yeah..sure..i'll sign your petition...

It’s tough to pass up an opportunity to express yourself, especially in a situation like now, when everyone wants to speak up.

On 26th November terrorist attacks occurred in the Taj hotel, the Oberoi Trident, Nariman house and CST station. The attacks ended on 29th when Indian security forces, in Operation Black Tornado, regained control of the attack sites.

I chose to stay shut about this incident because nothing I say matters. I can stand in the sidelines and go on talking about it, cowering in the shadows because all I can do is talk.

It’s not a challenge to get me emotion or feel gooseflesh at any show of respect or patriotism to India. I’ve had tears in my eyes in movie theatres during the National Anthem.

I was at the protest march on December 3rd at the Gateway of India, where more than ten thousand Mumbaikars came out on the streets. That's where I took that picture from. There were people waving flags, lighting candles, shouting slogans but the only thing that made me feel anything was the sight of the commandos. A huge rush of pride.

Like everyone else, I watched the news those 3 days with dread. I prayed for those held hostage and I cheered for our cops. But I’m not angry, I’m not screaming for action and I couldn’t care less about old retards retiring.

What I do want out of this, is for our cops to be better equipped with guns, and arms and bullet-proof vests that function and are effective. We can not still be using lathis in this day and age. I want India’s security and defence to be top-notch, after this terror-filled year we’ve had.

If this large scale meeting is of any use and has any impact, I’m not too positive.
I went there, I jostled through the crowds, I saw the gateway, I prayed in the direction of the Taj (which was my reason to go) and then came home. If my doing this is going to matter, if my doing this with a thousand others is going to matter, I don’t think so. I’ve seen and moved on from many other terror attacks in this city and country to believe that we have truly woken up. Woken up enough to not press snooze button again.

I think I heard ‘enough is enough’, ‘it’s time we act’ during the Mumbai train blasts and sometime before as well. Anybody still care to know what the situation in Assam is like?

And the next time someone mentions the ‘spirit of Mumbai’ even near me, they are getting knocked in the head with a chair. There is no such thing as the spirit of Mumbai. People go back to work, no matter what happens, because they have to. People survive on daily wages here; Mumbai couldn’t afford to stay home, scared.
People have short-term memories. People have lives, they go back to. And people have no clue how to channelize their anger.

Protest marches, peace marches, rallies, charities and donations will all fade away in a while, the fervor will die out and we will all go back to our problems, our celebrations, and our own drama series. Until the next time, some other people lose their lives.

And I’m not trying to be cynical.

Normal and average

I met her just that one time.

There was no fire in that eye neither that jump in her step.

No kohl-lined eyes, no skinny jeans, no girly shoes, no colour on those square nails.

She just looked and walked. Average and ordinary.

Not one to stand out in a crowd, not one to be remembered for a special talent, not one to be called popular, she just walked, normal and ordinary.

She wasn’t that bookworm, that smarty pants, that funny one, that leader, that cool chick, that prankster, that writer, that dancer, that singer, that artist, that creative one, or that extremely pretty girl. She was someone nobody would want to be.



In moments of self loathing and pity and weakness, she wished she was more interesting, maybe someone with a dual life, student by day and rockstar by night, or writer by day and superhero by night, that would be cool or maybe she could be just a little funnier or better looking, or some one who could pull off red nail paint or that full-of-confidence stride.





But I missed something. How could I have missed it?

My eyes had failed to see beyond or past the stereotype.

It was a look of easiness, like someone who had accepted who they were and resolved to make the best of it, a hybrid look of determination and drive that seemed to have grown from seeds of self-doubt.

That walk, that walk I mistook for ordinary, seemed to say, ‘I am what I am’

Those eyes, were deeper and wiser than I had imagined. But they said nothing. They gave nothing away.



She laughed and smiled, jumped and played, loved and lied, gossiped and bitched and did everything everyone else did. She wasn’t that bookworm, that smarty pants, that funny one, that leader, that cool chick, that prankster, that writer, that dancer, that singer, that artist, that creative one..

But she was smart and kind and responsible and fun and hard-working and she didn’t give a damn about being second or third fiddle, she didn’t give a damn about how people though they were better than her at whatever.



She wasn’t a loser.

She wasn’t just normal, average or ordinary.

She was perfect at being her.







Dedicated to all ‘ordinary’ girls. Like me.

me......

There is a girl i know
who goes thru highs and who goes thru lows
she thinks i dont know.

i watch her everytime
in her every crime
she forgets to soon
the ones who helped her and the ones who dont
she dosent look back to the shoulder where she cried
she dosent hold the hand on which she once relied.

but she does not know that i am watching
i know it everytime when you havent been enough caring.

i know it everytime when you seek attention
i know it everytime when you create tension

you know you' re wrong you know everytime
but with all ur defence mechanism u try to hide.

how much ever you blame everything else
to me it dosent make any sense
its in you, and you know
and you think i dont know

but you know what its just that i dont show