A letter to the thirteen year old me.

Hi Pragya. Happy Birthday! You turn 13 today. It’s the start of your teens, a HUGE deal. You are all grown up now! Who am I, you ask? Well, I am you just you from the future. I am you from seven years later, and I am writing this letter to tell you all the things I wish I had known before. I know this must be super weird and creepy for you, trust me it was weird for me too when I thought of writing it.
Oh, and before I begin, the dress mama is saying will look better for your birthday party, WILL LOOK better for your party. Anyway, so here we go..
Not all the friendships that you have are going to last forever. This fact is not just for now but for the rest of your life. Invest in people but not at the cost of yourself. Never do that. Having 2 super close friends is much better than having 20 friends who don’t give a damn about you. Value yourself more than anyone, and NEVER lose yourself or your self-respect for anyone.
Don’t try to grow up too fast. Trust me when I say this but when you turn 20, you’ll wanna go right back to being 13. Live every day, enjoy every experience. We all do grow up eventually, but our teenage years just happen once.
You will be changing quite a few more schools, and along the way meet both amazing and not so amazing people. The not so amazing ones will teach you a lesson and the amazing ones will give you the best memories.
You will have your heart broken and you’ll break hearts too but that is not the end of the world baby doll. It will be painful and certain moments will make you feel really helpless but it will get better, just stay strong.
Don’t be in a rush to be in a relationship and don’t just fall for the guy that is the most popular or good looking. That wouldn’t last, instead when the time does come look for the one that knows you better than you know yourself and wants to be with you despite all your flaws. You will find that guy. (TRUST ME. YOU WILL 😉 )
DO NOT TRUST ANYONE AND EVERYONE. Yes. Please. I know you want to see the best in everyone but that is not how the world is. It is harsh and so are the people in it. You cannot bare your soul to everyone Pragya. Stay guarded, you’ll know when to let your guards down.
A LOT of things are going to happen in the future, but don’t ever EVER let it get to your head. Instead just work harder each day, trying to be a better version of yourself. I know it sounds cliché but you have to stick to this rule for the rest of your life.
Just a little heads up, you will be studying in an all-girls school in a few years and though the thought may seem crazy right now, it will be one of the most learning and beautiful experiences of your life. You will have to make two plaits though. Sorry, nothing can be done about that.
Turquoise will always be your favorite color. Always. Yes, even seven years later.
ALSO. You will NEVER EVER get used to your periods or getting waxed. I know right now you feel like you’re just 13, it’s just the beginning but trust me when I say this, it only gets worse and you’ll be equally shocked and in pain every month.

Most importantly, never give up on your dreams. No matter what anyone says, you hold on to them. Trust me when I say, no one knows what surprises destiny has in store for you.
Never lose faith in yourself and never stop doing what you love.
Never change for anyone Pragya. Never do that. I know you have this weird habit of shaping your personality according to the people around you, but don’t you dare lose what makes you ‘YOU’ for anyone else. The people who love you will want to make you a better person and not change the person you are. Stand up for yourself and for the things you believe in, even when no one else does. That is what makes you the person you are.

Lastly, always know that even when you have no one, you have yourself. You’re your own army in this battlefield called life. So, always trust yourself and your gut more than anything. You are all you have and sometimes you are all you need baby. Just keep those shoulders high and that laughter always loud. You are not meant to be perfect, you are a work in progress. I wish you all the best for everything.

One more thing, I am proud of the girl you are and the woman you shall become. Never let that inner child in you die.

I love you.

Proud to Be.

When I was growing up my mother said
We are all just the same
I even said it in my prayer
But once I grew up, things changed.

My choices, my looks decided my life
My appearance decided my results, no matter how hard I strived.
Make up-no make-up decided my friends
Forget equality, ‘fitting in’ was the new trend.
Whatever I wore was too black or too white
To society, nothing I wore was ever right.

Walking down the street,
I saw the way people looked at me.
My face was covered but I wasn’t blind,
I could see the hesitation in their eyes
Trying so hard to hide their fear
Making sure they don’t stand too near.
You can keep your stereotypes, I don’t care
I’m me and I’m proud to be.

I am at war with society for not accepting who I am
Whispering among each other, saying heels aren’t for a man.
I’ve hated myself enough to love unconditionally now
I’m me and I’m proud to be.

Your judgements, your stereotypes don’t make a difference to me
Because dear society, you see
I know you’re just really scared of my guts
And to cover your fear you call me a slut.

My clothes aren’t the ones making you cringe
It is the thought of change that stings
You’re afraid that I’m breaking the boundaries of your ideal image
By showing some thigh and too much cleavage
You say there is a particular way to dress according to one’s gender and age
Well I say it’s time to write a new page.

My clothes are a choice that only I make
So you can call me ugly or fake
You can categorise me, stereotype me all you want
Because I know to you my skirt will always be too short,
my t-shirts too tight and my make-up all wrong
You’ll look at the piercings on my face
And murmur in your breathe how I am a disgrace

But you know what,
You don’t get to decide anymore
Whether I’ll wear pink stockings, black pants or a tracksuit of velour
You no longer decide who I am or what I will be
So don’t judge me based off what you see.

I know all about who I am and who I want to be
Beacause in this big, populated world, there’s just one of me
And I hope that someday you will see,
That I am who I am and I am proud to be

I am proud to be.

You are YOU.

Breathe in. Breathe out.
You’re not the colour of your skin
How can you be?
Who the hell ever proved fair is better than dusky?
It’s your shield baby, not a liability
Don’t you dare insult it using those ‘fairness creams’

Breathe in. Breathe out.
You’re not the moles on your body
But their graffiti
Each of it so unique
Each of it a different definition of beauty.

Breathe in. Breathe out.
You’re not too fat, you’re not too thin
You’re work in progress
You are perfect the way you are, don’t you stress
You’re not the make-up on your face
or your clean shaved legs
Long or short hair
How the hell does it even matter?
Why the hell does anyone care?

Breathe in. Breathe out.
You’re not the guy you love or the guy you marry
You’re not anyone else baby doll, you got your own identity.
You’re not how round your rotis are
You aren’t supposed to be ‘someone’
The world is a sky and you’re a priceless star
You are each story behind each scar.

You are the kid in your that never dies
You are your eyes that just can’t lie
You are the secret late night tears you cry
You are all the stories in your heart you hide
You are the person that loves a late night binge
You are the smile you fake even when your heart stings
You’re the sparkle in your eye when you’re too excited
you’re your red blushing cheek, when you’re trying to hide it.
You’re that laugh that makes you snort
You’re the girl that wants to be called beautiful, not hot
You’re all the Cadburys you eat
You’re the one that can’t resist anything sweet
You’re the one that loves to dance in her PJs
You’re the one that takes pressure with a bit of craze.
But most importantly because there can’t be another like you
You are ‘the one’ for yourself, always hold that true.

Because you don’t need to be anyone else baby doll,
You are YOU.

The state that was.

I am sitting in the car, ‘Chitta ve’ a popular track from the movie Udta Punjab based on the drug menace in Punjab is playing on the radio in the background. I look at my father who is an Army Officer and also happens to be posted in an area in Punjab supposedly known to be the hub of drug abuse. I ask him if the things shown and described in the movie are actually true and he smiles and says that the youngest child that he has seen and heard of being a drug addict was actually 7 years old. SEVEN! For a moment I think he is pulling my leg and expect him to laugh it off, but seeing no change in his expressions I feel a bolt of shock hit me. The rest of the journey is a quite one.
As soon as I reach home, I start searching online and the reality is even more shocking than I had expected. According to a study by AIIMS found that opioids worth Rs 7,500 crores are consumed by Punjab every year. If this isn’t enough to shake the Punjab government I really don’t know what is. To top things, the icing on the cake comes in the form of the ads issued by the government of Punjab itself, featuring reputed sportspersons who are supposed to be role models for the youth of Punjab and taking a stand for them. Alas, they would rather be diplomatic than face the hard hitting truth. If statistics are to be believed that four out of ten men are addicted to some or other drug and that up to 50% of those are young farmers. Aren’t farmers supposed to be the most important occupation of any country? Feeding an entire nation is not an easy job. But I guess the government would rather feed their egos than protect our farmers.
The most frustrating truth is the lack of awareness and knowledge amongst the other regions of the country about this issue. I was shocked to learn that a friend from Bengal who is otherwise extremely well read had no idea about what was happening in Punjab. If the government has nothing to hide then why is this the case? If the government has nothing to be ashamed of then why were so many cuts asks to be made in the movie Udta Punjab? Isn’t India supposed to be a democratic country with a freedom of speech for everyone?
No one is trying to belittle Punjab. NO ONE. All anyone and everyone wants is to save the youth of Punjab from burning in the fire of this addiction and save any more lives from being taken by this poison. I am a proud Punjabi too and shall always be. Talking about an issue that is eating up my state does not make me anti-Punjab, quite the opposite I suppose.
It is HIGH TIME something is done about it. HIGH TIME someone people were educated about this issue.
Something needs to be done before all that remains are stories of the state that was the most prosperous, before Punjab becomes history.

I’m hurt but they wouldn’t treat me
There’s blood everywhere which they don’t want to see
The politicians, the society
But why?
Because all they want to do is deny

Generations after generations are losing everyone they ever had
A deadly poison has taken over everyone’s mind
Loved ones killing each other
Friends strangling friends, sons murdering their mothers

I’m afraid too you see
This is not how I was meant to be
I was to be the most prosperous state
But I guess there was something else written in my fate.

Please make it stop before I seize to exist
I don’t want to be the state that once a time lived.

Your story should be heard by everyone
Everyone should know of your pain
Who are you again?



1. http://timesofindia.indiatimes.com/india/Punjab-sinking-in-Pak-drugs-worth-Rs-7500-crore-per-year-AIIMS/articleshow/50584628.cms
2. http://indiaopines.com/drug-addiction-in-punjab-politics/

Let Go

As I pull my car into the parking lot, I park in the usual spot, my everyday spot.
Each day praying this would be the last time.
I notice my surroundings, not that there is anything new to see. It is all just the way it was yesterday, and the day before that and the day before that.
It’s funny how it seems to get cloudy when I come here, or maybe it is just my mind playing tricks on me.
The number of cars parked is a lot less compared to yesterday. Thank god for that. It should be that way.
I have memorized the number of roses next to the board that reads ‘Don’t pluck the flowers’.
I smirk each time I see that board. As if someone would ever even have time for that here.
I know how many roses of each colour there are. Not that I did it out of fun or even by choice. It’s just what happens when you keep staring at a thing for a long time. It is my form of escapism.
I notice the people around me, some rushing inside, some taking their time but there was one thing common among them all, none of them had a smile on their face. I could even see right through the plastic ones as I had given up on mine a long time ago.

It is starting to get really claustrophobic in the car now as I never open the windows. It feels like it has been hours since I have been sitting here, I am wishing it is. It feels like a lifetime has passed since I have been inside, inhaling the lavender car perfume, my favourite at one point. Now I hate it.

Maybe this is what happens when you spend too much of your time somewhere.

Looking at my watch, I sigh. It has not even been half an hour. But this is how this place is. Time always seems to stop here.

Not being able to take the heat of the car any longer, I get out.
The cool air hits my face like a punch.

I walk up the stairs with the cracks clearly visible. They make the same squeaky sound they make every day. I always think it is their way of wishing me luck for the long hours ahead.

I read the board at the entrance ‘Pearson and Hardman Hospital’.

The hospital smells like synthetic clean death, a smell synonymous with every hospital. No matter how cheap or expensive. We all (sadly) know it. The hospital smell.
The fluorescent lights glare on the marble floor. I always wondered why they had lights on even during the day. Maybe it is some hospital logic.

I walk past the reception and the receptionist looks up and smiles, trying to make up for the pity her eyes hold. I nod and smile back.
She is a young girl, in her twenties; blue eyes, blonde hair and a small frame. In all my time here, I had interacted with her enough to know that this is her part time job and that she was studying to be a doctor herself one day.

A doctor passes by, glancing a little, avoiding a lot more. I can still see feel it though. I am so used to it. ‘The Look’. When you start staying at a place more than the staff working there does, things tend to get awkward. Or maybe not. Not here. This place was meant for people to keep coming back till their loved ones either got better or never got back up.

Scary isn’t it, to think of losing someone you love. I know worse. I know having my loved one in front of me and yet losing them, every day.

I shake my head trying to keep away the thoughts of the day it all happened from running in my head, I never succeed. No matter how hard I try, I can’t move forward. Life is stuck on that one day, one date. The voice in my head repeatedly saying, ’It could have been you, should have been you.’
If only I knew our driver had been drinking right before coming to take us, if only I had checked his eyes which were a little too red. If only she hadn’t made him drive off to sneak out and avoid going to school, in the two minutes that I had gone inside.

If only. The two words that shaped my life now.

It happened all too fast, all over in the blink of an eye.
It happened right in front of me.
The driver lost control of the car and drove right into the wall outside our house. The sound of smashing glass covered my screams. Everything after that is hazy in my mind like a fog that covered my thoughts. I remember hearing our neighbours come out, I remember seeing the red light and hearing the siren of the ambulance and then I blacked out.

He didn’t survive, she did. Or at least they think she did.
It’s been three months since that day.

My sister has been on a ventilator. She is passing days, breathing through a machine, only because I am not ready to see her go.

Ever since we lost our parents in our childhood, she was all I had. And now I have to see her go too?  Pull the plug on her life? NO. She can’t just go. She is supposed to be here, with me. Always.

I walk down the corridor with its flaky walls which were once painted, now showing the grey undercoat or the concrete beneath that. They are plastered with posters and pictures filled with positive quotes. They do little to cover the gloominess that fills the aura of this place. If only reading a quote could make you feel better, maybe on another day in another place but not here, not today.

I faintly hear someone calling my name and snap back to reality. I turn and see Kabir (Dr Oberoi to the hospital) standing. In all the days that became nights and weeks that became months, we had interacted enough to be on a first name basis. He had come to become a friend who understood what I felt, maybe because of having lost his own father in a drunken accident when he was really young.
He was one of the many doctors who knew everything, but the only one who actually cared.

‘You need to stop this, you have to put an end to this, her suffering and yours, ’he said repeating the exact same thing he said every day.

‘I can’t, I’m not ready. Not yet, ’I said looking down at my feet.

I couldn’t look him in the eye, not when I knew he was right.
We start walking together now, heading to the same place. A part of me glad I have him with me when I enter the room. It would keep me from breaking down.

He tries to make small talk but I am not listening. I saw all the rooms pass by with the various Drs’ names written outside. I see nurses in crisp white uniforms, carrying reports, wheeling patients and holding medicines.

I try to walk as slowly as I can, but before I know it I am standing in front of the big brown door that holds my life behind it. I take a deep breath and Kabir opens the door for me. I put a smile on my face and enter the room, I wouldn’t let Kiara see me like this. Today was a new day.
The smile doesn’t last five minutes and before I know it I am fighting tears, looking at my baby sister surrounded by tubes, covered in a brown hospital blanket and breathing softly through a machine.
The room, originally white was now a lot more colourful. (Kiara didn’t like plain things)
There is a vase filled with her favourite blue tulips on the table next to her and the wall is covered with cards from her friends.
I walk towards her. Her beautiful brown eyes are closed. She hated them for some reason and always tried experimenting with different coloured lenses, from blue, hazel, and green and even red (the one time she tried to scare me). Her long black hair were tied back.

I sit down beside her, Kabir stands close by. I start caressing her forehead, talking to her, telling her all that she is missing out on like the last episode of her favourite episode and how apparently ‘purple was the new turquoise.’
She doesn’t reply, she never does.
I still keep talking, I never stop.
Not till I can keep from breaking at least, and then I run out.

Today is a little different though, I feel a lot stronger. I hold her hand and start talking to her about our childhood, our parents and all our amazing memories together. I tell her I love her and that she was my gift from god. I apologize for not being a good sister, wiping a few tears in between.
Kabir is still there, watching me silently, not saying anything but making sure I know he’s there. I’m thankful.

And then it hits me and claws me like an animal feeding on flesh.
I feel her warm skin and see the bracelet on her hand that has her name engraved on it. I remove it, and wear it.
I kiss her forehead and whisper I love you, and then I get up and look at Kabir.

He looks at me with confused eyes.

I stand strong even with tears running down my cheeks and blinding my vision and manage to whisper, ’It’s time to let go, to let her go,’ and walk out.
Today was indeed the last day, a last for many things.

Follow that dream

Now tell me something.
When you grow up, what do you wanna be?
I don’t really know, don’t really care as long as I can be me.
Irritated the society said, ‘no but when you think of the future what do you see?’
‘Living my life, following my dreams’.

Dreams! What is that the society  laughed
This is a rat race, you’re a rat.
I decide your future lad.
I put an end to your life before it even starts.

Doctor, engineer, lawyer, teacher come on choose one.
Be quick! I have more in line, the society shunned.

But I wanna travel and explore the world.
This is my life, I should get to make the choice, cried the little girl.

Your choices end before they even begin
This is MY world that you live in
This is my game, I make the rules
You have no identity, laughed the society so cruel.
I decide your status, make or break you. Go on now, join the queue.

Disheartened the little one’s spirit was about to break,
when she felt something in her awake
I am not like others, not going to follow you like I am blind
This is my life, I wouldn’t give up without a fight,
behind the walls of regret, I wouldn’t hide.

‘You wouldn’t make any money, have no future’, the society cried.
‘That’s a million times better than a life of torture’, the small girl replied.

I have an identity, I am me.
It’s okay if that’s something you cannot see.
I don’t even want to make you believe.
I will be who I want to be
Living my life, following my dreams

Living my life following my dreams.

Olive Green

I am sitting in the café, sipping on my coffee and reading my favourite book for the umpteenth time, though distracted. I kept looking at my watch again and again, irritated now. He was late again.
And then I saw a flash of olive green pass by and before I knew I wasn’t there at all. A big smile on my face, it was time to take a walk down the road I knew oh so well.

Olive green. It’s funny how a colour can hold such a deep meaning in a person’s life and how it can signify your entire childhood.
Olive green. To others it was a colour, to me it was life. Being the daughter of an army officer, this colour was all I knew and all I saw. It was a colour I took pride in. It wasn’t just my father’s but my identity.
A military man’s life is difficult, way more difficult than an average man can take. The blood, sweat and sacrifices they make all for their country, it takes more heart than muscle for that. The little known and understood fact though is that their families have it worse. The wait, the pain, the fear and most importantly the acceptance.

It was in 2001 that our country went for war against another enemy country. I was five. An age when war, death and peace had no meaning, the world was a happy place. An age when a scratch on the knee was the worst pain to endure and a chocolate was the cure to everything. I was five and my father was out fighting a war. And I had no clue.

I remember watching him get ready the day he left. Sitting on the edge of the bed wearing a pink frock and swinging my feet in the air, it would be years before they start to touch the ground.
The air was a mix from the smell of polish and the fragrance of his cologne. I watched him clad his uniform, no less than any protective shield and tie his black turban, a major part of his identity. I saw him tie his combat boots, I would so fondly try fitting into and tripping each time, and finally the stars on his shoulders that glimmered brighter than any glitter in the charcoal overhead ever would.
I was running here and there, hyper as always, ignorant to how different the atmosphere of the house was. To me, it was just another ‘military exercise’ that my father had to go for. I would obviously miss him but it wouldn’t be long before he would be back, with a teddy bear of course. I was blind to how quiet and sad my mother was and how there was a hint of drizzle in her eyes when she hugged my dad slowly whispering, ’Be back soon.’ My father put on a brave front and gave me his best smile, picked me up, gave me a peck on the forehead and said, ‘You be daddy’s brave girl and take care of your mother.’ When will you come back? I asked him, not wanting to let go. ‘Very soon, he smiled. And then he was gone.

Soon lasted over four months.

The first month I didn’t really pay heed to the changes around me. I was counting days until my father would come home, every day asking my mother when he would be back and my mother would just smile and give the same reply.
I wasn’t allowed to flick through channels on the television and only allowed to watch cartoons. As angry as I would get then, today I realise how she was just saving me from the trauma of the images that all news channels would be showing.

It wasn’t long before olive greens started turning red and combat boots worn for the last time. A cemetery in making, soldiers on both sides fighting, crumbling like Lego blocks, few rose from the ashes, the phoenixes they were.

But the innocent five-year-old that I was, I just understood that my father’s job required him to wear a uniform just like I was required to wear one to school. I used to imagine my father attending assembly in school like I did, listening to the choir, stiffening a yawn, doing ‘classwork’ his boss gave him and then meeting friends during lunch break.
Little did I knew that his classwork involved bullets and lunch happened with the enemy.

In the second month though I started noticing how mama would have red, puffed eyes right after watching the show ‘too boring for children’, but each time I asked her about it she would give replies like, it was so boring that it made her eyes red or that she had watched too much T.V that day which made her eye puffy. For a five-year-old these reasons seemed valid and I would go off to sleep, never noticing how she would toss and turn all night but never sleep a wink.

It was in the third month that I started becoming conscious to the changes around me. How the school assembly started including ‘a few minutes of silence for the brave soldiers we had lost’, how a lot of my friends started taking holidays without reason at once and how my grandparents decided to give us a ‘surprise visit’. There would be a constant feeling of tension in the air and I would see how there would be a sudden silence in the room when I would enter.
Every time I would ask about talking to my father or anything about him, I was made to get occupied by something or the other. Things were getting weirder by the day and I knew something was wrong by now. I may have been young, definitely wasn’t dumb.

The last month came along bringing with it lots of happiness, a sprinkle of relief and clouds of sadness. The war had come to an end, our country had won. But would any rain in the world be able to wash way the stains of the precious blood spread like smashed rubies on the ground? The war on the battlefield may have ended, the one in the hearts was eternal.

It was time for the soldiers to come home. Some came back on their own two feet, others brought back on four shoulders. Dead to the world, immortal in our hearts.
Though it brought with it the news of my father’s safe return, along came the earth shattering truth of all the loved ones we had lost.
Each smile had a taste of salt, for each life lost at the battlefield was the departure of a family member.’ It could have been your dad, ‘the voice in my head echoed. I can hear it till today.
Excuse me ma’am, is this seat taken? I was snapped back to reality by a voice I knew better than mine. The olive greens were just as crisp and the light from the stars filling the room. His six feet frame stood proud and tall. A smile on his face, a tear in my eye.

A million thoughts in my head.
‘Better late than never, it was correctly said.
I got up and hugged my army man. Though confused, the father in him understood and hugged me right back.
In that moment I felt like a five year old again. I closed my eyes and found myself recalling the day he came back, how I had ran and held him tight once he picked me up and kissing me on my forehead. Returning from a live cemetery, he had still remembered to bring my teddy bear.

He does that even now, remembers the tiniest thing and smallest details.

‘From seeing you in your tiny uniforms, being hyper and running here to there. To seeing you sit so gracefully and patiently today. Sometimes I can’t believe my daughter’s grown up so much’, he smiled. His eyes reflected pride.
‘Sometimes I can’t believe how you never seem to change’, I flattered him.
‘Well they say some things never change right?’ he asked
‘Just like your habit of always being late,’ I teased.
Nineteen from outside, I was still five at heart.

Laughing and chatting, the father daughter duo sat down for their lunch date.

He was right though, some things just become synonymous with permanence in our lives.
Just like our monthly lunch dates and the sound of his combat boots, the aroma of his cologne and the look of his uniform. His olive green uniform.

Olive green. The effect a colour can have on your life.

Not the ‘IN’ thing.

‘Oh my god you’re so thin! You’re like totally anorexic’, said a friend in a tone that implied she was complimenting me. ‘Like, I wish I could be that thin’,there she went again. I stood there hardly able to believe that she literally told me that I could possibly be suffering from a mental disorder like it was the most normal thing in the world. But then again, she wasn’t the only one to feel that way or talk that way. The society that we are a part of it, one which is obsessed with the size of a girl, every inch of her, the society that considers size 0 a fad or the ‘IN’ thing has actually started treating anorexia like a fashion statement. Now anyone who knows me would call me a hypocrite for writing this blog for most of my loved ones actually believe that I suffer from anorexia too just because I am thin. People need to realise that being thin IS NOT, WILL NEVER be equal to anorexia or bulimia.
According to statistics, Anorexia has the highest fatality rate of any mental illness in the world. Yes. Try remembering that, the next time you call anyone anorexic. Why I ask is obesity considered to be such a big health problem and spoken about and something as huge as anorexia treated as nothing. People die of this disease for god’s sake, some not even aware of the reason. Not being able to eat anything, is equal if not more dangerous to overeating. The fear of getting fat, the obsession to stay thin has taken more lives than we’ll probably ever know. See, I am not here to give a moral lesson to anyone. I’m just one of the many girls tired of hearing that she is anorexic without people knowing what they are saying. Extremely thin girls have it just as bad as obese girls, in every way believe me. So if a person with obesity is given treatment why not someone with anorexia? Forget that, how many schools even talk about this issue or spread information about it as seriously as they should? Hardly any Because like I said, our society has never really treated being thin as a problem, the more thin you are, the better looking you are apparently. Yeah right. Sure. Not every girl out there wants to be a Victoria Secret’s model, and why does a victoria secret’s model have to be thin anyway? Why is the size of a girl so important? We are more than 36-24-26, our bodies are way more than that, we as individuals are way way more than that. A few statistics don’t define us. any of us.
So guys, the next time you’re helping a friend who’s suffering from obesity lose that weight, maybe just look around and make sure that none of your ‘hot’ friends is suffering from one of the most dreadful mental diseases in the world. Let’s stop treating this as a joke and actually spread the word about it. Because like I said Anorexia is NOT a fashion statement, let’s treat it like the disease it is and fight to end it. Also to ANY an EVERY girl reading this, irrespective of how you look, you are beautiful inside out. Remember that ALWAYS.

Don’t you dare let a few stats define you.
Remember that even in this over populated world, there’s still just one of you 🙂

Let’s talk about ‘IT’


‘Its ‘That Time’ of the month again’, said the background voice for an advertisement of sanitary napkins. A girl wearing white pants covers my entire television screen, happy, hyper, jumping and dancing, poles apart from the reality. I rolled my eyes screaming in my head,’Who the hell wears white pants when they are on their period!’.
Because, let’s show the fake, rather than the real take.

Class 7 I got my first period and I still remember the horror I went through. I thought I was probably going to die.
I still remember the first time I was acquainted with this term in class 5 by a teacher who made it an all girls hush hush affair.
And then asks our society why the topic of periods such a taboo asks society, sorry I mean our hypocrite society.
How do mothers expect boys not to tease their daughters when they stain their skirts, when they themselves never educated their son about it. Hypocrisy much? The boys of our society never really understand this whole ‘phenomenon‘. Their only understanding is that its ‘disgusting and sick’. No boys, PMS-ing is not the ONLY thing that happens during our periods, and the meaning of ‘cycle’ goes way beyond a motorcycle and bicycle in a girl’s life. But then how do we blame the boys when they were never really told about it, when they never heard their sister or mother talk about it. How in the world do they then be open and understanding about it with their friends, girlfriends and wives?
The funny society that we live in accepts selling of cigarettes openly and sanitary napkins are treated like bombs. Any girl and every girl who has bought pads for herself knows the ‘looks’ she’s given by everyone around her for asking for a packet of pads, made to feel like a terrorist or like she’s committing a crime.
The funny society that we live in worships goddesses and bans women from entering temples when they are on their period, because obviously being on your periods is a big sin, a bigger one than being a criminal too apparently as there is no such ban for them. OBVIOUSLY.
The funny society that we live in, the ‘social’ world that we live in totally approves a girl posting pictures of her breasts but god forbid she posts a picture of her period stain, it has to be turned down, because obviously it would spread so much nonsense, how can someone do that. OBVIOUSLY.
Since our very first period, the first thing we are told is to never talk about it publicly, even the ads for our sanitary napkins becomes an awkward scene in many families even today. Yes, even in the 21st ‘modern era’ that we live in, talking about porn is cool but periods a BIG NO. OBVIOUSLY.
A girl gets her period by grade 6 or 7, and when do our text books talk about them? Not till grade 9 or 10 and even then with such technical jargon that makes it impossible for anyone to understand.
Periods are a very natural and important part of a girl’s life, a very healthy aspect of her everyday life. No, it is not a minor topic or unimportant and that is exactly what everyone needs to understand. We live in the freaking 21st century! It’s high time we openly start talking and discussing about this rather than ‘Whispering’ about it.
Dear society, stop making us feel pathetic about something that is not, worry about bigger things like rape and molestation maybe? Forcing your daughters to sleep in a different room, eat food at a separate time, banning her from entering temples is not going to help solve global warming or help keep your surroundings stay pure. The opposite, maybe.
Dear moms, stop telling your daughters to be mum about her cycle, rather teach her to be a strong woman, one who’s vocal about her views and get your sons acquainted with this world.
Dear boys, next time your sister, friend or girlfriend is on her period, don’t freak out on her and go all ‘ewww’, rather volunteer to buy a packet of pads or tampons for her and definitely make sure you NEVER EVER make her feel embarrassed if she ever ends up staining her clothes. Be a little sensitive and be a little understanding. If you have any questions, ask a girl and she’ll gladly tell you. There’s nothing degrading about it.
A girl shouldn’t be made to go through hell for a little stain, she’s already going through enough pain.
Lastly dear girls, stop being afraid, stop being shy. Be open and frank, understand your cycle, talk about it and educate people around you.

There’s nothing in it for you to stay mum
Crazy girl, they are just your chums.

Big Girls Don’t Cry

Hey little girl, it’s time to open your eyes
You gotta grow up now, time has gone by
What did you say?
You ain’t ready?
Well baby you still gotta smile
Coz you’re a big girl now, and big girls don’t cry.

Don’t you listen to the world
Don’t you let it affect all that you feel
You’re the soldier, this is your fight
Don’t you let them make you believe their lies
You’re a big girl now, and big girls don’t cry

Don’t let anything shake your faith
Don’t let your love be taken over by their hate
You are the performer, this is your stage
You’re the bird, their words your cage
Time to grow up, take a stand
Baby girl you gotta walk alone, ain’t nobody gonna hold your hand

Wake up, no time to be scared
It’s time to fight your biggest fears
Don’t you dare let anybody take you for granted
They are the ones who will leave you stranded

The road may be rough
The journey may be long
But baby girl remember, you’re very very strong
You may make mistakes, you’ll do a lot of wrongs
You are a team, even when you’re alone

Just don’t give up, keep on trying
Don’t let the fire inside you die
Remember you’re a big girl now and big girls don’t cry.