Day 30: Embracing the Broken – Stuttgart to Paris

It’s been days now since I wrote my last blog – not out of the lack of thinking-time but because sometimes I don’t find a charging spot in a train (my laptop battery sucks big time) or sometimes I am too sleepy when I reach my hostel after all the sight-seeing of the day.[Right now I am typing while sitting on the train to Paris from Stuttgart]

Life has changed or maybe, I have changed. Only a few days earlier we were thinking of our student exchange program, planning of the places we would visit – Vienna, Paris, Santorini, etc; And now we are here living that dream of ours we had seen from before joining an MBA program.

Oh, how I love myself to have dared to take this trip despite all the initial doubts of mine and worries of my loved ones. Oh, how I love myself today that I am almost a nomad traveling from one place to another, sleeping in trains, making a living room in train stations, with my backpack that has sufficient clothes to last me for two months.

Of course, it isn’t a piece of cake all the time. We can’t make calls when we want to, I can’t eat whatever I lay my eyes on; my stuffs get lost or misplaced all the time. In the last 30 days, I have lost not only my clothes and jacket but I have also managed to spill water on both my phones, spoiling their circuits so that even three repairing shops have given up on trying repairing them. I bought the cheapest phone available in the market only a few days back so that I can still attend calls and take a photo or two for memories’ sake. And the selfie-stick my sister gifted me for my solo travel? Broken, that too.

It’s disheartening at times when I have to let go of material possessions I adored. It’s disheartening when bad things happen, when I have to carry so much luggage around which is so unlike me, when I sometimes don’t get a hostel to stay and have to worry about where and how to spend the night, and now that the blisters on my feet are taking forever to heal.

But above all the disappointments, the small failures, I guess the bigger picture still remains the same – that here I am, finally embracing life, embracing myself with every broken pieces of my soul. For I dare not repair the broken to let the scars remain, I decide to let the broken forget it was ever broken, so that if it heals, let it be, if it doesn’t let it be. Let it be.

"Are You a Lesbian?"

“Are you a lesbian?” A friend of mine once asked me mockingly when we were discussing about my aversion from some (“some” not “all”) kind of men. “No. But does it matter?” I asked her scornfully. No, I wasn’t bothered that I was asked a question about my sexuality. But what I didn’t understand was that is being a lesbian a matter to be jeered about? What if I was one? Wouldn’t I be hurt and embarrassed that my sexuality was just mocked at? Why are the words “gay” or “lesbian” used as slangs? Another incident, that took place a couple of years back, was when I was teasing two girl friends of mine, accusing them of having an affair. I considered it as normal as teasing a guy and a girl. One of them found it so disrespectful that she, instead of simply denying the fact, chided that she isn’t of such “third class” standard. I later discussed the small argument that we had, with her, trying to make my point that being a lesbian or a transgender doesn’t define anyone’s cla...

Ablaze Within ...

It was either for the scorching sunrise that hurt her eyes or the cold breeze that blew scratching the fresh wounds on her arms, but Disha could tell that her friend had tears in her eyes for some reason or the other. “Nothing,” Razia said, when confronted by Disha, hiding her eyes as she wiped her tears with her hands. “Got paid?” Disha enquired. “Yes.” Lied Razia while walking towards the place she has been calling home from the past couple of years. She headed for the bathroom as she entered her room where two girls were sitting, one smoking a cigarette while the other wearing make-up in front of the broken mirror in the room. Razia cleaned her skirt that was smeared with her blood. She wasn’t prepared for it. After all it was that 14- year old’s first time. Not the first time that she had been “ridden” by men, nor the first time that she bled while bearing the intolerable pain the men gave her, but for the first time that she painlessly bled indicating a cycle o...

Remembrance and Renegade - Checking in with Myself from 2022

When I stepped out of my cocoon last year, I wanted to create a beautiful life... for myself and for other people like me - smart, intelligent, but unhappy, unfulfilled, unsatisfied, their potentials never tapped into, their hearts smashed every time they typed on their laptops and looked at the clock. Time passes by for them and nothing happens. Or everything happens but just by the clock. Money buys them expensive shoes but where was the time to step out? Every conversation was a game of poker where you bet or you call but you can never fold. It's been a year now. I fear I may have failed. I didn't create the world I promised myself and my invisible readers. What am I doing? My life only got worse. There were places to go to but where were the expensive shoes? Fear, trapped me in an invisible cage I carried with me everywhere I went. My neck strangled by a stranger's hands of expectations. How could I stand up to his expectations when I can't even stand up to my own? ...

Pens and Pages

Search This Blog