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. 

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.