Blessing

May invigorating inspiration always part 

To find its way into your tumultuous heart.

May your brick roads, paved with sunny cloaks

Teach you a thing or two about balmy blokes.

And may your wild, stormy mind never settle

As you find your way with hope and fettle.

In Praise of My Body

 To my body, something I refuse to be ashamed of anymore

Body-loathing is an easy thing to fall a prey to.

Through all of my seventeen years, I have always wanted to change something or the other about my body. I wished my hair was straighter. I wished I was a slender version of myself. I wished I had the cheekbones of X, the thighs of Y. No dark circles, no celluloid, no stretch marks. Just a tuck there, and a nip here. 

Life would be wonderful if I was a perfectly assembled robot, with the ability to change anything about my physical appearance, whenever I wanted to. 

Now, you can attribute my dissatisfaction with my body to my overly-critical nature. (if you know me, you'd know what i am talking about). But that isn't it.

I actually detested my body more than I detested my brains or my work. It was a conscious and continuous hatred. I couldn't help wanting better, wanting different. And I couldn't help being dissapointed when i couldn't have it.

In 2013,Taryn Brumfitt had decided that she was going to have a boob-job. She reveals how she had an epiphany, when she realized that she couldn't tell her daughter to be proud of all the bumps in her body without sounding like a hypocrite. So she decided to do the un-doable, that is, to start loving her body. 

Today, she is planning to produce a documentary named EMBRACE, to encourage women to love their bodies and stop themselves from unconsciously accepting the commercial standards of beauty.

Just what went wrong with us? When did we become so terrifyingly thirsty for acceptance that we are ready to undergo the unspeakable to tame our dissatisfaction? Who drilled into us that we had to have flawless faces, hairless bodies and the perfect balance of curves and bones - whatever that means - in order to make peace with ourselves? And that, as women, we need to be "groomed" and "presentable" and "pretty" at all times?

Just numerous magazines and newspapers.Taglines that declared fair was lovely and thin was in. Most faces in the public eye, who gave out their diet plans and their secrets for the curves at the right places, with panache. And almost all faces in the public eye, who had long lashes and blue eyes and pearl-like teeth that we sighed over. People we laughed and dined and studied with, who were as insecure (if not more) as us, and who told us that beauty was a formula to be learnt and repeated. 

And No one, absolutely no one, to say how beautiful and dynamic we are.

It really won't. So why care?

Unlike Taryn, I did not have an epiphany. It is the summer before college, and I have decided to be proud of myself. And since my body is a large part of myself, I decided that i need to stop loathing and wishing and hating, and begin to love. I have come to realize that I don't owe it to the world to look someone's idea of pretty, but I definitely owe it to my body to stop the pulling, and nipping and tucking.

I have way too many insecurities, which make this journey a particularly hard one. And the magazines or the people are not going to go away. (Although there will be a particular kind of joy in telling people where to shove their ideas of beauty. Yes, you guessed right.) 

But I will find a way to love all of me, with stubby nose and bruises and cellulite. 

And at the risk of sounding cheesy, I will tell everyone I meet along the way that they are beautiful and lovable, exactly the way they are. 

Remember Why You Began

As you find yourself 

On tumultuous roads

Or when the distance

Between your heart and your head

Seems greater than before,

When the lights and the stage,

The chains and the grey buildings

Are all but fiery monsters that scare

And the easy roads

are littered with potholes-

know - that there is 

grace in Doubt,

wisdom in Fear,

and beauty in Sweat.

And remember, my sweet, 

Remember why you began. 

Thought for the Day: 2nd May, 2014

What is it about

The truths of this life

That makes us so cautiously despondent

And so willing to believe

Its lies

April 29th, 2014

You talk of the monsters inside of you,

Of their defined, declared purpose

So why do you not speak when I ask

"What of the love?" 

Dear Love of My Life Who I Have Yet to Find

Dear Love of My Life Who I Have Yet to Find,

I know you’ve taken quite a few wrong turns, eluding me for most of my existence. But then, we might have met, given in to our stubborn natures and refused to feel. You and I, we’re messed up in all the right ways.

I want you to know that I stumble more often than I walk, and I have more insecurities than I can count. If you know me - the way only you are supposed to - you will also know of my love for the hopeless and imperfect and of the pride I have in my work. You must also know that I am capable of spite and jealousy and all the lowest of emotions. That I am capable of hurting you and spewing inappropriate pop-culture references. You have to know that my wishbone has a backbone and even my dreams have a certain pragmatism to them. You have to know of my need to be alone and to be overly critical. You have to know that more often than not, I am lost and have a hard time finding myself. You have to know, my love, and still love me.

I beg you to have patience with my fallacies and strengths, for I know – in my old, cynical way – that I will be fine. And so will you – with your own set of weaknesses.

 It brings a warm smile to my lips to think that you could be reading this, wondering what caused this change in style. Or grinning at the screen, questioning my sanity. But this might go unnoticed, while you struggle and cope with your own colourful life. I wish you luck with that.

I know this sounds a bit too tame, but I look forward to meeting you.

Yours,

The Love of Your Life You Have Yet To Find

Heartbreaker

She needed to break something
Hear the satisfying screech of glass against granite

Coincidence dipped its sticky fingers,
And the first thing that caught her eye - was his heart