The Beginning: La Vie Bohèmme

As she stood there, staring into space, in to the distance, nothing in particular, she wondered what lay ahead of her, what adventures lay ahead, what twists and turns would life take? She had a suitcase full of clothes but a head filled with dreams. She stood there with her suitcase, a little hesitant, a little scared, a little anxious, but all excited for what lay ahead of her.

College had prepared them for the life to come, but did it prepare her for the life she wanted live? Her friends would get married and have children, but domestic bliss was not for her. Some would start businesses, have successful careers and becomes pathbreaking leaders, but that was not a life she had envisioned for herself.

She thought about the boys, and girls she had kissed, and many more she would kiss. She was a free spirit, a bird that could not be caged. She sang not because she could sing but because there was a song in her heart. The rules of this world was not for her, she never could understand them, could follow them. She marched to the beats of her own drums, to the beating of her heart, down a path she had paved for herself. She couldn’t follow the path paved by others, it was not meant for her. Her spirit was wild and free, it couldn’t be contained, La Vie Bohéme.

She stood there and wondered, was leaving now the right thing to do? Should she follow her heart, or let her head control the journey she would take, her destiny. The world was her oyster, it could make her into a beautiful pearl, but it could also let her be an ugly rock and spit her out. This thought scared, frightened her, making her doubt if this was the right thing to do? But then life is short and the world is large, she had to go out make memories for herself. 

She took a deep breath and took a step into the unknown, into the uncertainties of what lay ahead, but into the adventures she were to have, the experiences that would shape her life. She step into the train station, onto the train that would take her into the adventure, the life that lay waiting for her, the life she was meant to live. As the train pulled out from the station she waved goodbye to her friends (who had come to see her off, and make that last ditch effort to make her choose otherwise), and to the life she had once known.

The Raging Tempest: The Mind of a Woman Scorned

Where did she go wrong? What did she do wrong? Was there something that she did, or something she didn’t do? Her head was swimming with so many questions with no answer in sight. Why did he spurn her, if spurn was the right word to be used here? Hadn’t she been an obedient, loving wife, a dutiful daughter-in-law, in line with the vows which they had made to each other, in the presence of their loved ones and friends? Then why did he want to separate? Where did she go wrong?

There were so many questions racing in her mind, but she couldn’t find the root to her situation, leaving her hopeless, helpless, in despair. Her world seemed like it was falling apart, sinking speedily into a black hole, threatening to take her with it, to swallow her whole. She was restless from not knowing what to do, he had blindsided her. 

Her eyes were red from crying, her face stained with her tears. She had locked herself in their room, refusing to come out, not for him or anyone, or even food. She refused to take anything, all she did was sob uncontrollably till she fell asleep. But then sleep came to her in fits, and when she woke, she once again realised the hopelessness of her situation and started to cry again till she fell asleep again.

She went through this cycle a few more times till she could cry no more. She had used up all her tears, she had no more tears to cry, like she had dried up all her tears. The feeling of hopelessness and despair made way to a simmering fire that was lit by his betrayal. A steady rage, an anger seemed to rise in her chest. Why should she waste her tears on the betrayer of her trust, the oath breaker, back stabber. Yes his action had left shellshocked and crestfallen, but why should she be a pitiful figure. He had betrayed her and now he should pay for it, she would make him pay for it. She would make him pay for it, she would make pay for every last teardrop on her pillow, every teardrop she shed for him. Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned, now there was hell for him to pay. She would make him feel the heat of her fury.

She couldn’t sleep, she just didn’t want to get mad, she wanted to get even. She was so filled with rage and hatred towards him that she was surprised to see his call. She didn’t want to talk to him, she didn’t want to hear him, she didn’t want to do anything with him. She tried to ignore the ringing phone but her persisted till she finally relented out of spite and anger, if nothing else. 

She wanted to scream into her phone, but there was something about his voice that began to calm the tempest within her. He begged her to hear him out, he was prepared to face the consequences after that. He knew that nothing he could say or do could stop the chain of events that he had set in motion, the hurt he had caused her, undo his decision. He knew he was the cause of the pain, and given a chance he wished if he could do without causing her pain, but there was no way around it and he had to do it.

This marriage wasn’t what he had wanted, in fact he was forced into, coerced into something he didn’t want, emotionally blackmailed into it. He tried his best to give her the love she deserved, the love she desired, the love he couldn’t give her. He couldn’t find it in himself to love her, he could love no woman. It would be wrong on his part to good on living a lie. It was eating him from inside, and he couldn’t live with that guilt on his conscience. Therefore he decided to put an end to it.

He was prepared for the worst, prepared to face the consequences of his decision. He had inadvertently hurt her and he was ready to pay for it. He was prepared to support her financially through out her life. He knew doing this may cause her initial pain but he was setting her free from living a life of lie, from an empty relationship that acted like a prison. 

When they finally finished their conversation, she placed her phone at the side, took a deep breath and stared into space in front of her. She knew he was a man of his words, and would never go back on it. What he said rang true cause they had yet to consummate their marriage, and barring this situation, even here he had not wronged her, it was just that while making making things right he had caused he le pain. But he had set her free. She took a deep breath as she felt drained, she had run the whole gamut of emotions, from despair to rage, to pity, and now in a way she felt liberated, she felt free. She felt sorry for him, a pity towards him, but now she needed to think for herself, think about herself. He had set her free and now was the time to make the most of it, take control of her life, live it on her own terms. She finally found hope, and for the first time she smiled.

The Running Excursion

“Best of Luck...

.. and don’t fuck it up.”

-RuPaul

Well this was something that kept resounding in my head as race day steadily drew near. Something I was so wanting to say to all my fellow Runnaholic (thanks to RuPaul Drag Race... which I am addicted to watching). Consciously kept away from the 5 Stars this time around. But then as luck would have it, and my stomach too, I did fuck it up. Woke up in the morning to a gripping pain, a loose bowel (call it ill timed eating non-veg).

Though the target was to complete the race, standing at the holding area I felt could chase that PB (but a part of the head kept saying, abhe aukat main re and complete the race, PB later). 

So after the customary hugs and greetings, and that all important hug from Sangeeta Ma’am (one thing I have to always do, but best luck wish), it was off to the starting line, slowly and steadily moving with a bunch of nervous (that’s me) and excited (everyone else) runners busy chattering away, trying to focus, taking pics and selfies (to the people who light up Victoria Terminus (not going to call the building CST) why oh why the coloured lights, it ruins the architecture). 

So crossing the start line, switching on your Garmin, your NRC, and signing yourself, off you went, down the heritage road to fountain, on a ramp, thanks to the metro work. Now a pee break caused me to loose my buddy Dylan, who went off in a flash. Without music (for the first time), without my buddy Dylan, I swore was going to cross that bloody finish line.

All through the race you have your fellow runners coming to cheer you on or even patting you from behind and then overtaking you, so you end up fighting the urge to speed up, fighting back gripping pains (which was determined to make it presence felt at regular intervals). But once into the race, they were all but forgotten. 

As we Mumbaikars know, and are very well aware of, the weather can be finicky, and it didn’t stray from its mood swings, adding that extra dimension to the race. So the stomachaches were gone but once again started to feel that dizziness, bringing memories of the previous year. The feet suddenly felt like it was blistering (not from the pace that is), bringing with it the extra challenge, surprising you cause you’ve run in them before. So all along the head was popping this question “do you want to quit?” “It’s ok if you want to”, “why oh why do you torture yourself and sign up for this?” tempting you throw in the towel. But then you note that you have managed to go further than you did last year, and you can just as well do it, let the timing go for a toss.

So it was run and walk, with that strategy varying as the run went by. So for the first time clicked a pic on the sea link, courtesy of our star volunteer Charu. 

All through the route the spirit of Mumbai was on display, and kept proving why the Mumbai Marathon is more than a run (as an outstation Running group mentioned why), it’s about Mumbaikar, the people and the kiddos who spur you on. So thanks to the water stations, the official and the unofficial ones, to everyone who came there with water and hydration and fruits and jaggery, the children reaching out with water and high fives. Last year may have put me off Orsl, this year was grateful for all the oranges (cause we runners need it anyway), consumed quite a bit on route. And thanks tosoo many of running buddies who kept pushing me on, who I met on the way. Was grateful to see my MRR Family, who greeted me with hugs, Shweta and Ami putting some yummy dark chocolate in my hand, Alpa handing me a sip of Prerna yummy and refreshing drink (but not before she clicked a selfie). 

Thanks to my smile twin, Ajit for helping me stretch when my muscles were sore, and of course was awesome to see the ARC tribe who kept cheering and pushing (thanks Varun for that timely spray). 

So after passing the last MRR cheerzone, it was off to the finish, in the company of Vishy, paced by Vijit. Tried to sprint and up the pace to the finish line, but it seemed like it would never approach. But in the end gave it all that I had remaining in the tank, crossed that damn finish line. I would be lying if I said that timing didn’t disappoint me a Incy-winsy but, but hey was glad to finish at 5:00:01 (according to my Garmin, and 4:59:49 officially). I may have not achieved my PB, but hey got a PH. 

Felt awesome meeting fellow runners and buddies. The race was done and it was time to celebrate, and avoid asking that prickly question (what was your timing and how was your run), while answering as diplomatically as possible. No matter the time, I can say I was proud to finish what I started. 

So finally comes the thank you to all the people on the street, cheering you on, supporting your, the MRR and Malad  family (ones I couldn’t do without), the ARC tribe. Finally to my BNP stooges, Pankti and Dylan, without whom I would not have completed this run. So now it’s back to the drawing board and return to a normal life, till the next race.

The Race Day Hibby Jibbies

I’ve the run this race for the past eight editions, and seven out of the eight times I’ve successfully managed to complete it, with the last edition being the only exception. But even after participating in all these editions nerves seem to be getting to me. As race day approaches there’s this strange uneasiness that threatens to swallow me whole, a tingingly feeling that refuses to go.

I know I’ve trained well for it, maybe not as well as I hoped to, not as well as the next person, the next person being a friend who really brings it on. In this case my training falls short, feels short, leaves you wondering if you should even being doing this in the first place. They’ve been disciplined in their training which you have been not, no matter how much you try and convince yourself. Hearing their targets you wonder do you have one, should you have one? And though you tell yourself, and others that your target is to just complete, you are not thoroughly convinced. You doubt your ability of finishing what you’ve started, thanks to the events that transpired last year and the weight you’ve piled on since then.

Then the question of the notorious Mumbai weather which seem to be unable to make up its mind, like a fickle lover blowing hot sometime, blowing cold the other time. The weather through December and the beginning of January, had a nice nip in it, a chill, conducive for running, a delight to every runner. But then the weather gods always have a mind of their own. So as race day approaches, the warmth in the air sends a shiver down your spine (isn’t that ironic). So then you’re beginning to remember the cramps you felt races before, making you wonder what it would be like this time around.

And as the day draws closer so does your nerves. You pray and hope they don’t get the better, and you just run relaxed, like you want to, like you’ve been advised to, after all it’s just a race, don’t fret over things that are out of you control. Just go with the flow, let the nervous energy spur you own, and as you warm up to your run, let this energy burn up act as a fuel for your run. So as you get ready to run soak in the experience, take in the atmosphere, and know you’re lucky to get this opportunity, so make the most of it.

So fikaar not, enjoy a lot

Run befikaar, bindaas

Tilgul Ghya, God God Bola

“Tigul ghya god god bola”

For the uninitiated, and the maka paos like me, it means take these tilgul and speak sweet words, a greeting commonly heard during the festival of Makar Sankranthi, celebrated throughout Maharashtra (as if you didn’t know this, or you have been living under rock, or in your own bubble, of not from my Maharashtra) to mark the end of winter (if I am right).

It’s a hope that the sweetness of these small little ladoos, made from til, or sesame seeds, with jaggery (or gud) and peanuts, brings sweetness to your life, to your words, banishing the bitterness in your mind and words, filling you with sweetness and good health, bringing warmth to body, on this cold winters day (as if Mumbai even has a season of winter to speak of), also bring warmth to the mind, soul and heart, keeping away the cold of the weather outside, and the coldness that often surrounds us, that threatens to enter us, freeze us.

But then too much of a good thing ain’t always a good thing, especially when you are someone like me, someone with a weak constituent, a gluttonous appetite, who cannot have just one, to save his life. Excessive consumption could result in your words dripping with honey, which could be quiet creepy and could come across as an appeaser, a bootlicker. And yes if you are like me, too much of these could lead dire consequences, of severe gripes, of trips to the loo, which one needs to be careful with TMM round the corner.

These over indulgence aside, it doesn’t matter, all that matter is the thought behind the festival, the thought behind the gesture. Therefore “Tilgul ghya god god bola”.

What God Unites... Man Divides

There was once a community that lived together in the same complex, who’s name meant “God is with us”, which came together in fellowship and prayer and to celebrate important feasts ans events. For over eight years they did so with great enthusiasm and fervour.

Now for administrative reasons, the powers to be decided to split the community into two, as it would be difficult for the new coordinator to manage such a big community. So the community was divided into two but was allowed to have their celebrations and fellowship together. Except each community would be managed by a different set of animators from those societies in the complex (that fell in that community).

Now this split began to cause a fissure and sowed the seeds of dissent. Contentious questions, contentious claims, that were never asked before, never made before, never raised, began to be asked, began to be raised, began to be made, further driving a wedge in the community. A community that was once together now stood divided.

The policy of divide and rule can be found in many instances in history, with the British known to use it to try to drive a wedge in the freedom movement. This continues to be prevalent today too when political parties use it as a tool, a weapon, to maintain their core vote bank, to stay relevant to their vote bank, to flex their muscles, to prove their superiority.

It’s not that the above scenario fell under the divide and rule umbrella, but the division did serve as a catalyst to drive a fission in the community, raising unsettling questions and points, leaving the community divided which was a sad thing to see. Just like an evil bahu in the Hindi daily soaps, the division managed to sow the seeds of doubt, finally succeeding in dividing the community, who now decided  to change names to differentiate themselves from each other, making you wonder if God had indeed stopped being with us.

.. one week to go: the TMM Fever

In just over a week the day of reckoning will be here, and when that day comes  what will you do? All what you have done, your labour, all will bear fruit. So when that day comes what will you have to show?

Well if you are thinking that the Armageddon will be upon us, judgement day, then you’re so wrong, it’s something even bigger, it’s the Standard Chartered Mumbai Marathon, oops I did it again, I meant the TATA Mumbai Marathon. And if you were to scoff and say that it’s just another race, a overhyped one, I pray you are saying this in your head and not out loud. A runner in tapering mode is like a person on a low carb diet, going through a severe withdrawal symptoms, will give you a ear full, and who knows, if they are low on carbs, may just about make a meal of you.

Well hyped or not, where would poor souls (and soles) like us, who can’t afford to qualify for Boston, New York, Berlin, let alone afford it, get to run in an international marathon? When would we get the chance to say we’ve run with the African gazelle, I mean runners (but hey when they run they are nothing less than a gazelle, a poetry in motion)? And when do you get a chance to lead them? Ya you would call it a head start, I’ll call it a lead. And yes, when would you get all the memsahab and sahabs of Peddar Road stand with trays to serve you (and you should not miss giving them the golden opportunity to do some real public service for a change). If that wasn’t enough then it’s the only time you get to run/walk/pee/take a selfie/pout, from the sea link (don’t tell me you haven’t done the last three or at least given it a thought). Dang I am more tired listing these reasons than even running.

Well now that the fever is upon us, catching us, burning us up, you will have one question to constantly answer (making you wonder if you were taking part at the Miss India), so what’s your target? In your head you want to respond, abhe sale tu apna target dekh, but then you politely respond, my target is to complete it and just experience and enjoy the race, and as soon as you utter these words you feel something grow, your nose you dirty dirty mind, and you start being on a watch out for crows, kyunki jooth bole kawa kathe.

But then you wonder if you have trained enough to participate in a full? When people have covered distances like 37 km almost every weekend (dekh kitna bhag te ye log) but the farthest you’ve covered is 32, that to in four hours, and walking the last part (well you could always blame the heat and humidity). But then your friend tries to console you saying you did two 30s in BNP, slopes included, which is equivalent to their run, and don’t compare yourself to them, but kya kare, adat say majboor, we can’t help but compare after all aren’t we all competitive animals?

This brings you to the question, kaunsa pagal kutte ne katta kay tum wapas 42 km daudne chala? What made you think you can run a 42, don’t you remember the last time you ran one? Well that’s the biggest reason for running a 42, your biggest drive. So you succumbed to the peer pressure, to rewrite the memories of last year, for once and for all put the ghosts of last year’s to rest.

So finally all there’s left to think/overthink is that the weather should be so kind and not let you down. So you pray to the old gods and the new, to every god you promise to break a nariyal, perform havans, offer masses, perform puja, do everything possible to appease the weather gods so that the weather stays the same, come TMM, and they do not play a cruel prank. If possible, you hope the gods, or Rajnikant, leave the refrigerator door open till TMM ends.

Well as the day draws closer, so is your TMM fever. You know that all the social butterflies have thought and purchased what they want to wear (and so have you) that will catch the maximum attention and will stand out from the rif-raf. Now the only thing left to do is run the damn thing and you can’t wait to do it and rid yourself of the TMM fever.

A Little Piano Tales: Bonding over Music

She completed her homework and decided to practice on her piano. Her parents insisted she take up at least one musical instrument (cause they were the kind that insisted on an all round development), and she was more than happy to oblige.

After playing a few chords and a couple of tunes which she had learned and needed to practice, after she felt she had practiced enough she decided to do something different. She started playing a song, her current favourite song by her favourite band which was dedicated to all the girls, and the music video featured some of her favourite female actors and personalities and singers. She had worried her tutor to give her the chords, and now that she had it she couldn’t wait to play it.

She was so engrossed in figuring the chords and the notes progression that she didn’t realise that her father had come into the room and was listening to her play. He picked his guitar and switched on the amplifier, trying to tune it. She was startled and turned around to find her father there. He urged her to continue and asked for the chords. She was bit hesitant, but this wasn’t the first time she played before him, however, it would be the first time they jammed together. She gave him the chord progression and he began playing, harmonising his guitar with the notes she played on her piano. 

When they hit the final note she smiled and looked at her father, trying to note the approval on his face. He just asked her about the song which she was learning. He asked her to play it, he could help by playing it with her. However she had only one sheet music and wasn’t too sure how to play it and would need the music sheet to play. He stood behind her read the chords from over shoulder.

She began playing it in rhythm the way she had learned. He in turn kept in tune with his daughter. He was familiar with the song, a tune from his youth, and now it felt special sharing it with his daughter. They played together filling the room with sweet music. Every melody, every note was filled with feeling, nothing more than feeling, just as the song suggested. They both got lost in the in the music, in that melody, in the harmonies, in the intricacies of the music, the chords, the rhythm, as it rose and fell. 

To the outside world they were making sweet music but only they knew they were sharing something much more deeper, much more meaningful. The song gave them a moment that was special that they would cherish for all eternity, brought them closer together. It was the music that cemented the bond they shared.

When they finally played the last and brought the song to its lilting conclusion, they looked at each other and smiled, cause those were moments well spent, moments that were going to be etched in the memories for all eternity.

A Little Piano Tale

She rose from her seat and slowly navigated her way through the maze of guests and furniture, towards the place in the room where her piano sat. Her son had requested for some music, as he prepared dinner, and since no one in the room volunteered (or new how to play) on their urging she decided to give it a try, as it had been a while since she had tickled the ivories.

The mood in the room was festive, even though the evening marked the end of the festivities. The room still had its festive decorations on, with soft lights, which only added to the mood in the room. She had worn her festive finery, her festive sweater and her pearls. She felt regal and presided over the the happenings in the room, and so took it upon herself to play something, when her guest urged her to do so.

With the help of her guests, and holding the furniture, she made way to the piano. They helped her to piano, and lifted the lid, and removed the cloth that protected the key. She took a seat and slowly began to play, trying to recollect tunes and their chords, she had learned years ago, from her heydays. She played uncertainly as it had been a while since she played it.

The room fell silent and the only sound to be heard was the one which she conjured up. And even though she fumbled at times, the melody was beautiful and it enamoured all those present in the room. When she finally stopped after a while, they all broke into an applause, but she raised her hands saying she was only practising, just trying to recollect tunes and chords, much to the amusement and delight of her audience. 

She knew she now had a hold on their attention. She smiled and turned back to the piano, and began to play slowly but more surely, her fingers quite nimbly found the keys that played the note and composed the tune. Music filled the room and lifted the spirits of all who it touched, which was everyone present there. It transported them to an era long, long, ago, back in time, to her time. They were spellbound, holding on to every note she played. All their attention were focused on her as they listened to every note that she conjured m up. They knew they were listening to something glorious from someone so delicate and fragile, they wanted to capture that moment for all eternity.

When she finally played the last note, she turned to them and smiled. They took a moment to snap out that they were under, that she had put on them. And when they were finally free from it they burst into applause and cheered on. She smiled and gave a slight bow, to the extent her age allowed her to, returned back to her seat, back to the conversation she was having, mighty pleased with herself.

The Magical Hi-Five

She put on her a little red coat and slowly made it down the street to the place the place where the race route passed close to her street. There was a cold breeze in the air but she didn’t really mind it. There were a few who had braved the cold winter’s morn to come to cheer the runners on. 

She took her spot, like she had done a number of times before, waiting for the runners to pass by. As they passed by she smiled and put out her hand. Some saw her but ignored her choosing to focus on the road ahead. Others completely ignored her and went about with their run without missing a beat. But for every runner that ignored there were others who saw her and returned her hi five with a smile on their face. At times she swerved from the impact, but she never lost her smile.

To the outside world she seemed like a little old lady in a red coat, but what they didn’t know she was a runner herself, would always be a runner. Though she had stopped running that didn’t stop her from supporting other runners, and that’s why she returned to that spot every year.

Once she was asked why did she come out in the cold to cheer runners when so many runners just ignored her and went about with their run. She just smiled explained that running brought her joy, and though she didn’t run now, it still brought her happiness to see so many others take it up. This happiness brought a smile on her face, fueled it, and she knew when someone hi fived her back, this energy, this fuel, passed on to them, magically. When they smiled back they remembered to relax, and when they relaxed they enjoyed their run more, they experienced the run better, felt stronger, ended up doing better, from her magical touch. She bore no ill will to those who ignored her, she knew they were focused on their run and didn’t want to break their rhythm and focus, so went about with their run, and were perfectly right in doing so. She was there to for those who needed her the most.

Saying this she was greeted with a big hug from a runner who came across the road just to hug and thank her, who then continued with her run. She in turn continued to stretch out her hand, hi fiving the runners, cheering them on as they went by.

January... the beginning

.. and just like that we are down to the first weekend of the year. With did the previous year go? Well that’s something you can’t always say cause the year made it presence felt, a roller coaster ride of highs and lows, leaving you totally exhilarated, leaving you screaming in fear. But now the year is gone, another change of calendar required, resetting it to the beginning. And just like that Christmas has come and soon it will be time to bring down the Christmas tree, pack it away the decorations and ornaments, for another year till it’s Christmas once again.

So the new year, or I should say eve of the new year, kicked off on the blandest possible note, of going to bed way before the clock struck twelve. I think bland and boring is sure become my thing, after all what do the lonely hearts do for new year, if they aren’t viewing the telly, which sadly show some pathetic award shows and programs, they just go to bed by themselves, all alone with no one to kiss as the year turns, hoping for some companionship. They say what you do on the midnight of the 31st, you will do it for the rest of the year, but then you’re hell bent on proving this theory wrong, and the very next day you do succeed in disproving it.

However, the first day of the new year brought with it 365 days of promises (it’s not a leap year right?), giving you a chance of a do over. And things picked up steam (literally) from the start of the day. The first lesson your learnt is you never run in a vest, in the park, when the temperature is freezing 9 degrees in the park (that’s pretty chilly for us Mumbaikars). But then there’s mileage to complete (even when you’re tapering) cause TMM is looming in the horizon.

The evening brings a celebration of a union and a chance encounter which turned the year on its head, a series of memorable encounters, a hope of a start of something special, something new, making you glad you took the chance, cause what followed was nothing short of being magically .

Well with memories made there’s another 364 days to live through. Not one to make resolutions, however, there are promises you made to yourself, promises you intend to keep. To learn to live little, learn to laugh a little, a freedom to dream a little more, to experience life a little more, to get yourself out of your head, a toxic place where you dwelled, to give life a chance, to take a chance on life, let it surprise you, let it take you on a ride. To become a lean, mean running machine (well not quite a machine, but something more fun), to stay healthy, fit, injury free and strong. To go further than you’ve ever gone before, to experience life the way it’s meant to be. To remove the bitterness that clouded the mind, that bitter taste you felt in your mouth, in your being, that left you feeling bad for yourself. To write a little more, letting your emotions flow into your words; to read a little more, and create visuals of the prose that you read. To take a chance, to meet, to greet, to start a conversation, even if it’s only over a cup of tea or coffee, to start something new, but never truly knowing where life will take you. To go with the flow never knowing what’s in store, never dwelling on what is to come, but living in the moment. Learning to smile a little more (actually, a lot more), to be kinder than you were before. You were good the last year, but now it’s time to be better. Not because you think you’re no good but because you know you will evolve and become better, a better version of yourself.

And although the year may have not gotten to the best of starts, there are still the rest of the year to turn it around. So never loose faith and believe, constantly moving onwards and forwards, growing and learning each day, to a better you, you ever knew.

Life on an App

A Dating App usually doesn’t have a very positive connotation. Very often it feel like these apps reeks with desperation, filled horny people willing to expose themselves in more ways than one, in the pretext of being laid or getting laid. Well, for most part of it this view is spot on. 

Yes these apps have people who are desperate and horny, who are unable to score in the open, people who want to be discreet but meet people, people who want to fuck or be fucked, looking for NSA (no strings attached), FNF (fuck and forget), and ONS (one night stands). But this doesn’t justify the condescending and judgemental nature directed towards them.

You need to have open mind here, this isn’t a place to pass your judgement. Everyone here has an agenda, so you need to know what is yours, what are you looking, what are your expectations. Everyone has one and is more than willing to let you know what it is, and there’s nothing wrong with that. You may roll your eyes when you read their profile, their expectations, which can be construed as rude, but in reality they are to the point, as per what they want. You are left wondering are these supermodels, as the preferences can be quiet insulting and blunt, but then that’s what they want, and in a place where’s its all based on choice and preference, they have all the right to say what they want.

You may be scandalised by the pictures they share, exposing themselves more than what you would want them to (as if you have a choice on what they show), but then you have a choice, you can chose to ignore and not respond, or you can swipe left (for us lucky Apple user), or just block them. You have a choice, exercise it rather than lamenting on the type of characters who approach you, who you come across. These people know what they want, what they are looking for, if it doesn’t match what you want you can exercise your choice. You can choose to meet over a cup of coffee and a conversation, and go with the flow, and if things go south, you can choose to end it, and forget it ever happened (except if you want to give it a second chance).

No matter how many weirdos you may come across, there are few (a minority) that make it worth being on the app. Sometimes you need to kiss (or meet) a thousand of toads for the one to turn out the one. They can floor you with their words, knowing just the right thing to say, making flirting seem casual and exciting, making horniness seem dignified, putting you and your mind at ease. They can put a smile on your, and make time fly by with their conversation. You can spend hours talking to them, listening to them, never ever bothering about time, making time seem inconsequential. They make every moment spent with them feel precious, they make you feel special. They  have a smile to dazzle you, making you go giddy, making you want to revisit chats so that you can relive every moment in your head. They make it worth traveling miles just to meet them, and at time floor you when they travel to meet you, make it totally worth responding to them. They may not be people with the best physique or drop dead gorgeous looks, but if you look past the superficialities there’s more to them that makes them worth it. You enjoy their company and look forward to chatting and meeting them. And if you go with the flow you never know where it may lead.

But to meet these gems at times you need to go through the mire. Be patient and you never know what may come your way, how you will be rewarded. So approach these apps with an open mind. Leave your prejudices, your judgemental behaviour and condescending nature at the door, and go with the flow and you’ll never  know what may come your way, you’ll never know how it can surprise you, all you have to do exercise your choice.