Thread of Thoughts

The sudden click of the door lock contradicted the otherwise silent room. I could have mistaken it to be to have been in a dead-silent graveyard, had it not been for my heart bumping against my chest, informing me of the graveness of my decision and the chills going down my spine. I am generally not a very nervous person, but right now, at this moment, I am fearful of the man behind the half closed door: not because my life is depended in his hands, but because my child’s is did. The nurse had only opened the door enough for her slim figure to pass by, and as she stood discussing my reports with the man in white, I stood outside contemplating whether to slide it further right and step inside, or wait for her to usher me in when they feel it is time. I looked down at my waltz watch, to see it reading 12:30. Not bad, I was called in only after waiting for twenty minutes of waiting, after the screening. But twenty minutes was not enough to make the decision, certainly not. One second.

Please, God, let him telephone me now. Mom is waiting outside, and dad is on his way to the hospital, but I need to talk to him. The choice for them is clear. I desperately need to talk to him. Oh Lord please, please, please, just this one time, listen to my prayer. He will understand my dilemma, maybe, oh please, just maybe he will agree with me too. She is a part of both of us. She is our creation. She is our life, our reason, our love, our everything. I have carried her in my womb for seven months. For two hundred and thirteen full days, she has been a part of me, and not a moment has passed in the last eighteen million, four hundred, and ten thousand seconds that I have not thought about her. But why am I sitting and calculating that now? People listen to songs, or some even sleep, when they are tensed. I, on the other hand, do mathematics. Getting the mathematics degree was truly the best option for me. Oh no! Please don’t get distracted! I have a major decision to make. And h

Since the time we enter this world, our every step is influenced by society: directly or indirectly. Being born into an Indian middle-class family, I received my ‘to-do list for life’ quite early. For us Indians, completing this ‘to-do list’ is  more than crucial. (Stress on ‘crucial’, as this determines if we are fit for this ‘non-pressurizing’ society or not.) Not only completing it, but the nature and order in which it must be completed, also determines our status and hierarchy in society.  When I use the word ‘our’, I am collectively referring to all indian-bred members of generation Z. Another important clarification: this so called ‘crucial to-do list’   is created by the society FOR us, and not created BY us. You might ask, ‘how does a ‘to-do list’ created by society matter?’. Of course it matters! How dare you question the entire society’s point of view? It is, without any doubt certain that the society’s point of view is superior and ‘more correct’ than yo

Hello, fans, family, and family-friends! My day started out great! Until 7’o clock. That is when I woke up. That is when I remembered that I have this article due tomorrow, and my house is going to be infested with guests in the evening. Do you want to know how much content I have so far? Answer: a nice, little, succinct greeting aka ‘Hello, fans, family, and family-friends!’ You know what that means? That means that I, the queen of procrastination, have procrastinated yet again till the very last minute. Hence, what I am going to do, is give you live updates of today, so that you all can relate with the various traumas of having guests over. Umm… this would be a very appropriate time for the ‘family friends’ (to be read as ‘family fiends’) mentioned in my initial greeting to stop reading this article. Don’t know if it is going to be a pleasant read for you. Rest of the world, please carry on: 10:00 Just got word from INTERPOL. The attack is to be expected at 18:30. That le