Late night revelations…

It has been a month like this, sulking around, crying and whining about things I don’t have and things I could’ve done to escape the present wrath. I have been irritable and sad. I have been rude to people and I’ve been mean. I have taken up going down this extremely self destructive path where I kind of want to hurt myself or dream about not waking up the other morning. I have spent way too many nights being angry, binge watching series to take my mind off the things that bother me. But I realize that is not going to solve the problem, because the next morning I wake up with the same feeling. A feeling of doubt, a feeling of hope but a belief that it is all going to be in vain, I know it kind of sucks right? Feeling hopeless is still better; at least you don’t expect anything and hence don’t see your expectations crush every single day. I am tired of waiting for some validation that I am worth all that I have dreamt of. Well I am also tired of wondering what I dream of.  I am extremely tired of feeling sorry for myself and getting triggered to cry at the smallest of disturbance to my mental stability. I guess all anger that is just sitting there piled up is not directed at life or the general unfairness (if that’s a word) of it. I am just angry at myself.  I am angry at myself for not figuring out what others have. I am angry at myself for not working hard enough. I am angry at myself for being a great procrastinator. I am angry at myself for the general stupidity of my character. I am angry at myself for being so angry at others. I am angry at myself for not wanting things that used to motivate me so much. I am angry at myself for being an asshole. I am angry at myself for doubting myself and giving up all hope. I am angry at myself for always expecting what people expect of me and behaving and dreaming accordingly. I am angry at myself for going through the conventions and not taking the time off to figure out where my heart lies. I am angry at myself for letting other people influence me so much. I am angry at myself for giving other people the power to control my heart and feelings. I am angry at myself for being extra sweet. I am angry at myself for wishing a death for myself. I am angry at myself for giving up all hope and not really willing to do anything about the situation. I am angry at myself for being so angry at myself. I am angry at myself for being an ungrateful bitch of a person who just doesn’t realize how great her life has been and still want to cry about something she isn’t sure if she wants. I am just angry at myself because I don’t deserve this. Ok I am a wrong person. I have done some mistakes and probably I have wasted my whole life leading it the wrong way. I know I have no hope, but I don’t have the wish nor the guts to end my game, not like this. I don’t deserve this mental torture, i don’t deserve this anger. I don’t deserve self loathing and doubt. I deserve to be happy. I just don’t know but I guess I have to make some amends and just move on. I just can’t live like this. Totally in denial and unwelcoming to the things my future might hold. Today’s and everyday’s task is to forgive myself…. I have to forgive myself. I need to. I forgive myself. I do…

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This is my first attempt (I consider it more of an experiment to escape the otherwise boring winter holidays of being pathetically jobless) of writing something on a public platform (you can comment freely, all suggestions for improvement are welcome!!!)  and so its an obvious and deeply sentimental obligation of mine to dedicate it to a person who practically taught me how to read, write, speak, behave and be ‘me’- My grandfather.  A guide, confidante and friend of mine, he was my soul sister for the first 18 years of my life.

Living in a joint family has its perks and I admit, I made the most of it. So from the day I was born I received overwhelming love from 3 mothers , 3 fathers and a loving yet slightly weird elder cousin sister. My golden era as the youngest child in the family ended shortly with the birth of my nagging, idiotic brothers. Yet there was no love lost between me and my grandpa and I continued to be his favorite person in the house and he mine.

Being a schoolteacher his entire life , he was famously known to have taught almost half of my father’s classmates and other people living in our colony. And so when my fathers (my father and his elder brother)  got their jobs, he was strictly forbidden from continuing any more tuition business. ‘Old habits die hard’ and so me and my sister happily stepped into the role being his only pupils (too sad my brothers never understood the worth of that experience).

So our royal education began and I am glad it began like this. He used to teach us , preach us, make us understand things and even scold us for our mistakes. Teaching us would give him real joy and a sense of fulfillment that even, as a 5 year old child who’s so naive to deep emotions, I could sense so well in his beautiful eyes.

“I got the president award for best teacher in my district for 3 years in a row”, he used to say and I couldn’t agree more. His way of teaching was so full of amazing things. Those little pearls of moments when he used to be so engrossed and lost that his chai used to get cold and his biscuits used to remain untouched. He used to drink the same chai with sheer satisfaction of a job done to perfection. The studying part itself was such fun for me , he instilled in me, whatever zest I have to excel in things. He taught me that my only competition is myself, which I am struggling to follow in the one hell of a rat-race environment I face in my college. He gave me my precious ego. He gave me love and above  all he gave  me encouragement. He, like other people was expecting  a hell lot of phenomenal things from me during my crucial school years( I don’t even want to get into how pathetic ,the competitive exams ,make a student’s life) but he was also burning the mid-night oil with me. He used to fall asleep in his couch sitting next to me till 2-3 am. He used to be so full of pride whenever anyone used to praise me. He used to be the editor of my early baby steps into writing poetry. He never had a look of disappointment when I didn’t excel so much in my medical entrance. He was dying of joy when I got into college. He must have cried when he left me teary-eyed at the beginning of my hostel-life. He must have missed me dearly when we couldn’t talk much , when I was too busy with my new friends and new found freedom. He must have relished every moment of our hours long phone calls and must have wished good things for all the successes that I taste till date. He nurtured me as a person, he laid the foundation to my universe, he devoted all his energies to me and there is nothing more phenomenal any person can do in his/her lifetime and nothing more selfless a person can act, if you ask me.

It was such a joyride being his granddaughter, his pride. And that one year when he was too ill to even remember me or talk to me must have been the most difficult phase of my life. The time when it was too difficult to even recall the last ‘proper’ chat we had was heart shattering. And the day when he was no longer between us was making my very soul so numb.

And yes I know he is always with me , his blessings are always there for me but there are somethings that you just can’t substitute from anywhere.  What if I want to listen to his adventurous bed time stories of ‘partition of India’ or his lovely ‘barber and lion’ story or his favourite lines of shayari ? Where do I get that ? yeah I would never get that.

And so no matter how crappy life gets sometimes I am deeply grateful for that magical phase of my life and attribute all my successes to him and his blessings. He is my strength during bad times and a tear of joy during good times. He is my companion in my goals and dreams. But above all of my dreams and aspirations , I would really think my life is worthy if I ever become THAT ONE PERSON for someone, what he was for me.

Love you papa. This one was for you rockstar.






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