Passive Aggression.

Do you know of someone who is passive aggressive? Well, my friends do. And she is as passive aggressive as it gets. They don’t usually know what to do much like how she doesn't know what to do, either.

          As far as I know, she, sometimes, swallows back those tears she so doesn't want to share or if things get worse, she quickly closes the bathroom door and whimpers about an imaginary scenario. A scenario where someone she was working with probably died. She is passive aggressive.

          Some days, it’s really hard for her. Sometimes, it takes days for her to sit down sedately and not go on a killing rampage. Well, she does go on a killing rampage but that’s just in her head. It’s all in her head. Oh yes, it takes days for her to calm herself, to reason out the actions of that person, to understand the circumstances. Most of the time, she grasps the whole logic behind that; on most days, she gets really angry at herself. What’s the logic behind understanding that?

          Every so often, she has the last remnant of a smile plastered across her face by a joke long forgotten because she was buried under passive aggression. On other days, she hides under a blanket because she is oh so scared of cureless damage her speaking her mind out, while being simultaneously angry, would do. Isn't it always better to curl up into a ball of anger under the blanket and fall asleep rather than regret things that are said and can never be taken back? Of course it is.  

          Do you know of someone who is passive aggressive? If you do, I will advise you to let her be. If she is crying, let it pour. There is nothing more relaxing than letting emotions out. If she is hiding under a blanket, curled up into a ball, don’t try to disentangle her. If you see her smiling and you know that she is angry, smile at her to let her know that it’s okay. If you know that she is passive aggressive, you must let her be.  

Think.

Sit down. Sit down and think; think about that time you hurt someone, intentionally or otherwise. Did the person deserve it? Think about that time when you walked past a beggar on the street, commenting on how he/she could use his/her physical capability to work instead of begging. Do you know his/her story? Think about that time when you sneered at a girl/boy because they were heartbroken due to a break up. Did you feel that pain? Think about that time when you insulted a person publicly because they lost their temper at you for something they were going through. Was the person not worthy of forgiveness? Think about that time when you gossiped about another person’s dressing sense. Do you know why they dress the way they do? Think about the time when you made fun of a person who wasn't able to get over someone. Were you the one who was attached? Think about the time when you made fun of a person’s diction. How good is your diction? Think about the time when you talked about an emotional person. Is it wrong to be emotional? Think about the times when you talked behind a person because they tattooed their lover’s name. Did they tattoo their lover’s name on your skin? Think about the time when you bashed a person on his theistic/atheistic views. Don’t you have your views too? Think about that time when you found out that your teacher had a child without marriage and gossiped on that. Was that necessary on your part to comment on another person's choice? Think about that time when you made fun of your submissive friend. Is being submissive really that wrong? Think about that time when you took advantage of someone’s goodness. What if someone did that to you? Think about the time when you cheated on someone. Was cheating necessary? Think about the time when you made fun of someone by calling them a nerd. Is being a nerd a bad thing? Think about that time when you found out that someone you knew was a prostitute and stopped respecting them as a person because of that simple reason. Does being in prostitution mean that the person is bad? Think; think about all those times when you counselled your friend on not wearing a Burqa to college simply because it’s an all-girls college. Do you know for sure that she wore the Burqa because it was imposed or that it was her choice? Think about all those times when you made a person feel small. Why did you do that? Think about all those times when you judged a person based on zero knowledge about them. Who handed you the right to do that? Think.

          Now place yourself in their shoes. Would you appreciate a person if they treated you the way you treated these people? No, right? Are these people who you mistreated, still your friend? Yeah? Now, would you be a friend to someone if they were a version of you that you were to them?

          Have you ever apologized to them for the way you treated them? Have you ever said sorry? Sit down and think; think about why you didn't if they deserved that sorry or an act of forgiveness.    

She.

She is Morphine. She is happiness. She is the cement that fills the void. She is beautiful in her existence. She is breath-taking.

          Her voice; It’s a song played on loop. It’s your drug. It’s your addiction. It’s your rehab. It’s the voice that rings inside your head, over and over and you do not complain about. Her voice soothes your inner battles. It relaxes you. It’s that dose of cough syrup nobody has a problem with. Her voice is like blood inside your veins. Her voice blurs your world and it’s just her voice inside your head that you really need.

          Her presence is like sunshine; you need it. Her smile is beautiful. Oh, so beautiful. She is like the sound of waves. She’s like tea; you need it. You need Her. She is like basking in moonlight on a beach, where you are surrounded by the dark blue sky married to the stars and the waves echo your heart beat.

          She is like a roller coaster ride; she will take you on a ride with all your emotions. She is like the Ferris wheel, the London Eye; she is the moment when you are stopped at the top of the wheel. She is like a library; a library with minimal furniture. She is that moment when you are sitting with your love, coffee in your hand and talking about the world.

          She is a beauty. She is the reason why you smile. She is the reason why you stare at that video of a heart beating from a massive hole in the chest. She is the reason why you would do it all over again. She is the one you’ll follow into the dark. She is patience; all the patience in the world. She is your dream about the future. She is the sound of your deafening heartbeat you hear at 2 am in the morning. She is a Swarovski. 

Bullied

I was bullied. It’s not something I’m really proud to admit, but that just happened. And I am guessing it has happened to more people than I can imagine. Moreover, the funny thing is, the bullies actually pretend like nothing happened, when they grow up and they see you somewhere, like “Hey how are you doing?” Better than what you did to me, you jerk. Yes, a lot of piled up anger right there and let me face it, I never did anything. I never stood up or said anything or complained. I took it all in, like most do. And I think they actually feasted on that, on that quality of mine, to not say anything or stand up OR complain. I am glad I didn’t do anything, sometimes. Because imagine if I did something and they swarmed back to me. Like, who wants that? Not me. Not anyone. Never. Most people snap out of it, in two ways: They kill themselves or they actually move on. I did none. I didn’t attempt to kill myself (and I highly discourage that as long as I am not suicidal myself) neither did I snap out of it. I mean, I am writing a freaking blog piece about it. It’s like a bad hangover.

          So, back to where I was. Yes, I was bullied, incessantly. About the fact that I was very poor in maths, lacked genuine abilities and interest in sports in general (PT was a mess), may also have been a joke about the way I looked, or how sparingly I talked, or my logics (which are now fun posts on Facebook, thank you very much).  There were jokes being made at my expense. 5^th grade was a horror movie for me. Things may have started getting better when I entered 6^th grade, I didn’t notice much. I never told mom anything because I didn’t want her to think that her kid was in some kind of a psycho-thriller movie. I wasn’t, it wasn’t that bad. Or maybe it was. I don’t know, I was too tolerant about everything. Be it framing for not helping a friend or for being a closeted lesbian. A, I did help the friend. I was framed. B, I wasn’t a closeted lesbian and neither is it a thing to be made fun of but none of us knew that. In an all-girls convent, things get nasty very easily, because, let’s face it, we girls have a way of being nasty as hell. So yeah, everything noted above combined, I didn’t have many friends. Oh well, I knew a lot of people but I also know now that not all of them were friends. 9 years of bearing everything the school had to offer, you’d think I would have snapped out of it. But no, I’m stuck. See, the thing about being bullied is, nobody ever gets out of it. Yeah sure, they move on and everything, but forgetting is hard. Especially when no one stood up for you or when you never had that one person who was with you all the way. And the only words of console I repeated to myself was that maybe somebody has it worse and that I shouldn’t whine at all because I was in a better place. I was wrong. Nobody has it worse. They have it different.

          Reading all of this together would obviously make you think “awh shucks. This girl had it bad” (or maybe I shouldn’t really get my hopes high on that thought) but I had my fair share of good times too. Being bullied was probably one of the life changing things that had happened to me because I learnt a lot from it. I wouldn’t say that it made me the person I am today (I’m yet to become a person I’m supposed to become one day) but it has a big part to play, for the future and also what I am right now. 

Bangalore

Bangalore, or as they all call it now-a-days, Bengaluru is quite an amazing place to live in. I, for one of many, like these two particular streets, Brigade Road and Commercial Street. Not that I don’t like MG Road, it’s just that I never have been able to distinguish between MG Road and Brigade. Yeah, now I really sound stupid but anyway, moving on, Brigade Road is that place where you see your dreams and aspirations and everything glitteringly good. While, Commercial Street is where you buy those dreams and aspirations and everything glitteringly good. But I must say, Brigade has been a true inspiration for me to plan my life ahead and then go back home and sleep. Recently, I and a friend went to Vero Moda because she had to buy something (and I didn’t know shops now provide invisible stuff to customers with low expectations about their future and no money) and I swear to God, that place is the Mother of Inspirations. Every dress I looked at, every Jacket I laid my eyes on, my motivation level went on a power trip and I could see myself sitting on this big comfy chair with the dress I was holding in reality and then I slowly revolve around and talk to my PA because why the hell not? Also, my only purpose of ever going to Brigade is Blossom Book Store or Krispy Kreme or I don’t know, use the Metro to go to Indiranagar. Indiranagar, uh huh! This place! I’d like to call this place The 50 Shades of Range Rovers. At first I was like, aaaaaaaah! Range Rover! Now I am like, eh, Range Rover. You name it, I have seen that Range Rover. But I like Indiranagar for a different reason altogether. Goethe-Institut. I did my German A1 and A2 there. Ich liebe dich. And no, I haven’t learnt the slangs yet. I loved Toits with those three very funny people I went with, one who happened to have had a Long Island Ice Tea at one go and survived to tell the tale. Yes, I have superheroes for friends. I loved Heiken-something where I had a “fucking orgasm over Foosball”. I did; not even kidding. But I am sure, if I ever went shopping in Indiranagar, that’d be an inspiration too, for my you-know-what. Another really fun thing about Bangalore is fighting with the autowalas. They think they have bad Hindi skills? They should meet me. Hah! Also, when they are really pissed, they start shouting in Kannada and I just sit there like, Really? You gonn’ shout at me with that? You wanna go down that road? So be it! But honestly, I have never once shouted in Assamese at them. I’d love to, however. Once when an autowala did shout at me in Kannada, I just ended up saying “You might wanna do yourself a favour and talk to me in a language I understand” in Hindi. He must have figured out, that if I have such a bad Hindi skills, Kannada must be Pluto for me. And they can speak English! Which is awesome on many levels, but sometimes it’s unnerving. Like, when I first moved to Bangalore, the maid who cleans my pg room started talking to me in broken English and I was left with a whaaaaaaaaaa just haffen!? I once talked to her in Hindi because that might be easier for the both of us (because speaking a language I am not really good at is my speciality) and she gave me a look which reminds me everyday why I shouldn’t talk in Hindi with people with greater Hindi skills. Not that I can speak amazing English like Tom Hiddleston. I stutter a lot. And a lot really means a lot. See, when you are learning a foreign language, the language you always converse with takes a sabbatical. For example, in German, the verbs have different positions for different tenses. While in English, anything that sounds remotely correct becomes a rule. But on a serious note, I have come to realise that English has a lot of rules that we never even knew existed. I have also come to realise that I am going off topic. So, anyway, Bangalore is a really good experience and a really good source of entertainment when you have friends who can gulp down a full glass of Long Island Ice Tea and people who call you whore for no reason. “Hi, Deepa. You look really good today” “Shut up you fucking whore” “Wow, someone’s pms-y” “I know right!” *sudden hug*. And look, we also have Mount Carmel College, where people have weird traditions and awesome people. Like me. 

Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwkwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaard.

 The great Mount Carmel Tradition: Hugging. While it is really a very sweet, friendly gesture, sometimes it does get really awkward. I am not even kidding. Okay, so I was talking with Niyang, in front of room 405, which is on the fourth floor and while climbing the stairs, you kinda feel like you are repenting your sins. That’s pretty much the theory we came up with. So, anyway, we were talking about how many buildings MCC has (no bragging here) and out comes Alexandria (not a fictional character), with whom I was talking about how awkward and quiet I am (I have reasons and no, I am not a snob!), the previous night. So, she comes out and I thought she would ask me about my foot, because I got stung by a bee and I still don’t have any powers of sorts (I feel cheated) but that didn't happen. She came over and hugged me instead and my hand was mid-air, prepared to lead her eyes to my foot which had become a planet then, and that resulted in my hand being sandwiched between her shoulder and mine. Awwwwwwwwwkwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaard. But I guess we unanimously and telepathically decided to not realize or acknowledge that.

          Uh no, that’s not the end. It had been just one month since I was the new girl when I was in the canteen, buying myself food when one of my class-mate appeared from absolutely nowhere and hugged me. Luckily, then my hand wasn't anywhere mid-air. It was in my bag. And all I did was stand there while she hugged me because one hand was in my bag and the other hand was holding the bag open from the side. But that was quick. Did a quick hug and wished me good day and went her way. Convents, I tell you. Once, I was waiting for…no-one in particular because that’s how I was when I hadn't made friends and Shifa came walking towards me, smiling and offered a hug. And I just stood there looking at her – staring, actually – not knowing what to do because who hugs strangers from the same class, right? Duh. And she had this look of disbelief wash over her whole face and then finally the whole awwwwwwwwwkwaaaaaaaaaaard thing. And then we walked towards our class, and attended Economics happily ever after.

          It’s been almost a year and I am still getting used to it. The whole hand-between-shoulder was what, last Thursday. However, there has been some changes because now I am, apparently, the lunatic who hugs people for no reason at all. Awwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwwaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaard. 

One.

What's about North-Easterns that is so repelling and hateful that the crimes against us are increasing by the second? Did we do something wrong? I mean, what is wrong with India? First you discriminate us, based on our societal status. Then you discriminate us based on our gender and sexual orientation. And now, if all of the above weren't enough, you judge us and discriminate us based on where we are from? When I started talking to the locals in Bangalore, they didn't even know that Assam and Guwahati are not different places. You may be from Humanities, Science or Commerce but basic Geography has been taught to everyone and if you tell me otherwise, why does that school even exist? I'd love it if you justify your hateful actions against us. Give us one valid reason.

          You discriminate us and then, to the world you are this amazing Humanity supporter. I don’t even react to racist comments anymore because its pointless and its just showcases your lack of basic General Knowledge. What is the point of asking questions about other countries’ history in entrance examinations when you can’t even answer where Guwahati, Dispur, Imphal, Aizawl, Itanagar, Shillong, Kohima, Gangtok and Agartala is? Why don’t you know about us? Why do you know about United Kingdom but choose to remain ignorant about us, our diverse culture? What do you know about us that you have the audacity to make fun of us? Who gave you the right to kill us? Who gave you the right to kill anyone at all? What makes you think you are superior to us? Why do you feel the need to show the world that you are superior to us? You are not and we don’t care. We care about our education, culture and the fact that you take pride in killing a “Chinky”. We are turning indifferent towards your verbal abuses because really, we do not have the time to think about such petty stuff. You can do all the insulting you need to when you work under us one day and we are the reason you get your three luxurious meals a day. What makes you think that anyone with slanting eyes and straight hair is a prostitute? What makes you think that we don’t know Hindi? We know Hindi and we also speak better English than you do. What makes you think that you, where you are right now, are superior to us? And what makes you think that we are on our way to feel inferior?

          Give me one reason why the killings and discriminations are hurled against us. Give me one reason why I shouldn’t raise a voice against something that disturbs me. Give me a reason why I shouldn’t fight for what I believe in. We have our own sets of problems without you adding your to-do list to it. Recently, a Bangalore local girl got “offended” when two-three North-eastern girls got offended when she said “All of you look so same”. Miss, we do NOT look the same. We look as different as you do. You do not have the same tastes and preferences. We do not live in tree houses. You do not eat bugs. We are as human as you are, no less but may be a bit more than you are. Why do you think it’s funny to make fun of us and call us cry-babies when we voice out our opinion on your jokes? We are a big region. We have dreams. We have goals. We have our different cultures. We are not the same yet we are one. We, the Eight Big States, stand as one while you throw your petty, imbecilic insults at us. We stand against you. You are divided among yourself. We aren’t. We have our strength. We are literate AND educated while you are just one: Literate. You can only put your sign on a piece of paper but we can put value to our signatures. You stay where you think is feasible for you to stay. While we rise above you. We rise above as one and we rise above as superior. I’ll have your resume on my desk, I promise.