IF I COULD TALK TO YOU ONE LAST TIME

The first time I saw Prasad, July 14th 2012.

"In my dreams

I'll always see you soar

Above the sky

In my heart

There will always be a place

For you for all my life

I'll keep a part

Of you with me

And everywhere I am

There you'll be"

I can’t forget a single minute of the very first time I saw him; something for which I was teased and even called ‘creepy’. July 14th, 2012, a group of musicians walked into the assembly hall of my school. We had our cultural fests going on, and I was the MC. The last minute stress of changing half the script was massive for an 11th grader who hadn’t really done this before. While I was hovering around my teacher asking for the names of those musicians, who were now setting up their instruments, I began to point at each of them, till I reached the last one that stood out from the rest. All of them were in white, he was in green. All of them were talking; he was looking straight back at me. It took me around 5 seconds to realize that I wasn’t just pointing; I was ogling like a retarded child. “That’s Prasad”, my teacher said, and I immediately wrote down his name; not in the script, but in a piece of paper. I had already decided to stalk this guy. The afternoon passed by soon, and I kept searching for him. The last time I saw him was on July 14th, 2012, standing at the door of the assembly hall, after the show; staring back. The moment I went home, I gathered some guts to talk to a senior of mine, Rajesh, whom I’d have never spoken to otherwise, just to trick him into giving me Prasad’s Facebook address.

Today, March 02nd 2015, the same Rajesh sent me a message on Facebook to inform me that Prasad had passed away. 

Later that night, after the fest, I contemplated a lot and sent him a request. I waited but nothing happened. The next evening, when I logged in, the first message was from Prasad; which I have till date. “heyyyy nice to see u here ... and trust me u r the best MC i've seen ... and to meet you after MCing in rotary club the previous nite,you made me realize there are many more talented n beautiful MCs around”.

I couldn’t believe it. And that’s how we began talking. There are few things in life that can’t be explained. Few relationships that need no description, few things that happen that have no reason. I didn’t speak much to my friends about how I’d actually managed to talk to this guy, and I don’t really know why. But I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to anyone who I hadn’t met (in person) in more than 2 and a half years about everything on earth. I don’t think anyone would have the patience to talk even after I blatantly refused to meet him or her, but he did. 

And the last time I spoke to him, I asked him never to talk to me again. I wish he hadn’t taken that seriously. I wish that was one thing God didn’t take seriously. And I’d give anything to go back in time and talk to him again; just talk to him and ask him to stay. I wish I could let him know how important he was to me. But something tells me that he knew. 

From encouraging me to write and paint to being one of the driving forces while I chose my professional course, from asking me to be brave and being there for me whenever I was weak, to putting up with all my drama and insults and still not giving up, from being a friend who was so much more than just that to teaching me how to be one too, he changed my life even without meeting me. Those occasional phone calls, the muffled laughter at my stupidity, his requests for me to sing for him once, the immediate review of everything I ever did, even if it was something as small as a doodle, or something as big as my valedictorian speech, everything has framed me into becoming a better person, and I can never thank him enough for that. 

Why did you have to leave? Why is it that so many people want to die, but are never given a chance to, and people like you who make everyone’s life better by being a part of it are taken away by not being given a choice? Why were you made to leave? Why you, of all the people? I guess this is a question neither of us can ever answer. Now, as much as I regret never meeting you, I guess it was a good thing that I didn’t, or how would I take this loss? Tell me. 

Prasad, I don’t know if I can talk to you now and if you’d listen. I don’t know if you will ever reply to me in any way, but I’m so sorry for all the stupid things I’ve ever said or done. And I’m so grateful, that you were a part of my life, still are, and will be forever. Thank you, for being such an amazing friend, guide and support. Not for once will I think it was stupid to stalk you and make you talk to me, because it brought me closer to you and I am eternally grateful for that. Thank you for making me who I am today and I know, that in that way, you’ll be with me forever. You asked me never to stop doing what I love, and I promise that I’ll always keep that in mind. I promise never to stop writing, because you told me you'd read even if no one else did. I promise to live the life that you thought I would, and I promise to be true to it. And I promise to always make you a part of it. 

I love you- always have; always will. 

Rest in peace Prasad, I miss you. 

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.

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.