The following story and all the characters in the story are purely fictitious…

“Nowadays, every five minutes or so, I have to keep telling myself that it is not the end of the world.
Things seem to be going wrong almost EVERYDAY.
                      Like, three weeks back, I had the biggest fight ever with my boyfriend, on Valentine’s day, and as a result, we broke up after promising never to see each other again. And there is absolutely no hope of getting back together because long before the break-up, we reached a point where we couldn’t stand each other’s company for more than a minute. In fact the only thing that was holding us both together till then was the Valentine’s week’s excitement…yeah, weird as it may sound, we exchanged teddy bears, chocolates, and stuff, just like any other couple in love. He is smart but, I guess he is just incapable of love. I’m feeling better that I got out of that meaningless relationship anyway.
                       Just last week,  after a long series of disputes, my parents finally decided to separate forever. I tried desperately to settle things between them. They seemed just too immature to do anything about peacefully solving their silly problems and misunderstandings. Even if I’m their child, it is not like I can’t comprehend the problems faced by two working people in their married life. I had relationships too. They wouldn’t listen to anybody… not even my grandparents. Fine.
                       And two days back, I had the greatest shock of my life when I got a call from mum about my little sister…sis met with an accident, she said, when she was crossing the road. She got hit by a motorcycle. It was Saturday night and I was hanging out with my friends when mum called. I immediately drove down to the hospital, crying and sobbing all the way. I found her with mum and poor mum looked very disturbed. Sis was fine, after all, no major injuries. 
                       Yesterday, I finally found the time to go to the tattoo place that my friends have suggested. I parked my new car outside. It is silvery blue in colour and I still have to christen it. My dad bought it for my birthday last month. It was a surprise actually. My best birthday surprise ever! Well, I went in and got my favourite fairy tattoo on my wrist. My first tattoo! I came out in flying colours and hell! I didn’t notice the tiny Latin lettering on the wings of the fairy. I got it pierced into my skin without noticing the details. I rushed back in to know what it meant, hoping it was something nice…atleast something sensible. The woman translated it to me, with the dirtiest smirk on her face; she said, “It is ‘Hairy fairy’.” I came back out to the parking space, feeling horrible. And bloody hell! My car! Its left tail light cover came off and was lying on the ground. It got hit by something. But thank heavens, just some minor scratches in the rear…fine!
                         And, for the latest mishap, believe it or not, today morning, when I was on the phone with my best friend, wishing her ‘Happy Women’s Day’, the most disastrous thing ever happened to me- my first period. I didn’t want it to happen so soon. I mean, I’m just 13.”

Happy Women’s Day!!

…also, this story is a spinoff from the discussion with a friend on ‘teen freedom, how childhood is changing, and the transition from childhood to adulthood happening too soon in teenagers nowadays’

Happy Valentine’s Day

 Love Story

“Among the girls I was acquainted with in college, specifically, those girls who never had anything substantial to talk about, were, certainly, very delicious to talk to because their conversations, though pointless, were laced with just the right amounts of flirtation. Well, I was of the tendency to pull off into slightly intellectual byroads on the topics, only to be able to have a dialogue, but the conversations soon became inedible everytime. I had several outings with them on occassions like the club treats and birthday parties, yet I lived the first two years of college in complete ignorance of the life and habits of such girls. And, I was far from suspecting anything like encountering someone like Miss Lemmons.

Although, as a rule, I didn’t find these dimwitted girls interesting or attractive, with a false sense of pride I accepted the proposal that came forth from one such classmate, a young lady named Miss Lemmons, to me, by the end of the second year, of me being her boyfriend.
In the course of a six-month long relationship, when Miss Lemmons committed half-truths and concealed facts as she spoke, when we met at her apartment, at mine, at fancy restaurants and ice-cream parlours, at friends’ parties, or in the classroom, I thoroughly believed her on account of my  disillusioned view of the human kind. With such delicate precision she trickled the terms of endearment into her well-structured dialogues about how happy we were and how we could be happier if only I changed a few things about myself, that I hardly noticed my words weren’t being paid the slightest attention to. Her strategies to keep me in the dark were simple and efficient.
Anyway, one summer afternoon, the minutest suspicion germed in my head, when from my balcony I saw the way she moved in the presence of one Mr Byseps. After that day, more than once I had seen something similar in her behaviour, especially when she had no idea I was watching her. By repeated observation I had inferred that my presence hardly mattered for her to move in a certain inappropriate way in the presence of other men. I’m careful not to call it vulgar; it was just inappropriate in a way that it was unacceptable to me.  She was honest and dishonest at the same time.
We went on several dinner dates as this happened. I should say that she had a very healthy appetite – for several were the days when she went on dinner parties with other men, after I had dropped her off at her apartment. A healthy appetite; she is untiring; she is insatiable. Maybe, I was a bit scared. She called them her ‘good friends’ and talked about them in the same light. As time passed, I discovered that she regularly wrote to one Mr. Hansumm and longed for him to write back. Though it was a known fact to all on campus that he was already engaged, she was too deluded with the idea of ‘the whole male population of the campus lusting after her’ to accept that he wasn’t fancying her. Around the same time she became clearly obsessed with one attractive Mr. Quinn as was evident from the low-intelligence conversations I forced myself to have with her. She longed to see him everyday and wished for him to make the first move towards expression of an unspoken mutual affection between them that was solely her own mind’s fabrication. This delusion was so strong that it completely made her disbelieve another commonly known fact on campus that Mr. Quinn was a homosexual. She relished the idea of yearning for one, waiting for another and being with the third- all simultaneously.
Finally, one auspicious Valentine’s Day morning, I withdrew from the clutches of this young lady and I was left with a sense of displeasure- the kind that people who have no moral scruples evoke in me.
Sometimes I can’t help wondering if she was the true lover; the one who was above all scruples; maybe the one who had the divine capacity to love us all equally and at the same time. Or, maybe she was just a nymphomaniac.

However, now I can say that I have acquired a kind of an authority, though not on any nymphomaniac, but on the subject of nymphomania. I am also aware of the fact that much needs to be learnt about the disorder though I do not wish to.”

“Happy Valentine’s Day to all!”