A month left to D-Day. As it approaches, I find myself increasingly reckless, patiently wasting time just so that it gets over. Recent events have given me an excuse to give up, albeit a pathetic one; but I would much rather have no relation to the case than a suspect with a seemingly fake alibi. What does an alibi give me, anyway? It would be my own loss, with me being the culprit, the many suspects, the victim and innocent member who gets thrown in prison every time, demeaning the entire damn system. 

I just hope it doesn't end in the counterproductive scenario that's been giving me nightmares.

Well, this is different. 

I've never felt this way before, that is, this absolute lack of feelings. Angry, worried, anxious and scared still are ever-present in my world, but happy and sad have just disappeared with a "poof". 

What's it like?

For the first few days, it was a shock to me; I could now be things that I've wanted, without getting in the way of myself. Who am I, without sadness, though? Do I still have the same dreams? Do I still have the same talents? Do I still like the same people? Can I feel the satisfaction I used to, from helping other people? Is this entire journey just a waste, now that I can't enjoy the fruits anyway? What is the real me; this present one, or the one before? 

Am I still capable of writing my thoughts in an essay, without having enough feelings to mingle them up with? 

How can something so small induce such a great change in one's life? Life itself felt surreal. 

But slowly it began to settle in. And it began to make my world amazing. 

Stability is something I haven't seen from this close up in a really long time, and it's VERY welcome. I am finally capable of thinking with a straight mind, undeviated by my whirlpool of emotions. I feel like a little kid again, my thoughts filled with things of the yesteryears; countless possibilities that haven't manifested and fantasy worlds that never can. 

This sort of monotony scares me, though. From habit, I know that an unexpected rise upward is always followed by a deep downfall. What am I to expect from this magnificent, unmoving lull? Will it suddenly be pulled out from underneath me? I really don't want to part ways with it. 

Sincerely hoping that I don't have to! 

Academic disaster

Do I blame my parents
For enforcing academics on me?
No, they were victims
Of the same narrow path
That the whole of society
Has been forced through.
They recognised the evil
Yet knew they were too powerless
To save their loved one from it
And hence pushed her into the waterfall
To flow with it, as it is less painful
And difficult than going against.

Do I blame the hellhole coaching centres
That thrust education down our throats
Taking something appealing (even tantalising!)
And giving it the most bitter coating
As they did so?
No, they made it rote
But at least they increased the quality
Of each crop of students
Widened our horizons
And taught us MORE
Than one would learn twenty years ago
In the end, they create
More knowledgeable young adults.

Do I blame the friend
Who the meaning of competition
A bit too seriously, misleading me,
Turning into a liar as she achieves her goals
No, she's just a victim of
This society's gruesome fangs
Developing a set of her own,
She perpetrates the crime
Using ulterior motives, and cunning means
To eliminate competition.
On purpose, she crushes my spirit
But can she kill the zeal
Of the lakhs that remain in her way?

Do I blame the teacher
That draws an insensitive comparison
Between the dimwit I am
To the intelligence of the other?
No, all she tries to do is
Use shame as a motivational tool.
She is a well wisher;
She sees me as her own.
She does it because as her student
She would like for me to be better
Than I am today.

Do I blame the person
Who shows unrepentant arrogance
For scoring better than me?
No, he doesn't know
The humbling taste of failure.
He thinks he single-handedly conquered
The most important aspect of life;
He doesn't know that he doesn't control
Everything that orchestrates
His grand success.

Do I blame the people
Who disregarded my existence
When I failed that one time
No, they don't know the first thing
About neither my failure
Nor my success
These are minds that have been trained
To see life as an array
Of meaningless numbers
Or as black or white
No grey in between.

Do I blame the strangers
Whose behavior turns a full flip
When they know I'm a doctor?
No, I blame the generations
Of misunderstanding of achievement,
Ignoring the role of luck and good fortune
The access to opportunities
And the triggers to early realisation
Of what life is all about;
That maturity that genetically sets in
At an earlier time than others.

Don't they all know? That everyone tries
To be the best that they can?

I blame this generation,
For perpetrating the norms
Set down by ancestors
I blame the ones who know better
Yet don't educate their children
To the point of minimum sensibleness
And thereby ruin this nation
Along with the people who fail to meet
Their hypocritical expectations.

I blame the system
For no direction being pointed
To one with no background
Nepotism exists in every field
Lack of guidance is abundant
For no one takes you under their wing
Unless related by blood
And points you right from wrong.
No one shows you what shall happen
If you don't do what you should
And more heart wrenching is,
No one shows you what it is you should.
At the end there's a line of mentors
Waiting, eagerly, to see you fall
Trip on your own oversized degree
Whose time is up to achieve
But yet you hardly fill into.
They laugh and point, sneering oddly.
Ultimately they label some as a failure
For the failure that truly is their own.

I blame this system,
For no standardisation of result.
Does a single exam's score
Determine even a portion of my worth?
No one got to know me,
No one spoke and assessed my mentality.
There's no holistic understanding
Of the person that is selected.
That being the least of our problems--

There is no entity to keep in check
The aspirants that give payment for good result
And the authorities that use illegal means
In order to get corrupt payment.

There's no one to overlook
If everyone gets what they deserve.
There's no one concerned
About the role of chance factors
In something that changes the course
Of one's entire life.
Who is looking out to see
How a student performs every week,
Every day, every night, every hour?

Education ought to be
A state of mind, A way to live
An imbibed habit, that transforms a person.
An educated person ought not be
The same as one
Who throws his rubbish on the street!

It is not the preparation to crack
A single mindless exam
Or to satisfy "reputed" old officials
Who care more about the dress you wear
How neatly you comb your hair
The apparent traditions you follow
The tone with which you wish them
Whether you save their own ego
At a moment of their error
Rather than the knowledge you've built
Inside your head with years
Of hard work and grovel.
Need I be concerned
About the neatness of my margins?
Should I worry of the examiner's mood
While correcting my very paper,
What if he has a quarrel with his wife?
Is my future at stake?

I blame the system,
So twisted and intricate
Just waiting for competent candidates
To fall through the crude loopholes;
To filter them out based on chance events And randomly chosen qualities
That they never had to procure for the job.

Social media and a bit of the awareness necessary to consider myself a grown up, are what made me turn away for a year, from the Indian movies that I grew up watching. I was a regular at the local theatre ever since I came back to my own country. A new movie was something I looked forward to. I spent my school, intermediate and college years discussing Telugu actors and Bollywood remakes of Hollywood movies. I had an opinion on everything, and the one that I always held strongly was that finding my beloved Tollywood movies appealing did not make oneself uncool, irrational or shallow. People should have the maturity to distinguish movies from life; the lack of that, was in fact, uncool, irrational and shallow.
I was always a sucker for the type of movie that left you chuckling at the end with a slight touchy sentiment in your heart as you walked out the cinema hall.
But a year ago, I watched a few movies that conveyed very strong messages that were totally against my views. I realised the effect of these on the general population, those who never did differentiate reel from real, who blindly followed their role models, the actors, relating to them with their caste or fanboying based on their looks, and those who were too young to filter out counterproductive messages sealed in the pretty envelope of morals considered as good by others.
Yesterday I watched a Telugu movie after an entire year; that's a really saying something, for someone who used to be up to date with every new release. And it really took me back; to a time when the awareness of feminism, environment, body shaming wasn't so prevalent such that we could laugh wholeheartedly at a scene of gay romance, or a joke about a man who's dark enough that he's overlooked ahead of a blackboard. Yes, these are the jokes that hurt the sentiments of most, but they don't cease to be funny because indeed they are about phenomena that are a deviation from the norm. Besides, it would be helpful for these people to learn to laugh at themselves every once in a while; being sensitive to such issues only makes it more hurtful when an ignorant person hurls abuses.
Besides, it isn't as if there's been no gradual change. Haven't there been beautiful movies like Vedam, Khadgam, Khaleja that have thoughtful, deep messages concealed in humour for anyone who's willing to find them? That routine scene of a heroine behaving like a damsel in distress as goons eve-tease her, waiting for a strong, brave man to save her-- hasn't Run Raja Run shattered that image with a beautiful woman whobgives the idiots a beating herself? How can anyone miss the empowerment in Alia Bhatt's Highway, Badrinath ki Dulhania, and Dear Zindagi? At the same time, hasn't Rx100 gone far enough beyond feminism to show us the truth about today's privileged women? Hasn't Awe, if slightly faulty, broadened our perspectives to homosexuality and mental disease?
Haven't numerous biopics, like Bhaag Milka Bhaag, Neerja, Mahanati, Dangal, inspired us to be bigger than ourselves every day?
Movies aren't your teachers, mothers or spiritual gurus to expect a change of mind, a different dimension, or a broader outlook from. They're just a representation of a person/group of people's idea. Besides, they're often more sensible than most teachers, mothers or spiritual gurus, anyway. 
The sad, sad notion that anything in English or French is ought to be beautiful, while anything in Telugu, Malayalam or Hindi is bound to be "lame", is absolutely incredulous.
We may be frogs in a well, but our well isn't that bad. My choice is to go back to embracing my childhood traditions.

Numbers and colours

Sitting in an auditorium with a thousand other people for ten days, in the presence of a celebrity of our kind, it has really taught me a lot. It's funny how a science like Medicine can make you feel things that seem so artistic.

I could listen all day, about how a hole in the heart opens up in one place to save us from a closed off wall somewhere else, how infants know on their own how to fix their bodies when they become blue, how too much calcium saves us from too much potassium and how there are machines that protect patients better than their own doctors. Sometimes, disease is masked by a misleading diversion, hiding away the real dirty rascal in a corner that can be found, only with the knowledge of certain mystical secrets!

Every breath we take is a collective effort of so many different building blocks, proteins, molecules, each having their own function and selflessly covering for his brother if he fails to perform his own. Every little nuance has a different significance; there's hardly any such thing as "random", it's just something with an explanation that's yet to be found.

It makes you wonder, how many decades and centuries have been put into such a deep understanding, that's still led us to the middle of nowhere? Medical science is ever changing, always adapting, morphing itself to the world around it, and what's true today could proved incorrect overnight.

The body is so complicated, so varied, so detailed; no eloquence can match up to it to describe the magical wonder of it's design, which is both so gloriously beautiful and horrendously ugly at the same time.

I could sit there forever, listening, imagining, pondering, viewing the entire human existence as a wondrous array of relativity and synchrony, good differentiated from bad by nothing but comparison; there's no black or white, just a collection of complicated phenomena that only get more intriguing as you go further; and if you go deep enough, there's a point where you don't hold control anymore, all that's left is the mind involuntarily seeing light of different colours, all blending into one another...

But I've lost myself to abstractness, haven't I? Does the inside of the body contain the secrets of the universe? Why does it feel almost divine, when I touch the inside of a peritoneum? Why does it feel like such a revelation? It doesn't speak, nor does the idea convey anything to me. It just gives an overwhelming feeling of truth; that in of our lives that we put so much thought and emotion, hope and joy into, in the end, is but flesh. Flesh is all we are, made of collagen, elastin, lipids and keratin.

And what can a bunch of flesh do? It can't decide what is moral or immoral. Morality is a concept invented by itself, and it is foolish to have the delusion of control over something one has created for himself.
It can't dictate terms to another living being on how to live or conduct itself, with the confidence that he is right to do so. After all, what is "right"?
It can't be the best or worst at anything, for there's always something better or worse than the human mind can fathom.
And it most definitely can't determine the presence or absence of an entity called God, or claim that a book, a building or an idol is an authority on the subject.

So how does one aspire to greatness? I don't think they can. It comes to us if it chooses us, and if it doesn't, there's not much we can do about it. All we can do, is live through each day with the goal of going to sleep at night satisfied with our own self; that's the only goal we can aspire to.

Of Godmen and Religious Nothings

Just like everyone else, I shall only speak openly about beliefs that are open to change and criticism, followed by people who exhibit some broadness of mind and openness to discussion; I shan't submit myself to the wrath of rigid religions that have no room for improvement or reason.

Whether it's a statue of the Lord of the Seven Hills, or a man whom humans themselves have turned into a God, I don't see the authenticity in it. People wait in lines for hours and hours, donate a fraction of their earnings, sometimes even drop their gold bangles and chains into the donation box without a second thought, with no regrets...
These are the same people who bargain and buy vegetables for ten, fifteen rupees lesser, from a person to whom it really matters, and who won't make extra rice to feed their house help. They readily give up their wealth in lakhs and crores to organisations where their donations hardly matter....

The authenticity is established by stories proving how sought after this is and with examples of large groups of men who believe and benefit from it. "Of course, if so many people have faith, it must be true; or else, are they all mad?" This was always the explanation I was given to my well thought-out queries.

It's also backed by references to esoteric terminology and information, luring us further in with tantalising assurances that we too, one day, shall be one of the special few...

The scene is set, the stage is decked up. The curtains withdrawn and the prize revealed! The crowd looks on with wonder, with "oohs" and "aahs", as though there's no greater purpose for life than the sight ahead of them. I wonder, what do any of these people gain from this sight, other than having witnessed an object that's assigned greatness by word of mouth? Do they even think about what they're thinking?

We talk of the sight of the Lord for days after, friends and family asking us how it went, as though this time's meeting, unlike any other, will give us any amount of control over the happenings of the universe. We gush with happiness when we get to ogle at the deity for an extra few seconds before being jostled out of the way by the people who follow.

Whether it's religion or superstition, we're all motivated with a stick; the stick being the blackmail of bad luck, ill fortune, unhappiness and regret that promises to follow us if we don't follow what we're told. For some of us, it's the sweet, cherished memories of the faith we were raised in, for some others, it is the fear of being alone without a higher entity to shine a guiding light. For a few, maybe it's a shortcut that they hope to follow sincerely in place of the hard work that they know they're incapable of, and for a few others, it's the necessity to be respectful to an age-old tradition of belief, without which we are considered ill-mannered, uncultured, and arrogant. But for whatever reason we choose to believe, we only have some margin to survive within, without surrendering logic and good sense. Once the margin is crossed-- educated and illiterate, rich and poor alike, there is no anchor one can hold onto for dear life. Beyond the margin, this anchor, that used to provide distance, reason and originality, is vanquished with a snap, within a second, and you've hence lost yourself to the endless sea of faith.

Time and again, all I find myself doing is meticulously achieving goals whose utility is invisible to everyone but myself. Each time I reach a finish line, I see the entire track behind me has blown up; that was the result of my pursuit. And now all I'm left with is the closure, for everything else has been destroyed.
Why does following my instinct always turn into a massacre?
I find myself wondering time and again; is it me that's insane or the rest of them? Have I drifted right out of reality? 
I don't remember a time that I've found myself as hypocritical as I do these days. It's all unintentional is what I tell myself, but my actions don't prove the same; it can't be impossible to control oneself, can it? I don't know what the answer to that would do to me.
Maybe my good sense has left along with the sparkle in my eye from twenty years ago.
As always, I'm stuck here with myself, in the flesh and skin I never asked for, and the mind that developed into something I didn't mean it to be. Each action of my own, astonishing me more than the last, I wonder if anything I possess is actually under my control.
My writing seems distasteful now-- it is but an over-complication of all that I could have been kept simple and easy.
I miss the olden days, where I was free to deal with myself as I liked, without the shackles. But I better be thankful, the shackles are all that keep me anchored today.
Of course as always, I crave sympathy and affection for all that I've done to myself. After all, what else can I ever get it for?
And when it doesn't come, it brings on the anger; that fierceness that scares everyone around me and drives them away. But do they know that it scares me as well? It's a beast inside me, always running me; dear to me from the bonding of years together but an obvious poison. I could actively exterminate it, but I'm too scared to live without it now. 
Come now, rage, impatience, jealousy and insanity; devour me as you always have, and I'll be your most silent victim, the very facilitator.
Yes indeed, I have, once again, unreasonably absolved myself of all blame.

These lives we life, these things we do,
The dreams we have, are no longer true.
Mother Earth has borne us long enough!
Alas, we have been far too rough.

Evil is spread by people of all nations,
The spawn of just a few generations--
We have turned into many; too, too many
All day long we fight over every last penny
With each descendent becoming more demonic
And our own morals simply turning ironic.
Insensitive to anything other than pleasure,
We've created destruction beyond measure.
We've begun to fight a battle, victory far from our side
With calamities that break us from outside
And diseases that attack us from within
Soon, mankind will be left disarmed, in pain and writhing.

Today we face depletion of the very elixir of life
Whom do we wait for, to protect us from this strife?
The gravity of the situation is yet to enter our mind.
We have no empathy left for another kind
And no sympathy for the ones to come, even if our own.
They shall face the wrath of the seeds that we have sown.

We enjoy benefits as always, failing to take the necessary noble vow
Instead, we do what's good for now,
We know the consequences, yet we simply play dumb.
As if what's later is never to come.

For the sake of religion, caste, politics and race
Our hearts pound hard, and we put on a tough face.
We shan't allow disgrace, dammit;
We'll show them! Here, the tongue knows no limit;
We shan't stop until we get them to shut up.
Where we really ought to speak up,
We say not a single word.
Instead, with all our might, we pray to the Lord
To come and save us from our own action
He doesn't take away our troubles, not even a fraction
In fact, he himself has now come to be
Another disaster that we've created ourselves, could be.

This is our upper limit of action in this noble quest--
We do our part, we put across the request.
Then, with the responsibility shoved aside,
As always, we wear all this ego, all this pride,
As we enjoy all the luxury and the wine,
We stay blindfolded, we say we'll be just fine.
We don't open our eyes and see what it is we pave--
It's all down a path to the inevitable ugly grave. 

The Barrier

The rosy glow on a young woman's cheek. A sweet kiss on the forehead from a grandfather. A text that says "did you reach home?" A cup of tea brought to your study table, even before you could ask. A little extra butter on your bread at breakfast. A squiggly heart shaped dosa on Mother's Day. A car that stops in the midst of flowing traffic to allow you to cross the road. A tender rose, sent just for you. A stranger that holds the door open for you after herself.
These the kind of things that make life worth living. But how good do they stand ahead of all the horrid realities that exist?
A patient paralysed in his youth, a baby born without ribs, a kid without an immune system, an adolescent girl with breast cancer, and an sick old man that has been waiting to be relieved of life for as long as he can remember. A woman with bedsores so deep that you can see her bone. A violent child from a broken family. A student that attempts suicide. A toddler whose father is schizophrenic. An innocent life, struck down by a deadly disease.
How are the little things, supposed to win over the realities, and make us continue wanting to live? They say God's creation is beautiful; I think it's a double edged sword, because neither extreme does you any good.
Build a barrier, a barrier made of the dances in the shower and bear hugs from a brother, of the smell of rain and the feel of a soft comforter, a breath of fresh air, the sound of the sea, and a lovely memoir of a time you felt wanted. Build a barrier with the small things, because as petty as they may seem, they're going to be your barrier when the high tide is here to sweep you away.

Monster Under My Bed

Helpless nights, dreadful mornings come my way
Questioning God; this existence, in which I didn't have a say
This time it isn't in my usual way
Pondering leisurely to fill my empty day.
No, this comes from within, it's anger eating me away
Bad things happening to good people, every day!
Mirthful, hurtful criminals and rapists, tax evaders and disguised thieves, getting away,
Awarded a happy, full and healthy life-- no punishment, nay
While honest, decent, sincere, quiet, low as they lay
Law abiding and hard working humans aren't left okay.
Ridden with the karma of the former, happiness keeps them at bay
Kicked off of honest drudgery, their chosen pathway
Thrown openly into vulnerability, in an exposed, ugly way.
I always imagined that I could solve everything, every day
Poverty, disease, hunger, anger-- all of it, come what may.
A full belly, some medicine and a bit of pay,
A few gentle words, enough to keep one healthy and gay.
But my dreamy world has edges that begin to fray
It's met it's vicious villain at last, looking at it like prey.
Something I can't fix, it's bigger than what I can even weigh
I can rip my heart, love, long, wish, and with all my might, I can pray
But it's refractory, stubborn, persistent and that's how it chooses to stay
Unpredictable too, barring it's ugly teeth while all look on with dismay.
What happened to my lala land I'd usually go to play,
Where a hug could make everything go away?
How much affection do I give up for this to work my way?
No answer; wrong question, I've gone astray.
Oh that I could at least find something comforting to say
That doesn't sound as petty as child's play-
Even that would be enough, to organise a bit of this disarray.
Wish I could be there, to hold a hand, an arm, to shine even a single ray
But whom does that help? It doesn't make anything go away.
A thousand things I'd do, if only they'd help my world stay
The possibilities innumerable, keep runnig through my mind all day
Only to be shot down instantly, I know; the giant monster won't obey.

Just Keep Swimming!

My days have become so dreadfully monotonous. There's no choice except to do the task at hand. Any minor deviation is both a relief and a pain, because it gives a temporary relief, but also a little extra stress. I miss my internship, running hither and thither like the world depends on it, going from one needy patient to the other, and going to bed at night actually feeling like I've made a difference.
Maybe I'll get back there, just maybe, in spite of barriers like IQ and reservations, maybe I'll make it. I'm scared to say it aloud; I might jinx it. I'm also worried that there's absolutely no possibility to be jinxing. Low self-esteem? I don't think so, just an incredibly difficult exam to write with minute chances of getting the result I crave for.
I already know the answer to this ennui, anyway: just keep swimming; keep going forward, bit by bit, and enjoy the swim. But don't fret it too much, because there's a little secret most people don't know. You don't have to do anything to prevent yourself from drowning. So when you're too tired, just let go, and leave it to the water. You'll sink a bit at the start, but the waves manage to float you to the top almost right away-- only if you trust them to, and let go.
That's what I did in the pool yesterday, I just let go, and lay on my back. I gazed into the infinite night sky, a couple of grey clouds in the periphery of my view. The palm trees further below had let go as well, letting their leaves sway and rustle with the whimsical wind, just as I had surrendered myself to the blue, bubbling, shimmering waters illuminated here and there by orange light seeping through it and slowly fading away. It was heavenly, the imperfections conveniently disregarded by my myopic eyes.
Oh that I could stay that way, with life taking me slowly, gently, safely wherever it pleases, towards all possibilities desirable and soothing, not much different from the journey itself; but maybe that's not how it's meant to be, because these moments of stillness would never be appreciated if they weren't such a rarity.

Disease.

When we're talking about diseases, it's all a spectrum right? Everyone is a little disabled; if I made a list of all the quirks/diseases I have, you'd be surprised because you wouldn't have guessed that I have them. But most people do, so you could run into a random smiling lady in the street, and not know that she fought breast cancer. Or maybe just lipomas up her arms, ruining her appearance, hidden by those full sleeves? You could be gawking at a handsome man and not know that he had an asthma attack last night. Or you could see a intelligent, well respected woman and not know that she spent her childhood suffering in a hospital from pneumonia. You could look at a guy having a scrumptious lunch and not even know that it is his cheat day; just a few months ago, he vomited massive amounts of blood because of an ulcer.

Speaking of being a spectrum, everything fits on this spectrum; maybe even being overweight, which lowers your exercise capacity or shortens your breath compared to others your age. Maybe even having a darker skin colour so you don't show up in photos if you're not in a well lit place. Or having a genetically lower IQ, that prevents you from achieving what you want?
Maybe being too fair, too short, too tall, too thin, too smart-- these all could be disabilities, too.
Maybe that embarrassment, the feeling of disability and incapacity is shared by every single person on this planet, except those who are proud and delusional, and honestly, that is the worst disease that needs treatment immediately.

Of course I don't know how bad your disease hurts you. Or how badly it disables you. And no one can take away that pain from you, and for that, you'll be a warrior overcoming your hurdles. Like Van Gogh who is said to be colourblind-- doesn't that just make his work SO much more fascinating? When you know Selena Gomez has SLE, doesn't it hold you in awe that she can still do amazing work in spite of such crappy health? The movies that Amitabh Bachhan made after his diagnosis of Myasthenia gravis are even more impressive than the ones before it. When you watch Hrithik Roshan deliver a dialogue in a movie, you know he's good at hitting you in the feels. But when you know he suffers from a stutter, you realise it's something great.

Seek help; don't let yourself get struck down by your health. Obstacles are meant to challenge you, to give you something to push past. Don't wallow in them, instead, let them inspire you. And when you achieve greatness, speak up, so others can be inspired by you.

The typical Indian mother, so loved and praised by all. She gets up at dawn, cleanses herself and washes her hair, makes a beautiful extensive rangoli at the front of the house, lights diyas in front of the Lord's photos and idols, fills the house with the divine odour of aarti and sings songs so beautiful that they pierce right through the clouds in the troposphere to God himself, daily awake at the time in anticipation of her songs; this voice also wakes her family up, an ungrateful couple of children who demand cooking of a variety of dishes, too diverse for a regular human being, but this? This isn't no ordinary person. She can whip up any number of dishes out of her sleeve, just through sheer dedication and unconditional love. They also expect her to clean up after them, leaving a mess everywhere they step. Never minding this thorough degradation of her personality, reminding herself that she is solely dependent on her husband for wealth and children for happiness, she sweeps and mops and organises all day, making the house spic-and-span for the family by the time they're back.
She spends most of her time in the kitchen, though, wondering what to cook next for the family and makes sure they have food afresh that won't harm their health. She makes the curry separately in two kadais, as kid number 2 doesn't like capsicum in his. Also she makes the evening snacks so her children don't eat street food; that is, indeed, bad for their health. She coaxes them to eat more, and when they don't, she finishes the rest herself, stuffing herself beyond her full-- that is, after all, better than throwing her hard work in the trash. Although sometimes, the family thoughtlessly finishes it all, leaving her no food and no choice but to sleep off her hunger. Through this she doesn't say a word, for if they know of her sacrifice, they may try to feed her.
When she's sick, she doesn't take rest or visit a hospital, because she's got no time. Her children are so dependent for food on their tiffin dabba and her husband can't possibly eat anything other that the three tier carriage that she makes him. Her family needs her, her house needs her; but of course, years of procrastination take their toll on this angel. And at once, she's struck down, and the whole family must rush to her side to help. It's only then that they realise, how thankless they had been all these years, though she had done so much for them. They're dependent on her and they don't even know it-- they had always taken it for granted.
A lot of posts on women's day have celebrated this woman, but this woman's day, I wouldn't praise the typical Indian mother and wife. I would ask her to please stop.
Please don't burden us with the heavy load of lifelong dependence on you. Please don't shove the guilt of consuming your happiness onto us.
Please look out for yourself, just as we do for ourselves.
We love you very much and don't want to see you unhappy or unhealthy. But please don't except an unnatural amount of care and love from us with which we would always think of you before ourselves, because only one person has that much affection to spare-- and that's you.

F.R.I.E.N.D.S.

https://medium.com/s/story/how-a-tv-sitcom-triggered-the-downfall-of-western-civilization-336e8ccf7dd0

^
Fresh off reading this piece of criticism of Friends, an article about how Ross was changed into a madman because of the company of idiots-- this post of mine will defend the TV show that I spent a better part of my teenage and young adult years watching.
Let's go into this character by character. Since Ross is the one the article adored, I will begin with him. And as Phoebe probably makes most Ross-lovers cringe, I will end with her.

Ross. The most attractive thing is probably his passion for dinosaurs. I do appreciate that he's the most intellectual of the group, admire that he upholds science above everything, that he's a logical person who likes to learn information. To me, one of his most intriguing features are the songs he plays on the "keyboards", because I actually found something in them.
On the other hand, I'm not a fan of his perpetually unhappy and dull tone, his ability to find the fault in everything others say and his whining. Everyone makes mistakes--true. You always have to correct them--untrue. Ross couldn't respect people's wishes, in the way that he couldn't let it go when people didn't think exactly the way he did. He was always right, nonetheless, it's quite important to not expect everyone else to be the same. Self-improvement, I vote for. Constantly expecting others to be just the same as yourself? I don't support that. Ross is your typical garden-variety nerd,  science geek, paleontologist. While I do find that character interesting, there would be multiple people who wouldn't. The show is the representation of exactly that- in this way, it isn't wrong. It's just the way society is in reality, that's been projected in the show.

Chandler, the perfect representation of an impactful childhood, a dark, twisty, socially awkward adult who has no self confidence. He's bitter, stuck in a dead-end job that pays him a lot, which holds true for so many people that continue in jobs just for the money. People work their entire lives mindlessly without a drive, without a reason other than daily bread and Chandler tells us that they don't have to be stuck that way.
He fusses over miniscule things about women he dates like mascara goop and can't seem to make a relationship last. He worries about the little things, fights to overcome his nicotine addiction that he caught onto in an early, impressionable age. The thing I admire the most about him is his complete honesty. He does not deny his faults or try to cover his handicaps up. Instead he knows them, spells them out, and eventually overcomes them when he marries Monica and turns into quite a balanced family man. That transition is one of the most beautiful things on the show.

Monica, quite a regular homely woman, not someone you'd want to call an "idiot", because she reminds you maybe of your mother at a younger age. She needs it clean, she's fussy about it, and that's not wrong. Also she works hard to make sure everyone's got what they need, whether it's a fake prepuce for Joey or a different kind of potatoes for everyone on Thanksgiving, she's also the person who fixes things when they go wrong. Paranoid, just as we all are sometimes, it's really not abnormal to be that way. In fact Monica teaches you to love yourself when you can't fight your paranoia, because it's actually quite adorable. She's the definition of competitive spirit, ready to go to any length to win -- isn't this a quality we'd all do good to have? It might make us crazy, but all winners and toppers probably are. Constantly put down by her mother, being the sibling that's undervalued, Monica still manages to make a great life for herself in spite of it.

Rachel the spoilt brat.
Some people are privileged and end up living their life with a blindfold until it's rudely whisked off them-- Rachel is one of these people. It's not her fault to have grown up with riches. It's not her fault if her parents hadn't shown her that life has hardships. If we had to choose one person on the show who achieved the most, it's Rachel. She went from being an impulsive shopper using daddy's credit card, to the one that can look after her father when he's had a heart attack. She earns her own living, much unlike the other women of her family, you don't see how far Rachel's come until the episode with her sister in it-- this stark contrast reminds you what a spoilt girl Rachel used to be, and what a self sufficient woman she turned into. She found her passion and made her living off of it, and we know she paid her dues, serving coffee and helping an eighty-one year old put on thongs that she didn't even buy! Rachel loves clothes and likes to look good, that's really not a crime! Seemingly materialistic, Rachel isn't really so, when you see in bursts how sentimental she really is. She's true to her principles, and she really does turn out to be a great, caring, responsible mother.

Joey is dumb. I needn't say this again for it to sink. Anyone who's watched a single episode would agree with me. But on the contrary to popular belief, intelligence isn't the only thing that matters in life. Lots of simple minded people are much happier than intellectuals, in fact, maybe that's what we're missing from today's world- simplicity. Joey is the ideal friend, and like the others, does his share of scut work for achieving his dream, which even in the end, is hanging on a thread, maybe never to happen in the big way he's always wanted. Joey is the pal who'd defend you in a fight, who won't slyly be a diplomat when you need your friend the most. Intelligence is not the single most important thing in life, and I can't emphasize on this enough. No one would like clever, haughty, arrogant Sheldon Cooper over simple minded lovable Joey.

Phoebe. Ah that I had all the time in the world to write about my favourite character!
Abandoned by her father, raised by a woman that wasn't even her real mother, who also offed herself when Phoebe wasn't old enough to take care of herself or her twin, what Phoebe turned out to be was actually, the best version of her that there can be. With no formal education, no clothes to wear, no roof over her head, a box as her home for a good part of her early teenage, Phoebe thinks Rachel's minute hardships compare to her own very drastic ones. Phoebe is open minded, free spirited, believes in what makes her happy. To summarize, Phoebe lives for HERSELF. Phoebe doesn't care if you judge her, because the only thing she's ever been able to trust is her own instinct, the thing that brought her far enough to become a masseuse and earn a living for herself. She plays the guitar that she's taught herself, and fearlessly sings songs that have hardly a tune. Her voice is untrained, but her confidence beats it all. She writes songs on mundane things like shampooing her hair during a shower, things you wouldn't even think about-- and always finds inappropriate times to sing the most meaningful ones. Phoebe tells kids the truth, because she doesn't believe in sugar coating it. Phoebe makes her own shoes and 3D paintings, and loves them, blatantly unresponsive to the fact that nobody else does, because who cares about that! She goes through changing her name to Princess Consuela Banana Hammock, just "because", just because she can! She doesn't rush through life trying to get to an end point, not until she meets the right guy. Instead she enjoys it, genuinely appreciating the path instead of the goal like a true saint. For what is, after all, life's true purpose? And who is a true winner?

And this is why, all of them are not idiots. Everyone of us, even the nerds, should have qualities of all these characters in us. And to an extent, we probably already do! I've done this character by character, but if needed I could do it episode by episode, talking about how the show's opened our minds in more ways than we can remember; but I won't, for lack of time on my part and patience on the part of the readers.
Beyond this, it's also important to recognise that the genre of the show is COMEDY, meaning it isn't about science or history, it's meant to make people laugh, which it did quite a great job with. That's why it's 2019 and we're still watching the show and coming up with articles to criticise it after twenty five whole years of it's beginning; I think that's more than any other show can boast of, anyway.

My free spirit loves this world
It loves to appreciate art, dance and music
But much more than that, to create!
So I do, I dance to the command of my limbs
I sing the way my voice demands,
Succumbing to my body,
Not concerned how it looks to the outside.
Here I'm not a master
Watching in awe, just a silent by stander.
I paint as my mind feels fancy
I take the photos I find attractive
But bit by bit I realise
As I put myself on display, like the others
That no, I'm really not one of the best.
I hear the unimpressed voices
The chances that have been snatched away
The games I've lost
The competitions I've failed in
The harsh truth undeniably in my face.
So I've stopped, or so you'd think
You'd think I only do what I can
You'd think I don't do it if I don't do it right
But the truth?
All I'm waiting for is a closed box
Open to no eyes
Not even my own!
A closed box to express myself
You wouldn't know, you wouldn't see
How artistically my limbs can flail about
Or the many notes my voice can reach
You'd never know
What my paintings can convey.
And it wouldn't matter, because
I don't care for applause
All I care about is me.
You can make my spirit run, you can make it hide
But it shan't be vanquished.
It'll be subdued when watched
But itll flee out in the darkness to soar about.