The power to upset

We all evolve with age. Not just physically, scientifically and biologically, but also emotionally. I realized how much I had changed over the course of the past 3-4 years. It has been a journey fraught with experiences of different kinds. All these experiences have helped me evolve. Sometimes, I wish I had been a certain way and not changed, for I was happier then. But then, the change is inevitable. You are bound to change. So does everyone else. The people who realize this fact tend to live happier. 

Another question popped up in my mind. Why do I get upset? Why do people get upset? I’ve been thinking about it for quite some time, until recently, when a possible answer struck me. I read an interview of a famous actress in a newspaper and there she had talked about the power to upset. When I read the interview, the idea struck. The lady had mentioned how only 3-4 people in her life had the power to upset her. I thought about it. It made absolute sense. 

You get upset only by the actions of a few people. Only these people can upset you by their thought, word or deed. Think about it! It’s true. You get upset only because of a person. It means that you’ve given that person an invisible, intangible power - the power to upset you. If he/she uses that power against you, it is likely to upset you. Now the question arises as to how many people have been handed over that power, by you, ofcourse. The smaller the number, the happier you are. There are individuals who may have handed this power to a large no. of people. You’ll find them dissatisfied and upset over a lot of things. On the contrary, people who have given this power to a small no. of people, find themselves getting upset rarely. 

Make no mistake about it. Less people with the power to upset you doesn’t mean less friends or relatives or acquaintances. You can still have them all in good number. But are you going to give them all the power to upset you? Ask yourselves this question and you’ll discover so many things. So be judicious in your choice. Your parents can have that power. Your siblings can and your close friends can. But does your boss need to have that power? Getting scoldings from the boss is almost a certainty. So, are you going to give him/her the power to upset you? This is what I meant by being judicious in your choice.

Think about it. It’ll make sense. It made sense to me. I realized that I had given that power to a lot of people over the past 2 years. But now that I’ve realized that, I’ve consciously reduced the no. of people who had that power. The result is very evident, as I find myself much happier. 

I wish you do the same too. Here’s to a happier you with lesser people with the power to upset you!

Hasta la vista!

PS: Thank you, Anushka Sharma! You gave me the idea for this post.  :-)

Watch what you write online!

The reason for my existence has been called into question. By my own self. My purpose was different. I came into this world as an extension. Of my own famous self. I wanted to write about things that I wanted to, but couldn’t without courting a controversy or two. But of late, I realized how much I have deviated from my own purpose. So much so that not only had I become dormant, but I had allowed my twitter self to wag his tongue. And me being me, a controversy was about to happen. And it did. I almost lost a friend because of some tweets. It was an honest, inadvertent mistake on my part. But nevertheless, I had given way to suspicion. Now revisiting that particular episode, I am amused as to how remarkably certain things connect and how valid is the suspicion. The problem with our digital age is that you’re connected to so many people at a time that it becomes sorta impossible to keep track of things. You fight with friend 1 and argue with friend 2. Then you sit back in your free time and let your thoughts wander. Suddenly you get a brainwave. You have the idea to the next chapter of your story ready. You are excited. You dunno what to do. You want to retain it before it escapes your mind. You immediately find your phone and tweet about it. But the thing is that you can’t make it obvious. So you keep it cryptic. Little do you realize that your cryptic tweet might have some relevance to fight with friend 1 or your argument with friend 2. Both of them read your tweets and get upset. They confront you. You had no idea that your tweets could be connected to them or what happened with either of them. You are confused. Then you figure out what has happened. You explain it to them and try to patch things up with them. Sometimes, they understand you. Sometimes, they don’t believe you. You end up losing a friend over a silly tweet that you had no idea, could lead to such implications. This is more or less what happened to me. Except in my case, there was no fight and there was only one friend. Thankfully, that friend was kind enough to understand. Still, my carelessness cost me a valuable follower on twitter.

The point I am trying to make with the whole story is exactly what the title is. In this age of internet and digital explosion, it is very important to be careful with what you write online. More often than not, what you intended to convey and what was inferred might be different. That’s a dangerous situation to be. It shudders me to think what all could be the implications of a single silly tweet. Read this news article to understand the power of a tweet and what it can do to you, irrespective of who you are. Since that incident, I triple check every single sentence I write online. This is important unless you are ready to court any controversy or face any wrath, whatsoever it may be. Actually, that’s a good position to be. That’s how a free-thinking writer should be. That’s what I aspire to be. But I am not that. Atleast yet. So until that happens, I need to remind myself of this title. So do you, unless you’re already that ready-to-face-the-wrath kind. 

Hasta la Vista!

But you didn't

I'm a fan of poetry. Not in an explicit way. I like my type of poems. If you ask me as to what I mean by my type, I don't have an answer. There have been instances when poems that others have raved about haven't really appealed to me. But there have also been instances when I've liked poems that others did not think much of. That's the beauty of poetry. It's very personal. You can enjoy them and only you'd know the reason why a particular poem appeals to you. I have tried my hand at poetry from time to time. I don't claim to be any good at it, but even as a self-critic, I know there are atleast a couple of works that I can be proud of. I'm not generalizing when I say this, but for me, I can write a poem only when I am in a certain state of mind. In other words, there is certain truth in the theory that it takes some amount of personal experience to bring out the same emotions in your poems.

Talking about poems, here's something that I read today. I felt that it was so touching. You may not feel the same way about it. Or maybe, you would. Here you go:

BUT YOU DIDN’T

Remember the day I borrowed your brand
new car and dented it?
I thought you'd kill me, but you didn't.

And remember the time I dragged you to the beach,
and you said it would rain, and it did?
I thought you'd say, "I told you so." But you didn't.

Do you remember the time I flirted with all
the guys to make you jealous, and you were?
I thought you'd leave, but you didn't.

Do you remember the time I spilled strawberry pie
all over your car rug?
I thought you'd hit me, but you didn't.

And remember the time I forgot to tell you the dance
was formal and you showed up in jeans?
I thought you'd drop me, but you didn't.

Yes, there were lots of things you didn't do.

But you put up with me, and loved me, and protected me.

There were lots of things I wanted to make up to you
when you returned from Vietnam.

But you didn't.

 

The origin of the poem: 

An  American family of two members - mother and daughter -  lived together.  The father was enlisted in the army and he went to the Vietnam war, when the daughter was just 4 years old.   Unfortunately, he never returned. He died on the battlefield. The mother didn't remarry and lived to a ripe age of 80. When she died, her daughter found a letter in her mother's things, on which was a  poem titled "But you didn't".

(Source: Quora)

So touching, isn't it? The part about the origin of the poem adds to the appeal. That's one of the prime reasons why I felt the poem to be so touching. You may agree or disagree.  Like I said, when it comes to poems, to each one his/her own.

Poetry makes life beautiful!

 

The Lost Diaries

This is not my diary.

Ramya noticed the change. 

Oh no! Whose diary is this then? 

She opened it. The name read: ASHWANTH SANTHOSH

How come? Coincidence?

 She could not remember but by some strange coincidence, his diary had landed up on her hands. 

Curiosity got the better of her and she started reading it.

“…..Ramya Ramesh – how can I forget her? … the only love I have felt in my life … keep thinking of her every single day… why doesn’t she understands me? … I don’t expect anything from her. I like her the way she is… with all her flaws… she’s perfect in her imperfections … I got angry with her … she kept ignoring me… I felt so… not knowing the truth… if only she understands my love… I am prepared to bring the world for her… she may not be the most beautiful or most intelligent or most charming… but she is everything to me…my angel… my Rums… I wish I had not fought with her… it was because of jealousy, envy, possessiveness or whatever… I realize that I am wrong… if only she talks to me again… I’ll tell her the truth…how much I love her…how much she means to me … it’s been a month since she spoke to me… or messaged me or had any contacts with me …I am alive with life…life on the outside… but I know…that I am dead inside… faking my smile… and happiness…when I know…that true happiness is when I am with her… when I talk to her… when I see her smile…she may or may not like me… I have no idea…she has many male friends now…but all I pray for…is for just another chance, a small meet … where I could just tell her… how much I love her… she may not like it…she may just brush it aside… but I must say how much I love her… love you Ramya….then, now and forever.”

Tears rolled down her cheeks. Her eyes were wet. 

Somewhere else, someone was reading a diary.

“…Ashwanth… how I wish he understands…I like him… have always liked him…smart, intelligent… if only he had loved me …and understood my love…I can’t talk to him always…I won’t be able to…wish he understands…I may not talk to him…doesn’t mean that I don’t think about him… I think of him every day… I loved him a lot then… he was focused on his exams…I could not tell him… he would not have listened…he liked me later…I wasn’t ready then…he helped me a lot… he got me a lot of things… many songs… many books…he substituted for me… I knew he liked me then…I wasn’t sure… but I guess he liked me…but he could not say it…I was glad…I wasn’t ready… I’d have hurt him… then he grew fond of me…messaged me a lot… I liked it… but the frequency increased…he probably missed me…I don’t know for sure…but the messages were too much to handle…then the fights happened… he grew angry… I have never seen him that way…he was acting crazy… he wasn’t the Ashwanth I knew… was he growing jealous that I was talking to other boys… probably…boys are a bit possessive…probably, he felt the same way…I’d never know…I should have waited… but I lost my patience…I retaliated…I fought with him…told him not to talk to me…or contact me… in any way… he was devastated… he pleaded for forgiveness…but no…I had a stronger ego…I was not going to give in… felt sorry… but no…I am not going to yield… I may have shunned him…somewhere in my mind …I have this thought that I can’t have him… I still don’t think he loves me…he’s popular…he has many girls as friends… he probably loves someone…I’d never know… that’s why he hasn’t told anything to me…about his love…or maybe not…I don’t know…I haven’t spoken to him…for over a month now…I don’t talk to him.. doesn’t mean I don’t think about him…I think about him…every single day…how I wish… I could muster the courage… to tell him…how I love him…or how I secretly wish…that he’d tell me… the same… but I know this for sure…I love Ashwanth…yes, I do…”

Ashwanth didn’t know what to say. He was overcome with joy. It brought along tears. Only a while ago, he was worried that he had misplaced his diary and got someone else’s.  He then read the name on the diary. And curiosity got the better of him too as he flipped through its pages.

Was this a coincidence? Or was it a divine blessing that he should get her diary?

How does it matter?

The next day:

Ashwanth got a message from Ramya as soon as he sent one to her.

A few hours later in a coffee shop:

Ashwanth held out a diary to Ramya.

“I believe this is yours”

Ramya was surprised. She then held out a diary. “And I believe this is yours.”

Now it was his turn to look surprised.

They stared at each other’s eyes for a full minute.

“Ramya, I love you!”

The Little Drop

Ram was sitting alone in his room. It was Hostel night in college. There was a party. There would be drinks. There would be music. There would be dance. Ram had no interest in all that. He has been a good boy for so long. His parents were proud of him. All his friends drank. Some of them smoked. He remained a teetotaler, despite being amidst them. It was the final year. This was going to be the last party. 

He heard a knock on his door. It was Ravi. He called Ram for the party. 

“Just be there and have some fun. You needn’t drink.” 

Ram could not refuse. He went to the party. All his friends were drinking. Seeing him, they offered him a drink. He politely refused. Then they insisted. 

“Just have a little drop. Here! It’s hardly anything.”

Ram looked at the minute quantity of alcohol in the glass offered to him. He was caught in two minds. Finally, his curiosity got the better of him. Just a little drop. My first and last, he thought. He licked it in.

3 years later:

Ram was working late. He had an office party to attend. His parents had just come to visit him for a couple of days. The clock was ticking. It was past midnight. Still no sign of him. A mobile rang. Ram’s dad picked up the call.

“Sir, your son Ram is lying unconscious here in … He looks heavily drunk…”

The next evening:

Ram was talking to his colleague Ankit. 

“I don’t understand. I have never seen my parents this upset. They left without informing me today. I know I got a little drunk. But what really happened?”

Ankit felt like slapping him. Then he told him.

Drunk. Puke. Road. Unconscious. Police. Station. Dad. Mom. Crying. Pleading. Police Warning. Auto. Coming Home. 

Ram looked at himself in the mirror. He felt devastated. He was a good boy. Why did he become what he had become - a drunkard? What started it?

Then he remembered. 

The Little Drop. 

Supposed to be his last. It never was. It never is.

It all started with that little drop. 

It always starts… with a little drop!!