Not all fears are conquerable

"Your flight ticket is booked."

As dreadful a statement as it can be for me.

Everytime I de-board the plane I am slightly convinced that my fear of flights has allayed but it comes back with a vehemence when I hear the above statement again. And to add insult to the injury let me confess that i am a frequent flyer.

Inside the aircraft, I find  people settling down and there is a usual hustle and bustle around. Kids, sometimes elders too excitedly settle for the window seat. I always ensure to opt for an aisle seat and try my level best to turn a deaf ear to  the fearless and fiery factual report of what is happening outside that window. I fail miserably. All I seek is companionable silence.

Then comes a huge crushing wave of utmost anxiety. The moment the pilot makes an announcement that the aircraft is ready to take off. I have a strong urge to hold on tight to the air hostess never letting her go exactly in the same manner the  tiny-tots would cling to their parents when dropped to school.

The aircraft moves leisurely  like a horse drawn carriage and positions itself at the tarmac, the image of horses pulling a carriage is very vital here. As the aircraft starts picking up speed, my heart beat can be heard by the passengers sitting next to me. When the aircraft starts taking off and starts making all those peculiar sounds, my out of control mind brings back the imagery of horses, only this time the horses are not strong and muscular, they are utterly famished trying beyond their capacity to lift up the aircraft . They are ready to give up anytime and what happens next in my imagination is a sight nobody should ever behold. The sinking of my heart at this time is directly proportionate to the taking off. My eyes are tightly shut and  my mind tries to gather all its supernatural powers to help the horses to use all their might. Finally after much mental trauma we are in the air.

 I play the word game to distract myself  from an imaginary unnatural calamity but all in vain. Still I carry on with it  to keep the eyes around me averted. I decide to give my tensed back  some respite and get up to walk in the aisle. I get a feeling that i am climbing up a steep mountain , I feel dizzy and quickly get back to my seat much to the amusement of others.  

The pilot makes an announcement that the seat belt sign is on again because of turbulence.  I immediately sit straight for the plane to flip upside down. Unable to  take this torture anymore  a thousand promises are made to never ever  fly  again if i survive. While I am busy with these monologues the plane takes a sudden dip, i can hear murmurs all around- chants in whispers to be precise. My heart is in my mouth, my intestines contract , my brain is fogged, my eyes refuse to open, my hands are clenched, my feet numb and i am ready to pass out. Only if I were knocked out my ordeal would have ended but the torture continues uninterrupted. I dispose off all the plans of being an atheist again and pray with a greater zeal. How else would I get moral support if not from my GOd!!  No God or deity is spared of my fervent appeals to help our plane land safely. I try positive self talk, spirituality is brought into play. Detachment card is up for takes. When everything fails all I wish for is a pain-free death.

 Seat belt sign is off but  before i can sigh a sigh of relief its time to land.. How many deaths can one die in a flight of an hour and a half? I look at my now stone cold hands and make another promise never to wear any jewelry while on board. My daughter in law could have inherited these knick knacks! I feel I should share my social media passwords with someone so as to enable him/her to break the news of my untimely death to my Twitter friends. For a while I wonder if they would miss me, write good things about me. I smile a cheerlessly.

The aircraft now literally lunges from air towards ground, it makes a  scary sound again, heard someone saying, breaks are being applied , wheels are being opened...blah blah . Some are  excitedly looking out of the window, such brave fellows !!!. The time between the announcement to land and actual landing is at least ten times more than announced. It lands with a thud and the brave souls at once remove their seat belts but my mind is racing a hundred times faster than the aircraft. The fear of breaks failing at this juncture and the plane barging right into the airport terminal three is put to rest immediately with the plane coming to a standstill FINALLY.

Painful Yet Proud Memories

Painful Yet Proud Memories

It’s not easy being an Army wife!

This dawned upon me after two wonderful years of parties, outings, picnics and enjoyment when he went for a field posting.  Twenty years ago, life wasn’t as convenient and as well connected as internet has made it out to be today. A few routine phone calls and long meaningful letters added a peculiar charm to life which otherwise could have been so lonely and desperate for an army wife. While he was away, I kept myself busy pursuing my higher education. His course in MHOW came as a real blessing because to me, it meant a long holiday with him. Unfortunately, within a few days I had to rush back to write my exams, but I hoped to be back as soon as possible.

Within two days of us being separated, he called me up with excitement  exuding from each and every word that he spoke. He told me that he had been recalled to the war front at Kargil. I too shared his excitement with equal fervour, trying to support his endeavours of venturing out into his lifetime dream and goal, though from within I was shaking like an autumn leaf. It wouldn't be right to say that I was not at all apprehensive and anxious at the news. Never-the- less, I tried to keep all those emotions at bay.

We met at the railway station. He was in high spirits with a sense of pride writ large on his face. The people who were travelling with him had already started treating him as a hero. I too got my share of ephemeral fame, when all eyes were on me for a while, some full of admiration and some simply sympathetic. I didn’t want to be disturbed into taking any thoughts at that time for I simply wanted to enjoy those proud moments, to be the wife of a real hero. He bade goodbye, promising to call me up everyday, which was the biggest and probably the only consolation for me at that time.

Don’t remember exactly when was the first time he called me. He only had optimistic exhortations to all the questions that I posed to him. Initially, like a dutiful husband, he called me up regularly but then as the tension mounted on the war front, his calls became less frequent. At home, things had become a little difficult with parents, neighbours, relatives and friends unleashing their genuine apprehensions on me, taking away my solace in the process. How much I avoided those sympathetic eyes conveying that there wasn’t much hope left for me! There were times when I felt wretched and lonely not because of lack of company, but because of the the kind of company that I had around me which made my life all the more miserable. It was really tough for our parents too. They always put up a brave front and veiled their worries well enough to make me feel that there was nothing to worry about.

Those were difficult times, no doubt, my own thoughts were my best companion. Many hidden revelations about my own self lay bare. I realized I was much stronger mentally than I thought myself to be. I also realized that happiness comes from your own will, zeal, zest and determination to remain happy, which may be an uphill task but certainly not very difficult to achieve. I could train my mind to become oblivious of all that was negative and unhappy with strong support of my family and of course my firm belief in HIM. Thoughts of his well-being became my only prayer every moment of my life.

I remember one incident which made me feel that it is the ‘might of the mind’ that can wreak havoc in our lives when subjected to extreme anxiety.

One day he called to tell me that it was now his turn to participate in the attack on the enemy and he may not be able to call for a few days. It wasn’t unnatural for me to remain anxious or even irritable after speaking to him. Television and radio filled the void and gave a sense of connect with what was happening on the war front. That evening, the newsreader announced on the television that his unit had achieved a major victory, but one of the officers had made the supreme sacrifice. Before she could give out the name of the officer, the power at our home went off.Hell let loose on every part of my being as I realized that he was the one leading that assault. The extent to which my mind was tortured still remains unfathomable and undefinable. The grotesque mental agony made me die many deaths that night. The ominous and heart shattering turbulence came to an end only when someone from his unit called up after a few hours to inform that it was a sad day for the unit but ‘saheb’ was fine. It was in fact, Capt Vikram Batra who laid down his life for the nation.

Love makes you utterly selfish, and at times, mentally corrupt. How fervently I had prayed to God that he should be alive and nothing else mattered to me at that time. I just couldn’t hide my happiness to know that he was fine despite knowing that our unit had lost an officer. Such is life! A deep attachment to one can make you detached from the rest of the world.

He called up after two days. His morale was as high as ever but the streak of apprehension and extreme compassion could not be missed in his voice when he demanded that I promise him to get married again if things didn’t go according to what we had planned just incase  he didn’t return. Those were some extremely emotional and heart wrenching times that are very difficult to put into words. But I was, am, and shall always remain immensely proud of the fact that my husband is a war-veteran. "My husband, my hero."

Every time he called, I asked him the same question, “When will you come back?” And every time he said, “Soon”. I clung to this word with all my might and hope.

When the war got over, the unit was given a heroic welcome. We all were jubilant and sad at the same time, for obvious reasons. It wasn’t easy for me and it was certainly worse for those, whose near and dear ones never came back despite making all the promises of life.

Some losses are irreparable and irreversible. Death (or should I say life?) of a beloved can never be compensated with money or glory or awards. At the end of the war, some young widowed girls suddenly had all the money, but not a soul who could understand their true emotions or the mental agony they had gone through.

It’s been 20 years. Martyrs have long been forgotten, faded from memory and relegated to the history books. But for their families, the wounds still fester. People move on, life goes on, but when you look back you realize that more than half of yourself, you have left behind…never to return!


Proud wife of a Kargil war veteran.

Dreams

Beads of sweat on my brow, panting desperately, legs shaking nervously and still pushing the accelerator to its limits while trying to revoke the inactive brakes frantically, I manoeuvre my bus through narrow overcrowded lanes at an unimaginably high speed. Every muscle in my body is constricted and taut because of the excruciating strain. At times I even wave my hands hysterically to convey my despair to the oncoming crowd, desperately pleading them to let my bus find its way through. I am clueless, why am I in such a dire state? Suddenly, I wake up from my dream utterly exhausted but with a sense of deep relief, only to remember that before going to bed I had watched the famous movie ‘Speed.’

            Just a few days ago, in my leisure time, I was admiring the pictures of an actress splashed all over the magazine. That night I got to spend a wonderful time with the gorgeous Sridevi, in my dreams. Such a pleasant dream!

            While there are many who hardly remember their dreams and profess to enjoy a dream-less sleep, there are others like me who can remember all their dreams vividly. Bliss? Whether it is a blessing or not I am not sure, but I remember most of my dreams in great detail and I take pleasure in deriving some significance out of these. I must recall the dream as soon as I wake up and if somehow I get distracted and don’t access it immediately then I lose it forever. Making notes of my dreams has become a very interesting and entertaining hobby. Much as I would like to find a pattern in my dreams there is hardly any. A dear friend even gifted a book to me so that I could decipher the meaning or message conveyed through them. Nevertheless, I am still searching. I think I am more interested in the reason than the outcome.

            All I need to do is to sleep, which is a bit difficult given that I am mildly insomniac, and I simply glide into a dream. I must confess that while falling into sleep is a struggle, slipping into dreams is quite effortless. Some beautiful dreams provide me respite from ugly reality and make me want to go back to sleep long after I have woken up whereas the nightmares force me to wake up to a beautiful existence. The fears and anxieties that riddle many of my dreams are like fictitious stories that bemuse me for days to come. Dreams are an integral part of my sleep. They are like running documentaries that choose a subject of their own accord, giving least importance to my longings and yearnings. How I wish I could dream about winning a lottery and how I wish this dream turned into reality! Do dreams really come true? I doubt. May be daydreams do.

            When I deliberate over my dreams I realize that most of them are inconsequential bittersweet musings, yet the recurrence of some dreams leave me utterly bewildered. Majority of my dreams are related to certain inexplicable fears and anxieties.

            There is this one dream in which I am still in school and my final exams are around the corner. Just a day before my exams I realize that my notebooks are all blank and don’t remember having attended even a single class throughout the year. The apprehension of not being able to make it in the exams renders me utterly anxious and I wake up highly disturbed. Can school exams be as dreadful as exams of life? I wonder. But why does it reoccur? Could it be because of some regret or remorse regarding certain tasks that I could have accomplished easily had I been a bit more assertive? Could be.

            Another recurring dream is where I lose my voice while trying to reach out to a familiar face in a crowd full of strangers. I wake up blabbering much to the embarrassment of self and inconvenience of the one sleeping next to me. This dream makes me appreciate my vocal chords no end after waking up. So what if I can’t sing. 

Does it signify that I was too meek or shy or reserved to express my whims and fancies, aspirations and desires?

            In one of the dreams, I am looking for something important in my bag, which I remember having kept, but I am simply unable to find it despite many best possible efforts. I end up waking exasperated and deeply disturbed.  Well, the good thing is, I make a vow to organize all my handbags most meticulously. Could it be because I am a bit too meticulous in actual life and therefore the stress finds its way even in the dreams?

            Ever dreamt of searching for ‘Gajar Ka Halwa’, amidst the most exquisite cuisines, with an empty plate in hand? I have done it so many times. I must confess, I have a sweet tooth, but the fear of piling on unnecessary calories keeps me away from this toothsome dish. Does my secret desire to devour this savory dish manifest itself in my dreams? But then why am I searching for it? Could be because what you avoid in real life, can’t be sought easily in dreams too.

            Some dreams are so pleasant that if left to me I would never want to wake up and let these continue forever. These dreams are not about exotic or expensive locales but some familiar and reassuring places. The memory of many such places is surprisingly still fresh in my mind and whenever I visit a new place I try to unearth similarity with the places I visit in my dreams.

 There are those very precious dreams of my grandfather completely engrossed reading newspaper in a big wooden chair. It is easily one of my favorites. He is there. He is just there. Yes I miss my grandfather dearly and I like to meet him in my dreams. Probably what is not possible in real life is made possible when I close my eyes. These are good times I miss!

            I cherish my dreams for they are entertaining and mystifying at the same time. In fact, I look forward to them. For me a dreamless night is a sleepless night. Dreams most certainly lend colour to dark and dreary nights. Sometimes I wonder if I also get to play a part in others’ dreams?

            Maybe this life is a dream. Maybe in order to wake up one must dream. Who knows, may be, I too am but a dream in this make believe world!

Of lotions and potions

 A very popular saying goes that one is never rich and slim enough and may I also add that one is never beautiful enough? These are precisely the three things where the maxim of “more is less” applies most aptly. The closer you are to achieving your goal, the further your over ambitious desire pushes it.

With a surge of DIY videos jeopardizing Youtube and social media, a renowned yoga guru swearing upon its benefits and almost all the magazines dedicating pages upon pages to ‘out of kitchen’ beauty recipes/remedies, it is very difficult to not let yourself give in to the temptations of giving them a try.  The eye catching fancy, colouful drinks considered as magic potions, promising to be highly potent detoxifying agents, aimed at making one ‘feel’ slimmer, lighter, happier, glorious etc. are bound to impress anyone and everyone. I decided to make best use of the ample time available to me by delving and diving into the vast ocean of literature, pertaining to beauty treatments, that is easily, readily and freely available on the internet.

Perhaps, this would turn the wheels of fortune in my favour and make me a beauty expert and help me earn worldwide acclaim & accolades. Who knows with my extreme devotion and hard work I might even give myself an opportunity of an innovative start up? After all imagination requires no wings!

 I started reading beauty columns very sincerely, immersed myself completely into beauty related googling. And I got to realize that almost everything available at home, from charcoal to toothpaste to Vicks vaporub to ridged gourd to gelatin, is capable, beyond our imagination, of lending further glory to beauty.  

‘Home-remedies’! The words ‘home’ and ‘organic’ have such a peaceful and soothing effect on our sensibilities. A strange calm descended upon me at the mere thought of starting my own beauty regime that would be 100% pure, straight out of the kitchen/bathroom and 100% chemical free.  "No, I am not gullible; I am strong enough not to give into the machinations of the ever so flourishing beauty industry", I reminded myself firmly. A sudden realization dawned on me that all my life I have been a lazy mindless spendthrift. Most disdainfully I looked at all the lotions and creams adorning my dressing table, sneering a little more vehemently towards my newly bought serum of vitamin C.  I could see all these , about to be declared useless, items looking at me most apologetically.

      Armed with a new zest and zeal , accompanied by many innovative ideas floating through my head I told myself that I could do it. I gave a hard look at myself in the mirror, strategizing my moves and planning on how to deal with my beauty woes. Suddenly my eyes acquired the ability of a magnifying glass and started pointing out patches, blotches, moles, and blemishes to me, in an accusatory manner. I was now determined to beautify myself both internally and externally. I gave myself around 15 days to change the biology, history and chemistry of my entire body.

      The next day I woke up with a song in my heart for I had realized the purpose of my life and headed straight to the kitchen. I made a concoction of triphala, aamla and lemon and somehow managed to gulp it down refusing to oblige the urge of my gut to puke. I deliberately avoided honey, thinking that the bitter the better. My stomach kept sending revolutionary signals but I kept myself motivated beyond my capability, ignored its warnings and focused only on picturing a slimmer me. I whisked honey, curd , lemon, cinnamon, egg—literally whatever I could lay my hands upon and applied on my face waiting for the magic to happen. Instead of leaving it on my face for 20 min, I left it on for 40. My face became stiff, almost paralyzed, my sense of smell was obnoxiously heightened but all I did was to visualize the impending glory. I washed my face and the telescope like abilities of my eyes too seemed to be washed away and all I saw was a happier, softer and a glowing me. I promised myself to continue undeterred, with the ongoing mission. In the evening I again went berserk in the kitchen and pulped all the available fruits and vegetables and slapped them on my face most generously . I decided to have the much famed ‘lauki’ juice as well. I felt as light as a Himalayan bulbul already. I slept the most satisfying sleep at night with a promise of dating my hair the next day.

      After having treated myself to magic potions and lotions the next day , I collected an assortment of available oils and whipped them up with bananas, eggs, honey, vinegar, lemon. In my excitement, I even threw in some dates. “So what if the application is messy, the after effects are going to be heavenly”, I told myself. At night, my husband was unable to sleep because his smelling power, convinced him that someone had puked on his pillow, bed sheet or may be on him. What a restless night it was for him! But i dreamt of him admiring my knee long tresses, with me revelling in the adulation smilingly coyly and at the same time clinging to my beauty secret most possessively. I professed my newfound love for beauty treatments and shared beauty experiments with my sister and friends. A delightful bond was established with an amazingly renewed fervour, over beauty secrets.

      Next day, I became bolder with my experiments and decided to treat my body with a mix of ‘home’ made cream and honey. I told myself, “What better way to love yourself!” As I drenched myself in it, I again asked, “Can there be a better meditation than this?” I decided to discard all things chemical. I took a vow to do away with soaps and shampoos. I also sincerely hoped that my husband would adapt to all the ‘homely’ smells emanating from me. But it took a lot for me to ignore overpowering , unpleasant and pungent odours threatening to knock me unconscious.

      The next day I noticed a small blister smiling wryly at me from my forehead. "Trying to demotivate me from following my dreams?", I questioned sternly. I ignored it most defiantly, although in my heart of hearts I knew the reason of its occurrence. I didn’t want to deny my face the benefits of my beauty recipes because of seemingly inconsequential zit. My stomach also did somersaults to dissuade me from feeding it with my magic potions. My taste buds  screamed and shrieked but I remained determined.

      I woke up with a loose stomach and saw the acne assuming dangerously large proportions standing like an indomitable mountain on my forehead. May be my body was reacting to my treatments. But how could I have given up so easily? I searched the net frantically and stumbled upon the divine benefits of ‘tea tree’ oil in wiping out any signs of acne, blister, pimples or any such thing completely. I ignored all the instructions of mixing it with water or any other oil before applying and smeared it directly on swelled up acne in order to facilitate its healing and subsequent disappearance. My skin cried because of this ultimate torture but like a maniac I dislodged all its protests, applied some more and even covered it up with a bandage before going to bed. Throughout the night the painful burning sensation kept me from sleeping but me and my pride took it as a sign of healing, the imminent road to recovery. When I removed the Band-Aid in the morning my eyes witnessed the ugliest of sights. For a while I was unable to distinguish a nightmare from a horror. A reddish-purple scar! Scalded and scorched! A shock of worst kinds! I was beyond consolation and the worst part was that I had nobody but mysself to blame. Like all other important lessons of life, I realized it a hard way that even organic, pure and chemical-free products can trigger and aggravate worst of allergies. Therefore, i promised to never get lured by those wicked charms in disguise. The importance and benefits of an otherwise underrated patch test lay bare in front of me and caused extreme discomfort to my vanity.

Irony died a hundred times when I was prescribed a steroid laden chemical cream to treat the home remedy inflicted burns.  I once again understood the importance of having a balanced attitude towards life. I took down notes for self : Over confidence is more of a vice than a virtue. Excessive enthusiasm is as bad as all other excesses.

Unable to face the scar in the mirror I turned towards the Vitamin C serum most expectantly and endearingly. 

Smile with pride

SMILE WITH PRIDE

            My fetish for ‘crows feet’ is perhaps as old as me. The way it lights up the eyes and adds that special joyous tinge to an ordinary smile is almost divine. What is a smile if it does not reach the eyes? Then again, why call it 'crow’s feet' and not 'beauty beams'? How about 'smiling rays'? 

            I always feel that whatever suits on you, or makes you feel confident and good also makes you feel beautiful. But then it’s such a pity that the standards governing beauty are mere statistics, applied universally, disregarding uniqueness and individual beauty. Anyway, I always longed for ‘crow’s feet’.  I imagine myself smiling in a particular manner--'my' smile, after sitting on my lips for a while, dreamily trails up creating ripples of joy on my face, then it reaches my eyes, making my eyes beam in their full glory before fanning out of my eyes like soft brush strokes that stand out remarkably on a beautifully painted canvas. I often crinkle my eyes to see how deep and far these creases spread. This has been one of my secret joys and I indulge in it quite frequently during my sessions of mirror talking. I always wondered if ‘crow’s feet’ would make me ‘look’ as beautiful as my grandmother or our house help Badaami. It was only in one of the recently clicked photographs that for first time i saw a bold and well defined plume like formation around my eyes. To say the least, I was immensely pleased. And who says that pics belie? The camera is smarter than the mirror and mind sometimes. 

            Nevertheless, If crow's feet make me look not so attractive and haggard to others' eye I surely ‘feel’ beautiful and worthwhile being the proud owner of these crimps. Sometime back, someone in a most polite and apologetic way pointed out that the worst and foremost tell tale sign of age is ‘crow’s feet’. Obviously she was hinting at my most cherished creases. She even recommended that I use a good eye gel that would make them vanish. Professing herself to be my well wisher she suggested in a polite yet seemingly sadistic manner that I wear sunglasses in order to hide my age. Is it really that bad to age? Why this obsession about hiding age? For me the grace of age is more poetic than the charms of youth.

I am reminded of  Robert Browning's lines:

“Grow old along with me! The best is yet to be, the last of life, for which the first was made. Our times are in his hand who saith, 'A whole I planned, youth shows but half; Trust God: See all, nor be afraid!”

Crow’s feet -- A death knell for vanity? Really? But then what about all this talk about beauty being skin deep ? 

            All Perceptions! Yours and mine! Ours and theirs! In this particular case I didn’t even want to reconsider my perceptions, and clung to them even more passionately. My idea of beauty perhaps does not comply with those in fashion industry or beauty business or those adhering to fixed and ancient norms of beauty. I am convinced that  my ‘crow’s feet’ is very endearing. Flaunting it is like showcasing the depths of life's experiences and maturity.  I realized, the genuine the smile the deeper and the profounder the crow's feet. I even noticed a beautiful  sun-rays-patterned ‘crow’s feet’ especially when I laugh out loud. Together with laugh lines, it adds a new dimension to my face--My face has acquired the power to reflect , in a subtle manner,  the untold tales of innumerable moments of joy-- a soft reminder of a life lived smilingly.

Your queries, my struggles....

PART V

Continued…

In this part I try to answer, to the best of my ability, a few questions asked by you all.

1. Are you out of it?

A rose must have thorns to be a rose; life must have ups and downs to be life. When depressed, one tends to lose the ability to ignore and accept. There is no one who has not been depressed at some time or the other in life, for depression is latent in all of us. I don’t want to sound pessimistic when I say that I am not “totally or completely” out of it. But now I have trained my mind not to let it overwhelm me. I have now regained the ability to get out of it and bounce back quickly with much more gusto. All I can say is that my days of over thinking, over imagining, over interpreting are finally over now. I am still attracted to sorrows but I now also know, how not to let the termites of sorrow eat out hollow, the joys of life.

2. Did homeopathy help?

I was on paroxetine for two years before I switched over to homeopathy. Perhaps my mind still wanted me to think and believe that I needed an alternative and external support to defeat it. Perhaps homeopathy filled that void. But I would admit I relied on homeopathy for moral support and sometimes that is all one requires.

3. What triggers it?

Even the most inconsequential of things like grey weather can give me the worst of blues. It could be an argument going haywire or Internet playing up. More than the trigger it is the aftermath that wreaks havoc. I cannot pin point on the trigger, for sometimes, a thing that has hurt me even months ago, remains with me and like a fast growing tumor keeps gnawing at my mental peace, finally leading to a breakdown of worst kind. I can’t avoid getting hurt, stressed or change the circumstances/people. I can only try not to get depressed by remaining strong. Now I have got the knack of swimming out of the horrible pool of negativity. I focus on all that keeps me happy and rejuvenated. I don’t let my mind oscillate unnecessarily between past and future, I don’t let the shackles of past affect me, or the anxieties of future overwhelm me. I simply move on, picking up the best and discarding the rest. Also triggers can’t be templated, in the sense that what triggers depression in me may not trigger it in someone else.

4. What is it that helped you the most?

Nothing in particular, but it is a combined effort from medication to meditation, counseling to positive thinking, change of environment to pursuing hobbies. Only you know what works best for you. Your idea of happiness is exclusive to you. Just focus on that. I put the bullies of pessimism, anxiety and worry in their place and jumped out of the pool of negativity into the wondrous world of positivity.

5. Was it really tough?

Of course it was extremely tough. For a very long time I didn’t even realize that I was suffering from depression. I carried on with this beast of depression till it sucked out every last bit of hope and happiness. All along I knew that something was missing.  It took me a long time to realize that I needed medical help. It took me longer to seek it and it took me longest to accept that I suffered from it --Depression.