The gift of time

What if you knew you had a day to live? How would you spend it?

Now that’s not a question you haven’t heard before. Come to think of it, what could you possibly do in 24 hours? I think I’d be too depressed to try anything new, enterprising or adventurous. Probably end up crawling under my blanket and hope to wake up from the damned nightmare. Eat my favourite meals. Watch a re-run of my favourite Friends’ episodes. Ask someone to make me laugh..

Sleep through it?

But let’s prolong the time a little. And let’s not make it terminal-let’s assume a less tragic end to this timeframe. Let’s tweak the question a little.

How many years do you think you have left to be physically able? How many years do you have left to be absolutely and unashamedly selfish? How many years do you have left before you find yourself responsible for more lives than just yours?

How many years do you have left of uninhibited youth?

I recently attended a talk by a sports scientist about achieving high performance. His viewpoint was simple- high performance is not just dependent on your physical well-being. It needs to be complemented by the right mental setup and emotional balance. And very importantly, it needs a goal. A specific, measurable, attainable, realistic and timely i.e SMART Goal. The problem with us is that we think we have indefinite life spans. Without us realising it, we carry a much exaggerated notion of time. When you’re in your 20s, the 30s seem decades away. I remember telling my friends, I intend to get married in my laaaate 20s-oh, you know, aaages from now. I’m 22 now, turning 23 this year and it sure doesn’t feel ages away anymore.

Thanks to this miscalculation, what we end up doing with our wishes and aspirations is we put them away for later. For a time when we’ll be less occupied, more financially stable, more emotionally available. We’re chasing after this almost super-human version of ourselves that we’re sure will materialise soon enough and when it does, it will be the right time to truly start living our lives the way we always wanted to.

Until then, let’s just exist yeah?

So this sports scientist fellow said something that really stuck. What we need to do is start living our lives backward. Confused? Let me elaborate.

I’m going to be 23 this year. If I ask myself how many truly, physically able years I have ahead of me to live out those of my dreams that involve physical ability, my answer would be 12 or so years. Not to say that I’ll be disease ridden at the age of 40- I won’t, I truly believe I’ll be fit and active. But if you want to develop a certain physical ability, become an athlete, swimmer, triathlon runner, you need to start early. Sure, you can do it later too, it’ll just be harder. And you’ll be bound to ask yourself, why the heck didn’t you start sooner just so that you could have enjoyed your passion much longer?

I want to be a dancer. Dance is my thing. If I could, I would open a park where people wouldn’t be allowed to walk, they’d have to dance their way through it. My dream is to be a contemporary dancer. Pirouette, aerial, fouette – I want to be able to it all. And that takes rigorous hard work and time. If I tell myself I have 4 years within which I can achieve this because after that, there’s a possibility that other things might just slip past dance on my priority list, I won’t procrastinate. In fact, I intend to start this fall (I’m learning Salsa at the moment; need to finish the current level I’m at before I move to Contemporary).

So the idea is simple. Instead of setting vague ambitions for yourself- I will travel the world someday-calculate the time you think you have left within which this ambition is distinctly possible and plan accordingly. When you define a timeframe for a goal, you set constraints around it and limit its probability of materialising. And by limiting it, you compel yourself to get off your behind and get started. Instead of saying I’ll be so and so when I’m 30ish, tell yourself it’ll take me 5 years to achieve the so and so and get yourself there.

When do you plan to travel to that place you always wanted to?  Don’t say um, soon. Say, when I have accumulated the x amount of dollars I need to undertake it. When are you quitting the job that’s sucking every last morsel of peace and self worth from your life? Don’t say, yeah very soon. Say, by this fall I will have applied for x number of openings.

Morel of my rant- time is finite. It runs out. And while I’m not anti ‘you-can-do-what-you-want-when-you-want’, a little bit of planning will not only help you get what you want sooner but also when you are best poised to enjoy it. 

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An Open Letter To Dr. Drew Pinsky

Red Hairing


On April 24, 2014, a man called into Dr. Drew’s radio show “Love Line” regarding his fiancé who suffers with a number of medical ailments that are causing a lot of pain. The transcript is as follows:

Caller: My fiancé has a multitude of diagnoses. She has IC, Endometriosis, lactose intolerance. She has no stomach lining. I mean, a bunch of things going on.
Mike: No stomach lining? Is that real, Drew? Can that happen?
Dr. Drew: No. And by the way, IC is, I assume, interstitial cystitis?
Caller: Yes
Dr. Drew: These are all, these are all sort of what we call functional disorders. Everything you mentioned, everything you mentioned, are things that actually aren’t discernibly pathological. They’re, they’re just sort of what we call “garbage bag” diagnoses. When you can’t think of anything else, you just go, “Eh it’s that.” So it then makes…

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When I was a little girl of 5 years, I dreamt I would grow up to be a doctor who treated the poor for free. I also parallelly dreamt of being a scientist who would invent drugs to keep my parents alive forever.

En route, my dreams changed. I realised that medicine is a bloody affair, requires a lot of grit and nerve to plunge your hands into somebody else’s insides and try to fix them. But what made me give up that dream completely was the knowledge of the length of time it takes to be a doctor. I didn’t want to be old when I finally starting being what I wanted to be. Back then late 20s felt ooold.

Oh and the scientist part- I realised that was impossible. By then death was no longer warped in stories and childish assurances of how one makes a trip to god’s home when they’re old. That was the same age I found out my parents didn’t find me in a jungle like Mowgli, Santa Claus isn’t real, we don’t have to marry our siblings and people don’t just take a trip to god’s home-they die.

Then came the dream of being an aeronautical/automobile/computer engineer. Why? Because if you’re living in India and you’re anything other than an engineer or a doctor, you’re plain dumb. I mean seriously we might need to outsource people for other jobs someday. Why aeronautical, automobile or computer engineering in particular? Because they sounded fancy as hell.

Few years later my dad bought a camera and I went gaga. As a girl of 15-16, having just discovered the world of social networking, I was trying like everyone else to find my niche there. A big part of this was of course having the right profile picture. This mainly involved being shut in my room for hours, posing very hard in front of the mirror and trying to look as unlike me as possible. And boy, I aced that stuff. So much so, that I started flirting with the idea of becoming a real photographer. But then I belonged to a very middle class family and having lived my whole life being told that financial security is more important than things like love, success yada yada, that was much too bold a step for me to take. So I went back to good ol’ academia and considered being an engineer.

But my falling marks soon proved to me that science wasn’t my thing. The truth is I’m very much an arts person. I guess I should have done Masters in literature. So I didn’t. I took up commerce. I thought I would do a Major in Eco and I put myself through college. And guess what? I hated Eco. Okay that’s not fair-I actually really believe in the subject. It’s what we were taught in college that put me off. There’s only so much that can be taught in Economics. In my opinion, most of it has to be experienced hands on. You need to live it. You need to do an apprenticeship with policy makers, live with the deprived, understand consumerism, familiarise yourself with the kind of data and work that goes behind making a budget. That sort of thing. I only believe in one kind of Economics really-Developmental Economics. The rest is just faff. And again-in being extremely honest with myself, I’ve come to realise that I’m not a philanthrope. I like having a good lifestyle. I’m dreamy. I smile at dogs more than I do at kids. I don’t aspire of a life in the rurals, fighting for re-distribution of wealth. I can’t do that stuff. Maybe someday when I’m more mature, or absolutely, irreversibly disgusted with the current system in place. For now, I just enjoy the same things any fickle minded 20 something year old enjoys. So when I see people who work with non profit organisations, live a simple life, bust their butt for a pittance worth of funding, I get intimidated.  But the truth is, that’s not me. As much as I’d want to be.

So where does that leave me? I have absolutely no clue. All I know is this- just as the concept of having soul mates is laughable, the idea of everyone having one true calling may not be true. I know a lot of people who absolutely love what they do and I hate them. As for me-I’m content with doing something I like but not necessarily love. You will not love every part of your life. If you find yourself liking most of it, then that’s a good bargain. A very smart person said that to me actually.

So in case you’re burning with curiosity about what I’m doing right now, here goes- I’ve joined the big bad corporate world as an Analyst.

How the heck how did I end up here!

So the next question is- do I love my job? Well I like it. It’s challenging. There are opportunities to grow and travel-which are both pivotal to me. Do I see myself here forever-I hope not. Only because it’s fun to think that 10 years later I might be doing something I never imagined. Though it would give me a kick to peep into a crystal orb and see myself as my current firm’s Managing Director or something. The future is open to all kinds of possibilities. Which is not so much for people who know exactly what they want to do in life right? HA! There. Finally something to salvage the envy I feel for people who have their dream jobs.  Those smug bastards.

What about you? Do you love what you do? Did your dreams materialise perfectly or did they evolve into something better?

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They say the fire burns out,


Cold wisps of smoke,

Like a mirage looming,


The sweet effervescent,

acrid on the tongue,

blends in.

It’s all erased from the blank sheets of memory.

But like a moth to the flame

like a song that doesn’t know how to end,

this is my short term memory.

A forest fire

that rages from a spark,

A melody that starts

from the words kept hidden

well in the dark,

Like the whiff of that harmless little souvenir of the past

It builds up like magma

Pulsating, Pleading, Convincing.

It doesn’t burn out,

It doesn’t assent,

It consumes.

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The older and dog-eared, the better

I was out with a friend today when I found a rickety, little shop selling used books by the corner of a street. It was the kind of shop that just blends into the background so effortlessly that you could walk right past it without even noticing it. But I did, and went right in. You see, I have a thing for old, used books. Who knows what signs the previous owner of the book might have left to mark their possession of it and I get a thrill every time I come across one. Sometimes a few chapters may be ticked in the contents or sentences underlined indicating that the previous reader must have found something special in them, or might have related to them in a certain way and it always makes me wonder what that might have been. If the book had been a gift, it might carry a message on the first page from the person gifting it. Or who knows, the book might even be an integral part of somebody’s love story with their name and contact number scribbled on the first page, waiting to be discovered by the person they fell in love with in a chance meeting and hoping that destiny would make them meet again. Yes you guessed right- Serendipity is one of my favourite movies and I am a hopeless romantic (some times).

I couldn’t help going through each and every shelf and peeping into a dozen books not only in the hope of finding something like that but also to see if any book interested me. I bought one, Illusions, by the author I have posted about several times already- Richard Bach. And no there aren’t any secret messages or traces of the previous reader at all(I already checked). They must have wanted to keep their book neat and scribble-free much to my disappointment.Oh well, there’s always a next time. That old rickety book shop just had a lucky day-they got themselves a loyal customer.

File:Old books.jpg

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Happy, thank you, move on please

I spoke to an old friend after ages today. We used to be joined at the hip in school but we had a slight tiff and things changed. And then of course we moved to different cities and now we barely speak, maybe once in 2 months.

The moment he picked up and said Hello, the first thing that struck me was how familiar his voice has always been to me, how I could identify it anywhere in a crowd and without even consciously realising it, just how badly I had missed it all this time.

We spoke just like how we used to in school, without a hint of awkwardness creeping in in spite of the long gap, laughed and mused about old times and shared what’s going on in each other’s life. He’s doing really well in his. He had been going through a rough patch, a difficult relationship, but now all of that is in the past and I’m really happy for him. There was a time when we would have turned to the other for the slightest thing and stood by each other. I remember how he helped me through my first heartbreak and I through his, how I tried to comfort him when he told me about issues he had with his dad, how we shared memories of our childhood troubles and joys. But for the last three years we had been completely absent in each other’s lives, coping with things on our own, failing to witness the growth or change which for whatever reasons had come into the other’s life. We had grown up and apart from each other.

The funny thing is that even as I’m writing about this, I’m not actually feeling bad that this happened. I think one of the biggest lessons that life forces us to learn is to stop having expectations from others, to rely only on yourself and not be dependent on anyone else. The truth is, I’m really good at that and that scares me. I’ve made some great friends in life but when the time comes for us to move away for studies or job or any other reason, I move on too soon.

Last summer when I had to say goodbye to two of my seniors who were among my closest friends here, I actually sat in my room and wept. Partly because I knew that even as we promised we would keep in touch as much as we could, we knew we wouldn’t. We would eventually drift apart over the years, lose touch and one day, lose each other’s contacts and just become a name in the other person’s memory. Acknowledging the truth of that was harder than saying goodbye.

I haven’t spoken to them in the past 2 months. What does that say about me? I remember how Peyton always said on OTH-People always leave. It’s true and initially you miss them a lot but eventually it all ceases to matter. The hardest part is not that people always leave; the hardest part is that people always move on. Including you and I.


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Back with a fizzle

Every time I take a hiatus from blogging, I feel a little shaky about my ability to return to it. By this point I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve deleted and re-typed this post just because I keep thinking I sound stupid. Does this happen to you too? Or am I the only one who suffers from this recuperating-blogger-syndrome after every silent spell? Well I can take no more-I’m going to stick to this one and post it no matter how it turns out *Bangs her fist on an imaginary table*.

This time I had to stay away from the Blogosphere because of exams. The funny thing about exams is that they bring out a weird side in me. A side that indulges in deep introspection only when she has a paper to answer the next day. A side that is itching to try new things as she nonchalantly flips through mind-numbing notes. A side that makes lofty plans about how she want to turn over a new leaf after her papers and utilise her time productively, which is the opposite of what she’s doing right then. And finally, a side that keeps musing about what she wants to blog about once exams are over.

But the moment they get over, that enterprising and proactive side simply evaporates and is replaced by the girl who’s scared she won’t be able to type a decent post again. It unnerves me every time. So far all the relationships I’ve had with activities that interested me at some point have been terribly short-lived. But blogging has outlived them all and is likely to be a long-term commitment. Every time I get caught up with other priorities and think I need a break, the Blogosphere waits patiently and when the time is right it seduces me back in with its debonair charm. And I give in willingly.

Well it has sucked me into its world again and I’m declaring my renewed commitment with this post. Gosh, it feels good to be back.

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A treasure of words

Usually, I’m really daft around technology. Like really daft. I’ve wondered several times if I perhaps belonged in the Stone Age. I would fit right in. Just hunt, eat, make fire to keep warm inside your little cave, wear animal hide (instead of having to choose from an array of clothing alternatives every damned day of your  life), mate, procreate, die. Hopefully not as some animal’s next meal. It was all so simple. No pollution, corruption, consumerism, ecological crisis, and all the rest of the issues eating away at our world. It was the good life, really.

But sometimes, and really just some rare times, I love technology. And today is one of those times. Now that long prologue might have misled you about what this post is really about, but the real reason I’m declaring my love for technology is this-

Sometime in June I stumbled across one of my favourite author’s blog. Richard Bach’s. The blog was fairly new and the first post was a ‘Welcome’ addressed to all his faithful and unswerving readers. There were heaps of comments at the bottom of the post so I went ahead and added one to the growing pile. And then I completely forgot about it.

For some odd reason, after more than 2 months I remembered his blog today and looked it up. And guess what- HE REPLIED TO MY COMMENT! Can you believe that?! He replied! And just like that I was jumping up and down, almost breaking into a touchdown dance.

He replied!

Now, don’t let me mislead you again – Bach is a very considerate man who replies to almost (if you missed the emphasis on the almost, here it is again with an underline- almost) all of his comments. And to some he’s written almost an essay back in reply. To me he’s written one simple line, but that’s enough to make me soar on cloud nine at the fact that a great writer whose writing I found truly inspirational and philosophy very relatable said something personally to me. He actually replied back to a fan’s almost phony comment.

So this is what I wrote (remember what I said about phony):

“Hi Richard,

Became a fan of your thoughts and writings very recently.I was shocked when I started reading ‘A gift of wings’ to realize there are other dreamers like me who’s beliefs have shaped their realities. Gives me hope to go on dreaming and weave their essence into my own reality.

Thank you for letting us accompany you in your journey across the big blue skies.


And his reply-

“Many others, Kasturi, and you’ve found a next of ‘em right here.”

I love that man.

Now this wouldn’t have been possible if I were in the Stone Age would it? Technology really does give you reach, knowledge, a voice and several other gifts that I wouldn’t have given a tiny rat’s ass about if I were a Neanderthal.

I hope y’all had a superb weekend! I know I did.

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She thinks too much

Sometimes I wish my pillow could talk.

I have been blessed with a lot of good friends in life. But sometimes you just can’t talk to them. Because in spite of their good nature they may be incapable of keeping things to themselves. Because you don’t want to bore them with the mundane and melodramatic events of your life. Because you’re scared they wouldn’t be compassionate. Because you don’t want them to judge.

Sometimes friends aren’t enough.

I try to fill the void with music sometimes. Sometimes I pretend the singer is actually talking to me. When I’m lonely, he’s telling me I’m not. When I’m upset he’s showing me solidarity. When I’m angry he tells me he feels the same way.

And sometimes he’s just singing me a song.

Other times I use my blog to fill that irksome, hollow space. That is partly why I haven’t let any of my friends read my blog or even told them I have one. Because my posts are the silent conversations I have with the virtual world that I couldn’t have with them.

Sometimes all you need is somebody who would listen.

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Curtain Call

So many masked faces, so many facades – how do you identify the real from the fake?

Sometimes it feels like life keeps building you up to face this moment of decision – whether to rest your faith in what could be a masked face or the real thing. And how do you make the call?  I guess you can never know for sure. A person can know someone for years and yet never really know them or what they’re capable of. So I guess an acquaintance of few months doesn’t even stand a chance.

I once met a boy who seemed to me like he was painted in an pallet of colours, masked from head to toe. So I thought I would try to peep inside, peel the mask away and discover something wonderful under the surface. I kept at it diligently for a while, patiently trying to find the pearl in the shell. So imagine my surprise when I realised that the mask did not just run skin deep- the mask was all he was. It was the real thing, raw and repulsive.

A few months down the line I met another person. This man was all that he said he was, a genuine and trustworthy friend. He wore a Halo around his head. No masks, no facades. So imagine my surprise (again) when I realised that I had actually been bantering with the master puppeteer; someone really good at putting up a show. But a show has to end right? And so the curtains fell- with me realising that I chose wrong. Again.

I am a believer in the statement that everything happens for a reason. I let my guards down for someone only when I’m confident that they won’t take advantage of it. But some have and I take that as life’s way of teaching me how to identify better. Mulling over the fact that a few people misused my trust would be unfair to the true, great friends I’ve made who were strangers in the beginning just like those few imposters had been. At the end of the day, in spite of all the masks you come across, all the imposters you encounter, you’ll meet some real faces, bona fide friends, who more than make up for all the charades and lies you’ve had to put up with. If you can even find a few of those, all the masks in the world don’t matter.

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Rambling #1

I guess Monday blues just hit me a day late.

I realised today that your mood influences pretty much all that you’re drawn to during the day be it music, topic of conversation, choice of read, or the subject of your post. I was feeling pretty blue today and couldn’t stop listening to the slow, acoustic version of Jason Mraz’s “If it kills you” the entire evening. The little drama queen inside that I keep a firm grip on was probably making her presence felt. And  I just had to pick ‘The Kite Runner’ of all books to while my time away which is definitely not the ideal choice for someone feeling downcast and wanting to stay away from anything even remotely schmaltzy. However let me add that this book is not remotely schmaltzy, it’s downright heartbreaking. I’ve read ‘A Thousand Splendid Suns’ by the same author but I don’t remember feeling so moved so early on in that book. I’ve only reached Page 50 till now and was close to bursting my waterworks. Hosseini is a master storyteller. I had to put the book down just now in fear of going into full-fledged gloom mode. By now the blues have turned a shade darker and I thought posting about it might help make sense of why I feel like my pet died or something. Of course I forget that I cannot articulate like Hosseini so my rambling so far has been pretty much useless.

Hope a new dawn chases ‘em blues away.

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Dance like no one is watching

There is beauty in a dancer’s moves. I’ve always been staggered by the fluidity and elegance with which a dancer can weave through a routine making it look so easy, so doable, when in fact it is just the opposite. I know friends who are crazy about football, tennis, some genre of music or fashion but I relate to their craze only through the feelings that seeing a beautiful dance routine evokes in me. The sensuality in a salsa dancer’s footwork, strength in a hip-hopper’s moves, perfection in a ballerina’s pirouette always leaves me amazed. I often observe their feet during a performance and I’m always struck by how featherlike and effortless their steps seem. There is such flawless symmetry and sync in the lines of their body when they’re in the air or getting low on the dance floor or doing an impossible move that it just feels like magic. Watching a breathtaking performance has always filled me with something akin to hope- if someone can talk with their body, maybe there are a lot of impossibilities we can turn into realities.

I used to love watching So you think you can dance. I love how every routine has an underlying story, an act or a message woven into the choreography. The other day I came across some SYTYCD routines on YouTube and couldn’t stop hitting play over and over again. I found this video of one of my favourite couples on the show and found it so moving I wanted to share it with you.

It’s a lot more than just dance, it always is.

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Where’s my stopwatch?

This is my final year in college and time is just whooshing by like some highly combustible, god-forsaken rocket. I say combustible because that’s what final year feels like-a bomb ticking away. And when it ends (read-explodes), everything around you changes; you’re pulled out of the easy life of a student and thrown into the rat race of money, success, yada yada. In some ways I’m looking forward to the end, in terms of being financially independent, moving out of the hostel and into a place of my own, and being a free agent. But I’m also scared. Scared that my decision to work next year instead of pursuing further studies (yet) will backfire, scared that I may never realise my calling, scared that friends and not-friends will move ahead and do better than me while I’m stuck trying to figure things out. So this year, being my final year in college and maybe my final year as a student (yikes) I decided to live it to the fullest (sorry couldn’t come up with anything original). So I started a blog, made a bucket list, and joined dance classes. I’m also hoping to travel some, experiment going to a centre for Buddhism shortly because I’ve always wanted to know more about the religion, and  explore the city while I’m still here.

The blog is surprisingly doing better than my expectations. I never thought I could have followers. Every time I see that tiny ‘+’ symbol on the upper right corner of my page, I purr a little with joy. As for dance, I only wish I had classes every day. The rest of it will hopefully follow soon without too many glitches. And this blog will be a happy journal of all the memories I make and the experiences I have. At least that’s the hope.  

Wish me luck!

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You promised, did you?


Promises come cheap. The word, ‘promise’ is perhaps one of the most misused, misinterpreted and exaggerated terms in the English vocabulary. Misused because many use it blatantly without giving two hoots about fulfilling it ; misinterpreted because people like to believe that promises are sacred, something of an unbreakable vow; and exaggerated because promises are almost always meant to be, well, broken.

My blog is my safe haven. It’s my escape route. It’s a journal of my life and portrayal of my thoughts in the virtual world that I didn’t want anybody from the ‘real’ world to encroach on . But of course, some people just don’t get that. Telling them “this is private, you can’t be here” is like offering a titillating challenge to them to do just the opposite.So basically, that’s what happened-someone who ‘promised’ they wouldn’t read it read it. Silly me, what was I thinking?And if it isn’t bad enough to read it, this person has to play dumb and pretend they haven’t which is just annoying. Do I look like a pea brained dinosaur? To top it all, they keep quoting from my blog right under my nose. How dumb is that?(although I admit it does make me a teensy bit smug to be quoted).So this post is dedicated to you my dear ‘promiser’ and all the rest of the promisers I’ve met. Next time you use it on me I’ll show you where to stick it


Did you know about the word ‘sorry’ too? Oh you did?

Save your breath.

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7 things I wish I could be

1)  Be a Badass: I’m a typical girly girl (at least to look at). I’ve never had a problem with that but I’ve always held girls who can be real badasses in high esteem. And by badassery here I mean girls who can really play a sport like a boy, do crazy adventurous things without the slightest speck of hesitation, ride a bike( Anne Hathaway in Dark Knight Rises people!), run like an athlete (even a five-year old could outrun me), and have a mean left hook. I’ve always had this image of me in a black leather jacket on a Harley Davidson bike, riding with the wind in my hair. Forget that my brother pointed out that I might need somebody’s help to kick-start the bike. Yeah, so?

I’ve always wished I could be adventurous, athletic, courageous and a real badass. Instead, I’m scared of heights and water (so being cat woman is out of the question), my running pace is a joke, and my punches are just sad. But a girl can dream right?

2)  Be a singer: Whenever I’m singing aloud in my room, my roommates ask me questions like “Are you crying?”,”Why are you murmuring to yourself?”,”Is that supposed to be a rhyme or a song?”. I suck at singing. People have tried to help but given up, friends have been kind enough to warn before they attempt to gag me, roommates tell me politely that I’m making their ears bleed, but none have been heeded. It’s on my bucket list to go on a Karaoke night soon. God bless me.

3)  Be a great cook: Sometimes I wonder how my parents managed to cheat me from inheriting the good genes from them. For instance my parents are both great at cooking and I can’t even make a decent cup of tea. Maybe it’s bad Karma for giving my mom grief about her cooking for years as a very fussy kid. But then I’ve also been too lazy to really try to master the art of cooking. So there still is hope for me. Hopefully.

4)  Be a So You Think You Can Dance Dancer: I love dancing. And for a change I don’t suck at it. I’ve had no professional training whatsoever so I let myself get carried away and fantasize about what a great dancer I would have been, how I could have made it to SYTYCD or maybe the lead of the next Step Up movie if only I had some training. That’s total BS of course but I wish I had joined classes as a kid.

But hey-it’s never too late right? I started Jazz funk classes last week. More power to me!

5)  Be a nomad: I love travelling. Actually, I love the idea of travelling because I’ve not actually been to so many places to call myself a real traveller yet. But that’s what I’ve always seen myself doing-hop from one place to another, experience the ways of different lands, immerse myself in diverse cultures, meet people from different parts of the world and be taken aback by how different yet how similar people from different parts of the world can be.

6)  Be a member of a UN organisation: This one is a long shot I know. I don’t even know what the requisites for working in UN are. But I guess every student of Economics goes through a phase where they think they can change the world because Economics is the new language the world speaks in. When I think about myself in the future, I visualise myself doing something that matters, which is self-gratifying and makes my toil and grit feel truly worthwhile. But this might just be a phase and I might end up working for a company whose sole objective is to feed consumerism or fill the coffers of the rich like so many others I know. At least I hope that I can break away from it even if I do get caught in the mad rush of making money.

7)  Be kind: Kindness is a rarity. It’s the one trait I have encountered in very few people, that always fills me with awe when I come across it in someone and something I hope I learn to emulate myself. The world could definitely use some more of it, don’t you think?

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