Just saw my childhood clicks… and it struck to me.. What the hell..!! I was so damn ugly. I started reclicking these pictures in my phone to share with some of my close friends. However….. It struck to me..what if I become a joke amongst them.. What if my past of being mocked at comes back to haunt me..!
All of a sudden my sisi came by and started awwing these clicks.She reminded me of the best childhood days we have had together..
My reaction on looking these clicks was..I AM SO UGLY.. whilst she said .. U WERE SO CUTE AND INNOCENT..!!
Loved it. Was awwstruck once again that she loves me so much .. For once I had stopped believing myself. I started seeing myself through the eyes of the world. I realized i was loosing confidence.. Then came the flashback of this ugly girl winning all the elloqution competitions she stood for.. mostly an amazing dancer and a bubbly topper in all grades .. I just thought of myself as a looser for all these years because I wasnt beautiful. But learnt the paradox of my life.. Yed I wasnt Beautiful then . I wasnt the most charming girl all guys would die for. In fact I was the one who used to be the topic of mockery when everybody was bored. But thats okay I learnt. Because I wouldnt have learnt so much so so much if it wouldnt have occured to me.I got my motive to start getting better because I was being commented at.. I accepted rejection from friends, family , acquaintances,teachers because I knee someday they ll all accept me how I am. And here I am .! Back with a bang and call myself a winner .. ask me why and I’d say because I won the confidence once again.. I won over all the rejections I got as a kid.. I turned out strong enough to face any further blows in life..
Thank my wonderful family for being there for me always..
This one is for all those pretty ladies who have gone through such phases because of their looks.. My advice to all these girls is Just smile back at whoever ells you you are ugly. Smile back at the impairedn vision because they cant recognize ur beauty..
Always remeber.. “Happy girls are the Prettiest..” 🙂
Apprexiate to see the curiosity for the FESTIVAL OF LIGHTS….ONE SHOULD NEVER FORGET ONES ROOTS….)))))
It’s Diwali, and with that comes so much light and love and happiness for me as a Hindu. I continually learn about elements of my faith with each passing holiday, so I always have a hard time explaining Diwali to other people, but the most beautiful thing for me about Hinduism is that I feel it deep in my soul. I understand it there first, and then in my head. That doesn’t always sit well with others, but its what makes Hinduism mine. It’s why I am Hindu and not Jain or Sikh or Muslim or Jewish or anything else. I am inherently Hindu, deep through my core, and it bursts out of me in the most glorious ways. I am a human representation of the physical aspect of Diwali.
I am drawn, like that cliche moth to its mother…
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God read…!! )))
For about six months now, I’ve been conducting an experiment with myself. It consists of a simple thing, that will be normal to many women, but it’s not normal for me – going out into the world with as little makeup on as possible, if any.
A few years ago, I saw a counsellor who set me a challenge – think of something that would take me out of my comfort zone and do it, one day a week, for a month. I thought of the worst thing possible for me – going out without makeup on – and chose to set myself that task. I remember going to work, cringing inside, head bowed low … and finding that nothing happened. I had to ask someone – a woman who always commented on everything I wore or my hairstyle – if she’d noticed anything different about me. She just said I…
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i write this
blind no experience
no background. write without
the benefit of stanza
verse or prozac. i
write to you:
a thousand words of
poetic translation ultimate
frustration. without bending
or melting myself into
color sound or feeling. without
hiding behind pretty metaphors
or white and glossy symbols. this
is not a poem of bread crumbs:
it will not does not can not
lead you anywhere beyond a now;
beyond a you, beyond an i.
it would be easy to
give you a treasure map that
would lead you along red veins
until you reached the gold X
of memory or to describe the hiss
of steam from your fingerprints
splaying across skin. it would be
simple to fill a page with
silk and syrup…..but
this poem is blind deaf dumb to
that: passionless but slow steady
dripping with want of understanding. it
lacks the juice of early morning kisses
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There are moments when you feel the stars align and the gods have smiled down upon you, and then there are the moments when you’re actually awake.
This week has been an exercise in staying off the “She’s gone postal” bulletin. I’m sure it’s not been pleasant for anyone around me, despite my epic efforts to remain sane and calm and far away from a loaded shotgun.
It all began with a tiny glitch in the air conditioning.
The “glitch” was that it stopped working. And I’m sure everyone is perfectly aware of the chapter in the manual that states all A.C. glitches will occur at precisely the moment when previously unseen record blowing heat waves sweep across your area and stall atop your house. This is a given.
Fueled by an inordinate amount of optimism, I brush it off and call the repair fellah who kindly comes three days later…
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On the way loneliness, freedom, and romance are intertwined.
For the past few weeks, I’ve woken up unsure exactly where I am. My bed, a modest full size, looks out onto a cobblestone courtyard framed by green linden trees and an intricately decorated castle. I’m in a pocket-sized one-bedroom apartment and although it is behind the Place des Vosges in Paris, by the looks of it I could be in Normandy or Toulouse, even Vermont. For that matter, there is no real way for me to know the year is 2014: save for the circle-pronged electrical outlet tucked behind my dresser, I could be waking up in the eighteenth century. In the haze of the early morning, these things tend to meld together.
The feeling of placelessness is a bit like a dream: the heightened romance, the intense brooding, the inherently transitory nature of the whole affair. Placelessness happens…
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