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Showing posts with the label #IdentityCrisis

Who Owns My Name? Who Owns My Identity?

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I was 24, and he was 53. I wanted him to hug me and perhaps love me- a love that could be an emollient to an aching heart and a disgruntled soul. I was sick of being unloved for long.  A 6'x6' cubicle of a sales office on the 20th floor of the DLF building in Gurgaon is hardly a place for a 'relationship', and I was looking for someone, anyone, to stitch my heart. The wound I got at 16 had maggots growing on them, and heartbreak at 23 was the last straw on the camel's back. It broke me into innumerable pieces, and I didn’t care which piece fell where.  It refused to heal. My world had become small, lonely, and apocalyptic.    It was just another cold, foggy morning in Delhi, and I was in a rush to get coffee from the vending machine- a ritual I followed every morning, stepping into the white LED-lit office with ash grey carpet that looked more crummy after a morning vacuum, and cobalt blue swivel chairs reeking of stale perfume. Every day, every interaction, e

Feminism, Freedom, and We

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                    “Punarapi jananam punarapi maranam, Punarapi janani jatare sayanam, Iha samsaare khalu dusthare, Krupayaa pare pahi murare.” These words transmogrified my life. But why did it take so long? From the detritus of life, can one resurrect a castle?  The words spoken twenty years before hung like spider webs, the orb weaver’s, shiny and decorative from outside; however, can one forget it was a trap…after all.   The oxygen cylinder shows 20 minutes of supply left. It is futile hustling for another breath; I don't want one. Twenty minutes is enough time to write one apology to her in the hope that she forgives and my soul can depart sans the virus that afflicted me years back.  For as long as I remember, I have been dissatisfied with wherever I was, whatever I was doing, and whomever I was with, and that is pretty much the obituary of my life. Too bad? It is what it is. I changed lipsticks and accessories, armchairs and recliners, careers, and houses with ease and elan

Dosa Batter Part II

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While I walk back, I see people stand up, clapping, making way for me. I have seen Karan Johar refer to it as the standing ovation during many award functions.  Talking about him, I wonder if he will ever call me for Koffee with Karan? I love the couch, and now I am ready to sit on it too. Click on Dosa Batter Part II  to read the story.