She’ll appreciate that all great characters have flaws and that no love story is perfect. She’ll understand your self-doubt as she does of Aragon, your inability to express feelings like Mr. Darcy and your cynicism as she does of Rhett Butler. She’ll be patient with you as she is with a lengthy book. Buying her presents will not be easy. She’ll want particular first editions, the Oriental silver jewellery box she read about, maybe pearl earrings like the protagonist of a novel. She’ll keep stubs of movies tickets she liked watching with you, soft issues with your name on it and other souvenirs. She is creating her story remember. Give her your grandma’s old emerald locket and buy her a vintage blue bag.

To me 'growing up' meant having things figured out. Knowing what I want and how to get it. No more creative accounting to explain your college expenses. No more exams and boring books but drinking the best wines, dining at those glitzy restaurants. Getting a job that makes you happy and being in love with a person who understands you.Weren't we all eager to get out of those grad schools to start such a wonderful, free and perfect life? 

Now that I am there, things don't seem as exciting as I thought they would be. We don't fall in love like Carrie Bradshaw neither do we own a closet like her.  You end up in a love-hate relationship with your body weight. Our day starts with a struggle to coax our hair to act the way we want it to. Trying to avoid those fries so that you fit into the dress for your friend's wedding. Oh yes your friends start getting married one by one. Say adios to the midnight trips to the beach and getting drunk for no reason whatsoever. You don't get a shoe purchase allowance you thought you would so at the month end you are in a pair of Louboutins sobbing over phone bills. Your post-graduation is helping you draw up fancy spread sheets and presentations when you thought you would be changing the world. And you can't chat up the cute guy at the bar because he is still in college. Your family is constantly at your neck for 'settling down'. Reading ‘Things to do before 30’ makes you feel sorry for all the hours wasted lazing around on Sundays in front of the TV. 

Then I realized, maybe I had this figured out all wrong. Maybe growing up is not about being absolutely sure about each and every thing. So what you still call your mom at 3 am complaining about preposterous food pangs? Or if you relentlessly read Vogue when you should be going over those stock prices? Falling in love after a one night stand is completely understandable. And so is spending money on that Vera Wang coat. Being an adult is to know that some things won't work out your way. But then it shouldn't stop you from trying to turn around things anyway. Your friends will be in far off corners of the world, busy handling their jobs and sorting their affairs. It is about knowing that they'll catch you every time you fall no matter what. Takeout meals on the roof alone can be better than chasing ordinary relationships for everlasting love. Relationships need not be grand and great. It can be about simple home cooked meals with laughter and Monopoly. Your first job need not have a greater purpose nor should it be part of your ultimate dream. So what your boss doesn't like you already? He'll come along or there are always those icy margaritas to share your troubles with.

Growing up is about being strong in unusual circumstances and learning to accept that you might not be everyone's idea of a normal person. And it ok to not know where your life is heading or what you'll have for lunch tomorrow. Growing up is not about winning the war. It is about survival. One credit card bill at a time.

“Where would you like to be in the next 10 years?” the interviewer quizzed her.

The room went silent and the ceiling fan whirred in the nippy morning air. The interviewers, seated behind the wooden desk, were twirling their sharp pencils. It was six in the morning and sleep still lingered in their eyes. They muffled the yawns and smiled, trying hard to keep their eyes open. Her crisp suit smelled of fabric softener and Chanel. Whilst sitting on the lone chair, she fiddled with her fingers nervously. Then, with purpose in her eyes she began her answer…

“I want to work hard, slog day and night, to earn enough to stop working as a corporate machine. I want to take all my savings, pack my bags and grab my passport. I wish to travel to as many countries as I can and soak in the sunrises of distant lands. To keep an elaborate diary of the baffling people I would meet on these journeys. Fill its pages with the life experiences I would have. In the outback of Australia, under the clear night sky, I wish to dance with local tribes till my feet hurt and eat food cooked on fire in the company of bright constellations. I want to experience fleeting love in the picturesque cities I visit. To have tumultuous affairs in small towns and to experience overpowering nights full of lust and desire. I want to stay in a postcard-like European town and write a splendid book which children would read on a summer day long after I am gone. To work in an old woman's bakery and be light headed by the smell of fresh doughy bread and take up other small odd jobs. To care for and love a man who might speak a language I don’t understand.  Under the rusty lamppost on the bridge, I want to passionately kiss him and tell him that I love him.  And then never meet him again.  In this world of poverty and helplessness, I want to adopt children instead of burdening the earth with my own. Give them a safe future and help them achieve their dreams. I want to feel the anger and harassment of the mother who gave birth to a female child in a distant village in India and had to murder her own blood and flesh. I want to share her tears and beat up her perpetrators. I want to meet a hungry orphan in the slums of Senegal. I want to feel his agony. I want to feed him so I appreciate every morsel I am blessed with. I want to share the sorrow of an Afghan mother who lost her son to valley bombings. Under the pomegranate tree in her courtyard, I want to pray for her safety. I want to befriend a prostitute in a South American city and understand the dissonance of her feelings. Not to marry out of societal pressure but attend weddings of strangers and be drunk with merriment and wine. And learn to paint landscapes and play the piano in an Icelandic town. I want to experience the serenity of Beethoven's sonata in the cold night air of the Egyptian desert. I want to learn to cook exotic meat and be fluent in forgotten languages. In a geisha house, I want to drink sake and enjoy the waft of cheap perfume and feast my eyes on their elaborate make up & kimonos. To feel the rush and fear of visiting a new city and to cry my heart out while having to leave them behind. Life is short and I want to be a bird, to fly to strange wide lands and to soak in all fabulous escapades from around the world. If I die during this time, I want to die with a smile on my face and be buried near the sea to hear the gentle murmur of the waves. 

In the next 10 years, I want my life to be a breath taking story. “

The beep of the air conditioner brought her back to the room. She smiled slightly and recited the answer she had practiced the day before in front of the mirror. 

She got the job, the dream job, but she lost her adventure. 

In the 2014 Lok Sabha elections, it is estimated that around 81.4 cr citizens would vote. Media is raving about  how the largest democracy in the world is exercising its right to vote. Amidst all the hoopla and drama, have you ever wondered if India is really a democracy in the true sense? Is the ability to vote a real indicator of a democratic country?  Unfortunately it is not. It is about making an informed choice on who should represent your constituency. It is about being informed about the intentions and attitude of the contestants and then casting your vote. However, even after 60 plus years since independence, Indian politics and the election will continue to be a caste based racquet game. All politicians volley to dodge important questions and aim for sensationalism through controversies. 

A senior party member of Samajwadi party went on air to mention about the caste and religion of soldiers who died in Kaargil. It would surprise an educated citizen on how medieval our politicians sound and how the political debates being showcased on news channels are utterly disappointing. We merely know the grand plans of big political parties and the list of things they have promised. Doesn’t it matter to know how exactly they plan to achieve these promised plans? India has sadly transgressed into a Machiavellian society where we only care about results not the process. Great governance is equally important and needed rather than promises of passing new bills. Does it matter that a political party will distribute free laptops to the youth in a highly populated state? It wouldn't cover the apathy the same people showed to the riot victims. Democracy is not only about casting votes, it is not about fair counting of these votes too. Democracy is the freedom to ask the right questions. It is about asking pinching and stern questions. The political debate in India sadly is a fish market at its best. It is a cacophony of accusations and counter allegations and character judgements. The ancient politicians use equally ancient tricks in the book to lure the voters. My house help’s entire housing society would vote for a party that has arranged travel and lunch on voting day. This is what it has come down to. The Indian election though impressive in numbers and scale is a sham.  One can go on and on about how the whole system is shameful for lack of a better word but that is not the crucial question at hand. The real deal is about informed choice and the importance of your vote in this election.

There is a large section of the populace who have decided not to vote this year. Their reasons are quite simple. They have no hope in the candidates of their constituency and would rather wait for a messiah who would do something substantial. Would this help India now? Actually not. Casting your vote is not about electing the ‘right’ candidate; it is also about keeping the demons away from power. Voting is also about electing a person who will not abuse the position of power. It is about electing the lesser devil of the lot. In India, where the larger section of society is brain washed or misinformed , most will support caste based/region based politics. As an educated citizen, it is our moral responsibility to stop this. Instead of waiting for the saviour, go and vote to keep the devil away from power. Go Vote! 

P.S: Kindly overlook the poor editing.

He will be at a cozy little local café sipping coffee and enjoying biscotti. Mesmerize him with a summer dress and return his smile. Don't assume his awkwardness for lack of confidence.  He will come to you to ask you about the book you are reading. Don't shoo him away, he is genuinely interested in the book and you. Ask him his opinion and how he enjoyed the book. Enjoy the drama of his story telling as he explains how the book made him feel. He will tell how he felt to be a part of the adventure. Admire his child like experiences and gestures. He won't buy you expensive bouquets for Valentines. His love is laced with thoughtfulness. Take the dried rose he gifts you. It would probably be his favorite. Don't throw it away carelessly. Enjoy the story he tells you about the rose. Be part of his dreams, his nostalgia and his fears. Gift him an old first edition you found in a little shop in Paris. He will love the smell of old paper and would soak in the adventure the book has been through. 

Date a guy who dreams, he will appreciate your kindness.

At the old cinema hall he will take you to, hold his hand as you enjoy classics. Offer to buy popcorn and don't interrupt during the movie. Genuinely enjoy the movie because he will want to discuss it at a park later. He will be hurt by inattentiveness but would listen intently to your opinion on the movie. He will slightly pull you by your hand and kiss you softly later. Enjoy tossing flower petals in the stream with him afterwards. The bridge on the stream is his favorite spot. Don't get restless and enjoy the serenity of the place. He doesn't share the place with everyone. Learn to slow dance with him and enjoy long walks in the old city. Be happy to spend days at city museums and art galleries. 

Date a guy who dreams, his love is like a ray of bright sunshine on a foggy day.

Make his preferred egg sandwich on a low day and spend time gently stroking his hair. Listen to his ranting about disappointments and broken dreams. Respond with kindness. Reality will hurt him often; soothe his pain with your attention.  Don't fret on the list of things he would want to try out in a new city. Enjoy the expensive wines and exotic food items he wants to experience. Be part of the stories he tells his friends over dinner later. Teach him practical aspects of life but with baby steps. Hop in the car for surprise trips to new cities and enjoy gazing at stars with him on the beach. He might take time to say he loves you but wait for the gesture. Don't rush him to tell you straight away as he might find it mundane. He will remember your favorite flowers and will quote from your favorite poems. Write short notes for him to express your love. He will save them in a box and remember each word you wrote in it. 

Date a guy who dreams, he will love you like you are his princess.

Let him make plans for a romantic dinner. The restaurant will have a great story and he would know the owner and his story too. Enjoy the warmth of candle light and old wine. Tell him that you would love to cook a meal for him. Bask in his smiles and shy glances. Don't overwhelm him with jewelery and makeup. Put on your grandmother's emerald hair pin. He will buy you a ring that resembles royal jewelery perhaps. Say yes and ask him the story of the Duchess who owns a similar one. Hold his hand in the rain and tell him stories of living in a foreign city. Don't crush his dreams of world peace and revival of renaissance art. Be a part of it. Humor his odd hobbies of collecting memorabilia and autumn leaves. 

Date a guy who dreams and love him in spite of his unworldly dreaminess . Treat him like he means the world to you and he would reciprocate the love. And much more. 

When I was ten, she pushed a boy off a swing. He hurt his forehead badly. There was blood and screams all around. “He deserved it”, she whispered in my ears, “He teased you because you stammer”. I looked into her beautifully assuring eyes as she nodded slightly, held my hand and took me home. Her deep brown eyes have followed me since then.

She would help me to copy in exams, lie to my parents for late night escapades and cheat on my boyfriend. She taught me to smoke cigarettes when we drank vodka on the college terrace. We shared our first marijuana joint; our first apartment when I left my parents' home and the pain of our first tattoo. I would clean the blood and vomit she would leave on the floor in the night after a party. She would tease her hair and roll her eyes when I performed at cheap concerts. 

Then I met Saurabh and she couldn't stand our happiness. She would sulk at home all day, waking up in odd places and not remembering most of the night she spent out. Saurabh took great care of me; I sobered up and took my music seriously. I was happy with him so I forgot about her and she pretended to neglect me. I couldn't remember seeing her or talking to her for days at a stretch. 

One day when I returned from the store, I found the door unlocked. In caution and preparedness, I grabbed the umbrella and tip toed to the sitting area. Saurabh’s dead body was lying on the floor in the pool of his own blood. She was smoking on the stool, a bloodied knife was thrown close by and her clothes were torn at places. Her hair was disheveled and I guessed what would have happened. She cried in my arms apologizing a million times but I had to call the police. I narrated the whole episode piece by piece to them yet they didn't believe a word I said. They declared I was in a “different” mental state. 

Six months of solitary confinement have gone by. Every day I stare at the window of the room and she sits in a corner staring at me. Her eyes never leave my face as she puffs away cigarettes gloriously. 

Mr. Dasgupta, my attorney came to visit today. He said he had some great news for me. “Due to lack of substantial evidence and quizzical circumstances of the untimely death of Saurabh, the court has granted you bail. There is one condition though.” He wiped the sweat from his forehead and continued, ”You need to sign these papers which say you'll complete one year in a rehabilitation center. We will plead the case in Supreme Court now. Looking at…well, the circumstances…proving attempted rape won't be difficult”. He took off the glasses and I could see the fine lines of age and stress on his face. He smiled from across the table “No more of this solitary confinement dear, you wont be alone in this… this godforsaken room”.

A maniacal smile spread across my face. I leaned in from across the table and whispered in his ears “I am not alone. My devil walks with me.”  Thoroughly bewildered, he quietly left the room, as he turned to latch the door I winked at him with my deep brown eyes.