Indian Men and Rejection.

“Indian men cannot handle rejection. The only time when they are not rejected is when they are born.” – Daniel Fernandes.

Acid attacks, revengefully plotted murders, stalking, and also cyber stalking – all acts known to be associated with rebuttal of rejection. India doesn’t seem to have too many reported cases of stalking because we probably ignore it until it is too late. Or because mental health is still a concept we choose to ignore and not understand. Show us the physical bruises though and we’re ready to kill.

Wikipedia states, “Stalking is unwanted or obsessive attention by an individual or group toward another person. Stalking behaviors are related to harassment and intimidation and may include following the victim in person or monitoring them. The word stalking is used, with some differing meanings, in psychology and psychiatry and also in some legal jurisdictions as a term for a criminal offense.”

With the boom in social media, cyber stalking is on the rise – possibly because it is energy efficient with high rates of effectiveness and efficiency in producing results of harassment. Cyber stalking results in your moves being tracked online, your privacy invaded often to the extent that you feel threatened and unfortunately inspite of the multiple security features and privacy measures these apps boast of, the stalker mostly always finds a way out. Yes, cyber stalking does not involve physical violence but the emotional harassment and mental agony it causes to the victim is worth taking notice. Not to mention an increase in the distrust towards people in general.

How would you feel if you woke up in the morning to see countless, unending texts on your phone from a number? How would it feel to see your comments on people’s pictures being liked by your stalker? How would you feel if your public blog had traces of your stalker’s presence on every blog post – a like, a comment, a share? How would you feel to be showered with unwanted presents? I, for one, feel uncomfortable, uneasy, queasy, disgusted and sorry for the pathetic attempts of my stalker at trying to establish a relationship with me where none can exist.

For long, I kept mum. My friends told me to ignore. I decided to turn a blind eye to these antics. I thought they would fade and die out. We all did. But that simply fueled my stalker’s already raving fantasies of me. Not a day passes when I am not afraid of the grave danger which may lie ahead for me if my stalker doesn’t stop soon. My stalker’s psychology is something I have been unable to fathom. What seemed to me an innocent friendship, for him was the pinnacle of love. (And I’m not even exaggerating.) So all the while, when I was treating him like just another guy I know and talk to, he was probably in his mind leering at me, scanning every opportunity to be with me and waiting for the right moment to leech on to my back. Several attempts to ask him to back off boomeranged into him thinking I will accept him sooner or later. I now know how to block someone on all social media accounts I have! No wonder people have trust issues! Because people like my stalker really exist. To add fuel to the fire, my stalker has a blog (links of which he’s sent to me several times) which seems dedicated to his memories of me and his undying (unsolicited and unwanted) love for me along with all possible personal details about my looks, likes, dislikes, interests without any permission from me. What could be a bigger invasion of my privacy?

Lesson learnt : Every love story has two sides. Never believe it is a love story until you’ve heard both sides. There’s a thin line between love and obsession. And there’s a thinner line between obsession and stalking.

Advice to him : My soul is mine and yours is yours. If you think I reside in your soul or vice versa, think of how foolish you’re sounding. You might love me but that doesn’t make me obliged in any manner to love you back. Nor does that give you permission to mentally harass me and my loved ones. Oh and another thing – stop treating death like a joke, otherwise life’s going to make a joke out of you some day.

A not so fun fact :

In “A Study of Stalkers” Mullen et al. (2000) identified five types of stalkers:

  • Rejected stalkers – pursue their victims in order to reverse, correct, or avenge a rejection (e.g. divorce, separation, termination).
  • Resentful stalkers – pursue a vendetta because of a sense of grievance against the victims – motivated mainly by the desire to frighten and distress the victim.
  • Intimacy seekers – seek to establish an intimate, loving relationship with their victim. Such stalkers often believe that the victim is a long-sought-after soul mate, and they were ‘meant’ to be together.
  • Incompetent suitors – despite poor social or courting skills, have a fixation, or in some cases, a sense of entitlement to an intimate relationship with those who have attracted their amorous interest. Their victims are most often already in a dating relationship with someone else.
  • Predatory stalkers – spy on the victim in order to prepare and plan an attack – often sexual – on the victim

Graciously Yours!

AdiC.

P.S. : To my stalker, if you’re reading this, (and I know you are because, hello, isn’t that what you do?) you should know, I’d rather live in rejection than give up my self respect for someone.

P.P.S. : To others being stalked, whether male or female, please ensure that people around you know you are being stalked. It isn’t your fault. Speak out rather than letting the rage boil inside.

Forever and always.

He pulled me closer. My arms tingled with his touch. A current shot through me as he held me in his arms. I still fit snugly in his shape. I laid my head on his chest. Caressing my back, he dug his face in my hair. He loved my white mane much more than I did. His longing for my touch made me melt against him. I wanted time to stand still.

The shuffling of feet and din of people brought me back to my surroundings. Embarrassed, I tried to let go off him. But this meant so much more to him than it meant to me. He hesitated. Slowly, sadly, he let go off me. Through my glistening eyes, I could see him trying to pull his emotions together.

I intertwined my wrinkled fingers with his and we walked away to somewhere quieter. But there wasn’t any quiet to be found. Everywhere prying eyes followed us. With each step, our arms brushed. The thirst was maddening and our control weakening. Not a word was said and the bell rung! It was time for me to leave.

He walked me to the end of the room. Beyond that I was on my own. As I tiptoed to land him a peck, he brushed his stubble against my face and whispered in my ears, “I’ll always love you.”

I pulled him away. Running my fingers through his hair, I kissed him on the mouth. I tasted him while I still could. And then I turned my back on him and left.

As the Alzheimer’s struck me walked away from him, I prayed that the next time he came, I still remembered him. And I know he prayed for the same.

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Graciously Yours!

The Wait.

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She was worried. A month had passed since he’d told her about the death. A month and he was still to write another word. He was magical with words. He made you feel the pain of his characters, the joys and blessings of their lives, the romance of the scenes left you feeling the heat and his disgust made you scream in helpless terror. At the end, he left you craving for more. He’d left her spellbound every time he’d written for her. She waited for him to write again. His words completed him. She’d never met another like him. He matched her passion for words.

But then he lost a loved one and the words went away. He forgot to grieve. He felt direction less. He was numbed by life’s cruelty. Determined, he sat with a pen and pad. The ink flowed, but no words formed. His hand moved but the thoughts blew around like wisps. He clutched at straws but they fell through like sand. He knew she waited. And he tried. Until he couldn’t any longer. He cried. Until he couldn’t any longer. His body became numb, but the pain didn’t.

As she slipped her hand through his, he wanted to tell her that he tried. But she knew. She already knew. And her eyes said she’d wait with him. For as long as it would take.

Graciously Yours!

Six Word Story #9.

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Death became her moment of glory.

Word cue for you is – moment.

Graciously Yours!

P.S. : Which do you think is prettier – dawn or dusk?

Screaming in horror. Almost.

 

This is a rant post. Don’t blame me if you feel like screaming in horror after reading this. Read ahead at your own risk.


 

Selfie Backdrop Change
What’s real about pictures anymore?

So Google tells me there are selfies of various kinds from #Ussie, #Uglie (Why? Oh why?), #Belfie, #Helfie, #Delfie, #Felfie, (I swear I am not making these names up.) #Wealthie and I’m tired!

Adding to all of those trending hashtags is a new way to click selfies – with the Vibe S1 (I am not sponsoring the product. Geez.) which will let you change the backdrop of your selfie. Wait, what?

So apart from the fact rumour that most selfies are staged and photoshopped and airbrushed and filtered and doused-in-all-other-photography-technology-related-words, we can now change our selfie backdrops.

Wanna bet which is going to be the most trendy backdrop? The Oscar red carpet pitched against the Eiffel Tower of Paris with your loved one? Or will it be snow capped peaks competing with the Victoria’s Secret runway? Who wants reality anyways?


 

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Intolerance? Us Indians? Nah. Never.

For all those unaware, India has been discussing exactly how intolerant we are, as a country, for the past couple of months. Bans are trending, people are giving back awards felicitated on them by the Government (irrespective of the fact that the awards were given by political parties which are currently not even in power), people are being killed for their eating habits, politicians are rallying for food choices and animal (read : cow) protection like never before.

So Aamir Khan said this “Kiran and I have lived all our lives in India. For the first time, she said, should we move out of India? That’s a disastrous and big statement for Kiran to make to me. She fears for her child. She fears about what the atmosphere around us will be. She feels scared to open the newspapers every day. That does indicate that there is a sense of growing disquiet.”

So who really was afraid of India’s increased activities of intolerance? Kiran or Aamir? From whatever little English I understand, I think he just conveyed what Kiran said. And probably what millions of us say in the confines of our homes and safe havens of our thoughts. But refuse to admit openly. Because we are tolerant.

And for a country which is bashing Aamir for wrongly calling intolerant, are we in reality being tolerant towards his right to free speech? Latest updates show he’s being asked to leave India and his religion (of course!) is being held responsible for his thoughts (which, surprise, were actually Kiran’s thoughts.) Why did we not rise in defiance the same way when politicians said the most disgusting things about women being responsible for being raped and calling rape a ‘mistake’ which boys are allowed to commit? Why did we not ask for them to be thrown out of the country or ask for their resignations? Oh, right. Because WE ARE TOLERANT.

By the way. #IStandWithAamirKhan.


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Are you bleeding? Get out. Oh, you can’t bear children? Get out.

With due respect to everyone’s religious sentiments, why would you infringe on a woman’s privacy and her faith in such a drastic way? For a country which celebrates the union of the fertilized egg and sperm in the grandest ways possible, we do treat the unfertilized egg as harshly impure. In spite of science having busted the menstrual taboos and myths over and over again.

#HappyToBleed, yes. Always.


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NYC subways have rats! Eeks.

Another selfie news? No, no, not at all. Didn’t you notice the most important bit of information in this piece? Even NYC subways have rats! Time we globalized the Clean India Campaign?

Oh and confession time. I did scream at horror at what the rat did. Almost.


Graciously Yours!

P.S. : Do share what you think after reading this. I really, really want to know if you screamed.

Blank colours on the canvas.

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Some days I have a smile on my face. Yet inside I am breaking apart. Sometimes that trophy is all I want. Yet when I get it, it was not the rosy picture I’d painted. Some days the world doesn’t make sense at all. And other days I think I’ve found the missing puzzle pieces. Somehow, somewhere he meant a lot to me. And yet he never did. Most days I believe there’s a God. Then religion strikes back at my faith. On days I help a poor fellow, the papers print how another looted millions. Some days I want much more than all the colours of the rainbow. Then there are days when even black and white are too much to handle. There are moments when I am the centre of my universe. Then there are times when I wish I could replace an atom. Some days solitude is all I want. Other days I crave to be around people. Some days I wish my dreams came real. Other days I want my reality to become a dream.

And in all of this confusion and clarity, dejection and joy, devastation and creation there’s  life. And that itself is reason enough to celebrate. I may not yet know what my purpose of life is, but that’s okay. As long as I keep walking, the road will become clearer and things will begin to make sense. I will as long as I can. Until I can’t. Life’s uncertain. Death isn’t.

Life’s simple. It’s complicated too.

 

Graciously Yours!

 

P.S. : We’re all each but one piece of domino. Insignificant we may seem, but just one missing piece can ruin the domino fall.

Abounding Passions.

Abounding Passions.

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You made me write when I lost the touch,

You made me smile when my mind was thinking too much,

You brought me closer to the real me,

You made dark the new sexy!


Your soft touch paled my pain,

You were my rainbow in the rain,

We moved away with the time due,

Now and then, I still miss you.

Graciously Yours!

Six word story #8.

Closed eyes don’t see silver linings.

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This time you have to come up with a six word story with the word silver in it. Is the artillery ready? 😉

Graciously Yours!

P.S.: Picture by self.

Mistake.

He had no inkling of what he’d done. He’d prised her apart, promising to always guard her, and had at the end, left her open, wounds fresh and bleeding.
She couldn’t see how heavy a burden she was for him, how hard he’d been dragging her before he succumbed to his own magnanimous promises.
She was his best mistake, he, her worst.

Graciously Yours!

Picture Courtesy : Pinterest.

Desires?

Desires?

The rumbling trucks roared along,

The silence of the night drowning it out.

The bodies moved in closer together,

The warmth betwixt they didn’t want to lose out.

 

The eldest had just laid her head down,

When the youngest started bawling again.

As the cries started waking everyone around,

They looked down upon her with disdain.

 

They called this city the place of dreams,

Where stories were of rags to riches.

But all she’d done in the past two years was,

Beg and plead on the beaches.

 

The night was all she knew that was hers,

Her dreams an escape from reality.

Desires were something she learnt not,

It was difficult to even find someone to pity.

 

This post is in support of the UN’s #GlobalGoals on Sustainable Development 2015. Read more about it here.

Graciously Yours!

Picture Courtesy : Pinterest.

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