The Unforgettable Desire

Six year old girl: Aunty, will you see my colouring book? I: Yes! I’d love to! Female acquaintance (also, mother to the girl): I was actually telling her to call you didi, instead of aunty. I: Oh, don’t bother. She sees me as a friend of yours, I’ll be aunty to her. I am absolutely fine with it. Male acquaintance: We should tell her to call you ‘young’ aunty. I: What does 'young' aunty even mean? I am fine being her aunty. I grew up calling everyone in my mother’s age group aunty. She is doing the same. I was at a seminar in Hyderabad when I met the girl. As much as I like well behaved kids, I tend to stay away from them because I find it difficult to go beyond, 'What's your name?' This kid I met had all my attention for a simple reason: colouring. I cannot recall the last time I held a crayon. She was adamant about making me colour in her colouring book. In fact, she went on to review my work as better than hers in good spirit. I think I liked list...

The outline of the distant hill keeps it separated from the dark blue sky. Forgive me for my incompetence with shades of colours. The hill looks darker than the sky, towards a shade of black. The river that buzzes throughout the day with the people from nearby slums bathing and washing clothes is camouflaged in the darkness, so does the narrow sandy road to it. But in complete silence, one can hear the sound of the river flowing. The railway line and the road by its side cannot be seen either. But every now and then, a car or a motorbike passes by. It’s headlights are the only lights. Sometimes the vehicle goes in a jiffy, sometimes it’s slower. But every time it does, my mind goes back to the underrated romance that I love so much. Source: Google Image Search ( :P ) As the night takes over dusk, I look outside my window and tell mom, “this view gives me such a Lootera  feeling.” My mom asks me, “What is a Lootera wali feeling?” I say, “You know, when Ranveer and Sonak...

I remember the time, when I got down from the stairs of Nizammudin Railway Station and asked my brother if I look weird. He answered in affirmative and added, who wears make up (Kajal) with Cargo pants. With that remark, I was very pleased with my look. Since then, it has been sort of a quest for me to blend different things together making it unconventional. But more importantly the aim has been to become unpredictable and hence, cannot be contained in a particular category which means that I can follow the mainstream fashion too when I want. On some days, I wear kajal but not lispstick, on other days even if my hair is uncombed; I make sure I put on lipstick. I wear sneakers with my kurti, and flats with a dress. It doesn’t make a difference to me, but it hurts the eyes of the ones who see me, scanning me top to bottom. My purpose is served the moment people are uncomfortable, even if they don’t say it out loud, you can see it on their face. I am not against the ones who follow the...

(Disclaimer: The incidents, experiences, and what may seem as ‘general understanding’ of the society is purely subjective and is written by keeping in mind the immediate surroundings of the blogger. It can seem as complete crap to some readers, and that is completely fine for their journey of growing up might have been quite different or rather better from that of the blogger. Also, the other dominant gender apart from the feminine one, might feel offended at some places, which is totally fine by the blogger for she isn’t telling their tale, but her own story. Any offence felt by anyone is not the intention of the post. Sorry. But not sorry. The purpose is simply to tell a personal tale. Please leave your comments, if you may.)