Six Years.


I still remember the exact moment I decided to accept Foundation in Science offer from AIMST. The night I plopped myself on the bed, crying because I was helpless. Because the plan of studying in Taylors College with my high school best friend was ruined, by my dad’s emotional blackmails. Yes, you get that OFTEN in Indian households. Growing up in a small town like Sitiawan gave me big dreams. Like stepping into a metropolitan city and lead an independent life there. Six years down the road, now I regret nothing, for choosing AIMST. Reluctant I may had been, but life as usual gave me the best.

I still got to lead an independent life here. I literally moved into the hostel and made it my second  home. I have more essentials here, compared to home. I managed to build my own world, filled with my own favorite people. I have my regular salon that I go to, regular seats in the cinema, regular table in the cafe, regular masseur in the massage center and a cute Starbucks barista that I always eye on. All in all, I have grown up. From a not so timid, talkative teenager to a not so timid, more talkative adult. From a teenager with a town full of friends to an adult with a campus full of friends.

I hate packing. Let it be, after a weekend stay at home back to campus or leaving hostel altogether with six years worth of things. Because packing means goodbye. Reality of all good things come to an end hits right on your face. I’ve been putting away packing and cleaning up until now, two days from being towed away. Now, I can’t put a halt anymore. 

I realized I am a partial hoarder. My mom is a full time hoarder, you won’t believe the amount of junk she collects at home. I have stories behind every junk, usually all involves the time I spent with people. Among all, I’ve been holding on to a broken digital camera, Digi subline contract paper, plenty of movie tickets, two letters, copies of Rainforest Unicorns, polaroid pictures and a mug with some magical ability of coming alive when it’s hot. I have no idea what to do with them. They hold so much of memories, that I have not decided whether to keep or discard yet. They remind me of good times, not so good times and terrible times. Unfortunately they are all entangled together. They remind me how insanely I used to be in love, how I changed into this practical freak and finally how I screwed up. Now that I’m going to start afresh, maybe I should just be extra mean and discard all the things, alongside the memories. 

Good friendships take years to build

Good friendship takes years to build

I like lists, so here’s a list of things I’ve learned in the past 6 years.

1. Eating fish using cutleries.

2. Choosing clean plate, cup, spoon and fork from the pile.

3. Eating breakfast in 10 minutes.

4. The art of chasing away flies rapidly, using the spoon and fork to cut chicken, drink water in between – all using two hands simultaneously.

5. Life history of 7463738926748493 bugs.

6. Spiders and lizards are your friends – they reduce the insects population.

7. Cockroaches can never be your friend – you see them, you turn into a ninja.

8. Nothing more torturous than slow Internet.

9. Some clothes fade in color so you shouldn’t soak them with other clothes.

10. Dishes don’t wash after themselves.

11. Sleeping with the lights on.

I love you too

Some inside jokes – that’s what matters.

All in all, I enjoyed my 5×15 square feet hostel life. I had the best flatmates I could ask for. We shared the unit like a family. We had tea parties and Uno games to entertain our souls on boring Saturdays. We had massive gossip sessions to satisfy our girly needs. We wake each other up during study breaks. I had my little sister to fuss over.  Literally it felt like a home to come back to at the end of every tiring day. 

That said, I am finally tired of being an adult, away from home. I’m done sharing bathroom and common areas. I’m done doing my own laundry. I’m done being good food deprived. I’m totally sick of poor mobile reception and paying so much for cab rides.

So, home – here I come. You better be as good to me as you are to my dog.

Dare to Dream.

When I was about 14 years old, I got hold of this book Dare To Dream by some writer. No, nothing to do with One Direction. Though I’m pretty sure I’ll get a little more readers visiting my page because of this. *victorious grin*

The book didn’t inspire me any further than I could be at that age. I think I would have chucked it further and get back to Harry Potter in no time. I hated self help books even then. But the phrase got caught in the web of my teenage brilliance. Dare to Dream – rebellious and ambitious. Two adjectives that shape up pretty much my entire life so far.

(Un)fortunately my dreams are slightly more expensive than the gown Cinderella wore for the ball and (un)fortunately I don’t have a fairy godmother to wave her wand and abracadabra them come true. I’ll have to wave my own wand and work my way up.

There is no shortcuts to achieve your dreams. You have to work your ass off, save each penny and enjoy the journey. I don’t have mountains to climb and conquer. I only have oceans to swim across. So I shall throw away my fears of drowning and learn swimming – with a float.

When I have reached one day, I shall be satisfied and start a new dream.

Life IS about living, after all.

I rise and fall – with love.


I typed and deleted and retyped and deleted. And this happened more than thrice. Exactly how I felt when the credits rolled. Raanjhanaa – when you love senselessly. He fell for her blindly at the age of 6, disregarded the Hindu-Muslim barrier innocently, slit his wrist stupidly, waited for 8 years cluelessly and gave up the fire to live finally. I thought I was a lover, until some past events where I don’t think I deserve to advocate for love anymore. I don’t know what love is exactly. I don’t know if it happens to one multiple times, or if it does, is it even called love anymore. I don’t know the line that distinguishes love and obsession. I have no clue about how much to give in the name of love.

Love is a weakness as well as strength, that much I do know. It could motivate you to rise high up and conquer the mountains. It could push you down the valley and let you die there mercilessly. It could elate your happiness or crush all your hopes to smile again. It can make or destroy.


In Raanjhanaa, all I saw was destruction when you lose your senses in crazy mad love. As a cinema lover, I enjoyed most bits of the movie. Thanks to Dhanush and ARR, of course. I’ll come to that later. I have never been to Banaras before nor had the intention of going though it’s the city of salvation for Hindus. They say, it’s the oldest living city on Earth. Quoting my friend, ‘holiness in the dirtiest state yet you have to experience the Ganges Aarthi.’ Maybe time for a change in perspective. One day, I want to sit on the ghats and watch people get immersed in the illusion of washing away their sins.

Kundan loves Zoya – at the brink of stalking. You can’t help but smile throughout their teenage encounters. Be it his obsession with her, or her cheekiness in enjoying the attention she gets – they all feel real. When you were 14 years old, when the senior boy gathers his friends to stare you down from the stairs. When he attempts to talks to you under the pretext of a dare by his friends. When he constantly reminds you to tie your shoelace when it comes undone. When he meets you at the temple and you sneak away from your mother for 10 minutes. When he taps your shoulders and walks away before your father could notice. When the first time he kisses your forehead and you get butterflies all inside your stomach. Teenage innocent nonsensical puppy love. We all grow out of it. I did. Zoya did. Unfortunately Kundan didn’t.

It makes me wonder. How far would you go to make your lover happy, at the expense of your own happiness? Kundan did the most a guy in crazy mad love could do. He found out about her lover, convinced her parents to agree upon it, punishes her by taking part in the wedding preparations and promises to get married on the same day, as well. Madness at Kundan level. His anger upon knowing her manipulation of him to make her love come true sounded justified, even now. A very young, immature, not-so educated, heartbroken man could only comprehend that much in such situation. What unfolds later was cinematic yet helps in the flow of the story.

What moved me the most is not the love he had for her, but the innocence he had in him. His innocence in falling in love only to get heartbroken, his ease in smiling upon a small glance from her, his pure guilt when he knew he made a hasty action, his humane consciousness to get forgiveness from Zoya, and finally in letting go. Again and again I get reminded how education rips away the innocence in us. I no longer see any innocent eyes amongst my campus goers. Medical school where we believe to be given the highest level of undergraduate education. Yes, we have to pay something in order to gain something. So we paid our scroll with PapaMamaMoney and our own innocence.

Seeing Dhanush on screen, for the first time while he’s playing the dhamaru with the ohsofamiliar bright wide smile on his face made this fangirl in me swell with pride. One more time anyone includes his looks as his minus, I’m gonna slap them hard. How much more good looks do you want in a man? Spare the species some trouble. He looks perfectly conventional with good set of teeth and lanky small body frame with broad enough shoulder blades. His expressions are so familiar to me, that only the language is different. Kundan worked so well for me, because of Dhanush. He lived the character, which comes pretty easily for him anyway. Down south, this is what he does the best, apart from a psychologically deranged undernourished protagonist. Sonam gelled well as the young Zoya in Banaras, whereas slightly confused undetermined political party leader in Delhi. She looked the prettiest that I’ve seen her anyway. Reminded me a lot of some real life faces. Her wickedness in manipulating the attention she gets from men reminded a tiny bit of myself. I wished they indulged more into her characterization. To explain her conjectures about the whole Kundan-Jasjeet-politics situation. We never get to know why she did what she did in the climax. We hardly understand the reasons behind her tears. We want to know her intentions of placing her hand on his forehead when he is on his deathbed. Does she want him to fight and return? Or is she content that her revenge is fulfilled? Does she really hate him that much?

Music is divine – for both Raanjhanaa and Ambikapathy. I could go on listening to both the albums, all day long. If the cinematography captured 70% of the colors of Banaras, music captured the rest. Like I said in my previous posts, 2013 is indeed a blissful year musically because ARR doesn’t fly to Hollywood that often.

Raanjhanaa poignant and unsettling. Probably like how I might feel when I sit on the banks of Ganges – One Day.