The Emotional Drama

It is dangerous to be stuck in an emotional drama.

Take for example an accounting balance sheet. According to the accounting equation, your assets are the sum of your liabilities and capital. So if you take emotional drama to be your liabilities and your mental health as your capital, then your resulting emotional well being (your assets) is really low.

The above analogy may seem irritating to a few because of the comparison between human emotions and money but come to think of it, isn’t the above statement quite true? How long can you subject yourself to repeated onslaught of someone’s moods? How long can you withstand a fight that doesn’t involve you directly but affects you because of your proximity to the parties involved? And most importantly, how long can we continue to allow our anger or hurt to fester? Till the time our mind suppurates from the wound and we end up disfigured from its effects?

Within a week, I had a fight with a friend (which has thankfully been solved), I’ve seen two of my close-ones fighting continuously (and man does it annoy me like anything!) and I have unknowingly acted as an emotional Guru (now don’t we all hate such emotional-high-and-mighty-know-it-all-gurus like me?!). And on top of it, somebody suggested that I tend to sadden people around me by complaining and whining too much (which I suppose may be true but I was nevertheless hurt by it).

I am telling you people, we need to get rid of unnecessary emotional baggage. It weighs us down tremendously. I refuse to be the slave of my emotions. Easier said than done, but I am going to try like anything. I may run the risk of appearing cold at times, but hey! I do not need the tension man!

Memories

I go forward into the past,

Touching upon things that I lived through.

Old memories and feelings gush into me,

Almost throwing me down with their force.

I love what happened them,

So much so that I feel pain in shaking hands with them again.

As I flip through the pages of the wonderful years gone by,

I remember the faces that changed me.

I can see the incidents floating in front of my eyes,

Reminding me of what had been,

And that it will never be the same.

What an ingeniously cruel thing to do,

To hurt me without a finger raised,

With only my fond memories.

A Photo Map Through DTU

Keep a look at this space people. In a week's time hopefully, you would see a photo journey through the campus of Delhi Technological University.

My Crackers, Sincerely, Not Yours

The sound of crackers is everywhere. It is Diwali time. Mum’s gone for the night shift but Uncle, Aunty (his wife), my two little cousins and my aunt (my mum’s sister) are there. A large gathering some would say. It could have been larger. Grannie and grandpa aren’t there. Grannie wants to have some alone time and grandpa can’t leave her alone so they’ve stayed back at their place. (You bet it destroys the whole purpose of alone time!)

So here we are, with three sets of crackers, frugal in amount after the exhaustion we faced last year in burning the excess amount of sparklers and whistling rockets and what not! We are ready to start the official Diwali celebrations. My brother is super excited and impatient. He reminds me of how I used to get miffed with mum over how she would make me late for the “burning the firecrackers ceremony”. My brother has brought his friend with him. As we are going through the firecrackers, I can see them both quickly finishing off every one of them. By this time I am feeling very possessive about my firecrackers. i am allowing them to take the crackers and enjoy burning them even though I would like to light them myself. (This is the story of life for an adult. You have to give away to children’s demands sometimes. So dear teenagers….cherish the childhood left for you.) So I am as usual brooding inside. I know it doesn’t befit an adult but I haven’t been an adult for long. I still have more than a year of teenage left! (So excuse me). The boy has also brought his brother and thankfully he has his own packet of some sparklers, chili bombs (there is no chili in them, and they are a shame to the bomb community) and charkhas. This definitely brings much needed relief to my heart but I am still burning just a few and giving them the chance to burn the crackers. Now, I had saved up the largest rocket I had bought for myself so that I could burn it at the end. I ended up acceding to my brother’s friend’s request to burn it. Well I didn’t even have to give in; he was already ready with a candle and had lighted the rocket. So the thing ended with me not really burning many crackers.

I am feeling disappointed, plain and simple. I will not beat about the bush just because I should try to maintain the charitable disposition of a grown up. And the sad part is that I can’t really share my feelings with anyone. Who would entertain a now college student with her selfish and possessive attitude? Growing up is at times overrated.

Tried and Tested but Seldom Accepted

The scene is set at home. The writer is sitting on the computer, practicing and learning Srikanto Acharya’s ‘Tumi Kemon Kore Gaan Koro’.  The writer’s mom suddenly appears and commands her to take a bath since the housemaid might be there at any minute. Just then the sound of the doorbell reverberates through the house. It doesn’t take more than a minute for the mother’s eyes to turn red. There is the distinct possibility that the maid would complete her work before the writer can go take her bath and give the dirty clothes for washing.

By now, you must have guessed the writer to be me, of course. So now I am at the receiving end of icy glares and the possibility of a good sounding. Already mom has starting saying what a frustrating and thankless creature I am. As I rush to take out fresh clothes to wear, I can hear her distinct voice, “I’ve said this before too. You’re nothing more than a millstone around my neck. …. Don’t you dare talk back! What do you think of yourself?” It doesn’t take much for mom’s fuse to go off.

The phrase millstone continues to go around in my head, occupying every bit of my conscience. More and more of me feels wounded. Just a moment back, mom was cuddling me like I was a baby and being all happy. I’ve been her daughter for so long and I am still amazed at her tempestuous moods. Moreover, what hurts me the most is how she belittles my love for her whenever she’s angry or in a bad mood. I am always the lazy sloth slumping around the house for her. I guess she’s justified at times. But it doesn’t ever sound very comforting, does it? I wonder how many years do I have to live before she’s okay with me?

Indian Men and Public Walls

I’ll tell why you must always stay away from public walls on Indian streets. India has a breed of men who find it most convenient to pee and spit tobacco at the public walls. Signboards and public toilets fail to stop these driven men. They are focused on their mission unto end. Stern glares have no impact on them. This reminds of a recent sms that somebody messaged me. A few dogs while running around pell-mell suddenly stopped. When someone asked them what happened, they replied, “We have a new wall to check out.”

Aah Lemon Tea

Aah lemon tea! Where is it? I clap the air, trying to kill the pestering mosquitoes. The Farakka express is 10 minutes late.  That means I can continue my search. The humid summer weather of Jamalpur makes me more desperate for lemon tea. Mom is always tense during journeys. It’s no use asking her to join my search party. Some hawkers have Malda’s famous mango jelly. Not interested. The train’s arrival almost dashes my hopes. And ………there is the old man in his dirty dhoti and old, faded kurta with disposable cups and a kettle whose snout he has blocked with paper ball. Bless him!