Not to be a Lady!

I was often told that I walk with my legs a bit too apart and in opposite directions even while walking normally. Wonder to call it normal, because so many people have pointed this out that at some point of time I did think of myself having some defect or disorder.

You walk as if you are coming to hit someone, they would say.

And the ‘They’ include my friends, my colleagues and even my mother who obviously has to take care of how I look, dress up, talk and walk! Even while I struggled painfully in the only heels I got for my graduation day, she persuaded me to buy more.

The people, who taught me dancing recently, said I had a ‘different’ style of dancing. I took different as bad because I was the one who had to work a lot harder in my group.  Another dance group that I joined went on to say I need to get the feminism in my dance. Though I get to hear a lot from my mom, who wants me to behave like a girl, dress up like one and carry the politeness of a lady, I again felt indifferent to it when I heard that again.

I envied their tucked in stomachs out of the dancing and working out, but not my style. I had my own. Thus a little or no attention was my response to it though I worked hard on my dancing steps, trying to make them perfect. Loose shirts and tops during the practice hours was told to be mandatory, to catch up exact moves of the body and make them perfect. I love superheroes shirts and I still buy them to wear for practice.

A lot of time passed and one fine day my best friend’s roommate pointed it out saying you walk a little weirdly.

Spine straight and chest out, that was how she made me stand. No don’t thrust your chest out, straight spine would do it, she said articulating my posture and making me walk. Feet close to each other and walk straight she said, there! A little change and you look like a lady!

Uff! I am a female; I still think if walking in a way makes my gender get an extra oomph, if yes, do I necessarily need to do that? If yes again, then WHY?

I tried with the practice honestly saying, I would get conscious, thinking what others might be thinking of me, watching me walk like a Yeti towards them. I was a female after all and knowingly or unknowingly we do get jitters if we don’t portray ourselves as good as up to our satisfaction in public.

But these days I just think a little less.



30 minuscule minutes

30 minutes or less

My stomach churned, twisted and grunted shouting and crying against the acid attack it underwent. I looked at my watch 8:48, still more than 30 minutes before I lose my cab. Alone near my cubicle, I hoped my colleagues would come sooner from the cafeteria, so that at least I could marathon back there and get myself a glass of juice. (Our project has to be under surveillance 24*7.) My phone buzzed with some stupid ringtone which I didn’t bother to change anymore. My roomy had called back; sheepishly she asked if I had called before. I replied enquiringly if the dinner was made. The words leaped over her tongue and dragged out of her mouth into the speaker tired of working out all day, “Yar, last night’s veggies were there’. I thanked God I had left some the previous night, albeit for someone to eat, ironically me in the end. Karma, I thought, what you give comes back to you. I said no problem and cut the call.

At 9:06 I had finished with the last minute ritualistic mails and given up my hope for an empty stomach when my colleague sprinted past and signaled me to go. The time didn’t allow but he told me to give a try. I hurried up the aisle, swiped my id at the door and waited near the lift thinking about the juice I was going to have within minutes. During this comprehension with myself I realized I never pressed the up button when a man suddenly came out of the floor door and pressed it. How stupid of me, I thought. I reached the 8th floor, avoiding running into people and dodging them I finally made it to the juice corner.

“1 mixed fruit anna”, I exclaimed and it seemed like ages until I thought he heard me.

Time suddenly started ticking faster. It was 9:15 and the sophisticated juice walas with shower caps covered unnecessarily over their heads didn’t even budge. Finally I heard the mixer buzz. On top of that I pleaded them to hurry else I would miss my cab. The juice came in soft plastic container that went empty inside the dustbin in a matter of seconds.

I rushed down to the area of lifts. It seemed like catching next fast local to Dadar. I boarded one and as it was about to close people poured in. The lift loaded itself and closed the doors when at the last minute a hero put his hand between the two almost-about-to-touch doors.

9:20 and we were still at 8th floor. I thought I will lose my cab for tonight. When the display in the lift changed from ‘8’ to ‘7’ the lift stopped, as if it was angry about being controlled every time. The door opened and the lift announced in a neutral yet sophisticated way that we were going down. The door closed but the same thing got repeated again. I smirked at fate and avoided the urge to look at my watch. It felt as if somebody had sucked the air out of that small movable compartment. I tried holding my breath through a swift pang of panic and relief.

This time a gentleman stepped out and pushed the already closing doors against each other, tighter as though trying to glue them with his bare hands. I saw in half-contemplation of his being stupid and half thoughts concentrated on what others would be thinking about him.

A “What is he doing?!” escaped my lips without a hint of sound. His voice followed saying,” Sometimes it works. The lift doors won’t close properly.” And his un-deterring gaze followed the red digits of the display inside the lift.

The digits miraculously descended from 8 to 7 to 6 and so did the lift. I was amazed whether it was a simple coincidence or an Indian jugaad that everyone knew but no one tried out of possibility of embarrassments.

I smiled and laughed to myself, while the man stood perfectly still, chest out in pride of his newly achieved act of making a lift work manually. Others just mumbled and bumbled. The lift announced my destination as Ground Floor in the most sophisticated way as usual and it ringed in my ears twice before the doors took their own good time to open teasing me with their control over my emotions. I dashed out to the reception area to find no cabs there. They were gone I exclaimed.


I hushed slowly and turned left when something caught my eye. The cabs were standing near the glass door that was on the left today unlike all other days.

Relief filled in the vessel of my heart while my mind told me to be early the next time.



Soaring over Self – The Childhood Way

There have been moments where I believe I come to realization that I have grown up. These moments come and go eventually, displaying the difference in change of my behavior and my reactions now and earlier. They often redefine me, my personality and my character traits. Amidst the series of changes of what made me who I am today, I still retain my personal best traits; few that they think never required a change because they were perfect. Sometimes though I like to go back to my past self and relive my being a child again.

This happened at home, just recently. Mom and I had gone for a walk that evening in one of the parks near my house. It was the same park where I would play as a kid. Running barefoot on grass, playing self-invented games and swaying away on the swings I had fun like any little girl of 10 to 12 years would do. I was a bulky little kid, more like the ones whose cheeks every other aunty would lovingly pull, sadly they never knew how irritating and painful it was at my side. Nevertheless I would love to get on a swing, though despite my efforts I couldn’t get much higher as my cuteness overweighed my force against the ground. So my friends would climb on the swing, keeping their feet across it, struggling to adjust in whatever space I would give them to stand and would push the swing while standing and swaying it. If you ever heard the phrase ‘ping bdade yar’, you would know what I mean.

The swing would creek and the iron chains would make strange sounds, as if struggling in pain of bearing the unavoidable fate. Despite that it would reach to a certain considerable height after my friend’s tiring attempts to accelerate it to the altitude. I obviously had fun, sitting there, with the air hitting my face and the world going Sswweeeeeeeee…….. Besides the fun I would feed my fears. If you ever tried this I bet you would be able to relate. While going back, i.e. the ‘fro’ part in the ‘to-fro’ motion of swing, I would look up to the sky or the tree and that would make butterflies flutter in my stomach. I would get scared of falling while looking up, so I would close my eyes or look the other way.

That evening while mom did an evening walk around, in the park, I sat on swing, once again. This time there were no friends to get me to that height and of course the swing that was glad enough to not to make a sound out of reduced weight. I pushed the ground and in seconds I soared heights, closer to the same tree that was above my head. That moment I tried it again. I looked up when the swing went back, reaching the height. Fear made me shiver and I looked down.

                       No! I have to overcome it

I looked up again in the second attempt and the swing took me closer to my fear as I increased the speed. The heights made me shaky but this time I didn’t look down. I was panting and I continued looking, my eyes wide open towards the sky, towards the bare tree leaves that had waited for me so long to come back and as the air became cool suddenly the fear receded and turned into a smile. Moments passed and I was giggling with myself, looking up at the tree leaves colored dark under the fall of the evening. I was feeling myself conquering my childhood fear and it felt as if I conquered myself instead and in that very moment when I was laughing at the very heights that scared me, I changed.




Trust not in the words they say

Read their eyes if those lies, they convey

Upon you shall not dawn betrayal

See to it they do, what they say

Trust only if your heart says you may


Father To Son

Post meeting a friend of mine, after a long time, I was returning back home by bus. Luckily I didn’t have to wait that long for the direct bus from Marathalli Bridge to my place. So tiresome the day went that I just needed my bed to drop down and sleep. I bode my friend goodbye and climbed onto the bus with tedious steps. Luck favored again and I got a seat just behind the driver’s. With soft music playing in my headphones and the cool wind wafting on my face, I closed my eyes to slumber.

Not more than a minute had passed when a kid, around 10 years, came from behind and hurried up to grab a seat right in front of me. His father followed him and sat beside him on the vacant seat. Some seconds went by when he nudged his dad and showed him his hands, one with two fingers gesturing the sign of peace and the other rolled into a tight fist. I noticed but didn’t get his actions until his dad raised his own hand into a fist and then a palm and then a fist. Suddenly his rigid expression broke into a chuckle.


I realized I was smiling. Getting to witness a little share of a happy father-son bonding made the tiring journey into a glad travel for quite some time. The game ended after two losses for father while the sun laughed the success away and sat quietly in his seat.

 Few minutes passed and this time dad nudged his son to play another game gesturing ‘scissors’. The child gave a priceless smile and the game began. The father didn’t stop playing and hugged his son after each game ending in latter’s winning. Sometimes the elder actually played the game and disputed over winning it himself.

It all went on, until I reached my stop and got down with a smile still lingering on my face.


Through My Mind

Small unnoticed moments, that is how they pass. 2 little moments, swift they are. Don’t forget to smile…:)