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Wednesday, November 10, 2010

It's time you got pregnant.


I'm talking to you. Yeah...YOU, with that gun stuck below your belt. It's time you bled every month. Grew melons on your chest and a pot around your waist for 9 months.
If I am the cursed one, I have been through enough. Eve, you greedy canine! For centuries you spineless sperms have told me to live by your norms, cover up and behave like a ‘good girl’. Even as you pinch my butt when I walk, and talk to my tits like they were eyes.
Yes, it’s time the tables turned. It’s time I passed sleazy remarks at your filthy body. Hissed like a hungry snake at your every move, bore you to your soul with my eyes. Oh... I hate you. I hate you...you moron. And I am not even a bra burning feminist. No I am not. I am just a regular woman who knows it’s not easy being one.
P.S: This is after reading an article on the devastating life stories of some unfortunate counterparts.

November Rain...

“We are born alone, we live alone, we die alone. Only through our love and friendship can we create the illusion for the moment that we’re not alone.” – Orson Welles

Tuesday, November 2, 2010

Different?

Some years ago, when I was still a teenager, someone I much respected gave me an interesting piece of information. ‘The problem with teenagers of all generations’, he said, ‘is that they are all making a constant effort to be different. To be a rebel, not quite knowing what the cause it. Which is why they falter so easily; and it takes immense strength of character to say no to your peers and stick to your beliefs.’

His words stayed on with me all through those years. I took immense pride in the fact that I had managed to stay away from the cancer stick. I never used the f word in school, even as my friends seasoned their sentences generously with it. My most frequently used cuss word then was as innocent as “spineless jellyfish”!

Then I had these strong views, or so I thought, about various other things - for example tattoos. Now since they were ‘cool’ and therefore wannabe (ha ha) I was averse to the idea of inking myself. My favourite line those days used to be, “Tattoos are a no-no. They are too permanent for me.” (I am so sure I must have read it somewhere, but I loved to own it.) So while I was ensuring in every way that I didn’t turn out to be a difficult teenager, I didn’t quite realise that I was behaving exactly like any average teen. Making an effort to be different.

The realisation struck when I was amongst wannabes of a different kind. Pseudo intellectuals.
I saw myself in them to a large extent, and suddenly my once individualistic lines were not so unique anymore. That’s when I think I loosened up. And trust me, it’s fabulous to feel that free. From you own restrictions, your own barriers. Because that’s when you begin to accept and learn the golden rule, “to each his own.”

By the way, I love the idea of tattoos now. May get one soon. And not so proudly, I also confess that my cuss words have graduated ;)