Forced Nomadism

Daily Prompt: There’s No Place Like Home.
If you had the opportunity to live a nomadic life, traveling from place to place, would you do it? Do you need a home base? What makes a place “home” to you?

Seven years ago, when Tamanna and Samar took the nuptial vows, their families could not stop swooning, “Bilkul Ram-Seeta ki jodi hai.” (It’s a match like that of Lord Ram and Seeta). Back then she did not even have a hazy idea that it was a premonition of an exile like that of Ram and Seeta , the only difference being, their’s was a 14 year-long exile while her will last for life (at least till Samar retires from army).

At 24, working as a financial analyst in American Express she believed that she has a sovereign control over her life, a belief which was completely shaken when her parents first proposed the idea of marriage. Her relentless protests could not prolong the affair for more than a year because what the Indian society completely condemns is the idea of a woman who prioritizes her ambition over marriage. She had no apprehensions to an arranged marriage, because apart from two college affairs she had never been in love and waiting for true love seemed odd and would have caused her parents disdain beyond any measure. Through a family friend, she was introduced to Major Samar Khanna who was roughly 30 around that time, who met her criteria of an ideal guy (handsome, brave, witty and open-minded) and her family’s as well (hailing from a family with a repute and financial backing).

Six months after their marriage, he was stationed to Dalhousie. Over the past six months she had subtly dropped hints for him that she had no intent of uprooting her life in Delhi and moving on with him, for two reasons. Hers was too lucrative a job to let go off immediately and she liked stability. She knew she was being selfish, but if she could leave her family for this marriage, mold her choices to match his, for the smallest of things like choosing  a side of bed, then she thought she had earned this act of whim. But when the doomsday arrived, there was not a single person who tried not to reason with her; tell her that it was an act of escapism and that she has no right to forego her marital responsibilities. Reluctantly, she moved on to Dalhousie. After a year it was Mhow, then Ambala and then it was Chandimandir.

When she had newly assumed the role of a homemaker, she found thrill in trying out new cuisines, socializing and adorning her abode. But after a while, engaging in these activities seemed a pointless exercise, because the realization struck that there will be always another house, new set of helpers, new set of friends and newer environs. Samar always had his hands full and he could not tend to her petty problems. Whether it was her hatred for travel or the inconvenience of packing and unpacking or her contempt for the (un)voluntary altruism she had to commit to, to help him move up in ranks, he simply had a single answer, “This is what you chose for yourself by marrying me.”

Sometimes, when she looks at herself in the mirror, she sees a vagabond; leading a life with a ‘shelf life’.  Her deep discontent made her decide that she does not want to have children.

“We are always on the go, moving in these alien terrains, unaware of what life has in store for us. And with children, there are pertinent issues like education and health/hygiene.” she explained to Samar, one night in bed and though unwilling at first, he agreed.

But she is sure, that with her biological clock ticking and his grudges reflecting with a newer clarity each day, she knows that will have to give up on this resolution as well, like each one that she had taken for her life.

They say, that there is no place better than home, but ironically she cannot even enlist one place as home.



The Ticking Clock: Reversed

Daily Prompt: Fly on the Wall.

If you could be a “fly on the wall” anywhere and at any time in history, where and when would you choose?
If I were a smart fly (which, I know I will be), I would hop onto the back of Edmund Hilary or sneak into the shuttle of Neil Armstrong and etch my name in the history for being the first fly on moon or on Mount Everest.

To begin with, if I were a fly on the wall, I would like to go to Delhi University’s office and get a sneak peek of my marks this semester. The only solution to put my result nightmares to rest. Also, flying down to the research labs of various shampoos just to make sure whether they undertake intensive studies (as proclaimed in the advertisements) will feature on my to-do list because very often the ‘hair fall control’ seems like ‘hair fall trigger’ to me.

There are many places in history that I would like to visit. How about being there to witness Adolf Hitler’s formative years, what led him to commit the most heinous activities mankind has ever seen. Then I am slightly obsessed with the Mughal era in India and whether or not Akbar married a Rajput princess is a question which has been intriguing me for a while now; so what better alternative to quench the curiosity than to go and see for myself. And I want to witness the 2002 Gujarat violence because even though I was alive in 2002 but have no recollection of these riots. As people started pitching Narendra Modi as the face of development, the mention of these riots ran a buzz in the news, but it was only I saw this movie ‘Kai Po Che’ earlier this year, that I realized this event is like a missing piece in my mental chronicles.

Most importantly I want to go back in time and probe deep into the fact that why time machines remain a mystery for our scientific intelligentsia. Because I can list out thousands of places for all I want, but how will my aspiration come to fruition without a time machine.

Once perfect strangers, now perfect friends!

Daily Prompt: Flip Flop.

Think of a topic or issue about which you’ve switched your opinion. Why the change?

For the past three hours, Saumya and Vani have been sitting on the bed, chatting, laughing their hearts out and every now and then laying hands on the junk food placed in front of them. What started out as a random jabber about the previous day shifted to a discussion on Harvey’s swagger in the episode High Noon (Suits) and then to a article called lawless land in the weekly Mail Today ( based on a small area in Delhi which is surrounded by four police stations but doesn’t fall under the jurisdiction of any of them) and then to the restaurant Saumya visited with her father last week and eventually making them reminisce the time when they first met.

“We behaved like idiots, it was such a strained friendship.”, Saumya told Vani.

Vani interjected, “Or the lack of friendship in all. I didn’t think we would even consider each other acquaintances once we pass out of college.”

Precisely because each of them  let hearsay shape their perception of the other.  Vani believed that Saumya was a gossip monger who could sensationalize even the most mundane piece of information while Saumya took Vani to be one of those shallow hearts who befriend others for the benefits that would accrue to them. Often they engaged in mindless arguments- simply patronizing ideas that the other one was opposing. However the tables turned when Saumya lost her phone and Vani handed out a phone to her, demanding her to keep it without any further ado. And that got Saumya to thinking, if Vani is actually the person she pegged her to be and then resolved to behave herself with Vani. The resolution transformed into fledgling kinship on the onset of the their Semester Examinations. Ironically, while most friendships break during exams/results, their flourished.

“The teacher within me, found a perfect protege in you.”, Saumya explained.

“And I was glad to see that I am not going to slog alone a night before the exam. The more, the merrier.”, Vani said, winking at her and scrambling the pack of chips for one.

A month long hiatus owing to the winter break and no word from each other, but who knew they are going to find a valuable friend in each other, one complementing the other. College began and their small talks transformed into long conversations; realizations coming forth about their love for military movies, mutual fondness of Ryan Reynolds,congenital feminism, their similar political/religious inclinations and the woes of a North Indian family. If Saumya acquainted her with the world of footwear- gladiators, ballerinas, wedge sandals, peep toes, stilettos, etc., Vani gave her insights into on working out a ‘jugaad’ (innovative quick fix). On the day of a crucial cricket match, Vani a cricket aficionado would walk around reciting second to second statistics to Saumya who can’t tell a bat from a wicket. And on some days, Saumya would sit back blabbering about every single soap opera on television in front of Vani, who would come up with responses like, “Oh, is that even a show?”.

“Not to forget, the ‘methi ka paranthas’ and ‘dal makhni’ cooked by your mom played a pivotal role in strengthening our bond.”, Vani pointed out to Saumya

“Of course they had to, because I wanted to befriend a connoisseur of North Indian food.”, Saumya replied wittily.

For a long tome now, there is not a day when they do not talk to each other. Be it the trepids that law textbooks give Saumya or the agony that their department’s Dolores Umbridge causes Vani, they have both received ready shoulders and open ears from the other one. Not one Suits episode that they have not dissected  and not a single opportunity missed to pull each other’s leg- Vani imitating Saumya’s expressions for her family, over lunch and Saumya enlightening Vani’s family about her enraged fits.

People who initially did not figure in each other’s lives now feature on each other’s speed dials. Imagine the tragedy, if Saumya would have never lost her phone, they would have missed out on a friendship, that they now cherish so deeply.

Will Batman and Robin endure the testing times? (Suits season premiere)

Once upon a time, Harvey was superman, but now he is batman. And this transition precisely happened when he found himself a Robin in the form of Mike. A naive yet equally cocky ally who could process stack loads of data in a jiffy and at the same pace could engage in quote for quote with him. Sadly the bromance turned bitter when Jessica blackmailed extorted him to go behind Harvey’s back. And from yesterday’s season premiere, what one can easily infer is that Harvey has taken the blow to his heart this time and is far from calling it a truce.

Here’s a quick recap

Pearson Hardman is Pearson Darby now and with a 51% stake, Darby is the one who calls the shots. Sour with his defeat, Harvey does what he does best, bluffs and settles a suit for the thrice the money. Jessica suspects him of quitting soon and her distrust in him, propels him to do just the same. He enters into an arrangement with Darby that if he wins the newly assigned Ava Hessington suit then the non compete agreement be held void and he gets to walk out of the firm as a free man, which he later alters on being reminded that he never runs from a fight. All the while, our rookie Mike is trying to make it up to Harvey but sadly his efforts turn futile. Mike finally tells Rachel everything from scratch, about how he made it to Pearson Hardman and by the looks of it, they are a couple now. Also Mike finds a new friend in Benjamin ( the IT guy who was outsmarted my Mike’s eidetic memory).

From the premiere it is evident that this is going to be nothing short of an explosive season. If they are talking power struggles and transitions in the premiere, then there are major changes in store. But what I sorely miss is the humor- the conversations laced with ‘easy hotshot’, ‘beiber fever’, its okay to gloat but you don’t have to suck at it’, the puppy terminology’. Suits without Harvey and Mike poking fun at each other is hard for me to digest so they better get back together soon.


  • Jessica who once valued the best closer in the city for his shrewdness, meticulously demarcated for him the difference between leverage and bluff.
  • For someone who has spent five years of their life for getting a golden ticket to Harvard and eventually work as a lawyer in Pearson Hardman, Rachel glibly suggests Mike to quit. Honestly Miss-I-Don’t-Want-to-Go-To-Any-Law-School-But-Harvard-Law, that was pretty vicious.


  • Louis troubled with his Uniball (pens) replaced by cheap plastic ones is assuaged by a Donna who fools him into making an ink mustache on his face,
  • Louis and Nigel struggle over the Raspberry Granola Bars and the Uniball pens. Louis who manages to replace Nigel as the quartermaster is swept off his feet when he realizes that it was all a ploy, and Nigel is now the new ringmaster of the associates.


  • Donna points out to Mike that the only way to call it quits with Harvey is to hop onto a time machine and undo what he did.
  • Mike points out to Jessica that the letter she typed out for the D.A. to expose Mike had her computer’s digital signature on it and if she ever intends on sending it then they are both sailing in the same boat.
  • Harvey and Mike’s confrontation. “Anyone comes to you with any threat at all, you come to me. That is goddamn loyalty.”
  • Harvey’s decision to alter the arrangement and instead of quitting the firm, taking down Jessica.

What am I looking forward to?

  • The day Batman gets a whiff of Robin’s generous bedside manners and tactless talking with Miss goody two shoes, he will be in for a hard time.
  • Harvey working his way up to Specter Darby or Darby Specter.
  • Louis and Nigel have got a real good equation out there and I can foresee wittier banters among the two of them
  • Rachel and Mike’s relation oscillating between his naivete and her self importance.

Rooting for Harvey and Mike together.

Show me life.

Daily Prompt: Stranger in a Strange Land.
What’s your favorite part about visiting a new place — the food? The architecture? The people watching?

What draws me to a place is, life. My hometown is a three hours drive from Agra. Any time someone visits us, we often make a small trip to Agra and Fatehpur Sikri. While most people vouch for magnificence of Taj Mahal- a testimony to timeless love, for some reason I have always been more inclined towards Fatehpur Sikri- the Mughal capital during Akbar’s reign. From where I see it, Taj Mahal symbolizes death, tombs of Mumtaz Mahal and Shah Jahan loomed by ubiquitous obscurity and a queer lull. A disturbing tale of Shah Jahan cutting the wrists of the craftsmen who brought the marvel to existence so that the splendid architecture never be reproduced, doesn’t befit my idea of a perfect tourist location.
Fatehpur Sikri is like a glimpse into Akbar’s life. The architectural splendor reflecting in the Buland Darwaza, Akbar’s homage to his lord standing upright in the from of Moin-ud-din Chisti’s Tomb, Jodhabai’s palace (well I don’t know if there was a Jodhabai or not, but it is every tourist guide’s delight to introduce one, to the kitchen in the palace where apparently she cooked vegetarian delicacies for the emperor or the acclaimed temple where she worshiped), the palatial Panch Mahal, the Pachisi Court where the courtiers gathered to play a game akin to Ludo and Birbal’s palace with large sunshade to which one is acquainted with witty tales of Akbar- Birbal. A striking feature of Fatehpur Sikri is the ingenious techniques for ventilation, water supply and to spread scented air into the library.
My fondness for Fatehpur Sikri can be largely attributed to the fact that life existed there once. It comforts me to know that these are not simply standalone architectures- people have led lives in these structures, formulated strategies, worshiped and often engaged in recreational activities. Where I stand today is perhaps the same spot where Tansen might have played for the courtiers or when I pray in the Dargah, I know that it is an allegory of Akbar’s unwavering faith in the Lord.

So for me, the thrill of visiting a place lies in familiarizing myself with the life that once breathed within the arches, minarets and domes.

How they made me feel blessed

Daily Prompt: Opposite Day.

If you normally write non-fiction, post a photo. If you normally post images, write fiction. If you normally write fiction, write a poem. If you normally write poetry, draw a picture.

 I am posting two photos that I clicked a while after my birthday. These are basically the cards that hold a very dear place in my heart. I don’t know how do people actually choose greeting cards- the look vis-a-vis the thought. But I think cards/letters have a distinct appeal in reaching out to someone.

Heart Warming Message

Greeting Cards

They say for every occasion there is a card,

Holding within, a message to touch someone’s heart.

What perhaps, could be better

Than pouring your heart onto a letter;

Of making someone feel your loving embrace

Simply because written words are hard to erase.

Be my Walter Isaacson, Anyone?

Daily Prompt: Your Life, the Book.

From a famous writer or celebrity, to a blogger or someone close to you — who would you like to be your biographer?

Thinking of a person to pen down my biography is hard, in fact, for me the more pertinent question is, whether or not my life will make an interesting read? Because, trust me living this life is not the most thrilling experience at times. And if actually someone is going to take the trouble of chronicling my simple life adorned with very complicated sentiments, then it better be worth for someone to flip those pages.

Now, I don’t know who the author of my biography can be, but it is imperative that the person knows me in and out. Someone who is aware that when I am stressed, there are wrinkled lines on my forehead. Someone who knows that it is possible for a girl to not be obsessively in love with chocolates let alone like them.  That when I like a movie and I refer it to someone, I look forward to their feedback as impatiently as if I were the director.  More importantly, the person should be well acquainted with the intricate mechanization of my brain. Even when some 10-15 pairs of footwear dazzle my wardrobe, I might give up on an occasion  or give myself a complete look of disdain in the mirror for the lack of perfect shoes. And my shoe fetish is something which is entirely incomprehensible for my mother herself, apparently, from whom I have inherited it. Or that I can sit and cry as I read through the chapter on Dumbledore’s funeral and calling it insane mourning over a fictional character is not going to lift my spirits. And that letting go off grudges is an art I shall never learn- that once someone hurts me hard, I can never revert to square one.

As of now, I do not think that I can enlist an individual to be my biographer but if this much information seems intriguing to you and you can pen down my tale in a witty yet poignant fashion, then feel free to drop a comment.

On a bidding note, if I were to die today and someone was to write about my life, then they could title the book as ’20 and never been in love’. Just something that struck me while I was writing this piece.

The fateful evening when we left for Chandigarh

Daily Prompt: Earworm.

“Bas Babaji ab aur excitement mat dena is raat main..bilkul boring bana do is raat ko” (Oh God, no more thrill/excitment for tonight. Its time for this night to get Boring.)

When I first saw Jab We Met, little did I know that some five years later I would find myself in a situation akin to Kareena Kapoor- missing train followed by an ongoing series of contretemps. This post is an account of the same and from now on I will refer to me and my friends as,

  • Ms. Google Maps- an unchallenged clarity with ways
  • Ms. Optimist- always looking at the brighter side
  • Ms Quiet- she absolutely loathes road travel
  • Ms. Blogger- Me

Last December the four friends had planned a short trip to Chandigarh after their exams got over and as the fateful day drew closer their exuberance had found another level. Imagine, from a fat ‘Democracy and Governance’, book all they could gauge was perhaps the title itself, because their brains were busy planning about Chandigarh. With a smile reaching the either corners of her face and sporting her brand new three-inch wedge sandals (partly because she still had not grabbed a chance to wear them and partly because she was having trouble fitting them in her bag), Ms. Blogger walked down  to her college, from where she was to depart for the New Delhi Railway Station. At this juncture she had committed three mistakes, something that the night will make her regret

  • the wedges
  • a white sweatshirt ( I know right, what kind of nutcase wears white while travelling?)
  • they were running a little late (Not late per se, but she is someone who reaches the station an hour prior to the departure)

Tucked in a cab, all of them were happily chit-chatting, a sight straight out of a Suraj Barjatya movie, sans the music of course. A midst the banter Ms. Blogger poked fun at Ms. Google Maps. Had it been any other day she would have been all “right back at you”, instead that day she chose to be quiet and angry. Right then the cab driver took a wrong turn. Ms. Google Maps pointed out that he should have taken a left but since she was angry and he was very confident, she gave in.

After some 25 minutes later as they stood close the Yamuna Bridge, the driver sheepishly admitted that indeed he had taken a wrong turn. 11 minutes on hand and Delhi’s notorious traffic and ubiquitous red light signals, they had the insurmountable task of reaching Central Delhi from East Delhi.  Caught in the middle of Ms Google Maps rebuking the Cab Driver, Ms. Optimist living up to her name and affirming that miracles happen and Ms. Quiet praying for some heavenly assistance and at the same time resolving that she will never hire a cab, somehow they did reach the station with like 60 seconds left for the train to depart. They hired coolies, surrendered them their humongous four bags and ran madly from the 16th platform to the first platform (of course, our Ms. Blogger was bare-feet holding  her wedges in  hand); only to see the train departing.

Now it was time for them to assess their options, they couldn’t go back to the hostel, would have been plain depressing. Next hiring a cab- four girls on 300 km ride alone in a cab is perhaps every parent’s nightmare in India.  Thus leaving them with the only alternative of taking a bus. Taking an auto to Kashmiri Gate would have been complete foolishness given the miserable traffic in evening, so they walked down to the 16th platform from the 1st platform and then to the Ajemeri Gate Metro Station. If you look at the Metro Map, you would think Ajmeri Gate to Kashmiri Gate is like a cakewalk but it awaits you with so much more in store- jam-packed coaches, oxygen exuding a stink of sweat and you move in and out with a mob absolutely with no sense of direction.

Once they reached Kashmiri Gate, Ms. Blogger realized that her feet had been tormented enough and all they wanted was to feel the flat surface, so the wedges went straight into the bag, where they rightfully belonged that day. They found the ticket queue for Chandigarh volvo bus and gaily stood there thinking that all their turmoil had perhaps come to and end. A while later they took notice that the queue wasn’t moving ahead, Ms. Blogger walked down to the front and inquired about it. To their utter horror the tickets for the 7:30 volvo had already been sold out and the next volvo was scheduled for 10:30. Five minutes later they were all sitting in a local bus. The thing with local buses is that as far as your room heating/cooling whims go, you are at the hands of Mother Nature, they are claustrophobic plus noisy and often they don’t befit the image of a safe journey that an Indian girl’s parents foresee.

In a tiff with her parents over the ‘unsafe’ travel choices, Ms. Optimist had lost all hope (something which is a rare sight with her) and engaged herself in filling out an internship, which had to be sent by midnight. Ms. Quiet had finally chosen to break the silence and make it a little clearer that she abhors road travel.  And Ms. Google Maps was somehow trying to contain her qualms (again a rare sight) and in her mind was thinking about the delicious home cooked food she was being bereaved of, for another five hours. Ms. Blogger was worried about her sore feet, amazed at her parents for being totally chilled out on listening about the day’s mishaps and suddenly as she sensed the contraction in her throat- she realized that she was going to fall ill and her medicines were kept safely in her cupboard.

A little farther from the Delhi Bypass, the bus hit a car,  yes it did. While Ms. Blogger painted a mental image of the four of them stranded on the highway, thankfully the driver settled the whole issue amicably.

Halfway through, the bus took a short halt near a dhaba primarily for the passengers to stack up refreshments. Ms. Google Maps and Ms. Quiet got coffee and chips for the four of them but none of them realized that they were travelling without water. As the engine roared and the bus moved ahead Ms. Blogger and Ms. Optimist dropped their coffee cups on themselves.Ms. Optimist suffered in pain- a pain so strong, which neither water nor cold metal nor chilling winds at the onset of North-Indian winters could appease. And about Ms. Blogger, her agony was not caused by the burns. Remember the white sweatshirt, anyone? A huge coffee stain on the right and the sweatshirt looked white on one hand and a biscuit like shade on the other.

As she sat helplessly in the middle of  Ms. Optimist who for once had no bright side to look at and Ms. Quiet who thought that the road travel was the root cause of our predicament,  and facing Ms. Google Maps who was caught between strengthening hunger pangs and a search for cold objects (for Ms. Optimist’s help), Ms. Blogger repeated the same lines, that she had once heard Kareena speak on the 70 mm screen, “Bas Babaji ab aur excitement mat dena is raat main..bilkul boring bana do is raat ko.”

Much Ado about Nothing

Daily Prompt: Keep Out.

It was just another morning. Ananya gets up in the morning, she sits on the edge of her bed and gazes out of the window constantly caressing her hair. As a daily morning ritual she hunts for her phone to check her blog stats and then abruptly she recollects the moment when she fell asleep. It was 3 a. m. and she was logged in on her wordpress account, pretty content with what she had just written- reading and re-reading the piece- basking in the glory of her fairly good penmanship, no penwomanship (if it’s a word). And just then she fell asleep, logged in on her brother’s laptop, leaving her blog window wide open for him to see.   She thinks hard if it was a dream or she actually did something so despicably foolish. Six months of misery-using chrome in ‘in cognito mode’, sitting down to write once after her family has slept and not uttering a single word bearing a connection with blog/wordpress- all for this day when her freelance writer brother who apparently can weave words together like beads in a string has access to her blog. Yes she  has never been quite open about her feelings, not even with her family and she has time and again resorted to blogging to lift the weight off her shoulders but what is the point now when her ‘wiser than thou’ brother has read it all- her obsession with television, her discontent with life, her ‘not so pleasing’ opinions about marriage and her slightly lower self worth.

Instantly she turns back to face her brother and gives him an intent look. He meets her eye, smiles and says “Good Morning”.

She give him a halfhearted  smile and thinks, “So he is going to act like nothing happened at all, wait for me to bring up the topic and once I do that he is going to mock my writing style or that little something I scrawled about irresponsible journalism in our country, saying how I was trying to feign intellectualism and eventually grilling me deep on that. Only when those tears well up in my eyes, then he will quit, apologize and make it up to me. Yet he will never resist from bringing up the blog time and again to pull my leg.”

Its not like he is a mean brother or that he is not supportive but what scares her is his incorrigibly sardonic wit- something which has often led to disheartening conversations.

She gets up from the bed and decides to let things be. But then she is curious to know his opinion and her helplessness is driving her crazy. She engages herself into her daily activities but nothing helps her suppress the anxiety.

Some fine three hours later- of pacing up and down in the balcony, imagining fictitious conversations adorned with his sarcastic remarks and thinking if she could ever switch off her brain- her brother is leaving for some work and as she stands on the door to see him off, he kisses her on the cheek and says, “By the way, I never knew you could write so well, some brilliant posts you have got there on your blog. Makes me feel proud.”

As the words sink in, she has trouble believing what she just heard. She smiles, glad that her brother liked her writing and how stupidly she was imagining quite the contrary. So much of trouble and mindless thinking for what? Perhaps for keeping her aloof from his appreciation and she immediately pens down a piece about the same concluding with a quote, ‘Life is what happens to us when we are busy making other plans’.

P.S. Honestly, when I started this blog a month ago I did not want anybody I know, to read it. Precisely because I had doubts if I will be able to pen down posts worth reading but I have had my own share of surprises.

The Mighty Mighty Brain!

Daily Prompt: Barter System.

One look at today’s prompt and instantly I am reminded of my 10th standard Economics textbook where an entire page was devoted to the topic how Barter System was eventually substituted by the Monetary Exchange System. Alas, textbooks never again were that simple or sleek.

Coming to the point now, I have a few skills under my sleeve that can help me  to fend for myself in a Barter System. Firstly I am excellent in Accountancy so I can possibly offer Book Keeping as a service. Next I can teach well and any society is in perpetual need of teachers regardless of the system of exchange. And lastly I am a pretty amazing counselor or a peacemaker. Depression, distress, envy or animosity are as imminent truths of life as birth and death, thus as far as I can see counselors will never run out of demand. Though pretty soon I am might end up in a counselor’s office, one of my previous posts pretty much vouches for that.

Think of it, three skills and one would conclude that I am going to be a success story in a barter system. Unfortunately that is far from the truth and I am going to tell you how that will happen. I will sit down and THINK. You know there are people in life who day dream- imagine being immensely successful even before they take the first step towards embarking on a new venture and then there am I who worries that eggs will break even when they have hatched.

Just when I am all prepped up to be a Book Keeper, my highly opinionated brain has something to say.

“Book keeping, undoubtedly you are quick and proficient, but how far can it take you. A cobbler will never draw up accounts or what entry are you going to pass in your chef’s book

‘ Book Keeper’s A/C      Dr.

To Honey Chilly Potato A/c’

That profession is going to be lame, don’t you think so?”

A little disheartened initially, I will decide upon teaching. What are the odds that teaching can go wrong? And then I will spend the next two hours perhaps gushing about how I have always enjoyed teaching and I could have never chosen a better service to offer.

My brain, having a little difficulty in taking in all the exuberance, will then pass a verdict on teaching also.

“Teaching huh! You think there are no teachers out there;  besides haven’t you heard of XYZ. Nobody can match his/her dexterity in teaching so before you go overboard with your teaching plan its time to face the reality- you are an Amateur- and its time to dig up another skill.”

Not with much left on my hand, I will then resolve to become a Counselor. But then again my brain can’t shut up.

“Counseling, Ha ha.. For someone who spends half their time excessively worrying about the smallest of problems and the rest counting the hair that fell off or the pounds gained owing to the stress aren’t you being too naive in pegging yourself a counselor. ”

And finally with nothing to offer, I will spend my entire life wondering, why was I not blessed with a better talent. Excellent craftsmanship, prolific writing skills or a melodious voice- any one of these and I would not have spent a troublesome second pondering about survival in the barter system.

You see, that is the power of Brain. No matter how skilled you are, you are going to land nowhere if your brain has nothing better to do but deter you.