The ever-debated question 'What is Life?'

Life. Can one ever operationally define it?
Let's try.
Life-something opposite to and preceeding death

But that is debatable. It may or may not be just life and death. It can be a cycle -no start, no end. A continuous circle of repetitive life and death.
We can also argue that death is not the end of life. It can be Life in a different avatar.

How can we ever know what death is?
How can we ever make up our minds about something that we have no idea of? It is just like judging a new girl in class- making assumptions based on her clothes and accent. The person may turn out to be what you thought she would be or she maybe a world apart and than what you thought. The same is with death.
Why do we see it is as something dreadful?

So coming back to Life.
Everyone's perception about life is subjective and so is life itself. There is no one perfect, proper life. I wonder how Plato would describe Life in his 'World of Ideas'. He said that there is a perfect world somewhere and everything that we know is a copy image of the perfect thing. So the table that you see burdened by your books is sort of like a xerox copy of a single perfect table in the world of ideas.

So how must be a 'perfect life'? 
Is it being rich and having all the luxuries?
Or having nothing and still feeling contented?

How do I see my life? 
Truth be told I ponder over my life most if not all the time. It may top my list of thoughts thought and beat others by a huge margin.

  When you have to define something you can do it by comparing it with something else.
If I compare my life with my relatives and friends, then I am good just as they are.
If I compare to the richest people in the world, well, I don't have a diamond studded bathtub nor am I crying for one. However, I am not starving either.
If I compare it to the people who don't have anything, who have days when they don't have one meal to go in their tummies; are diseased, isolated, then I have everything that I could ever ask for.
But what did I do to deserve this beautiful life that I am living? Why can i step out and go to college when there are others who can't? What have I done to deserve parents who love and protect me, who have created this safe haven for me to live and enjoy when there are infants discarded in dustbins? When a girl is abused by her own family? When a gay is not accepted by his own family?

Why have I won the lottery to Life?

Why do people suffer?
Why do people torture?
Is that what's their Life?
Is that what they're after?

But why are someone blessed?
And the others cursed?
Is it past life karma?
But can't they be forgiven?

What's in store for me?
What do I have in me?
Do I even mean something?
Or am I just a Star destined to be dust
and then brushed,
aside.
Does my living even matter?

My date with my allergies

     Allergic reactions.
     You've seen the characters on TV go through them; the incessant scratching, or blowing up, loss of breath etc. Funny, very funny. You've had their laughs at them and I too have indulged in them.
But not again.
     Duh! I will laugh at them (people blowing up like a balloon is really funny). But I will first have a moment of silence for all those poor souls who grapple with this horror and then laugh out.
As you have read the title to this blog, yes, I have an allergy. I would say I have two. Cigarette smoke gives me an awful headache and every time I have to pass by people smoking I mentally curse "maro saalo! But hume kyu maar rahe ho!". But I have another allergy too. And here is the surprise; cause of allergy: unknown. My allergen acts like a ninja- lurks in the shadows, kaam karke gayab. No naamo- nishaan! No one, neither my parents, me, nor doctors have found the source of the problem. Not a hint. In movies, the person would eat a certain thing and bam! reaction. But no! Prachi's body wants to be not like them silly common masses who have simple allergies. Prachi's body want to stand out, be different. And this is the third time in my life that I've suffered from it. No clue till now.
My recent bout happened last week. There I was sitting with my sister watching for the first match of the world cup (Brazil vs Croatia). As with any game I got hungry while watching it. So I ate half of the last mango of the dozen. It was a nastily sour. To deal with it a gobbled up a slice of fridge-cold watermelon and then finished with mango and vanilla ice cream which I specially bought for the game.
     Awhile later.
     Itchy toes. Itchy fingers, itchy back, itchy itchy itchy.
     Top it with me scratching, scratching, scratching.
     And I also commented to my sister "aaj machchar kuthun aale evdhe" (ah! You naive Prachi, you don't know what's ahead of you)
     That night I didn't sleep. When my Mum's alarm went off at 6 I groggily complained that I'm swelling up. And when my parents and I scrutinized my arms in the morning light, behold! Red, scratched out arms. I was alternatively crying and laughing coz on one hand its scary to see such horror on yourself and on the other hand, Hey I'm like those silly people on TV! My commotion managed to wake my sister, who fortunately didn't throw a fit and grew concerned for me too (Later she would crack jokes on me related to balloon, swelling up and the likes, but that's what elder siblings do). If you get my sister's concern then, you, dear person are really very ill.
     First aid, home-remedy by my Mum involved that I should be rubbed by kokum to bring relief. Did that. Then I sat on the sofa with the sticky feeling with newspapers beneath me because I didn't want to ruin the sofa.
     The only perks of being ill is people bringing you things and helping you with stuff which you would in your every non-allergic, non-happening day have to do by yourself. Walking around the house was next to impossible due to my swollen feet. I was limping around. Awhile later I went to the doctor who after usual "kya khaaya/ peeya?" questions gave me an injection to relieve me the pain and some meds and no answer to my curiosity other than guesses. I came home got myself 2 hours of peaceful, itch free sleep. Sister woke me up, served lunch (bless her!), I ate, popped lunch and went back to sleep.
     But that dreaded thing came back again. By evening, I started experiencing acidity too and was howling in pain with every burn. So we went to another Doctor.
     Now this doctor is a specialist in diabetes and paediatrics which I gaily announced to my sister as she was parking the bike when I got down "mujhe paediatrician ke paas laaya" (Yes! I poke fun at my expense). Being the very inquisitive person and highly anxious person that I am, I did what I always do while waiting at the doctors- read the medical posters stuck on the walls. I do this to get any knowledge I can on them mean diseases out there (as if I am going to remember all of it if needed). But that is what anxious people do. We get scared easily. Bear with us. So I read about how to take care of your feet if you are a diabetic, what to do if your BP drops, and two other posters of which I can recall absolutely nothing.
     Then I got called in. In went my small party of my Papa (who my sister dropped off first then came back to pick me up), my sister and me. This Doctor was all that a doctor should be according to me. Welcoming, talkative, sab-theek-ho-jaayega, confident, smart. I should inform you that this was the first time we went to this particular Doctor as we were referred to him by our kind neighbours. I think he must've been happy to see new faces, rather than the usual drab ones.
So this is how the events unfolded.
Doctor: Hello!
All of us: (beaming smiles) with my Papa adding a faint hello.
Doctor: So what's the problem?
Sister and Papa looking at me. I am opening and then closing my mouth like a stupid fish (coz fishes are stupid) with no words coming my mouth and in my head my inner voice waking up and giggling at my goofiness. So everyone just looked at each other for a few seconds then I just went and sat on the comfy doctor's bed so that the doctor knows I'm the patient and my Papa started because no matter what your age your parents are better at telling the doctor what is wrong with you more than you. (my inner voice: "quite a big sentence there Prachi. That will definitely not confuse those few people who'll read your drama")
Now I don't remember the exact conversation, but I'll just give the gist.
Papa: Doctor,... rashes.. swelling... etc etc..
Me: (finding my voice): ... acidity.. etc
I showed my arms. Doctor taking out his magnifying glass (my inner voice: "oooh! he has a magnifying glass"), checking the rashes.
Me: I have bad acidity too
Doctor: What did you eat?
Me: the usual gharka khaana, no baahar ka, then last night I ate mango, watermelon, and icecream.
Doctor: hmmm..
             don't worry my meds will get you better.
Me: So what's the cause of allergy?
Doctor: Can't say for sure. That you and your parents will have to find out (joking) since I am not the one living with you.
Us: (Polite laughter)
     Then the Doctor started saying and noting on the prescription something very scary.
 "But you will have to stop eating a few things...
 ...."Mango"...
my world stands still...
Sister (big, shocked, wait-a-min-what-did-he-say eyes and an evil smile lurking, growing bigger by my every restriction), Papa (silently shivering with laughter), me (wtf) (darling voice inside my head at full speed- "Mango! Mango! how dare you... oh well but the season is over.. and I ate the last one...no biggie..")
     Now here I should tell you my love for Mangoes.

Mangoes are loved by many. We should pity instead of slapping those stupid people who don't like them. They have cheap tastes. I love mangoes alot. But its pure love that I have for a Hapus (Alphanso). I can whiff a mango in a room, sniff out a ripe one, sit like Gollum in a corner with my-precious. I eat a lot of mangoes at a time and prefer eating them as a fruit than as aamras or milkshake. It is my task at home to find out a ripe mango to be cut and devoured by the family and I'm pretty good at it.
Unless the mango is a stupid Keshari, or something-other-than-sweet-hapus. The difference between a hapus and the others is known to all, in prices and tastes. The others are good, but not the best. My mango-picking expertise failed me this particular time because this Keshari (or whatever) doesn't sport a particular ripened colour which says "hey eat me I'm all ready" like our Hapus does. Nor does start smelling heavenly when its ripe. It just sits there being green, and non- fragrant, trapping clueless people in their tangy, not ripe taste! Them cheaters!

So coming back to doctor's room
..."Kokum sharbat"...
Awkward faces by all three of us because of the kokum rubbed on me and the kokum sharbat happily consumed by me earlier that day
..."imli, chutney, achaar, kuch khatta teekha oily nahi"...
Sister and Papa continuing with their silent giggles, me completely horrified ("Noooo!!!Noooo!! what is life without spicy and tangy! .. no paani-puri, dosa,... No! My life is over! How will I survive!)
.... "dahi, taak (chaas)"...
("oh. you. did. not. just. add. that. to. the. list. You took my mango, now you are taking my dahi and chaas away from me too? why don't I just starve to death seeing that you are cutting off everything that I eat except rice.. sob...")
..."besan"...
My sister was showing her teeth to me, my father had his palm on his mouth, and my face had turned sour by then. ("vada pav, bhaji! Its rainy season! bhaji ab nahi khaayegi toh kab khaayegi main!")
..."fish".
My supportive Papa and sister had quietened down by then. ("where will I get those omega acids! oh but we hardly eat fish in rainy season.. but toh bhi..hmmm")
    
     The Doctor then looked up and saw me. I figure my expression was a mixture of sadness, shock, mind blown hilarity. He must've sensed it coz he said
"only for awhile.. not permanent". And this is how we heard it
Sister: ("only for awhile.. not permanent").
Prachi: (woohoo! till college re-opens!)
Papa: (No mangoes, dahi, taak, achaar for life!)
     So the Doctor told me to keep a tab on what I eat, "make an excel sheet" in his words, so that we know what bloody thing is making me itch (obviously I did not keep a tab). After dropping me home, my sister went back to pick up Papa and then had a gala time laughing over me. My Papa also announced the restrictions to my Mum after coming home as if its the worlds best joke and all had a laugh.
     After two days routine of
get up, breakfast, meds, sleep
get up, lunch, meds, sleep
get up, tea, tv, tp
dinner, meds, and sleep; I was back on track.

*****
So if all this happened last week, why am I ranting it a week late you ask?
Well it could be because I have a lazy ass.
But this time it is not so. This time it is because while returning home in the evening my lovely father called me up to get some snacks to go with tea.

I got 2 vadapavs and 2 vada for my family.
Those were hot, crispy, just-taken-out-of-the-kadhai-infront-of-me vadas.
And I did not eat one!
Yep!
 I had to make do with a Nutrichoice five-grain biscuit. People shrink away from it but I have always loved ragi/oats, healthy biscuits.
But if you have piping-hot vadas and health biscuits side-by-side, what will you eat?
My darling mum as always told me to bindass go ahead and eat (she never believed in diet restrictions) but my Papa gave a grunt no to which I replied "college chalu hone tak Ma".
Fortunately he didn't hear it.

*****
I did not eat that vada-pav.

Poets are bonkers

Just to prove myself i can
As Eminem would say "God damn!"
I'm gonna write and write
Till i get a rhyme alright!

I'll compose a poem, folks!
After what seems like ages ago
Will consider it a thousand bucks
Even if it just sucks!

Won't write about love,
I'll give myself a (heart) break
No to the issues!
Gosh! Who wants to delve in it.
Rape, Murder, Corruption!
Why give myself a strain?
As if i can prevent it with my pen.

Talking about strain,
My head gives me such a pain
As certain people do
I so wish to shove them in a loo!

"You are really going loony, aren't you Prachi?" says me with a British accent
"Oh i'm so scared, Prachi keeps forgetting things" chips in the Anxious one
"Oh! won't it be cool for a psychology student to be admitted in a mental institution!" the Curious Prachi shouts out.

The British accent kills the Cat
And the Anxious cleans up after..

Curiosity and Mewing dint ever go together.

Poets, are bonkers.