The rustic enchantress

The soft voice and the downcast eyes
She is an embodiment of modesty and raw grace
The veiled face that refuses to hide her long, dangling nose ring
And an earthen pot that only enhances her ethnic charm
Can someone please tell her to make haste
The well is drying up in the hot sun

Her peaches and cream complexion invites no comparison
Those tanned legs can make many a blonde woman go green with envy
With wind in her hair, and a look of assurance
She is ready to face the test of time
Can someone look beyond that pretty face
Her mind and soul are strong enough to stare anyone in the face

She quietly manages all the household chores
Whether it is scrubbing the utensils or washing dirty laundry
Her kids and kin are the nucleus of her existence
And the needs of her partner form her commandments
Can someone ask her how she manages to hold her own
Whilst donning multiple hats with consummate ease

Her walk enlivens the entire neighbourhood
Taunts and passes are permanent fixtures in her life
But, she chooses to remain undeterred by form of eccentricity
For, she chooses to march ahead, tirelessly
Can someone spare a moment to pat her on the back
For, she is the perfect blend of nature and nurture

A day out with my grandmother

From Amazon to Snapdeal, Jabong to Myntra, all the online shopping portals were checked off the list, while I was looking to buy a handbag. None of the bags available with these online retailers seemed very appealing; or at least, none of the bags came close to the kind of bag I was looking for. I was making a mental note of all the stores I could probably visit, in and around where I live, when my mother suggested that I take my grandmother along if and when I went. Having a seventy-nine year old grandmother who loves to live the good life, when it comes to attiring herself, and is someone who has a well-defined taste in ornamentation, having her come along and help me choose the right bag seemed like a plan, already. Also, the fact that my grandmother doesn't step out of the house very often made me look forward to the shopping trip all the more.

My grandmother was visiting a mall after too long a time-gap. The only time she had visited a mall, before, was seven years ago, outside India. While I was running from one corner to the other, checking out almost every bag that was available, my grandmother was happily counselling me on which bag stood out. Even though I was the shopper, quite evidently, the staff at the mall was more forthcoming every time my grandmother had any inputs or suggestions to give. We finally zeroed in on a black tote bag, after a long search. After finalising the purchase, my grandmother was eager to check out the women's footwear section, which was right next to the bag counter. And I happily agreed to check out one of the most popular attractions, among women, inside a shopping mall. Little did we know that a Sale board has never, in the history of mankind, failed anybody, leave alone us mortals.The outing with my grandmother soon turned into a shopping spree.

The clock had struck 2 p.m. After making an exit from the mall, I came up with a plan to watch a movie. Before my grandmother could reply, the plan was finalised. Holding hands, while slowly climbing the fleet of stairs leading to the main theatre, my grandma reminisced about the movie-going experience some twenty odd years ago, when she had watched her last movie in a theater. Maybe watching a movie was just a pretext under which I could share in the joy of watching her go down the memory lane and react to the social and cultural scenario that exist, today, and, maybe, also get an opportunity to see things from her perspective, be it just for a little while. The movie was a three-hour-long celebration of love, which ends in a tragedy. Such was the all-love-stories-do-not-have-a-happy-ending drama, that we were reeling for long after the movie was over.

Our journey back home witnessed high levels of contentment, because of the way the day had panned out. For the longest time, the black bag will serve to remind me of all the special moments I have spent with my grandmother. And also, it shall never fail to remind me that the elderly need not be restricted to just being advice givers and storytellers. They can be the most gentle and caring friends one could confide in, when the chips are down. A few years down the line, I shall look back, reminiscing about the times gone by, and revel in the pleasure and glory of being able to convince my grandmother to spend a day out with me.

Generational love

Journey from Vile Parle to Churchgate and back

It was 6th August, 2016. The time was 9:22 a.m. As I was making my way out of my house, I felt something damp come in contact with my footwear. As it turned out, the rain water had entered the corridor, making the floor slippery. By the time I ended up hailing an auto, the time was 9:25 a.m. The Vile Parle station was bustling with people. Since I was carrying a train pass, I headed straight to the platform where the Churchgate-bound train was supposed to arrive. On reaching the platform, an announcement was made notifying the passengers that the Churchgate-bound train that was scheduled to arrive at platform no. 2 had been diverted to platform no. 6. All hell broke loose when I learned about the change. My mind was filled with thoughts about the situation that would arise if I missed the train. I was already running late, and missing a train would be only adding insult to injury. The train arrived just as I was walking towards platform no. 6, and I ran exhaustively till I got inside one of the compartments. Trust me when I say that in my entire life I've never bothered about anything as much as I did when I had assumed that the train would leave me behind, failing me terribly.

My classes were supposed to start at 10:30 a.m. By the time I boarded the train, it was 9:38 a.m. Upon finding myself a seat in the train, I realised I had forgotten to carry a copy of the news daily I had planned to read during my 45-minute-long train journey. The girl sitting opposite me was immersed in a book; whereas, the woman sitting adjacent to me looked like she was reading some chants from a small book. I, for one, looked like a clueless onlooker. While some of the women sitting in the compartment were chatting away to glory, the rest of them chose to stay glued to their mobiles. I felt static amidst the loud sounds that the running train generated. For someone who had barely traveled in such a cramped fashion, before, everything that happened, around, just added to my perspective. I had heard stories of how train traveling in Mumbai can be an exasperating and tumultuous task. So much so, that the entire train culture can get to you. I am, yet, naive enough to have a say in whether train traveling in Mumbai, as an experience, needs any changes or not; but, one thing that remains sure is that traveling by trains can help explore and experience the finer nuances of the human life like nothing else.

A few minutes into the train journey, a blind man (or at least pretending to be blind) got inside the ladies compartment of the train and indulged into some kind of singing to evoke sympathies from the passengers and con them into shelling out a few bucks. The man looked no more than thirty five years of age and had a lean and tall posture. He held a stick in his hand and stood singing near every row of passengers. Soon, after being unsuccessful in collecting any money, the man stood near the door to make an exit at the next station. After getting out of the compartment, the young man, sliding his hand through the exteriors of the train compartment, got inside the adjoining compartment. He, again, started humming the same song with the hope that he wouldn't be disappointed, once more. Just then, a lame man, who looked like he was in his late twenties, was walking hurriedly towards the train with a crutch and a bag clinging to his back. At this point, I couldn't help but think about how it is not necessarily physical handicap, but our attitude towards life, as humans, that holds far more power to paralyse us and determine what we do with our lives.

As I was getting out of the train, I saw a bunch of passengers waiting to board the train that I had ably managed to get out of. While some people were working professionals, there was a small group of women, accompanied by their children, who looked like they were out on a day long trip; and the kids were gushing about their plans for the day. Also, there was a handful lot of college students who looked ready to get started with their day's routine which was to begin with a train journey from Churchgate and, probably, end with one back to Churchgate. The purpose of traveling of every passenger may be different; but, what what was to remain constant between all of us was our exposure and experience in sharing in the travails of a common man's journey to and from Churchgate. 

5 things nobody can teach you

The list can be longer based on the experiences one has had in life. I have shortlisted the five things that, I think, people should much rather define for themselves as opposed to following a herd mentality.

1) Meaning of Happiness - Oxford defines Happiness as the state of being happy. And what is being happy all about? It's about one's well-being and the feeling of a sense of pleasure with what one has in life. And the reason I feel happiness cannot be taught is because what makes one individual happy does not necessarily seem to bring joy and pleasure to another individual. I, for the longest time, have derived a lot of thrill from indulging in adventure sports. Every time I hear of someone partaking in one, or see pictures of a bungee jump, I get an adrenaline rush. There's a sense of accomplishment that is attached to performing stunts like this. And there's another set of individuals who finds doing such activities worthless and see them as things that are overhyped, and view the bravado involved as unnecessary. There's always going to be two outcomes to everything one does: positive and negative. It is upto every individual to weigh the outcome of every action in a way that leads them to decide whether a particular thing will lead to happiness or pain.

2) The attitude to carry - Over a period of time I've realised that a bad attitude is capable of causing much more harm than any war can ever cause. As much as a person may stand for love and peace, living in a war-torn country with a clenched fist is nothing less than foolishness. Sometime back, I came across a beautiful article on the Internet, which narrated a story about how much of an asset right mindfulness and sensible behavior can be. The story includes a visit that the narrator once made, to a mall, with his friend and his parents. The narrator and his friend were inside a book shop in a mall, when they heard loud noises coming from outside the store. As it turned out, the parents of the narrator's friend had indulged in a verbal onslaught with each other. Upon finding out what had happened, the friend of the narrator asked him to go to the bookstore, while he excused himself for a minute. The friend asked his parents to go and sit inside the car till he and the narrator were done. On the way back home, nobody said anything. Once they were all home, the narrator was asked to sit in the drawing room with his friend's mother, while his friend took his father inside a room. After a few minutes, the boy sent his father out and called his mother inside. And later, he took inside both his parents, together, before proceeding with any other doings. As it turned out, the friend took his father inside to discuss the matter with him, and only after he was done that the mother was called inside to discuss the matter, before, finally, talking to both his parents, together, and settling the matter between them, in a way that no grudges were held. The narrator described how his friend was mindful of everything he did, beginning from not reacting immediately, while at the mall, and later, not discussing anything in the car, where the narrator was present. Upon reaching home, he tactfully called his dad inside the room, first, because he knew that women have a soft and tender heart, and that they forgive easily. So, once his dad was explained to about the matter and made to realise his mistake, his mother would not take time to realise her mistake and easily forgive and forget the situation. After the matter was sorted, everybody seemed happy with each other and the fight became a thing of the past. According to the narrator, his friend was a very intelligent person, who knew where to speak, what to speak, when to speak and whom to speak to. Despite living in the same house as his parents, the boy certainly stood out beacuse of his attitude and sensibilities.

3) How to succeed - I used to brainstorm. I still do so. And I shall continue the trend of finding the formula for success in the future. The only difference between thinking about what success is, today, and thinking about what success is, tomorrow, would be the increased strength in my belief that success should not be awaited like a bolt of lightning, which will eventually happen as I keep getting less and less insecure every time 'success' is discussed. The reason no one can teach how to succeed is that success is purely circumstantial, and most importantly, it is a state of mind. What success means to one is not necessarily viewed as success to another person. Let me take a classic example, the women belonging to the royal family of Saudi Arabia, who are surrounded by opulence, are envied by many, and are thought to personify success. Ironically, for these women, the freedom to live their lives the way they wish to is what success constitutes.

4) How to be yourself - Living in a world that has already set a lot of barriers by constantly highlighting the differences between what is acceptable and what is not, there is a very little  scope for people to truly be themselves and experience their true individuality. No matter how much one may be advised about how to break free of all the shackles of life in order to be truly free, the fact of the matter remains that one will always have a road map that is unique to himself/herself, along with his/her own definition of what being oneself means. And conforming to that perspective would be depriving oneself from being his/her real self.

5) Contentment - When I was 3, getting a star on my hand meant the world to me. When I was 7, getting a Barbie doll as a birthday present mattered more than receiving a cash amount. When I was 12, getting to eat my favorite snack after bribing my mother was the most exciting deal. As a teenager, looking attractive became the most important thing. As a young adult, trying to fall in love with who I am, and everything I do takes centre stage. And since there are going to be many exciting journeys, ahead, staying contented looks like the biggest challenge, when the definitions of 'contenment' are varied. Since I have to decide what gives me utmost satisfaction, I choose the path of self-sufficiency as my path to contentment. What about you?

Just because nobody complains doesn't mean all parachutes are perfect.

It was a bright, sunny day. The weather was just perfect. The ferry that took the passengers to see the Statue of Liberty had just started. Every view from the ferry was scenic and magnanimous. The sound of the water was enough to soothe my anxious nerves. While everybody was engrossed in animated discussions, and looked gung-ho about seeing the iconic statue, up close, my mind kept going to my college admission status and whether I would get admission into the stream I had applied for. Life, till the tenth grade, was seamless, living under the shadow of my parents. Opting for a career, when the naivety levels were at its peak, made a classic example of preparing to fail. On my way back, after touring around the statue, a much awaited news was broken to me. It was a news that would eventually alter the course of my life. My admission was secured in a junior college that would lead me to pursue engineering at the degree level. My mental exasperation had come to an end with the development. The journey ahead offered its own share of pressure and exhaustion, combined with my resistance to accept what was to be.


''Ohm's law deals with the relationship between voltage and current in an ideal conductor. This relationship states that: The potential voltage difference across an ideal conductor is proportional to the current through it,'' said Professor Dinesh in the middle of a Physics practical class. The watch showed ten minutes past 4 p.m., and the class was going to end at 4:30 p.m. I was looking around the class and fidgeting with a pen. I just wanted the class to end. After I was home, I could barely stop thinking about my Physics practical class. I couldn't understand why my attention kept drifting from what was going on in the class. I was clearly not on the same page as the rest of the class. "This is not where I want to be," I told myself. For the first time in my life I had felt so lost. Everything was going on at a fast pace; but, sooner or late, putting a brake on something that I was never cut out for was inevitable. Soon, studies started becoming a burden. On the one hand was the lure of a promising career in Science, and on the other hand was a calling that I could no longer ignore. In India, one's career is not just restricted to his/her own self. There's a multitude of emotions and sentiments of various individuals, including friends and family, along with one's own opinion, that contribute towards what career one finally ends up pursuing. I was torn between hopes and possibilities. The mental battle persisted for a long time until I finally took the plunge and switched to Arts.

The queue for the admission form for Arts was quite long. Maybe it was sheer anxiety, or maybe studies had become a challenge that made getting a degree feel like a monumental task. I had explored all the aspects of human thinking by the time my Arts programme began. After struggling for three years with what could have been a memorable brush with college studies, nothing, absolutely nothing made sense, at once. When I should have felt secure in the knowledge that I finally had a chance of changing the path on which my life was treading, I was deprived of all my emotions. All of this, which eventually changed, made me hit rock bottom. All that could have ever gone wrong had already occurred. All the kinds of advice and opinion I would ever receive were already taken into consideration. The time to remain helpless and hope for change was up. It was time to implement correct actions and wise decisions. The best way out was acting upon where my interests lied. All the external voices had to die down.

It's been over five years since my travails began. The journey has been riddled with several highs and lows. Many people pride themselves in achieving great successes and milestones; but, I pride myself in surviving all the odds. Any or every kind of physical harm keeps up the façade of there being a battle; but, I say, the real battle is all about fighting what lies within and to constantly strive to heal wounds that are not translucent, but powerful enough to determine the human trajectory. My battle is beginning to become a distant past; and it hasn't just revolved around getting my educational journey back on track. It has also matured into wonderfully enlightening me on aspects that try to look beyond one's self. And that's the genius of life. Some things are meant to happen for the greater good. And some things lack worth without a fair share of struggle.

The realm of Bollywood music

Be it a thriller, biopic, love story or a slapstick dramedy, a Bollywood movie is incomplete without its share of songs. No matter how irrelevant a song may be to the story of a movie, swaying to the beats of the song, while lip-syncing to it is central to any Hindi drama. So much so that even foreign imports like Nargis Fakhri and Jacqueline Fernandes have managed to survive in Bollywood for this long by simply mastering the 'thumkas', to strike a chord with their desi audience. Sadly for these ladies, the UP, Bihar market has already been captured by Shilpa Shetty.

From Lata Mangeshkar's 'Ae mere watan ke logon' to Honey Singh's 'Char bottle vodka', the meaning of love has come full circle. From using metaphors to describe a woman's grace and charm to outrightly describing her as a vice, Bollywood songs have always gained traction, be it for their mediocrity or their plain lyrical genius. To those that have never been exposed to Hindi film music, it wouldn't take more than a few hit Bollywood tracks to convince one that it is the songs that make the movie, and not the other way around. As I stand here, today, I can proudly attribute all my extended imagination and feminine impracticalities to all the Hindi film songs I grew up listening to. 'Chhaiya Chhaiya' from Dil Se seriously got me contemplating taking a top-of-the-train ride for the longest time, as a kid. 'Nimbooda' from Hum Dil De Chuke Sanam was such a rage that, to this day, I bear the most expressive face every time the song plays. Kal Ho Na Ho's title track was everybody's favored nostalgia-inducing, sad song. The song was a saviour for every person who couldn't sing to save their lives. Ila Arun's voice in Choli Ke Piche Kya Hai always served as a good remedy to scare an ill-behaved child into discipline.

On the one hand where A.R. Rahman songs have been a treat to the ears, a chiffon saree and the alps have done little to break the Bollywood romance stereotype. Looking back, there doesn't seem to be one single auspicious occasion/festival that hasn't been acknowledged with a Bollywood song. If the upbeat and larger-than-life Bollywood songs are the life of every party, then Arijit Singh songs work like magic for the lovelorn hearts. The latest musical sensation that the Tum Hi Ho singer is, he has seen an entire generation let its emotions find a voice though his soulful tracks. Although I have never been a fan of old Hindi film songs, I never seem to get enough of how flowers remained a permanent fixture in songs that tried to potray physical intimacy between the hero and heroine of the movie. Well, it seems like the phrase 'the birds and the bees' found its origin in the old, magnificent Bollywood songs.

Many may thrash Bollywood songs, and brush them off as inferior; but, very few can deny the thrill of grooving to a Bollywood song. As much as Hindi movies are incomplete without their fair share of songs, every wedding, party, and festival lacks worth until the DJ plays at least a few Bollywood dance numbers that can hardly stop people from getting hungover. I have started compiling all the hit Bollywood songs of 2016, and realised that maybe we should get some international artists to sing for Bollywood movies. Or maybe, we can follow in the footsteps of Priyanka Chopra, and try and maybe get someone like Chris Martin to collaborate with Kailash Kher, to get some indie cred. If such a thing has to happen, then I can already see the international audience being left awestruck by Kailash Kher's vocal strength, while Chris Martin entertains the audience with the piano and contemplates being a judge on Indian Idol.

D stands for Dark

The trees were swaying back and forth in the cold of the night, while the gusty winds produced a sound of their own. The leaves of the banyan tree started falling, and soon covered the ground, like a carpet. A beige cat found its little kittens, and proceeded to look for a safe haven. The two barking dogs fighting across from the street, suddenly became quiet.The door of the distant lighthouse started to swing with the winds, making a sound so loud every time it closed, that it almost seemed like some invisible hand was trying to push it as hard as possible. The branches of one of the trees, in the way they were shaped, resembled a ghost. Or maybe, the Dopplëganger of a ghost. The small yellow bulb inside the lighthouse fused, and darkness invaded every corner of the landscape. The door which was swinging very hard with the winds, stopped moving, and fixed itself at a 45 degree angle. The storm, which refused to die down, had now joined forces with torrential rains. At the top of a tree, whose radius was covered with leaves, was a black, horned owl. The owl gave the impression of a spy. A ferocious looking and unforgiving spy, that would send all the alarm bells into a tizzy. The swaying of the trees, back and forth, could be easily mistaken for a demonic spirit, inching closer with every move, and trying to scar any being on its way, physically and emotionally.

Tossing and turning in the bed with disturbed facial expressions, and eyes shut as tightly as possible, loathing every bit of the way the nightmare unfolded, I decided to end my sleep. I exhaled, but not before I could grasp that what I had experienced was just a figment of my imagination. I spent the next 10-15 minutes in bed, trying to understand what had led to the disastrous dream. There are some nightmares that hardly ever leave a trail beyond the time they last, and then there are some others that continue shaking you up, long after they have transpired. As surreal as some good dreams are, a bad dream tends to lurk for much longer, in one's memories.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                          

As someone who has confronted fears and nightmares quite well, or at least pretended to do so, I was shocked to see my heart fill with trepidation and anxiety, when I recently watched a movie inspired from the real life story of a teenage girl's brutal murder. So much so, that I felt petrified while walking towards my room, after watching the murder mystery. Maybe, there are times when the connect with a particular thing becomes overwhelmingly strong, and thus, internalising a lot of aspects of which one is a mere spectator, some of which may not even seem real, becomes inevitable. And most of a layman's exposure to horror and dreadful experiences comes from movies. Much has been spoken about and debated, when it comes to the existence of paranormal activities and spirits. As curious and intrigued as I may be about mysterious episodes, I haven't quite been able to understand what it is that is scarier, the timing of the occurrence of the mysterious incident or the incident itself. What is it about the dark that makes the world of murders, horror, and mystery take shape. But, as is quite palpable, some questions only add to the mystery.      

After catching an afternoon show of Conjuring 2, I was more thankful for having chosen the right show timing than for being able to watch the much-talked-about movie on the first day of its release. But the one thing that remains sure is that it feels much safer to experience horror and mystery through someone else's eyes, knowing full well that there are others who are sharing in the experience of shutting their eyes every time a loud and scary sound hints at the arrival of the evil spirit on the 80 inch screen, jerking off their seats when the ghost finally arrives, and slightly leaning on a shoulder next to yours when you are scared as against visualising oneself falling prey to a ghost or blackout, and trying to hide when the ghost tries to follow him/her, until he/she finally wakes up with a thousand minor heart attacks. Also, I plan to watch Conjuring 1, which I have been told beats its second instalment with its fear quotient. This time, I think, I will be sending invites on social media platforms to find good company for the movie, which I plan to watch in the morning.

Autobiography of an abandoned goat

Please help me!

I'm an Asian goat who is currently on the run. I was bred in a farm in North India for milk. My mother gave birth to me and my two siblings in the same farm, which was owned by an elderly man and his sons. We were well-fed to ensure that we grew up healthy enough to fetch our master a good price for our quality milk. Unlike me and my sister, my brother was sold off to a butcher at four months of age, who would eventually slaughter him for his meat.

As new-born babies, when our farm owner didn't depend on us to serve any commercial purpose, I and my siblings enjoyed following our mother everywhere in the farm, grazing through the green pastures of land and indulging in some fun and frolic. I grew fond of my life in the farm, not realising that soon all of us would be separated. My mother was soon sent to another farm, after she was plagued with a rare disease that mired her ability to breed. She went out of favor with the elderly gentleman, who transported her to a farm where she would be reared for meat. My brother met with a similar fate after he outgrew the nursing phase. My sister and I bred once a year ever since we turned one year old, except that my sister died at three years old. She hadn’t been milked for four days in a row, a few months after she gave birth, causing internal congestion to take her life. I realised that as I kept getting older, the attention given to me kept reducing. I knew that I would soon be traded for younger goats, once I stopped giving enough milk. There would be days when I would cry for long hours in my shed, thinking about my family and how much I missed them. Sometimes I wish my flesh wasn't edible and tasty for a goat's meat. Now that I'm baring my heart out, let me also say that being an animal in a world selfishly dominated by humans is a bane.

The day I had been dreading arrived sooner than I imagined. My owner soon started to look at me as a liability, and saw my rearing as unproductive. Like most other goats, I started giving smaller quantities of milk as I grew older. My farm owner was looking to sell me off when he was approached by a local butcher who offered him an attractive price for purchasing me and a few other goats in the farm. Before I knew it, I was already on my way to face the dreaded sword. My owner, who I had thought of as a very kind soul as an infant, now became a demon in my eyes. His actions would only mean that the bond and attachment that I had forged with him through the years were also going to be sold. I desperately wanted my mother to come to my rescue. I felt cheated and vulnerable, and my eyes were filled with terror. I did not know what lay ahead of me. I could now come to think about all the poor animals who, in the past, had met with horrific fates. In no possible way could I get myself to think about many a young goat, whose lives would end in a fashion similar to mine. On my way to the butcher's shop, I tried to escape from the vehicle that squeezed 15 other goats along with me. Alas, the human on the road gestured to the driver of our vehicle about our escape, who in no time jumped to his feet to catch me by the horn! I was pulled inside the vehicle with bleeding horns.
I wasn’t done with my struggle yet.  I tried to escape for a second time when I was inside the shop.

On entering the shop, I  saw a tonne of goat meat lying in the garbage can. As it turns out, the demand for our meat varies on a daily basis. Hence, a lot of our meat goes to waste when stored in mass quantities. I was eighth in a line of sixteen goats that were meant to be butchered for their meat and skin. I could sense the fear building up in the eyes of all the goats. The butcher picked up a large sword that had dried blood stains and sprang into action. And, we were one down! Blood spewed over all our faces, taking our fear to its peak. Some of us indulged in loud cries, but even our loudest screams seemed to fall on deaf ears. Our cries got worse as the next three goats shut their eyes, one after another. The butcher, now, decided to attend to his customers, but not before chaining the rest of us inside a room. The room looked like a store-room for all the live animals that were brought in. The room had two exits, with the second exit leading to the main street. My brain started running helter-skelter, trying to find ways to break away from the confinement. I tried to pull myself away from the chain that held me close to a wall. While I was helplessly trying to loosen the grip of the chain, I heard something snap. Bravo, I had finally managed to set myself free! I decided to make a secret escape using the second exit. I pushed the rickety door hard and quickly made a non-fussy exit. I felt very sorry for the other goats that were left inside, and sincerely wished for their rescue. I, still, was not totally safe, but experiencing some freedom for the first time, while I was on my own, surely added enough value to a goat's life in this human-centric world. 

A day without internet

Wake up. Go to the loo. Plonk on the bed with the mobile phone. Multiple screams from mother go ignored. Check all the accounts across various social media platforms. The final call for breakfast arrives. Get up and brush the teeth. Eat the breakfast. Pick up a news daily. Check the phone before settling down to catch up with the latest news. The rest of the day passes with frequent breaks to check the phone. To be precise, the breaks are exclusively reserved for checking WhatsApp, Facebook, mails, and Instagram, among other things. Well, that's what my routine consists of, when the internet is working.

There are times when this routine is disrupted, although, not very often. They are the times when there lacks a secure internet connection. And those days seem like the worst of the nightmares. Recently, the WiFi connection in my house had lapsed for one entire day. Yes, you heard it right, one entire day. As someone who mostly relies on WiFi connections, a mobile data pack is rarely availed of. Contrary to the tone expressed in the previous sentences, the beginning of the day without internet was pleasant. Surprisingly, I did a lot of things that wouldn't have been possible to do, alongside the constant buzzing of the phone. For the first time in a long while, I looked around my messy room and realized that I had the last opportunity to save my room from looking like a godown that stocked all the trash one could possibly find in a room. Hey, I've never felt more productive than when I finished the herculean task of cleaning up my godown-like messy room! Constant struggles to fix the dormant internet connection were on, all through the while, without any success. There is a vast difference between voluntarily choosing to turn off the internet to avoid distraction and not having access to internet, and thus having to make do without it. It is at this point that I realise how I may be missing out on some important mails and messages, and I simultaneously start feeling disconnected from all the goings-on around me. And it is also these very moments that trigger a quest for occasional detachment. In the meanwhile, various books were browsed through. Also, I began scrolling down my contact list with the hope of talking to people I've not been in touch with. Voila, I manage to surprise a couple of contacts with the gesture!

Today, we live in an era where almost half of the world's population makes use of the internet on a daily basis. I wonder how the older generations saw people live a life without television, mobile phones, and refrigerators, let alone an internet connection. Late afternoon, I sat my grandmother down to know what life was like, in her heydays. I couldn't help but feel enchanted while my grandmother shared some anecdotes from her life and reminisced about how a big family always found enough ways to remain amused and entertained. My evening plans of watching a movie, online, were substituted with a visit to the Juhu beach. The beauty of the sunset, which I have heard of more than I have witnessed, was experienced in all its glory. The gentle ocean waves, cool zephyrs, and the sand castles seemed to quickly fill all the empty spaces in my life, and everything felt just perfect.

Something seemed amiss when I headed back home. As it turned out, I hadn't touched my phone in a long time. Just like how an empty house lacks value, my phone, on that particular day, seemed empty and worthless. I frantically made a few calls at my internet provider's office, just to know that I would have to wait until the next morning to get my internet connection fixed. Honestly, no problem or obstacle in my life has ever seemed as grave and severe as the one I was facing, when I was cut off from the digital world. I planned to buy a mobile data pack, the next morning. The plan didn't materialise as I woke up to an active WiFi connection, the next morning. It felt like the most pleasant start to the day. There is a saying that goes as 'Absence makes the heart grow fonder,' and in my case, this statement couldn't have meant more.

The high-octane life!

I found myself in a catch-22 situation when, despite assuming that my life had steadily changed over a period of time, I couldn't help but admit how life looks drastically different at various micro-levels, looking back. These micro-levels altered my life at a macro-level. Upon having a discussion with a friend who drew my attention to how, today, we all prefer living our lives in the fast lane, and many compromise on their future needs and requirements, just to be able to sustain a modern-day lifestyle. Can money buy comfort and luxury? Yes. Does a glorified social status improve one's standard of living? Yes, under pressure. Does money indulge? Certainly. But the real question here is, 'At what cost?' Money's indulgence seems short-lived and fails to seem legit when bigger hopes and wishes are compromised upon. As much as the argument of enjoying the allowances of a friendly environment and lifestyle seems appealing, there is also a thought spared for the output and longevity of our actions, for the greater good.

The atmosphere is competitive. Time is running out. There is a drastic upsurge in the activities and ideas that multiply rapidly. Making quick bucks has become a norm. And there is no looking back for spendings. Educational qualifications are at par. City life has gained totally different momentum. Material riches are shaping attitudes and personalities. Nuclear set-up of homes has catalyzed independent thinking. Has the change struck, now? But, in keeping with the daily requirements and demands of the life I lead, this qualifies as a very basic life, say many. In fact, my outings and parties with friends, my fitness and vanity enhancing regimens, and healthcare requirements haven't even found a mention in this ever expanding list, says one of the 21st century go-getters. Amidst all these doings, how and why should one ever find a reason to slower his/her pace of life and let a low-on-ostentation life take over, like before? Much to my dismay, I have lived my life according to a certain standard, without ever thinking if my life has been a product of the society's influence or if I have inadvertently been pressured to chug that path of life, which is both emotionally and financially exploiting. Although, today it seems like my life is torn over between what has been socially deemed acceptable and what I have grown up on.

Media has been the biggest game-changer when it comes to enlightening and overthrowing the old, familiar Indian lifestyle. Fashion senses have evolved, and how! Shopping season that would arrive once every year, mostly coinciding with a festival, no more requires an occasion to arrive. An organic generation gap seems too heavy to bear, and at times also seems like mental baggage. Family outings and get-togethers over dinner have been traded for potlucks, clubbing, and weekend getaways with friends and colleagues. I was growing up when this noteworthy transition took place, and for some reason, this transition victimized people before they could manage to come to terms with this speedy change.  Growing up with the basic necessities of life and occasional add-ons, gratitude has become second nature to me, for all that I had back then, but seems somewhat missing, today. A city like Mumbai may resemble a match-box when one considers the proximity and size of homes. But, the warmth and affection do not flow as easily as the wrath of the people, around. Sharing a bed, earlier, never required much of a thought. The same thing today, after a decade or two, seems like a major life decision. What can these changes be attributed to?

Today, there is no better feeling than that of being born at a time when the constant buzzing of a phone did not eat into my personal space. It feels good to revel in the old world charm of people being able to afford to be totally inaccessible, and access their deepest desires. Gratitude is also shown for the time when family talks/chats were prioritized over reel life family dramas. The art of sharing and saving up for later, and the greater joy of rejoicing the stored treasure of one's favorite cake have become the fondest memories. And also, the feeling of having witnessed a life where the people living together made a house, and not the other way round. I shall pride myself for being able to differentiate between a robotic and absolutely carefree and non-robotic life. And also for knowing what it is like reading a hard copy of a book before the kindle came in, what enjoying swings and see-saws in a park is like before video games took over. I know that a bed-time story will always hold more essence than falling asleep to Angry Birds on television. I know how a normal life existed before the high-octane life took over.