Story of a life

She is tired of walking all day. Her feet hurt. She wriggles them out of her sneakers and tries to massage them a little. It is a little hard to do because her whole body hurts from the hours on the trek. It had been fun, but tiring. He holds her feet then, and massages them slowly. "Hey!!" She protests, not really used to having someone touch her feet.  It is two weeks after their wedding.  "Hmm" he says with a smile in his voice, "never heard of a husband massaging his wife's feet? See, I am a catch."  "More like - Not used to people touching my feet - mister." She laughs. She is still not comfortable with it, so she pulls her feet away. ---- Two months later ---- She crashes down on the bed. He follows and sits on the edge. "What's up?"  He asks.  "I am not used to so much walking around anymore." She puts her feet in his lap. He looks at them and back at her questi...

When I was fourteen, we learnt about five-year administrative plans in social studies. They are the plans that governments make to keep the countries on track short-term. I thought if it can work for a nations life, it can also work for an individual's life. I was a big fan of one=many, individual=nation philosophy at that time. My journals from that phase are full of such theories. So in the summer of 2005, I wrote my first five-year plan. I then divided it into yearly goals, then monthly goals and then weekly and so on. I achieved most of the things. The plan had worked. On my 20th birthday, I wrote my second five-year plan. Having seen results the first time, I was more motivated this time and better at setting goals (all that about language and achievability...the whole shebang). Tomorrow is my twenty-fourth birthday. And I am nowhere close achieving anything I had planned to. Basically I have nothing to how for all the investment (of time, effort and money) made fo...

I was sixteen. Alone. In a city so different than mine that it felt like a different country. The 'hostel' I was in was a house rented by some people together. One of the women knew a woman who was a friend of a friend of my mom's. That is how I got the space to spend the duration of my internship there. My roommates were a forty-five year old lady and her nine years old daughter. My bed was actually the daughter's but she had given it to me for the duration I was there. I shared the sole closet with them. I had brought my own utensils.  First time away from home, I was secretly freaked out but I put a brave face for my parents who had not wanted to send me away in the first place. I had won my first step into independence the hard way. I wanted to not let my feelings get in the way. My parents had arranged for the friend's husband to give me a ride to my work place because it was next to his work place. After two days, he refused, saying it wasn't...

Towards the end of high school, I interned with a non-profit which offered an internship for high school law students. The internship provided basic exposure to the legal system and how it works. On the last day, we took a field trip to see live court proceedings at the local Magistrates' courts. The case we were to observe was a murder case where evidence was being presented that day. Since a feudal lord was involved, the place was packed. We were a large group so our team leaders decided to find another murder case where evidence was presented and send half of us there. The one they managed to find at such short notice was the case of a rape victim's murder. We were told that the case proceedings might be too graphic and we would need our parents' consent to attend them. Most of the interns were denied permission by their parents. I, being 'lucky' enough to be relatively independent, was free to go should I so desired. My curiosity led the way and there I ...

An African American male who looked slightly older than me was shooting daggers at me with his eyes. I figured it out because of the burning feeling you get when somebody has been staring at you too long. I looked up at him questioningly as I usually do when somebody is being that rude. In response, he left his seat and came and stood next to me still looking murderous. I have to admit that made me really nervous in my heart as I thought why on earth did I have to confront him etc etc. A minute passed. Him: You an African princess or somethin’? Me: Excuse me? Him: Nah, you too white for that. You are not Arab, are you? Me: No, I am not. But why does it matter? Him: Where you coming from? Me: Why? Him: No, Ah mean where you from? You looking like a princess or somethin’. Me: Is that a bad thing? Him: Are you a princess? Me: No. *trying to suppress my amused smile by this point - he looked like he wanted to choke me to death because I looked like a princess...