4 years since those 4 years

Some minds are always hustling to make sense of all the things around them,

so they are always waiting,

always screaming in their heads 

 “it will all make sense someday”

Yeah, that’s me there!

I mean, not using a mobile phone during high school makes sense now, for me at least! 

At 25, School days make perfect sense but College still gets on my nerves somehow.

I had four years of College.

I wrote a piece just after College was about to end. It had messages to all the people I cared about then. They were about 20 people.

Now, after another 4 years since my bachelors, there are just a handful left. The best part is that I am grateful of just those handfuls, thankful of those who left, and ready to drop in some of the remaining ones too through the course of life. Maybe, that’s how it is, letting go; with time, it flows through your veins and moves out as easily as a feather would tumble off one’s sleeves on a windy day.

After 2 years of completion of my bachelors degree, I went back to the place where my College is and saw the same bricks, the same big banyan tree near the basketball court, the same big staircases to the main hall, the same chairs in the classrooms, the same cafeteria still out of blue lays, still just one photocopy machine, Maggi tasted exactly the same as it used to in 2016  and 2012, everything was great and exactly how it was supposed to be. That’s when I realised that Colleges couldn’t be manifested by such a meaningless denotation as a Place. It’s more than just a Google Maps search. You can’t simply pin point your College on the world map. The whole point of explaining the entire sentimentality that comes along with it falls short somewhere down the line while simply speaking about the position of your College on this planet. 

After 2 years, I had realised that I was wrong on missing that place. I never missed the place. It was all the same! What I missed was myself. The version of me that used to roam around that place in another time period. 

That version of me has vanished. 

Puff! 

Gone!

It goes off so fast and unobserved. 

College is where you are free within four walls.

Rules can be broken just so you can laugh about it. 

Hearts couldn’t be broken there. If at all they did, they were mended soon enough. 

Less responsibilities. 

Less money. 

Less network. 

There’s a lot less of everything in College. 

When at last you realise that you are no longer that person anymore, you start missing her a lot. That’s when you’ve got to sit and introspect whether you’ve grown or not. Though, the younger version seems cool right now, I hope the older one’s wiser. 

So here’s the truth.

People leave,

and you leave too.

So you would not just loose friends, 

you’d want to loose them too.

Remember that it’s perfectly fine both ways. 

You’re going to miss your younger version a lot. A LOT. You would want to change back to her as well. But before doing that, do ask yourself, does time calls it necessary? 

The ordinary well

Hey Reader!
You do that funny thing, right?
Once you get a new novel to read, you smell it.
Nope. Smelling books ain't funny.
The next thing is.

After the heavenly smell has been inhaled and you're preparing your senses to indulge in the literature while you flip the pages to skip the initial pointless inclusions of publisher names and acknowledgements - your subconscious mind prepares itself to do that funny thing - looking for THAT right character.
Mostly, you find him/her by the first chapter ends.
Now the character becomes you.
Till you reach the second chapter, you're reading your tale.

It's fun, right? To become someone who's not you but just a writer's imagination? You do stuff that you wouldn't do in your real life or get ideas to do things in your real life that the character does in fiction.
Further if you ever read that book again or its sequel reaches your rack, you'd always be him/ her. 

You do that for every story, right?
You'll not get to do that in this one.

My dear Reader, you'll not get to choose this time. 
The writer will.
You're Betty.

Betty is a frog.

Betty lives in a far far place that no one knows of. Not even Betty.

Betty was born in an unknown lake as a tadpole. She used to swim around the lake happily with her flattened tail. Her favorite activity was to eat small plants. As any other tadpole's wish, she couldn't wait for her puberty to begin so that she could become a frog and see what the outside of the lake held.

When it was time for her puberty, her tail started shortening. In a few weeks her gills had disappeared and tiny teeth started to grow in her mouth.
Soon she was a frog! This change was overwhelming for after all the life in water, she could now go to the field and hop! She could hop just as much as the male frogs could. At night when it was time to croak, she used to croak as loud as she could and rejoiced. Fellow frogs used to watch her with awe and some with envy when her voice grew louder than the other frogs.

Once a week, the whole clan organized 'Croak nights' wherein they went to a place near the pond and croaked at the top of their voices.
As a frog, today was her first Croak night. How excited was she! Finally, she was grown up enough to croak at the Croak night!
Betty went to the place near the pond and saw hundreds of frogs laughing and having a great time. She didn't know when the croaking would start so she decided to ask someone. She looked around and saw a frog almost of her age and hopped towards him. 
"When will the croaking start?" asked Betty.
"You're new?" he asked.
"Yeah" said Betty.
"The rule is that the loudest starts the first" he said, "known as the Croakhead."
"So we first wait for her?" asked Betty.
"Apparently, the loudest is a him" he said, smiling at Betty.
Suddenly Betty heard a loud croak. In no time, the other frogs started croaking and the sound started to become louder and louder.
"Now?" asked Betty.
He croaked, smiled, nodded and continued croaking.
Betty inhaled and croaked, but couldn't hear herself. She tried again, coughed a little, but still couldn't hear her voice. 
THIS was something!
Amongst all the noise, she calmed herself first, cleared her throat and this time croaked as loud as she could. 


CHAPTER 2
Her eyes were shut. A smile was on her face as this time she had heard herself croak.
But there was something peculiar as well. Silence spanned the whole place. Everyone around her were quiet. She opened her eyes to see everyone staring her.
"What happened?" she asked, embarrassed.
Everyone turned around their heads and started their business of croaking again.
She was distressed. Something had gone wrong and she had to know what. She nudged her only companion and asked,"Can you please tell me what happened just now?"
"Did you hear yourself croak?" he asked.
"Of course I did" she said.
"That's like the loudest I've ever heard or even they've heard for that matter," he said.
"Wow" she said, smiling, "So that was why they looked so bewildered! I thought they were staring me because I might've done something wrong." 
So things weren't that wrong as she believed them to be. But wait, her companion had a strange expression on his face and wasn't croaking. Something was still fishy. She needed to converse more.
"So is there any chance of me becoming the Croakhead?, "she asked.
"Betty, you are female," he said.
"But I was the loudest, right? " she said.
"You're not supposed to!" he said.
For the first time in her life, a soft punch of adulthood had hit her and flown off, smirking. 

The hard punch came when she was informed that the clan had decided to not allow Betty for the weekly Croak nights.
She was a female.
She was loud.
A combination beyond tolerance.


CHAPTER 3.
Betty's croaking did took a back seat but her hopping didn't. Betty decided to hop around the wide land while everyone was away for Croak nights. It was better to be alone discovering new exciting places. The croaking and Croak nights were too loud anyway! 

Once while hopping around the place where she had never been to, Betty saw a huge queue of frogs. Curious, she went towards the queue and asked one of the frogs standing in the long line, "What is this queue for?"
"Hop away, girl", the huge frog screamed, "Enjoy the time when you're not here."
"Where are you going?", asked Betty," Even I want to go!" She kept on hopping to catch up with the huge frog while the queue moved ahead.
"You don't know kid?",said the huge frog,"This queue is for the ordinary well."
"Ordinary well", exclaimed Betty, confused. "What kind of a well is an ordinary well?"
"Ask this to someone on the field", said the huge frog, "I don't have much time. I need to figure out a way to get out if this queue."
"Go away you idiot!",came another voice.

Betty turned around and started walking back from where she came. What's an ordinary well? Why were those frogs in a queue and moving towards that well? Moreover, why were they sad about being in the queue and wanted to come out of it?
All such questions were hovering her mind when she heard a voice," You seem to have a lot of questions in your head?"
Betty turned around to see an old frog. Old frogs were usually not seen around in the field.

"Who are you?" asked Betty.
"Answer to your questions, "said the old frog.
"I don't understand."
"Do you know why there aren't many old frogs at your place?"
"I know frogs die when they get old."
The old frog smiled.
"Maybe I never cared to discuss." Betty said, eyeing the old frog.
"Okay. I'll tell you, "said the old frog, "there's a well where this queue ends. It's called the ordinary well.
The well is where one is not supposed to go. If you reach that well, you'll forget the fields, the lake, your friends. Everything! And will start to believe that the well is your world. The frogs that once went to the well, never came out."

"That's why people want to get out of the queue, "said Betty, "So they don't end up in the ordinary well and forget the field and their friends. They don't want to forget the life that they are experiencing on the field"
"Exactly!, "the old frog said, "Normally, the old frogs join this queue which is why they are not much seen at your place. But some frogs join the queue at a very young age, some even as young as you. Some join the queue later, but mostly all end up here."
Things were getting interesting for Betty now. "How does one end up in this queue?" she asked.

The old man smiled and said, "Doesn't the name suggests it fine? The frogs that you see in the queue have become ordinary!"
Betty stared at the old frog and got lost in reverie. The vague dots were now beginning to connect.

"Everyone's born different, "said the old frog, "Every tadpole is distinct from the other tadpole. But as they grow up to become frogs, they tend to lose their distinctiveness. Eventually, they all become ordinary. 
But ordinary is something you're not supposed to be. So the rule says once you become ordinary you join the queue and end up in the well from where there's no escape." The old frog looked at the hustle that the queue was and continued the conversation, "the most disheartening thing is that almost half of our clan, while they get old, is headed towards the well with no intentions to enter it!"

"Everyone dreaded that ordinary well. But with what they teach and preach, they ended up in that well itself, "thought Betty.
She never wanted to make it to the ordinary well.

The old frog continued, "the Croakhead attempted to make you ordinary by not letting you go to croak night. The one peculiarity in you has been omitted and thus you are able to see this queue."  

Betty now reflected on how the whole clan had made her adjust to their norms and how she had happily compromised with it.

Betty asked, "What are we supposed to do to not become ordinary?"
The old man replied, "Be yourself."
Betty knew what to do. 

They'll want you to become different among the ordinary but will teach you how to be ordinary. Beware! Never enter the ordinary well.

The incomplete tale (Story)

CHAPTER 1
He was sitting down on the mud with his legs cris crossed, his right elbow on his thigh and his head resting on his right palm. His young countenance bore brown eyes that were gleaming with a joy similar to the pleasure of encountering something extraordinarily beautiful for the first time. He couldn't take his young 10 year old eyes off from what was in front of him. They were glued on that little puffy thing! 

It seemed to him as a flower but not of the usual kind. It was different. This flower had colored itself white while the others carried vibrant colors. Among the specials all around the garden, he had just noticed an ordinary and it made him smile. That little ordinary white puff was the conformance of how human can the nature be!
The flower seemed so soft. He wanted to keep that puff in his hands to feel its softness but was reluctant to pluck it as he might damage its beauty.

His eyes continued to watch the little white puff with awe until his mind's curiosity took over. In no time, he stood up and ran to his home, slammed the door open and called "Papa! Papa!"
Papa was in the kitchen,"What got you this time?"asked Papa.
"I need to show you something," he exclaimed with a breathy tone. He took hold of Papa's hand and dragged him out of the house.

The garden was just outside their home. It was very dear and precious to Papa. They entered the garden and Papa saw the greens as if he was watching them for the first time, again!
They meandered through the curved path along the lush greens that were a product of Papa's hard work. How proud was Papa for the greens and the colors his garden held! There were daffodils surrounding the path, gerbera, lily and solidaster could be found behind the daffodils, huge bushes of red and white roses were seen in-between and green hedges, perfectly cut as oceans waves, cornered the whole area. Every single plant, when once a sapling, was fed by Papa and now flaunted the colors it held. This was his kingdom.

The boy, already holding his Papa's hand, grabbed it hard and pulled him to sit down when they reached the right place. Papa sat down on his knees, his son cris crossed his legs and pointed to the little soft puff.
"What is this?", the 10 year old brain questioned, eyeing the little white ordinary among the colored specials.
Papa plucked out the puff, placed it in his hands and said,"People call it a dandelion."
"Why did you pluck it off Papa?" he asked, dejected.
"Because it's a weed", said Papa.
"It doesn't look like a weed. It's too beautiful to be one." he said, eyeing the puff.
"Oh yes yes! No doubt it's beautiful and that's why it's special", said Papa, while handing the puff over to his son, "they say you must blow on a dandelion puff and make a wish. Then say:
"Dandelion, puffs away,
Make my wish come true some day."

Source : www.creativemarket.com

He was still looking at the puff in his little hands. A little while ago it stood alive and now it laid lifeless in his hands. He wanted the warmth of his hands to give back life to the dandelion. The attempt was futile.
"Go on, make a wish", said papa, criss crossing his legs to sit down the same way as his son was sitting,"God has planted a wish in our garden just for you. Don't let this chance slip by."

The boy's eyes were still staring the dandelion in his little hands when he asked,"What should I ask for, Papa?"
"That's something that you should know."said Papa,"And the rule here is that you don't have to tell anybody about the wish. Not a single soul! If a second person finds it out then the wish might not get fulfilled."
He took his eyes off the lifeless dandelion, looked at Papa and asked,"Where is the wish sent?"
"Above the clouds!,"said Papa and turned his head up.
"To God?", he asked.
Papa smiled,"You can say that",he said, still looking up.
"You know Papa, I wonder why God resides above the clouds that I can't ever reach!",he said, looking at Papa.
Papa looked at him, pulled his cheeks and said," Then perhaps he's always around somewhere. Now c'mon, make a wish!"
He waited for a while to think and asked,"Papa, what if I don't make a wish and pose a question instead? Will it be answered just like the wishes come true?"

Papa was shocked. How bewildering yet beautiful was to listen such words from his son!
No wonder such simple yet subtle interpretations can be expected to emerge from no one but a creature that's something near to a child. Only a child has the wits to crack open the several adult-made boundaries.
Every now and then someone reminds you of who you were. And then, the only thing you want to become is what you had been! His son had just done the same.

Getting off from the pensive mood, Papa asked his son,"What's the question, my boy?"
"I won't tell, of course", he said,"You yourself told not to reveal the wish and I guess that's what I should do with my question as well." He stood up, clenched the dandelion in his fist, closed his eyes and, as how Papa could gather, was now asking a question. 

In a few seconds he opened his eyes and smiled at Papa.

Papa didn't say much.
One thing was sure. The question was pretty short.

CHAPTER 2

"You're working wrong, idiot!" she exclaimed. She never thought her best friend could do something as foolish as this. Asking a question over a dandelion was not supposed to be a thing of a 10 year old!
"How am I wrong?", he asked, trying to sound calm but there were some hints of insecurity covering his mind.
He and she, both were swinging in the park situated between their respective homes.
"You can't expect to get chocolate from a textile industry", she said, trying to swing higher. "The thing you have questioned upon is a wish granting factory. You need to go to the one that give answers."
He stopped his swing and while looking her swing harder, he  exclaimed,"But there's no object that take your questions."
"Questions are supposed to be taken by people. So a person can do that,"she said,"Like our teacher! She can do that."
"Do what?" he asked.
"Answer your question, dimwit!" she exclaimed.
"You're losing the point, idiot," he said,"They said wishes go straight to God. God considers the wish and grants them. I want God to answer the question. It's been a week now. I guess my question would have reached him by now. Then why isn't he answering?"

Silence took over for a while except for the creaky sound of the swing.
"Maybe you can try the father at our Church," she said," write a letter to him. He seems a genius at answering stuff."

This was great. He hopped out of the swing and ran towards his home.

She was expecting a thank you.
"Bye!"was the only word he said to her.

Some time later, the Church received a letter. 

SOME FINAL LINES TO MAKE THE TALE INCOMPLETE.

The Father of the Church stood there, the big statue of his lord above him.
A letter in his hands.
There, on the worn-out page of the letter, were scribbled words in a young boy's handwriting.
The words had ended with a question mark.

"Hello God, you there?"

A question that even the father could not gather courage to answer.
He stood there in the Church, the Christ's statue was casting a shadow over him as if trying to make him feel its presence and luring him to say yes.
He stood still, pondering on something that he believed in and how he couldn't confirm it to a 10 year old.

As for the boy, a letter from the Church never came.
Hence, nor has the answer.

Let's just not say Goodbye

The bygone memories and the present emotions! Both are powerful works of bliss.
Those dewy-eyed looks from the people you love gets you nostalgic. You look at them and feel how grateful you are to have people who make such moments so beautiful and goodbyes so hard.
And then?
And then, people like me, write.
I'm doing the same.

Okay so lets not get cheesy here and start off with the Atankwadis.

Shivangi (Gemini) :
First meet : This is what I remember - There's a girl named Shivangi and she's sick AND she'll probably get you sick too AND she doesn't get out for interactive sessions AND she gets food in her room itself AND I need to go to her room "pair dabane k liye" AND then I get scolded by seniors "pair nhi dabane ke liye". Who in the world would want to meet this girl in the first place!
Message:
You've inspired me to write, that too about you! Feel proud.
I should be the first one to meet your husband to tell him that he has been talked about by this girl every single day of our 4 years together.

Chuta (Another Gemini, duh!)
Pranam Brother!
First meet : I'm in my hostel room, watching all the mess that the room was and waiting for a 'Shweta Tripathi" to enter the room as my roommate and there you are - standing on the entrance - the most malnourished girl in the room!
Message :
You've been amazing brotha! College 'tragedies' wouldn't be as fun as they were, without you.
But lets get things straight - once I get out of the premises, I'll be deleting you. You need to call in order to get yourself out from the recycle bin.
Or else,
"Bhoolna mat bhoolna".
Don't miss me. I won't.

Radha (Thakeli)
First meet : you experienced something paranormal in your room once. You then came running to us to spit it out.
Message:
I know you love me.
Get through that bloody GATE and join me. Fast!
I love you back.

Richa kushwaha (heroine)
First meet : Hey! Hey you! chipkali se dar nhi lagta na? Toh mere room ki bhaga do!
Message:
Frankly, you need to figure out a way to live without Jyoti.

Juhi Rastogi (Chacha Seth)
First meet : I see you, you glance me back. The 3rd person says," you can be roommates!".
I glance you again. You look at me.
"I'm screwed", thinks both of us.
Message : I still can't get over with the care you offer.
Don't get mad on your kid if he scores 96% instead of a 97%.
When someone calls you fat, exhale!

Jyoti Singh
First meet : I get out of my room. You get out of yours and we watch each other.
"We've got to be friends", say our minds.
Message :
Keep your wits in place and you'll reach heights.

Dolly Kumari (Doll)
I love the way you've always kept the best version of yours for me. I get the best hugs from you.
Little devil, you're cute.

Smita Gupta (Gandhi)
Bucked up for the professional life huh? In the course do not lose out the real you (tota dance has been counted in the list too).

Ekta Nishad (Mother Teresa, gigi)

Mummmmmaaaaaaaaa!!!
You once made a dragon look cute. Take this as a metaphor for your life.
Your friendship is an inspiration. Stay the same, girl.

Now for the extended Atankwadis

Shalini Singh (It's funny how I never named you. SHALINI, yeah that's fine with me!)
First meet: I asked you for water in the computer lab.
Message:
If this Biotechnology thing doesn't work out, lets just become writers instead!
"For you, a thousand times over" to you too miss!

Aishwarya Singh
Wait! (you know for what).
Your care is a hope in disguise to this world. Never lose it.
And yes, people WILL stare you (thanks to those bloody features that your face holds), just put the glares on and walk on like a egoistic bitch.

Lavanya
Hi miss! We have a new journey ahead. Lets just get to that now!

Pooja Verma (BHAI)
We met a little late but the time spent with you has been amazing.
The lean on wala dance will be missed.
Shaadi pr aa jaongi mai lehenga pehenkr!

Special mentions.

Swati Gupta
How can you be so good with everyone? Teach me that.

Sadiya
You beauty! In and out.

Deeksha Tamrakar
Hey project partner!
You're street smart and I envy you for that.
And yes, you need to get a new playlist!

Neelofer
Had I been a boy, you'd be my girlfriend.

Abhilasha
I've seen you change and how I love that!

Yamini Kaul
I sometimes feel that I didn't give the same love to you as you've showered upon me. All I can do is to say thank you. Thank you for all you've been to me.

Swati Chaudhary
You and your best friend need some  serious thank yous from me.

Swati Sharma
Your confidence dude! YOUR CONFIDENCE.

Swapnil
Hi Pati! Kaise ho? Divorce lele ab?
You've been the most generous of all. Stay the same.

Vishakha
Bhaaabhiiiiii. Aap bahut talented ho!

Shikha Tripathi
Logic is the word.

Awasthi Ji
Miss me when I'm gone. I know you will!

Rungta (mitona)
Mitona ka matlab rubber hai!
I'll  be waiting for my rakhi.

Nikita Arora
Blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah blah (samajh jaa)

Shubhangi
Hey fellow reader! You and your voice are the most sweetest thing in our college.

Anuja
Hey football player! Dude, you've got swag.

Sanjeev
Budham sharnam gachami.
Army brat high five to you rotlu.

Avinash
Sir ji, aap toh sab jaante ho!
Chicken nhi khilaya tune aaj tak. Still waiting!

Ebad (Marketing expert)
Stay in touch. I need to get a job at biocon, you see! Good luck to you!

Aryan
You're the sweetest guy around. Thanks for being so good.

Rohit Kapasia (chota neta)
Rom rom ji! (Gujjar style)
You've been a helping hand for us so many times. Thank you for everything.

Vishwendra
Stop over-thinking stuff.
Continue with the shairis and stay happy!

Nitin
Never noticed you in the beginning, but once I did, I was impressed.

Yawan
You and Nitin are an inspiration. I'd love to see this friendship prevail over anything else.

Prashant
You're a great human being. Keep writing and stay in touch.

For a reader like me, how exciting it is to reach the end of a well written literature! After all the time of ceaseless reading stretches, finally it's coming to an end and the best part is that while you're happy to complete the book, there's something that holds you back and you suddenly don't want to finish it. Closing a book is a mixed feeling of triumph and "why did it finish so early?"
Ending of college seems to me as an end of a favorite novel.

Average Indian Woman

To Durgesh (and of course to Kartik, Tushar, Toni, Chakrapani, Chirag, Abhishek, Ujjwal and other boys and girls who might as well press the thumb's up button on Durgesh's status),

This is something that you may not like. As it happens, people don't prefer to like this form of literature. This is, well... reality!
Let me clear out some points before I get to the main ones. I'm not a feminist. Yeah, you read it right. I totally support the "you don't have to be an anti-man to be a pro-woman" ideology. I accept the fact that women take extra advantages of the weird privileges that they get. I believe that "all men are same" is plain bullshit. So stop thinking it as a wrecked answer to a man by an offended woman.
Let's take it in this way. I'm an average Indian woman belonging to a middle class family who's not a feminist and who's writing for girls this time as there were things that this boy couldn't explore.
I'll elaborate each and every line of this 'well written philosophical write-up' and state what I think on it.
These are entirely my views and I welcome criticisms.

1*From the time you were born to the age you have grown up, there is a guy who protects you and  love you, that's your father.
From the time you were born to the age you have grown up, there is a woman who protects you and loves you, that's your mother. Period.
(Frankly, both our moms and dads spare their time to love and protect us. Be it a girl or a boy).

2*From the time you join the college till you leave it, u will get protected and loved by many or may be one but there is always someone...
Yes, there's always someone. But dear boy, let me tell you the other (real) side of it.
Those someones are the ones who first connect with her, eventually they propose her and when she says "no" they make false claims about her. "She's a slut" "she was the one to call me up" "she's friend zoning me", sounds familiar?
Other 'someones' approach her just because of the fact that their friends told the 'someone' that the 'someone' is not good enough to make her like him. Ego, you know!
And then that look! Okay, frankly you guys stare! A lot. You might say that we look at her because she looks beautiful but some guys stare as if girls are their beer glasses. That's, in no possible way, protection or love. Besides, that's way too irritating!
And then they reach Facebook. They send requests. When not accepted, they cancel it and send it again. Not accepted. Cancel it. Send it again. Still no lead? They'll message you! Blocked. Again the lame judgements and annotations start.
Now you'd be thinking that *all guys are not like this* *there's always that one girl that he responds to earnestly*
You know, all these things that boys do for *that one girl* gets irritating when the girl is not interested. A 'no' means 'no'. There's no need to love or protect if there's no lead. Simple!
Reality check - There's a lot of emotional hate that we get from boys loving us than the actual love or protection that you're taking about!

3*A guy who does his duty and remains always in service and makes a typical Indian woman "weak"
These services also include molestation, rape, domestic violence....
Okay, lets not talk about the big words here. A simple example is eve teasing. A girl walks in college campus and she's being commented upon. This very situation has made her strong, by the way.
Your services have made us strong. Thanks!
(For the "good services" skip to point 12)

4*If they have no one they  form a group and feel protected in that.
Seriously? Aren't those groups called friends? And dude you come from a defense background. Dont you know the real strength lies in being together?
In case, you're talking about a girl being part of a boys group to feel protected, I've seen numerous guys always having a backup number of a guy they know of, or in perfect straight forward way a "gunda".

5*There is always someone to take care.
You're kidding, right? Boys are generally taken care of at homes more than girls. No doubt, you hold the legacy of the family in your hands! (If you mean 'outside home', skip to point number 9)
Remember, caring is essentially feminine.

6*If they don't do anything in there life, there is a husband they will get for sure on whom they will depend.
An earning man is as much dependent on a housewife as a housewife on the earning man.
Hard to swallow?
Okay, so tell that husband to live without a housewife. Tell him to cook, wash his own clothes, do the dishes, manage home accounts, look after kids, get them admitted in a good school, keep track of his children's studies, meet his kid's teachers on PTMs, and a whole bunch of ignored stuff, alone.
Remember, an earning husband and a housewife are a team. A housewife is not a liability, for god's sake! Mind you, it take guts to choose no work over 'looking after kids'!

7*Weak Indian women... Yes, Typical Indian woman is weak
To put it simply, tell this to your mother and she'll tell you a tale of how you were brought into this world!

8*Because they haven't felt the insecurity in there life, that is, they haven't found a need to be strong.
Never tell that to a girl. Ever. (I'm not making myself pour here. "Girls haven't found a need to be strong". This is lame)

9*Life is all about Learning, u travel in general bogies of the train, you carry less cash while traveling, u live like a broke...
First, who said we never travel in general bogies? Yes, we do. And we don't waste time to punch the person who tries something awkward.
Now see from an adult perspective. A father and mother won't want their girl to go in general bogies. Why?
Because there are people of your breed (males) who might do something wrong. On the contrary, would you expect a woman to touch or molest a boy? No, the probability is surely less.
So by not letting their girl child enter a general bogie, yes, they're trying to protect her. But dear boy, you won't be touched, stared, molested or even if it happens, you won't be annotated by the society in any way. So girls are given better tickets by their fathers because the consequences that a girl would have to bear are just too high. Clearly, the solution to such problem is not in any world letting your girls travel in general bogies and face those freaks, but to not have such freaks at all!
Secondly, we are mainly middle class, so even we face situations when the cash is less. No point discussing here.
Third. Again we're talking about middle class society here and who would in the world of middle class people do that to their son? Normally, parents won't let their kids stay like a broke. (Though that's not a bad idea. It'll teach life to both girls and boys. But we're not in The States. Come back to India) And in some cases if they had, then there ARE examples of girls too (Kangana Ranaut)

10*There are some practices that makes you strong and you learn, from the basics.. But we don't allow them...
Oh my God!
Shut Up Man!

11*There is always someone to spread love and make them weaker than before.. And they get habitual of that. 
Just to clear stuff, 'spreading love' and 'protecting' (that you've used quite too often) are two different things. The better tickets were not father's love but his sense of protection for his daughter.
Spreading love is actually a great thing. This world needs it the most.
Moreover, for boys (and girls too), there is always a woman to spread love in the most purest way in the universe - that are our moms.

12*With me, services are not so good.
Yeah, right. Services (as mentioned above in point 3) are not so good. Try not to give them.
Now about the 'good services'. That's called pampering. As for me, pampering remains equally on both sides. I've personally met a lot of young pampered girls as well as boys.

13*I may be a Gentleman but I am not going to make things easier for you, I will make u strong... That applies for my sisters, mother and friends.
Your breed has already made things 'not so easy' for us but we're kind of still shining and that's the proof of the strong Indian average woman. Gentleman, boys (whatever is the way to distinguish them) are the reasons why we became strong in the first place! So you don't have to waste your time making your sisters, mother and friends strong. They already are!

14*Life is hard, and that's a gift.. Love it, and respect it...
To you too, Sir!

I choose to write it big. Had I been told to end this briefly, it would have been like this:
Women are not strong? Bleed for 7 days straight, then tell me.

A Conceited dream II (story)

"At the stroke of midnight",he said, "while the world sleeps, India will wake to life and freedom."
It's 12 on my watch now. It's the same midnight hour, 68 years from then.

The grand occasion of 69th year of Indian Independence was here already and Smriti hadn't a slightest idea of what to write next. She dropped her pen on the notebook which had a few lines that weren't making any sense, placed it beside her pillow and dozed off to sleep.

His face seemed similar; dark brown sunken eyes under bushy eyebrows on a rather pale countenance. Smriti had her doubts until she saw a rose in the person's left chest pocket of the coat he was wearing.
"Why are you here sir?", she asked.
"It's your dream. How am I supposed to know why I'm here", said the figure in a bold and bossy voice.
"How should I stop my dream?", asked Smriti, getting a little offended with the reply.
"In my times, we used to pinch ourselves",spoke the figure, still viewing Smriti with eyes that seemed grave but manifested themselves as belonging to a great thinker and scholar.
Smriti pinched herself. Nothing happened. She was still there in the room that she had never been to, standing with the first Prime Minister of India, Mr. Jawaharlal Nehru. His figure was a bit hazy but Smriti could easily look into the calmness in his eyes that were struck on her.
"Try closing your eyes", suggested the bossy voice again.
Considering it as a better idea, Smriti closed her eyes and pinched herself again. Her eyes contracted as she felt the pain. Now she could feel a wave of warmth surround her body. It felt comforting. She waited for a few seconds and then opened one of her eyes very slowly as if peeking through an invisible wall and wished to get to her bed without any delay.
But to her dismay, Smriti saw herself at the same place.
Nehru smiled and exclaimed, "bad idea!"

Smriti was getting curious. "What is this place, sir?", she asked.

"Why do you ask when you don't wish to stay here?"

"Tell me how to get back and I'll not ask."

"I just told you. Turns out, its not working!"

"So have I stuck in my own dream?", asked Smriti in a trembling voice.
"Pretty much!" replied Nehru.
Smriti walked to a chair at the entrance of the room that she was in and sat down. They both remained quiet for a while.
"Sir can I tell you something?", smirked Smriti, "but it might offend you."
"Go on",said Nehru, turning towards the only window in the room, opposite to where Smriti now sat.
Smriti gave a wicked smile, chuckled and said, "you have a grand grand son named Rahul and he's a joke. We call him the pappu of India."
The figure didn't do anything. Giving no reaction, he walked to the window and stood there facing his back to Smriti.
Smriti's smile faded, "sorry!", she said, "I shouldn't have told you this!"
The figure was still looking out from the window and showed no interest in what Smriti was babbling about.
"What happened? Why are you not speaking?" cried Smriti.
"You question a lot, little girl", he said with his head still looking away from Smriti and struck out from the window.
"Sorry", mumbled Smriti.
"Not to mention your frequent apologies",came the bold voice.

Smriti saw the figure stand before the window and wondered what was that he was watching so eagerly. She quietly walked to the window and looked ahead. To her surprise, she saw that the outside of the room was moving!
"Are we in a train?" she cried.
"It seems", answered the figure.
"But it didn't seemed like a train until I watched out of the window!" howled Smriti, repeatedly looking inside and out.
"Exactly what I was pondering on when I looked out of this window", exclaimed Nehru, still gazing out. He was still calm as if nothing was weird about the setting.
"Why didn't you tell me then?" asked Smriti eyeing Nehru.
"You seemed more interested in my great grand son at that moment", said Nehru.
Smriti removed her gaze from Nehru and looked out from the window. She could see high stretches of plains till the horizon. The beautiful greens were shining under the night light which felt relieving.
"Any idea of where we are heading to?" asked Smriti, looking at the good old picturesque view that one gets to see from trains.
"Its your dream", smirked Nehru, you'll know."
"Aaargghhh, Sir!" groaned Smriti, "are you always like this?"
Nehru, still looking outside, said, "are you always full of questions?"
"Yes, I am", poised Smriti.
The figure, still looking out, smiled.

This dream was getting tiresome for Smriti. She thought of pinching herself again, this time a little harder, but all in vain. When she opened her eyes she could still see herself beside an already dead man standing in a place she knew nothing of, looking out to nothing but plains under a night sky.

Standing there, looking towards what Smriti considered boring, it occurred to her that she was standing before a man who had been of great importance for her country. She had heard a lot about him. She recalled what she once heard from her parent's discussion and asked, "Okay, sir. Tell me, were you really in love with Lord Mountbatten's wife?"
Nehru took his gaze off from the window and said with a quirky look in his eyes, "don't you think you're a bit too little to ask such questions?"
Smriti felt like a winner; she had finally broken her companion's gaze off the plains. "In 2015, a 15 year old asking this is perfectly normal sir",she said.
Nehru smiled. "And I'm from the time when a person as old as me wouldn't answer what you just asked, especially to a 15 year old", said Nehru and turned his head to gaze on to the view outside.

Irritated with Nehru's answers and conduct, Smriti finally exclaimed, "you know what sir, I don't remember how I got into this dream. I haven't any idea of getting out. You are not answering me. We don't know where we're going.  I don't even know why you are stuck up in my head....
"Hang on hang on, little kid" ,interrupted Nehru, "Look we are stopping somewhere!"
"Good lord!",cried Smriti, "Now what?"
Nehru turned towards the room's door and said, "now we get out of the train, of course!"
Both of them opened the door of the room and suddenly Smriti could hear the bustling engines of the train getting ready to stop. She followed Nehru through a narrow passage and then towards the entry door of the train. Through the door, Smriti could see a stretch of lush green garden with hedges of flowers all around. Though it was dark outside, she could still tell the pretty colors of the lilies, anemones and lavenders growing over a huge stretch. At the centre of the hedges were the usual swings, half painted, half broken, yet strong enough to hold a child's weight.
"This isn't any station" ,she shouted with engines roaring over her head.
"It's a park",said Nehru with a raised voice, which to Smriti seemed didn't need any extra efforts for the speaker to spill. "I remember coming here with Indira when she was young!"
"Hey! But its my dream" ,cried Smriti at the top of her voice, "How could we reach somewhere that I have never known of and is close to you?"
"Maybe this time you let me decide where to reach!" ,said Nehru, watching the garden passionately.
"How did I?" asked Smriti, troubled with what was happening.
Nehru smiled and jumped out of the train. He offered his hands to Smriti and said, "Dare to come with me?"
Smriti looked around. It was still dark. "I don't think so."

"Oh c'mon, what could happen to you? Its just a dream."

"You've got a point here, Sir."
She held his hands and hoped out.

Both of them walked along the park.
"It looks so young!" ,said Nehru. His sunken eyes were now beginning to gleam with excitement.
"Sir, actually it looks old",said Smriti, frankly.
"That explains the years between our times little girl",said Nehru as he went towards a hedge to look at the flowers growing there. Smriti followed. Nehru was now continuously looking at the flowers like the way he was watching out from the window of the train.
Smriti tried with the same plan again and said, "I was told you were a flirt!"
Nehru, still gazing at the flowers, said, "my great grand son is a joke, I loved the Viceroy's wife, I was a flirt. Are 15 year olds of this time stuffed with these in their heads about the first Prime Minister of their nation?"
Smriti smiled and said, "oh well there's much more but these are something quite intriguing about you. I guess I never tried to understand what you might want us to know about you."
Nehru touched a flower and swayed his hands gently on the white petals as if the flower was his pet animal ready to get comforted with his love.
"What do you know about me?",asked Nehru.
"Oh I know about your family Indira, Rajiv, Rahul, Priyanka. And then I know you didn't get along with Patel ji very well and then...."

"That's not comforting. Let's not talk on relations!"

"Okay so apart from that you had a good role in writing the constitution. Some people feel you should have been the foreign minister, you know, because of your role in keeping good terms with both US and USSR."

"That's better!"

'Ha!",exclaimed Smriti with pride." Tell me sir, what did you think of Sardar Patel?"

"Little girl", he looked at her after a long gaze on the flowers. "How would I know? It's your dream. The only way to know about me is to ask historians and read genuine books after you get away from this dream. Maybe then I could come again in your head and tell you what you already know. Remember, I can tell what your head knows already. And mind you, its not enough!"
"Well, that's what an average Indian knows about you sir",said Smriti.
"Then an average Indian should certainly know more", said Nehru, again taking his gaze off Smriti and onto the hedge.
"And what if we conclude you as a bad person after we've known everything that we should know about you?" asked Smriti.

"Conclusions without knowledge is a mark of fool, little girl. For me, it would sure be comforting for that'd mean you've known me well by then."

"And then would you accept the wrongs you did?"

Nehru signed and said," I was bound to make mistakes, as any man who's  thrusted upon so many decisions at a time when the world's tearing and recovering from tragic wars would do."

Nehru moved towards a swing on his right which seemed a little modern to him. "You know girl, why I wanted to come here?"
"Tell me sir", said Smriti, still standing before the hedge.

"Just wanted to see how wonderful this place has become!"
He looked around. His pale face now looked curious as if he wanted to stretch himself as far as he could so as to see the farthest soils of his motherland. He kept quiet for sometime and said, "however, there's one more"
Smriti thought she knew his reason and said, "I guess because you're emotionally attached to this, your days with your daughter having been spent here."
"My days NOT having been spent here as much as my daughter wanted, to be more precise, "signed Nehru.
Suddenly they could hear whistles and roaring of the engines. It was time to go back. But Smriti let the man stand there as she now knew he was seeking redemption.

Nehru turned around towards the hedge to look at Smriti, "l had a fixed time with me to share. Most of it went to nation building and power. It's quite later on when I realized my daughter could get only a little of it."
The whistle blew again. "Are you not coming?", screamed someone from the train.
"Sir we should move now",said Smriti.
Nehru smiled and started to move along with Smriti towards the train.
"Just so you know, I was called as Chacha Nehru by kids of your age," said Nehru, "But watching you, I doubt 15 year olds might be getting an adult status by now!"
Smriti smiled and said, "naah! I'm still a kid"
"Times do change, "he said as they reached the train.

Smriti hoped up first and gave a hand to Nehru. Once on the train, Nehru stood on the gate and looked out.
"You never wished to leave this place, right?",asked Smriti, once the engines had gained their pace.
Nehru was still looking outside and said, "leaving was never in question little girl. Dreaming just might be!"
"Chacha Nehru ji," she said "don't confuse me with your deep sentences please!"
Nehru laughed and swayed his hands on Smriti's head. "I used to dream of such a place when I was as young as you. A free place!" he said, "you're living my dream, kid!"
They both stood there on the gate of the train. Both of them, looking out with nothing to say.

"You know little girl" ,said Nehru, lifting his head to watch the night sky, "though the lands may change and our minds might wander with age but there's one thing that has always ceased to change."
Smriti looked at Nehru. He took a pause and pointed to the stars above them.

"I've started to like this dream," said Smriti after having looked at the splendor of the skies above them, "I hope I remember it when I wake up!"
Nehru checked his watch and cried, "good lord! You should wake up now!"

"Is it necessary?"

"Yes of course! Go to the room where we were in. Go! Fast!"

"Are you not coming with me?"

"No, just let me watch this place for the time I've got is as short as your dream" ,said Nehru. He smiled at Smriti and got one back in return. Finally, he looked outside again.
Smriti gazed at the big figure one last time. He was looking out just as a kid would see his first rain. She smiled and walked to the room.

There sitting on the chair beside the door was a boy of her age.
Looking at Smriti getting into the room, he rose from his chair and bursted, "hey, who are you? And where am I?"
"So he'll get to the next station", thought Smriti. She smiled and said, "How would I know? It's your dream!"

It's the time when anti-nehru (along with anti-gandhian) population is increasing. Nehru did screw up the Kashmir issue and Sino-Indian war was indeed a huge fail for us but we should not forget what this leader meant to Indians at his time. He, along with Gandhi, Patel, Rajaji and many others took the task of nation building at a time of food shortage all over the country, horrible instances of partition and heaps of homeless refugees coming in. It's not easy to build a nation in such horrific circumstances. Before drawing up to conclusions let's know more and see the better side.

Jawaharlal Nehru:
1. Helped write a great constitution: 

Nehru brought together a wide array of mutually antagonist people and together they wrote one of the finest Constitutions in the world.

2. Let India stay as a democracy:
Patel died within 2 years of independence, Gandhi within 6 months. With them out of the way he could have grabbed onto and held onto power more fiercely. He had a long reign of 17 years. Most leaders who stay that long screw up the fundamental nature of the system. That happened in almost all newly independent nations in the world, including our neighbors. (By 1958, Pakistan had its first military dictator, Ayub Khan.)

3. Built a strong image for India abroad:
Nehru built a name for India in the world bodies. This was even well before independence. He managed to have a very cordial relationship with both the superpowers. It is remarkable that even at the height of the cold war in early 1960s, both superpowers agreed on one thing - supporting India.

4 Integrated Goa & Pondicherry well: 
East Timor and Goa were both Portuguese colonies. Indonesia captured East Timor & India captured Goa. Three decades later, East Timor is now split off from Indonesia, while Goa stays firmly a part of India.

5 Hindu code bills:

 A series of landmark legal achievements that brought plenty of new legal rights to Hindus, especially women. 

6 Premier Education institutions:

 Helped setup IITs, IIMs, AIIMS etc. (Source: www.quora.com)

"Democracy is good. I say this because other systems are worse."
- Jawaharlal Nehru (1889-1964)

I was a soldier's son. (A letter to the man who killed me)

To,
The man who killed me,

My Dad was a part of the mission.
Yes.
He was involved in the task which led you to do this. My Abbu went with his unit to clear off your village or more precisely, kill your wives, sons and daughters.

I remember that night.
He used to call me every night, ask about my health, homework, food, fights with Sameer and I happily answered all of it. His strong voice was a rejoice to hear and moreover it gave me strength to not worry about him. But that night was different. His voice felt weak and wobbly. It seemed as if he had cried before calling me. That night, my voice was a strength to him.
It was when he came back home that I realized what made his voice weak that night, when I overheard Abbu and Ammi's conversation.
That night he had killed your family. That night he killed your wife, he killed your son, without pondering over your sentiments of watching your loved one's die. That night, he murdered the only love remaining in you.
Now, you've killed Abbu's son too. I hope you feel satisfied.
That night while you were crying with your wife and son's dead bodies in your arms, Abbu was weeping on the phone with his son on the other side. Today, Abbu is still crying with his hands wrapped around my lifeless body while YOU would be smiling somewhere, taking pride in what you did.

I'm dead.
Your revenge - taken.

When you came in my class, I got frightened. Frightened, as you had a rifle in your hands. In no time, you started shooting. I had closed my eyes while you were shooting my friends, still unaware of the fact that I was a soldier's son and you had come to kill me. When your gun pointed at me and you asked my father's name, I was choking yet I spoke with all the strength left in me.
"MAJOR RAFIQ KHAN"
Your rifle's sound is all I remember then. Maybe the bullet had hit my head.
I was scared at that time. But now I'm proud that my last words were my father's name. When I uttered his name at the top of my voice, it gave me strength to face your fright.

One day when I was strolling along the streets of Peshawar with my friends, a long nicely-built man came to us and told us about your group. He wanted us to come with him and join your group. But we ran. We ran till we reached the safe confinements of the army cantonment. We ran until we couldn't breathe. This was the level of our scare of you!
I remember him telling us about Jannnat. It sounded as a great place but as I sit down to write, I must tell you - it's not the same as he described.
Apparently, it's weird here. Just long stretch of barren land encircled by a white hazy horizon - that's quite it. Or maybe I'm in hell. But what wrong did I do to reach here? Moreover, hell's description was a lot more scarier than how this place is.
There are many peculiar aspects about this place. No boundaries, no religions, everyone looks similar, besides I haven't met God yet. Maybe in the beginning, earth would've been the same as this place. Boundaries......Religions......Wars....these came later with man.

I'm not writing anything to Abbu and Ammi. They're already shocked enough to read anything from me.

I hope you are feeling good right now.
I wish to meet your son over here, as above all we've both been killed by each other's Dads! I want to meet him and talk to him about how Abbu's men killed him. We need to find out what led our Dads to kill us. And don't you worry about him. Once we find out the reasons, we'll stay together. I'll take care of him as beyond everything, I was a soldier's son.

Your victim.