The 2017 that 'was'

I must admit, I have not done a good job of maintaining this blog. For what it's worth, there wasn't much to write about. (Excuses. excuses.)
But as I look through the photographs of 2017 on my old and kind of useless laptop, I felt that kind of rush that I usually feel when I've had some kind of poetic epiphany.

It's been one week since 2018 has had me in it's life, and I have still not been able to say goodbye to it's predecessor . Mostly because 2017 was the most 'lost in a labyrinth' I'd ever felt. And before you ask the question '"Is she going to write about her depression or whatever new mental illness there is?", save your breath. I'm not. This is not a sad story, because 1. This isn't a story (it's more of an acceptance of fate) and 2. I'm not sad, just reminiscent.

Growing up, I never understood the hype around New Years Eve. After all, your new year is your birth date, technically speaking, because that was when your first year started. I say birth 'date' and not birthday, because I dont understand the hype around birthdays either. But when you're brought up in an environment where these days are given immense importance, you cant help but fall prey to it.
So, on the eve of Dec 31st 2016, I, like all others around me, counted down to the first day of the new year.
2017 was supposed to be the year of change for me. I told myself that I was going to quote "Say yes to life more often" unquote. And for the most part, it was a year of change for me, but not the least bit they way I expected it to be. I had a family, a boyfriend, and a decent number of friends but I still spent majority of that year feeling lonely. In retrospect, I was probably yearning for myself.

Saying no to things (and by things I mean experiences, not materialistic stuff like ice-cream. I can never say no to ice-cream.) was my general way of life.

"Hey Meera, you wanna go clubbing"? - Nope.

"Dude lets go on a trip this weekend!"  - Nope.

"Want to go for the concert with me?" -Nope.

At first, the no came sliding out of my mouth as a result of situations I just couldn't wiggle out of, like- a big assignment that was due, being sick, being denied parental permisson or the general lack of money. Eventually this started happening so often that "no" kind of became my standard response to everything. But here's the catch about always saying "no"- you may end up saving a little money, you may end up working your ass off for an assignment (and still having it turn out to be crap) and you may get well faster because of the rest.
But when you keep saying "no" to people, at one point, they'll just stop asking.

And that's what happened to me. Thus began the process of my isolation. It seemed all right at first- I enjoyed the solitude. But when I didn't have anything to contribute to in conversations, I realised that people weren't distancing themselves from me, rather I was isolating myself from them. And the worst part was that I had neither realised I was doing this, nor intended to do it on purpose.

It was this realization that triggered the spiraling.

What if I'd gone for that sleepover months ago?
What if I'd ditched the assignment and just gone out?
What if, what if, what if?
I began falling into a pit of self pity and regret. Imagine that - having regrets at the age of twenty something! That pit I put myself into only got deeper and more cramped with each passing day. Those emotions of self pity, self hate and regret were only amplified with each story I was left out of.

2017 went by like a breeze. Not in the way a breeze is easy, soft and cooling but more so in the way of it being over, quickly. And although it was quick, it sure as hell was not pleasurable. And maybe, maybe if I had just chosen the 'what if' option rather than question it,maybe if I had just let go of whatever was inhibiting me, maybe if I just broke the rules more often, 2017 could have been better.
It could have been less challenging, it could have been more memorable.

Except that it was.
It was bad and horrible and messy and painful and sad, and it's gone now. It's done. It came, it went and now there's no changing it.
So although I'd have loved to wonder of what could have been, I'm left reminiscing what was.

And that, is a shitty feeling.

A Love Affair With Thaiyyir Saadam.

I was seventeen years old, when I moved to a new city for the very first time. To study, and start a new adventure, all by myself. I still remember how exciting it was, the day my dad dropped me to college. Most kids were scared and sad that their parents were leaving, scared of being ragged by seniors, scared of things like having to do their own laundry. But me? I was thrilled.

I had always wanted to be independent. To live by my own terms, make my own living. And college was just the first step of that ladder. And I was lucky enough to start that journey in one of the most amazing cities ever – Chennai.

That’s right, you read that sentence correctly. I did, in fact, say Chennai.

Surprised? So was I.

When I first told my friends and family that I’d be going to Chennai to study, I heard what people usually hear – “It’s so hot there!”
“The people are horrible”
“Oh, you’re going to turn into a Madraasi now huh?”
“You don’t know Tamil? Dude you’re screwed.”
Yeah, all of that.

But I was too occupied with the adrenaline of starting a new adventure to pay heed to what anyone said. I decided to go to Chennai with an open mind, and in return, Chennai totally blew my mind away.
It wasn’t always easy though. Travelling was hard (and expensive, if you know what I mean), food was different, people were new, and all put together it was basically like someone had thrown me far away from my comfort zone.

And then I got sick.

For the first time in my life, no one was there to hold my hair up as I vomited. No one to clean up the mess after me. No one to get me water and no one to sleep beside. I missed my mom. I missed having her take care of me when I got sick in the middle of the night. I did call her, and tell her that I threw up but there wasn’t much she could do over the phone. It was my first horrible night in Chennai. One of many, I soon found out. I was so angry for choosing to stay away from home. I was terribly homesick and I just wanted to curl up in bed and sleep all day but the fear of losing attendance (which was quite real, in my first year) kept me going for my classes.
After visiting the doctor, I found out that I had an intestine infection and could only eat bland food for 2 weeks. I remember thinking to myself – bland food? Where the hell am I going to get that? I’m a hosteller; I have to eat whatever is made in the mess!
I thought that maybe I should ask the lady who managed the mess back then, if she could have some food made separately for me. I remember how nervous I was to ask for help, how silly of me to think that.
So right before dinner, I went up to her and explained my situation, and asked if she could help me. She didn’t say anything, she just smiled and nodded at me, and I wasn’t sure what it meant, so I just went back to my room.
That night when I went down for dinner, I was mentally prepared for eating half cooked chapattis, watered down dal and spicy poriyal. But that didn’t happen.
Just as I sat down, the lady who runs the mess came by my chair and put a bowlful of food in front of me.

It was curd rice.

I was instantly taken back to the times I’d get sick at home, and mom would make ‘dahi chawal’ to help soothe my tummy. I remembered how nice and cool my stomach felt after eating it. Suddenly, I remembered everything – I felt at home, even though home was hundreds of kilometres away.
And just in that moment, I didn’t hate Chennai anymore.

I’d be lying if I said that I never complained ofcourse I did. I still do. All the time. The heat really is unbearable, the auto-drivers do overcharge, almost always and the food is really spicy, for me. But all that seems so small compared to the good stuff.
Like the friends I’ve made, the people I’ve met, the experiences I’ve had – all of which was made possible, only because of this amazing place. Somehow, I managed to find a home away from home here.

I don’t know where or how though. Maybe it was in that plate of curd rice I got when I was sick. Maybe it was in the people who didn’t make me feel like an outsider. Maybe it was in the god damned most amazing idli that Malini’s mother would ever so kindly make for me, at my request. (Those idlis are bae, I shit you not it’s soft as pillows.) Maybe it was in Devi’s hug, which was always available on demand. Maybe it was in the comfort of Mansi’s room – where just for a moment my problems didn’t feel like problems and everything felt okay. Maybe it was in the gossip session with my girlies (if you’re reading this, just know that I love all 4 of you). Maybe it was those long and kinda repetitive but always fun Climber meetings (sorry, Mr President, please don’t kill me.)

I guess I can’t really point out one singular reason why I find this city absolutely mesmerising. I never will be able to, because it’s always giving me new reasons to love it more.
A few months back, I remember this conversation my mom and I had – we were laughing about how in the 17 years that I lived in Bangalore, I never saw a calamity or an outrage, but in the three years I’ve stayed in Chennai I saw a flood, a cyclone, riots, and protests. But the unity and kindness I witnessed in the midst of all this was simply breath-taking.

There’s something about this place that just captures my heart. The coffee, the beaches, the tarot card readers that are determined to get couples chilling on the beach to feel awkward, the temples, the sweat inducing weather, the Bovonto soda that tastes like cough syrup – all these little things have so many memories attached to it. So many moments of happiness that have been etched onto my skin that sometimes I forget that I’m not from here.

You know, every city has its own charm – no matter what other people say about it. If you only keep an open mind, and try and love the place, you will get love in return.
And no, things will never get easier. Problems will never disappear. Life will never be a straight road uphill. There will be sad days, there will be fear, and there will be turmoil.

But you know what?

There’s nothing a plate of thaiyyir saadam can’t fix.

The day I started bleeding blue.

Lately, I haven't been posting on the blog. So when I was asked to write something new, I spent hours trying to think of what to write about. And then it hit me- why not write about writing?

Confused? Let me explain-

It all started 11 years ago. I was in third grade and back then life basically consisted of minimal academics and more of play time. I was hyper active as a child (quite contrary to the lazy bum I've become now.) and mom would often find it hard to keep me occupied.
I was always an avid reader. The only way for me to fall asleep was by reading a story. Only my parents can tell you how hard it was to separate me from my beloved books. I read whatever I could, whenever I could.
It so happened that one evening, I was particularly bored and idle. Like every other kid, I asked my mother what to do. Might I add that at this point, she also had to take care of my three year old younger brother. So when I kept bugging her that evening, she abruptly said "Go to your room and write something!".

Write something? Hmmmm....

Accepting her challenge, I went to my room and sat on my favourite spot- the upper right corner of my bunk bed. (Yes, I had one of those.) As I began thinking what to write about, one thought predominantly occupied my head- my mother wouldn't play with me because she was busy with my brother. So I wrote a poem about my brother.
I went back to my mother to show her what I wrote and she was so surprised. I guess not every person would expect an 8 year old to be able to write poetry. (Granted, it was the most silly little thing I ever wrote.)

I was 8 years old then, I'm 20 years old now. And my love for writing has only grown. My mom got me a journal to write my poetry in. For 11 years I've guarded that notebook like it's my life. If you ever looked at it, you would clearly notice the change in my handwriting, my style of writing, my train of thought. When I flip through the pages now, I can't help but laugh at all the things I wrote as a child. I've had my kiddy phase where I wrote about butterflies, rainbows and cartoons. I've had a teenage phase where I wrote about school, friendship and crushes. And today, I write about whatever speaks to me, whatever inspires me.

Writing has saved my life, quite literally. Whether I was happy or sad, everything felt just a little bit better after I wrote something about it. It's my addiction, and my cure.
There are at least a 100 scraps of spare paper and tissue with my emotions penned down on them that got lost somewhere along the way. So many poems that I scribbled on the back of my school notebooks, never to be found again.

And then, 11th grade happened. Somewhere in between tuition, coaching classes and a never ending syllabus, I stopped writing. Not out of choice, but because there was simply too much going on in my head and I didn't know how to untangle that kind of a mess. And that reflected in my life too. I got angry more often, had mood swings and lost focus. In retrospect, bleeding ink instead of shedding tears was probably a better idea.

It was my father who pulled me back to my notebook and pen. He was always my first critic and the first person I shared everything with. And when I stopped writing, it was he who encouraged me to keep trying. Every once in a while he'd ask me if I wrote anything new. And no one was happier than him when I started writing again.
In fact, just a few weeks back, he called me out of the blue just to tell me that he loved what I had been writing and that he was proud of me. And that one call just made my day.
For an average child with limited talents, having someone tell you that is like accomplishing something great.

Today, it gives me so much happiness when people come up to me and say "Hey, I loved what you wrote". Especially when I don't even know the person. The fact that someone read something that came out of my head and somehow related to it, made me feel like I'm not alone. Like there are other who think and feel just like me.

I'm not a great writer. I don't have a fancy vocabulary and I sure as hell am not going to be the next J.K. Rowling or whatever. I may never get published and I'll probably never make a career out of this. But I love what I write. It's honest, it's raw and it's me.

So that's the story of how I started writing. I sincerely hope whoever reads this gives it a try too. It's not that hard, just pen down whatever you're thinking. Trust me, it feels liberating! Whether its a journal, micro-tales, poetry, essays or even articles, believe me, it'll feel like a weight being lifted off our shoulders.

Go on, pick up that pen.
And bleed.

This one's for my girls.

I’m sure you all know of the achievements of Indian women in the Rio Olympics 2016. It was a topic much talked about. Our girls showed us hope when we were left hopeless. They brought us glory when we were left in darkness. And of course, the people of India stood alongside them with pride and encouragement.

Well, most of them.

Amidst social media posts in praise of these amazing women, I noticed a lot of people (men, more than women) questioning why people used the achievement of these women to glorify “girl power” and whether there would be posts about “man power” had a male won a medal. 

I don’t know why this is still a matter of debate. After all these years, somehow people still haven’t understood basic logic. Let me explain with the help of an example (courtesy, Gabbie the Youtuber.)
 Let us say for example that the following statement is true: 
“All humans have 2 eyes.” This is statement number one.
Now, let us consider the following statement to be true: 
“Mriganka is a human.” This is statement number two.
We have established that both these statements are true. Now if we add the two statements up- Mriganka is a human. And since we agree that all humans have 2 eyes, we can say that Mriganka has two eyes.
The statement “Mriganka has 2 eyes” in no way translates to me saying that YOU don’t have two eyes. Or that any other person doesn’t have two eyes. Apply the same logic to the issue above.
Consider the following statement- “All humans have power.”
Now consider this statement- “Women are humans.”
By combining these two statements, you’d imply that women have power, because they too are humans, and we already established the fact that all humans have power. Now, that doesn’t mean that men do not have power, or that they’re not as important.
So why do people equate talking about “girl power” to being unfair? 
When you have already started on the wrong foot, it takes time to bring things back on track. And since time immemorial women have been put down for not being strong enough, not being good enough, not being powerful enough. 
“Don’t play like a girl.”
“Don’t cry like a girl.”
Boys have grown up, learning that these statements are perfectly normal. And you know what, if such issues weren’t happening as of this very minute, no one would emphasize on women the way we do now because we would have achieved gender equality.

But this is still a “current issue”. This is still happening. And that is why we need to talk about it.
Think about it- the spirit of sports is called sports-MAN-ship. The entire human race is called MAN-kind. When women were oppressed for thousands of years, from the time of the earth’s creation to the world today as we know it, it only makes sense to give them an extra push to bring them to the same level as that of the opposite race.
Please understand that this doesn’t mean we want to pull the male race down and oppress them in revenge. It’s high time this was understood.
It angers me so much to see that we’ve come so far, in terms of science and technology yet lack so much in terms of humanity. So much, that I’m literally pounding the keys on my keyboard as I write this piece.
So the next time you see a post about “girl power”, please don’t argue why there are no “man power” posts. Save yourself the trouble because I’ll tell you why.
Yes, there are no posts glorifying the power of men, nor will there be. Because the world has already established that statement to be true (remember the statement logic I spoke about?). Because we have spent the last thousand years doing just that. Because there are no phrases like “Don’t cook like a boy” or any other comparison to an activity that is stereo typically a woman’s skill.
Stop trying to grab attention from an issue that desperately needs it. 
Until then, #girlpower it is.

Nineteen and three quarters.

vAs I pack my bags to leave for college, I take a look at the calendar- July 25^th 2016. Half the year was already over and I didn’t even realise. And then it hit me.

I have just 3 months more of being a teen.

Suddenly, I wished for time to just stop. Not because I didn’t want to go back to college or because I wanted some more time with my friends and family. I just really did not want to turn 20. I wasn’t ready to be an adult just yet. I’m still not.
Two years back I was just a girl with big dreams waiting to live her life on her own terms. I thought that my life would be a never ending party full of awesome ‘How I met your mother’ kinda stories. (Except, of course for me it would be ‘How I met your father’) I used to look forward to each day, with an enthusiasm that refused to waver. Two years ago feels like a long time now, and as it turns out, none of the things I imagined ever actually happened. Somewhere along the path of living up to other people’s expectations, I forgot to just be a teen. I forgot to make mistakes; I forgot to just be me.
And now perhaps, it’s too late.

All my life all I ever wanted to do was to do something that would make my parents want to say “Beta we’re really proud of you.”  And believe me, I tried. But I guess my parents and I had very different definitions of things you should be proud about. At least, that’s what I always thought. What I didn’t realise is that I don’t have to hear them say it for me to believe that they are indeed proud of me. I hope they are.
I look at other kids my age and I know I’m not exactly the golden trophy of children or a prodigy of any kind. While people I know are out conquering the world with their own companies, bagging scholarships and reaching new heights with medals around their neck, I sit here with no accolades, no trophies on my table and no certificates on my wall.
All I have is a simple blog, a journal filled with poetry, and some decent dancing skills.

Is that not enough?

You know, when I was a kid, I used to think that twenty something’s were the coolest kind of adults who had their lives sorted. Little did I know that being twenty comes with a whole load of responsibility. No one told me that when you’re twenty you’ll have to start thinking about having a stable future. You’ll have to think about job prospects and how to fund your master’s degree. You’ll have to think about taxes, loans, marriage and a whole bunch of other stuff like that.
Hell, I don’t even know how to deposit money into my own bank account yet.

In the midst of this tangled mess of thoughts, I hear my mother tell me that I should not take a break before my masters. That I should continue studying and not apply for a job yet. So that I’d have a stable, well-paying job by the time I’m 27 and ready to get married.

MARRIED?
I literally did not even think of that.
When I was 13, I knew exactly where I’d be in the next five years. And now I have no clue. That really scares me. I bet it scares all of us.
I’m not ready to be an adult just yet. I’m not ready to think about “settling down”. There are just so many things I still have left to do! And this whole turning 20 thing just complicates it.

I feel jealous. I envy all my friends who tell me stories of when they bunked college just to go for a drive. Stories of how they drank so much that they needed a friend to lift them up to be able to walk. Stories of how the screamed so loud at concerts that it almost ripped their vocal chords off. How they surprised their friends on their birthday at midnight, how they danced like complete retards and sang like monkeys at every club’s karaoke night.
Lol, I’ve never even entered a club.

I was the girl who refused to go to the mall in her first year of college because it was “too far” and I hadn’t informed my parents. I was the girl who ordered lime sodas while my friends sat there with chilled beers. While my friends were out at hookah bars, I sat in my room binge watching TV shows.  While they organised sleepovers at each other’s houses, I politely refused their invitations and chose to hang out with my Chinese food take-out instead.
I rarely ever asked my parents to let me do stuff like this, but even when I did (after a whole lot of contemplation about the safety concerns) they generally wouldn’t let me. And I never had the guts to do something without telling them. Perhaps, even if I did get a chance, I would never do some of the things I mentioned above.  (Like the hookah. Smoking kills, people. If you’re so enthusiastic about inhaling smoke, put your mouth at the end of an exhaust pipe. At least that way, you’d be saving the environment a little.)

I remember a few weeks back, I was talking to my mom and I told her- “I feel like doing something crazy.” I wish I had the guts to tell her all this then. I wish I could tell her to trust me a little and let me make my mistakes.
Oh by the way, mom (or dad) if you’re reading this, relax. I’m not planning on doing any of these things right now. Please don’t get angry because of what I wrote.
I know that for you I’ll always be a little kid. But our generation is surprisingly a lot more responsible that you give us credit for. We care about our safety too. Trust us a little.

So this one’s for all the other teens like me. The designated ‘sober best friends’. The ones who lived behind a shadow of ‘parental permissions’, the ones who were always a little too mature for their own good. Live a little, break the rules. You’ve still got a little time left.

Today, I’m nineteen and three quarters. Most of my teen hood is way past me. And here I am with no stories to tell, no advice to give. I have no checked off bucket lists and no photographs of crazy things I thought I’d never do. No memories of blurry nights, no stupid mistakes to laugh over.

Today, I am nineteen and three quarters.
But I still have a quarter left.

Let the craziness begin.  J

The Autowallah

Around 4 years back, when I was in 11th grade, I used to go for these coaching classes in Indiranagar.
You see, in India it is a customary thing to join a coaching centre at least once in your life,because (surprise! surprise!) apparently you need a school after regular school to help you get into another kind of school after 12th.
(Makes you wonder what the point of school is, if we aren't learning what we should be to get into colleges, no?)
So like all other parents, my parents too decided to put me into a coaching institute so that I can get into  college of my choice with ease.
 No, it wasn't ACE/BASE or any of those other conventional institutes. Hell, it wasn't even a coaching institute for engineering/medical entrance exams.
It was DQ Labs. And it was a coaching centre for NIFT.

That's right. NIFT.

You see, unlike most stereotypical parents who feel like their life dreams are shattered when their child tells them he/she wants to do something unusual, mine decided to do whatever it takes to make sure I could do my best. And so, they put me in a coaching centre.
Now from where I live, Indiranagar is a pretty far place and knowing Bangalore, there's always an insane amount of traffic. So travel was always a little difficult, but we managed. Sometimes I would go by bus, sometimes dad would drop me and sometimes my friends would drop me.

But there's this one day I still remember. The one day, where I learnt a little lesson that would stick with me for the rest of my life.

I had just finished with my classes and was waiting for the bus that would take me home. It was already 7:30 pm and back then, I was "too young" to be out alone "in the dark" in a place so "far away" from home. My mother called me to ask me where I was and I told her I was waiting for the bus. Being a typical worrying mother, she told me to stop waiting and just take an auto and come home as soon as possible.

So I went looking for an auto to take me home. For those of you who haven't had prior experience of hiring an auto in Bangalore, you should know that auto-wallah's always have the last word. If they choose to take you to your destination without any arguments it's like you've won some kind of a battle.
I went around searching and finally found an auto-wallah who graciously agreed to drop me home while also going by the meter.

We traveled a few kilometers and stopped at a signal, when the auto-wallah casually turns back at me and says, "Aaj toh bohot traffic hai na madam?"
 For some reason I panic. I'm not used to having auto-wallah's talking to me while I travel, and instinctively I can hear the voices of my mother and my kindergarten teacher saying "Don't talk to strangers, Mriganka".
So I pretended like I never heard him. The signal light turned green and we continued our journey.
I was so happy to have moved past that awkward situation but I spoke to soon.
Almost immediately, he turned around again and asked me "Aap college student ho?"

I cautiously replied with a simple "No."

He then began telling me about his own daughter and proudly mentioned that she also goes to school and was, in fact a very intelligent student. I gave him an awkward smile. Although, I felt like he was just cooking up some story.
We were just a few kilometers away from home, when he suddenly took a diversion from the regular route.
A dozen alarms went off inside my head. Shit, I thought to myself. Something bad is going to happen.
But I couldn't let him know I was scared. No, that would only make things worse.
I yelled at him an said "Bhaiya aap kidhar jaa rahe ho?" and he told me that he was just taking a diversion to avoid more traffic so that I could reach home faster.

"Aapki mummy chinta kar rahi hogi. Already do baar call aa chuka hai." he said.

I still felt like something was fishy, so I very smartly told him "Wapas main road pe jao warna paise nahi doongi."

He turned back, looked at me and went back to the route via the main road.
And of course, as predicted, we got struck in more traffic.

After 1.5 hours, we finally reached my apartment and I got down and pulled out my wallet to pay him. Just went I extended my arm to hand him the hundred rupees, he looks at me and says - "Rakh lo madam, nai chahiye."
Obviously, I was surprised so I asked him what happened and he said - "Madam, hum auto-walleh bhi insan hi hote hain. Hum aapko darana nai chahte. Aap toh meri beti jaise ho, mai toh sirf aapko jaldi ghar pohochana chahta tha par pata nai aapko kya laga"

Which when translated to English means- Ma'am we auto-drivers are also humans. We don't mean to scare you. You are like my daughter and I just wanted you to reach home quickly".

I felt so terribly guilty. My judgmental mind got the better of me and made me jump to conclusions.

He went on to give me his number and say that if I ever needed to be dropped home from class again and I couldn't find any other auto, he would come and pick me up.

You know, of all nice things any person has ever done for me, this was one thing that I'd always remember. He did, in fact drop me home after classes thereafter. And he would still tell me stories about his daughter and laugh at how similar the two of us girls are.

You know, it's strange. All those "moral science" classes, all those kindergarten rhymes about good manners- none of them taught me how to let go of my ego and speak to every human as an equal.

The auto-wallah taught me that.

Hello, you're lovely. Won't you tell me your name?

Recently, there has been a challenge that's been trending on Facebook- yes, the #ComplimentChallenge. Its this thing where you upload your status and ask people to drop a comment and you respond to the comment with a compliment. Some people termed this as "the most stupid thing I've seen in human mankind" but I thought that this would be a welcome change from all the hate in my life, and it was. But it also made me  realise something very important.

Have we forgotten how to appreciate?

This world is changing, and changing fast and somewhere along the way we have forgotten some things that were never meant to be forgotten. And it's not only about appreciating others, we've even forgotten how to appreciate ourselves.
Ever since we were little, we've been told about the 'magic words'- thank you, I love you and sorry.
Someone would do something nice for us, and our parents would ask us, "Beta, what is the magic word?" and with utmost joy and satisfaction we'ed happily oblige and respond "THANK YOUUUUUU" which would then be followed by the laughter of all the adults in the room or a joint chorus of "Awwwwww".
We were kids then. We're adults now. And as adults, thank-you has become something that's just a formality.
Except, it's not.
Thank you is a way of appreciating a person for whatever nice thing they've done or said. You know what else is appreciating? - saying something nice or doing something nice for a person.
And we've successfully forgotten both.

I didn't know that the world was in dire need of true appreciation. When I uploaded my status on Facebook, I was surprised by the number of people who commented. And not just the number, I was even surprised by some people in general. Some were people I didn't even know or had ever met. All of these people just wanted to hear someone say something nice about them because apparently, that isn't the normal way of life. Why? Because-

We have built a world where putting others down in the race to come first has become more important than pushing each other to be the best we can and hence call everyone a winner.

When was the last time you did something nice for someone without expecting anything in return? When was the last time you complimented someone without a motive?
Ask yourself honestly. I'll admit, I certainly haven't done any of the things mentioned above in quite a while. And I feel quite sad about it.
They say that happiness is contagious. So is appreciation. And since happiness is a reaction to appreciation, it's safe to say that we'll all be a great deal happier if only we can start to appreciate.

Not just appreciate others, but also learn to accept appreciation for ourselves.
When I was in school, I had this habit of randomly complimenting people. And it wasn't just donkey praise. If I found something nice about them, I'd tell them. But the weird part was that sometimes, they would think I'm lying, or feel obligated to say something nice in return. One of my friends, Sanskriti Sharma was quite different though. Every time I'd compliment her, she would smile, blush and say "thanks". And you know what, it made me feel happy that in some way she's happy. (Sanskriti, if you're reading this, thank you for making me realise the importance of appreciating people.)

So ask yourself this- when was the last time you just accepted a compliment?

When was the last time that you didn't feel the need to contradict someone when they said "Hey, you look nice today"? When was the last time you didn't compare yourself with another when someone called you beautiful? When was the last time that someone said something nice and you just accepted it with open arms, with only a thank you for their kind words?
It's been a while hasn't it?

It's time we started to embrace our awesomeness, while also acknowledging and appreciating the awesomeness of others.

Go ahead, compliment someone. Watch them smile. Watch the smile come on your face as well. Feel the happiness, spread the love.
Oh, and if you didn't already know-

"Hello, you're lovely. Wont you tell me you name?" :)