Careful

If there is one word that defines my state of mind since a long long time, it would be ‘careful’. That’s what I am these days. All the time. All day. All night. Whether at work or at home. I am careful. It feels as if I am walking on a glass world around me with everything so fragile that one wrong move on my part and it would all just come crashing down. And then, I wouldn’t have anything to pick up from the ashes. The shards would hurt me hard but I wouldn’t have any place to go because those shards were my world. The one I just shattered with my own incompetence.

The planets revolve around their sun on an invisible orbit. They don’t change their route. They can’t I guess. I feel stuck like them. On that invisible orbit around me. Any wrong path I take, any diversion, any digression and I will tilt the whole balance of the universe against my favour, leading only to destruction. Which means that I tread carefully, very carefully. In everything I do. In everything I say. Everything done is measured. Everything said is to be weighed. In a monologue with myself. The consequences of saying and not saying discussed. The repercussions of things done and not done analyzed. And all this weighing, this measurement, this carefulness is burdensome. So much so that it has started affecting my health, my well-being.  

When at home, I fear doing things that aren’t done in a way they are done. At work, I feel out of place. Last year, I did the mistake of making changes in my personal and professional life at the same time. And I think I have been ‘careful’ since then.  

I was never this ‘careful’. In fact, I was somebody who believed in disruption. Not in a destructive way, in a fruitful productive way. I read somewhere that disruption leads to growth. I used to be someone like that. Someone who believed in doing things their way. Someone who didn’t need to follow the norms. Not anymore though. Now, I am careful. Careful of everything. Careful with everything. 

Language

Language. Something that I have always taken for granted. Maybe, because I have always had complete command over the ones spoken around me. Having lived all my life in one place, I took language as a part of me – it was there but invisible, maybe in the background, silent and quiet.

It is only when you are put up at a place where you don’t know the language at all that you realize how big a role it can play. It is then that ‘language’ becomes the ‘visible’ part of your existence, gaining all the importance it deserves, mostly mocking you for taking it for granted all these years, at times being kind throwing a few familiar words in your direction, maybe having the same origin in the languages you have been speaking. It makes you feel primitive because you go back to using gestures with people. It makes you feel alien reminding you that you still don’t belong there. It looks at you in the eye, challenging you in a duel and it knows that it is going to win. It commands you to surrender to it, to accept its superiority.  

It can be irritating initially when you are amidst people speaking a language that you can’t make any sense out of. It is nothing more than a sound to you. Like a constant buzzing around you. They would suddenly start laughing only to make you realize that somebody cracked a joke. You try to fathom what they are saying on the basis of their facial expressions. Oh, he is being shouted upon. Maybe he is trying to explain something difficult. Did he say something so foolish that the other person’s expressions changed so much? Are they commenting on you knowing very well that you don’t know a bit of what is being spoken? Questions. All sorts. With only wild guesses as answers.  

That’s when you start observing the language. Keenly. Minutely. It takes time. It takes effort. But it’s worth it. It throws surprises in front of you everyday. You can accept it, be frustrated by it, revel in its beauty or have fun handling it. Maybe, it’s like understanding a child. It can be like a stubborn one, not letting you know what it wants and yet crying incessantly around you. And sometimes, when in a good mood, it might let you peep into itself, it might let you feel familiar in its territory.   

Every language has uniqueness to it, a particular manner in which it is spoken, the way words are pressed or emphasized, the way the tongues are rolled, the way the tone is pitched. Language – if you know it well – is like something that could be lying around you like the non-existent but useful furniture item, its presence felt and unfelt at the same time. Or Language when you don’t know it – is like that one useful thing that you need miserably but can’t remember where you put it last time.

Kakinada.  A small town in coastal Andhra Pradesh. That is where I have been putting up since last one month. That is where I had my first stint with an alien language; with Telegu.

Ex - Sarkari Babu

From today onwards, I no longer am the ‘sarkari babu’. A title which I accepted first with reluctance, then with frustration, followed by the understanding of its importance, then with responsibility and finally with a lot of pride.

Even though I come from a family of government officers, I never ever wanted to be one. The idea of going to a same place, doing the same work, meeting the same people everyday never appealed to me. But somehow, I landed one for myself. Within a span of a year, I tried to get out of it. And trust me, I tried really hard.

But as they say, life is what happens when you are busy making other plans. And before I realized, it was around eight years of working in a government office.

They say your first job teaches you the most. I learnt too. I learnt that it is easiest to blame the government when you are on the other side of the table. 

I learnt that it is not that easy for an outsider to understand why things happen in a certain way in a government office. I learnt that being a government officer came with a lot of responsibility towards your country. I learnt that even though you are a smallest part of the government machinery, you can contribute if you want to.

I also learnt that going to a same place everyday could bring a lot of stability. I learnt that doing the same work everyday could become your forte. I learnt that meeting same people everyday could be comforting.

I don’t remember when did I change from being somebody who never wanted to be a government officer to somebody who started defending when people blamed government for everything.

Every workplace has its own pros and cons. This one had too. But as I leave today, I leave with warm friendships, lessons and learnings that will last a lifetime and times that will be etched in memory forever.

~ From an ex - Sarkari babu (Just felt like calling that myself one last time)

'In between'

This period of being ‘in between’ things. The upcoming ironical goodbyes that will be happy and sad at the same time, the shortly due new hellos, the fear and the excitement of beginning afresh somewhere, the zeal and exhaustion that comes at the same time at the thought of proving yourself once again, the new boundaries that you will set and the ones that will be set for you, the chanting that you have been doing to yourself. Saying again and again that the decisions you’ve taken are the right ones, that you haven’t gotten a raw deal. Although its only time that will tell if the chants have proven themselves correct or you have learnt things the harder way once again.

This ‘in between’ feeling. The feeling of being unmoored, unhinged.

Musings - When you reach office early

The familiarity of the place. As you open the cabin door. Day after day. You place your belongings and even the sound of shifting your bag seems too loud. You switch on the lights. And a thought. A flickering one. Can you switch on people’s consciences here like that ever? What if you could? What a different world would that be?

The peculiar smell of this place. You have known it too well now. The smell of old papers, of rusted iron chairs and of misty intentions of people occupying them. The smell of dissatisfaction too lurking somewhere. Sombreness seems to be a vital molecule of the air around.

Click. And the mammoth printer machine buzzes for a couple of minutes as if grunting for waking it up so early. ‘Oh you guys, will you ever let me sleep? You just used me entire day yesterday. Making me work all day long.’ She grumbles.

‘It’s a government office, sweetheart. We need to have everything in black and white. Hence, we need to make you work.’ You want to say to her. Oh but wait. Do you really want everything in black and white here? You laugh inwardly at the irony.

Grey. That’s the shade here. Of people. Of papers. Of realities. Of truths. And of lies.

You notice the tea stained white cup on the table. The proof of a long day at work yesterday. Lying quiet. You touch it, only to be startled by its coldness. Just like the people it serves. It’s been years since you've been here. And yet you fail to understand the reason of getting startled by the coldness here - of the place and people both. 

The unusual quiet that haunts your ears right now. But within moments, it will all start again. The ruffling of papers, the movement of files, clicking of keys on the keyboard, incessant cries of black telephones, fanatic meeting calls, orders masked as requests dipped in honey smooth voices, idle gossip burning your ears, your mind alarmed and awake. 

And the enormity of it all. The way it gobbles you up. For the entire day. Weeks. Months. Years too. And throws out the chewed up version of you at the end of each day.

Vulnerable

It’s the tightness of the neck which tells me that something is wrong within. I pay attention to other signs. The heartbeat. As expected, it’s fast and loud. So loud that I fear others might hear it. Something strange tugs in the centre of my chest. Like fear beginning to grow strong.  My stomach is in knots. 

But what is the reason? I haven’t had any unpleasant incident today. What is it that is making me choke? I recall the day. One by one, I rewind the incidents, running my fingers over them, touching each one, pressing a bit, seeing if it pains somewhere, tasting the words others had spoken to me, trying to know if any of them tasted bitter or sour, tried smelling the incidents looking for the smell of foul intentions. But I couldn’t. I just couldn’t. I could sense I was missing out on something by the way the thudding in my chest had become louder by now.

Words. It had to be words. I could sense it. I was hit by them. Always am. There is nothing that can affect me the way words can. Deep or shallow, curt or polite, warm or hurtful. It had to be words. They were my panacea. And they were my venom too.

I played the tape of events in my head again. Carefully going through each one them. And just as I had guessed. There they were. My own words. I tasted them in my mouth again. Ran my tongue over each one of them. Tried to flip it around. And they left an ashen taste in my mouth.  

Not because I had spoken something about anyone else. But they were about me. I had revealed something about myself to friends. The kinds you spend your time with by laughing on idiotic jokes and criticizing the people all of you collectively dislike. The conversation innocuously steered towards my insomnia. The way I deal with it. The way I could deal with it better by not spending my time reading. They asked questions. And I had to answer. I couldn’t steer the conversation towards somebody else. So there they were. Discussing me. In front of me.

While I was talking, there was a trigger inside which was asking me to do the damage control, to stop the conversation but I ignored it and now I am regretting. Nothing has happened yet due to my sharing something about myself and yet everything is so different. I feel raw, exposed. I feel vulnerable, weak. Like I am giving the power to other people to destroy me, even though the information might me trivial in their eyes. But to me, to me it’s like handing over a piece of myself and then giving them the power to trigger something that I cannot stop. Somehow, people make me feel vulnerable these days.

On the other hand, there are times when I write about myself and my life. On the blog and on social media. So one could say I am as such revealing myself. I agree I am. But that is the measured part, the harmless part. I am aware of every single word I put out there about myself. The vulnerability creeps in when I am questioned, discussed and probed. What if I say something that will let them know what I think, how I think, what I am going through? That’s the scarier part.     

Does it happen to you? Do you ever feel vulnerable when you share things?    

Coffee date. With Myself and some untold stories

Wooden flooring. Wooden furniture. Muted colours and yellow lights. Sunday. Coffee date. With myself. And some untold stories.

Father and son in the diagonal corner. Quiet middle aged son and a cranky looking father. Giving life advices. Maybe finding faults in the way he has been working on his finances.

A newly married couple on their right. Their dewy eyes. The way her mehndi clad hands brush against his. Unknowingly. Or rather knowingly. The eagerness in him to see her eyes smile.

On the next. A college group of four. Too busy in their own selves. The only worry is attendance in the college enough to let them appear for the exam. Crushes. On friends. And teachers too. An overwhelming age. When everything seems possible. When your friends are your therapists and relationship experts.

Four friends again on the next table. Girl gang. Women who hold you at the time of your first heartbreak and also save you from your fashion disasters. Women who share the same impulse of buying shoes. May be bags too. Of choosing wrong guys as well? May be.

Farthest corner. Strangers. I can guess from the stiffness in their body language and also from the regular hot cappuccinos on the table. A chain marketing effort. There are pens and notepads. Ferocious scribbling. ‘For example, if you invest …’ a voice from that table.

Exactly opposite. An occasional look around the room. An occasional longing to hear what others are saying. But mostly in his own self. With his laptop and headphones. Like me. Probably a loner. Like me.

The place smells of coffee. And of untold stories. Only if you are keen to smell. The smell of brewing strong family bonds, of fizzy new love, of warm friendships, of promising business opportunities and of being complete in oneself.

Sunday. Coffee date. With myself. And some untold stories.

30 and loving it

30. I turned 30 this week. To be true, I don’t even know why I am writing this post. Maybe it’s because 30 is a so-called milestone. Maybe because I am loving the idea of calling myself a 30 year old.  

When I sit to write a post, I always have an idea as to how I want the post to turn out to be. Today, I have none. So this is going to be my first unedited post. Yep. No cuts, no pastes, no edits. I write while I am still drunk on the thoughts of being 30.

Do I want this post to be something like - what wrong things I have done in my twenties? Or what lessons I learnt? May be the good times I had? The regrets of things not done? I have no idea. So I am just going to write whatever comes to mind. May be all of it. May be none. 

I also know that I am not going to be a changed person suddenly. I shall not suddenly start showing different personality traits. Because the changes in you as a person happen only when you are not looking for them. That’s what you call growing up I guess.

When I look at the last decade, all I see is naivety and passion. The naivety of believing in people and passion of loving them with all my heart. I lived the last decade with so much precaution. Doing all the right things. Behaving the way I was supposed to behave. Shielding my heart from hurt. A life without risks. A life with caution. But that’s the worst part of it. Even the life lived with least friction couldn’t stop me from getting myself wounded. I was broken and bruised, tired and tattered. I got hurt and didn’t walk for some time. But eventually I did. Eventually. One step at a time. 

Whatever I am today, I am because of the falls. And I wouldn’t trade my current self for my younger self at any cost. I don’t want to go back to being what I was. When I heard older ones say this, I used to laugh. Why would anybody not want their younger selves? I mocked thinking this was like the sour grapes incident. You can’t have your youth back? So why not say you don’t need it anymore.

But when I say this today that I don’t want to go back to being a younger version of myself, I say it with conviction that only comes with age. I know I sound like I am 60. But that’s the truth of it. I never thought I could write such a pensive post. I never thought I would write serious things about me on the blog. And yet I sit here doing the same.

I don’t wish to preach people in their twenties anything. We all know there are enough posts about the topic and some of them are really good. Plus I am not somebody who is good at advices. To each his own. That’s what I believe.

In the societal version of myself, I should have been settled in a marital bliss by now. But I am not. And I don’t regret it one bit. I know I would do that eventually but not because it is the right thing to do in the eyes of the society but because I would want to.   

If I had to say something to my younger self, it would be this.

•  Read. Read whatever you can lay your hands on. Read because you are going to love it. Read because sometimes it would be the only thing that would save you from drowning. So read.
• The second advice to myself would be this – Take risks. At the most it would turn out to be a wrong turn. But so what? It would at least add to the experience.
• Travel a bit more. That’s one thing you haven’t done at all. So go for it.    

So if the above is what I wanted to do with my last decade, I hope I shall be able to do the same in the next. So when I sit down to write a post a decade later, I hope I would have followed the above and will have new advice to give to myself. That is of course if I am still around that time ;)

Now that I have given advice to my younger self, let me share some for my future self too. Like let me just say what I want to do next. I don’t know how much of it will actually work out, but still, here we go.

•  Learn to express yourself. I know, that coming from a writer is weird. But yeah, I suck at expressing myself in person. Whether it’s expressing love or being assertive.
• Be the badass that you have never been. Don’t take shit. Give it right back to those who deserve it.
• Indulge yourself a bit. You’re worth it.  

 I don’t know if this post makes any sense to you. Its unstructured and all that.  I don’t know if it would make sense to me if I read it again some time later. All I know right now is that I am 30 and I am loving it ;)

Oh, you have a Government Job??? Aish hai ..

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The first thing that I hear after I tell anybody that I work as a Government Officer is this: ‘Aish hai’ (Read: You are really lucky. No work. Good pay and so many holidays.) I have lost count as to how many times have these words been spoken to me in different permutations and combinations. Each and every one of them remarking on how a government job is a dream job for them and that I am living my dream with no work and good pay. (Read bribes included) So yeah, this is a rant. Against the so-called stupid myths surrounding government officers. Here we go.

We work:

First and foremost. We work. As much as this sounds alien to you, but we, the Government officers work. I know it’s difficult for a lot of people to digest that we actually do something in return for the pay that we get, but yes, we do. We are concerned about projects getting implemented and work getting done on time. I agree it takes time to get your permission papers in place but that is not because we aren’t working, that is because we are bound by procedures. The procedures that are there to safeguard public interests.

Fixed working hours? Not always !

Another so-called perk that we Government officers ‘enjoy’ is that we have fixed number of work hours everyday. We do. But so does every other organization. And just like every other organization, there are days when we sit way past our official leaving time just to finish our work. Here’s a Ripley’s Believe it or Not for you: We have worked even on Sundays and public holidays. In offices and even from our homes. And you know what, we do not get paid extra for this extra time we put in. We do not get eligible for out-of-line promotions because in government, everyone is equal. You work or you do not work, everyone is eligible for promotion or pay according to rules. And yet that does not take away the dedication some of us have towards our jobs. 

Unlimited leaves - A big No

Picture this. A distant relative was celebrating her son’s birthday in a grand way and I was invited. I agreed but told them that I shall have to see if leaves are available. And then came the very expected remark. ‘Oh come on, Jyotsna. You are in government. You can take as many leaves as you want. We know you can manage’ I was told, followed by wink. And I could do nothing but stare in sheer surprise at the ignorance.

Here’s my reply. No. No, we cannot take any number of holidays at our will. Because just like our private counterparts, we too have bosses. As I said above, we also have work. We have procedures to be followed and plus we have limited number of leaves that are granted to us every year like any other organization. So our quota of leaves doesn’t get replenished all by itself any time of the year and hence even Government officers need to plan their leaves.   

We have rules:

Rules. We have them. We follow them. We dread them. Just like any private organization. We are known to be notorious for doing whatever we want on files. I beg to differ. The answer is again a big no. We have audit systems in place. We do have checks and balances. Yes, we do have job security. But that is not a gate pass for us in going around and doing things however we want. As I said, we have rules and regulations and policies in place that we are supposed to follow.     

We are changing:

Get over your image of old sarkari offices that you have in mind where babus are not to be found on their table and if found are just whiling away time looking for lunch and other breaks. Or the women are busy weaving sweaters or pealing pea pods for dinner. Sorry but that is the thing of the past. We are changing. We don’t go around running our personal errands in office time.

I am not saying we, as Government organizations have attained perfection. No, we have not. We still have a long way to go. Just like our country. But we have improved and are improving day by day. Just like this country. I am not saying every government officer you meet is an epitome of dedication towards their work. No, they aren’t. But not all of them are lazy buffoons who got lucky by getting a government job and all they have to do in office is while away time. We, in government have our share of ‘hard’ working and ‘hardly’ working officers. Just like any other private organization.

Some of us in Government are trying to make things work in every little way possible. I do not know how far have we succeeded or how long will we take to succeed. But next time, please do not belittle some of us or our work by saying ‘Aish hai’.  

Tales of 2015

Is it the New Year already?

2015, Oh you went by in a jiffy

Dealing one day at a time

I don't know where was I so busy?

The above lines pretty much repeat the same story every year. I guess for most of us. As the calendar changes, we wonder where our year went by. That’s when we sit and count. The blessings and learnings. So here goes my review for this year.

Dear 2015,

You will always be special to me. You were a year of many firsts. Good and bad both. A year that will remain etched in my memory for the longest time. Hence this post. So that I don’t forget the details. Ever. I will look back at you will fondness and remorse both at the same time. You gave me a few things and took away a few more. Here we go.

Getting fit - The Highest High:

I have never been more fit in my life than what I have been in 2015. A first in my entire life. Fitness got inculcated in my routine and its effects showed on my body. And boy, the way it showed! Imagine achieving a target that is on your mind since forever. I picked up a workout and diet routine under correct guidance and stuck to it. Gladly. For the first time in my life, I started with a workout (Kickboxing to be precise. Learnt it from The Kickboxing Studio. Trust me, they are good) and I have loved every minute of it. This has been the only form of workout I stuck to for such a long time. Getting fitter was the highest high of the year and I hope to carry it not just in this New Year but for a lifetime.   

A new abode:

2015 gave me a new home. The one that I am loving to the bits. We shifted to our new place in April this year with sheer chaos and confusion around. I had lived all my life at one place and then one day we were suddenly leaving it. Okay, my family had planned this move but when time actually came, memories found their way of holding us back. Oh and Murphy’s Law too. A lot of things went out of control during the shifting process. We bickered. We argued. We fought. About things to be bought and places to keep those things. Nevertheless, the sweat and tears and anger was all worth it in the end. Shifting to this new place was one of the best decisions for us. As I said, I am in love with my new home. The only set back was the ‘distance’ created between some friends because of the distance between the old and the new home.  

Making peace with the past:

Some years ago, I had lost my best friend to misunderstandings. We never met all these years. 2015 created circumstances when we were face to face again. And again. And it was nothing but awkward. But things got better. We started talking again. We are still not what we were but at least we are getting back. I had an angst inside me all these years against this friend. But 2015 taught me the ability to make peace with the past. It taught me that we will never find people that are good for us in all circumstances but everyone has something good in them and we need to find that.

Blogging - A little less:

Blogging was one arena where I was slow in 2015. Somehow I didn’t blog too much this year. The only high in terms of blogging was the month of April where I completed the A to Z challenge for the second consecutive year. ‘Conversations’ was my theme for the year. And it was special. Because in most of the posts, one of the lines was the actual conversation I had with somebody. Of course, the story around it was fictionally woven to accommodate the conversation. But this challenge will always remain close to me. Other than that, I have no clue why I couldn’t blog. I hope I can take up blogging with much more gusto in the New Year.

Although, I did write for myself much more this year. Posts that didn’t go on the blog but sit comfortably in the ‘special’ folder. I don’t know if I would ever want to share them with the world. I hope I do it. Someday.

Reuniting

Every college group has the same story where everyone promises to stay in touch after college. You do keep in touch for a couple of months and slowly things start drifting. That is when you start realizing life is much harder than what you thought it would be in college. The phone calls get converted to missed calls you cannot pick up during meetings, the dinners are given a miss because of the travel schedules and the promises to stay in touch are fulfilled only during alumni meets. Our group was no different for five years. But something changed in 2015. We met up. Again and again and again. Spouses got added to the group and I got to know some more wonderful women. And meeting this group made me realize how much fun I had missed after college and how comfortable I can be with some people. I hope we continue to gel even more this year.  

People – Some left and some I let go:

This is the saddest part of any year. Seeing people go or letting them go. Coming to terms with their absence. Just the way you come to terms with their presence sometimes. I know it sounds clichéd and we have all heard it that every person comes in your life to teach you something. That kind of sounds true to me today. Some such people who taught me much more about myself than anything else.   

So, dear 2015. You have been special. In blessings. And learnings. And dear 2016, You better be good.

“I’m sharing my #TalesOf2015 with BlogAdda.”

Last day of the month

I really like the last day of the month. Apart from the obvious fact that the next day gives the much needed oxygen to my dying bank account, I also like this day because every month, we witness emotions. In their rawest form. Let me tell you how.

 

Every last day of the month, a function is held by my organization for the retiring employees without fail. Entire organization gathers in the auditorium without fail to bid farewell to the retiring employee, irrespective of the class or cadre they belong to. It is a formal function where details such as credentials of the employee, his service time with the organization, what places he was posted and in which departments he worked etc. are read out while handing out the customary mementos to them.

But what makes this day special to me is the reaction of the retiring employee. Being a government organization, these people have worked with the organization for atleast a couple of decades to say the least. Decades. In the same organization. With the same people.

While they are on service, some are sincere, others frivolous, some boring, others chatty, strict or lenient, some brood in quietude, others whine in open.

But on their last day, they are nothing but emotional. Some cry openly, others hide their tears in their silence. Those few minutes on stage tear down all the facades they have been holding all through their service life. And what you witness is emotions in their rawest form. The way most of them break down when an auditorium full of employees from every cadre applauds their years of service. Most of them, unable to speak anything, being too full of emotions, with lumps in throats when asked to describe their journey.  

Decades. In the same organization. With the same people. Colleagues who turned into friends and formed strong bonds like family. Arguments with some, jokes around others. Experiences. Good, bad and others. Moments – embarrassing and proud ones. I think all these would be flashing in front of their eyes. And I guess those small moments flow down from their eyes. Without hesitation. With gratitude.

That moment. To witness that moment from this side of the stage is anything but a humbling experience. 

Much more than JUST a number on the weighing scale

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I feel anger rising within me as I write this. And I have a reason. No wait. I don’t have just a reason, I have reasons. I haven’t really ranted on my blog except for a few occasions here. But this rant is much stronger than all my earlier rants because of the way this topic has been attached to me since ‘I don’t know when’. So here we go.

I have always been on the heavier side of the weighing scale all my life. You read it right, all my life. Atleast from the time I remember. But that’s not the point here.

The point here is the general attitude of society towards people on the heavier side of the scale. The attitude where they think it is their birth right to make fun of overweight people. Just like the way, they think it is our moral obligation to be made fun of. The attitude where they think that being on the heavier side of the scale is a sin and hence we deserve to be made fun of. So go ahead, make fun. Because we are like this out of choice and find sheer joy in being overweight. Right? Wrong. I am sorry to break it to you that we hate being your source of free entertainment. And that nobody, just nobody likes to be on the heavier side of the scale, for being mocked for the way our bodies are made differently than yours and for the way our bodies react differently to situations and circumstances. And that when you pass a judgement or make fun of my body, it does not define me, it defines YOU as nothing more than an insensitive buffoon. And everytime I don’t react to your mockery, it is not because I do not have an equally sarcastic and demeaning comment about you, but it is because I do not wish to downgrade myself at your doltish levels.

Right from acquaintances, relatives, friends to colleagues to total strangers, I have been mocked for my body for the number of times I do not even remember with comments as stupid as the fact that I carry huge bags because I need to carry a large lunch box fitting my size. How lame. How stupidly lame. Or wait. There is something even lamer. Like the time when I was running around in the office for getting some work done. And pat comes the comment asking me stop running because the staircase could fall. Right. Coz you see, I weigh equivalent to crane capable of bulldozing an entire building. Wow. Just Wow. This is just the tip of an iceberg of the nasty comments I have heard over the years.

And then there is something equally irksome. The way everybody turns into so-called experts on my body. The way they think they have the right to suggest me remedies to reduce my weight. Because I have no clue how to do it and because I do not know how to handle my body and because they are on the right side of the scale, they obviously have more fitness gyaan than what I have and hence they are obliged to throw their bizarre suggestions for weight loss in my face. As if I am suffering from some terminal illness and they are doing their bit of social service by providing their valuable suggestions.

The more I think about such comments and instances, the more it angers me. Not just because they were said about me but more because of the way our society behaves and general perception of the people towards this topic. The way people have no clue that fat shaming does not motivate anybody to lose weight and that it affects people at much deeper psychological levels than they could ever imagine.   

There was a time when this mockery affected me for days. It affects me. Still. Ofcource not to the extent it used to. Because today I accept myself and my body much more heartily than I used to. And that does not mean I do not work towards making myself more fit. This just means that I accept my curves and my stretch marks much more today than I did earlier.

But not everybody can cope with fat shaming. Even I haven’t learnt to cope with it completely. But then why can't people understand that making fun of people for their overweight body is somewhat equivalent making fun of a blind person? Just like nobody likes to be blind, similarly no one likes being on the heavier side.

I have no clue why our society cannot take a heavier person just like everybody else. Why is there always a need to look down upon me, to mock me or to advise me? Why can't I be taken as just another person? Why can't I be seen more than just a body? Why does every other aspect of my personality hide under the fact that I am overweight?

Because I know that I am much more than JUST a number on the weighing scale.   

Image Source : Google

Sip by Sip.. Drop by Drop..

Sip by Sip

Drop by Drop

You drain me, You strain me

I talk, I blabber

I go on a rampage of meaningless chatter

A part of me nestles within you

I somehow now settle within you

Sip by Sip

Drop by Drop

You drain me, You strain me

Pouring myself out

I feel emptied without a doubt

Happiness, Worries, Hopes and Fears

I almost even showed you my tears

Sip by Sip

Drop by Drop

You drain me, You strain me

Vulnerable I so feel

My brokenness before you I peeled

Past fears grow up as I let my guards go down

Damn! I sometimes end up feeling like a clown

Sip by Sip

Drop by Drop

You drain me, You strain me

I fear you would know me

I fear you would grow upon me

Raw, unguarded you make me feel

Everytime I talk; everytime with you I deal

Sip by Sip

Drop by Drop

You drain me, You strain me

Alas! a part of you never walked upto me

Your guards I know are harder than steel

I wish I could learn that from you

How you never give anybody a feeblest clue

Mystery I prefer to remain

My aloofness I wish to sustain

My own intentions you make me doubt

Of my own shackles you make me want to break out

Sip by Sip

Drop by Drop

I see myself getting drained out !!

Image Source : Google