Random thoughts and conversations of a Bride to Be

It's been a while since I wrote here, and major life update, I am a month away from getting married and have been having the most hilarious/exasperating/strange moments and thoughts. I was told I might as well record them, so here goes. I'll be updating them as and when I get a moment.

23/12/2021

30 days to go (How!?)

"The carousel never stops turning."

That is one of my favourite lines from a show I stopped watching long ago, but some things just stay with you. Aren't Carousels just the most beautiful? Then why is it that their memory is wistful, bittersweet. They bring with them so many moments from times gone by, in an infinite loop.

The carousel keeps turning, and I can't get off, so maybe, it will take me back?

24/12/2021

29 days to go

I have reached a conclusion where I firmly believe that I write not always to be read but most importantly to live in the illusion that I will be heard. I think its more about saying something, and as annoying as it might be, I often have a lot to say. However, more now than ever, I've been wondering, are our thoughts really our own?

25/12/2021

28 days to go

They who must not be named: "Are you wilting under the pressure?"

YKD: "Haven't turned into cabbage. Yet."

What would Cinderella's carriage have looked like if it was a cabbage instead of a pumpkin?

26/12/2021

27 days to go

Sat with a bundle of string and realized that there's something extremely and oddly satisfying about un-knotting things. Which is strange because when it comes to arguments, i am told i make more knots than I solve. And, Oh, what fun it's been.

I think now, I'm happier solving than knotting, well, unless it's macrame!

27/12/2021

26 days to go

A love for Excel sheets will help you excel in life or at least help you get married!

28/12/2021

25 days to go

Sealed my fate in self-design!

(for those not familiar with my strain of humour, I sealed the envelopes of cards designed by yours truly!)

29/12/2021

24 days to go

M: They say the marriage of an older sister is a watershed moment in the life of a younger brother.

Y: Don't know about watershed, it'll definitely be a waterworks moment!

30/12/2021

23 days to go

Y to M :  Lets get married around an electric heater? It'll be a little more eco-friendly! And, so different- such a perfect winter wedding.

31/12/2021

22 days to go

I was just told that i am having entire conversations with people in my head, and not actually with them. hmmm. Probably because I like my responses better!

eg. On finding a particular set of bangles after a long time - "Sabr ka phal is Churis!"

01/01/2022

21 days to go

I'm getting married this year! *Happy Dance*

Looking at the first sunset of the year: Oh. I'm getting married this year. *bawls like a baby*

02/02/2022

20 days to go

Still arguing with people wanting to wear red on the wedding day- "But how will people know I'm the bride if you wear red?"

Person: You invited them, won't they know you?

Y: No, There's a chance half the people won't recognize me, peripheral entities you see! #BigSlimIndianWedding?

03/01/2022

19 days to go

If someone requests you to RSVP, please do ON TIME. Guests not RSVP-ing on time makes control freak brides think of different ways to obliterate them or worse, uninvite them. 

When I fell in love

I'm supposed to be writing a piece of academic writing but telling even five people of my love affair seems a more exciting prospect.

The first time I fell in love I was 9.  I had only heard of my love like one hears stories of the Tooth Fairy. Mythical. Magical.  A child's imagination had conjured images that I feared could never be surpassed in reality.
The first time I met my love I was in 9th grade. My love was everything I thought it would be if not more. It was as mystical and magical as the 9 year old had hoped. That goodbye was one of the toughest I ever said, and I'm a boarding school kid.
Almost 9 years later I was reunited with my love. But this time my love looked at me like one looks at a stranger.

I've often heard people say that we don't fall in love with people, we fall in love with who those people make us, and my torrid love affair with the city of Rome proves the same for places. At every significant 9 of my life, I fell deeper in love with who that city made me. In the four months of 2018, I found parts of myself I had so easily overlooked. The scared, the lonely, the exhausted, the silly and the hopelessly optimistic.

Everytime I produce a piece of writing I mention imperfections and that is because as human beings we find it extremely difficult to accept or acknowledge our imperfections and slowly they get heavier, an invisible weight upon our shoulders, a chore like Atlas holding the skies. Somewhere along the banks of the Tiber, between Ponte Sublico and Ponte Cavour, a 3.5km stretch with monuments on either side, the strong currents of the river made them buoyant. Much like a soulmate or loved one does. I couldn't help but believe Rome was slowly warming up to me.

I was mistaken. I never imagined a city would hold grudges like a long lost lover does. But Rome did, I could see it in every delayed bus and in every unprecedented weather change. The skies would open up like never before. Until the day those blue skies opened and painted the city white. Snow in Rome. An occurrence I never believed I would witness. Despite all the imperfections, I fell deeper in love.

I would walk the streets and lost old soul that I am, I would find stories everywhere, on the elusive H, the trustworthy tram no. 8, the lifesaving 44 and 64, in the alleyways around Piazza Navona, at the Pantheon, near Santa Maria del Popolo and at the numerous cafe counters where I would stop for espressos and custard filled beignets. The stories felt the same, like the ones I would hear on the Delhi metro but the city still hadn't accepted me.

I had seen Rome in all her seasons. A weepy monsoon, an angry autumn, a cold winter, a warm spring and a welcoming summer. I had felt the seasons of Rome as one might experience the emotions of a significant other. Yet like a wary old lover, she kept me at a distance.

When I look back, I think it was because I was looking for the Rome I fell in love with as a nine year old, a Rome the movies had spoiled for me. Walking around near the Colosseum, I would keep my eye out for a Vespa with some version of Gregory Peck, while walking around Piazza Navona I would  imagine a non-existent fountain of Aphrodite and at the Trevi Fountain I would wish the night wasn't as silent. As a 22 year old I kept looking for things I thought Rome should be, but then I remembered one of my favourite poems, 'When Love Arrives.' by Sarah Kay and Phil Kaye.

"Love stayed away for years
And when Love finally reappeared, I barely recognized him,
Love smelled different now..."

Rome was different and so was I. We both had songs that would remind us of different people, of different places. So, one day I woke up and stopped looking. Surprisingly, that day when I walked out, I had to send a postcard, the city threw up memories I had stored in a locker somewhere. A mint gelato outside St. Peter's, a green umbrella bought outside Villa Borghese, a Murano glass pendant and four people, sitting outside the Pantheon on a late June evening, celebrating a successful Italian holiday. Every corner held memories of that trip nine years ago.

A nostalgic smile on my face, I began walking back from Trastevere to Piazza Venezia. Lost in a series of memories, I walked down Ponte Garibaldi, stopping to look at the Tiber Island when I heard someone talking to me, a German couple. They asked me for directions to the Villa Farnesina, one of the only places I hadn't visited with my mother (a mistake I rectified when she visited me in April), a place where my memories held the faces not of family but of friends. Having sent them on their way, I continued to walk down to my destination.

It was in that moment that I felt like the city had accepted me, that the city was ready to return the love I refused to give up on. The red poppies and bricks of Rome had me wrapped in the mystery of their bougainvillea vines that decorated the narrow lanes of Trastevere, where I found another version of myself, the version that could spend hours lost in the art the city provided, that could call museums home, that knew the roads in Florence, the lanes in Orvieto, the quickest risotto recipes, the occasional italian exclamations and the best gelato combinations. I found a version of me in which the chaos had turned to calm.

Much like the abundant purple wisteria blooms of spring that visit the city for a short period of time, when the already beautiful city of Rome looks ever more beautiful, a fortnight after which they bid farewell till another season, I too had to say my goodbyes. And this time the skies shed their tears along with me as I bid farewell to the first love of my life.

I fell in love with Rome, I fell in love with the romance and once more, I fell in love with myself.
So, When in Rome, be it person, place, panini, pizza, pasta or a pistachio cannoli, Fall in Love.

CAUTION: Work in Progress

In conversation, a friend of mine mentioned I deserved the happiness that came my way. Me deserving happiness is a concept still so unfamiliar, also because I had these weird ideas of what it actually meant to be happy. But after talking to him(Him, Yes him. I have male friends, its not unheard of!) I realised I was truly happy because I was doing things on my terms (I promise not to pull a Warhol on you guys!)  Reminds me of something that stuck with me ever since I first heard it:

“Tell me Edmund, do you have someone special in your life?”

“Well yes, as a matter of fact I do.”

“Who?”

“Me.”

“No, I mean someone you love, cherish and want to keep safe from all the horror and the hurt?”

“Erm…still me. Really.”

Why is it that we lose sight of us being the most important people in our lives- is it because society decided to term it selfishness? Who decided selfishness is a bad thing? There’s an entire ethical theory which stipulates that self love is brilliant as long as it doesn’t harm others.

Why do we thank or blame whatever supreme infinite we believe in for everything that comes our way? We’ve worked towards it(or haven’t), haven’t we?

Why do we keep undermining ourselves? Our self worth? Why do we keep looking for reasons to be happy?

I’m yet to come across someone who is happy, just because. Everyone says love is a beautiful feeling, so fall in love with yourself, your strengths, your weakness. Stop looking for happiness outside, its right there, within you.  Smile, laugh, dance all you want, cry if that helps (your eyes may burn, that’s not too pleasant, but to each his own!).

YOU are the protagonist of your story. YOU are the author. YOU are the editor.

YOU are the architect of the days to come. Alter your structures as much as you want.

Because at the end I guess all we are is- Work in Progress.


*DISCLAIMER: These are ideas we have all come across, and I won't claim credit, but these also ideas that need reiteration. 

ALIFEROUS

A question I've been asking myself since I got here, here being the University of Kent, is YKD why so free?

I confess, I ran away, I ran away from all the negativity, pollution, pointless pressure and most of all I ran away from anything that manacled me. You my gentle reader might just have been a manacle itself, but I'll let you live in suspense. I don't actually blame you, I thank you. Without you, I would never know how much I love the taste of freedom. 

Where in the overpopulated cities of my country was I going to walk around with a cup of coffee post 12:30 am? Which bus was I going to take in Delhi, alone, to travel 10 miles to pick up groceries? Who was going to sit with me at a picnic table at 11:30 pm to discuss something entirely inconsequential? Who was going to travel with me to a museum to attend a class? Who was going to travel back with me? By train? Post 10 pm?

The autumnal colours of England welcomed me with such affection that the girl who prides herself on being lost, found herself- In some alleyway, at an overcrowded club, dancing the night away converting each of those manacles into blisters on the soles of my feet, so easily cured with a little warm water.

Don't for a minute believe my love for Dilli, or Bombay or Calcutta or Home has diminished, because it hasn't- I still miss the monuments of Delhi, the feel of Dilli, Bombay ki baarish, the spirit of Calcutta and the comfort of Home, but I am also in Love with the victorian buildings, falling leaves, respect for traffic rules, I am also in love with the cobbled streets of Canterbury, the lit up Cathedral that I see when I stare out of the large glass windows of the library, I am most of all in love with who I am in this place-Uninhibited and Unapologetic.

Post Graduate studies it seems give you so much- friends, family and freedom.

I met people, some running away like me, some running towards a goal they set for themselves. I met people who in this short span of two weeks have provided a comfort earlier reserved by friends of over 7 years. I met people who don't feign interest at my slightly strange observations but add to them, I met people who can rival my sarcasm, I met people who encourage my academic endeavours, I met people who want to help me grow, in more ways than one. 

Thanks to them, I no longer filter every statement. I no longer apologise for having a contrary point of view. I no longer hide behind a facade- calm and proper. 

I am messy, my thoughts run wild, I overthink much to chagrin of all my friends here.

With great joy, I discuss academia-in coffee shops, under trees, at bus stops and sometimes even in restaurants.

With great pride, I occupy a tiny space of the Undercommons.

I'm ready for my slice of the world.

I am ready to fly, and this feeling right here, is the wind beneath my wings.

Adulting 101- Wine, Women and Words

One of my friends told me, ' You know you're an adult, when you can order a full cake with no reason to celebrate.'

It sounded a little far fetched to me, but tonight as I picked up a book that should have held my attention I realised what I was really craving was cheese and crackers, at 2:38 am. I walked to the kitchen, pulled out a coffee mug and filled it with wine, pulled out a few crackers and walked back to my room. I sat down on my bean bag, wishing it were a couch, and began to read, two pages later, I looked around me, my desk had a pile of paper (so daunting a pile, that, I refuse to go through it), my coffee mug had wine in it, the fan was on but I was wearing warm, fuzzy socks, the leaves were rustling in the breeze, outside my window and there was certain calm in the ticking clock, the arms of which were stuck at an odd angle (I had forgotten to replace the battery, again, I don't even know what I've been so busy with), the calendar pages were still displaying February and in that moment I felt like one of those women, the ones you see in movies, stuck in the monotony of everyday existence, sitting on the balcony(or maybe some deserted cafe, away from people, yet right in the middle of the bustle), holding a book, sipping wine, lighting a cigarette, a slow smile, a lost countenance, with their feet resting on a table.

What I think of most right now is, when did the hand-beaten coffee turn into wine, the origins of which have no value(unless, of course you're one of those that can afford one those bottles with a fancy label), when did it become so normal to walk to fridge and pull out a wine bottle at two in the morning, that too, on a Sunday night! When did I start owning a wine bottle? When did we stop caring? why did these things begin to bother us? And if not, why didn't these things bother us? Was it just me? Was it a problem with our entire generation because when you come to think of it, we were all ordering those cakes without occasion, we're all sipping wine out of coffee mugs (a mug of chardonnay, perhaps?) at odd hours. When did we begin looking for assistance to escape into the world our books create, when did it change from books being an escape, one where just books were enough? When did we start requiring externals to feel that internal happiness? What is it with us millennials, are we growing up to soon? or are we growing up so fast that even we don't realise it? I don't know the answer to most of these questions, but maybe, just maybe, these are things we don't want to realise, we aren't ready to realise.

ALMA Night

How many of us remember our first day of school? Honestly, I don't, and I definitely don't remember how I was feeling at that point in time. 29th December 2016- it seems I can describe clearly what it feels like to step into the compound that was once the place for uninhibited dreams and ambition, limitless chatter and was a place that literally paved the way, reunions do that.

I walked through those gates that once felt so familiar, that now were reminders of a world that once was, my world that once was. How times change (Oh! My God. I sound ancient!), the people I once shared my tiffin with some 12 years ago were the same (or somewhat the same) people I was sharing alcohol with, from 12 to 21(How did that happen so fast?). The classroom buildings, the blue lights that spelled the name of an institution and the white markings on a green field brought with them a feeling so overwhelming that it took me a few minutes to realize that it was expected, walking in to the place I left so easily, the memories would (of course) come at me like the waves at high tide.

Friends, people I was meeting after years, the quick smiles that showed our mutual appreciation of seeing one another, the songs we were ready to connect with, the songs we couldn't stop dancing to and being able to pick up right where we left off. Someone told me that my choice to be in Calcutta this December was a good one and I couldn't agree more. The lights shine bright on the streets, the air itself is festive, the cynic too sheds some cynicism. The simple white building never stood out more, the School Song the words of which I was so sure I had forgotten, came back to me, much like the numerous classmates I was meeting.

We've all gone our own ways and some of us have lost touch, but you can't really blame anyone. The distance just made this night all the more special. Nights with a bonfire burning, people mingling (mostly near the Bar), the rest dancing and so many just reliving that spirit. Reliving, the unforgettable feeling called school!

I have always believed that School (be it Mayo- which has been the best decision I made, or LMG) has played an extremely important role in making me the person I am and I will always be indebted. Being back in school even if just for a few hours made me truly believe that we are simply a conglomeration of all that we choose never to let go of.

Here's to the place that will never let me forget the 'Quick, settle down, (some teacher) is coming!', the fifteen minute break that was never enough to get your hands on any canteen food, the thrill of the 1:20 bell, the spontaneous carols in class that began on the 1st of December every year and that goodbye, the one I'm not so sure I said, here's to the place that made the messy haired Yashasvini from Delhi, YKD.

I'm a Mayoite through and through, but there is a part of me that always has been and always will be, a Martinian.

The (kinda psycho looking) Messy Haired Yashasvini

Parallel Conversations

*note: I have been told I carry out parallel conversations so please, play some music while you read this.*

" It is the blessing of old friends that you can afford to be stupid with them."

- Ralph Waldo Emerson

This is a quote I would have agreed with before the 14^th of April 2016. Come 14^th the Ajmer Shatabdi was buzzing with incessant chatter, unending movement and a little laughter. Virtual strangers boarded the train together, sat in almost complete silence and stared as the Aravalli’s enclosed our already reserved countenance. Little did we know that the wait on Ajmer Junction would form unlikely bonds of friendship blanketed by a comfort only the aforementioned friends could lend.

 There was a sense of belonging that made my heart beat faster. Faster, as we neared the buildings I called home for so many years. I could almost see my own smile as we disembarked the bus that we waited 45 minutes for. Those camel coloured suits with the Pachranga paisleys and maroon ‘churnis’ were a sight that greeted sore eyes (The excitement prevented any sleep from reaching me). Juniors running and smiles widening, I, walked into the mess. Greeted by the chaos that we so fondly remember and like any other Thursday at the MCGS mess, simply the sight of kadhi-chawal filled me up. The computer science lab with its air conditioning was an escape I couldn’t wait to make. Chaos. Multiple prints, addition of editorials and deletion of articles. At the end all I can say is that the sound of the Photostat machine never felt so good.

Changing in Charumati House, a surge of nostalgia washed over me as I genuinely began hurrying up after the sound of the bell. The same bell that ruled my every (well, almost every) move for 5 years. A dinner that went into a lot more, conversation and begging for ‘chai’ (angrezi and desi) in Oman Guest House. A clean and not so ‘clumsy’ room became the space for the chai and charcha. The Air conditioner tried and failed to get rid of the smell of the miasma. But at the end of the night where acquaintance began turning into friendship, we didn’t care very much.

A newsletter left to the mercy of students, an event left to the mercy of teachers and the vehicles left to the mercy of a driver whom the entire lot of us managed to drive crazy by the end of the evening. Dera Masuda, saw us descend upon it like a swarm of bees, 2 hours of continuous dancing and a failed sneak out that led to a few awkward questions by the Principal (washroom woes :p which baffled that entire table where the senior faculty was seated), blue bottles and green boxes (interchangeable words) and CAKE (lots of colour because ‘apni toh yaari atrangi hai re..’)! The best part was being miserly about the chai and not sharing it with the angrez!(his fault, he shouldn't have questioned our methods.) Breaking rules that we felt were binding, walking a complete round of a campus most of us would look longingly at, hearing its stories and learning its history. 

  

Maybe that’s the reason it surprised no one when we landed up behind schedule, those midnight conversations that became early morning ones as well as those morning introductions that became midnight conversations, happenings that I expected would make me rethink certain aspects of existence only liberated me further. The reverberating beats of the music, the swishing skirts and clicking heels, as well as a case of dehydration led to midnight games of Taboo which were played Gayatri style (in hindi, using actions and disregarding the rules- why? Because Gayatri is always right! And the rest of us ‘ toh uss level ke the hi nahi’ that we would get it). Ruining the juniors peace of mind and adding her to the club with only 3 hours of sleep, Maggi breakfast at MCGS was a justified next! Not to forget the Pizza party, the exhaustion which led to dehydration and the scramble to pack our suitcases.

The 17^th of April had us all in a ‘senti’ mood, goodbyes are never easy and neither are they forever, but they have to be said, for if you don’t leave, you never come back. A compartment of 78 seats, with 50 belonging to the students and us, the shatabdi was once again full of incessant chatter that made it feel like ‘a forest’ with only ‘fools’. But a journey which should have taken 7 hours and took 6 more instead, in the last analysis should have driven us insane but all I remember is the laughter and the fun (not true, I also remember the shouting and the stench that I was forced to face).

Rescuing boys from girls, rescuing coke bottles from sleeping kids and forming new friendships with people of a different calibre, a School Captain, a Sleepy non-sleeper, a ‘yo-ey’, a what’s up kid, a kid who gave me his seat (all from the same school) , a karate kid(whose name I know not) and a CHATTRAPATI (oh! Thank God, everyone rescued the pen from me, while the thought of jail kept me from action, the comment that I would do human kind service was a great aggravator). A debate on feminism, a discussion on how good-looking women should be kept at a distance if they adversely affect one’s well-being and a declaration that YKD ‘alag hi hai’, left me so introspective that those 6 extra hours that at that moment in time annoyed me to no end will always be remembered with great fondness.

The 4:15 am arrival at New Delhi Railway Station filled me with a sadness I couldn’t comprehend, there was a hurry to get home but there was a longing, a longing to go back, to once again feel the serenity in chaos that the MCGS batch of 2017 provided me with, to be jellyfished, to once again be cut midway through my conversation, to be told I carry out parallel conversations, to stand once again at the train door and feel the countryside slipping past like a symphony, to relive those conversations about addictive tea and societal constraints, to play once again Taboo (gayatri style) with half the compartment, to hold conversation with those kids of a separate calibre. There was a fear that these days will in some time become empty memories and that those friendships may fade away but there is also a confidence that this conference was a special one. One we would not want to forget.

From being a Mayoite to becoming an ex-Mayoite, from being a senior to becoming a sister, from YKD to yakadi, from standing in the wings to becoming a (self-declared ‘best’) wing-man, a part of me will always be indebted to the people who made these 4 days some of the most precious in all my travel. A thank you won’t cut it, but I’ll say it anyway. Thank you for the fun, the moments, the crazy time, the music and the memories. MCGSMUN 2016, You will be missed!