Coming home

Every once in a while when I browse through Facebook, which is more often than perhaps checking my office mail, I feel a slight pinch in my heart. No matter which phase I’m in on the chronology, everyone is pretty much catching up and taking it to another level.

So while I soaked in my marital bliss and almost felt like Napolean winning war while crossing the bridge over from being Miss to Mrs, my overactive friends on FB unleashed to us mere mortals the art of winning this war with panache. So out came the wedding photo shoots, special shoots done amidst shady forests or other dilapidated backgrounds with fancy photography and brides and grooms posing with swagger and making sure that everyone on FB witnessed the matrimonial extravaganza while gritting on their own wedding album.

Then with a few months of lull came the behemoth of all competetions, the honeymoon. Now here I realised early on that its best to give in since I couldnt really even enter the game. I am one of the primordial creatures who wouldnt even acknowledge if someone tags me at their events leave alone uploading my own pics least of all the honeymoon. So here I happily sat back in my PJs enjoying the sumptuous fare my friends bought out with their innovations and how I loved this than even the reruns of Friends.

And then ofcourse came the mother of all competions the motherhood. Now here while I grappled with my deflated tummy, over enthusiatic clan and incessant advices, most of my friends really upped the ante with innovative photo shoots of their lo s and put up a detailed timeline of how many months their toddler was clocking and how their little munchkins had fun on play dates and so on. It always made me feel inadequate and perhaps part of tribe awaiting extinction. I couldnt fit in this social endeavour of putting up feelings on a wall instead of actually living them. I couldnt keep uploading infinite pictures while actually enjoying the beauty of what I was beholding and so it was perhaps time to give up.

I realised that while I was lurking somewhere in the middle of this social change this illusion of everyone’s perfect life on FB worried me. It was almost a ready template that I could create a business idea of , that made their life look absolutely perfect. But the regional settings for this template would had to be set in US since most of friends had set home there and no matter how old and matured you pretend to be, some part of you is still in those classrooms on those morose days when results are declared. I still felt the same tugging in my heart when I was the only one mourning on those days and harboring a barbaric mission to punch everyone who cribbed they lost just a few marks.

I often feel or try to place myself in their place to see if I ever fit this American template and while I can totally picture myself I wonder what if I really took the plunge. I guess that destiny is a mere result of our choices and writes itself as we make those choices and move forward. Perhaps thats why in my head destiny was always written with an unsharpened pencil which was only filled with ink once my choices turned into permanency in my life.

While I can totally visualise my life in the American template, I cannot contain my excitement in building my personalised Indian template. Carefully messed up and flawed by the chaotic culture that this country imprints on my soul. I cant wait to try out differnet avenues or create them in a world full of paradox. Find and soak in some sunshine amidst a landscape of blazing fires. Its exhilirating to live in that phase of a world which is transient and similar to the birth of a butterfly, it could either flap its wings and fly to a better world or get caught by grimy hands for being admired. Either way I want to live in this part of the world and mess it up in my own way.





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