I am woman.

I am 9. It is my first time wearing my favourite blue dress. I am walking down a crowded street, clinging on to my mother’s duppata. It is the first time I am ‘hooted’ at. A man who looks like he is at least 4 times my age is yelling and whistling among a group of his friends. My mother hurriedly pulls me in front of her and tells me to be careful. I don’t wear that dress ever again.

I am 11. A boy in my class calls me a slut. It is just a joke of course. Everyone laughs, I don’t want to look like I can’t take a joke so I laugh as well. I hate it, but I laugh. I feel degraded. I decide that day that I will never laugh at a joke like that. But, I do. I’m forced to. It is just a joke right? I laugh to be polite.

I am 14. I am at a friend’s party. My first high-school party.  A boy 3 years older than me pushes me up against a wall. I do not know him. I am afraid. He kisses me. My first kiss. I yell. Telling him to stop. He says, “Don’t be such a buzzkill.” and walks away. Am I a buzzkill? I didn’t want what was happening. I told him to stop. I was right. Right?

I am 16. At another party. My boyfriend and I are in my friend’s kitchen. He is drunk. The alcohol on his breath is making me sick. He knows I’m not ready. We had this conversation a few days ago. His roaming hands are on my skin. I feel them go up my shirt. It’s just a little feel, right?  It’s alright. I don’t want to be a buzzkill. His right hand seems to fly into my pants. I pull it up. Tell him to stop in between kisses. He keeps trying to put it back. With more force each time. I stop kissing him and push him away. He keeps pulling me towards him. “We’re dating. It’s okay.” He says. I scramble out of his grasp and tell him we’re over. Come Monday morning, my new nicknames are, “Slut” and “Prude”. Neither of which make sense to me.

I am 21. I am with someone. My 4^th boyfriend. He had a bad day. His game was off. Practice was hard. He was mad. It was understandable. I was too demanding. I provoked him. He hit me. I went to bed. He apologized. I put my head into the pillow and tried to scream. I tried to, but I couldn’t. I couldn’t even talk. My head hurt. My heart hurt. They tell you your heart doesn’t hurt, it can’t. But the moment I tried to yell, it did. I realized then that I wasn’t angry, I was broken. I switched the TV on, as well as my music. Anything to block out the silence, to block out my thoughts. I decided I was going to leave. Leave him, leave this. I couldn’t afford to think. I couldn’t stop thinking. I broke down.

I am 24. I am getting over it. I am single. I am trying to be whole without anyone next to me. I am growing. I live with a friend of mine, she’s great. She’s powerful. She saved me. I was with my 4^th boyfriend for a year and half after the first time he hit me. I kept making excuses. No more excuses. I love myself and will only be with someone who feels the same way. Nobody deserves to remain stuck in a relationship because she thinks she is not worthy of love.

I am 30. I am wearing my favourite blue dress. I am walking down a crowded street, holding on to my husband’s hand. I am ‘hooted’ at again. A group of men on the sidewalk with nothing better to do. My husband steps forward. I squeeze his hand, telling him I can handle it. I walk up to them and ask a question, “Why?” They are stunned. I walk back to my husband and grasp his hand again. But it’s different. I don’t need to feel protected anymore.

I am a woman. This does not mean I am dependant on others. This does not mean I cannot stand alone.  I am strong. I am powerful. I can fend for myself. I am female and that’s okay, it’s better than okay, it is great.

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Thanks for reading you guys:)

This is a work of fiction. I was experimenting. If you like this kind of stuff, please let me know, if you don’t, please tell me how you think I could make it better.

Thanks a lot:)

xxxxx

 

 

 

 

 

 

Home

It’s strange, the feeling of ‘ I’m at home now .’ My cousin had come into town from Leicester (yes, I gushed about his accent for an embarrassing amount of time…) and he told me the night before he left that he felt much more at home in Kolkata than over there. Now as a five year old, I doubt be meant something by it, and I wouldn’t hold it against him if the next time I see him he told me that Leicester is the best place in the world.
But, I understood what he meant completely.
I have been travelling quite a bit for the last couple of months or so and I love every moment I’m somewhere else, exploring, but I also love walking into the house to have three dogs pounce on me and lick my face. I love collapsing on my bed and cuddling my kolbalish ( side pillow). I love casually eating 4 bowls of yoghurt, just because it’s there in the fridge.
I love my home. When I say home I think most people think of a place, but I think I associate it more with a feeling. The feeling of comfort. Like, because my cousin came with his mom, there was no place for me on the bed for a couple of weeks, so I was on a mattress on the floor.
I was less comfortable there, physically, than say if I went upstairs, but it was  easier for me to fall asleep because of my parents’ soft snores. (I say soft I mean volcano erupting-ly loud. Sorry dad :D) So I was more comfortable in my head.
Home is  where you’re the most comfortable version of you, the most vulnerable. You can find a home anywhere, in a person, a moment, a feeling you get when you do something.
One of my friends told me that if I ever found someone who could make me as comfortable as when I’m writing, girl, boy or dog, I should keep them for as long as I can. So I assume that writing’s always been home for me, and I’m so grateful that I’ve found it so fast. People take years to find home, some leave the world without having found it, but some lucky idiots (me) find it at the age of 11 while sitting in a corner typing emotional rubbish into a blackberry-esque phone.

Thanks for reading!
Have you found home as yet? What is it for you? Let me know in the comments:)

Thanks:)

xxxxx

Different Realities

A few weeks ago I attended a talk by Ben Okri where he mentioned the idea that everyone’s reality is different and the idea stuck with me. As I went through the week the idea never left my head and every time I learned something it came to me, I have a different reality now.
Yesterday, I found my old phone. It’s about a year old now and the first thing I did was open up my playlist and hit shuffle. As I went through the songs I realised that in a year my whole life has drastically changed.
People have come and people have left, I’ve read new books and heard of new bands and most importantly, I expanded my view on life. As I was listening to my music I realised that as you go through life your

reality

changes. I remember a time when Victoria Memorial was the end of the world for me. When the only band that existed was The Spice Girls and when the only books I knew of were the Noddy books.
As I grew, I was introduced to amazing things like airplanes and Fall Out Boy, however the idea that surprised me most was that everyone did not think as I thought.
I always thought that all the people in the world knew exactly what I knew, that everyone had the same thoughts and understood the same ideas, boy was I wrong. Up to this day I have trouble communicating with people because I just assume they know what I’m trying to say. I think it’s safe to say that my brain has it’s own language and it expects people to understand it.
Our realities may be different, but our reality is always the same, for we may know separate things but they all tie into the truth. The one reality that exists outside of our heads.

What is one thing you guys believed for years that isn’t true?
I hope you enjoyed it xx

The Internet Generation

I spend a couple of hours a day on the internet, at least. That is a fact. Another fact is that I can barely remember a time without the internet even though my parents’ generation was without it for over half their life. If you haven’t guessed yet, I’m a Millennial. I was born around the same time as the internet.
In the early 2000s the internet became popular, then came the age of MySpace and IM-ing and in 2005 a life changing discovery was made. YouTube. I was four when YouTube was invented and now, ten years later, I couldn’t survive without it.

I pride myself in the ability to stay off the internet for days at a time and for being able to live without my phone, but the question I can’t help asking whenever I try is, ‘Why’?
A few weeks ago, I realised I had spent half of my Saturday on the internet watching YouTube videos or movies and I thought to myself, ‘Am I one of those people now? Do I spend my life on the internet?’ And so, to prove to myself I was not one of them I stayed off my phone for two days.
I was going to stay off it for a few more but I realised something that Monday night. I had just had a fight with my mother -I’m stubborn and can be very annoying, I don’t blame her- and I put my phone on and went directly to YouTube. I watched a few videos by people I know always cheer me up (AmazingPhil, Danisnotonfire, Tyler Oakley, Evan Edinger, Connor Franta, Troye Sivan, The Vlogbrothers, Jenna Marbles, I could go on forever)  and I was immediately happier.
The internet is really amazing, depending on how you use it. Sure, you can use it for bullying or illegal things but the fact is that there are videos and blogs and vines designed just for you. Just to make you smile. The internet also makes you believe anything can happen. A kid wearing a fedora could go on a rant about his first like and almost immediately get millions of people’s attention, just for being positive. The internet is a place for everyone, from jocks at school talking about football strategies to twenty-five year old men talking about why they are ‘a fail’.
The internet is one of my favorite places to go because I know that if I just look, I’ll find a video about how to get over it or 25 reasons I should smile today. The internet is one of my favorite places because I get to meet people who like the same things I like and agree with my opinions just by pressing the ‘subscribe’ button on a channel.
I know that back in the day nobody had a phone and they were all fine and dandy, but before that, way back in the day, women could only wear dresses and they were fine too. My question is why be fine when you can be happy?
If you have a resource, you use it, right? And the internet is not just a resource, it’s something that makes me happier.
The internet makes me happier, I found my role model on it. The internet makes me happier, I turn to it for advice from hundreds of people who have been in the same position as me. The internet makes me happier and that is why I will use it, shamelessly.

Has the internet helped you in anyway? Tell me about it down below!
Thanks for reading

xxxxx

I Really Should Be Studying.

I’m not a 100•/• sure about that statistic, but the fact that it may be real, that it’s easy for people to believe is what scares me. My midterms are coming up in January right after the winter break and I can honestly say I’ve never been so nervous. I recently watched a video by Evan Edinger featuring Emma Blackery talking about the difference between school in the USA and school in Britain and the US seems like such a great place to be studying!
Apparently they get graded on participation, understanding and that less than half of their grade is based on the exam! What? Over here in India 60 percent of my grade is based on the exam and the rest is based on classwork and homework assignments and projects. Also, apparently they get a revision sheet where a rough outline of the exam paper is given and as long as they understand those things they can do the paper!! Is this what it’s like in the rest of the world? Because all my friends and I have to guess what’s coming and hope for the best.
My point is not to express how amazing it is in America, but to tell everyone how scary it is to be a student in middle school.
Last year, I had spent about 2 months preparing for my French exam and I was so nervous that as soon as I walked in to the exam room my mind went blank. For 15 minutes the words on the paper looked like Greek to me and needless to say, it was the scariest 15 minutes of my life. Finally, I thought to myself, ‘Look, this isn’t the end of the world. I may not be the best at French but I refuse to let myself fail.
I took a deep breath and was able to finish the paper but I had still forgotten a whole bunch of verb conjugations thanks to my nervous brain.
I just think it’s unnecessary to put so much pressure on this one paper, this one day. Much easier said than done may I say when you are told from the beginning that your whole life is dependant on this set of papers.

That’s just my opinion, what’s yours? What do you think is a good alternative to a traditional exam?

Thanks for reading:)

xxxxx

You guys are here!!

It is 8:30 in the morning and there is only one thing I can think about. I have had 165 visitors overall. My posts get at least one or two views within a day of putting them up. I have replied to three comments since the beginning of this expedition and all these clues can only mean one thing. You guys are there. I have an ‘audience’, even if it is just one person, and that is the most exciting thing I can imagine.
It means that you’re reading this because you’re interested in what this random fourteen year old has to say and that my voice is being heard, I might even be sparking a conversation between you and somebody else and that’s all I ever wanted to do! I can’t tell you how excited I am, every morning, when I go and look at my statistics and the views have gone up by even one, it means someone else took time out of their day to look at this blog and that
means the world to me.
No, it’s not all about the numbers but, honestly, I’m putting out my opinion in the hopes that it may effect someone else’s and the fact that there are actually real, live people who are going through my blog and thinking through things just excites me! So, I just had to thank you! I hope I didn’t come off as an excited little girl, even though in my heart that is what I always will be. Thank you, even if this is the first blog you read of mine or the last one, thank you for taking the time to read this.

The journey.

Today, I attended a ‘shradho’, it’s a Hindu ceremony held one year after the death of a family  member in honour of him or her. It was a very soothing experience, because not only do we remember the person in question, we are also told about why she was taken away and how to cope.

Today, the ‘purohit’ or priest told us the story of life. He said it in a majestic, albeit practiced, manner and it was in Bengali, so this is my rendition of it.
We were sitting around the beautiful fire we made for the ritual and he started the story with the question, what is life about?
The first to answer was the bird. He said, “Every morning I wake up at dawn and go to bed at dusk, my life starts and ends with the Sun every day, so my life is about the Sun.”
The rat who was sitting next to the bird said, ” I spend my whole day carrying food that is ten times my weight around just to be able to survive. So, my life is about the struggle of surviving in the world.”
The rose looked up and said to the rat, “That may be what your life is about, but every day I wake up and smell good, just to please the people around me, so my life is about serving and pleasing people.”
The Sun then looked down on everyone and said, “I am the one who gives life, and my life is like every other’s. It begins at Sunrise and only ends when it is forgotten. It is a journey.”
So, we come to the conclusion that life is a journey. But every journey must have a purpose right? So what is the purpose of this journey? Karma. There is a theory that your soul never dies. That life is a part of a much bigger journey and our bodies are just temporary vessels. So, what we call life is the time we get to pay off our karma.
This was just my take on an interesting experience I had today. What’s your take on it?

Thanks:)

xxxxx

Thoughts about Paris.

Fear. The first thing that struck me when I heard about the incident was fear. I was afraid for my friend who moved there recently, thinking the worst of things, afraid for myself, thinking I might be next and most importantly afraid of the people around me. I instantly thought of how anything could happen to anyone, regardless of how careful you are.
I thought of all the people in love with violence, I thought of the hate crimes, the bullying, the countless number of people affected by the bombings, physically or otherwise. My social media was full of, ‘#PrayForParis’  but I didn’t know how. I was too flustered. Thinking about Japan, Baghdad and Bombay. The pictures in the news scared me.
I couldn’t think straight. My first response was fear, the second, was disengaging. I did not know how to think, or feel about it. I had too many thoughts in my head to form a coherent opinion and as I went through the motions of the day the feelings grew and I became predominantly sad.
I stopped thinking about whether I would be next and started thinking about what could have driven them to do these things. Has the world really become that bad?

The world is with Paris.

A good day?

Today in the morning I woke up and the first thing I thought was, ‘Today is going to be a good day.’ I convinced myself while bathing that it would be one of the best days. That everything would be good.
Then, life happened. I missed every basket during basketball practice, I messed up on a test about a poem I could recite with no hesitation if you asked me now, the water was freezing when I went in for my bath after practice, the banana I picked up was rotten, I caught a cold and to top it all off my head hurt for the whole day.
No, nothing good has happened so far. The day did not redeem itself, it did not take a turn for the better. When everything wasn’t terrible, it was okay at best.
A fact hit me hard today. Sometimes, the day doesn’t have a point. Sometimes your hard work doesn’t pay off. Sometimes you try your best and you fail and it sucks. But it’s okay. You wake up the next day and move on. And with each passing bad day, the hope for a better one grows stronger.

The Atheist Who Loves Temples.

I am an atheist who loves visiting temples. Let me make something clear for you, no, I do not agree with the concept of religion. In fact, I believe there might be Something out there but I just don’t think it’s interested in our lives or cares whether we eat cows or not. I don’t even agree with the concept of an idol that represents the way we imagine our ‘God’.
Somebody on tumbler once said, “We can’t be sure of who or what God is or even if there is anything like God, so, why guess?”
But the one thing I love about religion is the temples. I don’t mean the architecture or the paintings, no, I mean the vibe. I love the way each temple has an aura of it’s own. Or even the way that the feel of a Church will never be the same as the feel of a mosque.
The Puri Temple in India is a special place for me, I don’t know why. Any time you go, be it the middle of the day or 7 at night, there is always a buzz. The outside of the temple has the priests guiding people around, talking about the temple’s history or who the Gods inside are and what they represent. The people on the inside haphazardly praying, hoping that these, ‘Gods’ are paying attention to them, all of them… When at the Puri temple you are supposed to circle the Gods a few times, while praying.
The last time I went, my family took me once at night and once in the morning. The first time was at night and on that occasion my father and I, in the pouring rain, circled the temple for what simultaneously felt like years and seconds. For some reason, the cold did not bother me, my bare feet did not complain about the few rocks I stepped on, but, I did not feel particularly religious either.
I was amazed. It amazed me. The fact that every one, from all around the world, came up with the idea of a superior being. Someone who cared about us and controlled our lives. I never could understand why or how the concept of God came up, and I hope to find out.
But that night, in the freezing rain, walking in complete silence, I felt this inexplicable feeling I towards the wonder that is mankind. I felt what I can only presume was true amazement. I was amazed at the lengths we would go to for a, ‘what if’, for a dream… I was amazed at the energy that people gave out, the feelings of others, so strong,  that they kept the cold out for me… I was amazed at what an idea could do.