To Keep The Kettle Burning

You were caught in an avalanche. To be rescued, you need to make it through the night. What thought(s) would give you the strength to go through such a scary, dangerous situation?

a) The feeling of being curled back up in my hoodie, wrapped in the warmth of my Dad’s arms if I could gather the strength to survive.

b) What would Castle and Beckett do if they were in the same situation as me?

c) The number of hugs I’d give to the people I love the most, once I’m out.

d) Jamie Sullivan and Landon Carter.

e) Writing a best seller novel about my adventure to my present status.

f) Instagramming my survival moment.

g) Eating some spicy, hot Chicken kababs just one more time.

h) Thinking about Harry Potter Rallies with the family, with my Mom hiding herself in my Dad’s shoulders every time Voldemort/Death Eaters/evil music played in the back, mistaking it for ghosts and goblins.

i) To recite this story to my friends, family, my future children, my future grandchildren and for ages to come, to see myself as a hero who survived the toughest to come, written in history forever.

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Birthday Weekend!

Living in India, and that too living in a city like Hyderabad, it’s not often we hear about international artists coming to perform in our city. But it had to be the weekend of my birthday that an EDM artist is coming to town.

That’s right, Afrojack along with Gregor Salto and Apster, will be performing on the 22nd in my city. And boy am I psyched, not just because it’s the my night of my birthday eve but because, it’s my first concert ever.

I’m not really a big fan of house music or EDM style, but it isn’t just about the kind of music playing; it’s about slipping away from reality. It’s about the people you’re with. It’s that different environment in the middle of your known city. It’s about first experiences and adding them to your new ones.

Apart from which, it’s my seventeenth this Sunday and I’m excited. After the concert, two of my best friends are coming over for a sleepover. The day of the birthday, probably lunch or a movie with them and another one or two friends. That’s all – a simple and adorable little birthday.

I’ve always loved birthdays though – they give you those select days where you’re showered with pieces of love people accidentally forget to show on normal days. It’s not because I like the attention (I actually really don’t, to be honest), it’s about feeling loved, feeling special and feeling as though you really mean so much to people.

Turning 17 and going to my first concert.

Feeling excited is an understatement.

Handwritten Letters

What’s the best present you’ve ever received that was handmade by the giver, not store-bought? Tell us what made it so special.

I love writing; anything to do with lacing alphabets into words, I love.

Just over an year ago, back in October of last year, I went to this Leadership Camp with a few of my other friends and classmates. On Day 4 or so, after a long 8 hour introspective session about our lives, our mentor gave the 25 of us a piece of paper. He told us to take 30 minutes to write a letter to someone who means or meant a lot to you, telling them everything you’ve never told them before. I took a moment and without further adieu, wrote a letter to my Dad. When time was up and I looked around, the room was full of emotion; some people in tears, some people with smiles that I’ve never seen with so much truth in them. People were whispering to each other of who they wrote to. Mothers, fathers, sisters, best friends, ex-girlfriends, were the more common ones.  I looked at my friends, who smiled back at me. But the smile of one of my best friends caught on to me for a bit. He just smiled and didn’t tear away his glance from me. I gave him a nod and looked back down at my letter, still feeling the gaze on me however.

Later that night, when we were eating dinner, we all said who we wrote our letters to and why. “Through the last few months, with so much of pressure from school and being carried away with so many other supposed priorities, I don’t think I’ve told my Dad how much he means to me. I wanted to remind him of the memories, the good times” is what I said. We all went about in a small circle to land at that friend again. It seemed like people knew already so they let it go. But that’s when I I looked into his eyes and asked, “So who is it?” After a few seconds of silence, he said, “She’s wearing a Hollister shirt” Almost instinctively, I looked down to see my striped shirt with that familiar red seagull. I looked back up and was as confused as my face revealed to be. “But why? Huh?” was all that seemed to come out of me. He laughed and despite rounds of begging, he refused to show me the letter. With reluctance, I let go for that night, but not without pleading him a bunch of times.

The next night, after dinner, we were all spread about – some playing frisbee, some talking in groups. And then, thats when he came up to me and said, “Hey want to see the letter?” Obviously, I was quite elevated and he ran into his tent to get out a couple of papers. ‘Yeeeeeeee OMG I wonder what it’s about’ was all that went through my head. And then, we sat down on the stone pavement outside the tent. He opened the letters and I peered over in curiosity to see what it was about. That’s when he put them behind himself and told me that he was going to read it out instead – no, it wasn’t in sweet gesture in particular, but because his handwriting was too hard to comprehend apparently.

And then, it began. I just listened to him talk the letter out loud. It wasn’t perfectly structured, it wasn’t drafted out in lines; it was heartfelt, it was all his cluttered thoughts put out on paper randomly and it was beautiful. It was three pages long and those few minutes listening to him talk, were so memorable, they still ring in my head to this day. He ended it on a really nice note, and all I could do was throw him a side hug and give him a thank you, with my arms in goosebumps.

That handwritten letter is my most favorite present till date. It was from the heart and it felt like the warm truth. He wrote it for me when we were told to write it to someone who means a lot to you – clearly, meaning so much. He wrote it for me, when it wasn’t my Birthday or my Graduation day. He wrote it for me, and it made me feel right.

Plus, I love writing; anything to do with lacing alphabets into words, I love.

Paper Cuts and Lemon Juice

Of the people who are close to you, who is the person most unlike you? What makes it possible for you to get along?

A boy I met last year, who’s now one of my best friends.

We’re different in every way that seems to come; our passions, our beliefs, our interests, our dreams and even our, senses of fashion.

It’s Senior Year and college is a part of daily conversation. When I talk to him, my mind is set in a different stratum: I think more negative, too practical and develop a new outlook.

When we began to slowly move into debate of a perspective, he doesn’t listen; he’s too adamant to change his position of thought or his stance and displays just that. While I’m similar to his stubborn nature, I tend to come to a compromised consensus, either reluctantly or upon consideration.

When we argue about something really trivial, I tend to hold on, overthinking about what might have only been a slip of his tongue. While I’m scrolling through my Tumblr feed in irascibility, he skips across the classroom and asks me if he should get a haircut. I overthink; he lets go.

Our passions are aligned in different universes. I’m a writer; he’s a basketball player.

But we’re not strangers or nemeses.

We’re best friends.

He’s probably someone I spend most of my time with in this entire world. But these differences don’t set us apart. If he was my twin, chances are, we probably wouldn’t be as close as we are today. We’re different personalities; learning something new everyday.

And while he’s as different from me as one could be, we’re sort of similar too. Our senses of humor, our ingrained values and our ideas of fun; they’re identical.

But focusing on these differences; they are only a taste of the variances we’re going to find in the real world.

These differences show us different identities and morph traits into our personality. It’s not even negative most of the times; he spreads his blasé composure while my charisma to be free may spread to him.

Like socks and flip-flops; we appear to not get along.

But we make it work.