I am alive

I refuse to stay in the world of hypocrites! Phony creatures are everywhere like creepy crawly insects. They are biting us and throwing us in the trash after chewing and sucking the drop of our very own "me".I close my eyes when I fail to unmask faces and get scared of their real identity. I refuse, I refuse, and one day I rebound as a new human being.New ray of hope peeps into my soul and I pacify my inner agony with the assurance that death of soul is not possible. I am alive thus I perceive. I am alive thus I shove. I am alive thus I conceive new zygote inside the weeping brain!

I am scared of color though I play color

I am scared of colors! Isn’t that statement vague? If someone pays attention how my junkie mind states about color. Then getting scared of color needs more explanation. And of course statement and counter statement in a single line itself is a real terror for the reader and the writer both.

Let me explain some connection between color and my stages of life.

When I was five, my body color was fair. My mom to make me look like a princess, experimented every colored outfit on me. People said I looked like a little “Russian cuddly doll”. Thus, every color on me at that age earned appreciation for me. At that tender age, I was no chooser of color, but receptor of all.

At the age 10, people staying in my gigantic family (20 rooms in our house with more than 10 people under the same roof) always used to become over excited about the festival “Holi”- especially my three elder brothers (two cousins and my own sibling). They never had any nausea about any color – no matter they are made from powder (gulal) or some other chemicals. I am not even aware of the fact what those colors are called. But I remember, huge gang from the colony supported by my brothers used to be after my life and witty me always deprived them from my single glance by finding best possible hiding places in my own house. I always had a plan to run away from my house prior to the Holi Day. As holi day was a real holiday- never crossing main gate of the house. Fortunately, my elder sister was my greatest rescuer and both of us used to find some place inside our house to play hide and seek with color-lovers.

I don’t remember what was the color of my choice at that point of time? Probably, blur red or milky white. Because that was the time, while my mind was not properly settled between Tagore’s world of unending love and my world of study-book reality. At that juncture of life, I always remained confused about the actual color I wanted to see.

At my age of 15, undoubtedly the age of blooming - I always wondered why pink is the color of a woman and blue is the color of a man? Why red rose is the symbol of love? Why yellow rose is for friendship? Why any girl starts over-fantasizing after getting red rose from a boy and why they keep it inside her secret diary.

Then I reached the age 20, my never ending nausea about Holi’s color had not ended. But during one holi, I was completely compelled to encounter the bucket of colored water by my two elder bhabis. They certainly had their share of fun by drenching me and I felt nothing bad or good while drop of green or some sleazy chemical was dripping from my ears, nose, and head. Though the color smelled quite like spring season but feeling was indifferently hollow!

That day I didn’t fear the color but I didn’t love it either.

I always had tiff with colors of holi. At different stages of life, I got drenched with different color concepts. Aspects being different but underlying facts remained the same, and that is color, only color.

Now when I am at late 20’s, probably I have seen how black and white are getting converted into grey color, then my urge to throw colors in the canvas is supreme.

I play with color. I use brush! I use fingers! I rub colors! I smudge color! And I see every color.

Thus, I conclude-

I play color, I lay color

I note color, I vote color

I steer color, I fear color

I write color, I paint color

When I miss color, I rent color!

On a colorful note, live a color-based life, if not colorful

I hate to work hard, thus I don’t fall in love

Will anyone believe that I being normal looking and normal witted girl have never liked the concept of date?

I consider me as a partial romantic by nature. Not much expressive but sometimes reflective. But over the time I realized going out for a date is one of the worst nightmares for me.

Ask me why? Yes, I surely have justified answer to support my statement.

I hate the idea of date because I have to put more effort to make myself up. I have to dress well - no matter my favorite dress is wrinkled at that very moment or no matter my one of the expensive attires has gone for the dry cleaning.

I have to sleep well at night prior to the day of date. So that I should not yawn so often! And my droopy and dreary eyes should not bug my man (of course on that particular day)! And he should get a short and sudden hap to look into my eyes romantically.

I have to plan my entire work schedule beforehand in order to avoid any kind of eleventh hour client-clash. I should avoid the frequent mobile disturbance while my one foot is about to cross the threshold of my house and my so-called date is waiting for me outside.

Now the situation comes where I have to be very much into the limit of expression, if dating someone for the first time. I need to count every movement or posture of eating if my date has taken me for dinner or lunch.

I need to follow each and every table manner once learnt somewhere in the grooming class. I have to hold my body posture bold and tight so that man with me trying to gauge my intension for this date must not feel awkward. I have to limit my number of drinks. I won’t be allowed to get drunk and be slouchy over his shoulder at the time of date.

I have to control my emotion even if the boy sitting next to me is among the cutest males I have ever met in my life.

My every action should be rational and I need to be the utmost controller of my each emotion at that particular day of date.

My hind brain will always push me to make every effort to impress this man and the guy will do the same thing with me too.

He will try to portray himself as the ‘chela of Superman’ and hold that can-do attitude for the rest of the time. He will smile without showing much of his teeth. No matter that he is not much accustomed to stand below the shower since last few months. Though he will make sure that he takes bath and smells good at that particular day!

One more thing to mention, women give an expression of being overjoyed just like winning the crown of Miss World after getting any surprise gift from her date. With the passing time of my life, I have noticed that no such thing does really make much overwhelming impact in my mind. And I don’t get tickled with the incitement so that I can open my mouth with “O” shaped hole and put my two hands on my both cheeks. And very frankly it doesn’t bring tear to my eyes. I probably show gratitude only by saying “Thank you”!

Thus, so-called dating idea somewhat does not appear to be impressive addiction to me.

It’s better if to fall in love, stay at your home and think about the man you like the most. Read more books so that you can involve more spice to your fantasy, lend your ears to the most romantic tunes and be in touch with him emotionally as long as you want.

Does this write up make any sense to dating-lover or to those lovers who love to date very often?

But in my opinion:

TO LOVE HARD YOU NEED NOT TO WORK HARD!

I don’t cry my heart out – does it mean I need more messiahs in my life?

“You know you should have done this instead of that.” “You must have tried this thing why have you gone for this?” People throw comments, not knowing the consequences in and out. They all are messiahs - sent by God especially to show me the way.

Why people have to reach that podium to make comment, when the person who is in pain, doesn’t need that. And more surprisingly if someone keeps mum under this situation, then he/she is found to be selfish with no mercy for others.

I can’t become messiah! I just breathe and I have a human soul! I reach other’s pain but have no comment to give consolation.

My facial expression remains inexpressive- does it really mean I have neurotic disorder?

People start digging my problem, they need the whole story and the ultimate scoop. They keep their ears open till the time their ears got the breaking news to discuss and display. They act as if God has taken time to shape them especially for me to give me solution. They act smart. They add more empathetic words so that I bend my head to their shoulders and make their shoulders wet with my disgust of life.

Huh! And then they bluntly express that I should have done this and I am supposed to do the way they instruct me to do. They give me calls time and again just to ensure whether I am following their steps.

I then start thinking about them after hanging up the phone. Am I supposed to get such a kismet where all people around me always understand and think about me even during my absence?

Of course, Allah is really kind to send me those saviors who have nothing but more opinions and solutions to fill my empty ear.

People often say a sentence before biding adieu – “God Bless you.” I wonder how they instruct God firmly to bless me. As if God has no task apart from showering blessings for me from the heaven.

So on a very sweet note to all my messiahs- if you really feel I am in distress then don’t solve my problem by pouring your pitiful solution on me. I deserve no such thing apart from your healthy participation in my eventful life as another role player.

Thus, play your role wisely and with honesty, don’t harm others and never back bite me!

Then you will certainly see how you will automatically become my angel in the short list of few good people in my life.