The depressing state of depression

Nooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooo!

It happened. The one thing I never wanted to ever happen in my life. My nightmare came true.

I missed the bus!

I know what you are thinking, "Big deal!Pffffttt...."

But I would like you all to know, I didn't miss 'any' bus. I missed my son's school bus. Which means I am stuck with two kids and I would most likely lose my voice and my mind by the end of the day.

As I walked back home with my son, I could see those judging eyes of other moms happily boarding their children into the bus with a smug smile on their face. So, this is what the morning walk of shame feels like. I hung my head low and power walked the rest of the way. And guess what my husband tells me?!

"He is just in Kindergarten. So what if he misses a day?"

Oh no, you didn't!

I don't care if he is just in preschool or doing his SATs, O.W.Ls or N.E.W.Ts ( Harry Potter reference intended), mama needs her 'me' time. That is when I can sit back and eat whatever I want (from the leftovers of previous night) , watch every comedy talk show and laugh till my little one wakes up, that's when I cry. The very thought of losing that time was already pushing me to the brink of turning into a MOMZILLA.

As much as I wanted to 'HULK SMASH' everything around him to prove my point, I decided to calm down because this wasn't new to me. Indians don't react to grief very well.  We have one solution to every sorrow or grief in life, especially for our teenagers.

Either they have to move on immediately or get drunk and move on immediately. Those are the only two options available for us and for people who don't drink there isn't much of a choice. 

And God save us if we ever fall into depression, nothing can get worse than being born into a tight-knit Indian family and go through depression. Oh and it gets worse once your symptoms of depression is recognized.

At first they will be all mellow and ask what was the reason for our long faces. Once we spill it all, they will say, "Thooo...This and all is one reason ah? I was scared it was something more terrible. Go, go. Go and sleep, everything will be over when you wake up."

Aaaaaah, the miraculous advice. Everything will magically vanish by morning. But guess what, it works. Sometimes, we do have the habit of exaggerating our problems and we start faking depression symptoms to get some sympathy.

But if that doesn't work and you are still sulking, that is when it gets real.

If you skip two to three meals in a row, your parents will be at your doorstep saying this, "If you don't come and eat, no more studies for you. I will get you two cows and some goats, herd boy." When you do come down, they will stare you the whole time and ask you completely unnecessary questions and when you have no answers for it, they get extremely irritated and yell, "you're not even worth being a herder". Oh man! There goes my dream job!

Or if you are single and you show extreme symptoms of depression they will have only one solution for you. Get you married immediately.

But if you are already married and you show extreme symptoms of depression they will call up your spouse, yell at them, then call your in-laws, yell at them, finally they will call you up and yell at you for getting them worried about nothing.

In olden days, we used to have an unspoken law, that depressions are only for grown men. And women who showed any signs of depression will either be divorced, shunned and sent to hospitals for mental disorders or forced to overcome it by the society.

Thank God, now we have moved on from that and have come to an era where some families just force both men and women to break their state of depression and save the world overnight.

I think they have confused depressed people with those who are on hunger strike. It is not like you can lure them with burgers and they will change their minds. Their ignorance is the reason why some parents don't care much about forcing their children into marriages, threatening them to give up their love affairs, pressuring them into giving up their passions and guilt them into forming a career they have no interest in.

Some parents don't understand how deep the roots of grief can push through our hearts.

They underestimate the intensity of pain one endures and when their children get diagnosed with clinical depression, their first question is, "Depression? I gave him food, education, shelter and an A/C for his room. And sir is depressed for what?" and they throw a deathly stare at us indicating the beginning of "How to torture the depression out of someone in 10 days".

These type of parents are not limited to India, I have read many articles about such cases among foreigners too. As long as there are people who deny the possibilities of their actions on the future generations, you will have many troubled teenagers growing up into short-tempered and self harming adults.

If every sigh from kids are answered with a judgemental remark or a flying slipper, one day, they will stop sharing their pain. Years of accumulated heartbreak can make a monster out of anyone and once you have set the Frankenstein free, there is no point in running away...

All comments are welcome

And the crowd goes wild

“Push! Push! Samantha, he is almost there.” said zack.

“AAARRRRGGGGGHHHHHHH!!!!!! I am dying!” screamed Samantha.

“Push! It will be over in a minute Samantha.” said the doctor, her voice filled with confidence and experience.

The nurses chanted the same words. Zack felt like he was in a football stadium and the crowd was chanting their heroes’ name as the player ran to get that last penalty shot. Everyone in the room was sweating, praying, weeping and screaming. And his wife, Samantha, was doing all of this at a regular interval. 

Ignoring his conscience, he opened his mouth to say his final words.

“I understand your pain, Samantha, believe me, it will be over soon!”

There was a loud gasp! And everything came to a standstill.

The doctor held her chest, the nurses dropped everything they were holding, the crowd booed, the clock stopped ticking and he could swear his unborn baby just said, “Father, what have you done!”

  

“What was wrong with that?” would be the first question that popped up in your mind. But to an extremely feminist brain that sentence would bring a different question.

Let me ‘Rap’ it up for you.

“Excuse me! YOU understand WHAT??

My pain is not a lesson to be taught

Don’t you dare compare with the wars we have fought!

Na aaah, No uterus no opinions, hot shot."

Yeah! Feminism! You men are not better than us! Women rock!

But do we really? Is that what our fight is about? Who rocks? The word ‘Girl power’ is making me cringe as though someone asked me “do you want a zucchini cookie? It is so healthy!” NO! NO! The answer is always no. Get that vile stuff away from me, woman!

For centuries we have seen this argument on every TV channel, especially on the ones which have no idea how to get viewers to tune in. So they just bring every controversial topic and debate it out till they dehydrate themselves yelling passionately about things they absolutely don’t care in real life.

And the most debated topic is “who is better? Men or women” and the result is always that women are better than men. Not because they believe in that, it is usually because they don’t like to go home to a poisoned cake.

Being a woman (yes, I have my birth certificate to prove that), I totally understand our inclination towards feminism. For years women are mistreated, underestimated and not given proper recognition by the world. And we have fought a long, hard battle to be where we are right now.

Men used to believe that they don’t need women. Haven’t we already proved them wrong? We can produce Homo sapiens, like nobody’s business. Without us, men will be stuck talking ‘to’ footballs ‘about’ footballs.

But somehow, that doesn’t seem to quench the thirst for some women. They take it to the next level and start battling for the title of “better species”. And they treat men as though they were born to serve them. Here is the catch, ladies; there is only one winner in that field. And that would be the one who appreciates and accepts the value of the other. The real winner is the one who understand that we need each other to make one unshakeable team.

There are men out there who have always supported feminism, but sadly they are given as little attention as a toddler’s “stomach pain” when lunch is served.

We keep talking about what women want, what women should have, how women should be treated, but on those lines we forget we are turning ourselves into female chauvinists. We get hungry for more attention and more freedom that we fail to see the mess we create. 

We are ready to accept that men can’t do everything that women can do, but we strive so hard to prove that women can do everything that men can do. We jump up the minute they say something wrong, and drain their blood out of their body. We fail to register the fact that as long as one is afraid of the other there is no equality there.

Feminism shouldn’t be about who is better. It is should be about being equal, equally loved, equally cared, equally qualified, equally respected and equally responsible. So, the next time we widen our eyes and flare up our nostrils to charge at a man who is waving a white flag as high as possible. Let us ask ourselves, is this feminism or chauvinism.

But, if the man is just a moron who thinks women belong in kitchen, barefoot and pregnant. Then you better kick him in the crotch and blame it on PMS. Period.

                                  

All comments are welcome.

Pretending to be wise isn't always nice.

There are people whose adrenaline gushes through their body when they fall off a cliff, a plane, a building or their roof top. It is amazing to think how someone would choose to trust a rope than a mother screaming, "The roof is not strong enough, you idiot!" to her 30 year old son, who just replies, "YOLO, dude!" and plummets into eternal brain damage, not that he had much of an IQ before.

And then there are those who get their rush by just coming across this set of words. Sale, Discount, Half Off, Promotion and best of all "FREE". Everything that is free is a very essential thing that we just have to have for our past, present and future. But even the neediest person will avoid this, even if it is free. And that, my friend, is FREE ADVICE!

The world has changed and everyone has a very secure and closely watched personal space. Place a single toe on that perimeter and you will regret your birth. Some of us are just getting used to this generation's method of dealing with pain and depression. I am from an era where just one question "Are okay?" would open up even the most locked up hearts. It might be a story worse than twilight, but hey, you asked for it.

But now, even such a question, would be treated as "stepping out of line". If the words "none of your business" can hurt, then I'd probably be a walking dead zombie right now. So I would like to give you a free advice on how to curb your enthusiasm for giving free advice.

There are three types of people.

1. The ones who ask for your advice

2. The ones who just want a shoulder to cry

3. The ones who apparently are very passionate about us starting our own business and minding it. May be they really understand my potential like no one does. BANK LOAN, here I come!

The ones who ask for your advice are a dangerous type. You have to be very careful as there are chances of them dumping the consequences on you and run away when your advice backfires.

The ones who just want a shoulder to cry would look like they are seeking your advice and when you try to give them your piece of wisdom they will just answer, "That will not work! You don't understand me! Baaaaaaaaaah!". Well, that means you have to shut up and listen to them with occasional "OMG! Wow! Oh No! That's horrible!".

And now we come to the third type. It is very easy to judge people who need their space. But we never know what made them so secure in the first place. When these type of people share their problems with you, do not rush to solve them. If they do ask you for your opinion, think twice if your advice could in anyway bring any change. If the answer is no, then be honest and tell them you have no thoughts about this. Respect their personal space and they will respect yours.

Learn to stop jumping to the rescues you were never called for. Not everything that worries you needs your attention, not every person who looks worried needs your help and not every problem needs your solution. I can say that with confidence as one of the permanent members of 'Paranoid Mothers Club'. Even if you do stand in their shoes, you may not be as comfortable with their stench as they are and your experienced foot may never fit their shoe size. You have no idea where all they have stepped and how long they have traveled to come where they are right now. And a premature free advice would definitely taste worse than literally putting your own foot in your mouth. (I would appreciate it if you can respect my privacy and never ask me how I can compare the taste. Thank you.)

Wisdom is not the quantity of knowledge you hold, but the quality of presenting even a petty little fact in a way that can help others instead of pushing them further towards rock bottom. When you find a way to pinch your nose shut every time you hear someone sob and start lending your ears instead, consider yourself wise enough to wear a peruke (a powdered wig) and start quoting Shakespeare or maybe sit on mountain tops and do this.

And if someone asks you what made you to conquer the realms of your sanctity, tell them you live by the best advice in the history of advice, by the oracle of mankind, Michael Scott.

All comments are welcome.

When the bells ring...

Summer! The one time of the year every kid dreams about. That last day, that last bell, makes kids scream and cry like they have won independence from a cruel king. 

I remember my plans when I was in school. I couldn’t even concentrate on studying for my exam because my brain was busily testing every artistic skill of mine to be sharpened during the upcoming summer vacation. “ooooh! I have got to try baking! And painting! I am going to learn some martial art. No, no, I am going to learn stitching. And I will become an astronaut too!”, these were some of the ridiculous plans that I had made. The first week would go with some success in those plans, but the next weeks you could probably find me lying on the couch snacking on God knows what and my eyes glued to the television.

What was on the TV? Well, there was this guy who was fighting, fighting for love, to save a damsel in distress before the beast could devour her. His love for her made him strong, strong enough to grow big, big enough to stomp the life off those guardian reptiles. He broke boulders with his head and leaped across valleys for her. His love, his passion, his strength was all a girl could ask for. But his life was in my hands, I shouldn’t blink, if anything happens to him I will not forgive myself. Oh Romeo! No, wait. That is not his name. “Oh! Mario. I will do everything in my will to get you to that princess. I swear!”

That is how most of my summers went. Play, eat and sleep. The game used to be so annoying especially when you have to start all over again. At times I would ask, “Why should I help you? What have you ever done for me?” He never replies, his mustache never moves.

But anyways, the whole concept of finding out what the mystery princess would look like, kept me motivated. I never stopped to properly collect those coins, I just ran to finish every level as quick as possible. My patience was tested every time on those moving ladders and as a summer surprise I had to fall into a lava pit more than once. Finally, I reached the base ball pitching machine and the fire breathing, ridiculously fat and funny dragon. I guess he had too many mushrooms, if you know what I mean.

The first time I finished the game, I was super disappointed. Really, that is the princess I fought for so long? And I threw the console down and went to eat whatever my stomach could digest.  But after a week, due to boredom, I picked up the grey brick of console and started playing once again. This time trying to collect all the coins, using every bit of bonus, fire ball and magic stars. I just wanted to barbecue every visible tortoise for absolutely no reason (may be this is how serial killers are formed).

It was different, as I concentrated more on secret dungeons, trying to sit on every pillar just to see if it would lead somewhere. MOM! I have completed my squats for today!

Slowly I pulled my little brother into this world. He had been a very good audience till then, so he deserved to play too. And without any complaints, he took the role of Luigi because he was green and my brother was a firm believer of an idiotic theory that boys are always green or blue. By this time, I was tired of the game already, but I had to play. My entire dignity was on trial here, what if he wins with more coins? Couldn’t let that happen. Besides, I had to show him the tricks so he could learn and play on his own without bugging me. After all, there is no Luigi without Mario. And that ungrateful little princess didn’t care who was saving her. Apparently, she was not a marriage material.

The game was one of my strongest memories of my childhood. After so many years, I still remember those levels and struggles I crossed to finish it. I never thought that game would in any way help me out in future. I was wrong…

Life is not a rat race. I absolutely hate rats, so I would rather not compare myself to one. According to me, life is a Mario game. For the ones who grew up playing this game would know how much we had to endeavor to cross each level. What astonishes me even now is our perseverance to reach our goals. Though we failed time and again to even reach a check point, we took breaks and came back to play or at least to eat those mushrooms. (Well, as long as they are legal). 

Those stupid tortoises were supposed to be slow in real life but unfortunately, not in Mario world. And yet, we tried again and again, doing the same things, learning new strategies, patiently fighting the same battle and all for a princess, whom we never met.

And now we are here, doing the same thing, striving and fighting for a future we never know. We fall, we break our bones, we get up and we walk just to fall again. We blindly believe that we will succeed sooner or later till we reach our saturation point, then we give up. The problem is we forget that we don’t have to fight for one single goal throughout our life.

Initially we start running for us, then slowly the track changes and we are no more running for us. We run for money, love, family, kids and for their future. And if we come across a big wall, we stop, we give up and wishing we didn’t have to run anymore, wishing we were dead. Well, if Mario comes to know about this, he would probably sue us. Hasn’t he taught us enough through that mind numbing game? We don’t have to always play for the princess, believe me, she is fine. The dragon seems to be a vegetarian. Why can’t we keep running just to see where each level takes? Why can’t we keep running to see how many dungeons we can discover and how far we can jump? Why can’t we keep running for Luigi?

Sometimes, life takes a different course and we lose our sense of direction. We lose the ones we love, we lose the things we love and we even lose ourselves in our struggles. We may not feel the gravity which used to pull us towards our destination, but that doesn’t mean we stop our journey. We just have to adjust our sails and keep on moving. We can go back to our checkpoints and try not to repeat the same mistakes. The trick is to keep moving and someday, our life will turn around and when it does all our struggles will be worth it.

It doesn’t matter for whom or for what we are running for. As long as we are running, we will reach our destiny. So let us keep this in mind, if we don’t want to run for the princess anymore then let’s run for Luigi. 

All comments are welcome.

Wait, watchers!

                               Ever felt you were standing somewhere you don’t belong and you don’t even know how you reached there in the first place? You sweat crazily with the fear that someone might look but you are too petrified to even move. Also, any sudden movement might trigger an alarm and people might actually turn their attention to you and your only prayer is that no one notices you for a while. You say to yourselves, “Calm down! Calm down! Just act like nothing happened. Take one step at a time and casually turn away. I am going to kill whoever was responsible for this. Who the hell keeps a weighing machine right in front of the refrigerator?”

 It is all because of those fitness bloggers out there planting such evil ideas into the minds of innocent cake lovers all over the world. They make me so furious! If I had one wish, I would wish that these people would stop…No, wait, if I had one wish then that would be to be thin no matter what I eat. But if I had two wishes, then… Nope, I would probably wish for a hairless face. Well, you get my point. I don’t like to think fitness is an option to those who love food. There, I said it!

“But what do I do, oh wise one?”, you may wonder, “How do I ever avoid those ‘fitness lovers’ from flaunting their abs at me and whispering those taunting tips for turning me into a slender stick?”

Fear not! If you ever find yourself in a situation where people around you seem to have been bitten by the ‘fitness bug’, then follow these steps:

1.  Pretend to be interested

The ‘Fitness-zombies’ can smell fear and shame, so do not let them catch you running away. Instead, be the one to chase them for tips, which is the same, “DIET! EXERCISE!”

     2.  Wear loose clothes

Get those maternity clothes out! Or buy them, believe me they are an investment. Flaunt those flashy mom shirts so it looks like you lost weight. Illusion is the key!

     

     3.  Install them all

Install so many fitness apps on your phone and set reminders to pop up right when you are showing them pictures you took of the one time you entered a gym by mistake.

     4.   Fake those cramps

Once in every two days moan whilst flexing your muscles and holding your tummy whenever the treadmill lovers walk by you. Do not over act, I repeat, do not overact because if they get suspicious they have a specific set of skills to find you and grill you till you resemble a shawarma on a stick.

     5.  Talk their language

Always stay up to date with their language, so that you know they aren’t talking about you. Keep your friends close and fitness gurus closer.

6.   Eat your way out

And after a few weeks of faking, start complaining that your metabolism is too complicated to understand and that you have tried everything to burn that fat. Keep whining and eat your way out claiming you are too depressed. 

And walk away like a cool guy walking away from an explosion.

There you go my friends. By the end of the month you would’ve not only lost those nasty judging eyes but as a pleasant surprise, you would’ve also gained a few sympathizing thin friends who pass on all those love filled cakes and carbs to you and would slap anyone who brings up a new ‘working’ diet regime or tries to guilt you into taking up a gym membership.

Our body is nobody’s business to run, so don’t let their chatter get to your head. If we feel healthy and confident about ourselves, then no one deserves to be more satisfied and happy than us. Maybe we took a lot of effort and failed, maybe we are still trying and maybe we need more time but that doesn’t give anybody the right to bruise our ego with ‘free tips’ and ‘frozen yogurt’. But, if they don’t understand, if they forget their place and you want to tell them to mind their own abs without hurting their calorie less feelings, then feel free to follow my suggestions or just nod to everything they say whilst munching on a big tub of French fries. 

Now that, would be sending your message LOUD, CLEAR and a little SALTY.