Ahamasmi yodha: you are a fighter

​Listening to Closer on loop, crying my heart out of frustration on nights when I should be completing assignments, adulting like a pro when I should be eating chocolate popcorn with both hands, yes, on days like these, I start to forget how home feels like.

Three videos saved for offline viewing, and every time, every time I listen to/watch someone performing slam poetry, I shiver. I shiver a little from the inside and my smile stretches up from my lips to my eyes and like the smell of smoke that draws me to bespectacled strangers, I huddle up inside myself like a child facing the aftermath of PTSD.

All my life, I haven’t known how struggle tastes like or how desperate one might be for free food and Wi-Fi but then again, all my life, I haven’t ever lived alone. Juice over soda and metro over cabs, this is the gist of what people have been trying to tell me, but I like the traffic, you know, I’m fascinated by it. I like how a child plays with his mother’s bangles when the auto driver accelerates his way past the green light or how in a bus full of army men, everyone was clicking pictures of the India Gate when I wanted to tell them, hey, it looks prettier after dark, but I didn’t.

I didn’t know that medicines are arranged in alphabetical order in pharmacies, until a few evenings back, although it must be the most fundamental piece of knowledge to a chemist. But I guess that’s how life works, it puts something on your plate, and sends ten people to teach you how to eat it in ten different ways.

But I guess it all comes down to this. Freedom, and exercising it with responsibility. To know no one cares if you’re wasted but still not choosing to. To making decisions. To holding yourself delicately when the world knows you’re fragile. 

But most importantly, to battles, the ones within, the ones on the brim. The ones fought, and the ones you wish you’d won.

To you.


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