This Girl's Diary: I'm a survivor

August 19, 2010

I'm a survivor

My best moments come when I am alone- mostly when I am travelling or when I'm in my room or being challenged by the odds against me. At times I wish someone could be there to witness these moments but the truth is no one will ever know. That's why I say this to myself- I'm a fighter! I'm a fighter. Maybe people face similar or greater hurdles but my life experiences have made me who I am today. I can choose to quit right now but I'm scared this means I'll never find anything worth striving for ever again. So I stand.

Early morning I am ready for another round of running around. Just then the rain gods decide that now is a good time to pour. Pour on Cyden. So I stand under a make believe shack for close to an hour, giving space to the customers who walk in to buy paneer or doodh, safely armed with gigantic umbrellas. Umbrellas that decide to let the water drip on my left shoulder. My three day love story with the toilet seat means I cannot let out more than a tiny squeal, especially with my belly signalling that it is time to pay a visit to the loo again. I run all the way back to the house. By the time I reach the flat, I look like I have just been out of the washing machine minus the RINSE command. I start all over again. I get this sudden streak of smartness and call up the cabbie only to be told in a thick Punjabi accent that no cabs are available at this point. I should have expected it ofcourse. Being born on Friday the 13th isn't exactly a positive way to enter the world.

Round two begins. Armed with an umbrella myself, this time I make it to an autowala. We strike up a conversation like old buddies and talk our way for fifteen minutes. Just then the engine goes dead. There I stand on the roadside again. I tell myself this is not good. THIS IS NOT GOOD!

Round three ordeal begins. I actually pray all the way to the campus for no hiccups again. Thank god none take place.

Now as I sit comfortably in my friend's room, using his computer, I reflect back on a silent conversation that took place the other night. This man accused me of playing games. I wonder why anyone would play such a cruel joke on oneself?

Little does he know. Little does anyone know.

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A note for the readers

Dear Stranger,

We've shared a one sided relationship over the past few years. It began for us in 2003 when I started my first blog. A few years later I decided against it due to two chief reasons- I wasn't a regular and my writing credentials were best portrayed in my diaries. Somehow the idea of seeing my neat handwritten journals gave me a far greater sense of satisfaction than Microsoft word ever could. It seemed (and still does) to me a feat I achieved minus automatic spell checks and grammatical corrections; a very important one at that and one which I carry till date.

Back in the blog industry for a second time, this was supposed to be my secret haven. A much needed outlet to pour my deepest thoughts. Regrets I may have, anger I may want to unleash, opinions I may want to make and hidden feelings I might want to express. Things haven't exactly worked out according to plan. Strange as it may sound, I feel a constant fear of being judged according to my writings. As a result, these posts represent only a decent chunk of what I may have liked to say otherwise. I constantly keep you in mind. You may or may not know me but it does not stop me from getting paranoid nonetheless. So if you are here today hoping to know my deepest secrets, don't bother to read further. Technology can only get you this far.