My Life. My Choices.

Why do some impose their view that one needs another person - a bae, a spouse, a child to make one's life worthwhile? Agreed man is a social animal. But, if one is at peace with oneself, likes the pace at which one's life is advancing, does not want to disrupt one's way of life by making space for someone, one is not so sure of, then so be it.

My first relationship was very late by 'industry standards'. It was not that I did not have the 'urge' or 'fascination'. It was just that my priorities were different then. And when I did finally take the time for a relationship, it did not work out the way I'd wished it to. In fact it ended way quicker than it started. 

Broken relationships helped reinforce my view that you really can't expect someone to come and sweep you off your feet and drastically change your life. After all, we are all human. You fix your life. You take control. A partner is not a handy-man to do it for you. If that is your expectation of a spouse, then do not go for a relationship. Go for an AMC.

I married well past my 'marriageable' age. I had met men who were keen to get married to me. However, the compromises I had to make to see the relationship fructify, did not convince me enough to drop everything I had - earned or given, and move into 'his' world. So, I waited for someone to come by - who would not want me to alter my way of life, to make way for his.   

And someone did come by. We got married, probably because we thought alike. To us, marriage was an extension. Not a full-stop. And definitely not an excuse or reason to have children. We were happy with each other and did not feel the need to bring in a baby to 'complete the circle'.  

While in college, when some one got married and had a baby, I remember the girls' gang giggle all the way back from the hospital. They'd fantasize of the day, years later, when they'd be sleeping out of the unfathomable fatigue of popping a baby out, and their better-halves by their side beaming with pride. I, somehow, could never empathize. 

I won't 'breed' just so that I have someone who 'may or may not' choose to fend for me in my old age. In our culture, we 'exchange'. Parents pay. Children repay. Husband protects. Wife reproduces. One always provides. And the other is obliged to give back.

It is a give and take. Almost always. And if one chooses to deflect from this norm, chaos break loose. Not from within, but from outside. Society comes to help and put our 'imperfect' lives back to normal. Because, we apparently do not know what we are missing. 

I would like to have a child some day. However, I do not find the urge to birth a child from my womb. I would gladly do it from my heart. There are so many children out there who deserve a home. I strongly feel that it is a sin to be producing babies just to keep your bloodline from extinction. However, if one feels that one needs a child to complete one's life -  go ahead and have one. It's one's life, one's choice. 

Just don't try thrust those ideologies down my throat. It is irritating when someone tries to enforce one's views on to my life. My life is not a compromise. And certainly not one, for others to pass off unsolicited advice.

#ChildlessAndProud #MarriedWithNoKids #DINK #ThisWorldIsOverPopulated 

Writer's Block

I love to write.

And being a self-proclaimed narcissist, it'd be no surprise if I'd say I love my handwriting. As a kid, I used to keep writing just to figure out ways to improve my handwriting - how to curve that 'd' better or explore a new way to write a 'g'. That's all I'd obsess about. That's what got me into writing - I guess. 

When I'd penned my first few articles (short stories or poems often hidden in my journals), readers - counting a total of 4 including parents and siblings, loved them. Or at least, they pretended to. That was motivation enough for me to enrol in competitions at school and college. And sometimes, prizes did come my way. 

The confidence led me into publishing in the college magazines and newsletters - which were probably never read. People just flipped through the pages to get to their respective posts, and brag about it. At least I did. But, these platforms help. To push aspiring 'writers' like me into believing that one day we could also publish a book! 

I'd always wanted to write a book. But the story-line kept evading me. Or changing, rather. I never knew if the protagonist should be a human or an animal or a thing. If human, then gender issues cropped up - I was not a boy. So, how could I write about a boy? But, isn't that what writers do? Draw up an imaginary world around a fictitious person? Maybe, I was yet to grow as a writer. Maybe I was not imaginative enough. 

But as crazy as it sounds, I always knew what the name of my book would be, though sane people do it the other way around. However, I'm not going to disclose it now (might get into copy-right issues, you see). 

Anyways, the idea of a blog was seeded much later - when I was confident enough that I too had an audience, who might not just read, but also enjoy what I wrote. A heart-break helped speed up the process. And this blog happened. Though, half of it is filled with mushy poems I am not too proud about :D 

Those days a song or a memory was reason enough for me to rush to my computer and type away, teary-eyed. But these days, I don't find it easy anymore. I'd love to think of this phase as a writer's block. Do authors who have never really penned anything substantial, get a writer's block? (I'd like to assume they do). 

Writing was my solace. It was a vent - like the 'kick' some people get from kick-boxing when they hit someone and make them bleed! My posts gave me that. It was my way of telling others to stop what they were doing and to take notice of me, my way of reacting to worldly problems I didn't have a solution for, my way of hiding, my way of revealing, my way of romance, my way of revenge, and much more. 

I hope to get back to writing soon. Probably, post something every alternate day for starters. And probably I will write that book too. Because I love writing. As I said, it helps me improve - not my handwriting these days. But me. And rarely touch someone else's life as well. And I pray, improve it too. 

I'm Alive

Rape me. Cut me. Kill my pride.
While at it, make me cry.
Make me bleed. Make me scream.
I’m no child. I’m thirteen.

Toss me around for flunkies to try.
Let their fantasies come to life!
Slay me lifeless, slice by slice.
Then, fling my body and lit it on fire.

I stepped out at midnight
A whore I had to be ~
A proven fallacy.
(I woke up to pee)

And forfeited my right 
To lead a normal life.
And you gained access to pry
In between my thighs.

No one to wail at my funeral pyre
No marches held. No candle lights.
No vigilantes seeking - justice deprived
Skip uproars for this one, for how many do they fight?

My roofless hut stays gloomy, under the brightest sunlight
The door – a ragged sack, has come untied
Somewhere lost in a corner, my father sits, fragile
And into the sinking walls, my mother whines.