DISTANCE IS JUST A WORD

Distance is just a word.

“You often don’t realize how much you love a person till distance comes between you and them.”

I never really gave a thought about staying away from home. I always thought I’d be in Bangalore, going to the same college as my best friends. I never thought I had the courage to give up Science and choose Humanities. But most of all, I’d never thought I had to move away from my friends and family, because of what I chose. I knew that following your dreams would cost you, but I didn’t know this would be the price.

Until my 10^th grade, I never had to worry about my friends. We were a group of four, wrapped in our own little bubble, not caring about the rest of the world. We made plans together, imagined a future together. We promised we’d be in the same school, but of course, that didn’t happen. After my 7^th grade, the closest friend I had, Sanjna, was forced into changing her school. 5 of us were reduced to 4, and there was no way that I could fill up that void. She is a part of my childhood; the part I’d trade anything for- to relive it. The times we fought over a piece of chocolate covered in dirt, the times we got kicked out of class (which was pretty much every day), the times we spent thinking about how we’d end up famous by the age of 16; these were the times when I learnt how to think big, dream big, and enjoy life to the fullest. But the beginning of 8^th grade still had a lot in store for me. I didn’t have my best friend, it was devastating, but that wasn’t it. Our classes got shuffled. Thankfully, one person from my group of four ended up in this class; the one whom I’ve known all my life- Surabhi. She’s a major part of who I am today. From the very first day of my Montessori school, till date, she’s not heard my stories. She’s lived them with me. And I just realized I’ve never really thanked her for that.  (If you read this. I love you!) Three years passed smoothly, even with its ups and downs, the 4 of us managed to cling to the boat as much as possible. But all fairy tales need to end, and mine ended on 26^th March 2012. That was the day my 10th-grade board exams ended. Of course, we had promised to stay together but life had a different plan for us. Out of the 4, three of them went to state colleges, and only I decided to stay back in school for my higher secondary education. I cursed myself months together for what I did, but looking back, I now know that it was one of the best decisions I ever took.

11^th grade was probably the most challenging year for me because I’d never had the need to make friends before, and now, I had to start from the scratch. Luckily, one day, I landed in the last bench, having no other place to sit, because I was late to class. This tiny little girl whom I had ignored throughout my school life was sitting to my right, and I didn’t speak a word. “Can I borrow the pencil?” I heard. I simply nodded, not wanting to talk. “Can I borrow the ruler?” I nodded again. “I’m so sorry I borrowed your stuff” repeated the same voice again, at the end of the class. “Woman, if you behave this formally once again, I will slap you!” I barked out. And that’s how Sravya and I became friends! I slowly began to mingle with people I knew (the ones who had a history with my old group of friends) and the ones who were friends with the girl sitting next to me. I can’t go into details, but if somebody came to me back then and told me that these people would mean so much to me today, I’d have given them the address of the nearest mental hospital. Today, I would call myself the luckiest person alive to have such people in my life.

After high-school, there is a time when you just lose your mind! College options, courses, the tension, the pressure, your future- all of it makes you forget the value of things around you. I don’t think anybody makes mistakes or breaks promises as much as they do during this time! I had promised Varun that I would study architecture in the same college as him. I'm sorry I didn't keep my word, but I love you! (And if I've not thanked you for staying up all night listening to my bullshit, or for being the reason for 3/4th of my laughter till date, let me just tell you that I love you more than anyone else can!) Pranjali and I had plans of going shopping every weekend once we’re in college. Today, I see her once in 6 months. It all happened so fast, it was hard for us to keep up. The day I got my acceptance letter to Manipal, I knew I wouldn’t look back. I knew there was just one chance in my hand- and the only chance perhaps- to pursue my dream, and I didn’t look back. Neither did Pranjali. While everybody stayed back in Bangalore, we were moving away. And I didn’t know what I was leaving behind, till I left.

It’s been 6 months now; one semester. I know it’s not long, but it seems like it was just yesterday that we got our letters. Just yesterday, when Pranjali and I sat and discussed the things we had to pack. Just yesterday, that we bid farewell to all our friends, anticipating what was to come. If somebody tells you that things will never change, they’re lying. If you aren’t losing friends with time, you’re not growing up. The number of times you talk to your friends' decrease. Your promises of Skyping every day become mere words. The calls reduce over time, and you make new friends. Fights increase; misunderstandings too. The feeling of not knowing increases. But what doesn’t change a bit is how much you value that person in your life. What doesn’t change one bit is the hollow feeling you have inside you; without them. When one mentions long distance relationships, it is our tendency to think of couples, but that’s not true. Long distance friendships are even harder to manage. They make you realize that each and every moment spent with them, which seemed so ordinary back then, is something you value and treasure now. On those occasional calls and chats, you talk about your old days, laugh about those stupid pranks you played, cry over old crushes and heartbreaks, bitch about the people you hate (or don’t hate at times), criticize how stupid those old plans were, and wish how you were still together. There are times when you call your friend at 3 am, and talk about life. (Yes, that happens, and Pranjali, I can't thank you enough for being there every time. I love you too!) Everything about them becomes so special. Their birthdays become the most important day in history and you make sure you do everything you can to make them feel special even in your absence. At times, you also make sure that you get super emotional just to make sure they miss you too. The number of selfies you take and the number of social networking sites you’re on increases, just to make sure they keep up with your life. The best days are those when you return home; the semester breaks. That feeling when you see them for the first time after so long, the ‘catching up’ sessions, the stupidity; all of it makes you feel like that moment, which comes so rare, that moment should never end. 

No matter how many friends you make in your life, no matter how many people you meet every day, or how happening your life is, nothing can replace the friends you make in your childhood. These people know you like nobody else. They loved you even when you looked like a douche. They love you even after puberty did wonders to you. They love you at your best, and they’ve seen you at your worst. Each one of them, whether they've been with you for a day, or all your life, has contributed in the making of who you are today. If you're proud of yourself today, then thank them for being a major part of it. They were the ones who saw something special in you before the world could. These are the people worth fighting for; these are the people who deserve to stay in your life. No matter how far you are, never give up on them. If you have a friend who played an important part in your life, if you made memories with them, then call them up right now and show them how much they mean to you. After all, ‘distance’ is just a word.

I love you all.

HOW ABOUT A PET PLANT?

Horcrux and me with Horcrux.

“Did you hear about the rose that grew from a crack in the concrete? Proving nature's laws wrong, it learned to walk without having feet. Funny, it seems to by keeping it's dreams; it learned to breathe fresh air. Long live the rose that grew from concrete when no one else even cared.” ― Tupac Shakur, The Rose That Grew from Concrete

“What?” Rakshan asked.
“My pet plant” I said.
“I didn’t know people had stuff like that!”
“Nobody does. It’s just my pet plant!” I replied.

All my life, I’ve never really had a pet that stayed with me. Oh wait, I don’t mean my pets hated me and that’s why they didn’t stay with me. No, that’s not what I mean. Let me give you an example. So, when my dad finally decided to get me a puppy, in 3^rd grade, I was more than happy! But a week after ‘Jimmy Sr’ and I shared 23 hours a day playing with each other, the previous owner decided to pay a visit and cried over the fact that his son was missing the puppy, and that he wanted to take it back home. ‘WHAT! Are you serious? Your son hates dogs! That’s why this puppy is with me! Get out uncle! Go get your son another puppy, Jimmy Sr is mine!’ was my mental response. “Oh, but, I really like him. Doesn’t your son want any other puppy? Oh okay, you can take him” was my actual response. What did you expect? I was a helpless 3^rd grader, that’s all. Few months passed, and after hours and hours of begging, my dad got me another puppy! Jimmy Jr! This was during my final exams, and even if it was just 3^rd grade, my mom asked my dad to keep the puppy away for a few days, so I could study. Well, it was just a puppy and it fell in love with its temporary owner, and I didn’t get it back. The third (and the last attempt) was in 7^th grade when my dad finally got me another puppy! Jimmy the Third. By now, you must have realised that I have a thing for the name-Jimmy.  Want to know what happened to this one? Nothing. I sent it to my brother’s place to let him train my dog. And it stayed there. Yes, I know; pretty depressing.

But dogs were not the only pets I had. I’ve had my fair share with rabbits, which didn’t last long. A hamster; which my brother stole when I wasn’t home. Love birds; loads of them, which I couldn’t cuddle or anything, but hey, I got to see a lot of action, the eggs that followed, and some cute little chicks (or baby birds, whatever) that joined the family. But they got really old, and we had to give them away to a young boy, who took them home with great joy and hope. I heard they died within a week. Poor boy. The most wonderful experience I have had with pets is when a street cat- which I rescued when it was a kitten- decided to make love to my neighbour’s cat and ended up pregnant! Was I happy or what! And 3 kittens became a part of my life! But that was not it. The cat got pregnant again, but this time, 5 cute kittens were born! And that was how I got Thoppe, my kitten! This kitten was born huge, like super huge and it grew up to just grow fatter and fatter!
But yeah, like every other not-so-happy ending, I had to give all of them away because I was going away to college, and my parents couldn’t take care of such a huge number. Amidst all this mess, I realised I already had a pet, which I never noticed; my plant.

In April of 2013, I suddenly woke up one day and decided I wanted a plant. Okay, it wasn’t so sudden. I’d watched the movie Orphan, and I was so fascinated by those white roses in the movie, I just couldn’t stop thinking about it. There were around 50 plants in my home already, but I decided I wanted one of my own. And that’s how the plant with white roses ended up in my home. Till I wrote this article, my plant was called ‘The plant’. I realised how depressing that sounded, so I decided to name it Horcrux; a part of my soul. Let me tell you something. Having a plant for a pet isn’t a bad idea at all. If you can, you should try it out too! It doesn’t poop, and that’s the biggest advantage. It’s helping you live, like literally, by providing oxygen. It listens to you, and it doesn’t judge you. Neither does it get cuddly, nor does it walk away. There is no way I can develop an allergy to it, and I don’t find fur all over my bed. Horcrux is the most saint-like creature I’ve ever met; just sitting in a corner, with a halo over it. Asking the plant for advice is like asking me what calculus is. The plant doesn’t speak. It doesn’t know English. The plant will sit there and stare at you till you come up with your own advice. See? Life skills. We all know that having a pet puts you into the ‘less likely to be depressed’ category immediately, even if your pet is a plant. Another positive aspect of it is that you never have to exercise or run around, which you need to do if you have a dog. You never have to share food. Ever. You’ll never feel lonely either. And the best part about Horcrux is that it never grew bigger than what it was when I saw it. But you might not be that lucky.

Basically, my point is, if you’re crying over the fact that you are lonely in life, or that things have fallen apart, or if you just want a pet and your parents refuse to get you one, then go ahead and buy a plant! Talk to it, treat it like a human, care and nurture it. Believe me, it’s completely worth it.

And also, now that you all know I have a saint-like plant for a pet, we’re going to have one “shrink session” with it, every week (whether you like it or not) which involves a few Q&A’s about life. And love. And all the other bullshit, to gain knowledge on what it means to a plant. Till then, take care.

With love (and some brain fertilizer),
Horcrux & Owner.

TRUST ME; I'M LYING.

"Whoever controls the media controls the mind." - Jim Morrison

One of the biggest challenges faced by the society today is controlling their own mind. How often do we see a person with an original opinion? How often do we value a person’s opinion? Be it something as major as wanting a particular prime minister, to something as trivial as choosing a movie to watch, we blindly follow what the media says; rarely questioning it. Being a media student myself, I still come under its influence. No, I’m not trying to say “Lady Gaga wants to control our minds”. That is not the case. She is simply a small part of the huge system that is the mass media.


Mass media are media forms designed to simply reach the largest audience possible. They include TV, movies, radio, newspapers, magazines, books, records, video games, and the internet; basically everything under the sun. We don’t see such a large network of communication owned by the common man. It’s for the common man, by the elite. Confused? Let me break it down for you. When Reliance (owned by Mukesh Ambani, one of the richest men in India- elite, didn’t I tell you?) took over Network 18, which owns CNN IBN-one of the best news channels in India- nobody was surprised to know that it was the death of Media Independence. Following the takeover, was a massive drop in the information provided to us on the negative side of Reliance Industries Ltd. And when we do not see (or not allowed to see) the negative aspect of a situation, we blindly believe that the subject in the situation came straight out of the Bible. Does this mean that our independence to think freely and have our own opinion is under danger? One word, yes. Your brain is dead meat.
My point is that an ignorant population does not know its rights, does not seek a greater understanding of issues and does not question authorities. It simply follows trends. It simply follows the media. Popular culture nurtures this ignorance by continually serving them some brain-numbing entertainment. Some feed them by spotlighting degenerate celebrities to be idolized. I’m not saying media’s influence is always bad. My point is that the extent to which you let it influence you is bad. If you ask me, “Is there a way to stop this?”  Yes, there is.
STOP BUYING THEIR CRAP AND MAKE YOUR OWN DECISIONS.

True, that media just influences us and our decisions are our own, but what if you’re influenced to such an extent that you believe there are no choices? Let me give you few examples from different sectors.

1. When we elected for Mr.  Narendra Modi, as Prime Minister, (Oh please, you and I both know we didn’t vote for BJP, we voted for Modi) how many of them truly weighed pros and cons that would follow, and how many of them went with the herd? Around 65-70% of India’s population would fall under the second category. Modi, with his excellent PR and Advertising agencies, wiped out the thought from our minds that other candidates existed too. Remember the famous slogan, “Abki baar Modi sarkar”? Remember how memes and statuses emerged up in thousands of numbers and everybody was sharing it? Yes, it seems funny now, but go back in time and think about it. If it wasn’t for the media’s influence, would you really be campaigning? In fact, half of them didn’t even know that in the process of posting a status as a joke, they were indirectly campaigning for him.

2. Justin Beiber. How many of you hate him? Woah, that’s a large number! Okay, hands down. I’m not a fan myself, but why do you hate him? If you have a genuine reason, then you’re excused, but if you don’t, then whose influence are you under? The media.  Half the people don’t even know why they hate him. They haven’t heard his songs, they haven’t seen the videos, neither have they seen him making out with a guy. But no, they choose to look beyond the obvious and hate him.

3. Ever got a shampoo with some hope to have hair like Katrina Kaif? Finished the disgusting packs of Kellogg’s K to get a figure like Deepika Padukone? Even flaunted a style like Tom Cruise from one of movies, or tried talking like Benedict Cumberbatch from Sherlock Holmes? What are you really doing there? If it weren’t for those serials and advertisements, which product would you choose? Whose style would you copy? The media packed these products like little Christmas presents and kept them there, and man, were you fast in grabbing the presents or what!

4. Finally, the social media! We live in a generation where a life without Facebook, WhatsApp, and YouTube isn’t considered a 'life' in the first place. “Dude, what’s your Facebook ID?” “Uh man, I don’t have one!” “What!? Dude, get a life!” We don’t notice how we keep going back to our pages, like how I keep coming back to this blog, we keep checking for notifications, and we let online game rule our world. Of-course, we live in an era where social media is necessary to show our existence on earth. But at times- influenced by media- we fantasize about our life so much, that we lose perspective of it.

“If a nation expects to be ignorant and free, it expects what never was and never will be.”

– Thomas Jefferson

THE CONTENTS OF THE HALF FULL GLASS

The contents of the hall full glass.

“And you’re awake because?” she asked for the 6^th time.

“Just because”, I answered casually, not knowing what else to say.

Before I begin with this article, I just want to say that yes, I noticed my blog looks different now, and the caption is different too (just in-case you haven’t noticed, please scroll up) and this was what I was doing at 4 am in the morning- I was modifying my blog. And to warn you, this article is all about my caption. Planning on closing the page already? Don’t even think about it.

I always thought I was one of those people who could never sit in a place and write. I never really imagined opening a blog in the first place. It was probably in August when a lecturer from my college gave us the assignment of opening a blog. My immediate reaction was “What the? I need to write? Shoot me already”, which was followed by crying over my desk, wailing on my way to hostel, and cribbing about it to my roommate. With great difficulty, I successfully managed to open a blog and post two articles (which lie somewhere in the beginning of the blog now) and that was it! I promised myself I wasn’t going to blog about anything and drifted to what seemed like a peaceful slumber. Days passed, and nothing happened- till one day, I walked past one of my classmates who seemed completely lost in an article he was typing, and I ended up disturbing him; as usual. After a brief conversation, he popped a question. “Why don’t you blog?” Why don’t I blog? Are you kidding me? Give me one reason why I would even think of blogging and wasting my time rather than doing something useful- like doing nothing. “I can’t write for shit” was what I answered after some mental math. “Who cares if you can write well, or if people would like it? You can write- that’s what matters. I’m sure somebody will stumble upon your useless blog and read it!” Yeah, thanks a lot man, but ain’t nobody got time for that. “Yeah, let’s see about that!” I barked out and left. For some reason though, I was surprised by how optimistic he was. Okay maybe he wasn’t that optimistic, but at-least he wasn’t negative like me. I tried to get it off my mind, but the thought kept running back in. I realized that while I looked at the half empty glass and cribbed about life, he could look at the half full glass and make the most of it. That’s when I started blogging. Over time, blogging has become something I like to do, and not forced to do anymore. It’s given me a platform to express my thoughts and make people visualize them. In life, we often ignore the small things that can make huge changes and always search for the big picture. We’re pessimistic about anything and everything that doesn’t go our way. Yes, that includes me too, stop judging. We get so caught up in making everything look perfect. If we’re asked to blog, we complicate simple ideas by using big words, and making the reader go “What’s happening? Am I stupid, am I dyslexic?” It’s a blog, not a dictionary! We’re so caught up in the race of becoming better than the other person that we begin to find faults in ourselves; some of them don’t even exist. We make our life the half empty glass. On the other hand, people see the half full glass in different ways. A capitalist would just paste a sticker on it which says iGlass, and sell it for $50. An opportunist would just drink the glass of water and walk away, while an ideologist would try to provide unlimited energy from a glass of water and end the war. A realist doesn’t care if the glass is empty or full, it’s just a glass to him. But the best way to see it- is to see it as an optimist. The one who can see the positive side of any situation. The one who can make someone’s life better. The one who doesn’t dwell on a problem, but looks for a solution. The one who can encourage people and tell them that they are worth something; the one who can see the beauty in everything. The one who chooses to see the huge white plain canvas in front of him, and draw a beautiful landscape called life on it, than devote his attention to the dirt on the edge of the canvas. This is the way of life we are in need of today. So, instead of cursing myself for missing out on sleep, as usual, I’m going to think of it as an opportunity to write. But yeah, it's 5 am already, and I’m just human, so I better sleep.

Remember, the glass is always half full.

SINCE WHEN DID SPILLING INNOCENT BLOOD BECOME THE ONLY SOLUTION?

“An eye for an eye will only make the whole world blind.” – Mahatma Gandhi

We come across this quote more than often. We see it, we hear it, but do we understand it? The answer we received came as no shock when we saw the headlines read out “132 children killed as Taliban gunmen storm Peshawar school” on the 16^th of December, 2014.

And that answer is ‘No.’

When one talks about the gruesome killing that took place in Peshawar, Pakistan, we are immediately reminded of the headlines the news show us, the information they provide, the statistics showing the number of deaths, and probably a moment or two of sadness that we are duty bound to express. We post statuses, write blogs, discuss all about these killings, but do you really think the terrorists groomed by Taliban care about your opinion? No, they don’t. But do you think you can change one human’s view about revenge, about terrorism? Then don’t think twice before posting a status against it. The slaughter, carried out by six Taliban terrorists, is the single worst terror attack in the country's history and one of the most brutal assaults on a school anywhere. Even in conflict-driven Pakistan, it came as an unprecedented act.

The Pakistani Taliban took responsibility for the massacre, calling it retaliation for the military's ongoing campaign against the Taliban militants' strongholds in the tribal areas along the border with Afghanistan. Mohammad Khurasani, the spokesperson of Taliban, accused the Pakistan Army of killing innocent children and families of Taliban fighters, and warned the world that more is yet to come. For the Pakistani Taliban, schools are vulnerable, or often called "soft targets." By some accounts, Taliban has struck at more than 1,000 schools in the country since 2009. All of this is merely to feed one word; revenge. Revenge is an immortal word with its root dug deep into our minds. Often, it is worse than the word ‘terrorism’. The description of terrorism is vague, because to the world, Taliban are terrorists; to them, we are. But the meaning of revenge stays constant throughout. As hard as it is to ignore the fact- even for a split second- that the Peshawar killing took innocent lives of children who deserved to live a beautiful life; we cannot overlook the hundreds who suffer and die due to public health crisis. Polio has paved its way back among children after the Taliban militants banned health workers from distributing vaccines, which was a consequence of the vaccination gambit by the CIA, in its search for Osama bin Laden. This has not only affected the civilians of Pakistan, but has also taken its toll on the Taliban families.

The Pakistani Taliban came into existence as a loose coalition of militant factions in Pakistan's restive border areas around 2007. It is an indigenous movement that largely targets the machinery of the state and Pakistani citizens, and its motive is to impose Shariah law on the country. Defeating the group, though, has proved to be extremely difficult. Complex geopolitics and funding from other terrorist groups, political appeasement, conspiracy mongering and denial serve as factors that feed the existence of Taliban.

In a world full of hatred and misery, bloodbaths and seclusion, helplessness and loneliness, one can only hope for a ray of happiness or a fragment of peace to settle on their lives; not the ashes that are carried in the air- ashes from the thousands of innocent human beings killed every day. Ashes of people who didn’t deserve what they got. Ashes of people who looked at the killer, right in the eye, and hoped for nothing except a peaceful world. Another day to look forward to; but were never granted their wish.

When the photos of the terrorists who carried out the massacre were released, the terrorists were seen holding automatic assault rifles and rocket launchers. We can never imagine what it must have felt like, but we can surely imagine the gaze of those cold eyes fixed on the child. The child, helplessly looking at his killer, with hopes to find mercy in those eyes, hopes to see his parents again, hopes to play with his sister after school, hope that he would survive. Instead, he was shot in the head at point blank range, and was tossed into the pile of other children, lying drenched in blood; cold. Dead. We can imagine the pain of the teacher who was burnt alive. We can imagine the state of the children trying to escape the militants, who went from one classroom to another, shooting indiscriminately. We can imagine the horror one boy has to live with, because he was the only one to survive out of the 10 friends who tried to escape. We can imagine the terror on the face of the woman whose daughter had escaped because her clothing was covered in blood from those around her and she had lain pretending to be dead. We can imagine the scores of survivors who were being treated in hospitals as frantic parents searched for news of their children. We can only imagine the same happening with the families of the Taliban militants. 

We can never feel it, we can only imagine.

It is harder to keep someone alive, than to kill them. It is harder to instil peace, than to declare war. It is hard, but not impossible. We may not be able to stop Taliban today, but we can teach our generation to value human life. We can teach them that love is a greater weapon than hatred. We can teach them that issues can be solved without violence if one can listen to the problem and search for a solution. We can try, not by telling them what or how to think, but to just think.

We can teach them that the best revenge is to not be like your enemy.

THE DIARY OF A SINGLE CHILD

Is being the only child really an issue?

“So, you have a brother?” I asked.

“Yeah, he’s such a pain in the ass!” She said.  

“It must be fun though, right?”

“Oh let me guess, the only child? No siblings?” she asked.

“Yeah”, I tried my best to hide the disappointment.

“Typical spoilt brat you must be then!”

What? I mean, what just happened? It was the first day of college, and hello, I barely knew this girl for 5 minutes! I mean, out of all the people, I hadn’t judged her yet, and in less than 5 minutes I was moved from “She seems like a nice girl” to the “She’s a spoilt brat” category! Trust me; I just don’t know how that happened. And it wasn’t the first time either.

Till my 4^th grade, I’d never really felt bad about being the only kid. To be honest, it was fun! I got the attention; I didn’t have to share my toys, my books. I didn’t have to borrow anything. Basically, I thought being the only child was amazing! And my belief just grew stronger when I hung out with my friends. Note this, all of them had siblings! And every single time, all I heard was “You’ve no idea how lucky you are!” and I thought I was. Now, I won’t completely deny the fact that I’m lucky, because I never ever EVER had to fight for food, or even worse, share it. Until one day, I was alone in my home, locked in for my own safety, and I heard my neighbor laughing. She was younger than me, her brother was my age, and they were playing. I wanted to go out and play with them like I always had, but I realized that they didn’t ‘need’ me there! They were happy, spending time together, and I was home, locked up, and bored. When my mom returned, I decided to go and tell her what I’d been practicing all afternoon. “Mom, I want a baby” I barked out. “What?” “No no, I mean, I want you to have a baby. I want a brother!” Of course, this came as a shock to my mom, because I had never brought up this topic before! But I didn’t stop there. I told my dad, I told my cousins, and I told everybody I knew, that I wanted a brother, or I was going to bring my cousin home and keep him. “Keep him”, can you imagine? Like he was a toy or something! My parents didn’t take me seriously, until the 7^th grade. I came back home one day; crying. I’d seen my classmate take help from her elder brother who studied in the 11^th grade. It wasn’t a big deal really, but I came back home with a cloud of depression hanging over me. And, it lasted for days. Every time I’d see siblings, I’d get really emotional and start wondering how it would be if I had a brother. Would my life be better? Hell yeah. Would I have fun? Yes, obviously. Would my life suddenly have a rainbow over it? Yeah, is that even a question? This continued till my parents considered adoption seriously, and started off with the paperwork. And man, was I happy or what? I imagined a completely different life, like; I don’t even think I can explain it to anybody! Until one day, I just woke up to feel nothing. It was sudden. I just didn’t feel anything. I walked up to my parents and told them I didn’t want a brother. That’s all. I think my parents did hate me for a few minutes there because I was barking out bullshit. But I made it final, I didn’t want siblings. “Why?” they had asked. “Because I want all the property for myself.” I had answered.

But that’s not why I told them I didn’t want a brother. Of course, I’m happy about the property and the food, but really, that isn’t the reason! I’m never going to say I’m lucky for not having a sibling. I would have had someone to look up to maybe. I would have had someone to drive away my boredom with. I would’ve had someone to share my thoughts and feelings with. I would’ve had someone to be there for me even when my parents aren’t around in this world anymore. I would have, but I don’t. And that’s my life. But I would never say I am unlucky for not having a sibling either. And this is why. All my life, I’ve heard the stereotypical comment “You must be a spoilt brat!”, but I can assure you, at this very moment, that almost none of the kids who’ve had no siblings are spoilt brats! People often think that we get everything we want, and that we are pampered beyond belief, that we live life on our terms. It isn’t true. Our parents are well aware of the consequences, and they make sure we beg around 10 million times for something before we actually get it. In cases like mine, I actually have to wait for a teeny achievement or my birthday, to get stuff. Yes, we do get things in an easier way, compared to the kids who have siblings, but hey, we didn’t get what they will always have; a playmate in the form of a sibling! I agree that we don’t have to share things, but instead of making us arrogant, it usually makes us more considerate because we were never forced into sharing against our will. Sometimes, it’ almost like we don’t know how to say no to people because we’ve never had to do that! I never had to compete for my parents’ attention, and because I didn’t have siblings, my parents became my best friends. And believe me; I’d never be more thankful towards anything than that! We end up extra responsible because our parents don’t have anybody to expect from except us. We are the eldest kid in the house, and the youngest, and we never have anybody to blame except ourselves! No partner in crime! Our best friends become our brothers/sisters in all but blood because we see the ideal sibling in them and we cherish them! Often, single kids end up becoming more confident because they don’t really know what it is to be compared with a sibling. The other reason is that we’re often eager to get some company of our own age, that we push ourselves to go ahead and talk to strangers, make friends, find company, and this is one trait that will help us throughout our lives. But the one I love the most is that I can be an introvert or extrovert by choice! All my life, I’ve had no choice but to mingle with people, which I do enjoy, but at times, when I’m alone, I never feel lonely, because, over the years, I’ve learnt to appreciate and enjoy my own company, which was the reason I decided I didn’t want a brother. I could go on listing different reasons, but that’s not the point. The point is, we need to break the “single child” stereotype. No, life isn’t what you think it is for us! We’re not all brats, and we’re not sitting on a bed of roses! Personally, I would never want my child to be the only child, but hey, if you are one, just like me, and if you think it sucks being alone, then lean back, take a deep breath, go in front of a mirror, and say “Life is awesome!” because trust me; there will come a time when you know you are the best sibling you can ever get, and that you don’t need anybody else to face the world. There will come a time when you know things will be fine, and life will go on. And, also, you have a great chance of getting all the property! Till then, lean back and enjoy that slice of pizza, which you don’t have to share. Not everybody’s that lucky! 

GREAT INDIAN RESERVATION: UNITING PEOPLE BY DIVIDING THEM SINCE 1950

“Breathe in, breathe out. Calm down. I’m sure you’ll get into a good university!”

It was the second round of CET counseling. I was just reassuring him to get his mind off reality.

“Yeah, easy for you to say that now, considering that you already got into one.  Where is this amazingly good university that I’m going to get into? Please tell me Abhi, I’m waiting.” (Sarcasm overload)

“Trust me, okay? We’ll figure something out. I’m sure you’ll get into a good one.”

“Yeah, once I’m done shooting everybody who has a reservation, my turn will come. That I’m sure of!”

All I could do was blankly stare at the message.

So, this was during the sunny April and May of 2014 that my batch of 12^th graders appeared and tested their luck in the entrance exams. It’s amazing how nobody cares if they are lucky enough to get decent marks to crack these entrance exams anymore. What matters is if you are lucky enough to be born under the right caste. Yes my folks, we are talking about the ‘Great Indian Reservation: Uniting people by dividing them since 1950’

After what seemed like a very long wait, the aspirant engineers and doctors finally received a token of love from the universities, in the form of ‘CET’ and ‘AI Rankings’. I remember this one incident very clearly because nobody had seen it coming! A friend of mine gave her IIT entrance tests, and she did not get in. She was one of the smartest people I had known in my life! Apparently, there were around 10,000 people smarter than her (not to make it very obvious, let’s say her ranking was 13,000). In the same class, was another student, smart; not smart enough though, who appeared in the same exam. His ranking was 19,000. Today, he studies in IIT Madras. If “Oh, wait, what just happened?” was the thought that flashed into your mind, then don’t be surprised, this isn't the case of one or two people, but thousands in this country. Isn't it evident when people from general category cannot make it to their dream college or job, but they see their ‘very good’ friend sitting right there, happy, even with lower grades, or job experience? Oops! No longer a very good friend!

Welcome to India.

The caste system isn't something new in India. It has been there ever since Aryans set their foot on this side of the continent, and that was around 1500 BC; a long time ago. But out of everything history has contributed in enhancing our rich culture (which includes the Vedas, the Puranas, the amazing town planning from Indus Valley, which we desperately need today!) caste system is the only ‘contribution’ that has dug its roots deep into our soil, like a weed that just can’t be plucked out. Every year, hundreds of seats get reserved for SC, ST and OBCs, which I agree isn't a bad thing. What really bothers me about this entire set up is the fact that even though the majority of the people in India belong to general category, the numbers of seats are just not enough. Let’s take a very small example. What if a student who has scored 68% and has an AI ranking of 19,000 comes from an extremely rich family which can afford any college in the country, manages to get a seat (free of cost at times) because he has a reservation, but a Brahmin boy living next door with limited means, who has scored 90% and has an AI ranking of 9,000, doesn't get a seat, because hey, it’s the problem with the caste he was born to (a factor that he clearly can’t control), isn't it fair? No, it isn't fair.

What seemed like a boon once, to be born to a higher caste, seems like a bane now. How is it logical for the government to promote equality by dividing us? If the backward sectors of the society have to be treated equally, then why not treat every category as the general category? When did the definition of ‘equality’ change to ‘favoring the select few”?

The government needs to amend its laws as the times change, because the mentality of the society changes with every generation that adds up, or goes extinct. Reservation should be given based on the economic background of a person, that the caste he was born to. Knowing that India has a huge sector of the population below poverty line, it might seem impossible for this to happen, but doesn't it seem logical that a person is valued and judged based completely on his knowledge and ability than the caste which he was born into, which isn't even in his hands?

To throw more light on the fact that reservation doesn't show its glory only over the education system (even if my article hovers over it), but also over other fields, here are some statistics that might help us understand this better.

Public sector jobs are divided into 4 categories: Group I (or A), II (or B), III (or C) and IV (or D). In 1959, out of all the people who took up jobs in the public sector, approximately 1% were SC in group A jobs, around 2% in group B, 9% in group C and 17% in group D. Explicitly, very less number of high profile jobs were taken up by SC and their proportion increased with jobs that require lesser qualification or skill. With reservation tightening its grip over the Indian society, the numbers mentioned above rose to 10%, 12%, 16% and 21% till 1995. Clearly, this was a positive change, a change towards equality in terms of caste. But do we still live 1959? Are our thoughts still on the same path as in was in 1959? The answer is clear, no. Today, with reservations dominating the country, general category faces the threat of unemployment or poor education, not because they are not skilled enough, but because their skills don’t matter.

Reservation wasn't a bad idea, after all, looking at the above data, but the way reservation is being implemented now is terribly wrong. Do we need to reserve seats in an organization which already has limited seats, where people without reservation have to suffer? Can’t our government simply increase the number of seats or colleges which provide admission to all sectors based on merit? Can’t the reservation be implemented based on the economic background of an individual? Who is truly benefiting from such a system? Clearly, no one.

Reservation in itself is a way to enhance caste inequality in India. Filled with irony to the brim, it focuses on eradicating caste system by implementing it indirectly, poisoning the minds of kids born in this generation who can look beyond caste, creed, and gender. We have spent enough time concentrating on the pleas of the reserved class of the society, isn't it time to take action before general category becomes the new “reserved”? Just something to think about.

IF IT IS WORTH A DREAM, IT IS NOT WORTH A COMPROMISE

My semester exams are just a few days away.

Am I anxious? Worried? Excited? Am I nervous? Yes. But for the first time in my whole life, I am not anxious because I need to score marks. I am not worried that I will mess it up. I am not nervous about what my parents think. For the first time, I am excited about writing the exam itself, more than how much I might score in it.

Just this afternoon, I wasn't.

Before I start off with my sad story, let me tell you, I have immense respect towards Science and Science students. My point is that not everybody wants to be a Science student. This might seem like a clichéd article, but trust me; it’s going to take a long time for our society to accept that fact. A few days before my 12th-grade board exams, I sat with my parents and told them that I wasn't sure if I would pass Math. Obviously, they freaked out, and the next thing I knew, I was in 2 different tuitions, slogging 12 hours a day on Math, but not a single minute of it was helping. I had to switch my brain with the smartest kid in class to understand a year’s portions in 2 weeks. It was impossible. No, I wasn't born stupid or something, I've had my share of proud 100/100’s in Math too, but high school changed everything. I have an overachieving cousin, who performed excellently well in his engineering exams. An aeronautical engineer, that’s what he became. And I had no idea what it was all about in 8^th grade, but I was fascinated by the way my family was treating him, and boom, I decided to become an aeronautical engineer. But was that what I really wanted to be? No. From a very young age, I have always had an inclination towards Arts; towards language and literature, towards current affairs, towards politics, towards fashion. But I was unsure about it- not that I would dislike it in the future, but unsure because I was not used to seeing people around me opting for anything other than engineering or medical science. It’s a well-known fact that in India if you want to be anything other than an engineer or a doctor, it is literally considered a crime. Something that is just not acceptable. And believe me, I know the feeling. The time finally came when I had to choose what I would specialize in, in high school. I sat and spoke to my parents about it, about my interest in Arts, and I should tell you, I am blessed with parents who would support me with my decisions and not force something upon me, even if they do not appreciate my decision. They told me they were okay with anything, and this made me think even more. “Would my friends choose Arts?” “What if I wake up someday and suddenly realize that I want to be a doctor?” “Wouldn't Science be a safe option? I mean, I can still switch to another stream whenever I want to, right?” I asked myself the same questions every day.

Then I chose Science.

The very first day of my 11^th grade began with a physics class, and that was the exact moment I realized I wasn't meant for Science. No way! I couldn't concentrate for a single minute and all I could think of was, “what did I do to my life?” I went home, I cried myself to sleep. I cried in front of my mom (who suggested that I should switch my stream, but I didn't want to because I’d spent 3000 Rupees already on reference books for IIT and NITs. And it was still the 1^st day of school. I know right?), I cried in front of my dad (who told me I would like it eventually, and that life would be amazing if I became an architect and joined him. He is a Civil engineer.), and I cried in the park. I cried till I just couldn't cry anymore. I had no friends, they’d all chosen to steer clear from the CBSE board, and I knew none of my teachers well. I thought I had no choice but to be an architect. In 11^th grade though, luckily, I got chosen to give the welcome address in the investiture ceremony, and believe me when I say I had never been praised so much in my whole life. Not once! My English teacher, who happened to be one of the biggest influences for my choice today, told me I was meant for the media when I got down from the stage. And obviously, for a 16-year-old, that was everything! It got engraved in my mind. I began giving more speeches, I started demanding for them. I had been scared of public speaking all my life. I was scared of anything that had to do with ‘public’ basically. They would call it ‘stage fear’. Even during my school elections, I had barely managed to complete my speech, before I thought I would pass out in front of the crowd if I stood on the stage for a minute more! (I won it though, thanks to my campaigning skills! I could be the next Modi!) But as time passed, I was no longer afraid of the crowd. It was like a drug, it was addictive. What I felt on stage was probably the most beautiful feeling in the world. It still is. That feeling of liberation, that freedom, nothing can replace it. The crowd became my scale for judging my own oration skills, and comments became my tool to improve myself. I started inclining even more towards media skills and creative writing. My liking for arts began to increase. Everybody understood this. I wanted to pursue Arts. This is what they did not understand. Why would I want to make a career out of this, out of Arts, and not out of science? Why would I want to ‘waste’ my life? My interest towards science began to drop drastically. Numbers and equations, I just couldn't get it! I barely managed to pass 11^th grade.

12^th grade, midterm exams, Mathematics- 2/100.

Yes, that was my marks in the Math exam. I never told my parents, I still haven’t. I lost all hope in my education, and I gave up. I started going to classes for the sake of it. I stared at the board from 9 am to 4 pm, with absolutely nothing in my mind. Nothing except fear- that I would end up nowhere. Nothing except doubts about my own purpose in life. I know these questions seem too philosophical or stupid now, but I can assure you I am not the only one who went through this. As board exams started nearing, I started freaking out. I stared at the textbooks like a dyslexic child, because I knew nothing. There was one month to go, and I knew nothing. That is when I was forced into math tuition.

I've never studied like I did in that one month.

12^th grade is life changing, that’s what they say. ‘You need these marks, or you are doomed’, that’s what they say. But let me tell you, your 12th-grade marks are very important (VERY, if you want to get into a good engineering or a medical college), but not as important as they are portrayed to be. Life won’t stop if the marks you get don’t end up the way you expect them to be. Time won’t freeze. Once you enter college, nobody even bothers to ask you how much you scored in the board exams. You could be sitting next to a person who scored 97%, or you could be sitting with a person who scored 63%. It doesn't matter. Life goes on.

I completed my exams, with Math exam being the last one, and came back home crying. I had no hopes of passing Math. My parents were disappointed. I was disappointed. But it didn’t stop there. My parents knew I wanted to pursue Humanities, but made me appear in more entrance exams for engineering and med school than they did for Arts. I cleared them, but my board results weren’t announced yet. I fought with my family, my friends, my neighbors and defended my decision to take up Humanities. I refused to take up anything else. 4 days before the results, my dad walked into my room and sat next to me. “Pa, what if I don’t pass?”

His answer changed my whole life.

“You know, if I didn't know that you had the potential to do well in what you are interested in, I would be disappointed in you. But, I know you aren't meant for this; for science. Abhi, if you flunk math, I would be disappointed, obviously. But please remember, that isn't the end of the world. You have another chance to clear it, to get it over with and to move on in life. Shit happens, you can’t help it, but you can choose for yourself; if you want to dwell on it, or find a solution and move on. I've always wanted to see you an architect, and I still do, but this is your life. This is your decision. You need to design your life in the way you imagine it, but you need to put your best effort into that. This is your life and your dream Abhi, never ever give up on it. Few things in life are worth fighting for, even if it means fighting against your father or your own family. And your passion is one of them. Never lose hope, and never give up.” My dad, who I never thought would agree on what I wanted to pursue, ended up being my biggest support. My parents will be the biggest support I have in my life.

Surprisingly, I passed Math, I got a decent percentage, I ended up convincing them, and I got into one of the best media colleges in the country. Didn't I tell you? Life works out in its own way.

But not all kids are lucky enough to get parents who understand them. Not all students are brave enough to pursue their dreams. If you are one of them, then know that by letting go of what you don’t like, you are not letting go of your dreams. You are letting go of someone else’s dream. If you don’t follow your own dream, someone else will use you to follow theirs. Be brave; be true to yourself, because it all works out in the end. Fight for it because it deserves to be fought for. 

Now, when I study, I don’t study to pass. I don’t care about getting good grades. I don’t study to stay in the 90% range. I don’t study to top the class. I study to understand. I study because I enjoy the subject. I study because I know that even a C grade would give me a reason to just study more. I study because I love it; I study- not for the grades, but to understand the beauty of the subject.

This afternoon, I wasn't sure. But now, I am; of myself, of my dream.

After all, if it’s worth a dream, it’s not worth a compromise.

THESE SCARS WILL STAY FOREVER

“SHE WAS RAPED AND THERE WAS NOTHING I COULD DO. THESE SCARS THAT STAY FOREVER HELP ME FORGET THAT.”

Never give in to self-harm. Always ask for help.

Long walks help.

Especially if you've had a bad day, and you enjoy your own company, then take a long walk alone. That’s what I do. Keep your phone away; keep that iPod on your table. Go out, empty handed, and look around. Think. Or don’t think, it’s up to you. But long walks help. Few change your mood. Few change your day. Few change your opinions and judgement forever.

It wasn't a very warm day, as it usually is in Manipal. The rains had lowered the temperature noticeably, and I decided to do what I do very often. Take a walk alone. After what seemed like an hour or so, I ran into one of my friends from college. No, she was not a friend at that time. I did a quick math in my head, if I should acknowledge her presence or not. Usually, I wouldn't think so much. I’d just wave at the person and walk past them if I recognized them. If I knew them well, maybe I would stand and talk to them for a while. But I didn't want to do either when it came to her. I don’t think anybody did. What was so weird about her? I had asked myself the same question few times; I’d asked the others the same question too. “She seems to be a bit… off? Don’t you think?” was the usual reply. “She’s a creep!” was the other reply, which was a bit rarer. So, being one of the people who considered her a bit “off”, I decided to ignore her. I walked two steps ahead, maybe three, and I heard a voice call out my name. It was her. “Hey, oh wow, hi! My eyesight sucks! What are you upto? Going somewhere?” I blurted out (God, the random things that came to my mind out of guilt), quite surprised because this girl qualifies to be an introvert, very silent, very shy. “No, not going anywhere bee! (That’s what they call me!) Too lazy, join me?”

Oh no, please, not her. “Sure”, I managed with a smile and sat next to her on the pavement.

“How’s life bee?”

“Not all that bad! Manageable! What about yours? And hey, why have you been missing classes? You’ll run low on attendance and the semester’s gonna get all fucked up!” (Now this was what I have to tell my classmates and fellow college goers. I am one of the representatives, and it was my ‘duty’, but frankly, I enjoyed the responsibility, and I do care.)

“Yeah, about that, I've been sick, so, I guess I’ll just try to find a way out of it!” She said, fidgeting.

My gaze automatically went down to her hand, and I noticed something. Something I just couldn't ignore. “What’s that? Have you been cutting yourself? Hey if there’s anything you need to talk about, anything at all, I’m here!” I said, shocked that this girl, who seemed to act all strong when spoken to, was actually a victim of self harm.

“It’s nothing. Don’t tell anybody, I beg of you! Please!”

“Are you mad? Of course I won’t tell anyone, but why this?”

And she began. She had been missing all those classes because she had to visit a shrink every other day. To erase all those memories and to get rid of those nightmares, she went. When she was not even old enough to know what ‘rape’ meant, her mother was raped. And what’s worse, she was raped by her husband, in front of this girl. You and I can probably never imagine how horrific that moment must have been for her. Marital rape is still not considered ‘rape’ by a lot of people in our country, because the husband has ‘rights’ to use his wife if and when he wishes to, according to them and vice-versa. But that isn't true. Marital rape is a serious crime that needs to be spread awareness about, more in the rural areas than in the urban. Nobody has the right to force themselves upon a person; emotionally or physically. Nobody can violate your privacy without your consent, please remember that. If you are a victim of any abuse, then talk to somebody about it. Get help. Remember, you deserve better than that. At the age of 11, her father left. He left his two daughters, and his unemployed wife, and went to live on his own. In such a situation, her mother had to come up with an immediate alternative to support the family, and she started off as an assistant tailor in one of the small Boutiques in the city. Seeing her mother being mistreated by her husband, by her family, by the society and by her own sister, she never had anybody to confess to. She slipped into depression by 10^th grade, and became a victim of self harm by 12^th grade. Not just self harm, but suicidal attempts. And this change in her emotional capacity has actually scarred her for life, and the truth is that she will never be able to get over it. Every minute, every second, someone becomes a victim of self harm. Someone is fighting a battle with themselves, but what they don’t know is that they will never win against it. These scars, which are supposed to relive them from pain, are marks of those memories that they want to forget, but how are they forgetting it, when they are carving it on themselves forever? Anybody who is reading this post, who is going through this, remember that you are braver than you believe, stronger than you seem to be, and smarter than you think you are, and that things will be okay if you talk to someone about it. If she hadn't told me her story that evening, she would still be the “creep” whom I wanted to ignore. We often judge people so easily by how they appear to us and not by how they actually are. We classify them into good or bad, sane or insane, fun or boring the very first time we speak to them. That is a fact about them. But not all facts are the truth. Every person has a story. Every person is fighting a battle of which we know nothing about. Every person has something to show, and a lot more to hide. And everyone has something good about themselves, just waiting for us to notice it. Be kind.

Go on long walks, look around and you’ll see things. See them even closely, and you’ll notice them. Notice them to find something different. Let that difference influence you. Let that influence change your perspective. Let that perspective change your way of life, and let your way of life change the world.

Lean in; maybe you’ll hear her whisper. Maybe that’ll change your life.

THE KISS OF ACCEPTANCE

PDA is not a crime. It's high time we accept it.

I am a South Indian.

No, that is not how I introduce myself to others. That is what the people around me take into consideration, just a second or two before they judge me. “Traditional/Conservative/Madrasi/an alien!” Or the most frequent statement, “You can’t be a Southie, you’re fair!” (Like, what?) And I don’t deny their judgement, partly because it is a wee bit true. Mostly, because I study in a university situated in South India, but filled to the brim with North Indians. One basic “college” survival skill is to ‘never go against the majority’! Coming from a South Indian family, not a very conservative one, but not very liberal either, it was a culture shock when I first decided to take a walk in the campus- my first day alone in the university. Why? I had never ‘ever’ in my entire life, seen a couple stand and kiss on the road. Not that I hadn't seen a couple kiss before (I had to drag my friend a million times from the basement of our school, interrupting the holy exchange of saliva with her boyfriend, because we were getting late for math class), but in public? Whoa. No friggin way! With my bad eyesight, and my temporarily ‘out of service’ brain, I took some time to realize what was happening, and turned away to look at something else. Anything else! My pace increased. I walked away and found myself in another road. The next thing I knew, I had called up three of my friends back home, in a span of 10 minutes, and burst out- like a motor mouth- about what I’d just seen. Oh believe me; I do not come from the 1990’s version of India. I’m talking about the society today.

What I noticed after I stepped into this university is that society changes from place to place. Back home, I studied in the same school for 14 years. I went in the same van to school for 14 years, played with the same people and shared food with the same ‘forever hungry’ group of friends. Went to the same places, and came back to my home, which is located in the same place for 15 years now. Nothing around me changed, except the size of my clothes, shoes, and a few oldies near my home that passed away. Yup, they died. The way my parents treated me changed slightly- maybe, but not much. And the neighborhood I stayed in, oh my god, it was probably one of the most conservative areas in Bangalore. Just because the non conservative kids had exported themselves to other countries and their conservative parents from the 50’s had stayed back, now retired, with a pet or two, scolding every kid who even uttered the word “play” on the road. Forget about kissing on the road, we maintained a fair but not very obvious distance from the opposite gender when they were around; sometimes even when they weren't around. Now let me make this very clear, not all parts of Bangalore are like that. The neighboring locality itself isn't like mine. Of course, we all have our share of childhood crushes, relationships, holding hands, first kisses (not me), a lot of kisses that followed (still not me), broken hearts and a lot more. But one thing that refused to happen in public was the kissing, the affection, the “PDA” basically. Public display of Affection.

As I finished my high school, my long summer- packing things, my goodbyes to a lot of people, I finally ended up in college, and all of a sudden, I was kicked out from a timid, conservative society to a ‘bang on, young and energetic, youthful’ society! Students, students everywhere! The humans above the age of 30 in this town either work for a bank (which serves the students) or as a faculty member in the university. That young a town it is. Let me be very frank. Eventually, I felt very awkward looking at a couple kissing in public. They were there everywhere! Maybe if I grew up in an environment like that, I would've been used to it, but I wasn't, and I didn't know what to do, except ogle at them like a retarded idiot. Once a person steps into college, they obviously want to experiment with everything that was denied to them before. It’s a fact. And that’s how I ended up in a club. A shady club. Being the only sober kid in the group, I sat back and started to look around and observe people with whatever amount of light was available there. The same thing happened again; showers of kisses. Couples, drunk kids, random kids, everybody. That is when I realized, I had to change. My views had to change, because the world wouldn't stop for me. The time zone I lived in wouldn't freeze for me, and with the generation moving forward, with every new step towards the future, only I could help myself by accepting this and moving on. The next day, I saw a couple making out. I didn't feel a thing. Nothing. It was almost as if I had seen it so many times, like seeing flowers grow on the footpaths, like seeing leaves on trees, like seeing something as ordinary as that.

Often, we don’t consider such actions common or normal in our society. We have the police barging into every rally, every protest and every campaign that supports PDA. We have the conservative class looking down upon PDA. But what is wrong in showing love and affection to a person? If we can fight in public, if we can show wars and its effects on television, broadcast it to the world, why can’t the Indian society accept peace, love and affection? If I could change my views, I am sure anybody else can too. By seeing PDA, one may get disgusted for a day or two, maybe a week. But after that, it just becomes a part of his daily life. I came across this beautiful quote, “Normal does not exist. What may seem normal to a spider, may be destructive to a fly”, and that explains the current situation and the mindset of our conservative society. What may seem normal to them, may be suffocating to the present generation, who dwell on freedom, liberty and openness. Yes, I agree, few thing think it is against our culture, but hey, aren't we the people who belong to the land in which there were people who carved out those beautiful sculptures in the Khajuraho temple? Sculptures, that were carved not a decade or two ago, but around 950 to 1050 AD. Now that, my folks, is a very long time ago. If PDA wasn't seen as an offense that time, by our own culture, why now? Not only in the south, which is considered to be 'conservative', but the north too. Why, in this country, is it considered an offence? 

We can only hope that this small whisper reaches them, and maybe… just maybe ring the same question in their minds.

Lean in; hear me whisper now, for we can only hope.