Memories past

The day dawned bright 

On the east there was light 

Whilst the west, still shrouded

Wintry mist on streets crowded

awaited with breath bated—nigh

For their sun to tear through the sky

Why today, wondering she had to clench

End precious life, god heartless wretch

Clutching a sorrow note from a friend

Message of death, never can mend

from the west to all the way east

had travelled wretched beast

As the world was between years

Our lives were between worlds

Farewell old times, my friend

Of resolutions

Every year around this time, everyone talks about one thing: new goals for the new year. And without a doubt, every time, we share big plans with others, spending an entire evening rambling and trying to prove to ourselves that we can achieve whatever we set our minds to.

Why do we do that, though?

Why do we have the urge to tell others, to share our life plans with external stakeholders, to allow them the power to hold or words against us when we fail?

It’s because we all feel the need to be accountable. Deep within us, we know that letting someone in on a secret or running an idea by them helps solidify it. The more the number of people know about our plan and agree with it, the stronger is the possibility of its success.

That’s why most of us inflict our most profound plans and ideas in the world, in the last few days of the year because new years are new beginnings.

I’ve never made a special New Year’s Resolution (or NYR as the text-speakers call it) because I don’t need the first of January to start working on something I care about. Any day is the beginning of a new year for me. I know what I want to do next week or next month, and what I want to achieve by the end of the year.

That said, sometimes I don’t know what I want to do this week. And that’s fine too. Perhaps I’ll go to work and see what challenges come at me.

It’s nice to have someone enquire how things are going and offer to help, but we needn’t force ourselves to figure out a goal so that we have something to say when it’s our turn.

“What’s your resolution for this year?” — That question is a mere conversation starter. Perhaps a good way to diffuse the tension around a family dinner table or at a boring work party.

Family and friends might wish us well when we tell them we want to lose 15 pounds. Or make a ton of money, or end debt, or work harder, or spend more time for personal wellness.

Beyond that, however, it doesn’t matter to other people what our resolution is or why we chose that one in particular.

But the idea of forming a plan, a proper outline for how I want the rest of my days to turn out is a lot of pressure. After all, no matter how much we plan and plan, life will throw surprises and disasters our way.

New Year’s resolutions are overrated. People make something up every year and promise to uphold it even if they know they won’t. New Year’s Eve isn’t about trying to think of something almost achievable that we don’t feel inadequate at the party later, but it’s more about reflecting on our mistakes from the previous year and learn never to make those mistakes again.

Real goals don’t sound like weak NYRs. Real goals are inclusive of the unfamiliar, respective of the uncontrollable, and realistic to the core.

Image source:


She lay on my table, her glowing skin provoking my every sense. I had never seen something so plump and lush, waiting and wanting to be devoured. For a moment, I considered dumping my New Year’s resolution. Only a fool would give it all up. Because one look at those soft swerves began melting my resolve.

Her scent threatened to asphyxiate me as I approached the table. My pendulum of a mind rocked between what it wanted to do and what it should do.

The next thing I knew, I was tearing the chicken, the grease dripping down my elbow.

Another Day, Another Case

For some people, New Year’s Day wasn’t as flashy as they thought it would be. According to initial reports, a group of men molested a bunch of girls in Bangalore on the 31st of December. Like any women-related news, this one, too, became the most news-worthy piece on our media. Some even reported that there were scores of people on that street at the time including a large group of police personnel on duty. It’s not the first time that a New Year’s party had turned rogue. However, things happened and someone caught it on tape. While police authorities denied that they had any evidence of mass molestation, various theories have blown on and off since. I thought it was just Indians being drunk Indians, but I came across more creative conspiracy theories as well. Like this one:


Ah, what a gift it is to have such imagination! Sure, media says that the man had confessed to the story and that no other women had reported any molestation complaints. And yet, I can’t believe how such a thing could be real. It sounds like something that would be lousy even in the most unreal of movies. Or perhaps the media spins tales to create a buzz and increase their ratings; that’s not unheard of either.

But here’s the worst thing: for all we know, the news piece could be real. Anywhere else it would be questionable, but with India’s current state of things, it could just be too real. Pepper sprays and SOS messages are our necessities now. Our society has fallen to such low standards that we accept that molesting the woman you love is the only way to get married. That’s what the accused says, so I’m guessing he believed that he could get away with it.

I had hoped that twelve years of schooling and four years of college would’ve left a decent mark on our youth. After all, we teach them to respect women, we talk about gender equality, and we even seek men to help empower women. And yet despite everything that goes on one side, another more vile side of our society is choosing molestation as the acceptable pathway to marriage. I wonder, though, would it make a happy marriage?

It’s atrocious and downright cheap, and it leaves a nasty taste in my tongue.