You are what you tell yourself

What you believe to be true can be half-truth or a complete lie.

Thoughts are insanely quick judgements, conclusions you form in your mind. They are so quick, that only a trained, mindful-mind, if you will, is able to catch them. It’s a folly to associate their effect on us based on their short presence. These wily, slippery manifestations of our mind determine who we are and what we do.

From the moment you start having coherent thoughts till now, your brain had ample time to form a perception of yourself and the world.

If for 15 years of your life, like one of my counselling clients, you told yourself “I am a disappointment. I don’t know what I’m doing in my life. My friends are better off without me. They must be speaking behind my back. I am a failure. My family problems will melt away if I disappear”- you start believing it to be a fact. Your brain forms connections which play the song ‘You are a failure, you are lost in life, and your friends hate you’. Don’t blame your brain, it grows on what you feed it.

Our thoughts become so strong that we believe it to be absolute truth. ‘Taj Mahal is situated in Agra’ is an absolute truth. You thinking, “I am ugly” is your personal opinion, your belief. Even if a million people tell you that you are ugly, it is a million people’s opinion- it still doesn’t become a fact.

I’ll give another example. Human eye can’t see the UV rays. Does that mean they don’t exist? Just because our eyes lack the tools to see them, it doesn’t render them imaginary. Now if you only look at your flaws; remind yourself of the times you screwed up, did something embarrassing; you are closing your eyes to all the times you actually did great!

We are big hypocrites- us anxious, depressed lot. We use different measures to judge others and us. We celebrate a friend achieving a win. But if we do something good- “meh.. anyone can do it”. I’m one of the hypocrites too. All this talk of ‘see the glass as half full’ is easier said than done. Come night, I believe that the curtain movement is definitely a ghost.

What sets us different than people who are equally talented to us is the script going on in our heads. I’ve noticed that the confident inflate the importance and celebrate the smallest achievement, telling it to the whole world. They are telling themselves “It was challenging, but I did it. I can do anything I want to.” This sets them on a different path than us, we, who look at their achievements and conclude, "That person is so smart and talented. Here I can’t do a simple task. So useless I am”.

I, being a Mental Health Professional, am not immune to my irrational thoughts. It’s difficult to believe the contrary. Our irrational thoughts, however, wrecking they are, are our own Taj Mahal. Letting go of them means making changes in our life. Our brain and us, we don’t like change. It’s too much work. Our poor overworking brain took so many years to form those neuronal connections. Telling it to drop everything and jump onto the new bandwagon is same as telling me to learn to use an Apple laptop (Yes I called it a laptop not a Macbook). 

But the pros of using rational thoughts far outweigh using your old irrational thought system. The one and biggest pro I can think of, is this- It is for your growth. Habits are good. But they are good for things like brushing teeth or crossing road. Habits are not helpful when they support your proof-lacking, apathetic, confidence-killing irrational thoughts. If you want to grow, be happy or be successful, you need to change the song in your head.

How to overcome this huge, mighty mountain? It takes but a small, but determined step.

Being kind to yourself.

As soft and mushy as I sound, we need to be loving towards us as we are to puppies, kittens or babies. At the end of a tiring, bad day tell yourself “you got through it, you awesome person”. Give yourself that piece of cake after you achieve your goal. When you play rewind on your day when you go to bed at night, pause and revel at the moments when your colleagues said “oh that’s a great idea you suggested”, or when you are few short from reaching your documentation goal, or when your client quietly introspects the knowledge that what she has been telling herself is not absolute.

You are capable of much more.

And it all depends on what you tell yourself.

The bully

Unlike Disney,
Where Villains are blueish,
and walk with a background theme.
In reality,
they are regular people
outside,
And inside rife evilry.

They aren't all evil,
And ugly.
They are humans- with friends and families
And exist in all types of beauty.

They come to you under the guise of friendship
Making you believe they are good.
But when you turn around
and feel their faces have turned sour,
You've got yourself a bully.

They work covertly.
Playing your mind,
Making you paranoid,
Doubting yourself,
Crushing your spirit,
Your will to strive
And call out for help.

And you don't,
Coz you have been trained to be strong
And fight alone
Coz the bully has penetrated the minds of those
Who oughtta make a difference and they don't.

False promises of help keep you going
You burn,
You gasp
Till you can't take anymore.

And you quit..

because the battle was never yours.

When the skies burst open

When the skies burst open, 

I heaved a sigh of relief.

My heart calmed down

As if rains 

are going to wash away my problems.

And leave my life bright and clean.

I put my hands out in the rain.

And wonder how a year has passed.

Rains are great time tellers.

My mind projects my life

In fast forward

And I smile.

It has stopped raining now.

But the clouds rumble in the distance,

Reminding us that they are still here.

Growling, 

waiting to crash into each other,

To create a lightning sword,

That Zeus would be proud of.

And a thunder that silences us mortals.

As I lie on my bed,

Soothed by the cold breeze wafting in,

Ignoring all my worries,

At this moment,

I am at peace.

The shower at the end of the day

The shower has become my lover

After a bad day,

It invites me in it's arms,

The water caressing my back

Soothing,

I stand there head bowed down.

It does well,

to hide the tears coming from my eyes,

Like rain.

It cools my head,

Takes the weight off my neck,

So I have the strength to look up.

Hoping to see my lover's kind eyes,

That face which reflects my pain in it,

Those arms which make me feel safe again,

That kiss which pours it's love in me.

But I'm greeted by water.

Which isn't foreign either.

Because in Water I was born,

Of Water, I'm alive

Water,

is me.

The bitter truth

Someone please clear the air.

Take away this cloud of mist,

Render my senses bare.

Tell me for once.

Are we different?

Or are we the same?

If bodily we have contrasts,

Weren’t we the same at a time as fetuses?

A mild tweak gave you a penis

And me the lower sex.

Gave your parents joy,

And mine permanent worry lines.

Worry to make me an all-rounder;

a star in school, sports and house.

So that nobody raises a finger.

Worry to keep me safe.

Giving me the freedom to live my life,

“But be back before 10 pm”.

Worry if I become too liberal,

and not attract a suitor.

If I refuse to bog down,

If I rebel.

Is it a difference in strength?

How can it be?

If at home, girls have to sit and stay,

While boys their age get to play.

A Billion dollar beauty industry targets me.

Yet you step outside easily,

Your face devoid of any cream.

It takes a toll,

Being constantly on guard.

Getting goosebumps,and startled easily.

Screaming in sleep,

Every other week.

Coz now I’m trapped

And my scream saves me,

From a hand being forced on me.

All this,

Just because of a Vagina?

As much as I’m a feminist,

And love being an Eve, 

If given a do-over

I’ll take the way out.

I’d rather not be born.

Endless rush

In this rush of life,
Haven't you forgotten who you are?
Do you realise that your baths long just 5 minutes?
Your body doesn't get tenderly cared for,
But rubbed and scalded in the rush

The rush to catch train to work
Getting in a moving bus
Rushing through the day
Opening your dabba to the same old chapati-bhaaji
And rushing back home

I realised today that hugging yourself
Is stress relieving yet also saddening
What have I come to?

My happiness depends upon catching that empty train
And reaching home on time.
But then even home isn't rewarding

Weekends are spent lazing at home
Weekdays are spent looking forward to weekends
What am I searching for?

Without realising I've become my Hamster
Running in the wheel and reaching nowhere

The long journey to you

Over 12 hours of road travel,
to come to you,

Because you fell sick suddenly,

and nobody knew.

Just the day before, I had spoken to you.
Making those fake promises to come meet you.
Which I always extended.
Studies, college, no time
And I really didn't get time to say goodbye.

48 hours since I got the news,

I kept praying to keep you alive.
In that journey to you, I kept praying too. 
Not once did it cross that you'd be gone. 
Repeated phone calls to get there sooner didn't tick me off too.

12 hours of road travel; of heat, nausea, dizziness, exhaustion.
When we entered the familiar territory, 
Somehow goosebumps started showing on my skin, 
I saw my mum silently weeping, 
I saw my sister staring blankly ahead.
And I lost all emotions.

We reached. 
I got off and ran barefoot

I saw my youngest uncle.

Suddenly so old, he hugged me very hard and let go.
I ran and met my other uncle,

who with a sad smile, let me go ahead. 
The whole gaon had converged to our house. 
I searched for my father's face for comfort 
And got only pitiful stares from strangers.

I stepped in,

And saw you on the floor.

The earth stopped rotating,

the force made me crash on the floor.

Strapped with flowers, cold since 12 hours.

I didn't receive my warm hug that day from you. 
You didn't even wait for me to say bye.
I didn't even cry as I kissed you goodbye.

Our last conversation will be the one where I lied to come see you soon. 

Little did I know you'd be gone forever.
Little did I know I'll be crying ever after.

Love, not hate.

Love.
So innocent, soft and pure
comes in all sizes and shoes.
It's not for you and me to decide
which Love is wrong
and which is right.

Because Love is that gentle spirit,
not marked by your worldy shit.
Unbound, and unrestrained.
Free from the clutches
of your disdain.

The love of a mother for her girl,
of a girl for a boy,
of a boy for another boy.
of a boy for the world.

What good will ever come,
from pointing at it a gun.
Think not that you'll dissuade.
For love only grows, even in hate.

Its love, its love, it is only love,
that will save the world.
After that terrible storm,
the rainbow will shine again.
For the dead, and for the living,
Love will rise again.

Letter from a daughter

Note: This post was written around 2 years ago and was lying in Drafts.

Dear Papa,
     Awhile back I saw this video on Youtube (Dad..How are you? - Father's Day Special). It was released around Father's day. (I didn't wish you because you weren't in a happy mood that day and you must not even know that such a day exists.) So on YouTube there are various channels like those on tv and they post videos. There's this one channel called 'Emotional fulls'. Their videos are emotional just like their name suggests and their videos always make me cry. They are very touching.
     The video I specified earlier has different people talk about their Dads - how strict they were, and how the kids in their childhood would be scared of their Dads . There's this one thing of this particular video that struck me the most. A guy in the video confessed how his father asked for the directions to a nearby park from his son's house 5 times. The father yet did not go to the park for the fear of getting lost. Another said how his father couldn't book an online ticket and asked his son to do it for him.
     It was a normal day sometime last year. All four of us were at home. I was busy on my phone. You had turned on the laptop. After awhile you called me and asked me how to use the net. I froze. In my head a million things from "you taught me how to use a computer" "last year you helped me in using excel" to "old age" "Alzheimer's" whizzed by. I recovered and incredibly slow told you to how to open the browser and type in whatever you want on the google homepage.
     Such instances are recurring a lot these days. You forgetting your mobile or keys when you step out of the house. Stuff like "maazhya phone var net chalu karun de", "how to put phone to silent" "type this msg for me" is getting frequent than ever. And I am not being a  patient kid. I have shouted at you to "do it yourself", "just call the helpline they'll help you through the activation process", "later!".
     I am sorry Papa. I am very sorry. I hate myself for being like this. But I have a good reason for my rude behavior.
     This is not how it is supposed to be. You are my Papa who knows everything! When I started college, and still whenever I have to visit a new part of town, you tell me which bus to take. It scares me that you are asking me for help! Its just not right! You are my strong Dad! You solve my problems. But now I see this fear in your eyes which I stubbornly don't want to accept and understand. In a kid's eyes nothing bad can happen because his parents will see to it that he's safe. But this fear breaks away that bubble and now the world is a very scary place Papa. And on top of that you are getting old which is making me realize that I have to take up responsibilities now and take care of you and Mum.
     Suddenly I don't want to grow up. I just want to be a small child and go back to school where my worry was just the homework.
     But that's not going to happen is it?
     I don't know how you did it Papa. Took care of all of us. Faced the world and not let any bad thing affect us. I lived in a cocoon because I was well protected by you.
But now I am going to take care of you. I don't think I can ever match your cool and your patience. But I will start helping you out and teach you stuff like you taught me. Even if I have to tell you for the nth time that you access internet from the 'blue-coloured-circle' icon on your phone, I will breathe, and patiently tell you again (and try my hardest to not my fear let show)
     Because now I am your strong Papa.

Love,
Your grown-up daughter.

P.S.- I wish you never read this. We both will be a teary mess. ;)

This too shall pass

Do you remember that time,
when you wanted to chuck everything and run away?
The problem seemed so huge,
you felt your shoulders would give away.

That sickening feeling in your tummy,
the hair standing on your nape,
your hands getting clammy,
your thoughts all murky?

The moment,
before stepping in for your first interview,
before entering the gym the first time,
before jumping in the pool without the float

"All eyes on me"
"What if I screw this?"
"What if they laugh at me?"
"What if drown?"

"Wait... What's the worse that could happen to me?"
And you dive.

As you hit the water head on,
the splash breaks your fear in a million pieces,
with every push and stroke,
you reach closer to the goal.
Nothing can stop you now!

As you step out of the interview
head held high;
After a gruelling gym session
with feel-good body ache,
turning around and
seeing the length you've swum,
It was all worth it.

Like then,
Like everytime,

This too shall pass.
You shall conquer it all.

Heartbreak

The thing about love
is that noone told you about it's end
Books and films a full,
of love blossoming
Hardly you find a one,
about the end.

You don't just cry,
you lament,
at the times gone by,
you bawl,
at injustice to your heart
you whimper,
of being alone.
Because love has died, and with it
a part of you.

Days go by.
To hide your mourning,
you act
as your world hasn't tumbled on it's axis.
You work listlessly,
a spectre wandering about
instead of you.
And at night, you replay the moment again and again
"What went wrong?"
Until your eyes give in.

Months later, or years later,
you are a new person,
cursing that heartbreaker
to never be loved again,
whilst protecting yourself
from potential heartbreakers
But lovers alike.

Maybe you'll get over,
maybe you'll never.
It's just a rite of time.
Which I couldn't promise ends.

My Facebook Addiction

Due to many reasons, one being me addicted to this social networking website; I decided to stay off of Facebook. I logged off from the app and also the browser in my phone. Safe side I took off the app from my main screen too. That was the easy part.

What followed was difficult.
The next day I woke up and my hand automatically reached for my phone, I opened the browser and went on the website to find that I had logged out of it. It was then that I realised my last night's decision. The same action happened multiple times that day. After a while I realised that my phone was used by me mostly for Facebook, followed by Whatsapp, Snapchat, Instagram. I hardly ever use the phone nowadays for calling.
So that morning, which was a Sunday, I got up and started reading the newspaper during breakfast. A habit I used to dilligently exercise when I was in the 7th standard in school. After 2 hours, I had read the newspaper from front to last page (well that is an exaggeration, as I don't read the sports section. But I did read the whole editorial section, and all of the first page news). Sitting for 2 hours straight reading would have been a piece of cake for me in the pre-smartphone era. But it wouldn't have been possible today, as I keep checking my phone for any new updates from Viral social media websites like Buzzfeed, Scoopwhoop, BoredPanda, Cracked.com, and some Bollywood news websites. After so many years, I felt a pure feeling of achievement not marred by guilt of not giving all I've got for the task.
Afterwards I cleaned a whole shelf of old textbooks and notes. Right from 12 pm, till around at 9 pm in the night, breaking away only for food and some tv. This task which I've been procrastinating for years (I still have my BA notes), was finished in one day.
I did face certain difficulties.
1. The need to post what I'm doing. It made me crazy. "watching this film", "watching cricket". The need to tell someone 'exactly what I'm doing was so bad that at one point of time I was going to blab out loud a witty status when my whole family was taking a nap. The disgusting feeling stopped my from doing that though.
2. I didn't get to share with the world my happiness of Leo finally getting the Oscar, nor the songs I'm listening to, the films I watched.
But what I achieved in the past few days is gold.
1. My fingers got some well deserved rest from handling a huge phone and scrolling and tapping.
2. I hardly ever have to charge my phone.
3. My phone doesn't heat up.
4. My mind got some rest from the world. Social networking sites are full of problems going around in the world. Granted that they help you being in touch with what is happening in your country and world. But does stating your mind, having to defend your POV, pull your hair at the blatant disregard for fellow humans and animals is supporting the issue or even beneficial to you?

But all things are not so happy happy. I did cheat.
Now I am focused on Snapchat and Instagram. But here's the deal, there's only so much you can do on both these sites. You can check out the daily updates of certain websites on Snapchat, and Instagram gets really boring quickly. It's just pictures of mindless stuff sometimes, with equally mindless, unrelated tags. I did also go on twitter an tweeted about Leo.
Also I logged in to send a friend request on Fb. But I swear on myself that I logged out immediately afterwards.
So even after cheating on the 'Diet' I do find myself most of the time without a phone in my hand.

It's been a week since I was active on Facebook. And I'm alive and sane.
So now I'm going to log in again on Fb to share this post, I hope I come back alive!

My View- Coldplay-Hymn for the weekend

    

     India is getting increasingly intolerant. Aren't we hearing this quite often? And if you haven't heard it yet, be sure to watch the Newshour and you'll get your dose of the word 'intolerant' from Arnab 'The Nation wants to know' Goswami.
     I can't answer whether India is intolerant or no. Because having learnt research methodology I want proper numbers. Maybe we have always been intolerant; but you didn't feel it until a few years ago because you didn't have a large screened smartphone with fast internet, 2-3 social media apps, with viral-social-media websites giving you biased conclusions of a news report.
     You never know? Endless possibilities.
     Coming back to the topic, having seen the whole video Coldplay- Hymn for the weekend, I have no issues against the video. Nothing is out of the ordinary. You come across most of the shots, locations the minute you step out of your house, whether you live in city or rural areas.
     A few years back people celebrated Slumdog Millionaire winning an Oscar as if it was produced, directed by an Indian. That film actually set foreigners perception of India as a poor, filthy country more than a 4 minute song. But the latter is facing so much ire.
     What is the problem with people playing Holi in the video? Does it have to be put bluntly in the video with a calendar showing the day as "Rangpanchmi" for them to celebrate the festival?
     If you have a problem with Beyonce's every inch of skin decked up with jewellery? Please go turn on your tv to any Hindi entertainment show, and you'll see women sleeping with those massive jewellery and makeup on.
     Bringing me to the recurrent occurences of Sadhus, and children dressed as gods in the videos. A country obsessed with religion. Ask yourself truly, are we not? If Sadhus in India can sell noodles and another following suit, can't they be in the video being themselves? And every fancy dress show you'll find atleast 1 kid dressed up as Hanuman and everyone gushing over how cute the child looks.
     And if you think the video is adding to the image of India as a fire-blower, snake charmer country, you should know that the India's highest rated TV show is 'Naagin' on Colors Tv, a show with 'Ichchadhari Naag and Nevla (mongoose). Other top rated shows include one with kaala jaadu (black magic), possession etc.
     If you live in a city like Mumbai, you come across almost everything that happens in the video everyday- slums, people celebrating some festival and blocking traffic, sadhus, beggars, child labourers.

     I accept that there is also another India, where people wear formals, brave traffic or crowded public transport, have lunch between 1-2, and come back in the same way. But that doesn't make the former portrait as false. Both exist.
     
    P.S.- One hindi news channel had a problem with the shot of a person smoking, saying it is portraying that drug taking behaviour happens in India. Shouldn't you, being a news channel, know more about the drug problem?

Being a woman

As a woman of this world,
I have a lot of responsibilities on my shoulders.

I have to be pretty all the while
But dress appropriately so as not be the object of everyone's eyes

I have to be mature, take my own decisions
But stay in my limits,
Coz duh! Girls have limited brain function

I have to take it as a compliment when people say "wow you can drive"
Coz for us right is left
And patriarchy is right.

I must have long hair
Can't cut them short.
Coz lambe baal is positively correlated to the amount of sanskaar

I have to go gaga at every baby i see;
even though they are wailing and disturbing my sleep;
Coz i hold baby making apparatus in me

When i'm angry, or sad it's always because of the unfertilised egg leaving me
Not because the external circumstances like a guy being a douche to me

I have to sit with my legs crossed, or close together
Coz keeping them wide open is code for "come at me"

And finally,
I have to analyse all the things that go wrong with me
Cross-examine myself
Coz it's all because of me
Because i'm a woman

Grim Realizations

Life is but one,

Comes with a clock

Ticking to the end. 

Tick

Excel in studies

Tock

Excel in work

Tick

Excel in relationships

Tock

Excel in life 

And you forget to have fun

Forget to quench your existential thirst

And then you are ashes.

Sadly you aren't a phoenix.

Thoughts in my mind

My mind is a black hole
sucking matters from everywhere
It lacks the filter
which shuts out things, and people
who should not be cared

For the mind can handle only so much of stress
Contradicting my psychology texts

Swirling around, like thoughts in a pensieve
Nowhere to go

Trapped in my mind
Trapping me in my life.

Memories of MA-2

When you enter the class 5.10
You see a bunch of budding future psychologists
Eating as if they came from a starving land
The teacher sighing at the sheer amount of time passed with the kids hogging
She thinks of how it all started

June, 2014
The sun is burning
Everyone would come early
To catch the seat in front of the door kept open
A certain fan would stop turning
The whole class would sit quietly
Waiting for 5 hours to end

Come rains and terms like MMPI, ROR become our friends.
The class bond over food
With pasta, oats, bhel, and dhokla passing hands,
Feeding our tummies
Giving us the strength to face the tests

And then we have guests like "Chees-mayo sandwich, and franky and McD"
Disrupting the teacher
Lighting up the still hungry

Perhaps what really brought us together was our love for chai
It was love at first sight
The day we had bhajji and chai as it poured outside
Our love is so deep
That we have chai even when it's too many degrees outside

Let me tell you about the monster named "Dissertation"
Which gave us many a sleepless nights
From running hither dither to collect data
To understanding the finer nuances of Anova and Manova
As minute formatting slipped our attention
We realise after binding that theres a problem with the indentation

Second semester brought in counselling
Which is very helpful to us mental health professionals
We successfully apply CBT to ourselves
And secretly wondered whether Freud did make some sense
The 3 principles of PCT are ingrained in our heads
We can jump out of out beds and recite the steps to behavior therapy on a bet

And then it all came to an end.
Just like that
We dint have to reach college by ten
We dint have to convince ma'am to let us out early
Those days are gone when we got hooked to trashy songs
And laughed our hearts
All full of innocence

But those memories have found a place in our hearts
Where they will be cherished till time stands still.

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.