New beginnings

It's been more than 4 years that I've starting blogging. From mood swings to breaks from my blog to blogging almost everyday. From writer's block to blogging challenges. It's been a hell of a journey and I have learnt a lot.

But now it's time to move on! No, I am not leaving the blogging world. Just shifting my blog to a new home. 

I am feeling sentimental about leaving blogger behind but C. S Lewis has summed it up perfectly for me.

So if you know me and are wondering where to find me now, just click on the link below. 

Pigeonheadophobia

Cheers, and loads of love
Anjee
aka 
Pigeonheadophobia

You know what harassment looks like?

You know what harassment looks like?

A 13 year old girl followed home from the rickshaw stand by a labourer on a cycle.

You know what harassment looks like?

A 14 year old girl followed from her home to her tuition by a fat man making lewd gestures with his fingers near his crotch. 

You know what harassment looks like?

A 14 year old girl too scared to go back to her tuition. 

You know what harassment looks like?

A man trying to get a feel of a teen's breasts in a 5 minutes auto ride after dark.

You know what harassment looks like?

Not having the option of getting down from the auto because you're too scared about not getting any other transportation back home.

You know what harassment looks like?

 Having your breasts compared to melons

You know what harassment looks like?

Having to hear young boys sing "pee loon " as you walk down the road.

You know what harassment looks like?

Hating the songs for ages after that

You know what harassment looks like?

Having to change routes because it's dark and you're walking home alone. 

You know what harassment looks like?

Feeling unsafe in your lane when one of the street lights breaks down. 

You know what harassment looks like?

 Men and women staring at your cleavage

You know what harassment looks like?

Feeling the need to cover up  your cleavage.

You know what harassment looks like?

Covering your face with your bag because some random guys have started clicking pictures of your girls with their phones at your bus stand.

You know what harassment looks like?

Having to do that everyday.

You know what harassment looks like?

Knowing your sister will be harassed and she's barely 10.

You know what harassment looks like?

Coming back home to hear your 11 year old sister recount her scary story of how she was followed home from the bus stand. 

You know what harassment looks like?

Witnessing the same fat guy that followed you ages ago, masturbating outside your house.

You know what harassment looks like?

Instinctively knowing that the fat guy probably harasses the students of the all girls school opposite your home. 

 
You know what harassment looks like?

Having to explain what harassment looks like.

You know what harassment looks like?

The fatigue from the countless times you've explained what harassment looks like. 


Street harassment is something all women are handed on a ready plate and told to deal with. Because, "men will be men" and "such is a women's life"; so on and so forth. 

This post is completely based on my and my sister's experiences. 

Most women will relate. A few men will try to imagine. Some will understand. Most men will dismiss it as another write up by a bitchy, whining women who thinks her life sucks.






 

Perplexing painters

We have painters working in the house. And it's pretty weird and awkward. They are working on the exterior right now but will move in pretty soon.  I can hear them work, I can hear their comments. It reminds me of the time a a labourer suffered from mistaken identity because of me. I am a bit disconcerted and a bit flustered by the possible lack of privacy. It's going to be a long month.

Sigh.

Food, foodies and my babies

I invited a bunch of my friends over to my place yesterday for food trials or taste tests. I had made two things- creamy baked veggies and lemon pudding. And I got a lot of compliments. One of them even said that I should start a food blog. 

Well, well well. Maybe I will. Maybe not a separate blog but a separate feature to this blog. One of my goals for 2014 is to have a better blog, write everyday and start  the process of getting published ( don't know if the getting published bit can happen, but I am trying. ) I don't know if I am good enough to get published but I can hope, can't I?

Anyway, back to food. I still am an amateur at the food thingy but well keep the compliments coming. This girl needs it. 

A food feature huh? Where I talk about food and how it excites me and I try out new recipes. The problem is eating food does not excite me as much as cooking does. I am not a foodie. I won't try weird food. ( So don't offer me sushi. ) I hardly try new meat(though I am open to trying veggies.).

Maybe I will be qualified to start a feature once I am married and cook more regularly. Right now I focused on trials for my business . ( I make chocolates and bake. )  Looking for recipes, modifying them, avoiding eating too much of what I make ( I am dieting ) and looking for feedback from people.

I want to try a lot of things with my blog. I like the way it's shaping up. A little of this, a little of that. Not focused on one thing. Just like me. This blog is very me. Mostly. I have two babies- my business and my blog. I want both to be reflections of who I am. And even though it's taking a little time, it's happening. That makes me really happy.

P. S. I have a driving test tomorrow. And I' m starting swimming again!

Not mine. Not ever again

One

My words are not my words
anymore.
I give them up.
I can't claim them to be mine
MINE, MINE, MINE.

Were my words ever enough?
My words. 
I remove the prefix now.
Words.

Words flow...
like a river?
Why did I think of a river?
Is there no other analogy?

My words used to be mine.
Never touching brilliance
Mediocrity
Reminding me everyday.

I see brilliance around me;
knowing that I cannot even
touch it.

I scared of revealing
all that I feel. 

I scared of dark thoughts.

I give up my claim.

No longer mine.
Just words. 
~Anjee, Nov 2013

This is the first poem I wrote in my series Mid Carnival of Woe. I wrote the series within a day or two. Eight poems in two nights to be precise. 

Momentary alchemy

It was 11.30 PM. His flight was late. The sky was foggy. He had to travel from Delhi to Guregaon.

“Pesky cab wallas” he told me. “refusing to go”
I was at my place. Staring at the text he had just sent me. And shit scared.

“Oh shucks. Take care. Tell me when you reach. “ I texted back.

And that’s when it hit me. I am in love with this guy.

••••

Some lovestories are made in heaven, some you don’t expect to happen and they do. I fell in love when I least expected to. Is that always the case?

I am a Punjabi who lived in Kolkata. He is a Bengali who worked in Chandigarh. Despite the distance, we had a lot in common. From almost ignoring him to endless chats to now being together for almost a year; we have come a long way. I like to call it a rollercoaster ride, he calls it a walk in the park.

It’s amazing how much things change when you meet a certain person at a certain time. .. Even if that person is 1700 kms away.

Though we sort of knew each other through a common friend, it was the internet that got us closer.

On 25th June, I woke up to a text from an unknown number- “Happy B’day”

“Thanks, sorry don’t have your number saved.” I texted back.

“Guess who I am”

“Did we have a conversation about cars last night?”

“Yep.” Came the instant reply.

“Anand! What a nice surprise! How did you get my number?

“I am a genius. “

“And the most modest person I know. Come on! You gotta tell me”

“Ok wait, I am calling you up. “

“Sure”

2 minutes later, my phone rang.

“Hey, Happy B’day!”

“Thanks, you sound very different on the phone.”

“Haha.

Arre tell me...number?”

“I saw a number on your facebook business page and I was wondering if it was yours or your partner’s. You had told me the address given was yours, so I thought that most probably the number is yours. Told you I am a genius.”

“That’s so sweet of you. Thought so much just for a number. You could have asked for it.”

“Nah. What would be the fun in that? You got a surprise na?”

Ya, that I did. Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

••••

One evening in November, we were sitting beside each other on a bench in a mall; talking; wondering whether or not we were thinking the same thing.

We both knew we had some kind of feelings for each other. Feelings we refused to give a name to. But feelings strong enough to want to be with each other. Feelings we had avoided, held back for quite some time now.

“What do you think about us?’ he asked me suddenly. Or maybe it was not sudden. Maybe I was expecting it. I didn’t know if he did, but I could hear my heartbeat

“Us as in? Relationship?” I asked. Even though I knew the answer.

“Yeah, you know…”

“I have thought about it” This time I almost whispered. “We both have na.”

“Yes, we have been avoiding this for so long.”

“Long distance” I said. I was not sure of my voice anymore.

“Yeah, long distance. I really like you, Anjee.” He said quietly. I hadn’t seen him so serious.

“But were in two different cities...how will we manage?”

“We can make it work…”

“I guess we can

“I want this, Anj”

I closed my eyes for a moment. Pushed back all my fears. I wanted this to work out.

“I want this too. What we have together is worth a shot.”

••••

And when he finally dropped me home I asked him with a smile, “So now I am your girlfriend huh?”

He grinned and said “yes”

He leaned forward, we almost kissed but suddenly I felt too shy. 

••••

To be continued next week. 

A very expensive love affair

The other day I went shopping with my mom (Chi, wyak thoo) and we ended up going to jewellery shops. There was this one particular shop we went to,  the owner  is such an excellent salesman that he convinced me to buy stuff I would not have even considered. 

And the more I tried on stuff, the more I fell in love with the idea of wearing jewellery. I have hardly ever worn jewelry and don't think I will ever be a regular wearer of bling. Mostly because I can't be bothered and also because jewelry digs into mys skin.

But that day I was liking loving all the pieces I looked at. Maybe I was caught up in the beauty of it all. And maybe because I realised that jewellery ( when I wore the kind I liked) suited me. 

And now I actually own jewellery. (Even though I don't even know if I 'll ever wear them!) 

Though I am still not sure if I want this love story to last. 

Flowers and cliche and romance.

I realised that I like the idea of receiving flowers. It’s a sweet  gesture. Even if they wilt after some time. 

I now have to figure out my favourite flowers is. And if I prefer a single stalk or a bouquet. I don't even have an opinion on their romanticness. I was once given a red rose on a date. I didn't go gaga over it. But it was sweet. And cheesy and cliche. Not a fan of cliches. I am definitely not a red rose person. I know I like yellow roses. Nice and bright. 

I think Orchids look good as decoration in parties. Shivli and Rajniganda would smell good.

Right now I am wondering about how I would react if surprised with flowers. The point is; when they wilt it makes me sad. Atleast when they are on trees you don't have to witness them wilting. Flowers DO look better on trees. 

 I have recently started pressing and drying flowers and making potpourri out of them. I do it before they start wilting and this way they last for so much longer. 

I once wrote a poem about how choosing flowers is not a very good idea because they wilt.

Flowers and destinies do not lie together...
When I chose flowers,they wilted
So I choose my destiny, and cry.

 I used these lines as my about me on fb because I felt my life was like that- I don't get to choose flowers; the easy path. I no longer feel that about my life even though I still don't want to follow the herd. I am doing what I love and I am certainly not unhappy. Neither is the path that tough, it's just different and I won't have it any other way. 

So yes, I am ready for flowers now. 

Hear me out, will you?

So I am in my room drinking ( I have a secret stash of Chivas Regal. Don't ask me how.) and writing shit when I realise that I feel like smoking. ( I also have a seceret stash of ciggys though I am not a smoker.)

So I go to the bathroom and smoke and since I was also having chocolate I am already a bit high. So I started thinking about meta writing. Is that even a thing? Must be! So I was thinking of the whole process of writing ( more precisely blogging ) and it came down to one thing. No matter what someone claims blogging can't be personal. It never is. We all do it for an audience. I mean, if we wanted it to be personal we would write an effing diary or something.

But I feel even personal diaries ain't personal. There is a desire (even a tiny little one) in all of to be heard. So there this wish, that maybe just maybe someone will be sneaky and read our thoughts. And maybe just a few lines written specifically for an audience, will creep in. 

I want to be read. Even though writing is a very personal thing for me; when I write for my blog I want an audience. 

It's all about puttting forward your opinion.

Hey world I exist and this is what I think! 

The point is that no one cares a damn. Unless you're famous. Or in Bollywood. Then you can say shit and everyone cares. So you get down to your knees   ( Why would you do that? Why did I write that? I hope I am not high enough to write shit because I know I will post this anyway.)

No doubt blogging helps you improve as a writer ( in a bid to be read you try to improve your style etc etc ) 

How do you people do it? See a dream, wake up and write it down. If I remember to write mine down will I get a bestseller?

Sorry for the tangent. (Please remember that I am downing expensive whiskey like I would down cheap vodka. You're supposed to savour these things but I am not. Sue me. )

Am I trying to appeal to a wider audience? I don't know yet. What I do know is I am trying to improve as a writer. (Hope that works soon. )

I need to avoid using parentheses ( I always called them brackets) but I seem to love them. I need to be more creative. I need to give it more time. I need to do so many things. 

But right now I need to tell myself-"Slow down baby, you're no waterfall" 

P. S: I'm too high to do anymore meta thinking. kthnxbai

Random shit about a random sleepy day

 You know those days where you feel you've been drugged and sleep all day? I had one of them today. I had a oral driving test today and I randomly went without much of a glance at the shit I had to study. For the first time in my existance I was not nervous before an exam. And I woke up as late as 9. The oral got over in 10 mins. I kept back home and promptly went to sleep. I got up for lunch and went back to bed again. Only woke up at 5, feeling slightly better. 

So anyway, I will learning to drive in a few days. I was sort of freaking out earlier but now I am excited. I will finally learn how to drive. I so hope I don't suck at it.

So that's about it. Random shit about a random day. 

The first thought

A poem within me.

Smiling, yearning,

crying.

Passionate,

dead, dull

beautiful.

Sweet darkness of my own,

give light to my poem,

my own.

Teardrops like rain,

falling.

Poem, you’re beautiful,

I exist in you.

familiar face,

déjà vu.

Poem, I cry for you.

~26.03.09

We are all fragile

Today is the 13^th day of mourning of my grandfather’s death. We lost him on the 9^th. Today we have officially stopped mourning. We had a hawan, followed by lunch. His favourite dishes were cooked. It was a goodbye; a tribute.

His death reminded me that we are all so very fragile. He was not ill. He fell. He was 86 and frail. And now he’s not there.

This is not a lecture about how life is precious and how we should all live it to the fullest and blah, blah and blah. No. All I know is I’ve lost a grandparent. My mom has lost his dad. 

Things change when you lose a parent. Dynamics change. Equations change. He was after all the head of the family and now he is no longer there. It shook me, his death. I  had very stubbornly thought that he would always be there.

The day he died, I was in denial for a very long time. When he fell I was resolutely thinking that he would live through it; even though the doctors  had  declared  that his survival chances were very low. 

They say time heals. My question is where is this time that heals?

From tomorrow we get back to our old lives. We resume work. My masi who came down from Delhi will go back home. Everything will normalize. Or as normal as can be. We will move on. Because we are humans and humans need to move on.

Just another adventure Dumbledore had said. He was 86, my grandfather. He did lead a not just good; a very good life. And I am lucky I had him as my grandfather. My nanu. And I know that soon, I too will move on.

But for now all I can say is thank you. Thank you nanu.

That's my nanu, me, masi and nani

Emptiness

My granddad passed away on the 9th. So blogging is off for some time. I don't even know who I am giving this explanation to. 

Dear whoever is reading this

I have been thinking of writing letters. Not your everyday kind. These will be special letters. To be written and sealed and opened after a long long time.

I wrote one in 2011. To myself. To the me of 2015.

I want to write some more. To the past me. To the me of 2003. My teenage self. To the me of 2006. My not so sweet sixteen. To tell them that I am fine. I am okay. 

You know, I am glad I wasn't always confident. I am glad I did experience low self esteem. For I know now how it feels to gain confidence. How it feels to give yourself worth. I have known it and I don't want to forget. But this is something you don't set reminders for. This is personal. This is you. So the next best thing is writing to yourself.

I want to write to my daughters too. To tell them they are beautiful. To teach them what I know, now. As a twenty something. 

I want to write to A. And make him read it 10 years later. 10 years is a long time. It's long enough to forget. And some things will be remembered and relived.

And I want to write another letter. To my family and friends. To be opened after I die. I don't know want I want to write in that. But I do know that I will write that letter, someday.

There are so many letters I could write and seal. Some for a purpose. Some for the sake of writing. Some to remind everyone years and years later that long ago people used to write letters. 


I will have letters for the future. I just wish someone would write me letters to read now. 


With loads of love
as Always
me

To weigh or not. That is the question

After years of body issues I looked myself at the mirror today and exclaimed "I am thin!". Not that I was fat before but I always fell under the 'slim" category  A category made by popular media to categorise  people who were not fat and  were neither thin as a stick. I always had a thin waist but because of my  heavy upper body I could never call myself 'thin'. Even if I looked at myself in the mirror and thought for a moment that maybe, just maybe I am thin I would be reminded by the media that I have curves which prevented me from being called 'thin'. 

I realise that I am thinner than most people I thought were thinner than me. I have been delusional about my weight for so many years. 

Because of street harassers and because of  the media I was subjugated to I was ashamed of my body. Ashamed of how I looked. Today I can look into the mirror and be happy about my figure.  It's true that I have somehow lost a few inches in the last year but that surely is not my biggest achievement. 

No matter how much weight I lose my body type won't change. There was a time when I wanted it to. Now I don't. I have accepted myself the way I am. I don't care if the popular social culture hasn't. Yes, I want to exercise and yes I want to avoid junk food and have a healthier lifestyle. But that has nothing to do with me losing weight. I have discovered the joys of walking and I don't want any heart problems in the future. 

My own commandments

Most of the commandments are for me. You may relate with some of them. I am not trying to be preachy, though I may sound like it. Fair warning. 

#1  Thou shall not feel stupid if thou is clumsy


Thou art not the only one. Some people are clumsy. Some people trip over stuff. Some people bump themselves several times a day. It's okay to be a klutz. You will have days when things will not fall. When you will not accidentally cut yourself while you absently played with scissors. Feel blessed. 

Note to self: Not to be forgotten.

I read something today. It has inspired me to lead life on my own terms.  It was a list of 25 things you don't need to justify to others. Many times we feel the need to justify our life to others. But do you really need to? It was a wake up call. I need to be happy. And therefore I need to do stuff that makes me happy.

Unless I take a step towards my dream it won't get fulfilled on it's own. I can't sit around waiting for it to happen.

So there. Lesson learnt. I hope I don't forget it. Someone please keep reminding me. I am forgetful. 

More people needed. More words needed.

What happens when you become so attached to a character you create that you don't want to share it with the world? What happens when that fictional person is an anchor in your world of words?  A sort of sanctuary? Something that helps you believe you can create more. That you can be better. That no matter what happens, that baby step you took will always be there with you. To guide you through every step you take. 

I wanted to write Anushka's story since I was 14. That time I didn't have the skill or imagination or even intelligence to write it. I started writing it when I was 19; when I had finally decided that writing was my calling. I had by then realised that writing not just fun and games to me. I definitely wanted to be a published author.  After that I took it  very seriously. And started writing. College and studies came in between. But I wrote. I was not disciplined. Still I wrote. And on an impulse send it off to an nondescript publisher. They never got back to me. Rejection hurt me. But I saw where I was lacking. So I rewrote some portions. This time choosing my words even more carefully. 

When I was satisfied I showed it to a few friends. For the first time, someone other than me read it. ( I am not counting that publisher.) And they liked it. I was relieved. But this time, I am not ready to send it to publishers. I want to be ready. Soon. Pretty soon. 

I know I still have a lot to learn. But I also  know that I have it in me. Even if I am not 'there' yet. I know can  reach there. I just have to look back at Anushka, to be sure. 

T:Today there is a change...

Today I ran down the stairs. I was not as fast as other people are but I did. It felt good.  I am going to run  down again  tomorrow. And the day after. And after that. 

It’s an everyday thing . Running down stairs. But I can’t. It’s not as if I have faulty limbs. Some of you know this already. I am scared of running down stairs. It’s a phobia. I am not exaggerating.  Whenever I have to run down stairs I get nervous and really scared. An uneasiness sets in.I can’t explain it. My feet refuse to listen to me. I just can’t run down. If I am in a hurry I hop. I never run. I have tried, before. And failed. I always end up hopping.

But today, I tried. And succeeded. Because I finally decided that I want to get over my phobia. Today I wanted to do something unexpected.  Actually, it’s not just about today. I want to stop doing what is expected. I don’t remember when I started doing that. I was never the sort to care about what others thought of me.  But now I do. I need to stop caring about people’s opinions once again. What others think of me is none of my business.

“The best of us must sometimes eat our words” Albus Dumbledore had once said. I am not the best but I think I have to eat my words. Which is okay. Who said that I can’t change my opinions? Who said I have to remain the same? I was scared of changing. Scared of eating my words. Because I had gotten scared of being judged. No more.

I want to run down stairs without feeling scared. Anyway, I  bang myself here and there ; every now and then and  trip over stuff on a regular basis. Why am I scared of falling then? What’s the utmost that will happen? I will fall and hurt myself and get a bruise or two. 

 I don’t want to be scared anymore. That’s  why I will run down the stairs everyday. And increase my speed, gradually. Until I can run as fast as everyone else can.

O: Oh my hair!

Once you decide you need a haircut, you just can;t wait. It always happens with me. Yesterday I decided I need a haircut and went to the parlour near my hostel to ask the rates. Her rates seemed fine to me and I decided not to wait till going back home, to get one. I would have got it done right then, had I been carrying enough money. I asked her if she was open on Saturdays and she said she was.  So today I decided that I will go out at five and get a nice new haircut. After more than 8 months, I must add here. At  5.!5 I left the hostel and in 5 minutes I was there. Guess what? It was closed. Disappointed, I came back. I am feeling restless now. I want a haircut.

As I said, now that I have decided that I need a haircut I can see loads of problems in my hair. Suddenly I can see split ends which I didn't bother caring about all this while. I suddenly do not like the shape of my hair anymore. I just need to get my hair cut. Soon. Tomorrow. It's been ages now. 

I have never really experimented with my hairstyle, since I took the reigns of how to get my hair cut in my hands. In std 10, I decided to chop off my waist length hair and get a cool new style. The hairdresser called it "steps" and it really suited my curly locks. 

A few years later, another hairdresser suggested I try layers instead of my steps. So she gave my hair layers. Which looked good too. And the next time she gave me a combination of steps and layers. To be honest, it did not look that different to me. 

Last year in January I got my hair cut really short. The shortest I have had in a long, long time. It was a sort of  bob cut designed for curly hair. It looked cute. I didn't have my "soft curls" for about a month. Then my hair grew and my curls came back. 

I think I want to the "long hair" look again. But my hair still needs shape and so I still need to get it cut. 

Most of us get hysterical when given the wrong cut. That's why we don't experiment much with our hairdresser. I had changed my hairdresser once and she messed it up. Even though I explained to her thrice, what I want. 

I think I have second thoughts about getting my hair cut here, in Mumbai. But I just can't wait another month. I really, really want it cut. Fingers crossed,  the person at the parlour  does it well. But then, why even take the risk. I might as well as wait and ignore the nagging feeling that my hair looks unshapely. I don't know. I am confused. It's my hair, after all. I want it to look good. And nothing can save a bad haircut. 

I love my curls. I love the colour of my hair. I do love my hair. And if I get a haircut, it should be good. Otherwise, all hair may break loose.