My Hometown. My Heroes.

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We’re not that city people talk about often. We’re not that city that’s constantly on the news. We’re uneventful. Nothing newsworthy ever happens here. Except, maybe, Rajnikanth’s birthday. We’re a calm bunch that sip our filter coffees and obsess over the neighbour’s daughter’s office hours and new boyfriend. Our lives are calm.

But not today. Not this past week.

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Dear Mother Nature,

I get it. You’re feeling hurt. Perhaps, a little betrayed. We’ve become those people we tell the world we hate. We made promises. Big ones. We told you you’re beautiful. We took pictures of you in so many different moments. We told you how much we love you. Promised to protect you. Promised to cherish you.

Some of us did. But it wasn’t enough. Because the majority of us forgot. Not just the promises but we forgot how much we need you. We turned our backs on you. Materialism and comfort caught up to us. We did things knowing it wasn’t the best of decisions for you. We did it anyway. We became selfish. Self-centered. Uncaring.

So you became the crazy ex with a need to kill. And kill you did. I have never feared for my life until the night of 1.12.2015. I saw the water rise and found myself unable to stop it. I was Rapunzel stuck in her tower with no way out and I’ll be the first to admit – It’s not as magical as it sounds. I was terrified. But I’m still here. I’m alive long enough to tell you this. But so many aren’t. And I’ve heard it’s about to get worse.

I’m not ready for worse. My city is not ready for worse. We’re not ready for your fury. We should’ve been. We’re the reason it exists. Maybe if we’d been more careful, more attentive to your needs. Maybe if we’d kept our promises. Maybe you’d have spared us. But I’m asking you today. I’m begging you today. Stop the wrath you insist on shoving upon us. We’re not prepared. I can’t watch one more person die at your hands.

We may not all learn from this. We may not all learn our lesson. Some of us have seen what you can do. We’ll behave. We’ll keep our promises. Not for the fear of you. But for the lives of the others. We’ll protect you. But Mother Nature, forgive the ones who don’t learn their lessons. We’ll make up for it in years to come. Forgive the ones who continue to build houses where the water needs to flow. Forgive the ones who dump plastic when the world insists on cloth bags. Forgive the ones who’ll criticize you from this day forward. Forgive mankind for the flaws we’re born with.

You are called Mother for a reason.

With all my love and promises I intend to keep,

Human Being
Chennai
2.12.2015

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I remember waking up on Wednesday morning and demanding coffee to my mother like it was my birth right. I remember mentally complaining about not having an espresso machine. I remember wanting to go buy a few outfits during the weekend.

Then it all changed.

I happened to live in one of the most affected areas and I watched my city drown. I heard screams and cries all through the night as people missed a boat, a chance to get to safety. My neighbour drowned and died in the water while going to check on his brother.

I’m a hydraholic. I love the cold weather. I’ve never been more afraid of the water. I’ve never prayed harder for the sun to shine.

I’ve ranted numerous times about the lack of humanity in this world. This past week, I’ve seen enough humanity to last me a lifetime.

My hometown is filled with unsung heroes.

The night this began, I watched people open their homes to strangers and drain their batteries on their phones to protect the ones they didn’t even know.

Srilakshmi, Sriram, Kavipriya, Sindhu JP, Mahesh, Bragadeesh, Uma, Nandhitha, Prason, Deepak, Sharada and all of The Chennai Bloggers Club – You have brought so much happiness into my life over the past year and the past week, you’ve done the same for so many across this city! I feel blessed to have you in my life.

My jaw dropped at Swarnamalya Ganesh and her mother’s desire to help people who were stranded on our streets – the watchmen, drivers and maids – with food, water, tea and coffee. She walked in 5 – 6 feet deep water to give biscuits and water to a Tribal school.

The other family in her apartment. I hate to bring this up at a time like this, but I have to. For anyone that bullied Islamic people and judged them all by the actions of ten – here’s a newsflash for you. The man walked in neck-deep water to rescue older people stranded on lower floors and gave them a place to stay in his house until the water drained. How’s that for an incredible soul?!

A part of me wants to curl up and cry with trauma every time I’m in my room again. The smallest of sounds make me jump wondering if people are crying for a boat again or if something’s wrong or if someone’s dying.

The other part of me wants to cry with gratitude every time I see a volunteer. Chennaiites have brought this city back to life! I’ve seen a side to my neighbours I’d never known before. My judgements were thrown away as they lugged buckets of water from our terrace so I didn’t have to. Every little help counted.

And for all the nights I’ve complained about the lack of aircon, I spent 4 days without electricity. Books kept me company. Ellen Degeneres’ Seriously.. I’m Kidding made me laugh on a dark evening. I lived with candlelights. Food wasn’t for taste. It was for staying alive. Water wasn’t to waste. It was for necessities.

Today, someone told me that I’ve survived. That I have lived to tell the tale of how I made it through a natural disaster. But the truth is, I haven’t survived. I’ve been lucky. I had a stable roof, decent food, a loving family and the kindest of souls around me to keep me safe. I didn’t have to survive because I was lucky enough to not be in danger

But the rest of my city can’t say the same. And if it wasn’t for every volunteer, every Government worker, every human being that decided to help, we would have not risen in a week.

Thank you aren’t words enough for you.

Today morning I woke up and I asked my mother for coffee. I ensured I added a please. I sat on the swing, looking at the dry road and the shining sun. I was grateful for coffee. I was grateful to have clean clothes again. I was grateful to be alive and breathing fresh air inside the comfort of my house.

And deep within me, I knew normal would never mean the same again.

But we will survive. Because we’ve got each other. Like no city will ever know.

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Everything For Her

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I still remember those days. She was laughter. She was joy. She was as adorable as life got.

It wasn’t the easiest of transitions. I woke up one day and suddenly my world wasn’t just about me anymore. It sounded so horrible. But she made it better.

Someone once asked me what my favorite day ever was. I didn’t have to think because I knew. I knew the moment it happened that I’ll never forget that day. It was a day I spent with her. She played on our pretend swing while I fed her every time she swung towards me.

I remember the first time she scared me. It’s still our inside joke. She hid behind a wall and waited for me to walk out of our restroom. When I took too long, she decided against it and went for a “Hello.” Little did she know, I was so lost in thought, the mere word scared me more than a scream would have. I may be scarred for life but the way she laughs when we reminisce about it makes it worth the fear.

She is everything I’ll never be. Always has been. She was a parent’s day dream. I was the nightmare. She knew what she wanted. She didn’t aim for the sky. She aimed for what she could do. And she did it. I spent my life being lost in one dream after another that I ended up living none of it.

We’ve shared a lot. We’ve shared a room. We’ve shared clothes. We’ve shared secrets. Gossip. Life stories. Late night thoughts about the future. My dream man. Her dream wedding.

We’ve been on adventures together. Lied together. Laughed together. Fought the world together. Fought with each other. Teased people together. Teased each other. She taught me to be responsible. I taught her to sneak out. We had our differences. But we found common ground.

We’re not as close as we once were. She became a teenager. She found her friends. She found people she could relate to. But it didn’t mean we loved each other any less.

We still had our movie marathons and long late night talks. She still knew how insecure I could be. I still knew how much of a drama queen she could be.

And I still can’t believe the day is here. After so many years of treating her like a child, she’s no longer a teenager! She’s twenty!

I, of course, got her a present. Or twenty. Each one a little reminder of a moment we spent together. A moment we laughed together. A moment we lived together.

And as I continued looking for more presents that would mean something, I found this from Stylori:Screen Shot 2015-11-22 at 11.24.09 am

The moment I laid eyes on them I knew I’d found the one that would mean the most. For she is drama, she is love, she sparkles above everyone and she is twice as precious as every diamond in the world.

Most importantly, no matter how big a fight we’ve had, how embarrassed we’ve made each other feel or how much she loses my stuff, we’ll never give up on each other.

Because she’s not just someone I’ve known for twenty years. She’s someone I’ve loved since the moment she was born.

She’s my younger sister.

And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for her. ❤

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Please note: Upon insistence from a very dear friend, I had written this post for my blogger’s club contest. While I was okay writing a post for my friend, I still wanted to stick to who I was and what my blog stood for. So every word in this post is the truth. I’ve been wanting to write about the most important person in my life for a while now and I took this opportunity to do that. She did turn 20 in October. However, I did not buy her a pair of diamond earrings. I got her a goodie bag with chocolates, t-shirts & more of the things she loves.

Thank you for taking the time to read. 🙂 Love,

Poornima

 

Winning the Loss of Lives

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Multiple terror attacks leave 153 killed in Paris. The word Jihadhis has been thrown around. Innocent people run scared. Border controls tightened. “Death count might increase,” say sources. “We’ve got five terrorists neutralized,” say officials. What is Neutralized? Nobody knows. Could there be more? Nobody can confirm. What about the dead people? “Our deepest condolences to the loved ones of the deceased.”

“This is an attack not just on Paris, it’s an attack not just on the people of France, but this is an attack on all of humanity and the universal values that we share.” – Barack Obama, President of The United States

Let’s rewind a little. Let’s go back in time. A whole bunch of people sat in a circle and planned the very last detail of this. They decided who will be where. Which attack at which place at what time. They shook hands on it. They did one last huddle knowing this might be the last time they see each other. But they’re going to do this. Because a message has to be sent! The world has to know!

Know what?

Let’s take a fictional book such as Harry Potter. So many lives were lost so Harry Potter could live. Did he spend the rest of his life sitting in a room depressed? No. He went on to have children and a happy life. Ronald Weasley lost his brother. Harry felt bad for those ten minutes in the movie. Then he was fine.

This is how real life works too. So you’ve killed hundreds of people. Taken away mothers, fathers, sisters, brothers, loved ones. You’ve taken away the bride who was to be married tomorrow. You’ve destroyed the life of the innocent child by killing the only family he had. You’ve broken the hearts of every family member there could ever be.

The person you’re sending a message to? He couldn’t care less.

“I’ll continue killing until I get what I want!”

Okay. Then what? You run out of civilians to kill? What happens when the person you’re trying to send a message to ultimately shrugs and says “We’re trying to stop this atrocity. We’re using all our soldiers.” ? You kill them all? Yet again, you’re killing people that don’t matter. Because the story isn’t about the ones who died. It’s the one you can’t kill. It’s the one your entire plan revolved around. And he will feel bad for ten days. Then his life will go on. He’ll be fine. He’ll laugh with his children. Love his wife. Enjoy old age. You’ll be rotting in prison.

And those lives you took? They become pointless. Because that message you sent was never going to have the impact you wanted it to. Your plan was a failure before it even began because people get over the guilt of losing even a loved one that ended their life to protect his/hers.

This is a bunch of people they’ll never meet. They’ll never know. Outside of the ones who love the people you took away, who are you trying to hurt? Who do you think you can hurt?

You’re not sending a message. You’re killing in cold blood just because you can. There’s no deeper meaning to it. There’s no bigger moment. There’s nothing but your stupidity and a lost life. So what’s the point?

Now fast forward to a day or two after the attacks. The countries across the globe will unite to bring justice for the ones they’ve lost. The terrorists will be sentenced lifetime or death. But here’s the thing. They already knew that. The moment they stepped out of that huddle, they knew their life was over. So that’s not really justice, is it? You’re simply giving them what they were already prepared for. So are you really winning?

The person targeted doesn’t win because what he finally does to the ones who were targeting was exactly what they expected. And what the person targeting is trying to communicate to the targeted is lost on deaf ears. So what was this entire ordeal about?

Killing 153 innocent civilians and robbing their loved ones of memories, moments and a lifetime of togetherness. Destroying venues that would someday be landmarks. Creating world news and hatred towards an entire community that really are very nice people.

So tell me. Who won?

#PrayForParis
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2 Years, A Novel & Thank You!

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TWO YEARS !

I remember sitting in my room typing away my borderline judgemental thoughts about the world of clubbing in a blog I created ten minutes ago and telling myself it’s okay if no one ever followed me. It’s been two years since that day!

If someone had told me then that I’d someday have so many of you reading the things I write, I’d have laughed. But it’s happened!

And I often find myself wondering. I understand why someone follows a fashion blogger or a movie reviewing blog. I never understood why you chose to follow and read a blog that has nothing but my thoughts and opinions on it. But you do. And you comment the most incredible things when you do. And on my worst day, when I feel the desperate need to give up, your comments remind me why I began writing. And why I shouldn’t stop.

For being my sole motivator, for helping me believe in myself day after day and sending me so much love,

Thank You!

The endless encouragement you’ve given me has been one of the biggest reasons I’ve taken up NaNoWriMo this November. For those of you who aren’t aware of it – National Novel Writing Month – do visit – http://nanowrimo.org

At the end of this month, I will have a novel done! Though I don’t want to publish this one, I intend to put it up on Kindle and Goodreads! I will definitely have a link up and all that. If you have other platforms you would suggest or you would like to read it on, please do let me know.

I still cannot believe I’m writing my 2nd anniversary post. Words can’t explain how amazed and grateful I am. This has been the most incredible journey and I can’t wait for more!

THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU !

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Blurb of the book:

If love could be a person it would be him. The way he smiled. The way his eyes were always dancing with joy. He wasn’t a teenager lost with the world. He was a man who knew what he wanted in life.

He wanted me.

This isn’t just a love story. This isn’t a romantic comedy. This isn’t about the world’s greatest couple ever. This is just what it is. No genre. No category.

It’s exactly how my love for him was. It’s boundless.

Let’s Talk About This

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I’ve been there. So close to the end. So ready to fall. But something always pulled me back. It’s not because I was brave enough to face life. It was because I was terrified of ending it. And nobody really talks about this. But I want to.

And I’ll do what nobody else does. I’ll talk in favor of the ones who take the plunge. The ones who fall. I’ll justify it. But know that I don’t support their choices. I don’t support their courage. I don’t believe the end is truly the answer. But let’s just imagine this. Imagine being in their shoes. Imagine those moments.

Your parents yelled. Your loved one passed away. Life got too difficult. And you’re there. Sitting on a chair in a home you’ve loved. But you’re not home. You’re not seated in the middle of the room you decorated yourself. You’re in a corner. A dark one. An unfamiliar one. You’re struggling to breathe. Something hurts. You don’t know if it’s emotional. You don’t know if it’s physical. But the pain exists. You can’t identify it. You can’t fix it. And it’s getting worse. With every passing moment. You feel it more. You cringe. You wrap your arms around your knees and will it away. But it doesn’t vanish. You cry. You scream. You yell. But nothing changes. It’s there. Unavoidable. Indestructible.

You curl yourself into a ball. You shake with fear. With disappointment. With emotions you can’t control. With a pain that feels like a million knives stabbing you all at once. Your jaw clenches. And you tell yourself, I’ll do anything it takes to stop this pain. Anything it takes to feel normal again. 

Your body listens to the desperation in your heart. Your body gets up. And it walks. And your mind is suddenly clear because you believe deep in your soul that you’ve found the cure to the pain. That you now know how to end this suffering. It is to fall. So you fall.

Too far. Too deep. With no return. You’re no longer in pain. You’re no longer suffering. But the ones who love you are.

This is what suicide is. It is your body listening to your desperation and reacting without thinking. It is getting rid of your pain in the easiest way possible.

How often have you heard the phrase, “Suicide is for the cowardly” ? They’re wrong. Suicide isn’t for the weak hearted. Suicide isn’t for the cowards. The cowards wouldn’t get up from that corner in the fear of enduring more pain if they did. The cowards wouldn’t walk into nothingness. The cowards would never fall. The strong ones do. The selfish ones do. They find a way to fix their problem and go after it. They forget the ones who love them. They forget the ones who care. They forget the opportunities that life has to offer.

They focus on ending the moment’s pain. They walk. They fall.

I lost a friend when I was young. Her parents yelled at her about school and she hung herself. I’ve wondered what drove her there. I’ve been depressed. I’ve wanted to end it all. But I always imagine my parents and my sister after. I imagine my mother finding me dead in a corner. I imagine her face. I imagine her falling to the floor with shock and tears. The way their lives would change. How they’d never forgive themselves for not knowing my pain. How it would affect my sister’s life. How I will make things worse for the people I care about.

Surely people think about these things when they consider the end. But something pushes them still. Something drives them to take that last step. Why isn’t what’s stopping me, stopping them?

Why is the person strong enough to fall not strong enough to face the wrath and find a way through it?!

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Everyone noticed Robin Williams’ jokes. Nobody noticed Robin Williams. Do you ever wonder, if instead of asking him to tell them a joke, someone had just taken the time to talk to him, he would still be here?

No one person in this world is born with the will to end their life. No one person is raised believing the answer to a problem is suicide.

Something drives them there. Something makes them believe that nobody cares about them. That they’re alone in this. That they have to end their life to survive the pain. And if I told you you could help, would you?

Because you can. You can save a life. All it takes is just one sentence.

“Let’s talk about this.”

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If you or someone you know needs help, please reach out:

India – http://www.suicide.org/hotlines/international/india-suicide-hotlines.html

US – http://www.suicide.org/suicide-hotlines.html

International – http://www.suicide.org/international-suicide-hotlines.html

I Floated. Then I Hit The Ground With A Thud.

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Do you know what it’s like? When your toes curl? When your heart races? When your soul calms down? Do you know what it’s like to feel like you’re the purpose of another human being’s existence? Like nobody else in the room will ever matter more than you do? Like the luckiest being alive?

I do.

Have you read a Mills & Boon book? The rich and handsome Italian man falls in love with the almost-average girl that brings trouble where she goes? That was my story. Everyone involved in my life knows bits and pieces of this story. But nobody knows the truth. I never trusted anyone with the truth. This truth.

I was your typical teenager. Born into a dysfunctional family. I had no sense of permanent relationships. Terrified of commitment in my own way. I ran from things that mattered. I enjoyed the temporary. I enjoyed the boys that swore they’d never love me. There was a comfort in knowing that. Because I knew how to be prepared for the temporary. I knew to believe that people would leave. I didn’t have faith in the ones who promised to stay.

I was visiting my father in another country. A friend in that city introduced me to him. On another occasion, I would have flirted with the guy. But not him. Even I knew he was far too out of my league. He was handsome. Not the kind I was used to. Snobbish and cynical. Grudgingly atheist. He too came from parents that would have been happier apart but chose to be miserable together. He knew the fear of promises and forevers. We became MySpace friends.

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22nd July 2010. I needed a lunch buddy. He said “Yes.” We got subway. He called it a date. I didn’t say No.

It’s summer romance. I’ll leave and he’ll forget about me. A guy like that is not interested in me. He just wants to have fun. Fun is good. Fun is safe. Fun it is.

I landed back home after the summer. I turned on my phone and there it was – “I hope you got home safe. Call me the moment you can. I’m counting days till I see you again. Yours truly, R.”

I still grin when I think about it. It was our inside joke. “Yours truly.” He was my Shakespeare in disguise. I had fallen in love with a man that was far too good for me. He was mine. And not just for the summer.

We did the long distance thing. For two months. I’d cry and he’d make me smile with stories of the adventures we’d go on when we were together again. If love could be a person, it’d be him. He introduced me to all his siblings and best friends. I was “the girl he’s going to marry.”

When I got insecure, he got on a flight to visit me. When I got upset, he stayed up all night talking to me. And the best part? When I missed him, he missed me.

Hand written love letters. 8-hour skype calls. I wasn’t just in a relationship. I was in THE relationship. I had something every girl dreamed of. I had a man nobody ever gets to meet. I felt something I’d read of. A feeling of floating on the clouds. I was excited yet calm. He was my storm. He was my warm cup of coffee and cozy book during the storm. He was everything I’d ever wanted. He was everything I’d never thought of. He became the one I wanted to hold on to forever.

And life, for the most part, was beautiful.

But Fate never did like it when that happened.

There is this moment we all go through in our lives. The moment we find ourselves unable to help as we watch the ones we love suffer. We can support them. We can stay on the phone for hours so they feel better. But we can’t fix the feeling that hits them the moment we hang up. We can’t fix their problem.

His father got very sick. He moved back to Italy. The long distance became longer. His emotions grew messier. And I was useless.

There are particular emotions you feel at certain moments that you’ll never forget.

I’ll never forget the inability to reach out and hold him as he cried for hours. I’ll never forget my heart break as I couldn’t help him when he needed me the most. I’ll never forget the regret of not being there with him when I should have.

He lost his father after a long struggle. As a result, he lost himself. An adrenaline junkie.  He drank out of his mind. He slept with every woman that went his way. The man I loved became someone I would never consider being with.

His sisters told me he’d gone off the edge and I should give up. But I couldn’t. Because you don’t give up on a relationship because it got difficult. You don’t give up on someone you love because they’ve gone off the edge. I fought for who we were. And this is the moment where the world will begin to disagree with my choices.

After being unreachable for four weeks, he drunk dialled me. At 2:37am on a rainy night.

“Hey babyyy. Guess what? I was just with three women at the same time! Aren’t I the coolest?” I saw a man struggling to fill a void while running away from it. I smiled and asked him to get home safe.

After fighting with me for days, he told me he was too drunk to know where his home is. He’d forgotten his address and was unable to identify which of the cards in his wallet had his address. I had him hand the phone to someone standing next to him and requested them to guide him home. The woman who loved him but never got the opportunity to be with him became my helpline. She showered him. Had him change clothes. Put him to bed. And waited for him to sleep. I still find myself owing her one for that.

We were in the same city again. We had a fight. We went back to his place and his anger got the better of him. It was a fraction of a second. I told him he was overreacting. The next moment I had my palm on my cheek. It was the first of many times.

A date after forever turned into the beginning of the end.

10th September, 2011. 12:45am his time.

“I need to be without you. You’re holding me back. I can’t go through this with you anymore. I can’t be tied down to someone like you. I need to be with me. And lots of other people. It’s time for me to be with other people. This is what I want for my birthday.”

I hung up after telling him something he’d told me a little over a year ago. Something he told me right before he said the words I never thought I’d hear, for the first time.

“If you ever have a wish, I want you to know, I’ll do anything to make it come true. Because I love you. And there’s no changing that.” I gave him his wish. He was no longer tied to me.

I didn’t cry.

I met him a few months later. He was sober. He was dating the one who wanted him. The one who rescued him when I was in another country. The one I owe. He called me that night. It was like old times. He asked me to say Yes. Said he’d give up everything and come back to me. But that was his guilt talking. Not his heart.

I’ve heard people dissect my relationship. Call me weak for staying when he got abusive. Some said I was an idiot for leaving someone so wealthy and handsome.

A few months ago, I met a friend. We talked about dating. We talked about him. She made a comment.

“He broke you. He became a monster. I don’t know why you can’t see that.”

I thought about that days after the conversation.

I fell in love with someone nice. Someone kindhearted. Someone caring. He believed in me. He believed in us. He worked for the greater good of so many. He took over his younger brother’s tuition because he could. He gave away money every month for the elderly and the adopted. He was made of something most people don’t understand. He loved so freely. He didn’t have expectations. He didn’t expect you to love him back. He never hurt people. He was careful with emotions.

He made me ambitious. He gave me a reason to work harder. He made me comfortable in my own skin. Everything I am today is because he walked in to my life when he did. Everything I will ever be, I will owe to him. He was my pillar of strength.

But life caught up to him. It threw him a curveball he didn’t know how to tackle. He gave in to the pressure. It didn’t make him an abuser. It didn’t make him an alcoholic. It didn’t make him a cheater.

It made him human.

He didn’t break me. He made me better when I was at my worst.

And I only wish I could have done the same for him.

Why?

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Why did you do it?

Why did you choose to be you for the first time?

Why did you make me want to pull all my walls down and open my heart up to you?

Why did you make me want to believe in fairytales?

Why did you let me fall for you?

Why did you say no to being mine?

Why did you break my heart into a million different pieces day after day?

Why did you hang up when I needed you the most?

Why did you walk away when I wanted you to stay?

Why did you tell me about this girl you spoke to at night that you really really liked?

Why did you make me feel like I was her?

Why did you ask her out when you told me you weren’t ready when it was me?

Why did I cry like the world was falling apart?

Why did you feel like the only lifeline that could’ve saved me?

Why did that feeling fade away?

Why did you choose to leave?

Why did I want that distance more than you did?

Why did my love for you get buried under a life I wanted to build for myself?

Why did everything become nothing but a memory?

Why did I have the ability to choose me over you?

Why did that choice feel okay?

Why am I okay?

Without you.

With me.

Eff Your Beauty Standards

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That was the name of the instagram account I followed a few weeks ago – Eff Your Beauty Standards. I unfollowed them a few days later.

I’m fat. I’ve said it before and I’ll say it again. There’s no shame or guilt. Yes, people like me aren’t on magazine covers. We don’t get to wear angel wings and strut ourselves in sexy underwear. We aren’t searched and cast in famous movies by every Hollywood director there ever was. We definitely do not match any industry standards in any way. Not even heavy lifting because overweight does not mean strong. A lot of us are quite weak and fragile. We’re often made to feel like we don’t belong. We often catch ourselves wondering if women like us will ever be loved. We tend to fish for compliments anywhere we can get them. Not to boost our egos, but to feel normal. Just once.

The instagram account showed plus sized women with captions that told them they’re stunning and beautiful. It gave them the kind of compliments we all wish for. But here’s the thing – I found it offensive, demeaning and rather disturbing. Not the compliments but the idea in itself.

It was as ridiculous as calling someone a “Skinny Bitch” just because she is a size zero. I have always had a problem understanding why we blame the individual when in reality, she isn’t the one that created the idea in your mind that she matters more than you and I do. It was an industry filled with rude, arrogant pompous asses that believed that their idea of beauty should be everyone else’s idea of beauty and used their power to establish the same across the world, making every one of us feel inadequate, insufficient and to put it quite frankly, like a blob.

Let me help create a better idea of this. I am a size 12. My sister is a size 2. Do I wish for her clothes? Yes. Do I wish the fashion industry would put people like me on the magazines rather than people like her? Absolutely! Does that make her a bad person or a “skinny bitch”? You must be insane.

But surely not as insane as that Instagram account, several overweight artists, and so many others quite like them and here’s why – I don’t want a separate Instagram account that proves to me what I’ve believed all along. That I’m different. That I need to be treated specially. And not in a good way.

Tell me it’s not just me when I say – Fat people don’t want to be handled with care. Fat people don’t want you to “aww” at us and pretend like we’re more delicate than the rest. Fat people don’t want to be differentiated from women in general.

We don’t want the skinny girl to lose her fashion sense. We want the fashion industry to bring us the same kind of clothes the skinny girl wears. We don’t want the hot guy to date us with pity. We want him to know we’re just as interested in sex as the girl in that tight pair of jeans and a perfect butt is. When you see us at a store trying to find that perfect dress in our size, we want you to tell us the way you’d tell anyone else that it’s not available in our size. Don’t hesitate. Don’t make me feel bad about who I am by being too careful. Being too nice. Being too out of the ordinary.

If you want to make me feel better about who I am, stop treating me like I’m different. Treat me like I’m human. Treat me the way you treat the size zero. Don’t give me a special Instagram account. Don’t call her a skinny bitch believing that I’ll feel better if you do. I won’t. I’ll hate myself for singing that song because I know that being fat is who I am the way being skinny is who she is. She’s not a bitch and I don’t want you to convince me that she is. I’m not a bully. Don’t make me one.

If you really, honestly and truthfully want to make a fat person feel good about themselves,

Eff your beauty standards and treat me like I’m just another human.

Chennai Isn’t Just A City, Madras Isn’t Just An Emotion

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I was sitting in an auto, stuck in traffic in the middle of Mylapore. I looked at my mother and swallowed my tears. “Forget it. It’s fine. I’ll stay here. I can leave another time.” That’s the moment I said goodbye to my life and officially moved back. On another day, in another place, it wouldn’t have been the same. But there, in the place I’d seen and admired for years, it felt like things would be ok.

We often move out of the country to study. We find work and our feet stand still. We find a place to live and eventually, someone to live with. It’s home in all senses of the word. Yet, there’s this moment. This moment when you walk out of Anna International Airport to the sound of taxi and auto annas asking you where you want to go. This moment when you can hear the car honking all the way from the roads. This moment when a particular feeling envelopes you like you never knew it would. A feeling of belonging. A feeling of coming back from a vacation. Sure, you’re coming from home. But this place that you’ve landed at, it’s home.

A friend of mine who moved here for a while asked me, “What’s so special about your city?”

I was silent for minutes. Not because I didn’t know what to say but because I didn’t know where to start.

When I say Mount Road, the guide books will tell you about the never ending traffic, loud noises and the fancy malls. But that’s not it. When you’re driving down that road, look to your right. You’ll find history in every building you pass by. This city wasn’t made with concrete. It was made with art.

When you say food, it’s quite normal for that friend of yours who visited a long time ago to suggest some “decent” restaurant. But that’s not our food. Our food isn’t made by that chef whose name you’ll never know. Our food is the one that akka or anna sitting in a plastic chair carefully places on your plate while they tell you the tales of the city’s past and their predictions of the political future.

When they say socializing, I know you think of parties and business meetings. But that’ll never be it. Socializing in my city is sitting on those steps with other foreign return / aspiring maamis for hours on the end while secretly staring at that cute guy whose mom had probably dragged him to the temple. And have I mentioned that there’s a temple or two in every street with the kind of architecture that the modern man will consider “too time-consuming and almost impossible”?

It’s a bit of art, a bit of delicacies and a lot of smiling, helpful faces.

But that isn’t all that makes this city what it is. It’s more. More than words can ever describe. More than I can ever tell you. More than anyone will ever know. It’s home in a way that a home will never be.

It doesn’t matter if you’re from a different planet, you’ll feel welcomed. It doesn’t matter what your choices in life are, you’ll feel accepted. It doesn’t matter who you choose to be, you’ll find your crowd.

The story of who this city is will be different with every person that lives or visits here. For the ones who come with a dream, it is a helping hand. For the ones who come with tears, it is a shoulder to lean on. For the ones that come giggling, it is a friend to play with. For the ones who’ve lived here forever, it’s the loving arms of a mother that’ll always welcome us back with a smile.

And no matter what I explain, it’ll never do justice to this city.

Because Chennai isn’t just a city.

Madras isn’t just an emotion.

It’s home.

And more.

Happy Madras Day!

It’s Just a Piece of Paper

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The glamour industry is known more for its divorces than blockbusters. Two of my favorite A-list couples just recently filed for divorce – Ben & Jen and Gwen & Gavin. The tabloid article had an image of Gwen in her wedding dress, looking absolutely happy and it got me wondering..

What if divorces didn’t exist?

What if the moment you get married, there’s no out? If there is a problem, the two of you have to discuss it and sort it out. You have to find a way to work through your issues. And no, I’m not talking about marriages with physically or emotionally abusive spouses or serial cheaters. I’m talking about the normal couples who reach a point where they simply think “We have too many differences. I want out.”

I’m terribly afraid of marriage. Not because I don’t want to be married but because I’m afraid that someday it will end. I’ve said it before several times, the end of me will not be the moment my career comes crashing down or when I lose a loved one. The end of me will be the moment I hold divorce papers in my hand.

But what if that was impossible? I’ve seen so many people in my life rush to get married. My best friend got married after only knowing her husband for 3 months and I know that when in love the person doesn’t think of ever getting divorced but should there be a law that would never allow divorces, do you think the person would think twice before making their decision?

And very honestly, what is it about signing a paper that kills a relationship that has been built over the years? Through various struggles that have been overcome?

Several years ago, when my mother was holding divorce papers, my dad’s mother walked up to her, hugged her and said, “You are not my daughter-in-law because you signed a piece of paper. Our relationship will not end because you sign a paper again.”

That divorce never happened and there has been nothing to worry about on that scale since but my grandmother’s words never left me.

Am I someone’s wife because we sat in front of one hundred guests and got married? Am I someone’s wife because I signed an official paper that states “You are now husband and wife” ?

And does my relationship with this man just end because I sign another paper that says we are no longer united by marriage?

Does one piece of thin paper hold enough strength to turn every fight, every argument, every struggle, every moment, every kiss and all the love insignificant?

If not, then what is it about a divorce? I know I’ll hear a lot of people telling me that marriage is complicated, you have to think of your happiness and a divorce is unavoidable at times. But why?

If there didn’t exist that piece of paper, what would you have done?

Would you have simply walked out? If you knew that that particular piece of paper did not change your relationship, would you find a way to fix the problem? Would you have stayed?

Or would you have still packed and walked away?

I’m not experienced. I can barely hold a relationship together. But I’ve been raised believing that the concept of signing a paper mutually for the beginning and end of a partnership belonged in the corporate world for business deals and not for emotions.

Not for a marriage. Not for a relationship. And definitely not for love.

Am I wrong?