A letter to Santa Claus

Dear Santa,
Hi!
I am a 19 year old writing to you a day before Christmas. Surprised? So am I
I want you to know that I am not hurt for being lied to about the truth of your existence. If not in person, you certainly exist in spirit.
Neither am I disappointed in you for not being around. For a fictional character, you do quite a splendid job at being omnipresent during the holiday season.
When I was a gullible little child, I was a staunch believer in you. Each year, I would dedicatedly decorate the Christmas Tree with glittery ornaments and a bright yellow star. I would earnestly close my eyes and pray for it to snow and all the times it didn't, I would make do with small cotton balls, sprinkling them wherever I could.
I would go shopping with my folks for the shimmery ornaments, lights and candy.
On the Eve of Christmas we’d all huddle together in my parents’ bedroom and watch movies as Dad would warm the Plum Cake he brought for us from our favourite bakery.
I always kept a small portion for you, and put it on the dinning table with a glass of milk and a plate of cookies. If you were real you were bound to be hungry after all that work. At night I would pull the curtains wide open and hope to spot you with your reindeers. Maybe I could convince you to take me for a short ride?
Soon enough I came to understand that you were but a work of fiction, however I couldn't let go of you.
The idea of a big, fat and adorable old man climbing down people's chimneys to light up Christmas for children is truly fascinating- and worth holding on to, even if it defies logic and basic math and physics.
At school each year, after the customary Christmas Play, we’d all eagerly wait for a teacher dressed up as you to come and throw candy at us. Oh how we fought tooth and nail over those colourful treats!  Not for the delights of the sweet as much as for the satisfaction of getting them from you( or somebody dressed up as you- same thing for us). At times when a friend won't get any candy, we'd gladly share ours to cheer them up. We would break those little, brittle candies with our teeth into a thousand fragments and laugh when all that was left of it was sugary dust.
Also thanks to you, parents are obligated to bring gifts for their kids. No parent wants their kid to be in the 'Naughty List' and the incentive of Santa bringing gifts for the 'good children' generally worked well for everybody.
Even when I was well aware of who actually placed the gifts beneath the tree or next to my pillow, the thrill of them doing it incognito was so wondrous that one was tempted to pretend being naive.
I still greatly cherish a pair of fuzzy socks I received one Christmas. They have a clumsy monkey popping out of them. Not something I had asked for and certainly not what I had hoped to get- I have come to love them for the memories they invoke each time I slip into those warm things.
I can't tell you how thrilled I was when I was told you had a real postal address. I was tempted to write a letter thanking you, but having grown up, I couldn’t spare enough time to chase my fantasies.  I forgot about my commitment to my younger self and moved over to the more practical ones.
So today I thank you for making my childhood magical with your stories and your legends. Thanks for all those wonderful gifts (a part of me still believes it was you who kept them) and for always finishing the milk and cookies I kept for you despite your hectic schedule.
I won't ask you for any gifts, but I will ask you to keep alive the awe and marvel of Christmas.
Young kids will eventually grow over you but they'll fondly remember the memories they made on the way.
One may grow up enough to realize you don't exist for real, but you'd still be the big, old, cuddly man who is a vital part of the essence of Christmas!

Parched

"It hasn't rained here since two months."

This is a sentence that has the ability to drain the colour off your face instantly, when spoken in context to your favourite place on earth.
Born and brought-up in Shimla, I am used to opening my eyes on wintry mornings, to the spectacle of snow peppered hills from the windows of my room. Every winter, we unite in praying for a white Christmas, a wish that has been gracefully granted multiple times during my childhood. Thanks to the Western Disturbance- each year moisture laden winds travel all the way from the Mediterranean and collide into the mighty Himalayas. The rain and snow feed the icy glaciers and the towering snow-capped mountains, which  then become the source of water for the major rivers of India.
Snow is an awe-inducing phenomena. To my absolute dismay however, I missed the showers of snow last year. So I couldn't begin 2016 with the touch of snow- and we all know how disastrous this year proved to be.

Little do we realise, that inexplicably, the mellow winter snow always manages to form lasting impressions.

Snow Capped hills of Kufri on the 15 December 2014

Hearing my mother talk about the lack of precipitation, the rain that replenished the roots of the tall Deodar trees and the lush green grasses, breaks my heart.
The promise of a fragrant and vibrant spring is being shattered right now.

"Why would that be? "- I ask,concerned.

"A lot trees have been chopped off recently. I've never seen it this way, look my skin has become so dry."
Ah yes the ambitious four-laning project of the Shimla-Chandigarh highway.
 An endeavour to make NH-22 more accessible.

As a kid I vividly remember driving down the Solan bypass. The particular stretch which was surrounded by tall,thin trees was breathtakingly beautiful. It is one of the happiest memories of my childhood. When asked about which road to take, my brother and I would always opt for that road which went through that jungle, where we had the highest chances of spotting wildlife at night. Ma would protest, saying it wasn't the safest option plus the route was a little longer, but our persistence-laced excitement would always triumph reason, and we would take the road less taken.

That very road, after the initiation of the project is now being widened and all those trees being cut in order to do so. An initiative which is sure to make commute easier, less time consuming and traffic free but it is also going to bring Shimla closer, closer to becoming a city from a town. 

Am I selfish for not wanting to share the beauty of my hometown with others?

I'd like to believe I am plain concerned. Concerned about the delicate ecology of the Himalayas which might not be able to sustain the burden of all the people and more so our destructive activities.

"There is so much pollution these days, so many people, people with little to no consideration for the environment. How will it rain?". My father says as we drive. We are going to Potter's Hill-an eco-tourism destination ( Closed Down as we were to find out soon).

It was just the other day back in college, when I was discussing the wonders of snowfall with a senior. She, a resident of Mussoorie recalled how it used to snow when she was a child. 

"It doesn't snow as much now. Some years, it doesn't snow at all".

Sitting in the car, wearing just a sleeveless sweater over a half-sleeved shirt I shuddered at the thought of the same happening to Shimla.

"It is fairly warm for December", I declared. In response, my parents only nodded their heads. 'Bhutan- a country that isn't just Carbon Neutral, its Carbon Negative'- The headline of the article I was just reading a few weeks back. So it is possible right? We can reverse climate change? Or is it too late. As we kept driving I could not help but ponder over all the ways my hometown was dying a slow death. It pains to know that you are a part of a generation that is responsible for such a terrible loss. Looking at all the trees that we pass by, its hard to know that they aren't nearly enough to undo the damage we've already caused. 

We arrived at the gates of our destination to find the place closed. We decided to take a walk nonetheless.

A few students from the Shimla University, situated nearby studied in the calm of the woodland.

I was completely disheartened to see the track littered at some places. 

"Why aren't people sensitive enough? This is such a shame"

As we walked further downhill, we began admiring the various type of trees and kept debating on their local names and uses.

"Is that Oak?" 

"This one is great for soil na?"

"No, okay pine needles are bad. They don't let water penetrate into the soil."

At a point where my father received a phone call and my brother was snapping a picture of Ma, we spotted a lane of young Cedar Trees.

 "Oh Look!", I couldn't contain my excitement.

"These have been recently planted."

The place wasn't that dead after all.

After about fifteen minutes of walking in silence, we made our way back uphill with smiling faces. I searched for a fallen pine cone for a friend as Ma and Dad discussed the heavenly flavour of the squash made from Rhododendron flowers.

Our little trip renewed hope afresh. Amidst the pile of rubbish, we had seen a small sapling make its way to touch the sun. Nature, if we help her, will be able to rejuvenate herself.
This damage can be undone if we start now.

Small efforts, for instance the judicious use of water and electricity, go a long way.

Forget about the coming generations, we need to conserve our environment for our own sake. 

Haven't you been guilty of dreaming of a quaint retirement home in the woods, with a brook running nearby and birds chirping as you tend to your apple orchards?

We have the power to make sure this dream comes true, and that nature will be as bountiful to us then as it is today.

Midnight Musings

And so we all were eventually awakened, from our great cosmic dream,
And so we all set out on an adventure
The adventure of life.
One or many?
Where and when, most importantly as Whom?
Significant or trivial, who is to know?
Until we live it out the way we do.
Designed by us, intricately carved by something far more superior.  Perhaps for the better- for we are linear beings.
We dwell in our own worlds, forgetting so often where we belong and for what did we leave behind the eternal calm and take on this escapade.
We amuse ourselves by petty actions, we derive joy from transient bonds of love and friendship, we attach ourselves to perishable things. But who am I to call all you hold dear petty? I too am but an insignificant strand in this great grand design. The design shaped not by it's own reality but by our imagination.
We picture it to fancy our whims.
We do this all to keep us occupied, to keep our spirits high. All this while buying time to search out our true reality, the real meaning behind the existence of us and all we know.
But one day, our little adventure will end- the end itself could be spectacular or ordinary. Whatever may it's nature be, we know for certain we'll perish. Perish to return back to the soothing calm again.
Our names would live longer than us, that's the power of fame! But if you believe you have tamed your mortality, you're wrong. For a time will come surely, when the entire universe as we know it shall collapse on itself. And time, that feisty river will dissolve into nothingness. But that's a long way ahead, we'd be all dust by then.
Our own death is however unnervingly near.
Friends and family may grieve for us, acquaintances may express sorrow, but to a stranger it would just be another event. When our life didn't matter to somebody, why would our death upset them?
Such is the nature of attachment, it works in peculiar ways. For isn't the loss of a human life a loss, irrespective of their relationship with us?
We are truly insignificant, so are our actions- though some might prove to be more consequential than others.
In this if we are somehow still powerful enough to influence another life, not by a gesture so great it upset our own, wouldn't that be wonderful?
In a world which few understand, to be able to find something worth the awakening;
in a world riddled with vice and pain, to bring peace and love, even for a moment
Isn't this utterly beautiful?
We might not always be able to add a thread in the great grand cosmic design, but won't it be beautiful regardless! We might  not be the chief weaver but we can always be the catalyst for small change. We can always be that shiny little thread which a keen eye might spot and appreciate. 

Going Solo

Life loves to humour itself on our expense. It repeatedly makes a mockery of the plans and arrangements we subject our future to. So when unexpectedly I had a chance of taking an almost week long vacation, I grabbed it with a lot in my mind. Us college students have a knack for converting any long weekend into a full-fledged holiday, and this time around it wasn't going to be anything different. Having had a chance to visit home in the middle of the term was indeed very exciting, but I quickly realised that I was not going to have much company.  Good one life!
When it became apparent I was not going to have anybody to share the good times, I knew I wouldn't just sit waiting around for people to magically turn up.  A lot of us are constantly surrounded by people, be it our family at home, our friends in school or college, or the people we live with. We eat our meals with people, travel (mostly) with people, sometimes even do our chores and run errands with people around. We have company all the time and what we might not realise is that we have almost no time left to ourselves. I am not saying I do not like people, they are good fellows most of the time and they sure do come in handy, but seriously guys, all the time? Noop.
That's when I came up with a plan life couldn't possibly screw. Or maybe it could, but the chances were pretty slim for the only participant was me and I am a toughy.
It was decided then.  I would go to my favourite restaurant, treat myself to the pleasures of fine dinning and enjoy the company of the very best.The very best of food and beverage.
Having a solo meal has a lot of obvious benefits. You can order whatever you want- without any compromises or negotiations. You can experiment and nobody blames you if it backfires. Only you're too afraid of making decisions for yourself for a long time. Collateral damage to being awesome. You really don't have to care about manners or sharing or splitting the bill.
During my meal, I confirmed first hand all of the above were true beyond doubt but there were more, less percievable but really cool plus sides to eating alone.
I went into this thinking I'll smack one on life's face, but by the time I was through- all I wanted to place on dear life's cheek was a heartfelt kiss of gratitude.
The moment you walk in alone into a restaurant, you know its going to be different and fun.
You somehow notice all the little nuances, the colours are more vivid, the aromas are more overpowering.You become more appreciative of your surroundings.

The exhilaration of placing your order- pure and uninfluenced is liberating.
The moment you put that first bite in your mouth is magical. You aren't obliged to give a verbal approval, or to define the taste or the texture- you  can simply revel in it. Some feelings are best left unspoken.
You don't have to judge the flavours and thereby render the entire experience tangible
You aren't a judge on Masterchef, this ain't your job. You're job is to sit back and relax.

There are times when we really need to meet up with people we care about, then there are other times when we simply need to push them out, and rediscover ourselves.
There are times when we need to treat our friends and family to gourmet food, then there are other times when we should only reserve such great treatment for the one person who matters the most, Us.
This time around it was the second kind.

Moving Forward

So today, finally the day I had to leave for college had arrived. After a two and a half month summer vacation, I was all set to begin a new year. At around the same time the previous year, I had left for a strange city, to live at a strange place with strange people to study seriously strange stuff. I was nervous and anxious and not wrongly so. For all you high-schoolers who think college life is all about tons of fun, and not much work, it isn't. And yes it's way harder than you thought. And no, you magically won't become super independent and uber-cool. Sorry you had to find out this way. Starting a whole new life far from friends and family is no walk in the park. I always wondered if I would fit in, later I realized it was not at all about fitting in as it was about setting yourself apart.Trying to outdo your own self- your thinking, your working and your jokes. A year later now, I had no such fear, no insecurity or uncertainty- at least not to that extent. So as I sat in my room for one last day, watching my own t.v, watching the show of my choice, sitting on my own bed and munching breakfast made exclusively ( okay! Not exclusively but with consideration for my taste)  for me, I knew I had no right to be sad or irritable. But I still was. That's when I had to run an errand, like all of us have to, we're all slaves to errands. Running errands is a lot like engaging in small talk- it's lame but necessary for the smooth working of life. So my plans of sitting in my bed and blocking out the reality of leaving and having to work, let's say were changed. And changed for good they were. I had had the best summer vacation of my life. It however didn't happen when I was the permanent resident of my hometown. It happened when I spent most of my time elsewhere. The beauty of a moment is that by it's very nature it's fleeting, about to end, not permanent. It lingers in time but never for long. For would there be any thrill in a roller coaster ride if it were to last a whole day ? ( not to mention other horrific outcomes). I slipped on my shoes and put on a fresh shirt and moved out of my house. It is the season of rains and it had been pouring for a whole day and the sky had been overcast for at least a fortnight, but just before I left- I saw a shimmer through the thick cloud cover. A shimmer reaching for me, illuminating, only partly, the lush green hills visible from my balcony. As I strode uphill, I felt so incredibly charmed by the slightly sunny weather. It was refreshing, way more than sitting in bed and leading a sad life would ever be. So I felt charmed. Not to mention flattered, for it was as if the sun had just come out to bid me a happy farewell. Just like last year the rains had poured relentlessly for a week, which I had presumed (thanks to my ego) were cries of my city to see me go.
I am a huge fan of the rains, but the sun made  me smile that day. It had only come for a very special period of time and it made that time memorable. Just like the best summer vacation at home (and a few other, totally AWESOME places), came when I was living in another city.
I am to leave for this city, and I won't say it doesn't make me a little sad. It does. Even after a year, to leave the comfort of home,the companionship of my friends and the company of my family- is tough. But for all the fun I've had here, I understand all the work I'll have to do to maintain balance is essential and honestly I know it'll not be easy, but I am still looking forward to it .
How much ever we resist change, it's( well mostly ) for good. So let's live to the full, and give another moment a chance to charm us!

Saavn

The arrival of the mighty monsoon. Saavn- the most awaited time of the year in my part of the world. After the hot and dusty summer leave my motherland thirsty, its dwellers tired- Lord Indra finally soaks us wet in respite. As the king of the heavens, he does have a fondness for Drama. As a result the monsoons -the gift of the gods- always arrive amidst thundering applause and lightning appreciation.

The dark, dense black clouds block the unforgiving summer sun, a truce between the gods in the heaven that breeds life.

For me the monsoons are a good time. It was the time of the year which marked my arrival in this world and I seem to have a never ending love affair with the rains.I have always cherished the calm of the mountain fog, the stillness of nature and the freshness of Saavn.

It brings with it fog, fog that blinds you to any foreseeable threat, it brings the cool winds, it brings water, torrential rains, it inspires songs, it breeds passion, it gives lives, it takes lives- its nature's way of connecting to us.

For us more modest beings, its the perfect time to curl up in a blanket and enjoy a cup of hot coffee, or tea. Its the time to stare up at the sky and try finding shapes in the clouds. Its the time to devote oneself to the company of a good book, or to go out running in the puddles, to ditch the umbrella and dance away in the rain. 

The rains of Saavn are whispers- whispers of nature- which tell us her problems, so that we may act accordingly; before the whispers become shouts. 

The monsoons are an agent- an agent of nature- who act to bring balance to our world. 

 A world which is both sustained and destroyed by the prowess of the mighty monsoon. 

How I Fall in Love with my Hometown Over and Over Again

The Ridge, Mall Shimla.

 The cool zephyr blowing through your hair, the fragrance of the trees, the softness of snow on your palms, the lazy mornings, the sweet chirping of birds, the cry of a street vendor, the sip of hot piping tea, the mid-afternoon strolls, the aroma of an old book, the much-awaited luncheon with friends,the exceedingly slow walk back home, the touch of a feather,the light warmth of the setting sun on your back,the shrieks of laughter ricocheted off the hill standing tall, the companionship of childhood comrades, the embarrassing fall off the slippery staircase, the touch of cold snow, the smile of a stranger, the sight of apples, the slurping of ice-cream, the shivering that follows, the package from the bakery, the embrace of your grandmother, the affectionate hit on your head, the bark of a friendly dog, the sight of colourful shawls, the sight of  a familiar cafe, the cup of hot coffee, the nostalgia, the meeting with a teacher, the handshake with a classmate, the exchange of stories, the eventual goodbye, the hopes for the next day, the plans for future, the feeling of awe, of gratitude,of peace and the love for thy hometown.

“One could not count the moons that shimmer on her roofs,
Or the thousand splendid suns that hide behind her walls.”
― Khaled Hosseini, A Thousand Splendid Suns











My hometown, a quaint city in the lap of the mighty Himalayas ,and the state capital - has always mesmerised me. I can never get enough of the hills and valleys, of the trees and the architecture, of the cuisine and the people. Each time I come back home, even if I have been only gone for a day, it is as if I am visiting it for the first time. Having been the Summer capital for India under the British rule -Shimla is an exquisite display of culture and history.



By means of this blog, I would also like to bring your attention to the following.

The old charm of the city still remains intact but the city has inevitably succumbed to pollution and commercialisation. I am appalled each time I see litter on the roads, or people disturbing the calm and serenity of public spaces.
The damage to local flora and fauna is also a cause of concern.
From irresponsible parking, to reckless wastage of water - all such activities, by residents as well as tourists are causing wide-scale problems.

 Each city has a soul - it has shaped countless lives, made countless stories,.
 Let us not destroy the soul.
Let us all preserve the glory of the places we reside in and the places we visit.

Deluxe

So it was a fine afternoon. I had just had lunch with a bunch of relatives - an aunt, a cousin with her two daughters and my grandmother along with a bunch of other, very far off relatives. I had woken up at eleven that morning, particularly early, considering I am on a vacation and that I am an engineering student.
Anyway, I agreed to wake up as early as that to accompany my relatives to meet some other relatives. But mostly for a free and comfortable ride to the mall. Not to forget free food.I get dressed and off we go. Both my nieces gave me great company all along the way, deciding who would fit what character from the Disney movie Frozen. A bit of a mental exercise but I am fine as long as I end up being Olaf.
The lunch was a grand affair and after all our hogging we all craved for ice cream. While everybody indulged in the sweet delights of ice cream on the ridge, I and a distant cousin took a stroll on the tourist infested roads of the mall. For some reason she seemed to be enjoying my company. College students always seem interesting to young teens. But trust me, we do not have much to offer. Apart from how to sneak out of the house tips, genius pieces of advice that might have you end up in trouble and loads of funny college stories. We struck a conversation about basically nothing and yet I enjoyed it. Hearing her speak in the very 'teenage' fashion she did, I was reminded of the young and gullible me. How all of us thought we were cool AF when we used excessive and annoying slang. (I plead guilty).How we loved mimicking teachers and poking fun at everything we saw. Judging people, laughing at gullible children or drooling grandmas. I loved doing all of this as a teen. Wait, I still do all that stuff, maybe because I still am a teenager. I am also a responsible adult. I do make mistakes sometimes, but that is only because I am relatively new to being adult.
 After listening to all the rants and all the gossips my young companion had to offer and after giving away precious pearls of advice, I prepared  to take my leave from the group. I had  a mission to accomplish, a mission I couldn't fail. Under strict and direct orders from my mother, I was supposed to get a haircut ASAP. She thought I looked like Mowgli with my hair all over the place. Apparently my mother didn't mean it to be a compliment. I was taken aback. I loved my hair that way, they looked cool beyond measure and having just learnt they made me resemble Mowgli only toughened my resolve to keep them. My mother though, not a huge fan of Mowgli perhaps, crushed my resolve. Defeated, I knew I had to let go. I was about to exit when my cousin sister asked me to take my elder niece along. Sure, I could do that. She is one of my favourite among all the kids I know. Plus that would mean a free haircut. Perfect.
So minutes after I struck the most profitable deal of my life, I marched off holding my niece's hand.
Now I had two options. One- I could go to the fancy salon which I generally visit. Two- go for the not so fancy option. The salon I frequented as a child. A perfectly camouflaged,small and low ceilinged place called- Deluxe.
I can never forget the various permutations I would apply in my head as my father forcefully pushed me into the shop. It was his absolute favourite pass-time to see the barber give me the annoyingly simple and overly gross - Mushroom cut. It was like having worn an inverted bowl on my head and have my hair chopped off to the whims and fancies of that stupid bowl. My father did take immense sadistic pleasure in making his kid look like the mushroom Mario loved. He always claimed it would make -getting ready for school- easier. The hairdresser would make me sit on a plank balanced over the armrests of the 'adult' chair. Then he would smile, and go on to massacre my pretty hair nonchalantly. About a decade later, taking my niece to the very same place flooded my senses with nostalgia. Despite having had loads of bad haircuts, Deluxe had also given me those sassy blunt cuts.
We both entered a maze of rooms over which hung a sign saying- 'Ladies Section'. As we made our way inside a small room meant for tending to hair and faces, a rush of memories came back to me. I helped my niece on a plank, while I waited for my turn.
 Not much had changed in this little place. A bunch of old men, a couple of young men doing their job while listening to the town gossip. A few excited girls running in the corridors ushering clients into various rooms based on the service they required. An old man worked on a middle aged woman's hair with almost surgical precision. As I reveled in my ancient thoughts, I was pulled back to the present by the gentle, but insistent sobbing of somebody. The poor hairdresser gave me a puzzled look as I went near my niece and asked her why was she crying. She looked up at me, and gestured me to lower my ear. Kids and their obsession with secret talks. She told me she didn't want a haircut and that the hairdresser had cut her hair too short. I tried reasoning with her but not to any avail. Well in her defence, it's something all of us go through while getting a haircut. Somehow our hair, the same hair we planned to get rid of five minutes ago, suddenly start looking gorgeous the moment the tip of the scissors touch them.With rising difficulty I pinned my niece to the bench and asked the hairdresser to go on, no matter what. I asked him to finish the job quickly and he was over with it within a minute. Her hair looked great, she wouldn't buy it but.
 Finally she struggled out of the chair from atop the plank and hugged me tight. I had no clue about how to possibly console her. It was my turn now and I had to help her distract herself from her better looking but shorter hair. So with much reluctance, I gave her my phone to play with. An exception I rarely make but tough times call for tough actions.
I sat down on the chair opposite to the one my niece was seated on. At that instant I had an immense sense of accomplishment wash over me. About ten years later, I was finally able to ditch that little plank and able to make the choice of my haircut, myself. I was about to impart detailed instructions about the specifics of my hair when I realized the middle aged barber had already started his work. I didn't mind that though. I had a feeling he knew what would best suit me. And heavens he did. After having had a terrible haircut the last time around, it felt great to have great hair again.
So with extreme satisfaction and overflowing delight I finally prepared to take leave.
By the time I was done, I was way richer than I had anticipated. Financially, yes- for that place is extremely reasonable. Emotionally- for that is a gem of a salon, with a small-world charm about it nothing can replicate. 

People who cry have it easy

So is it just me or are there other people around who can relate ?

 Projecting feelings with spewing out tears can help ease up pent up emotions. Crying is an evolutionary response embedded in us humans to deal with times when we are sad, helpless, overly happy, disgusted or in plain need of attention. It can be embarrassing for some of us mature lads to break down in front of somebody. Its never nice to burden other people with our excessive and often messy emotional baggage. Unless of course absolutely necessary. But there are some who use our body's built in SOS tool mindlessly and annoyingly often.

 Losing an argument? Or did somebody with exceptional display of skill steal that last oreo from your snack bowl? Craving for attention?

Bring 'em little drops of deceit flowing from your eyes.

 Mends most things. 

There are times though, when admittedly even sane, non- conniving adults also want to cry. For who does not feel better after a good cry?

 That's where the J factor comes in. 

Yes ! I confess. I am jealous of people who can well up easy and eject all troubling sentiments from their system. Also, if you do it right, there's a chance you'd be too exhausted after some time to continue and so you forget about all your troubles. Whatever be the case, the technique is undoubtedly- highly effective. Not to forget it does make you look better. Does it have anything to do with attracting other people's attention-our body's attempt at gaining empathy- I'll never know. Or at least not until I gain the precious know-how of performing sorcery like this. 

People who can cry easily, are also uncannily the happiest, jolliest and often the most good-at-heart people I know. So if you're a good soul, does it mean your eyes more likely to flood at times and your teeth sparkle and lips curl in delightful smiles at others?

Maybe.

Anyway I maintain- People who cry have it easy.