said this to her face, she would just laugh and call me gay and I wanted to save the embarrassment for another day. 

So, this was about the mad little woman that I know, and even though she loves Akon and Justin Bieber, I could never do without her.

For our love of dogs.

Hope a little

Andy: You need it so you don't forget...Forget that... there are places in this world that aren't made out of stone. That there's something inside... that they can't get to, that they can't touch. That's yours.
Red: What are you talking about?
Andy: Hope.

-          The Shawshank Redemption

Times when I am blue and lost, it’s stumbling upon quotes like these that temporarily erase the creases from my forehead. The thought that somebody could have really said something so beautiful to someone makes me want to weep. Yes, movies are deceiving like that yet, we all love them.

Back from an unexpectedly lovely and pleasant weekend away from the city, I remained love drunk for an entire day before waking up to the realization that the good times were over. Yes, the bitter sweet feelings are back and they are making me speculate at the fragility of emotions that we experience time and again. I ask myself if it was time we stopped caring; if happiness can ever be shared. I wonder if anything is ever worth it.

And I wonder even though I know that if not for these sensitivities, I would cease to be me anymore.

Confused and all at sea, it’s now that I wish my life was a movie and there was a screenplay writer who knew exactly which character to introduce and what dialogue to insert and play next.

If so, I would have probably heard Andy saying, “Hope is a good thing, maybe the best of things, and no good thing ever dies.”