First Times

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"When was the last time you did something for the first time?" This is one phrase my husband overuses. On our first date, our wedding day, upon writing the first love note, during our trips together, our cooking adventures, a game of scrabble or any random moment he surprises me with this question. I suggest you ask yourself this question and reflect for a moment.

Do you love trying out new things? Do you make an effort or do you succumb to the usual excuse about not having enough time? Are you stuck in a rut and wish for something "different" or "crazy" to happen? Of course most of us have hobbies to keep our creative sides active or go on holidays to unwind and relax but for many others these interests take a backseat due to various reasons.

I like trying out new things. I am totally in love with the idea of learning (one of the reasons why I enjoy teaching). I remember that even as a child, I was constantly on the lookout for new ideas, new games, new hobbies, new hideouts and "new" mischief! Trust me, doing something for the first time brings a feeling of freshness and joy of accomplishment no matter how silly a thing it seems. Who knows, you may discover something new about yourself - a talent an interest or even a quirk.

After the A to Z challenge, I desperately wanted to do something different. Unable to come up with anything interesting, I opened my cupboard and sifted through a cluttered pile of random things (stationery, greeting cards, dried flowers, paint and so on). When I chanced upon an abandoned drawing book, I almost shouted "Eureka!" 

What started off as a few overlapping free hand circles ended up like this:

And led to this:

I was hooked and so deeply lost in the drawing that my mom had to remind me of lunch time. It was a soothing experience that left me happy and proud. I definitely will do more of this when I get bored. But right now I'm on the lookout for new things to try :)

When was the last time you did something for the first time? Think of it and do leave a comment or even better, do something new today and then tell me!


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Wonderful

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The lights went out. Rachel waited quietly in her bed for half an hour. She tiptoed to the window of her room, the last on the B Wing corridor of the women’s hostel. Outside, she could see the silhouettes of the chapel and the administrative block. Black trees stood still against the deep purple sky. “Seven months and three days” she murmured to herself.

For seven months and three days her life had moved ahead like clockwork. She had a fixed routine that had to be diligently adhered to. Worse, there were many restrictions in place. The food in the mess was lousy and the gates closed by seven in the evening. The lights went out at ten at night and she had to be in bed, no matter what.

The sudden confinement at the convent after her carefree school days suffocated her. She longed to go out on her own and do things she liked. Things that her time-table at the hostel had left out. She did not want to do anything crazy or dangerous, just something that would make her feel good again. Something outside her monotonous schedule.

She moved away from the window and walked stealthily along the corridor. Climbing the stairs to the terrace in her night clothes and flip flops, her hands gripping a package wrapped in newspaper, she felt accomplished in a strange way. Laying out the contents of the package she smiled her best smile. She had invited a few of her friends, but they had been too scared.

“Happy birthday to me!” she sang alone into the night. She wasn't sure if it was the wine or the momentary freedom, but she felt wonderful as she lay under the starry sky.

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Unsure

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Bhumika bit her lip and glanced at her watch as she walked back and forth on the platform. Suddenly there was a deafening hoot and before she could calm herself down, the Kerala Express to New Delhi chugged into the station and screeched to a halt. She looked out through the window at her parents after stowing her luggage. Her father seemed to know exactly how she felt. Anxious and unsure.

“Don’t worry, you will be fine. And we are just a call away” he tried to reassure her. She exhaled deeply in the hope of releasing some of her anxiety about what the future in an alien land had in store for her. She waved till she lost sight of them as the train sped away. She had been excited upon clearing the interview and gaining admission into one of the best colleges in the country but when it was time to leave the comforts of her home town and family, she wasn't sure she could cope.

She thought back to the day she had learned to cycle. Her father used to support her by holding on to the back of the seat while she tried to pedal. Initially she would keep turning back to look at him but soon she was sure of her father’s presence behind her. It had made her confident. Then one day, she had cycled quite a distance before she realised that her father had quietly let go. But he was there watching over her.

As the train stopped at the next station, she felt her muscles easing up. She felt the invisible presence of her parents, ready to hold her hand whenever she needed them. As always, it made her confident.

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Suffocated

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Reshma cleared the files and papers from her desk and switched off her computer. The clock on the wall told her that it was time to head home from work. She checked her cell phone. She had missed thirteen calls from Satish who had also left her seven messages. With a sigh she decided to read the messages first.

“Hey babes, hw r u?”
“Busy? I’ll call? Wanna head to the beach today evening?”
“I knw u gotta visit ur mom bt can’t it wait? Reply plzzz.”
“Pick my call. R u tat busy? Dnt u luv me anymore”
“Just wondering if you are with someone else. I DON'T deserve this.”
“I knw by the blue ticks on WhatsApp tat u read my msgs. Why dnt u reply???”
“Where the hell r u? Cm home. Visit mom later.”

She heaved a sigh. What was with Satish? Things had changed so much in three years of marriage. Initially she would blush when she received his texts while she was at work. She shared with him her whereabouts and engagements. Her colleagues too thought it was cute and sweet of her husband. But with time the messages revealed his insecurities and inferiority complex. She had tried to convince him that it did not bother her at all that he was a clerk and she, a reputed doctor.

But Satish was always doubtful. He demanded to be updated with each and every detail of Reshma’s day. The patients she met, the fiends who invited her over and even how she spent each penny of her salary. She was fed up of answering his questions. She had informed him that she had an important surgery scheduled and so would be busy. She felt suffocated, unable to live freely. She glared at the messages; they seemed like a death sentence.

She decided she couldn’t put up with his demands anymore and messaged him back.
“You are right. You don’t deserve this. Good bye.”



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Moody

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My parents are concerned about me. They are worried sick that I may have a serious problem. They don’t like it that I keep to myself these days. They tell me not to me so moody, spending so much time behind the closed door of my room. Painting and poetry befit people of gloom, I am told.

But within the comfort of my room, I am myself. Nobody to be compared with, none to compete with. I spend my time reading, writing, painting and dreaming. I enjoy the slow pace of life here. My mom sees this as a danger signal. She thinks that I’d be better off doing the things she has planned so meticulously for me.

Strangely, those are the very things I loathe. Being dragged from piano lessons to dance class to martial arts to public speaking and debate clubs. Participating in endless competitions. Bringing home shining golden trophies that will be showcased in our living room. A spectacular display of my failure. Failure to freely do what I love.

Sometimes I want to scream. I want to tell my parents that I am not one bit excited about their plans for me. That I find solace in the silence of my room, putting my thoughts into words. I want them to know that I am not insane just because I prefer to be on my own. How can I tell them that it is their plans that suffocate me? Plans where I don’t belong.

As we sit with the psychiatrist, my mother goes on and on about how I am so downcast in spite of them being such encouraging parents and me being an achiever. As usual I keep waiting for my turn to talk knowing that it will never come.

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Alive

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It had been just a few days since she got the news of her incurable illness from her physician. It had taken a while for the seriousness of the matter to sink in and finally she had managed to croak “How much time do I have?” to which the doctor, after a few moments of deep thought had replied “A few months if you are lucky.”

In those few days her world had turned upside down and every moment was punctuated by “Why me?” a question with no clear answer. It made her look back at the life she had lived. Had she really lived for herself? She found herself struggling to recollect times when she had followed her heart, doing things for her own happiness outside the expectations from her family. Who was she now? A wife? Mother? What did she love to do? What did she dream of? She was surprised that she couldn't remember.

She rummaged through her cupboard and found her guitar. It seemed like an object from another life. She dusted it and tested the strings. It felt a little awkward, holding it after ages but as she began strumming, her confusions melted away. She soon lost herself in the rhythm. She played like never before, reminiscing the days she when she used to perform for an applauding crowd. The musical notes swept through her, filling her with life and happiness. It was the most perfect moment of her life. She knew she was dying, yet she felt alive like never before.





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The Vigilante

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Here they come, the vigilante
to steal glances at our shared kiss
as they spray together in public
gallons of consecrated piss.

Here they are at a gathering
airing an endless roll
of senseless codes and conduct
which in life, is their only goal.

Even in a game of tennis
unsure of where to look
they ultimately settle for a skirt-
upon it a cover story they cook.

The vigilante never spares
a couple that holds hands
or ventures out on Valentine's;
love exists only in alien lands.

With not an ounce of shame left
they are here, there, everywhere
spend their miserable lives policing
preaching what to feel, think and wear.

Delusional custodians of culture;
much beyond their comprehension
is to tolerate, to include to accept
a peaceful amalgamation.




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The Final Call

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She failed to understand the unexpected shift in her parents’ priorities after having nurtured her dreams, fuelled her ambitions and prided in her achievements all these years. With the wedding fast approaching, everyone including her future in-laws seemed to be coaxing her to be more forgiving and less adamant about pursuing her career as they thought it was only through compromise that a marriage could last forever.

She recalled that just a few weeks back during the bride seeing ceremony, everyone seemed to be impressed with her qualifications, her talents and the well-deserved promotion she was offered at work. Wasn't it hypocritical that people wanted brides to be highly educated and knowledgeable yet homely, willing to replace her dreams with someone else’s? “I won’t let anything spoil my dreams” she thought as she picked up the phone to make that final call which she knew would change her life for the better.

P.S: I'm on top of the world now, having written my first guest post for Shanx who blogs at Embark With My Thoughts. You can read my blogging journey here.

This piece of Five Sentence Fiction was penned for the topic Spoiled at Lillie McFerrin Writes

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The Open Door

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The jingling of keys and the hesitant creaking of the iron gates herald the arrival of the freedom that I have been longing for all these years.The reasons that drove me into committing that ancient crime seems smudged from memory but the moments of solitude and contemplation I spent within the prison walls remain as fresh as wet ink on paper.

The door opens to a whole new life ahead, but strangely there is no happiness or relief but a looming grey cloud of fear and uncertainty. Thoughts flowed incessantly within the four walls propelled by hope; the padlocks never attempted to confine them as I inked shreds of yellowing paper. But today as I walk out of the open door and merge with the madness outside I hear the click of a lock from somewhere within.

Written for the topic "Open" at Lillie McFerrin Writes

Imprisoned

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Prisoner of thoughts,
a mind-set that rots,
confined and trapped
by  beliefs strapped.
Unable to spill out
of fear and doubt,
secured by locks
the iron gate mocks
at my helplessness
clueless restlessness.
An eternal wait
for a turn of fate,
a saviour with a key
to set me free.
I kept waiting
hoping, berating
the confining lock
a mere mental block,
I worried without pause
about a lock that never was.

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Compare not

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When they first saw the infant,

they spotted at that very instant

a squint of the eye, a scar on the thigh,

and deeply pondered why.

“The older one was fat and fair

with flawless skin and ample hair.”

they quipped in keen observation,

summarizing their evaluation.

Ensued a long, tiring journey

dodging and ducking their baloney;

comparisons many different kinds

conjured up in crooked minds.

Adolescence, youth, middle age;

the war never ceased to wage,

mediocre minds catching up

on stories of not matching up.

Isn't each one beautifully unique?

Do they deserve your hefty critique?

Pry open the windows of your mind

to new vistas, leaving comparisons behind.

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Alone, not Lonely

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I have had many teachers in life who taught me valuable lessons – people, experiences, knowledge and so on. However I have a special teacher named solitude that helps me keep my balance in many tight rope acts. In today’s life that moves at an unprecedented maddening pace, there are times when we need to just sit back, be on our own and reflect up on our life and its course. Since our lives are overloaded with intellectual, social and emotional battles, it is imperative that we spend some time in solitude to get in touch with our inner selves.

The benefits of solitude are highly underrated because it is seen as an ally of the depressed and lonely if not the saints and hermits. Until a few years back I thought solitude and loneliness were synonymous. Prima facie they may seem to be the same as both involve being on one’s own. The similarity however, ends here. Loneliness is a forced negative feeling that can be experienced even if one is in a crowd. It implies the grief of isolation. But solitude is a choice made by the individual that involves being alone without feeling lonely. It is all about learning to enjoy one’s own company.

If cultivated as a habit, solitude is as refreshing as an oasis in the middle of a desert. It helps us to stay tuned with ourselves, our emotions and feelings. It keeps us balanced and helps us to maintain perspective apart from making us take charge of our own lives. Some of the benefits of solitude I continue to reap are:

1. Improved creativity: Being on my own in a silent place lets me delve deeper into my beliefs, thoughts and emotions and they find expression in the form of paintings, crafts, poems and articles.

2. Reflection upon actions: Solitude has a way of making me mull over my words and actions, analyse cause-effect relations there by giving me some kind of peace along with a sense of purpose.

3. Being touch with myself: My desires, fears, goals and so many other things about myself become clearer when the accompanying noises of day to day life become subdued. It helps me listen to my inner voice.

4.  I enjoy my own company: I have realized that I enjoy the company of myself as much as I enjoy being with friends and family. This, in a way has boosted my self-esteem.

5. Ideal foundation for new ideas: Solitude sparks new ideas and I find myself beginning a new hobby or doing things I previously never considered doing. It gives me that blank slate where I can paint a new picture.

6. More sensitivity: Being on my own with just my thoughts for company actually saves a lot of energy and heightens other senses. I often sit in the local park by myself where I enjoy the call of birds, the rustling of leaves and many other sights and sounds that I often overlook when in the company of people.

An hour or two of solitude a day for me is like an energy booster, almost as effective as meditation in calming down my nerves. It is my invisible refresh button, a chance to start afresh at any time during the day.



Written for the IndiSpire topic #Solitude

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The Calling

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I wish to be a farmer

wielding a rake and a hoe

or even teach grammar

and other things I know.

A writer, I’d be happy to be

in a wonderful world of words,

as a traveller, the world I’d see

jungles, canyons and flocking birds.

A singer, an athlete, a scientist

I know I have it in me,

a magician, an actor even an artist-

the options are endless you see.

But I’ll be told when I grow

it is all about the money,

to reap I’ll have to wisely sow;

grown-ups sometimes act funny!

Participating in the Ultimate Blog Challenge

The "good girl" illusion

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My dear granddaughter,

As I write this, the house is in total silence; you are definitely up to some mischief. You have not bothered to slip into the pink frock mummy has given you. Your focus is on the unscrewed door knob which you are struggling to fix with a screw driver, ignoring pretty Barbie. I silently pray that in the years to come, you stay the same, doing what you love without getting trapped in the illusion of being a “good girl”.

I have talked to you about good manners, good habits and good behaviour. But I warn you, the “good girl” image that society will doggedly police you to attain, is a dangerous one. I hope you never end up being one, for it is a black hole that will suck out your dreams, vision and self-worth. You don’t believe me? I talk from experience, because till a few years back I was that good girl, chiseling out from myself my ambitions, ideals, likes and dislikes to smooth myself to fit into society’s definition of a “good girl”.

I know you’re confused. Let me explain. In my childhood, in order to be “good” I had to be subservient, suppress my loud laughter, take dance lessons in spite of my liking for sports, clean my brother’s room while he played cricket, among many other things. As a teenager, I had to learn to cook and embroider though I was not interested, take up arts in college though I dreamt of becoming a mathematician and eat only after the menfolk had eaten, no matter how hungry I was. When I adhered to all these expectations, I became a “good girl” and I thought I was happy.

When I was in college I got my first love note and once, a man stalked me passing lewd comments. But because I was a good girl, kept quiet, changed my wardrobe instead and wore winter clothes in scorching summer as I was told that women who wore skirts and sleeveless tops “asked” for rape. When a stranger came to see me with his family to seek me in marriage, I agreed without talking to him or worrying about my education that would remain incomplete. The elders in the family were pleased, they called me a “good daughter” and I thought I was happy.

Marriage too was about adjustments (to say the least) and they inevitably had to be from my side. I juggled multiple roles and was taken for granted by my husband, in-laws and even my own children. Soon I forgot my tastes in food, clothes, movies, hobbies and everything else. I blindly practiced customs and rituals, knowing too well that they had lost their relevance. I hardly met up with my friends and when I did, I wondered with guilt if my family was running smoothly in my absence. When I lost myself in devotion towards my family I was called a “good daughter-in-law” and I thought I was happy.

Now when I look back at the life I've lived, I see only unfulfilled desires, shattered dreams and a totally different me. It pains me to think that I was just a puppet, in the hands of my parents, husband, in-laws and society. I danced to their rhythm, because a disobedient puppet with a mind of its own is a considered dysfunctional and would be discarded. I wanted to be loved, appreciated and belong. So I danced when the strings tugged at me.

When I realized my folly it was too late. So here I am, a “good grandmother”, writing to set you free from the strings society will bind you with. Remember that “good girl” is a mirage, a trap, a mere tag you get in exchange for your life.

Set yourself free,
Granny

This post was written as part of the Ultimate blog challenge and Indispire 

Define good girls... Everybody has an opinion about a good girl...so whats yours? #GoodGirls

Freedom

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Masked by the smoke of the roles I play

Burns steadily an undying fire,

Its flames leap up higher and higher

Melting all boundaries in its way.

The burdening shackles of infinite relations

thrust on me expectations, to meekly conform,

A million drops of water, a flood they form

Threatening to douse my kindled passions.

I set myself free with the magic pill

of courage, self-respect and wisdom,

Realizing that my happiness and freedom

Nestle just within me, if only I show some will.

Ah! The brightness, the ignited hopes, the clarity

The warmth and glow of the flame within,

Nudge, prompt and push me to hold up my chin

In celebration of true freedom which sadly is a rarity.

This post was written as part of the Ultimate blog challenge and the Write Tribe Pro Blogger Challenge
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