From the Journal of a self-confessed bookworm...

This piece was published in my college's annual magazine in 2012 (yep, that same year I served as the Student Editor. How awesome were those days! ^_^)

They stood in a colourful row, some with gleaming titles shining in the suffused light in the room, some with dark covers, but equally loved, adored and well-maintained. The shorter shelf held varying combinations and designs in the way I had stacked them; after all space was sparse and the books too many. For years I had dreamt of owning a huge room with wall to wall bookshelves stacked with volumes of a variety of books. This one was just 1/20^th of the dream fulfilled and I was proud at the achievement.

Looking back, I saw myself as a tiny kid fascinated by all the colors and beautiful characters smiling out of story books I got from Mom. She was a teacher in the kindergarten wing of a public school and regularly brought those treats for me. I would pore over the books and force myself into trying to understand the written words. I sometimes wonder I could have easily been an autodidact, a self-read person, though I know that could never have happened. My parents not sending me to school, I mean. I knew all about Cinderella, Snow White and Ariel long before they started calling them ‘Disney princesses’ and when kids in my class referred to them as cartoon characters. I loved the cartoons too, but for reasons I still cannot decipher. It gave a weird kind of satisfaction, knowing I’ve read about them before and a personal sense of victory that I knew more than the ignorant kids! Lion King, Panchtantra stories, Akbar and Birbal, The Cat in the Hat, 101 Dalmitions were my friends and it didn’t seem fair that kids who only loved to play all the time would know about them too, with all those funny movies made about them; movies that sometimes frustrated me, for not keeping in sync with the books and tweaking the stories to suit fickle-minded audiences, like the Harry Potter series. They’re good movies, but not good enough! They’re not like the books and I develop a dislike to the people who say it’s a bore when they don’t even read the books!

All through the years, I lived in stories- about little orphans or wizards, about pixies or nymphs, about people who found magical places or people who found magic in their own selves. The written word fascinated me and it wasn’t long before I looked forward to the library time in school. While students gossiped behind magazines, I took out books carefully by their spines and read through them. Charles Dickens became a favourite, followed by other classics that swept me through their vivid descriptions of beautiful places and equally enchanting stories. Mark Twain, Charlotte Bronte, F.H. Burnett continued to inspire me to read more classics and Enid Blyton and Carolyn Keene sparked my interest in reading mystery. But I was a picky bookworm. I didn’t like books with violence, with sad endings or with gruesome stories. I still don’t.

That's one shelf I have! 8|

Always being a bookworm came with its share of troubles. I would frustrate kids when I openly preferred books over them, hurting their blown up ego. I didn’t like to socialize and preferred to be alone. I would lose thread of the chats because my mind sub-consciously drifted to the story that was in a crucial stage and I didn’t know what would happen, since I hadn’t read the whole of it. But it gave me much more than I had lost, if I had lost anything, that is. I had a place where I could immerse myself in when I wanted to get away from the boring life and its troubles, emerging a happier person. I knew better than my peers and didn’t need to study for the English subject, knowing I would do well. I wasn’t a victim of embarrassment that many people faced because of their big mouths. I knew things and that gave me a wicked sense of pleasure. I was superior.

If there’s anything I’m sure of, it’s the fact that Indian system of education is hopeless, especially the schools. As higher studies took a toll, I was gently reminded by concerned parents and ridicule-loving-relatives that novels and ‘other’ books weren’t important. Though I was grateful that they’ve always encouraged my habit of reading, learning from teachers that it’s a rare quality, I felt betrayed when my time with those books was cut short as ‘important-exams-that-would-decide-my-future’ came into being. Seasons changed and soon it were whole months before I read those ‘other’ books; but my love for them remained steadfast as I graduated school into college.

I was free, at least metaphorically. I regained my lost time by reading volumes of books that interested me. I spent my pocket money on them, while my peers thought it’s a waste but I didn’t care. Books had been my saviour in all kinds of situations possible and I loved them. Soon I discovered something about myself- that I liked collecting books, a fact evident since I had refused to give away a single book, including the magazines collected over the years. I had graduated to harder-to-uncover mysteries, chick-lit and Young Adult genres. I visited the annual Book Fair in Delhi every year and asked for specific books on birthdays. I got them all and I’ve always been happy and grateful about it.

The only thing that’s kept me sad about all of it is the pathetically small number of people with the same interest. I have always got a group of friends who weren’t interested in books, or at least not as much as I have been. Maybe it’s just a coincidence, but I’ve always felt gloomy at the dearth of like-minded people. This is no longer true! I mean, yes, the number is a handful but ever since I have been blogging about books and reviewing, I have found friends who share this fascination. And it has been exceedingly amazing! I always felt the need to have at least one person who would understand why I like the unique smell of paperbacks or would argue why I oppose the idea of e-books. I feel depressed seeing kids glued to their iPads, some saying they like to read virtual versions of the traditional stories, some tapping away at some App that’s supposed to make “Alice” of ‘Alice in Wonderland’ small enough to get through the door. Maybe they’re right in their own context. Maybe I’m too ‘traditional’ to accept the new changes.

It was then that I realized that the cold from the marble floor was getting harder to bear. I let my hand hover over the colourful row, deciding which one to pick for the night. I chose a gleaming hardcover, pulled off its dust jacket and curled myself into the bed with the book.

A little adventurous gift... Part 2!

Continued from Part 1. 

***

Now, the previous CD shop guy had said it’d be somewhere near a chemist shop. The road had a custom shop, a kirana store, even a store for local toys. “It’s very near, it’s easy. You’ll get there without any problem.” Mom said in an ugly voice, mimicking the guy. This road was a two way road and now they were into another locality that Sara’s dad avoided because he thought people there lacked civil and common sense and could be dangerous on roads. His ideas about that place were so strong that he went all the way and called it a huge cockroach, for when even a nuclear bomb might go off, he believed this place could not change. As Sara and her mom once again, kept as close to the sides as possible, moving one after the other, Sara felt quite protective of her mom. It was Sara’s stubbornness that had got them into this place, to start with. And her mom was really scared of such things. Sara moved ahead, feeling the adrenalin rush through her veins, moving her hands as if trying to shrug off a bad case of sticky mosquitoes, so that the oncoming traffic would not miss her by chance and roll their wheels on her. It wasn’t possible, but Sara’s imagination said it might happen.

They saw the chemist shop on their right and hi-5ed and Sara felt like doing a celebratory dance. It wasn’t it, though, for there was still no sign of the CD shop. Mom now took over with renewed enthusiasm (not a positive one, just the kind that said- I’ve got to get this over with!) and started walking ahead, holding up the corners of her salwaar and muttering, “It has all been spoiled! Look at my clothes!” Sara could not look even if she wanted to. It was dark and they were busy shielding off cars that moved inches from where they walked. Finally Sara pointed out what she assumed to be the CD shop, if the movie posters on the open glass door were any indication. That was it. They went inside, all soggy and out-of-breath and were greeted by two men who turned down the volume of a sloppy Bollywood number on their player. Mom asked them for the movie’s CD, to which one of the guys replied with a ‘No.’ It seemed as if the whole effort had been drenched and turned into a mucky soggy mass. Then the guy suggested another religious movie which Mom knew was equally good and dad would like that too. Hurriedly, they agreed on it and asked for the price. “Rs. 38”, the man replied.

Sara raised her eyebrows and her mom laughed and said, “You sure it’ll work?”

“Yes ma’am! It’s an original company CD!”

Sara and her mom were giggling by now, and then the older guy smiled and said, “You’re laughing over the price, right? The company reduced the price, that’s why! It’s still an original and yes, it will work”. He was laughing too. Sara decided to anyway go home and download the movie somehow. She was all anti-piracy but sometimes it just had to be done. They left the shop laughing and giggling and then her mom turned all serious and said, “Now you’ll go from where I’ll ask you to! You’re such a scary adventure-loving girl!” Sara agreed and they once again, stuck to the side of the road. This time it was even more dangerous, as they were no longer facing the cars and traffic coming their way. Sara heard her mom calling from behind, “You know we’re walking on the wrong side of the road,” she said turning into her teacher mode, speaking like she’s teaching a five year old. “We should always walk facing the traffic.”

“Okay mom, you mean like this?” Sara smiled and turned around, taking steps backward. Mom laughed. “You’ve got a mean sense of humor, kid! And you don’t even see the situation.” Sara replied, “It’s okay. We’re okay. Just a road to cross and we’ll head home.” Mom smiled and they reached the daddy road once again. Just like God witnessed their remarkable dedication and the way they faced their fears just to get for dad what he really wanted, to make his special day memorable, He took mercy on them and provided them free roads! Narrowly missing a slip, mom walking fast in her funny peculiar manner that Sara’s brother liked to mimic, with one shoulder perked upwards and head tilted slightly to the other side, looking down on the road and yet in front, at the same time, they crossed the road, past the crane that could have lifted them and crumpled them up, past the sticky road and the apartment with an open transistor, and reached their scooty. There was a family of six standing near there and mom asked for an easy way out. They shook their heads unanimously when she asked about the easiest route. “It’s closed” they said.

Someeething like this! Pic stolen from Google!

Sara started the scooty and they reached the road. Looking back at the huge signal, they saw the horde of yellow and orange lights gradually speed up, having just released from the red light, moving towards them, on an otherwise empty road. “Oh damn. Fast, fast, fast!” Sara muttered as she entered the road and sped up, now crinkling her eyes in the drizzle, turning up the accelerator, feeling like Mike racing in the Pacific arena in a Roadrash game as a couple of bikers swiftly zoomed past. She heard her mom speak softly from behind, “The traffic’s still far away, slow down! We’ve got to take the next cut on the left.” The said cut was near and Sara slowed down, indicated left and took that cut. ‘Darkness’ was the first word that came to her mind. She hadn’t been here before and it was spooky. No overhead lights to light up the place, though the place was still alive with people. There were shops on the right, messy houses on the left and tempos and small carrier autos on the roads, reversing and parking and just moving around. Sara didn’t know what she could do except just move straight ahead, sometimes feeling like there’s only her and that narrow strip of the part of road where she was driving. Dark vehicles passed by and mom kept muttering, “Straight, straight, straight.”

The road forked and Sara guessed the left would take them home. Sometimes it really came as a surprise. A while ago when they were yet to cross the daddy road, Sara’s mom worried about being crushed in case they walked too early or too late. Sara always thought things through, even in case of emergencies like these. “It’s okay mom,” she said. “Just think logically. It’s actually not very difficult to think like Sherlock Holmes.” They had made it through easily, right? Taking the left was one of those logics into work. The street got weirder. Sara had no idea where they were and soon enough there was another fork. Sara started towards the right one, but soon realized that it was very dark and very narrow and filled with people. It just didn’t seem right. Her mom asked her to take the other one, which was broader but still very dark. Cruising among the black mass, the road soon gave away to a strip of un-made land, just stones put together, with muck and wetness making it soggy. Sara slowed down and they bumped along the road, scooty now a little unsteady, what will all those people making all kinds of noises. They were now in a small slum kind of an area and no one moved away even when Sara honked continuously. People in dark clothes, girls in sequined and bellbottomed jeans, kids in rags and crying, and that bumpy road all made them nervous but thankfully it wasn’t for long. The road eased out and viola! They reached another road, but Sara recognized this one with a jolt of happiness! The inside main road, the one that led to their flower seller! They had come out right in front of another inside road that led to their gurudwara.

Just as they turned and entered the lane, Sara and her mom gave a celebratory whoop! It’s just that feeling when you’re all nervous and anxious and then you enter your area and it’s all cool. Sara parked in front of the gurudwara, thanking God all the time, looking up at her jeans sprayed with mud and her slippers slipping and squishing in the muck, her feet speckled with brown and still not caring a single bit about it, for they were back from a seemingly small but surely memorable adventure. Returning after offering their prayers, Sara realized they had left the CD in the scooty’s open storage area! :P The cell phone vibrated and Sara’s dad asked with a mixture of anxiousness, anger and relief, “where the hell have you been!” Looking up at mom with an expression that said, “Oops!” Sara laughed and said they were stuck in traffic and would be back in 10 minutes. They reached the mobile shop next and while Sara waited outside, her mom did the chore and they set off finally, for home.

“How about some ice-cream?” Mom asked. “Whoa! You sure are enjoying this a lot, aren’t you?” Sara teased, to which her mom replied with a smile and a nod, just adding that minus the safety part, yeah it was fun! Sara hid the CD in her scooty and they went inside giggling and laughing, telling dad they were stuck in traffic, the scooty had trouble starting, etc etc, and looking at each other and laughing again! Sara realized how happy a tiny deed made her feel. She hadn’t even done anything, the card was still pending and they didn’t get the exact same movie, which she had to download. But watching her parents tease each other, having ice-cream together, she imagined how it was just perfect. How it’s not what you gift, but the thoughts behind those gifts that make the moments priceless. That night she slept a comfortable sleep, imagining all the amazing things tomorrow would bring. :)

***

If you haven’t realized yet, Sara is me and this story is 100% true. :D 

A little adventurous gift... Part 1.

Remember your kiddie days? When getting all excited about making your parents’ day special was normal? When you put in a day’s work (or more) into creating that special Happy Birthday card for your Mom? I really hope that spark and that desire to do something special for your parents never fades away. But sometimes it does. You still make efforts, and it may seem somewhat similar to how it used to be, but deep in your heart you know it is not. Sometimes it’s mechanical, a habit. And the day seems good, but it is good at a superficial level. But sometimes, even though a day before the special day you’re not up for anything, the clouds may part, the stars may shift and everything can change. For the best, of course! Here’s a story.

***

Yet another lazy Saturday, thought Sara as she sat on the floor in front of her floor level bookcase, sifting through paperbacks, trying to choose. She had had a small argument with dad that morning and had spent all afternoon holed inside her room with the intermittent internet, before giving it up altogether and turning all cheery and normal again. Still, that didn’t make much of a difference, except that she wasn’t all that enthusiastic about the crumbling state of her technological devices. Hell with it, she thought. It was a beautiful day, one of those rare ones when bang in the middle of a hot-hot summer, the clouds betrayed and danced and clashed and shed enchanted water on the Earth. She stood for a while in their verandah, right in the drizzle, letting tiny droplets pat her cheeks and hair and shoulders, looking at the row of houses looking magical and dreamy in that rainy-weather light, trees and plants turning greener with each second.

Ah! Getting 'geeli' in the rain. :P

Her mom called her in for tea. “I’ve got to go to the gurudwara. You’ll come with me?” she asked Sara while sipping on her cup. Under normal circumstances, Sara would have agreed to go, with just a slight hesitation. Not because she had anything against religious places of worship, but because it was the vacations and getting out of the house required making a sincere effort to look presentable. Today though, of course Sara agreed, and it was a very enthusiastic agreement. It’s really just these moments that make people realize what a mood swing of the Almighty (for want of normal words, pleasant weather change) could do. Besides, she had been struck with an idea and she really wanted to make it work. Sunday was Father’s Day and she had earlier planned on making a greeting card and presenting it in the morning. Now though, she wanted to do something more than just a card.

It had been five and a half days since her father had been trying to find an old movie online. He did find a few legitimate links, but none of them worked smoothly and he had just been disappointed. Sara decided it would be cool if she could find a CD for that movie and surprise him with it on Father’s Day. A bouquet of fresh roses scented with the rain in the morning would be a welcome gift too! Her mom hopped in on her plan and the two set off on Sara’s scooty, telling dad they’d be back soon from the gurudwara and stopping by the mobile shop for a recharge. By the time Sara was taking out her scooty, she was feeling giddy with enthusiasm. It was drizzling, and she was one hell of an adventurous girl.

Here’s a bit about Sara’s mom. She’s an average built woman with auburn and black hair. Sara quite liked the orangish hue that came from frequent use of herbal mehendi. Her mom isn’t much of a chemical fan. She’s a sensitive brown-eyed person with a golden heart and hence it had been years since Sara and her dad and mischievous brother had played a prank on Mom. They feared she might just drop unconscious from shock, so it was better to be safe than sorry. Plus, sometimes it was total role-reversal; Sara the mom and the mom, the kid. Even though it was Sara who drove the scooty each time they had to go shop for home products, her mom was perennially afraid of the monstrous Delhi traffic and had that constant edge in her heart and expression, so focused on the thousands of motor vehicles on the road that she wouldn’t even reply to what Sara might be saying from the front.

The roads were wet and Sara and her mom, both were feeling quite happy, just because of the awesomely pleasant weather, and they decided Sara would drive really slowly and they’d make it to all the places they had to visit. A mental note was made, and they started off, driving through their block and onto the roads. Sara tried driving as slow as possible, and carefully wove around the streets and cars, hoping her mom was enjoying the ride-in-the-drizzle as much as she was and made it to the main road. Just before entering a crossing, she braked hard and the scooty’s brake made an annoying screechy sound, before coming to an abrupt halt. Her mom got anxious, but Sara simply held up her left hand to her and gave a nod that said, ‘It’s okay. There was just an idiot three-wheeler speeding like an ass on a dangerous wet road’. She rode her way calmly into the main road, avoiding the potholes and slowing to a crawl on the speed-breakers. Cyclists and rickshaws passed them and just looking at that, Sara burst into laughter, right there driving on the road and her mom said, “You can definitely go a bit faster. We don’t have all night to roam around.”

They reached their trademark flower seller, the guy who knew Sara and her family ever since Sara was a year old. She waited for the guy to end a phone call, duly ignoring the other two sellers who were beckoning them towards their own stalls. But Sara was one hell of a loyalist. Mr. Hari ended his phone call and smiled up at them. “A bouquet of roses, to be delivered tomorrow morning!” Sara recited. Mr. Hari handed her a small card on which she wrote, “Happy Father’s Day pops!” and turned the card over to write the address. Sara had this amazingly creepy talent: she could get lost in her mind while doing stuff that didn’t require much intellectual use, like writing down her own address. You remember such things by heart, so she was imagining the glow of happiness on her dad’s face when she’d wake him and mom up the next morning with green tea, all while jotting down the address, so she didn’t realize she had written the complete address, city and pin code included! For a local flower seller who delivers flowers up to one kilometre. She broke into a laugh as soon as she realized it and her mom joined in. The thing about Sara’s mom? She was known to laugh a lot and when in a funny situation, everyone would have stopped laughing a while ago and her mom would still be at it, thinking of what had happened over and over, so that the others got themselves into another round of laughter, just looking at how mom’s laugh is funnier than the joke!      

Her road-phobic mom decided to check out the CD shop on the opposite road, instead of the one further away, which would require the scooty. It was getting dark by then and both these girls (her mom is the classic case of the ‘I’m not old’ brigade) hated when daylight ended. For Sara, it was spooky, even though at the same time she liked the mysteriousness. For her mom, it was just an opportunity for Delhi’s criminal population to surface and kidnap girls like Sara, so she usually avoided the dark. But that day it was quite a crowd out there and lots of traffic and it was only late evening, what with the amazing feel-good weather, so they just went on doing things a little faster. They visited the CD shop, where the owner sadly replied that he didn’t have that movie, but told them of some other shop which might stock it. Mom was totally out of it by then, because if there was anything that scared her more than the inside main roads, it would be the outer main roads, complete with proper red lights and vehicles ranging from cycles to DTC buses, all on the same lane.

Sara though, was totally in the mood and she suggested an inside road and said they’d park there and walk the rest of the way, especially as they had to cross the hugest main road of that area, to get to the other CD shop. Mom agreed reluctantly, making Sara swear that she’d drive really carefully. Reaching the spot where Sara thought they could park, to her dismay they saw the place full and they had to get on the main-roads-ka-daddy-road, which for the first time made Sara anxious. Darkness, the roads wet and slippery, mud and muck, people crammed at the red lights! Yikes! Gradually, getting their ears molested with the thousands of honks and creeping along the muck-filled road, they reached the place where they had thought of parking. Alas, that was where a huge construction activity was going on, with half the road blocked and a dull yellow, rusted crane stood where they wanted to park. Sara had a negligible sense of direction even though she was driving for the past 5 years, and her mom guided her near an apartment right on the roadside, both feeling anxious and still laughing nervously as a huge bus just passed them like a ghost, making Sara shudder.

It's not easy walking/driving on such a road, y'know!

Scooty parked, they now had to reach the CD shop which was across the daddy road, complete with construction muck right in the centre. Sara held her mom’s hands and they nervously tramped through the side of the road, stepping into puddles, one behind the other, breaking into laughter every now and then at the idiocy of their actions. They reached the crane and her mom stopped, just looking at it in awestruck wonder as it lifted off a tin sheet, crumpled it up and dumped it on the side. “We could so easily be crumpled like that if we just stand here,” mom said, jerking her head towards the other couple of pedestrians who were passing by. “Come on.” They reached that magnanimous signal and waited for their side of the signal to turn red. Soon it did and they clutched each other’s hands tightly and made it through half-way, right up to where the hugest construction work that blocked half the road was standing, the warning boards ending just where they now stood, waiting for the other signal to turn red. They almost reached the whole way, still clutching hands and mom almost running, just being careful enough to put her feet in the right places in case she slipped. Sara held on and looked up and saw a car swerving around the corner. Missing the car by turning to their right, the duo gave each other nervous giggles and kept on moving.

To be continued....

***

The realm of stories...

If there's anything I never get bored of, it's a story. You know how much I love books, but this love was cultivated because of my love for stories. Or maybe vice versa, I don't know, because I am still not too much into movies. I am interested, but in those guaranteed to make me cry, the emotional ones. I find the written ones more satisfying, more solid, more permanent. Stories have led me to believe in worlds different than mine, even when I was a kid. I was curious, always wanting to know 'what happened?' which only fueled the thirst for more stories. Why did Ariel have such a strict father? Why was Cinderella treated badly? What happened to the golden stallion who left the castle? Why do people die? And when they do, where do they go? How long is 'never'? Can you get anything you want? Why do people love their cars so much? What's all this about money? Why does an impulsive person behave like that? 

There have always been questions, questions and questions and you know how there's no one to answer those, so when you read/hear stories that seem to answer some of the quirky questions, how can you not be fascinated? Of course I needed to know. All my life I've lived in stories and I don't see it as anything wrong. Some have expressed their concerns, and I understand your worries, but you needn't. I'm as much "practical" as I'm a dreamer and you may not see it. I'm not perfect. I don't feel one particular way for most things. It's not an either this or that for me. I would say something, but I'd believe in the opposite too. Except when it's immoral or unethical or just a sin, I believe each point of view is right. Many of us are the kind who are strongly opinionated and I sort of feel sorry for them, because they're missing the whole point. When you read stories, you understand reasons. Why is Ariel's father strict? Because he's seen the bad side of humans and doesn't want his precious daughter to suffer. Why was Cinderella treated badly? Because of jealousy. Why do impulsive people behave the way they do? Because maybe, once their inaction caused a 'catastrophe' and since then they try to act, all the time. They're clouded with this sense of dread, the need to "do something". 

See? If it weren't for stories, how else would you know? Those aren't even unreal, by the way. Every story has a meaning behind it, a thought, a life experience, an understanding, a lesson, a mistake. If it's fantasy, it's like attaching meanings to things that supposedly, don't exist, in a form of personification or symbolization. Like in dreams. It's all real somewhere and you better believe it. See it as a mystery. When you read enough or read carefully, you see how it all 'connects'. Be it the Baader-Meinhof phenomenon, or the way how some words connect you to stories. For example, whenever I come across "swan", I can link it back to The Ugly Duckling, when I read/hear the word "gazelle", I remember The Gazelle Boy, a story about a boy raised by gazelles in some mountain place, read in an English class in school and I really liked it. Similarly, "Frankfurt" takes me to Heidi, "Vienna" to The Star of Kazan, "Princess" to Mia Thermopolis in The Princess Diaries, "dreams" to The Leap and so on. I love this connected-ness. It's like everything has an origin, nothing is aloof, everything has its own place, its own home. I like this sense of security.

I started reading Looking for Alaska by John Green yesterday. I put it down this afternoon, right after some crazily catastrophic scene that made me hyperventilate. Or feel an intense emotion which I can't understand. I'll pick it up for the rest, later. That book is so different from any other that I've read. I knew it would be good, because this same author's other book was profound and lovely too. I don't even want to start with the awesome reviews. I was however, very much confused because I was not liking one of the main characters. I thought, 'God! This is one spoilt brat. How can anyone be like this?' I also disapproved of those kids' behavior. The book even then, has a certain pull to it. However those kids might be, they're smart. And I love smart kids. As you read along, you understand so many things on your own. The book doesn't even need words to make you understand. You figure out things on your own, you get to know why Alaska Young was the way she was, what everything means. And it's philosophical, too, like The Fault in Our Stars. I was reading both these on my Kindle, but just ordered paperback copies for both! 

Here are some great lines from Looking for Alaska:

“Imagining the future is a kind of nostalgia. (...) You spend your whole life stuck in the labyrinth, thinking about how you'll escape it one day, and how awesome it will be, and imagining that future keeps you going, but you never do it. You just use the future to escape the present.” 

“People, I thought, wanted security. They couldn't bear the idea of death being a big black nothing, couldn't bear the thought of their loved ones not existing, and couldn't even imagine themselves not existing. I finally decided that people believed in an afterlife because they couldn't bear not to.” 

“What the hell is instant? Nothing is instant. Instant rice takes five minutes, instant pudding an hour. I doubt that an instant of blinding pain feels particularly instantaneous.” 

*cute one*

“When you're walking home at night, do you even get creeped out and even though it's silly and embarrassing you just want to run home?"

It seemed too secret and personal to admit to virtual stranger, but I told her, "Yeah, totally."

For a moment, she was quiet. Then she grabbed my hand, whispered, "Run run run run run," and took off, pulling me behind her.” 

And there are a lot more. Click here to read more on Goodreads.

You know, I don't hate people who don't read, because I believe maybe they get their own share of stories from other sources (like I got a lot many from grandma), maybe movies and such. And those who're blissfully ignorant of either, I feel sorry for them. They don't get it and I make little efforts with lost causes. But I do like to introduce people to this world and I can safely say I have been able to affect at least a handful. Every one counts. That, I think would be my biggest achievement till date. What do you think of stories? Agree with me? ;)

Theandric Thursday: Birthday Revelations 2: Life takes a turn.

This story is Chapter 2 of Usama's story 'Birthday Revelations', which he had written 8 months ago as a Theandric Thursday post. We decided to make it a sequel, where we'll write the story in continuation, one chapter alternating between us. If you didn't know about it, click here to read the first part. This here is the second part by me!

***

The scent was something pleasant, like a fruit. Strawberry? It was gradually drifting away, though. Just as I took a deep whiff, I felt a stinging sensation, right in my nose! Aarrghh! Garlic? What the hell! 

I blinked back tears seeping out from the corner of my eyes as I got up. This was becoming much too weird to handle. Alright, I got to know why I didn't seem to fit well with other humans, check, the humans. That's because exactly four weeks and two days prior, on my 25th birthday, I got to know I'm not really a human, but a case from Kabilaar, the Planet where my real parents are. I'm already past the phase when I might think that was just a dream, because it's not. How else would you explain those recurring, more-than-real visions I get while sleeping, where I see myself reunited with my supposedly 'real' family? Or the more-than-real feeling when I hear Kobo crying (he actually is a cry-baby!), or feel Sao Pa looking over me, or see Yev and Sam smirking together from behind him. And okay, I also see her. Daema, the strawberry girl who hasn't been out of my head since my birthday. She might as well be my cousin for all I know, and I seriously don't want to think about her, but she's the most frequent vision, and I really have no choice.

The final straw was three days ago when, upon entering home my ammi remarked, "You really have been quite energetic recently. Exercising hard? You're practically glowing!", hearing which I almost choked on my soda. I had started to wonder if, now that I know the truth, my dormant powers are coming alive? I even did a clever talk-maneuver with my parents, vaguely dropping in the words 'alien', 'planet' and even going as far as 'child adoption' just to see whether they reacted. Did they know about me? I dropped the idea soon, though. I don't care where I was born, I know who my real parents, in the right sense are. Still, that didn't stop those visions or the warm feeling I felt when I saw them. I was already getting used to them, even if they were just in my head.  

'Hey, that's an enchanting picture. What did you make this time?' came my mother's voice over my head, as I sat huddled on the floor near my desk. Startled, I shuffled the paper under another piece of still drawing.

'Uh, nothing much ammi. I had a dream and I liked it. I was trying to sketch it out, that's all', I replied, trying- and failing- to keep my voice from quivering a little. To cover up for it, I tried adding a smile, which I knew came out bleak. Mom didn't seem to notice. 'Oh, that's good. Why don't you show me? We can make a story out of it, like always. Or do you feel grown up for that?' She eyed me mischievously, but I also saw a hint of sadness, as if she missed me being the-kid-who-loved-making-up-stories with her. I wasn't exactly a kid anymore, though I still liked making up stories. It was something we bonded over.

I smiled, this time for real. 'Not at all. It isn't complete yet, though. I have another one for tonight'. 

'Alright kid. Your choice', Mom said. 'I'm going to prepare dinner. You want anything special?'

'No thanks mum. Anything you make is amazing', I grinned. She smiled and left, leaving me feeling a little guilty. I hardly ever lie to her. I took out the picture and felt even more guilty, having painted my actual family with my best kind of precision. The only ones I couldn't picture were my parents and that was partly the reason I had recently started looking forward to sleeping at night. I wondered if I might glimpse them in those visions, even though Sao Pa had made it clear I wouldn't be able to, unless I decide to stay with them. But what were they doing, visiting me so often in my head, making me comfortable around them? That wasn't fair. That might affect my decision.

No, I've made my decision. I can't leave my life for them! Yep, humans aren't as trustworthy as my fellow aliens at Kabilaar are, but still. Until a few days ago, I was one of them, at least that's what I thought. And now I'm aware I'm not really a human, I have been dealing with alien-characteristics-that-crop-up-unexpectedly any time! My life really couldn't get any weirder. 

Heh, who am I kidding? 

That night when I got that vision, that mother-of-all-visions-put-together vision, I thought I must be dreaming, because there was no way my life was going to spiral roll with that speed in that direction. But when I woke up with the roll of paper sealed with wax, I knew I was in for some life changing, one hell of an experience. I had been, I'll shamelessly admit, looking forward to sleep that night. It had been two days since I last saw Daema. Two days stuck with swearing Sev and arguing Yev, bickering with each other, and answering my questions with not-so-satisfactory answers. So when I landed in a soft cushioned seat in a beautiful room overlooking a river and the Empire State Building in the distance, I thought it's Daema's work. Just like her to create a river in the middle of Manhattan. There she was, smiling brightly and exuding off strawberries and I once again reminded my flipping heart to do a reverse gear. She's your cousin, you idiot.

My short fantasy was literally, short lived. Before I could smile back, the room was filled with soft light and the chairs forming a semi-circle around my seat weren't empty anymore. I saw Sao Pa and bowed my head in the traditional greeting. Apart from him and Daema, who was sitting in the chair closest to me, I did not recognize anyone else.
'Hello Tipo', Sao Pa, sitting in the center, addressed me. 'You must be surprised. Let me tell you what we're all here for'. His glow seemed to radiate more than ever. I realized my mouth was hanging open and I was clutching the edges of my seat. He went on, nodding towards the other Kabilaars, 'This here, is the General Kabilaar Council, of which I happen to be the President. This is Manu Lo, who takes care of the planet's Amity'. Manu Lo bowed his head toward me and I took a second, fidgeting, before I bowed back. 'And this here.....' Sao Pa continued introducing them and I tried making a mental note of each of them, based on their unique characteristics, like how Lipi Ho, the one who represents Bravery, actually had a big pout. 

And after that was the bomb, which could easily be the biggest bombshell of my 25 year old life. I now had a choice. Freedom. Not just a one-time freedom, either. I'll keep it short. Three main points came out of it:

1. If I passed their 'T&S test', short for 'Tolerance and Sanity' test, I would officially be one of them, on record, just as a non-resident. A Non-Resident Kabilaar. NRK, which meant I would be living on Earth as I always had, with the added perk of actually being able to visit my home planet too, Kabilaar, but these visits would happen after I complete another test, the details of which they said I'd come to know later. The weird thing? I had already passed the test! Turns out those visions were vigilance watches and they were testing me on my tolerance (yay I have a lot of it) and sanity. Figures. An insane human would be a sane alien. Jokes apart, I was in for a shock. 

2. Feliz was also a Kabilaar. Before I could react to this with more than a cry of shock, I was told that Feliz almost went insane, he couldn't pass this test. And the reason he didn't tell me anything or didn't believe me was that he didn't remember it himself. Kabilaar rule: You don't take the risk of having aliens roaming around on Earth proudly boasting they're aliens. Not that anyone would believe them, but still. 

3. This was the one that almost got me kicked out, any chance of turning from a potential Kabilaar to a permanent one almost ruined. But yay tolerance! They should also add 'hiding-true-feelings-despite-feeling-them-like-crazy' to the list. I mean, it turned out Daema was actually, the one responsible for Kindness and being my cousin was just part of the act, so I don't feel intimidated or something. I know, feeling so happy was insane. I don't know how I passed the Sanity test, seriously. I wasn't in control of my insanely beating heart either, especially as it did numerous somersaults after hearing the news. I know, it's gross that I have no control over my heart, and I couldn't show it. I have an inkling that Daema sensed it, though, if how she gave a bright smile was any indication, and that's a fact I have no trouble with. (Hey, this is my heart talking, not my brain. Stop rolling your eyes. They'll get stuck in the back for all you know).

So yeah, now I'll be trained for the second test and one day if I pass that, I'll be able to visit Kabilaar. To the parents who gave me birth. Ya, that was illegal, but they're still my birth-parents. I wouldn't be lying if I say I was feeling quite content with my life. :) 

***

Theandric Thursday is a used to be a fortnightly feature on my blog (now it'll just be whenever I have the time and mind!), where I'll be having fun with putting down those weird thoughts and stories that occupy my mind most of the times. The dictionary definition of 'Theandric' is 'Relating to the joint agency of the divine and human nature'.

If you're interested in participating, write your own Theandric Thursday post and drop your link in the comments section. Feel free to write reality, part-reality-part-fiction or fiction, anything above the 'normality' of our world. ;) You can use the above picture on your post and link back to this post.

PS- Do you like this story? You will like it more when Usama-the-amazing-story-teller would continue with it! Keep an eye out! ;)