The Birth Story

               During my 6th or 7th month of pregnancy, I had read a blog where a woman gave a detailed account about her delivery. I felt quite shaken and scared as I went through it. But once I finished reading the entire article, I felt oddly confident. Like - Hey! Maybe.. just maybe I will also be able to go through with this without completely freaking out. The writer did not mince her words, but didn't make it sound grotesque either. She had written it all very matter-of-factly which i quite liked. I made my husband read it too and it made him sweat and shiver. Pfft,  men.

I don't remember the name of her blog anymore but if I do find it, I'll link it over here. Meanwhile, here is my account of my big day. I didn't want to write it since its now been more than 2 years since I delivered. And my theory is that only if the memory of the first birth vanishes completely from my mind will I be able to say to my husband,  "Hey, don't you think its time for another child?"

I remember watching this one episode from the TV show Friends where Rachel is in labour for 2 whole days. And I used to think - Nah! No way! That's just exaggerated. Noone stays in labor for thaaat long. She would've gotten a c-section long back. Well.. I'm no Rachel but let me begin by telling you that I was in labour for 21 hours. I get mighty proud saying it. And try throwing it out there every chance I get. When my husband says "I was on my feet for 5 hours today at office.", I usually respond with "Yeah well, I was in labour for 21 hours," . My poor husband. I don't think I will ever let him forget it. My child will also probably have a poster in her room that says "Your mother who you rolled your eyes at just now was in labour with you for 21 hours. 21 hours of pain. Just for you." 

So anyway,  I didn't have the whole "Oh my God, my water just broke" scene like in the movies. Which was a pity because I had practiced saying it so many times. Although my due date was right around the corner, my body wasn't doing whatever it should have been doing when it nears labour. 

I'm going to try and put it in metaphoric terms so as to not terrify or gross you people out completely. So let us suppose that there are these inflatable sliding doors inside my body that has to open for the baby to come out.  These doors must first deflate and then open up little by little. And that is when the water breaks. Well, my doors were fully inflated and tightly shut. My doctor said that if nothing happens within the next few days then, they would have to induce labour. 

I was so disappointed because I really wanted it to happen on its own. I tried everything. I walked, hopped, trotted, climbed up and down stairs. I did squats, cleaned the floors, ate spicy food, drank herbal tea (again that Friends episode was so informative.) but nothing was working. My husband flew down the night before I had my next doctor's appointment. Which made me feel a little less stressed. 

We went to the doctor's in the morning hoping to convince her to give me some more time. But before I even knew what was happening, I was lying on a hospital bed in the labour ward. But what about my sliding doors?! 

My doctor explained that the plan was that inorder to try and get those sliding doors to deflate, they would literally give it a little push.  She would jimmy a deflated balloon through the doors and fill it up with water forcing the doors to crack open a tiny bit. And thus jump starting the process. And all the while in my head I was going "You're going to WHAT???! Uh-uh. No way. Let's just cut me open right now." But she was convinced that this would be the safest and best option. And since I wanted to birth naturally as well, I gave in. 

The pains began almost as soon as the procedure was completed. Pulsating pain. Almost like contractions. Well, that was quick, I thought. I was already moaning and groaning. Back in my room, I found that my 6-year-old nephew had been waiting to see me.  He was a sensitive little soul and could never bear to see me in any sort of pain. I smiled through my pain and squeezed his hand kept telling him "I'm okay. I'm okay" without flinching while trying to stay upright. But still I could tell the little fellow was a bit shaken.

 As soon as he left I lay in bed trying to find a position that helped ease the pain. My husband was constantly by my side, holding my hand telling me to squeeze his hand everytime I felt the pain take over. One minute it would be so intense that I can hardly breath and the next minute its gone and I'm chatting with H about something on TV and taking selfies. It was so weird. I was afraid people would think I was faking it for attention.

I was asked to eat dinner early since I wouldn't be allowed to eat anything once I was taken into the labour room. My mom was feeding me chapati and some curry when I was suddenly overcome by a huge wave of pain that I hurled. And along with the vomit, I felt something pop down south and looked down to see that my clothes were soaking wet. I finally got to say "My water broke!"

Except no. It wasn't my water. It was that damned balloon. It had burst. Ugh!

I was taken into the labour ward shortly after that. The labour ward consisted of two lines of beds separated by huge curtains. I was able to hear various levels of crying from behind each curtain. Which was extremely relaxing. Not.

Only my mom was allowed to remain with me in the ward. This was the first time my mom got the opportunity to witness any of her daughters in labour. And I don't think she's going to want to again.  I get it now being a mom myself. Seeing your kid writhe in pain while knowing that there isn't much you can do to make her feel better is just pure torture. I feel sorry for making her go through that.  But I don't think I could have done it without her.  

Since I had vomited everything, I felt hungry again and begged the nurse to let me eat.  She finally agreed to let my mom bring me some food. And my mom brought me two slices of bread with jam. I looked at her like "Are you seriously kidding me?" I was hungry enough to eat thirty packets of bread. I told her I wanted more.  And that is how I got to eat the first ever meal that my husband made for me.  Those absolutely delicious bread and pineapple jam sandwiches that he made and handed over to my mother. 

After confirming that nothing would be happening that day, the nurses decided to give me a sedative so that I could sleep through the pain and go at it again in the morning. And I tell you, sedatives are freaking awesome. It felt so wonderful and nice. I could tell that the pain was still very much there but I was just too sleepy to care. 

But that blissful slumber did not last as long as I wanted. At the crack of dawn, I was up again and was being poked and probed. The nurses came every 15 minutes to check the baby's heartbeat and to check if I had dilated enough. And I just wanted to tell them to leave me the hell alone. This went on till mid-day. The pain was starting to get severe. 

At one point I grabbed hold of my mom and said " Okay enough, I don't want to do this anymore. Let's just go home." I was so thirsty but wasn't allowed to drink water so my mom kept wetting my lips with coconut water, like the nurses suggested. My shrieks went from sad and desperate "Amma.. Ma.. Amma..enough, Ma" to furious cries of "AMMA! AMMA! AMMA!", like I was mad at her as though she was responsible for this pain. 

The doctor asked me if I wanted an epidural, but me having so much stupid faith in my own level of tolerance thought I could endure just a little bit more. So I said no. 15 minutes later, I was like "Hey doc, about that epidural you were talking about. I changed my mind. I'll take two, please." But she told me that I was almost at the final lap and that I had dilated a good amount. The words I'd been waiting to hear for so long.  

Soon the doctor asked me if I wanted to try and start pushing. It was all that I wanted. I pushed with all my might. Everyone in the waiting room heard my shrieks. But now it was more of war cries rather than helpless yelps. I was on a mission. So I continued to push. I pushed while I was being wheeled into the delivery room. I pushed as I hobbled onto the bed. I was so busy pushing that I didn't notice that the room was suddenly filled with an army of male and females nurses.

 Normally I would've freaked out about having being so exposed in front of so many strangers. But at that point I didn't care if the whole entire population of Kerala was there as long as they got this child out of me. 

My doctor came in calm as ever. She was even humming a song.  I immediately felt at ease. She told me I was doing very good and to continue pushing. And there is nothing I love more than people complimenting me on my effort. Besides there were so many people around cheering and shouting encouragements at me that I felt so damn motivated. "Come on! You can do it! Very good! Almost there! We can see the head! One more push, come on!" 

I pushed and pushed and....

*plunck*

I froze. My eyes widened and my mouth was open but no sound was coming out. It was a sensation I could never put into words. It was so quick and sudden, I think I was in shock.  In my head, the whole room had fallen to a silence when it was actually probably quite noisy. 

The next thing I heard was my doctor saying-"Pennkutty aane tto - Its a girl!" My face broke into a humongous smile. One of the nurses laughed and said ooh look at that smile! 

I was so surprised because I had somehow made up in my mind that it was going to be a boy because I terribly secretly yearned for a girl. My whole family, as well had predicted that I would have a boy for some reason or the other. I wish I could've seen their gob-smacked expressions when they found out.

I looked around to catch a glimpse of my newborn daughter. I didn't have my glasses on so from a distance I saw a blurry, very tiny dark head. 

The nurses around me continued to poke me and stitch me up or whatever but my whole attention was at that corner of the room. I think I was a bit light-headed from the medications. I said to the guy who was checking my bp "Edo, ende kochine kaanikke. ende kochine endha thaan kaanikaathe." (show me my baby,  why you no show me my baby.) And he said they would in a minute. She was being cleaned up immediately since she had ingested some fluid. 

Now my cousin had advised me that during labour it is best not to cry since it would take up energy unnecessarily. I had screamed, moaned, yelled and groaned but I had managed to get through it without shedding a tear. Until that moment.

I saw the nurse come over to the bed. She held my baby's face close to mine so that I could see her clearly. A tiny round pink face. With two tiny dark eyes and a funny nose and the tiniest little rosebud mouth. With a shock of black hair. The nurse gently pressed my baby's cheek against mine which was wet from my tears. She felt so warm. And so so smooth. I wanted her to stay there like that. 

But they took her away to show to my family. I wanted to stop them. I wanted to look at her some more. I craned my neck to see her until they walked out the door. 

The exhaustion hit me like a wave. I completely conked off and fell into a deep sleep. Like my sister says the best nap ever! 

Once I was moved back into the ward again, I met my baby again. And fell in love all over again. That's when I really got to take her in. Touch her. Count all her fingers and toes. Smell her. Kiss her. Tear up looking at her again. She bit right into me during the very first feeding and left me bleeding. But I didn't mind very much.  I was too much in awe that she could've sucker punched me all she wants,  I would've just sat there and gawked at her in amazement.

The next best moment was when I was finally released from the labour ward. I was wheeled out and welcomed a crop of smiling faces. My dad who patted my head and looked proud. My poor sleep deprived but happy mom, my two sisters who were beaming with happiness, my two excited and ecstatic nieces and my very concerned but sullen nephew (He was pissed that it turned out to be Another girl. He forgave me eventually though.)

This moment felt like my glory moment. Like I had gone and done something so great and emerged a hero. Like I had won a long race. And at the finish line were all these smiling faces. In my head they were applauding as well. 

My husband, who had gone to get some medicines, met me near my room. He came up to me and squeezed my hand. I could see the joy and pride in his eyes. We were parents! We have our own little girl! It felt like a dream. One we never wanted to be awoken from. We looked at each other while smiling like crazy.

And that was it. From there began the rest of my life. Life as I know it now. Life as a mother. A fairly okay mother. I think.  Haha, More on my mom-ventures later!  

The P Word

I haven't blogged in the longest time. That is because I won the lottery and so decided to travel the world. I'm writing this from a tree house in South Nambisia. Ok, no that's a lie. I didn't win the lottery. I'm writing this from the foot of my bed, at home. I haven't blogged because I got pregnant and had a baby. Surprise!!!!!! Well for the readers who aren't my friends or family who didn't know about it. That is if I do have readers who aren't my friends or family.

This is sort of part 1 of my whole pregnancy-baby series. I've run out of people who wants to listen to me go on and on about the whole thing so I'm just going to force you all to read it here.

Pregnancy, for me, was wonderful. I did have a tiny bit of throwing up and bloating and all the icky factors going on. But, for the most of it, it was pretty nice.

Here is a bunch of stuff I liked and didn't like so much about being pregnant.

Food 

 I came, I saw, I ate... And then I ate some more. I ate more than I had ever eaten in my whole life. I like to think I maintained a nice balance between healthy and not-so-healthy food. ( H (my Husband) is probably going "Yeah, right!" ). H did try to keep me off junk though as hard as he could. But he wasn't very successful, though.

"Are you telling me I can't have a chocolate doughnut? Me, the woman who is carrying life within me, the life of your child, who I have to push out of me. All by myself. One chocolate doughnut?"

It wasn't like I was eating like some sort of unstoppable monster, but this one time we went out with some people and I ended up eating off my plate, H's plate and everyone else's plate.  I don't think they minded, though. I had my baby take the bait for me.

Once when I had finished a pack of Kitkat,
H says: You finished the whole thing???
Me: No, I gave you two and I ate two."
H: Uhhh, it was a pack of five.
Me: Uhhh, the baby ate one, duh!
Which is technically not true. Baby had two, I just had one.

I stopped watching MasterChef or reading any books or watching any movie that had any association with food, because it literally pained me to read about food that I have no access to. I may or may not have cried looking at a picture of a cupcake.

Belly: I loved my belly. My big round belly, which was so so big around the end that people would just get uncomfortable looking at me. I loved it. While some people choose to hide it, I loved to flaunt it. 

Sure, there were some days where I felt like a big huge whale, especially when I once took a good 5 mins trying to get up from bed, trying to roll myself out.I also got stuck on a swing once and had to wait till somebody could come and pull me out. But on the other days, I felt beautiful. Like I had never felt before. 

I haven't done a lot of things in my life that are mindblowing and that takes a lot of responsibility. But this, growing a human life inside me was one of the hugest and scariest thing I had taken up. And it made me proud. And it makes me feel beautiful.

Plus, I love maternity clothes! I don't know why I haven't been wearing them my whole life. Super comfortable and really cute too.

Mood Swings - I had some really bad mood swings. My first trimester was filled with paranoia and fear and a lot of bitchiness, especially towards H (Sorry!). 

The second trimester was more mellow and less like a deranged person. It was more of random bouts of crying and laughing, so basically pretty much like how I used to be before I got pregnant. 

This one time though, I was showing H this really dumb, not-even-that-funny meme that someone sent me, and I just couldn't stop laughing. H laughed along with me for a while and then stopped and just sat there waiting for me to stop. Except I couldn't. I was going on and on that I literally couldn't breathe. And that scared me and so I started crying before I had even stopped laughing. Poor H. I don't think he had any idea what was going on but he managed pretty well.

Life within me 

There is literally no way to describe how it feels when the baby kicks. Like someone inside you poking their fingers or toes on your insides, so hard that you can see it from the outside. Freaky.As.Shit. 

I once described it like aliens and said it looked like how it would if you had a snake under your blanket, and then felt really guilty about having compared my baby to aliens and snakes.

 It's precious, it makes you feel wonderful, it actually is when I felt certain that ok yes, there is definitely a baby inside me, these guys aren't like pulling a prank on me or something. 

I have so many videos of my tummy moving that I send to my folks until they're like "you really don't have to send us a hundred 20-minute videos of your tummy everyday! We get it!" 

You're so happy and emotional at each kick.. And then, the baby discovers your bladder. And thinks "ooh look, a trampoline!!" And literally bounces on it so hard that you feel that you'll probably be giving birth to your bladder first. Bladder kicks and backbone kicks are Not fun.

Niceness  - I love how everyone is so nice to you when you're pregnant. My dad didn't yell at me even once during the whole nine months. H put up with me and all my nonsense cravings and mood swings and didn't say anything even when I annoyed the hell out of him. 

I got pampered like hell. I think the only two times a girl really gets pampered by everyone is when she's about to get married and when she's about to pop a baby. Everyone is like oh Don't stand too long, sit, lie down, relax, eat whatever you like, sleep, smile and listen to music. Things that I'm really good at doing!

What's in a name? - I Hated picking baby names. It was by far the most stressful thing during those months. It is so much easier when you're looking for names for your friends' kids. But when its your own, nothing is good enough. I would absolutely love a name one day and then it would make me want to throw up two days later. 

I must've gone over a thousand names, read through name books and browsed baby name websites. I started paying close attention to the credits that roll out at the end of movies, scanning for nice names. 

I made my cousins and nieces and nephew list out the names of all the kids in their classes. I even had a dream once where I have the baby and then we name her a particular name. And for a while we decided on that name because it seemed like a sign, me dreaming about it and all. And then that name made me sick after a while too. 

I also had a weird habit of typing out a name I like on Facebook search and seeing if the people with that name look like nice people or not. We finally managed to pick one boy name and one girl name, after picking many many chits. And I'd randomly call out those names when I go out for my walks. In my happy voice and my angry voice. We finally ended up naming the baby the first name my husband had ever suggested.

And that's all for the first part of this preggy-baby series. Pregnancy was actually quite nice. I really wouldn't mind being pregnant again if someone else would do the delivering the baby part for me. There was nothing "fun" about that part. But more on that next time!

Greedy Pop

Growing up, I was what you'd classify as one among the "awkward" girls. I wasn't in the popular group. I wasn't in the bad girls group. I wasn't in the brainy kids group. I wasn't in the athletic kids group. I was just that - awkwardly stuck between the many many cliques. Even today when people from my school adds me on Facebook, especially if they belonged to any of the above groups, I'm so completely wonderstuck that they actually recognize and remember me. When all this while I thought I'd been invisible.

I wasn't a loner or anything. I did have my group of friends. Every year a different group. Mostly just kids who sit next to me. And their friends. When those kids get shuffled and put into different classes the next year, the walls between us causes us to drift apart. My sisters were part of these really big gang of girls. And they'd tell me the kind of fun they'd have. Though I'd never craved to be a part of a big group, I'd always wondered what it'd be like. And what I'd be like if I were in a big group like that.

I got my chance during one lunch break in 4rth or 5th grade. I was on my way back from canteen. And on my way I passed by one of the biggest gangs of my class. I think it consisted of ten girls or so. All beautiful, popular and/or brainy. One of them beckons me. I walk up to her and is immediately surrounded by the whole gang. She looks at the chicken sandwich (or atleast I think it was a chicken sandwich) in my hand. 

"You want to join our group?" she asked.

Just like that. Do I want to join? I looked at her like I didn't understand what she was saying.

"You want to join or what?" 

In the distance, I can see my two friends waiting. And I'm torn. My mind was whirring.
This is my break. My big opportunity to get into the big gang of popular girls. My folks would be so proud. (Yes, they actually would've been. My dad always wanted me to hang out with the bright and brainy kids so that I get influenced or whatever). My whole life could change with this one minute.What about my friends? Oh, I can still be friends with them and still be in this group. They'd understand!  I should just say yes. Yes, yes, YES!

"Yes", I said timidly.

"What? We can't hear you. Speak loudly."

"Yes!"

"Okay, good. So she is now part of our group now, okay?"

She takes a candy bar. Hobby, I think.

"Here, take this." she said holding it out.

I'm hesitant. 

"No, its okay. I don't want. Thanks"

"Arey, just take it, yaar. We're all friends now."

I'm still a bit reluctant, but I manage to reach out and take the chocolate.

And regretted it a second later. The minute the chocolate was in my hand, all the girls who had been standing around watching the whole exchange started chanting at the top of their voices.

"GREEDY POP, GREEDY POP, GREEDY POP, GREEDY POP"

Okay, Don't ask me what a greedy "pop" is. But I was terrified. And so damn humiliated. I let go of the chocolate and ran away as fast as I could. Not stopping to look back while they continued to chant and laugh at me. I don't remember where I ran to. I remember crying. I remember vowing to get revenge and all that. But I don't think anything happen. Everybody forgot about it and so did I. I never really thought much about it after that. Just a stupid little incident.

It was only after I had grown up, I realised that I had an aversion towards gangs. I mean, don't get me wrong, I have had small groups of friends too. But I've never gone up and tried to become part of an already established gang of friends again. I'd make friends with a person, but when I realise they're part of a group, I'd slowly move away from them, rather than be forced to join in. When introduced to a group of people, I get nervous and fidgety and anxious. And like I want to run away as far as I could as fast as I can. Which is stupid, because its not like they're going to suddenly start yelling greedy pop, greedy pop or anything.  I somehow expect them to pull the rug from underneath me at any moment.
I don't know what the point of this post was. I just suddenly remembered this incident couple of days ago. I had always dreamt of one day becoming rich and famous and driving to my old school in a huge fancy Porshe in front of all those girls and screaming Greedy Pop in their faces. But then here I am unemployed and old with a life that is going nowhere. And most of those girls have got amazing careers and are married with kids and, this is the worst part, have gotten incredibly hot over the years. Ugh. I wish my life was an American teen movie.
But then life goes on. I don't think I hold a grudge against them anymore. In one way or the other, they helped me become the person I am today. And while its not the best person imaginable, its not too bad either. I may not have the dream life that I dreamt of. But I am pretty happy what I've got. I married a fantastic guy, I have a few close good friends and an amazing family. And this blog that all you awesome-sauce people read! I wouldn't trade all that in for anything. Not even a shiny Porshe. :)

So Yesterday

A couple of days ago "What I miss the most" was trending on Twitter. And I went on tweeting-rage that day. Here are a few things that I Miss the Most.

VHS Tapes - The excitement while going to the video rental store. The search for the perfect Thrusday evening movie(I grew up in the Middle East, where the weekend used to be on Friday). The squeal of happiness when you find that the one that you've been waiting for is in today. The restlessness as you pop it into the player and listen to the whir as it rewinds. Winding the tape with a pencil when the player gets stuck. Sticking the magnetic tape with cellotape when it breaks due to overuse (my Alladin tape)

Getting my hair cut in the barber shop - They do a neat job and they do not bug you with unwanted advice. They do not tell you how a clean-up could solve all your problems in life. They do not tell you obvious things about yourself ("hey, you're graying. hey, you have pimples, hey, you have crap hair") And they do that cool thing with an electric razor on the back of your head. Awesome it is.

Dungarees -  I wore dungarees to school on my 14th birthday. I looked like a complete idiot. But dungarees were undeniably cool during those days. Not to mention comfortable.

Highlighter pens - I used this pen a lot, mostly to show people who bothered to look through my books that I've read all this. Though I really wouldn't have. I like how it would brighten up the pages of my boring Chemistry or Physics book.

My bunk bed - I bagged the top bunk before my sister could. I broke the bed in a couple months and had to share bottom bunk with sister. :(

White Ink bubbles - My desk at school used to be filled with white ink bubbles. If you haven't tried making white ink bubbles, you should. There is something very soothing about it.  Not sure if it had anything to do with its smells.

Bicycles - I don't understand why people don't ride cycles too much after they've grown up. I mean you don't need a license to drive it. And its way better exercise than sitting on a scooty or a bike. And how can you ever feel sad when you're riding a cycle?

The way Barbie smells - Go to a shop. Pick up a Barbie. Smell her. She smells heavenly. Try not to get thrown out of the shop in case people think you're a pervert.

The Titanic Craze - All the boys were sporting the Jack Dawson hairstyle. The girls all had fake 10 Dhs version of the Blue Diamond. And everyone around the corner was going "I'm the king of the world" and doing the classic Titanic pose. I had a Titanic phonebook, a Titanic t-shirt, a Titanic notebook and a box of clipping of anything related to Leonardo DiCaprio. It was nice to be manically obsessed with something.

Enid Bylton books - This I miss the most. I had this huuuuuge collection of Enid Bylton books which I used to read over and over again. Fairy tales, mysteries, school stories...had them all. I remember going to book fairs and coming home with tonnes of books. And just gobbling up the words all night long. I'd finish reading all the books by morning. How I longed to grow up and write books just like she did. My dad sold all my books when I was away at college. So now I don't have even a single book to mark my childhood. Someday I hope to buy them all again. If not for my child, then for myself. Those books, they were the most magical things of my childhood days.


Photo albums - No, not the ones on Facebook or Picasa. The real actual ones. The ones that you pile around when your friends come to visit. And the ones from which some guy who has a crush on you flicks a pic or two when you're not looking. The plastic ones that the studio gives with the developed photos and the negatives. They almost always have a real corny pic on the cover. I miss the feel of an album. I miss putting pics in frames and on pin boards.

Pen-pals - I never had one. But my sister did. And it was so cool. Getting an actual letter from a person living in a weird exotic country far away (okay, so maybe her pen-pal lived in the street next to ours or something, but still) I did have quite a few online-pals. Back before Facebook and Twitter was around to spoil all the mystery one could evoke about themselves. Long, long emails. I think my first email friend was a 14 year old Australian girl called Amber. Sure, "Amber" could also have been a 44 year old Indian uncle with a hairy chest and a vest with holes in it. Still, the not-knowing was splendid enough. At one phase of my life, I had more online friends than real-life friends. Now I have more imaginary friends than real-life friends.

Ink pens - The whole process of filling ink into the pen the night before school, after you're done "keeping your timetable" (that's arranging your books according to the periods the next day. Cos a bunch of jumbled out of order books would mean absolute chaos.) I couldn't figure out how to do it for the longest time. My sister had to show me. But that feeling of accomplishment when I finally nailed it! Awesome. I also miss ink cartridges, the ones with a tiny silver ball in it. Me and whole bunch of girls in school had a collection of those tiny silver balls. I also had a broken pencil points collection. Now I collect tweets. :-/

Old phones - The one with the holes that you have to stick a finger in and twirl. I used to love twirling all the numbers starting from 0 upto 9, for no apparent reason. I love the tiny ringy sound it makes. I miss the heaviness of the receiver. *sigh*

I can hear a lot of my younger readers going, wow, you are like super ultra old aren't you? (You know who you are, don't you) Yes, yes I'm old and ancient and whatever. But hey, I'm still here aren't I? So in a sense I get the best of both worlds. And also, while you write a post 15 years from now about the good ol' days of Facebook and Ipads, my great grandkids will come and tell you that you're old. So there. :P
I could go on and on and on. Don't get me wrong. I'm not like stuck in the past or anything. I'm cool with all the new things too. But just sometimes, I wish I could sneak back into the past, just for a day or two, and wallow in the simplicity of things and come back and update my Facebook status about it. :)

Tell me, what are the things that you miss the most?

Nothing Happen Today. Good Night.

            I was going through a bunch on my old stuff some time back. I've got these cardboard boxes full of "junk" as my mom and dad likes to call it. But I like to call it my "Treasure Chest Of Memorabilia" (ok, no, I don't. I just call it my stuff. This sounded fancier. And I wasn't even sure what memorabilia meant.. or how its spelt .Google to the rescue as always.)

Anyway so this treasure chest which might just look like an ordinary suitcase from the outside, is filled with years of valuable and one-in-a-million memories. Bits of scrap paper passed around in class, movie tickets, wrapping paper with tag on, letters and cards, flowers that has been dried between pages of books, locks of hair (no, im not a psycho), stones from a memorable place and other things that mite cause you to rethink my sanity level. Among all these, I found a couple of diaries. Now who hasn't written a diary once atleast once in a lifetime. They're so wonderful and personal, especially when you start writing so young. To me as a kid, it a whole new playground. I didn't have to use my best handwriting. I didn't have to stay between the lines. I could use pens with ink that are not blue or black. I could doodle right in the middle of the book if I wanted. And I could stop writing whenever I wanted. My first diary was introduced to me by an aunt, who wanted to encourage us kids to write. It was this lil black leather book with a flap so that you can button it shut. I wrote unfailingly for weeks. Some of my entries, as I read it now.. are hilarious : 

September 7^th Wednesday 1994

Today in the I had a very BIG headace. At home alsaso my dad brought the termomiter. I was having 100.

Um.. ok so not hilarious,maybe. Just plain dumb. For a 9 year old anyway. I'm guessing the headache affected my sentence formation.. And my spellings.. thank god you can't see my handwriting. :-/

January 23 Sunday 1994

Today in school I did not have 4 peread. I am so happy today because I don't have tuion.

July 12 Tuesday 1994

Today I went to ice scat. I could not scat. But I enjoyed it. I am sleepy. Good night. Bye.

I said good night, bye, sometimes Good evening and occasionally, love ya, to my diary. I know…  :-/

After a while the posts got shorter and shorter : 

June 18 Saturday 1994

Dear Diary, Nothing happen today. Good night.

June 19 Sunday 1994

Dear Diary, Nothing happen today also. Good night.

About a month of this and then I got even lazier and started to resort to using ,, ,, in every day's column. As in "same-as-above". Apparently nothing happen to me for the rest of the year.

But then again when a new year dawns, I'd again start off on the crisp pages (which smells yummy by the way) of a fresh new diary. 

Once in my teens, I realized diaries are kinda kiddish and that I should move on to the grown-up version of diaries - the journal.

 I'm not sure what the difference is, but I was a major Babysitter's Club fan then, and the kids in that book always wrote in journals, which simultaneously (crap, I cannot spell simultaneously.. without spell check that is.) was considered to be a cool thing to do.

See the journal on the floor? See it? So cool!

 I figure the only difference is that diaries are meant to be written at night before bed and journals you can whip em up whenever you want and bitch bout life in it. Which was pretty much all I did in my journal. Complain bout my parents. Complain bout how I look. Complain about my best friends. Complain bout how much I had to study and how utterly useless algebra is. With an occasional random post about a new crush or two. :-)

May 16^th 1999 (excerpts)

….. except for one who is drop-dead gorgeous. Well, he's not that cute but then he is really cute. But I think he's some sort of fuddy-duddy (I'm not making this up. I did use the words "fuddy-duddy". I mean how cool was I!)

……….When a girl next to me said the words "fall in love" to someone she was talking to, I looked up at the same time he was looking at me. I know its silly and doesn't mean anything my heart was pounding so bad that time. I think I'm a silly jerk. He doesn't have a nice accent and he hardly ever laughs. Geek. But he looks nice when he smiles……

…..I really really wanna talk to him but I don't have the guts. What am I gonna say anyway? I heard he's a boring conversationalist…….

Ahhhh to be 13 again! 

Note : To know how that story ended.. clickety click here!

I stuck to that journal throughout my teenage years. It wasn't much to look at. It was a notebook with a picture of a bunch of animals on the cover. And it says P.M.S deluxe. Lol! I just noticed that now. I bought it from the store in front of my house for 7 bucks. Eventually I punched a hole through all the pages so that I could slip a lock through it. For ensured privacy. Expect I lost the key one day and had to rip it open anyway. The last post I've written in it is where I'm stressing bout passing 12^th grade and college and life in India.

Do I seem 18 now? ( I asked the 192 paged book) I think the way I write is different (not my handwriting). Or maybe I'm just trying too hard…

What's that even supposed to mean?

Once in college, I didn't do much journal or diary writing because college hostels are one place where girls just get a kick outta reading other people's diaries. In fact, when I was a kid, I used to jump at every chance to read my sister's diary. Except it didn't have anything earth-shattering in it. On the first page of her diary, she'd write – Do Not Open and do this drawing of the danger sign which actually just looked like a peanut on top of an X. On page two, she'd personally address me and say something like "You know its bad manners to read other people's diaries so PUT IT DOWN", which is sooo the wrongest thing to say to a jobless kid with a level of curiosity that could've killed a whole street of cats. But seriously, her diaries were boring. So in college, when eventually I did start writing, it was more or less for an audience. I'd write it so that others would like it if they read it. It would be humorous and charming with tit-bits of interesting trivia once in a while.

So today I hit a mosquito with my bare hands and then I swear I heard a crackling sound. I felt bad about it for a bit, but alas! (yes, alas) the deed had been done. I had crushed the poor thing's endoskeleton..Which as I know is just like human skeletons but on the outside. Yaawn, Off to bed, then. Tomorrow is gonna be another jam-packed day! (uh, yeah right!)

Sometimes I'd force my roommate to write about me in their diary then read it out loud to me. I think she tore out those pages about me after I went to sleep. :-/

Once I discovered blogging, I haven't really felt the need to write a diary. Most of my innermost thoughts and feelings, I usually blog about it. Or its my Facebook status. Ten years ago, I'd have tore someone's eyes out if they so much as hovered near my diary and read about my days where Nothing Happen today again. Now I'm just putting it all up on the web.. for public display.. of billions and thousands of people (ok, so not that many, I don't get that many hits on my blog :-( )

I started a diary last year though. But I stick to one-liners now. 

Day 1 - I got my driver's license today! Yay!

Day 2 - I almost run over someone today. Bummer!

Day 3 - I got my first pay-check. Yay!

Day 4 - I got fired today. Bummer!

After a while, I think I'll probably just shorten it to emoticons.  

Day 1

:-)

Day 2

:-(

Day 3

:-/

Day 4

?;0-(0''!~

Don't ask.

Guess Where I Found Zen?



"Everyone needs to find their Zen. What do I mean by that? Zen means peace, meditation, calmness. We are conditioned to stressing and forboding and worrying, it's human nature. It's difficult for us as humans, to focus on the moment and find peace or even want it, but we do however, need peace in our lives."

Everyone has their own ways to zen.

Ross to Phoebe :

No, no don't!
 Stop cleansing my aura!
No, just leave my aura alone, okay

Of cleansing their auras. I love how Phoebe from F*R*I*E*N*D*S does it by.. well.. literally plucking out the yuckies from your aura. But for the saner lot, it's mostly yoga or music or a walk or whatever. I’ve always wondered what my aura-cleansing technique is. Well not just an aura cleanser.. but also a stress-busting, depression-dissolving, life-mending technique.

I used to sing to ease my worries. No, not just randomly sing.. I would take the pains to listen to a song and write down the lyrics.. even though I could just get it off the Internet. I like to write it down myself cos a) this usually happens in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep and I’m too lazy to turn on the computer again and b) when you write down the lyrics, you can write them down exactly how you hear it if you don’t understand what the actual words are. I don't know how thats better. But it is.

Like the song Survivor by Destiny’s Child. I swear, it goes “I’m a survivor, I’m not go-giver, I’m a bus driver, Imma work harder!”, which sounds all wrong and probably is wrong but it cracks me up so I never really tried to find out the real lyrics.

Anyway, singing usually used to work for me until my nose kept getting blocked all the time and I literally lose my breath after half the song and also its no fun when you have to sing it like “Ibha surbhiber, Ibha bhus drivher”.. It doesn’t really make you feel like a survivor.. or a bus driver for that matter.

So after that, I couldn’t figure out what to do to get rid of all those bad/sad feelings.Until I tried gardening.

It was awesome. Everytime you bring that shovel down on the hard ground, you feel like your cracking through the brains of all your murky problems in life. And when I come across a worm- forgive me all animal right-ist and worm lovers – but I squish it. And I feel better. So there I was, digging and squishing, digging and digging more than I needed to dig. With more aggression that I’ve ever felt in my life. Once I was done, I was proud of myself and resolved that this was going to be my solution to dark days forever. I'd found my zen in the mud and dirt. Everything was great until the next morning when I woke up and found that my arms had temporarily stopped function. Well okay, that’s an over-exaggeration. They did function. Except every time they tried to function, it felt like everyone of those tiny worms I squished the day before had cloned themselves to infinity and had magically made their way inside my body to bite into each inch of the little muscle that I had somewhere between all those bones. Apparently worms have got someone looking out for them too.

I had to figure out another way to unwind before I drove myself insane. I thought of yoga which seemed like the obvious way to go. But I didn’t wanna cause further damage than I had already caused. Everytime I tried yoga in the past, I’d require atleast two days of bed rest atleast until I figure out that I’m bending or twisting in the wrong direction.

That is when I came across this awesome cooking blog. I’m not gonna give you the link b'cos I found it and its mine. And you can’t have it...... It’s mine.

I’m very possessive about my blog finds. I “found” the 1000awesomethings blog and a month later, there was an article about it in the Reader’s Digest. Sure, the blog had atleast a bazillion visitors already… but I found it. :-/

So anyway, the cooking blog.. the secret cooking blog was amazing. I started to make something everyday. And wonder of wonders, everything was.. well.. sorta edible. Well ok, it wasn’t repulsive either! I mean, I was actually good at it and got better everyday. Every afternoon, I’d browse the blog and figure out what I want to make, jot down the recipe and get crackin’. It was awesome, apart from an occasional hard-as-coconut-shells biscuits, everything else was scrummilicious. I was in bliss. It went on great until one day I had my heart set on making Banana bread. I don’t even like bananas, but it just seemed like a cool thing to make! And it was simple as hell too! I went to the store and got extra butter and eggs and everything and was all excited to make it. So in the afternoon, I go to the kitchen to make my much-awaited Banana bread. I lay out all my ingredients until I notice one tiny little thing was missing. We were out of bananas.

I swear, it was like my world was falling apart! I just had to had to make it that day itself! I mean, how can we not have bananas!? We always have bananas! My house literally grew on banana trees! I have never been that terribly upset. I was literally in tears. It was like I just missed out on winning the Nobel Prize. After spending hours, mourning on my bed, I considered trying to make something else. But figured, what’s the point? When you’re looking for lemonade, life just hands you one rotten lemon after another(we were out of lemons too :-( )

I listened to sad songs, sat around in the dark and cried my eyes out. After a while, I wasn’t sure if it was about the bananas (or the lemon) anymore. With the little light coming in through the window and tears flowing down my cheeks, somehow it crossed my mind that this would make a great photograph. All artsy and stuff. Still sniffing and sobbing, but without hesitation, I picked up my phone and clicked a picture of myself... only to find that I looked positively ghastly. It made me cry even more and curse stupid actors in movies who look positively angelic while they cry. Bloody nonsense. Oh, why.. why is everything in my life going so wrong! Where the hell is my goddamn zen! Self pity, self pity and more self-pity. Ugh.

Anyhow, crying always makes me want to pee. I don’t know what the connection is. You’re losing liquid…and somehow that makes you want to lose more liquid. Anyway, I stepped into the bathroom. The bathroom was really dirty from all the mud from the garden and just murk in general. I gestured to the empty room and said to myself “This…this is my life….A big disgusting mess...” Silence.

Without a moment’s thought, I grabbed a sponge and some floor cleaner. Down on all fours, I started scrubbing. After I was done, I looked down and still wasn’t satisfied. So I grabbed hold of every single bathroom-cleaning equipment lying around including an old toothbrush of mine and did it again. This time I gave it my all, which means between the tiles and near the clogged drain. By the time I was on the last tile, I was surprised when I realised that I was actually grinning. I’ve cleaned up the “big disgusting mess”. Ok fine so maybe my life hadn't magically cleaned itself up too. But I realized that if I could clean up this great big mess, well, then no mess is too big for me!

No mess is too big for me.  That's my current aura-cleaning methodology now. I'm on my way to Zen. And to think.. of all the places, I looked.. I found mine in the bathroom. :-)