The whole fucking problem


I was walking across the street the other day and I met an interesting fellow. The young man couldn’t resist himself from making derogatory remarks at me. I wasn’t wearing lingerie, nor was I in a swimsuit, I was just walking to my home in casual jeans and t- shirt and yet this fellow couldn’t take his eyes off of me. Boy! Was I on cloud number nine! But then to my dismay, he rode off. But just when I had begun lamenting over the end of this lovely encounter, he came back.

I enjoyed our little chit chat where he kept commenting and I kept ignoring. When our brief encounters kept happening again and again, I wanted to take my shoes off and throw them at his handsome face to express my love. But then I just thought that that would be too much display of my affection. I guess I am right in assuming that the nice fellow I had just met was so much worthy of my attention that ignoring turned out to be my best move. I didn’t want to fall head over heels for a guy I just met. Did I?

Why do I have to tolerate these fellows making nasty comments at me? I don’t roam around the streets in my pathetic rickety bike and make disgusting comments at any guy I come across. I don’t stare at them from head to toe for eternity. I don’t stop my fucking car and drive close to them honking repeatedly scaring the shit out of them. But of course, I can’t do all this but they can. It’s perfectly alright.
I spend a lot of time wondering whether what I am wearing is appropriate enough to go out in the street. I always make it a point that I don’t stay out of house too late at night. In spite of all these I happen to meet these gentlemen quite often and I make sure that I ignore them all every time. I have to do all this but they don’t and it’s perfectly alright.

Some of my rights are being violated. So what? That’s okay. Some of my freedom has been snatched. So what? That’s okay. Some of my respect and integrity had been compromised with. So what? That’s okay.
No really. That’s okay and the fact that I feel this is the saddest thing that could happen to me.
I have grown to believe that being a girl I just have to neglect some of the things. I have to learn to live with it. I have to tell myself that there is no other choice.
I have to bear it. Don’t I?
I have to be the victim of society. Don’t I?

No actually, you don’t have to do it. There’s someone inside me who is saying this on top of her voice.

I want to believe her. I want to stand by her. But what can I say? Old habits die hard.
I have spent too many years mastering the art of tolerance. It appears so normal that all those violations seem nothing.

Why do you bother girl? You know you are okay; safe and sound! Everything is alright!
So, I have to wait until I am not safe and sound? My rights can be played with and I am not going to give a single fuck?
What is wrong with me?

No, no there is nothing wrong with me. And that is the whole fucking problem. Like every normal person, I have a large limit of tolerance. And that is the fucking problem. Like every other normal person, I feel secretly stupid on not being able to do anything about my own self and yet I don’t do anything. That is the fucking problem. I avoid disrupting my imaginary peaceful life. And that is the fucking problem. I pour a glass of cold water over the burning rage inside me. And that is the fucking problem.
I know that I don’t have to live like this and to be honest no one is even stopping me.
No one except me.
And that…

Is the fucking problem.


About manipulating and getting manipulated

I guess this is one of those days when I just hate everything. I go and find refuge in my playlists, find some company with some of those overplayed songs, feel good about nothing and just waste my whole day. Of course, then “self- worth” ghost that always keeps hovering around me squeaks in her pathetic little voice – “You waste your day anyway be it your bad mood day or a good mood day, so don’t blame it on the day, it’s you pathetic person! It’s you!

Wow. Was I not upset enough?

I don’t even want to bitch about this ghost. It’s tiring. She doesn’t deserve my attention, let alone a whole blog post.

However, the truth is she already has too much of my attention. Yeah. And I don’t think I can spare anymore. I am already hanging on a thin thread. I don’t need more tension and the stress.

Anyway, it’s a bad day. I have to talk about something even more not-happy!

And so here it goes-

It suddenly strikes me now that all I have ever done in my life is to get manipulated. Actually, my whole life is a result of manipulation. And I am not just a victim. I have manipulated others as well.

It’s like a tradition; we get manipulated. We manipulate others. If we are not good at it then we spend an enormous amount of money to learn to manipulate someone. We get manipulated even if we are aware of the very fact. We get manipulated even when the thought doesn’t even remotely cross our minds. We manipulate others in quite similar ways. God, it’s a vicious cycle!

World needs to stop for a moment.

And I need to remember when was the last time that I had an original idea which was free of other people opinions.

Original idea? What is originality anyway?

You know manipulation isn’t as bad as it sounds. We have learnt to live with it. The advertisements, the newspaper, the parents, the friends, the teachers. They are not bad? Come on parents? Sometimes, it all works out for the best. Maybe even the bestest thing in your life can be a result of a hard core brainwash. But at the same time, doesn’t it all begin to feel so pointless? Why do we need someone to wash our brains? Can’t we think on our own?

We need some serious answers. We don’t need opinions.

Do we?

Do we?

Maybe the truth, the real answers are too harsh to bear and hence we just leave ourselves in the hands of others. And all we get in our lives are opinions.

Yeah, this is me consoling myself.

So, am I trying to say that we don’t need answers?

I want myself to think that. Yes.

Oh! Boy! I am back to square one. It’s true isn’t it? Ignorance is bliss.


That so-called conflict with the so-called conscience

I guess when we are young it is quite easy for us to categorize things into two broad groups; bad and good. Our criterion is pretty simple; Parent’s and favorite teacher’s take on various things. As we grow old, we shed this naivety and we began to question our long accepted criterion and our two beloved groups begin to merge into one another. Is it the maturity? Or is it because as we grow older we quite ironically grow more and more clueless and dubious? Maybe it is our way to search for answers. Such is the thirst for experience and experiments that we can’t help but abandon our notions for black and white. I mean who cares what’s black or white when you are not able to justify your very own existence! The child inside us just simply stops talking as we ignore everything he or she has to say.

Well. Almost everything.

During those ungodly hours of so-called deep contemplation when that child does squeak amidst the eerie silence, we have no choice but listen to what he has to say. A lot of things that you do now weren’t quite in your bucket list back when your age used to be in single digit. It’s almost hard to believe that you are the same person. Weird people had warned you that you might not end up being what you imagined yourself to be when you grew up. It was with such ease that you declared them wrong in your little half developed brain. And yet now, you realize that those weird people with weirder opinions couldn’t have been more right. What’s even more interesting is that you yourself have become one of those weird people.
That child is almost gaping at you in horror.
“Oh come on! It’s not really that bad you naive little fool! World is different shades of gray! There is no black or white.”
The stubborn child stands there unconvinced.
What to do with this stupid child?

However, by now a part of you has begun sympathizing with this Mr. I-always-want-to-ruin-your-mood half-wit creature.”Et-tu-brute?” Now, you are irritated as fuck.The images of what you had imagined yourself to be versus what you ended up being begin flashing in front you. You know what’s coming.

Carpe-diem. Seeing the weak little you, the child seizes the opportunity. He is no longer mumbling in almost inaudible voice. He is shouting. His voice ricochets through your whole body. You want him to shut up. Except of course, you don’t. You keep listening. For some fucked up reason you just keep listening. The world splits into black and white again. All whites you have ever done disappear into the black hole of your memory. And you are smeared in black paint from head to toe. Oh well! It has happened -The exact reason why you hate reflecting about yourself.

And then out of the blue, you snap out of it. That part of the brain that somehow managed to stay exclusive to you during all this just cracked a non vegetarian joke. The child suddenly stops talking quite possibly because he didn’t get the joke and is trying to figure out why it cracked you up.
“What does this immature little bastard know about life?” You suddenly ask. This child is no better than you.

It’s happening. You have got an elastic brain. It’s reverting back. How can you trust this child? How do you know he is right? His voice reverts back into an inaudible mumble. The world becomes one again. The black paint washes off your body. The eerie silence transform into a soothing symphony. The conflict with the conscience; It’s over. However, it doesn’t mean you have won.  The truth is you can’t win. Another truth is you don’t want to win. The child will strike back. Hell, you want him to strike back. But first you need to do things that you didn’t want to do once.

The child is again gaping at you in horror. But he doesn’t know. He simply doesn’t know the thrill of watching that very expression on his face. It doesn’t quite wash the existential crisis. But the thrill dude! The fucking thrill! The freaking pleasure of getting smeared in nothing but the black paint!
What does he know?
What the hell does he know?

It’s a war you like being in; the crazy conflict with the so-called conscience.


The Orange Sky

Time has come and the time has gone,
Another sun will rise with another dawn,
All I have now are the traces of the missing star,
An unknowingly discontented heart or an unacknowledged scar,
Oh! If I could just know the reason why or just the meaning of I,
As if listening, “Why bother?” whispers the lovely orange sky.
So, maybe I am laughing I cannot really see,
Or maybe it’s alright, I cannot really feel,
Anyhow I look forward to another misplaced sun,
Another beautiful day and another misleading run,
Maybe the night shall make me tough, and hope will keep me high,
And then, as if listening, “Why bother?” whispers the lovely orange sky.
So now I finally listen, I melt into the beautiful hues,
Lost or Found? I don’t really have many clues,
Few tears escape my eyes as if they have committed treason,
Is it the dying day or the dream? I don’t really know the reason.
Few more fall as the colors fade and as the last traces of light die,
And then, as if listening,” Why bother?” whispers the lovely orange sky.


How vain is it to be vain?

My life has been utterly unadventurous and my story is something that is known for it’s proficiency in inducing somnolence but I still have some interesting confessions to make.

My heart wants to spill them out of course but then there’s no fun in that. Everybody has a right to have some mysterious past filled with enigmatic secrets. It’s quite cool. Isn’t it? At least in TV series it is.

But I can reveal one secret here. The tragedy is that it isn’t that interesting but on the positive side it is worth some debate.

I have written many articles on ,you know, supposedly deep stuff; inner strength and life and hope and happiness and blah blah blah blah. But if I die and if you do my autopsy, you would find myself to be a ‘deeply’ superficial person.


(^Pun intended of course on your behalf)


Anyway, sticking to the post, I care a lot about what’s outside. And many a times  I fail to look inside.

I worship vanity.

Though I know vanity sucks and I shouldn’t be doing what I do but..


It comes to me as naturally as procrastinating, bunking classes and sleeping.


^This is voice in my head speaking.

So, let me make some room for  “I have to contradict everything you say and I will always be rude to you” person inside my head;

And here is the conversation between him/her/none/both and me;

Me: You know what? I am shallow. I like vanity. I look for beauty and I..and I deeply admire it.

Him/her/none/both: Too bad. If everybody was like you nobody would ever admire you.

Me: That’s rude. But you think I care about that?

Him/her/none/ both: If you are indeed shallow, you should. Huh! Too bad you suck at being superficial as well.

Me: So, you are saying I am not shallow. Well, thank you. But you know you suck at analyzing me. You have been wrong before. You are wrong now.

Him/her/none/both: I don’t know. Lets look at this from a fresh point of view. I will ask you some questions and you will give honest answers. And then you know, we can work out the possible conclusion.

Me: As if opposite was possible.

Him/….YOU KNOW WHO!: Are you beautiful?

Me: I don’t know.

You know who: Aen. Wrong answer.

Me: Okay, I am not.

YKW: Are you jealous of people who are?

Me: No, I am not jealous. I appreciate their beauty.

YKW: And why would you do that?

Me: Beauty can do wonders. You can escape with it. You can just run away.

YKW: Run away where?

Me: Into daydreams.

YKW: Even if that beauty is not yours?

Me: Beauty is never yours. You think you are beautiful. You know you are beautiful. And even then you are never satisfied with it.

YKW: What makes a person beautiful?

Me: He/she is pleasant to our eyes…I guess?

YKW: If somebody knows that he/she is pleasant to the eyes then why wouldn’t she/he be satisfied with him/herself?

Me: Beauty doesn’t end with being pleasant. It ends with perfection.

YKW: And since nobody can be perfect. Beauty is illusion?

Me: Beauty is the horizon we keep walking towards. It’s the dream we keep chasing.

YKW: So beautiful people are chasing horizon, You, the ugly one, are chasing horizon. And yet you want to be them knowing that they are basically doing the same thing as you.

Me: Here’s the catch-the horizon we are chasing are same yet different.  And they might be doing the same thing as me but then they are NOT doing it the same way. Their way is quite different probably better than mine.

YKW: What are you going to do about that?

Me: Maybe make the billion dollar cosmetic industry draw profit out of me. And do it the “better” way.

YKW: Will that really make you happy?

Me: I don’t have any choice.

YKW: You know you could be satisfied with how you are.

Me: But then that wouldn’t make me superficial.

YKW:  You know being not-superficial is not bad.Why is vanity so important to you?

Me: It’s in my genes. It’s in everybody’s genes. And nature wants this. Nature wants beauty to be there. And it also wants not so beautiful people to be there and appreciate it, maybe run after it.

YKW: Why would nature do that?

Me: Why would nature make murderers? Thugs? Corrupt politicians?

YKW: To maintain the balance?

Me:  Exactly. Maybe. I don’t really know about that. All I know is nature encourages vanity in it’s own way.

YKW: If everything had been beautiful, then, I guess world would have been a lot different. And different here is not a positive one.

Me: How so?

YKW: There would have been nothing to chase. There would have been no motivation. And it doesn’t end with that. Motivation and inspiration has been a key factor for human civilization.

Me: I see this discussion is getting a little too philosophical.

YKW (out of the blue): What if you were beautiful like drop dead gorgeous. What would you do then?

Me: I don’t know?

YKW: You wish you were beautiful. And when you get to be it you don’t know what to do?

Me: I would admire my images and pics a little more, I guess? Date a little more I guess?

YKW: But your life would have end up being equally miserable. From your answer I don’t see you doing any wonders and everything you dreamed of.

Me; What’s your point?

YKW: That you are not as shallow as you think yourself to be.

Me: All this interview to prove me I am not shallow. You do know that’s a good quality. You are actually proving myself to be a good person! Who are you? What did you do to the voice in my head?

YKW: I don’t care if I prove you are good. I just need to prove you wrong.

Me: If I had been beautiful maybe I would have enjoyed the attention. Maybe I would have enjoyed hitting on hot guys knowing that he is not actually out of my league.

YKW: Okay you would date some really cute guys. So what?

Me: So nothing. I am back to square one. My life would have been directionless anyway.

YKW: Bingo! Dumbass!

Me: Okay, I get your point. Actually….. I don’t- you are trying to say beauty doesn’t matter?

YKW: I am trying to say beauty doesn’t matter. That much.

Me: So, what do we do?

YKW: We appreciate them and move on. Not all pretty things have to be yours.

Me: Good. Good. But I can’t change my nature. I am going to remain vain anyway. This discussion wouldn’t change anything.

YKW: I know that. But the real question here is; How much vain is it to be vain.

Me:; Exactly. So,what’s the answer?

YKW: It’s not vain to be vain. Though it is vain to be too vain.

Me: How informative! How do you know you are being too vain.

YKW: When you are crying about it like a baby. And when it starts clouding every decision of yours. When you are so obsessed with it that you forget who you are. You forget what your qualities are. You forget your values. You forget what you were born with. Girl, you have to understand that some things you don’t have to own.

Me: That’s easier said than done.

YKW: Yeah I know. But then you have a choice- Make your life miserable. Or make your life worth living. My favorite? The second one.

Me: I get your point. You are not in your criticizing mood today. But looks like I am. SO, here is what I am going to end with- What we all have to keep ourselves reminding is- Universe is too big you are too small. IT DOESN’T FUCKING MATTER!


YKW: Bingo. That proves you are not shallow. You’re welcome.




P.S. The title courtesy goes to one of my closest friends– fuck that, the title courtesy goes to THE closest friend of mine who doesn’t read any of the shit I write but then I don’t care as long as she keeps suggesting me the possible “topics” and have late night texting debates about them.





So, you have googled how to commit suicide…

Disclaimer; It doesn’t mean I am suicidal. Please. I can’t kill an ant.

It’s just that I have been reading about Robin Williams and Kurt Cobain and some other famous dead celebrities who couldn’t make it out of depression and decided to end their misery once for all.

Though I can’t tell what is it to be that depressed but you don’t need to know rocket science to deduce that it must feel terrible. I’ve had on the other hand, my moments of despair ,of course, where I am actually like “Kill me now” (Somebody please?) but then that goes away once the night sets in and then there is sudden transformation to calmness and beauty of dark and illusion of a better tomorrow that makes me forget everything and  I find myself experiencing happiness and contentment.

Nevertheless, that didn’t stop me from googling how to commit suicide. I even got to pick my favorite;

The best way to kill yourself is Carbon monoxide poisoning.

Fun Fact#1; Who died this way?

Sylvia Plath.

The famous writer, sealed herself in kitchen, inserted her head in the oven and died while her children were sleeping in other room.

The thing is actually  it annoys me that some people get to throw away their lives so easily and on the other hand there are some people who fight their way out until their last breath but they are shown no mercy no matter how strong they have been, how hard they have wished for just one other chance to live and then they die.

It’s just sad.

But then depression that fatal is another kind of disease.The fact that you are just physically sound isn’t a good enough reason to live.

So, okay, nature has weird rules.

Anyway, I have googled the methods of Suicide. How vulnerable am I? And is it some sign that my family should take seriously. Or you as a reader, should you freak out?

No, Not in this case.

The fact that I am writing a blog post on it just shows how non-depressed I am. The sole reason that I googled it was because I was curious.

I am sure many of you must have done that as well. Though I can’t tell if that was out of depression or curiosity.

If former then, dude, please don’t die.

If latter, welcome to the club buddy!

The funny part of doing search on suicide is that it’s ironical.

The chances are quite high that you won’t commit suicide after all even after knowing all the methods. Most of the sites that provide you with the answers also offer you the antidote.

And when you are really depressed then I am sure you won’t be googling about suicide but most probably doing any of these:

a) hang from the ceiling fan

b) jump off a building

c) consume a lot sleeping pills.

d) slit your wrists.

(These conventional methods never go out of fashion even if they are so painful. And they are the first ones to pop in your head solely because you knew these even as a kid).

So, by doing a search on how to commit suicide you are actually doing something opposite: driving your depression away. You are distracting yourself.

So, the major effect of all this shit is that you are not depressed anymore. And your curiosity has been quenched. And in my case, you have procrastinated well as well.

Now, coming to carbon Monoxide poisoning and why is it my favorite.

CO poisoning isn’t painful. Till the very end your body is in illusion that it is taking up oxygen so it doesn’t resist. When your body does realize that it has been tricked, it’s too late and you die with a kind of calmness on your face.

The prospect of dying is something that scares shit out of me in reality. I am too young and there are a lot of things to be done. Places to travel. Blogs to write. Songs to listen to. Books to read. Boys to fall in love with. Though I sometimes do find myself wondering what is the purpose of doing all this. I mean universe is so huge and you are so small. And even if you die what difference does that make?



If it doesn’t make a difference whether you live or die, so wouldn’t you rather choose to live?  I mean dying is not cool. Living is. Even if it is utterly unimportant. There are some things you like to do. Do you ever ask yourself what good does it do? You just do it. Same goes with life. You just live it. And you live it well.

If you’ve voted on the third option and if you need someone to talk to, then you know, you can always contact me or someone you are comfortable with.

Another day; same love story

Another day
Moon sits alone, now the stars are gone,
But a smile brightens her face as he walks in with the dawn…
A brief period of embrace, a much awaited unison,
Clouds dance in joy as they bath in the hues of yellow, orange and crimson…
Then comes the time to bid an awaiting adieu,
The moon dies,
The sun cries,
And the sky grieves into a million mild shades of blue…

The time goes by and the sun continues to storm,
Anger steaming,
Earth burning,
Mad in grief, how could he care about the norms!
But here she comes as if she had never gone,
Tears are no longer sad!
Wild in happiness, he is no longer mad!
Drenched in amazement, he dances in joy!

Madly in love, he is back being a little boy!
The hues comes back, the clouds resume to dance,
Gazing each other, they celebrate their second chance,
But soon they sense something is wrong,
Sun has to go and he can stand no long,

Here comes another time to bid an awaiting adieu,
The moon cries,
The sun dies,
And the sky grieves into a million dark shades of blue…

Stars wonder what to do,
They twinkle realizing they don’t have a clue,
Silently they smile at the painful picturesque parting,
For they know for every love that’s true, end always precedes the starting.”



Grieve no more, oh heart!

Sometimes I lay under the night, gaze upon a star,
Conceal a forgotten past, grieve upon a scar,
Some mistakes were made, not so cruel, not too intense,
But in arrogance and ignorance, that remain too huge to make a sense.

The footprints of those missteps, lay buried under time,
Too distant, too deep, unlikely to be exposed,
But what about the heart that stay frozen under guilt?
Will I recover? Will I forget? Will my shattered heart be rebuilt?

“Grieve no more, oh heart! Don’t let yourself be burnt,
Some mistakes have to be made, some lessons have to be learnt,
Some decisions, some choices are meant to leave you contrite,
Because unless you know what’s wrong, how will you know what’s right?”


The art of procrastination-II

So, you are probably reading this as an excuse to not to do what you are really supposed to do. But you made a good decision. Because today we are going to learn how to put this habit to our advantage.

In my last article I mainly talked about how procrastination is not the nuclear bomb you think it to be but it’s merely a bomb you use during Diwali. It might have a life changing effect but that effect may not be adverse. That effect could be marvelous!

Before we move on any further I am about to go into my research.



Well, I know it’s hard to believe but I did a little research on procrastination while I was procrastinating.

(Putting my habit to my advantage like I said.)

I was trying to find the answer of why I procrastinate. And I came across many general reasons for why people procrastinate but the answer to why I procrastinate goes something like this-

Three reasons mainly-

  • I am a perfectionist!

How so?

I want things to be so perfect, so good from the very beginning that I am not able to begin at all.

Say you want to read a book..

Now you want perfect conditions.

You want a big window..

You want mountains and waterfalls that you could stare at from your big window.

You want a fluffy and heavenly soft pillow to support your spine as you gaze the big mountains and waterfalls from your big beautiful window.

You want to sip on a delicious hot coffee as you read the book sitting with heavenly soft pillow and staring at the big mountains and the waterfalls from your big beautiful window.

Result: You never read,

I admit that I am a hopeless perfectionist.( But I am working on it )

  • Lack of self confidence.

The thing that I am supposed to do, I am not going to be able to do anyway. So why bother doing.

Psychology is simple.

But the question is -why am I never confident?

Because I am in vicious cycle.

At first I try doing something.

I fail. I am not up to the mark.

I am like- Okay! I will try better next time.

I try to try but being a procrastinator I am, my trying to make an effort prove worthless.

And I fail again.

I want to be good. I want to try harder. But now I believe that it’s of no use.

I procrastinate. I fail. So, I am less confident. So, I procrastinate. So, I fail. So, I am lesser confident. Therefore, I procrastinate. And then I fail. And hence I am least confident. So, I procrastinate. Then, I fail. Now, I am less than least confident.

See? Cycle never ends.


  • Lack of passion.

I don’t like doing what I am supposed to do. So, I don’t do it.

Why am I not passionate?

Because I am confused. I am trying to do what I am supposed to do. Clearly, I don’t do it because I don’t want to do it. But I still want myself to want to do it because I don’t know what else to do.

The sentence is complex but psychology is simple.

I am not passionate about electrical engineering. So, I never touch the book.

I love reading novels. I do touch them. A lot.


I am not confident. I am not passionate. Where the hell is my life going?

Towards procrastination.


Procrastination; befriending the naïve devil.


I know I won’t be able to read power system tonight because I just can’t do it. I am likely to procrastinate and I can’t stop it.

SO, what should I do?

I could watch a movie. I could talk with walls. I could speculate jumping out of the window.

But no, I decide to write.

I didn’t want to write. But somehow I bring myself to do it. Yeah… I waste some time along with it. But I come down to writing. I make myself come down to writing.

I have found a way to be more productive while I am procrastinating. I have to prepare for my exams, for job interviews for god knows what not. I am not doing any of those but I am procrastinating while I am writing on procrastination like an idiot.

This is the art of procrastination.

Find out your real passion. Find your hobby about which you are so passionate, so passionate, so so passionate that even you yourself can’t bring yourself to not to do it.

You like reading books. No.

Do you LOVE reading books?

Then, read books! Read websites. Build economy. World needs a lot of readers.

The more the better.

You like watching movies. Good. Watch.

Watch in different languages. Watch documentaries. Watch all types of movies. Hold a record. You will have more knowledge in world than anyone else. (No, book readers will probably beat you.)

You like painting. Go ahead do it.

DO what you want to do. Don’t misuse your time “trying to do what you are supposed to do” and then end up doing nothing. You are trying to study but you end up fantasizing about you and Brad Pitt alone doing guchi goo on a secluded island. That’s a marvelous dream but it’s an ultimate misuse of time. Waste your time instead. Do what you are not supposed to. Openly. That’s the art of procrastination.

Mastering your other skills while you are trying to master one.

That’s the art of procrastination.

So, if you are procrastinator, no not just a procrastinator, a good *structured procrastinator do you know how much gifted you are?

You get to master so many skills say, *secondary skills at the same time! Secondary or not.. Skills are always important.

(Readers! The asterisk thingy simply mean that the terms are better explained in the glossary below.

I have included a glossary in my post! I am being lame but I just gotta do it- self five!)

self five(pointno4)

So, don’t drown yourself in depression.

Stop it. You are sad? You are miserable? Shut up. That’s bullshit and you know it.

Don’t promise yourself that you won’t procrastinate anymore. Because again that’s bullshit and you know it. It’s your initial phase of procrastination.

What you can instead do is to procrastinate.

But procrastinate better.

And that’s the art of procrastination.

Signing off with hope to improve my life,



P.S. Okay, this is sorta out of the world thingy-

Like what you read? You have got curious? Google this man; John Perry. He is my hero. ❤ And that’s the guy I stole the name of this post from.



  • Structured procrastination- I think John Perry can explain you better.
  • Secondary skills- the skills that you never thought you could build and though you were passionate about them but you never gave a shit before)






Finally home!

So, here lies the answer of how we finally got home.

A little precap;

Last time you checked we had landed on the Vadodara station. Our tiring journey from Delhi to Vadodara had finally come to an end.

(^To know more details you can read this- What the hell is she talking about?)

But the movie had not ended.

Our destination was Surat, not Vadodara.

We had this general ticket. And even though it takes just about two hours to reach Baroda by train, the prospect of getting into the heavily crowded bogie with our heavy luggage was giving us goose flesh.

But quite bravely, first we did try to sit in a general bogie.

However, the bogie we considered as general was not really general. It was reserved for army and people related to army.

So, when we tried to get in, we were, in simple words, thrown out.

Three individuals who looked hopelessly tired and worn out in every freaking possible way and all these “army” people had got to say was- “Get out off our bogie!”

What kind of army were they if they couldn’t help out a fellow civilian!

Shame on them!

But god was smiling on us from above.

A much more comfortable journey was waiting for us.

And I am glad that we didn’t get into that bogie. Those army people can go fuck themselves ( I have never said this before but I think I will mention it once hoping that it would be enough for all my previous and upcoming posts- “Pardon my language. I swear a little when I write but I can’t help it. )

So, the train we had almost boarded departed. But there was another train that was about to depart soon. What we did was -we sort of bribed the TT, requested him to give us seats if they were available. (We here mostly consists of my brother and sister, I was just a silent spectator the whole time)

As it turned out, the seats were indeed available. And we got to travel the ending two hours of our journey breathing the cool conditioned air.

Of course, we had to pay for that but okay we were happy.

Money CAN buy happiness. Don’t let anyone tell you different.

So, this was how the battle ended and a new era had begun in my life. New era is not an exaggeration or just something that I used as a comic literary tool. No, I meant it.

The train journeys will never be the same again.

The Patna City will be never be the same again.

My sister’s life (and mine and my whole family’s life as well) will never be the same again.

It is indeed the dawn of a new era.

And adding cherries on the top is this year…

This year; Oh! It has been a mother of changes! And not just this year, my whole college life (so far) has been dynamic in a way I had never imagined it to be. Of course, I had dreamed of a huge, humungous group of cool kids that I would hang out with. A trip every weekend or every month. Party every night. Amazing hostel life. Countless love affairs. (Oh! why not confess it?) And even with all that I would somehow, be a good student with a future (as bright as sun) as a good engineer.

None of that shit happened.

None of that shit is going to happen.

What happened instead was something I could have never seen coming.

People changed, Circumstances changed, Thoughts changed, Dreams changed, Beliefs changed.

And I never got to be cool.

I never got to be smart.

I never got to be a hero. (I never wanted to anyway)

I never got to be a bitch. (I badly wanted to be a bitch. Being bad is so cool!)

I never got to be what I wanted to be.

But what I got to be is someone whom I had never imagined before;


Who would have thought?

Ask the 5 year old me about how I see my life fifteen years later and you will know the difference.

And that five year old me is sitting right next to me asking- Who are you?

They are not kidding when they say that college is all about discovering yourself. Three years and I already do not recognize myself.

I have finally discovered it.

I have been too busy screaming sitting on the roller-coaster rides to realize that what I have wanted all along is something quite different from what I wanted myself to want. Who would have thought?

And that is why a new era has begun.

An era wherein I am not somebody’s daughter, not somebody’s sister, not somebody’s student, not somebody’s friend, not somebody’s “utopian vision” but me.

But me.

I hear some of my friends telling me their amazing tales of their awesome happening college life. Until now I was envious as I had found mine quite boring and dull and undesired. But not anymore. My life is not stagnant. It’s always changing.

It’s ALWAYS changing.

I have wasted too much of time not realizing that.

So, here comes a new sun. A sun filled with hope, with new dreams and a new life.

And a new era dawns in my life.

If you have been traveling pretty much the same path as mine then I suggest that you stop now and look back. I hope you will see the things that I have seen.

I hope you see the five year old you standing there barely recognizing you.

Talk to him. Listen to him and you will know the difference.


Anyhow, I was finally in Surat I guess. And the Patna chronicles, hereby, ends.

Of course, there should a special edition covering my sister’s wedding out pretty soon. But I can’t say. I don’t usually get to know the stuff I am going to write about until I am writing it. And when occasionally I do, I don’t write it at all.

So, would I really be writing the tale of my sister’s wedding?

We will find out later.

Anyway, back at the topic of my return journey.

The term battle is undoubtedly a little exaggerated for that but traveling such long distances in India is indeed a very painful task.

And it might not be a battle but it is close enough. Therefore, when we finally reached home I did find my inner peace.

Of course, it got lost again pretty soon.

But it was good to be back home.

It is good to be back home.

Though it is a completely different story that now I am pushed into another battle ground but I think that’s just life and the point is -this story has come to an end.

The conclusion being; my vacation has been quite memorable. How about yours?

Signing off,