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episodes.life.huh?

Book By: reyab naserah
Memoir



this is my life's story, some of it.
it's not meant to be in any sort of order, it's just whatever i felt like writing WHEN i felt like writing it.
please note, i am no longer the person in the book.
i've grown up, a lot, a whole lot actually and i've still got miles and miles and miles to go.
sometimes i get tired of the circus that is my life, but it still is pretty f-ing cool.
hope you enjoy it and can take something away from it.


Submitted:Feb 1, 2012    Reads: 32    Comments: 2    Likes: 1   


The present state of things in the world has gotten so bad that we find ourselves entwined intrinsically with it.

However pure our intentions , we are being bombarded from all angles; world affairs are polluting our minds and destroying our connection with the creator.

If God so desired, we would be history in the first fraction of a heartbeat.

As days go by, our connection with the Most High gets diluted.

We squirm and get uncomfortable when we see little children talking and acting the way they do nowadays.

Parents find it 'normal', call it 'moving ahead with the times'.

I find it extremely disturbing.

I am more than a little worried about the kind of world I will leave to my daughters.

It is not that I am opposed to having sons.

It's just that daughters require 'bringing up' as opposed to sons.

Getting back to the basics.

It would have been better if we didn't have the television and people didn't sell sex in songs.

Some people will be outraged at my thoughts, perhaps think of it as an imposition.

But I want pure Islam only for myself.

Islam is both the worst and best case scenario solutions.

What would really make Islam tick in this age, is if there was absolutely no corruption in anybody.

I think to myself, 'what if I changed completely and the World took advantage of that?'

Islam is not a new concept.

It isn't even a new religion.

The Islam-Haters think of our moral standards as an imposition because this way they cannot corrupt us.

*****

I think humans are the saddest creatures in all creation.

This thought entered my mind when I was watching the National Geographic channel, if I 'm not mistaken.

They were showing something about cows or bulls or elephants.

I remember a little something about a bull elephant.

Mind is not working quite so good right now.

I have a flight to board.

I hope.

Yes, well, I was looking at these creatures and I was seeing what any pair of working-condition eyes would see.

Animals roaming around, grass, no grass, some in-fighting, a little stomping, a little snogging…whatever.

All of a sudden it's like this message is playing across my mind like a well-intentioned blimp cruising the sky above.

[I 've never seen one, like, LIVE you know, with my 'physical' eyes but I watch the Simpsons regularly and also a few other 'chutney' movies.]

'Have you ever seen a cow with a designer handbag?'

[I am expecting a grin from most people because fat women are also sometimes nicknamed 'cows', but you already knew that, yes? ]

And I was like, 'Oh man! Major epiphany and shit!'

I tried out some other examples:

Have you ever seen a squirrel with the tiniest pair of Jimmy Choo flip-flops?

Or a tigress working a Stella McCartney outfit?

OMG!!!

Humans are like the most complicated creatures, EVER!!!

About two years ago, pigeons started to nest outside my window.

70 generations later, they're still here.

And the split a.c. motor outside is covered in bird shit!!! Because of these disgusting, dirty creatures!

I have even tried pouring all sorts of foul-smelling chemicals/liquids outside of the window, on the ledge, with the exception of acid, of course… I'm not THAT terrible!

But budge they won't.

Yeah, so just outside the glass pane sits a female pigeon, I'm guessing, on two small, white eggs and I'm like OMG!!! OMG!!! OMGGGG!!!

Soooooo cuteeeeee!!!!

Needless to say, the pigeon quickly exited the nest and flew away for a couple of minutes, only to return to her prior position and look at me sideways, every now and then, only to keep a look out for the Giant Freak Of Nature.

I saw her sit on the eggs for many days and then began to wonder, 'wasn't she getting bored?'

Should I get her a magazine or would she like to listen to some latest Saif Ali Khan songs, would she like something to nibble on..?

I'm quite sure that I crushed some dried fruit and sprinkled it near the nest, where there was the least amount of dried bird shit.

But she just would not eat!

Many hours later, the sprinkles were covered in poop and I was pissed.

Food-waster!

See, I was thinking like a Typical Human Chick.

And this was way before I was 'unplugged.'

Why must we have so many objects around our homes and our person?

Why do we have cupboards and in some instances, rooms full of clothes?

Why are we sooo worried about saving for the future when NO ONE can guarantee our survival into the next 5 minutes?

I was beyond-shocked to read on the internet that when sharks are born, they swim away from their mothers for fear of being eaten.

After many days, it made sense to me.

Animals ARE wiser than us.

They kill for food and for protection.

Humans will invent 10,000 ways to kill other humans without spilling blood.

There is absolutely NOTHING wrong with the world or with life.

The problem lies with our individual perceptions and our never-ending desires..

In all honesty, we do need to cover our bodies from the elements.

But that's pretty much it.

Everything else is just Human Bullshit.

More clothes.

More food.

More property.

And then some MORE new bullshit about accessories and gadgets.

Women get raped even when covered from head to toe.

In their houses.

Where they were born and brought up.

Most probably by a blood relation.

A man does not need an erection to commit rape.

Just an excuse.

Like, 'I'm stronger than you so you can't get rid of me so easily;

I want you, how dare you reject me;

Your bum looks so good, I wonder what your pussy feels like;

I'm too cheap to pay for sex and nobody I know will sleep with me for free!'

On the other hand, aboriginals of various nations roam about naked or with barely-there garments, women included and rape isn't a raging pestilence there.

*****

Almost a month ago, I was watching KEEPING UP WITH THE KARDASHIANS and dear kimmy was upset about her break-up[I think!] with reggie bush.

See this is a 2009 episode series, so almost everyone knows she's like, already MRS. HUMPHRIES and stuff.

Anywho, miss K.K. was moping all over everybody and staying indoors and lying on the sofa and crying and then madam sobs into her mother's arms at a photoshoot.

'my life is over', or some shit like that!

And I was like OMG!!!

What the fuck is wrong with you???

YOUR LIFE IS OVER???

You got the face, the hair, the breasts and the bum set, the world's population of men salivating at your feet and you say YOUR life is over?

Man, that bitch sure has a lot of Charbee!

How much exactly is enough?

Why can't we all just get on with our lives?

This fucking money-bullshit has taken hold of us so completely we just cannot function anymore ANYDAY without frowning every 5 minutes?

So I'm going to start with me.

Going to live the minimalist life.

Well, going to try, at the very least!

Most females look at other females lives and sigh, Kaash mere paas bhee itna cash hotaa!

*****

If you want to travel on a really small budget, 'me' is the place to be.

I have been in Chennai for a maximum of 12 hours, in Madurai for definitely more than 12 hours including travelling and now I'm on my way to Bangalore in about 75 minutes.

I have travelled by bus the entire time and have found it extremely awesome; both the people of this state and the aesthetic development and maintenance.

The people have been beyond well-behaved and extremely helpful in providing me with directions.

I cannot believe that this situation actually exists in india but I have not been hit on even once since I landed at maa kamaraaj airport.

The sights from Madurai to Chennai were fabulously beyond incredible.

But my short visit to Madurai was not what I expected and I was beyond-disappointed after my visit to the meenaxi temple.

Since my first year as a student of history honours, I have been incredibly fascinated with the art and architecture of the southern states of india.

It has long been my desire to visit Madurai and after more than 5 years I was finally going to behold the awesomeness that is the meenaxi temple.

As I write this account I am sitting at the Madurai bus station, mattutavani, waiting for my AC bus which will take me back to Chennai.

Everybody has been staring at me ever since I arrived here and I mean EVERYBODY.

Now I realise how a foreigner must feel, even in the northern regions of india.

Some of the people here have asked me, 'madam, you coming from France?'

And my eyes are bulging with a 'whhhhhaaat?'

I am hundred percent Hindustani, yes, indian!

The police officers at the meenaxi temple ordered, 'remove the scarf from head. No muslim entering inside temple.'

My disgust has begun as I say nothing but lowering my eyes to disguise my fury, remove the scarf from my head and wrap it around my shoulders.

A very uneasy feeling travels through my system as I raise my eyes to gaze upon the deities and the ornate carvings.

But the love and adoration for the site has been wiped clean and I struggle to appear nonchalant.

One of the persons sitting inside the temple comes forward to help me explore the place and he explains to me the history of it's development.

Nothing he says about the stones, the colours, the ceiling or the statues makes any difference to my attitude and I am simply faking interest from now on.

He tells me that I can take videos/photos of the place but I decline and say that I would rather just look around.

As we walk a little further, two priests come up to us.

I forgot to mention this: I have a small boy as my companion here, Vasant.

He works at the bus stop canteen and he was very helpful with getting me on and off buses and translating into tamil whatever he could understand of my English.

As I was saying, two priests suddenly stop us.

I guess we were about to enter a hindus-only zone and he held out his hands, palms outstretched and ask me directly, 'You foreigner, yes?'

I nod 'no', not foreigner.

'but not hindu also, yes?

I remain silent and he continues, 'no more entry from here. You can see that side. Punjaabee, haa? I am seeing from my seat you are very carefully studying stones, but sorry madam…'

I stare at him for two moments and the temple guide tells me that I can touch the stones outside, on the ground and ask for whatever I wish, it will be granted.

'ae khudaa, inko akal de. Hum sab ko janatti banaa. Ameen.

Who gave this dude the right to come before God or dismiss others from doing so?

There is something known as 'free darshan' which is like totally weird.

If memory serves me, the entry to those chargeable areas was 15 or 100 rupees and at that moment tears pricked my eyes as I remembered the stories of kabir and also recalled hearing one time, probably from another bhakti saint, 'kya aapkaa khudaa behra hai kee aap itni ucchi imaaraton se unhey pukartey hain…?'

As my eyes took in the sights of rows of black stone idols with traditional garments on I said to myself that the people have done a good job of preserving these structures.

And my mind fell silent.

The genius , the enormity and the celebrity status of the meenaxi temple are all lost on me.

The priests look at me scornfully even though I have my palms folded and my head bowed.

I perform all the rituals that I see the other people engaged in but I'm simply dying to get out of that gloomy atmosphere.

To keep my mind refreshed I simply picture the bora caves of visakhapatanam and pretend to be interested.

Another police officer starts to take my case.

'sorry madam, no allow foreigner beyond this point.'

I tell him I am indian, north indian.

He asks to see my passport, I reply that I don't have it with me and that I belong to this country, born and brought up on this very home soil.

'really?'

Aapko hindi bolnaa aataa hai? Bolo thodaa se.

'bahut acchi hindi bol letee hoon main. Aap kyaa sunnaa pasand karengey?

His expression is worth the sunstroke I feel creeping up on me.

After a few more minutes, we reach near the exit and I cannot wait to put my shoes and socks on.

We get on a bus to take us back to the bus stand and I buy my ticket for my return to Chennai.

While I sit in the bus and await its departure, I think about all the good looking men I have interacted with in my life some of whom were boyfriends and others who were just 'passing through'.

The majority of them were, in rachel Karen green style, 'spit in your face, kick you in the crotch fantastic'.

Or something along those lines.

Men who looked extremely appealing[read 'delicious'] and were wonderful to talk to.

I am so grateful to God that those episodes in my life are now over.

For good, God willing.

The next time you see a good looking man at/on a good looking machine, choose to admire the machine because a good looking machine more often than not, means that it works well, it is of good quality and has the highest potential of not letting you down.

I cannot guarantee that same certificate of authenticity for a dude.

In much the same way, my eyes fervently wished to rest on the beauty of the meenaxi temple and to soak in its wonderful fabulousness for so many years.

But the attitude of its keepers drained all the excitement out of me and left me with a burned sort of taste in my mouth, much the same as my prior relationships with men.

But hats off to tamil nadu for the wonderful aesthetic development,smooth roads the entire distance to Chennai aur chaaro taraph harilyali.

In the next few minutes, you will come across some adult material so I suggest you strap up or ignore the next four pages.

*****

Being constantly worried about my teeth and breath, I follow my routine of brushing my teeth four times a day.

But because I have been constantly travelling for the last three days, and have not slept in a hotel [you better believe it] I could not possibly follow my routine because toilets were not always available.

From Chennai I boarded a bus to Madurai .

From Madurai, I took the bus back to Chennai, on the same day and I have spent the whole night in the waiting room of Chennai central station.

I have mosquito bites the entire length of my left arm but God is great, I have no health issues of any sort.

Bowel movements are fine as well and the urination is definitely beyond control what with my constant efforts to remain hydrated.

I had quite a tough time getting a ticket to Bangalore because of my handicap in the tamil language and the vast multitude of the state's low-fare travelling populace kept me going round and round in circles during which little to no progress was made regarding finding the correct ticket counter.

When I finally managed to get my hands on that classy-looking ticket to Bangalore aboard a Volvo, I had new things to worry about…and scratch.

I haven't had a bath or shampooed my hair since I boarded the jet airways flight to Chennai.

And [shudder..!] I haven't changed my underwear until now, including my lowers. Eeeks!

The bra has remained like a magnet yet I constantly have to settle Brittany and Santana every now and then but they're beginning to itch, thanks to all the enormous sweating that has left cloudy patches on my kurta.

That is it!

Once I settle myself on the bus, the bra comes off and the girls are free.

Finally!

Oh,yes, I haven't even washed my face with anything but plain tap water.

No time to even remove the dabur gulabari rose water from my luggage. Sssad!

My hair is slicked thick, thanks to all the dirt accumulating second by dusty second and coming up with all sorts of disgusting concoctions which I would rather swipe off my mind for now.

And here's the description of how I changed my underwear:

I linked the tennis kit bag and my trolley-bag together with one of those chutney chains you get at the railway station by the plentitude.

Then I shifted my new,CLEAN,white panty into my already-brimming bag and added a fresh, CLEAN, sometimes purple-looking kurta.

There are no shelves or even slightly clean-looking areas in a bus station ladies toilet.

So I take the less-dirty option.

I slip off my strappy flip-flops with my legs spread apart on the indian toilet foot area.

My jeans ka bottom [leg portion] has already beyond-touched the suspiciously wet floor of the toilet and I start muttering 'oh GOD, oh God, oh God, as I sway unsteadily and have to touch the very suspiciously dirty walls since I know for a fact that women have a tendency to smear all sorts of liquid and semi-solid 'stuff' on the walls of ALL toilets.

While I'm writing this, I'm thinking 'murugan, murugan, murugan', Asin style.

So I begin to throw as much water as I can scoop with my hands without touching large orange murky mug.

I use a little force on my vagina as my fingers try to clean as much they can, covering all regions of external genitalia.

Then I start to feel nice about it and stifle a giggle thinking, yeah! It's definitely been a while…!

But thanks to a tiny bit of self-control, I clear all such thoughts because I have never been a fan of touching myself.

It's never done anything for me.

BTW, one conductor is yelling right next to me ,'ponni,ponni,' or something similar.

Sorry, it's all I could catch!

Got to get to my bus now, even though 50 minutes still remain for departure but missing my first flight to Chennai has certainly left me shaken.

I kept on thinking about kareena 'geet' kapoor and I don't want to make another 'boo boo'.

*****

My first name REYAB, means reformer and my surname NASERAH means adviser/councillor.

But before I attempt 'world improvement' , I advise myself on Self-Improvement.

I believe it is beyond-vain to write and speak about stuff if you don't practice even a quarter of your 'big talk' in your personal space when nobody is watching you.

I cannot help wishing real hard that more people like me would come forward in random acts of selflessness.

Why is almost everyone so spiteful, unpleasant and more than a little hypocritical?

Being as stubborn as I am, I refuse to give up on my quest for answers.

But I was not always like this.

I shamefully admit that I have been something of a bitch in my life over the years but I have never really been a baaaad bitch .

Just an average bitch.

Sort of.

I am almost certain that the 're-births' started when I was almost in my late teens and the name-calling started from amongst my peers.

At that point of time, I had not even had my first sexual experience but that didn't stop most people I knew from calling me a whore.

See, I have had a tendency from a very young age to become very friendly with people from the word 'go'

The problems started when those 'people' more often than not turned out to be guys.

In the eyes of the world I was almost a grown up and my 'vyavahaar' was not acceptable in 'polite' society.

I'll admit, almost unabashedly, that I did like a certain amount of fun to go, but 'whore' was just crazy-talk talking.

It didn't help matters when I became a regular party girl, living the SDR [sex,drugs,rock and roll] lifestyle, being a complete pain in the ass, rebel without a cause.

Things got real ugly from there and for the past nine years, I have regretted even being born and almost attempted suicide on more than two occasions.

A very bright, beautiful light shone on my thoughts in the year 2007.

His name was Rafael and I do believe, with all of my everything, that when my life was the darkness of outer space, Allah struck a match called NADAL.

I fell head over heels over everything in love with Tennis and striving to be the best became my only goal in life.

Everybody who ever knew anything about me knew that reyab=Rafael=tennis.

But that dream of mine remained a dream alone and I never once won a single set in the five tournaments that I have participated in.

In 2009, around the first week of March, another tennis player made an entry, not only into my life but also got mixed up in my system, in its very wiring.

I am not in love with him.

I have never met him nor even seen him face to face.

He does not even know I exist.

He is not a very popular player but he is well-known face on the circuit.

The reason for my being drawn to him is because for the first time in my life, I felt I had come to know of Mr. Reyab Naserah, my male alter ego.

At least that's what I thought at the time.

With the passage of time, I have noticed some changes in him and they aren't very much to my liking but I told myself that I do not own him and he is not a friend, just someone who I needed to learn a lot of off-court stuff and I did, so for that, I'm beyond grateful that Allah sent him as an inspiration when I needed a little something more than Rafael to get me moving.

It's not like other tennis players have not inspired the crap out of me but it's mostly these two at the top.

Well, that was about my short stint with my beautiful game.

It was my best friend, my lover, my marriage and probably every kid I will ever squeeze out of my vagina.

You were reading about my suicidal leanings.

Please continue.

I didn't want to feel, I didn't want to hear, I didn't want to understand nothing.

I just wanted to not exist.

I began to hate everything that touched a nerve and even the most trifling matter like losing a hairclip would drive me to tears.

I hit myself and semi-strangled myself and would even hold out my palms under running hot water till I could handle it no more.

My eyes are near-drip even as I write these lines and a single tear has has trickled down my left cheek…and now my right cheek…

I begged for mercy from God, begged for answers, begged for a way out.

'Allah, I can hardly continue, truth be told, I don't even want to consider trying anymore…'

I fell to the floor and hugged myself because nobody else was around and nobody who knew or even understood by this time that I was most definitely bi-polar.

'siddy,siddy…', I muttered to myself, 'it's alright puttar…'

These were the lines from Wake Up Sid that I could recall at that moment to console myself.

They don't even sound right, if you ask me.

I had seen the movie earlier that day, on the television, and it was the closest thing to affection I could think of at that moment.

My shivering right hand fumbled for the remote and hard-pressed the numbers of a popular music channel.

I turned the volume up and screamed like an animal.

No, it was worse.

I had never cried like that before, not even in the days soon after my father's passing from this world.

After ten minutes or so, I managed to sit up and leaning against the wall I began to pat my shoulder like a mother rocking a child to sleep.

I copied the motions, moved away from the wall, swaying ever so slightly until I felt sleepy.

I decided that I needed to shower before hitting the pillow and while I stood with all my clothes still on and the water flowing on my plaited hair, I cried and I cried and I cried even wishing that hopefully God would show a little more mercy and in some crazy, freak accident I would drown under that shower.

It's stupid I know, but then, so am i.

That day, the 4th of October 2010, was the beginning of a lot of new ideas that germinated in my mind ever so slowly and I had less than no idea that my life would one day be the gift that it has become for me today.

*****

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