Tag Archives: relationships

I’m sorry but I am not into Golden Age Thinking.

Three years ago, I was convinced that the perfect time for me to be born was the late 1950s, in America, where my parents were probably friends with Jack Kerouac, Allen Ginsberg, and William S Boroughs. I wanted to be a daughter of the Beats, and grow up and go to college in the 70s, so I could be a part of the First Wave Feminist Movement, and against the Vietnam War, and a bunch of other liberal political movements.

A couple of years before that, I wanted to be born in Edwardian England- Victorian Mannerisms were oh so charming, and a Darcy was definitely waiting to be introduced to my wit and intellect. Ah, such sweet, naive dreams.

Today, I realize, that I’m okay, the way I am- not as a person, but as a product of my time. The future is cooler than the past.

We are talking about Social Justice, but now in an inclusive manner. We are talking about Feminism, but Intersectionality is understood and valued. We are talking about so many different issues, about what the Government needs to be and do- about what is right, and whose right it is, and what is wrong, and is it really wrong?

We have made some excellent Scientific Breakthroughs, and I don’t just mean gadgets, I also mean Psychology, and History, and all the other Social Sciences. I also mean how some of us understand that if a particular group of people do terribly in a test, it is the test’s fault for not being inclusive (Culture Fair Tests), and not that the group is inherently inferior

We, as a species are better off today than we were before, especially in terms of violence– one of the most taken for granted myths is about how violence is increasing (but also, as I have argued before, are good enough?) And as far as I can see, we will only get better. We will talk about our collective conscience, and try to be as woke as posible, and come off better, on an average. For example, do you think the Pepsi Debacle would have infuriated so many people even a decade ago?

I was also a hardbound-second hand, classica kind of person a couple of years ago. But today, I am a Kindle person. You may say I’m a shitty person and technology is shit, etc., but it’s also so much cheaper, in the long run. If, like me, you read mainly during your daily commute, Kindle is really the answer. It’s so light weight, compared to a book, for one. Second, to co-passengers (and to yourslef), it is not annoying (Context: I live in Bombay, and the local trains here are so crowded, you’ll have someone’s armpits on your face all the damn time, and when you try to turn your page, you poke someone else, yes, but also your arms can’t move much. A Kindle only requires me to lightly touch it.) The Kindle has also helped me increase my speed of reading- so much so that what I read in a year a couple of years back, today, I read in a couple of months. I could go on, but this post is not about Kindle. You can say whatever you what about the touch and feel of a physical book, but technology is much much more practical. I mean, would you write all your assignments by hand than through a computer, because it feels nice? No, right? Letters feel amazing, but texting is just more efficient.

Everything is simply better now than before. The “old fashioned way” is simply not charming, or perfect. For example, monogamy is new. If you want to say romance is dead, by all means go ahead. But people have cheated on their partners since time immemorial. So what monogamy? What “romantic”? The idea of “staying in a relationship no matter what” is ridiculous, for example. Do you know what this no matter what implied? Abuse. Cheating. Toxicity. Thank God, I have the option of not staying in the relationship if it’s harming me in anyway. People are getting divorced now because now we have choice in moving away from abuse, now we have that option of opting out. We don’t need to be in a long marriage if we don’t want to.

Sometimes, like right now, I do wish I were in the Roaring Twenties so I could figure out Zelda Fitzgerald, and go to Jazz Clubs, and be a Flapper. But then I think, fuck, Hitler is gaining power somewhere and Europe is invading a thousand countries somewhere,and next decade is going to be The Great Depression. All this only if I were White and relatively privileged. If not, I’m fucked anyway. Also, my husband (I’d have a husband by now, or I’m an old maid) would have returned from war and is most definitely lost.

Thank God I have a phone and a blog to vent into. Thank God things get better in the future. I can’t wait for it!

P.S. If you are reading this, what do you think? I really want to know. Do you agree with me, or do you not? Why?

P. P. S- Y’all should read Better Angels of our Nature, and watch Midnight in Paris (I know I hate Woody Allen too, but that movie is my absolute favourite).

P.P.P.S- I know most of these examples are from WEIRD populations, but I couldn’t find examples that I was very familiar with from others. I have tried, though, but just not my best. I apologize.

P.P.P.P.S- It feels really great to be blogging long form + opinions on this site again. I’ve been blogging (setting up and trying hard to create content) on my Poetry Blog, where I’m doing NaPoWriMo currently. If you have been following me for long, you’ll know my earlier struggle with writing poetry. But now I’m trying extra hard you guys. Please check it out too. 



I want to be your rock,
The one you turn to when everything goes downhill.
I want to take you in my arms
And cradle you till sunrise.

I want to be your rock,
Your constant and your pride,
Your northern star on a moonless night
And guide you through the darkness you fear will encompass you.

I want to be your rock
And give you my hand when you’re hanging by a thread
Your beautiful soul being stitched back to new
Your angelic face smiling in peace

I want to be your rock
And hold you while you’re thrown ashore
Keep your feet in the sand
Till you are ready to fly away.

I want to be your rock
As you try to find solace
In the arms of multiple others
And give your heart away easily

I want to be your rock
As you come back to me
Just a little more shattered
Just a smudge more bleeding

I want to be your rock
When you realise that
In the end, we’re each alone
Hoping to make a great team one day.

I want to be your rock
When you break your heart again
And lose your soul to the one you trusted the most
And feel like giving up on everything.

I want to be your rock
When I’m old and grey
And have no memory of myself
But you, I’ll remember as the one I loved the most.


He walks away from her tearing apart the promises. The lobster from yesterday in the pits of her stomach churns,  making her breathe deeply, till it calms down. The hot summer wind leaves her sweaty, the force of the crack in her heart unnoticed.

A grin. A hug. A word at the right time. That’s all it took for her to give herself to him sincerely. Without a doubt, without a question. Just like in the movies. Wasn’t that supposed to be love anyway? No questions asked? Every moment as if from a dream. Every touch, every eye lock, every nervous laughter. A slow dwindling road of trust and care. The walking stick during arthritis. A paracitamol during nights of cold, sweaty fever. The side-wheel to her unbalanced bike-rider. Her everything.

It was sudden. Fights. Insults. Crying. A night of passion. Bags under their eyes their friends chuckled (un)knowingly to. It was something they should have forgotten a bouquet of flowers and a movie later. But their monsters were stonewalls, denial, and more insults. Till something in him snapped.

He came close to her. Enough to make her smell the mint in his breath, and feel the shivers in his body. Enough to feel this was it-the moment they found their answers. She tried to turn away, but found herself immobile. He looked at her with eyes almost shut, and jaw tight. At that moment she saw what was attractive about him, and that scared her.

A blow of wind hit her before his hand did. Her heart broke before her wisdom tooth did. Her spirit tore before her eyes flowed.

As he walked away from her, a month later, in that hot summer night, she felt nothing. The black-blue bruises -a souvenir of her bad decisions- would sting for months to come.