"True" love story.

Love Story: It’s definition (I googled) is “a tale of lovers”.

But, that’s not my concern. The idea for this blog randomly struck my mind when I saw the words “true love story” and it got me wondering. True love story, as such, has no definition.

Who decides though? Which love story is true and which is untrue? Romeo & Juliet, Cleopatra & Mark Antony , Laila & Majnu, Salim & Anarkali and some more tragic love stories are few that are considered to be ‘true’.  The stories with sad endings. And then there are movies depicting the unconditional love between a couple where one partner is diagnosed with some terminal disease eventually or the ship they are travelling in hits an ice berg and sinks.

As much as I love sappy sad stories, I hate how our notion of true love stories has now become the very idea of someone sacrificing their life either waiting for ‘the one’ or devoting their life to a dying loved one.

"True love stories never have endings."

And then there are these quotations which frame such very notion of true love in our brains.

Whatever happened to our childhood when true love meant our parents fighting ever second day and then making up to each other the next? The constant nagging and arguments followed by “ladte wo hi hain jo pyaar karte hain”. Rather, our grandparents. The time when the women in the house wore a pallu over their head and had meek expressions with eyes that never met their husband’s (atleast when they were not alone). That was also love, true one for that matter but only in a way now alien to us.

Fortunately, I haven’t seen the tragic ones around me. But when I see an old couple walking together at a market or a mall, I look at them and think that is true love. I see my parents, and there I see true love. I see my friends who sometimes fall out of relationships but I know their love was true, only it just didn’t work out. Because sometimes it’s not meant to work out. And sometimes, true love stories do end.

It was always her.

She woke up to her phone ringing.
"Hello", she muttered in her sleepy voice.
"Hi, you sound so cute. I just called you to apologize for last night and wish you morning."
"Morning", she replied with a smile on her face. "Let me get up and give you a call back?" she asked.
"Sure babe. I'll be waiting", Jay replied.

She dragged herself out of her comfortable bed and walked to the restroom. She started brushing her teeth.
"Hmm, that wasn't so bad. Maybe I can get used to this." She smiled again. After freshening up, she went to the kitchen. Caffeine was desperately needed. She decided that she'll call him later. There were other important things she had to care of before talking to him that day. She needed to think about what had happened the last night, and exactly why.

Jay and Aria had been dating for a few months now. Their's was a relationship that grew out of new friendship, they had known each other a few months before they decided they both liked each other. It was going great, until last night. Last night, they had their first real fight.
Jay was a sincere guy. He knew he wanted to be with Aria from the day he had met her. No one had understood him the way she had. No one ever will, was what he always believed. Aria, on the other hand, was a carefree girl. She wasn't used to giving much heed to emotions and feelings. She took everything as it came to her. She was smart enough to expect the least out of people, to not put her faith in anyone. She started dating Jay because she liked him just the same. He made her happy. She was reluctant initially, thinking that Jay was too sweet to handle someone like her. She was too strong with her ideals and her rules. But she still went ahead with it.
Yesterday's fight was about her insecurities, her expectations which had started to rise without her acknowledging them. It was a silly reason though. He had apologized and he tried to reason with her. In her heart, she knew he was right but she was hurt. She didn't understand why. And she ended up being really pissed, more at herself than at him. She tried real hard, but she couldn't keep the thought out of her mind that maybe it was a mistake, her relationship. Maybe they were not ready. Maybe he was not able to handle. Or maybe, it was her. She was unable to handle all the emotions and she was caught in the turmoil. She wasn't used to expecting anything at all from anyone but now she was expecting, and getting disappointed. But it was noone's fault for her expectations were unrealistic and she knew it. All the anger was hurting her from the inside and she had no one to go to. That's why she ended up fighting with him.


Caffeine helped her think straight. She needed to figure how to make things right. Reflecting upon everything that had happened last night, that she said and whatever he had explained, she finally accepted that she was very wrong. She needed to let a lot of things go and get used to being disappointed a few times here and there. After all, he had a life of his own and he won't do everything according to her. That's why she's always hated being involved with someone, she wanted things her own way and when that didn't happen, she used to get pissed. But the way he had handled her anger last night, the way he had tried to make her understand, she knew noone else would have done that.
Maybe it was never him or anyone. She was highly wrong in thinking that he won't be able to handle her in a relationship. It was her. Always have been.
She was not able to handle herself like that, like the way being with Jay was changing her. Yesterday was not about disappointment, it was about facing the reality.

Lost dreams

I want to become a doctor.

I want to become a teacher.

I want to become a pilot.

I want to become an astronaut.

I want to become Sachin Tendulkar.

I want to become a truck driver.

The most common answers to the question, ‘What do you want to be when you grow up?’

A very famous-THE-most-important question asked to kids and these are their answers. In these answers lie their dreams, their aspirations and adult’s humor. The question has become too cliché and the answers have become even more cliché that no one pays any heed to them anymore. “Hah! He’s saying this now, wait for 4 years, he’ll change his mind.” The first thing that a kid’s ears catch is that statement after they have revealed their dreams. It’s just another statement to us, but for them, it’s the first push towards a road much travelled, a road that leads them to a point where they start believing that these dreams might just not come true. First thought of failure is thus incepted in their mind.

While many in-a-subtle-yet-ignorant-way demoralize their kids, some encourage theirs to dream. And dream big. But what they fail to tell their kids is that few years down the line their lives will be much more than just trying to fulfill their dreams. Males will have to take up the responsibility of the house and females will have to take up the daily chores. And both will have to study their asses off and score good, because hey, you cannot achieve your dreams unless you score good. The sound of that line is drilled into their tiny heads from the start.

Years go by and so does the question about what they’d want to become. Life gets so busy that you never think about the answer, mostly because you are never asked that question again. You are not 8 anymore, means you are in the rat race. Who cares about what you had wanted to become 4 years back? Do you?

Managing studies, home, chores, our entertainment, playing, sitting with parents, getting proper sleep, etc and the list goes on. Years go by and the list keeps on increasing. And before you know it, you are graduating with a degree you never knew of when you were young. Odds are, it’s not even in the direction of your childhood dream. But you keep going. You’re in the rat race, whether you like it or not.

Eventually, you will get a job. You’ll work. You’ll marry and have kids. Grow old and one day while sitting on the porch, waiting for your death to take over, you will decide to look back on your life (Well, apparently I have heard that old people kinda knows when their death is around the corner).

For one moment, you’ll think what was it you had dreamt of doing when you were a kid? Alas, it’ll be harder to remember than you thought it’d be.

It’s a scary place to be. So stop. And think.

What was it that you wanted to become when you grow up?

You have grown up. Now is the time to chase after your dreams. Now is the time when you should remember your dreams, and if you cannot remember then make new dreams. Because if you don’t, one day you’ll find yourself sitting with your laptop, thinking about what your dreams were and almost dying inside after realising you don’t remember your dreams.

That very moment, you’ll be lost. Lost in a way that can never be explained. Being lost is a feeling that can only be felt and then understood. Let’s hope by the time you realise you are lost, it isn’t too late.

                            

                              

Sometimes, distance is what keeps the love alive.

On a cold winter morning, she lay in her bed not wanting to get up.

She could hear parents talking in their room. The fact that the noise was reaching her ears meant they were not really talking but fighting.

To merely avoid the attention of her angry father, she chose to pretend to be asleep.

Her father was a loving man. Down to earth and a very modest person. She knew her father loved her. He was the one who taught her how to ride a bike, get back up whenever she fell, cleaned her wounds and nurtured her courage. He was the one who had given her some of the best advises about friends, boys and life in general. He loved her with all his heart and she knew it.

                                                 

But there was something about his anger that scared her to death. She feared for herself and her mother. More than that, she feared for her father's health. But a human cannot think about anyone else but him when he's in trouble. In rage, he would sometimes hit her. It was acceptable when she was young. 

Only now, she wasn't a young girl anymore. She was a grown up and with every hit she took, she felt her dignity being hurt.

Laying in the bed, she closed her eyes and found herself sitting on the beach. There was serene silence and the only noise was of waves crashing against the rocks. In the background, birds chirped their lovely song. This was her (imaginary) mountain top.

She did this often, imagining herself far away from house where she couldn't hear her father shout or fear his beating. She dreamed of finishing her education and running off to someplace else. She had vowed to not take up a job in the same city for it would mean she'd still be living at her parent's house.

Don't get her wrong. She loved her parents and the idea of leaving them hurt her inside. Her life with them was smooth, where she was pampered and they had their good moments where everyone sat together and laughed. They joked about random things and made fun of television characters. She was happy. But then there were moments that, no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get them out of her head. 

Those occasional happy moments, no matter how much she wished, were not good enough for her to bear the pain.

She loved her father, more than anyone in this world. And only to keep that love alive, she had convinced herself that she will get out of there the first chance she got.

After all, sometimes you'd rather maintain your distance than lose the love.

Confessions

There was a time when the "Confession Pages" went viral. Millions of people confessed, about their love, revenge, guilt, loneliness, and every other emotion or situation possible. Some made stories up to get reactions, some just poured their heart out. 
Wikipedia defines, "A confession is a statement made by a person or a group of people acknowledging some personal fact that the person (or the group) would prefer to keep hidden."
Over the time, I have read 100s of confessions. But it never made sense to me, the whole concept of confessing. 
How will confessing to unknown people help you to save yourself from bullying? Or not being able to propose? Or make people acknowledge you?
Sure, it'll give your mind some peace knowing you're not alone. But do people seriously need an anonymous confession to know that? How do you differentiate between a complaint and a confession?
Every time I read a confession, I wonder how much writing that stuff down would have helped that confessor.



Nevertheless, there are some confessions that I really liked. Here they are: 

- I think everybody hates me and excludes me from everything. I think that they don’t put the effort in, truth is, I don’t put the effort into my friendships. It took losing everyone to finally realize this.

- I lack the social understanding and emotion required to function properly in this world. I cannot form relationships, I cannot feel people's pain, and I cannot feel happy. Every day I go about pretending I’m okay, but the truth is I feel nothing but hurt and regret. I’m a waste time and space because I lack the motivation required to achieve things. I simply can’t see the point anymore. Out of the millions of sperm that could have made it, all those people with the potential to be something great, I was born. And I hate myself for it. Therefore surely I deserve the quiet and comfort of death, if not because of what I've been through then surely because I've done nothing to deserve this so called “gift.” Nothing to contribute to the world I live in.

- He broke your heart, you haven't stopped crying.
You've been texting me the entire time.
I feel so bad that you're hurting like this, and I am sorry,
because I've been sleeping with him.

- I have met a few wonderful ladies in college that are now my best friends. We get along so well and now that I have these ladies in my life, I feel completed. As I have grown to know these ladies, they have let me see behind their smiles and pain. I feel so guilty because there are no secrets for them to see behind mine. I am truly a happy person. I am a child of divorce and it has been a blessing in disguise. I have four wonderful parents who would do absolutely anything for me. I feel so guilty that my life has been so easy. I am a happy person. I hate that  my dad thinks there is something under my smile like every other girl I know. There isn't. My smile is genuine, and I feel so bad because mine is the only one around.

- I haven’t had a birthday party in 18 years because i’m afraid no one will show up.

- I loved you for many years. You loved me too. I know that our break is tearing you up. But, I feel great.
I don’t have to make time for you anymore. I don’t have to constantly build you up, only to see you fold to your insecurities. I don’t have to “check in.” I am free to do what I want, when I want without you crying about it.
I don’t have to wait around for you to get your shit together.

Good riddance.

- I have different a different persona for nearly every situation. I adjust myself to however most fits the specifics of the moods of people, the environment we’re in, who is there, etc. It is never quite the same as another time, so I’m always a tad bit different. I act however best helps me, whether it be to gain favor with someone, or advance in some way, without arousing suspicion in my companions.

Different groups of friends, different characters. Hyper, chill, deep, ditzy, laid-back, angry, combinations upon combinations- all mask I wear. But they are not so completely fake as a mask. Yes, they are an act. But they are also part of my personality, in some way.

These are visibly confessions, and not ranting.

Reading between the lines

Often we befriend a person, a person who changes our life for forever. In a bad or good way, that's upto you how you read between the lines.

The ones we remember are usually the ones who change it in a bad way.

It's strange that we often spend more time thinking about those who hurt us than those who heal.

Nevertheless, we think about them. About ourselves. About them and ourselves. Sometimes, it's a relief what happened, more often it's not.

"I never thought that you would ever do that
Everything we had is gone
You said you love me, said you'll never leave
Maybe I just heard you wrong" - Shayne Ward - Damaged

 

Cliche story most of the times. It starts off as friendship, over the time it becomes strong. And just when you start feeling safe around that person, life happens. One betrays the other. Not in a typical-bollywood-betrayal-way. But in a typical-this-is-life-way.

And the betrayal leaves us wounded for longer than its supposed to be okay. 

That is when you start to wonder what went wrong. Was it you? Or the other person?

Was it evident from the beginning what was gonna happen but you were too busy reading between the lines that you missed what was right in front of you. Hope, can either do good or can make you look like a complete jerk. 

And then, after wondering for a looonnngggg time you give up. The only question remains, 'Why? Why would you do this to me?' Every other question from the past renders useless. 'Why?' is the only question you want an answer to. For the time being. 

It's a long trail of questions to which you might never find an answer to, questions that haunt us and will keep doing so.

In return, it's either their silence or their wrath. How you interpret both, is on how you read between the lines.

Our whole life is about reading between the lines. All the answers are between the lines.

Deceptions.

In that great, gabled country home with its Flemish brick façade and trimmed privet, Kiara lay on a giant, soft bed beside Jose, agitated and sleepless. Her fingertips explored the distinguished line of his neck; his eyes; his cheekbones. She kissed his hair, remembering a word Jose had mentioned earlier: closure. She gathered it meant peaceful resolution of the past. The infinite possibilities of the word enthralled her, but its reality, difficult and gangly, left her disappointed. She had abandoned Dehradun and come to Delhi to be rid of her past. In that big city, she had fallen in love, and in friendship. She was in love with Sam, a man of regal stature and her boss. A perfect bachelor, he had swept Kiara off her feet. She had been head over heels for him only to realize later how he had been using her, all the while, for pleasure while his family planned a big, fat wedding with a rich tycoon’s daughter. When the world had exploded in her face, she had fled to Spain, to grow anew a skin that had been peeled by what she had secretly come to think of as ‘strange events of Delhi’.

Now she lay listening to the glacial wind hammer the leafless firework of ivy against the window and the Labradors snore outside the bedroom door. This life was entirely unlike that which she had known, but its unfamiliarity did not divest her of the affinity she continued to feel for Delhi; in fact, if anything, it seemed to solidify her resolve to return.

She tilted herself on her side, closer towards Jose, and put her head on his chest. She had started to love him and knowing this broke her heart. Shutting her eyes, she could see the buildings, and vehicles racing, she could see the deer park’s lake, the leafless trees and marigolds floating upon its dirty, chartreuse waters; she could hear the aluminium canisters rattle on Atlas cycles manned by absurdly athletic milkmen. She believed she could now go back to Delhi although it was nothing more than a catalog of her failures. Because some people were meant to shepherd you to different shores, and some people brought you back to familiar ones.

She kissed Jose, feeling grateful. He had been her shelter in the cold country. Jose woke up and kissed her. She responded quickly. His tongue moved from her mouth to her neck, travelling down her chest, her navel, hipbone, seeking scholarship of her body. But if he knew she was thinking of leaving him, of returning to India, to Delhi, what would he say? Would he hit her? Would he turn away, dress up and walk out? Or would he laugh and go back to sleep?

Perhaps Sam had been the same way, committing treacheries within kisses, and so now she passed on the deceptions she had received.