To be or not to be:

"I worry that something is really broken about our generation, there are so many sad eyes on happy faces." - Atticus

As soon as I read this statement I was shocked by how much it rang true for me. True I had seen so many broken people. Too many pretending to be happy when the eyes betrayed a sadness that was concealed by wide smiles. It bothered me that almost everyone I shared this quote with could identify instantly with it in a very personal way. After all they had also done the same at some point of their life.

What bemused me further though was my parent's reaction. They met my statement with laughter and the usual "You think you have problems?" Followed by the never ending reminder of "When I was your age....."

Although it annoys me quite frequently that every problem of mine is belittled by the horror stories of the older generation, it strikes me that they did have way more severe problems than I currently face. Even more strange is the fact that despite what they had to face they were never depressed, not for a moment did they sit still to rage at the heavens and slip into a catatonic state of sadness. Because they didn't have the luxury of time to determine what they felt. They were too busy trying to survive each day.

They were too busy dealing with real life poverty and daily financial insecurity to worry about whether they were happy or sad. Too busy wondering where their next meal would come from to stop still and consider whether they were having the classic signs of depression. Way too bothered trying to keep every member of their family fed and watered to be emotionally broken. Every trial just sharpened their will and made them even more determined to survive against all odds. Self pity? Throw that to the dogs.

We face none of those problems though. When every physical need has been met to satisfaction only then do we even have the time to think about our emotional needs. And that's whats wrong with our generation. We have everything we could possibly ever want but we are miserable because we have the leisure to wonder whether we are happy or not.

Thinking from this perspective the above quote becomes almost funny. We think we have problems. We kid ourselves. So the next time I feel the onset of depression I'm just going to shake it off and thank God.

For the luxury to feel depressed.

Waiting:

I really missed you today.

I have fought alone for so long that I forgot what it feels like to talk to someone who understands perfectly. I have forgotten what it feels like to be reminded of my worth, forgotten what it feels like to be assured that I am doing my best. Forgotten what it feels like when somebody has my back, what its like to talk to someone with a shared passion, what its like to confide in someone who already knows me and my history and does not need to be filled in.

Forgotten it all.

But today I remember you.

And I miss you.

Ill fate:

I thought if I screamed louder you would finally hear

You heard but you pretended not to

I tried to bend myself backwards trying to make you understand

You understood but your ego would not let you admit it

And now I’m tired

Tired of always understanding but never being understood

Tired of being second best because your ego comes before the relationship

Tired of screaming out loud because you won’t hear it anyways

So I give up and stay silent

I slowly slip away as our friendship becomes a shadow of what it used to be

Awkward silences, extended pauses, mundane pleasantries

Trying to hold water in a basket full of holes

Until there’s nothing left to keep

Fate made us cross paths and destiny had begun

Who knew then that it was ill fate?

Paranoia:

Ten ‘o’ clock at night. I glance at the time and stuff my personal planner and the rest of my belongings into my handbag. My colleague looks up through piles of paper.

“Going already?” he asks.

“Yep” I reply “I want to leave before it gets too late”.

When I reach the door I remember that I parked quite far away. The area where I parked would be deserted at this time. I bite my lip hesitating before turning back and asking “Aren't you leaving yet?”

He waves me along impatiently; way too busy to even look up. I don’t want to betray my fear of walking into deserted parking lots. Don’t want to seem weak and I am loathe to ask him if he would walk me to my car. So I steady myself and saunter out into the darkness. The cool evening air assaults me as I hurry along.

I watch every car that passes by warily, if any car seems like they’re going to stop or slow down I quicken my steps. The parking lot is as empty as I feared. I feel vulnerable, an easy target in this vast piece of land. I spot a man checking his phone under the light of a street lamp. I walk slowly, quietly, hoping that he doesn't notice me till I get to my car. He looks up, straight at me. He makes to move towards me and I abandon all pretense, breaking into a run, unlocking my car from a distance. I throw the door open and climb in clumsily. The first thing I do is lock the door.

I look for the man. He’s getting into a car. I let loose a sigh of relief; my paranoia played tricks on me, he was just going to his car.

I drive out of the lot slowly, exiting the complex. The drive is monotonous, the roads are near empty and I slow down and wait at a junction. A white four wheeler pulls up next to me. I look sideways and see the driver glance towards my car. He smiles teasingly and starts making kissy faces through the window. Repulsed I look to the front and see the light turn green. I gun the accelerator and leave him behind in the dust. Now I’m on the lookout for other drivers as well.

I reach home and turn into the paid parking two blocks away. As I climb out of the car I see the pathway to the beach about 5 minutes away from where I stood. I have always loved the beach since I was a kid and I feel a sudden longing to go sit on the sand and listen to the waves. The beach always managed to calm me down. But I can’t, I am alone and it’s too dangerous. Not like I would be any safer with a male companion. That would just mean that I was an easy girl with no morals; after all what would a decent woman be doing in the beach at night with a boy? Angry thoughts bubble to the surface of my mind and I brush them away. Getting heated doesn't change my situation.

I reluctantly turn away from the beach and walk home. As I near my building I see three men sitting on the steps. They break into song when they see me and sing loudly, raucously. The fear on my face disappears under a mask of indifference. I don’t make eye contact; I don’t stop to tell them off, that would be seen as a challenge. I merely ball my fists tightly and walk with a bravado I do not feel. The song has lewd lyrics and makes my skin crawl. I can see them out of the corner of my eye, staring, taking in every inch of my body.

The watchman comes out when he sees me and shoos the trio away. As I disappear through the door, I can still hear them behind me, cat calling and laughing. What fun it must be to target a girl, to call her names, to stare at her rudely.

I unlock my door and slip in. For the first time since I left the office my paranoia ebbs away and I feel safe again. I collapse on my bed and lie there staring at the ceiling, replaying the events of the day. I wonder if its coincidence, providence or pure dumb luck that I am not yet another victim, not another Nirbhaya.

An ordinary day in the life of a woman.

Tomorrow I start all over again.

War Diaries:

I am a soldier.

I remember the days when I first entered the army barracks. The older soldiers were happy to get a scapegoat to bully. They mercilessly picked on my wimpy body, my stooping stature and my stutter. I wasn't the only one to get picked on either; two other fresh faced rookies were bullied alongside me. Our mutual misery cemented an unlikely friendship between us and as we lay to sleep that night we exchanged introductions.

Mark was handsome, confident and excelled at everything from strategy to endurance training. His recklessness got him into trouble often enough but he was well liked by everybody. Tim was weedy looking and spoke so quietly that he needed to be asked to repeat himself. He was idealistic though, brave and highly patriotic. We were put together in the same unit from the very beginning. In the army your unit became your family – we ate together, slept together, trained together, did everything together.

At night we would create elaborate scenarios of war in which we emerged gloriously as heroes after vanquishing the enemy. Then exhausted we would lie back and talk for hours. We spoke about our idealistic dreams, we spoke of our families that we longed to see, we spoke of the future we would have had if we didn't join the army. We spoke of patriotism, of love for the country, of peace and the people who slept soundly in their homes because we existed.

We knew that not everyone on the outside perceived us as heroes, some viewed us as killing machines, mere pawns in a political chess game. It mattered not; they seldom realized that the safety they enjoyed was because we threw our bodies on the front line over and over again, fighting for them, sometimes dying for them. We were human shields, impenetrable fortresses, the last line of defense. If we fell in battle all was lost. No one would be safe.

Training was hard and exhausting. Some days it would get unbearable but our friendship helped us endure the worst. Seemingly strong bonds of friendship between people who never knew if they would live to see tomorrow.

When we went to war we fought for our fathers, our brothers, our sisters, but we also fought for many more, many that we have never ever set our eyes on. Love for the country spurred us on, this was our dream, the reason we existed.

One day in the midst of battle Mark and I found ourselves side by side. The enemy was gaining slowly; our troop was pushed into a corner while the general radioed for reinforcements. Heavy fighting ensued, in the middle of all the confusion I saw Mark go down with a bullet in his chest. Comrades were shot down and fell limply one by one, blood pooled on the floor, I ran screaming, ignorant of the battle around me. By the time I got to him the last vestiges of life had ebbed from his body and he was gone. My mind went numb with disbelief, it couldn't be, he could not have died, not Mark, but this was no place to mourn. To stay still was to die.

That night we climbed into the barracks silently. The stench of death was everywhere; hollow eyes mirrored the grief of our souls, we sat unmoving, unseeing. Tim was captured they informed me, his whole troop had been taken as prisoners of war. I closed my eyes and thought of naïve Tim getting interrogated, tortured. I wondered if he was already dead. For a moment relief swept through me, I was glad it was him not me. The next moment I felt sickened with myself.

I lay numbly reliving the horrors of the day. The absence of snores told me that I was not the only one awake. I thought of Mark lying dead on the battlefield, Mark who always emerged the best during our training days, so strong, so brave. I never thought that he would go before me; I had always imagined him as a survivor, victorious and undefeated. I turned and looked at their beds, empty, desolate. I missed their usual snores that told me that they were there, that they were alive. Without warning grief rose in my throat and I curled into a ball and wept unashamedly for my dead comrades.

Days passed at a stretch, the same sad story. Unknowingly we were changed, hardened by war, jaded by the ceaseless blood that poured without restraint every time we clashed. I was no longer human, I was a killing machine.

One day I got surrounded, backed into a corner, eight to one. Instinct, self preservation kicked in and I jumped behind a torn piece of wall.  Footsteps echoed loudly, the sound of impending doom. I was trapped, there was no escape. As I sat there clutching my gun, I trembled for the life that was going to get snatched away from me. A violent terror gripped me and I was rooted to the spot. Then I thought of the people I fought for, my country, my comrades who had bravely given their lives and strength poured through me. I would not die cowering behind a wall like a coward; I would fight till my last breath. My body stiffened with resolve stilling the tremors of my limbs and I emerged with a yell from my hiding spot. Eight waiting guns emptied themselves into my body and I fell backwards gracefully, towards the beckoning arms of death.

Don’t pity me, because I died completing my mission. I died in line of duty. I died to keep you safe.

But remember me. Remember all of us, remember our sacrifice.

I march with my dead comrades towards another life.

Remember who I was.

I was a soldier.

T for Travesty (A review of the Twilight series):

Most people are aware that I am avid reader of books and follower of blogs. Out of the many books I have read though few have faced my ire like the Twilight series. Do not think for a moment that I am one among many who discarded the books after watching the first movie. I have in fact read all four books over the course of a weekend as a dare for a friend.

He is no longer my friend.

I will never get back those hours of my life again.

The first thing that irked me about this book was the vampire thread. Really there is nothing exciting about a boyfriend who wants to murder you but is nobly restraining himself for love. It’s like dating a time bomb. You never know when it’s going to go off.

Edward Cullen is a “vegetarian” vampire who has had to attend different high schools in different countries over and over again in order to avoid suspicion of his unnatural youth. He’s handsome, chivalrous, a perfect gentleman and is head over heels for our protagonist. And why is he attracted to our leading lady?

Because she smells delicious.

I kid you not. That sounds like my relationship with pizza. Except that has never stopped me from devouring it. But Edward harbors a hideous secret, he’s a vampire. This includes several intriguing abilities like extreme agility, the power to read minds and oh, he glitters in the sunlight. That particular scene had me laughing so hard I was in splits. It goes a bit like this.

(Sunlight hits Edward and he transforms into a disco ball)

Bella(awestruck) : You’re beautiful

Edward(repulsed): I’m disgusting.

Seriously Edward? I mean, it’s not like you’re covered in acne when the sunlight hits you. I would have said “Hell yeah, I’m a unicorn!”

Moving on.

Edward who is madly in love with Bella for God only knows why, takes to creeping in to her house at night and watching her while she sleeps. Hi there, psychopath. Instead of finding this creepy, Bella finds this extremely romantic. Evidently she was dropped on her head as a baby.

Let’s talk about Bella for a second. She’s quiet, reserved and antisocial. She has no goals, no dreams and clearly no friends. There is nothing remotely attractive about her and if there was, Stephanie forgot to write it in her book. She has zero development throughout the book and completely lacks a personality. I have a slice of cheese in my refrigerator that has more personality than her. She also seems to be a bit of a masochist because she finds everything disturbing about Edward romantic.

Edward and Bella get along like a house on fire. He tries not to eat her, she simpers at his noble sacrifice and they continue in this fashion until the second book when Bella attends a birthday party and gets a paper cut. The tiniest drop of blood oozes unto the carpet and sends another fellow vampire into a frenzy. Then and only then does Edward realize that Bella’s safety is in jeopardy as long as she hangs around Edward.

It appears that a high IQ is not one of the abilities you inherit as a vampire.

Commence noble idiocy. Edward breaks up with Bella under the pretense of not loving her and disappears. Bella instead of moping for a while and moving on completely loses it. She falls apart and decides to end her life.

Really Bella? Really?

Forget the fact that Bella is a high schooler and a young woman in her prime with her whole life ahead of her. The highlight of your life was a boy? Without him there isn’t a single person or a single reason for which you would want to live?

In Harry Potter, when Hermione loses the love of her life she picks herself up and continues to aid Harry with his noble task, risking her life time and again to ensure the safety of the entire wizarding world. 

What does Bella do when she loses the love of her life?

Nosedive off a cliff apparently. What spirit this girl has. She survives miraculously only to find out that Edward stricken with grief is on the way to end his life.

You two deserve each other.

No wonder Stephanie compares her novels to Romeo and Juliet (another travesty if I’ve ever seen one).  What’s funnier is the way Edward tries to kill himself. Instead of committing suicide the normal way - because that’s too easy, he decides to expose his glittery abdomen to humans and attract the attention of the Volturi (a sort of vampire government) who would execute him for breaking the rules and exposing their secret to the world.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAH.

Seriously if I saw a shiny human being jump in front of me I would just assume that he got high and messed around with craft materials. But apparently in the Twilight universe people equate glitter with vampires. You know because that sparkly exterior just screams supernatural bloodsucker.

Bella manages to reach Edward in time to stop him from flashing unsuspecting humans. Both pick up their epic romance from where they left off. Lather, rinse, repeat.

Enter Jacob. Jacob is a werewolf, a sworn enemy of vampires and nurses a secret crush on Bella (again why?) He would like nothing better than to get her away from Edward because it’s dangerous for her to be around a vampire. You know, even though Jacob is a werewolf himself. Said the pot to the kettle. 

Bella though aware of his feelings, messes around with him and is crippled with indecision. Which supernatural being who’s bewitched by her lack of personality should she choose? When Edward is out of the picture she leans towards Jacob. When he comes back all of a sudden, who’s Jacob?

As if I needed anymore reason to dislike her. Quite the Casanova, our damsel in distress.

Edward and Jacob continue their tug of war with our limp heroine and finally she chooses to marry Edward. Jacob is heartbroken and leaps into the woods to howl in misery. I guess I should be glad that he doesn’t try to kill himself.

To Edward’s great horror and my own, Bella gets pregnant.

Welcome to the biggest plothole of the Twicrap series.

How on earth did that happen? Vampires are basically dead, how can they procreate? But to read the rest of the book we must tie up disbelief and throw it off the same cliff from which Bella tried to commit suicide. She gives birth to a half vampire and names her Renesmee. I’m not even going to talk about how silly that name is.

Jacob - bless his furry paws falls in love with Renesmee. You know the little baby who’s as long as a Subway sandwich. The presence of a vampire child comes to the attention of the Volturi who decides that the child cannot exist. The Volturi approaches rapidly while the Cullens and a dozen other vampires gather allies in preparation for a vampire war. However when they finally do meet they just hold hands and sing Kumbayah. Or not. By this point I was just glad that the ordeal was over and I had survived.

Cue credits.

I think I actually got dumber after reading this.

If anything this book is a book of hope. It taught me that you don’t necessarily have to be a good writer to make it as a best-selling author. For that I thank you Stephanie.

Writer’s Blues:

Out of the many old sayings that I have come across in my life, one of my classic favorites is “The pen is mightier than the sword.” Maybe it’s because it appeals to me as a writer. Or maybe it’s because if I ever picked up a sword I would have a higher chance of hurting myself than anybody else. That is if I could pick up a sword without staggering about wildly in the first place. At any rate I am a great believer in the power of the written word.

I am also a great believer in using blogs and articles for the purpose of evangelization. However while browsing through many such sites I noticed a strange pattern in the kind of blogs that I frequented and the ones I went through great lengths to avoid.

So I decided to write down some of my little do’s and don’ts to keep in mind while maintaining a blog, especially if your purpose is to spread the Gospel.

Tip # 1: Don’t use overcomplicated language

I have come across some blogs where I have had to use a thesaurus to literally translate every word. Let’s do a simple test: which sentence captures your attention more?

Have you lost your mind?

Or

Have you forfeited control of your mental faculties?

Hard to believe that both sentences mean the same thing. Sometimes I feel that more than spreading the word of God some people just want to show off their extensive vocabulary.

While using a few choice words here and there can elevate the level of writing, using complex language and vocabulary is counter-productive. When you use difficult words you limit your audience to those whose language abilities match your own. Moreover the aim of interpreting the gospel is to make it simpler and more accessible for those who do not understand. Not all those who read your articles will be religious scholars. There will be some poor laymen among those. There is a reason why Jesus himself spoke in simple parables.

Additionally overly complex language is a serious workout for the brain. If it’s too difficult to read, chances are that some will not bother reading at all.

Tip # 2: Don’t overuse philosophy

At times the content of a blog is so philosophical that rather than answering questions, it raises more. I have scratched my head like a sign-language monkey after reading certain articles and obviously that was not the intended effect. Take a look at this gem.

“The butterfly emerges gloriously from cocooned womb. Futility of trying, the regret that follows, the ordered mind that cannot distinguish between the known and the absurd. To gaze at the stars sightlessly, like a lock without a key, waiting to be discovered, the lone man muses hopelessly about the unsolvable algorithm.”

Wow. Slow down there, Socrates.

You get the sense that the writer is trying to say something deep. Except that sometimes it is so deep that I cannot even see it anymore. Philosophy which cannot be understood is meaningless and rather than prompting one to think further, it just results in disconnection of the mind.

After looking at the above quote I literally thought “What did I just read?” Maybe the author wanted me to think “Hashtag deep”. That was deep indeed. So deep that Adele was rolling in it.

Tip # 3:  Don’t include Latin, Greek, Hebrew or Aramaic words if it serves no purpose

Knowing the roots of a word is only useful when the roots mean something else other than the original meaning. Other than that it’s once again a show of look how many words in different languages I know. Sometimes I have seen whole paragraphs in ancient languages that clearly people cannot read. At times there are more foreign words in the article than English. Both ways it digresses from the original purpose. Here is a fine example:

“If you refer to a million theological sources and books throughout the text, it just becomes a bibliography which originated from the Greek word biblio which means book or Bible.”

As you can see the Greek word reference is literally useless in this context.

Tip # 4:  Focus on what God did for you rather than what you did for Him

Rather than mentioning the many fasts you took, the million of masses you attended, the thousands of rosaries you said, the puritan and holy life you led in order to obtain a particular favor or grace from God, instead focus on what God did for you. Also try to focus on your mistakes, where you went wrong rather than proclaiming about the many good things you did and sacrifices you made. The most moving testimonies are the ones where you talk about your failures and mistakes because it becomes more relatable. It gives hope to people when they fall because they know that there are others who struggle in the same manner. Moreover even if we fail God, He never fails us.

A wonderful, epic testimony which is flawless from beginning to end and deliberately omits all the problems and obstacles is good to hear but cannot move anyone because it’s not relatable.

Tip # 5: Ditch the holier than thou attitude

Nothing can turn me off quicker than a testimony that reeks of holier than thou attitude. The defining characteristic of a Christian is humility and a holier than thou attitude just directly counters the message you are trying to convey. It quickly turns from glorifying God to glorifying yourself. You may as well sign off the piece with Yours Superiorly, Obnoxious Pharisee.

I really do believe that books and articles are very powerful methods of evangelization. And I genuinely appreciate those who embark on such endeavors. However if you lose sight of the purpose of why you write at all, you end up achieving the exact opposite of what you intended. By keeping a few things in check you may be able to bring many souls back to church.

Happy Writing!

P.S: The above post was inspired by a prolonged conversation with philosopher in crime Amitha Thomas.