of happiness

You walk around in your new office feeling all self-confident and powerful. For the first time in your life you’re wearing formals in a casuals-only environment. And high heels too! You could never carry those off before, but your new life has filled you up with confidence and you’re no longer the bumbling foot-in-mouth idiot that you used to be.

For the first time in your life, you aren’t lying about your separation. You’re clear about who you are and know that you no longer need a man to give you safety or money or happiness. You can find your happiness on your own in a swanky new apartment with sparkling white walls, blue-green curtains and yellow plates and assorted mugs and no furniture and lots of space.

And time. You suddenly have mornings and evenings all to yourself. You no longer want to spend these hours at work like you did before you moved out.
You will spend this time reconstructing the identity you gave up when you fell into a life of servitude that makes you think you’re happy because you’re making other people happy.

You finally know that your happiness lies within, not without.

of aggression

You’re crossing the chauraha near Sector 18. Playing with your phone, too. Yes, you do realize you’re behaving like a retard, but you want to do it anyway. So, you’re walking along, playing with your phone. A Scorpio literally pulls out of the Max Hospital driveway and speeds its way into the road. The fucktard sees you but instead of stopping, he keeps going, and you’re still walking. Continue reading of aggression

of criticism

Your first hate mail from your lone visitor with 50 page views.

Wow. You must be getting somewhere. Someone visited your page 50 times to make up their mind. They decided that you were self-obsessed and delusional. Whew! Well, what can you say, you are these things, and more.

You are also just a little insecure, a little jittery about telling the truth. Tired of all the secrets. You’re also reasonably happy, on most days at least. Someone who has always liked to talk, but is tongue-tied in the company of new people. You are judgmental about people who leave cryptic names and laugh at you because you’re won’t give out your name.

But then, to be fair, you  are self-obsessed, so maybe you should tag all your posts that way.

of impulses

Let’s go, you say at two a.m. on a Friday night, almost pukish at the thought of spending another weekend in Delhi.  Let’s get out. We never do anything impulsive, you say. Chalo, he says. Abhi? You can’t believe you’re actually doing this.

Five minutes later, you’re packing an overnight bag and dumping it in the boot of your one-year-old-highway-virgin car, double-checking to make sure you have all your papers in place, and driving off.

Where to, he asks. You name the first place that pops into your head at that moment. Kasauli it is.

Thirty minutes later, you stop over at a tiny little eatery on the road and announce do chai, ek aloo parantha. You fall asleep as you wait. When you wake up, he’s watching you intently.

Within seconds you are both smiling and holding hands, Hindi-picture style.

You finish your paranthas and chai and head home.