Happy life.

They say you only get to live once and if you do it right, once is enough. Well, the question is how do I live it right? Should I get a manual to live this life right? Maybe I should.

To live this life right what must I do? Do I need fancy posh cars or oh-so-elaborate clothing, endless bank balance or some bungalows? And how much time would it take me to make all these things to become reality and for me to finally live this life right? Even seven lifetimes wouldn’t be enough. But I wouldn’t even waste one moment of it, running after things that will not satiate my thirst for happiness. Even if I stumbled upon a golden egg and became rich overnight, that still wouldn’t contend me. People run after their perception of being happy while not being happy at all. But for me, little things in life such as, The feeling I get when I hear a baby laugh, his cute chuckles that make me want to kiss the adorable little munchkin or when he holds my finger with his soft hands. That pure innocence the baby exuberates makes me feel giddy with joy.

Talk about happiness and not mention food? Preposterous! Being an absolute food lover, I must confide that I live to eat. The moment I get to taste it, I am spell bounded by the taste and flavours, enthralled at how much just a mere bite can make everything alright with my mood. Combine food and true companionship of friends and family on any occasion, be it small or extravagant, is always warm and comfortable. These few numbered people always Understand me even when I speak no words,  Knowing me even when I fail to understand my sentiments.

 My absolute joy is reading a book, being so engrossed in it that somehow I lose track of time and manage to finish it overnight. It feels as if the characters have come alive and I’m in a different dimension.

I don’t need to spend money to acknowledge or realise that these are the only things I need to feel blissful.


Real goals of a female medical student.

I have been feeling the Sunday Blues lately. So I have framed my result cards of matriculation and intermediate on the entrance wall. Each glance at those beauties by others earns me a compliment making me feel chipper. I fish for praises only. Everybody is praising me for such a boastful move. After all, I am going to be a future doctor, I must learn how to take risks.

My cousin Shiza is envious of me. She couldn’t make into medical school with her measly 910 scores in matriculation and 859 in Intermediate. I didn’t even ask about her result. It was a friend of the daughter of my great-maternal aunt who told me. Why should I even bother about her marks? She must have come to know about my 94.6789 percentile through the family since everyone is so proud of me whereas she only disgraced our family with such low marks! And on top of that, she started mouthing off about those who pursue medicine are just obnoxious, narcissistic nerds who have no life or friends. Such an unfathomable theory. I concluded her words to be just a source of envy. I stand as the perfect example of a humble doctor-to-be.

What’s in hangouts and friends anyways. I’ve never had friends. Who even need friends? Psht. All friends do is back stab you. I was naïve back then when I committed this rookie mistake of letting a friend copy once but never again. I have learnt my lesson. Friends only ask for notes, which, by the way, I made from my blood and sweat. I’ve written everything on them aesthetically. What is their hidden agenda behind borrowing my notes? To score better than me? Nuh-uh.  Don’t they know the rule? Never ask for notes! After all, life is survival of the fittest. Not to forget they have the audacity to ask for my time which I can most certainly not spare. Rather, the time I spend with them, I can most patently use it more efficiently by rote learning every single definition or disease.

Unquestionably, I have no time to quench any ‘wanderlust. It’s better to go to a library, no expenses at all. Better save the money for my own wedding. See I am not a nerd, I am a Dr.bahu-in-demand-to-be. Furthermore, I have even started taking online courses for cooking and makeup. One picture of me in my pristine white lab coat garners more likes on Facebook than any picture of post hang out posted by those world-travellers-wanna-be-free-loaders. Let’s not forget the thousands of private messages from rishta-aunties. At least I know once I’m done grinding my teeth these five years of med school, I can be happily married and have the life I always dreamt of, which is cooking and cleaning for my lovely husband. A true fairytale coming true.

I see other people reading and enjoying books other than the course books, preposterous! How dare they read anything other than the course books? Have they forgotten their ultimate goal? What would they even do with reading so much? What other information do they need to propel into their vivid brains? Absurd. They shouldn’t stoop so low as those art students who have ample time to waste on reading silly novels and creating so-called masterpieces which my two-year-old niece can draw better. They obviously weren’t smart enough to get into a medical college. What on earth can anything be better than becoming a doctor? I hope I can talk to these humanities kids sometimes, the so-called poets and thinkers, with no penny in pockets, to give them a reality check if only they would have listened to their parents’ advice, and became a doctor but too late, it would be a waste of time now.

I didn’t choose this career, my parents did it for me. My very desi parents have decided how I’ll spend the rest of my life. And am I so glad? What’s the issue of individuality? That’s just another word for rebellion. Just follow my lead. I get to wear the designer clothes that all those girls-with-no-money-making-careers wished they could. I also recently had a fashion transition. My unibrow was precariously done with such aptness that even I couldn’t recognise myself. My bizarre hair with the help of keratin and L’Oréal’s hair dye, have been so perfectly transformed that they could leave Aishwariya Rai’s glossy hair behind. The thousands being spent on myself is just a future investment for getting my tentacles into a rich, young, handsome lad i can marry. After all, looks matter more than the personality and with my brain absorbing all medical terms, I am the ultimate package for every single bachelor around. What does a girl need more than to be a perfect candidate which a chapatti-making household requires?

2 a.m thought.

How often is it that we find ourselves regretting all the choices that we’ve made, and the ones we never will? It’s 2 am and all I can think about is letting you go; not saying anything when I had what they call the BEAUTY OF ETERNITY. It’s 2 am and all I can think about is how badly I messed up my last quiz because God knows where was my mind at. It’s 2 am and I’m tracing patterns on the wall, listening to the silence of the night and trying to make sense of why it’s more noisy when there’s no sound. It’s 2 am and I have everywhere to be and nowhere to belong. It’s 2 am and the voice in my head is telling me to close my eyes, but sleep doesn’t come. Sleep never comes when I want it. Love never comes when I want it. Nothing ever comes when I want it. Everything in my life comes uninvited, and for some inexplicable reason, I will never quite get used to the art of welcoming unexpected guests
#2a.m thoughts

Second best.

She was never adaptive. It never was her strongest attributes. She always lacked courage to leave people and places and things. She built a strong ever lasting connection with everything she held or touched or felt. She loved with every fibre of her being. She knew she wasn’t the best. She acknowledged this fact. She was never good enough for anything. She wasn’t fantasy. She wasn’t anything special either. Her eyes didn’t shine bright. She wasn’t poetry. She wasn’t any marvellous creation. She was just a silly girl who was silly enough to be happy to be the second best.
#heart #sad


I didn’t realise where we were headed, I didn’t realise how important it was to be happy, I didn’t realise how difficult it actually is to be happy, I didn’t realise how ambiguous everything is and will be, I didn’t realise a storm was headed in my direction. I didn’t realise I was an unhappy person until I felt the real joy of being happy. Until one day I realized how it actually feels to be happy. It’s unreal to be happy, it’s like you’re on a constant high and you’re living in a fantasy. You’re glowing with all the vibrant colors. You start wondering why were you gloomy before. A state of happiness. Complete and utter satisfaction shouldn’t exist. It corrodes your insides, it makes you weak and vulnerable, leaves you hollow and empty.