Fiction: A Fairy Tale of Today (Part 1)

For as long as I could remember, I knew I was different. I looked like no one I know. Well, except my mother. Now, I do not know where my mother is. Father had married another woman, who was my step-mother. She did not like me. She said I reminded her of my mother.

My name was Sino. Translated from Shona to English, it meant 'Snow'. Father said he named me that because I was pure and white like snow. Father loved me. He always did. He told me I was beautiful even though I knew I wasn't. No one else thought I was. My skin and my hair were whiter than the whites of my father's eyes. My eyes gave me a lot of trouble too. I had to stay away from the sunlight so I was home most of the time.

My step mother did not like me. She made me do all the work at home. I cooked and cleaned and scrubbed all day. However, that day was different. She was nice to me and even gave me an apple to eat after they all had lunch. No one else was at home that day. Father had gone away on a company contract from Zimbabwe to Sudan and he was to return only after a year. I ate the apple, relishing each bite. Halfway through, I felt woozy and fainted.

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When I woke up, I was on a hospital bed. My insides felt like they were made of broken glass. My limbs were stiff and I could not lift a finger. However, my father was there screaming and pumping his fist into the air. "Had he gone mad?", I wondered. My breathing was laborious and painfully slow. I could see my breath fogging up the oxygen mask.

I heard Father and the doctor talking. The doctor said I would be okay. I would need to learn to use my muscles again. I had been in a coma for a year after all. Father nodded and asked a few questions and then the doctor left.

Father sat down next to me. I asked him with my eyes as best as I could, "What happened to me?" and he sadly smiled. He said that I had been raped by 7 men who were HIV positive(in exchange for some money that my step mother took from them) a year ago on this very day. There was a belief in Zimbabwe that sex with an albino woman will cure a man of HIV. The doctor said I had been infected by the virus too.

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath.

This is the last time...

Isn't that what we say to ourselves when we try to give up an addiction? I've been going through something similar myself.

At first when I made up my mind, I was confident...nay, over-confident. "Pfft, who needs this. I am not defined by this...I am awesome!" and the like.

 

Then, I became totally smug. Everywhere I looked I saw clueless people mindlessly indulging in that stupid piece of crap I was indulging in till yesterday. "Ugh, I can't believe I was one of them", "Don't you see what a hold this thing has on you?". Clearly, I am better than them.

Slowly, self doubt starts to kick in. And then an epiphany...those people aren't mindless, they're happy. And I am sad. I need to get back to my addiction, I really do. Dang, why did I quit in the first place!

And then the turbulent pro-con battle begins.

Pro: It's good for you to quit it.
Con: Is it really good for you to quit it?

Pro: You can now focus on more productive things.
Con: Can you really focus on anything more productive than that?

Pro: Subconsciously, you hate yourself for your addiction.
Con: Does your subconscious really hate you?

Obviously, the cons are more convincing because the italicized 'really' makes a huge difference.

Well one more wouldn't hurt. On to level 51 of candy crush then. Damn, I can never stay away from it for too long.

According to my astrologer(s)

Hollywood's romantic comedies, Bollywood's movies and Mills & Boons/Harlequin novels have shoved various stereotypes down our throats when it comes to girls and weddings. The moment we were conceived, the wheels were set in motion. It all begins innocently enough.

Your parents make you watch 'The Sleeping Beauty', 'Cinderella' and the likes and you naturally put yourself in the Princess's position. There's just one difference though; while you're thinking about what your mother is making for dinner, the princess is checking-in on Foursquare at Horny-ville. Then, they hand you a Barbie and you're playing all independent career woman type games, i.e. Teacher-Teacher, with it and suddenly, they give you a Ken doll and a Kitchen set.

I am sure you can gather by the dwindling number of posts on this blog and the sour tone of the previous posts, World War III just got over at my house regarding this very topic. My parents have a lot of allies.

Relatives : "I just have one wish ma(the nth time they talk about 'one' wish)...that your child should poop in my lap".

Family Friends: "Your parents are saying for your good only".

But you expected those two, didn't you? I am going to give you a third category - Astrologers. Yes, these stargazers have been making weird predictions about my life and I couldn't resist sharing some of them.

• If she doesn't get married this year, then she will get married only after that. As opposed to wedging myself into a time machine and going back in time to get married before that?
• Nalla paiyan(good boy) she will get. America la irrupan(he'll be from America)! Dude, is this called fortune-telling? Firstly, you would never tell parents that their offspring was going to wed the spawn of Satan. And secondly, Tamil Brahmin Engineer will not be in America then where he will be? Don't angry me!
• If you want her to get married soon, feed some cooked moong dal to ants on Wednesdays. Okay, what? Do you have some sort of setting with the ants king or something? You know: In return for some cooked moong dal that some well-meaning people will give you, you shall stop raiding my snacks cabinet! Naansense.

Sigh...parents.

P.S.: Wow, it has been five months since I wrote here. And real-life wasn't even that hectic or exciting to make up for this inactivity!
P.P.S.: You could follow me on Quora if you like my incessant rambling. I am pretty active there.

What You Can't Put In Your C.V.

1) Karaoke Enthusiast when intoxicated

• Can sing along to Gangnam Style
• Can back it up with dance moves

2) Practising Linguist

• Again, can sing along to Gangnam Style
• Can spew filthy curse words in English, Tamil, Malayalam, Kannada, Hindi and Arabic 

3) Giggle Juice Connoisseur

• Holds record for most LIITs consumed ever

4) Major in Lazing/Sleeping with a Minor in Daydreaming

• Can drift off in all settings including important meetings
• Receiver of Bravery Award for killing cockroach swarm(in dreams)

5) Awarded for living the most boring life ever

• Survived weekend marathon of Keeping Up with the Kardashians without suffering brain hemorrhage
• Can write stupid pointless posts like this

Please hire me somebody.

P.S.: Yes I wrote this in sheer desperation to resuscitate my blog.
P.P.S.: Did the resuscitation work? Leave me a comment to let me know.
P.P.P.S.: Writing some many Ps makes me want to Pee.

Facebook For Parents

Dear readers,

I know I know I haven't written forever! But believe me, I had an iron-clad reason not to...you see, working as a Software Engineer has sapped all my creative juices. My activities have been reduced to:

• Stalking people I hate on Facebook
• "Upvoting" answers on Quora
• Ignoring Google+ notifications

That takes up most of my working day. In between, I compile my useless code which, believe me, hardly ever works. But it serves the purpose of taking up enough time for me to go and ping a friend something like "Can you believe - what she was wearing/who she was snogging- on Facebook?".

Quite a few family members of mine are on Facebook. Not very active apart from the occasional wall post on their own walls(really) and mentioning my embarrassing pet name publicly to the delight of my evil friends(seriously). You know where they are really active, though? Matrimonial sites. Yeah, I had the distinct pleasure of gawking, spluttering and hyperventilating in office when I discovered my own profile on one such site. Very loudly, let me add.

With a choice between a sheep, a monkey and a variety of pictures with drinks and food and cartoon characters from my Facebook profile pictures album, they smartly opted for some picture of me in a Saree where I looked pained while flashing a fake smile. A million other invasive details such as horoscopes, star signs, caste and stool samples follow. I stumbled upon the "Personalized Messages" section and that's when I was convinced that I was in the darkest corners of the Internet.

By the end of the ordeal, I was experiencing a weird emotion where the urge to kill someone was greater than the urge to make funny about-to-cry faces. Okay not that weird, considering I have had this feeling a million times before. I am wondering if I should ask my parents to change my occupation to "Potential Serial Killer".