The Nightingale.

It was the worst day of my life.
French class was the best place to ease my frustration. I sat on the last bench, quiet, with my eyes and fist clenched shut. Then a figure sat beside me. I had to look up only for a fraction of a second before the whole story and a river of tears came flowing out.

An incident I swore I won't speak to anyone about, I told her. When I was done, I felt no regret, no fear. Because I knew she wouldn't tell. I knew she wouldn't let anyone know what a pathetic condition she had found me in. She never tried to console me once, in fact, she very easily stated the pure simplicity of the situation. It instantly made me feel better. It was she, who made me realize that sympathy in the form of pity was the worst thing you could offer to someone in trouble.

The kindest heart I have ever come across. She was always there, beside me when I needed her most. No, I never showered her with praise, or flattered her, or called her my best friend. She was still there.

I often felt angry about things that have been unfair to me. I tend to say bitter things about the people I care about, and later it subjects me to a sleepless night. She stopped me from doing that. She always told me to let go, and nobody's perfect. There exists a backbiter in everyone, some great person had said. I can't even imagine how it feels to have been proven wrong. 

I have seen her face glow, with happiness and delight, each time some less fortunate child got a new toy when we went for Social Services together. I have listened to her simple requests and refusals at doing something extravagant for her, and have admired her each time for it. I have tried hard to learn some of her best qualities, her attitude and character, and have failed miserably every time.

Right now, while most friends would be on the verge of tears with happiness, she's just going to be shaking her head in disapproval, because she would just think that all this was unnecessary and pompous and showy, and above all, untrue. After all, I've portrayed her as an angel. I was giving her compliments I didn't mean, just to make her happy. That itself was a heinous crime for her.

Saanchi Agarwal, my Florence Nightingale.

Yes. She's allowed to disapprove and blush all she wants. But its her birthday today, and it was the perfect excuse for me to tell her how much I think of her. How lovely it is to tell her about the marvelous books I've read. Above all, how wonderful it is to have her as a friend.

I'm not comparing you to someone utterly and overly saintly. I'm doing that because you are my Nightingale. You see, you came up to me with utmost cautiousness, with just the right amount of tenderness and firmness to make me stop cursing myself, with a lantern of hope shining brightly from you.

Happy Birthday, Saanchi. Because you deserve each and every bit of this. And also because you've always wanted to read my blog. And also because I really love you. :) 

A Swirly Sweet Lollipop

I distinctly remember myself when I came here. Wire rimmed, metal spectacles, anorexic in a bad way, dark circles, sunken cheeks and zero percent of what I am today. For a change, I was a quiet little child who used to sit into her room all day, reading some book, in a dark blue skirt or tunic. Now, I talk so openly its often offensive.
Here is why, I am that way.

I had always longed for a park.

Sweet, fresh air, soft grass, rides and lots and lots of friends. It was a dream. So when Papa got transferred to Kolkata, all my sadness evaporated as soon as I heard there was a park.
I didn't have many friends. I wasn't very social. Lucknow was a crowded, messed up city, where my life solely existed in trips between my grandparent's houses. It was relatives here and there, and none of the fun stuff.

I was in this really weird school, and hell, was it traumatizing. Despite having a large population, mainly consisting of Muslims, Lucknow did a lot to damage my self esteem. These girls, who believed in a different kind of God, kept saying things about what I do dirty and what I do wrong. We were very small then. I'm sure she has grown into a mature, responsible teen with an open mind, and she doesn't go around saying things like that anymore. I hope.

I often look back and regret not retorting, actually telling them how logical my religion was, the way I enlighten all my friends today. CMS Aliganj was definitely a good school in many ways, and will always be an integral part of my grooming, but I sometimes wish they had done more "to educate children and endeavor to unleash their potential" , the way it was so pompously written in the school prospectus. I wish they taught children that every individual is worth attention and thought, and people always believe for a reason, however bizarre it may be. 

When I shifted into Udita, I thought I'd slip away unseen. But someone had seen me.
Anamika and her family stood there, on their doorstep, watching us. Neighbors didn't play much role in my life. They were always too annoying, excessively girly or boyish to a fault. I had no idea how much fun I would be having.

From the first day I came over to her house to the last time recently when I've watched a movie with her, both of us have changed a lot. 
The the sweet little girl who used to twist the chains of a child's swing, and spin around in glee now came over to my house every single year. Now my brother was her brother. I still remember our highly awkward first Rakshabandhan. Silently tying rakhi to Jon, we then stood inches apart from each other in the lobby. Then my mom appeared from somewhere with a bag. My brother ran up to each of us, handing us something.

It was one of those giant, round lollipops. The sticky ones which never seem to end. I recall staring at all the swirly colors in terror. How will I finish that without gaining a calorie or too?
What I hadn't noticed was that Anamika had already hugged her lollipop and Jon, and was dancing with joy. She went home very happy, and I got a hug too. 

She has helped me open up to a degree I would've never been able to reach. She was my first, proper friend who has fought for me, with me, laughed at me, with me, as well as being my only companion who was solemn about the injured butterflies I used to save in the park. ( I think you can guess why this paragraph is buttercup yellow)

 My boldness and all I have today is  because of the endless debates we have. The skill of explaining things to people,which I have been terribly arrogant about lately, is only because its so much fun to teach her things I know, and give her my easier-said-than-done advice. The only difference is that years ago it was about what dress to wear and today its about her love life.

I never thank her. I'm the kind of person who doesn't write her a tbh, or a fill in the blank thingy on Facebook, or a description. She always whines. What she doesn't know is that I'm scared people will block me from their Newsfeed after reading..... Iliad 2, probably.

Our friendship is exactly like that lollipop. That sticky, irritating sweetness keeps us together like glue, and the swirly streams of color are what each one of us has woven within it. You know the best part? Its round. It has no spiteful edges and jealous corners, and let me tell all those people who are envious of our friendship one last thing:

Its going to be a long, long time before we both finish this lollipop. 

Making Everyone A Bibliophile.

2009. Class 4. First Day.

Yay. A whole new class! I finally got a chance to make an impression. You see, when you haven't been in school since LKG like all your cool friends, it gets kinda difficult. Especially when you come from this really conservative and decent place, and here the 4th graders have already started talking about crushes and dating.
In class 4, we didn't really have the liberty of choosing our interest, as in ADMS. Art, Dance and Music. Yes, I have no idea what that S stands for.
We had one class every week of each of the things, excluding Art , that was double period. So while my young mind and bright eyes were devouring each and every space of my new school, I got to taste the best of all worlds before I finally made a choice in Class 6.
Yes, my heart leaped at the fact that we were allowed to issue and take our library books home. I had already started Blyton when I was in Class 3, you know, had visited a finer world than Ladybird.
Mary and the Lamb wasn't really much to survive on when I longed to read about Buster and Scamper.
Library sessions were quiet and boring, and I've always found that to be a mistake. The fun part about books is that its such a substantial and prodigious topic to speak about. Sharing your favorite bits with a wide eyed friend,  arguing on the protagonist's perfect love interest. Sitting quietly in the library, hiding all your smiles and snorts at the funny Asterix jokes, being constantly reprimanded, and the posters, did I mention the posters? All those sinister soft board posters, showing pictures of an angry book with a mean look, scaring you.
When I was a child, I, like many other children, had always wanted to grow up. Put on Mom's makeup, walk down the streets with a sparkling new purse and buying my favorite candies. I managed to fulfill that desire too, because you don't have to be a 40-year old to enjoy beautiful pieces of literature. You are always admired when you're well read. And as for those who call book readers nerds or geeks, I feel just sad for them.

 Over the years I have come across such wonders, The Last Lecture, by Randy Pausch, Ostinato, 13 Reasons Why by Jay Asher,The Alchemist by Paulo Coelho, The Divine Comedy by Dante. They have changed the way I live my life, my priorities, my perspective. Yes, most of them are philosophical, but imagine the beauty when you realize they speak in your language. Things you understand and greatly admire. We all have lovely parents who can climb mountains of thorns probably to make us happy. They try to warn us, about the deceptively thrilling things in life. More then often I have found that even though I am against my mother when she tries to speak to me, when the same incidents and reasons are portrayed through a more fictitious yet real character in a book, I find myself nodding my head. Its something strange, the way books can be your best friend. 

They say your life isn't complete if you haven't completely and madly fallen in love with someone. I was lucky enough to experience that, too. I slowly found myself falling for Four's enigma, Jace's charisma and the dramatic flair in all the Agatha Christie villains.

Yes, it hurt when they met their "one true love".

I have been lucky enough to live in a world where books speak out to me, each and every redundant syllable. I have been lucky enough to have my heart race and feel adrenaline down my spine when an antagonist appears. I have been lucky enough to have found a perfectly enjoyable excuse to stay up late at night. I have been lucky enough to know the true meaning of the statement "Time flies". This was just my little attempt to share some of my luck with you.

"Sometimes, you read a book and it fills you with this weird evangelical zeal, and you become convinced that the shattered world will never be put back together unless and until all living humans read the book"
 -John Green, TFIOS