Nothing clears a writer’s block like a bad PMS, the kind that makes you cry, howl then calm down and sob, makes people wonder if you have gone crazy or if you missed your morning medicines, on days that you have not. It’s hard to tell apart times when I have missed meds and am hypersensitive, times when I am going crazy and can’t find real words to define it, and times that are just heart-wrenchingly legitimately saddening. Like the times when I have to put my underwear back into the black bag to take it to Pune
- The times I get called ‘dida’ by someone who is not babyR.
- When Goldie would rather sit out in the parking instead of home and mummy would blame herself for it. The time when she decided to give him away to passing strangers when she got sick.
- Times I have suspected him of not wanting to be home because of the abnormal sadness of it. When we yelled things at each other instead of communicating
- When papa uses the perfect proverb to explain a situation but it is heartbreaking.
- When my little cousin was trusted to drive and not I, solely for his gender.
- When I have to stand extra hard for myself and the life I chose because if I won’t, no one would.
- When beautiful people I know die. Plain and simple, stopped existing, one day.
- When I try to make the sadness go by saying Jab we met dialogues.
- Papa had to figure how to put songs on his phone because I was not here to help him “ek inch ka bend aur milooo ki duri”
- When I am broke at the start of a month “vardi utar ke fek de saale”
- When Katrina Kaif, even after being the best secret agent for Pakistan, bickered about cooking and washing “akeli ladki khuli tijori ki tarah hoti hai”
- When I found out that I was called “funny” names in engineering college, marking/reminding me how my physical attributes are the only thing that matter and just how annoying my voice can be “ab toh hath chod sakte ho mera, itni bhi sundar nai hu main”
- How then it reminded me of times I was disliked in schools and other schools and the school before that, that my parents fought each other for. And the time I went to three different schools in one year, made friends in none and the time when I packed my bag to go away to nana’s but my father wouldn’t let my hand go at the station “aise lagta tha jaise koi train chut rahi ho”
During these crazy stupid times, my mind is aware that good things have happened, so many good things are happening. And I am thankful, I swear I am, but… “2 rupayee kuch nai hote toh chori kyu karte ho?”