Well, this is supposed to be my first blog post. Wow. I want to thank my mum, dad and brother. My high school teachers, my current friends and all the previous snakes and freaks I’ve encountered in my life and also, Benedict Cumberbatch (I don’t know why but I feel like thanking him. For existing).
Oh wait. This is unintendedly turning out to be an Oscar winning speech.
So without generating much carbon footprint, let me just say – Here’s my long-awaited blog, people. The first step towards the journey of winning a Pulitzer, or maybe just a stop for drunken rants and frustrations which can later be used during my Psych evaluation.
Once upon a time, in a land not so far away, I was cursed. I told my sepoy in tainted armor that I’m not ready for a serious relationship, because we’re in high school and I just want to have fun being single and don’t really want to be tied down to anyone.
Which in the ‘delusional about love’ girl language translates to – I’m just looking for a knight in shining armor who’ll sweep me off my feet and let’s face the truth; your armor is far from shining.
The disheartened sepoy hexed me right then, “You know Parker, this way you’re going to be the cat lady who forever runs away from true love and into the arms of fuckboys”.
Last year in December, I paid a customary visit to the party capital of India ~ Goa (basically, Malibu for the middle class), as a part of my ‘Finals-are-over, let’s-show-everyone-on-Instagram-that-you-have-a-life’ annual trip.
(This travel post is a crash course for what to expect when you land in Goa. For those of you who’ve never heard of or visited this pint sized place in India, dafuq are you waiting for? Google ‘Lonely Planet – Goa’ after reading this and book your tickets)
Because Goa is much more than just beaches and ‘trance parties’.
Now there are many urban myths surrounding this ‘holy’ pilgrimage for people who want to have lots of unsupervised fun on the beach with minimal consequences. Because, “Arre bhaee, yeh Goa hai. Yahan sab chalta hai (Heyy, it’s Goa. Fucking around is fine here.)”.
A small state (So tiny, that I’ve rechristened it as the Pluto of states), situated at the western coast of India, sandwiched between the mighty Maharashtra and Karnataka, Goa is known for it’s picturesque beaches, the old world charm of its towns, Goan cuisine, happening night life, Feni (liquor produced exclusively in Goa, India) and throngs of Russians prancing about the beaches of North Goa, with more beer bottles than I can count on my finger (Go Kingfisher!), who have made this state their winter home.
Goa has also won a notorious reputation for-
Being the most popular travel destination which comes to mind when you’re excitedly making plans of debauchery with your good-for-nothing friends.
Being the most popular travel destination which comes to mind when you inevitably cancel those plans because ‘I’m sorry guys, my parents won’t allow me to go’. I swear, this place has seen more ticket cancellations than the Malaysian Airlines after the sad disappearance of MH370. (I’m sorry for making this awfully, accurate statement. Please don’t get butthurt and start filing FIRs)
Being the one place in India where you shouldn’t go with your parents. (Tbh, I don’t get this stupid urban myth. I mean look at yourself in the mirror, whether you’re going with your parents or your friends or alone, you’re not getting laid, anyway.)
Being the badass ‘myth destroyer’ that I am, I did the unthinkable. I went to Goa during the Christmas break of Dec ’16, without any ticket cancellations or last minute jitteriness, in my 1st attempt to visit this ‘shrine of alcohol and fun by the beach’ and *wait for it* with my family.
And here’s what I experienced (originally updated as #GoaDiaries which I wrote everyday after returning to our rented apartment in Goa)~ Continue reading “GO, GOA, GONE!”→
A friend once asked me: isn’t it depressing, having to go to a hospital everyday?
I hadn’t really thought about this before. A picture of me sprawled across a chair in the demo room, scrolling through Facebook, courtesy the hospital wifi, and asking if any of batchmates had something to eat, flashed in front of my eyes.
“Umm.. not really”, I had replied.
One fine evening, a few weeks later, as I walked back to my hostel room, her question crossed my mind again.
Hospital, patients, death – Do I not find these depressing? Have I become emotionally numb? Is it something which gives me an adrenaline rush? Or, have I finally begun to love the life I chose?
In school I used to hold the record for being the fastest person to write a long-ass (but meaningful) poem, or so I’d like to believe. And so as expected, I composed this piece of poetry in like 30 minutes, but it took me 21 years of smiles, tears, friendships, relationships, work, pain, life et cetera, to understand all the emotions that went behind this poem.
Oh, and I’d like to thank my dad for constantly interrupting me while writing this because I was sitting way too close to the laptop screen. Without you, this poem wouldn’t have been completed in 30 minutes.